Talking about politics makes me angry. It makes my blood boil and I really think I need anger-management classes. But I've never chosen to get political on my blog because I've always wondered 'so what?'. So what in the sense that, I'll get angry, abuse the ridicule that this democracy has become, vent it out in one long essay/open letter that twenty people will read and then WHAT?
I like to keep the anger within myself. I pamper it, obsess over and let it grow so that I never forget that I got to do something. I let the anger and disgust give birth to a sense of duty towards my country. It's this anger that makes me cringe from indulging in bribery and throwing trash on the road. I let the anger harness guilt inside me, so every time I do something that may cause trouble to someone else, I feel guilty about doing the same things that make me angry.
But you know what, today, all that's seething inside me needs to let itself out. Not because I don't need the anger, but because today I want to offend. I know I'm safe considering how popular my blog really is (not). But I hope this post bloody well reaches those nincompoops making a mockery of the nation and they get offended, oh so bloody offended.
I'll tell you what- the only reason you're in power is because the (now) opposition never really had any agenda of their own. It's perfectly clear that a bunch of people who can use the 26/11 attacks to circulate anti-Congress messages, are not even worth contempt. Oh you like this don't you, Sibal? Am I not hurting any religious/national/ridiculous/unreasonable sentiments now? Of course not, because I have not used the word Gandhi yet. I'm going to refrain from commenting on the opposition, though. I'm going to say this you- The GOI comprises of a bunch of dumb***** whose point of view on anything is narrow-minded, ridiculous and downright idiotic. Do you, Soniaji's puppets realize you're good for absolutely nothing?
A woman can't get out of her house alone post 7PM in Delhi without pepper spray and the fear of getting raped; Cabinet reshuffles and interest rate hikes have become seasonal activities; Farmers' suicides and unresolved crime scenes have become the thing for non-fiction narratives; Eunuchs' only sources of income remain prostitution and blackmailing and the lesser said about terrorism, the better. What the hell do you expect an average citizen to do? Hang your Soniaji's picture in his living room and worship it? A few days after India has recorded a shameful GDP growth of 6.9%, what's really being discussed is censoring social media! Oh sorry, not censorship just a 'check on the content'. Check on the content, my ass. What we really need is bloody mental health check up because seriously, such volumes of bullshit cannot be produced without the presence some serious illness/ psychological disorder.
I'm quite a consumer of social media in my everday life and I haven't seen so much 'offensive' content be churned out as has been done since you decided to 'not to go the press about "checking content" so as to not hurt any sentiment'. As a matter of fact, I refrain from using abusive language on my blog, but you know when i really learnt how to abuse? It all started with me following the Indian Political Scenario. Infact I surprise myself every day when I read about your latest decision (or lack there of) and utter an abuse I did not even realize I knew of.
Oh but it's pretty easy for you guys, isn't it. Get one minister to take his shot at talking crap and then withdraw from the statement and don't back it up as the govt/Congress. Manmohan Singh will hold a press conference where he will 'condemn' what happened or tell us that 'the decision is on hold until the parliament reaches a consensus'. And then get (not so) blue-eyed Rahul Gandhi to go on tours across the country, joining his hands promising the people that he 'will take the issue up'.
So screw you and screw your bloody censorship.
I take it upon myself to offend you and hurt this national sentiment that you speak of with such callousness.
You know what the national sentiment really is? It's anger and it's disgust.
But you wouldn't know that because you're all too busy licking some Italian ass.
Hanging in the air, Clogging every cloud of thought Lies a conversation incomplete Eyes set ablaze with wrath Look closer, its just love discreet A fine smile and civil nods Come closer and feel my beat Its too cold where I stand Its too pale for me ******
I spy On you tearing up Every sheet of faith I ever had One honest word at a time
I spy On me crying Into the pillow, Softly One memory at a time
Let me tell you a secret you already know You and me We're not meant to be
Let me tell you a secret you must never know I wanted to go that extra mile I just wanted to see you smile. *****
A broken teapot Smiling from its ruins Black tea across the marble floor And a shadow hiding
Live a little today, they tell us Let's live our whole lives today indeed We'll remove the stains tomorrow And gather the ruins, maybe.
Through all the ugly curses, Through all the second glances, I forgot to let you know Just how happy you make me
Let's live our whole lives in just today Today, when its just you and me. ******
Crinkly white sheets Crisp cotton and us underneath While you slept, your eyes shut I dreamt the whole time My eyes wide open, Staring at you
Our bodies lay so close But my mind was far away In a time long ago When I still made you laugh
And slowly as I kissed your eyes, I knew this was ending This- that had never begun at all.
Disclaimer: This post has been lying in the drafts section for over 2 months. Completed, edited (not really) and published only today. Yes, Yes, Lazy was coming.
When I was young, oh wait am still that (would it be ridiculously disney of me if did the *facepalm*?), so let's start over. When I was a child, I remember sitting in my living room in Madras and telling my mother and a friend that I wanted to be 'businesswoman' because I loved the idea of wearing a red business suit (yes, the one with a red blazer and a red skirt) and 6-inch high pumps and walking around an 'office' with 'filework'. I was in class 4 and Kingfisher Airlines hadn't launched then. Years later of course, the Mallya stole my idea and converted it into some sort of an affordable male fantasy for them 'kings of good times'.
Shortly after that statement, I realized that 'office' actually implied hierarchy and 'filework' did not mean simply signing sheets of paper and acting important. I dropped the dream and returned to my original dream about wanting to be the President of the country ( I was not aware of the helplessness of the post then) and/or an air-hostess and/or Miss Universe. I grew up stout, rather short and couldn't win the war against acne. So as awesome as my personality was, it required more than communication skills to be crowned with diamonds and wave the hands like a princess. So the beauty pageants part was out. I also realized you can't just wake one morning and decide to preside over the country. So presidency was out and how.
