My Tumbling Thoughts to the World

The Ghats of the Only World

2012-01-30T19:28:00.000+05:30

All girls waitfor their happily ever after-grow up with dreams of watching themselves walkthe aisle on their wedding date, or so do most girls I come across make mebelieve.

I never dreamtof marriage. I never imagined myself living in a big mansion where I would besitting on a plush lounge with two doting kids and a mantle-place behind usportraying a huge frame of my husband and me. Yes, I am technically faulty by default.

But as far as Ican remember-I think I have often dreamt even with waking eyes, of someone coming on a white horse from outof a haze, looking stately and handsome and smiling at me as his stead pacescloser in slow motion. Yes, Iam technically a douche bag too.I believe I was responsible for all those Yash Chopra movies doing well in the90’s because I stepped on the threshold of my youth then with such buffooneryin my head. Filmy I know, sueme.

What if suchdreams do come true? Do we have the sensibility to realize it or the sense toaccept it? Do we have the strength to contain it and the guts to declare it,even to ourselves? What if our happily ever after is ever with us but wecontinue to search? What if these dreams are nothing but dreams or what if theactuality is a dream that is waiting for you to awaken from?

Dreams arefascinating-it is god’s way of saying sorry for the reality he created. But anapology is often not what we desire. We desire the healing of wounds thatmostly are self inflicted. If I go out to search love, I would find it waitingon every corner I turn. But am I ready to take chances to turn on a crossroadthat would take me perhaps windingly to the road less travelled. But then allroads less travelled must be so for a reason. One man’s adventure can beanother man’s trauma.

I wonder whylove comes constituted with pain. And then a love without pain-is really loveor just a sense or whiff of it? Love is the epicentre of all that’s inmotion-be it the earth, be it the beating heart. If love is all we need, why dowe rush after money and things it can buy? I want to give love a chance but amI ready to take a chance? What if I find it outside the constraints of mywedlock? Blasphemy? What if I rediscover it with my partner? Herculean? What ifI actually just need to fall in love with myself again? Seamless?

Love needs tobe given a chance just as life gives us one. Cliché as it sounds but can’t seemto remember anything else more apt here-We can’t stand at the edge of a pondand try to gauge its depth. We have to take our feet out. It may be cold andthen comes the decisive juncture. Should I still venture forward? Should I justdip my feet and come out dry? Should I move in and allow myself to be soakedfor I am tired of being parched? And in case I do get sodden, would I smear theGhats I turn back to with dripping droplets that spill with every step I take?I am at the Ghats of the only world and standing here, wondering if the water’stoo deep or my step too steep!

P.S. Been in a weird mood lately, don't know if I make sense. My internet's mummy's been fucked, so not being able to read posts. Hopefully, soon and thank god for pen drives.

I read and I live...

2012-01-24T14:53:00.000+05:30

How do you satiate hungryeyes searching to quench a thirst?

How does one fill a voidwhen one does not know what is needed for its redemption?

Such is life that itnecessitates the delving into an escape route-to mingle into mindless relationsderived out of so-called friendships or love, to drift into the unrealisticmadness of cinema or devour the coming to life of words in books.

Reading, yes, I admit-Imiss you. Let me confess today how I went wanton by turning to the blogospheresingle-mindedly that it would make up for my erstwhile fixation of holding anactual book running into pages in my clasp. I haven’t returned to embrace youin many-a-years now. Would that explain my tossing restlessly in bed some days?

Should I blame thegradually reclining attention span or the steadily ebbing drama in my own life?A one page blog post reading of someone I admire, has been serving as a capsuleperhaps to screen the symptoms though provides no cure. Or the witty one-linerson twitter that impress me no end perhaps ignite enough to ignore the largerpicture! It gives me the hallucination of having “read”. Reading thus now dolesout to fill some empty specks of my mind with a momentary realization of havingtravelled to some far-off domain, lived a reckless or meticulous life andsauntered back to my reality.

Reading is still servingme although I look not at it with the same eye.

I get magnetically pulled toany iota I see of the Victorian Ages or Romanticism symbolized by thosepeacefully resting in their graves now-any contemporary voices strong enough tostand at par with the Byrons, Wordsworths and Keats. Imagine the exquisitenessof ageless expressions like wandering lonely as a cloud or walking inbeauty....

For such was the web theyspun that getting entangled was the mind’s way of showing what a true orgasm isto the rest of the body. Such were the unadulterated emotions and expressions,as though the writers stood blind to all voices around and were enslaved to thevoices in their heads.

Picking up classics ortrue Literature can at times have a therapeutic effect (just as much as a regular pacey best-seller). You walk down thewondering lane-what constitutes such a frame that manages to give you linesholding the grain of the ultimate truth, hand-picked from a solitary life butwithstanding the test of times to reach the eternity? What immortal fountainsthey create and how? What triggers the unstoppable breeze that cools even themost burning of surfaces with their tender flap? Goes to prove that you canoften create magic without movement or sound-magic by the gentle tap of yourfingers and mind!

I read and I lived....inthe days gone by when I would curl up on a sofa in a corner with a book. An illicitrelation perhaps for I cared a damn how anyone looked at us-my transfixed gaze,my coy smiles, the scrunching of anxious eyes, the pleasure of reading lovebeing made on page-me and my book, palming each other and then looking at thewalls for a while, in reflection of letting sink in what the books showed me. Iwould move my body rarely and only when it fringed on getting numb while themind travelled in frenzy and sometimes even that would be stationary, performing thearduous task of creating mind pictures for me-moving, pulsating images or justgiving me the goose bumps with vividness painted there.

Did I become theprotagonist in all I read? Yes, I experienced the greed for money, the lust forsex, the spine chilling edging in a mystery, the ache of soul for love, thecrushing of entrails by a heart break, the malicious scheming for murder, theinfinite search for truth. Did I come out unscarred from all I read? No, remnantsof these got transfixed to me like second skin, shaping my mind, preferencesand beliefs. They unwittingly went and formed a layer in my subconscious thatmade me think, opine and pine.

I carried the weight ofwhom I read for a while till fresh love began to reverberate within and another pristinecrispness came between my nimble fingers, too eager to grasp the new.

Yes, Mark Twain, I agree with you when you say, "The man who does not read good books has no advantage over the man who can't read them." But perhaps reading became tootaxing for me-the way I wear my heart on my sleeves, I found it difficult tostop it from becoming a bookmark trapped permanently within some sheets of abook closed and done with. The pain of returning to a life less ordinary beganto be weighed against the pleasure of dipping into ecstasy. Or perhaps I havejust become too lazy using the garbs of responsibilities to disguise the changein me, looking for books in faces of people? I need to find myself again and Ineed to find a book that can find me? -A voice that sounds like the voices inmy head and calms them down.

P.S. Sorry a severe writer's block in progress here...hopefully would find my funny bone soon!

Does the Sun shining on me make me Sunny?

2012-01-13T00:48:00.002+05:30

Yesterday my dear belovedreturned from a five days ka tour and very tired. We both unwind aroundmidnight with a little time spent on the web on our respective phones before wecurl each other instead and last night I finally got a peek at some sacredparts...of his phone that is, before you begin to question me about wtf was Idoing with him for twelve years of our marriage then.

Now I am not a ‘Big Boss’person or a television person per se but then Sunny Leone is as much ahousehold name in India today as is perhaps Sonia Gandhi, for different reasonsof course. Twitter went barmy with her entry and I felt compelled to watch theidiot box for an entire five minutes just to see who is firing the imaginationfaster than AK47 can ever dream of. But thankfully I soon lost interest intheir loony tunes.

It has been ages since Iwatched porn yes, despite it, I am normaland not frustrated in life and she wasn’tgoing to make me do it, never mind her 'doing' reputation and whatever of minetoo after my open declaration for my fixation with Vidya Balan in a previouspost because I had opined she was drenching in hotness.

I see you raising aneyebrow at the “ages” and muttering under your breath, eh-‘Tch, tch, yes, ofcourse, what would old people do with porn anyways?’ Phew! Narrow mindednessand prejudice would bring an end to this country faster than the upcomingelections could. Baby, why would I need outside help when I have a more than eager and flourishing help deskright here on the bed? We don’t help ourselves, we get helped all the time#perksofbeingmarried

So, yes, we are talkingporn again!

At the risk of soundingold sacrifices I make for yourenlightenment, I belong to the generationwhen porn was not downloadable my god,the auto correct did not check me, you mean to say that really is a word? We had to manually go up to a stupid CD shop and rentit out. My escapades with a group of friends to go out and rent porn havealready been enumerated on some post before but then a quick recap does notharm once a teacher, always a teacher.

Those who’ve been aroundwould recall my telling how I found video porn in my parents’ cupboard,securely tucked under a pile of clothes. That was like sher ke mooh mein khoon lagna. Nopes, that does not mean Ideveloped a compulsive disorder for watching porn else I would succumb toforces unknown; it just fuelled the curious cat in me to want more-get to thebottom of it no puns intended. I went out like on an invisible Noah’s ark to ascertainwhether the absurd things done on that video cassette were done on a regularbasis in all of them or were my janam-dattasjust plain lucky to have found some unique stuff. Needless to say, I now knowhow easy it was and maybe still is to please my simple set of parents.

Anyway, we digress!

So last night after five nights of almost lambi judai, beloved was extra kind withme and on his own, without me having to plead and trade-bargain for it, decidedto show me Sunny Leone on his phone. And obviously we are not talking about herstrutting around, looking all innocent and cute like two big fat buttons on BigBoss.

“Aha, she is hot andlooks less dumb without clothes” is what I said before he nodded his head inagreement. I am sure he just heard the hot part and nodded too soon and didn’tbother about the dumb bit. Hot and dumb are two adjectives that men don’t mindas long as they come in combination. There were just still pictures, though Iknow somewhere well concealed in some stupid passwords would be the moving onestoo-not those moving you to actual tears but those moving you to wetness forsure.

So I eyed some shots withmy gaping mouth till beloved had to manually close it with a push of his fore-fingerfrom under my jaw and then we judge howmen cheaply open their gaps at the sight of sexy women. “Please don’t tell me you are turned on again” iswhat his tired face managed to mouth for now. Isshhh thank god no one heardthat or saw those harrowed expressions or else they’d think what a torture thepoor guy goes through in bed.

“Don’t worry, I don’t findher thaaaaat hot to give up on men altogether or emotionally blackmail you intocreeping into my blanket” is what I said to console. I looked back in slowmotion at beloved, whose handsome visage was marked with some concern. “I amnot worried about that, though doubtful of it....but then see how unfair, sucha sweet and nice and pretty girl na, I wonder why she came in thisbusiness....” Had he used any more adjectives of the ‘nicer’ kinds, I wouldhave really done something horrible to him under that blanket. Ya, right, thenext you would say that she’s so homely and I would inform you that homely doesnot mean one whom you want to bring home to your bed.

Poor dear beloved,sometimes I wonder why God clubbed me with such a noble, innocent soul while hewas at his pairing trip. Perhaps to show the beauty of equilibrium in action! “Really!She’s too pretty for porn? Would you want to watch ugly girls in the act instead?Please don’t tell me that you would for it would make me doubt myself at havingturned you on for all these years like I do?”

During the first few yearsof my marriage we used to rent porn at every blue moon. There was a fat,middle-aged man in our vicinity who ran a grocery store and lent pirated CDsfor a side income. Needless to say with a boys hostel just outside his shop,there was more business out of “woh waaleCDs hain?” than any yeh ya koi aurwaale. Dear beloved also got a whiff of it post his matrimonial status. Iam sure that fat ass must have thrown not-so-subtle suggestions as he was grosslysuggestive even without the slightest of provocation on a general basis.

So on some Sundays a CDwould be rented for a puny Rs 10 and returned back on Mondays. And on some daysif beloved left in a hurry and forgot to do so or I needed some general itemsfrom his store and reached his door step, I would be greeted with a horrendousgrin from the bastard as though he was running in his mind a re-run of “I knowwhat you did last summer” with a different allusion to summer here. But then thankfullycame the era of the downloadable and his unbearable grins rested in peacehappily ever after.

God, I digress once more.

What were we talkingagain...ah, Sunny Leone!

Haven’t I spoken enoughtoday already?

Okay, 'she’s hot' is what Imuttered to some of my friends today too but apparently not or at least notso much as some Priya Rai-and here I thought my education days were done. Allthose really dumb jokes of Leone Vs Dharam paaji’s son Sunny had barely done arest than the ones on Jism-2 starring madam have started doing the rounds. Iguess won’t be able to resist her entry in my bedroom for long, will I?

Pardon me but it ismidnight once again. Let me see if I could lure beloved into showing me somevideo clips and lemme play some music in the backdrop to set the mood....#Nowplaying: I’ve got afeeling-that tonight’s gonna be a good night, that tonight’s gonna be a BIGgood night!

P.S. Imagine my torturenow to have to go through Google images to search for a suitable picture of herto upload with this post #lifeisabitch

To The Girl at 27!

2012-01-04T19:15:00.000+05:30

My Dearest,

Ahthe pleasure of writing on a paper again, almost matching with the pleasure ofhaving you. ‘Having’ yes, I did but to say I “have” you though would be ablasphemy. And before you allow that frown saying there I go again and bringtiny anxious lines on your lustrous visage, let me just ask you-Who can havethe rays of sunshine trapped in his fingers no matter how strong be his grip?Who can box the fragrance one senses standing in the midst of sandal trees?

Forsuch are you-flowing like the river, warming like the rays, enticing like thescent of a rose, mysterious like the dark night, glorious like the white moonand out of reach like the stars that shine beyond. You sprinkled some of yoursheen on me and made me bask in its sensation forgetting that I am trying toown the fabric of the infinite galaxy. The galaxy that I am going to fade intowith my end and the galaxy that you have to tread on, leaving your nimblefootsteps on everything untouched yet!

Iwant to tell you how much I love you, but for that I would have to assume thatyou are a separable part of me although so infused are you now that if I say,loving you is like self-love, it would not be digressing from the establishedtruth I live with every day.

Youknow what debates ran in my mind between the good and the evil voices: “She is only27, so what...he was also, once upon a time! He is 59, so what...won’t she betoo someday? And he would love her the same. Ah, they would grimace....won’t hebe tumbling in his grave by then?” But my time to go has come sooner than Iwanted, sooner than I cared and sooner than allowing me to dare. I realize nowthat being with me would take too much from you and selfish that I am for you,I would hate to see you hate me ever.

Mydearest, I want to remain an exultant reminiscence for you, not a dilapidated,old man shrivelling to ruins eventually too soon, wiping all joyous memories-ofbearing you with all my strength, of making you shed your over-mature thoughtsmore than shedding what you wore, of turning many a sighs into heaving, ofmingling two bodies in such an intoxicating fusion that it turns me giddy byjust imagining the taste of it. It was not only a flight of fantasy, it waslike the developing of wings of a young twittering brood that jumps off thecliff and realises soon that it can fly...high!

Itwas how you held me for hours and how I held you in those moments. It was howjust a look of you gave me the adrenalin rush that I haven’t felt with one fromyour gender before, although my age justifies my calling me experienced. In allyour vulnerable innocence, you have no realization how insane your after-effectscan be! I would burn with desire just watching you move around the kitchencounter...seeing you untie the cascading hair and then brush them free withyour slender fingers...how you ran your own palms over your arms when coldwinds played truant or how your eyes lighted with fire and the edge of the lowerlip was bitten with the teeth on the thought of new mischief contriving within.I would wonder how something so strongly physical could be just as enduringlyemotional? See how you became the wonder woman for me.

ButI leave you deserted now for such must be your eventual fate. I won’t be ableto face you facing me as I would have to face or see you justifying to one andall that age is just a number. But I do want you to play against the world,face them as my dear girl who would fight all her battles and seek happinesseven without me. Let me go while there is still redemption for you.

Therewould be many who would come your way. Your aura would ensure that a discerningeye would not let you flash past. Be careful my little one, but don’t buildwalls to protect yourself. Be on a watch but let not the watches watch you. There is no right time to fall in love andno right person-there is only the right feeling. Let not your ignorance orarrogance come in the way of testing those who might be your test. Love isworth a few adjustments, love is worth a few pains....but spending alone therains, crumbling every time the cold breeze harshly jolts you, with no arms towrap you snug in guard, is definitely not.

Letyour heart be open and the mind not closed. Let the comparing eye be shut withforce. Lower expectations but not your standards! Let doubts surface but alsoallow the soft waves of emotions to calm them down. Men are not perfect butthat does not qualify them to be jerks either. Just don’t weigh too much likeyou do, before feelings also begin to take the pendulum way.

Benot afraid to express how you feel, it is always better to know where exactlyyou stand than to wriggle within in a hypothetical see-saw. You are veryfragile my love and like the hesitant bud that knows not how splendid it lookswhen blooms. Allow yourself to take chances. It took me years to come close toyou like I did, don’t try the patience of any other man. All are not me andwith you just about any can’t be.

