Holiday Seasons, Bang Bang, Lychee Martinis, Vulgarity and I

I went to Bangalore. And there’s nothing even remotely banging about the damn city. In any aspect or meaning of Bang whatsoever. It’s boring as hell. Mumbai is delicious. Fuck yes. And I’m never leaving, that’s it. NOW I’ve said it. Screw you all.

I’ve started to notice how some words just sound so sexy. And they’re all rational non-dirty words. Just, sound so sexy. Even out of the context. Like Felicity. Say it, you’ll see. Like Velvet. Or say Froth. See what I mean? Anymore you guys can think of?

Apart from an obscene sense of humour, vulgarity and an unreasonable amount of curiosity in hindi swear words, I now also have a full time job. Which is great, but I hate the travel. Cause really, there’s only so much of strangers’ sweat you can take in a day.

Thanksgiving just went by and just cause I didn’t mention it does not at all mean that I’m an ungrateful bitch (although in the past few weeks there have been some meaningful directed not-so-subtle suggestions made to me to just get bitch tattooed instead of my really gay butterfly, huh) So yeah, there are plenty of things I’m thankful for. First off, I’m thankful to God for being so non-interfering. I like that sort of a system. It makes you all mysterious and brings in so much glamour. Like about your forms, if God is beautiful or just mom-look-alike? I am thankful to all the people in the world for trying out different cuisines and all sort of food, so we may sample it here in India, of course with a dash of tadka. That’s right, we have Indian Tadka in everything from Nachos to Risotto to Peri-Peri. I’m very very thankful for being given this body, and also eleventy thousand times more thankful for the sort of shit you can do with it. I’m thankful for Jet’s very hot cabin crew to make travel easier. I’m thankful to Vijay Mallya to make Kingfisher so readily available everywhere, you’re doing my country proud honey. I’m very thankful to my roomies for midnight laughs and always having leftover food in our fridge. I’m thankful for guilt free fantasies. I’m thankful to all open minded people for invigorating and extensively liberating conversations. To Melange, for making low-cost cotton kurtas. To W, for making Indian wear so ghetto. To Toto’s, for being there. Stay. For true affection. For short fleeting stares strangers give followed by a smile. To playful winking. To soundproofing. And to my salary, thanks for being there and on time Amen. Awomen.

PS: Oh about the title, Lychee Martini is a great waste. But it’s just so awesome to hold a Martini glass. Also, in this same Martini sampling party there was Yash Birla and of course my gossipy drunk mouth had to tell all my friends “look! Yash Birla, do you know he’s probably one of the richest guys in India?” and they were all like, he’s way too ugly for so much money. Hehe. True that.

PPS: Anticipate a big big post on my sacrosanct undying theories on IIT and IIT men ( there are only men in IIT). Since my recent close (and ongoing)encounter with IIT, I have come up with some totally bril ideas on "how to make IITians less of a loser in life?" and it will include a full scale course with workshops on "How not to speak of Hertz as a subject of omni-interest on dinner tables" and "How to stop assuming and start talking (in commonly intelligible people's language, and avoiding fight, machana and chamkana) Whew!", oh and certainly "How not all women are like porn stars! Anywhere on their bodies."

PPPS: If you thought just reading this post was sexy, you are a true IITian. Congratulations. Now, shut up, and join my workshops (and get a life).

Mwah Mwah XOXO

Blank Noise and Bombay Addiction and World Dont Stand No Chance

For the first part of the title, here. I contributed my story for a section called Action Heroes. Support.

I spent Diwali with Hussain at Prithvi and Juhu Beach. Been insanely busy writing for topics I dont really understand, Insurance, Management, Indemnity, Winter Gardening, Addiction, you get the drift. Well, Addiction, I do understand :P And why am I writing trash? Well chicas, we got Rent issues.

I have also been going nuts fixing Internet connections, moving, traveling in Autos, cooking, stuck in messy transactions with Bai, quality checking LIITs around umm everywhere, contemplating saving, hogging shawarmas et cetera.

I'm indebted, with sparse money in a city with much too many avenues to spend on, not to mention Landmark and Mango stores. I hope my Karma rewards me for my super-satiated behavior lately (in terms of shopping strictly). Strict leading to discipline leading to job thoughts, reminds me, I have a deadline. So more life updates later.


All in all, times, they are a changin'

What do you do when your daughter refuses to go?

In the opening of David Copperfield, Charles Dickens once wrote,
“Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show!”

I know people do braver things. Go to war for the country, lay down their lives for social justice, quit a comfortable life to help the poor, sit on hunger strikes for their rights, lots of things, which need immense strength and an indomitable spirit. Maybe my brevity will count nothing amongst those stories. Maybe I’m just a small portion but in my world, I think I went way ahead.

