Right now I am engrossed in my latest project which is writing about how gender roles have been defined throughout the first half of the twentieth century and how slowly they have changed towards the second half. My research has made me wade through the ‘feminine mystique’ and sift through countless ‘feminist theories’ to try and explain the gender disparity that existed (and still does exist, yes it does!) and the stereotypical roles that women have been playing over the years. The good news is that a lot has changed. Laws have come into existence, revolutions have been brought about and innumerable amounts of newsprint has been churned out to help the cause. It would probably be heartening to hear that women now comprise half the workforce of…no wait…it can’t be India right? No it ain’t India. It is in the United States of America. I am writing how gender roles have changed over the years in the US and how much change still needs to come about.
The state of affairs in India is perhaps best described by the points of view of two young ladies aged twenty and twenty one. While one of them keeps telling me on what to expect from my ‘in-laws’ after I get married and how ultimately I would have to be the one serving them tea in the morning and ironing my husband’s clothes, the other retorts with a very blank: ‘what’s the point of it all…’ These two young girls are both studying and planning to have a career, have boyfriends and somewhere deep down in their cerebrum hope to have happy and copybook married lives with the men of their choice. Excuse me ladies but there is just one flaw in this Great Indian Dream: how ready are we to ‘settle’ down into our ‘expected’ straight jacketed roles in the domestic sphere? But the most appropriate question is: WHY?
In middle class India, most parents’ concern are their daughters between ages 20 and 28 who are yet to get married. A handful of them I spoke to (of course from different states across the country but with a common social standing and demography) still feel young girls with an average age of 25 rightfully belong to their ‘sasuraals’ or the in-law’s houses. Even if their daughters are financially independent, these parents feel that by the time they turn 25, the mothers and fathers should be through with their duty of ‘getting them married’. The scenario strangely changes when the daughters live away, in a different city or country. Somehow, the feeling then is one of resignation. Why are parents so fraught with agony over their daughters in their mid-twenties? Why does ‘getting them married’ form their top priority the second these daughters are born? But a more pertinent question is: why do these young girls help propagate this ideal by choosing take the path of domesticity irrespective of whether they are ready for it or not?
The traditional role of women as caregivers and men as their providers has been portrayed time and again by the media. Most television soaps we know of are based on this stereotypical characterization. The advertisements are no less. Whether it is that of an automobile brand which shows a nine year old boy shopping for his favorite car to take his girlfriend out when he’ll be eighteen or the one he’ll ride when at twenty four, he’ll be the vice-president of his company (Women buy cars too! But they mostly buy it for themselves and not to take their boyfriends out! And not surprisingly, it is the father of the little kid that comes looking for him at the car showroom and not the mother!!). Or soap ads that feature mother and daughter bathing together stressing that fussing over looks and beauty is something that comes naturally to girls from a very young age. Most insurance company and bank or finance related advertisements feature men totally overlooking the fact that a woman can buy insurance too! Hell, I have paid a good thirty grand for mine this year! A mobile service provider ad which features a young girl crashing her father’s car and sheepishly saying sorry, whereas another one (of the same company) shows a young guy returning home really late at night when the father politely (with a subtle underlying humor) wishes him Good Morning. What would have happened if the roles were interchanged?! Can a guy crash his father’s car? No way! Men are born drivers! Hah! That’s the feeling they exude at signals! And a girl returning late!! Where have we heard of that in a ‘civilized’ society?!
The best way to change the mindset of an entire society is by first changing the mindset of each individual family. But who is ready to take the first step? Anyone? Hello….??!!
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Thursday, November 19, 2009
2012- One Hell of a Wild Ride- But That is All There is to It!
I had anticipated watching this movie since I saw it’s poster at a movie hall in Goa in July. The poster showed a huge landmass- part of a continent (The state of California to be exact) complete with glass buildings, freeways and five star hotels falling off into the raging Pacific Ocean. A leviathan wave rising menacingly from the ocean threatens to swallow the breaking piece of America like a piece of cake. The caption read: We were warned.
The movie finally released in India in November and when most of my friends and people I know refused to accompany me to the theatre calling it ‘just another doomsday movie’, I decided to witness apocalypse all alone!
The movie started with a dismal audience count of just about twenty. I must admit the unrelated episodes at the start of the movie lost me. First, the young scientist Adrian Helmsley’s (Chiwetel Ejiofor) journey to India to meet his friend Satnam (Jimi Mistry) who explains how a solar flare is bombarding the earth with neutrinos which in turn has raised the temperature of the earth quite a few notches. This would lead to destabilization of the earth’s crust causing continental drifts and major shifts in plate tectonics. Well all of these is easy to figure out once the movie is over and you have enough time to ponder over it and joining the dots and with a little help from Google. But the lack of these details can leave the layman clueless about WHY is the world heading for a doomsday in the first place.
Never mind the details. What was interesting to see was how an average author Jackson Curtis who’s Farewell Atlantis sold “less than 500 copies” gets entangled in a mysterious Government intrigue (read- conspiracy). The majorly expressionless John Cusack who played Curtis looked stale and unconvincing in the role of a novelist by day and Limo driver by night. His estranged wife Kate (Amanda Peet) was used as a prop throughout the movie- smiling and sobbing alternately as and when the script demanded. I wasn’t interested in Jackson Curtis’s story at all. Here, an interesting and hilarious character pops up: Charlie Frost (Woody Harrelson)- conspiracy theorist, living as a hermit in Yellowstone National Park. I loved his antics, the way he had it all figured out- that the Government was building Space ships to carry the people of the country away somewhere to safety. His ‘blog’ where he explains it all is a must watch. It all seems so simple when the earth can be imagined to be a giant orange and the sun attacking the earth with bows and arrows. He did the cartoons all by himself- he proclaims later.
The president of the United States of America- Thomas Wilson- played by a very tired looking Danny Glover tried to play ‘hero’ as usual. But the way he sacrificed his berth on the ‘ship’ to stay back and tell the truth to the people of his country was commendable. He agreed that “the people have a right to know the truth” when the young scientist Adrian confessed to him his feelings about that issue.
The president’s daughter Laura Wilson (Thandie Newton) had a miniscule role to play. I still feel she should have played Jackson Curtis’s wife instead of Amanda Peet. At least that would’ve guaranteed her a better and bigger role. But one more character that stands out is that of Carl Anheuser (Oliver Platt)- the President’s Chief of Staff. Torn between emotion and duty, he dutifully chooses duty.
But the most deserving character of the whole movie is the CGI. They are bigger than Independence Day and better than The Day After Tomorrow. Watching the earth develop monstrous cracks and engulfing cars and buildings is exciting as well as frightening. The waves were the best as they came rushing over the Himalayas drowning them in one fell sweep. The best moment in the movie was when the Tibetan monk sees the gigantic wave from his monastery on top of the craggy mountain. No power on earth can stop er…the earth from devastating civilization in a matter of moments. The fact that the human race has so little time to escape is really harrowing. And the way their road to safety is littered with mountainous challenges is awe-inspiring. When the ‘ship’, well, actually it’s an ‘ark’ (and quite appropriately that too!), is heading for a collision with none other that Mount Everest, one feels humbled!
The Biblical references are too obvious- the attempt of choosing the best genepool from every species to let life continue, the building of the ‘arks’ etc. There are cheesy clichés like: “The world…as we know it…would soon come to an end…” But overall, it is like a wild ride through apocalypse and humankinds’ endless struggle to survive. Survival, though, is a matter of one billion Euros (the price one has to pay to secure a berth in the arks). So if you got money, you CAN survive doomsday! And then build new countries and new governments on the new roof of the world situated near the Cape of Good Hope. So is that all you need to get past the ultimate END? Money and Hope? The house is open!
The movie finally released in India in November and when most of my friends and people I know refused to accompany me to the theatre calling it ‘just another doomsday movie’, I decided to witness apocalypse all alone!
The movie started with a dismal audience count of just about twenty. I must admit the unrelated episodes at the start of the movie lost me. First, the young scientist Adrian Helmsley’s (Chiwetel Ejiofor) journey to India to meet his friend Satnam (Jimi Mistry) who explains how a solar flare is bombarding the earth with neutrinos which in turn has raised the temperature of the earth quite a few notches. This would lead to destabilization of the earth’s crust causing continental drifts and major shifts in plate tectonics. Well all of these is easy to figure out once the movie is over and you have enough time to ponder over it and joining the dots and with a little help from Google. But the lack of these details can leave the layman clueless about WHY is the world heading for a doomsday in the first place.
