a dream in blue

The first thing I recall of hearing as an infant is the sound of splashing waves-Hypnotic and persistent. It was strange as we did not live on the seaside. I was born in a small town in the middle of nowhere and though we had enough to eat and clothe ourselves we could not afford to take trips to the seaside.

I was jealous of all people who had ever seen the sea. I couldn’t believe their casual attitude. I convinced myself that it was the allure of the forbidden fruit. For a person who lives along the sea side, the sea becomes just a part of the scenery...like you never notice the tree in the backyard. But for a person who has never experienced the vision of the sea…the sea is more than just water…It’s a dream in blue.

I would lie on my back and look at the blue clear sky…and imagine it to be the sea. I could almost see the waves; I wore blue most of the times; I fell for gals who had blue eyes.

I read about the open seas…watched it on the neighbor’s B/W TV. I knew every single detail regarding the seas. I wanted to be a sea-faring nomad…sailing from the blue-green Pacific to the steel blue of the Atlantic to the ink blue Mediterranean Sea.

I believed that we all came from the oceans…and we are still a part of it. That is why…when our hearts are broken we shed tears-a part of the ocean we carry in our hearts.

And it was not all fantasy. I was aware of all the logical facts too. I found it fascinating to know that the reason for the blueness of the seas was not that blue was God’s fav color or that He had great aesthetics but because the red photons of the incoming light were absorbed by the water molecules. Or the fact that Atlantic Ocean is S-shaped and the saltiest of all oceans. Almost all the ancient civilizations (except Mayan and Incas) saw their day in glory around the Indian Ocean. When people were falling in love with women, success and power I was romancing terms like Permafrost, Coriolis Effect and monsoons!

In my teens I first took a trip to the seaside. My imagination had not done justice. When the first wave washed over my feet, I was hooked. I majored in oceanography…moved to the sea side when I was 28.I have seen all the oceans and the seas. I proposed to my three wives on the beach and left them because they didn’t understand my love for the sea and learnt all my life lessons while learning how to ride the wave. I also became a professional surfer winning three medals…and now I fight against marine pollution. And the view of the ocean, still takes my breath away. One day hopefully, I get to take my last breath…in front of my one and only true love-the ocean…

I was wrong when I was young. When one truly loves something...the object of your desire never becomes a part of the scenery.

Random facts about me...

Vasuki has tagged me to write 8 random facts about myself. So here it goes--


1) When I was a kid...if there was a song playing on the TV...I would get up and dance (so says my mom). I still have that great fondness for dancing. In my teenage years…I suffered from severe stage fright. But I would constantly dance in our family gathering. Deciding to join salsa classes and dancing with strangers was one of the toughest things I ever had to do. I am totally over that shyness now.

2) I love playing antakshari. In fact I was so crazy about it...that I could play it all by myself (left hand vs. right hand).I love singing. I tortured my brother with my constant renditions of soulful ghazals. Even now, I sing nonstop when we are on a long drive.

3) I cry a lot. As a kid I was called “ganga- jamuna”. I cry whenever I watch “Mughal-e-Azam” or read “Bridges of Madison County”. Full moon, a soulful poem, animals dying in movies, raised voice….everything makes me cry!

4) I was stood up on my first date.I got over it by reading a trashy M&B novel.I consider that the best thing to have ever happened to me.I taught me that I can either choose to laugh it off and move on..or whine and become bitter. Now,I can laugh at most of life's mean tricks. And whatever happens there are a lot of trashy novels to help you out.

5) I couldn’t read time for a very long time. I was very afraid someone would find out and make fun of it. For a very long time that was my dreaded secret. As a kid I also liked hiding under beds/tables and pretending to be invisible.

6) I am very easily startled. I am scared of sudden noises and sparks. I am very scared of crackers. . I am also very scared of crocodiles. I believe that in one of my past lives, I was an Egyptian who was devoured by a crocodile!

7) I love tea. I can drink a lot of tea and still wish for one more cup. Other than drinking tea the other things I do a lot are laughing, talking and reading. In fact you’ll never catch me without a book. I also have the habit of reading 5-7 books at any given time….

8) My most prized possessions are my blue diary and my brown diary. They are full of lines I liked from books or movies, thoughts…descriptions of sunsets, Zen poems…and dried flowers.

So do tell me what you think…and I invite all of you to pen random facts about yourselves.

For many of us the most overwhelming day in our life is the day we realize our mediocrity. The realization is frightening and also in a way a relief; Frightening because it’s against what our ego wants us to believe and relieving to know that you will never be crushed by high expectations.

To know that you will never be the best thinker or writer, swimmer, performer…nothing! You are forever the person who’ll clap at other’s achievements…if that is not overwhelming...i don’t know what is! The only consolation is that you are in the company of most of humanity…

This depressing train of thought occurred to me when I was wondering what I want to do with my life! I am 24 years old...and I don’t have a plan. I do not know what I want to be!

I don’t even have the distinction of being the worst at anything either. Just average at everything!

I worked as an engineer for nearly three years where most people told me that I am wasting my talent. I agreed with them then...but if I were smarter I would have asked what ‘talent’ they were referring to.

I thought I could write….now, I am not sure. There are so many who write better than me. When I think I am being funny...people get offended. When I try to be imaginative….people simply doze off.

I love dancing. But one can’t become a gardener because they like gardening.Moreover I look like a square trying to move…so no! Dancing can be a hobby...not a vocation.

Many people who know me think I will do great in front end jobs...but people who know me well know it’s not true. I am awkward with people…and I constantly offend people with my straight talk.so that’s out too.

I can sing...but I'm no nightingale. I can paint…but i'm no Michealangelo…I can talk...but talking a lot doesn’t mean talking well.

I had read somewhere-

Though we all set out to conquer the peak…there comes a time when we stop for breath…take stock and realize that we may never make it to the top. Wisdom lies in not complaining and learning to appreciate the view you have and not envy the view someone else has.

Maybe I should heed my husband’s advice and become a dog walker.

three's company too

As I see it...there are two kinds of good friends…the ones with whom you can sit and talk , confide, discuss and pretend you are mature and the ones with whom you can have unadulterated fun... the kind of friendships untouched by maturity and sensible behavior!

