My take on the Semi-Finals, MY way!

So how did I spend my day on 30th March, when 99% of the human beings and conceivably some species of animals also in Mother India sat glued before their idiot box and the remaining 1% were perhaps straining their bodies in Mohali stadium in Chandigarh or busy updating gyan on Twitter and Facebook, bringing to life their latent dreams of becoming cricket commentators and critics, rolled in one? Waah, such vast talent in India, lying undiscovered-not of players, of people who have so much to opine, whine and declare crime!

My god-calling India a cricket crazy nation is an understatement. And fortunately or unfortunately I am not a part of this flock that eats, drinks, sleeps cricket when normally you are just expected to watch it and move on. But na ji na...our nazuk naak and the rest of the body and some people’s zindagi bhar ki kamai depends on this one sport, which at the end of the day is just a sport.

The day India beat Australia to reach to the semi-finals was another ordinary day for a boring housewife like me. At 10.30 p.m. I take my beloved daughter for her one hour ritual of beckoning Goddess Sleep. Suddenly the thunderous sounds of crackers broke the serenity of an otherwise solemn night. And in the middle of March, when Diwali was months behind or is months ahead, I knew it had to be one and only cricket responsible for blackening the skies a little more.

12 midnight and Seeya slowly succumbs to the lure of Madam Sleep and I log in on Facebook to catch up with all that I missed during the day yes, facebook times are now either on the shit pot at dawn or after darkness falls...sigh! And do I get a thorough summary of almost ball by ball account on my friends' statuses! Innovation was at peak as hitherto lesser mortals, as far as writing catchy statuses are concerned, were churning out one smart ass after another talking of statuses still of course. My poor fingers and thumb were tired of “liking” them all yes, I was almost thinking of what body parts to use now to express my deep admiration that must be expressed. Men and women were walking shoulder to shoulder, without any gender bias in making Facebook seem like the blue-book. And I was also enlightened on the fact that 30^th March would hereby be a war by any proportions.  

Cut to THE day: Now my beloved, who is not a cricket fanatic, so far as other normal citizens like my brother are concerned (read his status-Office Holiday: CHECK, Wife Out Of Room: CHECK, Cheerleaders: DOUBLE CHECK, Chilled Beers: CHECK, Pizzas: CHECK, 2nd Innings @ Felix: CHECK, India f@#$in Pak: CHECK.. All CHECKED, now BRING IT ON) was suddenly behaving weird nopes, we don’t need to call a doctor. He overnight became a cricket enthusiast-finally I guess, the nation calls you on duty and stirs dormant patriotic streaks in all individuals at the time of crisis-whoaaa...what crap am I talking! Anyways, he got up in the morning and ordered a 32 inches LED television set that my mother-in-law had been pestering him to get from months. Grrrr- I don’t know what made me grumpier: the fact that he suddenly and without seeking my super valuable advice, had turned into an extremist that I would not have approved/ advocated or the fact that my pesterings are never as effective as hers squinting the eyes and raising one eyebrow in the unbelievable typical fashion of the saas-bahu serials that she watches all day and I have to bear them when passing by.

Putting Seeya to sleep, for her one-hour siesta in the noon, I turn again to Facebook for some solace and it was like any other news channel, where the masses were giving free and unsolicited but so-thought expert advice, right from the toss to the boss. Some gifted individuals were updating statuses within every few minutes, making me wonder if they were more diligently cricketing or facebooking! I saw Sachin being compared to God and comments about him having many lives. Now, had I been Anjali Tendulkar, I would have been seriously worried, but as I am not sigh multiplied by 1000, I let it pass. Here I am unable to manage my own ONE life; I expressed mute sympathies and log out.

I woke Seeya up. Got her dressed and took her out on the pram for our customary one hour walk in the lush green HBTI College campus, where she says ‘Hi!’ and ‘bye!’ to every bhaiyyas and didis passing by and even raises her cheeselings that I put on the board before her saying “aa-aa” to them I give them a half apologetic and half explanative look that says I know you guys are not cows as we beckon cows in this way but she’s just a kid, forgive her. She thinks it is her moral duty to feed cheeseslings to everyone tumbling down the road from cows to watchmen to students, as though we live in Somalia and the poor souls would succumb and perish without the generosity shown from her end.

