Amazing people who make me go on n on n on:)

27 December, 2011

Grow up People, I am two now!



I often wonder what must be going on inside a child’s impressionable mind...my child's  mind rather. Here I try to unravel what I think that my two years old Seeya could possibly be thinking in that little brain of hers, hell bent on mischief:

~On Sheila ki Jawani:
Alright, I am supposed to ask people ‘What’s my name?’ ‘What’s my name?’ ‘What’s my name?’ if I want them dancing around me like that and perhaps also being dumb would help.

~Hearing adults asking her to sing a song/poem:
Will you please cut the cowshit? And then they wonder why some girls grow up to be item numbers!

~When I and G hush-hush if she walks into the room suddenly:
It’s a good thing we are not expected to knock and enter-education should start early;-)

~Watching her papa put only coins in her piggy bank and spending a big, red crisp note on dinner:
My parents’ financial investment really sucks!

~Watching an on-screen kiss:
In an innocent moment: I think this uncle and aunty do not have napkins and don’t want to dirty their hands so they are licking off the Cerelac from each other’s lips.
In a mischievous moment: Mommy, will I be able to do THIS also when I turn eighteen as you say I’ll then be big enough to put lipstick and nail polish?

~Seeing me undress sometimes*yes, necessity is also the mother of changing*:
Why do I have to wear such long drab papa jaise vests while mommy’s is lacy and short and colourful?

~Watching dogs indulge in doggie style*you can’t avoid those when you go for evening walks every day*:
Mom, so this is what you mean when you say, ‘don’t fight like dogs’? My god that back dog has defeated the under-dog and look how he’s kicking it now!

~When I point at the television set and tell her ‘Baby, this is Ranbir Uncle’:
I sit and fancy mommy getting a little stroke when someday I will bring Ranbir Kapoor home as the rockstar who would have given me THE rock...

~When she bears people who pull her cheeks:
Can I do the same thing with your pants?

~When she hears me talking on the phone:
“Kisse baat kar rahe ho? Kaun hain? Kya keh rahe hain?” I better follow religiously what papa said-Mumma ka dhyan rakhna...

~When she hears me mutter about growing fat and gyming:
Mommy, will you please stop trying to look like my elder sister...you are thirty years older for crying out loud?

~When I make her read books while she graces the shit pot:
And someday if the world blames me for my shitty ideas, I’ll know who to blame.

~When I hold her very tight and kiss her like a crazy woman:
Oh god, please send someone else for mommy to do this with before she crushes me with her overflowing affection!

~When I introduce her to older boys in the friends’ circle as 'XYZ Bhaiyya':
Mommy, just because your mommy screwed up your chances with half the eligible boys that you met as a teen, it does not mean you have to make it a family tradition...

Yes, she is my little bomb and just turned two this month...if you doubt my madam would be this volatile and dhamakedar, please watch this video to ascertain it for yourself:

video

20 December, 2011

And now Dirty is IN!


Okay, finally The Dirty Picture is done and although I am not a review person but this seems to be the third of its kind on popular demand if I may add. It is not about what I liked or disliked in the movie technically per se, as other and better reviewers already put it out there-much like a man, it is what the movie leaves you with, should be of paramount consequence to wish to reproduce it.

~While returning from the theatre, I was suddenly down a very horrible memory lane, hitherto buried in my heart. But like it is with volcanoes, things don’t come to the surface till their time is ripe. I was very young, barely into my teens I think when I was walking towards home by myself and a man on a cycle stopped me and asked for an address on a paper. Before I could read or explain, he unzipped himself and asked me in a half mocking way “Madam, pen chahiye kya?” and he guffawed and cycled off. I was shaken beyond belief, threw the paper and ran into my home, shivering and mute for the entire evening, going numb with fear. Years have passed and I still regret not having pulled his shirt and slapped him across his face or raised an alarm and someone would have come along to teach the bastard a lesson, never mind that he was twice my size. Such dirt-bags have ego balloons that need to be pierced lest they burst on someone.

I wish I had the spunk that Silk had!
It’s a dirty world and sometimes the only way to deal with it is to raise up your sleeves, dip into the muck and splash it across the face of him who wants to tarnish you instead.