Laughmore and like there’s no tomorrow, let those little lines of sorrow evaporatein your mirth or the semblance of it. Be open to experiments for theyeventually culminate into experiences. Allow men of mettle to first see yoursoul and then your body for it would pain me to see someone handle you withoutcare. Let those who touch you, touch you! And make sure when you close the eyefor his first kiss, you leave my moist imprints in some far away allay, neverto be trudged there again.

Noman can bear his woman closing on him for someone else. So don’t try to shareme, bear me in your mind if you must, for even if you don’t, I won’t rust.

Ileave now, to go I don’t know where. Our paths wouldn’t cross and even if theydo, please pretend that you don’t know me, no matter how you see my pining inmy mute appearance. Only you are blessed enough to look through me. Show methat this would all be worthwhile eventually. Walk away showing pity, for I wasnot man enough to say I would take care of you even if life took me away.

Theysay love stories are best which are left unended...some feelings-unattended...somegestures-unreturned...some laughters-unreciprocated...some tears-unvalued...andsome couples-unbonded! We were not the usual love story, were we? So how couldwe have a usual end? Sometimes the lack of “happily ever after” is how everafter not so happily begins.

Notexpecting you to understand, but accepting nevertheless,

Yoursonly.

Grow up People, I am two now!

2011-12-27T12:39:00.001+05:30

I often wonder what mustbe going on inside a child’s impressionable mind...my child's mind rather. Here I try to unravel what Ithink that my two years old Seeya could possibly be thinking in that littlebrain 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 wonderwhy some girls grow up to be item numbers!

~When I and G hush-hush if she walks into the roomsuddenly:

It’s a good thing we are not expected to knock andenter-education should start early;-)

~Watching her papa put only coins in her piggy bankand 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 donot have napkins and don’t want to dirty their hands so they are licking offthe Cerelac from each other’s lips.

In a mischievous moment: Mommy, will I be able to doTHIS also when I turn eighteen as you say I’ll then be big enough to put lipstickand nail polish?

~Seeing me undress sometimes*yes, necessity is alsothe mother of changing*:

Why do I have to wear such long drab papa jaise vestswhile mommy’s is lacy and short and colourful?

~Watching dogs indulge in doggie style*you can’t avoidthose when you go for evening walks every day*:

Mom, so this is what you mean when you say, ‘don’tfight like dogs’? My god that back dog has defeated the under-dog and look howhe’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 somedayI will bring Ranbir Kapoor home as the rockstar who would have given me THErock...

~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 myelder sister...you are thirty years older for crying out loud?

~When I make her read books while she graces the shitpot:

And someday if the world blames me for my shittyideas, I’ll know who to blame.

~When I hold her very tight and kiss her like a crazywoman:

Oh god, please send someone else for mommy to do thiswith before she crushes me with her overflowing affection!

~When I introduce her to older boys in the friends’ circleas 'XYZ Bhaiyya':

Mommy, just because your mommy screwed up your chanceswith half the eligible boys that you met as a teen, it does not mean you haveto 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:

The Case History of an M.B.B.S Student...

2011-12-23T20:15:00.001+05:30

Guestposts are not new in blogosphere. I had asked some of my closest friendsand writers I adore, to write something for me-just that the laziest and cutestbums fall on my lap. My purposefor guest posts is just as the name suggests-get the people I love on to mypage as warmly welcomed guests so that they leave their indelible footprints on 'My Tumbling Thoughts' as a mark of their affection for me.

Here’sintroducing this week-Akshay Singh, someone whom I have known from some timenow. This little dynamite and Jack of all trades is all of 22 with the wisdomand experience of a 44 year old mad explosive-an M.B.B.S student now in Chennai, hehas the typical U.P. flavour with his upbringing in Lucknow. Perhaps that’s whywe gel so well or maybe together we two have the naughtiest minds and the powerto light up the darkest situation. You have to see us yack our guts out liketwo gossipy girls...

Catch himon his blog: http://twistedchillies.blogspot.com/

Here herecounts in his naatak ways, his journey to being a psychiatrist, after generously having agreed on making me being his first patient.

THECASE-HISTORY OF AN M.B.B.S. STUDENT.....

So wheneverI talk to Suruchi, she’s like “Aap kecollege mein kya chal raha hai?” And (one agony aunt to another) I start regaling her with thetragedies/nautanki /pantomines/Ramsay brothers’ movie scenes that I go throughevery day. Until I hear her giggling on the other end (sigh- I need to listthat one as a cause for acute tachycardia pretty soon)

This inturn made me realize: Life as an M.B.B.S. student is FUNNY! Moreover so, if yougo ask any of us nerds as to what is college like, we’ll give you a sad face,the eyes lose their shine, a sob or two might escape too (females*sigh* ) “Jao be, kyon jale pe namak chidak rahe ho?”

As Istep into the final year, I have decided to let it out: 3-and-half years ofsweating under the lab coats in Chennai summers, of getting humiliated over andover again, poking my finger to test my own blood, of replacing my i-pod withstethoscope and self-diagnosing myself with 200 diseases...Here itis, out in the open: A sneak-peek (The total amount of madness would need abook)

THE DISSECTION HALL:

*Yes,feel free to imagine the Munna Bhai scene, NOT the CID forensic lab*. 2^nd day of college-you just evaded kamineseniors-the competition is ON: Who can suck up to teachers better? Who can looknerdier? Who carries more books with them? (Yes, ladies ...we surrender! Myentire brotherhood surrenders before thy supremacy here)

Andthen you see THEM (you don’t know it yet but they’ll be your best friends aftera year). Lying there naked, in all their glory-that shrivelled up skin, thatbony frame and the intoxicating aroma of formalin adding to their mysteriousaura! Yes, the CADAVERS for us-for you, the bodies of the dead.

But soon the magic strips off, actually, almost everythingstrips off :D

You remove the skin, then the superficial fascia, the fatlayer, the muscles, the nerves, the arteries and all the while keep checkingout the “maal” in the class (and secretly hope that both of you get to dissectthe body together one day).

And wrapped in all that stink of formalin andorgans splashed across your table (no, not all them but the stupid intestinesare so slippery) ...you somehow become a college student.

You play relays with the hand bones, take a stick and poke inthe heart chambers and of course name your cadavers (ours was called ‘RangaSwami’.There was also PhoolMati, Ramu Kaka,Gajodhar, PhoolanDevi )

As the teacher is opening the cranium andextracting the brain (with all that gooey-gooey stuff leaking out) you areflirting with your ‘pehla pehla pyar’.Over the drill of a saw cutting through the rib cage, your friend is whisperingthe lastest ‘garma garam khabar’ inyour ears.

I still remember the last day of preparation holidays. And Iwas running in the dissection hall with a heart in one hand and a cut hand inthe other (Gloves ?? Thoo ...newcomers use that...No time macha)

And people wonder as to why doctors are slightlypsycho! :D

THEHOSTEL ...THE EXAMS

Ah! Where do I start from?

The sword fights with femur bones? Or dozingoff next to a skull you were studying? Or boys staring into each others’ eyesfor ages to come up with the anti-climax type ka conclusion, “Macha, I think you have corneal opacity!”

For those engineers who moan (and boast) aboutlast night studying..he, he, he- Bachche log, try studying 250 drugs (theirclassifications, uses, side effects, variations, doses ) in one night . By thetime you go for exams, your brain is CLOGGED. And yet you keep muttering underyour breath for the fear, “Bhai, kuch aur aa gaya toh tapak jaoonga...”

Sitting in (two separate) loos side by side andrevising answers with your friend (and then the guy brushing his teeth alsojoins in).People go dancing in corridors just prior to the paper to de-stress, throw their books about, are found sleeping on the stairs, selfprescribe drugs, sit and recite answers together until it sounds as if some occultceremony is in progress (and I am not even going towards the girls’ hostel)

And needless to say, the sale of Red Bull goesup!

Ultimately all you remember are 2-3 points(sometimes not even that). For all of you, who are of the opinion that doctors lackcreativity and imagination, please refer to our university papers!

THE WARDS....

Yes, you go in with you stethoscope, white coat and try your best to getthe “daaktar” swagger UNTIL you realize that, you are the lowest,most despicable creature in that ward. Even the junior nurses know that youdon’t know shit (and you thought you’d carry that secret to grave, eh?)

And then begins the cycle: The professorshumiliate you first. Then the senior residents take off your ‘bachi khuchi izzat’. The nurse throwsyou scathing looks and points you over to some patient. The seniors standingover there kick you bum away (koi baatnahi, every Dharmendra ka doggy has his day, wait till my juniors come) *sniff, sniff* P.S. - Sometimes, the patient also partakes inthe ‘cheer-haran’ *sigh-zaalim duniya*

After a few months, you realize that you havelost it! What about the spirit/ the patience/ the hope? (Actually, all those too)...but more importantly: the SHAME!

Getting screamed at in the middle of the ward(yes, patients ke saamne) is such a routine thing .Patient smiles at us, wesmile at him-we both know, we are at the same doctor’s mercy.

You can ask anyone to open their lungi so thatyou can examine and palpate their testes (And that’s how female students learnthat it’s a human organ, not a PUMP!) You can go up to any woman and ask her abouther periods. Or if her blouse has become loose (to check for weight loss...Ideaplan macha)

And as life moves on: Patients become this list of CASES youmust examine and get the findings out of. (For those of you who preach‘empathy’, half-an-hour you get in the exam macha, either you examine the pregnantwoman’s abdomen OR you listen to her saas-bahu/mohalla/husband/work/marriageproblems)

Injecting drugs into rats and flipping them in the air,boiling urine in test-tubes, smearing stool samples on slides...If you arelucky, you get to see a live autopsy too! We keep peering deeperinto books; Romance and bunking and outings go hand in hand.

5-and-half years and wegrow up as human beings: see people suffer, help babies being born .Andsomewhere down the lane, they all become memories .You meet best friends, firstcrushes, inspirations andlearn things you can only in a hospital .

After all, isn’t that what College life is allabout ...

And now Dirty is IN!

2011-12-20T01:02:00.000+05:30

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

~Whilereturning 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 theirtime is ripe. I was very young, barely into my teens I think when I waswalking towards home by myself and a man on a cycle stopped me and asked for anaddress on a paper. Before I could read or explain, he unzipped himself andasked me in a half mocking way “Madam,pen chahiye kya?” and he guffawed and cycled off. I was shaken beyondbelief, threw the paper and ran into my home, shivering and mute for theentire evening, going numb with fear. Years have passed and I still regret nothaving pulled his shirt and slapped him across his face or raised an alarm andsomeone would have come along to teach the bastard a lesson, never mind that hewas twice my size. Such dirt-bags have ego balloons that need to be piercedlest they burst on someone.

I wish I had the spunkthat Silk had!

It’s a dirty world andsometimes the only way to deal with it is to raise up your sleeves, dip intothe muck and splash it across the face of him who wants to tarnish you instead.

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

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

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

Man, she was rocking-alsomade me realize that there should be categories of orgasmic sounds too just asthere are of positions and stuff. Sex isso underrated when it comes to being explored-so ironically that. And thescene where she practically makes love to herself in that red lingerie-I sowished 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 unapologeticallybrazen, Naseer-the man I so adore for his refinement that I wrote a post reekingof masked lust for him a couple of yearsback after I had watched him enthral a vast audience in a theatre play; he doessuch a fine job in being disgusting here. And 500, really??????? I am stillwondering if I should raise an eyebrow at it for underestimation oroverestimation. Makes you speculate if you should keep a count too, you knowfor reference sake, even if it is with the same man for crying out loud and Godhelp that man. “Har admi ki liye ek auratbane hain, agar usse bach gaye to samjho zindagi bach gaye” Thank god they were less biased against women in suchnumbers by remaining mum about it.

Even Imraan Hashmi, whom Iotherwise loathe, managed to look appealing or perhaps I was really on anoverdrive of hormones.

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

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

I have always liked MallikaSherawat too, despite her weird dumb-assness sometimes. She does not mincewords. She does not pretend to be holier than thou-this is me, take it or leaveit and don’t you dare try to take by force. She’s also a slap on women who changetheir colours like the weather- “film ketarah 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 laughthe way she wants to and run around in pace with the wind-give her the head insteadto stand tall in the face of it. Don’t make her cross the limits by insistingto mark them for her. Watch not how her bosom heaves outside, watch how herheart beats within. Men are meant to be analyzed, women just adored. We aremeant to be loved and not understood. Just give us that minus the criss-crossof trickery to avoid the fuckry.

“Jab zindagi ek baar miltehain to doosre baar kyon soche!”

Something that should staywith 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!

How bad can a little bit of Porn be?

2011-12-16T17:08:00.001+05:30

I have a very dear friendwho has shifted now to the States. When here he was a perennial source of mymirth and jollity for such was his life that epic blunders and wonders keptfollowing him everywhere yes, kind of acarbon 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 isexceptional and engrossing. Here is one of the leaves from his life that formsa 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 outsidehis quaint, little city and once was home during long vacations. His very smalltown had meagre sources of entertainment and his friends too had moved on toother parts of the country in search of greener pastures. So he decided tostack some actually a huge amount of porn in between his notes and bring along just incase the forlorn nights made him too lonely and the lovely simple damsels aroundgot him too horny.

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

And immediately hispopping out eyes went to the closed doors of the cupboard. In slow motion youcan imagine him running now towards it with his head moving from side to side assweat particles splattered around from the panic socked expressions of hiscountenance actually imagine aconstipation stricken tensing of facial nerves here instead for a betterunderstanding of the situation.

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

His first thought:

OMG-I paid half my month’spocket money on them!

OMG-Some of them had thelatest lesbian action!

OMG-How will I spend therest of the fifteen nights here at home without them?

OMG-(never mind, too manyFIRST thoughts there)

OMG-Mom!!!!????????!!!

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

He- Ma,er...did you find anything in my cupboard?

(Forget the “thank-you forcleaning my earthquake stricken zone” –ungrateful kids of this generation, Itell you)

Ma- You meanthis? *And she took out the bundle of CDs from god knows where, arrangedbetween her fingers like a neat stack of playing cards with just the rightamount of cleavage popping out from each cover*

He-Ma...er...aaaa...mmmm?

Ma-So theseare the sounds that I would get from you now? Quite expected!
He- Maaaaa???? *Raising the tone indisbelief as though she’s the one doing the blasphemy here*

Ma- Yeh kyahain? *Now bringing in view a clothes-free Pamela Anderson look alike in termsof you-know-what for nobody cares twohoots about what is over them*

He- (thinkingin his mind- These are the latest inventions of positions and intersectionswithout conception but made for interjections) CDs hain ma...

Ma- I cansee that...but what are they doing in your cupboard?

He-(thinking again- They should be "doing it" in the laptop and damn I should haveused the laptop cover to stack them there instead) Ma, yeh notes hain!

Ma- Jhootbol rahe ho ab?

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

Ma- Chee...beta,mein tumhare ma hoon!

He- Mujhepata hain ma, meine kab DNA test maanga?

Ma- To yehsab kar rahe ho Bombaye jaake?

He- (Karne ka mauka he kahan mila-yeh to practisesessions hain) Ma, aap galat samajh rahe ho....

Ma- To dikhado kya hain is mein-theek se samajh lete hoon?

He- *Nowraising an eyebrow at his ma’s intention in tension* Acha ab de do....aage senahi karonga (Me-Huh, matlab selfservice ki dukaan band aaj se?) and papa ko nahi bataana....

Ma- Ofcoursenahi bataana...woh TUMHAARE papa hain! Aur inko bhool jao...

She stomped off nowleaving Bhola with the puja ki thaali and almost a KLPD!

And my teasing began atwhere she left him-

So mast na? Haaaw Bhola, imaginewhat and how she would have viewed you post this traumatic experience-

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

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

~Why is he taking so longin 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 thesoap water left in his washroom-it has to be those karam jali kudiyan)

~Why is he refusing to getmarried? (Oh god, he’s having an affairwith one of “those” girls...)

~Why is he insisting ontwice cleaning of his room? (I must askShaarda bai to stop sending her daughter for cleaning and she should comeinstead-is ladke ka to kuch pata nahi)

Tch, tch...needless to sayhe never got the CDs back and whenever he grieved about them, I told him tochill, probably his mom and dad, alone in that drab town are having fun nowthanks 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 mominstead of handing the house keys on the first night to his bride would makeher cup those CDs and say “Aaj se yeh tumhare haath mein hain-uske haath meinmat dena...” And stop looking for innuendos I am sure the poor mother won’tmean THAT what you are thinking!

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

Guts out!

2011-12-11T13:35:00.001+05:30

I wish I could rant myguts out...

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

~Crib about my mother-in-lawand 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 andnot sound desperate.

~Exclaim I care a fuckwhen I fucking care!

~Be round-the-clock theperson that blogosphere thinks I am.

~Reveal sheepishly how I almostbelieve in what Mohnish Uncle said in Meine Pyar Kiya, that the ubharta andubalta Salman took very seriously “Ek ladkaaur ladki kabhi dost nahi ho sakte”

~Articulate about how Iview 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/crushessooner 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 heartthanks to coming across wittier men.

