Seeya's First Fifty!

Naah...Seeya has not joined any cricket league despite the cricketing fever gripping one and all, though she is making sixes of her own.

And naah...this is also not about Seeya’s first fifty dates either, which omg, I would have to tackle someday dates that is and not fifty of them-omg multiplied by fifty otherwise.

As Seeya turns one year and three months now, here are few of the words she blabbers besides aa-aa, baayla, yoo-yoo, pata-pata, apriya app, etc, that she keeps saying incessantly and we are still in the process of de-coding what these stand for.

She started with proper nouns a long time back...

So mamma, that’s moi, she alternates in calling Sucha smart girl, she knows how sucha and pavitra is her mom-who dareth snigger?

G she calls Thom-tom cause she cannot pronounce or perhaps take the effort of saying his entire name Gautam see, like mother like daughter, I just hope it does not shorten to G for her too some day

She calls my Gauri bhabhi-Gooyeeee

Preeti bhabhi- Pri-ta

Her cousins Chaitanya-Chayta, Kartikey-Kaka, Yashveer-Yajshu

Our servant Bablu- is Bubbbal, which he calls himself now

And Cheela for Sheile and Moyee for Munni, she learnt before all of these thanks to gyrating on their numbers watching the idiot box.

Since many months she constantly asks one question to all and sundry, no matter who they are and what they are doing. Her eternal quest is to find out ‘ka kal laye hain aap?’ (What are you doing?) -some very nosey grandma traits there that kinda bother me, but when she dances like Sheila, my fears kinda rest in peace, before new ones take birth.

And if I tell her once ‘aapko pyjama pehna rahe hoon’ perhaps she is slow on understanding that or just too sharp and insistent on learning what she hears, for she would persist in asking me that again and again till the damn pyjama is up her little legs. Needless to say I hurry up with the process as much as I can, but then comes the wearing of socks and sandals and the rest of the jinga-bang and her intriguing, grilling interrogation continues I wonder then if I should make her join the police force when she grows up-she’ll easily crack up the toughest of nuts

She learnt saying dogh and cat almost along side of saying paapaa and mumma not very good at selecting the synonymous pairing, is she?

She knows what is hot and cold, though she would put her palm on her cheek and take a deep breath, with an aghast expression on her little face, to indicate both as the same. While feeding her with the bottle, she’ll take one gulp and say hawt for she knows mom would then go to the tap to put it under water the bottle silly, not the milk so that it cools and she would get time again to stand on the bed and run in circles as though the pillow was the sun and she must orbit around it diligently like mother earth, to honour the holy processes.

Paani she learnt a long while back too and thank god she did not call it mum-um like other children do-she has now learnt waater, reminding me much of Rani Mukherjee in ‘Black’ saying the same. Now if only my daughter’s teacher ala me, was half as mesmerizing as Rani’s teacher ala Amitabh-I said “half” because one-forth of that I already am but it does not sound good enough, na?

And though I drilled into her whatch too indicating to my hand, just to annoy me she would insist it is not watch but ghaadiii as one of the maids casually explained to her and come back to saying watch only after I would thump my head in despair sadist tendencies too, eh?

And then she would say soyee to imply sorry, touching her ears and tilting her little head that beams with her charming smile and a minute later repeat the mistake. 

She’s a fruit-o-holic and hence ay-apple, guavaaa, papayyaa and o-ange feature big time on her speech list. Ask her at any time of the day, what she is eating or what she wants to eat and pat would come the reply aaaapple! Ask her what you should draw on the paper and voila ‘apple’ again. I mean agreed it is round and red and juicy and scoopy, but it is just a god damn apple at the end of the day, na? Since the time of Adam dadaji and Eve dadi ma, man has not been able to translate the essence of this tempting fruit and Seeya stretches the idea even more.

Other items on the list: 
Ba-ba-is what the balloons are called
Shauce-that is actually tomato sauce, which ends up on her fingers and tongue I don't know how!
Choos for shoes

Book-her eternal friend giving her company on the potty seat.

Boy n gaarl-thank god she can make out the difference from now itself and thank god not in the way that you are thinking of with your naughty mind.

Zip, ship, cow and bird are the lucky names too, that made it to the elite list.

Aur- to indicate more-and her dil forever maange more of everything

Door- which she would pronounce with a big rounding of her sweetest of lips, causing me to ask her on every bloody door step like a moron with the forgetful disease ‘what is this?’

Doll, whom she loves to ill treat-tear their legs apart or rotate their heads.

And teddah for teddy, her first love- you have to see how she makes her huge teddy lie down on the floor and then she lying on top of him to give him the greatest of crushing and actual bear hugs. It’s scary sometimes but then it makes me thank god even more for:

A) I am not that crushed tedda, 

B) It is just a tedda and not a boy, at the end of the day 

C) It is just a harmless hug, at least for now.

A-eyes, thigh, toes-e, arm, navel, carrot, bread, cot, soap, car, bush, Santa, star, oon for moon, naaye for Naani and maaye for mami...

Aa jaayeye aap- to call just about anyone or anything. She would look at water and ask it to come to her for her highness would not take the pains to walk up to it.

Yeh-bhi hai for two of anything- like ask her to kiss on one cheek and she’ll point at your other one asking yeh-bhi, almost indicating mom, what are you saving that one for omg-I hope she is not a reincarnation of Mahatma Gandhi, but then she screams one of her blood curdling yells for just about nothing consequential and even Gandhiji turns in his grave in horror.

She’ll pick up the phone and say hewylooh reminding me that I have to work big time of rectifying that accent.
She loves to get herself clicked and would insist on you showing her the fhoto then on the camera.
There has to be the sound of band-baaja on the road, even at a long distance and watch her go shaayee for she would want to go out and see the shaadi.

She would say haaat in the most offending of manner to all passing by cars for madam’s car is on the road and all must hato to give her way and if they don’t, she takes out her toy gun and says tha-tha-tha to shoot them all off contrary to what you might think, I did not teach her THAT...you ought to know by now that I don’t use guns to shoot and I never do tha-tha-tha anyways...there are sounds of a different variety and pitch altogether.

And when the car reaches home she has to scream out kholo although I may be thumping the horn for all my dear life implying to the watchman to do the same.