What did smart, opinionated, sort-of-creative drama queens like myself do in life? I decided I want to be a journalist. Believe me, noone at that point of time chose to highlight the fact that news reporting really was not about voicing one's opinion on a corporate-funded national platform. I thought the un-pretty people, you know the unconventional ones like myself wore a lot kohl, Fab India and were destined to change the world and of course, in the process garner their own fan following. The world was one giant stage where my character would draw a lot of applause and admiration. I observed carefully and found out that I needed to wear more khadi, put even more kohl and use words/phrases like 'inequality' , 'gender-bias' , 'death of democracy', 'left leaning' , I would be labelled intellectual and my ideas, radical. I don't mean the people who did this were un-pretty. I just mean, that un-pretty ones could be safe with this.
If you're still reading, it is safe to assume that you have judged me beyond measure, not only for my hopeless dreams and understanding of the world, but for choosing the wrong title to the post. Why would I tell you the rat can't opt out of the race and then elaborate in painful detail, my dreams and ambitions and uselessness? I don't know, actually. I don't know why I began this post in the first place. Maybe because I forgot what I was writing about mid-way. But this title, does sound catchy no? If I had called this "My list of dreams" or some jazz like that, you would have never even bothered to open it. So the initial idea of the post had a lot to do with this title, but now it doesn't. I'm mental like that.
So anyway, getting back. The journalistic dreams soon fizzled out as I learnt what it really meant and I decided to sell my soul, succumb to the world's ways and join the world of advertising/marketing. Like I'd said to someone, sometime back, now that I've sold my soul, I feel rather liberated because there really is nothing I can be uptight about and/or decide to judge anymore. I sell magazines, really. Before that, I sold newspapers. I'm a part of the typical rat race now. For all my childhood yearning to choose an alternate profession or do something different, something I feel passionate about as opposed to just minting money, I've ended up following the herd mentality now haven't I? I want to do the M.B.A. route (I'm going to pretend I don't hear your snide remarks or see your eyebrows flinch and your lips curve into a smirk). The point still remains, it's a race and it's not easy.
But you know the funny thing is, I don't feel all "I am wasting my life away". Yes, I'd love to travel a lot more than I already do. Actually, I'd like to discover a lot more of the country all by myself and this lifestyle doesn't really permit those vagabond ways. But it's a simple balance really. The vagabond shoes need to be those yummy ones that tempt you for really long until you get to wear them. If I wore the vagabond shoes like a pair of chappals, they would be reduced to just that- everyday chappals.
To opt out of a race, you only land yourself in another. In wanting to be different, we participate in the biggest cliche of all. To think out of the box, you land yourself in another box. It's only logical. In this constant struggle against definition, we actually end ourselves up in the biggest pattern of them all.
What's the solution? I don't know. I usually just go to sleep.
That's been my state of mind for a while now. It's dazed and it's spaced out like a space cadet. It's just blum. So this is not a rant about why life sucks,this post is just a silly excuse to justify my rather unjustified silence here. For the few people who read this and have asked me about what has happened with the blog- well, it's up and it's running. I'm supposed to put up a very important book review here. I have 3 more posts in drafts that need to be completed and 'push-button-published'.
The ultimate truth is I'm incredibly lazy. The peripheral truth is I've been ill. No serious illness of course but just that annoying kinds that wants to remind me about the need for a lifestyle change.
I don't like to write it out anymore. It's that phase when the excel sheets have taken over my brain. But the thing is the blog itself looks so dull and morbid. It's a reflection of that closeted emo side. No fun, I say.
In other news, let me explain "blum".
Blum is a state of mind that affects more than just the space in your mind. It's usually caused after a period of immense thinking, deep thinking, over analyzing, self-caused-exhaustion and emotional draining. The process of being blum implies laziness, spaced-out-ness, lack of any pro-activity whatsoever, happy-sad laughter and a rather disrespectful indifference to life and what comes with it.
Blum is a state of being null.
I don't know if it's enjoyable. I'm too blum to know if am enjoying it. But i'll tell you this- it makes you produce a lot of nonsense.
It's time for the nonsensical update post. Yes I know, it's the kind of stuff I really want to write about because I think the society at large, feeds off updates on my life. It is also the kind of post you'll barely even want to acknowledge (unless of course, I tell you I've broken a limb or two) because you'd rather I write about this stuff in my personal journal as opposed to a public platform like this one, that claims to bring out the 'writer' in me.
But, anyway, in other news ( *wink *) :
I did actually compile all the poetry I'd written through the years. When I went through it, I was slightly taken aback. I did think I was a better writer. I guess that's what happens when you compile stuff you've written over the years- some of it becomes irrelevant, even to yourself. The parcel was sent to the publisher and the courier service decided to never deliver the consignment. It's not even returned to the origin yet. Is this some sort of a sign? A quick note to whoever is up there controlling the humans- It's taken a lot of courage to come out of the closet about my writing attempts, the task of actually sending stuff to publishers being almost herculean in nature, don't mess this up please. And if you believe in giving signs, give clearer ones. (Would I demean myself if I indulge in quick smileys to support my plea here? yes, I am a blackberry girl. :-/)
I desperately need to discover some new fun shows to watch. I miss the HIMYM madness and I can't keep going back to FRIENDS all the time. Sometimes, they'd point at me and laugh- them people on the show. It is after all not perfectly normal to just never grow out of a show.