In my personal list of 100 things to do before I get old- Today, Now –
39. Stand up for myself.
I stood up for what I thought was right. Against all the odds and the evens. Against everyone who has ever loved me. Against the world which gives you no voice. Against the community which robs you of your freedom. Against this system, wherein, a woman’s happiness counts to nothing. And unhappiness, well, you just get used to it.

I read at IHM’s blog, what do you do when your daughter refuses? And it really made me think, that 99 out of 100 families in India will force her to come to terms with injustice. As long as he’s not hitting you and as long as you’re not burnt, everything else is workout-able. How much unhappiness is enough unhappiness? Why does our mother's generation think that all marriages are based on women giving up their lives, livelihood and dreams? Why is Happiness a selfish luxury asked by the girls way too spoilt?

Is an Indian Marriage a selfless act of righteousness? And Love here, just a possibility, not an intention, not the purpose, just a mere chance byproduct? Chance.

We have so many people working towards underprivileged women, with women married off too early, with women facing violence in marriages, women with drunk husbands, so many. But how is it that we never talk about the real problems. The problem is not that these women have the wrong men. The problem is that women are conditioned to not speak up. Not stand up. And left at the mercy, first parents, then husband, then when they consult their parents –redirected to husband. The real privilege so many of us are robbed off is Freedom. Freedom to speak our minds and be heard.

Unfortunately, a woman being unhappy in a relationship is tagged as ‘noncompromising’, ‘adamant’, ‘career oriented’, ‘too ambitious’, ‘selfish’, ‘self centered’, ‘egoist’ and last and my favourite, ‘slutty and characterless’. Why is it that if your husband earns enough and is not particularly hitting you, its enough and you shoudnt ask for more.

So what is it that is wrong here? I am? Someone who thinks that breaking up a relationship on the pretext that “I’m not happy!” and “I’m not ready!” is a justified cause? Have I had too much Hollywood? Am I dreamer? Should I have just shut up and go ahead and once again mess up my life? Once again.

Sometimes unhappiness is the only problem and I believe its justified as well. And you don’t have only lower class people in it. Ask any women of middle class homes in joint families and they’ll tell you how they’ve never made any decision of their life themselves. That is helplessness.

In their own peer pressure and their acclaimed self acquired right to dictate their children’s lives, they force you. All the time. To not wear a certain dress. To not sit on a bike with guys. To shut up and never utter the blasphemous words of breakup. Basically, to be scared, all your life. To be scared of who you might become. To be scared of who you really are.

How much longer are women just going to sit and blame fate. I never quite got the English translation for majboori. I just concluded that itni majboori shayad India main hi hoti hain.

I for one, have lead enough amount of time blaming the people, system and fate. And I wont anymore. And I’ll fight.

And I did. So yeah, I quit the whole relationship scene. I’m done. So long and thank you for… nothing.

The story of how I did, what I did, stands to be told, but that another day. It'll be a quite a bollywood for y'all. For now, wake up, it's september end. Brief smile. Greed. A whole hearted sleep.

The Pointlessness of Being.

There should really be a book like that cause this is the sole truth. And what is truth anyway. Truth is just a variation of the millions of permutations and combinations of life’s entities, it could as easily have been another. So don’t hold any accounts of truth, as I said, your being is pointless. There is also no point in wanting something, not because you wont get it, but sometimes, you just might and it will clear all your doubts in mind and reveal to you the only reality, there is no happiness in it. It will probably just be easy, if you never get it, hope makes world easier. Empty still, but easier. And so they say, to aim for something you will never be able to have, Ignorance, you see, is bliss. Now you know.

Life does not listen to your logics. Because Logic is subject to change and wisdom. And logic – is a perspective. Perspective and point of views are altered truths. And what is truth anyway. All in all, pointless.

A man is a man, is a man. They are all cowards and do not live independently. Ask any evolved man, and he will accept that he is. If he doesn’t, he’s proving it. They’ve lived and will always live a life of reassurance. I am very sure the whole concept of someone being there for you was made by a man, cause he’s weak. They’re all weak. They are all sadistic parasites who will not leave you alone. Whoever it is, a husband, a father, a brother. In his mind, your life is not yours, it’s a byproduct of his. And all women believe it. You are not incomplete without him, he is. And he will make you believe otherwise, why? you ask me? Because they are weak. Don’t be fooled by the life in him, whether he says it or not, or even dead, he will not leave you alone. Cause how else will he make himself feel better. Physically, and every other wise.

