With a cup of cold ‘kaapi’ to beat the sweltering heat in Bombay, my mind churns along with the air conditioner and with the conversation I had earlier in the day with my mother’s family friend who came to visit us today.
Draped in the colours of a widow; sporting a short, rather funky for her age, haircut and with wrinkled fingers, protectively holding on to her peg of whisky; I mistook her for someone with modern ideologies until the following words spilled out from her mouth and washed away all the new found respect I had for a woman, who proudly lives independently, in a remote city, half way across the country, at the age of 77.
“Darling! You have a MBA degree. Do you know other such educated, ‘ripe’ Bengali girls for a possible match for my grandson?”
I choked on the water I was drinking, as I processed the question. What proceeded was my face producing its unique smile and I replied with a firm 'NO'. No ‘ripe’ friend of mine is coming anywhere near her pansy grandson who gets his grandmother to be his life partner pimp. I was about to retort with a more subtle but equally rude statement when my mother, being my mother, recognized the afore mentioned smile and quickly changed the topic to marital scandals in the family.
Which, in turn, reminded me of the conversation my aunt wanted to have with me, which she began with ‘Marriage is an institution….’
Shaadi.com; SecondShaadi.com; Marriage Counseling; Self-proclaimed Matchmakers; Horoscope Matching; Matrimonial Advertisements, Pre-nups; Divorce Settlements; Infidelity; Impotency; Wife Beaters; Rapists; Sexless Marriages; Same Sex Marriages; Nagging Mother-in-laws; Child Custody Battles…This unfortunately is what constitutes the institution of Marriage.
What happened to keeping things simple?
Like just loving each other and supporting each other and being companions for the rest of your lives.
I honestly believe in the above mentioned fact. I also believe in one more fact.
‘Hubby-to-be! Keep your mouth shut and your credit card ready!”
:-)
Xoxo
P
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Travails of The Indian Rail
Being the ‘Artful Dodger’ involves hoisting/carrying luggage while squeezing through a sea of human flesh and dodging the occasional sleazy grab/pinch or the elusive pickpocket.
Requiring Potty Training involves having to squat in the train ‘toylate’ perfectly without toppling over or touching ANYTHING which is an art by itself.
Practicing the art of Meditation involves deep breathing, while resisting the urge to kick the talkative, over smart Bihari vomiting his views on the upcoming IPL.
Snapping at the loud, talkative group at 3 AM in the morning.
Being well equipped with a good read, a couple of good movies on the laptop but more importantly Gelusil, Fresh Ones, and Lifebuoy Hand Sanitizer.
Turning a deaf ear to the symphony of snores emitted from the ‘dead-to-the-world’ co passengers.
Super strong stomach muscles helps to keep dismal train food down, while pretending not to notice a co passenger’s protruding, pussing (about to pop out any second and land on the afore mentioned dismal food) horn.
Realizing in astonishment that people still purchase Bollywood movie cassettes.
Trying to remain astonished even though the annoying, leering male co passenger will blast the damn music at the maximum possible decibel that his rather ancient portable player will cough out.
Day dreaming and pretending the lower side berth of the train compartment is a hut complete with a water bottle holder, an electrical socket point and a gigantic window overlooking the beautiful countryside landscapes.
Recollecting that another word for train compartment is also ‘bogey’.
Enjoying the thrill of hopping off onto every obscure station that the train stops at including one that is called ‘Igatpuri’.
Surviving acute and newly acquired hunger pangs by snacking on junk food and proceeding towards complaining of a stomach ache.
Happy (smirk) Journey!
Requiring Potty Training involves having to squat in the train ‘toylate’ perfectly without toppling over or touching ANYTHING which is an art by itself.
Practicing the art of Meditation involves deep breathing, while resisting the urge to kick the talkative, over smart Bihari vomiting his views on the upcoming IPL.
Snapping at the loud, talkative group at 3 AM in the morning.
Being well equipped with a good read, a couple of good movies on the laptop but more importantly Gelusil, Fresh Ones, and Lifebuoy Hand Sanitizer.
Turning a deaf ear to the symphony of snores emitted from the ‘dead-to-the-world’ co passengers.
Super strong stomach muscles helps to keep dismal train food down, while pretending not to notice a co passenger’s protruding, pussing (about to pop out any second and land on the afore mentioned dismal food) horn.
Realizing in astonishment that people still purchase Bollywood movie cassettes.
Trying to remain astonished even though the annoying, leering male co passenger will blast the damn music at the maximum possible decibel that his rather ancient portable player will cough out.
Day dreaming and pretending the lower side berth of the train compartment is a hut complete with a water bottle holder, an electrical socket point and a gigantic window overlooking the beautiful countryside landscapes.
Recollecting that another word for train compartment is also ‘bogey’.
Enjoying the thrill of hopping off onto every obscure station that the train stops at including one that is called ‘Igatpuri’.
Surviving acute and newly acquired hunger pangs by snacking on junk food and proceeding towards complaining of a stomach ache.
Happy (smirk) Journey!
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Oh Calcutta!
You smothered me for 18 years but you knowingly harboured a rebel. The sounds of the Leftist Movement, Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose, the Naxalite Movement and Rabindranath Tagore resonate through you.
Speckled with political graffiti representing anything from propaganda to limericks to witty banter. Adda sessions over ‘cha’ involving the exchange of freestyle intellect. From Para Cricket to Para Pujo.
The dying but resplendent Victoria Memorial. The largest and the oldest Indian Museum. The evergreen Maidan. The ancient Howrah Bridge. The more contemporary Hooghly Bridge. The brave Ganga flowing slowly but surely.
College Street with the notorious Presidency College and the Calcutta University, overrun with used bookstores. A potpourri of literature and text books. The radiant Park Street. The haunt of fine dining and nightlife.
From Satyajit Ray to Aparna Sen. From ‘Goopi Gyne Baaga Byne’ to ‘Chokher Bali’. From Bankim Chandra Chattopadhay to Kazi Nazrul Islam. Lasting impressions forever left in the soul.
From Rabindrasangeeth to Baul. Music to the ears.
The Statesman. The Telegraph. Anandabazar Patrika. Your eternal stalwarts.
The Kolkata Book Fair. The Dover Lane Music Festival. The Kolkata Film Festival. They come to you once a year and leave us gasping for more.
Durga Pujo every waxing moon in the month of ‘Ashwin’. You vibrate with the beats of the ‘dhak’, the priest, always just skin and bones, melodiously reciting mantras and the ‘dhoonuchi naach’ performed by the married women, all within the elaborate ‘pandals’ that are temporarily sprayed all over you. And the ‘bhog’. Food of the Gods. Literally.
Cricket at the proud Eden Gardens with the smell of fish fry and cigarettes lingering in the air. Football in the Maidan with screaming, hard core fanatics. Golf at the Royal Calcutta Golf Club for the old world Calcuttans, peppered with the urban youth. Equestrian Races and Polo matches at the Royal Calcutta Turf Club for the hoity toity as well as the quintessential gamblers.
From Macher Jhol to Rossogolla. From Mishti Doi to the urban Katti Roll. From Mughlai to Momos. From Rahmania to Azad Hind Dhaba (made famous by M.F. Hussain, mind you). From Park Street to Tangra. A gastronomical wonder.
From ‘shari’ clad women with thickly laden ‘shindoor’ on foreheads and red and white bangles clinking on their wrists to opinionated tie-n-dye kurta and ‘dhuti’ clad men with the occasional monkey-cap.
The Bengali belief in homeopathy, Marxism, fish, sweets at every excuse, education and politics palpitating at every corner of every street.
Colloquialisms often heard. ‘Bhadralok’ for gentleman. ‘Dhop’ for stuff and nonsense. ‘Backside’ with reference to behind something. ‘Pleej’ for please.
Founded by Job Charnock, the ‘Land of Kali’, pimpled with trams and the Metro and freckled with black and yellow ambassador taxis, it is in You that I will forever be rooted.
Speckled with political graffiti representing anything from propaganda to limericks to witty banter. Adda sessions over ‘cha’ involving the exchange of freestyle intellect. From Para Cricket to Para Pujo.
The dying but resplendent Victoria Memorial. The largest and the oldest Indian Museum. The evergreen Maidan. The ancient Howrah Bridge. The more contemporary Hooghly Bridge. The brave Ganga flowing slowly but surely.
College Street with the notorious Presidency College and the Calcutta University, overrun with used bookstores. A potpourri of literature and text books. The radiant Park Street. The haunt of fine dining and nightlife.
From Satyajit Ray to Aparna Sen. From ‘Goopi Gyne Baaga Byne’ to ‘Chokher Bali’. From Bankim Chandra Chattopadhay to Kazi Nazrul Islam. Lasting impressions forever left in the soul.
From Rabindrasangeeth to Baul. Music to the ears.
The Statesman. The Telegraph. Anandabazar Patrika. Your eternal stalwarts.
The Kolkata Book Fair. The Dover Lane Music Festival. The Kolkata Film Festival. They come to you once a year and leave us gasping for more.