~Having made that point, picture abhi baaki hain. My first encounter with ‘The Dirty Picture’ came about while I was generally shutting down my yahoo mail one late night and the yahoo news feed spoke about the just out first look of Vidya Balan’s bold shots. I checked out six of those pictures and some comments on them and suddenly felt the very urgent need to wake up my sleeping husband so that he could tease me for the rest of my life about my dubious tendencies. Phew!

~We are digressing...oh wtf-Balan is hot! I always found her so-elegance personified in a sari and what an amazing cross-over this is. She’s a gutsy girl to pull off something as bold as this and do it with such panache. She also proved that you could be fat and yet sexy alright you need boobs too but at least the tummy and thunder thighs were ignored I have hope! I have hope! She has such an amazing vulnerable confidence that catches you even in a guarded moment. Okay, to cut a long story short-I am just blabbering and justifying in case she becomes the target of my phantasy in dreams tonight, giving competition to the dudes already there vying for their turns. “Mujhe to chadhe aise zeher ki tarah ki paani bhi peeya to aag lag gaye!”

~So the movie brought me face to face rather jism to jism more aptly with my own dirty side-not that it was hitherto latent or anything, just draped a little modestly with the veil of sweetness and sophistication “It’s a curse really!” My god, I regretted not having coins to throw towards the screen and wish I knew how to put my fingers in my mouth...for that seete of course. I so wanted to laugh out loud at all the innuendos which is so me and clap like a rickshaw-waala at the scene where she takes out orgasmic sounds when the neighbour and his wife were hitting the sack. Of course I didn’t-stupid, silly couple sitting next to me and a horny group of guys in the rows in front deterred my chutzpah and also a husband who laughs the loudest on stupid Akshay Kumar humour but found me laughing here a little too voluble. Nobody loves me!

Man, she was rocking-also made me realize that there should be categories of orgasmic sounds too just as there are of positions and stuff. Sex is so underrated when it comes to being explored-so ironically that. And the scene where she practically makes love to herself in that red lingerie-I so wished I could sneak around carrying a torch and focus on what the guys were “up” to. Why should all the fun be on-screen?

Vidya is unapologetically brazen, Naseer-the man I so adore for his refinement that I wrote a post reeking of masked lust for  him a couple of years back after I had watched him enthral a vast audience in a theatre play; he does such a fine job in being disgusting here. And 500, really??????? I am still wondering if I should raise an eyebrow at it for underestimation or overestimation. Makes you speculate if you should keep a count too, you know for reference sake, even if it is with the same man for crying out loud and God help that man. “Har admi ki liye ek aurat bane hain, agar usse bach gaye to samjho zindagi bach gaye” Thank god they were less biased against women in such numbers by remaining mum about it.

Even Imraan Hashmi, whom I otherwise loathe, managed to look appealing or perhaps I was really on an overdrive of hormones.

So I liked Delhi Belly more than Zindagi Na milege Doobara and The Dirty Picture more than Rockstar-doesn’t sound too good as an announcement being made but then wtf! I am Desi sometimes and I like my “entertainment” that’s more in the face now than of the dreamy clouds.

It also brings to light what I always believe of life-Don’t judge and of women-Don’t make them go hush-hush about their sensuality and physical desires. Why can’t we be horny and yet not slutty like most of the guys anyways are? Women who use their charms to get things done are dubbed as “loose” but then those who have the brains, use them instead of their balls to carve their niche. What you have, you use it-is a good salesman’s rule!

I have always liked Mallika Sherawat too, despite her weird dumb-assness sometimes. She does not mince words. She does not pretend to be holier than thou-this is me, take it or leave it and don’t you dare try to take by force. She’s also a slap on women who change their colours like the weather- “film ke tarah jo interval ke baad badal jaayen!”

It is important to let the woman breathe, feel free and not handcuffed by the older mindset. Let her laugh the way she wants to and run around in pace with the wind-give her the head instead to stand tall in the face of it. Don’t make her cross the limits by insisting to mark them for her. Watch not how her bosom heaves outside, watch how her heart beats within. Men are meant to be analyzed, women just adored. We are meant to be loved and not understood. Just give us that minus the criss-cross of trickery to avoid the fuckry.

Jab zindagi ek baar milte hain to doosre baar kyon soche!”
Something that should stay with us for a long time.... 
And also this was the closest I could get to watch a 'Junglee Jawani' type flick in the theatre...so yiy, yiy, yiy!

