Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Sibling mail order

Dear SRjr,

“How are your studies going on??????” Ok, if I start a mail which begins like this you will surely claim me to be the most God-awful, boring sister you could find on earth. Ok then, so let me start by asking “Found a girlfriend yet????” Well, that makes me predictable and such a prying nosy parker! If I ask about your health you might think I'm nuts because no one apart from me knows how exactly exams can abet deterioration of one's health. The next option for me is to start off the conversation with something shocking by telling you “KEVIN JONAS IS GETTING MARRIED TODAY!” and you'd reply by saying “Urghhhh, psycho teenage sisters and their obsession for cute boy bands” rolling your eyes in mock disgust and exasperation in spite of the fact that you don’t mind them and love their songs too and well you’re as shocked as I am but you will want to be all manly in the gangly, unsure way most teenage boys are and say something cliché like "Do I look like someone who cares????" Then in an attempt to redeem yourself in my eyes and sound more humane you’d mumble a “Good for him”.

If I try for off hand-casual and start with “So how’s school????” You'd grunt and shrug and then with a little more prodding on my part {I was always great at wheedling stuff out of people} you'd start grousing about all those crazy kids in class and give me the details on who did what and update me on school scandals. And I am supposedly the older sister.

If I ask you about sports day in school you'd whine {such a typical Virgo} about how cold it is {which is only expected since your doing march past in the middle of a desert country in the middle of winter} and how unnecessary the whole charade was but you had to put up a face and bear with {instead of bunking it like I had done for as long as I could remember} it since mom and dad were the parents this year who were invited in the guests of honour category to distribute prizes at the event even though you'd be bubbling with inexplicable pride and joy inside of you. {I am too. Though I’d very well like to ask the principal why she chose to bestow this honour after I passed out.} If I ask “How are mom, dad and gran?” you’d start off on how they nag you to study and how you had the upper hand when the marks finally came because it proved you do study and do it well too. Maybe if you are in a good mood you'd pitch in about how you outsmarted all those smart alecks from the IGCSE section twice your size, weight, age and height when playing basketball with a lot of repetition of the words basket, dribbling, travelling and something else that sounded as foreign as Greek and I’d smile inwardly thinking 'my lil’ macho man!'

Then you'd ask me if I had my violin class which 90 out of 100 times I wouldn’t have had because you know how busy with concerts my tutor is and how he has a forgettory for a memory. Then you'd tell me about stuff that you learnt in your music class, about the new tunes you can play on the guitar and the drums. I’d say something like “lucky you” to hide the slow emergence of envy inside me and then lord on you the tunes you should learn to play and the sites you should go to because if Bev can do it on her own and {Bev is such a musical whiz without lessons} then so can you. You'd say something along the lines of ‘Shut up and mind your own business’ in a more respectful way acceptable to me and grunt a reply that’s neither affirmation nor denial since most tunes I want you to learn would be a JB song.

If we are speaking around mealtime then we'd ask each other what exactly we are going to have for lunch or dinner. You’d name something exotic and even before I can reply about the meal at my end you'd pitch in about what I am having and be right 99.9% with the answer of rice, Sāmbhar or chapatti and some veggie dish and smile smugly {How I hate that!}.

Then you would tell me about how you downloaded all those movies I’ve been dying to watch and the songs I’ve been dying to hear although I can watch and listen to all of those only when I come down tothe UAE next March and you know how much it irritates me that you can and I can’t. But it’s like a cat bringing a dead rat to its owner. “Look I had fun doing it but it’s all for you”. Even though it repels the owner they adore the gesture of love. Nothing I typed here implies to you being a cat and me your owner. {I’d like to though, but no thanks. You’d scratch the hell out of me}

You call up on Raksha Bandhan and bemoan the fact of how you are not earning, you’re dependent on mom and dad and so can’t gift me a thing and I’d say that’s totally fine and send you the Rakhi through our cousin who’s here for a visit only to receive a courier package with the book “THE HOST” that I have been dying to read.
It’s only been 2 and a half years since I got myself a phone and its been doing pretty well until last month when it became terminally ill and start dying bit by bit. First the screen blacked out and then I couldn’t hear a thing: blindness and deafness. Sigh…… I was mourning the slow death of my loyal cell and you were jumping for joy. You buggered mom and dad into getting me some hi-fi phone with touch screen, Wi-Fi and god knows what by letting slip things like “She needs a phone quick. How else will she keep in touch with us??? Alone out there…… and it needs to be good to look at. She’s a college going kid, isn’t she???? And her birthday’s in 2 weeks and you can’t make it to be with her this time and she most probably won’t get any gifts from family.” As a result I have a splendid phone now: the envy of all around me. One, I treat with as much care as I would a work of abstract art {I don’t really understand abstract art}.

We fight over juvenile things like the remote control and escalate it into something serious and end up brutally beating up the other {scratching, punching in the stomach, banging the other on the wall etc are included}. Our respectful form of love lasts only through the first week of my visit. No one incites mad rage and violence in me like you do. If you tell my friends in college about how violent I can be they would take you to meet the counselor.

You keep grumbling about how mature I am in all other aspects except when it comes to the JB and how I start acting ridiculous like a giggly schoolgirl but you will still record their show for me since I can’t watch it here. You coerce dad into getting me their latest CD before it releases here in India so I can gloat about it and make Bev go green with envy. You’ll complain about how I totally forget you when I meet up with my friends and hate the fact that mom and dad send you along with us incase we have plans to hang out in the mall till late in the night. Still you’ll talk to them and gang up with them to pull my leg {it’s appallingly the same length still, though dad would have been happy had I grown a few inches taller}.

Still when we are making our way out of the mall you will shepherd me and my friends and shoot dirty looks at any male species daring to look our way. And then when you hold my hand involuntarily like a reflex action and keep falling onto me in the course of walking and keep doing so until you have achieved the desirable proximity that assures you I am not going to gather my skirts up and run away somehow you’re once again the little chubby, curly haired toddler who’d hold my hands and look up at me with eyes full of trust that said “my big sister bestest”.