Never mind the details. What was interesting to see was how an average author Jackson Curtis who’s Farewell Atlantis sold “less than 500 copies” gets entangled in a mysterious Government intrigue (read- conspiracy). The majorly expressionless John Cusack who played Curtis looked stale and unconvincing in the role of a novelist by day and Limo driver by night. His estranged wife Kate (Amanda Peet) was used as a prop throughout the movie- smiling and sobbing alternately as and when the script demanded. I wasn’t interested in Jackson Curtis’s story at all. Here, an interesting and hilarious character pops up: Charlie Frost (Woody Harrelson)- conspiracy theorist, living as a hermit in Yellowstone National Park. I loved his antics, the way he had it all figured out- that the Government was building Space ships to carry the people of the country away somewhere to safety. His ‘blog’ where he explains it all is a must watch. It all seems so simple when the earth can be imagined to be a giant orange and the sun attacking the earth with bows and arrows. He did the cartoons all by himself- he proclaims later.
The president of the United States of America- Thomas Wilson- played by a very tired looking Danny Glover tried to play ‘hero’ as usual. But the way he sacrificed his berth on the ‘ship’ to stay back and tell the truth to the people of his country was commendable. He agreed that “the people have a right to know the truth” when the young scientist Adrian confessed to him his feelings about that issue.
The president’s daughter Laura Wilson (Thandie Newton) had a miniscule role to play. I still feel she should have played Jackson Curtis’s wife instead of Amanda Peet. At least that would’ve guaranteed her a better and bigger role. But one more character that stands out is that of Carl Anheuser (Oliver Platt)- the President’s Chief of Staff. Torn between emotion and duty, he dutifully chooses duty.
But the most deserving character of the whole movie is the CGI. They are bigger than Independence Day and better than The Day After Tomorrow. Watching the earth develop monstrous cracks and engulfing cars and buildings is exciting as well as frightening. The waves were the best as they came rushing over the Himalayas drowning them in one fell sweep. The best moment in the movie was when the Tibetan monk sees the gigantic wave from his monastery on top of the craggy mountain. No power on earth can stop er…the earth from devastating civilization in a matter of moments. The fact that the human race has so little time to escape is really harrowing. And the way their road to safety is littered with mountainous challenges is awe-inspiring. When the ‘ship’, well, actually it’s an ‘ark’ (and quite appropriately that too!), is heading for a collision with none other that Mount Everest, one feels humbled!
The Biblical references are too obvious- the attempt of choosing the best genepool from every species to let life continue, the building of the ‘arks’ etc. There are cheesy clichés like: “The world…as we know it…would soon come to an end…” But overall, it is like a wild ride through apocalypse and humankinds’ endless struggle to survive. Survival, though, is a matter of one billion Euros (the price one has to pay to secure a berth in the arks). So if you got money, you CAN survive doomsday! And then build new countries and new governments on the new roof of the world situated near the Cape of Good Hope. So is that all you need to get past the ultimate END? Money and Hope? The house is open!
Friday, October 30, 2009
All The Single Ladies...
I was checking out Facebook when I stumbled upon this friend who I had lost touch with since high school. There she was looking demure and I must say quite pretty in a traditional red saree and dollops of vermillion on her parting. I left a message for her saying congratulations for getting married. She replies in seconds saying, “Hey I got married ages ago! I just became a mom!” Oooookkkaay then…I manage a sheepish ‘oops!’ and leave her more congratulatory words and Xs and Os Gossip Girls style! In the last two month I have heard of at least twenty-five girl friends’ weddings and half a dozen others embracing motherhood. Add to that another fifteen odd friends who have been married for at least four years! Slowly, the number of single women in my age group is dwindling. It is a borderline case as I can recall only about a handful that have still been able to maintain the ‘single’ status including me. We seem to share this strange and deep bond even though we are miles apart physically. We understand how each of us feels at the prospect of getting married, how we cherish our freedom and how we all look up to Carrie Bradshaw as our Godmother.
It isn’t easy being on the wrong side of twenty-five, single and a Bengali! And especially when you, owing to the job scene or the lack of thereof, have camped in your parents’ house till a suitable opportunity comes along (read indefinitely, again considering the battered and bruised economy). The occasional jabs and jeers at not being married yet, albeit subtle, become the stuff of your worst nightmares. The craving for a cigarette turns into a stoic acceptance of your curbed independence. But worst are the times when even your old friends, who are now ‘happily’ married, make you feel like an outcast. Like the psychological bond which we single women share over airwaves, fibre-optic cables and even telepathically, these domesticated women, who you think are your friends, too share. Obviously they outdo us by large numbers- the terrifyingly small minority that we are! It was apparent when I had called up an old friend married for the last two years. I was about to give up for the third time when she picked up her phone on the fifteenth ring. An apology is imminent. And when it has to do with the ‘household’ and told with the ‘what-would-you-know-you-are-not-married-yet’ tone, you understand that it’s probably time to hang up. But I was in a mood to take this game a little further! We talked about mundane things and how are everybody back home blah blah when I asked her if we could meet on so and so day for a drink or something. Pat comes the reply in the negative and I understand why: An aunt-in-law’s son’s wife’s father’s sister is coming to visit her so…I told her that even if she wouldn’t come, I would love to get a drink on my own. I also asked her if she quit drinking after marriage and if her husband allows her to wear western clothes at all. Yes and no were the answers respectively. The inner bitch in me suddenly stirred up and I commented: I know…the last time when we met was at a common friend’s wedding…and I was wearing this sexy backless number and you sooooo wished you could wear it…don’t you feel suffocated? And I promptly heard a muffled sound and: Oh okay…I gotta go now…bye. Poor little married girl. Yes I snigger and smirk at them! But come on, this was my way to get back at the domestic community!
(INSIGHT #1: The weirdest thing that I have noticed is, once you get married you would be welcomed with open arms into this domestic community. You would then be at par with members of this community which include the maashis and the pishis and the boudis and the didimas, thakumas, jas, nonods etc. It doesn’t matter if you are twenty five or nineteen or thirty four. You are now a respected member of this seemingly bovine community. Even people on the streets seem to notice that. You have been branded with this invisible mark that you are now somebody’s bou. You can choose not to wear the recommended but not mandatory shankha and pola. You can even do away with sindoor. But inevitably the local grocer calls out to you: BOUDI! The DIDI is now how you would address only Mamata Banerjee.
INSIGHT # 2: In this domestic community, the boudis are the worst types. In an apartment complex, whenever there is a get together, they will sit far from their ‘drinking’ husbands in a group talking obviously about household or ‘sangsaar’. But make no mistake, they can hear every word their husbands say, every woman they mention and analyze every glass of whisky they gulp down. Once the party’s over, back in their flats, the post-mortem begins. I almost feel sorry for these husbands.)
The point is what makes you decide to turn from ‘single’ to married? At which point do you decide to give up your highly deemed status? When you find Mr Right? Is that when you decide that okay, this is it?
My friends have often asked me why have I kept my Facebook status as ‘single’. Well it actually fluctuates between ‘single’ and ‘it’s complicated’. To tell you the truth, I have a boyfriend I am dating for almost six years now. So far things have gone very smooth. But why haven’t I decided to apply for a ticket to this domestic community yet? Simple: I am not ready to give up my ‘single’ status yet. Believe it or not being single is the single most powerful tool a woman can have. And no I don’t mean you can go around flirting and sleeping with everyone you meet! It is just the way you feel so free and there are no domestic responsibilities weighing you down. You have no ‘expectations’ to meet except your own.
