Unsent Letters

To the boy who has his nose buried in the books, 

Look up! The real world is as beautiful and as perfect as it is in those books. Sure, there is pain and there is disorder and chaos and more pain but when you look beyond it, there is greater happiness. Just like the pot of gold that the goblin planted for you to find. Read to fall in love with words, with expressions, not to escape reality.

- Me who used to hide behind books when life got hard. But never realized that the solution to the problems lay elsewhere.  

To the girl who falls in love too easily,

You have only one heart and piecing it together after it splinters for the nth time will hurt more than you can endure. Love as much as you want but protect the wee little heart – give that all-consuming, ever-lasting power to only those who really deserve it. But even if you don’t learn, I shall be around to put you back together.

- Me who likes to pretend to have a barricaded heart. And hides the marshmallow-like softness behind the façade of cynicism.

To the man with the coffee and the quick stride,

You have worked long and hard which is why the meeting will wait. You should lengthen the stride, slow it down a bit, let your coffee simmer down from the scalding hot that it is now. You gaze straight ahead but you see nothing more than the path in front of you – open your senses to the fresh green foliage, the earthy smell of the first rain, the spicy aroma from the chat stall and the incessant babble of the women around.

- Me who learnt to live better. But not before God numbered my days.

To the people who are obsessed with ‘finding love’,

If you don’t stop underselling yourself and overexpecting from others, if you don’t stop looking for something that is not meant to be found that easily, if you don’t let others’ happiness sway you in the wrong direction, if you don’t stop with the endless rounds of self-pity which help you spiral only in the downward direction, you will never be truly happy even if you do find the great love of your life. Let it happen when it happens. And leave it alone till it does.

- Me who has fallen in and out of ‘love’ a million, billion, trillion times. So much so that I don’t know what true love feels like.

To the pantry boy,

The genuine smile that you serve with your burnt tea is what will get you places.

- Me who doesn’t remember the faces of any other pantry boy. Except you.

To the married woman,

If you ever come by here, I want you to know that I’m proud to be someone you call ‘friend’. Right from the quiet maturity that everyone relies on to the art of dealing with the most difficult people that you seem to have mastered, I wonder how you do it. I love how you are not perfect and your husband is not perfect but together you are picture perfect. I want that for me and some day, will you grant me the honor of being my bridesmaid?

- Me who has found a role model in you.  

To the raindrops that caught me unawares on a Friday night,

The tumultuous events of the evening did nothing to dissipate from the pleasure you gave me – I felt the heat rise from my person and disappear into wisps in the strong winds that you brought with you and I truly understood the meaning of ‘water for the thirsty’. Stick around, won’t you?

- Me who hates the summer with all my heart. Despite all the fleeting summery feelings the season is supposed to bring with it.

To 2014,

Be nice to all those who are less than lucky. Be nice to all those who aren’t as blessed. Be nice to all those who need you to make things better. Be nice to those who suffer at the hands of Fate. Bring more hope as you go along as that alone will take us forward.

- Me who has had bad days in the year. But cannot really recall them.

To Perfection,

Stop being so elusive.

- Me whose hands you slip out of on an everyday basis.

F - Fake

Caution: I was going to write about Fart Jokes but circumstances had me thinking in another direction. Small, little impromptu rant here. Please bear with me.

I look around me and see so many people pretending to be what they are not. Ugly pouting, teens flashing skin in dresses that women twice their age should be wearing, people lying about their real selves, real lives, men trying a little too hard, the management going slightly overboard in their efforts to please, those speeches written carefully to make the workers at the bottom rung feel better about being overworked and under appreciated, the slightly forced smiles, the putting on of airs .... The list goes on.

Why aren't we just honest?