And while I tell you the truths of life, let me also tell you that you will never be happy. Because nobody is happy. Happiness is but a mirage. It’s an illusion they make you believe, to make you want to live. It’s a game and you will never win, that’s just one of the two rules. The other being, it’s pointless. If you want to go to the Himalayas chasing the meaning of life, you can, there are several ways of wasting time in this world.

If you think I’m just being a sad and depressed person who’s been wronged and hurt in life, and whatever other excuses you make, abused as a child, raped, disrespected, stranded, rejected, unloved, these are what they are, excuses. If you don’t know this already you haven’t lived long enough or you took an easier path, of ignorance that is (which is highly recommended).

The greatest mistake you can do in your life, is to want something. Desire will eat you alive. Everyday of your life it will remind you how you don’t have what you wanted. And the trick is, once you do have, you’ll want something else. There is no point to it. It is meaningless. You are going to get nowhere in life, because you are coming from nowhere and will reach nowhere. There is nowhere to be. So, to live better, is to be detached, to be free of all wants. Cause it wont be this one thing that you want, it will be a series of wants. There is however a point to detachment.

So, don’t ever ask me again why I don’t believe in God. I can tell you, but then again I’ll save your time and tell you cause he’s a Man. And he’s just the same, a sadist parasite. And if there was an ungendered fair God at all, who made all this beauty in this world of colours and water and wind - he’s dead. You are all alone, and you forever will be.

Ofcourse there’s no pressure, you don’t have to be wise today. You can most certainly think of happiness, link it to some future goals, rely on God, be easy on yourself. Happiness and God are the two biggest hoax mankind has ever played on you. God is, but a propaganda.

Journal of a Rock Angel

It's the Blog Swap time at 20 Something Bloggers and I and Hannah are tagged together. Guys - It means I write one post for her and she writes one for me. So here she is, give a warm welcome :)


This week I'm away at the youth group residential. We're staying at a campsite near Epping Forest. The plan is today that we head into London and do the tourist thing. Today is also Lambkin's Birthday (for those who don't read my blog the people around me go by nicknames rather than their own names) he turns 8 today so at breakfast we had present opening.

When I started this post we were waiting in South Kensington tube station trying to sort out our tickets - we needed a group ticket because its our youth group but we couldn't get the ticket at the first station. We were somehow allowed to board the train and organise the tickets at the other end.

Anyway so now here we are in the queue for the Science Museum. I do love the museum but there are so many people here I'm not sure its going to be worth it.

One of the guys in my group is serenading one of the girls (actually I think he was singing and she was stood in front of him)

Later today we are heading to Camden Market. I'll see if I can add pictures and bits later.

Thank you for having me. More Hannah-ness can be found at http://www.rockangel.co.uk

Hannah :)

Thanks Hannah. It's a pleasure :) I love girl journals.

Daddy's Little Girl

Most people start with ashes and as life turns old, things turn gold. They beckon all the beauty and serene, rise and shine. Leave the old lives behind. And then, just never look back. So heroic their progress seems. So apt, so desirable and so deserving. I envy them. I belong to those ditched cast of people whose past never leaves them alone. Not because of it was dark and dreary, but because it was beautiful. It was flawless. Had I made and drawn my life myself, I still wont have changed a thing. And then one day at a time, it all changed.

I started with everything in my fists, just I never knew how to hold it right. And then I lost it all.

I have this lovely memory of going swimming with my Dad for the first time. I was very little, tiny really. And I had seen a swimming pool before, just never been allowed to get inside one. My mother was there, my little brother. I didn’t have a swimming costume so my dad just made me wear those little boy shorts and told me I’m good to go. Now, I could’ve been a little girl but I had seen TV and had some idea how women dressed. And I was so embarrassed. So the tiny me, shyly came out of the changing room, hiding behind Papa and covering my chest with my hands. It was so hilarious (to everyone else there) that my mom almost slipped in the pool laughing it out. And I had no idea why everyone was laughing. I thought they’re laughing because Papa has such hairy legs. But when I realized they were laughing at me, I bolted right past Mom, covered myself in a towel and never spoke to anyone the whole day. Till in the evening they bought me a new red swim suit and a swimming cap. But they laughed still.

It was so special. When I was little I used to sleep on my Papa’s chest. When I was little I remember how Papa once told me that he wished he had another girl like me and not my little brother. I remember my grand ma telling me that when Mom was pregnant they had only thought of a name for a girl, not a boy at all. I remember how he used to gather all the kids in the family and play games with them. I remember being jealous when Papa paid too much attention to the other grown up kids of the family. I had always wanted to be like my Dad. I used to applaud anything he liked and rejected anything he didn’t. No plain milk for Dad, no plain milk for me. White shirts to bed for Papa, white shirts to bed for me. Since I never had White shirts, I used to just wear Dad’s. It made me feel even more special to wear his clothes. It made me feel how I was his favorite in the world. I used to get my hair cut like his. I even tried to shave my face once, just to be like Papa. I would’ve done anything for him. Pity, I’m the person who took everything away.