She has also learnt shtop and chup, both the words, used on none other than me, when I am asking her to do something or am in feeble attempts of getting something done out of her.

She also knows what I call her and ask her ki aap mumma ke kya ho and pat she would say dodo again in an amazingly cute rounding of her lips.

Well, aren’t we done with the 50 yet, you ask?

 Offo, haaaw, fire, heart, no...okay enough already.

For when people say, wait till she begins to speak, I feel omg, I mean there would be more?

You’ll have to meet her to know more and baby sit her for me to allow you to meet her...for it is exactly one month now post no maid still...boo hoo, some anniversary, I’d say!

I will survive; I know I’ll stay alive
Please imagine that being played in the background for a better import of my situation here.



P.S. I am sorry for not being able to reply to the comments on my posts in the last few cases. The reason here is obvious, I do so much talking with her that I can barely manage to blabber back on my page beyond a few blog ideas and these too are connived actually for the hunger of more comments...ah, vicious cycle. I promise to do that at the earliest.

Suicide-Is it always the last option and is it really?

Suicide is something that you generally read about in the papers or hear of in the news with a distant third-person interest and approach, as something that only happens with ‘other’ people. However, when it comes around knocking the doors of your vicinity, it leaves you with a crumbling that gnaws at your insides and lingers maliciously often to grave consequences for yourself.

So when someone told me about a school friend’s sister committing suicide, it was a time-stopping moment for me. Here I was thinking and rethinking of her, let’s call her Aditi, and what could have led to such a major step. They were two sisters and I have spent a considerable part of my childhood visiting their home and thereby being equally friendly with Aditi, who was a couple of years older than us. I remember her as a blithe girl, with a care-a-damn demeanour and witty sarcasm for the world and its ways, but basically happy. She was not exactly a fighter but not really a loser either...a face in the crowd.

After my friend got married about ten years back and shifted to the U.S. I seldom met Aditi who also settled into a matrimonial alliance in Kanpur itself, except bumping into her at the market, or she would call once in a blue moon to find out about a boutique or so. I presumed she was actually fine, whenever I asked her ‘And so, how are you?’ and she would non-chalantly reply ‘fine’ and we exchanged random pleasantries. How generic has the word ‘fine’ and the query ‘how are you?’ become in modern times, we seldom realize!

And then out of the blue, one day someone told me she had hanged herself to the fan and given up on the shreds of life holding her so far. “Why?” was the first questioning that haunted the mind followed by many more...

Surely she had friends. Didn’t she have anyone close enough to talk to and talk her out of it? Or maybe she had ‘stuff’ she did not want to discuss and who tells others about the intentions to commit suicide anyways...you just commit it and let the world know on its own.

But then such a serious step-what mind churning days she must have had prior to taking the final plunge. The haunting of ‘to do or not to do and what to do’, the going over of how it would affect the lives of those she would leave behind and the sheer helplessness of having no other option left but this. I could almost see her dying every minute with such thoughts for days together before she was actually pronounced dead.

I don’t know why her struggle was haunting me for we were not exactly bosom buddies. I didn’t even know if she had children or whether she was working... it was THAT distant an acquaintance. Yet the memory of her smiling face, refused to leave me as much as I tried for it to. Also at the back of my mind was the harrowing of the fact that if such was my predicament, how and what her family would be going through.

I was in casual touch with my friend, over the Facebook but I could not get myself to ask her about it or even express my sympathies or personal grief. I didn’t know what to say, as loss of a life often and always leaves me dumbfounded when it comes to consoling those who are left behind.

What goes through a human’s mind before he or she decides to jump off the cliff of a seething, breathing life?

As regards everything else, even on suicide I had an opinion. I considered it as a lame step taken by those who are cowards and not driven and striven enough to fight the stumbling blocks thrown on their way to cause to totter. It is easy to sit at the side-tracks and preach as long as you are an on-looker, while it is a mammoth task to go through a mind-numbing torture that life might force you to relive every day. But with time and my own little struggles, a sense of maturity and sensitivity has perhaps dawned in

Not proud of the fact and as candid as I can get, the sense of suicide as an alternative is not really alien to me although not really akin to my skin either. Contrary to sighting it as a coward man’s territory, I now view it as a very brave man’s arsenal. Sure, you are in a situation that suffocates you...you have no one to talk to who would empathise instead of sympathising or reprimanding...no way or hope out of the misery that is consuming you up like invisible termites at relentless work, within the facade of a shining, proud peripheral. You watch standing hollow and alone at the edge of the ghat, how your identity or self-respect is submerging into the harsh lapping waters and what is remaining is just a physical body and yet your body just stands there and stares.

What stops you then, from taking that step past the descending ghat, into the tempting waters, to end the history of the mere body too?

The thought of those left behind-their agony of the loss of a loved one, their humiliation and your own of being viewed as a weakling. What stops is a sense of guilt of having given up on responsibilities that life brought your way, guilt for killing every day those who loved you, with questions that you would not be around to answer and consolation that you would never be able to provide.

It is therefore a super brave person, who can go past such thoughts and more, to realize how would it all matter to me anyways once my soul departs from the physical imprisonment. Mooh-maya is what binds us as long as we are one in the teething population count and stops us from abandoning being a part of this statistics so readily.

As much as I would love to preach that suicide is never an option, it sadly becomes one for many who are trapped. Running away would bring them a mortification that they would have to live with, no matter how far they go. Fighting back requires courage and that path we know is beset with niggling complications.

I would still implore to keep life as an option, instead of suicide. To carry on for the sake of happy times, however intermittent and few and search for these, however latent and illusive. Some wise guy once said, “Happiness is just like a quickie, while sadness is a good long f@#$!” Let’s make time for quickies hence. Whatever pain we go through, it is not worthwhile to leave it behind for those who love you not by lack of choice, but by lack of conditions...unconditional love, they call it.

The Dabbang Extravaganza

Happy birthday to the wittiest, sharpest, smartest, funniest kick-ass cutest person in the world! Nopes, contrary to what you may assume here, I am not articulating birthday wishes to myself.