I still remember the time when you were in kindergarten and I was a first grader and after school while we were waiting for dad to come pick us up I was making most of my left over breakfast when the school bully decided to push me over and drop my food. You went and shook the guy, your little hands hardly catching hold of more than his blazer. Later, I also remember standing at the supervisor’s office, the bully being yelled at and me administering a cold, wet handkerchief to your fair soft cheek red with the imprint of that idiot’s hand, all the while emphatically shrieking out to the supervisor about how " he slapped my little brother!”
I also remember coming home once and fuming away to glory, venting out a 7 year old kid’s frustration at mom {which mostly included tears and crying and gritted teeth} because "that lady” {your class teacher} asked me not to visit you at break time because after I left you’d be sad and want to come with me. My anger was justified, I guess because who are teachers to decide when brothers and sisters meet??????

You always get me gifts. For birthdays, great results, some achievement or the other. But just remember {and revel in the fact since I don’t give you a single thing in return} that you are my most cherished gift. Thank God mom and dad had a baby boy…… Thank God he gave me a little brother who is almost a foot taller than I am.

This is exactly why I don’t call you up because I know what our conversation is going to be like. So why waste time and money?

And before I forget I just came to know about how you messed up your French paper….Such a careless boy…..Call me up, we have to revise the grammar rules again….. God! How many times do I repeat the same things before you understand how to go about it?? Do you know  that your mule headedness drives me over the wall? Well, just call up ok…….. Or do I have to do that too now????

Well, at least sending a mail to you has its perks. I can post it on the blog.

Yours the eternal bossy big sister {who Loves........ to boss You around}


Wednesday, December 9, 2009


“LSD’S are also known as designer drugs and are used mostly….”

“I wonder if the designers are as famous as Gucci and Versace….” quipped my friend Yo and we giggled.

“Oh man! Look at hash! It looks like a slab of chocolate” declared a classmate.

“She knew it was hashish even before the name was projected on the slide!” I whispered to Yo as discreetly as was possible with only a few inches of distance between the said classmate and us.

“You know hash is slang for hashish huh?” questioned Yo, one slim eyebrow raised in amusement. We sniggered once again.

“It’s easy to recognize symptoms of addiction among your peers. Youngsters might suddenly decide to wear long sleeved outfits to hide needle marks…..”

“Hey! Haven’t you taken to wearing long sleeved outfits Falak? C’mon show me the marks…..” ribbed Yo

“I can and I will. The only problem is that the marks are sunburns and not needle punctures so sorry to burst your bubble”

“……other symptoms include wearing sunglasses to hide bloodshot eyes, frequent visits to restrooms, mood swings and extreme emotions……”

“Falak! Ha! You’ve started wearing sun glasses too….” accused Yo”

“I won’t from tomorrow….. Just get me some under eye cream to protect me from damage due to UV rays...”

“Ok!” conceded Yo “But the mood swings symptom is sooooo you!”

“Fine I wont be moody but just don’t ask ‘why aren’t you writing anything’ or ‘why haven’t you posted anything’.” I concluded with a smug smile because I knew she just couldn’t attribute the last symptom left to me.

“Ah, well the restroom visiting is way out of your league…… You only use the college restroom if you have been downing like gallons of water since morning.”

“Yeah, I guess people use pigsties to relieve themselves only when the other options are 1) embarrass oneself and 2) embarrass oneself.”

“Yeah, whatever but you’re our ‘addict’ ok?” proclaimed Yo and I replied with a nonchalant grunt and didn’t bother to retaliate with a witticism since I had been called worse in jest. I was secretly making diabolic plans of how to pay her back when the opportunity came.

The lights in the audio visual center were dimmed so that we could watch the slide show on drug abuse…. Dimmed light also translates to private discussions during lectures .

“Cocaine is considered to be a recreational drug that heightens sensitivity to stimuli and has no side effects. Famous personalities like Freud and Rimbaud were known to use it. Even Sherlock Holmes was portrayed as someone who used cocaine since it was believed to accelerate cognitive performance and enhance creativity….”

“So addict, what do you freak out on?” this question was accompanied by a painful nudge to my ribs and I mumbled “Cocaine my dear, cocaine.”

“Why cocaine?” queried Yo. “Didn’t you see? All smart people use cocaine” I managed to say while trying to soothe my sore ribs and pay attention to the presentation all at once.

“Oh wait! Is it because Rimbaud is a poet and you write too???” Well, if that was the case” I replied “then FYI Rimbaud was also gay so you might want to jump a few seats away from me?”

We burst into giggles at our own ridiculous joke and managed to stay awake through a boring 8 o’clock lecture early in the morning

“Oh man! Why do they want to teach us about drugs? Like we don’t know already!” commented a guy to our right with his perpetual hey-I –really-am-so-smart-to-be-bothered-about -what anyone- else-has-to- say look on his face to which his friend replied “It sounds more like they are informing us about what drug to use and how to use it. I am so sleepy!”

“Let me guess…” I said feigning an expression of profound thought on my face and whispered to Yo “Is it the lecture on drugs that is making her sleepy or taking the same drugs before the lecture?”

Smothering a fresh string of giggles we resumed listening to our foundation course lecture on drug abuse and other social problems since the lights had been turned on.

“I wonder why people would want to do that to themselves!” exclaimed a girl in the row in front of us when a gory picture of an addict inserting a needle into his arm was shown.”

“I know!” said I corroborating the statement. “Can’t they understand that the stupid ‘high’ that they keep looking for is going to kill them and totally destroy them?”

“Maybe this ‘high’ is so great and drugs are the only means to experience it so then they forget all else.” Yo contributed.

“I wonder what feeling or emotion could be so great that you'd want to sell your soul to the devil knowing that it’s the point of no return during the take off towards your own destruction.

“I wonder……” was all my friend replied and that was the feeling we left with when we walked out of our FC lecture that day.