I've won myself an autographed "JS & The Times of my life". Yes, it has been signed by Jug Suraiya himself. How? Well I signed-up for at blogadda and offered to review the book. So the review is going to be up in 7 days and no, I do not have to write nice things about the book, if I don't like it. So, it's a win-win situation, as people in my corporate side of the world would say.
Am working on a post called "Things parents say". If you have any expert comments/additions/suggestions for the same, do write to me. I always give the credit where it's due and I think a post like this one should contain inputs from well, having experienced more than one set of parents.
I love the new blogger interface. Its simple and customized to maximum clarity. Quite unlike a certain part of my life right now.
Until we meet again, then?
Note to self: The style of writing is becoming increasingly chic-lit. The slang words that were once frowned upon by my pompous self are now a rather homogeneous part of this supposedly-new writing format. Maybe, I should give up on the dream of writing a though-provoking novel after all. I can only do Headaches, Heartaches and Haircuts kind of stuff (yes, that is one book idea).
Ah well, at least I still spell it as 'colour' and not 'color'. Until I reach that stage, I guess am still safe.
Disclaimer:This is just another article on Bombay.
Yes, I know, this subject has been done to death (actually come to think of it, the phrase 'done to death' has in itself been done to death). But there must a reason this city is constantly written about, photographed and raved about. The strange thing is, I don't think we really understand that reason- not just the readers/observers but even the producers, the ones who choose to flesh out the city in words or clicks and here-in lies the beauty of Bombay- the underlying beauty that ensures our preference for the city despite our hatred for it on all practical subjects. Why is it that we are so unabashed about our disgust for the traffic situation, the long distance travelling, the dirt, the slime, the slums, et all but at the very same time seduced by the glam city.
It's a city of dreams, I was told. It's a city of reality, I am told now. I cannot argue with either. So I agree with both the statements and continue to be bewildered. I can't say I've never mocked the romanticism of Bombay. I'd sit back with that look of disdain and insult the idealism that is associated with living here. But, I guess I rendered the cynical me speechless the day I started a label on this blog titled Bombay. I've never done that for any other city, now have I?
So, a couple of days back, on my insisting him to come visit us here, a friend's father asked me, "What is it about Bombay, that you'll like so much? Isn't Bombay just an illusion?". This statement was repeated by me to an audience comprising of 'immigrants' into the city from all across the country. Everyone laughed, shook their heads and acknowledged the friend's father to be something little short of genius and then almost equally dramatically reclined into an introspective silence repeating the question to themselves in their heads. A large part of that introspection was of course because of the supposed poverty that we like to believe ourselves to be in.. But, let me not digress. A write-up on this situational urban poverty is due- but another time.
Ever since I started my second stint with the city, I have woken up to a new personal hazard almost every day. I don't know if that's to do with the city though- I seem to be quite hazardous for my own good. But it does not make me want to move out of the city. I thought when I moved here that I will absorb the 'art and culture' that Bombay is so shamelessly pompous about. I haven't been to a single art gallery in the 3 months that I've been here and the only play i went for had an acquaintance as a part of the cast and the entry was free. I thought I'd become a 'fully- party-girl' since this city never sleeps. I still hate clubbing as much as I always did. But I've been busy. More importantly, I've been moving. It's this very sense of movement that one can't help but associate with this place. It's a feeling one can loathe at times, but a feeling that seeps into your system and ensures that you find every other god darn city bloody slow.
The sharp contrast that is usually noticeable only to an outsider is the inherent laziness in the young college goers as opposed to commoner- the taxi driver or the worker whose eyes speak struggle. The point is, it's all about survival here. It can be unnerving to some, but I think it can bring out the best or the worst in you- this constant need to prove your own worth, not only to others (honestly they're so caught up in the same thing themselves, there is a chance they don't give a damn about what you're worth) but to yourself. I know i say all this because am an outsider into this culture, this struggle. But it's only as an outsider that one really sees the essence of the city. This sounds extremely fancy, I know and one might even call me presumptuous but there is some truth in it. When you're an insider and one of the people, you're so in it that your vision can be blinded, biased and rather myopic. Observations from a periphery are often more wholesome. The so called comman man of the city walks fast and straight and his eyes are usually bloodshot with a mixture of anger, fatigue and ambition. The average college-goer or what we could call this 'new generation' is relatively lazy, bollywood-ised and a tad bit reluctant because of the luxury of choice that they're blessed with. I know this could be said about the country at large. But, if you look closely, it's only extremely obvious about the city. It's an interesting contrast- the quick paced movement that is associated with the local railway station and the rather luxurious stroll on the Marine Drive. Almost at once, the city transforms itself from being your dreaded P.T. instructor to lazy art class with one slight difference- there's no lunch break. Oh, there is never a break, if you live in Bombay. You're always moving. If you choose to not move, you'll either be pushed ahead or pushed aside. But remember, there are so many people who've been pushed aside that even in that herd, you'll keep moving. Slower maybe, but you're always moving. And you're always asking yourself, "can you keep up with the pace?".
I think my bias towards Bombay comes largely out of my amusement by it. Despite the usual humdrum and everyday fatigue, not a day goes by without a crazy story to go to sleep thinking about or a ridiculous new discovery of the extremity of human behaviour and not to forget, my own stupidity. There's just so much that amazes me everyday and so much more that amuses me, I feel like a toddler who's discovering the power of the five senses. When you're so busy being in awe of your environment and en-wrapped by it's sheer magnitude, there's no time or space left to be angry or objective.
But there is a reason it's overrated- standing on one end of the city staring into the Arabian sea and facing your back to one of the world's most expensive commercial estates and reminding yourself, you're just another little dot that without the magnifying glass, is just another part of the long straight line. Will the dot opt out and cause the line to break? But to cause the break, the dot needs to be erased or move backward or forward into the sea. Is it even important to break the line?