Earlier this month, my quaint, little town was subjected to its very own claim to fame- Salman bhai ishtyle. It was my brother’s birthday and we decided to live it up a little more than usual. So what started as an idea for a “hat-ke” birthday party, turned into a phenomenal milestone-ic bash. Since for now I am seriously deficient in inspiration to entertain you with my tumbling thoughts otherwise don’t thank your lucky stars too soon, I thought I’d share the pictures and let them do a bit of talking almost gripping my hand firmly here to stop me from my blah-blah nevertheless...ah-what the heck, who can stop the unstoppable!

Let me introduce my brother to my dear readers. Ankur Kapoor is thy name. Yes, there is something about that Kapoor surname that ensures sexy sigh, wish could say the same about Arora, although I am a firm believer of the syndrome ‘once a Kapoor, always a Kapoor’. Anyways, he’s just entered his third decade on Mother Earth and yet refusing to grow up I guess, it is in our genes, sue us but wait there’s more to prove that. He’s smart, charming, wit personified and generally the centre of attraction see, I told ya. And only his brain could have churned out ideas like you are about to behold here. Spreading across the pages, is his Dabbang effort- just when you thought you had had enough of Salman Khan this year, here’s more.

The birthday party was at a famous night club-Felix, which was refashioned to look like a jail, based on the Dabbang theme. It gave vent to his not-so-secret aspirations and illusions that he would have been another Salman Khan had there been no Salman Khan...er...whatever! And all the nitty gritties of the event were looked into with a keen eye, to make it a run-away success.

A whopping pull out at the entrance with his picture, announcing the party... full-size banners within asking, coaxing and almost threatening the guests to indulge...even the washrooms were not spared. There was a Chulbul Pandey ke sawari- a remodelled bike, which everyone thoroughly abused and misused by sprawling across it while being clicked. Also most of his friends’ pull-outs were adorning the walls although photo-shopped to style them as famous ‘bhais’. The bartenders were in police uniforms, there was a munni to show some jhatkas and matkas, friends who dressed to suit the occasion and also a photographer who bugged you each time before pressing the flash, by saying ‘bhaiyya ji...eshmyle phuleese’

So without further ado, let me allow you to feast your eyes not on me silly, I know I looked good

The Dhamakedaar Invitation

This was the washroom..the only time when I got to see what happens in the men's room

The big pull-outs, more like final warnings, warna...dikhchayan*that's the bullet sound by the way*

The Dabbang shot and the guys at it...a sucking good job!

That's my bhaiyya ji at the entrance...well, unka welcome ishtyle

No one could help being Salman Khan of the day and well, acting like him too

Look what was done to an otherwise super handsome face

Alrite, I know I was not dressed for the occasion, but someone had to be thoda hat-ke na?

Me n G, before the jaam began to flow

Please do not miss the "shauchalya" here n yes, us posing before it as though it was Christian Dior instead

The famous n soon becoming defamed-Chulbul Pandey ki Sawari

We do take the theme seriously now, don't we?

The "wanted" ads behind which are not to be taken seriously though, warna bhai log bura maan jaayenge yaar

Yes, the cake too..now did I eat the eyes or the lips...no prizes for guessing;-)

Stay Dabbang!

The Maid of Honour

Yes, I am on a desperate look out for a maid of honour.
In fact it's almost like-Gori ho kaali ho...ya nakhare waale ho...kaise bhi dila de!
And before my dear readers a handful of whatever is left decide to jump onto the conclusions bandwagon...
Nopes, I have not altered my sexual preferences!
And also nopes, I am not planning to walk the aisle again!
G and me have decided to stick along to each other- he says he doesn’t make enough money to get married again and I feel I have drained out of ideas and inclination to turn another guy into a hen-pecked husband.
So that’s about it for the love story.

And then the “maid of honour” you ask?

They say it takes a thousand workers to build a castle, a million soldiers to protect a nation but just one woman to make a happy home.
Let’s be grateful and show our deepest gratitude to our
KAAMWAALI!

Yes, the maid in question here is a maid/domestic help/nanny for my one year and three months old whirlpool of a daughter. Ignorant people of the world, people who have no children yet would never understand how crucial this one woman can be in the lives of women all over. Ask me, I have been guilty of mocking such poor sufferers and hence perhaps condemned to bear the crushing shackles of their torment as my penance. And now although I am at the brink of hiring just about anybody to prevent me from premature balding by tearing my hair apart, yet I am praying for someone honourable to fill the post...honourable bole to who would not desert me now till death do us part modern times woes-maids share an equal and prime slot of significance along with the spouse. Sad but true-often you can manage without the husband being around but oh no, not without the maid-blasphemous thought!

In the last nine months of having Seeya with me, two maids have come and gone alternatively and this because every month they conveniently decided to sit at home for around a week to ten days, without any notice they should train this race for more loyalty and selfless service, I tell you. This brings me back to the grind every fortnight or so, just when I begin to get smug that my life is finally settled and about to be on the roll and I can don my avtaar of the super star, super sexy, super mom writer of this millennium...tch, tch!

I would like to think I am a super nice employer but perhaps they would beg to differ, or perhaps they know it and hence take me for a ride when I mentioned I love rides, dear Lord, you should have asked me before manifesting it in this way in my life.

So now there is no maid again from the last 16 days, 5 hours, 15 minutes and 30 seconds and this is how my life is- You can discover me anytime, not bathed till almost 12 noon (this is huge because no one ever saw me in my nightwear until now, except of course G), running between getting her dressed to making her do her potty. My god, I never realized someone else’s bowel movements would govern my life so decidedly some day that I would spend half my waking hours and half of subconscious dreams in fretting about- patli aaye ya kiss colour ke aaye...kam aaye ya itne zyaada kyon aaye...ya phir simply kab aaoge maharani ji...phew!

It’s been ages since someone’s hands touched my body, for a massage that is, and this latent craving rises within every time I drench my hands in almonds soaked ghee to give a body massage to my little princess, who has made sure I give up my title of the big queen. For the erstwhile big queen then goes to clean and sterilize her bottles, wash and iron her clothes, boil her water and milk, make her khichdi and in all this while check her from chomping off the soap bar or putting a pencil in the electric socket or spreading the peas I am about to cook, in the whole kitchen, fascinated by the size of these new “balls”.

You would almost catch me doing the famous Dimple stunt from the flick ‘Bobby’, when I would run to the door to meet the arriving guest with one hand smearing the flour on my hair and leaving him mesmerized causing love at first sight. Ah, since no one better than delivery guys or the postman visits my humble abode, let’s give up on this thought bubble!