16 December, 2011

How bad can a little bit of Porn be?


I have a very dear friend who has shifted now to the States. When here he was a perennial source of my mirth and jollity for such was his life that epic blunders and wonders kept following him everywhere yes, kind of a carbon copy of me-I often joked that we are like twins separated by wombs. It is sad that he does not blog for his narration is exceptional and engrossing. Here is one of the leaves from his life that forms a memorable anecdote for me to always tease him with.

He (let’s call him Bhola, for this would get to his nerves for sure) was pursuing his further studies outside his quaint, little city and once was home during long vacations. His very small town had meagre sources of entertainment and his friends too had moved on to other parts of the country in search of greener pastures. So he decided to stack some actually a huge amount of porn in between his notes and bring along just in case the forlorn nights made him too lonely and the lovely simple damsels around got him too horny.

Now stashing them in the remote corners of his cupboard in the room, he went out one day to check on the developments in the city happening behind his back which basically means to check out the chicks for he cared a flying fig about the infrastructure-female structure is where his eyes stop for good. Little did he know his mommy dearest had decided to give him a surprise by introducing his chaotic room to some order. He returned home whistling in the evening struck by the smell of something alien-ish in the air. *Sniff, sniff* OHH MYY GOOD GAAAWD! Who the fuck unmessed the mess?

And immediately his popping out eyes went to the closed doors of the cupboard. In slow motion you can imagine him running now towards it with his head moving from side to side as sweat particles splattered around from the panic socked expressions of his countenance actually imagine a constipation stricken tensing of facial nerves here instead for a better understanding of the situation.

Gasping for breath, he flung open the doors in one jerky action and then picture the three times made close-up of his face with thrum-thrum-thrum imaginary backdrop thumping of the drum as happens in stupid Hindi serials. The underwear were washed, the posters of half naked women stuck on the insides were removed and worst-the notebooks were arranged in neat layers and despite moving the pages of all, there was not one CD falling out of any of them.

His first thought:
OMG-I paid half my month’s pocket money on them!
OMG-Some of them had the latest lesbian action!
OMG-How will I spend the rest of the fifteen nights here at home without them?
OMG-(never mind, too many FIRST thoughts there)
OMG-Mom!!!!????????!!!

He darted back to his mother like I do when I go to receive a phone call and end up chit chatting forgetting about milk kept on the stove for boiling not realizing that he had not thought over in his mind about what and how was he going to ask his sari clad, bindi adorning, haath mein puja ki thaali liye hue mom about it. He first took the thali from her hand lest it fell to the ground in the dramatic way shown in the movies, scattering the puja ka sindoor everywhere and extinguishing the diya because the “ghar ka chiraag” is too busy in such “mooh-kaala” activities.

He- Ma, er...did you find anything in my cupboard?
(Forget the “thank-you for cleaning my earthquake stricken zone” –ungrateful kids of this generation, I tell you)
Ma- You mean this? *And she took out the bundle of CDs from god knows where, arranged between her fingers like a neat stack of playing cards with just the right amount of cleavage popping out from each cover*

He- Ma...er...aaaa...mmmm?
Ma-So these are the sounds that I would get from you now? Quite expected! 
He- Maaaaa???? *Raising the tone in disbelief as though she’s the one doing the blasphemy here*
Ma- Yeh kya hain? *Now bringing in view a clothes-free Pamela Anderson look alike in terms of you-know-what for nobody cares two hoots about what is over them*

He- (thinking in his mind- These are the latest inventions of positions and intersections without conception but made for interjections) CDs hain ma...
Ma- I can see that...but what are they doing in your cupboard?
He- (thinking again- They should be "doing it" in the laptop and damn I should have used the laptop cover to stack them there instead) Ma, yeh notes hain!
Ma- Jhoot bol rahe ho ab?

He- Na ma na...These are Suraj’s CDs. I told him to send me the biology practicals ke CDs and by mistake he must have sent me these. I kept them away so that I could go back and return these for the originals *feeling super smug at his presence of mind*

Ma- Chee...beta, mein tumhare ma hoon!
He- Mujhe pata hain ma, meine kab DNA test maanga?
Ma- To yeh sab kar rahe ho Bombaye jaake?
He-  (Karne ka mauka he kahan mila-yeh to practise sessions hain) Ma, aap galat samajh rahe ho....
Ma- To dikha do kya hain is mein-theek se samajh lete hoon?