So, you smile to yourself , shake your head at the ridiculous introspection, blame it on the sea or your new life and rush to catch the next local home. Poetic reflections near the sea, don't pay the exorbitant rent even ordinary dots need to shell out. We're all a part of the bigger line, you see. The line that's always moving.
I must put up a fancy disclaimer to save my life, lest I be labelled as unreasonably cynical, corporate suck-up, annoyingly opportunistic or anti-democracy. But, screw you. If one man is allowed to throw a fit and threaten the nation like a child so the PM meets him and the media showers generously, so much attention on him, then am allowed to put this up on a blog created by the self with not even 20 people who actually read this.
Take this all in good humour. If you can't, you don't pay me to write this anyway, so you can condemn my power of acute observation and shrug it off as cynicism (Yeah, that's B Shaw's excuse, not mine).
Happy Meals to Save the day: In an attempt to display it's supremely philanthropic and regionally "customized" concern, Mc Donald's should have sponsored the breaking of the rather famed fast, the first time round itself. Picture this: Anna Hazare and his supporters sitting there eating Mc Donald's Happy meal- happiness ka formula. Breaking of the fast, brought to you by Mc Donald's. Headlines: Happy meals save the nation/ Happy meals for a happy nation/ A truly happy meal... I could go on. If by any chance, you happen to be the news guys reading this, maybe you could pay me to come up with the headlines. I'll do a mighty good job, clearly.
Candle-making Business: For the longest time, I thought this was the best occupation for the rich housewife. I could blame my origin and loud community for making me want to never take up a job, find a really rich man and run this business from his money. But today this has taken a new meaning altogether. We underestimate the potential of them white candles. Existing candle makers could come up with 'candles for a cause'- customized candles to every national calamity/disaster/newsworthy bullshit could be created. So you can now buy candles that are specifically anti-corruption or terrorism. And keep a few for the rainy day- when a schoolgirl is allegedly killed by her parents or a journalist is raped. The entrepreneur in me is now alive and kicking and am on my way to weaving world peace- one candle at a time.
New Advertising Space: I'm in the media industry, so I'll refrain from taking any names (Unless of course you decide to start paying me for updating my blog so I can quit this life of corporate slavery). But when you're in the 'business' of media, you need the advertisers to be able to be run the business. It's a mad world out there, trying to constantly 'innovate' your offerings to the marketeers. It's a madder world for the marketeers as they go to any lengths to just get 'noticed' or create 'awareness' about their brand. I say, screw the large sums of monies you pay to media houses to get the front page ad or the first TV spot during a break. Instead, invest in a simple hoarding with your brand logo on it and get your employees to stand in Azaad Maidan, VT station, Janatar Mantar, Ramlila Maidan. With the amount of coverage Anna-man is garnering, you are bound to get screen space (not only for 60 seconds, but throughout the goddamn day across all channels). Your employees will happy to get a day off excel and you can join the entertainment industry that television journalism has reduced itself to.
Branded Nehru Caps: It's the latest trend and it is after all fashion for a cause! So I say, produce different types of the Nehru cap. Each category can be produced with different materials and priced differently to cater to all segments- be it the nearby dabbawala, the middle class hysteric or the rich housewife who joins the 'movement' straight after blowing kisses at a high tea.
Anna Hazare mobile app: So what if you're busy licking some corporate ass and cannot physically be a part of the march? You can play the game on your mobile phone/tablet. The game starts with you being given a certain duration of the fast, or maybe even a fast unto death- this needs to of course be customized every hour considering how fickle minded the GOI or Delhi Police can be. Every time Digvijay Singh or his other associates who make us proud to be Indian, open their mouth, the duration fo your fast gets extended. However, every time you report a case of corruption, the fast duration is reduced by a day. Once you've done a considerable number of 'good deeds', BJP honours you and may even offer you a position in their party. Good deeds of course as per their definition so expect feeding the cow, kissing Baba Ramdev, slapping women in short dresses, etc. However, considering that most of the cases you will report, will probably include a BJP member, you might want to run back to the GOI. At the end of it all, if you manage to survive the fast, you will be called the 'real rajnikanth' and you'll win yourself a chance to throw arrows at bullets in the air with the man.
Anna-man bedtime tales or comic books: An Anna a day keeps sanity at bay.
Anna-brand Energy Drinks: Do you know why Anna can remain fit despite the starvation? Because as a child, he consumed enough of X brand's energy drink/ vitamin tablets. Boost is the secret of his energy!
Anna's own management DVDs: You know, the kind of DVD they sell on TV shopping shows/channels- the set of management DVDs that apparently improve your negotiation, management, leadership and team building skills and make you a 'sought after corporate professional'. Shiv Khera type of books too! '"Learn leadership from the man who built the nation for the second time'.
'What's your jan lokpal personality?' Facebook quiz: By answering ten simple questions, you can find out your personality match! Are you a Baba Ramdev or Anna Hazare or Digvijay Singh personality type? Who knows, your personality could be a perfect match to that of the lousy opposition too! What's more, you can publish your result on your wall and share it with your friends and find out their lokpal personality!
Cadbury sponsored Shubh Aarambh- Koi bhi shubh kaam karne se pehle, kuch meetha ho jaye! So imagine the all the jan lokpal supporters standing in a line and breaking open cadbury dairy milk chocolates in unison before they begin their fast. Couple this with the classic slow music in the background. Ah! India Shining it shall bloody be.
The writer seldom edits/proof reads her posts before push-button-publishing them so you will find grammatical errors and typos. Bear with them. (this could be a disclaimer to all the posts on this blog, no?)