I am almost the modern day Superwoman, or so I’d like to believe, minus the red and blue outfit and the figure too actually and the ability to have soft flowing silky hair in the midst of the morning rush they are oily now thanks to lat jo I have to suljhao every time while oiling Seeya for old habits die hard, especially of settling the hair which are used to of dangling flirtishly on my face.

So I pack my husband’s lunch, see him off and return to sing “Sheila ki jawani” to get her to gulp down the milk before taking it all out in her pyjamas some ten times till it is time to feed her with it again. And my dearies, when I look at the clock, it ironically says just 1 p.m. Do you really want to hear about the rest of the day? I don’t want to relate it though, for the prolific writer Amitav Ghosh once said, “For great writers, the pang and jubilations of situations set in when they write about it”. So I’ll save myself from being a pain, you know where!

And best of all is my predicament, when I asked my bartan-dhone waale to baby sit her for two hours while I teach my students although I make sure Seeya sleeps through most of it. This because I burnt the midnight oil teaching Seeya words like Car, carrot, star, apple...which she now calls gaadi, gaajaar, eshtaar and aappale.

Maid...maid...maid...I am beginning to wonder now if there was any maid made for me or not. You know like Shahrukh Uncle says, ‘Koi na koi kahin na kahin hum sab ki liye bana hota hain’. So I am waiting for my knight in shining armour to come or rather knightess or whatever...

And every time I bow my head in prayer for the well being of my family, I also say a little prayer for me...no marks for guessing what THAT is!

A Mish-Mash of Emotions and People

Yes, a PHUNNY/FUN space this world is especially when you get into the observatory mode!

~Stand in an escalator going up and you’ll know what I mean.

It can be a purely sensual experience-one that involves all the senses.

A conflux of hundreds of influences and shades coming together or rather going up together!

~A hesitant newly-wed from the outskirts, on her virginal step to the big city “mall” making it almost like the ‘giant leap for mankind’. She’s dressed in a gawdy, loud manifestation of six yards of silk with a super fragrant gajra, adorning her long, jet black, silken tresses, plaited meticulously makes you sniff down at your own Chanel No.5 probably to ascertain who’s/what’s stronger. There’s a chunky, gilded mangal sutra tossing against her bosom that is filled with an equal bounce of thrill, along with an armful of marital circles termed as bangles let’s call them the marriage arsenal or cuffs as her situation may be. These bangles jingle with one another as they reflect the blinding mall lights which seem to fade before the glow of the “just married bliss” that fills up her countenance and ear to ear grin.

You watch with half annoyance and half fascination as she tries to take a step onto the fast moving planks and then hesitates, shaking her head with a visible fright that could match the one that she probably had on her first ‘golden’ night.

You see how her husband holds her hand so gently and yet assuredly and takes her on board, almost symbolic of what he’d be like in life even otherwise.

~And then again would be gym-going wanna-be’s in tight fitting t-shirts with rippling muscles that could give away at the first hint of pressure; Folded sleeves of the shirt, never mind the sweating armpits and adding to the burst of sad whiff, would be the chameli ka tel on their heads, that settles the side flicks in a gel-like illusion. They would be wearing sunglasses, never mind the interiors and standing proud on heeled boots that would creak even when they stand still. The gold printed on their clothes would make you want to wear eye protectors for yourself. And also wish you had got ear plugs too for defence against their on-the-mobile-phone, blaring verbal attacks termed as ‘conversation’ made more on your poor ear drums. 

I am not prejudiced against the have-nots, I just don’t understand why go out of your league to be what you are not. I would rather carry a good leather bag from the store around the corner than a fake Louis Vitton please mind the pronunciation as you read that surname, walking with a toffee-nosed air that says ‘look at me world, I am too good for thou’.

~In walks a teenager girl in the shortest of mini-skirts. She flaunts ‘a figure to die for and brands to kill for’-the embodiment of size zero, never mind if there’s no body to speak of as such. The pumps make her appear taller than her frame would otherwise allow, solving the purpose of standing up to the equally supercilious onlookers she would be aiming at. A ‘omg, wtf-blah blah’ on the mobile in one hand and locks of her hair being settled perennially with the other, she forgot perhaps that she might have to go up the stairs somewhere and have people below stretching their necks to find out if it would be their lucky day to get a peek.

*You make your way to the most happening lounge-cum-bar-cum-pub I never really understood the difference between each of them being claimed separately to fame, as though you would not be served drinks at a lounge that was not called a bar or as if there would not be a lounge to sit onto if the pub is not a lounge...ah, never mind. The party of the year is supposed to be taking place here with an elite theme and fringes to boot. A pole dancer and bartenders have been flown in for the occasion-the DJ has just returned from a successful stint in Singapore and thereby added another zero to his charging/changing figure. The swanky lights that cost a bomb for each bulb, the drinks flowing freely as though it was Ganga-jal and costing as though it was liquid gold, the over dressed and under dressed as in they look in dire need of clothes going by their current shreds. There is techno music that you cannot mouth to match and beats where you can do not much but gyrate as though the fits engulfed you.

The people there are swooning in your joy although they don’t care two hoots if it was your wedding anniversary or anniversary with another new dish by your arm. They are not interested in you but whether you would invite them to the next bash you throw. They inquire about who’s walked in and why Mr. X’s wife is giving so many pecks on the cheek to Mr. Z or even Mrs. Z. They fall over each other in the name of having fun and the men try to feel the bare backs of women out of their leagues taking advantage of the lack of inhibitions and maybe deciphering if they could have their chances now otherwise claim later “Ah, I was too drunk then to remember now...I hope I did not go out of line?”

And you wonder, being in the naive, vulnerable shelled inhibitions of that new bride on the escalator is better or being the uninhabited, exhibited, hip social bug at the next happening party?

Age is a relative term!

Contrary to what the mind set has drilled into us, age is not really an indicator of maturity and thereby wisdom and substance. We have heard people say umpteenth of times, ‘I am older and have seen the world’ and thereby implying you should blindly follow what they are advising. ‘How could you know better being younger?’ is the typical belief on which the society in structured.