We were so happy, my mom and dad were the best parents in the world. They were strict about somethings, for example sleepovers. But for everything else, they were amazing. We had a cozy little place, great dinner conversations, so much to tell each other, we were happy to just be around each other. And then it all went wrong.

My broken relationship broke down everything. Sadly, irreparably. The problem is he loved me too much. So do I, and that’s why it hurts. I cant forgive myself. Papa has a heart of a little girl, and I wish I could take it all away for him. Get him a better world. Woudnt have made so many mistakes. He still wanders in those troubles and I feel helpless when I can’t get him back to be in the present tense. I feel responsible and guilty. He just never was the same man again. And I miss him. I miss him terribly. And I cant see you suffering like that Dad. I wish I could go back to being the same stupid midget I was when I hid behind you for everything, and I swear to god, Dad, this time around I’ll listen to each word that you say.

Just come back to me. Please. Just the way we were. Lets all go back to dining room. Just once more. Come back to yourself. Come back to me. I miss you around me.

About Love and its Legalities

I’m so over-the-top happy that, the Delhi High Court decriminalized homosexuality by reading down section 377 of the Indian Penal Code. The Delhi Gay and Lesbian Parade went very well and had a great turnout, I’m happy about that, but also sad that I coudn’t be there. For great pictures of the same, head over here. There was this crazy news reporter there going around questioning all of them and asking extremely annoying questions like, Is he your boyfriend? Do you guys kiss? Do you think this disrupts Indian Culture? And provoking physical expressions between them, so that he can take pictures and then sell them, or who knows run it on India TV for a good one week. I get so annoyed when people say this is abnormal, or can be treated. For one, Heterosexuality is not normal, it’s just common. Hence, forms NO benchmark for normality. Two, it’s unfair; Love and Marriage is human right not a Heterosexual Right. And please about the Indian Culture, sometimes I think India is a country of tolerance and diversity of landscapes, colour, languages, gods and festivals, everything but people.

The Backseat

I never do book reviews, merely because I never read book reviews. I hate it when people segment books by genre. Or typecast books by sad, mad, bad or ugly. For that matter, I don’t like flashy covers either. They make me want to keep the book down and switch it. I like stories not described before, or a book without it’s back page filled by words “thrilling”, “enticing”, “extra-ordinaire”,”masterpiece” et cetera, for really do they really think my choice is in-sync with the columnist of The Suntimes? I like books with aged yellow pages and that lost smell of handmade papers. So lovely.

Anyhoodle, this isn’t about me this is about Aditya and his book. The Backseat. It’s the perfect book for the Mumbai Monsoon. You know those books which keep you engrossed on those rainy days ... curled up in a blanket. Nikita’s story is, well, really for her to tell. But as for Aditya, you can tell by reading it’s a film-maker writing the story. There are ups and downs and quick recoveries, it’s not those typical books (read: all books) when the tragedy goes so excruciatingly slow you almost suffocate in the pain, and if you’re like me, skillfully skip pages. This can be cast into a movie, or made a sequel of (off the point: Aditya, you did think of a sequel right?) (devilish smile).

What I loved about this book is Aditya’s way of storytelling. His little stories, which seem disjointed, come together in the end, tactfully. Moreover, his writing has a visual sense to it which I have rarely come across. It’s been sometime since I’ve read the book and I can still so vividly remember the portrayal of the little girl, the Ganpati Visarjan and her father at the beach. Although, to me it seemed at the end, there were a few strings un-sewn and some emotions undealt with, but then again, he shows what he wants to show, it’s his story and it’s only fair that he leaves us asking for more.

It’s a simple read and a no-frills book. Anyone who likes chick-lit, inter-cultural portrayal, Mumbai, drama, storytelling, storyreading, bonding, hope and Aditya would love it. I enjoyed it. Give it a shot!

PS: Thank you for the nice note on the book, Aditya. And Manish, Thankyou for bringing it to me.