He- *Now raising an eyebrow at his ma’s intention in tension* Acha ab de do....aage se nahi karonga  (Me-Huh, matlab self service ki dukaan band aaj se?) and papa ko nahi bataana....
Ma- Ofcourse nahi bataana...woh TUMHAARE papa hain! Aur inko bhool jao...
She stomped off now leaving Bhola with the puja ki thaali and almost a KLPD!

And my teasing began at where she left him-
So mast na? Haaaw Bhola, imagine what and how she would have viewed you post this traumatic experience-

~Beta, bahut kamzoor ho gaya hain! (He must be overdoing THAT-I must ask Bhola ke papa to speak to him about IT)

~Itne garmi mein shorts ke jagah pajama pehna hain? (He must have just watched a CD and come...arre woh waala come nahi-Ram, Ram)

~Why is he taking so long in the bathroom? Why has he locked his room from inside? (Let me put my ears to the door to hear some moaning)

~Why is he moaning? (No he can’t have possibly slipped on the soap water left in his washroom-it has to be those karam jali kudiyan)

~Why is he refusing to get married? (Oh god, he’s having an affair with one of “those” girls...)

~Why is he insisting on twice cleaning of his room? (I must ask Shaarda bai to stop sending her daughter for cleaning and she should come instead-is ladke ka to kuch pata nahi)

Tch, tch...needless to say he never got the CDs back and whenever he grieved about them, I told him to chill, probably his mom and dad, alone in that drab town are having fun now thanks to him-aaj tak unhone sab sikhaya, kuch aap bhi unke knowledge expansion mein assistance karo! Or be positive, maybe someday when he gets married, his mom instead of handing the house keys on the first night to his bride would make her cup those CDs and say “Aaj se yeh tumhare haath mein hain-uske haath mein mat dena...” And stop looking for innuendos I am sure the poor mother won’t mean THAT what you are thinking!

And so poor Bhola, he never knew porn could land him in the Neverland-the land where he would never be seen without doubtful eyes by his ma or without mad leg pull by me!

11 December, 2011

Guts out!


I wish I could rant my guts out...

~Like I could write this space as a ‘Dear Diary’ and yet be entertaining.

~Crib about my mother-in-law and make it sound more heart-wrenching than the stupid soap on television no, not that Lux bar kept on the console

~Declare I am horny and not sound desperate.

~Exclaim I care a fuck when I fucking care!

~Be round-the-clock the person that blogosphere thinks I am.
  
~Reveal sheepishly how I almost believe in what Mohnish Uncle said in Meine Pyar Kiya, that the ubharta and ubalta Salman took very seriously “Ek ladka aur ladki kabhi dost nahi ho sakte”

~Articulate about how I view God as my shadow and not as an idol.

~Make people believe that NOTHING in the world is right or wrong-the circumstances are!


~Confess I fall in love/crushes sooner than the fall in sensex and not pretend to be joking about it.

~State that I have so many times thought of eloping to some place far away that I almost believe in my mind now that I did. 

~Grieve about my just-out three white hair and yet pompously rejoice about my three times faster beating heart thanks to coming across wittier men.

~Accept my fascination for colour black for it makes me look lean almost just as much as Abhiskek Bachchan’s for his stupid leather jackets that suit him just as much as English does on Lalu Prasad Yadav whatever happened to him btw?

~Disclose that I have experimented so much that I could have been mistaken for a scientist.

~Take to task the anonymous characters in my internet life for how they make me rack my puny brains in trying to solve the mystery behind them-so please STOP and come out clean no puns intended.

~Philosophise and seem like Mr Deepak Chopra but with Ms Priyanka Chopra’s body!

~Express that I find some women just as burningly hot as some men and not sound gay.

~Explain that all relationships forged out of genes, come with a shelf life-if not becoming dormant, in time they do become lukewarm.

~Sulk openly about how some of the blogs amaze me-for how on earth could they have hundreds of comments on their posts with the kind of drab they publish!

~Blabber that I care a flying fuck about keeping abreast with the news/politics, except what Twitter provides me with and haven’t read the paper beyond the entertainment section in years and still not have you do ‘haaaaaaaaaaaaw’ at me.