~Accept my fascination forcolour black for it makes me look lean almost just as much as Abhiskek Bachchan’sfor his stupid leather jackets that suit him just as much as English does onLalu Prasad Yadav whatever happened tohim btw?

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

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

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

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

~Explain that all relationships forgedout of genes, come with a shelf life-if not becoming dormant, in time they dobecome lukewarm.

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

~Blabber that I care aflying 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 yearsand 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 partiesand 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 inthe blanket right now.

~Manage to churn out a book someday.

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

~Complain why I can’t havemy 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!

Love and the Semblance of it!

2011-12-07T17:16:00.001+05:30

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

I don’t take the motionpictures too seriously but I like to ponder over the food for thought that someof them sneakingly sow in my mind. These arethen the movies that stay with me for a longer time. And Rockstar fanned the hitherto latent pang with the astounding love equationbetween Heer and Jordon-the characterisation that left me bowled over.

The love that isunconditional, that is so strong that it becomes an ache to bear and like analchemist to all ailments-that directs all your bodily functions intopumping not blood but emotions! A love that defies reason, relations andpracticality- 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 actuallyexist or it is again a gimmick of the movie makers to keep schmucks like us inthe dreamy zone of hope and expectations?

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

Self-love is the only andtruest form of love-how can you love someone, if you don’t love yourself enoughto stay alive and make true your dreams. How can love be one-sided and yet forever? How can one love another and just oneperson so much? Although I also feel too much education and the classy flavour debarsone from entering this mindless portal as reinstated by the Rockstar. Love is theidol 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, sprawlinglawns of sanity and leaving its indelible footprints. What if these people havemanaged to experience what we block ourselves to? What if they are not immaturebut just more receptive of feeling sans logic, that we so lack? They are notsenseless but more sensory. What if they have traversed the thin line and movedover to something greater that we with our nitty gritties of issues cannot evenfathom?

Issues like-Am I beingused? Does he really like me? Is there a future? What if she wants my money? Weare 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 thesouls who experience that kind of pure, unadulterated love are those who neverthink-just love, who never get-just give and who don’t even want anything inthe first place or want anything else. And then maybe again, this entireconcept 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 lovewhich becomes a pain to bear and not just a pain in the arse. A love thatpounds 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 feelingof being in love than persons. Love always makes me an oxymoron-I know thecoherent view but I incline towards the fantastical one...I am consistentlywary of the fake yet persistently experimental for the real...I pride in all myjudiciousness and still secretly pine to be erroneous.

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

The Sleeping Volcano

2011-11-27T20:24:00.001+05:30

This is what I wanted to say to a dear friend andmyself... I hope it helps!

They say all that appearscalm on surface has ripples below if it is not declared dead-a dormant volcano,the about-to-be-boiled tea in a pan, an electric socket that remains silent onthe outside but has wires screwing each other within. We all live like colossal housesdone up for the arrival of make-belief guests, cobble together to show it dandy,cover up with colourful fringes, spotlight focussed on the smiles and stackingaway the unwanted and unseemly in some dark, deep alley or cellar. We stuff littlenothings so tight in the wardrobe that when later we do want to sort thingsout, the door opens and everything tumbles down to greater disarray.

We must “appear” to be beautiful. But does that makeus “feel” beautiful in the truest of sense or does that increase the pang ofrestlessness for all praise then becomes a mockery?

It is not easy to live adual life and not uncomplicated to get rid of it once you acquire it thus-the constantstruggle between how you are and how you want to be or what you have become andwhat you were. Or even in the present, you would find yourself sometimes to betwo different persons-an oxymoron in a way that only you can perceive. It iswhen someone or some situation comes along that extracts you from a convenientenviron dragging you to the risky hilt that awareness strikes in-itwas a stagnant pond which you might have been impersonating.And then the mind fucking game begins of wanting to know which part of you isreal and which you have fashioned to please those around you. You aremade to mould in a certain way because that is how you are expected to behavewhereas your contours refuse to take just about any shape.

You begin to churn within tomeet you-battling to and fro between two extremes that somehow got created andthe chasm therein sucking you so deep, that each endeavour made for a risingswings between the feelings of either ecstatic joy of a drug induced rollercoaster emotional rush or just abysmal low of being painfully weary and drab.

You rummage around foranswers, you spend time talking to what you think is you, you ask those whoknow you, you test yourself time and again hoping that where you stand at theend of the experiment would be the logically derived conclusion. Butlife isn’t all science and even all science does not have all answers. Some searchesmanifest themselves into invisible circles. You keep turning and tossing in your head as the jarringbafflement creates the cacophony that gets termed as your life.

And then there are dayswhen the head gives you no answer so that you come to the conclusion-It isall in the head. You have no feelings or lack of it per se, it is thehead that tells you and you could/should tell it back what you want to hearfrom it. But then again it is not the head that has the sense or ability to doit, for it is seldom used by the owner. It is the influences that fan itsinsecurities and harbour all irrationality.

And as if that damage doesnot suffice, ego comes in and strikes the death knell. What “I” think is rightbecomes supreme and care-a-damn sets in. What I want consumes what I need! Alllove is self-love, all actions are perpetrated to this very aim, and allfeelings culminate in this sea that devours it all. We want us to be happy but wewant us to also not to appear selfish-how ironical! Most of us live our livesin trying to strike a balance between the two and hence be trapped in thesee-saw of emotions.

Often we continue to fightagainst arguments that are not in line with our own chain of thoughts orfeelings. We seldom stop to evaluate what caused the resurgence of thesethoughts in the first place. Are they really mine or did I gather them frompeople whom I think are mine along the route? And now that I have imbibed themso rigidly, are they worth creating a ruckus about? We would never know who/what is rightand who/what is not!

One man’s heaven isanother man’s hell. Then why not live freely off shackles of guilt? Why let littletermites of doubt eat you? Why not do that which gives you pleasure,irrespective of how many accusing fingers stand against you? Let ‘you’be that where ‘you’ is happiest. The ultimate decision to be taken isto please others or to please myself-and there will always be a contradictionin both these polarities. You cannot do both no matter how Herculean your attemptor how noble your intentions.

So then how do we know whowe are? What is our purpose? Whom should we please? I am known by the relations thatmove along with me, but they are not me. I am needed by the services I render,but that again cannot define me. I am my interests and my likes, but they aretransient and ebb and flow over, yet I remain.

So if I go on thisstruggle of finding myself, am I being too selfish, too philosophical, toofoolish? Am I going against the intrinsic fabric of human nature to accept whatwe get and live in it to our very best? I am burning within to break mylimitations but then my limits end there where some else’s intolerance begins. Iwant to find me and ask it what it really wants and who it really is. I want tobe able to then not question my own actions or have to think over my owndecisions for I would know me beyond my name.

Right now, I know someonewho knows little but then the journey has just begun and I must not fear and Imust not run. I must accept all facets and neither curb one or encourage theother. I must remember it has to be fun. I must learn to fight so that I do notlose me in the crowd. I must survive. I must understand my needs and confrontthe doubts. I must not give in or give up and must not imbibe or disperse. Ishould not flow along and yet go with the flow....

And in case you find herbefore I do, would you please help introduce me to me?

The Day with the Magnate

2011-11-19T09:26:00.001+05:30

My husband is into garmentbusiness-retail and wholesale and the entire big joint family has a few reputedbrands and their distributorship under their growing bellies’ belts. For allyou know if you are wearing good branded clothing and living in the NCR, itmight have somehow channelized through the Arora Parivaar or someone we knowclosely we aren’t really THAT big butthen so aren’t the bulls if you look at them standing next to the elephants asagainst the dogs. Oho just thinking arandom fact #1 here: if A=B and B=C and thereby A=C, does that mean if I touchmy husband and my husband touches a jacket and that jacket is touched by ashopkeeper to whom it is sent and then you touch it to buy it, would this implythat I touched you? Issssshhhh...uncalled-fordisplay of my mathematical and calculative genius should be kept aside for someother time.

So when it was heard thatMr Nitin Kasliwal, the owner of S Kumar’s and Reid N Taylors, is coming to townfor some business expansion meetings and would be visiting the house for lunch,it was not just another day in the household, heaving with arrangements todazzle the business magnate, who basically lives in London now, going to andfro nationally when required.

Now being the most chottibahu not in terms of size or gray matterof course, I do not ~~care~~ have muchidea about all that’s happening at the top levels, unless rumour/gossip/newstrickles down to me through some kind route. I just heard the oldies talkingabout how well read and very intelligent THE man is and among the ladies thevine was abuzz about how charming and humble is his wife, Jyoti. They spoke ofhow varied are his interests and we should open our mouths only if we hadsomething witty to say. Instantly I decided to shut my gap for I kinda havethis love-hate relationship with trouble and did not want to be the breadburner with the oven that provides us with our bread and butter. Troubleslove to hate me.

So I sat in a cornerlounge all dressed up while the rest of the jing bang of some thirty people ofthe ‘just’ family, ran to and fro making arrangements from laying matchingnapkin rings on the dining table, right down to keeping scented door mats onthe threshold. I resigned to the corner with my thoughts but then troubles goround and strike at the corners first it seems.

The brakes of the long carcame to a screeching halt as a pig came right in front of the car from nowhere.But I love these street animals-if itweren’t for them my daughter would never sit put in the car while we commute. We were told that their chartered plane had landedsome half an hour ago and the wait had caused a few yawns in some andcirculation of scandalous bitching amongst the rest of those waiting. Thebrakes rang loud like an annoying alarm clock, making you jump at your feetlike you do when the realization sets in early morning that you have grosslyoverslept. Settling the creases on the clothes and managing to place the hairstrategically at just the right slant on our foreheads, the pretty ladiesventured to the door while the men sought to please and welcome. Mr Kasliwal isknown to be a tad particular about stuff and easy to get offended if things arenot to perfection. As for me, this was the materializing of my childhood dreamof watching the President’s salutation first hand on Republic Day at the Rashtrapati Bhawan-only in this casethere were no trumpets and salaami ofbandooks. If I didn’t know better, I might as well look around the milieu withmy Ms Homes invisible hat on, snooping for some hidden terrorists all set toattack. Ufff....basically sayingthere was solemnity and formal seriousness like I have never seen before.

We all smiled-they at us,we at them and the servants at each other-itis not every day they saw their masters as submissive as now. The man did have an impressive and towering personalityand strides of someone who’s walked half the world and owned some of it. Allthe tayajis and chachajis and the bhaiyyaswere definitely at the “attention/tension” mode and that made my“stand-at-ease” also restless. The general round of introductions followed asthe king’s feast was laid and all the bhabhis got down to serving and coaxingthe guests to eat. Random fact#2: Now we are much defamed for over-feedingusing statements that are dipped in just the right amount of cajoling andemotional blackmail and facial expressions that are so distressed at yourrefusal that you feel like an executioner. This happens so much that my fatherlives in mortal fear of being invited to our house for dinner. He gives up onfood since morning for he knows his drink would be refilled before it reachedthe bottom and plate reloaded before he opens his mouth to say ‘no’.

Anyways, when my turn camegoing through the chronological order, almost like saving the best for last, MrKasliwal, THE tycoon stopped before me and smiled, “So you are Suruchi?”

Have you ever seen a magicshow on stage in which a magician cuts a woman into pieces and then shows her movingin different boxes kept at a distance? I had the exactly same expression. Andhave you seen a parent whose ten years old child has peed in his pants anddropped the cake just as the party is nearing its zenith of being termed as‘the party of the year’? That was my husband’s expression and a little lessaghast but definitely concerned reflections were marked on the faces of theothers. Now wtf had I done?

“Ji”, I managed to speakout and my lips alternating in doing a dance between rising into a smile anddrooping with anxiety and hands almost shivering in such a timid handshake Icould have been mistaken for a bunny. And in the next minute, without anywarning, he hugged me with a roaring laughter. Now have you seen the expressionon the face of a highly placed Incomes Tax official who has broken an expensivevase in some defaulter’s house and knows that they can’t do a fuck about it?Now that was MY expression. I was being embraced by a random stranger in frontof everyone in the family and my super-conservative husband when it comes tothis and no one could do a fuck about it.

But what he said in thenext instant was even more earth-shattering.

“I am a big fan of yourblog posts...”

Oh my gaaaaaaaaaawd!(Ekdum woh Janice from F.R.I.E.N.D.S waala OMG here was reverberating in mymind)

“You read my blog?” yes, we suck sometimes in asking the obvious andappearing totally dumb, just at the moment we have been complimented for ourwit #God couldn’t find another moment to show me personification of irony.

“Of course I do, in factjust the other day I showed the ‘virginity’ post to my son, teasing him withqueries if he went through the same and we laughed about it, didn’t we Jyoti?”

And all eyes now movedfrom him at one end to Jyoti at the other, like they do in a tennis match. AndJyoti just beamed with such sweet smiles that were it words, it would sound asthe sweetest compliment.

“I am so honoured, thankyou. I never realized...”

“Oh but not your fault, Inever comment and when I do, I use the anonymous feature. It is not easy to doall this with my real profile. Haven’t you noticed all that showering of mycomplete adulation in so many recent posts as “anonymous”?

“Oh my god, the one withwhom I enter into mindless banter. I am so sorry. I just didn’t think...”

And he burst into a boisterouslaughter again.

“It’s not your fault. Howwould you know who I was?

He turned now to myfather-in-law’s eldest brother, who was as alien to the entire subject at handas “Whill you do phrandsheep by me?”-kindapeople are to English. “Mr Arora, you have a gem of a writer in your family? Itna talent hain Kanpur jaise sheher mein,it is amazing!” And eyes back to me again, “I thought you looked familiar whenI saw you with everyone as I entered, but never did I think that the SuruchiArora I have been reading so voraciously from a few months would belong to thisfamily.”

By now I had gotten usedto the sudden tilt of the spotlight bulb on my proud little head and I wassmiling almost comfortably. I had to almost physically stop my finger fromrising against them all in an accusing posture. So you people, who thought Ispend useless hours on the computer and ‘what blogging-shlogging she does, weonly know of water logging’ kinda retorts-here was a mooh tod jawab! I did not know or care how he stumbled upon myblog, all I knew and wanted to know was how much he loved my posts. He was nolonger the feared Mr Kasliwal-he was transformed into just another fan and meas the Blog Goddess on the altar that I often placed myself on.

My husband also butt innow, “Oh she writes amazingly well! She even has 250 followers now...” Shhh, abhicelebrity bani nahi ki autograph and photograph greedy log ki line lag gaye! Ya right, as though you read Mr Parmeshwar of Pativariety and as though you would have ever known how many, had I not hammered itabout a 50 times into your too-dipped-in-work head, as soon as the figureturned to 250!

“I know Mr Gautam and youare a very lucky man. I hope you know that. In fact just the other day, Imentioned your wife and her absolutely riot writing to Anil...”

Anil who I thought-Anilhis secretary, Anil Kumble, Anil Kapoor may be...

Looking at our blankexpressions, he clarified, “Anil Ambaniiii and he was very interested in knowingmore....”

And just at that precisemoment, my glory-shory could not be digested by jealous onlookers and I wasvisibly and actually being shaken. “Get up Suruchi, the guests have come...”Now that was my husband, doing rightly what he always does in the realworld-check me out of my reverie. I had sauntered again into my imaginationworld and brought back just at the climax-you know how you ‘get turned on tothe hilt and then are told-we’ll do it tomorrow’ kinda expression spread on myface as Mr Kasliwal and his wife came, did a “Namaste” to me, ate and chatted withthe others and left just like that-without any screech of car brakes, withoutany happy coincidence and without making me go anywhere near that Blog Goddessaltar again! Sigh!

P.S.1 The moral of thisstory is that being anonymous can be injurious to everyone’s health. So allthose who come here, read and go away without doing any cho-cha in the commentbox with your name, you realize how years of therapy may be needed to get me toovercome this mind fuck.

P.S.2 Not all the absurdalways happens with me-sometimes I attract it by my power of imagination.

P.S.3 If this post everreaches Mr Kasliwal by some cruel game of fate, please remember to be sportingabout it-mere bread and butter ka sawaal hain! And also you should read theVirginity post along with the others, maybe even recommend them to Anil.

P.S. 4 Sorry to put youthrough such a long post that turned out to be a phoos pataka-damp squib in theend. I guess it is my answer to God-what goes around, comes around!

If I were God...

2011-11-14T20:32:00.001+05:30

~First of all, sayingwords like “Hey Bhagwan! Oh God!Sweet Mother of Lord!” without really meaning to remember me would beconsidered blasphemous. And phrases like “Bhagwanki liye mujhe chodh do/ Bhagwan se daro/ Bhagwan, khush to tum bahut hoge aaj”should be rephrased...really, I am tired of hearing them through ages, aren’t youguys tired of mouthing them? And those who still don’t learn and say “Bhagwan sab dekh raha hain...” dude, Ihave better things to do than see your all, all the bloody time.

~I would introduce three new levels of kissing my temple’s threshold, for those who must-the feet kissing for the old-fashioned, the flying kiss for the hoity-toity and the French kiss for the very desirable by my standards, as means to show their devotion towards me.