For the love of God, God…

…we need some H2O here. Like really, it’s not even funny anymore. Ever since I have moved to Indore, I haven’t showered. I mean, we have that balti and mug and all, but flowing water with bubbles and pressure remains a distant dream. So does using conditioners. And bleep bleep, after bleep after bleep, has happened to my swimming pool plan. Due to acute shortage of Water, our club people, which FYI is supposed to be the nicest club of the city has closed all the showers but two in each Mens and Womens locker rooms and the two so called active showers have had some more than passive turnout with water pressure, so much so, that there is a queue to it. It’s not a fun scene there, I especially loathe the flabby auntyjis chit chatter of Bridge while they shrug their shoulders and flip their receding hair in black skirty swimsuits in the shower queues.Thanks, but no thanks. I utilize less clothes, I utilize less utensils and get frustrated all day thinking of how much water we used to have in New Bombay! Oh also, there is no warm water. You’re smart, you know why.

I don’t freakin give a shit anymore if its Taai, Taaya, Mamu, Chote Bhaiya, Chacha Sasur or whoever jagat bhaiya wants to run my city. But I want the damn water for my hair oil days.

Meri Ma

When I meet new people, which is a lot, I love meeting people. In my opinion they’re the only original non-spoilt-by-brands-and-advertisements and non-plagiarized source of ideas left in our Ctrl-C Ctrl-V world-o-rama.

Topic deviation, shit, ADD, now back. So when I meet new people, I was saying, I always ask about their families. Their parents, siblings, the way they’re bought up, home culture and the like. It interests me a lot. And I always end up feeling a little lost. On – what is –really- the right way to bring up children? The way my parents bought me up? Or the way everyone else is? I’m aware this is a massive generalization, but that is exactly what I intend.

My parents had very few rules, and the ones they did enforce had nothing to do with discipline. The one rule I’ve known and followed all my life, till today, is that we eat together. No matter what. You didn’t have to agree with anyone, if you don’t really accept the idea in your heart. Even if it’s the-dad or the-mom. You’re open to argue, at all levels, at all times. Every advice is well, just an advice. No one expects you to fully follow it. I was told “you shouldn’t be out so late”, as opposed to, “you cannot be out so late”. And I had the right to not follow it.

My mom always let me make my own mistakes. And they let me pay for it. I cant even fathom how hard that must have been. To know in your heart that your little daughter is being such a fool but not lose her by saying it to her face, and let her fall in front of your eyes, sit down-spirited, with a broken heart. And again, still not show a face of I-told-you-so. When I look back today, I know, there could not have been a better way.

No topic in my parents’ house is off limits. Really, I have spoken of condoms on my dinner table. And I can swear in my parents’ presence. Yes, in Hindi too. I must also add here, that if any of you think I’m from a super rich bollywood family, you got it all wrong. I come from a typical middle class family, my mom’s a housewife, she comes from a small town in Maharashtra and my Dad’s an engineer, and my little brother is well, annoying and goofy, to say the least. So what really stood them apart from all the others trying to be friends parents is that they as individuals were the most receptive to change. Changes around them , in ways of the world and in their children.

I had my first beer with my Dad, and the next 30 following it too, before I started going out with my friends. It’s not that they encouraged Alcohol. It’s just that they respected and treated us as adults, when we needed to be. Respected my choices. I think it was that freedom given to me, which makes me feel responsible as an adult till today.

This post is not about how lucky I am to save my money for alcohol and just drink from my home’s refrigerator, or how I can make dirty jokes on dinner table and my parents don’t even blink. It’s more about how I’m NOT two different people when I’m home and otherwise. It’s about how amazing I feel to be accepted just the way I am, just the way I’ve chosen to be and make of myself. There is an infinite amount of reassurance you get when you’re accepted lovingly by the people who know your shortcomings the most.

I plan to get married soon, and I want to have kids one day. I just hope that when my kids grow up they look back and feel the same about their parents as I do for my Mom and Dad.

_________________________________________________________________________________
ON A VERY-VERY DIFFERENT NOTE
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I’m no hurry to have kids yet. Shaadi tak theek hain yaar, bachche jyaada ho jayegi mazaak mazaak main. Aur ye bhavna main khaasi tarah se vyakt bhi kar chuki hun. Ab haal hi ki baat le lijiye.

Meri Ma ne Naani ban ne ki mannat maangi hain, mujhe kal hi pata chala. Mera vichaar ye tha is par ki ‘Maa, Naani ban ne ke liye shaadi ki kya aavashyakta hain, who toh aap yun bhi ban sakti ho’ :P

Is par, ek atyant hi Punjabi tone main ‘badtameez’ kehke Maa ne phone kaat diya. Hehe.. Maze hi aa gaye.

Ab itna senti diya hain, toh nahi ruk paungi, sun hi lo.

“..Ye Zindagi Hain Mom Ki,
Tu Mom Pe Lutaaye Ja.. “

Aap sabhi ka din sukhad ho. Vote karna na bhuliyega.
Jai Raam Ji Ki.