This post reflects solely the opportunistic nature of the blogger which results in her taking advantage of lunch break at work to desperately try and gather some social media popularity. This does not reflect her own personal, thoughts, opinions or assumptions, lest she be threatened of physical or emotional torture owing to the nature of the post.
The writer has been single throughout her life and not only is this her state-of-being but has infact become a part of her personality. If any reader knows otherwise about her love life, she requests you to keep shut and let her live in denial. She likes it that way.
The writer does not mean to condescend or mock this state of being lonely or alone or depressed or however one wants to define it. She's just bored, yeah.
Disclaimer: These profound observations may have been a consequence of personal experience. However, let's let my profession, workplace, 'does she really work there?' kind of queries rot in ambiguity. Refrain from mentioning any names or whatever it is you do know about my personal life, as comments to this post, lest of course, you want this space to be deleted and your favourite blogger (yeah, that's what I say to myself every night in front of the mirror) be mercilessly thrown behind bars (the kind that don't have karaoke equipment).
I usually avoid specifics and beat around the factual bushes to spin a cobweb of stories seemingly based entirely on the dramatics of my imagination, but the current environment calls for specifics, heck it does. So you learn many things, when you work for a fashion magazine- things you may not learn anywhere else:
You become partially ambidextrous. Why 'partially'? Because you can now apply nail paint even with your left hand. However, when it comes to carrying files and other important 'documentation', both hands fail and that heap of files/loose sheets will always be dropped at a place where you're visible to the entire office.
Women bitch. What's new, you ask me? Well, women mostly bitch about how bitchy the other women are. It's a vicious circle of a magnitude greater than Indian Poverty. Women love to bitch about the women who bitch. The word 'bitchy' when used in reference to someone else is always a weapon of insult but when used with reference to oneself is a matter of great pride. When a woman calls herself bitchy, the word implies bravery, wisdom, victory and a sense of having learnt to deal with the world and it's hurtful ways.
You might have spent your life biting your nails and taking digs at frivolous conversations on manicures, but when you work at a fashion magazine you will start to worry about chipped nailpaint. It's inevitable. Almost as inevitable as gravity itself. When you're reviewing rather fastidiously an excel sheet that does not make any sense, your eyes will suddenly be blinded by the chipped nailpaint that you proudly walk around with. In a moment like this one, you're bound to start worrying about how long you've been wearing the same nail colour, when you will get time to change it and why the heck you don't keep the filer in your office drawer.
"Late Nights" are a valid excuse to be late the next morning: I am not joking. When you're late to work and are thinking of creative new excuses to cover up for your sleepy-headedness, a glance through the other entries for late-coming will certainly amuse you. "late night" in this world is a perfectly valid reason to come late the next morning!
How fashion forward you are is determined by the depth of your accent. An accented version of the English language is a must in this place. You may have never seen any other country apart from India except for pictures on the internet, but thou shall definitely sport a non-Indian accent. It does not matter if the nasal voice and decibel level that accompanies the accent makes you audible only to the dogs (and wolves, maybe?), thou shall still have the accent.
Alu Cheese sandwich is frowned up but blueberry cheese cake and super-chocolate cupcakes aren't. When you eat an alu cheese sandwich or extra butter dosa, you're reminded of how sugar on the lips adds to the hips and how you may not be able to afford any such additions, but cupcakes and cheesecakes are just fine- they're all yummy and don't make you fat.
The eyes do nothing more perfectly than condescend: The eyes are supposed to be super-expressive, right? It's said that the eyes usually give away what's unsaid. Well, those were the words of the blue sky-staring poor poets on the road who dream of a house on the rainbow. I'll tell you the real thing. The eyes can be an instrument of supreme insult when there is need and when there is absolutely no need. When they roll up or size you up in a second or tilt slightly south-westward in order to express paramount disdain towards you, you'd shudder in fright and want to rush to a mirror to see what skin disease it is that has taken over you.
The interns wear the most make up. It's a fact. But, cut them some slack. They are under supreme pressure to 'look the part'. So what if their job role entails handing out print outs to their seniors? They can atleast look the part right. So bring in layers of foundation, alien-ish eye shadows and really dark lipsticks (yes, lipsticks, not lip glosses). Also, to add to the effect, they will pioneer some chunky, sparkly, strange jewellery and walk around with pride about being the change agents of the fashion industry.
When you're told you don't need to be very dressed up, do not take it seriously. Or at least listen to the whole bit. A statement like that is usually followed by 'You could just carry a nice bag and wear nice shoes with a nice top'. Nope, don't sigh with relief just yet. You'll know what this really means when you hear the last line. "Like I plan to just carry that Chanel bag of mine and those jade Jimmy Choos i bought along with the classic lbd. But oh yeah, i guess I'll do a bit of make up for what it's worth."
You're going to learn new words/phrases everyday. Sample these- Boyfriend Jacket, Ruby Woo, spring-summer, fall-winter, pre-fall, 'fashion for a cause'
You get enough time to update your blog :)
I hope this post is read before it is instructed to be deleted.
in that one moment of truth, we learn to get along with the greatest falsehood.
We lie about being seekers of truth. Intrinsically, we're just all constantly learning to accept various degrees of pretense as it's closest replacement. We do this of course, in the most humane way possible. And we do this without shame, just as hypocritically as we use who we want to be as a valid excuse to be who we really are.
It's been a while since I typed out a long, incorrectly punctuated essay of grief and complain about the status of my life and my genuine disregard for and baseless cynicism towards humanity and it's ways.
I like cryptic. Actually, let me rephrase that one- I like being cryptic. It ensures a hiding place for me while the world leads its fancy life speaking a language so slang, it burns my ears. I also like fun bullet-pointed posts on random observations of human behaviour. It makes me believe I can study anthropology someday and also that people will read my blog to get great advice for life.