~All newly born would enter the world tiny as they do but within half an hour of delivery they would become two and half years old and ready to go to school.

~I would remove the stupidvirginity ensuring tissue from the female body so that no one judges or dreads.

~There would be a rationingsystem for getting sex, so that it is ensured just one person is not gettingtoo much of it beware Salman Khan, leaving the others with too less in defence of my fairness, we must thinkof Bobby Darling too. The reservation orquota system here would also automatically solve the problem of scandals of thelikes of Tiger Woods and Charlie Sheen and also sex crimes.

~I would mix laughing gasin the air in small doses everywhere-I hate sulky faces and most of all my own.

~Millions of unemployedyouth would be recruited in my team of angels that would globe trot to rid allmenace gnawing human existence-employment ki employment and deployment kadeployment say hello to the greatest Godever-I should rule for a golden jubilee at least! And besides even God needs some time off from humansto pursue her extra-curricular activities!

~It would be criminal to say "Oh my God! Oh my God!" while you are having sex-humans, stop confusing me with calls for help, where you do not want a threesome.

~There would be world-widepoll systems, to pass rules in favour or against a motion and emotion. So allthat you’d have to do for it, is start a page on Facebook and get as many likesas is humanly possible. For example-Do you want Rakhi Saawant gagged forever?Do you want Manmohan Singh and Sonia Gandhi married? Should actors be insolitary confinement for movies like Bodyguard and Ra-One, where they only see the re-runs of what they ~~vomited~~ produced? Now, you get the drift-it isthe rule of the people, for the people and by the people.

~I would create trees thatsatiate all hunger, rivers that quench all thirst and relationships that curball urge.

~It would be illegal tocome to my temple on a thunderous, stormy night and make the entire bells ringon their own and then bitch about how life’s been a bitch to you...Really, ifyour wife/husband would not lend their ear to hear all that, what makes youthink I would?

~But there would be definitelybe dial-a-god service so that you don’t have to randomly look up in the air andsay things that you sit back and wonder if anyone heard. Of course the epic ‘Aap kataar mein hain-kripya line pe banerahen...’ may have to be introduced eventually herein for morons who getfree-dialling and sms packages.

~I would make you pay foryour goodness or sins in this very birth-I do not understand how mypredecessors on this thrown could come up with such a sucky concept of ‘payingin this birth for the sins committed in the previous life cycle’ syndrome. Itis hardly rectifying because they also built in memory loss in the system alongside, so that people would not suffer without knowing why and raise blamingfingers at yours truly.

~And for the above, therewould also be a reward and punishment system based on an automatically updatedIdentification Card-so for every sin that you commit, a favourite activity getsticked off the list. Say if you cheated someone at work, the system erases oneweek of mind-blowing sex from your life span-the intensity of all actions wouldbe varying depending upon the frequency.

~I would redesign thehuman body to include more organs for pleasure-just a couple of them here andthere can be boring. I would also redefine the functions of the heart-Excuse meMr Heart, just shut the fuck up and only pump blood, what you were meant to do!

~I would revamp also theoutfits of those living with magic wands on this side of the heaven-I meangawdy gold chunks covering the better part of female goddesses and also male ones, for crying out loud making them sosissy is just not done-diamonds would benot just women’s but also goddesses’ best friends. Besides how on earth can youexpect rapid action from me if I would have to struggle in my sari and 100kgs gold weight in additionto my own, to reach to you in your do-or-die situation. So expect somethingshorter and sexier sponsorships invitedfrom label houses for fringe benefits.

~Pleasure would be made asthe compulsory outcome for both involved in every sexual encounter.

~I would finish off withthe institution of marriage-it is outdated and based on the assumption thatthere is a janam-janam ka saath, whenit actually happens only in movies that man created.

~There would be an AutomaticRealization System in-built in human bodies that would help an individual identifyhis hidden talents and vocation. It would save many years of burning themidnight oil in pursuing a goddamn career in something that you suck I don’t mean the whores here btw

~All couples would begiven the prerogative to decide who between the two should bear the child-thisbecause of some insensitive pricks who feel women do no earth-shattering taskby producing kids and some very sensitive angels who want to share their wife’spains.

~I would provide beauty inevery eye of the beholder.

~I would relocate heavenand hell on earth and make God, that is moi visible and it would be mandatoryfor devotees to read her blogs and comment with profuse praise to express theirshraddha, so as to be directed for afree one week plush stay in heaven or be burnt in hell till they do not do so.

So I’ll let you start withthe last part first and also pray that the current Gods do not feel tooinsecure and at least appoint me on trial basis for a while for a betterworld-for you and for me and the entire human race.

P.S. THIS POST WAS AWARDED BY THE WRITEUP CAFE AS THE LINK OF THE WEEK!

Dear World-gasping-at-my-being-a-virgin-still

2011-11-08T00:27:00.000+05:30

(Prelogue-This post comes a little too late for theDiscussion on ‘Virginity’ done onthe Darlings of Venus blog page allof last month. What can I say, when a woman’s got to go, she’s got to go on an inspirationderived writing spree of course! Everyone (mostly women) expressed their views onvirginity being preferred due to fear of society ka stigma or saving themselvesfor the perfect chu...chum. Another option asked there was-Is virginity also anoutcome of lack of opportunity? Everyone went boo hoo saying‘Whaaaaaaaaat opportunity!’ Anyone and everyone's having sex! Beggingto differ-Cut here to the dilemma a 25 year old virgin boy in this open letter)

Dear World-gasping-at-my-being-a-virgin-still,

If anyone asks me this one more time, I would either bang the first girl I see on the road or tellthem to sit on my middle finger and spin: “Haaaaw, you are still a virgin? Whathappened-or rather did not?” as though I have contracted a fatal disease andthey must console me with every atom in their frigging being! And there are somany other things in the world to count-Kim Kardashian’s days being wedded,Manmohan’s days being silent, population exploding to 6 billion-why the fuckkeep a count of how many times I’ve got or not got laid?

It’snot like anyone wants to remain a virgin by choice-if they say they do, theyare all lying through their dripping noses that are aching to be in better places. So ladiesand gentlemen, virgins and the wantons, hold on to your dirty underwears, forlet me bring in some enlightenment: Weall are waiting to lose our flower/to get the ribbon cut with a grandinauguration/to blow us from a bud to a bloom/to throw the balls rolling intothe holes-however you may want to put it. I mean really, you want to sayyou watch all that making out in movies, see a stunner with curves or catch apeek of the peaks when she’s bending suggestively and youdo not have your own little porn tales flashing in your mind? Phuleeeze, if yousay so, I say you should also say you are the Queen of England and we’d believeyou just as much.

We have all the logisticsworked out in the brain-they just need to be mapped right on the body; thoughthat is as tough as the fucking task itself, especially as the first timers. Imean it is not like you walk down the shopping aisle and pick up a piece thatyou’d want to be served in bed that night and everyone lives happily everafter; or like bungee jumping-once you come to the brink and say you arescared, they let you turn around and leave without a snigger.

We are as nervous aboutthe first time as the girls-two hoots to machoism! I mean sometimesI feel I just might stumble at the point of the bra unhooking itself. It confounds me as voodoo sometimes: How do you girls do it by putting just two fingers behind yourback and ta-da come the hooks all surrendering to lead the gaping mouth-er tothe gates of heaven? Prior to my kinky dreams, in the horror-tainted ones, I picture myself with both hands trying toopen the damn things so desperately and earnestly that they leave the barely-there lacey cloth and have me cupping them instead. I can also so imagine that if I dothat to your Victoria Secrets then it’s no secret that I won’t get laid postthat, would I? So you see we do have our own little struggles to overcome thatno one cares a flying fig for.

First we don’t find the rightgirl yes fairer sex, please don't raise that eyebrow wetoo have this thingy about giving our flower to the perfect gardener who wouldmake it grow like a baby-no puns intended. When we find her we have thedinosauric task of making her spot us without thinking we are morons or sleazebags. I mean too less complimenting and you freak us, too much and you freakout! Aren’t we concentrating on thewrong F word here? Anyways, somehow beginsthe painful task please don’t ask where of being friendly without staring at her assets orbeing stared at our own giving uncalled-for standing ovations please remember this is THE first time a girl hasmanaged to come so close in our physical radius-unexpected and uncontrollabledisasters are just waiting to happen.Once we go past this unharmed, comes the risk of proposing-she may accept or reject!If she does, the fear of her imagining a long term commitment and walking downthe aisle prevents us from getting a quick hard-on for a short while. If she does not, the fear ofthe news getting out and our market value sinking even below the poverty line,ensures the same drooping reaction. And then you say a girl’s life is tough!

After passing all theseHerculean dilemmas, especially of deciding when it is not too soon to float theidea-even if someday she does coyly agree to go all the way-where the fuck isthe space to fuck? At home there is mother, who did not choose to pursue acareer because she wanted to raise her laal-gopal with all her attention.Lesson learnt: At-home mothers can be a ~~pain in the arse~~ cause of tension forlibido driven youngsters. Even if she is not there, baba ki liye maids or watchmen orgrandparents are acting as watch dogs and all activities of who all entered,giggled, gasped and when they existed are duly reported to the High Command-andby enter and exit, I do not ~~yet~~ imply the activities that are so takingshape in your dirty mind.

So doing at home is out ofquestion unless you are doing it all by yourself but that does not make usnon-virgins, does it? For if it does, I wonder if any boy ever actually wouldlose his ‘flower’ to a girl! Friends' places are also abounding with mommies orgrannies and if not the “friend” is either too excited or suffering from aloose stomach of the mouth, so you don’t want to take chances. That leaves uswith office canteens-naah, making women and food compete even on a super hornyday, is not such a good idea; cafe houses-ya right! If we so much as even toucheach others' hands there, the next table aunty makes such a misery drawn faceas though the coffee boy put salt in her coffee instead of sugar. Then you tellme about parks-have you seen the parks these days? My god, the oldies rush in to hog all the strategic spots to practise the weirdpositions of yoga-no one cares a damn about our positions. And if by chancethere is a vacant spot where you decide to take a breather, in comes a dog topoop.

And please do not give menames of hotels-first they would check out our item as though it is janta ka maal. Then they ask us for Identity cards-holy shit! What if they trace me back and blackmail me...what if thereare cameras hidden in the sleazy rooms and someday when dad would be Googlingfor adventure sports, up flashes my video of making out in the wildest of ways!

Ifeel like such an outcast when my friends brag about their conquests-damn theservice families, I’ll make sure I marry a working girl so that my son does notsuffer like I do. Why did I have to be so unlucky to spend a quarter of my life minus actual sex? Someone and somePLACE is made for me too! I will notrest till I manage to go where no (virgin) man has gone before. So long friends, enjoy themating, hope you all get laid to your hearts and bodies’ content and wish forme that I do not die a virgin*falling on my knees to pray for the same beforebreaking into sobs*

Yours sincerely,
Someone who's wondering if Virgin is a female word and what would be its male form.

The End!

2011-11-05T15:43:00.001+05:30

All her life or whateverof it she could remember, Pranita had waited for her daughter’s distress to cometo the brink. But today when her limp body lay so unresponsively in her arms, apeaceful pallor dispersing on the mute face, the hapless mother could sense thetears rolling down her own cheeks but a complete numbness within. She hadthought she would be strong to face this whenever it would inevitably come-butwhat strength can tower a crumbling edifice? They say a peaceful death of asuffering soul is God’s way of justice-it conquers all. Why did it make Pranitafeel shackled still and cheated yet again?

Her little baby wasstanding at the heaven’s edge that knew no bodies nor minds and the sufferingsthereby created by the web of earthly life. She was now a soul that would nolonger be stared at by the world that oscillated between crudely calling her‘handicapped, retarded or paagal’ andmore sophisticatedly ‘mentally challenged’. Her little Sonya, all of sixteen byyears on the calendar and barely two by growth of mind, had passed to the oblivion,to the land of no return and today Pranita held her the tightest, like she hadnever before.

She remembered the dayswhen she had to, to calm the almost violent little body, rudely stirred byhelplessness or fear. Sonya was born a beautiful, pink child to Pranita andSubodh after three years of their love marriage. She was troublesome and lessresponsive than most children but nothing that the doctors did not term“normal”. It would be difficult to pin down the exact moment in time when she traversedthe “abnormal” genre. Some say it was the overdose of antibiotics by a "qualified" doctor that sealed the fate of the vulnerable child, others blame iton wrong vaccination and some more ‘enlightened’ ones raise fingers at the factthat her mother did not stretch out flat on her bed during the dreaded solareclipse.

By the time Sonya becamethree what was just a speculation-a nagging fear, became an incorrigible veritythat she was a “special” child. An epilepsy attack at the age of five worsenedwhatever minuscule evidence of progress was triggered, leaving her left side inparalysis and pushing her into a semi-coma for almost a year, frustrating thechild who just lay staring at the ceiling. Thereafter she was out of school andcramped within the four walls as her physical deformity became more evident andher actions unsuitable for public bearing.

Pranita recalled every excruciatingtorment that she had faced in the last sixteen years-it was as though life hadbeen churned out from her in slow doses. She had been used to of a fast-pacedcorporate vivacity and waiting for her toddler to grow up quickly so she could returnto the mainstream and gather the remnants of her sagging career as a journo.Little did she know that the light of her life would remain at twoforever-never would she tell if she wanted to pee and sometimes roam in herpanties soiled with shit, soon making Pranita’s life one. The rounds to parloursand late night parties had slowly distorted into a series of doctor visits, gettingcheck-up reports and medication and worst of all-controlling a girl who had thestrength of a teenager and whims of an infant. She could barely leave the homeor allow the doors to be left open for fear of the outsides coming in.

Pranita unwittingly felt thescar on her forehead again-a brutal cut made by the sharp edges of a flowervase that Sonya had hurled at her because she she was being made to get upafter bed wetting. It was not just a blemish on her physical being but a painthat perhaps reached up till her entrails and gnawed every impulse, everyinstinct. It would never fade and disappear.

With teenage on thethreshold had come newer problems-the girl began her periods and howled at thesight of blood. The doctors brought in more injections, poked into her plump frame,so that the monthly cycles were curbed. Her now persistent screams wouldreverberate through the almost dead corners of their flat, making even theneighbours shudder. Friends had trickled their associations, acquaintances madesure they remained just that and the relatively strangers could not help butwag their tongues and warn others to stay away from the “evil” house.

But Pranita had heldstrong-looked into the eyes of every stare she received and played dumb toevery taunt that filtered through to her ears. Gossip vines were even abuzzthat Subodh had a mistress in another town for which he remained on tours fortwo thirds of a month. He had been empathetic at first-after all it was hissperm that upshot it all. But such is the terrible countenance of diseases thatit makes chickens of even the strongest. Before long statements like, “I can’tbear to see this, it breaks my heart” floated in the air and he would walk outto get a breather-the breathers that soon seemed to be found only outdoors and whichslowly choked Pranita for often she felt the walls closing in and no one evento hold her hand. The father-the protector, the guardian had shown howspineless he was, taking the easy route out to let the mother wear the pants,not bothering if they constrained her spirits.

Pranita wiped the tearsfrom her eyes that had just flashbacked the whole of her torture. Was it anhour or more since she held the dead body of what was once her life? She liftedSonya with all the strength she could muster in her own fragile frame andrested her on the bed. In the almost ominous silence of the room, Pranitaviewed herself in the mirror opposite the master-bed. Could she recognize theobject staring back at her for she did not feel like a person anymore? Whathappened to her beauty that was once her pride? When was the last time she gazedat the mirror for so long? And those trickling strands of white hair around herforehead, did they develop this morning, born when Sonya stabbed her nurse’sarm with the scissors while the poor woman only tried to inject her with themedications? Oh boy, how the nurse had ran out for her dear life, the thirdone, in this quarter!

Pranita removed the vialand the injections from the side table and threw them in the dustbin. Thosethings looked ugly whether they were wrapped in polythenes signifying theirpurity or discarded in the bin with tainted, twisted tips. The doctor had giventhose with extremely specific instructions- “Not more than 5 ml to calm herdown and only in emergencies, Pranita. Anything more and it could be fatal.”Pranita had injected 5 ml down Sonya’s body-not once, but thrice, emptying allthe three emergency packs and kissed Sonya as she became drowsy and then wentto sleep. She had held her tightly to her breast feeling the heart beatfainting as the minutes passed and soon there was no sound-none what so ever,reverberating in her ears or mind. Silence so strong that if it were a sword itcould pierce through the air slicing it irrevocably!

Now that the action wasdone the reaction took over like greedy hounds chomping the limelight-Have Idone it for her or have I done it for me? Did I want her to be released fromher mind numbing fears or was I placating my own soul jarred by the cacophonyof her perpetual screams? While she lived like the dead each hour, her motherdied like the living each day! Am I fit to be called a mother-was I ever? She picked up her mobile to call Subodh, in ameeting yet again at 11 pm, to tell him that Sonya's ailment finally got thebetter of her. She was removing the garbs of responsibility but little did sheknow that garbs of guilt were waiting on the aisle to wrap her tight-had perhapsalready become her second skin! Were the noises finally over or have they onlyjust begun?