Vijay and I have known each other for over 14 years. I can honestly say that our friendship as been pure fun and has not been assailed by any kind of seriousness! Subodh was mainly Vijay’s friend but he is the funniest person I have ever known. During my Bangalore days, we used to hang out together and God…was it fun!

Let me give some history about our convoluted friendship and the kind of nonsense we passed off as jokes…

Once when we had been to a trek…some villager naively asked whether we (Subodh and me) were “ganda-hendthi” (couple)! So we shamelessly agreed and decided that Vijay who was roaming around in shorts like an overgrown fat kid…was our mentally retarded child. This led Vijay to give a very filmy rendition of what he thought would look like a mentally retarded kid’s antics.

Vijay and Subodh were best buds...kind of like Joey and Chandler. They went to Kerala on Valentine’s Day and called me up to say that they were watching Noting hill together. So I dubbed them “pati-patni” and the fake relationship got more screwed.

So most of the jokes would consist of my ex-husband being the mistress of my mentally retarded kid…and from then on...our jokes got lamer...

Subodh used to call me “Nadira” as he had once seen me in a black gown and he considered me very vampish. He is the best mimic I have ever come across (no offence V)…he would imitate his lecturers and could crack me up anytime.

Once I had to meet these guys in front of Coffee day. While I was waiting for them, a very cute looking guy approached me and started talking to me. Just when I was about to smile and respond (those were the “desperately single” days)...these two guys who had just seen me talking to a guy...came lunging forward...and dragged me away! Before I could realize what was happening…I was 100 feet away from the cute guy...and the cute guy was looking scared. Subodh hissed “as long as we are single...we will not tolerate anyone else hooking up”.

I am guilty of the same crime. If I ever saw a pretty girl make eyes at Vijay (Vijay and me would hang out together a lot)...I would hold his hand and coo “lets go darling”...loud enough for the girl to get disappointed! We called this screwing up each other’s love lives “making famous”. (The idea was that if you had such a possessive partner...you must be a good catch...so you have the teeny weeny chance of becoming famous…yup, we led a pretty lame, “I-will-not-think-anything-sensible-if –I can-help-it” kind of existence.)

We would go to coffee day and hog. Once we had an argument about who should boot the bill. They tried unemployment as an excuse; I tried “I am a girl…I don’t pay bills” excuse…nothing would work. We would all sit there looking at empty space. Then Subodh…takes out a 5 rupee note and slams it on the table and says “That’s my share”…so I take out a 5 rupee note and so does Vijay. After the second round Subodh runs out of loose change and so places a strip of aspirin!

We even had an imaginary friend “pappu” who would pay all our bills .Every time the bill came we would scream “pappu dega”. Subodh included pappu in all our conversations…pappu was the shy kind you know...

Another time, there was a couple right beside our table...and the guy had bought the gal a gift...and was persuading her to accept it. So when the girl finally did...Subodh and I screamed “Thank you darling”. The couple got so embarrassed...that they soon left.

Vijay and I would often travel in the train to Mysore. This would involve a lot of eating and lot of pjs of the gross kind. Once we entertained everybody so much…that some guy offered us a drop home from the railway station (those jokes involved cooking, potty training and mustard sauce...so will not offend anyone by stating what it was)

Vijay would eat at least 3 masala dosas…lot of maddur vade (after some time you lose interest in counting)...and I would compete by guzzling down 6 or 7 cups of sugary chai.

We would have wrestling matches in our houses...The first time our parents saw us kicking each other…they tried to stop us. After that futile attempt...in all other wrestling matches they ignored us or discussed in hushed voice that I would win!

I made fun of Vijay’s eyebrows...he made fun of me never having enough space to sit...and well, Subodh made fun of everyone.

We would talk about hair removal, crushes…body parts…and why Vijay likes Diya Mirza! When I was going out...I would call up Vijay and ask him what I should wear...whether the neckline was too plunging...or the dress was too transparent. He was the gay friend I craved for...without being gay.

Vijay always had new gossip to spread...and if he didn’t have any...he would cook it up. Once when we were in Tamil Nadu...some drunkard commented on my friends in Tamil. It being something derogatory…some righteous guy started beating the drunkard. Vijay suddenly gets up and screams “haaki saar…haaki…” (Loose translation -"beat! Sir, beat"; literal translation-"lay...sir lay")

Few days back Vijay and I took a scientology test as I had locked us out of my house. Vijay randomly checked on the options...and when the results came out he was found to be clinically depressed. Shamelessly he went on to narrate his bleak sad story to that silly woman!I have always maintained that its great fun to act foolish. To write about all the fun times I had with those two guys...I would have to open a new blog. So, I will not say anything sentimental...but I will sign off with this lame joke…

Once when we were traveling in KSRTC bus…it was night and the main lights were off. People who have traveled in KSRTC buses will know that there are dim red lights which are on during nights. The bus was crowded and many people were standing. There was a bald guy standing right below the red bulb.

Vijay prods me and says “Take a look at red light area”.

A thing of beauty

Some things have no names…and that’s their beauty…they refuse to be enchained to any particular definition. So I won’t call it friendship. But I have to write about this person.

I will not call him a friend as friendship is based on a firm feeling of liking and comfort. . There were patches of liking between feelings of irritation, curiosity, admiration and the feeling which makes you want to pour your drink on that person!

It is not important how we met…its enough to know that he was my colleague. He was also an aspiring director…a very talented photographer, a rebel, an egoist and over all a very weird man.

We would meet during coffee breaks and after office hours. We spent insane amounts of time in the canteen discussing movies. He would also talk about relationships, psychology and hair gel (he is the vainest of men)…and photography. But it was when he spoke of movies…then he had me mesmerized. He would talk about long shots, deep focus and camera angles. It was like listening to fairy tales.

He had very strange ideas about life. He was cynical and almost always rude! I being a person who likes to believe that I am a creature of mystery...his supposed insights into my mind irritated me. He didn’t believe in romance or love or friendship.

He would give me lectures about how I should stop being so blunt about my thoughts. He used to say rude things about my writing. .He would say you can’t write about anything you haven’t experienced! He would ask things like “the lovers you wrote about...did they make love (he used the three letter word instead) often?” or something equally shocking.

He could discuss openly about any embarrassing thing .I am an outspoken person myself…even then I would blush and mumble and get embarrassed.

He would laugh at my “forever/true love” notions. Or he would talk about hair gels.