Like Beyonce sings:
I got gloss on my lips
A man on my hips
Got me tighter in
My Dereon jeans
Acting up
Drink in my cup
I can care less what you think…
It isn’t easy being on the wrong side of twenty-five, single and a Bengali! And especially when you, owing to the job scene or the lack of thereof, have camped in your parents’ house till a suitable opportunity comes along (read indefinitely, again considering the battered and bruised economy). The occasional jabs and jeers at not being married yet, albeit subtle, become the stuff of your worst nightmares. The craving for a cigarette turns into a stoic acceptance of your curbed independence. But worst are the times when even your old friends, who are now ‘happily’ married, make you feel like an outcast. Like the psychological bond which we single women share over airwaves, fibre-optic cables and even telepathically, these domesticated women, who you think are your friends, too share. Obviously they outdo us by large numbers- the terrifyingly small minority that we are! It was apparent when I had called up an old friend married for the last two years. I was about to give up for the third time when she picked up her phone on the fifteenth ring. An apology is imminent. And when it has to do with the ‘household’ and told with the ‘what-would-you-know-you-are-not-married-yet’ tone, you understand that it’s probably time to hang up. But I was in a mood to take this game a little further! We talked about mundane things and how are everybody back home blah blah when I asked her if we could meet on so and so day for a drink or something. Pat comes the reply in the negative and I understand why: An aunt-in-law’s son’s wife’s father’s sister is coming to visit her so…I told her that even if she wouldn’t come, I would love to get a drink on my own. I also asked her if she quit drinking after marriage and if her husband allows her to wear western clothes at all. Yes and no were the answers respectively. The inner bitch in me suddenly stirred up and I commented: I know…the last time when we met was at a common friend’s wedding…and I was wearing this sexy backless number and you sooooo wished you could wear it…don’t you feel suffocated? And I promptly heard a muffled sound and: Oh okay…I gotta go now…bye. Poor little married girl. Yes I snigger and smirk at them! But come on, this was my way to get back at the domestic community!
(INSIGHT #1: The weirdest thing that I have noticed is, once you get married you would be welcomed with open arms into this domestic community. You would then be at par with members of this community which include the maashis and the pishis and the boudis and the didimas, thakumas, jas, nonods etc. It doesn’t matter if you are twenty five or nineteen or thirty four. You are now a respected member of this seemingly bovine community. Even people on the streets seem to notice that. You have been branded with this invisible mark that you are now somebody’s bou. You can choose not to wear the recommended but not mandatory shankha and pola. You can even do away with sindoor. But inevitably the local grocer calls out to you: BOUDI! The DIDI is now how you would address only Mamata Banerjee.
INSIGHT # 2: In this domestic community, the boudis are the worst types. In an apartment complex, whenever there is a get together, they will sit far from their ‘drinking’ husbands in a group talking obviously about household or ‘sangsaar’. But make no mistake, they can hear every word their husbands say, every woman they mention and analyze every glass of whisky they gulp down. Once the party’s over, back in their flats, the post-mortem begins. I almost feel sorry for these husbands.)
The point is what makes you decide to turn from ‘single’ to married? At which point do you decide to give up your highly deemed status? When you find Mr Right? Is that when you decide that okay, this is it?
My friends have often asked me why have I kept my Facebook status as ‘single’. Well it actually fluctuates between ‘single’ and ‘it’s complicated’. To tell you the truth, I have a boyfriend I am dating for almost six years now. So far things have gone very smooth. But why haven’t I decided to apply for a ticket to this domestic community yet? Simple: I am not ready to give up my ‘single’ status yet. Believe it or not being single is the single most powerful tool a woman can have. And no I don’t mean you can go around flirting and sleeping with everyone you meet! It is just the way you feel so free and there are no domestic responsibilities weighing you down. You have no ‘expectations’ to meet except your own.
Like Beyonce sings:
I got gloss on my lips
A man on my hips
Got me tighter in
My Dereon jeans
Acting up
Drink in my cup
I can care less what you think…
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Rendezvous in the wild
As the train stopped at K R Puram station near Bangalore, I hurried out of my early morning dream. I just had about four minutes to pack up my i-pod, my cell- phone charger, find my glasses from underneath the rumpled up blankets and sheets, pee, brush my teeth, dig up my chappals from my rucksack and step out of the train. I was visiting my aunt in Bangalore and I thanked god a million times to help me remember that I had to get off at K R Puram. This was the station that was closest to their home in C V Raman Nagar. In three minutes’ frenzy, I managed to complete all of the aforementioned tasks and set my foot on Kannadiga soil. Well, actually it was cement rather than soil and instead of the humid morning air, I was greeted with a blast of the coldest breeze. The station was cute and small and as I expected, clean.
After saying ‘no’ to about half a dozen auto-wallahs, I finally boarded one that agreed to take me to my aunt’s at half the quoted price. Even though it wasn’t the warmest of the welcomes, quite literally, I found out that I enjoyed the 20 minutes of auto ride through the city that was yet to wake up. It wasn’t yet six in the morning. Houses looked quiet with their windows shut and curtains drawn. A little away from the railway station, there was not a soul on the street save for the pariah dogs that huddled together on sand pits to keep themselves warm. I was unprepared for this sudden change in weather and it was telling on me after two or three sneezes! I pulled out a stole from my rucksack and wrapped it around my neck. I had just enough time for three drags on my cigarette when the apartment loomed up in front. It was set amongst untamed land in the DRDO site. The roads were divided into tree lined avenues and at the end of one such avenue was my aunt’s apartment.
The door opened after 3 knocks and my kid brother Simba looked up at me with a mischievous smile. He was seven years old but talked like he was seventeen. “Oh so it’s you now. You will have to make your own breakfast as Mama is busy getting Dada ready for school.” Dada was Boomba, his older brother. Mama, my aunt. I entered the warm apartment somewhat relieved. The cold winds really had the better of me. My head was throbbing and my nose felt runny. I am extremely sensitive to weather changes. My aunt emerged from inside the house and welcomed me with a smile. In seconds, Boomba dashed out of his room all dressed up for school.
In the next one hour, the whole house was a abuzz with activity: The kids finishing breakfast, dashing off down the stairs into a waiting school bus, I, in the loo brushing my teeth for the second time in two hours and my aunt busying herself over breakfast for the newly arrived guest. Two jam-toasts down, I disclosed to my aunt my intention of visiting her.
“…And how do you think you are going to reach Mudumalai?”
“Oh I have already spoken to a friend based in Bangalore. He’s arranging the car and…”
“Do your parents know about your plan?”
I felt vaguely irritated with her for asking unnecessary questions. Of course they didn’t know about it. Why would any Bengali upper middle-class-parents of a twenty-something girl even dream of their daughter ‘vacationing’ in the dense forests of Tamil Nadu?! But that ‘twenty-something’ girl was actually twenty-five, had been staying on her own in various cities as a student and journalist for the better part of her adult life. And she is not afraid of visiting a random jungle in South India when she had experiences such as getting lost on the highways of Goa- Karnataka with a car to drive and with very limited fuel at two o’ clock at night. This is just one of the many ‘harrowing’ but extremely exciting experiences of my life. I was kicked about embarking on another but my aunt’s questionnaire dampened my mood considerably. What she didn’t know was that my sister Bee was also a part of the plan. She would be in Mysore the day I was planning to start the journey. She had a dance performance there. That’s what she does when she doesn’t study- deliver dance recitals. She is twenty one and is doing her bachelor’s in Biotechnology. The plan was to pick her up from Mysore youth hostel where she was staying and head towards Mudumalai.
It was actually she who had engineered the whole plan. Her love for adventure and wildlife made her book two nights at Deep Jungle Home- a mud-hut in the middle of the dense forests of Mudumalai in Tamil Nadu. I am not really of the jungle types. I would rather prefer a long weekend at the beach in Kerala or a trek on the hills of Mussourie. But the pictures of the place on the web looked very inviting. Bee booked a room there for two nights using my credit card- I was trapped!
I left for Mysore early next morning. I made my aunt vow not to share this knowledge with anyone, not even her husband. The white lie was: I’d be visiting my sister in Mysore and staying there with her for two days and two nights and then get back to Bangalore. The truth was, I had reached Mysore, picked up my sister from the youth hostel and we were already on our way to the wild. My journalist friend from Bangalore had booked a luxurious Toyota SUV for us for our journey. We chose to self- drive as having a driver meant added accommodation and food costs. My sister was at the wheel and I was in the passenger seat beside her adjusting the radio volume. We had another forty odd kilometers to go before we arrived at the Karnataka- Tamil Nadu border. Even though my sister was a student, she spent big bucks on the up-keep of her physical self. The hands on the steering wheel had been French manicured last week and her long dark hair was always perfectly blow-dried. Sometimes people found it hard to believe that we were indeed sisters. While I was the athletic one, she had the grace and poise of a dancer. Though we both had the same height, her body was long and sinewy, mine square and broad- shouldered. She wore her dark hair straight and long. My hairstyle changed every season! Right now I was passing through the ‘eighties’ phase. So my hair which reached just two inches below my shoulders was left loose and open with a red bandanna acting as a headband, completing the look.