Durga Pujo every waxing moon in the month of ‘Ashwin’. You vibrate with the beats of the ‘dhak’, the priest, always just skin and bones, melodiously reciting mantras and the ‘dhoonuchi naach’ performed by the married women, all within the elaborate ‘pandals’ that are temporarily sprayed all over you. And the ‘bhog’. Food of the Gods. Literally.
Cricket at the proud Eden Gardens with the smell of fish fry and cigarettes lingering in the air. Football in the Maidan with screaming, hard core fanatics. Golf at the Royal Calcutta Golf Club for the old world Calcuttans, peppered with the urban youth. Equestrian Races and Polo matches at the Royal Calcutta Turf Club for the hoity toity as well as the quintessential gamblers.
From Macher Jhol to Rossogolla. From Mishti Doi to the urban Katti Roll. From Mughlai to Momos. From Rahmania to Azad Hind Dhaba (made famous by M.F. Hussain, mind you). From Park Street to Tangra. A gastronomical wonder.
From ‘shari’ clad women with thickly laden ‘shindoor’ on foreheads and red and white bangles clinking on their wrists to opinionated tie-n-dye kurta and ‘dhuti’ clad men with the occasional monkey-cap.
The Bengali belief in homeopathy, Marxism, fish, sweets at every excuse, education and politics palpitating at every corner of every street.
Colloquialisms often heard. ‘Bhadralok’ for gentleman. ‘Dhop’ for stuff and nonsense. ‘Backside’ with reference to behind something. ‘Pleej’ for please.
Founded by Job Charnock, the ‘Land of Kali’, pimpled with trams and the Metro and freckled with black and yellow ambassador taxis, it is in You that I will forever be rooted.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Empty but Heavy
To,
Those who read the following, let it be known that that this post originates from the depths of a saddened mind and the heaviest of hearts.
Mani – The greatest matriarchal figure I have ever known. The only source of unconditional love I have had the greatest fortune of receiving. My memories of you will always be intertwined with the soft fabric of your creamy white sari; the tinkling of your gold bangles; the shuffle of your rubber chappals; your soft, blue rimmed eyes shining with intelligence and knowledge; the taste of pure love in the crisp ‘Nimkis’, the fluffy ‘Loochis’, the orange sweetness of the ‘Jeelipees’ you made for me; your enthusiasm at my birth, captured forever in old photographs; my only association with a grandfather I never had the chance to get to know better; your 19th century rules and regulations on hygiene that I will never be able to understand; the closest proximity that I have reached to history, that being your presence before the greatest figures of Indian History –Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose and your ability to always know what was going through my mind without even being my own mother. Even though you never lived to receive your ‘putul’, your only earnest wish from me, I’d like you to know that as soon as I can I will fulfill your only request. Today I performed a short ritual for your soul to rest in peace forever but this, I want you to know, will never be the last goodbye. Mani, you will always run through my veins, my very being.
Reuben – Warm, kind, generous and loving. The one with the brightest smile and the most unique giggle that will always ring in my ears. Remember the day we first met, long before AIESEC, in the TT room of your Boat Club apartment? The way you tripped when you saw me and your apologetic smile when we were being introduced? Memories of you will always be associated with your blue and white basketball jersey; the wire rimmed spectacles that always suited your face; bunking college and wandering aimlessly through the city of Madras with the rest of the gang; hours spent in my PG, Breakpoint and ‘My Kinda Place’ and other such inconsistent places; those few weeks we had in Kolkata; conversations with your charming parents and warm sister at Udita; the uncanniness in the similarity of the warmth in your and your family's smiles; heart to hearts with your sister which involved your occasional tid bits; tea on Park Street; driving through the City of Joy with Rolf in your large hearted Zen; cajoling Apache and our last chat on Facebook. I never even had the chance to give you one last hug or even say goodbye. Till I visit you in your final resting place, please accept these words as my hug.
Every time a memory of either of you slips sneakily into my humdrum life, I will ache inside. Forever filled with the regrets of not keeping in touch more or not calling more often or even doing things differently, I will now be able to see through the foolish and shallow world we live in and try and emulate your greatest qualities in order to be the person I want to become.
Love you forever, Mani.
Miss you, Reuben.
From,
A grieving granddaughter.
A stunned friend.
Those who read the following, let it be known that that this post originates from the depths of a saddened mind and the heaviest of hearts.
Mani – The greatest matriarchal figure I have ever known. The only source of unconditional love I have had the greatest fortune of receiving. My memories of you will always be intertwined with the soft fabric of your creamy white sari; the tinkling of your gold bangles; the shuffle of your rubber chappals; your soft, blue rimmed eyes shining with intelligence and knowledge; the taste of pure love in the crisp ‘Nimkis’, the fluffy ‘Loochis’, the orange sweetness of the ‘Jeelipees’ you made for me; your enthusiasm at my birth, captured forever in old photographs; my only association with a grandfather I never had the chance to get to know better; your 19th century rules and regulations on hygiene that I will never be able to understand; the closest proximity that I have reached to history, that being your presence before the greatest figures of Indian History –Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose and your ability to always know what was going through my mind without even being my own mother. Even though you never lived to receive your ‘putul’, your only earnest wish from me, I’d like you to know that as soon as I can I will fulfill your only request. Today I performed a short ritual for your soul to rest in peace forever but this, I want you to know, will never be the last goodbye. Mani, you will always run through my veins, my very being.
Reuben – Warm, kind, generous and loving. The one with the brightest smile and the most unique giggle that will always ring in my ears. Remember the day we first met, long before AIESEC, in the TT room of your Boat Club apartment? The way you tripped when you saw me and your apologetic smile when we were being introduced? Memories of you will always be associated with your blue and white basketball jersey; the wire rimmed spectacles that always suited your face; bunking college and wandering aimlessly through the city of Madras with the rest of the gang; hours spent in my PG, Breakpoint and ‘My Kinda Place’ and other such inconsistent places; those few weeks we had in Kolkata; conversations with your charming parents and warm sister at Udita; the uncanniness in the similarity of the warmth in your and your family's smiles; heart to hearts with your sister which involved your occasional tid bits; tea on Park Street; driving through the City of Joy with Rolf in your large hearted Zen; cajoling Apache and our last chat on Facebook. I never even had the chance to give you one last hug or even say goodbye. Till I visit you in your final resting place, please accept these words as my hug.
Every time a memory of either of you slips sneakily into my humdrum life, I will ache inside. Forever filled with the regrets of not keeping in touch more or not calling more often or even doing things differently, I will now be able to see through the foolish and shallow world we live in and try and emulate your greatest qualities in order to be the person I want to become.
Love you forever, Mani.
Miss you, Reuben.
From,
A grieving granddaughter.
A stunned friend.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
To be ‘Fit’ or To ‘Fit in’? That is the question.
Place: Courtyard, Raheja Gardens
Time: 7 AM
Specimen 1: Middle aged. Receding hairline. A hint of chest fur pops out from the open collar of the t-shirt. With a protruding potbelly, perspiring profusely, he huffs and puffs, while what can be only termed as ‘An attempt to jog'.
Specimen 2: Sweat beads drip from her eyebrows down by the side of her noticeably wrinkled face. The smudged ‘kum kum’ resembles an open, bleeding gash on the forehead, symbolic of domestic violence. With wobbling, thunder things in skin tight, capri track-pants, she speed-walked, leaving the ground trembling in her wake.
Specimen 3: Easily above 60. Calm and serene, in the ‘Bhraman Pranayama’ position, sat the distinguished, grey haired, old man uncannily resembling the modern day sage.
Specimen 4: A group of white sari clad ladies sit huddled together on cold, stone benches, as though a conspiracy was being planned. Instead they groan in unison, singing hymns, with sand paper voices. Alley cats being strangled seem more appeasing to the ears than the above.
Specimen 5: Fair. Almost white. Like a ghost. A 1997 Nick Carter hairstyle flopped across his face. Muscles rippled out of the skin-tight sleeveless vest like waves crashing against the shoreline. He bounds out of the gym, glistening. Maybe from sweat. Quite possibly from Vaseline. He would have slapped some on to get the glisten. He looks the kind to do the same.
Specimen 6: The kind I detest. Skinny as a rail. A noticeably taut tummy. With long flowing hair, tied up in a ponytail which swished from side to side, as she jogged across. Determined, she plowed past, with an I pod firmly injected into her ears. I could swear I saw water proof make-up carefully applied on her face. Bitch.
And finally.
Specimen 7: Me. Yawning with disheveled hair. Still in my ‘Reindeers on a summer vacation’ pajamas and B’s t-shirt. Rubbing out the sleep in my eyes while being dragged across the courtyard by a viciously sniffing springer spaniel on a mission. A mission to take a dump.
Be ‘fit’ or ‘fit in’?
Nah! I’d rather curl up with my extra layers of cozy fat and snooze for another hour.
It’s the simpler alternative. And I like Simple. He’s always been a true friend. He also makes complications disappear.