When a pretty girl passed us by…he would totally stop talking and look at her till she disappeared. He is the only man who is totally unapologetic about it.

There was one day when we took a walk around our office campus. It was almost twilight and it was beautiful and serene. I don’t remember what we talked about…but that was the only time when we didn’t irritate each other.

The first movie he lent me was Fellini’s “La Strada”. To me the movie didn’t make sense. It was weird and the characters were idiotic. I hated the movie and told him so. He laughed and said he expected that and gave me a movie called “Nights of Cabiria”. The movie was about a stupid woman who never loses faith and is very romantic and trusting. When I told him that I liked this movie better than the first, he said that it was becoz I identified with the heroine. To date that comment annoys me.

He gave me some more movies to watch. Whether I liked them or not I noticed that they stayed with me. I constantly thought about those characters.

Till I met him..I saw movies as a means of escape…a realm where people sang to express themselves, where human story telling reached its pinnacle. He showed me that movies can be art..it can be a story…or a painting…a movie can be breath taking…sometimes becoz of the story and sometimes the way its told. I thoughts movies were something I lost myself in. He taught me that they can also be places where you can find yourself.

Now…I have seen so many movies in so many languages…and I think he opened my mind to these marvels.

No, he was not my friend. What we shared was too intense and was based on endless arguments. And unlike some of you doubt…there wasn’t anything romantic. Sometimes I think that we shared was an infinite ability to get on each other’s nerves. In my own peculiar way…when I was not annoyed, I was even fond of him.

Some things have no names…and that’s their beauty.

After a long time, I saw a new Hindi movie. My friend told it was an okay kind of a movie. I honestly didn’t think so. Maybe my ability to stand nonsense has gone down…or may be when a movie is pretentious it gets on my nerves. I can tolerate bad movies...in fact I quite enjoy them. But I can’t stand pretentious movies. That’s why I hate Bhansali movies (Black is next only to Fanaa).

When I go to a Karan Johar movie…I usually go for 3 reasons-Shah Rukh Khan, Manish Malhotra’s newest designs and of course I am guaranteed that I can write a blog about it.
But when a small time director makes a low budget flick..I watch the movie thinking that the director has something to tell me...a point to make. This director didn’t have anything fascinating up his sleeve. The movie I am talking about is Life in a Metro.

In the first scene...you see Shilpa Shetty waving at her kid. You now know that probably all the money she made out of being the victim of racism has gone into plastic surgery (she has gotten some wrinkle reduction done…her facial skin looks stretched). Similarly we are introduced to an array of actors-
Konkona-I honestly like her. I fail to realize why she does these mindless movies.
Irfan Khan-The only character you end up liking...in spite of his staring habits.
Sharman Joshi-He is slowly turning into Arshad Warsi without the quick wit. He was cute in RDB...he is plain irritating in this movie.
Kay Kay Menon-Some people make it so easy to dislike them!
Shiney Ahuja-what a disappointment!
Kangana Raut-girl, go back to scary hair and Mahest Bhatt.
Dharmendra-He is called “Amul”…why????!!
Nafisa Ali-She is pretty...but amazingly she doesn’t leave any impression on you.

Without a doubt the worst part of this movie are the two hairy monsters and one not-so
-hairy monster who keep scaring you every three minutes with their screaming (er singing). They almost look like someone is poking hot coals at their backsides. The first time I actually got scared. Every three minutes they make tortured faces and scream into the screen. I feel that if singing is so painful for them...they should immediately stop.

Let’s take it story wise-

Lemmon Warsi and scary gal who lost her wig angle

India is a country of a billion. There must be at least a million stories wanting to be told. Then why do our directors rehash old Hollywood classics and try to sell it as new?
Sharman Joshi’s story is almost line to line copy of a Billy Wilder classic “The Apartment”. Sharman Joshi trying to play Jack Lemmon?!? It would be funny if it were not so disgusting. Lemmon could be dumb and charming. Joshi is just plain dumb. And his Arshad Warsi hairstyle makes him look like a depressed donkey A guy working in a call center saving 17 lakhs with a monthly salary of 15k?Doesnt add up..

I didn’t actually recognize Kangana Raut without all that hair…She almost looks sane. But ofcourse...acting insane is what she thinks acting is all about. So she does her part...of screaming and shaking her head while guzzling phenol. But without those unruly curls it’s not very convincing.
Also she looks very awkward while running. She doesn’t have the Urmila advantage nor does she look graceful. In fact she doesn’t even look strong enough to be running.
There are also traces of the movie “the concierge”-(The own hotel funda. Concierge was made as Yes Boss).


The desperate maiden-the despo guy angle

This angle is funny in parts. I feel that Irfan was never so perfectly cast. He looks exactly like someone who stares at cleavges. I do not think that “I am 35 years old...I have never touched a woman...so I will stare at her blouse” is a valid argument. And when will our movie makers ever get out of that idea that if a girl gets out of her chudidhaar and gets into a deep neck dress she will immediately win over men?
Using the gay angle just to cater to the so called liberal multiplex audience is nothing sort of manipulation.
Again the part where in her boss tries to give her good/bad news is inspired from Love Actually.

All the other stories are so crappy…that you actually end up liking a guy who drools at body parts!


I love Amul angle

I am almost always angry with Amitabh Bachan. Sometimes it’s his movies, his interviews, his ads...but mostly for giving the idea to other old men that they can make a buck by rediscovering themselves. So we have Vinod Khanna, Rishi Kapoor (its estimated that if he continues at the current rate ..He will be bigger than Himalayas in two years) and now Dharmendra is making cameos too.
Dharmendra was the heartthrob of so many. No one would bother looking at his acting skills as they were too busy drooling at his charming smile and rippling muscles (which was sad...he was pretty decent). But looking at Sunny and Bobby on a constant basis, listening to Hema Malini’s hindi and Bagpiper ads have taken their toll. Now you have seen him and the image is shattered.
If Rishi Kapoor had left us in peace we would think of him as the boyishly charming guy in bell bottoms. Now we think of him as a living mountain.Dharm is no more the man who killed Gabbar. He is “Amul”.

I do appreciate the idea that age is no barrier when its love. But the story is not given enough scope. It’s almost as if the director saw Baghban before shooting and added this angle as an after thought.



