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.

From Diapers To Diaphragms

When I was 8,

1) I thought the lights in the horizon was America.
2) I thought Santa Claus was Amma and wondered how she had time to deliver presents all over the world.
3) I wanted warm scones and jam from the tea-shop the Five Find-Outers and Dog went to.
4) I liked falling sick for I loved the attention. Unfortunately (for me) or fortunately (for Amma), I almost never did.
5) I used to love breakfast. I never skipped it and I always looked forward to it.
6) Coffee made me scrunch my face up in disgust and milk was manna.
7) I longed to have very, very long hair that I could practice intricate braids on.
8) I thought having a boyfriend and kissing him was disgusting and weird.
9) I dreamt of being a rockstar where I was on stage and there were millions of adoring fans screaming for more.
10) I didn't like people who said they hate books.
11) 'Shit' was the worst 'bad-word' you could use (because Grandma gave me a trouncing I'll never forget).
12) I hated the word 'opportunity' for I got 99/100 because I spelt it wrong and resulting-ly lost out on the first rank.
13) I always thought I'd migrate to London for my studies and stay there. Why? I don't know.
14) I didn't like Penelope Pitstop or All Star Laff-A-Lympics, secretly loved Dexter and openly adored Scooby Doo, Disney Hour and Johnny Quest.
15) Babies annoyed me and I loved cookies more than chocolate.
16) I thought brushing my teeth with Rin soap would make them whiter.

Now, that I'm 21

1) I know it's geographically impossible to see America, in parts or as a whole, unless I'm flying over it in a plane.
2) I know Santa Claus doesn't exist except in my irrational hope that he'd get me that Silk Epil from Braun this Christmas.
3) I still do. Even the mention of them takes me to a happy place.
4) I still do :P What can I say, I love it when Amma fusses over me:D
5) The day I have breakfast is when the crow decides to fly upside down.
6) Milk = Egh. Coffee = Life.
7) One, I love well-maintained long hair on other people. Two, I hate normal braids and the damage they do to my hair when I try.
8) Ah well, I can't hate a guy I'm going to marry someday, can I?:P
9) I get uncomfortable and iffy when more than one person looks straight at me.
10) I detest depise pity people who say they hate books.
11) 'Shit' is almost equivalent to 'Hi' and 'Good morning' and a whole new dimension has been added to my vocabulary, over the years, which would give Grandma a stroke if she even had an inkling :D
12) 99/100 is, like, freakishly nerdy. And supercalifragilisticexpialidocious is what I can't spell now.
13) I study right here, in Coimbatore. And London seems as nearby as the moon.
14) It's been ages since I watched ANY of those.
15) Babies turn me to mush like NOTHING else can and life would be meaningless without chocolate.
16) YUCK. What, in fuck's sake, was I thinking?!

Life makes you cynical, the opposite of what you were and mostly grown up.
Don't you think?

P.S: The post has nothing to do with diaphragms but I needed something to go with diapers and that's the only thing I could think of:P
P.P.S: Comments are disabled on the previous post. Sorry.
P.P.S.S: Don't you just LOVE the first picture? Just..LOVE.

Unfinished, Incomplete, Unspoken...

I’m getting married, I thought as I twirled the engagement ring around on my finger.

I looked at him from across the room, making lame jokes with Pappa, both of them trying not to feel out of sorts and I only saw the cute boy I fell head-over-butt-over-heels* for in the first year of college. Nitin had grown up, I smiled at the thought.

Nobody had expected us to last a month; when we did until the end of college, they said marriage was out of question. Now here we are, the very same people, wishing me all the joy in the world and checking out my jewellery, promising that they’d come for the wedding.

He was the one who made it work, though. I gave myself no credit for the volatile, moody, opinionated, ambitious, idealistic brat I was. But he’d proved time and again that he was here to stay, take all the shit I threw his way, make me hurt for the very same shit and keep me grounded. Nitin was the one who came home and asked Pappa for his daughter’s hand, true old world style. He was the one who put up with the whiplash tongue of Mummy’s when she riddled him with questions about her eldest daughter’s future. He was also the one who never let me go once during the whole time I’d gone to meet his parents.

He still held my hand while crossing the road, bought me golguppas from the ‘unhygienic’ stalls and never came to see me without a Crackle and a brand new book. Ever.

Yes, I’d gotten lucky. So very lucky.

But it still nagged me. Nagged me like a tiny worm in the apple, at the corner of her heart. Nagged me that I still dreamt, thought about him. Sometimes. Maybe it was just the incompleteness of it all; it ate away at my happiness, in wee little bits.

I hated myself for it and knew that Nitin would be infinitely sad if he knew about this – it was the only secret I had from him. Only.

***

I got down from the bus and tied my hair into a messy ponytail before hauling the backpack on. I stood there for a minute, a full minute, questioning my sanity. But this was something I’d meant to do for a full eight years now.

