In the Eyes of the Beholder

This blog post goes out in public interest. To share a horrifying experience I recently had in Delhi. It takes me all my will to come out and write about it, but I know that out there, there have to be other girls, who have gone through the same nightmare as what I faced recently.

This is for all of you, just to let you know, you’re not alone.

The trauma of entering a beauty shop.

I don’t know how many of you are familiar with what most beauty shop set ups are like, at least the ones I’ve been to in Delhi Lajpat Nagar market and such. One shop, with a counter which extends straight inside, with salespersons (or in my horrifying case, all salesgirls) dedicated to different kinds of products, starting from shampoos to lip balms to cosmetics to finally the last counter: the rather embarrassing lingerie collection (where you can find everything from the stringiest thongs to the stretchiest tummy tuckers. But that’s another blog post some other time). What this store structure essentially means is, that you have a narrow passage way to navigate, cross all counters till you find the correct counter for your need, with only one door: the entrance, and more importantly, the exit.

Now on a usual day, these shops are packed to a suffocating hilt, with kids running around asking their mums about lipstick, women haggling over shampoos, and embarrassed husbands trying to keep their gaze away from that rather enigmatic last counter. Now these are the good days which simply require you to follow a simple process:

1. Breathe in
2. Enter shop
3. Locate correct counter and salesperson
4. Fight a few aunties, kick a few kids, reach the counter
5. Ask for product
6. Receive product
7. Thrust money at the counter
8. Get out
9. Breathe out and thank God for still being alive

And that’s the process I went over in my head before I entered the beauty shop near my home in Delhi, recently.

I took a deep breath and entered the store.

And it was empty.

And there were four saleswomen.

And in unison, their eyes suddenly rested on me.

I was sucked in before my brain could go from step 1 to 2.

“Yes Ma’am how can we help you?”

I…erm…wanted a kajal…

“Sure Ma’am, right here!”

I turned towards the three different counters which chimed up the last line.

Now I do not have a complete recollection of what happened next. It is but a blur. The doctor said something about selective memory as a defence mechanism of the brain against trauma.

I do vaguely remember my arms being pulled out on both sides. And then I remember feeling a lot of random liquids and brushes and pencils being tried out on my skin.

And suddenly, I found myself the subject of a group discussion, much like the ones I hated throughout my placement season in college. Now, if you have ever participated in a GD, you would realize that every GD eventually has certain kinds of people...

The one who starts the GD, and lays down the basic problem being dealt with:

“Ma’am, you have really oily skin!”

And then the one who isn’t really satisfied with the introduction, so he redefines the problem and tries to point out a new angle:

“Ma’am, so many pimples!!!”

And then the problem-solution guy. This is the person who will point out another problem altogether, and give a solution to the same. So he’s the all rounder you hope to recruit. He has a problem, and he has a solution, just not necessarily the one you wanted to discuss to begin with:

“Your hair are so frizzy, you need this leave in conditioner.”

And then the few who really don’t know what to say, and will try their best by piping in one or two not such important points and repeating earlier said points in the hope to get noticed:

“So many black heads on your nose!”

“But as I was saying, that’s because of oiliness.”

“Arre can’t you see all the pimples?”

And the concluder, who aims at getting the maximum points by summarily summarizing all points not necessarily his own:

“Yes, so in conclusion I would like to say, that a very pimply specimen with crazy frizzy curly hair has just walked into our shop. The root cause of her predicament seems to be oily skin, caused probably by bad food habits and an unhealthy lifestyle, or just a really really late attack of puberty. We have of course, by way of this highly unproductive and also a bit insulting discussion realized that the best course of action is to bombard her with a list of beauty products which will probably cause her skin to break and fall off by the time she is 30. Thank y…”

And finally, the one guy who never lets a discussion conclude peacefully, and always comes up with a point at the absolute last minute, causing the almost tamed discussion to go into a tizzy:

“Ma’am, some weight reduction lotion?”

That was the last straw. That was when I banged my bag down on their scratched glass counter and finally looked at them with a stare meant to murder, resuscitate, and murder even more cruelly all over again. My words cut through them like the knife of a brutal butcher who loves his work a little too much. By the end of my five minute monologue, there was fear, there were tears, there was enlightenment. The poor ignorant souls had been introduced to the concept of inner beauty, and their lives had been changed forever.