Film Flair

About The Reader

It’s been more than three weeks since I saw The Reader, but there have been less movies or less books which have had any impact on me since then, as much as The Reader’s. Which are by the way a lot of movies and books gone by. These are a few things I absolutely loved in the film.

- I liked the details to which the characters were etched out in it. Especially, Hana’s.
- I also liked how Michael found it so difficult to be heroic and save her. It is difficult to be heroic, thankyou very much to acknowledge it.
- The discomfort of being around someone so ruthless was portrayed so beautifully in the end sequence when Michael sums up the courage to go meet Hana.
- The burn of loving that person who is capable of hurting you so much and abandon you, the vulnerability and naiveté of the first love.
- The sick guilt of revenge which almost kills you was magnificent in the court room trials’ scenes.
- The lady and the dog. I want to get my copy.

About Gulaal

I had been on a permanent speechlessness after I saw Gulaal. To begin with I was determined to love it anyway. My ears rang of the tunes. And Gulaal didn’t disappoint me even in one bit. It’s one of the most moving work in Indian Cinema in a long time. I think the last time that I was in such awe of a hindi movie was with Omkara. DevD was nice too, but in a very different way. Here are some things I liked about Gulaal.

- Just like The Reader, the film is successful in carving very strong characters, of Rananjay’s, of the brother-sister duo, Bhaati, of Dilip, Duki Bana.
- Piyush Mishra’s mid movie poetry, I mean really where have you been?

"Oh re Bismil kaash aate aaj tum Hindustaan
Dekhte ki mulk saara kya tashan, kya chill mein hai
Aaj ka launda yeh kehta hum to bismil thak gaye
Apni aazaadi to bhaiya laundiya ke til mein hai."

“Aaj ke jalso main bismil ek gunga ga r aha
Aur behro ka who rela naachta mehfil main hian
Haath ki khaadi banane ka zamana lad gaya
Aaj toh chaddi bhi silti ingliso ke mill main hian”

- The colour schemes in each and every frame.
- The scene when KayKay Menon’s wife enters the bathroom and Dilip’s just in trousers. I still don’t know why was this discomfort created, but it bore such a brunt of uneasiness, it comes to life in you when you watch it.
- “Hello There – Democracy Beer” ! “Hell Here – Democracy Beer”
- “Saraabor ho gayo sehar aur saraabor ho gayi dhara,
saraabor ho gayo re jattha insaano ka pada pada
sabhi jagat ye puche tha jab itna sab kuch ho riyo tho,
toh sehar hamaare kaahe bhai sa aankh moond ke so riyo tho
Sehar ye boliyo neend gajab ki aisi aai re,
jis raat gagan se khoon ki baarish aayi re”
- Beedo.. Duji Thaali Ka Lage Bada Masaaledaar
- Aarambh Hain Prachand
- “Is mulk main har shaqs ko jo kaam tha saunpa, us shaqs se us kaam ki maachis jala ke chod di”
- Jaise har ik baat main Democracy main lagne lag gayo ban
- The way Maahi Gill treats KayKay Menon.
- He asks for Liquor and says “ek Republic dena!”
- The fighter’s helmet instead of a regular one
- The followers, who follow the saner ones, get killed first, just how the emasculated ardh-naari is. From where I saw it was a bluntly honest satire of the wrath of politics on the common man.

I can probably go on listing these; the truth is I can’t have enough of it. Anurag Kashyap has done a commendable job with the script, the irony of freedom from the system, to make a similarly suffocating new system comes on screen with an amazing blow to you when Kiran stares in disbelief in the end shot. Great acting, great screenplay, moving music and stunning camera work.

Rest later; I have an exam in two days. (But I had to get this off my chest)
Yours truly, with much love, respect, concern and all such insincerities,
-Me

The Boy Who Made Me Think Otherwise

Needs an edit, check later.

Emotional Intelligence and rest of March Madness

It’s been mine and Vinod’s one of the major chat themes, how people’s intelligence is segregated, some have the academic acumen, some emotional, some social, and some are well, not so much into the intelligentsia regime. Which is ok. As for the rest, you’d meet people who’d be so good at their 9 to 5(s), and be a complete mess in personal lives. Even the simpler things. I think the first lot of the mind-numbing knowledge wrecked set is the least successful in taking common knowledge decisions. Why is that? Wisdom should help simplify, right? Something here is snapping. You might say, rights differ with a person. Some know better, I probably don’t understand the view. But see, common sense is not a relative term, is it? It’s like speed of light. All observers should measure the same Speed of Light no matter how fast they are moving. Everytime such things happen, it further strengthens my belief that the learning inside class stands without a purpose if you haven’t learnt enough from outside people and places. I’m yet to meet a person who’d prove me otherwise. The more involved you’re inside, the less evolved you’re outside.