Time: 7 AM
Specimen 1: Middle aged. Receding hairline. A hint of chest fur pops out from the open collar of the t-shirt. With a protruding potbelly, perspiring profusely, he huffs and puffs, while what can be only termed as ‘An attempt to jog'.
Specimen 2: Sweat beads drip from her eyebrows down by the side of her noticeably wrinkled face. The smudged ‘kum kum’ resembles an open, bleeding gash on the forehead, symbolic of domestic violence. With wobbling, thunder things in skin tight, capri track-pants, she speed-walked, leaving the ground trembling in her wake.
Specimen 3: Easily above 60. Calm and serene, in the ‘Bhraman Pranayama’ position, sat the distinguished, grey haired, old man uncannily resembling the modern day sage.
Specimen 4: A group of white sari clad ladies sit huddled together on cold, stone benches, as though a conspiracy was being planned. Instead they groan in unison, singing hymns, with sand paper voices. Alley cats being strangled seem more appeasing to the ears than the above.
Specimen 5: Fair. Almost white. Like a ghost. A 1997 Nick Carter hairstyle flopped across his face. Muscles rippled out of the skin-tight sleeveless vest like waves crashing against the shoreline. He bounds out of the gym, glistening. Maybe from sweat. Quite possibly from Vaseline. He would have slapped some on to get the glisten. He looks the kind to do the same.
Specimen 6: The kind I detest. Skinny as a rail. A noticeably taut tummy. With long flowing hair, tied up in a ponytail which swished from side to side, as she jogged across. Determined, she plowed past, with an I pod firmly injected into her ears. I could swear I saw water proof make-up carefully applied on her face. Bitch.
And finally.
Specimen 7: Me. Yawning with disheveled hair. Still in my ‘Reindeers on a summer vacation’ pajamas and B’s t-shirt. Rubbing out the sleep in my eyes while being dragged across the courtyard by a viciously sniffing springer spaniel on a mission. A mission to take a dump.
Be ‘fit’ or ‘fit in’?
Nah! I’d rather curl up with my extra layers of cozy fat and snooze for another hour.
It’s the simpler alternative. And I like Simple. He’s always been a true friend. He also makes complications disappear.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Gurgaon Chronicles Part Four
As I grudgingly give up my position as a beached whale with a Caprioska (my new favourite drink), I’ve decided to update my blog.
My vacation chronicled in my Facebook ‘Status Updates’ has been imported below with additional details and modifications.
Day 0: Attention all Status Update Readers and Profile Snoopers: "Gurgaon Chronicles Part Four" commences tonight and will be henceforth referred to as "GG Ch IV" :-)
Day 1: Flight jinx broken + A hyperactive, restless and surprisingly excited B + Galauti Kebab + Kakori Kebab + Roomali Roti + Phirnee + Shimmying into the new apartment (B’s new pride and joy) + Proceeding to tidy up the partially messy apartment (I display OCB)= A rather tired, full and happy Polo
Day 2: Lazying around the house (Woke up for the first time at 12pm) + Mutton Curry (courtesy Hughe House) + An impending trip to Ambience Mall = Eggjited Polo
Day 2: Avatar 3D was OK (Why are all of James Cameron's lead actors disappointing?) + Retail in Ambience Mall proved disappointing (Shoe Hunting was annoying with the lack of choice) + Wine and Cheese at home + Freezing ass off + Gobbling down the best Plum Cake ever = ‘Really bugged at not having bought the new shoes’ Polo (Oh and Merry Xmas to all!)
Day 3: Sarson ka Saag and Makki ki Roti at Sadabahar Dhaba (Mouthwateringly and Mind numbingly YUM!) + Loittering in Ambience Mall again (Still hunting for that perfect pair of shoes) + Purchase of new fridge for B’s new pad (Haier) + Fresh Raspberries & Strawberries + Football Night = Lazy Polo
Day 4: GK 1 M Block Market (New silver shoes, black wrap top, woolen stockings) + Lovely Drive back home + Green Tea + Grocery Shopping + Functioning New Fridge + Me cooking Egg Curry (Please wish the boys eating the best of luck) + One more Football Night (rolls eyes)= Comfortably Numb Polo
Day 5: Playing 'House House' for real + Catching up on college work + I hate Mondays even during vacation + Me cooking Bhindi Masala and Chicken Curry + Discovery of Fauji Dhaba (For the rotis I could not make) + J & V appreciating my cooking = Earlier Annoyed and Oddly Proud Polo
Day 6: Waking up to a freezing morning + Trip to Select City Walk Mall, Saket + Lunch with favourite cousin at Big Chill (Bacon Risotto is must try) + Chocolate packed afternoon with B + Awaiting the first wave of the Madras Punters (Buubee and Jeetu, Whine and Mrs Whine, Panzy and Italiano Babe) = Really Full Polo *BURP*
Day 7: Drunken night + Disturbed sleep + Grumpy B and Tubs + Lunch @ Sadabahar Dhaba + Inauguration of the 'Surprise' (B’s latest pride and joy-PS3 Slim & Golf Clubs) + Second wave of the Madras Punters (the Female Bheda and the Bird) + Freshly brewed beer at Rockman's + New anniversary present (Whoopie!) = Polo with high expectations :-)
Day 8: An acidic Polo eating Cerelac + Visit to the friendly, neighbourhood doctor + Receipt of Harvinder, The Monkey as a 'Get well fast' gift from B + The use of B's latest prized possessions + Girrafe Dress gets an opening night + Barbeque + DJ Digweed from Noida & DJ Dave Seaman from Gurgaon + The Male Bheda surprised Female Bheda + HAPPY NEW YEAR (with a bang) = A Happily Pooped Polo
Day 9: Tummy much better + Third wave of the Madras Punters (Faggy, Chotu, Pukka, Kula Shaker and their respectives with Pretty Boy and Nits) + Hopeful for the exchange of gifts today + Full on Galata Nite (With an extremely drunk B) = ‘Cranky as a result of lack of sleep’ Polo
Day 10: The Wedding Day!!!! (Vivek & Judy) :-)
Day 11: The end of a fabulous vacation with a cancelled flight + A ridiculously delayed 2nd flight + A temporary bid adieu to B + Stuck in airport for three hours with the Madras Punters leaving before me + Frozen Kebabs melting in bag + Memory of things left behind at B’s apartment + An overload of assignments waiting for me when I get back + Outcome of my mid semester results (the only thing remotely pleasant) = A extremely annoyed and tired Polo
Day 12: END of Gurgaon Chronicles Part IV and the Beginning of yet another END! 2010 looks intimidating so far.
Now that I have successfully rubbed your lovely faces in with a brief account of my rather fantastic vacation (even if it was in ‘Jaggery Village’), I shall proceed to wish you, my beloved readers, a very “Happy New Year”. And for those who might smite me as a result of this post, you can revel in the fact that I have returned to Mumbai with a truck load of fat around my midriff.
Till you read me again,
xoxo
P
My vacation chronicled in my Facebook ‘Status Updates’ has been imported below with additional details and modifications.
Day 0: Attention all Status Update Readers and Profile Snoopers: "Gurgaon Chronicles Part Four" commences tonight and will be henceforth referred to as "GG Ch IV" :-)
Day 1: Flight jinx broken + A hyperactive, restless and surprisingly excited B + Galauti Kebab + Kakori Kebab + Roomali Roti + Phirnee + Shimmying into the new apartment (B’s new pride and joy) + Proceeding to tidy up the partially messy apartment (I display OCB)= A rather tired, full and happy Polo
Day 2: Lazying around the house (Woke up for the first time at 12pm) + Mutton Curry (courtesy Hughe House) + An impending trip to Ambience Mall = Eggjited Polo
Day 2: Avatar 3D was OK (Why are all of James Cameron's lead actors disappointing?) + Retail in Ambience Mall proved disappointing (Shoe Hunting was annoying with the lack of choice) + Wine and Cheese at home + Freezing ass off + Gobbling down the best Plum Cake ever = ‘Really bugged at not having bought the new shoes’ Polo (Oh and Merry Xmas to all!)