Pati patni and the 2 wohs

Bored couple… Banging doors. ..An affair… And a flirtation. And a very very dumb kid.
Kay Kay doesn’t feel guilty about his 2 yr old affair. Shilpa Shetty feels like a slut as she had a crush on some actor. Come on...all women have crushes on guys who look like Shiney Ahuja.
And anyways...it’s so typical. She doesn’t feel any remorse about roaming around with this guy…talking about her marital problems. But some petting in the weird red lighting (the director saw some foreign movies and thought it would be classy) and she suddenly remembers she has a husband and a kid???
Shilpa shetty shouldn’t cry. Now I know why Brits coughed up so much money. When she cries..her mouth which is as big as Suez Canal...goes above her eyes…and she looks like a scary sea animal. She could have easily gobbled the small island. No wonder they are scared of her!
He has a long sordid affair...she forgives him. She has a mild flirtation..He is nasty and leaves her. Comes back crying when his girl friend ditches him. When will they get over this crappy story line? You say...of course it happens all the time. Sure it does.
When Mother India was made...women didn’t go around shooting their sons. But the movie was courageous enough to show that.

When will Hindi movies stop portraying women as bawling maidens who are tormented by guilt and as spineless pativrathas?
One lady is not even angry that her husband cheated on her for two years. Another one poisons herself as her married lover scolds her (its also her part time hobby).Another one goes from chudidhaar wearing Ms.Prude...to sexy siren and gets drunk and bed ridden on knowing her boyfriend is gay!

I am afraid of saying anything good about women as it might anger my male readers…but come on…we are not that pathetic!
In fact the only woman in this movie who has any guts is Nafisa Ali.

Some years ago the small budget movies came as breath of fresh air since they didn’t adhere to the age old formula. Unfortunately now they have invented their own formula. Take 5 stories about unimportant people and mix it all up...and in the end show how they are related. Anything oft repeated is boring. In the end this is not a very bad movie. It has nothing new to offer and is pretentious about being realistic.I guess the director even claims that he has handled adult issues in a sensitive manner-bull@#$%^! And I would like it very much if the climax scenes do not have so much running. I have lived 24 years..and I have never needed to run behind anyone. If you want to make a realistic movie...Now that’s a start. Stop all those characters from running!

And please no hairy singers!

Foreword:
Becoz of the overwhelming angry response from my readers, I would like to add these following notes
This post
-was a failed attempt to be funny.
-This is not the opinion of all women...just mine.When I use "women" I actually mean me(n a few gals I know).
-I have nothing against any guy(other than Timberlake and Upen Patel).When I mean women are nice I do not in anyway imply that men are in any way less nice.
-When I mean men..I actually mean men I know.There might be many men who hate cars and mechanics..n love pottery n cooking.I totally respect you and whatever it is you feel.
-This is not exactly high brow.Its not smart or imaginative or cool.Its slightly pretentious..but some pretension never hurt any one.


I am in a strange kind of dilemma. However much I pretend...the honest truth is that it does matter what people think of my posts. Anything surreal or descriptive...Vasuki freaks out. Anything which is not dreamy Saif yawns (loudly) while reading; I gave up poetry as I cant rhyme and anything related to my dance class offends people enough to make rude suggestions

So I have decided to just rant and throw some useless nuggets of feminine wisdom/facts/thoughts at you.So here it is-

Women don’t like adjustable chairs (I know two other girls who hate them along with me…so the generalization). In my office I was always afraid that the chair would suddenly collapse down. In fact I do not like anything which comes with screws. Anything mechanical, technical or electrical freaks me out. Of course there are some brave women who have overcome these fears...but I do not think they “enjoy” changing a bulb or fixing a carburetor. My husband loves staring at the insides of a car engine...and gazes at his tool kit as if it were a Van Gogh painting. I think that’s why women marry men…not having to change the fuse.


Women don’t like kids anymore than you do….ok! Some crazy women do. But mostly…we don’t. Of course when a baby gurgles…we find it adorable. But when they howl…we are just as terrified as any guy is. Impertinent kids get on our nerves as much as they get on yours. I have seen boys who expect girls to make cute faces at any kid which passes by. Women love their kids…not all kids. Period.


You have cricket, soccer, golf, baseball and video games. We have shopping. Let’s not be rude to each other.

Women are not dumb. If a girl scores better than you…of course she mugs up all the answers. A female gets a promotion; she must be sleeping with the boss. We beat you all at you own game and get you all to marry us and give us your credit cards. That’s pure genius!

A guy has many girl friends...oooh! He is a woman killer. Girl has many boy friends...she must be a slut. Double standards? You bet. That’s why we have our revenge by nagging and complaining of headaches.

Never ever praise someone else’s wife in front of yours. Better slash your own wrists. In fact don’t praise any woman in front of us (other than Mother Theresa and Oprah). In the book of “Things you should never do in front of your wife” this is next only to answering the question “Do I look fat?” with a yes or a pause!

We have resigned ourselves to the fact that you’ll never get over staring at other women. But drooling with your eyes popping out? Please refrain.

On a date...never
Tell us how sweet you are.
Crib about your ex.
Whine about how costly eating out is.
Stare anywhere below our neckline.
Lecture about nuclear physics.
Wear anything shiny and red.

Women like puppies. But not men who act like puppies. There is no bigger turn off than desperation. Don’t be cold either. Be interested and suave. Humphrey Bogart never drooled over a woman. That’s why he got kissed so many times.

For the love of God…cut your nails.

Now...I know most of you will comment saying that I am a feminist and I write mean things about men…just for the fun of it.

You are absolutely right.

Many of my friends wonder why I never write about how I ended up with Saif-our love story. Believe me...I have tried. First of all…in hindsight we always see everything as rosy and beautiful and give meaning to acts which were done out of impulse. Also, our love story is more weird than romantic. It was so slow…I didn’t realize it creeping onto me…and it was so fast…that I couldn’t think about all the details.

One of my favorite past times is to think about past happenings. It helps me understand everything more clearly. So, I am making this post about an incident which happened when Saif and I were just friends. Rather, I thought of him as a friend...and maybe he had begun to realize that we were something more than that.

Unlike most people I used to love working late. I would make up chores to stay back in office. I would take long lazy walks in our office campus…spend hours in the canteen…and enjoy the feeling of having the whole floor to myself. Since I was the editor of one of the office magazines, I usually would hang out with Saif and Ganga who also worked on the editorial board.