About March, now. This was an interesting month. I got a free makeover with Femina. And starting yesterday have been getting calls from people I haven’t spoken to in ages, about how I look just the same. Yaar ab koi kitni baar kahe, ki woh dasvi kaksha se ek hi jaisa dikhta hain. But all in all, the Femina thing was fun. I made some good friends, got a free hot stone massage at a top-notch spa in Bombay, free hair and skin consultation, hair colour, manicure, pedicure, a funky haircut and did I mention Espirit clotheline? :P

The only hitch is, I had recently curled my hair and as a part of my makeover, they ironed it back to straight. Yeah, thanks. Toh officially, I’m back to looking how I looked since tenth. But anyway, get the April Issue and let me know how lame and fobby it tured out :)

I have decided to not take up a rigid interns in the Mumbai heat and instead go home and take up small writing projects. As a starter, I also bagged a small project with NDTV, some marketing content. Which I’m extremely happy with. I get to be home, eating home food, save my money, use the club swimming pool all summer, and my brother sponsors my beer on Saturdays. Life is getting back to rosy, chicas.

P.S. About the title, I reckon there is not much madness in my march mentioned (hehe, I don’t share my drunk stories here, but I love the phrase, super marketing funde hain bhaiyo)

Phokat Incoherent Brouhaha

There is a seductive shimmer on the horizon of happiness. It doesn’t let you rest. It’s tempting and worse off, always an option. When you’ve been hurt before, you want to just play the rims. Stay on the covers, smile from far and not involve. Not indulge. But that’s no way to happiness. Stuck in the sham, drudgery and broken dreams, we forget the little nuisance of an honest smile. A dreamy stare. A warm touch. A sign. And to yearn for it, is to almost reach it. That’s the way to be happy. Yearn. Dive. Sink. Surrender. (Goofy Smile- Humungous)

Few advises (for free)

1. Every person must live in student hostel once. Atleast long enough to realize that it’s probably a bad idea to not employ domestic help and act oversmart to claim that we do all our jhaadu and the like ourselves.

2. Some people are just plain lucky, and no matter how much you crib (or stare in disbelief) there’s nothing much you can do about it but sulk.

3. So much reluctance to not dress up is also a sort of vanity.

4. ‘Absolute’ does not exist. Absolute love, Absolute honesty, Absolute happiness, Absolutely stunning, eh. However, Absolut Vodka does :) And Thank God for that. Halle-fucking-lujah.

5. Food is one of the purest forms of pure lust. Pure, pure, sacred. I characterize every activity and phenomenon with food now. Say for example:
Wrapping in my comforter before sleeping: Becoming a Burrito
When the power cuts off: It makes me a Fried Chicken
When people throw attitude: Don’t go Foie gras on me!
To save on the sanity, I’ll leave my racist associations alone. Ask me in private, its good stuff ;)

The fun gossip from College, I didn’t share it here, so here’a cover on the wait-for-it – Cat Fight. We had a HR Services presentation; we presented Southwest Airlines HR Services. And some biaatchh couldn’t take the peace and took up a fight middle of the presentation, contesting our sources (and made us loose 5 marks in the end term presentation). Trouble. We’re a 6 girls group. Repeat – Girls. Six. Grouped. And mad. My dearie gawd, we screwed her happiness. Ofcourse, I had a guilt trip later for doing that. But for that little while that it lasted, it was fun. But on the whole, this was a satisfying week. A 52 page proposal for my world’s favourit-est company fetched me an ‘A’. And I’m max kicked. The company is IKEA if any of you are wondering. On other fronts, I still don’t have a summer Internship in order. But Jo’anna don’t lose no hope.

And No, I’m not yet over on my self confessed obsession to DevD. The damn thing is my wallpaper, and if you must know, I made a collage of my favourite shots from the film in between classes. I love it that much. Dhol Yaara Dhol makes you want to be in love. Butttt.. Delhi-6? What was the objective again? I mean, bhai koi original game laao. Sirf aaina dikhaane se kuch nahi hoga, humen bahut log dikha chuke hain. Hum metaphors aur simile waale sophisticates hain hi nahi dost. Hum nahi samajhte. Mujhe toh aakhir tak ummeed thi ek asli ke kaale bandar ki. Ki koi Makrand Deshpande lookalike maidaan main koodkar dilliwalon se confess karega, sansanikhej khabar banegi, thoda public drama banega, maze aayengi. Sab waste. Poori movie waste hain. 120 Rs bhi waste huye. Genda Phool hi ek layak cheez thi, iske liye itni jaddojahad jheli. Par, Gulaal in just around the corner. Ranaji was delightful, Rekha Bhardwaj’s voice is so captivating and so raw, it has a brittleness which is so original. I love love love her voice.