But there are days, when you're physically hiding under covers and almost making love to your bed because you do not want to get up and face humanity. Days, like these recent ones where you go back to the realization that you still don't know what really matters. On days like these, it's best to let the mind free and let the fingers type away to glory the words that bother you, that are on your mind and will be seen on the screen, but words that will never reach your mouth or be heard. Words that will form a long essay devoid of purpose, per say but will relate to a certain part of everyone, nevertheless.
It's been a mad bloody ride. 2 months of this new life i'd been preparing myself for, for as long as I can remember. But these 2 months seem like a lot more than just 61 days. I am going to leave the specifics and "learning" for another post that shall be bullet-pointed and posted only after 3 months are over. For now, let's stick to- I've said my hellos and I've bid my goodbyes. Its been one heck of a ride!
What's amusing is that while the bullet pointed things in life- excel sheets, marketing meetings, career, targets, housing problems, transportation issues, financial standing matter to a great deal because they're what make 'the plan', what really makes the personality or decides how much of an emotional overhaul you're going counter is the vague part of life. I thought i used ambiguity as a cover because I don't like definitions- they remind me of restrictions and any form of restriction equals suffocation. But suddenly I am caught between it all- caught in a web that might have been self-spun but cannot be self-erased.
Little things matter.
Emotions are not underrated.
So I sit on my bed wondering if I can just sleep it off. You can delay decisions, procrastinate on work but how do you sleep off experiences? You can stop obsessing over the experience and fool yourself into believing the bad feeling has evaporated, but it still sits there right? It stays put and takes a permanent spot inside your being looking for the right moment to remind you of it's life. It's a damn opportunistic thing, this bad feeling. What do you do about how experiences shape you? This must happen to all of us, no? People and the experiences they gave you always leave a part of them with you and maybe they take a part of you away. But you only feel the part that's left behind.
You know how people ask you all the time what would you do today if you knew you were dying tomorrow? Well, if it wasn't tomorrow and say there was a fixed date, I'd think on the lines of the country and I'd think on the lines of literature. Surprisingly enough, am doing none of that right now but I just know or maybe like to assume/believe, that I'll get there.
But if you say to me I'm dying tomorrow, all I'd really want to do is talk to every person I've encountered in my life and tell them exactly how they made me feel.
When the going gets tough, the so called tough weaken.
To be in a loving relationship, one needs to be dumb oneself down 2 notches or more.
We like to believe and convince others to believe that 'whatever happens, happens for the best' because it's more painful to face the fact that we may have made the wrong choice.
Our parents treat their interns like garbage, yet always encourage us to get internships as they provide us with a great 'learning' opportunity. It is after all, the only way of learning how to serve coffee, take print outs, make photocopies, chase couriers and follow up with the clients' receptionists all in one.
The editorial hates the marketing. The marketing doesn't get the editorial. Everyone hates HR- This one's by a girl named she.
When you're not thin, it's easy to blame the world's problems and almost all of your own on your weight- My love life would improve if I lose weight; my sex life would exist if I lose weight; my boyfriend will buy me more expensive gifts if I am thin; my colleagues won't harass me if I lose weight; I'll be able to bitch better if am thin; The Taliban will leave the rest of the world in peace, if I lose weight; the country's ever increasing economic inequalities would begin to diminish as I start to lose weight; India will be addressed as developed the day I lose weight. Phew! the list really is endless.
An elevator is just place you'd be stuck in with the colleagues you don't like or your boss on the day you came late and almost always an ugly fat man who doesn't work in your office but likes to burp a lot and very loudly so.
The 'nice' guy and the 'intelligent' women are the most desired species in recent times. Right, that's why they always move into the 'friends' zone. They are rewarded for their desirable traits with platonic hugs and sob stories of how the undesirable partners (and still the only kind that they will all ever mate with) are not nice/oh-so-blonde.
Murphy's is the only law that has no exception, no contradiction and is 100% accurate 24/7.
We're the dandruffed generation: The inefficient nincompoops that govern the nation sit back laughing when the opposition opens their mouth to condemn everything and anything without any substance or agenda. We know we've got dandruff, but we're too lazy to rid ourselves of it so we wear white and pretend like we can't see it falling down on us. \
Inherent so strongly, almost stone-like in each one of us, is the best and the worst of us. The anti-me is as intrinsic to us as the me. And when both these grow in magnitude and ambition, almost parallelly, we build within ourselves, our greatest contradiction- the contradiction that threatens to destroy us, that challenges us, makes us question all it is that we hold dear to our heart , soul and mind and in the process, unknowingly, makes us only stronger and lot less contradictory.
It's beautiful, I think, how molded so beautifully in our characters are the best and the worst of us. The best and the worst not necessarily on a relative note to the other earthlings, but our own best and worst, in isolation from everyone else. We are capable of doing that which we hate as easily as that which we love. That's why we find it so easy to hate ourselves.
We can be our biggest fans, most generous flatterers and yet startle ourselves by being our most apathetic critics, brutally damaging the ego we took pride in creating.
So we tread the path known or unknown only to collide with ourselves and fall back or be pushed to a new path and then it is our very own self that brings us back to the familiar path. Sometimes, the collision makes us stick to the new path and we carry on, until yet another collision with some other part of ourselves.
The world is not going to end with the board exams.
Yes, you're the youngest in class. Yes, you're the youngest wherever you go. Yes, it can be a bitch. But I'm not going to lie to you, infact I know that's the one thing you hate and always will, so- that's probably not going to change. Take pride in it or learn to deal with it. But the age thing is not going sort itself out. But yeah you got bigger problems to think about right now.