A number of rich, well to do kids in my class are established drug abusers. Their rave parties and well, parties in general are not news to us. They don’t peddle drugs or force it upon others. They just get sucked deeper and deeper into the quagmire of addiction and before they realize it it’s too late. They think it’s fashionable and that it’s acceptable. Most start doing drugs because they feel stressed or ‘strung up’ about their life in general. Well if tension is the reason that people do drugs then like my friend Yo says I should have been an addict years ago. I am one of those people who love worrying about everything and nothing in general and hold myself responsible for everything. {BTW I am responsible for everything that happens to me and oh I am not a junkie he he}.

That evening when I went for my violin class my music teacher finally taught me to hold the violin between my shoulder and chin and pluck it with my fingers. I played a couple of exercises and he praised me saying I had practiced and it shows. I was over the moon since learning to play the violin in it self is an achievement for me so being told that I was doing it well enough was a bonus. I was really happy. I think I went a little loony and was singing quite audibly in the rickshaw on my way back home. Come to think of it I think the rick driver reached me home in record time because he thought I was demented.

I practiced my violin lessons with more gusto than usual and felt like I was floating mid air for the next few hours and then the good feeling died.

I then logged on to this very blog and saw sweet comments from total strangers and again that wonderful feeling that set me free from within got hold of my system and I was deliriously happy for some more time. The buzz crashed in 20 minutes and then I was back to normal.

My baby cousin woke up and I went to play with her. She rewarded me with a wide toothless grin. My heart and head grew wings and flew to some remote paradise at the sight of her merry face. Later when I was listening to my favorite songs after eons, again that weird sensation grabbed me from within.

At night I was speaking to my mother on the phone and her voice laced with concern, irritation {because I didn’t call her for two days} and tiredness after a hectic day at work suddenly sent a warm feeling trickling all over my body: like someone had switched a heater on somewhere in the region of my heart. I smiled to myself.

It was 11:30 in the night and I had to go and sleep. It was quite cold and I was snug and warm in my bed wrapped up in a cozy blanket and suddenly realization hit me hard like a cricket ball hits a window pane and I searched frantically for my cell phone in the darkness. On finding it I clicked away a message to Yo that said:

u dnt need drugs 2 feel high. U need luv a sense of being belongin and achvmnt. D feelin tht u get due 2 dese emotions is a high. music in gnrl helps. For me the strings of d violin trigrd it. I was high bcoz of strings. High-strung hahahahahah. Gn Luv Falak

I only wish I could pass on the same message to those classmates of mine.

Yours addicted to little joys in life


Sunday, November 8, 2009

Right Angle

There is a baby in the house…… She is adorable.

The second she arrived the timetables of all the inmates in the house have changed drastically. Most of them sleep when she is asleep so that they can play with her when she is up and about. Moreover when she is awake she cries: so there is not even a sliver of a possibility of sleep then.
 We have adopted a new language that involves blabbering downright gibberish.
Old uncles thought to be grave and stern have tossed the tough exterior façade into the bin that came their way first and have taken to baby talk like a fish to water. We sound more like rattles that resemble men and women.

I have become the human version of a bike that goes vrooooooooooom when she wails. She likes it. We plan to ride to countries on entirely separate continents on a bike: just the two of us. I wonder where the money for petrol is going to come from.
I can give all the spies a run for their money because I have mastered the art of tip toeing round the house in the middle of the afternoon and also the gift of opening creaky old steel dressers oiled some two decades ago without eliciting even a squeak from it{three cheers for me!!!}.

The house looks like a live advertisement for baby clothes. We have learnt to watch the television with the volume somewhere in the neighbourhood of mute for the fear of waking up the bawling siren. She sleeps, she eats, and she sleeps more and eats more.
 She yells and we all scurry to attend to her whims and fancies. She expects us to understand whatever it is that she requires by just keenly listening to the change of tone in her high pitched wailing.
I guess we have great sense of pitch because somehow we do the right things and appease the little lady. She throws a tantrum as often as a fisherman throws his net. She loves staying up late in the night and keeping us awake. She hates being fed when she wants to sleep and vice versa and I am sure she thinks of us to be imbeciles because we are too slow to recognize the call for a nappy change.

It’s only been three days since she’s come home and we are already dancing to her tunes with the practised air of a ballerina to Mozart’s symphony.
Everyone has accepted her presence in their respective lives without giving a thought to the matter. It is as if her being there was just one of those many things that are meant to be.   You either adjust to the fact or you keep your complaint to yourself.
We have put on these pair of spectacles through which we view life with her in the picture.

It’s weird then that the same people find it difficult to accept a teenager into their lives without hesitation. Well…. There isn’t a lot of difference is there?
Teenagers speak a different language…. Maybe you could take the effort to understand. You might even end up liking it. Instead of baby clothes they strew their clothes around the house. They like the volume turned down when they are burning the midnight oil for an exam the next day. They eat and sleep a little more than you do and that’s because of hormones…. They are children who are still growing up……. It isn’t difficult to understand what their mood is or what is bothering them. Just pay attention to their grunts, nods and monosyllabic answers: there is a perceivable change in its quality with a change in mood. Babies wail and throw tantrums as a part of growing up. Teenagers throw tantrums and brood and are crabby as a part of growing up. They hate it when you tell them to study when they want to have fun and have fun when they want to work. Babies like deafening rattles teens like music, preferably loud. Teens too like staying up late in the night. Best part is they don’t expect you to keep them company.

They get snappy at you mostly because most of us never understand that behind the ‘I-am-big-enough-to-take-care-of-myself’ pretence all they want is a hug and the reassurance that ‘I’ll be there for you’. They feel lost because the same set of adults understood them and their various needs just a few years back The fact that they don’t anymore is unnerving to a child no longer a kid but not yet an adult.

Maybe teenagers aren’t all that difficult …. After all they are just a bunch of babies trapped in almost adult bodies who really don’t know what’s happening to them whether they are 13 or 19.