When the best friend shows up like candy floss, ain't it our duty to tell her rather than sparing her feelings rather than attracting comment from someone who will not care about her feelings? Why would you make 'friends' only to ensure that you had something to do during the weekends and to get invited to all the house parties? Why all the hugging and the kissing and the love, when all you really want is company for when your boyfriend/girlfriend is not around? Why lie about the cost of those shoes/handbags/whatevernot? Why spend so much money on branded clothes just so that you can talk about it in front of your friends? Why bother turning up at birthdays when you don't have five minutes to record a message for the birthday girl? (Not talking about myself, btw :P)

I'm not asking anyone to be rude, I understand that for people to get along, you also need to be mature enough to suck it up and deal with it sometimes. But those white lies. 

So you start with one small fake-ry. Then to cover that up you have to make up a back story. With that comes an attitude that no one really buys. After that comes the flurry of white lies to make the story sound authentic.... It is a cycle, really. One that doesn't fool anyone at the end of the day.

It is almost like lying. Wait. It IS lying.

I might not be a lot of things and God knows that I am flawed as much or more than anyone else but one thing I can proudly say is that I have never faked any emotion, compliment or action of mine. Or anything else for that matter. Though I have had this girl say that the person I claim to be on the blog is not the real person that I am, making me question myself, I am convinced, the more people I meet, the more life makes me experience, that I do not have it in me to fake it. With me, what you see is what you get. While most of the time that works against me, I can safely make statements like this on my blog and rest in peace that I write only what I believe in, that I live my beliefs.

I firmly believe in the policy of living and letting others live. Every philosophy and principle of mine has roots in that one policy. But when you see people faking everything right down to their very existence, trying to convince themselves that their opinions and tastes are superior, their lives itself are superior (in comparison to I-don't-know-what) I wonder if I should lose it to the frustration I feel or switch to ascetic mode (which a lot of people have suggested but for the dragon with the temper that I am, it is very close to impossible).

Has it really come to this?

I still haven't found out the secret to dealing with fakes.
Have you?

Smitten....

You know you are a greedy child. You want all the love and all the warmth and you know you don’t want to share.

You can hear him humming in the washroom, almost picture him dancing in the shower with the shampoo bottle for a mike and you smile even when you are half asleep. When he comes out, he tells you to wake up and plays “All of me, loves all of you”. Not that you specifically love the song but you like how he gets to the ‘all your curves and edges…” bit and looks at your face with feeling. You smile dismissively and cuddle into the covers till it’s a tangle of fair arms, dark legs, stubble and pink-tipped nails but…

… You know you are a greedy child, a greedy child who wants a few more moments of the quiet and cozy and John Legend crooning voice even when running late. 

You are chattering away, in the middle of animated conversation about your favorite topic and all your friends laughing at your jokes but you still want his undivided attention when you are around. And you throw a make-believe fit. And he knows that it’s a make-believe fit. He puts up with all the teasing that your friends put him through with that smile on his face, all because of the undivided attention that he gives you, and mouths ‘I love you’ secretly right before leaving. You don’t reply because you want your friends to think you are the cool one, the one who doesn’t obsess over the boyfriend but….

… You know you are a greedy child, a greedy child who loves that he loves you and secretly prays that he never becomes un-smitten. 

You bang on the door when he’s busy with something else, demanding that he deem your new dress pretty.  He ‘hmmms’ you first and then quickly snaps out of his reverie knowing that you’ll pout at his distractedness. He feels the silken hem and runs his hands over the fitted waist all the way to the lace trim at the shoulder, conveying how sexy he thinks you look without words, without even glances. He finds the perfect balance to deal with your constant switches between the child you want to be and the woman you really are. You never make a big deal out of how much he spoils you, you tell him it’s his duty, that it is the price he pays to be with the awesomeness that is you but..

…  You are secretly doing the happy dance because you are a greedy child, a greedy child who is glad to have someone do all the things you have always wanted Prince Charming to do but is too independent and grown-up to actually say it out loud. 

You know you are a greedy child. You want all the love and all the warmth and all the attention but you know you don’t want to share. And here he is giving you all that you wanted. And then some.