P.S. This is a work offiction based on the case facts of a brave young woman whose daughter isundergoing such a sad condition by a cruel twist of fate. It is absolutelyshuddering for me to think what she goes through each hour and every day. Let’spray that no mother should face such such an endless pain ever.

Dear Mum

2011-10-27T19:26:00.001+05:30

Dear Mum,

I know you’ve been forlong complaining that I have changed and don’t really give you my heart’soutpouring as I used to vomit earlier on a severely loose stomach with details,so I thought today of making up for some of it, with a little mental sentiappa here.

Let’s begin with the thankyou’s so that the blaming fingers aremore easily buried. When my peepssometimes turn around and look at me with aghast faces for having saidsomething scandalizing and gross and put up that silliest of all questions of, “Howcould you?” even when they witnessed how andwhat I just did, I manage to pacify mydetractors by saying it is in my genes. Thank you for being half mad andpassing on that streak and justification to me. The world seems very placatedwith advancing the ‘genes’ syndrome almost sympathising with me as though Ihave caught a chronic disease and suffer incessantly under the pangs of itspressure to be outrageous.

Thank you for getting memarried to G even though you didn’t bother to find much about G himself after thepreliminary investigations revealed that his big, fat family was a catch. The factthat G turned out to be the Gem instead is another chocolaty story. Thank you alsofor bearing with a grin when some of the weird, hormon-ically over charged, not-your-tastekinda oldies in the in-laws flirt with you obnoxiously just because you are a samdhan ji. I guess there is justiceafter all! Why should I bear them alone?

I remember today all themischief I did and got away, which I always tell you about with the mysteriousair to send you in the baffled mode-yes, I did much that I was not supposed to,right under your pretty nose and thank you for being slow in realizing it orsmart enough in pretending not to.

Also that little X-ratedvideo cassette I found wrapped in your nighties while I was fishing inside for goodies, I had no idea how fishy the ‘adult’world could be when you and pa had goneout sauntering, became a very educational and literally eye ~~opening~~ poppingexperience for me-you have done so much good, even without its awareness-ah,such magnanimity. I feel I am born to some Mother Teresa or something, though amodern day, child bearing version.

You made me the smart kid,topping at school with my nose buried in thick books. It is a blessing that theworld thinks so high of studious geeky children that they assume we would neverdo wrong even if we were caught red-handed. So glad also that when you and I wentinto the snooping missions into my brother’s cupboard and watched with gapingmouths at the discoveries within you withdisdain at how little girls could write letters to him that were befittingscripts for some B-grade porn film and me with jealousy at not having any suchtrophies, from the appropriate gender of course, you did not ever think of doing the same in my wardrobe. Yes, twopeople were needed to do the brave task of ransacking his belongings for muchout there was liable to cause mini strokes. Anyways wading through my piles andpiles of school notes would have been a deterring task. I myself lived in theperpetual fear that a clandestine musing should not someday find its way to myteacher’s desk and be corrected subsequently for errors-you see lack ofexperience in those days could have marred my current fantasy par excellencestatus.

It is amazing however, howsimply wonderful you were at making and maintaining relations. Like all thecute older boys of all the aunties we met automatically became my bhaiyyas. Youknow how cruel that is on a teenager, just coming of age? Smart move there-soeven if I ever thought of digressing and sing even just the chorus of a famous lovesing around trees with any one of them, the despicable song “Bhaiyya mere, raakhiki bandan ko nibhana” would play in the backdrop of my mind and raakhi threadsloom like little snakes around his hot frame. You gave me one biologicalsibling na, who managed to create much of a ruckus single-handedly, why coercemore boys to join the league? So by the time I grew up, I was the unclaimedsister of half the eligible boys in town-thank you for giving me the grit sothat I could struggle even in these adversities to create my space under thesun.

I remember also the days and nights oftalking on the landline phones for the stupid inventor of mobiles was born lateand how you would almost always pick up the receiver from the other linewanting to make a call just when I was talking and didn’t wish to be overheard.Thank you for being sweet enough to oblige always when I said, “Mom, I amtalking” instead of getting into a banter then and there and insisting on a threesome-telephonicallyspeaking of course!

Although I love you forall the fried food and Maggie and Bread rolls you fed us with, but really, werethey necessary? Look what you did to my body which would have been otherwisecatching more attention by default, making me rack less of my head and greycells to do the same. But then on the bright side, now food turns me on oftenwhen my man is not there to do the same pleaserest the imagination horses-just the sight of food, is what I meant. You knew it could be a lonely world and I might needstrength to bear it and weight to throw around.

Thank you also forintroducing me to my later life arsenals-bras, although really did it have tobe those terrible drab cotton ones with straps as wide as River Nile at thattime? I now see it as a conspiracy to deter any possible onlookers from havinggone any further from there. I mean Victoria’sSecret was a secret for both of us back then, but really Daisy was a sad substitute even by itsmere name. And if Daisy was what youwore too I wonder at how my brother and I came about and how horny dad musthave been to overlook screwing someone in a cottonka kawach! It made me so relate to BridgetJone’s Diary with all her garters and padded inner wear that could make a highman go dry at the sight of devastation-rescued, bandaged patient wriggling inaction.

The conspiracy above makesme sniff for other possible loopholes, like I don’t know who made me believealmost till the age of fifteen that girls get pregnant if they take off theirclothes before someone. Imagine my horror to even remove my duppatta before afull bloodied and bodied man, thinking if not a full on pregnancy, it mightensure at least the arrival of a tiny foetus in my womb. And when I got my periods, the first thing youtold me was “Now, you must be careful because NOW you can get pregnant if youare erring!” Christ, if only you had told me that before, I could have strippedin my washroom with more peace for all those twelve years or so, withoutbothering to check through the windows perpetually to make sure no one waspeeping and risking me to early motherhood!

You did a great job ofpolishing us with impeccable English, introducing us to the language and wordsbut mom really, you can’t gloat about it too much for your son in class 9^thcame up to me and asked one fine evening “What is the meaning of the word fuck?”leaving me all reflective whether to give him a cock and bull story or a cockand pussy one!

Did we say thank you forgetting married at almost 18 years of age and bringing me to the world evenbefore you left your teens? Although it was a very bad example, for you made meget into child marriage at the age of 22, emotionally blackmailing me with theidea that at this age of yours, you had two children. And really bad sense oftiming mom-for all the hottest items of mind-ilicious boys, are now in theirtwenties. Really, you could have waited at least a decade with all yourhorniness before bringing me to this world. Sigh!

I also wonder sometimeswhy I am so pouty within when it comes to fantasizing...wait a minute, I thinkit is because of your knack of pouting and dancing with a constraining offacial muscles, that I grew up watching. I should have actually watched whatYOU were watching to understand that it was probably your way of expressingyour oomph or hiding the fact that you were getting turned on. Anyways, Ithought years of therapy would be needed for me to overcome that childhoodtrauma but then I developed new fetishes of my own and yours have relegated tothe background. Plus the fact that the super gross non veg messages that younow forward me with the most explicit of Hindi terms, is taking the trauma to awhole new level and the idea of my education to a whole new dimension.

Enough said for now-wemight want to save some skeletons for a sequel on public demand. Besides, Ihave to set up an example before my own daughter, so I don’t want to do anymore damage than what my blog has already done. And really, before telling meto lose weight and apply anti-wrinkle creams or be nicer to my mother-in-law,will you please do something about the overacting and Now-Niruppa Roy-and-now-Helen act that perpetually follows all yourdrama in the house-just saying! And can you also please stop looking like myelder sister still, you are turning 52 next week for crying out loud :-)

Love you Mommy,

Your daughter who wishesshe was half as good as you!

My Interview on DOV

2011-10-27T19:02:00.002+05:30

Helloooos, I wasinterviewed earlier this month by the awesome Maithili from the blog space ofDarlings of Venus (DOV). For all those who missed ‘Getting Candid with Suruchi’there despite my posting links everywhere, here’s what had conspired:

Maithili: Hello,and welcome to the interview. I was actually going through some of your postsall day to get some good questions.

Suruchi: Ohmy god-poor you. And I was wondering what I would come up with about the usualquestions-like why I started blogging and all...phew!

Maithili:Well then there’s been good amount of planning on both sides-this should befun. Let’s see who takes whom by surprise. And oh don't worry you have to bejust YOU to make this great! Suruchi means good taste right?

Suruchi: Yes...agood taste, a good interest-basically anything "good" getscopyrighted here.

Maithili: Okso let’s hear something about your tastes then!

Suruchi: Youmean apart from the chocolate bar that just got tasted and mmmmm-ed? I likemusic, movies, used to like reading books, teaching and a whole lot ofblogging!

Maithili: Weknow of your love for blogging so we will move on to the teaching. Are you likethat Miss Chandni from ‘Mein hoon na’kind of a teacher?

Suruchi: Haha...howI wish-if not her IQ her statistics would do! But naah, no saree ka palloo lehraaoing here and no Shahrukh Khan types studentseither. Though I manage to get one or two doting ones every year!

Maithili:Boys will be boys and every boy has a crush on one of his teacher in his schooltime. Any experience of the same?

Suruchi: Therehave been some cute students who have studied with me in senior classes andgrown really fond-like one has become a pilot and still keeps in touch, anotheris working in the US and manages to find time for me whenever he comes visitinghome. Baaki sab compliments try karte hain-just so that the teaching time getsreduced as ma'am would get all flushed and smug.

Maithili:Any pranks that you remember in particular?

Suruchi:Okay, there have been some funny ones. Like when I was teaching in a schoolmany, many years ago, there was an essay to be written on “Nehru and his Publiclife” and there was this prankster of a boy who deliberately omitted thealphabet “L” in public on the entire page just to see me cringe. I made himread the essay in front of the whole class and watch him self-correct hisspeech, though a bit sheepishly. Then there was this little girl with whom Iwas doing genders-I asked her the Feminine of ram (male sheep) and she answeredvery confidently-Sita. Such recurring experiences light up an otherwise boringteaching day sometimes.

Maithili:Ohhh so smart students I would say! What's the most memorable line used by astudent to hit on you?

Suruchi:Tch, koi memorable line nahi yaar-verynon-innovative types I must say-fortunately or unfortunately they don't gobeyond the "Ma'am you are looking very nice today" or "Ma'am,new haircut...nyyyyyceeee"

Maithili:For getting hooked their cool ma'am helps them right? I did read somewhere thatyou give them ideas *looks smug*

Suruchi: Yes,ma'am-guilty for doing that a couple of times with completely love-lost soul-asin they were so droopy with hopeless unrequited love that they could givegravity a run for its money.

Suruchi:Baaki I am a very serious teacher by the way, just in case somestudent/student's mom stumbles upon DOV-it is hugely popular now, you know.

Maithili:Now who wouldn't want a teacher like that! No wonder you enjoy such popularity.Now turning on to your blog, more than 200 followers and in a way they have allbecome audience to your life now. Doesn't that make you apprehensive to posteverything that comes to your mind?

Suruchi: Notat all because there is no other way that I know of writing than being bluntand personal. I don't know a flying fig about politics or social issues-all Ican do is rip myself apart with the outrageous to gather some laughter or togetherstrip the ridiculous that I see around. And god has been kind to keep me ininsane situations for these 200 people to be entertained. In fact wheneverything's going in order and as per my plans and very methodical, I know Ihave missed something. Although trust me there is loads I wanna talk about thatI can't for the very reason that there are many known people among the readers.

Maithili: Doyour family members read it? Has your writing ever bothered your other half?

Suruchi: Myfamily members read my blog occasionally (like when I pull them by the collarand make them sit before the screen with a bucketful of emotional blackmail)and my better half says that he is “content with half the world reading me ashe has better things to do with me instead." So gets away with "Absent"marked on My Tumbling Thoughts. Besides, he knows I am mostly bantering andexaggerating and harmless like a jalebi.

Maithili:Well, you are indeed lucky to have G support you to write what you want!

Suruchi: Yes,it has developed into a mutually comfortable zone. Stupidity is not a crime, soI get away with it. He knows I love being me and I love him just being him.

Suruchi:Though sometimes I toy with the idea of an anonymous blog. You know where I cancrib about my mother-in-law, do loads of blah-blah on sex and not watcheyebrows being raised and stuff and also flirt my guts out without botheringabout my sindoor...sigh!

Maithili:That is every woman's dream my lady! Although you do have that option at DOV!

Suruchi: Iknow right, but then DOV went on to become hugely popular, so you never know. We'lllet some secrets lie silent in my little heart. I decided both of us-my blogand me, can't look good at the same time, so I juggle between doing one thinggood at a time.

Maithili:Speaking about looking good, why are we not getting any beauty tips from theBeauty Queen?

Suruchi: Becausethe Beauty Queen is losing her throne sitting so much on the net that her buttis growing too big for it! Koi beauty nahi hain yaar...it is just strategicclicking of pictures.

Maithili:Now you are being humble! Didn't you win a beauty contest once?

Suruchi: Ohmy god-how did you get that random fact? This was in school farewell where Iwas crowned the Miss SMC and that was also probably due to the fact that I wasthe School Captain and hence popular. And sometimes not just love isblind-judges can be too.

Maithili: Itold you I came prepared to interview you! Not too many people can be blind toyour beauty darling!

Suruchi: Awwww...andfull marks to Ms Perfectionist! Anyways, those who compliment us for ourbeauty-you know all that shoo-shaa on Fb n all...at some level, every womanknows how to demarcate between flattery for a purpose and genuine appreciation.There are very few genuine things and people around these days.

Maithili:Yes agreed on that part... You are one blogger who speaks her mind, shares herphotos and adds bloggers to her Facebook account. What would you say aboutprivate life on public domain? Where does one draw a line?

Suruchi: Seeit is all very individualistic. I feel that if I am reading someone's thoughtsover a period of time on his blog page or he on mine, there is no reason why hemay not get admission into my space on Facebook. And I am always the one whobelieves in seeing good in people till they absolutely prove it otherwise. Onemay and should share about their lives on blogs/social networking sites, etc. Otherwisewhat else is the purpose of these-we don't want to hear inspirational quotes onstatuses which we can any day hear on Astha Channel on the idiot box. Althoughone must be careful of whom they are allowing into their private sphere forsure, especially the young girls

Maithili: Avery good perspective on this! This already looks like a good topic fordiscussion!

Suruchi: Youknow a lot of people have told me to be discreet on my blog, like there was ananonymous comment once and the person said-

“I know where you live, when you go for awalk, how many times you have sex and whom you have had crushes on...Don't youthink your entire life is out there?” And I thought even if it was, so what?Just because I wrote a post on having sex 5 times a week, does not mean that Iam inviting entries for it or the fact that where I go for a walk, would makereaders want to travel all the way to Kanpur to kidnap me? Bull shit is expected but not accepted!

Maithili: Wowlady! A very bold take on this! You have not written for the discussion on blogthis month. Any reason?

Suruchi:Naah, just not finding time Miaths-Seeya keeps me on the toes and thefestivities keep me dressed like a cake, so leaves me with less of what Ireally want to do. But even regarding the virginity issue-I feel it is nolonger such an awaited moment as it used to be before...youngsters have littlehang ups about being physical and it is growing rather silly to expect to marryvirgins. Although I always tell my young friends or anyone who asks me for thisadvice -even if you have been in relationships, there is no need to beSatyavadi Harish Chandra to your newly married husband and vomit it all. Manymen still have an ego when it comes to knowing "their" girl has beenphysically intimate with someone before.

Maithili:But don't you think a relation should start with a plain slate? The partnersshould have prior info on each other?

Suruchi: Itis alright when one is being friendly with someone and then gradually arelationship develops. But in arranged marriages, one should not take the risk.And while detailing everywhere else helps, not here, when it comes todescribing about your colourful past! I mean there is no reason why the nayanaya husband should have to sit through a meet-my-reality session on a couch.

Maithili:Turning on from the in depth discussion to the rapid fire round now

You would have to answerthese very quick! 5 words which describe Suruchi-only FIVE words.

Suruchi: Lively,dependable, witty, loving and charming.

Maithili:What would do the first thing if you turned a man RIGHT now?

Suruchi: Youmean what I would do to a turned on man or what I would do to turn a manon...my god, just a few words, change it all, doesn't it?

Maithili:Yes, if you turned into a man?

Suruchi: Oh,I would go and propose to a whole lot of women using as many pick up lines aspossible without the fear of hearing "Tere ghar mein ma-behen nahi hainkya?” and being affected by it.

Maithili: AlthoughI’m all ears now to hear the answer to the "turned on" man questiontoo!

Suruchi: Haha...whichpart? It is easy to turn on men yaar-may be coz they are technically never turnedoff. They just go on a "silent" mode

Maithili: Hehewell said madame.

Maithili: Ifyou were a type of food what would you be?

Suruchi: Chocolates,of course, they can be used in so many ways and so pleasurable-what else can beas gratifying?