Sure. Or at least that’s the way I like to remember it.

What I did do was pretend to get a call and run out of the store.

Learnings:

1. There are some things that can manage to cause an even lower self esteem than Cosmopolitan magazine.
2. Multi-purpose chemists are rather awesome, specially the ones that sell kajal.
3. Pimples eventually do go away. I think.

When the World goes Round

Over the months I realize that I’ve fallen into one lazy rut. I wake up just in enough time to get ready and reach office on time. I work. And then some more. I sail a few seas. And I go to sleep. Late. And wake up just in time to get ready and reach office on time.

Believe me, I’m not cribbing. Life is rather perfect right now. Just like this.

But one thing that this routine routinely misses out on is reading the newspaper.

Blissful ignorance it was, as I learnt today.

I did pick up the newspaper after long. And this is what I learnt:

• The economy and stock markets are scary terms, again.
• London is up in flames.
• Juhu is black.
• Mumbai has potholes.
• Delhi is scary.
• TOI has decided it’s ok to use random abbreviations in headings (fgn, oppn, really?)
• We are apparently still obsessed with how Jennifer Aniston’s heart was broken by Brad Pitt.
• Rakhi Sawant is asking Sonakshi Sinha to follow her special diet.
• There is yet another Blackberry in this world.
• Aarakshan is still in controversy.
• There are mutant rats that just won’t die.
• And some usual cricket crap.

You know what I want? I want to wake up, and not have to start my day depressed. One day, I think I’ll start a paper which has two parts: the happy, and the sad. Want a chirpy morning? Here’s the nice sunny section which tells you how awesome your country is, how the weather is amazing, how the education system is improving, how opportunities are growing, how amazing the T3 airport is, how inspiring some people and their stories are.

A little further in the day, ready to face the real brutal world? Here’s the section that tells you that you might lose your job, trip over potholes, get raped on the street, feel fat over not following a Bollywood diet, and come back home to super ninja rats with kung-fu moves, which are apparently immune to poison. Oh, and some usual cricket crap.

Whatsay? Any takers?

P.S. No offence meant to the usual cricket crap lovers.

P.P.S. If tomorrow, I do see a happy-sad paper in the market, I will hunt you down and sue you.

But it Rained.

Sometimes, just sometimes, it should rain.

Sometimes, just sometimes, you should get drenched to the bone.

As the rain hits your skin, little determined needles with just one passion in life,

To break you.

To break your resolve, your belief, your tough exterior.

Sometimes, you need the rain.

To take away the shock, to let you feel the pain.

To reach into the darkest side of you, and wrench it out in slow graceful moments.

To remind you, that suffering is important.

To make you understand, that at this very moment, you are alone.

In the dark.

In the rain.

And then to softly caress each part of you.

To tell you it will all be alright.

That you are not alone in the downpour.

That this is but a test, for everyone.

To wash away your tears, for they are but worthless in its sea

To show you, that there will be a sun.

That at the end of the road is a dry haven.

That you’re not a fool for believing.

To give you hope.

To let you love.

Lost

There’s no other word for it. Because I can’t describe it. I just can’t. I’m feeling something, I don’t know if it’s an overload of something, or a void, suddenly cracked open, left for me to leak out of slowly, undetectable, unavoidable…

So here I am, using my blog for what it does best, to think. Here are the thoughts in my head, right now, at this very moment, and in the few moments that have led up to this moment:

Are you a hypocrite, if you have spent your entire life rebelling against control, and suddenly not only willingly succumb to it, accept it, but ask for it?

Is hypocrisy bad?

If your priorities change in life, is it really that big a deal? Have you changed as a person? Or have you finally grown up?

The small brown round things in my oregano, are they some kind of seed, or dead bugs?

How long have they been in there?

Would it really have been so difficult to have spotted them before I polished off my generously garnished meal?

Why did I choke on my medicine?

Why do I find it impossible to hold down a thermometer using my tongue?

Why did I break the thermometer?

Why does something as poisonous as mercury look oh-so-pretty on the bathroom floor?

Why did the last five thoughts and events occur in a span of five minutes?

What has the maid been using to cook, when there seems to be no cooking oil in the house?

Why do I suddenly feel emotions? Why do I like it?

Why am I so happy? Then why do I feel so sad?