Enough to make even you want to share.

P.S: Inspired by this gem.

Traffic 101

So, I have been on the roads since I got my LLR almost a decade back (gosh, I'm old!:O) and what I love about this country and the cities I have ridden in is their complete lack of respect for any kind of traffic rules. That's what makes the roads so organized and driving/riding such a pleasure not to mention a breeze for beginners to learn and complete lack of accidents and mishaps. And there are never ever ever EVER any traffic jams anywhere in the country at all, especially not in Mumbai and Bangalore. Hats off to us!!

 

So I'm proceeding to list out a few pointers for all those who drive/ride on any Indian road.

10_ Learn to use the horn. Honk liberally. So what if the signal is red and the person in front is as stuck as you are. SIT ON THE GODDAMN HORN. The louder, the longer, the better. And if someone gives you a dirty look for honking too much, honk straight into their face.

9_ At signals, when you need to turn left, make sure that you inch in from the extreme right, as far away from the turning as possible. And when the light turns green, cut off an entire road full of vehicles to get to the other side.

8_ Bully all vehicles smaller than yours. If you're in a Sumo, edge the Activa guy off the road even when you have space. If you're on an Activa, honk the living daylights out of the cyclist and give him a very disgusted look as you pass by. He has no right, riding that piece of junk in this motorized world.

7_ Women drivers/riders are the best in the world. Maa kasam. And the entire world is on our side; nobody checks our licenses, we can drive/ride exactly as we please, overtake left right and centre, road rules gaye bhaad main and all that we need to get out of trouble is a few tears, heartfelt apologies and eye flutters, we can get away with even killing the black buck.

6_ NEVER ever let the other guy pass. Who cares if you have space enough for an elephant to perform a ballet, its a matter of your pride that you don't let him pass. Sonofabitch can wait for his wife's delivery.

5_ Don't bother investing in a helmet; why waste 800 odd bucks (that too for cheap ones) for one bulky, ugly helmet just to mess up your perfect hair. Ensuring that your perm or gelling remains intact is more important than preventing your brains from being splattered.

4_ Take off all the rear view mirrors on your vehicle, they are pretty useless anyway and don't really add to the sleek look, especially if its a bike.

3_ Always, ALWAYS overtake other vehicles as per your convenience. You own the road, have that confidence in your heart as you overtake that stupid car from the left as the bus overtakes him from the right. Or, you could yourself one better and overtake on ghat roads or hair pin bends at high speed as well. Like they say, speed thrills.

2_ In a traffic jam, compete with 25 other people to be the first to get out of there. Doesn't really matter that if you hold on for another five minutes, the entire jam itself can be sorted out - you HAVE to be the first one to leave, no matter what.

1_ And my personal favorite - When an ambulance has its lights on and is wailing, do NOT, I repeat, do NOT let it pass under any circumstances. You getting to the movies on time is more important than the guy within who's losing brain and body function. But if the ambulance somehow does manage to sneak past you, ensure that you stay right behind it and let it clear the traffic for you, because there are some morons on the road who'll actually let the ambulance pass. HAHA, the fools.

And as much as possible, be high, one way or the other, when you drive. Enhances your driving skills.

P.S: I think now that, if I die prematurely, it might just not be of over indulgence but because my BP will spike causing a heart attack when I'm shaking my fist at someone who doesn't give a flying fuck about road rules which exist for a reason. 

 P.P.S: Please get the sarcasm, it all sounds very wrong if you don't get the sarcasm. 

 

Me. An Average Indian.

The alarm goes off and, instinctively, I hit snooze. Few more minutes of my time are not going to make a difference in Suresh Sir’s life, is it? His client can wait, I need my beauty sleep.

I brush my teeth and my half closed eyes catch sight of the price on the paste carton. WHAT?! My mind awakens instantly, HE CHARGED ME THREE WHOLE RUPEES OVER THE MRP?! How dare he, I’m never shopping there again. And then I feel a lapse inside myself as I think whatever, it’s just three rupees, what value does it have these days, anyway. Plus, the shop is so convenient….