Maithili: Youwould like to be used in those gratifying ways? Ahaan?

Suruchi:Nopes, I would like to be pleasurable, all said and done.

Maithili: Ifyou were written about in the newspaper, on the front page, what would theheadline say?

Suruchi: Theheadline would probably say-"A little known blogger shoots to stardomafter world-wide internet sites come crashing down due to hits made on herbog"....very lame, I know, but the write up following it would be juicy asthere would be mini world wars for me. Such complacent souls we are-zyaada kuchnahi maangte!

Maithili:Well I don't mind you shooting to fame but crashing www could be heart breakingfor me.

Suruchi: Haha...ithas to be dhamaakedar na!

Maithili:What's the most touching thing G has done for you?

Suruchi: Well,besides always wanting to be touchy, once in the early years of our marriage, Iwas in a really sad mood and almost cried on the phone, he came home fromoffice, during the middle of the day and stayed with me for a couple ofhours-that was a great gesture from someone who's a work-o-holic. He keepsdoing little things every now and then which matter more than the big ones

Maithili: Awwwthat is really what matters right?

Suruchi: Yes,he isn't the kind to sing songs or write poetry or read my blogs to show thathe cares...but he is the kinds to bring a chocolate without fail on every KarvaChauth, to take my side when I am cribbing about something until I simmer down,to respect my parents a whole lot, even more than me, ask me what bothers me evenafter I tell him a hundred times that it is nothing...and all this makes a hugedifference at the end of the day.

Maithili:Indeed you are a lucky woman..

Suruchi: Thankyou

Maithili:What turns you on instantly?

Suruchi: Gimmea witty conversationalist-any day! Wit and a good repartee-it starts and endswith it.

Maithili:Have you ever Adam teased?

Suruchi: Ohtons of times-in college we used to gang up at popular hang outs and tease someshy ones with loud comments made randomly. And then there were the times ofprank calls.

Maithili: Andwhat is the naughtiest thing you have done in such pranks?

Suruchi: Imanaged to get clicked with a very cute guy, first asking him to click apicture for us and then generally chit chatting and eventually he became like agroup buddy-ah, good old school days!

Maithili: Whenyou enter a room what is the general reaction you get?

Suruchi: Bigsmiles, a mischievous wink sometimes and a general pleasant welcome and where Idon't get these-I just don't enter. Also often people expect me to walk in and theygive me the expectant look that ah, here she comes-now make us laugh.

Maithili: Soyou are the bubbly types who set the party on fire?

Suruchi:Often yes, also because I am so full of double meaning statements

Maithili: Tellme who is the person who you first turn to, when you are upset?

Suruchi: Thefirst person used to be my mom...now there are friends coz mom used to end upbeing more upset than me and I ended cheering her up than being cheered. I havebeen blessed to find some of my best friends through the blogosphere.

Maithili: Thatis great! And here come to the end of the rapid fire round.

Suruchi: Phew!Thank god...I don't like rapid things so much.

Maithili:You gave some swift and smart replies! So a pat on your back for this round!

Suruchi: Thankyou, thank you...Don't I get a coffee hamper or something?

Maithili: Ahwe wish we could give away those, but we are pretty much bankrupt here at DOV. Okayso moving on from rapid fire, we have last two questions. Every woman goesthrough a rough patch... Any experience you would like to share- in love,marriage, friends or motherhood?

Suruchi: Ah,well, I had a very rough time before my daughter Seeya came along-it was almostten years of trying for a baby and not succeeding that took its toll on me andme too. But then things looked up! There were times when you lose faith inyourself, god and those around you...when all actions are doubted as thoughthey are aimed at a set motive-it was the lowest point in my life...and then wefound Seeya. She's been like a bright star though a very twinkling one-going onand off with mischief and trouble to awakening a very dormant motherly feelingin me.

Maithili:Well Seeya is most definitely the brightest spark in your life. Also I am proudof you for giving Seeya such a wonderful life.

Suruchi: Youknow it was not like the easiest or most natural decision for me. I was unlikemost girls who grow up with dreams of a husband and house and children-I almostnever saw me doing or with all that. I was too busy doing my own things andwent along with the flow. A child has brought stability in me which I lacked. Andshe is magnetic when it comes to gathering attention and affection.

Maithili: Ihave seen that in the thousand expressions your princess gives for the camera!

Suruchi:Haha, she's gone on me-the chocolate and burger fetish, the insane love withthe camera, the mockery of horror stories or anything conjured to scare her,wet kisses, nautanki and smiling to get away with stuff-I guess influences rubin.

Maithili:She is tailor made to be your daughter!

Suruchi: Orperhaps we were separated at god ji ke tailor ka mela to unite again on earth.Ijust hope she is not half as mad and as yearning to flirt as I am

Maithili:Ahh, now you are going to have a tough time with that.

Suruchi: Iknow-keeping away prying boys and the escalating curiosity of little girls-OHMY GOD!

Maithili:And finally we come to the question- Suruchi's life-any regrets or guilt?

Suruchi:Yes, the only regret is I should have studied more and done something with mylife before succumbing to the marriage pressure. It is absolutely necessarythat girls learn to stand on their feet and make their mark before shaadi,though I make up for it in my little ways.

And guilt-naaah! What wedo wrong, we make amends and life goes on-nothing is forever and neither is noone.

Maithili:Thank you Suruchi for your wonderful interview for DOV.

Suruchi: Youare most welcome Maiths, it was my pleasure. It was like talking so much aboutME for a change-thank you for giving me my celebrity moment. Lemme circulatesome muaaaahs also in the air, just for the perfect closure.

*muaaah darlings*

Maithili:Sure darling, you are a celebrity here today.

Suruchi: Thankyou!

The Party Circus

2011-10-17T15:28:00.003+05:30

It is enlightening toobserve people at a social get together-real skins get peeled off and masksappear or rather the vice versa. Everyone’s out to project that they are thehippest and the happiest although the way their eyes peer around in an unnamed search, you feel their loneliness even in crowds.Then there are others who revel in mirth and frivolity, who would be living itup, getting drunk, and dancing their effing shoes off, inhaling pleasure likeoxygen and exhaling oomph like carbon dioxide. You feel they are having fun butby then end of it all, they'll be falling over those who smile on theirface but turn around and grimace or those who smirk harbouring deeper, murkierintentions within. And then there are those who are trying to ‘get in’, sometrying to get out and those who are wanna-be’s. The party scene is suddenlyvery pretentious or have I turned old?

Thebejewelled and the well draped ladywho never repeats an outfit and always has her husband by her nape, is the‘poor girl’ who is doing the dizziest rounds in the gossip circles as the onebeing cheated upon and shut up with the trinkets, reduced to the mere decked upversion of the Hutch puppy. The garrulous dude, the centre of all attention, is regalingeveryone with his wit, being round the clock conscious and perhaps nervous withinof all who are watching and all whom he must impress for his night to be truly triumphant. Theout-of-vogue girl, who dresses up weird enjoying the imbalance ofshocking striking colours and hairdos that raise many a hair, romps around likea kitten let loose thinking the world is her runway. The poise perfect,dressed in brands that scream posh and heels that could dare to look at towerseye to eye, mingles with a rare charm although her feet are killing her and theplastic smile is becoming more than apparent.

Thedouche-bags who come to a partynot for the party or the host but to dissect the people, strip them naked ofclothes and emotions in their dirty mind’s eye, watch others act and let losetheir guard, allowing the douche his moment of voyeuristic kick. Others come asthegossip vines for they only want to observe who is in which corner withwhom or who sneaked out and is missing in action with someone else’s arm candyand that’s besides already having the onerous task of keeping count of whodrank what and how much. The joker, who evokes laughter butare too duh to realize that people are laughing ‘at him’ instead of ‘with him’!

The clickingsmiley faces love to move aroundwherever the shutterbugs go so that they get their Page 3 moment on facebookthe next day. They have the biggest of smiles, not for people but for the lensesthat would project them visually springy minus the verbal tales. Thedrunk on booze who have no clue what they are saying or doing and thedrunk on beauty who have no clue if they are mouthing something dumbfor they are too busy exuberating ‘I am too sexy for this party’. There is alsothewant-to-know-all who would be standing with you in a seeming conversationbut wants to know who is the woman talking to X or without your asking showeryou with his thesis done on the who’s who in the party. His sole aim in life isto make sure he knows them all so that they know him too and if there issomeone he does not, he looks for ways to get introduced. Not a target shouldbe spared.

The cornergrabbers who do nothing throughthe party but sit in some dingy corner where they can’t be seen while they getthe front seat view of all the madness circumventing on the dance floor. Theyhave better things to do like text on mobiles or gulp down the snacks or watcheveryone with disdain, feeling how the world is going to the dogs. Also in thesame circuit would be the opportunists-those who use thefact that the music is too loud to come dangerously close brushing their lipsagainst someone ears to try out the possibilities, those who dress a little tooless or a little too much to grab attention, those who mingle to form somecontacts and those who do so to avoid some others.

And amongst this all is a swish-swash of formal hugs as well as deliberate long embraces, sugar coated muaaahs and affectedcompliments, serious bitching and flirtish twitching and the obnoxious query of‘how are you?’ for you know the answer will always be ‘fine’ and always anunderstatement. And where am I in this circus? I am switching garbs of one of these roles to another,trying to find my footing and fun.

But where is the fun? What happened to goodold, good times?

P.S. (warning-mini postahead): Sorry I am in a blah mood that is refusing to let go. I rememberreading a statement made by a comedian once, god help me for I do not rememberhis good name. But he deserves all the credit for his words which often reverberatein the corners of my mind:

“It is a tough life makingothers laugh...and somehow just because I am funny on screen, people assume Iwould be the same in real life even without scripts. I often meet fans whowould walk up and say, alright, say something funny and look at me expectantlywith gaping mouths-I don’t know what to do then.”

I feel a tad of the same.Somewhere down the line I gathered the repute of being the funny blogger, whocreates a laugh riot through her posts-if I sound as though I am complaining,please pardon me for I am eternally grateful for earning this formidable littleclaim to fame. But sometimes I feel a sort of pressure to write for the readersinstead of writing for myself. I used to earlier employ this space as myjournal-you know by and large rant about my life and feelings and somehow ittransformed to being tirades on issues-the funny ones, where I felt andstripped my feelings less and opined and ripped the outrageous more. I like theadulation as a humorist but I loved the venting as a human. Often I writethings I might want to voice my views on notthe political or general awareness ones-please, I won’t be able to musteranything on those matters even if I went into amnesia and someone convinced meto read the newspapers daily, saying I was the chief advisor to the PrimeMinister but they end up in draftsperpetually. Anyways, what I am saying is that I can’t be funny all the time.Hopefully I will the next time you are here :-)

RIP Playing cards!

2011-10-11T10:53:00.001+05:30

Ah, come Diwali and packsof cards in many of the entertainment seeking circuits yearn to be wiped offthe coat of dust that unceremoniously settles. The juwaaris and khiladis adorn their skilledbluff master caps. The smaller as in byheart and means and not by size playerscollect their coins and tenners and the manjeyhue ones amass Gandhijis flashing in red. And Lady Luck is beckoned and cajoled withjust as much fervour as Goddess Lakshmi is on the D-day. In my dumb erstwhile years whenI would bribe Bhagwan ji for almosteverything with the lure of Rs. 100 kaprasad yes, it was his luck hecreated me otherwise bechaare prasad kahan se kha paate, during Diwali, I often found myself over-religiousand standing before his altar almost throughout the season remembering whatAamir uncle had said-Jo Jeeta Wohi Sundar...er...Sikandar.

I discovered playing cardsand my penchant for it post marriage weare not talking of adult card games here but the ones with hearts, diamonds, etc. In those days, a month before the crackerfestival would set in, all of us friends would have “sittings” at one another’shouse to commence the jua. Khana-peena,gaana-bajaana and poore raat bechaare cards ko gaali dete bitaana, if they visited our neighbours more frequently than us! Theywould always “come” to others and never to me, no matter how raapchick chamakchallo I looked and went. I remember how I almost had private conversations cupping lovingly a pack ofcards in my palm and asking: Aakhirmera kasoor kya hain? Kahan kami reh gaye mere pyar mein?

So on these cards nights, I would be as excited as a horny man in a sex-toy shopand set aside Rs. 500 each time to be taken with hopes inmy heart to double it by the time the morning sun would rise-the easiest way to watch money grow-move over mutualfunds and stock market, coz finally everything was in my hands, literally. However, with the passing years and the growing mehengai, the amount became Rs. 1000 andsome spare taken along just in case Lady Luck got screwed badly and decided totake her wrath out on me. And whenever I lost my kitty, brought in meticulouslymatched clutches, I would not play the next couple of turns to make up. Yes, I love acquiring money aveeyein but hate losing itfor aveeyein type reasons-I have a stupid elderly sister approach towards moneyand resent people taking it away for no good god damn raisond'être.

And this was also the timewhen my beloved was the only one betrothed and hence I was usually the sole girl contenderamong the gang of seven-eight eager to please bachelors, just on the cards table of course-there is bliss on earth after all, my friend. So when I would be playing and be unsure, I would subtly “consult” the guy sitting next to me about what should I do and whatstakes to play. If he said “go for it” and I would still look baffled and hassled, wesomehow managed to get a partnership deal before I would part with my hard earnedmoney to the wanton bowl. The terms-if I lose, he and I would pitch in half-half ofthe money lost and if I win I would give him a hundred from there with anabsolutely sweet smile, dipped in gratitude for life women do that sometimes, sue us.

I also had a “setting”with some of his closer pals in our circle whohad an elderly brother approach towards me only as far as being protective wasconcerned and they’d tell me ankhon ankhon mein if they had a trailor a winning pure sequence and hence I should avoid losing any more money bymaking a move and just pack my cards. Such sweet guys I tell you-they all are,until they get married and women take over their collars. Sigh, what a waste!This also reminds me of the times when all of these guys would be dead drunkand dumped into the various corners of a car while we would return late atnight and I insisted to take on the wheel for I was yet too young to die. Sothen I would hear sisters/mothers being remembered in the most eloquent addressesand scandalous college time stories unfolding in their dazed state for which Iwould sometimes even get a “sorry” call the next morning asking me if I thoughtthey were badly behaved. And I would think-really, are you kidding me? This waslike a dream come true and my very own DesiAmerican Pie horniness unveiled live in the back seat with anecdotes I could blackmail them with for life! But then like I said, they all decided toget married ironically going by mybeloved’s example I suppose, and in camemy own gender and the age of the ‘well-behaved all’. My dukaan of getting special favours got a rude jhatka if not brought to a pre-mature demise.

Anyways, back to the cardssessions. So the nights when I lost my precious five hundred bucks, there wouldbe just two roads ahead on the fork for me to tread on. Life brings little choices for us women: I could sit in a cornerand sulk or go about doing salaamiand walk on the path of riches. Now, I don’t know if this is a universaltradition or should I get the claim for inventing it or did someone do it and Isaw a gold mine there-the fact is that when a player wins a big hand, one cango up to him and salute in a long adaab-ish style saying “salaam” as though youare bowing down to his profound abilities. In such a state, of the pompous fool feeling allvain about his “big hand” generously parts with a note to the salaam-er, that isyours truly. I would go around doingaadaab and pocket a few crisp hundreds just like that from magnanimous souls and often returnedhome with a cool underhand profit. Move over financial advisers, I can show youthe most legal and safe way to unexpected incomes*conditions apply*.

But then Lady Luck, stillnot satisfied with making me atrociously unfortunate at cards-as in I suck at it worse than gravity, made all the wives take cue and soon ‘salaami’became too common place to be rendered effective. It fringed on the LS-Low Society category now. Damn, the lack ofcopyrighting where you actually need it! It was time again for strategyplanning. But before I could do anything in the subsequent years to make up formy staggering losses, sometimes runningeven into a very early four digit by the end of Diwali that almost caused me a mini-anginapain, the pockets of the men becameheavier and the control of their nayenaye wives became tighter and the stakes became higher. The highest a movethat could go earlier was of Rs. 60 which slowly inched to Rs. 300 andeventually limitless. My woe days began as now I played only when I hadabsolutely certain winning cards-so much that when I would make a move finally,everyone else would pack their cards in shuddering fear of the Godzilla who had arisen fromself imposed slumber. Boo hoo, even after winning, I would get a measly amount mostof which come into the bowl out of my own otherwise reluctant hands. Myaffinity to cards began to slump and I preferred the role of a watcher, solicitor, sleeping partner with the victor or agracious host and thereby my love affair with cards ended. I never said I wasgood at losing and never would be.

So goodbye Lallan meinKallan, goodbye Muflis, goodbye Highest card joker, goodbye AK57 and 69 (just some of my favourite teenpatti variations). You all are becoming too expensive for my little heart andplaying cards is inching too dangerously towards being a gamble....