Firming my resolve, I took out my phone and dialed.

“Hello?”

“Hey.” I tried to keep the automatic smile out of my voice.

“Who’s this?”

“Does Fernandez ring a bell?”

“Fernandez!! Long time, dude. Whaddap with you? New number?”

“Yeah, Bangalorewala”

“You are in Bangalore? Where? For how long?”

“Just for the weekend.”

“Business or pleasure? Is naacheez se milne ka koi iraada hai kya?”

“Btw, you remember you owe me something? I’ve come to collect, Mr. Naacheez.”

“The ride?! You still remember?” His deep throaty laugh sounded at the other end.

“YOU still remember. I’m surprised, Shiv. Very surprised”

“I don’t say things aiway, Ms. Nina Fernandez. When are you coming to collect?”

“Now?”

“Now?! Didn’t you just get here?”

I didn’t say anything.

“Where exactly are you?”

“Next to the bus stand, in front of a Wills Lifestyle showroom.”

“Don’t move. Bye.”

 My hands shook slightly as I put the phone away. Now there was no looking back, he was coming. I brushed off thoughts about Nitin and steeled my will.

***

Damn, I’d forgotten how handsome he was. Devilishly hot – a term he redefined. Right from those beautiful, commanding eyes that had first drawn her gaze to him, and held, to the floppy hair that still was floppy to his impeccable sense of dressing that made him swoon-worthy. The trademark smirk was already in place by the time he parked his Avenger in front of me, “Hellloo, Nina. Long time… too long I should say” and gave me the Once-Over.

“Uh hmm… You look exactly the same as in college, you know?” was all I could manage without making a fool of myself.

“And you look faaaiyyyn, girl. Planning for a wedding suits you, I suppose,” he said with a wink.

“Shameless, still,” I quipped with a genuine grin this time. “Are we going to stand here talking all day?”

“What’s stopping you from getting on,” he came back. “Where do you wanna go?”

“Surprise me.”

So I got onto to the bike and held on for dear life while he weaved in an out of traffic like he was born on a bike.

***

We sat on the cliff top munching away at the channa he’d got for us.

“So what does it feel like? Getting married and all?”

“I don’t know, honestly. I’m kinda numb now, waiting for it to hit me still…”

“Isn’t this what you have been wanting to happen since you got together with that Douchebag?”

“He doesn’t like you either, so I let that slide.” I huffed.

“Yeah, well, I’ll never forgive him for stealing you away”

I looked at him startled, sure that he was kidding.

He’d never said anything like this before, not in all these years of intermittent contact, the occasional texts and the very, very rare calls. Nothing to indicate he’d ever considered even going out with me.

Not that it would have made a difference, though.

He was looking at the sunset which was apparently far more interesting that my flabbergasted face. “Oh, close you mouth, I’m not that good looking alright?”

It was all I could to not hit him. “Jackass” I murmured.

A few moments of silence and he turned and looked at me, “You never knew?”

“Knew what?”

“That I broke up with Anagha because of you?”

“What?!”

“She caught me staring at you one time too many…”

I was lost for words; I sat there with my mouth open for the second time.

“Stop looking like an adorably brainless goldfish and get your tush up, it’s time to go.”

We got up and made our way to the bike and he took me back to the bus station like a good little boy, I didn’t have to pray this time.

“Chalo bye, I don’t think I’ll make it to the wedding, but do NOT cut the cake at the reception until I get there or there’ll be hell to pay, Miss Fernandez.”

And he kissed me.

The world didn’t stop, the skies didn’t fall down but I felt it with every frayed nerve ending. It was over before I could even start processing it for what it was.

“For old times’ sake. For old flames sake. You take care”

And he rode off. Ironically, into the sunset.

“If you were single when I met you. Or if I were single when you met me.

Maybe things would have been different.

A story that ended before it even started.”

* expression copyright Varun Nanda

P.S: Viya, I kept thinking of you while writing this, I have NO clue why:)


Edit: It is ENTIRELY fiction. Resemblance to living characters is not regretted though. 
Bangaloreans, please excuse my poor knowledge of the city as well.

An Ode To A Best Friend

There were once two little girls who drew on classroom walls and invented a ‘computer language’ that only they could understand.

One bit the other during a fight, made herself the butt of all ‘teeth’ and ‘dog’ related jokes for years to come and it was the start of something called friendship.

One had an irascibly know-it-all attitude and the other, an inevitably bad haircut.

They tried recruiting members for their ‘club’ and when everybody called them crazy, they moped.

They grew up ten minutes away from each other. They argued over who’d marry Rahul Dravid and bonded over Jassi Jaisi Koi Nahin’s Armaan, Rahul Dravid and WWE.

F.R.I.E.N.D.S fanatics, they became. ‘Dog’ biscuits, they ate. ‘Evan’, ‘Conner’, they crushed on. School was a blur of nonsense, long walks & talks and secret meetings at one’s place.