As I make the coffee, I throw the banana peel into dustbin…. Curse, when it missed it by a few inches. Ah well, the maid will come in soon, it’s her job anyway.

The milkman calls out. I go outside to get my milk, absent mindedly throwing the dirty water in the vessel on the neighbor’s wall. Oops, she just whitewashed it… maybe she won’t notice.

I smell the fresh newsprint, like I always do, and sip the bitter brew while scanning the headlines. “BABY FALAK DIES OF CARDIAC ARREST”. My eyes moisten for a second, I’d been following the story for some time now. No human being deserves what was done to her… much less a baby, I thought.  I read the rest of the story on page 10…. The advertisement on the side caught my eye. “NEW FOR OLD OFFER”. My thoughts wander…. maybe I should exchange my old laptop and the mixer for that new Inspiron I saw the other day… So sleek, so cool it was… Maybe…

Local elections are on; I snigger at the uselessness of the whole system and wonder where my Voter’s ID is. I proudly proclaim to all and sundry that I don’t vote. What’s the point? Nothing’s going to change.

I dress and head out, I’m already late. I curse the lights for turning red at that precise moment and tap my foot impatiently on the kerb. The boy comes to me with wide, brown eyes and a dirty, dirty face. He has the face of a golden retriever with honesty, cuteness and helpless abandon writ all over him. My will hiccups as I pull out a ten-rupee note... he looks like he should be my niece’s classmate. Which reminds me, I HAVE to get her that HP limited edition set she’s been begging for since January…. Doesn’t matter if it costs half my salary, she is my princess, who else will spoil her?

I huff into my office and snap at the attendant for delaying the lift. He bows his head and mutters an apology. So what if he can’t walk? He’s paid to operate the lifts, he can do at least that efficiently. Loafer, kahin ka.

I start getting calls almost as soon as I log in. I put my headset on Good morning, this is xxx customer care, how may I help you? I deliver in my best chirpy voice. The customer is having trouble checking his balance and I wonder what rock he lives under to not know even that much in this day and age. I check records, he lives in Vanaprastha Home. Ugh, why don’t his children take care of him? At least I won’t have stupid old men asking me foolish questions first thing in the morning.

I saunter in after my long, lazy lunch. Though I wish I hadn’t taken Sumeeta with me; thanks to her I spent the better part of three hours listening to how her baby’s smile was magical.
The boss isn’t in yet. There’s a commotion outside his office. I walk up to Arjun’s cabin and ask what’s going on. Suresh Bansal had a heart attack early in the morning, he is stable now but under observation.

Involuntarily, my mind thinks will they give us a day off?!! I shake off the hope and tch, tch with the rest.

Payday! I pack my bag at 5 hoping the TL will let me leave early and check my account to find the salary credited. Wooohooooo! Shopping spree. My board lights up but I ignore them, say I’m done. White lies don’t matter..... everybody lies anyway.

I reach home with a lighter wallet but a happy heart. The neighbours were fighting again. I heard her scream once and everything was silent. Who am I to interfere, I think. Their domestic issues.

I cook and I eat in candle light, thinking about the day. I can’t finish the bowl of rice and I walk out to the overflowing street dustbins. The stray looks at me with longing eyes; wagging his pitiful tail. The action makes his bones stick out even more. Ugh, such a dirty animal. If I feed him now, he’ll expect the same every day. I dump the bowl into the dustbin and shoo him away.

I do the laundry, I brush my teeth and I fall asleep.

---

I am an average Indian. I live in a Metropolitan city. I eat. I live.

I tch, tch about an honor killing, like/share a Facebook page and lend my support by posting a picture of me in a black dress to proclaim my protest.

I love my own religion, all other Gods are irrelevant.
I love my own State, every other State and its people are backward, dirty and talk funny.