Anyways, much to our shock, the campus was deserted today. I make her pass her time by pointing to cars/motor bikes/cycles and walkers passing by but today the road was as empty as my hot chocolate fudge cup after I lick clean every bit of it, when I don’t have sophisticated company. So much inflation, I can at least make my contribution by saving on the washing powder, that would be expended on uncontaminating that cup. See, a little speck of thoughtfulness and we can save our planet.

Anyways, coming back again, there were very poor visibility of human specimens- actually there were a couple of couples in the gardens, making good use of the fact that nobody 'known' would bump into them today. That’s what we call ‘Incredible India’-we know the ways and means. But I couldn’t point to them now, could I? And neither could I tell her look at that bhaiyya and didi for they weren’t so for each other, na?

A handful of motor cycles passed by with youngish looking boys that made me raise my eyebrows now not for what you think silly. I was wondering that something must be wrong with these kids maybe they were retarded/ had violent family backgrounds/ unhappy childhood/ inferiority complex and the likes for how else would they manage to un-cling to their homes and the television sets. And before you blame me saying ulta chor kotwal ko daante, aise mein nahi, normal perceptions hain. I know I would be heavily lambasted after this post, you wait and watch for being an outsider or even gaddar for writing anything not pro-cricket, especially with an Indo-Pak match at hand I can already hear “How could you?” and see accusing fingers pointing at me.

As soon as we reached the entrance gate of the boys hostel, to cross it on our sojourn, we were shaken out of our wits by the loudest of cheers from inside. Sigh! If only it was to welcome my presence, I would not have minded the rude interruption of my sweet reverie, but for a match...ah! To top it, I received a message: Today is National Women’s day! A lot of mothers and sisters would be remembered from 2. 30 pm onwards. Ah...eeeenough...time to head back.

It is 7 pm and G has just returned home early today- not because he thought of babysitting Seeya one evening out of the two months since the maid’s untimely departure no, she’s not dead so save the condolence letters for me or not because he thought of taking a long walk in the nice weather with his daughter’s mother. But because the new television set was coming and he wanted to watch the match in peace. “Baby, will you please take Seeya and sit in the other room till the match gets over?”

Huh? What? Whoa?

And the rest like they say is history.

P.S. My woes list refuses to peter out:

1. I was left wondering through the day if stingy mobile service companies had cruelly  connived to cancel the blessed free SMS packs today akin on festivals, etc and for every vella forward that I forwarded in vellapanti, I was being charged double so that they could sponsor more such dumb matches.

2. I have had a tough time explaining Holi and Diwali to little Seeya. Now why in God’s name and all that is holy and pure, was a mini Diwali being celebrated this night when the country’s complaining of lack of funds...it would take more than all my blogging skills to explain and more than all her comprehending skills to grasp.

3. Over excited husbands after such victories evoke over-doubled efforts from already over-fuming and neglected wives to calm them down for more things than one :(

All said and done...we won...and happy cricketing anyways! :) 

Romance at Short Notice!

Nilanjana stepped into the silent edifice of the house.

She felt as if she had to. The maddening clamour of all the people outside was irrevocably dampening her spirits. She had not been excited about this ‘family trip’ as it is, whereby every nook and corner of the big joint family of her in-laws was hunted and pestered with the proposal for a get-away and the most obnoxious ones it seemed were hand-picked to be taken to Shimla for so-called family bonding. But just two years of free matrimonial inclusion into the most illustrated gas stove making business houses of Delhi and she knew better than to object. Sometimes obliging others becomes a way we oblige ourselves.

Nilu set one foot inside the manor and she felt she had meandered into a different earth altogether- a quieter, solemner, life springing in the inanimate earth and all the jarring sounds relegated to the distant backdrop. Her sister-in-law could not feign to really hide her subtle contempt when Nilu had asked her to accompany her within. “Oh dear, little Nilu! What will you see in a god-forsaken house that some haughty Britisher made a hundred years ago? I knew that stupid guide was no good. If it were not for this beautiful garden and flooding last rays of sunlight here, I would have asked papa to sack him for bringing us all so high up on this mountain for a picnic. Stay here baby, we are about to start an antakshari of all the men versus the women.”