Why am I suddenly homesick?

Why does the ship feel lost without its Captain, even if it has been safely anchored?

Why do I actually know the answer to each of the above asked questions, and yet, still ask?

This post does not have a title because I am sad and have an attention span of a nitwit

I cannot remember the last time I wrote a cohesive story, and hence I am sad.

Actually, that’s not true. I’m in general sad, not necessarily because of the lack of ability to weave a lie.

Actually, I’m not sad. Just Blah.

Not too blah though. I cooked yesterday. And I’m still alive. So technically I should be looking at this world as a second chance at life right now, no?

Ooh…raindrops! For a moment there, I thought I’d never feel you splash on my face again. And again. And bloody hell, again.

Ok, so I realised I’m reading too many random blogs nowadays. Do you have any idea the huge number of blogs that become popular just because they write small random un-intelligent things which apparently the world’s population identifies with and replies in tiny witty comments to as well? The amount of pressure to make sure your opinion is funny is enough to fry the crap out of you. And you spend your day wondering what’s so awesome about that writing. And then you can’t write.

So I think I need to restrict my reading and stop reading blogs which use incorrect grammar, sentences smaller than my Tamilian friend’s name, and euphemisms and non-sensical crap disguised as wit. It’s clearly affecting my writing. Not only do I suddenly have nothing to write about, my basic attention span while writing has gone down to that of a nitwit.

Oooh, that reminds me, while reading the works of Franz Kafka yesterday, I realized that he was diagnosed with Schizoid Personality Disorder, which dear Google explained was this:

“Schizoid personality disorder is one of a group of conditions called eccentric personality disorders. People with schizoid personality disorder also tend to be distant, detached, and indifferent to social relationships. They generally are loners who prefer solitary activities and rarely express strong emotion.”

And for a bit, I truly believed that this universe had an explanation for me. But then I pushed Google a little further, and the following was thrown up at me:

“They tend to choose jobs that allow them to work alone, such as night security officers and library or laboratory workers.”

Phew! So I cannot possibly be a Schizoid. Nice to know that most poor security officers or librarians or lab workers are though. See anything wrong with that sentence? No? Hmm. Must be something I ate then.

P.S. Don’t worry Mum, I’m just joking about having a disorder. I don’t think anything major is wrong with me. And if it is, it will one day be discovered, and then after years of scientific research be named Shively Personality Disorder. Cool, no? No? Oh, ok.

P.P.S. I don't mean any disrespect towards people who do suffer from Schizoids. I understand it is a serious disorder, and I wish you all well. Specially if you're spending your time reading my blog.

If you are in any remote way responsible or linked to any of the below mentioned things, it might be best to stay out of my face.

Yes, I know, I suddenly have a thing for awesomely long sentences as my post headings.

Whattodo.

Yes, it’s one of those days, where you want to be really really positive, you dress up nicely for office, slick down that one last strand of astray hair, and step out right into pouring rain, ankle deep muck, and no autos.

Yes, it’s one of those days.

And you’re the lucky person who clicked on my blog link.

So, if you are in any remote way responsible or linked to any of the below mentioned things, it might be best to stay out of my face. Just repeating the heading. For the slower ones. The following is a list of things I simply can’t stand:

• People who think asking questions is their birth right
• Stereotypes.
• People who believe in stereotypes.
• Bad grammar
• Gossip. Not the girl. She’s rather entertaining.
• People who see beauty in every freaking thing. I’m sorry, that puddle of stinky dirty water, is a puddle of stinky dirty water. And now that it’s all over your clothes…oh wait, it’s still a puddle of stinky dirty water.
• All sentences that end with 3 of these:    <3 <3 <3
• Dear people without brains, ssshhhhhhhhh!
• Dear Mumbai Autowala, while I won’t even try to go into trying to understand where in this city you might agree to go, please, a humble request from the soaked girl standing in the rain, don’t make a face when I tell you a certain place I need to go. It’s not that bad a place. It might not be as hot and happening as where you wanted to go…but…sorry...I didn’t meet your expectations. I’ll try harder next time.
• Dear Nosy people, sooner or later, you’ll catch a cold.
• Public loos.
• People who treat the world like their private loo.
• People who should’ve been born four centuries ago. And grown extinct.
• MCPs.
• Women who prove MCPs right.
• Back-stabbers.
• Dumb back-stabbers who get caught.
• Actually, I can live with the latter. They’re dumb. It’s not really their fault then, now is it?
• Being judged. Yes, I finally went past boredom on this one. I’m just plain annoyed now.
• Being used. Can’t remember when this happened last, but if it did, it would deserve to be on this list.
• Being replaceable. Hmm.