I will isolate that ‘loose’ girl even if I have secretly spent nights in my boyfriend’s apartment.

I refuse to do any work that is beyond the scope of my duties, I refuse to help others even if it is within my ability. What if it rebounds on me?

I will call Keenan and Reuben stupid inwardly for interfering unnecessarily. I will say the rape victim got what she deserved.

I am indifferent.

To everything that doesn’t affect me directly.

To everyone I have no reason to care about.

from dweebness.wordpress.com

It’s time to change. 

 http://ohmenver.tumblr.com/post/12916269499

This might be just another post for a contest on Indiblogger.  And yes, I do have my eyes set on the prizes, as well (proving that, well, I'm every bit as indifferent as portrayed). But the sentiment is one that I have been wanting to voice for some time now. Thank you, Stayfree India, for prodding me into posting this. 

If this makes even one person take that little extra effort to feed a dog with leftovers or contribute ten rupees to a child's education or vote compulsorily at the next elections, rather than being indifferent, I shall consider the post to have been a quality addition to my life.

The views expressed in the post are my own and I take full responsibility for them. It is not my intention to hurt any sentiments, feel free to disagree. But do allow me to exercise my freedom of thought, opinion and speech.

Crumbs...

I just stand there, restricting my person to a side for I did not want to make ripples in the flow. They swarm like bees around me… walking in their own chosen groups, sometimes even alone.

They all afford me only passing glances, some direct, some surreptitious… I’m nothing to them, just one more in the shifting crowd that rarely looks at a face a second time. To them I’m just another girl in an ordinary kurta and scuffed jeans with a lot of baggage, boredom clearly coloring my tired features as I wait for my ride. They pass me by from all directions; each lost in their own world, each with their own pressing worries, problems, needs and lives.

It amazes me, the sheer volume.

I spot patterns… The mother with the toddler who screams for a cheap balloon; she is helpless as her explanations about his father getting him a ‘better’ toy fall on deaf ears. Why? The child does not comprehend the divide or the difference between himself and his scrawny, unkempt contemporary who forces me to buy safety pins so he can buy a balloon from the unrelenting seller who knows no charity.

I also notice the young couple on the way home. How do I know they aren’t married? I can see dreams of a union in both their eyes, distant but shimmery and very real. A pang shoots through me as does a silent prayer to The Puppeteer to keep them happy. After he carefully puts the last golguppa in her waiting mouth handing her his pristine white hanky while reaching for his wallet to pay the nonchalant vendor. Her implicit trust in him is palpable as is his iron belief in what they have together; he never once lets go of her hand in the crushing crowd. At least not until they flit out of my horizon along with a countless others. My mind wanders to another couple… I wonder how things are with them.

I see the groups of friends. They are almost always disjointed for one of them almost certainly has an unresolved tiff with another. And one of the girls has always fallen for the wrong guy. But they always skim over the surface and pretend the under currents don’t exist for they are at a place where independence rules their heads and responsibility rears its ugly head from the near future.

Then there are the families. The father tries really hard to control his women from running amok among the silks and stones that beckon them from the grandiose show windows. He shudders visibly at the thought of this bank balance depleting before he can say ‘card swipe’.

It’s like I can almost hear their voices…

“Damn, this is expensive… But I want this so bad!”
“My feet hurt like crazy but she doesn’t seem to want to stop…”
“I don’t remember if I switched off the gas, should I call Lalitha and ask her to check?”
“Ugh, drivers today have no ethics, why the hell did that ass overtake from the right!”
“This is half my savings! But maybe tonight she will….”

“I can’t do this anymore. I’m going to make it stop. I want to end this existence”

Is it what I think it is?! Stunned, I spin around to see who that thought had emanated from. What I expected to see, I don’t know, but a sea of human bees buzz back at me… the voice I heard lost among their million voices. I take a few steps in the direction I think the thought came from – for what, I don't know. Maybe I can help alleviate the depression that surrounds her life with a few of my own sob stories… make her realize that other people have worse problems than whatever demons she faces. If nothing, I can tell her she isn’t alone. This was not the answer. But the voice, the thought, is already lost to me.