We passed the last check-post in Karnataka and stopped for some refreshments at the border. The check post was in an area called Bandipur- another tiger- reserve. The terrain, so far had been fairly level with good roads as bonus. It was strange how the landscape radically changed as soon as we crossed the border. We were now in Tamil Nadu and by the sound of the automatic gearshift, I could make out that this was far from level land. The car slowed down quite a bit and we had to dodge potholes that dotted most part of the road. The weather changed too. We were lucky enough to have the sun smiling down upon us from Mysore till Bandipur but beyond the border, dark rain clouds shrouded the sun. There was also very less traffic on this side of the border which was quite odd as this was the same road that connected Ooty, the queen of hill stations of the South. This was unknown land for both of us. We had been till Bandipur quite some years back but never proceeded beyond. I lowered the volume of the radio which was now a steady static hiss. We also ran out of mobile network coverage, I noticed.
In ten minutes, a sheet of rain started pounding the roof of the car. Though my sister was an expert driver, I begged her to pull over to the side and wait for some time till the intensity of the downpour decreased. I admit that I was feeling a tinge of nervousness especially since we were stranded on the hilly highway adjacent to the forest. I had heard stories of wild elephants descending from the slopes above and beating cars to a pulp. And with visibility down to almost nil, we both had no idea what lay beyond the windshield. It wouldn’t be too difficult for cars coming from the opposite direction to skid and collide head-on with ours. And it was evening already and getting darker.
“What do we do Di? Looks like we ain’t getting anywhere at least for the next thirty minutes…”
Bee tried her best to conceal her own fears. She was the wildlife expert and knew what could happen to a car stranded on a jungle highway.
“I don’t know…Lets brainstorm…” and I lit a cigarette.
If we drove on, there is a sixty percent chance of skidding off the road and either falling into a raging river that ran beside the road on the right or smashing into the wall of the slope on the left. If we stayed, we could be safe until an elephant decides to play ball with us or an unfortunate driver suffers a skid and comes straight at us. Either way, a chance had to be taken. We sat debating on what to do when I caught something moving towards my left. This was the forest slope side. The windows were shielded by the rain water running down and there was no way I could make out what was it that moved. Not until it came and stood right next to the window!
The brown skin shone slick in the fading evening light. The ponderous mass of its head moved close to the window as if trying to see what’s inside. For a moment, it’s dark black eyes met mine. It was a huge wild elephant and it wasn’t alone. From the windshield I could see a whole herd crossing the road. From inside the car the herd looked strange, their individual shapes distorted by the splashing rain water on the windshield. There must have been about twelve medium size wild elephants in that herd and the one that stood beside my window was probably an older female. Elephants move in herds when in the wild. And these herds were mostly all-female. In the strong matriarchal elephant society, a young male elephant upon reaching adulthood is deserted by his herd and left to fend for himself. The females sort of get together and protect each other and their young ones by adopting this herd behavior.
I was still looking at the mighty shapes languorously crossing the road. Some were uncertain about which way to go and stopped in the middle of the road blocking it half way. There was no way we could squeeze through this herd and exit. We have twelve juvenile and one matriarch to contend with. Right at this moment, there was a flash of light on my right. Bee had her Nikon D40 out and invariably clicked a picture to capture our hapless situation. But she had forgotten to turn the flash off.
“Damn…the flash was on…!” She cursed under her breath and turned a few knobs and pushed some buttons to turn it off. But it was too late. The matriarch had been momentarily blinded by the strong flash of light from inside the car. She trumpeted with all her might. Immediately, the movement in front of the car stopped. There was dead silence for a painful sixty seconds as thirteen pairs of dark eyes were on us. And then…it started.
The first push was gentle almost like a caress. We felt nothing except raw fear. Slowly, the push turned to strong jolts. There were now two elephants on my side of the window, both young adult females pushing the car with their trunks. The car skid closer and closer to the edge of the road. A metre or two and we would be plunged into the roaring river. The fall itself wouldn’t be bad. At the most, the car would be caught in the shrubs and brambles that lined the slope on the river side—thirty or forty feet at the most. It was the raging river that scared us. The river, otherwise calm, is also called Mudumalai and flows along the entire length of the Mudumalai forest. When it rains, the river fills up and becomes wild, erodes the banks and becomes red with mud and slush. Falling into it trapped in a car was a thought that both Bee and I avoided. But we had to do something!
“Di, lets get out of the car and run. We can hide somewhere till the big girls decide they’ve had enough with the car…”
“Are you crazy! If we tried to run, we won’t get far…we’d be mauled by the herd anyway. Plus we are in a forest, its getting dark. And no cars have approached this road for a long time. There is little chance of being rescued Bee!”
“…That means we just have to sit here and wait till the herd pushes us over the edge..! Di, come on…think..!”
My mind was racing. The only way we could be safe was by remaining inside the car. And somehow if we could frighten these animals and race ahead…
“Bee, turn on the headlights when I count ‘three’.”
“No way…that’d make them more mad. They’ll attack us…”
“Yes, that’ll frighten them but it would also give us a few seconds’ time to rev up the engine and speed away…”
“But Di how do you plan to break through this herd?”
She was right. The rest of the animals blocked the road. Their heads were moving in random directions and they were trumpeting at regular intervals. But even if we had even the remotest chances, I didn’t want to miss it.
“One…two…three…”
Bee turned the headlights on. The herd in front suddenly froze. They stopped trumpeting. Bee started the engine and let it race. At this sudden noise coming from this strange contraption, the matriarch backed up and so did the rest of the herd. There was now enough room on the road ahead for the car to pass.
“Bee, turn on the indicator lights and also the dipper…”
Upon doing so, the herd started dispersing. The road in front was now clear and Bee suddenly revved up the engine, threw the car into gear and we raced away to safety.
I looked back at the herd. It was completely dark now and they were ominous shapes on the road lit by the reddish glow of the receding tail lights. In a few seconds, they all vanished, vaporized, as though the forest had swallowed them.
“Phew Di…had a close shave!” I looked at Bee and nodded. My knees were shaking and I needed a smoke but instead I just sat tight in my seat and didn’t say a word.
Our stay at Deep Jungle Home was well…uneventful and even boring. There was pretty much nothing to do because it rained all the time. No jungle hikes, cycling on the narrow hilly roads, night safaris and bird watching. The stupid weather completely ruined our stay. We checked out after spending just one night there. We spent the other night relaxing in the enchanting city of Mysore. We went to the Dussera Fair and saw huge tuskers decked up in jewellery and colorful clothing walking in a parade. It was a fantastic sight to see these gigantic animals taking part in a celebration meant for the humans. The tusker seemed to be almost smiling! What a dandy, I thought…!
After saying ‘no’ to about half a dozen auto-wallahs, I finally boarded one that agreed to take me to my aunt’s at half the quoted price. Even though it wasn’t the warmest of the welcomes, quite literally, I found out that I enjoyed the 20 minutes of auto ride through the city that was yet to wake up. It wasn’t yet six in the morning. Houses looked quiet with their windows shut and curtains drawn. A little away from the railway station, there was not a soul on the street save for the pariah dogs that huddled together on sand pits to keep themselves warm. I was unprepared for this sudden change in weather and it was telling on me after two or three sneezes! I pulled out a stole from my rucksack and wrapped it around my neck. I had just enough time for three drags on my cigarette when the apartment loomed up in front. It was set amongst untamed land in the DRDO site. The roads were divided into tree lined avenues and at the end of one such avenue was my aunt’s apartment.
The door opened after 3 knocks and my kid brother Simba looked up at me with a mischievous smile. He was seven years old but talked like he was seventeen. “Oh so it’s you now. You will have to make your own breakfast as Mama is busy getting Dada ready for school.” Dada was Boomba, his older brother. Mama, my aunt. I entered the warm apartment somewhat relieved. The cold winds really had the better of me. My head was throbbing and my nose felt runny. I am extremely sensitive to weather changes. My aunt emerged from inside the house and welcomed me with a smile. In seconds, Boomba dashed out of his room all dressed up for school.