Actually, I don’t have that many things on my list anymore. This year is going rather well. The rain hasn’t bothered me as much. I love my work. I love the people around me. I have more support and love than I could ever imagine possible. I’m not half the cynic I used to be. I’m not a borderline depressant, and you don’t need to worry if something’s happened to me just because I didn’t blog for some time.

But it’s just…one of those days, you know?

Kthxbai!

 <3 <3 <3

Why Living Alone is a Must for Everyone at least Once in their Lives

Yes, the heading of this post is kinda long. And not very intelligent. I toyed with the idea of putting up a witty heading, a random heading, a completely vague heading, or a heading which throws you off track. But here it is. Exactly what I’m going to write about. Just the way it is in my head.

Why living alone is a must for everyone at least once in their lives:

• You understand the concept of rent. Unless of course you’re one of those lucky spoilt brats, who happen to have a house in every city, or happen to have a rich uncle who happens to have a house in every city in the damned country. Or if you’re a gujju. Then the above is by default.
• You realize for the first time in your life just how bloody expensive cheese is.
• You fall for the Big Bazaar discount trap at least once. And you only realize it at the end of two hours, an overflowing shopping cart, and a slightly bugged cashier who just had to repeat your bill amount to you twice after seeing a big “Huh?!?” splashed in bright red colours across your face.
• Plumbers, electricians and maids suddenly become a very very important part of your life.
• You understand the entire point of a frost free fridge. Sadly you understand it only once it malfunctions. And floods your kitchen. And all the Big Bazaar food shopping of that week.
• Sodexho coupons become your secret love affair.
• The iron wala becomes this elusive fairytale character you always endeavour to catch, and mostly fail to lay your hands on.
• The house parties you were in love with in your student days, now come with an additional after party: the next day. This day is spent cleaning up spilt food, broken glass, random passed out people...
• Remember how your mom always asked you to clean your room? And you groaned and thought in your head “What’s the point? It’s going to be like this again soon! Plus, I know exactly where everything is”. Well, as it turns out, there is no threshold limit of dirtiness in your room. You can go on piling clothes on every horizontal surface humanly possible, until the cupboard is emptier than the room. But be warned, there will be a day, when you’re running late for office, with one of the most important meetings in your life early in the morning, and you will not, I repeat, will not be able to find any clean underwear.
• You finally understand why your mom encouraged you to buy clothes during sale season, and shut up the rest of the year.
• You finally understand why your dad got furious about leaving the lights and fans on in the house when they weren’t required.
• You suddenly discover the joy of Mc Donalds happy price menu.
• You eventually grow sick of Chicken McGrill.
• You cook.
• You get overjoyed by the edible mess on your plate. You wonder why people crib about cooking. This is the first time you tried, and you managed to make some pretty yummy mess.
• You cook again the next day.
• Then you skip a day, because well, its ok, every alternate day of cooking is still healthy.
• Ok, so every weekend you’ll make something good.
• Or once a month.
• And then you realize how hot it is in the kitchen.
• Hello maid!
• The oil suddenly starts getting consumed at a super fast speed, vegetables do tend to disappear, along with some chocolates from the fridge, and the food isn’t like home, but there’s food every day. You're happy.
• But then, you see the maid cutting your vegetables on the floor, because apparently it’s easier than using the chopping board, and the clean kitchen counter.
• Bye bye maid!
• You realize the paucity of good maids in your city.
• You realize what happens to bathrooms if not cleaned very regularly. Let’s not get into the details of this one.
• You know how there’s always a blob of icky hair on the drainage cover in the shower? You know how you always saw it at home, but did nothing about it? You know how if you did nothing long enough, it used to magically disappear? Well, guess what. It doesn’t any more.
• You find yourself organizing things in your head, figuring out timelines of the electrician, maid, plumber and Big Bazaar, draining out the fridge, restocking it with limited cheese, and cleaning your room, well, once in a while at least.
• You find yourself proudly showing off your home to your Dad.
• You find your Mom mentioning how she now knows you can survive on your own now.
• You grow up.
• Or...you find a flat mate who has gone through the above mentioned process and grown up.