Saif and I had a lot of things in common- Movies, Music, books and adventure. In fact our interests were identical. We would regularly exchange songs and have long discussions about them.

One such evening, he asked me to go to his cubicle as there was some song he wanted me to listen to. He greeted me with his characteristic insults. So I insulted him right back and asked him about the song.

His headphone looked like something aliens would use to exchange intergalactic information. He adjusted it on my head and asked me whether I was ready to listen to that song. I said I was. He clicked on the play button.

I never expected it to be so good. The headphones I mean. I could hear every beat...every pause of the singer. I jumped on the first drum beat. Saif was looking at me with expectant eyes. The song was beautiful…the kind of song which makes your heart ache and makes you wish you could cry…

It was a song by Bap Kennedy and the lyrics were beautiful and melancholic.

“I can feel my heart
And it's fit to burst
I try to clean it up
But I just get worse”

”Wish I could fall
On a night like this
Into your lovin' arms
For a moonlight kiss”

”I thought I saw your face
In the evenin' sky
On a lonesome cloud
That was driftin' by”

”I wish I could fall
On a night like this
Into your lovin' arms
For a moonlight kiss”

I heard the song and I said...“what a lovely song...but I must say...the headphones are just WOW!”

The look on Saif’s face was something like “I never expected this reaction!” .He gave me a rueful smile and agreed with me. Now I wonder whether he was trying to say something with that song. We still slow dance for that song...and every time I ask him about the incident in his cubicle…he laughs and says that he was just showing off his headphones and nothing else. But I still wonder…and I feel like kicking myself for being that dense.Sometimes..things you plan don't turn out the way you wanted them to..so they become more special(though in a weird way)

By the way, the next day he gifted me those headphones.

the story of eden

What makes a man fall in love with a woman? Are the reasons mostly physical or is it the need to be needed; is it the thrill of romance or the urge to conquer? Well people have thought of million reasons…but here’s a story which will tell you why.

They had it all wrong. God didn’t banish Adam and Eve from Eden. He hid Eden in a place they would never find it -Inside a woman’s mind. Since most men believe that women don’t have a mind of their own, and that they had even convinced women about the veracity of this fact...Eden was safe from being discovered.

Eden lies in the northwest corner of woman’s mind. In fact if you ever get to see a map of her mind you will see that in one of the corners there is a big brick wall. Of course the wall is covered with creepers with pleasant honeysuckle blossoms...but it’s still intimidating.

Let’s not blame the men. Most of the women themselves are unaware of its existence. Of course they know the brick wall...and that’s where they loiter around when they claim they were daydreaming…what lies behind it..they don't dare to even hazard a guess..women are cautious creatures!

Now this place inside her head makes her act illogical, unreasonable and oh soooo mysterious. Because in the garden of Eden, the logical, the hypothetical, the illogical and the outright bizarre all merge playfully to form nice little pools of confusion. So next time you call women crazy...remember whats inside that brick wall.

Now just as Eden has crazy effects on a woman’s psyche…her secret longings and fears have altered Eden subtly as well.

But before we talk about that...lets tell you about how Eden looks like.

Now it’s not an easy job to describe Eden. In fact it’s quite impossible. It resembles Neverland in certain aspects…but is far more real and therefore a million times unreal.It’s very much like Las Vegas, Switzerland, the side lanes of Cairo and the smells of India all mixed up but in a nice way and far more exotic.

About that a woman’s mind affecting Eden…it depends on the woman per say. There is a woman whose Eden has “you’re beautiful” written in every nook and corner. She didn’t write it...but her longing was so strong that it magnetically altered what was inside the brick wall. Another Eden has red crayon scribbling all over. Nobody knows why.

So when a man meets a woman who likes him...she smiles at him and in her eyes he sees that honeysuckle covered wall…the nightingales chirping from the other side and is lured by the mysteries beyond the red wall.
He doesn’t know what it is…but he wants it. So he pursues her. Of course it helps that she is warm, cuddly and can cook.

So they fall in love and get married...and he thinks that finally he can enter the garden
Of course no man is aware of it...its all subconscious.He thinks it's because she resembles his mom...duh!

After a while he gets to know that he can not only enter but he can’t even go near the wall…it irritates him. The mystery taunts him. He knows his wife escapes to play with the honeysuckle...and when she feels specially brave she peeps inside...and he it irks him that he can’t even go near!

And after some years of trying men usually give up and settle into indifferent marriages…accepting defeat. So most middle age men have hunched shoulders- a token of their silent defeat. Most women stop going near the wall as it irritates their husbands or they get caught up in the smells of the kitchen and laundry and have no time to smell the honeysuckle anymore. So most middle aged women look vexed.

But as long as a young woman’s eyes have the allure of the garden...guileless men will keep falling in love.

love of history

This started as a conversation…and became a mail...and finally ended up being a post. I find it fascinating to see that I never exactly know what's going to happen with an idea or a thought…some choose the safe secret corners of your mind; These you visit alone...look at them…turn them over and they never get to see the sunshine of discussion. And some ideas like monsoons pay you regular visits…making your mind fertile…and some you display them like trophies...talk about them endlessly and they grace many a tea time…some thoughts hold your hand and take you on lazy strolls amidst unknown places inside your head…and some are such a tour de force that they end up changing who you are as a person!

Anyways…what I wanted to write about was my love for history. Back in school when it was fashionable to like Science and Maths...I was charmed by the magic of history and English.

What most people fail to see is that history is all encompassing. When Graham bell was working it was cutting edge technology...now its quaint story in the pages of history. When Copernicus was studying planets and their orbits...it was astronomy...now it’s a tale history tells us of the infinite power of the human mind.

Most people think of history as a collection of facts and dates. History is a story of people…who they are and what made them that way. For the scientific minded, it’s the most fascinating study of psychology. And for those of us who are romantic it’s a tale of the eternal human traits-courage, glory, avarice, vice, virtue, ego, love and sheer stupidity.

A book like “Da Vinci Code” fascinates us but what we fail to perceive is that book is mostly history but told in a way which doesn’t make it school-bookish. I guess what I’m trying to say here is that history is not exactly what we read in school books. Half of the interesting movies made today are stories borrowed from the pages of history.