In the next one hour, the whole house was a abuzz with activity: The kids finishing breakfast, dashing off down the stairs into a waiting school bus, I, in the loo brushing my teeth for the second time in two hours and my aunt busying herself over breakfast for the newly arrived guest. Two jam-toasts down, I disclosed to my aunt my intention of visiting her.
“…And how do you think you are going to reach Mudumalai?”
“Oh I have already spoken to a friend based in Bangalore. He’s arranging the car and…”
“Do your parents know about your plan?”
I felt vaguely irritated with her for asking unnecessary questions. Of course they didn’t know about it. Why would any Bengali upper middle-class-parents of a twenty-something girl even dream of their daughter ‘vacationing’ in the dense forests of Tamil Nadu?! But that ‘twenty-something’ girl was actually twenty-five, had been staying on her own in various cities as a student and journalist for the better part of her adult life. And she is not afraid of visiting a random jungle in South India when she had experiences such as getting lost on the highways of Goa- Karnataka with a car to drive and with very limited fuel at two o’ clock at night. This is just one of the many ‘harrowing’ but extremely exciting experiences of my life. I was kicked about embarking on another but my aunt’s questionnaire dampened my mood considerably. What she didn’t know was that my sister Bee was also a part of the plan. She would be in Mysore the day I was planning to start the journey. She had a dance performance there. That’s what she does when she doesn’t study- deliver dance recitals. She is twenty one and is doing her bachelor’s in Biotechnology. The plan was to pick her up from Mysore youth hostel where she was staying and head towards Mudumalai.
It was actually she who had engineered the whole plan. Her love for adventure and wildlife made her book two nights at Deep Jungle Home- a mud-hut in the middle of the dense forests of Mudumalai in Tamil Nadu. I am not really of the jungle types. I would rather prefer a long weekend at the beach in Kerala or a trek on the hills of Mussourie. But the pictures of the place on the web looked very inviting. Bee booked a room there for two nights using my credit card- I was trapped!
I left for Mysore early next morning. I made my aunt vow not to share this knowledge with anyone, not even her husband. The white lie was: I’d be visiting my sister in Mysore and staying there with her for two days and two nights and then get back to Bangalore. The truth was, I had reached Mysore, picked up my sister from the youth hostel and we were already on our way to the wild. My journalist friend from Bangalore had booked a luxurious Toyota SUV for us for our journey. We chose to self- drive as having a driver meant added accommodation and food costs. My sister was at the wheel and I was in the passenger seat beside her adjusting the radio volume. We had another forty odd kilometers to go before we arrived at the Karnataka- Tamil Nadu border. Even though my sister was a student, she spent big bucks on the up-keep of her physical self. The hands on the steering wheel had been French manicured last week and her long dark hair was always perfectly blow-dried. Sometimes people found it hard to believe that we were indeed sisters. While I was the athletic one, she had the grace and poise of a dancer. Though we both had the same height, her body was long and sinewy, mine square and broad- shouldered. She wore her dark hair straight and long. My hairstyle changed every season! Right now I was passing through the ‘eighties’ phase. So my hair which reached just two inches below my shoulders was left loose and open with a red bandanna acting as a headband, completing the look.
We passed the last check-post in Karnataka and stopped for some refreshments at the border. The check post was in an area called Bandipur- another tiger- reserve. The terrain, so far had been fairly level with good roads as bonus. It was strange how the landscape radically changed as soon as we crossed the border. We were now in Tamil Nadu and by the sound of the automatic gearshift, I could make out that this was far from level land. The car slowed down quite a bit and we had to dodge potholes that dotted most part of the road. The weather changed too. We were lucky enough to have the sun smiling down upon us from Mysore till Bandipur but beyond the border, dark rain clouds shrouded the sun. There was also very less traffic on this side of the border which was quite odd as this was the same road that connected Ooty, the queen of hill stations of the South. This was unknown land for both of us. We had been till Bandipur quite some years back but never proceeded beyond. I lowered the volume of the radio which was now a steady static hiss. We also ran out of mobile network coverage, I noticed.
In ten minutes, a sheet of rain started pounding the roof of the car. Though my sister was an expert driver, I begged her to pull over to the side and wait for some time till the intensity of the downpour decreased. I admit that I was feeling a tinge of nervousness especially since we were stranded on the hilly highway adjacent to the forest. I had heard stories of wild elephants descending from the slopes above and beating cars to a pulp. And with visibility down to almost nil, we both had no idea what lay beyond the windshield. It wouldn’t be too difficult for cars coming from the opposite direction to skid and collide head-on with ours. And it was evening already and getting darker.
“What do we do Di? Looks like we ain’t getting anywhere at least for the next thirty minutes…”
Bee tried her best to conceal her own fears. She was the wildlife expert and knew what could happen to a car stranded on a jungle highway.
“I don’t know…Lets brainstorm…” and I lit a cigarette.
If we drove on, there is a sixty percent chance of skidding off the road and either falling into a raging river that ran beside the road on the right or smashing into the wall of the slope on the left. If we stayed, we could be safe until an elephant decides to play ball with us or an unfortunate driver suffers a skid and comes straight at us. Either way, a chance had to be taken. We sat debating on what to do when I caught something moving towards my left. This was the forest slope side. The windows were shielded by the rain water running down and there was no way I could make out what was it that moved. Not until it came and stood right next to the window!
The brown skin shone slick in the fading evening light. The ponderous mass of its head moved close to the window as if trying to see what’s inside. For a moment, it’s dark black eyes met mine. It was a huge wild elephant and it wasn’t alone. From the windshield I could see a whole herd crossing the road. From inside the car the herd looked strange, their individual shapes distorted by the splashing rain water on the windshield. There must have been about twelve medium size wild elephants in that herd and the one that stood beside my window was probably an older female. Elephants move in herds when in the wild. And these herds were mostly all-female. In the strong matriarchal elephant society, a young male elephant upon reaching adulthood is deserted by his herd and left to fend for himself. The females sort of get together and protect each other and their young ones by adopting this herd behavior.
I was still looking at the mighty shapes languorously crossing the road. Some were uncertain about which way to go and stopped in the middle of the road blocking it half way. There was no way we could squeeze through this herd and exit. We have twelve juvenile and one matriarch to contend with. Right at this moment, there was a flash of light on my right. Bee had her Nikon D40 out and invariably clicked a picture to capture our hapless situation. But she had forgotten to turn the flash off.
“Damn…the flash was on…!” She cursed under her breath and turned a few knobs and pushed some buttons to turn it off. But it was too late. The matriarch had been momentarily blinded by the strong flash of light from inside the car. She trumpeted with all her might. Immediately, the movement in front of the car stopped. There was dead silence for a painful sixty seconds as thirteen pairs of dark eyes were on us. And then…it started.
The first push was gentle almost like a caress. We felt nothing except raw fear. Slowly, the push turned to strong jolts. There were now two elephants on my side of the window, both young adult females pushing the car with their trunks. The car skid closer and closer to the edge of the road. A metre or two and we would be plunged into the roaring river. The fall itself wouldn’t be bad. At the most, the car would be caught in the shrubs and brambles that lined the slope on the river side—thirty or forty feet at the most. It was the raging river that scared us. The river, otherwise calm, is also called Mudumalai and flows along the entire length of the Mudumalai forest. When it rains, the river fills up and becomes wild, erodes the banks and becomes red with mud and slush. Falling into it trapped in a car was a thought that both Bee and I avoided. But we had to do something!
“Di, lets get out of the car and run. We can hide somewhere till the big girls decide they’ve had enough with the car…”
“Are you crazy! If we tried to run, we won’t get far…we’d be mauled by the herd anyway. Plus we are in a forest, its getting dark. And no cars have approached this road for a long time. There is little chance of being rescued Bee!”
“…That means we just have to sit here and wait till the herd pushes us over the edge..! Di, come on…think..!”
My mind was racing. The only way we could be safe was by remaining inside the car. And somehow if we could frighten these animals and race ahead…
“Bee, turn on the headlights when I count ‘three’.”
“No way…that’d make them more mad. They’ll attack us…”
“Yes, that’ll frighten them but it would also give us a few seconds’ time to rev up the engine and speed away…”
“But Di how do you plan to break through this herd?”