Day 3: Sarson ka Saag and Makki ki Roti at Sadabahar Dhaba (Mouthwateringly and Mind numbingly YUM!) + Loittering in Ambience Mall again (Still hunting for that perfect pair of shoes) + Purchase of new fridge for B’s new pad (Haier) + Fresh Raspberries & Strawberries + Football Night = Lazy Polo
Day 4: GK 1 M Block Market (New silver shoes, black wrap top, woolen stockings) + Lovely Drive back home + Green Tea + Grocery Shopping + Functioning New Fridge + Me cooking Egg Curry (Please wish the boys eating the best of luck) + One more Football Night (rolls eyes)= Comfortably Numb Polo
Day 5: Playing 'House House' for real + Catching up on college work + I hate Mondays even during vacation + Me cooking Bhindi Masala and Chicken Curry + Discovery of Fauji Dhaba (For the rotis I could not make) + J & V appreciating my cooking = Earlier Annoyed and Oddly Proud Polo
Day 6: Waking up to a freezing morning + Trip to Select City Walk Mall, Saket + Lunch with favourite cousin at Big Chill (Bacon Risotto is must try) + Chocolate packed afternoon with B + Awaiting the first wave of the Madras Punters (Buubee and Jeetu, Whine and Mrs Whine, Panzy and Italiano Babe) = Really Full Polo *BURP*
Day 7: Drunken night + Disturbed sleep + Grumpy B and Tubs + Lunch @ Sadabahar Dhaba + Inauguration of the 'Surprise' (B’s latest pride and joy-PS3 Slim & Golf Clubs) + Second wave of the Madras Punters (the Female Bheda and the Bird) + Freshly brewed beer at Rockman's + New anniversary present (Whoopie!) = Polo with high expectations :-)
Day 8: An acidic Polo eating Cerelac + Visit to the friendly, neighbourhood doctor + Receipt of Harvinder, The Monkey as a 'Get well fast' gift from B + The use of B's latest prized possessions + Girrafe Dress gets an opening night + Barbeque + DJ Digweed from Noida & DJ Dave Seaman from Gurgaon + The Male Bheda surprised Female Bheda + HAPPY NEW YEAR (with a bang) = A Happily Pooped Polo
Day 9: Tummy much better + Third wave of the Madras Punters (Faggy, Chotu, Pukka, Kula Shaker and their respectives with Pretty Boy and Nits) + Hopeful for the exchange of gifts today + Full on Galata Nite (With an extremely drunk B) = ‘Cranky as a result of lack of sleep’ Polo
Day 10: The Wedding Day!!!! (Vivek & Judy) :-)
Day 11: The end of a fabulous vacation with a cancelled flight + A ridiculously delayed 2nd flight + A temporary bid adieu to B + Stuck in airport for three hours with the Madras Punters leaving before me + Frozen Kebabs melting in bag + Memory of things left behind at B’s apartment + An overload of assignments waiting for me when I get back + Outcome of my mid semester results (the only thing remotely pleasant) = A extremely annoyed and tired Polo
Day 12: END of Gurgaon Chronicles Part IV and the Beginning of yet another END! 2010 looks intimidating so far.
Now that I have successfully rubbed your lovely faces in with a brief account of my rather fantastic vacation (even if it was in ‘Jaggery Village’), I shall proceed to wish you, my beloved readers, a very “Happy New Year”. And for those who might smite me as a result of this post, you can revel in the fact that I have returned to Mumbai with a truck load of fat around my midriff.
Till you read me again,
xoxo
P
Thursday, December 17, 2009
I Scream at Ice Cream!
Face deep in a tub of deliciously, creamy ice-cream, I had the misfortune of coming across an article in the Economic Times. Yes! I eat ice-cream and read. Also the stray pup I tried saving last week had been killed by a truck. Sweet, cold, chocolatey food makes me feel better.
It is bad enough that there is a divide (with jagged rocks to fall on for those who try to cross over to the other side) between US, commoners and THEM, ‘crème de la crème’ who get invited to every ‘Premier’ opening, regardless of whether it is a movie or exhibition or an ‘exclusive’ peak at a new store. But to rub salt on open, bleeding wounds (from the attempted cross over) or to add yet another blow to our bruised egos, there was THIS very sign outside the new Haagen-Dazs outlet in south Delhi – ‘Entry restricted only to holders of international passports’.
The series of reactions that followed are (1) GASP! (2) Mother-&@#%*^# (3) Annoyance deep enough to chuck the tub of sin across the room (4) A sense of calm found only through meditation (5) A cynical laugh
Needless to say, wheels began stirring in that part of my mind, which could well be described as ‘delightfully duplicitous’ and I came up with wonderfully, shrewd schemes. Plant a bomb, blow the place up to smithereens and blame it on Osama (Well knowing the turmoil our world is going through, it could very well be possible). Mix rat poison into the ice-cream. Gas the damn place. Accompany a friend and pee on the door. Hey! I’m a commoner, remember. Were you expecting ‘original’ ideas?
It has been 62 years since the existence of ‘Dogs and Indians not allowed’ signs. So, I’ll just take my patronage elsewhere and stick my face in there. Hopefully with the 6-8 dollars less in their monthly P&L account, they’ll decide to ‘Quit India’.
It is bad enough that there is a divide (with jagged rocks to fall on for those who try to cross over to the other side) between US, commoners and THEM, ‘crème de la crème’ who get invited to every ‘Premier’ opening, regardless of whether it is a movie or exhibition or an ‘exclusive’ peak at a new store. But to rub salt on open, bleeding wounds (from the attempted cross over) or to add yet another blow to our bruised egos, there was THIS very sign outside the new Haagen-Dazs outlet in south Delhi – ‘Entry restricted only to holders of international passports’.
The series of reactions that followed are (1) GASP! (2) Mother-&@#%*^# (3) Annoyance deep enough to chuck the tub of sin across the room (4) A sense of calm found only through meditation (5) A cynical laugh
Needless to say, wheels began stirring in that part of my mind, which could well be described as ‘delightfully duplicitous’ and I came up with wonderfully, shrewd schemes. Plant a bomb, blow the place up to smithereens and blame it on Osama (Well knowing the turmoil our world is going through, it could very well be possible). Mix rat poison into the ice-cream. Gas the damn place. Accompany a friend and pee on the door. Hey! I’m a commoner, remember. Were you expecting ‘original’ ideas?
It has been 62 years since the existence of ‘Dogs and Indians not allowed’ signs. So, I’ll just take my patronage elsewhere and stick my face in there. Hopefully with the 6-8 dollars less in their monthly P&L account, they’ll decide to ‘Quit India’.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Distraught
Passed by your mangled carcass.
I couldn't shed a tear.
Why did I even try?
Should I have brought you home?
Was my mother right?
Was I trying to prove something?
I am Distraught.
I couldn't shed a tear.
Why did I even try?
Should I have brought you home?
Was my mother right?
Was I trying to prove something?
I am Distraught.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Bombay or Mumbai
A few strands of grey hair here and a few lines on her face there, she stood outside the glass doors. With a bouquet grasped in her hands, she earnestly looked over the crowd……searching for me, her daughter.
I stood outside the office, held in an embrace by a hunched, pot bellied man whose smell reminds me of deep, secure, comfortable sleep. Baba.
Whine. Whimper. Yelp. Squeak. A blur of black and white fur. A wet nose in my ear. A lick across my neck. Apache.
Raindrops. Drizzle. Puddles. Grey sky. Grey sea. Grey buildings. Grey thoughts.
Drive down the Eastern Express. To Bandra, past Parel. Then to Worli via the sea link. Then off towards Colaba.
Lunch in Leopold’s. I spot the bullet holes. Not enamoured.
The week turns out to be grey.
I can feel the eyeballs burning into my back as I walk into campus.
I don’t care. I’m grey. Grey doesn’t care.
As the hours pass by.
Sunlight appears over Grey Bombay.
Bandra: A few cobbled roads. Quaint Christian houses. Lovely stores and boutiques.
Colaba: Anitiques hanging by the roadside. Uber cool youth roughly brushes past. Lebanese food at Picadilly. Parsi food at Paradise.
Carter Road: ‘Out of the Blue’ and ‘Olive’
Andheri: Anna’s and Rohan’s house. Tina and B’s hotels.
Powai: College in the uber cool Hiranandani layout.
Mahim: Graffiti on the roadside walls.
Parel: Dad’s office. Pheonix Mills.
Worli: A mall and the Sea link.
Sion: Doesn’t it rhyme with ‘lion’?
Ghatkopar: R City Mall. Tara’s place.
Thane: A village. With big, huge apartments. My home.
Trains: Malleable dough of seemingly unimportant human flesh.
Gateway of India: It’s smaller than I thought it would be.
Taj: Still standing strong. Also smaller than I thought it would be.
Bollywood: Amitabh’s House. A very pregnant Perizaad Zorabian. A scrawny Amrita Rao.
Friends: Anna. Purti. Rohan. Pavi. Tanu. And more.
A constant: B.
Now, I see colours.
I stood outside the office, held in an embrace by a hunched, pot bellied man whose smell reminds me of deep, secure, comfortable sleep. Baba.
Whine. Whimper. Yelp. Squeak. A blur of black and white fur. A wet nose in my ear. A lick across my neck. Apache.
Raindrops. Drizzle. Puddles. Grey sky. Grey sea. Grey buildings. Grey thoughts.
Drive down the Eastern Express. To Bandra, past Parel. Then to Worli via the sea link. Then off towards Colaba.
Lunch in Leopold’s. I spot the bullet holes. Not enamoured.
The week turns out to be grey.
I can feel the eyeballs burning into my back as I walk into campus.
I don’t care. I’m grey. Grey doesn’t care.
As the hours pass by.
Sunlight appears over Grey Bombay.
Bandra: A few cobbled roads. Quaint Christian houses. Lovely stores and boutiques.