Phew! This almost a Semi-Hum Apke Hain Kaun types ‘reality’ show proceeding from the last three days was taking its toll on Nilu and she moved in by herself into the uninhabited house. Who would discern anyways if one was missing in a crowd of 34? Not her husband for sure, as Anshul was diligently conniving his custom made cocktails for all the guffawing jeejas and chachas, bubbling more with pride on each loud request and pat on his back, than the soda fizzing within the glasses. And the true bloodied Punjabis that they were, he would be busy throughout the evening handling bottles and stirrers instead of her thoroughly bored emotions.

The house though not very exciting from the exterior, was exquisite and pristine from inside to say the least. The furniture was Victorian and vantage with rare, intricate carving and in antique teak. The walls were adorned with antique plates and life like portraits of savvy ladies in dainty hats and stern looking men in uniforms and badges casing the better part of their chests. Some beautiful artefacts, artillery and sculptures were sprayed here and there standing out against the mute pastel milieu. It spoke volumes even in the minimalistic that was there. It seemed she was sauntering through an early twentieth century adobe in London. Spellbound, she moved into the central courtyard that had just a glass ceiling and multi coloured stone flooring so that sunlight played most impishly in her sphere of influence dancing among the ivy leaves that it swathed. It felt like an ethereal world existing within a not so real one either.

But just then she heard a thud of the door behind that startled her. She turned around to find that two nosey children of the jing bang outside had followed her into the house. Nilu decided to walk out in case more kids attempt to come in too and spoil any of the unscathed beauty that emanated in the bleak isolated interiors. She shhhh-ed the kids and told them to walk out saying it was not the place for children to be in and they giggled and disappeared behind one of the curtains. Also sad at the rude interruption of her aesthetically satisfying experience, Nilu took a deep sigh and turned her steps to go back to the on-going circus outside.

Just then something shone from inside the open doors of one of the rooms, almost like a ball radiating colourful rainbow rays and despite herself, Nilu found her feet moving towards the source of that almost magical illumination.

She hesitatingly drew aside the floral print ornate curtain that fluttered in the cold breeze of the open windows, even as she drew her coat more tightly around her own petite frame. It was a room full of books and unfinished caricatures and portraits spread on easels and on a large sofa. The source of that light was an exquisite paper weight of crystal kept on a bureau, with colour sprayed within that reflected the sinking sun’s light like the most glorious spectrum.

She palmed it gently and almost dropped it in the next second when she was startled again by a voice from behind her.

“It has a sense of magical attraction, doesn’t it?”

She gathered herself and the “magical” paper weight, putting it back to where it lay and turned around to see a tall man in his early thirties perhaps and dressed sprucely in casual jeans and black shirt. He was an Indian but had almost blondish hair with a flick falling over his impeccably white complexion that made her rethink if he really was a Britisher, who might have walked right out of one of those paintings after a costume change and make-over.

For the next few seconds none of them spoke and incessantly viewed each other as an awkward silence crammed the room.

(To be continued...)

Midnight and Cinderella must run away!

Dear You,

If I just caress a little more of your strong hand intertwined in mine

I would probably walk miles without a panting.

A little more of you viewing me like you did which seemed to the world as though you were devouring the ethereal,

And I would not espy the scratching and scathing edges poking out of the tricky path as we continue to tread.

If I just sense a little more of the comfort that your broad shoulders assure of,

I would allow life to prolong its excruciating task of making my head dizzy with all the bafflements of fate it strikes me with.

Just dab a tear gently now and I promise not to let any vestige of it appear again.

Let me feel the proximity of your willing ears brushing against my trembling lips, while I exude the whines and moans and mumble all the wrongs meted out to me, I would perhaps press them shut to let them spread into infinite smiles.

If I could experience your hot breath against my skin, inhaling the whiff that you could never get enough of, I would perhaps stop sniffing out for more.

And hear your penetrating, silken voice, talking out the furrows and soothing me out of any quandary like a sweet lullaby,

I would perhaps again be able to create music out of living and not just being!

If only what we have got, was always enough and ‘a little more’ was just a harebrained, greedy, presumptuous demand,

If love would not fade and fading would not seem so painfully unreal.

Senses could be sensed and feelings really felt!

We could love like we did and we would live like never before.

If sympathise would swap positions with empathise,

May be we could breathe life into the hollow ‘happily ever after’

And not be a part of the thronging crowd wherein one wanders with a meaningless token and empty search in vain,

Maybe there would be no midnight for Cinderella to run away!

Yours,

Me.

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.