Yet, experience and the number of hours spent on Mother Earth cannot always ascertain the sagacious streaks in an individual. A twenty year old in this decade is smarter than one when I was one. But the adult forum around these twenty years old is still as was before, wrapped snug in the hazy, self-conceived notion that their off-springs are never going to be smart enough to have the last word. And consciously or unconsciously it is telling upon the gullible minds.

Credit should be given where due. The newer generation has the one-up card of modern and pro-active learning up their sleeves. This makes them more street smart than worldly wise. Even in emotional matters, it is often surprising to see many of the early twenty somethings behaving better than those taking precedence by several decades.

Are we heading towards a more mature young force?
Or is the older group suddenly losing its dominance over precision?


Sense and sensibility is an individual thing and can be cultivated!

I can still be corrected for my grammatical mistakes by a twenty two year old college going blogger and in all humility I must graciously accept where I falter. I often get into arguments about the home remedies to be tried on Seeya, with many well-meaning relatives and even my beloved. I refuse to follow just about every counsel that is thrown my way just because someone with more gray hair, is dishing it out, custom-made, without even me soliciting it. I’d rather go by what the doctor says now than what you experimented with, many years ago with your siblings.

However, often not just the oldies but even many-a-children are getting ensnared into this fabricated idea that the elderly are better equipped to handle almost any predicament.

It is sad that often a vulnerable, young mind is led to believe by his parents that they are right in deciding the course of action of his life, irrespective of their personal successes or failures, but by credit of the fact that they seem to ‘think’ they are better positioned to take these decisions. Many youngsters are still opting for a vocation based on their parents’ sketching it out for them, rather than scribbling through vague lines to reach to perfection themselves.

You are pushed into the ‘marriageable’ circuit or ‘child-bearing activities’ because the adults pull your reins and feel it is high time. A surprisingly high proportion of boys and girls let the issue of a life partner be decided for them after a couple of bad ‘love’ experiences, having lost the faith in them and patience to wait and watch.

Age has nothing to do with proficiency. Twenty years spent in erecting a life for oneself, are not less to know what we want. Children are not always wrong and adults not always right. If you are smart enough to know between right and wrong, you should also become smart enough to know what is right and wrong for you; or else give up on yourself as a bad job.

There is something that we are not teaching our children, despite providing them with a plethora of hand-picked facilities and nuances. It is the Midas touch of self reliance that can turn every obstacle into a landmine of golden opportunities. They are so accustomed to decisions being taken for them, that when the onus comes on to their own shoulders, they find their steps hesitating, voice mumbling and mind fumbling. We are not giving them the strength to take their decisions or courage to take responsibility for their actions. We want them to move on in life and yet wait for them to get prodigal and return to us again so that our relevance is reasserted.

Next time someone turns around and tells you that he is older and hence better suited to express an opinion...please give him a piece of your mind too, of whatever age n make it is! Let the children be. We all learn by one own experiences more than by sermons of a hundred epiphanies heard. We all have to make our own paths and walk on them with our own legs...high time we use our own minds too and let others use theirs for their own bodies. Amen!

All that hoopla about Flirting-Sigh!

While rummaging around for Jawarhar Lal Nehru’s picture for the last post, Google brought to me some more interesting facts about his persona and extra-curricular activities.

Though I had sighed and cringed and pined in ‘Impressionable Reading!’ about his unfaltering loyalty and exemplary love, interestingly Google says Lady Edwina Mountbatten was not the only one who was flushed by his overflowing juices of mush, drenching many a women in ecstasy.

Hmm...Kya baat hain, Nehru ji, India’s very own n perhaps the only Casanova n charismatic Prime Minister.

The ‘stumbled upon’ post mentioned that Nehru could not help being an incorrigible flirt. Wow...path breaking-the man who wrote The Discovery of India, seems like he made many cute discoveries for his own wandering self too.

My first impulsive reaction to that was of OMG and I felt he just fell thud down from the enviable altar that I had unpretentiously sited him on.
On second thoughts*and thank god for them*I pondered over if it really was such a blasphemous sin to tarnish the poor guys’ super dapper clean stint otherwise?

Is flirting as bad as the general scrunching of noses that it evokes, followed by an unreasonable character assassination?
Could Nehru really help it, being in the enviable prime position that he was and thereby privileged to come across the crème of the society?
Many of these would have been women who were distinguished in exceptional lady like graces and would evoke praise even from their own gender...and in such a predicament, my friends....kya hua body Prime Minister ke hain to...aakhir dil to bachcha he hain na ji!

I have never tried to be a hypocrite and hide the fact that I love to flirt.
I often cite it as a favourite hobby where I feel the listeners would not be shocked into an untimely demise caused by irreversible stroke of heart failure.
Occasional flirting keeps me alive...my creative juices flowing and provides me the mind games that keep me at the edge.

And I don’t pretend to do it under covers, I make my beloved stand with me and watch me play and watch him smile.
He knows he would never find me in a bevy of ladies twittering about the mundane, but in a circle of men, bursting into guffaws for I would be enthralling with a tease*sigh for those days too as post Seeya my reins seem to suddenly go in a heartbreaking state of restraint...my own heart breaking that is, rather than of anyone else*

Of course though in most cases it is harmless and more of ‘blah, blah’ big talk than thunderous and volcanic “actions”!
*Look at my comment box for example...I never miss an opportunity!*
And whenever it has fringed on being harmful to my mangal sutra and maathe ka sindoor, I let the urges pass by and sigh some more.
*What the heck...as if by sighing less I would reduce the global warming...so I sigh to my heart’s content...er...discontent...whatever!*

My point is...why does flirting harbour in the territory of negative discretion by the so-called social guardians?
With education and self dependence, opening up of minds and perceptions, it is a very natural urge to impress the opposite sex into a belief that you are a cut above the rest in your gender.