Perhaps it will help if we slightly alter the angle of the glasses we wear, to accommodate them somewhere in the picture.
 Maybe then there won’t be questions or any hesitance to accept. Maybe……….

Yours vrooming away to glory,


Monday, October 12, 2009

A Thousand Times Over

Sometimes I wonder why I do what I do. It just makes my life comparatively more convoluted than that of those around me.

My friends are busy planning a lunch for tomorrow while I am busy planning my ten day whirlwind visit home, to UAE. Their hands are busy flipping through menu cards whereas I am busy checking my ticket and passport.

They are asleep in their comfortable beds anticipating the start of the sudden holidays whereas I am turning and tossing around in bed mentally reviewing to- pack and to -do lists.

The next day as I glare cheekily at the immigration officer who has decided to take his own sweet time to stamp my passport I wonder if he is actually memorizing my details or something.

That done, waiting in the lounge in front of the boarding gate for two hours does nothing to soothe my back which is on the verge of going on strike against the grave injustice I am meting out to it. Can't blame my spine and seats of learning… I subjected them to the torture of staying still and ramrod straight for four fifty minute lectures earlier in the morning. Poor them…. And then my arms that last exercised when I went swimming four months ago, cry out in agony when I haul my suitcase around. As I make my way to the plane, 'goodbye and happy holidays' SMSes that flood my cell phone confirm my hunch about my friends being busy watching movies back to back or doing something a million times better than ending up with co-passengers who snore.

An hour later, when the lady sitting next to me manages to stop snoring and, I manage to pay the courtesy visit to my long lost friend sleep the steward decides on an impulse to stomp his way from one end of the aisle to the other. Nice… he scared my reticent and shy friend away. It is 10 in the night and the plane is an hour late. Nora Roberts does nothing to ease the cramps in my legs which are the result of sitting in an auto rickshaw with one leg over a suitcase for an hour and 15 minutes to reach the airport.

My stomach is grunting and emitting low rumbles that reminds me of a growling dog with its hackles raised. I think the last time some food soothed my innards was at 2:30 in the afternoon. How I wish the plane would take off and the crew would serve me some chow. It is now exactly 12  in the night and the air traffic control finally decides to be gracious and permits us to fly high.

Finally, after 4 torturous hours the plane decides to land itself at the Sharjah Airport thudding all through the runway and then some more. No jolt or thud ever made me so happy. If my back had hands the clapping and cheering would resemble the crowd at a FIFA final because I could finally stand straight, after more or less 8 and a half hours of remaining seated.

As I wait at the luggage carousel, mentally counting the appearance of a particular suitcase for the 10th time in a row I wonder why am I doing this, when I can manage to be snug in my lumpy bed in Bombay and wake up late the next day looking forward to an outing with my friends. I finally spot my bag after a wait of almost 20 minutes and stop short of whooping in glee. I just realized that standing doesn’t agree with me either. I push the trolley with my bags outside the airport almost breaking into a sprint, all I can dream of is going home ASAP and crashing into my cozy bed. HELLO UAE. Imagination becomes reality.

Next day I wake up groggy and ravaged with jet lag. Once again I dwell on the sensibility of my decision to not study in the UAE where my family is and moving back to India to pursue my higher education. Compared to this hassle of travelling every 6 months and the whole rigmarole of packing and having to keep adjusting to my surroundings and two totally different lifestyles the former would have been a better choice. Add to that the miserable feeling of not exactly belonging to any of the two places in particular, I feel like I am stuck in a limbo. As I wallow in self-pity and depressing thoughts of this variety early in the morning, the phone rings. I pick it up and hear my little cousin's chirpy voice.

“When did you reach?” She squeals, "Early this morning honey" I reply

“I am dying to meet you! I wanted to be there to receive you  at the airport but I had tuitions this morning. I am so glad you're here, I missed you!!!" says she.

At that particular moment, it became as clear as crystal to me why exactly I have been doing this whole travel gig since the last two years despite the aches and pains that come with it. And especially after spending the last 2 hours writing about how obnoxious travelling back and forth is.

I have, and I would travel to any remote corner of the world a thousand times over just to hear a loved one tell me that.

Yours recuperating from jet lag


Thursday, October 1, 2009

Sisterhood of strawberries and chocolate

I resemble a sleep deprived zombie. Okay! That doesn’t make sense because zombies are dead so they don’t need to sleep… Simply show’s how much sleep deficiency I suffer from….I can’t expect anything better from any other human being woken up at 4:30 in the morning to be told about having a new baby cousin.

Girl or boy? I mumbled, my eyes closed, still heavy with sleep.`

“Baby girl” came the reply. “ Hooray!” I muttered with enthusiasm that was supposed to resemble India winning the cricket world cup but it sounded like I was snorting in my sleep…..I sank back into the world of slumber.

That night I met my new baby cousin for the first time and fell in love with her…. I am forever falling in love with babies… nothing new or novel about the same. And when they all cross the age of 3 they turn out to be brats and break my heart….. I am like women in an abusive relationship. I still can’t let go of my sweethearts….

She was tiny, wrapped tight with a cute bonnet on her tiny little head, not serving its purpose at all since I could see her thatch of dark black hair peep out as if playing peek a boo. Eyes scrunched shut, unaware of the racket spewing around her she lay motionless and serene looking like an award winning photograph.
 I was lost in thought wondering in bewilderment about her smallness. I actually guffawed loudly when an uncle of mine held her with as much trepidation and care as Horton{!%7Dwhen he held the speck . Him a 6 foot 80 something kilogram giant and her, a 3 kilogram mite. I am sure I chuckled loudly because I was rewarded with weird looks from my relatives who were until then busy clucking around the baby like nutty mother hens….. I felt like a dartboard…

She was so small. I wish small had a synonym that clubbed petite and cute and cuddly in it… I need such an adjective to justly describe her. I was petrified to hold her when I was asked if I’d like to by my aunt. And I didn’t in fact for the fear of breaking her or dropping her prevailed over my maternal instincts.
But imagining the so called tiny baby in the now deflated stomach of my aunt made my petite doll remind me of an Alsatian in a terrier’s kennel.