Same obsessions, same loves, same pains. But two entirely different people.

One knew what the other was thinking and they smirked at everything in perfect tandem.

They wrote letters to each other about the five hours they spent apart and laughed about it the next day.

Bhajans they attended, dances they performed, called each other five times a day (they dialed each other’s numbers on auto-pilot every time they picked up the phone).

They started blogs and blogged about utter nonsense. They went to lame farewells and still had fun.

One fell in love with an entirely wrong person and the other picked up the pieces. One had sense to limit the damage and the other was, predictably, an idiot.

Then they grew up.

The secret visits dwindled. The dreamer chose the dreamy life and the practical one, the proper one.

They made other friends, lived separate lives.

The bond dissipated. They no longer knew what the other was thinking.

They ran out of things to talk about.

Their beliefs changed. Their crushes did too.

WWE and SOC lay forgotten in the deep recesses of their hearts.

Today, they stand at different places, looking in different directions, wanting entirely different things from life.

One doesn't miss anything else from her old life except the girl who understood her better than her own mother.

And she is scared that the old bond is gone forever and a part of her childhood that she cherishes the most, is lost in the sands of time. The worst part is that she knows she has no one else to blame but herself.

Gayathri Chandrashekaran, whatever happens to us, you will always be my first best friend and you’ll always be special.

I love you. And I miss you.
Are we still on for the world tour?

ChickLits... Aargh.

I have been feeling a little guilty this past month, since all my free time has been directed towards writing and not much towards reading (the original reason I started to write). And hence a hurried visit to the library had me picking up an assortment of books one of which was Isobel's Wedding by Sheila O'Flanagan. I fell for the pretty chick on the cover and the blurb at the back. 

Looked like a chick-lit, read like a chick-lit and felt like a chick-lit. 

The back cover read:
Four hundred and twenty pearls hand-sewn on to the wedding dress. The Mediterranean honeymoon booked for months. A pile of presents bigger than the Everest. And her lovely Tim, with his jet-black hair and navy-blue eyes, the most perfect bridegroom a girl could wish for. Except, two weeks before the wedding, he changes his mind... Isobel's wedding is off. Her world in tatters, Isobel turns to Spain, a new job, a new life, and as many men as she can decently manage. But part of her knows she has to go back home some day. And that, despite all that happened since she left, she still has unfinished business...


...BULLshit.


Not that I have anything against chick-lits (am I saying chick-lit too many times?:P). They are good timepass when you are sitting in a bus, bored to death of staring at people and your ear phones have decided to go on a holiday. They are light, easy-on-the-brain and mostly fun (if you can ignore the wafer-thin plots). They don't masquerade as something that they aren't either. Literature written by women for women about (what they perceive to be) women. As simple as that. I have even enjoyed some chick-lits like Something Borrowed by Emily Giffin and such.


But this? This is 600 pages (599 to be exact) of pure rant. Granted that even rant can make sense and be fun (Like Poulomi Das's random rants:P) but this.. *shudders* First it's agonizing over the dumping. Then it's agonizing over the break up. Then it's agonizing over going abroad. Then about sleeping around. Then about the new guy. Then the old one yet again. And the agonizing doesn't stop till the very end. Ms. Flannagan could have wrapped it up in a crisp 250 pages and made life easier for everyone concerned.


Apart from wasting one whole day of my life (I have the unfortunate habits of not resting till I finish a book and not leaving ANY book incomplete, however boring it might be), I gained nada from this book, not even a new word to my vocabulary*sigh* The best part? *note the sarcasm* It is supposed to be 'The Number One Bestseller". Wow. 
It also made me wonder if we, women, are like that in a relationship... over-analyzing everything, clingy and weak-minded. I hope not *shudders again*


And we wonder what guys/men have against chick-lits and why chick-lit authors are not take that seriously. 


Moral of The Story: Next time you reach out for a chick-lit (for alleviating-boredom purposes only) make sure it has no more than 300 pages, max.


In other news, I have been selected (YAY!) to review Love On The Rocks by Ismita Tandon Dhanker by BlogAdda. I haven't been big on Indian authors (except Chetan Bhagat, of course) and I can't wait to change that. The plot sounds interesting, looking forward to the read. 

15 Day Challenge: Day 8

Something I wish I hadn’t done in my life

I thought long and hard.

But came up with zilch.

Even the really crappy parts, the bitterest moments, most pathetic of decisions and the saddest of events, which I hated then, have all worked out well in the long run. Though there have been plenty of times when I have asked 'Why me?' very melodramatically, God has given me enough perspective to look around and feel happy that I have been blessed with so much more than a lot of others. 

Having no regrets, even about the worst mistakes I have made, is how I remain sane in the midst of all He doles out.

It's how I go on in life.

8 down, 7 more to go:)