It is an unsurpassable ego boost to have someone intellectual, be inclined to hear you for he finds you interesting enough to hold a conversation*of course in case of men, let’s say the ego boost would come by someone sexy as hell, inclined to see you for she finds you interesting enough to bed...and there we sigh again! Please don’t keep a sigh count in this post....numerically that would be a challenge and hence this statutory warning for I like my readers to have a furrow free mind*

Another point of dispute here would be the very definition of flirting.
One man’s dip may be another man’s drowning*ah...what a mind-blowing twist in the proverb...giving the world a new, blaze a trail theory...
I am so damn good that I sometimes scare myself only*

Like take me for example*yes, a scapegoat again for the experimentation to derive onto pioneering conclusions that alter the destiny of mankind*
What I term as flirting you might deem as just interesting and intriguing conversational skills and if you are crass and unintelligent and pseudo-modern, you might call me a kalank to naari-jaat!

I like to hold the interest of a man in my conversation...
I sometimes let the laughs flow like a natural cascade and smiles to remain a permanent fixture on my pretty face.
And I might unwittingly ask you questions that show my genuine interest in you. Contrary to what my blogs project, I am a better listener than a talker.
I notice, I sometimes bat my eyelids a little too innocently or use the signature handshake of my softest of hands to make a point.
As if making these things ain’t enough I also make the wittiest of repartee and rebuttals without wasting a moment of thought on it.
My voice sometimes becomes huskier than usual and somehow a twirl of a lock of hair playfully dangles down my forehead.
Alrite, maybe I don’t use all of these arsenals together but I have seen them being used and win many a quaint battles.

Of course also these are observations and not conscious deliberations.
But the frequency of these naturally occurring behaviour patterns, made me stumble upon the idea that may be I am a natural flirt and these instinctive urges flow out without so much as even an effort required from my side.

Like I said...some may deem that as just dipping my feet in the troubled waters and others might rip me apart for having the waters gone past my head already.

Flirting is an integral thread of the fabric of today’s society and anyone out there with a reasonable amount of impression made has used it to reach where he is...consciously or impulsively...in greater degrees or less...garbing it in the array of charm or flaunting it in the wake of his sexuality.

So can the moral police please rest in peace and let the flirt games begin!

P.S. I do have some standards too...so flirting with the author in the wake of this post, without the essential back-up of my list of requirements may be injurious to your health.

Impressionable Reading!

It is amazing how sometimes some things that you read move you to the core n stay with you long after your eyes have waded though those written words that blot the paper.

I remember reading Ritu Beri, the famous fashion designer somewhere...
She was invited to a high flier brunch by one of her English friends.
She reached the quaint suburban villa to see about a dozen ladies sitting pretty and twittering little nothings around a round table.
Ritu was led by the gracious hostess to her seat and slowly the chit chat began. She introduced herself to a lady called Danielle and after the pleasantries, Ritu unconsciously harboured upon how tough she was finding it to manage work n social calls and her home, due to the fact that she had recently had a baby.

After sometime of whining n blabbering on her harsh calls, she suddenly stopped short and a little embarrassed, when she realized she had spoken so much about her troubled state of affairs to a stranger and muttered an apology saying she won’t really understand it.

Then Danielle remarked, “No, I wouldn’t...I am just raising nine of them.”
She was not just any Danielle you would find on the prim English streets.
She was THE Danielle Steele-the fêted author of uncountable mush drenched, best sellers. Those were top selling books that she wrote between changing diapers and singing lullabies for nine babies...omg!

How bloody beautiful is that, isn’t it?
Makes you feel so small for whimpering about ‘me, me, and why me’ in the face of the mildest brush of a storm.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I also vividly remember leafing through somewhere about the ‘mute romance or really?’ between Pandit Jawahar Lal Nehru and Lady Mountbatten, the better half of the then Viceroy of the British-India Empire, Lord Mountbatten, apparently in the latter’s full knowledge and perhaps approval.

She was a striking embodiment of all the British suave and nuances and he, the charming leader of millions...an eloquent speaker and an unparalleled wizard of words.

It is said that after a very brief encounter of secretly admiration and then perchance open confrontation to each other of the unquenchable undercurrent of an attraction...they were separated.
Not bogged by distance, Pt. Nehru wrote a letter EVERY day to Edwina till the rest of his days, laying bare his love-anguished heart and a suitcase full of these heart rendering mails was discovered after her demise.

Omg...can you imagine the intensity of such love?
The urgency of performing this as a sacred and unbreakable ritual despite having a million teething troubles of a nation just born on your head?
What an unfathomable exchange must have transpired between the two to evoke this allegiance in the fickle matters of heart!
Absolutely unsurpassable!

Even in this age of internet when doing so is possible just at the click of a button and if not a mail...even a phone message would certify*thanks to free messaging plans*...would anyone still do it and continue to do it every day till the very end?

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Another impressionable mention should be made of what I came across about Umberto Echo, a university professor at Bologna, Italy.
He taught for most of the day as well as wrote books on semiotics, children’s books, academic texts, essays and also the best selling fiction novel ‘The Name of the Rose’ which had sold 10 million copies in those times. His written output is staggeringly large and he had acquired the equivalent of intellectual stardom.

When asked how could he manage to do it all within the constraints of just 24 hours in a day...how did he find time?
Echo simply and enigmatically replied with a brilliant allegory and explanation. The world is made of atoms, with empty spaces in between them.
If we remove the empty spaces, the atoms could fill up perhaps just in our palm. Similarly he finds these empty spaces in his schedules which gave him the larger-than-life attitude.
Between the duration when a visitor would reach from the ground floor to his doorstep through the elevator, he said he would have written an article.
That’s the relevance of such fissures that each one has in his life no matter how break-neck is his agenda.
Some squander it away in waiting for the next thing to happen, some use it...squeeze it to the core to derive the next big thing!

If only I could ever write/suggest/relate something half as inspirational...my job here is done!

I Kinda Hate Growing up!

I kinda like being a grown up but I kinda hate growing up!

Sometimes I resist growing up...
For it means giving up on
~The thought that books could actually teach me all.
~That Santa Claus does descend with joys n hence I left my door ajar in the freezing night with the biggest stocking I could find, by my bed side.
~When I watched over EVERY act of mine for eventual accountability, dreading that heaven n hell does exist, even if they were not on the map.
~When I convinced myself that my life sucked for I had no real best friend like on the series F.R.I.E.N.D.S.
~When the only thing I was responsible for were the grades at school.
~When it was not drilled in, that you could yearn only as per what you earned.