The signal changes and my ride chooses that precise moment to arrive. “Get on. Fast. The traffic police will give me an unnecessary ticket if I park here,” she says, urgently. I hesitate, still hoping I could spot The Voice. I reluctantly swing a foot over the seat, never once taking my eyes of the crowd; I had some weird notion that I will recognize her even though I had not seen her. As we blend in with the traffic, I keep scanning the faces all the way till the sidewalk ends and then some.

But sometimes, search as one might, you never find what you’re looking for, for some things in the Universe are to be left alone.

I really didn’t want her to be alone, though. I really hope she is okay.

Marveling The Miracle Called Humanity #1

I was coming back home for the holidays by the very same public transport I was harping about earlier. I didn't get the window seat, there was this girl who looked slightly older than me resting her skinny behind on it... She didn't ask me where I'm going, what I'm doing.. so she seemed ok.

Lo and behold, she struck up a conversation about the lecher standing near the next seat who was looking down the lady's blouse; as we bonded over our mutual frenemy, men, her phone rang.

*whythiskolaverikolaverikolaveridi* 

(I have issues with the song, which I will force you to read about next time, when the furore has died out and you have just begun forgetting it:P)

I should have prayed to become temporarily deaf then.

She looked quizzically at the screen and then picked the call up.

This is the one-sided conversation I eavesdropped heard.

Hello!

Who's this?

I don't know... Oh ok, ok.

From where?

Yes, yes.

Vijaya.

Yes, Krishnammal ya, studying economics (that's the name of a college here, yes)

No, final year. 

Oh yeah? Nice.

Yes, it's Vijaya The Adorable on Orkut (#?!), the picture is Anushka Shetty.

Ah in Singam no? Yes, that pink saree one no? That only I have as picture da.

Oh ok k. You attend college fests and all ah?

No, no. Line is disturbance. I ask if you participating in college fests ah?

Fine. So whats up?

*giggles*

Not that da. Tell properly... don't say fan and all now.

Really? Don't simply put kadalai (kadalai = flirting #tamilgyan)

*giggles again*

Ok seri seri, my voice is sweet wonly, don't get angry.

No, in bus. 

70D.

Goes through PT colony no...

Ya, ya. Third house.

Pink. Brown windows and all.

No, not my choice, I like wonly white and black.

*giggles yet again* 

*mock anger*

My life is very colorful ya. You don't have to make it more and all.

Okay, okay.

Seri da. Bye. We will talk some other time da. 

Take care ya.

The she turned to me and said casually, 

"Wrong number tholla thanga mudiyale..." (Wrong numbers are very irritating)

?!@#%^

Is it me who's been rude all this time or do any of you give out most of your personal details to wrong numbers?

P.S: Most of the originality in the Blogger world jumped out of the window, landed on the pavement forty feet below, twitched twice and died a very painful death *sigh*

Theatre Goers - A Case Study

As a human being of the 21^st century who is economically okay-ish enough to have some form of a computer + a decent net connection and literacy enough to be reading and writing blogs, I think it’s a safe assumption to make that you, Mr. /Ms. /Mrs. Reader, have gone to the movies and watched your favorite hero spread his arms/take his shirt off/deliver dialogues at Wile E. Coyotespeed.

You have been charmed (or not) by dialogues the likes of “Dawaon ki nahi, duaon ki zaroorat hai” and “Yeh shaadi kabhi nahi ho sakti!”

You have paid anywhere between 80 to 500 INR to see people prance around trees, heroines play teachers while wearing a bikini blouse (which flies off her shoulder every 4^th second), goondas beat up a non-damageable hero and witnessed miracles in the form of non-extinguishable diyas (lamps) and come off with a smile after the unsahikable (unbearable) amounts of first class entertainment you got treated to.