Colaba: Anitiques hanging by the roadside. Uber cool youth roughly brushes past. Lebanese food at Picadilly. Parsi food at Paradise.
Carter Road: ‘Out of the Blue’ and ‘Olive’
Andheri: Anna’s and Rohan’s house. Tina and B’s hotels.
Powai: College in the uber cool Hiranandani layout.
Mahim: Graffiti on the roadside walls.
Parel: Dad’s office. Pheonix Mills.
Worli: A mall and the Sea link.
Sion: Doesn’t it rhyme with ‘lion’?
Ghatkopar: R City Mall. Tara’s place.
Thane: A village. With big, huge apartments. My home.
Trains: Malleable dough of seemingly unimportant human flesh.
Gateway of India: It’s smaller than I thought it would be.
Taj: Still standing strong. Also smaller than I thought it would be.
Bollywood: Amitabh’s House. A very pregnant Perizaad Zorabian. A scrawny Amrita Rao.
Friends: Anna. Purti. Rohan. Pavi. Tanu. And more.
A constant: B.
Now, I see colours.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Blast from the past!
An essay I wrote a couple of years back on 'Personality Development'.
Superhero. What are the first few famous names that occur to you when you hear the word ‘Superhero’? I’m sure it would be Superman, Spiderman or may be even Batman. What most people do not know is that Batman is not really a ‘Superhero’ even though the comic book creators have categorized him as one. Batman is in fact just a human being, with of course the additional benefits of having fancy gadgets. Where Superman is an alien brought up on Earth and Spiderman obtained his superhero powers by being bitten by a scientifically created spider, Batman is just your average Joe trying to fight crime on the streets of Gotham City.
I hold Batman as an example of who I want to become. Well, that is not entirely true. I don’t quite want to be a ‘caped crusader’ fighting off criminals. I don’t want BE him. I want to be LIKE him. After gaining admission into IBS, Chennai, I am compelled to live away from a known and sheltered place called ‘home’. I live now in an entirely different city. I fend for myself. My mother is not around to clean up after me and cook for me. Neither is my father around to swipe his credit card. (I am an only child, hence spoilt rotten.) I cook and clean and manage my own limited finances. That takes care of my personal development.
At college, I meet new people, get to know them better, accept them for who they are and learn not to judge them. I gather knowledge behind the career path I’d like to follow. I will obtain first hand work experience through SIP this semester. I have also had the misfortune of experiencing that no matter how talented or capable you are, you may not bear the fruits of your labor. You will be evaluated based on whether or not you are in the ‘good books’ of your superior. It is necessary to be shrewd and ‘play your cards right’ along with being talented and capable. It is only with a politically correct mix of the above, will you achieve your desired goal. After all it is a rat race out there and you are in fact just a rat. This is just the beginning of my professional development.
So here I am before you, an average Joe with the powers of personal and professional skills, ready to take on the world. I may not be ‘Batman’ fighting crime but I’m pretty sure that given a few years, I will be ‘Supermom’.
Superhero. What are the first few famous names that occur to you when you hear the word ‘Superhero’? I’m sure it would be Superman, Spiderman or may be even Batman. What most people do not know is that Batman is not really a ‘Superhero’ even though the comic book creators have categorized him as one. Batman is in fact just a human being, with of course the additional benefits of having fancy gadgets. Where Superman is an alien brought up on Earth and Spiderman obtained his superhero powers by being bitten by a scientifically created spider, Batman is just your average Joe trying to fight crime on the streets of Gotham City.
I hold Batman as an example of who I want to become. Well, that is not entirely true. I don’t quite want to be a ‘caped crusader’ fighting off criminals. I don’t want BE him. I want to be LIKE him. After gaining admission into IBS, Chennai, I am compelled to live away from a known and sheltered place called ‘home’. I live now in an entirely different city. I fend for myself. My mother is not around to clean up after me and cook for me. Neither is my father around to swipe his credit card. (I am an only child, hence spoilt rotten.) I cook and clean and manage my own limited finances. That takes care of my personal development.
At college, I meet new people, get to know them better, accept them for who they are and learn not to judge them. I gather knowledge behind the career path I’d like to follow. I will obtain first hand work experience through SIP this semester. I have also had the misfortune of experiencing that no matter how talented or capable you are, you may not bear the fruits of your labor. You will be evaluated based on whether or not you are in the ‘good books’ of your superior. It is necessary to be shrewd and ‘play your cards right’ along with being talented and capable. It is only with a politically correct mix of the above, will you achieve your desired goal. After all it is a rat race out there and you are in fact just a rat. This is just the beginning of my professional development.
So here I am before you, an average Joe with the powers of personal and professional skills, ready to take on the world. I may not be ‘Batman’ fighting crime but I’m pretty sure that given a few years, I will be ‘Supermom’.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
LET’S PLAY BALL!
“Blog, I think I have neglected you for a really long time. I am really very sorry. Please try and forgive me! I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”
Boy! That must have been uncomfortable for you (my readers, if you do exist ie). I did not mean to get you involved in this. Blog found out I was cheating on her with my Life and she was, needless to say, NOT happy. To the extent she gave me ‘writer’s block’. I had to appease her with an apology and this – a brand new post depicting a brand new chapter to …..Sssshhhh….. (looks left and right) L-I-F-E.
What was supposed to be a vacation to Mumbai culminated into a move to the damn city. I bid a dramatic but quiet adieu to a city I will always hold close to my heart and was purged into a heartlessly competitive city.
So here I am, displaced from everything familiar and certain, into a new home, the 9th postal address I have had in 5 years, a new campus, new faculty, a new set of batchmates, and yet another altered game plan.
I did what came easiest to me. Threw my hands up and wailed my guts and heart out.
Skype/G Talk with a red eyed, puffy faced, sniffling, snort filled girlfriend must have been an unpleasant experience for B. Till he decided to turn up for an entire week, knock some sense into my head and go back to the Village.
He reminded me of a choice I had to make. Either strike out or deal with the curveball Life threw at me and knock it outta the park.
Weighing my options (I didn’t have too many), I realized that I have enormous opportunities before me.
•Discover the unchartered territories of a smog filled city
•New sources of Retail Therapy
•New Watering Holes to drown in
•More places to get caught gorging on food
•A new culture to discover
•New connections to make
•Bollywood (No. I’m not making an attempt to get into the industry. Just grab moments to stare at the occasional famous person!)
•A challenging dissertation (that too on Retail)
•The last few months of Student Life
•A giant leap into the Real World
An Easton Reflex in my hands, I narrow my eyes and spit.
Boy! That must have been uncomfortable for you (my readers, if you do exist ie). I did not mean to get you involved in this. Blog found out I was cheating on her with my Life and she was, needless to say, NOT happy. To the extent she gave me ‘writer’s block’. I had to appease her with an apology and this – a brand new post depicting a brand new chapter to …..Sssshhhh….. (looks left and right) L-I-F-E.
What was supposed to be a vacation to Mumbai culminated into a move to the damn city. I bid a dramatic but quiet adieu to a city I will always hold close to my heart and was purged into a heartlessly competitive city.
So here I am, displaced from everything familiar and certain, into a new home, the 9th postal address I have had in 5 years, a new campus, new faculty, a new set of batchmates, and yet another altered game plan.
I did what came easiest to me. Threw my hands up and wailed my guts and heart out.
Skype/G Talk with a red eyed, puffy faced, sniffling, snort filled girlfriend must have been an unpleasant experience for B. Till he decided to turn up for an entire week, knock some sense into my head and go back to the Village.
He reminded me of a choice I had to make. Either strike out or deal with the curveball Life threw at me and knock it outta the park.
Weighing my options (I didn’t have too many), I realized that I have enormous opportunities before me.
•Discover the unchartered territories of a smog filled city
•New sources of Retail Therapy
•New Watering Holes to drown in
•More places to get caught gorging on food
•A new culture to discover
•New connections to make
•Bollywood (No. I’m not making an attempt to get into the industry. Just grab moments to stare at the occasional famous person!)
•A challenging dissertation (that too on Retail)
•The last few months of Student Life
•A giant leap into the Real World
An Easton Reflex in my hands, I narrow my eyes and spit.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Black and White
White: A hall full of 23 year old students, fervently writing their examinations.
Black: A 23 year old young man, without shoes, serving tea to the invigilators and water to the students.
When will the world begin to live in bright colours?
Black: A 23 year old young man, without shoes, serving tea to the invigilators and water to the students.
When will the world begin to live in bright colours?
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Random Updates
I’ve been M.I.A. on my blog again. This time there is no excuse. I’ve been plain lazy. Also nothing very major has taken place in my life to blog about, other than the sudden overdose of B that I received recently.
Update 1: A week’s worth of B in Gurgaon and another two weeks in Madras hit the spot nicely. Though it left me yearning for more. Time spent with him will never be enough. For the first time I saw a grieving B, though he’ll claim not to be. However, underneath the strong exterior, I could see he was hurting. And all I could do to comfort him was give him a hug and a kiss and remind him of what lies ahead.