~When birthdays were big and little gifts-bigger.
~When getting wet in the rain was as simple as just extending your step out under the open sky.
~When even a little loose change in the pocket was enough to give me a sense of security.
~When ‘Branded’ was a term used to imply types of television, refrigerators or stereo sets and the likes.
~When you kept getting up to check your bed sides for a phantom after watching a horror movie.
~When I believed fervently that my parents would never die.

~When journeys were begun without the process of working out the destination n path details.
~When I didn’t have to think so many times before making a mere phone call.
~When I believed that manipulative people would LOOK evil and if you keep doing right there is no way wrong would come your way.
~When patting your back was not an extension of back biting.
~When I asserted only perishable products had a shelf-life and not relationships.

~When I could just break down before my mother instead of pretending to be brave.
~When a tear itching the heart was not masked by the explanation of something itching the eye.
~When ‘logic’ was a big word that you had little to do with.
~When you could do whatever made you happy without the fear of being deemed as childish.
~When you said what you felt rather than what you felt would be preferred to be heard.

I kinda like being a grown up but I kinda hate growing up!

Missing the Kissing!

I remember preaching to you guys on the art of kissing.
If you do not...get enlightened all over again in my post “IT’S IN HIS KISS”

And I am back to KISS again...
Actually I’d prefer back to KISSING rather than to KISS or back-kissing or...er...never mind and in everyone’s sanity n better interests, let’s not discuss what “I” prefer anyways.

What’s with people now-a-days indulging in so much concentrated activity of the lips?
Ghor kalyug, I tell you!
Whooosh!
My little Seeya is growing up n it kinda bothers me.
I mean in such a scenario, you can’t have her mom being tempted by such blatant show of indulgences to deviate, can you?
Ya...I know, you know what I mean!

Yes, look around and anyone is kissing everyone or at least someone and new year’s eve is the worst time to witness such shameless outbursts of tendencies in human species much to the annoyance of those who don’t get much or enough...alrite, more than enough of it*so I am greedy...sue me!*

Gross...helloooo people, get a place for such acts that screw the happiness of lesser mortals, living with an occasional peck on the cheeks in their everyday humdrums or at least not such that take our breath away...EVERYday.
And what in God’s name is wrong with these heroines n heroes...inke ghar mein baap, bhai, ma, behen nahi hain kya?
All of them are so engrossed in lip locks that can put even the famous Raja Hindustani to shame.
Gone are the days when females squirmed watching onscreen passion in shame of those sitting around her...it is now shame of having no one to try on what you see, that is more ghastly!

And you frustrated directors-those kisses are so well focussed and zoomed in and excruciatingly prolonged that they keep us half awake half the bloody night, twisting n turning on our bed.
Who in god’s name is accountable for all that sighing that this evokes?
You are indirect contributors to global warming...bhagwan ke ghar jaake in sab ka hissab dena padega manushya.
*Okay, time for me to shut up with my lambasting before I sound frustrated*


What is with women/girls n kisses?
~We can never have enough of them*I mean I can be smooched all day n still feel it was just testing n tasting...bring on the main course*!

~With many n most of us, a good kiss is as good as the climax, of the entire act that is! If you want to go where no man has gone before, try looking for the entry on top of things instead of getting to the bottom. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach n to a woman’s is through her lips. Any woman who denies that has never been kissed the way she should be.

~We always measure a guy’s credibility in areas otherwise through his expertise in using his lips*I am even worse, I often measure the entire guy just by a look at his lips-the lips can tell it all. And please don’t ask me more on the “measure” part* A good kisser is a lambi race ka ghoda for sure n period.

~The way a man kisses also reveals how many women he has kissed...ha, gotcha! You men think unlike women you have no tell-tales...hehe...think again. Yes, it can...for free demo please contact the owner of this site especially n only if you have full protruding delicious pink lips*and extra-stressed ‘only’ if you belong to the male gender. Women only get enlightment n no demos...call me biased, but that’s how I am*

~A kiss can unlock unknown portals of the mind n if you are lucky, also of the body*why do you think women close their eyes when they kiss, eh...time to open other things else...mmmm. If she has her eyes open n watching u, she’s not ready yet*

~Most guys suck at kisses...I mean literally n otherwise.
Many feel there’s something to eat when they open their mouths and get down to it*no puns intended*
Many have such overflowing juices by the mere brush of the lips that all those juices end up flooding your mouth....isssshhhh...the feeling of getting your mouth stuck in an unset jelly bowl is very creepy...
A bad kisser is definitely a no-miss-er;-)

Okay...so let’s ask you guys...
What has been your most memorable kiss?
What’s your kissing style?
And how do you please your man/woman/both with those things god bestowed you with under your nose?

I know you are dying to know my best kiss:
Well, at the risk of being shameless and almost flaunting it here...
I remember this one time when I was pinned against the wall and the lip lock lasted for so long that I literally got out of breath and was gasping.
It left me with such swollen lips that I could almost give Angelina Jolie a run for her money-a gentle brush of the lips that started with a pull of the lower lip, went on to a tender suck at the upper lip and then the closing in on the entire mouth and the tongues taking over in a mad frenzy rush!
Aaaaaaaaand there I go again...showing to the world why this blog needs an A-certificate:-)

But OMYYYYYYYGAAAAAAWD....I need a kiss now!
So do u mind me signing off...kisse ke zindage n maut ka sawaal hain!
Happy kissing in 2011!
Muwaaaaaaaaaaah!

From my mahaan random sense of Observation n Understanding!

Here’s a collection of some random mad thoughts that have occurred to my great mind in routine observation n experience. If anyone benefits by these, the owner takes no liability for it n any resemblance to sense is purely coincidental n not intentional!

First love is the hardest to give up...
Unless you get married to him, that is!

Men mentally undress women...
Women, mentally post-mortem them!

You don’t need to throw away the knives of the kitchens...
I may be super sharp...but I don’t cut!

There are two ways of doing something...
Do it my way or let someone else do it!

I was not born with a silver spoon in my mouth...
Damn it mom, you could have at least swallowed some utensil to give me a kick start in more ways than one!

When most men are “checking” out a potential chick...
They are also “cheque-ing” her out!

All relations should come with a ‘mute’ button setting and also the Facebook’s ‘invisible mode’ when you are for too long at the receiving end!

They say ‘Dance like no one’s watching’...wtf!
Then how would we know the difference between the loo n the dance floor?