Have you ever thought what blind passion made people venture out in wild seas on sail boats? You would say greed…but would greed propel me and you to go on a voyage on perilous quests? Think of the Arabs who traveled along the spice route to bring fragrant spices to the bland palette of European countries…What started the Renaissance period and how Italy became the home of culture and science? The human greed which led to two world wars, slavery and colonization or the sharp intellect which understood the mechanics of the universe!

During the second world war, when the Vatican chose to ignore the horrors being committed by Nazis it was a small group of clergymen who saved hundreds of Jews; It was not great statesmen who saved lives but railway men who risked everything to add momentum to the French resistance. Many of those brave souls died in oblivion...they were not after glory…they just wanted to do the right thing...fight for what they thought was theirs.

And India being one of the oldest civilizations…holds her in her heart tales of mysteries past...and if you would only listen, she will tell you fascinating stories… Of the times when Rishis wrote the Vedas, Buddhists monks who painted the walls of Ajanta caves, of kings who built temple complexes or immortalized their love in a tomb of white!

What was it that after enduring 300 years of dominance her children stood and heard the cries of a frail bald man!

Kalidasa, Shakespeare, Dante, Da Vinci, Firdousi, Ghalib and many others are intimate friends with us since they colored many pages of history with their enchanting words.

I can write about history till I run out of words and still not have said all I wanted to…but then one realizes when one loves something…one can never say enough!

Conversation

“Will you stop humming the same old song???”

“No, I am bored. I will stop if anything interesting happens”

“See, you picked this place. You should have chosen some big city...but you chose this place overlooking the lake. This place is peaceful. Nothing is meant to happen here”.

“Hmm...very true. Beauty after some time becomes boring...but something ugly over time becomes fascinating”

“You are definitely weird”

“Now, what makes you think so?”

“See, I am not interested in intellectual mambo-jumbo. All a star wants is to be left alone. Please let me twinkle in peace.”

“Somebody is grouchy tonight! Hey look two lovers!”

“Verrrry interesting...yawn.This place is full of lovers.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

“Has anyone told you that it’s the most repeated of dumb questions in this universe?”

“Answer me…”

“Oh…I liked a girl when I was young. But she was much older to me and before I could do anything about it…she had a supernova explosion and is a black hole somewhere”

"Oh!you poor thing"

“It’s no such thing...I am happy but for the fact that I have an annoying Neighbor”

“Oh, that’s so sweet...”

“Tell me ...are you gay or something?”

‘Oh! No...I am just nice and romantic…you don’t get it”

“True. I don’t”

“Look down there…two people in love…suddenly the place looks enchanting. Ah! The magic of love”

“Whom are you kidding? Look at those teenagers? They can’t even make up their mind up about their favorite color...are you telling me they are in love?”

“I do not think age has anything to do with love”

“Have you been reading too many billboards? Those two people walking hand in hand…in thirty years won’t even remember each other’s name.

“How the hell do you know?”

“Of course I know...I just read it...Its no joke when they say it’s all written on the stars...it is. Peer down...it’s written just above my right shoulder.”

“Oh god! He is going to dump her when she puts on weight”

Down, the two lovers looked up…and the girl said “look at that star...it looks angry and the one beside it, kind of looks sad”.

The guy smiled and said “Honey you are so lovable when you say such silly things”.

birthday party

Every summer holidays during school time was spent in davangere in my uncle’s house. My uncle would come down to Mysore and take me back with him .I would cry in the railway station while saying bye to my mom. I wanted to be brave so that my mom would be impressed but after 10 mins of forced bravery I would weep…I was so afraid not to be around my mom. My uncle would chide me for crying over silly things. I would then sit and look out of the window and imagine sad things and cry till my uncle lost his cool and made me go to sleep. My summer holidays were thus spent eating the delicious food my aunt would make, playing with other children in the streets, Telling stories to amuse my cousins or reading Enid Blyton books.

There was a house right in front of my uncle’s house. It was a family of four-husband, wife and two kids. The eldest kid was called Chandana-a very skinny girl who wore frocks which were two sizes too big for her with Chinese cut (it was a very popular cut that time...which made every kid look dumb) and her brother I have no recollection of him whatsoever. Their mom was a very fair woman who would roam around everywhere in a faded nightie. She was big built but had amazingly small feet. She herself found it so amusing that she would point it out. She would say “My feet are so small, I wear Chandana’s socks! Hahahaha!” Then she would lift her nightie and shows us her feet.

It’s when I remember such things about people that I wonder whether there is anyone who can be considered “normal”!

Anyways, they had a birthday party in their house (for the lil boy). All the kids of that street were invited and so were we. Though most people find it very difficult to believe it, I was a very shy kid...Everything made me uncomfortable. Moreover I was a little elder than most of the kids around which added to my discomfort. My aunt with her tact convinced me that it would be fun. So in the evening, we all went to her house. In front of their house there were a lot of chappals lying around haphazardly. The small living room was jam-packed with kids wearing funny hats. We too were given hats to wear.

We were made to sit in a line and some kids were admonished not to try to pull out their neighbor’s caps! We were given a piece of cake and some chips in a paper plate and Rasna to drink.

The cake would taste salty because of the chips and the chips would taste sweet because of the creamy cake. But we were kids enough to be excited at the thought of getting to eat cake!

Somebody’s socks smelled and instead of finding it disgusting...it only made us laugh. We would brag about who got the best part or try to coax our neighbor to give us a piece from his share as well!

I do not know why I remember this so vividly, but I do. May be because it reminds me of the days when we were unsophisticated enough to get excited about salty cake and smelly shoes only made us laugh.

(PS: For all my grown up air…I still get excited about eating cake)

pens

Reading Vasuki’s blog on “pens” brought back so many memories and I was compelled to write this post.

Unlike most kids I did not go through a pen collecting phase.

In the convent I studied, having a good handwriting was paramount. Most people will ask you whether you are from CKC if you have a neat handwriting (i.e. if you are a gal as well).

We started writing in ink pens from 3^rd standard. We would get a nice beating if any of the sisters caught us with ball pens. It was believed that ball point pens spoil your handwriting. So we were made to write in cursive writing books…girls with good handwriting were praised and given toffees.

Now imagine a set of 3 rd std monkeys with something as fun as ink pens! By noon, we would have ink all over our palms. Before we became sophisticated enough to wipe the bleeding pens to our hair…we found out that it was fun to wipe it on someone else’s shirt!