I am the older sister to 7 children including this fledgling, 6 of who are cousins. I’ve been privileged enough to see them all as soon as they were born, but I’ve never ceased to be amazed by how an actual live person can be so small, so petite, so perfect, so tiny, so dark……

Dark?????? My blissful line of thought was broken by the superfluous ravings of my family around me.

“Yes, she’s dark!” piped in a grandaunt

“Yeah, like her dad” chipped in another

“Some kids gain colour after a few days.. yeah she’ll turn out pretty and fair as she grows up.”

“ Oh! Yes! They grow to resemble the other parent, so maybe her mom’s traits will surface in time to come.” Grunted a granduncle with the air of a genetics expert.

The new mother looked apologetically at these people as if the baby and she had committed some crime. They made my doll sound like a blurred photograph.

My mind reeled into flashback

13 years back

“Mommy, why am I not as fair as you?” Does that mean I am not pretty? Does that mean I’m not yours?”
That was a five year old child’s predicament to a mother who didn’t know how to let her baby know that she was beautiful and meant the world.

5 years from then

“What is blushing? I read it in this book”

“That is when some one feels shy and the blood rushes to their cheeks making it go pink or red”
“Do I blush?”
“ No! honey with your skin tone it’s not possible or maybe its not visible. You can observe your brother if you want to. He is fair.”

2 years from then

“You, young woman are so different from everyone in the family… Your head’s always buried in a book or you’re in your own world… Apt to be called the black sheep, you are! {laughing in the background}

Back to the present 2009

Dear baby,

You don’t even have a name yet but they have already tagged you with a label.

I can’t say this out loud to you because, well you can’t understand{ the same stands for the rubbish these people are blathering and thank god for that}. But I hope that these thoughts flow from my heart to yours.

You’re not fair like mommy because you look like daddy and he loves you a lot. He’s darn good looking too, that’s why mom fell for him.

You’re every bit your mom’s. Basic genetics states you receive one of your parents’ skin tones. Daddy rules in that department.

You’re the prettiest thing I’ve set my eyes on in the last 18 years.

You’re gorgeous as hell, heaven too. Boys will queue for you…. It’s only obvious since Naomi Campbell, Bipasha Basu{a famous dusky indian supermodel and actress} Rihanna and Beyonce are so much in demand.

Of course you blush! Just like any other human. And when you do you are like creamy coffee with saffron sprinkled over it.

Anyone wanting to apply a fairness cream on you later in life can go take a hike. We are not interested in contributing to the ever increasing sales of fairness cosmetics industry in the nation of India.

Majority of the CEO’S, Oscar winning actors, statesmen, and writers have been the odd ones out in their families…. The black sheep… hahahahaha

Americans and Europeans run the risk of sunburns to achieve your skin tone. Young girls who resemble milk chocolate bronze themselves because bronze is sexy! You’re less prone to sunburns and skin cancer. Last time I read the traditional religious stories{and I believe I am well versed in them] lord Krishna was dark and he had around 16,000 wives and still waiting I think. Draupadi
{ }
was queen to five handsome kings!!!! She was dusky too…….

You’re siblings if and when they come might be fair…… So what?????? They might be pretty and so are you… They are the light, fresh, sunny, golden mornings people find adorable. You’re the moist, misty, mysterious, glorious star strewn night that people find gorgeous and alluring. I never heard people say only mornings are beautiful and nights are not. You might not be peaches and cream…. But you are strawberries and chocolate………

We Indians bicker about racism in the west. Maybe we should check out the situation in and around our vicinity first.

Lastly, I love you. We are sisters in more ways than you’ll ever know.

Yours sweet as dark chocolate

Saturday, September 26, 2009

The Good, The Bad and The Ugly...

This rain here, outside my window is a big time tease….. It drizzles and tempts me with hopes of a shower to wash away this heat. It only drizzles. It’s like walking in to your apartment smelling pizza only to know it’s from the neighbour’s house.

The weather in Mumbai is nuts. Oh! And happy birthday gran!!!

One second you feel like you’re in a frying pan and then in the next before you can say ‘monsoon’ you’re drenched from head to toe. Well at least I can blame the weather for being the way it is, because it’s the weather. It’s supposed to be unpredictable {to all but the Met department}. What about unpredictable people??? Sometimes exhibiting a sunny disposition which only takes minutes to be covered by dark clouds of rage and thunder and lightening that continue for days making life humid and stuffy for the person at the receiving end….. On the occasions they do start pouring you wish the earth would split open and take you with it.

Yeah! We Indians have this thing for big families…… in other words you could say Joint families. It is good training. You will learn to weather any kind of storm, cyclone, hurricane, tornado, name it…… But it’s a life long course…
Most people drop out of the course and go for nuclear families, atomic families and the works…..…….

We grouse, protest, whine and are mean to each other….. Its routine…….. We have fun, huge gatherings, family outings and are an intricate support system….It’s routine….. We miss each other when we’re apart and shed tears when we part and spend the better part of the year waiting for the vacations to see the ones staying far off... If we end up under the same roof for a day more than the two months summer vacations encompass and end up invading the other’s privacy we start mentally killing the other a hundred times …….It’s routine…..

We can’t stand the way the doors are banged, the beds left unmade, the bathroom occupied for five minutes more than the allotted time, the food that’s another member’s favourite but our pet peeve. We always have enough space in the house to fit ourselves in. Irrespective of the fact that there are 12 of us and only two bedrooms...

We race to the loo first thing in the morning and to the door to get the morning newspaper fresh and not wrinkled….It’s routine…..

We make vacations historical, birth of babies breaking news, birthdays a festival that makes the neighbour’s kids go green with envy…. We make weddings unforgettable, and academic achievements resemble the declaration of independence...It’s routine...