‘We live only once’...
Thank the lord for THAT!

I have yet to see a man who matches my standards...
I have now stopped seeing...Better blind than never!

Most men like to listen...
To their own voices, that is!

Try yourself...you can never be too stupid, too trusting n too dependent!
You are bound to break your own record, time and again!

Making love requires lesser effort than making money
And derives better dividends!

It takes just a little something to shift focus from “life rocks” to “life sucks” and vice versa!

There is nothing sexier than a short skirt on a hot woman...
Yeah, read it right... “nothing” is sexier than even a short skirt!

Our ancestors were monkeys...
Would that explain why we chatter so much or why we grin without reasons sometimes or why we imitate?

I don’t believe in love at first sight....
Neither in love at first night!

‘And they lived happily ever after’...but after “what”?

The most sure shot first flirt line researched and concluded is:
“You have beautiful lips”.
What a mouth-watering way to open something!

The grapes are never sour...
They just aren’t worth it...when there are bananas n oranges n a plethora of other options available!

When I was a little child, I had big dreams and many aspirations...
Now I am a bigger and I remain that child still!

A funny line a man could say to a woman in bed:
“Make effort not an excuse”
A funny retort back:
“Make love with what’s defused?”

Since my skin is as smooth as butter...
I prefer men as sharp as knives!

A lonely woman’s mail to Santa:
Dear Santa,
Please don’t be the only man
To “come” to me at Christmas...
And “give” just gifts...
And “do” only ho ho...
And get stuck “in” the chimney instead of better places!

‘Dream a little dream for me’...
Ya rite...coz I have better things to do with my night!

Never trust a secretary that says: “What’s up?”
And a boss who replies: “Get down to it!”

P.S. Sorry to all my blogger friends...haven’t been able to read your amazing blogs or comment on them...or even on my own comment box.
Winters is keeping Seeya’s health on a see-saw n me on toes. Hopefully would soon be back in action!

Blanket blah-blah!

December and the freezing cold climate has kinda frozen my imagination or rather added sparks to its multi-faceted dimensions*still in the process of deciding which phenomenon is occurring really.
Work is process...watch this space*
I seem to be looking alluringly, greedily, almost lustily at
....
.......
............
My double bed blanket!
This after the fact that I just need five hours of sleep a day to keep me the way that I am but winters stretch that susceptible to availability of leisure n pleasure.

I mean is there anything cosier to venture into than a jumbo sized, satin draped, frilly infringed, quilted warm n soothing blanket?*for accurate conclusions here please rest your double toned minds otherwise what do you think “I” could not think of cosier things;-)*

Ladies n gentlemen, boys n gals,
Let me proudly introduce you here to my very own Mr Big blanket.
If extended to its full length n breadth, it would cover the entire bed space.
It is chocolaty brown n golden beige in colour...double fibre quilted with delicate velvet flowers embroidered in blocks.
I got it in my wedding from my dear parents who thought the idea of gifting a ‘single’ huge blanket would foster quicker relations between their coy daughter n shy son-in-law...hehehoho*devilish laughter*!
Little did they know that the duo in question need to blanket up the desires instead of fanning them with such casing notions!

But after the flames have simmered and it is time to rest in peace...The poor blanket then becomes a sort of bone of contention-A little (e)state over which two countries seem to be fighting like cats n dogs, being very careful not to tear the bone into shreds.

For the first year we behaved like newly-weds are supposed to behave.
We slept in this one blanket...within grasping reach of each other or subconsciously perhaps, neither of us was willing to sacrifice the prospect of giving up on this leisure cloud to settle for ordinary mortals...er...blankets.
With the passing years though, soon at night this would inevitably lead to a tug of war.
My dear beloved has a very annoying habit of wanting something to be kept under his legs while he sojourns into the exotic land of sleep.
And when my own legs*god help the poor souls*are not available to be crushed under the towering masses...two poor pillows on either side have to bear the brunt.

Actually to think of it now...sounds like Seeya needing two cushioned bolsters on either side of her crib when she is put to sleep to prevent her from bumping or falling.
But then what is my G afraid of-falling?
Anyways, me being too afraid of his “falling into” me...I let him torture the poor pillows so that all three of them can live happily ever after till it is wakey-wakey time again.

Actually to think of it now again a second time...reminds me of this ad of some Cadbury balls where this guy assumes in a thought bubble, having a girl on one side when he puts a pillow under one leg and then turns to take a karvat on the other pillow and another laddoo “footos” in his head assuming a threesome*that’s also me assuming by the way*...
Knowing G...quite possible!

Anyways...where were we again?
Ah...the tug of war at night!
So there was this one big blanket covering two big bodies*of G n me* and two big pillows in between. Not to mention G’s legs going high up n spreading like ‘a horse about to gallop over a rod’ position through most of the night and hence me being the Bharatiya abla naari...sufficing with whatever little space he would leave me with!
Eventually I only had to give the balidan...
I settled for a normal single fibre sad looking thing given by my mom-in-law...
I tell you the things bahus have to suffer still!
N every night I would get a few minutes into Mr Big n till my beloved’s bed was warm enough*if we translate that in Hindi, it sounds so gross...so I’ll refrain in public interest* n we cuddled enough to not lead to anything further...I would sneak back to my cold side of the bed. Tch, tch!

So like I mentioned in the last post...come December, I would almost wait for G’s touring, to trespass on that big thing without being prosecuted.
I would wriggle into n pat Mr. Big then, feeling the unabashed pride of having him all to myself.
I am not exaggerating...this blanket keeps so you comfortably warm that even if you sneaked in without clothes you’d feel well wrapped.
The offer is not open to demonstration so let me burst any thought bubble that may have surfaced.

Er...what is the purpose of this post again?
1. Just introducing you to a very special part of my winter life!
2. Mentioning the prospects of a good, healthy, in the sack life thanks to a good n robust blanket.
3. Sharing with you the disadvantages of being too magnanimous in your abla naari role n hence living shivering ever after.
4. Making a general plea to do good to humanity by giving me a cuddle now...blanket na sahi, friends to hain ek warm group hug ke liye.
Time to sneak in again...before Seeya pulls me out of it or gets into it for a feel too...somethings I tell you, they just don't change!