Koi aur baazi dhoontehain, kahin aur apna sab kuch lagate hain!
And those of you, neck deep into the game or wadding through it-may Lakshmi ji bestow you with her special graces and when you are stuffing those pockets with the booty earned-remember, someone somewhere wished you and is now doing Salaami!;-)

The Facebook Suitors

2011-10-07T13:03:00.000+05:30

Facebook has become thenext big thing since a long-ish time and is refusing to budge from its pedestalof enjoying unanimous universal popularity. Waise who am I to say, Ipractically live there every day! So much that I am in serious consideration ofchanging my address on my visiting card to:

Suruchi Arora,

420, Profile Lane,Home Nagar,

Facebook.

Meeting hours: Immediately after status update.

(Please come onlywith prior appointment written on the wall

and at your risk)

P.S. Kindly do notbring pokes and phraands request along.

It is also like the besthook up joint of sorts one could ever deem of, taking over much of the job doneby hitherto coffee shops, bars, eating joints, libraries, etc, which come inaction per se after an internet setting is reached. It is interesting to seehow an entirely new species of Facebook suitors has evolved and isflourishing. Here are a few whom I have come across or heard of although therewas no friendship swayamvar that I remember to have announced despite my shortterm memory loss syndrome.

THE COMMON FRIENDFINDER:

This is a popular specie. Hethinks this way: we have 28 friends in common so we deserve to bump into eachother on the thoroughfares of Facebook, never mind if you don’t know ~~or care~~whether he exists or what the other friends perceive him to be. He would send arandom friend’s request hoping ~~praying on his knees~~ to be acceptedthinking it is polite courtesy to honour friends of friends or simply do so inthe baffled state of mind that maybe you do know him since many whom you know,know him and thereby he might become known to you, his knowingly but your unknowingly.

THE HI (high-haye haye) MAN:

Alright I don’t know howhis presumptuous mind works but he seems to think a “Hi” in the inbox wouldsuffice to generate an enthusiastic response from the girl/lady in question.And if not, then the next message of “How are you?” would definitely get her tovomit her heart out of how she is.

THE WELL-WISHER:

Somehow there is thisperson who has managed to enter the coveted friends list and now how does hemake sure he stays there forever-he sends you a “Good morning”, a “Goodafternoon”, “ Hey, it’s evening ya, thankyou for reminding otherwise I would have never known have a nice one” and then “Good night, sweet dreams.”Wow, ain’t that cute now! My very own personal wishing machine that makes mejump to check my notifications only to end up with the feeling that I amcrossing a lobby of waiters at a popular hotel.

THE YOU’LL FIND MEEVERYWHERE-ER:

You update a status and he“likes” it, you do a dumb quiz that says you were a peacock in your previousbirth and he clicks on the thumb again. Heck, you wish a common friend “HappyBirthday” which a zillion others are anyways doing, but no, he likes it how youmouth ~~text~~ these two simple words. You put up a long post that took youan hour to read and understand but he would take just one second to “Like” it.How likeable is that!

THEI-AM-NEVER-SHORT-OF-A-GOOD-WORD-FOR-YOU:

The previously mentionedvariety can also metamorphose into this one if he has a reasonable gift of gabor a relatively long experience of saying stuff to girls which he thinks and often they toothat they like. So you have flattering comments on your pictures, a random notein the inbox that says how pretty you are or how he is waiting from so long tohear from you or you remind him of his girl whom he broke up with. Such peopleare born with the understanding that all women like to be complimented and bydefault they lack the complicated system that can sieve through the genuinepraises from the for-the-sake-of ones.

THE TOUCHY BAG:

“Hi, loved your blog. Canwe be friends?” Yes, just this much. Or they’d say they’ve been reading my blogand love it and then put up the million dollar question, while I go with amagnifying glass to check out if they have ever left a comment-naah, never. Yetthey say they were touched-I am even afraid to ask back ‘Where?’

THE IN-BOX-ER:

Nope, he does not comewith gloves, but with a veil. This breed would always have something to sayabout what you do-a status update, a blog post, a recent activity, picturesuploaded-but yeh janaab thode sharmile hain. He would not comment on the open-for-all domainswhich are for the common retards as they might believe. He is the inboxing man-alittle private you see. His justification, “I don’t want the world to see how Ifeel, it is just between you and me.” Awwwwww.....~~how convenient~~ howdifferent!

THE STORY TELLER:

This one is a master ofwords-he would pen down a three page personal mail in your inbox that may varyin content on the following lines:

1. It could be hisanalysis of your face reading and thereby what kind of a person he thinks youare and such an elucidation that even your blood related parents would have not thought so highly of you, even in their proudest moments.

2. He may enumerate asummary of you based on your sun sign/birth date/blog updates and such high acclaim that you might be forced to go up to the mirror and tell yourself how you are god's gift to mankind.

3. Expect a very gratitudedipped note on how a particular post you wrote changed his life oh god, such requests should come with a handkerchief free-sniff, sniff and after acouple of more such notes, the fraands request would follow.

4. Keep your shouldersready for him to lean on for he would shoot a very sob story about his life and how he does not want pity he demands it.

5. And if you are verylucky, there just might be a long ode with actual rhymes in the line ends, writtenin your praise like no Milton or Eliot could ever fathom.

THE HITTING-ARROWS-IN-THE-DARK FAKERS:
I remember receiving two strange inbox messages- "Are you the Suruchi Arora of SMC batch of 1986 because you surely look like her-the same features and the same smile..blah, blah?" and then the same fraands request at the end of it all. They were so convincing that they almost made me walk up to my mom and ask if mere ten years older koi twin sister to nahi hue the who got bichodoed in the SMC ka mela!

THE ATTACHMENTFREAK:

Nopes, this is not a personwho is looking for attachments or is henot really or gets clingy like aleech-this is a person who can’t help click on to all the applications to sendyou flowers/hearts/smiley/chocolates/teddies/stars/positive thoughts/a yatch inthe Mediterranean/naughty notes and the likes. Makes you wish for once that Fbcharged at least for some services. Free mein everyone’s become Bill Gates ke chacha and Danveer Karan ke kalyug kiavtaar.

That’s about it for nowbut don’t think you have seen them all my friends-

The woods are lovely darkand deep

And such suitors havepromises to keep,

And miles to go beforethey sleep not with you however they maywish

And miles to go beforethey sleep however you may plead!

I love it for I love you

2011-10-02T09:17:00.001+05:30

I love it when I tell youthe shirt you bought so lovingly without me, is just about okay and you rarelywear it again.

When I get up from the bedand you pull over my pillow to keep it under your arm with pure pleasure etchedon your countenance.

I love it when sometimes Ilaugh harder so that I won’t cry and you laugh with me but hold me the nextinstant.

When I act like a childand you don’t do the same and when I behave too mature, you bring out the childwithin.

Love it when you ask mewhat I would like to get on my birthday in a surprise situation.

When you won’t take me toa restaurant again for it is ripping expensive but book me the best of spas onour next vacation.

I love it when you smile,watching me glare at you for over tipping the waiter,

Or when I ask you to takeme out and you cannot as you are busy but message ‘I am sorry’, minutes later!

When you call me just likethat, just when I am not expecting, just when it is most needed.

I love it how I feel likeclosing my eyes hearing your sweet nothings and opening them with a brush of yourlips on my lids.

When you touch my arm, even when we are among people, for you forget things when my skin is thatclose.

When I force you to clickpictures of me and you smile at my insane pose!

Love it when you neverbother to give me a compliment but when I sit down to get even a littleself-critical, you vehemently deny it all.

When you forget to switchon the I-pod when you take your I-pod and me for a stroll!

I love it when just byhearing my ‘hello’ on the phone you can make out if I have just got up orcaught a cold or if I feel like shouting.

When you pitched in for mypolicy instalments but just on a whim, made me pay for our movie outing.

I love it when you hold mypalm in a crowded place just as nonchalantly as though you are guiding a three-yearold and then when I am sick, you grasp my hand sitting by my bed side astenderly as though you’d be holding a prized trophy.

When I go out of breathyapping about my own stories and stop short and you still ask me to go on foryou were enjoying it.

Or when I check outanother guy and you say he’s not worth it not because you are jealous butbecause you think he is not my type.

I love it when I take solong to select between two outfits, ask your opinion and eventually show myinclination towards one and you defend it as the better out of the two.

When I put my head on yourshoulder while we watch a movie or when we travel in a plane for I get dizzy.

I love it how you enjoywith my parents even more than I do.

When you bear my friendswhom you can’t bear and don’t mind when I don’t do the same for you.

I love it when I fightwith you and you make me say sorry in the end and bring me a big chocolateafter a tussle sometimes when I refuse to bend!

I love it for I love you!

Fussing over Fat!

2011-09-27T14:10:00.001+05:30

Considering the huge buzz yes, we flatter ourselves when others seem to be doingless of it-hint, hint in the blogosphereabout the invention of The FatTransporter in my post Somebody Invent these Please, I decided to dedicate some moments of silence through typingthese words, dedicated to my fat and those of others and how it can be a painin practically anywhere that it surfaces. Hoping this would help it to RIP andmotivate us God, to create a fat free world.

You dread going to the tailorout of fear of getting your measurements taken. And in case he would say thatthe suit has not been stitched tight by his mistake but the fact that you haveput on inches since the last measurement taken ten days ago-where, oh god wherewould you hide your chubby face the bodycan anyways not be hidden?

You look at the brandscondescendingly that do not make beyond size L-what the fuck do they these self inflated, prejudiced dim-wits think ofthemselves anyways? And also pray thatthe good looking boy you sometimes bump into in that big mall showroom does notspot you surfing through “All Large sizes here” section.

While having sex, youwonder more about how you might crush the poor guy under you with your weightor would your bellies prevent you from getting the job done no puns intended.And when the special someone gropes, you hope he does not hold a layer of fatin his finger tips unconsciously instead.

People ask you if you arenot well for you seem to be going breathless and you smile and say you are finewhen actually you have tucked your tummy so hard that it is difficult tobreathe and you are waiting to go to a corner of solitude and exhale.

You refuse to go on avacation with thin-pins for then even when you wear what makes you look thethinnest would still make you look bountiful next to the I-could-give-competition-to-a-ladyfinger friend; and not to mentionhow would the photographs appear when you return back home and upload them on Facebookand your skin-on-hanger friend getsmore compliments from YOUR friends than you-scarythought, eh?

Getting pictures clickedis another problem-thank god for digital camera and the world was saved withthe delete option. But then you always have to look for accessories to hide thebulges-use people, cushions, trees, bags, children yes, fat people are sometimes shameless and strategically place them.

Onlookers stare at your buttmore out of wonder than awe!

You have to ask a totallydumb question like “Will this fit me, na?” to a salesperson when the tag says“One size fits all” and then bring it back from the trail room and then sheepishlymutter under your breath, “This does not fit” and she/he stares at you with thelook as though he has seen the eighth wonder materialize before his eyes andcan’t even call the ‘medias’ to claim his share to fame.

People ask you to sharetheir tiffin or lunch and suddenly become pale when you agree.

You make stupidcalculations through the day like what would have more calories-a lunch thatconstitutes the nine piece chicken nuggets with medium French fries or twopudina parathas with butter chicken and after baffling your brain about it tillboth go thanda on the table, you endup having much of both.

You get stuff likeslimming tea, fat free mayonnaise, diet coke, chips with no trans-fat, roastedsnacks-have a loadful of them all together, wait for some bulges to budge andthen complain that they do not.

You go around proclaimingthat you like a person more for their heart and mind than their body, hopingsomeday someone would say and feel the same for you.

The world in your views isnot divided between the haves and the haves-not or the Whites and the Blacks orthe Developed and the Developing-it is plain simple a struggle for survival betweenthe beam-thin naturally blessed and the air-filled naturally cursed.

You prefer going to themountains than the beaches for mountains help you cover up and the beachesrequire you to don a swimsuit and hell Halle Berry-may you be damned for thatwalking out of sea in that skimpy thingy image for James Bond that makes halfthe male population want to be one -theswim suit or James Bond, they are still not sure.

You dream that someday fatwould be in and the gorgeous hunk of a man you fall in love with would have afat fetish.

You thank god often thatclothes were invented and you were not born in the stone age-otherwise evergetting a head to turn for you, would have been such a ‘fat’ chance.

You have to sit throughthe torturous recitals of human-toothpicks about how they have put on half a kgand they are sweating it out in the gym to combat that or how they feel badabout eating half a chocolate pastry-I mean it was just half-really??????????And worse is when they eat half a dozen microscopic bites of the scarce food ontheir plates and touch their barely-there tummies and say they are so full-youcan almost hear your own tummy growl.

You spend some insanehours wondering if the tummy would grow out so much someday that it would makethe boobs appear to have gone in.

While walking ahead of agood looking boy, you do not wonder about the opening line to make a pass athim or how you should trip so that you fall right into his arms. Instead youare wondering the watermelons placed at the top end of your legs are not goingup-down, up-down in a see-saw way.

You advocate how Indiandresses suit the Indian girls more and gossip about how the squeezed-mangofriend is looking sick and unhealthy these days because of her diet-maliciouslyplanning in your head that she gets scared enough to give up and thereby notmaking you give in.

When you fall peoplescream not because they want to save you but because they want to get out ofthe way, in case your butt decides to rest on their nose.

You stand in the kitchento cook and sweat and console yourself this is as good as perspiring in thegym.

The worst question thatcould ever be asked to you is: What is your weight? And the most preparedanswer always is: My bones are heavy...

When you jump to jive onthe dance floor and shake it like there’s no tomorrow, you soon realise thatyour feet have stopped gyrating but many other parts of you are still swinging.

You make more orgasmicsounds while eating the KFC burger than while being eaten.

When your special someoneasks what is your favourite flavour and you say chocolate-you secretly hopethat bag in his hand would contain some nuts dipped bars rather than those little,long balloon like things.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeenough said-Ineed to drown my sorrows now...You comment till I look for something to eat!

Dear Salman(Khan of course)

2011-09-22T20:57:00.002+05:30

Dear Salman,

This is my second letterto you and since you answered to my first one some twenty years ago, when I wasa teenager and in love with you post MainePyar kiya, I am assuming you would oblige me again I still have that letter btw tugged away for apersonal moment now and then. Though thistime do not send me an autographed photograph and a printed response of yourforthcoming movies for I have kinda sworn off them for a while as well asstopped talking to your three feet long posters transfixed on my wall and on mymind then. So you see I would need more to shut me up now.

Last week I had atraumatic experience and as a fan I am sure, you’d be interested in knowingwhat badgers my little brain. Bodyguard was a movie that I went to after onemonth of no movie-watching in the theatre whichis a catastrophe in my case andsurviving. But your latest seems to be the greatest-in terms of deterring moviegoers from ever treading upon the theatre route again. I mean what are youthinking these days I would really like to know? In your defence, I know the promoswere not very promising but in my defence, you know how we fans are-hoping forsome last minute miracle to salvage a sinking Titanic, but finding ourselvesgasping for breath on not much, when we are thrown rudely overboard the sinkingship. To be literal in case sarcasm is too much to expect stars to understand-morelike thrown overboard by a loud, cheap gag in between our pleasurable sleepduring the movie.

‘Wanted’ was good after the sad mess of Veer and Mr n Mrs Khanna...ordid they come after-ah, who cares! The matureyet vulnerable and sleek Salman magic was woven with dhaanso dialogues and an almost believable story line or whateveris possible in the Bollywood limitations anyways. That was followed by Dabbang and a hint that you werebeginning to lose it. Vanity thy new name was Salman Khan and those obnoxiousnarcissist mannerisms garnered many an applause in the theatre and I thought,well, maybe my movie tastes have become a little too contemporary.

And then came Ready! Omg, did the story writer revisithis kindergarten to write this narration? And you are hitting 45 for crying outloud, some seven years younger than my father who is a grandfather now. You stillexpect us to buy the flight of fantasy that you are hanging around the house inthe entire two hours plus frame like a college going dude, pampered by theelders for he is someday going to sambhalo the baag-duad of the khaandan ka business? They must later realize thatthere are only Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday andSaturday in Salman’s week-there’s no place for a Someday!

I also assume that perhapsyour choice of movies is being influenced by your erstwhile friend and hithertobitter enemy Shahrukh’s selection. Shahrukh managed to horrify me in thatremake of Karz, god help that movie because I have even forgotten itsname-it was hopelessly predictable. Devadas, Omkara, Maqbool and the likesreaffirmed faith in remakes and Shahrukh shattered my love even for theoriginal Karz. And then he murderedme alive when I saw him in that ‘Haule-Haule’flick with those terrible moustaches and then terrible-er hamming as thecolourful, so-called hipper version and superbly far-fetched story line again-I forget its name too I am not getting old-you guys arefucking my mind with movies that remain horror stories etched so firmly even injust a two hours ordeal in the theatre. Thesefrom the “Kings” of Bollywood-an outsider may shudder then to see what theminions and subjects are up to!

Anyways, I guess youthought when Shahrukh can pick up crappy, crass, children’s book themes andstill retain his fan base, let me show that I would pick up crappier, crasser,blockheads of films and prove they still gather more millions in the first weekthan any other films in history. This however does not prove the awesomeness ofyour movies sir, but the awesomeness of your self-selling which is becominglarger with every passing ad campaign, every PT class dance step, every amusingword that is super accented and every super vain walk that you manage to enthralthe shutterbugs with.