We make life hell for each other, fight over property, and dig up old hostilities….. We have the memory of an elephant when it comes to remembering who did what to who’s grandmother and fight over it. We either insult each other or try to take a swipe at their husbands, wifes, in laws or kids…..

We are the households where mothers in law and daughters in law still view the husband as the bone of contention and the husband’s sister is the devil offering the apple……Its routine….

We are the only family in the colony that goes to the movies and occupies the whole of the last row or go to a restaurant and contribute to 90% of the cacophony and take more than an hour to order…That is ordering just the starters. The next door Khannas {a boring family of four} have finished a seven course meal and gone home meanwhile {they are gluttons too}…. It’s routine…

We make stories and break hearts. We laugh over ridiculous jokes and watch tearjerkers over and over again together…. It’s routine…

We predict when five year old Sharanya will get married and how and if three year old Aarya likes cars or cows….. Both of them at the moment are wrestling over a barbie doll's dress...{Can you beat that?}....
We fight for the remote control when a cricket match has reached the final over and simultaneously a movie is nearing the climax… The old yell hoarse at the young to turn down the music. But who is listening? It’s routine……. Either we just don’t get the concept of privacy or maybe we take it too much to heart… We treasure hand me downs… They track the growth rates of individuals belonging to the same generation. .. It’s routine.

We etch the recollections of loved ones gone in memories made of marble…. We collectively try to make sense out of the warbling of the new baby born this tuesday…… We have horrible secrets to hide and joyous news to spread…. We go on family vacations with members ranging from 2nd cousins to friends of our cousin's in laws.....We can depress each other to death or bring the other out of gloom and doom… It’s routine……

We pray together, eat together, hate together. But the best part is that we love together.

We are the perfect Indian Joint Family….


Yours, running to occupy the bathroom first….

Be right back


Sunday, September 13, 2009

This too shall pass..........

Hi there to everyyyyyyyyybody............ This blog if you have noticed the date off the first blog you will realise has turned a month old........ I wasn't sure I'd be motivated enough to keep writing for even a week... Let alone a month!!!!!!!! Thanks anyways guys.. For following and supporting me...........

This post is a special one going out to my dad who celebrates his birthday today! And my bro SRjr who will celebrate his this thursday... Love you both.... Love you always....... This also goes out to my FAV aunt  and 3 of my uncles 2 of whom celebrate their birthday this month too. I hope you always think of me as sugar sweet!!!..............And one of my FAV male singers. Figure who that is yourselves! Good God!!! My life is full of virgoes!!!!!!!!!
Birthdays remind us of the precious time gone by and precious time left..........
This  birthday special goes out to alllllll of you guys sooo busy that you forget to take a breath and relax! So have fun enjoy the message { a rather long one}below!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am always doing two things at a time. One of the two always remains constant through out the day. My second set of actions keeps changing. It changes according to what people require off me. It repeats itself like the hands of clock. Twice in twenty four hours it ends up in the exact same spot. As long as the battery is intact this happens. The days it gives up so will the rhythmic ticking.

My first set of action is well, not a set exactly but a single action. It’s been there since I have come into being. It isn’t like breathing, I can alter breathing. It’s more like staying alive, just being alive. You can’t will it to stop. This action is thinking. Not the thinking over schedules to keep up to, assignments to complete or trains to catch.

Its thinking about the people that pass me by, weaving stories about them around the snippets of their conversations I hear, looking around me, not analysing or calculating, just soaking up the things around me the way they are.

Even thinking is like the ticking of the clock. The clock isn’t just a metaphor for mundane or monotonous routines. It changes. It can be eight in the morning or eight in the evening. It is a question of AM or PM but it matters a great deal. Thinking also changes like the changes in day and night. It is perspective that changes the essence of thought, but unlike the tic -toc that urges you to hurry the rhythm of thought is like a lullaby. It soothes you and slowly envelopes you in a secret world, a cocoon that is only protective and not suffocating.

Thought and silence come hand in hand. I have always believed that silence is golden and I still do. I prefer being the “silent spectator” like my friends fancy calling me. They feel silence is discomfiture, rudeness and the complete opposite of what etiquette calls for. They haven’t experienced the pleasure of observing, of listening, of dreaming. It is like lying on a soft downy bed after a hard day’s work. It’s like olives; you have to acquire a taste for it.

The mind is like a personal den. It offers you all the comforts of a bean bag, a deep soft rug to sink your cold legs into and a mug of coffee to warm you without actually providing the same.

To be lost in one’s own world is to be in fools paradise is what people say.

I will not contradict them but isn’t giving up something like the inexplicable beauty of the entire world which resides in the most composite form of happiness within you being in the most foolish fool’s hell?

We always do what others expect of us, playing a part in the obscure rigmarole called “normal life”. It is but a roof that stands on the four walls called ambition, drive, ruthlessness and energy.

But what most of us forget is that while building up these walls we put in so much of what we possess into its construction that there is nothing left for the walls to shelter, no one, not even yourself.

And what do empty and uncared houses do? They haunt……. They weep in silence until their own tears inundate them... But again who has the time to ponder over emptiness, a lack of some comfort is always pushing us over the edge to better ourselves. But it is always about things that can be seen and sensed, it’s the tangible that makes a difference. We never value things that can be only felt.

I am driven by what I feel, but what I must do creates a barricade that holds my feelings prisoner. My feelings are strong; they won’t give up without a fight. They beat with their little fists on the heavy, sturdy, constant walls until a crack appears somewhere. It isn’t easy to break these fortifications. They are the notions of other people regarding who I should be… it takes time. The fists of my feelings turn bloody, locked up within me they pace up and down varying from anger, melancholy to depression.

However we push them aside, nicknaming them as mood swings and vagaries of the human temperament. We let the feelings die when imprisoned, not even giving them a chance to appeal…….. We move on letting the creators of the barricade dictate terms to us. Never once thinking about the past, never once looking back.