Don't be so worried about losing all those friends, you've made at school. The only reason you're dying to hold onto them is because of your inherent laziness and an unreasonable fear about what's in store for you. Breathe. Let go. Over the years, you'll meet many new people, fall for so many of them, find some great friends and lose some of them. But trust me when I say this sitting from here, each time, you'll be hurt, then let go and learn to love yourself and others a little more.
Life seems pretty messed up to you right now, but you're only 16 and luckily for you slightly nerdy. But the best part about being on an all time low when nothing seems to be going for you, is that from here you'll only rise. That I can say with surety. You're questioning everything around you right now. That's not bad. But don't judge basis your own assumptions, wait for experiences- they equip you with the best judgments. You're resorting to things you're not very proud of. But there will be a day when you will not be able to imagine using that blade on your wrist. There'll be a day you'll look back at your 16 year old self and laugh at this. Laugh, but with a feeling that resembles regret. So to avoid that feeling (because you don't like the very idea of regretting what you do), love yourself a lot more.
Weight loss will come to you too. But you'll never be happy with it. So no point obsessing over it anyway right? But just believe me when I say you're at your fattest best. So from here it only get's better! :)
You're still going to be as confused about the concept, nature, fundamentals and operational bits of love a few years down the line as you are now. Maybe I'll write to you about that later, like a hundred years down the line when I would have established my peace with it.
First kisses are overrated. Don't build your hopes around it too much.
Myspace is awesome right now. But in time you'll discover more technologically unobselete ways to publish your idea of poetry for free online. In fact, you know how your blog is restricted to public viewing right now? Ah, well, I don't want to be a killjoy.
Keep the confidence going, a few years down the line, you'll learn to feel it in your heart and your veins and it will be the one reason you get all that you want.
Oh and about your biggest worry- the board exams- don't worry you'll do just fine. But as is your nature (which people around you will keep pointing out to you, if they don't already)- you will crib about it nevertheless.
Just one thing before I sign off? Never say never. There are so many surprises for you in store, I feel the excitement right from where I am :)
And when I delight my audience
with a humour not so profound,
narrate tales of glamour
or that heroic sound
My thoughts stay with me
The truth, the lies, the guilt-
Then when I act upon cliche
and say am that- the lonely in a crowd
you take solace in my lie
And of your incompetence feel proud
because in herds we find shelter
and in herds we cage our comfort
My thoughts stay with me though
The truth, the lies, the pretense-
When I hear the muffled cries
in the strange depths of your soul
but greet you with laughter
and a gaze so cold,
My thoughts are still with me,
the truth, the lies, the cowardice-
When I distance myself
from the wreckage you caused,
play second fiddle
to the memory we overhaul
as if renovation were possible
of the soul so damaged,
my thoughts are still with me,
The truth, the lies, the pain-
When I sit by myself
struggling with a song,
I stare into an empty space
Thinking those thoughts,
those thoughts won't get rid of me
The truth, the lies
the pretense, the cowardice, the guilt
You know what's wrong with you, Miss Whoever-you-are? You're chicken, you've got no guts. You're afraid to stick out your chin and say, "Okay, life's a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that's the only chance anybody's got for real happiness." You call yourself a free spirit, a "wild thing," and you're terrified somebody's gonna stick you in a cage. Well baby, you're already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it's not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somali-land. It's wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself.
There are atleast 3 other posts saved in my drafts and I don't know when they will see the light of the day. Slowing down on the blog posts is sadly, only the tip of the iceberg. I taste the salt in the water as I welcome myself back to Bombay.
I love this city- as I never tire of emphasizing to myself, my friends and family as well here, on this page. But things have changed. Prima facie, the city is just the same- traffic at wee hours in the night; humidity that causes one to look deranged, if nothing else; people, oh so many people, caught up in their everyday lives such that struggle becomes normalcy in this city- a status quo of sorts.
Maybe, it's not the city that's changed. Maybe, it's me. As I walked along these fancy streets outside my new home, I realized, this time round, I really am here to stay. I will cry and I will crib and I will vent to anyone that can listen, but this time round, I am not moving. It's not a decision or a choice- it's an instinct.
The only fear I have is of getting consumed. It's a whirlpool of a city and it can consume you without so much as a warning until you find yourself uninspired, exhausted and unable to bear the stench of the sea. It's irony at it's very best if you ask me, because in its truest form, inspiration is all that this city is about.
So that's a cheers to the new life, the new chapter in the old city and a future whose components I know not of!
We underestimate our power to restrict ourselves. We underestimate to a larger degree, our power to break out of our own mould.
As we travel our lives armed with what we believe is a clean heart and an intelligent brain, we seldom acknowledge some else's belief of the same things for themselves. Principles are overrated and so is the concept of a 'character'.
How often have we felt that what we did was not like 'us'? How often have we slaughtered someone else's behaviour and called their actions 'unlike them' or 'so out of character'? Well, if it really is not like you to do what you did, why then would you do it? Characters and our definitions of ourselves are derived from our ideals, thoughts and ambitions. Our definitions of others are the consequence of a combination of our perceptions, assumptions and our expectations from them. But, what really makes an individual is his actions. I smile with guilt as I say this because I like to judge myself by my thoughts too.
I am not trying to downplay the impact of one's thoughts and intentions. They are infact very important in the process of making an individual. I simply want to point out that we need to stop glorifying the concept on restricting ourselves to what's like 'us' and what's not. We laugh at the teenagers suffering from serious peer pressure issues and constantly trying to fit in. But subconsciously, we are doing that our entire lives.