For the Love of Shoes

It’s funny how the smallest things in life can turn into ordeals for some. Shoe shopping for example, has always been something I look forward to, and something that makes me cry.

It’s almost impossible to find the perfect shoes that you set out to hunt for.

Kinda like men, dontcha think?

Oh well.

Anyhoo…shoe shopping has ALWAYS been a task for me. Some simple things I wish salespersons would keep in mind:

• Am I looking for shoes? In a shoe store? Jeez! That’s a tough one. Let me take a moment to think about how to answer that in a correct and precise manner.
• No, you can’t help me. Because you can’t carry my feet around and push them into shoes, you know?
• No, just because you thrust that shoe almost up my nose, doesn’t mean I can appreciate its prettiness any more than when it was sitting on the stand looking ugly.
• I’m already 5’6”. Try not to make me over 6 feet tall, if possible.
• I know my feet are big. Pointing to the men’s section does not win you any brownie points. Well, you know what they say about men with big feet… Oh wait. That doesn’t apply here, does it?
• When I say I wear a size 39, try to trust me. Don’t get me a 36 and ask me to trust you. Especially when your plans for the next two minutes involve shoving my foot into a casket too small for it.
• The purpose of my shoes are to keep my feet comfortable. I don’t need to be able to see my reflection on them. That’s what mirrors in loos are for. Or up someone’s skirt. That’s what the Delhi perverts are for.
• Oh you think they’re perfect? Buy them then na.
• Try not to look at my bathroom slippers to judge whether I’m worth your time or not.
• Try to not frown because its 21:01 when I’m helping you meet your month’s target, ALDO bitch.

Yeah, ok, so I have a bone to pick with a certain ALDO saleswoman. But that still doesn’t change the fact that shoe shopping can be a pain.

But in my experience, you also happen to find the perfect pair when you least expect it. When you were just ambling along with a friend who’s going frantic looking for shoes. Or when there are two minutes left for the store to close, and the saleswoman is breathing down your neck. Or when Aliens attack, and in the last few moments of life, man’s most exquisite creation presents itself to you, in your size, and the colour you wanted…

But you do find them, when you least expect it.

Kinda like men, dontcha think?

Oh well.

Bippity Bopp

Wake up: With my phone alarm

Shower: With a mirror

Breakfast: With a newspaper

Office: With a laptop

Conversations: With a messenger

Thoughts: With a blog

Food: With a weighing machine

Exercise: With a video

Interact: With a busy messenger icon

Enquire: With Google

Find your way: With GPS

Lose it: With a whim.

When all Life needs is a series of beeps.

When human interaction is redundant.

When all you need is a touch.

And you get it.

Life’s good.

For the love of life

It’s been a lazy Sunday. A nice lazy Sunday. But what most lazy Sundays do to me by the end of the day, is challenge my brain to work overtime on some completely futile thought.

Thought for the day: alternate reality

Disclaimer: No, I wasn’t thinking of inception, limbo, virtual reality or any other crap. Though that’s pretty much what this will sound like. I was simply thinking.

I’m living a life. A life created by quite a few logical decisions, a life which I continue to live by taking many more logical decisions every day, and well, a few not-so-logical and impulsive ones.

I wish I could freeze this life, in time, just make it pause, lift away from it, smile down at it, and land myself into my alternate life. A life which starts right where I switched, but where I decide differently, not necessarily based on logic, but more on instinct. More on what I genuinely feel like doing, rather than what I think might be good for me in the future.

I’d like to meet random people, and have all the fun at all the places and parties on the planet. I’d like to spend all my money, travel and shop till my last penny. I’d like to be giddy with a kiddish crush. I’d like to not think about the future. I’d like to not think about age. And expectations. I’d like to run so far away that reality becomes a distant memory.

I’d like to self destruct.

And then I’d like to return, to my frozen, logical life. I’d like to have seen and experienced all that I gave up on, and know that it was worth it. I’d like to believe that being mature and thinking through everything I do is actually what’ll make me happy.

I’d like to know, that my instinct has always been wrong, just like I believe it to be.