Update 2: Shopping for a man who’d love anything I give him is the most difficult task. If I tore out a piece of paper, doodled on it and gave it to him for his birthday, he’d love it as much as the watch he received – a birthday gift bought with the savings I’ve been making since his last birthday. Shopping for men is tougher than it seems. I’m just really glad that I have the ability to spot what he’d like from a mile away.
Update 3: I’ve realized that over the last few years I’ve become passive by nature. I’ve been concentrating on controlling my temper and calming down so much, that I didn’t realize I’ve been allowing people to walk all over me. Never again. And that’s a promise.
Update 4: ‘Guy whose guts I hate’- what goes around, comes around. If life doesn’t teach you that, you can be rest assured, I will.
Update 5: I hereby disassociate myself from all those who are hypocritical, two-faced, dishonest, and ugly at heart. You are not worth my while.
Update 6: I almost became a superficial social butterfly. I needed a shelling to remind me of who I actually am and where I want to go. Thank you B.
Update 7: I don’t feel motivated enough to do much with my life. I think I need to take a break, clear my head, and come back with a bang. Hence the vacation to Bombay is much required.
Update 8: I have put on weight. And lots of it. I blame the meat consumption in Gurgaon. I plan on working out. Hopefully that will not remain a plan once I get back from the vacation
Update 9: While I’m being narcissistic, my shorn locks repulse me. I need a growth spurt on my head. Any home remedies anyone?
Update 10: Farmville on Facebook is addictive. Facebook is addictive. I think my vices are consuming me.
Update 11: My nomadic family has shifted base to Bombay this time. Hence, the trip there.
Update 12: I hereby make a solemn promise to myself to save up for a great vacation once year from the second I start earning.
Other than the above, my life is a yawn.
Until the next post, *Yawn*
Xoxo
P
Update 1: A week’s worth of B in Gurgaon and another two weeks in Madras hit the spot nicely. Though it left me yearning for more. Time spent with him will never be enough. For the first time I saw a grieving B, though he’ll claim not to be. However, underneath the strong exterior, I could see he was hurting. And all I could do to comfort him was give him a hug and a kiss and remind him of what lies ahead.
Update 2: Shopping for a man who’d love anything I give him is the most difficult task. If I tore out a piece of paper, doodled on it and gave it to him for his birthday, he’d love it as much as the watch he received – a birthday gift bought with the savings I’ve been making since his last birthday. Shopping for men is tougher than it seems. I’m just really glad that I have the ability to spot what he’d like from a mile away.
Update 3: I’ve realized that over the last few years I’ve become passive by nature. I’ve been concentrating on controlling my temper and calming down so much, that I didn’t realize I’ve been allowing people to walk all over me. Never again. And that’s a promise.
Update 4: ‘Guy whose guts I hate’- what goes around, comes around. If life doesn’t teach you that, you can be rest assured, I will.
Update 5: I hereby disassociate myself from all those who are hypocritical, two-faced, dishonest, and ugly at heart. You are not worth my while.
Update 6: I almost became a superficial social butterfly. I needed a shelling to remind me of who I actually am and where I want to go. Thank you B.
Update 7: I don’t feel motivated enough to do much with my life. I think I need to take a break, clear my head, and come back with a bang. Hence the vacation to Bombay is much required.
Update 8: I have put on weight. And lots of it. I blame the meat consumption in Gurgaon. I plan on working out. Hopefully that will not remain a plan once I get back from the vacation
Update 9: While I’m being narcissistic, my shorn locks repulse me. I need a growth spurt on my head. Any home remedies anyone?
Update 10: Farmville on Facebook is addictive. Facebook is addictive. I think my vices are consuming me.
Update 11: My nomadic family has shifted base to Bombay this time. Hence, the trip there.
Update 12: I hereby make a solemn promise to myself to save up for a great vacation once year from the second I start earning.
Other than the above, my life is a yawn.
Until the next post, *Yawn*
Xoxo
P
Sunday, July 19, 2009
I lost my Mind! :-(
Ever truly yearned for something you can’t have? All you need to do is reach out and grab it but the circumstances you’re in prevent you to do so, like ethics, social norms etc. Why does everything have to have rules and regulation? What the hell happened to good old ‘Indiscipline’?
With this thought, I bring before you my latest blog post. I’ve been so preoccupied with the rest of my life and I completely lost my mind somewhere. I hope to find you soon, Mind. Till then I’ll gallop through my days like the ‘Headless Horseman’.
Shifting into a new apartment is never easy. It’s amazing the amount of clutter that accumulates around you that you never seem to notice. My life’s possessions are three suitcases of clothes, one suitcase of bags and shoes and other accessories, another suitcase of books, a few kitchen appliances and utensils, and a few random odds and ends which include my stuffed toys. Yes I am 23 and I have two bears and an elephant I can’t sleep without. And I am NOT ashamed of it.
None of which are truly mine, since I haven’t purchased it with my own money. I hope to soon, being the fiercely independant person that I am.
Packing, shifting and unpacking was a day’s worth of work. And living with Divya, is like wrapping your favourite comforter around you. College is as hectic as ever. And like I said earlier, I’ve just been galloping through my days.
But over the last month or so, I’ve discovered there’s something I want. It’s right there in front of me and I can’t have it. And it’s driving me insane. Should I live according to social norms and just sit back and yearn? Or should I just be selfish and grab it without taking into consideration anybody else’s feelings or opinions? Should I be who I am? Or Should I be who I’m not? While I debate this, what if this thing I want, has been whisked away by someone else? Should I feel regret? Or should I feel relieved? I almost grabbed at it, but Mr. Common Sense screamed ‘No. Who the hell does he think he is telling me what to do, anyway? I want my Mind back in my life.
Mind!
Mind!
Where the hell are you?
Hello!
Mind!
Come out, come out wherever you are!
MIND!!!!
With this thought, I bring before you my latest blog post. I’ve been so preoccupied with the rest of my life and I completely lost my mind somewhere. I hope to find you soon, Mind. Till then I’ll gallop through my days like the ‘Headless Horseman’.
Shifting into a new apartment is never easy. It’s amazing the amount of clutter that accumulates around you that you never seem to notice. My life’s possessions are three suitcases of clothes, one suitcase of bags and shoes and other accessories, another suitcase of books, a few kitchen appliances and utensils, and a few random odds and ends which include my stuffed toys. Yes I am 23 and I have two bears and an elephant I can’t sleep without. And I am NOT ashamed of it.
None of which are truly mine, since I haven’t purchased it with my own money. I hope to soon, being the fiercely independant person that I am.
Packing, shifting and unpacking was a day’s worth of work. And living with Divya, is like wrapping your favourite comforter around you. College is as hectic as ever. And like I said earlier, I’ve just been galloping through my days.
But over the last month or so, I’ve discovered there’s something I want. It’s right there in front of me and I can’t have it. And it’s driving me insane. Should I live according to social norms and just sit back and yearn? Or should I just be selfish and grab it without taking into consideration anybody else’s feelings or opinions? Should I be who I am? Or Should I be who I’m not? While I debate this, what if this thing I want, has been whisked away by someone else? Should I feel regret? Or should I feel relieved? I almost grabbed at it, but Mr. Common Sense screamed ‘No. Who the hell does he think he is telling me what to do, anyway? I want my Mind back in my life.
Mind!
Mind!
Where the hell are you?
Hello!
Mind!
Come out, come out wherever you are!
MIND!!!!
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Sellotaped Hearts
I have spent many hours over the phone with T, M and N analyzing and dissecting what people have said to me, what they meant by saying that to me, why did they have to do something like that etc. Post endless hours of trying to find answers to questions, I would have still been left without a concrete answer. I have also in turn been agony aunts for friends with similar issues, giving THEM perspective, calming THEM down.
End result of the above activity - zero answers, high cell phone bills, exhausted voices, tired brain cells.
When did we get so damn complicated?
We gossip. We bitch. We laugh behind people’s backs. We talk behind people’s backs. We betray. We hurt. We hurt others. We scheme. We counter-scheme. We cry. We make others cry. We run in the rat race. We are the rats. We make lots of money. We make others lose lots of money. We are hollow. We make others hollow. We watch our backs. We stick a knife through other backs. We protect a few backs. But let other backs be knifed. We steal. We kill. We invade. We go to war. We want world domination. We want control. We lose control. We are fake. We don’t live. Just exist. Off each other. Like parasites.
I’m tired. Of the above and more.
If there exists, life after death in a place called Heaven, I’m pretty darn sure God would point a finger at us, let out a scornful laugh and say ‘Ha! You fools. Look at how much of time you wasted doing stupid things to get stupid things. Your money and wealth is useless here. Ha! Ha! Ha! What idiots!’
I wonder what it would be like to live in the Garden of Eden with Adam, minus the serpent and the tree that gives knowledge of good and evil.