Sometimes to go ahead you need to sift through sands of the past. When the dust is cleared you might find a precious shell that can add strength, spirit and splendour to the sand castle of your future. The future is nothing but a sand castle that the waters of time will wash away… it’s only the creation of something so elegant that make up memories. And the present becomes valuable just doing what your heart tells you to.

We always set standards or conditions and erase the beauty of most simple things. We assign to poetry figures of speech, paradoxes, rhyme schemes and kill the wonder the words evoke through constant analysis. Poetry lies in the beauty of the thought, the manner in which it is contemplated. Not in the realistic message that it is supposed to give. Not everything has a cause or reason. Certain things must be done or just have to happen, like writing down the words that flow through your heart and head.

What did the poet feel when he was writing isn’t the question. What are you feeling as you are reading it is what matters. Does it touch that part of you that you seldom realise is hidden there? Only then does it serve its purpose.

I eat because I am told to. I eat what is there. No one understands the marvel of eating what your senses crave for…..they do not comprehend the sharpness of the salt or the lingering aftertaste of sugar when you satisfy a craving…

I read books and listen to music together, both actions never reaching completion. But I have to. I am in a race against time striving to do all I want to but enjoying none in the process.

I prefer the cold… I enjoy it; because I feel cold I revel in the warmth I experience later. I can’t do justice to one without the other. I get hurt too.

Pain locks up our true self. I hadn’t written for a long time. I would come close to it but a curt word, a sharp reprimand would crush the inspiration that dared to bud.

But the pain at times feeds the seed of inspiration urging it to grow into a beautiful tree. Pain can also unlock talent; it can unlock our true selves. The only the realisation of the simple fact that doing what you want to do will make you happy is important… read a book; live the book… watch a movie if you feel like; enjoy in the splendour of someone’s creativity. Look outside, look at nature. Absorb the divinity of all the loveliness around you. Once in a while snuggle up in bed for 5 extra minutes if you want to. Maybe you might not find time for it ever again. Listen to music, live the lyrics. Songs are naught but poetry with a tune. Sing out loud it doesn’t matter if you sound like a donkey braying. Write a song; its all about writing what you feel and give it to someone you love! Cook, Create something that is appetizing to your nose, eyes and taste buds. Let your eyes feast on it before your mouth does…… maybe you might burn down the kitchen but you sure will have fun! Wear what makes you feel good, cosy and nice, even if it is a bathrobe.

Be silent if you wish to. Loquaciousness is overrated. What matters is what you feel about yourself not what others feel.

Pain and hurt and tension and all others things that are not nice are like dawn. It sheds light on all the things that we don’t want to see or go through again. But I stay content in the knowledge that this dawn will end in dusk where everything will slow down, where darkness will blanket and dull the jarring impact of reality, where we can give way to sleep and let our body indulge in peace that is felt when dreams illuminate the unknown joy hidden in the silence of night.

For then I know that I survived the ticking clock’s nagging reminders. That I have tried my best to be perfect and good and make others happy and like the glaring hot light of the day unhappiness shall make way for cosy and happy dusks….. That this too shall pass…

Yours thoughtfully


Thursday, September 3, 2009

Love and other similar disasters

Everybody is always lamenting about the economy these days…..

I am told it is basically people who were spendthrifts all their life before the market crashed and now have to keep all that green paper on a tight leash. I feel sorry for them since most of these innate squanderers must have only leashed dogs all their lives {think Chihuahuas with ribbons}. And if they are compulsive whiners then I can only imagine how distraught they must be wondering who exactly to blame since half of them do not have the mental facility to understand complex economics that explains markets…. After doing two years of economics I myself turn tone deaf if some one does me the superfluous favour of asking questions to compliment my non-existent excellence in the subject. Phew!!!!!! People, I tell you!!

Well I have decided to help these destitute souls by giving them someone to pass the buck on to. Maybe they should try the “New World Order”…..
For any one who is delighted that I am finally going to give substantial proof regarding my craziness by coming up with the most moronic cock and bull story possible then sorry to burst your bubble in advance. This isn’t my idea……. It’s a conspiracy theory that says that the whole world is controlled by a secret group of bankers who control the world through central banks……….. Ooooooooooohhhhhh!!!!!!!! Have we {as in you people reading this} already started seeing malevolence hidden behind the benevolent central banks who saved us all from drowning with the economy when it took an almighty downward plunge??????? I don’t know………But it’s a refreshing change from the ‘bad loans thanks to America theory’. {Persons wanting to know more about this particular theory, since you’re already online go Google it: P………}.

Talking of Google I quite like the way they changed their icon to commemorate Michael Jackson’s 51st birthday. All music channels were busy showing his most popular songs…. There are controversies regarding his death too! People have been talking of weird things happening in Neverland…… Please ignore the harmless ones about him being drugged and stuff. There are certain stories that raise your hackles about him having been possessed by some vile extra terrestrial creature. Ughhhhhhh........ I am sure Peterpan must be turning around in his grave {that is if he was stupid enough to leave the real neverland and turn old and die or he was really dumb and ticked tinker bell off}. If this sounds Greek to you I declare you as failed in your fairytales paper so go brush up on that aspect.
Talking of fairytales I always have come across write-ups declaring the prince Charles princess Diana wedding to be a fairytale wedding……. Too bad it ended up in adultery, a marriage broken and a car crash and put a rude full stop to the already dwindling belief of people in happy endings. It has always intrigued me how she died…… Her death has been topic for conversations on stormy nights by a fireside or cosy bedrooms filled with giggling teenagers on a sleepover or at dinner tables for years now…… Was she pregnant??????? Was she engaged to Dodi Fayed? Was it the paparazzi???? A drunk driver???? Or the MI6 {That is the british secret service... think james bond or british version of CIA}??? No one knows and those who do will never speak….. There’s a hilarious theory that says the world is dominated by some reptilian alien species that has taken over bodies of all the powerful people like the British royal family and George Bush and that princess Di’s knowledge of the same got her killed so that she would remain silent on this front……… Yeah I can imagine a reptile inside George Bush……. No wonder he reads books upside down and his hand is on his stomach since his heart is there {incase he has one} during the national anthem…….. Maybe that is why the day before when I was busy teaching the students in my social involvement programme this unusually monstrous lizard outside the window looked as if it was actually staring at me…….. maybe it’s an alien planning to invade my body next…… if the next post is about houseflies and other unappetizing delicacies please realize what must have happened……..brrrrrrr the very thought stuns me at a molecular, cellular whatever level …….