Hold your horses, this is not another RA.ONE review (which might be bleh but SRK still is awesome, but we’ll abuse each other on that in another post).

I’m talking about the awesomeness of theaters. No takers? Oh come on.

One of my hobbies is people watching. No, it’s not a new hobby that I just added because suddenly everybody seems to love people watching (makes me wonder if the girl I’m ‘watching’ is ‘watching’ me back because that would just be creepy). I have unconsciously watched people for years now and most of the stories (in my head and on the blog) are inspired by people around me, characters I have picked up on train journeys, buses, while shopping, malls, public toilets (yes!) and even KFC.

I digress.

The point being that when I go to watch a movie in a theatre (which is kinda rare because I’m a lazy, spoilt ass who prefers watching movies on her laptop because she can skip the songs, fast forward the heroines cleavage show and watch the whole thing in 1.5x mode just because it’s fun to see them scuttle around that fast:P), I spend more time watching the movie-goers, the people. Waste of money, you say? Nope, it’s far more entertaining than the Saif Ali Khan Pataudi (a title which I’m entirely sure weighs heavy on his rather empty head) doing bhangra to impress his shy(?) yet-to-be beau, to say the least.

Anyway, I have endeavored to classify a few types of theatre goers:

1) The newlyweds: Self-explanatory. They are a dying breed, ones that say ‘chal picture dekte hain’ as a form of bonding after an arranged marriage. This trip is one on the list which reads: movie, beach, Khandala... you get the point. The lady is usually highly decorated adorned complete with the red chudiyan (bangles) and the mehendi is still intact. They come, sit there, talk to each other intermittently and then leave. The most de-yaaaawwwwwn-cent ones.

2) The couple with the kid/baby: This is the kind which has the child screaming/bawling at the top of its voice throughout the span of the movie, INCLUDING the interval. It.Just.Never.Stops.Crying.

If you’re the kind who doesn’t like to say anything, after some time, you can actually feel your ears wilt from all the pressure. WILT.

Don’t get me wrong, I love kids. I really do. But I truly believe from the depths of my heart that parenting skills is an art not many people care to learn.  How difficult is it to have a happy baby? (I’m not judging here without any experience, I have a sister who’s 10 years younger than me and I used to babysit her ALL the time) How difficult is it to keep it comfortable and to dress up a BABY in some comfortable clothes and not leggings and a blingy kurta (trust me, I have seen one)? How difficult is it to LEAVE the kid home for he/she is TOO YOUNG to watch a goddamn movie? Why foist your choice on the kid? Why ever?

3) The Couple: Now these can be further divided into three sub-categories-

a) The Barely-Legal Gropers: We all know these kinds, the ones who skip school and college and spend the whole day at the theatre, feeling each other up and leave thinking nobody noticed when they were wriggling around in their seats.

b) The College/Working Couple: They hold each other’s hand throughout, maybe sneak an occasional smooch, thoroughly enjoy themselves, whisper sweet-nothings for solid two and a half hours and yet manage to actually watch the movie and are entirely and completely oblivious to every single soul around.

c) The Older Couple: I strongly suspect they come out of habit than anything else. The wife walks a few steps behind the husband; they bring snacks from home in a tiffin carrier and don’t exchange one single word the whole time except to answer each other’s questions.

(Ironically, they seem to portray three stages of a relationship, don’t they:D)

4) The Fan Males: They are the ones who make business for the theatre owners for they are there almost every day bunking college, purchase the cheapest tickets and dance with their shirts off during the song sequences. More often than not, they are part of fan clubs of actors as well.