If you liked someone you would let them write something on your palm with their ink pen and if you didn’t fancy any girl you would simply squirt some ink on her using some leaky ink pen.

Then a genius of a girl found out something…ink was quite edible. So instead of wiping the leaky pens to our heads we wiped it against our tongues. Once the whole tongue was blue enough we would go about displaying it to every other girl which would generate much awe or prompt them to lick their nibs as well.

Later in high school when we upgraded ourselves to ball point pens…squirting ink no longer held any fancy..but biting the back of your Reynolds pen when you looked outside the window..now, that was the rage. If the pens got mixed up...we could make out from the bite marks. Some were talented enough to bite to form designs on the back of their pen. During exam times, my Reynolds pen would be in such bad shape that if I held it upright, the refill would simply fall down.

A laptop is more convenient but it cannot compensate for the fact that it’s no good when it comes to scratching your head or biting-the two most important parts of writing well.

Girlie times- 3 fond memories

Incident 1:

Till my engineering, I studied all my life in all girls’ institutions. We were four friends-Bhavya, Soumya, Theju and I. There was another gal by the name Tejaswi but this story is not about her.

Anyways, we four had known each other all our lives as we had studied together right from LKG. We were all very fun loving, very naïve and very tom-boyish.

When we were in 2PU, we heard that there was JCiana happening. Now JCE was the college we all hoped to join. So, we decided that we will go check out the college fest.

We had our chemistry lab that day and we were so nervous that we kept spilling some chemical or other. By the time we managed to reach it was already past 6.

When we reached there we were dazzled! We had never seen so many guys in one place!The place was festive and so colorful.It was very noisy…everybody looked so smart and confident.

Almost every girl had a rose in her hand. Some had a bouquet. We felt like we were the only four girls who didn’t have roses. Back then to get a guy to give you a rose was the height of success. Needless to say, we were utter flops. We thought that the only way to save face was to buy ourselves some roses. Unfortunately all the roses were already sold. So we dejectedly made our way back and sat on the steps to look at the Miss.JCiana contest.

There were two girls sitting in front of us who had 3 roses each. Maybe to them we seemed too kiddish and awkward. They kept giggling, looking back at us .

Soumya who was very pretty felt that we should all go back instead of making fools of ourselves. So did Theju who wanted to go home and study. But Bhavya and me…we were spellbound. The guys were cheering at the sheer stupid answers of the pretty contestants. We wanted to know which girl would win.

So we stayed put. The girls who were vastly amused at us...kept giggling!

Finally getting irritated Bhavya scoffed “They have just three roses and they act so proud...I have whole rose bush back in my house”

It sounds silly now…but we were vastly amused at that remark and we howled with laugher till the girls got up and left.

I am still so proud of our imbecile behavior.

Incident 2:

Back in engineering, when we were in our first semester…we used do the craziest of things. Saturday afternoons our college would be deserted as most of them would not have any classes. One such Saturday we stayed back to sit and chit-chat. We were three girls-Adlin ,Deepika and I. We were sitting on a bench in our underground canteen and it seemed eerie...the total silence. Our voices sounded loud! So we whispered and giggled and suddenly I wondered whether Adlin could lift me. I asked her and she wasn’t sure either…and we felt that it was important enough to test it out immediately! Since she was of the same height as I was, we decided that the best thing was-

1. for me to get up on the desk

2. She would stand below me

3. We both would count up to 3

4. I would jump

5. She would catch me...

You are thinking that we sound moronic….we were.

So we executed the plan perfectly. On the count of 3, I jumped on her...and she held me. I had my legs around her waist…and then three guys walk in! To make matters worse, they were our seniors. We posed there frozen-like Jane Goodall and her favorite Chimpanzee

Our seniors were just as shocked and they walked out silently. When you witness such stupidity, it’s only natural that you go into shock and forget to laugh. Once they recovered,they decided that it would be apt to call me “Tarzan”. But once they realized that it only made me laugh they gave up teasing me.

But I was glad: Adlin could lift me.

Incident3:

During my training days in Bangalore I was friends with two girls-Shilpa and Charu. Charu was a slim Punjabi while Shilpa was from Hospet and had very pretty eyes.

Now Charu and me-we were very similar. We liked poetry and we liked laughing. Shilpa was very stern and dignified. She is the kind…who needs a reason to laugh. Everyday after our training, we three would walk to the bus stand via Anand Rao Circle. Sometimes we would be very tired and would try to flag down an auto with very little success. As we all know…autowallahs in blore don’t go anywhere-they just like roaming around refusing customers.

Sometimes we would frantically wave at speeding auto and Charu would scream “aaAAAuuutoooOOOooo!!!” very much like a Hindi movie heroine screaming “bachaoooOOOooooooo!!!” This would set me giggling and Charu would join in after few seconds. Shilpa would get irritated with us as we walked very slowly and laughed nonstop.

We would also discuss the happenings of the day...how a guy used some dirty word 70 times or some equally silly thing.

One day right in the middle of AnandaRao Circle we started laughing wondering whether the guy actually wants to make love to a car when he calls it sexy! Shilpa after trying for a few mins..joined us in our maniac laughter.

She would walk ahead of us muttering about being stuck with people who ought to be in Nimhans

The subway from Anand Rao circle to Majestic is the scariest place I have ever been to. It is dark, reeks and is full of drunkards. But with those two girls-one who refused to laugh at silly things and the other who just wouldn’t stop ….I had no fears. Just sore throat from all that laughing!

haiku

"How does one become a poet?" is what the postman naively asks Pablo Neruda in the great movie Il Postino. I absolutely love Neruda's answer."Walk as slowly as you can on the beach..and it will come to you- the metaphors".

When I read Tagore..I wonder the ingenuity of the inner painter who can make such magic with words...

I had a friend by the name Kiran who wreaked havoc on our sanity by making us read his poems!

And I believe deep inside, all of us want to play around with words...not just to feel like a poet but to be able to express like one.

And here are my feeble attempts to write something approaching a haiku ;)

Raindrops falling pitter-patter,

The splash of a puddle.

-A poem.

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A drunken singer,

Humming an old song

-Mosquito.

of moonlight and memories

She couldn’t sleep. The alarm clock showed 1.30am.She got up and dragged her feet to the kitchen sink and got herself a glass of water. She stood near the kitchen window and drew the curtains aside. Moonlight slowly filtered in as if it were a thief. She looked out at the trees and the sky with its stars which twinkled at her as if to say “can’t sleep, eh?”