Unfortunately reality beckons me. There is yet another phone call to answer, another teary eyed friend to console, another broken heart to mend. Since spending these endless hours, attempting to help in anyway, is what makes us truly humane.
xoxo
P
End result of the above activity - zero answers, high cell phone bills, exhausted voices, tired brain cells.
When did we get so damn complicated?
We gossip. We bitch. We laugh behind people’s backs. We talk behind people’s backs. We betray. We hurt. We hurt others. We scheme. We counter-scheme. We cry. We make others cry. We run in the rat race. We are the rats. We make lots of money. We make others lose lots of money. We are hollow. We make others hollow. We watch our backs. We stick a knife through other backs. We protect a few backs. But let other backs be knifed. We steal. We kill. We invade. We go to war. We want world domination. We want control. We lose control. We are fake. We don’t live. Just exist. Off each other. Like parasites.
I’m tired. Of the above and more.
If there exists, life after death in a place called Heaven, I’m pretty darn sure God would point a finger at us, let out a scornful laugh and say ‘Ha! You fools. Look at how much of time you wasted doing stupid things to get stupid things. Your money and wealth is useless here. Ha! Ha! Ha! What idiots!’
I wonder what it would be like to live in the Garden of Eden with Adam, minus the serpent and the tree that gives knowledge of good and evil.
Unfortunately reality beckons me. There is yet another phone call to answer, another teary eyed friend to console, another broken heart to mend. Since spending these endless hours, attempting to help in anyway, is what makes us truly humane.
xoxo
P
On Verge of Insanity, before the Doorway to the ‘Real World’
Do you have a plan for your life?
I don’t think I do. And by plan, I mean those concrete one, with dated goals and head notes and foot notes, the works basically as far as a plan is concerned.
I mean there are many things I would love to have happen with my life. There are things that I am doing to work towards it.
But my question here is, Should you chart out your life?
Like make chronological goals, eg by ‘this age’ I should be at ‘this postion’ at the career front and earning ‘so much’, or I should be married by ‘so and so’ age, and have ‘so many’ kids by ‘this age’.
Is it safe being with a plan or without it?
If you’re without a plan, should life be taken one day as it comes?
If you’re with a plan, what happens when after all your planning, your life takes you in a completely different direction than you planned it to go?
What happens then?
Do you crumble and fall apart or chuck the previous plan, hit the desk again and work on a new blueprint?
What if the new blueprint fails too?
Should I have expectations, hopes and dreams if I don’t have a plan to achieve the same?
Or should I not have a plan and not have any expectations, hopes and dreams?
What is the right equation here?
Where is the key to answers of my questions?
I’m on the brink of student life. I have one foot on either side of the line between the blissful student life and the ‘real’ world.
I’m drowning trying to find the right answer to these questions. (If at all, this ‘right’ answer exists)
Throw me a life jacket someone.
xoxo
Ramblings of a confused 23 year old!
I don’t think I do. And by plan, I mean those concrete one, with dated goals and head notes and foot notes, the works basically as far as a plan is concerned.
I mean there are many things I would love to have happen with my life. There are things that I am doing to work towards it.
But my question here is, Should you chart out your life?
Like make chronological goals, eg by ‘this age’ I should be at ‘this postion’ at the career front and earning ‘so much’, or I should be married by ‘so and so’ age, and have ‘so many’ kids by ‘this age’.
Is it safe being with a plan or without it?
If you’re without a plan, should life be taken one day as it comes?
If you’re with a plan, what happens when after all your planning, your life takes you in a completely different direction than you planned it to go?
What happens then?
Do you crumble and fall apart or chuck the previous plan, hit the desk again and work on a new blueprint?
What if the new blueprint fails too?
Should I have expectations, hopes and dreams if I don’t have a plan to achieve the same?
Or should I not have a plan and not have any expectations, hopes and dreams?
What is the right equation here?
Where is the key to answers of my questions?
I’m on the brink of student life. I have one foot on either side of the line between the blissful student life and the ‘real’ world.
I’m drowning trying to find the right answer to these questions. (If at all, this ‘right’ answer exists)
Throw me a life jacket someone.
xoxo
Ramblings of a confused 23 year old!
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Ode to Ctrl-Alt-Del
If I could use the Delete button with my life,
All my bad memories would not be in rife.
I would have a song on my lips,
Instead of a heart that rips,
At the thought of those bad memories in rife
If I could not use the Delete button with my life.
If I could use the Delete button with my life,
My alter ego and I would not be in strife.
I would have the ability to be who I am,
Instead of being in a jam,
When my alter ego and I are in strife
If I could not use the Delete button with my life.
All my bad memories would not be in rife.
I would have a song on my lips,
Instead of a heart that rips,
At the thought of those bad memories in rife
If I could not use the Delete button with my life.
If I could use the Delete button with my life,
My alter ego and I would not be in strife.
I would have the ability to be who I am,
Instead of being in a jam,
When my alter ego and I are in strife
If I could not use the Delete button with my life.
Environmental Adversities
I saw something that caught my interest today. A white couple bicycling down M.G. Road. They were oblivious to the blatant stares that were shot their way. They were in India. Everyone stares at foreigners here. Even I will admit doing the same occasionally. I may be educated and well-mannered, but I still have some amount of the 'Indian' mentality.
However in this case, I wasn’t staring because they were foreign. I found it weird that they would choose to bicycle down M.G.Road of all roads in Bangalore. The largest amount of pollution is emitted from that one road in the city. So why on earth would anyone in their right senses do something like that?
If you’re riding around in Cubbon Park with lush green, overcast foliage or with Ulsoor Lake on one side, I’ll understand. But in peak afternoon heat, traffic and pollution, I’d label you crazy.
They might have been environmentalists, wanting to prove a point. Who knows? They were still damaging their health in their effort to save the environment.
What confounds me here is the reason behind the choice they made- showing others how to save the environment while risking their own health.
Then again, maybe they were just plain batty.
For the time being however, I shook my head in disbelief, contempt and cynicism. Simultaneously my auto driver cranked up his lever, started his vehicle which bellowed out smoke into the atmosphere, proceeded to sing loudly to the tunes his radio blasted out, and spat out from his mouth a large blob of saliva combined with the remnants of his chewed up paan.
The idiosyncrasies of life.
xoxo
P
However in this case, I wasn’t staring because they were foreign. I found it weird that they would choose to bicycle down M.G.Road of all roads in Bangalore. The largest amount of pollution is emitted from that one road in the city. So why on earth would anyone in their right senses do something like that?
If you’re riding around in Cubbon Park with lush green, overcast foliage or with Ulsoor Lake on one side, I’ll understand. But in peak afternoon heat, traffic and pollution, I’d label you crazy.
They might have been environmentalists, wanting to prove a point. Who knows? They were still damaging their health in their effort to save the environment.
What confounds me here is the reason behind the choice they made- showing others how to save the environment while risking their own health.
Then again, maybe they were just plain batty.
For the time being however, I shook my head in disbelief, contempt and cynicism. Simultaneously my auto driver cranked up his lever, started his vehicle which bellowed out smoke into the atmosphere, proceeded to sing loudly to the tunes his radio blasted out, and spat out from his mouth a large blob of saliva combined with the remnants of his chewed up paan.
The idiosyncrasies of life.
xoxo
P
Monday, April 27, 2009
I DON’T hear wedding bells.
I feel old. I’m 23, and I feel old. Like ‘burdened with expectations’ old. Not ‘student on a budget’ old.
I’ve reached that point in life, where I know people, who are my age, who are getting married. I also know people who are even older who are either getting married or are already married or have already had kids. At the above same point in my life, I am also asked by these earlier mentioned specimens, ‘So, when’s your wedding?’
Now being the frank and truthful person that I am, my answer is ‘I don’t know!’ This brings me to my next problem. In fact, my main problem. I WILL inevitably receive a sympathetic look. The kind that makes you feel awful about the fact that you are ‘single and in a relationship’ and nowhere close to being married. (I shudder to think what the ‘Look’ would be like, had I been just ‘single’.) The kind that makes you feel you don’t belong there, with them and in their company. The kind that makes you feel like you have to join this sorority or you’ll be shunned from every social gathering. The kind that makes you, the black sheep. The kind that makes you feel guilty about the fact that you’re not engaged or married. Bottom line – I get worked up.
This post is to let these married or soon to be married specimens know some basic facts about me. It is pretty obvious that if these specimens have not been able to comprehend these facts, they are in fact lost in their own world (wherever it is they come from).
I am 23. I am only a MBA student with an educational loan to pay off. I am in no hurry to be hitched, primarily because I have things to do with my OWN life before I am able to tie my life up with someone else. For example, get a job, earn, save, live it up with the money I earn, have perfect teeth, be sure of the fact that I’m in a place where I’m ready to be part of someone else’s life, sky dive, bungee jump, hold a snake without my heart racing fast, be able to ride astride a horse once again with courage, trek, go on a vacation somewhere exotic on my own, take risks, etc. I AM YOUNG! I AM 23!