I’d like to know, that I am right.

Please?

5 Seconds to Life

I happen to be one of those people who just love travelling by flights. Till date, every time I enter an airport, I still explore each of its shops and eateries with the same childlike curiosity, as when I had first stepped foot onto the tiny almost non-existent Lucknow airport, at the age of seven.

The first time I sat in a Shatabdi, I was told “This is what an airplane is like…just that it’s in the air.”

And I still like to take the window seat, I still go through the safety manual, I still see the safety instructions, I still feel something funny in my tummy when the flight takes off, I still try to spot my house from the flight, and I still look forward to in-flight meals, whatever they might be like.

But the one part, which I always always apprehensively look forward to, is the landing. Let me try and describe the situation, which in my head, repeats itself without fail, each flight.

You’re sitting at the window, looking at the endless cottony clouds spread out across the landscape, beckoning you wickedly to come out and play with them. And suddenly, you dip right through them, and get a slightly hazy, yet steadily approaching view of the land underneath. You look in wonder as the merging forms appear and start to make sense, and the approach of civilization becomes imminent. And then the brick structures start to come into sight, dangerously close, until all you can see is twinkling lights at the air port, and a long stretch of tar infused to form the grey stretch where you’ll eventually land.

The runway approaches, faster than you had expected it to, and within moments you’re right above it. And then the 5 seconds begin.

These are the 5 seconds, when you literally hold your breath, because you know you’re going to make contact with something solid, while you’re at a dangerously high speed. These are the 5 seconds where you wonder if your entire long successful flight, is really going to end successfully or not. These are the 5 seconds where you remember how you said goodbye to your loved ones. These are the 5 seconds you feel confused about whether you’re still airborne, or whether it was an exceptionally smooth landing. These are the 5 seconds where the entire world ceases to exist, where noise is tuned out, your senses numbed, and worries take a back seat, as all your concentration is on the moment the aircraft will touch the runway.

And then with a thud, you hit the ground, and you’re jolted back to reality. The noise swooshes its way back into your ears, your worries and appointments for the day easily squeeze their way back into your brain, and with pure impatience the air is filled with the beeps of cellphones being switched on despite the airhostess’s announcements against it.

You get up and pretend that those 5 seconds didn’t exist for you.

But for me, those 5 seconds, are 5 seconds that I look forward to, that I’m scared of, that I know, could just be the last 5 seconds of my life.

Expressions

There are funny things which happen around us all the time. The best perhaps are ones which completely change your mood, which snap you out of your reverie, and make you wonder about karma and the world in general. Here are a few independent incidents, all more beautiful than the rest, which will remain imprinted in my head for a long long time to come.

Incident 1

There is a crossing, on the way from JVPD to the highway, which has a large number of slum dwellers. And they have to be by far, the happiest group of slum dwellers I have ever come across. Specially the kids. This huge group, which seems least concerned with life in general, always roam around in a huge group, and always have one performing to entertain the others. While they always manage to amuse me, the last time I was stuck in the traffic at that signal, I was met with the most amazing sight ever.

The signal turned red.

The traffic stopped.

The kids ran across the road in front of the traffic.

Dancing.

Specially one, around ten years of age. With a frilly Christmas decoration around his neck. Break dancing. In the middle of the road. And he was good.

He knew the steps.

He raised his collar and yanked around his shirt.

He looked directly into the eyes of the car drivers. And winked.

With attitude, like never seen before.

The signal turned green.

The traffic policeman chased him away.

He laughed, and ran away, one last look towards the amused vehicles.

Incident 2

Again, in an auto. Again stuck in traffic. I was randomly looking around, dazed, wondering when I’ll finally manage to reach home. Without much thought, I stared on at two men standing inside a bus, some distance in front of my auto. One of them was clearly excited. It was easy to tell from his body language, his flurry of movements, his expressions. Somewhere in my boredom, I was transfixed by his lack of boredom. He was emoting like I perhaps haven’t for quite some time. He seemed happy, and was clearly expressing it. I kept looking at him, randomly smiling to myself, my imagination coming up with random stories he might be narrating to his friend.

My auto moved forward, even closer to the bus now.

His excitement, happiness, emotions were even clearer from here.

His body language unique.

And then I realized.

He was talking excitedly to his friend.

Using sign language.