Moonlight brought back memories-memories of first love and brown eyes. She had not thought of him for years. But sleepless nights are when memories haunt; when “the might-have-beens” come knocking.

It was a moonlit night when he had kissed her; her first kiss. It was divine. She was just 17.She had ran back home and had not slept a wink. She had felt elated, giddy and drunk with joy. Every few minutes she would touch her lips as if to trace the memory of his lips. Now 35, sitting in the moonlight at the kitchen table…she touched her lips, and smiled. Now she couldn’t think of anything which made her that giddy!

She wondered if she was being unfaithful to her husband .She could hear him snoring gently. In her romantic mind she felt thinking of someone else in moonlight was more dangerous than anything physical.

But then, can one erase beautiful memories? Is it even feasible to forget some one who long ago had made you happy just because you are with someone you now love?

She went back to the bed room…looked at the silhouette of her sleeping husband…smiled at her thoughts…and wondered “maybe in his sleep…he too is dreaming of his first love”.

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What made me write this story?

It’s a combination of many things-it’s my way of taunting all the people who were shocked by my last post; have been watching too many French movies off late; and a conversation about fidelity I had a long time ago-how do we define it? And I wondered if one were to think of their past love with fondness would it amount to being unfaithful…so the story.

where everybody is a J.LO

Tuesdays and Saturdays, I have cardio dancing classes. It’s held in a big room and more often than not, the class is jam-packed.

Its one hour of high cardio workout and our trainer is a small built European. She speaks very bad English but she is very sweet and a great dancer…and I forgot to mention...very very pregnant.

In that class you find all kinds and shapes of women-skinny, shapely, plump, fat, talkative, reserved, shy and outright bizarre.

We dance for some popular numbers by the likes of J.lo and Shakira…and some Latin dance numbers.

For that one hour these group of women forget household chores kids, work pressures, lousy lovers ...old husbands and just enjoy themselves.

I forget to mention...that there are two very brave men who attend these classes. It’s not easy being in a group of women who let their hair down and just have fun. It can be pretty intimidating. But those guys have fun…they look particularly cute when they try to immitate the moves when the trainer goes “Ladies, feel sexy”! (That’s when you kind of trace your body contours)

The age of the participants range from 65 to 15…and in that one hour we all forget the differences and are just pagan goddesses celebrating the gift of movement.

There are two or three women who do their own dance steps. They do a Macarena when the whole class is swaying their butts...and swirl when the whole class is doing a mambo. They are distracting but also mighty amusing.

Then when the trainer plays J.Lo’s “Lets get loud”, everybody dances in sync…and everyone comes out of their shell…and grooves and moves as if each one of them had a J.Lo inside them.To feel sexy..is almost a need for a woman. Some of us hide and are scared of that need and some of us embrace that need. And dancing is such a nice way of putting those fears behind you.

Once the class is over….you will see women...red, drenched in sweat...eyes sparkling...and radiating joy. We hug ourselves and scream “super!”

Last week in between dances, the woman standing behind me said “Gal! You move your butt so well...wish I could move the same way!”

Now, I can die happy.

I wish i could

My mom has written a blog about her secret silly desire and I thought of making a confession too.

I have half a mind not to write this post...as I know it would surely make people laugh at me. But then I’m a person who likes a good laugh and well…you all laugh enough at me already...so why bother now?

I always wanted to do a rain dance-the whole bollywood package, you know!

I don’t know when I started to think about it...all I can say is that I think of it often!

I have imagined it in great detail. Sometimes Imagination is all we have, and it will do. Hot summer afternoons, I would lie on my back on the floor and think whether I wanted a blue saree or red one. Many people think yellow looks good on me but I definitely don’t want a white saree (I am not cute enough to look like Chandni)!!!

Sometimes I think I should give up on this whole saree business and stick to shorts like Kajol in yeh dillagi or at least calf length pants like Sridevi in Chaal baaz.

In fact I can’t even decide whether I want to do an“enjoying the rain” song “look at me I’m so sexy” rain dance! When I see Zeenat Aman sway in “yeh mausam aur yeh doori”...I’m almost sure that I want to do the second kinda dance…but then the good thing about things happening in your head is that…you never have to make a decision.

I have had my set of rain dances with friends…but we always ended up feeling like bums and looking like wet cats...with our clothes sticking to us in all unflattering ways...far away from the sexy heroines who would look gorgeous! Pour some water on them and they would turn into sensuous sirens who’d break the will of a stone. Water on us...and the only effect would be that our mascara would run!

When Buddha in his wisdom said “Desire is the root cause of all sorrow”, he must have had his reasons. All I know is that this silly wish of mine has given me lot of happy hours.

ah!men

Last weekend we had been to Muir Woods. Muir woods, one of the few stretches of redwood trees existing in the world is a breathtakingly beautiful place. No, don’t worry. I am not writing a travelogue because I am yet to learn words so eloquent which would describe such beauty.

We were three-Saif, my colleague and friend Dhruv and I. We reached Muir woods after getting lost umpteen number of times on the freeway .Saif and me are used to getting lost and I pitied Dhruv but he bore our lack of direction sense with amazing grace.

Once we reached there, we headed for a hike along some trail called Ocean view trail. The whole trek was beautiful though there were no views of ocean when we reached the peak.

As we headed back Dhruv was attacked by a strong bout of hiccups. Every few minutes he would ask us to scare him. The idea
of shocking him by pushing him down the hill played tantalizingly inside my head, but my conscience spoiled whatever fun I could have had. Anyways, as we were climbing down we saw a group of three or four people climbing up. One of them was a girl in a very revealing outfit. She had red streaks in her hair and her dress was completely unfit for a hike. In America it’s a very common thing to see a lil of cleavage…but not on a hike...and she was showing lots of it! ;)

The two guys I had with me, true to their Indian blood went all silent as their brains switched to reptilian mode and they stared.

After they had passed us we were all silent. I remarked to Saif “If I were another guy instead of your wife, you would have made some cheapo remark now”.

So Saif grinned and asked Dhruv “item number kaisa laga?”

Dhruv casually relied “She cured me of my hiccups”.

Ah! Men…amen!