5) The Gang Of Girls: The highly dressed up, made-up bunch with their totes and high heels and trademark gum-and-shades-perched-on-head, Sex-and-the-city types, who laugh loudly, whistle to prove they are as koothara (I need help with the translation here) as the guys, make eyes at the hot guys, come back with HUGE Cokes after the interval, comment on every single person around including the guy who tears the stub, and generally leave the aftermath of a ruckus, a faint whiff of Chanel No:5 and Blue Lady and sometimes, a few hard ons.

6) The Office Bunch: Friends from the office, a mixed bunch, watch the movie, have conversations about office ‘chicks’, project deadlines and make ‘bleddy boss’ jokes. Very fun to watch especially if there are two hot girls in the party; the group dynamics sizzle, if you know to read them well:P

7) The Fancy Pants': The rich kids who come in cars and FZ bikes, the ones everybody stares open mouthed; at the bare legs of the girls and at the shades of the guys (they look good with them on; unlike locals who look like a stoned, sun-burnt Mika on a bad hair day or Santhosh Pandit, if you don't know who he is, Google him but at your own risk). They talk loudly, make crass jokes. The most awesome part about this group is that they have SO many good-looking guys ;P 

8) The Mallu Merpeople: Another gang, very similar to the aforementioned. They talk in Malayalam about the ‘pandis’ not knowing that Malayalam is not undecipherable to the locals and unaware of the glares of those who do understand. And they usually get a lot of puffs and samosas rather than popcorn.

And hence I conclude, leaving to your interpretation the rest of the types. Next time you head over to the multiplex, watch.

P.S: I have linked relevant pictures for my non-Indian readers like Hazel and Mark, this is our Bollywood in all its glory for you guys and we are SO proud of them despite the jokes:D

P.P.S: In spite of all the snide comments I make, I’m a sucker for movies, English AND Hindi.

P.P.S.S: Does anybody know how to kick a corporate’s ass? Reliance, to be specific.

P.P.P.S.S: I skipped a Monday Pitch and The Month That Was in honor of the birthday post, nobody noticed? Boo-hoo.

15 Day Challenge: Day 10

A Place That Gives Me Wanderlust

Picking one place would be blasphemous for me: like any true Arian, I want to spend my life and a fortune in travelling everywhere from the sun-kissed beaches of Florida, the tiny pizzerias near Sorronto to our own Janpat, Delhi, Chowpatty in aamchi Mumbai, the ice-floats of Reykjavik, the dark jungles of Central Africa and the fierce deserts of Queensland and New South Wales. Sigh, if only it were that simple.


The bug bit me when I was doing a travel assignment: I had to prepare an itinerary for a person travelling around the world, touching every country and visiting at least fives tourist places in each one. As you can imagine, it was a HUGE amount of work, but the best part was that I enjoyed every, single, tiny bit of it. I have never had more fun collecting pictures, making route maps, deciding on the spots and the rest of the whole deal. I fell in love with the world and wanderlust had my heart in its steely grip. 


That was also when I promised myself I would somehow, someday go visit at least a third of those places in my lifetime. 

Anyway, one place that gives me an urge to damn the rest of the world to the Devil and just take off is South Africa. Grandpa, Discovery and NatGeo have done their duties very well indeed: the images of the powerful black panther, slinking just beyond eyereach, the colorfully eerie tribal dances, the tongue-click that is part of African names and the strange accents, all haunt my dreams. So much to do, so much to see. Night safaris with the lions' eyes gleaming in the headlights, gazelle running, or rather flying, past, the deserts of scorching days and icy nights, the people engulfed by poverty, death and disease yet a part of a culture so intricately woven into their lives that they come second only to my own, the scores of rapids that take you right into the heart of mysterious Africa.... I can go on. 

Not even the most enlightened man on Earth can dare say that he has understood Africa in it's entirety. 


The craving was only stoked into a raging fire by Williard Price's Hal and Roger Hunt series, Joy Adams' Born Free and Living Free, innumerable magazines, documentaries, the FIFA '10 and Shakira (Waka, waka).


And for SA, wanderlust is an understatement.   


10 down, 5 to go:)