Cellular reminds me of secret cells and societies like the illumnati and the skull and bones in the Yale University. These are supposedly secret societies {how the hell it is then that they are all over search engines if there are ‘secret’ I don’t know} which aim at controlling the world or something exceedingly ambitious along the lines. Funny thing is that even here beloved Georgie’s name crops up again……. He is supposed to be a member of the Skull and Bones society at Yale. Yeah! Nice …… Lot like Jughead getting the Nobel Prize!

I like the whole aliens do exist concept… gives me a reason to keep gazing out of class during lectures….. “But Miss, honest to God! I saw an UFO...”
Hmmmmmmmm maybe Steven Spielberg should try making one more alien movie after war of the worlds wherein the President of the nation is an alien and gives out destructive orders! Hehehehehehehe………… Destructive governments ring a bell about false flag operations…….. It is actually a simple concept you know. You thought the 9/11 and other acts of terror were committed by terror cells out side of your nation????? How about this …. What if the terror cell was a white lie used by an instable government to gain the confidence of the masses???? {Meaning they did it themselves and fooled you big time by concoting stories about extremists at work} What better situation to do so than create a state of fear themselves so that the public would rely and put their trust in them???????? Smart huh????? Yeah!!! Ever heard of the book State of Fear by Michael Crichton………… It gives you a different outlook on the whole global warming gobbledygook. Gives me something to throw back at environmentalists who are just mentalists and nothing else... … The book basically enlightens us about “eco-terrorists” and how big fat firms use statistics to frighten us, ‘the erudite populace’. If you are worried about the whole world ending up being a huge edition of the Sahara desert then I think the book will make you worry about if you shall be sharing backyard space with mammoths and sabre-tooths since winter will be for ever and fur will be in fashion{ I wonder what PETA will have to say then}. It also raises the question ‘so what about petrol and all that???’ I mean if there supposedly is no global warming and all these resources won't exhaust themselves then why all that hike in prices of petrol huh?????? Anyways the Arabs I am sure will hate this conspiracy theory if it ever turns out to be proved true. Well! So much for all their man made islands……….. Maybe when apocalypse or the day of judgement or whatever calls upon us then maybe these islands will be all that is left for us like Noah’s ark or something you know! Yeah!

Some people think that the recent entry into our “diseases list”, swine flu is an experiment gone bad of the bio-weapons section of the US army……. Maybe they read Stephen King’s ‘The Stand’. Come to think of it the ‘captain tripps’ {the disease in the book} and our swiney are very much alike in a spooky, freaky kind of way……….
I wonder what big brother will have to say about my ideas on conspiracies……… Yeah they are saying that forced transition to Digital television broadcasting is practical realization of Big Brother concept. They claim that miniature cameras and microphones are built in Set-top boxes and newer TV sets to spy on people. Another claim describes use of mind control technology that would be hidden in the digital signal and used to subvert the mind and feelings of the people for subliminal advertising ……….. That and the movie" eagle eye "is true! it’s a nice movie though! I loved Shia ………
People always ask me how come I suddenly got hooked to English music…… I always was a Hindi gal {I still am}… Maybe the songs all have back masking in it you know. When you rewind the song a secret message is heard and in the normal version all you hear is baseless noise to fill in the space between verses and choruses….. And the secret message must have entered my subconscious without my knowing and I got addicted to these songs and bands and singers and then I became a follower of Satan and his diabolic ways…….Yada yada yada…….. People are so paranoid.……… Next we will have some group trying to exorcise the Linkin Park and the Jonas Brothers to stop then from sending god knows what devilish ideas to youngsters… The JoBros will charm their way out of trouble I am sure, what with all the smiles and clowning around……. But the Linkin Park will find it a bit trickier you know….. Basically all they have to do is to blast one of their songs at full volume… not a soul will dare come near ever again.
Souls and Satan and spirits have always intrigued humans….. What with the fascination with the number 666 and Ghost Hunters on the channel star world…… I always wonder how people differentiate between multiple personality disorder and possession of a body by a spirit…… Maybe it’s one and the same. Or maybe it isn’t. But it’s weird how people with MPD talk in languages they never even knew to exist in their normal state of mind… No wonder conspiracy theorists believe in all that hogwash about phantoms and spectres and stuff… All these weirdo conjectures are nothing compared to the most ancient theory that started doing its rounds since they days of Adam and Eve….. Oh c’mon!!!!!! We know it don’t we????? Alright …… it’s called “The Existence of LOVE” …. And I’ll tell you why I think it’s so…. There are those who are in favour of it and those who oppose its existence staunchly… We know both these sets of people. It isn’t like a certain group of scientists we can’t relate to even in the wildest of our imaginations. Some are our friends some are family and sometimes ‘tis just us. Meanwhile "We spend half our lives speculating, calculating, and cogitating about the existence of love whereas if we had put in the same amount of time and effort in the stock market we would have become millionaires" which is the smart quote for the day………. And like all other cock and bull stories we have a lot of books and movies made on this and we have a ball of a time adding fuel to the fires of our imagination……

So fundamentally LOVE is also a conspiracy theory in its own diabetic, cardiac arresting way…….. You can give me your views and opinions …… this is one hot topic for debating……. I am not for or against it….. I am, just having fun instigating you guys to give me your views………..

Until I am sure about my own stand on the love theory……..

Yours truly busy conspiring and instigating………