Incident 3

The walk home from office is not a pleasant one. It involves dug up roads, mush, and heavy traffic, along with a million other human beings rushing around in their hopes of reaching home a little earlier every day.  It’s an ugly walk, where you’re pushed and tugged from every direction humanly possible.

Every day.

That one crossing. Where the signal turns red for exactly 5 seconds.

5 seconds to cross two roads.

With cars waiting to run over you.

A zillion people rushing across. Those 5 seconds. Two roads. Need to reach home.

So you bang into people, but you keep plowing ahead. You get hurt. But you keep moving.

Because that’s what life in this city is like.

As usual, I was crossing the road. Running for life in that tiny window of 5 seconds.

And as usual, a man came running from the opposite direction, and banged into me, hard, before continuing on his way to the other side.

I grimaced. It hurt. And plowed on. As usual.

But then I felt a hand stop me from behind.

I turned around to find that man, pausing.

“I’m really sorry.”

I froze. I managed to nod, before making my way to the other side of the road.

Two roads. 5 seconds. Need to reach home.

But it just wasn’t as ugly today.

Be Kind, Rewind

After much thought and usual fretting, I finally did decide to head back to MICA, for the alumni meet, albeit just for a day.

A day for me was optimum.

It was just enough time to meet everyone, remember the good times, but not the bad.

It was just enough time to realize a lot of my mistakes, but not dwell on them.

It was just enough time to have fun, but not waste away.

But without doubt, MICA would have to be the two most complicated years of my life. And perhaps the only two years I would have regrets about, and wish I had a chance to relive. Because for once, I knew my misery was of my own making, and my complaints were plain silly.

For the first time in my life, I wish I could undo and redo a lot of things.

So the one day I spent on campus, every time I met a MICAn, a particular thought would pop up in my head, wondering how I would’ve been different to that person, given the chance, to rewind two years.

This is to you, MICAn.

I would have liked to have known you better.

I would have liked to not pretend to have known you.

I would have liked to have given you a chance.

I would have liked to not have run in the opposite direction, at first chance.

I would have liked to have judged less.

I would have liked to have been judged less.

I would have liked to have talked more.

I would have liked to have been talked about less.

I would have liked to have paid attention.

I would have sometimes liked less attention.

I would have liked to have shown my love for you, more.

I would have liked to have hurt you, less.

I would have liked to have liked you, just the way you are.

I wish you’d liked me, just the way I was.

I would have liked to have known MICA like you.

I would have liked to have been a MICAn, like you.

 P.S. I don't know if I managed to bring out all that I felt in that one day, in the correct way. It's just a funny feeling, for a rather non-emotional person, to realise that I actually do love MICA, and MICAns, and really do wish I had more time, for once.

Let's Stalk

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Are you

A nerd

Pervert

Single

Or deferred

So sweet

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Mine

Or dead

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Sugar and Spice...and Some Things Nice!

In a desperate effort to dispel the myth that I’m the most negative and pessimistic person on the planet, who only cribs and whines about everything in life, I sit in front of my laptop today, trying to put together a list of the most amazingly awesome things that have happened in my life over the past year or two.

So…here’s me …trying to be positive:

I got through the one committee in college I had always wanted to.

I moved into a hostel I loved.

I got to know Grumpo, Slim-Boy-Fat and Pappu.

I had THE most amazing 22^nd birthday ever!

I checked off the entire list of five star hotels in Ahmedabad.

I fell head over heels in love with Media.

I landed a job.

I got rid of Airtel.

I’ve had fun in Mumbai, I’ve met new people, I’ve eaten and danced to my heart’s content.

I shopped alone for the first time in my life.

I shopped.

A lot.

I realized TAM is a rare skill.

One I'm believed to possess.

My crazy roomie left.

And I love my current roomie.

Even though I barely see her.

I finally fell in love with a baby

The cutest thing on the planet

And I just can’t get enough of him!

I realized the importance of old friends.

And I try to stay in touch.

I learnt that I can actually survive absolutely alone.

And sometimes I can’t.

I fell in love with Delhi all over again.

I romanced winters.

I missed winters.

I learnt patience.

I learnt the importance of geeks.

I found the geek in myself.

I found myself.

I realized that my confidence can have an ego.

And it can get scared.

Rather easily.

I realized that I can fight.