She was right. The rest of the animals blocked the road. Their heads were moving in random directions and they were trumpeting at regular intervals. But even if we had even the remotest chances, I didn’t want to miss it.
“One…two…three…”
Bee turned the headlights on. The herd in front suddenly froze. They stopped trumpeting. Bee started the engine and let it race. At this sudden noise coming from this strange contraption, the matriarch backed up and so did the rest of the herd. There was now enough room on the road ahead for the car to pass.
“Bee, turn on the indicator lights and also the dipper…”
Upon doing so, the herd started dispersing. The road in front was now clear and Bee suddenly revved up the engine, threw the car into gear and we raced away to safety.
I looked back at the herd. It was completely dark now and they were ominous shapes on the road lit by the reddish glow of the receding tail lights. In a few seconds, they all vanished, vaporized, as though the forest had swallowed them.
“Phew Di…had a close shave!” I looked at Bee and nodded. My knees were shaking and I needed a smoke but instead I just sat tight in my seat and didn’t say a word.
Our stay at Deep Jungle Home was well…uneventful and even boring. There was pretty much nothing to do because it rained all the time. No jungle hikes, cycling on the narrow hilly roads, night safaris and bird watching. The stupid weather completely ruined our stay. We checked out after spending just one night there. We spent the other night relaxing in the enchanting city of Mysore. We went to the Dussera Fair and saw huge tuskers decked up in jewellery and colorful clothing walking in a parade. It was a fantastic sight to see these gigantic animals taking part in a celebration meant for the humans. The tusker seemed to be almost smiling! What a dandy, I thought…!
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Debbie's predicament and how she won
Debbie sat still for a moment on her bed before she reached out to switch the night lamp off. It was a habit for her to meditate before she turned in for the night. And it had helped her on various occasions. For instance, three months back when her company told her not to come back the next morning, she had spent a little extra time than she usually would on meditation. In a way, she was glad that she didn’t have to go to work the next day. She wasn’t enjoying herself at work anymore. But the thought that she would lose her financial independence sat heavy on her heart. She did have enough savings to pull her through for the next four months at least but she would have to spend on her insurance premium, her credit card payment and her phone bills. That would leave her with little or no cash. But Debbie wasn’t thinking about that. She was thinking about what happened that evening.
It all started when Debbie told her parents that she wasn’t ready yet to get married. She and Shan were dating for more than five years. Out of those five years, they lived together for two. Though they had thought about getting hitched, Debbie’s retrenchment led to some doubts regarding their plans of a designer wedding. It had to be postponed indefinitely. Moreover, after thinking it through, they found out that both weren't emotionally and economically ready to tie the knot yet. Shan had a lot of financial commitments to fulfill before he could even think of marriage. Debbie didn’t yet want to let go of her emotional independence. Add to that her job-loss, the situation was complicated. The best possible solution would be to postpone the wedding till both were on firmer grounds. Debbie had explained all this to her parents thinking that they would understand. She was so wrong! Not only did they not agree to postpone the wedding, they silently admitted that Debbie was becoming a ‘financial liability’ for them. It would be important to mention here that Debbie’s father worked in one of the oldest and best corporate houses in India. He drew a handsome six figure salary every month and their whole family maintained a healthy and upmarket lifestyle. Debbie herself studied in one of the best Convents in the city and the best of the colleges. She was a topper from her college and her good marks led to her being accepted in one of the best and the most prestigious J-schools in the country. Debbie had started working while she was still in college. She worked as a full time journalist during her final year and yet she had stunned the academic world by topping in her department. Shan was then a rookie in the television world producing social awareness shows. With Masters in Literature, he could charm everyone with his wide range of knowledge and his sense of humour and humility. Debbie had fallen for that and they started dating.
Both realised that they needed to have a professional qualification to make it big in the world of media. Thus they went to study at the country’s best J-school together, something that had drawn much ire from Debbie’s parents. A year doing Post-Graduation and the next year working in the best media house in the country, they lived together and dreamed of building a rocking life. Their dream was cut short by the untimely death of Shan’s father. They had to return to their home town. Even though that proved to be a good move for saving up on their finances, both were robbed of their peace of mind. They were so used to each other and their own independence that staying with their respective families made them miss their life together. Both coped up and a year later, Shan had built his father’s house from scratch. He bought a brand new car too. Debbie was able to clear off all her pending credit card dues and managed to have huge savings, something that was unthinkable when they were living away! But all did not look so rosy. Debbie lost her job when her company fired her on the pretext of ‘recession’. Nobody knew ‘recession’ better than Debbie. She was a financial journalist and her interaction with the bigwigs in the world of business taught her that ‘recession’ was a word cooked up by certain media channels to create hype about the global economy that was in bad shape. India most certainly, was well shielded except certain IT companies which had huge overseas dealings. But all private firms jumped on the bandwagon all at once to announce that they were in ‘recession’. Good excuse for firing people and trimming down on corporate expenditure. Debbie never thought that one day, it would happen to her. And so it happened, Debbie and Shan were not ready to get hitched yet.
After a whole day of arguments, quarrels and buckets of tears being shed, Shan was called to her home to discuss the situation. Her parents had hoped that he would bail them out (or so they thought) and marry Debbie. When Shan refused and took Debbie’s side, her parents were furious. There was screaming, heated arguments, tears. (Debbie’s younger sister who was in college very diplomatically kept herself aloof from all this. She was dating a guy herself and didn’t want anything going wrong when her ‘turn’ came.) At one point Shan, having had enough from Debbie’s sycophantic mother almost walked out. It took a lot of persuading from Debbie’s father to get him to change his mind. The most shocking moment was when Shan frankly asked Debbie’s dad if Debbie was becoming a burden for them. Forty seconds of painful silence was enough for Debbie’s world to go upside down. Not a word was spoken yet Debbie couldn’t believe what she heard. That was it. Shan was stunned. He very reluctantly agreed to the marriage. Debbie was still in shock and was silent for the rest of the discussion. Before leaving, Shan held her in his arms and said, “Don’t worry Debbie, we’ll make it. It is clear that they don’t want you to stay here. We will stay together. And...you are a survivor, you know that. One day, your immature parents will realise their mistake. But you would be far far away then celebrating...something...I love you...and stop crying!” His firm tone at the end of the sentence jolted Debbie back to her senses. She didn’t realise that her cheeks were wet with tears and her eyes were swollen. The truth was out and she had to accept it. But, she decided, she will accept it gracefully and with dignity.
The next morning, everything was back to normal. As usual, Debbie woke up late. She slept real late too. There was her sister, dressing up to go out. Her mother, preparing lunch and her father having tea and reading the papers. It was as though nothing had happened yesterday. But something had changed in Debbie. She had read the Gita again last night especially a small portion of the 14th Chapter:
Krishna: He who hates not light, nor busy activity, nor even darkness, when they are near, neither longs for them when they are far;
Who unperturbed by changing conditions sits apart and watches and says, ‘the powers of nature go round’, and remains firm and shakes not;
Who dwells in his inner self, and is the same in pleasure and pain; to whom gold or stones or earth are one, and what is pleasing or displeasing leave him in peace; who is beyond both praise and blame, and whose mind is steady and quiet...he passes beyond the three powers and can be one with Brahman and the ONE...
This had inspired her to be detached from worldly affairs, enlightened her about where the paths of glory lay and strengthened her spirit to beat the odds.
Debbie is a published writer now. At thirty eight, she stays in her 15th floor penthouse in New Delhi with Shan (who heads the country’s top radio station) and two lovely Dalmatians. She takes a vacation twice a year. Most of the time Shan joins her but secretly, she prefers traveling alone, unattached. After she got married at twenty five, Debbie sat for the Civil Services and cleared the Foreign Service category one shot. She served in the External Affairs Ministry as a Researcher and traveled the globe. At thirty two, she took a year’s break to put together her life’s experiences in a book which she dedicated, surprisingly to her parents and thanked them for ‘giving her away’ to such a wonderful man who inspired in her all that is ‘beautiful and divine’. Penguin India jumped at it after reading her manuscript and paid her a handsome advance. The book sold in thirty two languages in the country and abroad. Debbie couldn’t have asked for a happier life. She still carries the Gita with her wherever she goes and draws inspiration from it.