Also, I was twittering the other day, what the hell is this usage of word Bang? I thought it meant, yeah, that. What are all these new usages springing? Is it just used in Bombay? Someone said yesterday while giving me directions, ‘Bang opposite of ICICI’. Huh!? Oh, and ‘Bang on!’ Hmm, sure. Let me know, if this semantic harakiri is used any other way. I’m interested in all the umm.. banging.

Rest of the world is going by it’s speed. And I wouldn't change a thing. Get it? Get it? Si ;-)

See ya. And so long.

Who I am speaks so loud, people hardly hear what I'm saying.

Consortium of Pubgoing, Loose and Forward Women

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Accepting Differences

My present college, my earlier university and almost all b-schools in the country pride themselves on their student diversity. Infact, as an HR major I’ve read courses in Diversity Management, several hundred papers written about it, that I researched for own my paper. What rings true is even after so many of “I’m different” and “I don’t belong here”, I rarely meet someone I can hardly understand. All diversity means to people is races, ethnicity and languages. But that’s not all, there are economic classes, skin tone bias, accent bias, marital status bias, different schools of thoughts, acceptance of varied value systems, to name a few. And, are any of us skilled to handle that? Anyone ever taught us that? In our well thought approach of talking about everything in a politically correct manner, and our b-school’s proactive approach of giving us a brief on it, before we really face it, the question is we don’t yet recognize the real diversity and the fact that many of us lead our lives in our wonderful confiscated little cocoons, not realizing how royally we screw up in real lives.

Let’s start with a few. The distinction of people belonging to the smokers category. Worse yet, if you’re a girl. The sect cliché for the female smoker group goes: Females who smoke sleep around. Truly, people who smoke all know the health hazards of it already and still choose to do it, there is nothing else common between them. Infact, Smokers are less of a cult than MBAs. MBA league, so called diverse background are relatively a homogenous mix, as compared to smokers. Most smokers have nothing in common: timings, frequency, or even brand, let alone their sexual preferences. Girls who’ve atleast lived in the diverse arrangement once, and smoked would testify. They’re looked down upon, are judged about our relationship status, attitude towards the opposite sex (sometimes even same sex, really). Its more amusing to me than anything else.

Should I start writing about Marital Status? Broken marriages are scary, to anyone, and I don’t deny that. But most people are not equipped enough emotionally to handle it. They either stop talking to divorced people, or spread rumours about their sexual activities, or the assumed past sexual activities, without basis ofcourse. The funny part is, this is not even happening to them, they don’t have to face it. They do not have to face the agony of a past scar so deep that it almost always affects their present lives everyday, they don’t have to face social judgments, they don’t have to face awkwardness of not letting yourself be, the loud smirks your brain and your heart makes inside your head everytime someone mentions the M word. And still, even as an outsider they cant handle their world. And by experience, what have we learned, people who cant do it, stand out and curse it. And again, its more amusing to me than hurtful now.

How many of us are going to be man enough or more aptly woman enough to accept the skin tone bias? Ofcourse, it exists. Not just during love selection, also during roommate selection, while making work group, chum selections, class representative election, choosing Ms. Fresher. Apparently, logic and intelligence only come in handy when you have a skin tone fairer than the rest to go with it.

Language Barrier? Not the usual cross cultural slides we learn in OB. But the true language barrier we face in our country. Most of us MBA’s do not have to face it. Come on! We come through selection tests which marks us on an English scale of a far-fetched high standard, are interviewed and GD-ed and really what do you think are those communication marks for? English. Most of us, taking the worse case, know people who have bad grammar, and that’s all, this is our definition of a not-so-good education. Do either of us have an outlook open enough to know that someone in the present India, who does not speak a word of English is just as smart, or even more? Unfortunate as it may be, I even know people in my own class who think less of others cause they didn’t know who Dylan is.

This is still touching just the brim. There are spending power assumptions, believers are frowned upon more than the non-believers, introverts are taken as stuck up, extrovert females are tagged flirtatious, extrovert boys become Mr. Fresher’s and many more. Ironically, no one judges people with two boyfriends, or un-countable girlfriends, no one thinks less about people who abuse teachers who make you work, noone is held accountable for making stories about others, or about conniving morons who get back at you by asking implausible questions at the end of your presentation.

I’m just let down I guess. I thought elite education gives a certain sophistication of thoughts, and sensitivity in perspective. But maybe not. People are people, no matter what, and no matter where. Even still, does anybody else think it’s so uncanny that as individuals we hate them and as a plural entity we are them. We the people, suck.