If you've bribed a priest to get a better view of your favourite God, then don't justify it by saying that you don't usually bribe and are in fact strongly against corruption. Heck, you took this pilgrimage to 'cleanse your soul' didn't you? You clearly needed to make that bribe to clean it properly. If you are speaking ill of someone, don't start with 'I don't usually bitch but..' Well, you're sure as hell bitching right now! If you've cheated on your partner or broken someone's heart, don't try to justify it by saying it was your first time. The point is, you've still done it.
Everything would be so much easier if we just led a no holds barred life. Why do we try to reduce ourselves by bottling our free spirits only to suffocate them so they eventually, do break the bottle, defy the rules and attempt to break free? It's like when you're parenting- you know fully well that the moment your tell your toddler to not touch something, his curiosity increases even more and he'll touch the object given his first chance. We never grow up about these things. Imposition of rules by others is another thing, but imposition by oneself is an entirely different ball game altogether.
The reason we end up in phases where we find freedom and peace elusive by all measures is simply because we are responsible for binding ourselves by unnecessary rigidity only to eventually indulge in a few acts out of the rulebook.
But even as I write this and feel this, I know that I am going to get back to making rules for myself, holding myself back and calling some actions out of character.
Is this the way we're raised or is this just a more comfortable way to be? A narrow mind, conformism are often the unexpected rescue for the rather lazy ones.
So, there is something about a good old love song that makes the even the most cynical heart melt and the not-so-cynical ones? Well they dance with a joy so profound, you'd think world peace was overrated.
For all the brutalities that I might have subjected boy interests to, when it comes to music, I do love love songs.
But, when you delve deeper into these songs, actually screw that, when you so much as just read the lyrics without the music, even the most popular songs have some ridiculous undertones. Some examples, as you'll find below. What I'd really love, is additions to the list.
One more book idea- Killing the top 100 love songs. I should get paid to think, I'll then pay others to execute.
"Love of mine, some day you will die.."-No seriously, why would you ever say that to someone, especially the girl you love. Yes I know the song is all about how he shall not part with the girl even after she dies, but what the heck, that's not making either of their lives simpler. Firstly, you write her a song and begin it reminding her of her mortality. Secondly, how is any of the after death assistance/guidance that you offer going to help her pay her rent and live her life well? I see this as a lazy excuse to get away from buying her dinner.
"Oh yeah I'll tell you something, I think you'll understand.... I wanna hold your hand"- Before I say anything further, I heart Beatles, I do. This song is a personal more-than-favourite. However, just read the lyrics again, without humming them in your head- read it like prose, actually. It's horribly pansy. You build it up so much, make the person think she's going to get some serious insight into your emotions or maybe discover some secret ingredient to solve the volleyball between Jaylalitha and Karunanidhi (I would have ideally used 'finding Osama's wear-abouts' as the perfect example, but Obama has already stolen my thunder) and then you tell her this? You want to hold her hand? Seriously? It almost sounds like a little child's plea- the one who can't cross the road alone. I don't get the anti-climax, the constant obsession with the hand. With a song like that, I doubt you'll ever go beyond the hand. What would be funnier would be a girl who takes you by your word and promises to hold your hand gaze into the sky, counting the stars with you the whole night. Your hormones can go for a coffee break.
Your body is a wonderland- Yea, I could not choose any particular line- it's the whole bloody song, that's the problem here. Firstly, this is not a freaking love song! It's lust. Wait, let me get that right, it's LUST. Pure and simple. What I don't get is why women like this song and then claim to get offended when someone comments on their body parts. Women, and for good reason, do not like to be objectified- Love us for who we are, don't compartmentalize our body and comment on it- they say all the time. But the very same women melt in the knees (where they also hide their brain), listening to a cute white boy describing their skin and their tongue. Is it because he says 'you tell me where to go and though I might leave to find it'. Err... so men and women want the same thing eh? If you want love, we'll make it, as it were. Why the fuss over emotional bonding, man?
"Wondering in the night, what were the chances. We'd be sharing love before the night was through". Sinatra came to Delhi before he wrote this song. There's no better explanation. Let me first highlight that this ever so famous classic piece of brilliance sugar coats racing hormones in dire need of a one night stand. Nothing about the entire situation is romantic or warm or fuzzy. About Delhi- while you hum this song in your heard and imagine yourself (and here I take it you're a woman) ball -room dancing with an extremely attractive looking, impeccably dressed man with a great body, the truth is, you're most likely fatter in real life and the guy you'd be eyeing after a couple of drinks will not be half as good looking in the morning. The song here is trying to pacify you about drunken mistakes. Especially the time you really wanted to make one but noone was willing to make it with you. I think you should lend some hormones to the guy in point two
"Wise men say, only fools rush in. But I can't help falling in love with you." - Read those lines again, sans Elvis, sans the heart melting voice. For those of you who are listening to UB 40 or Buble sing it, please shut this window now (I Like those guys too, but you gotta imagine Elvis on this one). So when you read these lines carefully one last time, you'll find them familiar. I'll tell you from where. This is a forty five year old man taunting his late- thirty-something wife. For the sake of simplicity, let's imagine them to be Punjabi (I'd rather make a mockery of my own community than take the risk of offending another). So what he's trying to imply is that falling in love with you is the stupidest decision he ever made. It makes him question his on wisdom. Actually, he even doubts he made a decision. He couldn't help it he says. It sounds like coercion, to be honest. So ladies, the song that spells romanticism to most of you is actually an exhausted lover telling the girl that falling for her was the biggest mistake of his life and he's ready to acknowledge his character to be that of a foolish dimwit just because of you. The very same line at 17 and 37 can mean such different things, no?
I shall add to this list, when I think of more. For now, that's enough fodder to ruin some more love lives.