It all started when Debbie told her parents that she wasn’t ready yet to get married. She and Shan were dating for more than five years. Out of those five years, they lived together for two. Though they had thought about getting hitched, Debbie’s retrenchment led to some doubts regarding their plans of a designer wedding. It had to be postponed indefinitely. Moreover, after thinking it through, they found out that both weren't emotionally and economically ready to tie the knot yet. Shan had a lot of financial commitments to fulfill before he could even think of marriage. Debbie didn’t yet want to let go of her emotional independence. Add to that her job-loss, the situation was complicated. The best possible solution would be to postpone the wedding till both were on firmer grounds. Debbie had explained all this to her parents thinking that they would understand. She was so wrong! Not only did they not agree to postpone the wedding, they silently admitted that Debbie was becoming a ‘financial liability’ for them. It would be important to mention here that Debbie’s father worked in one of the oldest and best corporate houses in India. He drew a handsome six figure salary every month and their whole family maintained a healthy and upmarket lifestyle. Debbie herself studied in one of the best Convents in the city and the best of the colleges. She was a topper from her college and her good marks led to her being accepted in one of the best and the most prestigious J-schools in the country. Debbie had started working while she was still in college. She worked as a full time journalist during her final year and yet she had stunned the academic world by topping in her department. Shan was then a rookie in the television world producing social awareness shows. With Masters in Literature, he could charm everyone with his wide range of knowledge and his sense of humour and humility. Debbie had fallen for that and they started dating.
Both realised that they needed to have a professional qualification to make it big in the world of media. Thus they went to study at the country’s best J-school together, something that had drawn much ire from Debbie’s parents. A year doing Post-Graduation and the next year working in the best media house in the country, they lived together and dreamed of building a rocking life. Their dream was cut short by the untimely death of Shan’s father. They had to return to their home town. Even though that proved to be a good move for saving up on their finances, both were robbed of their peace of mind. They were so used to each other and their own independence that staying with their respective families made them miss their life together. Both coped up and a year later, Shan had built his father’s house from scratch. He bought a brand new car too. Debbie was able to clear off all her pending credit card dues and managed to have huge savings, something that was unthinkable when they were living away! But all did not look so rosy. Debbie lost her job when her company fired her on the pretext of ‘recession’. Nobody knew ‘recession’ better than Debbie. She was a financial journalist and her interaction with the bigwigs in the world of business taught her that ‘recession’ was a word cooked up by certain media channels to create hype about the global economy that was in bad shape. India most certainly, was well shielded except certain IT companies which had huge overseas dealings. But all private firms jumped on the bandwagon all at once to announce that they were in ‘recession’. Good excuse for firing people and trimming down on corporate expenditure. Debbie never thought that one day, it would happen to her. And so it happened, Debbie and Shan were not ready to get hitched yet.
After a whole day of arguments, quarrels and buckets of tears being shed, Shan was called to her home to discuss the situation. Her parents had hoped that he would bail them out (or so they thought) and marry Debbie. When Shan refused and took Debbie’s side, her parents were furious. There was screaming, heated arguments, tears. (Debbie’s younger sister who was in college very diplomatically kept herself aloof from all this. She was dating a guy herself and didn’t want anything going wrong when her ‘turn’ came.) At one point Shan, having had enough from Debbie’s sycophantic mother almost walked out. It took a lot of persuading from Debbie’s father to get him to change his mind. The most shocking moment was when Shan frankly asked Debbie’s dad if Debbie was becoming a burden for them. Forty seconds of painful silence was enough for Debbie’s world to go upside down. Not a word was spoken yet Debbie couldn’t believe what she heard. That was it. Shan was stunned. He very reluctantly agreed to the marriage. Debbie was still in shock and was silent for the rest of the discussion. Before leaving, Shan held her in his arms and said, “Don’t worry Debbie, we’ll make it. It is clear that they don’t want you to stay here. We will stay together. And...you are a survivor, you know that. One day, your immature parents will realise their mistake. But you would be far far away then celebrating...something...I love you...and stop crying!” His firm tone at the end of the sentence jolted Debbie back to her senses. She didn’t realise that her cheeks were wet with tears and her eyes were swollen. The truth was out and she had to accept it. But, she decided, she will accept it gracefully and with dignity.
The next morning, everything was back to normal. As usual, Debbie woke up late. She slept real late too. There was her sister, dressing up to go out. Her mother, preparing lunch and her father having tea and reading the papers. It was as though nothing had happened yesterday. But something had changed in Debbie. She had read the Gita again last night especially a small portion of the 14th Chapter:
Krishna: He who hates not light, nor busy activity, nor even darkness, when they are near, neither longs for them when they are far;
Who unperturbed by changing conditions sits apart and watches and says, ‘the powers of nature go round’, and remains firm and shakes not;
Who dwells in his inner self, and is the same in pleasure and pain; to whom gold or stones or earth are one, and what is pleasing or displeasing leave him in peace; who is beyond both praise and blame, and whose mind is steady and quiet...he passes beyond the three powers and can be one with Brahman and the ONE...
This had inspired her to be detached from worldly affairs, enlightened her about where the paths of glory lay and strengthened her spirit to beat the odds.
Debbie is a published writer now. At thirty eight, she stays in her 15th floor penthouse in New Delhi with Shan (who heads the country’s top radio station) and two lovely Dalmatians. She takes a vacation twice a year. Most of the time Shan joins her but secretly, she prefers traveling alone, unattached. After she got married at twenty five, Debbie sat for the Civil Services and cleared the Foreign Service category one shot. She served in the External Affairs Ministry as a Researcher and traveled the globe. At thirty two, she took a year’s break to put together her life’s experiences in a book which she dedicated, surprisingly to her parents and thanked them for ‘giving her away’ to such a wonderful man who inspired in her all that is ‘beautiful and divine’. Penguin India jumped at it after reading her manuscript and paid her a handsome advance. The book sold in thirty two languages in the country and abroad. Debbie couldn’t have asked for a happier life. She still carries the Gita with her wherever she goes and draws inspiration from it.
Friday, September 18, 2009
BLOG-TOBERFEST!!
Dear Readers!
It is festive time in this part of the world so expect to be treated to some exciting pieces of writing in both my blogs all this season till the end of October! I'd be travelling to Karnataka soon and would be writing about my experiences there. I am enjoying this new, strange and exciting phase of my life. I will write all about it! All October! Stay glued to deblinachakravorty.blogspot.com and beyondafter.blogspot.com.
Ciao
xoxo
D
It is festive time in this part of the world so expect to be treated to some exciting pieces of writing in both my blogs all this season till the end of October! I'd be travelling to Karnataka soon and would be writing about my experiences there. I am enjoying this new, strange and exciting phase of my life. I will write all about it! All October! Stay glued to deblinachakravorty.blogspot.com and beyondafter.blogspot.com.
Ciao
xoxo
D
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
What Happened In Paromita's Chamber
About two weeks back I visited an astrologer to try and find out why my career-graph had suddenly hit a plateau. I wasn’t much for it in the beginning. It was my cousin’s constant prodding that made me agree to see her once. “She will counsel you and guide you to the right path”, was what she had said. All of 20, my cousin consulted the astrologer at every crucial stage of her life. So I went.
Her name was Paromita and her chamber was a six feet by six feet cube nestled in the mezzanine floor of a residential building in Triangular Park. On entering the cube I was amazed to see at least fifteen people sitting inside it. I thought, I was suffering from an optical illusion, that the cube is actually twelve by twelve at least; or the cube is made of lycra, it expands. Nevertheless, I sat on a low stool among the fifteen people, majority of who were women. The dilapidated yellow walls were covered with pictures of various deities, and the goddess herself. Paromita was a heavy set woman with a complexion like liquid gold. She wore her wavy hair long and her parting was prominently adorned with vermilion. Most of her pictures were at least 25 years old or even more for she was a young and beautiful woman then. She was seen beside every who’s who in the city, from Ananda Shankar, Amala Shankar, Mamata Shankar and the rest of the Shankar clan to Kishore Kumar, Uttam Kumar, Supriya Debi, Moon Moon Sen, Jyoti Basu and the likes. In some of the pictures she was seen with a man and a child. Her husband and kid, I presumed. An old woman sat at a small desk inside the cube with a register where I had to er...register myself in exchange of two hundred and fifty bucks.