~Plead guilty to how I was a better daughter till I had a daughter of my own.

~Divulge that if I ever wrote my autobiography, it would shock just too many to redeem. 


~Expose that I like playing with minds more than with people.

~Practise what I preach and give up on what's beyond my reach.

~Indulge in wild parties and slide into being the sati savitri next day with equal conviction...

~Mention I am fat and give a curvy, wholesome image of me in your mind instead.

~Moan about being alone in the blanket right now.

~Manage to churn out a book someday.

~Look at my wardrobe and sulk for everything is too old, too tight or just not right!

~Complain why I can’t have my pie and eat it too.


~Bring about a rule that you aren't being unfaithful, if it is only in the mind.


~Announce that the only thing I cook well...are the stories.

~Try to act dumb some day, just to see how half of the world feels!


Ah, too many skeletons revealed...so until next time!

07 December, 2011

Love and the Semblance of it!


I love cinema that make me not just look but also think. A very belated watched Rockstar did the same. Nopes, this is not a review-this is the aftermath of some churning and wriggling while watching it not in the way you think though.

I don’t take the motion pictures too seriously but I like to ponder over the food for thought that some of them sneakingly sow in my mind. These are then the movies that stay with me for a longer time. And Rockstar fanned the hitherto latent pang with the astounding love equation between Heer and Jordon-the characterisation that left me bowled over.

The love that is unconditional, that is so strong that it becomes an ache to bear and like an alchemist to all ailments-that directs all your bodily functions into pumping not blood but emotions! A love that defies reason, relations and practicality- like poetry residing in bodies-that makes or breaks, leaving you impervious to any other sensation and oblivious to any other human being!

Does such a love actually exist or it is again a gimmick of the movie makers to keep schmucks like us in the dreamy zone of hope and expectations?

My lucid mind tells me it is all crap. How can you feel so strongly for someone after meeting for a few days or post years of separation? The fast paced, realistic world and the variety it offers, reasserts my conviction that ‘No one and nothing is indispensible or irreplaceable’. But then the bent-on-general-awareness waala mind points to me of the Cupid struck suicide cases that occur where love lost souls prefer death over disjointing. Stupid people, I say-whimsical brood!

Self-love is the only and truest form of love-how can you love someone, if you don’t love yourself enough to stay alive and make true your dreams. How can love be one-sided and yet forever? How can one love another and just one person so much? Although I also feel too much education and the classy flavour debars one from entering this mindless portal as reinstated by the Rockstar. Love is the idol of the idle-to feel it raw, perhaps you need to be raw and open.

Upon deeper introspection, I felt the “what-if” trudge in with its nimble feet on the well attended, sprawling lawns of sanity and leaving its indelible footprints. What if these people have managed to experience what we block ourselves to? What if they are not immature but just more receptive of feeling sans logic, that we so lack? They are not senseless but more sensory. What if they have traversed the thin line and moved over to something greater that we with our nitty gritties of issues cannot even fathom?
Issues like-Am I being used? Does he really like me? Is there a future? What if she wants my money? We are really different people! Why hasn’t he called? and mindless more. What if what we think is love is not really it, but a little semblance that we have found and cling to it fanatically feeling that's the best we can get and thereby shut all doors to the horizon waiting to expand? 

Maybe the souls who experience that kind of pure, unadulterated love are those who never think-just love, who never get-just give and who don’t even want anything in the first place or want anything else. And then maybe again, this entire concept is the conditioning of the mind and is as plausible as the Santa Claus. So we might just as well and please refrain from hanging the hope stockings, yes even the imaginary ones, in the dim vestibules of our lonely-in-crowd minds?

And so thus my tryst with internal struggles continues-I ache to feel that love which becomes a pain to bear and not just a pain in the arse. A love that pounds within me with such throbbing that mutes every other noise of the world! And then I dismiss myself as a hopeless romantic-in love more with the feeling of being in love than persons. Love always makes me an oxymoron-I know the coherent view but I incline towards the fantastical one...I am consistently wary of the fake yet persistently experimental for the real...I pride in all my judiciousness and still secretly pine to be erroneous.

I want to solve this mystery once and for all so that hapless people don’t spend endless hours in sighing or viewing prospective romances with soul-mateish spectacles. If only we could separate the romance from love, perhaps we would define them both.
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