Though sometimes I need a reminder.

And someone to remind me.

I realized life can be very good indeed.

Even if conditions apply.

In tiny font.




P.S. And Oh!!!! I have the most amazingly curly hair suddenly...on their own accord!!!!

Life With A Blogger

It’s easy being a blogger. In fact just about everyone I know now has a blog. It’s a beautiful thing isn’t it? It’s the one place you can share your wonderful experiences, your complaints and views, opinions and perspectives, and whine about everything in life in general, without the fear of being judged or reprimanded by the world, well usually at least. And in my head, at least.

Of course it’s a completely different thing that anything and everything I write is being used by your brain to form an opinion about me and an opinion about my opinion of myself. But then if I start taking that into consideration, chances are I’ll talk as little and diplomatically on my blog, as I have often forced myself to, a lot of times in my life. And I don’t like that. This blog, now around for more than six years, is one of the few connections to my past and who I really am, and I’d rather not spoil its sanctity by pretending or holding back on it.

Anyway, coming back to the point, as I was saying, blogging is the most amazing release of all the built up emotions and thoughts most people have bottled up inside them. It doesn’t matter whether you can write or not, what matters is that you want to systematically let them out. Of the blogs I love, one friend writes one liners every few days which give the most deep insight into her life at that moment. Another lets out the most humourous sexual thoughts, yet another follows a random posting algorithm to let out whatever she feels like, another writes under a pen name. I’m not sure what I do. Maybe there is some logic or pattern I follow, but that’s another thought for another time.

What got me wondering right now however, is while life is all nice and flowery for bloggers, it cannot possibly be so for the friends or loved ones of bloggers, isn’t it? Everything that happens in my life doesn’t happen in isolation, it’s caused by the people around me, or affects them in turn. And while I happily go ahead and rant about all the thoughts and feelings in my head about the situation, they inadvertently get mentioned on my blog, under a pen name, anonymously or subtextly (I know that’s not a word, but what the heck). And while I’m gladly checking Blogger Stats and smiling at the number of clicks I get within the hour (around a hundred every time, thank you very much), they’re the ones getting troubled with calls or just the simple knowledge that the world (talk about my ability to exaggerate) now knows, or worse, is at a liberty to guess what might be going on in their lives.

It cannot possibly be easy living with a blogger.

On the other hand, I’m not a tweeter, so maybe they should still be a wee little bit thankful.

P.S. Grumpo, Pappu, Fat-boy-slim, Le Dudes, and the vegetarians and filmy people of this world: I’m really sorry if I have ever managed to piss you off, or worse, embarrassed you through this blog.

Of course, I’m not promising I won’t do it again.

A Walk in the Rain

Yes, I’ve been cribbing to anyone who would listen about how sick I am of Mumbai rains, of the muck, of the dampness, of never reaching anywhere completely dry.

And then it hit me yesterday, that I’ve never reached anywhere completely wet either.

Well, at least not since I was a little kid, and monsoons meant actual rains for hours in Delhi (and not just a fifteen minute spray which leaves you wondering about the origins, and hoping it wasn’t just a really huge bird…ok ok…bad exaggeration!).

So there I was yesterday, at a Havmor parlour with Yo-Bro, fighting a losing battle with melting ice cream and a broken cone…when suddenly it started pouring. And I mean absolutely pouring. With gusty winds from the sea nearby turning it into the most beautiful tormentor ever, ensuring that not even the shelter above us could possibly save us from getting devoured.

I looked at Yo Bro, and smiled what I hoped would be a sweet enough smile to not be considered insane. 

And so we both stepped out from under the shelter, and decided to walk in the rain.

It was breathtakingly powerful. The wind and the rain literally knocked the breath out of my lungs for a mili-second. 

It was excruciatingly beautiful. Feeling each drop of rain tracing a path down my skin, the clothes sticking to us, weighing down, pulling on every muscle, making me conscious of every breath I took.

It was mind-numbingly overwhelming. Feeling like a kid, dancing around in the rain. Feeling grown up, knowing exactly what I wanted to do. Not feeling anything. Thinking of words to put down on paper. Realising that the experience was indescribable.

It was cold. Very very cold.

It was bothersome, once the rain stopped.

It was tense, wondering if my phone would survive.

It was irritating, involuntarily getting drenched this morning again.