And what’s with the supersmug attitude these days? I thought those looks were the sole copyright of Mr.Abhishekh Bachchan in those Idea ads where he manages to give that stancedespite the string of flops. I guess he has your girl and that would explainthe perpetual I-am-better-than-thou grintransfixed on his face for life; or wait, is it because he was infected withher coldness during courtship and those features are hence frozen since the dayof his marriage? Never mind if theemotions have changed thereafter.

Back to you dear, sorryfor these other actors sometimes make me digress. Now look at these youngstersonly, how foolish of them to try newer scripts and themes when they shouldlearn from you that muscles-shuscles and some heavy dialogue-shialogue mouthedwith anger is the new mantra to ensure box office thronging of masses, at leaston the first day. And once you acquire the mass on the right body parts,acquire also a designer who stitches shirts with barely there thread work-sothat they furl open at the slightest hint of touch-of the wind, of the waterpipe, of the rub against a heroine’s chest or even if she blows a flying kiss. Watchingbare chests or being in anticipation of it was never so much fun even in thedays of a Choli ki peeche or a Ram tere Ganga Maili.

Now script ka kya karnahain-throw in some chartbuster songs, get an arm candy girlfriend who is everready to bestow you with item numbers, use lots of people in the movie togenerate cheap laughter like little kids pissing on the villains from the firststorey of a building or the goons falling on a hot tawa by the road side-I mean come on, the fall on hot tawa for generating guffaws act musthave been around since ages and apparently is still working. But these youngsters,naah, they never learn and want to experiment! Bah!

I recently visited a schoolfriend’s house and her daughter who is eleven years old, now has a three feetlong poster of you on her wall. Made me feel a bit nostalgic-you are a demi godto rule over three generations of women apparentlymy mother too had a crush on you when you first came around but didn’t confessit then thinking it would be a bad example for her teenage daughter. I wish you’d give us more of acting than acting toact. I wish you would play less with your belt and trouser pockets or collarsof your shirts or scratch your bum overthe trouser of course and instead show usa bit of more innocent you as we loved you then. And flying across two runningtrains in a tremendous leap does not suit you at all-we should leave that forRajnikant or else how would the sms companies survive without making Rajnikantthe butt of their jokes and circulating him so obnoxiously.

And would you please getmarried also now that we are onto it, for it is not good for the health of99.999% of the rest of the Indian men population who see just one man havingall the fun with the best of chicks. By the way, do these girls ever manage tohold a considerably sensible conversation or do you never let them open theirmouths at all wise choice therein again? Katrina can not-act-the pants-off anybody and Iguess the ‘off pants’ is the sole reason, she is still rocking thepants...er...the fans. I mean I saw her in a recent Pantene ad and my gawd shehas managed to bring in more expressions in that one minute than in all hermovies to date! She is progressing, perhaps learning from you!

Being human is also greatif the human here is Salman Khan and being a blue bracelet is greater if itadorns your wrist. Being a Salman fan is the greatest...please see to it thatit does not relegate to past tense. You’ve ruled the masses and the classes andwith the new hair job and still a fabulous face and of course not to forget themillion dollar body that ensures publicity by itself than any Rakhi Sawant’sassets ever could-we want you back andfront too, but that’s for another lust dipped day.

Ran...er...fan forever,

Me:-)

P.S. The author is suffering from serious stress due to lack of straining of vocal cords since morning-koi mila nahi pakaane ko..so bechaara Sallu phas gaya.

The justification is made keeping in mind 4 valid points:

1. Maybe my fan base(LOL) circulates this letter a million times like the Madrasan's and I would have to explain my stand in the next post, so doing so now very smart you see

2. Maybe someday I do bump into Salman and he falls in love with me and this letter should not spoil my chances-I definitely want a Bodyguard who looks like Salman although not acts like him.
3. Maybe I get threat calls from some Bhai-abhi to mere khelne koodne ke din hain na...

4. Oho, mein bhool gaye...next time!:-)

For my 'Love Being Interviewed' Instinct!

2011-09-20T16:28:00.001+05:30

After a long time I got tagged and foundsomething interesting to cater to my ‘love being interviewed’ instinct...
So here is my 25 point Something-on a run and all in the nameof fun!

1. If you were caught cheating, would youfess up?
There is a whole lot of ‘if’ here andthere’ll be a whole lot of ‘but’ there :-)

2. When was the last time you felt honestlybroken?
Is there a dishonest way of being broken too?

3. Are you craving something?
You mean besides a killer figure, travellingaround the world, a blog that is read by millions and a complete stress freelife? Yes, and that something knows about it ;-) *feeling super smug atcreating mystery*

4. If you could have one thing right now whatwould it?
A peek into some brains and a controlover some others! *evil laughter*

5. Would you rather have ten kids, or none?
*Aghast expression*I would rather have Maggie,Biryani, chocolates or brownies-I mean, I know it looks like I eat but sparethe poor kids for god’s sake :-)

6. When was the last time you put your footin your mouth?
Okay, this happened recently when someone Iwas introduced to said he was an engineer working in Accenture (a softwarefirm) and I asked him if they made cars (remembering the car company Accent,which I presumed for some god-damn reason, used the nickname of Accent).Alright, you can LOL now! :(


7. Last person to see you cry?
Has to be my beloved and he’s seen me do so,so many times that even when he sees it now he often sees through :(
Besides him many others do off and on and getto hear ‘Pyaaz kaat rahe the’ or ‘cold ho gaya hain’...thank god for onions orelse half the world would be stuck up in explanations.

8. What do you do when you get nervous?
I smile and try to get away or grab whoeveris nearest (please don’t ask me for what).

9. Be honest, do you like people in general?
General se waale-NO, non-general se-YEEEEES

10. Whom would you like to see at yourfuneral?
All those who said they loved me and allthose who couldn’t (But really-SEE here is an overstatement, don’t you think?)

11. Does anyone completely understand you?
Yes, but I keep challenging theirunderstanding every now and then!

12. Have you ever made out in a bathroom?
Yes, yes, yes...for once I am so glad I ammarried and can answer that without being judged! :-)


13. Do you think the last person you kissedis nice?
Du-U-H! If I had not thought so, I would nothave kissed him, na? Who goes around kissing people who are not nice anyways?

14. Who was your last crush?
*Checks her watch*Damn, it is notworking-can’t tell you the exact hour now, can I? :D


15. Love or Lust?
It’s like asking brains or beauty! I alwayssucked at choice questions-why can’t we say we want to have and eat our pie too,when either ways it ultimately goes in the tummy? (Okay, I didn’t understandthat myself)

16. Last person to slap you?
My class teacher is Class 3 for I entered theclass after recess still chomping food in my mouth. (I guess, it was then Idecided to be a teacher and set an example-who slaps hungry kids or even adultsfor that matter?) Or wait this could also be Seeya for she often gives me theSunny Deol waala thappad when she gets all whimsical :(

17. Are you afraid of the dark?
No, andhere se nahi, andhere mein rehne sedarr lagta hain*waah, waah*

18. Is there anyone you wish was still inyour life?
*Smiles*

19. Do you flirt a lot?
Define ‘a lot’ :-)


20. Have you found a purpose to your life?
Yes, I did and then I did again and before Icould decide among the two, a third one came along-I just have too many thingsto do and only one lifetime to do so-life sucks!

21. What is you USP?
I can crack PJ’s, I can be a good listener, Iam curious, I am witty...oh wait, you asked for one- I’m genuinely nice

22. Do you believe in Love at First Sight?
Yes *moves a hand lovingly over a new pair ofshoes* and no*looks doubtfully even at those professing to be “in love” aftermany sightings*-all love is essentially self-love.

23. What situation for you would be like‘Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea’?
Stuck between a witty guy and my beloved...err...actuallythat would technically not be a ‘stuck’ situation :D

24. What is your favourite part about yourbody?
My skin colour (sorry for being such a racisthere)-if that can be a part, the rest was all created at ‘faulty by default’settings :(

25. What was your secret ambition as you weregrowing up?
I wanted to be an actress and tell ininterviews that since childhood I wanted to be an actress...magar, kyonki,parantu aisa ho na saka so I manage with drama in real life:-)

Alright, this wascool-please take up the tag whoever wants to!

Have a Happy Week!

Somebody Please Invent these...

2011-09-15T10:40:00.000+05:30

I am not much of a scienceperson. In fact I fear what if someday the world comes to an end and I am theonly one left of my species, who is stumbled upon by a newly formed,genetically evolved race, out of the debris of the nuclear wastes in sometropical forests I am so proud of myselffor making this sound so Terminator-ish;they ask me how my world was and I tell them of televisions and mobile phonesof air conditioners and of the internet or aeroplanes and other stuff but withno fucking idea of how they can be made or made to work. That would be the endof the human race, hitherto symbolised by me.

But I do respect inventiondespite the fact that I think our technologists and scientists are all on a wideoff the mark trail of innovation currently. Studying some rare species of antsin same rarer grasslands or how feeding 500 people for 500 days with xyz foodwould have what result in the body, is a big fat bundle of hogwash. The worldneeds some things else...

Imagine such dilemmas thatwe face every day:

I think my boyfriend broke up with me because he felt I was tooinsecure...

*Accusations raised at you* The baby fell ill because of what you did/didnot...

I think the girl likes me more for my money than my company...

“Agar aap aise sawaalon se pareshaan aur hairaan hain, to chinta nakaren:

Introducing now: The FINDOMETER!Just voice your question into this amazing new gadget and pat would come out a placard with a yes/no toyour query along with the actual reason for the occurrence of the seed ofdoubt. It helps redeem lives! Book now and get a Lie Detector free! Offer validtill stocks last.”

Now thatwould be one invention that would result in less depressed souls around theplanet.

Or perhaps a gadget/superpower by which you close your eyes and say the name of the place followed byAbracadabra and voila, you reach there within a blink. I shall name it the ANYWHERE BLINKER. Visualize going tothe beach of Goa as in right now, without the hassles of travelling or expensesor any packing of bags. Just slip into your beachwear in your room, dab somesunscreen, blink those beautiful eyes and open them to the sight of the vastexpanse of beckoning sea and tempting life guards. Spend two hours on thebeach, close your eyes again and say ‘Kanpur Abracadabra’ and return back towake the sleeping baby from her afternoon siesta. Yes, thoughts like these fillup the vast dingy and vacant corners of my almost empty mind when sleep eludesme and life and even Facebook with its din and glory fail to entice. Thedevil’s workshop comes into existence with a bang and flourishes, with orwithout takers.

Do you realize what a pathbreaking innovation this would be-as relevant to history as the discovery ofelectricity or gravity perhaps? That means no congestion of traffic on roads;no need for petrol and thereby no burning of fossil fuels and no globalwarming. You don’t have to wake up an hour earlier because that’s how much timeit takes for you to commute to work every day. There is no competition forowning a big car vis-à-vis a small one for there would be no cars-no horns, noneed for driving licenses or depending on husbands to drive us around and nocar sickness! It’s a cure all! No accidents, where hundreds of lives are lost.My god, I am a genius!

But the idea needs a bitof R&D, ab saara kaam mein he thodana karonge-why did these scientists take up their jobs in the first place? Like there would always be some perverts who’d closetheir eyes and say ‘Kareena Kapoor’s bathroom Abracadabra’. So for these jerksthere would be features like ‘Spam Enterers’, ‘Customize Personal Radius’,‘Knock my Block’ and the likes. I am the next Mark Zuckerburg or what!

My suggestion list hasmore mind boggling prospects-

The FAT TRANSPORTER-a gadget that would come like with two wide belts connected via apipe. So when one wears it, there would be fat transforming into painlessdroplets and travel through the tube into another belt and thereby into the bodyof a severely under nourished specimen. Within a few hours both get the desiredweight without any side effects or pain. So there would be no treadmills, steamor sauna rooms and the likes that emit carbon and do other blah blah damage toour poor environment.

The SEXPULATION-a powdery substance, which when sprinkled even a pinch bhar on the body of yourspouse when he is horny, would give him the satiation of having just had sexand turn around and sleep without a cribbing or accusing word. Can you imaginehow many women around the globe would not mind forgetting to have a pillowunder their head before going to sleep, but not a packet of the Sexpulation?

The CASSANOVA REPAIRER: Something that helps change a philanderingboyfriend/husband okay fine even thefairer sex into a loyal-for-life one! Allyou have to do is throw a bottle of this liquid on his head like some headless peoplethrow acid on some helpless women. And to know if he really loves you or notplease use the Findometer!

The CLONER:a machine that makes you stand in a state-of-the-art cylinder for two minutesto create a clone of you, so identical that you’ll feel you are standing infront of a mirror. So you won’t HAVE TO be anywhere that you don’t want to beor not be anywhere that you want to for a fixed number of hours before theclone evaporates in air.

Alright all big heads, Ihave provided you the brain wave here-get your pretty asses on some work andstart inventing these. I don’t need any credit nor would sue you for anycopyright claims sometimes I wonder if Iam more hopelessly romantic or more hopelessly magnanimous except that when these do come about, kindly try andtest them and then send me one of each! Thank you and may your imaginationnever rest. And in case the brilliant inventors and scientists don’t stumbleupon my page even Einstein apparentlylived in anonymity till his worth was realized, let this be an open letter to God to send me a magic wand or if notat least a witch’s broom!

Here's introducing:The Darlings of Venus!

2011-09-03T15:45:00.002+05:30

Hello!

I know I should writemore, I want to write more, but alas-

The cruel intentions oftime

And lack of ideas in mymind,

Constrain me to chime,rhyme or whine!

Waah, yeh to poetry hogaye:-)

And since I can’t managemy one blog with regular updates, I have gone ahead and done the most logicalthing on this planet that there can be:

Joined another blog andtheir team of writers you can nominate mefor the Most Logical Thinker Award this year.

But really, Darlings of Venus is anamazing place to be a part of, where a group of dynamic girls yes, I think just the idea that I’ll be teamed in withthe “girls” was motivation enough wouldbring you everything girlie that every man should know and every woman shouldfollow. It seems like a promising and a fun place and I have already left myimprints there -god help them now! Obviously, you are supposed to check this out too: DecodingMen who live in the Loo! This may be an eye opener, though we preferit to be the washroom-door-opener instead!

Waise bhi I am in a littlethoughtful mood these days-thankfully I don’t take many risks by going beyondthe “little”. My posts with my so-called Encounters with men, which areactually not even encounters-more like window shopping don’t ask me to explain that seem to have given the impression to many that I amLady Ranjeet on the loose don’t ask againwho that is-I am not Google.

Oh, I am so hurt! Matlablogon ne yeh samajh bhi kaise liye-ki mera koi standard he nahi hain! Andwhatever happened to new age villains and vamps that they had to compare me tothe obnoxious looking, old-even-in-his-youth, Ranjeet; although thankfullyShakti Kapoor didn’t come to their dim brains. Some readers owing to myown over-the-top excitement to generate something notable in the mundane think that I strip men mentally-I almost anticipate aday when boys would button up even the collar buttons of their shirt on seeingme for otherwise there might be a close-up of my face where my eyes glimmerwith lust and I roll my tongue over my upper lip, for I saw some man-flesh just like in Hindi films, heroines ka pullo wouldsarko to show a dint of the cleavage and turn the watching man into a hungrybeast.

And perhaps fathers would tell their sons to get inside the house as Suruchi is onthe prowl and I would be asked questions on the street like-ghar mein baap-bhainahi hain kya? Why don’t they ask for the complete package of “ma, behenand patni” by the way, in Hindi movies to cover all possibilities, kyonki mereghar mein to actually baap and bhai nahi hain, woh to apne ghar mein honge, na.Aise to they would motivate me to do wrong, na? Anyways, point is-Wtf!Mere andar ki sati savitri ko kitna kasht hua hain-many days of chocolates,brownies and flirting would be required to drown my sorrows.

In my frustration I put upthis status on Facebook where people in large numbers extended their support tome oh crap, now I feel like Anna!

"Okay, time for a recheck onour freedom of expression-I have two blogger friendson my friends list who are dating each other n knowing how I talk n my updates,apparently she warned him to stay away from me feeling that I am too wild foranybody's good. She has deleted me from her friends list (good for her and me).What I would like to ask-Are people so duh now that they cannot see my humour nexaggeration just to evoke laughter, often at my own expense by all the drama?Or is understanding of wit such an unreasonable thing to expect in friends?"

I am also asked how my students/Gfeels about all these men! Helloooo, where are these bloody men, in the firstplace???????? My wishful hoping for some adventure is infectious it seems anddrugged you all into thinking the same as reality perhaps...ah, it is still hurting and I don't even have Dettol antiseptic at home!*read this as my way of telling youthat it is now time to shower me with some compliments*. And before you lose trackof your goal mentioned in the asterisk, let me depart with my contemplations ofan early sanyaas-damn you Himalayas forstill not having sexy saadhus in your lush green set up!