I HAVE my OWN life. Just because YOU wanted to get tied up to someone else’s life, doesn’t mean I want to do the same. Just because YOU jumped into the well, doesn’t mean I have to as well. You’re NOT part of a sorority I WANT to join.
My answer to the question remains the same. I don’t know when I will be married. I do know I will be someday. When that day comes, I know I would have done most of the things I have wanted to do before I get married. Heck! I may still continue to do those things post wedding. I just want to reach that point in my life without having any regrets. I don’t want to burden my marriage with regrets. It’s not fair to the guy.
So when I know for sure, when my wedding will be, I’ll let you know. Till then, take your sympathy and shove it up your ass. Do something constructive like turn your attention on making your married life better, instead of being a Nosy Parker.
‘Guy whose guts I hate’, I hope you’re reading.
I’ll hear wedding bells eventually. Just, not yet. Till then, I like where I am right now and where my life is taking me.
xoxo
P
I’ve reached that point in life, where I know people, who are my age, who are getting married. I also know people who are even older who are either getting married or are already married or have already had kids. At the above same point in my life, I am also asked by these earlier mentioned specimens, ‘So, when’s your wedding?’
Now being the frank and truthful person that I am, my answer is ‘I don’t know!’ This brings me to my next problem. In fact, my main problem. I WILL inevitably receive a sympathetic look. The kind that makes you feel awful about the fact that you are ‘single and in a relationship’ and nowhere close to being married. (I shudder to think what the ‘Look’ would be like, had I been just ‘single’.) The kind that makes you feel you don’t belong there, with them and in their company. The kind that makes you feel like you have to join this sorority or you’ll be shunned from every social gathering. The kind that makes you, the black sheep. The kind that makes you feel guilty about the fact that you’re not engaged or married. Bottom line – I get worked up.
This post is to let these married or soon to be married specimens know some basic facts about me. It is pretty obvious that if these specimens have not been able to comprehend these facts, they are in fact lost in their own world (wherever it is they come from).
I am 23. I am only a MBA student with an educational loan to pay off. I am in no hurry to be hitched, primarily because I have things to do with my OWN life before I am able to tie my life up with someone else. For example, get a job, earn, save, live it up with the money I earn, have perfect teeth, be sure of the fact that I’m in a place where I’m ready to be part of someone else’s life, sky dive, bungee jump, hold a snake without my heart racing fast, be able to ride astride a horse once again with courage, trek, go on a vacation somewhere exotic on my own, take risks, etc. I AM YOUNG! I AM 23!
I HAVE my OWN life. Just because YOU wanted to get tied up to someone else’s life, doesn’t mean I want to do the same. Just because YOU jumped into the well, doesn’t mean I have to as well. You’re NOT part of a sorority I WANT to join.
My answer to the question remains the same. I don’t know when I will be married. I do know I will be someday. When that day comes, I know I would have done most of the things I have wanted to do before I get married. Heck! I may still continue to do those things post wedding. I just want to reach that point in my life without having any regrets. I don’t want to burden my marriage with regrets. It’s not fair to the guy.
So when I know for sure, when my wedding will be, I’ll let you know. Till then, take your sympathy and shove it up your ass. Do something constructive like turn your attention on making your married life better, instead of being a Nosy Parker.
‘Guy whose guts I hate’, I hope you’re reading.
I’ll hear wedding bells eventually. Just, not yet. Till then, I like where I am right now and where my life is taking me.
xoxo
P
Sunday, April 19, 2009
BFF
I’ve been caught up with the rest of my life. This should explain my hiatus from my blog. I won’t apologize for the same.
Life has been hard on me as far as friendship is concerned. I have learnt NOT to be gullible, NOT to trust easily, GIVE people the benefit of the doubt, GIVE people a second chance if I consider them worth my while, ALLOW relationships to grow on their own instead of forcing them to, and moreover cherish the few friends I have.
I found myself in a strange city with unknown people in the year 2007. And I met somebody special. Of course, at the point of time when I met her (the special somebody), I did not know how close I would become to her. We met every day. We shopped every day. We went for movies every day. We’ve had cups and cups of coffee together, spent hours at Koshy’s and Tibetan Market and at Inox. We have even spoken over the phone late at night, despite having spent hours together earlier in the day. I’ve cried to her. She’s cried to me. We have shared laughter. We’ve shared clothes, bags, shoes, feelings and emotions This friendship happened through circumstance - that of knowing people in common, of not knowing anyone else in Bangalore, of thinking alike despite being completely different, of having varied as well as similar tastes in everything and of agreeing to disagree. She is the only other person that has understood me completely, other than Baafs. She is, in many ways a carbon copy of Baafs. She is someone who never misinterprets anything I ever say or do. She is my alter ego. She is a part of who I am today. She will always be a part of me.
Today I stand before you, disoriented, lost and with an intense feeling of despair. For she will soon fly over the Indian Ocean to a country far away and I will once again, stand alone.
So I dedicate this blog post, my actual birthday gift to you, Tina. And try to, in some way, immortalize our friendship in cyberspace. Primarily because I don’t think I can do so in the real world we live in. I will also make this promise to you. I promise to cherish every moment we have ever spent together, miss you every day, think of you every day, call you on Skype whenever I can, and be by your side anytime you ever need me (even if I have to do so virtually).
This testimonial below, written by me and posted on your forgotten profile captures the true essence of what our friendship is:
“Tee!
She's My Rockstar, My Lunch Buddy, My Shopping Trip Pardner, VP of My Gossip Club, My Shots Pal, My Sucky-Movie-in-the-middle-of-the-afternoon-watcher frund and moreover My Sounding Board. She kicks my ass in Karting (though I purposely go off track and into the tyres). She'll try and whack me everytime I make a smart assed comment knowing fully well I can pin her down if I wanted to. I'm her official Bodyguard, I keep her Booty safe!! ;-) She always listens (n with few complaints) to me literally go Whiiiiiiine!!! She feeds me when I'm hungry n laughs her ass off at everything I say. She's my support when the Con Man aint around. She's my Appy's fav gal in B'lore. She's My Mom's Fish lover n My Dad's Booze lover. Moreover Tee is Me!
For the above mentioned reasons and loads more unmentioned ones, You are my Best Gal Pal!
Here's to you n Girlpower!! Cheers. You know I lou you.”
xoxo
P
Life has been hard on me as far as friendship is concerned. I have learnt NOT to be gullible, NOT to trust easily, GIVE people the benefit of the doubt, GIVE people a second chance if I consider them worth my while, ALLOW relationships to grow on their own instead of forcing them to, and moreover cherish the few friends I have.
I found myself in a strange city with unknown people in the year 2007. And I met somebody special. Of course, at the point of time when I met her (the special somebody), I did not know how close I would become to her. We met every day. We shopped every day. We went for movies every day. We’ve had cups and cups of coffee together, spent hours at Koshy’s and Tibetan Market and at Inox. We have even spoken over the phone late at night, despite having spent hours together earlier in the day. I’ve cried to her. She’s cried to me. We have shared laughter. We’ve shared clothes, bags, shoes, feelings and emotions This friendship happened through circumstance - that of knowing people in common, of not knowing anyone else in Bangalore, of thinking alike despite being completely different, of having varied as well as similar tastes in everything and of agreeing to disagree. She is the only other person that has understood me completely, other than Baafs. She is, in many ways a carbon copy of Baafs. She is someone who never misinterprets anything I ever say or do. She is my alter ego. She is a part of who I am today. She will always be a part of me.
Today I stand before you, disoriented, lost and with an intense feeling of despair. For she will soon fly over the Indian Ocean to a country far away and I will once again, stand alone.
So I dedicate this blog post, my actual birthday gift to you, Tina. And try to, in some way, immortalize our friendship in cyberspace. Primarily because I don’t think I can do so in the real world we live in. I will also make this promise to you. I promise to cherish every moment we have ever spent together, miss you every day, think of you every day, call you on Skype whenever I can, and be by your side anytime you ever need me (even if I have to do so virtually).
This testimonial below, written by me and posted on your forgotten profile captures the true essence of what our friendship is:
“Tee!
She's My Rockstar, My Lunch Buddy, My Shopping Trip Pardner, VP of My Gossip Club, My Shots Pal, My Sucky-Movie-in-the-middle-of-the-afternoon-watcher frund and moreover My Sounding Board. She kicks my ass in Karting (though I purposely go off track and into the tyres). She'll try and whack me everytime I make a smart assed comment knowing fully well I can pin her down if I wanted to. I'm her official Bodyguard, I keep her Booty safe!! ;-) She always listens (n with few complaints) to me literally go Whiiiiiiine!!! She feeds me when I'm hungry n laughs her ass off at everything I say. She's my support when the Con Man aint around. She's my Appy's fav gal in B'lore. She's My Mom's Fish lover n My Dad's Booze lover. Moreover Tee is Me!
For the above mentioned reasons and loads more unmentioned ones, You are my Best Gal Pal!
Here's to you n Girlpower!! Cheers. You know I lou you.”
xoxo
P
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