The next forty or so minutes were spent casually looking around and wondering what made these morbid looking people flock to this cube. The women wore the exact same expressions of awe and foreboding. Some had to get their daughters married, others in search of a lucrative career option for their sons. I assumed most peoples’ problems would border around these issues. The men were here, I presumed, in search of remedies for their arthritic problems, who not to include in their ‘will’s and a general question regarding their mortality/longevity. My thoughts inevitably spiralled back to my own problems and what on earth was I doing in an astrologer’s cubbyhole! I was simultaneously considering the option of sneaking out the door into the cool night, mentally calculating how fast can I do up my shoe-straps. That was when I saw the elderly lady come out of Paromita’s private chamber where she ‘saw’ her clients. The old receptionist signalled me to say it’s my turn now. I picked up my red handbag and quietly stepped in.
The private chamber was simply space scooped out from the six by six with frosted glass panels serving as partitions from the waiting area outside. The space was just about enough to accommodate two chairs and a desk and several thick, hard bound books that lay scattered on the floor. There was a ledge where statuettes of several deities graced the tiny chamber with their hallowing presence. Strong incense burned somewhere but I could see no smoke and...holy shit, there was a massive air conditioner on the back wall of the chamber. True, it was freezing in here and there was the deity of deities, the goddess herself: Paromita.
She must’ve been around sixty but her skin glowed all the same. Her hair, now hennaed red was left open like in the photographs. I noticed a strategically placed light bulb on the wall behind her lend a deifying glow to her thick mane and I could almost see light rays radiating out of her lustrous tresses. I could not help but let out a quiet sigh of awe!
Sitting down on one rickety chair, I saw her from eye-level. Though I couldn’t see her eyes hidden behind gigantic bifocals, the kind worn by our grandparents, there was no mistaking her smile that lingered just for a few seconds on those lips. And then she spoke. “You are getting married anytime soon?” Her figure doesn’t quite betray her voice which was a low squeak. I was annoyed at her blunt question and the fact that she put it forward like a statement. “Um no...I mean yes...well...not very soon but...er...” was all I could manage. She smiled that smug smile of the ‘all-knowing’. “I see a lot of trouble...” Yeah, so do I. “You will have a lot of trouble adjusting to your new environment. There would be clashes, quarrels, fights. But you have to keep your ego at bay. You have a volatile and extremely unpredictable nature. It would do you more harm than good. After all, you have to live under somebody or the other...” Excuse- me. Did I hear her right? Did she just say the words: have to live UNDER somebody? “Um I don’t understand what exactly you mean...” “What I mean is,” and she went on, “All your life you would have to adjust or stay under the authority of somebody. When you were a child, you were under the authority of your parents. After marriage wouldn’t you want to live under the protective authority and love of your husband?” That was it. I was on fire. I fought to try to keep my voice even. “Why do you feel that I need to stay ‘under’ somebody’s authority? Ha ha (tried a chuckle) like I’m some artifact or something!” “Well well young lady, you have been born a woman (thanks for the information!). And being a woman isn’t it your responsibility to obey and adjust all your life?” I immediately punched her face, her humongous bifocals split into two. I then took her face and bashed it on the wall behind her and asked her to tear into tiny pieces all the hard bound books that lay on the floor and then I stuffed those tiny pieces of paper down her throat till her oesophagus was full of paper. Of course, I did all of that only in my momentary reverie. In reality, I gave her a good advice. “Lady, if this is what you have been telling the women who come to you seeking answers to their questions, I feel sorry for them. I believe their problems have increased ten-folds after consulting you. I am not going to take any of your nonsense for I came here for some insights into my career not to hear sermons on domesticity. And if you are thinking I would want my Two-fifty bucks back, you are wrong. Keep it as a tip. Goodbye.”
While I bent down at the door tying my shoe-straps, I saw the girl who was scheduled to go in after me, get up from her seat. Her eyes were dancing with expectation and her full round face was brimming with joy of youth. She must hardly be 20. Another one bites the dust, I thought as she pulled down her tank top a little to cover her navel. In two seconds she vanished behind the door, ready to be chastised.
Her name was Paromita and her chamber was a six feet by six feet cube nestled in the mezzanine floor of a residential building in Triangular Park. On entering the cube I was amazed to see at least fifteen people sitting inside it. I thought, I was suffering from an optical illusion, that the cube is actually twelve by twelve at least; or the cube is made of lycra, it expands. Nevertheless, I sat on a low stool among the fifteen people, majority of who were women. The dilapidated yellow walls were covered with pictures of various deities, and the goddess herself. Paromita was a heavy set woman with a complexion like liquid gold. She wore her wavy hair long and her parting was prominently adorned with vermilion. Most of her pictures were at least 25 years old or even more for she was a young and beautiful woman then. She was seen beside every who’s who in the city, from Ananda Shankar, Amala Shankar, Mamata Shankar and the rest of the Shankar clan to Kishore Kumar, Uttam Kumar, Supriya Debi, Moon Moon Sen, Jyoti Basu and the likes. In some of the pictures she was seen with a man and a child. Her husband and kid, I presumed. An old woman sat at a small desk inside the cube with a register where I had to er...register myself in exchange of two hundred and fifty bucks.
The next forty or so minutes were spent casually looking around and wondering what made these morbid looking people flock to this cube. The women wore the exact same expressions of awe and foreboding. Some had to get their daughters married, others in search of a lucrative career option for their sons. I assumed most peoples’ problems would border around these issues. The men were here, I presumed, in search of remedies for their arthritic problems, who not to include in their ‘will’s and a general question regarding their mortality/longevity. My thoughts inevitably spiralled back to my own problems and what on earth was I doing in an astrologer’s cubbyhole! I was simultaneously considering the option of sneaking out the door into the cool night, mentally calculating how fast can I do up my shoe-straps. That was when I saw the elderly lady come out of Paromita’s private chamber where she ‘saw’ her clients. The old receptionist signalled me to say it’s my turn now. I picked up my red handbag and quietly stepped in.
The private chamber was simply space scooped out from the six by six with frosted glass panels serving as partitions from the waiting area outside. The space was just about enough to accommodate two chairs and a desk and several thick, hard bound books that lay scattered on the floor. There was a ledge where statuettes of several deities graced the tiny chamber with their hallowing presence. Strong incense burned somewhere but I could see no smoke and...holy shit, there was a massive air conditioner on the back wall of the chamber. True, it was freezing in here and there was the deity of deities, the goddess herself: Paromita.
She must’ve been around sixty but her skin glowed all the same. Her hair, now hennaed red was left open like in the photographs. I noticed a strategically placed light bulb on the wall behind her lend a deifying glow to her thick mane and I could almost see light rays radiating out of her lustrous tresses. I could not help but let out a quiet sigh of awe!
Sitting down on one rickety chair, I saw her from eye-level. Though I couldn’t see her eyes hidden behind gigantic bifocals, the kind worn by our grandparents, there was no mistaking her smile that lingered just for a few seconds on those lips. And then she spoke. “You are getting married anytime soon?” Her figure doesn’t quite betray her voice which was a low squeak. I was annoyed at her blunt question and the fact that she put it forward like a statement. “Um no...I mean yes...well...not very soon but...er...” was all I could manage. She smiled that smug smile of the ‘all-knowing’. “I see a lot of trouble...” Yeah, so do I. “You will have a lot of trouble adjusting to your new environment. There would be clashes, quarrels, fights. But you have to keep your ego at bay. You have a volatile and extremely unpredictable nature. It would do you more harm than good. After all, you have to live under somebody or the other...” Excuse- me. Did I hear her right? Did she just say the words: have to live UNDER somebody? “Um I don’t understand what exactly you mean...” “What I mean is,” and she went on, “All your life you would have to adjust or stay under the authority of somebody. When you were a child, you were under the authority of your parents. After marriage wouldn’t you want to live under the protective authority and love of your husband?” That was it. I was on fire. I fought to try to keep my voice even. “Why do you feel that I need to stay ‘under’ somebody’s authority? Ha ha (tried a chuckle) like I’m some artifact or something!” “Well well young lady, you have been born a woman (thanks for the information!). And being a woman isn’t it your responsibility to obey and adjust all your life?” I immediately punched her face, her humongous bifocals split into two. I then took her face and bashed it on the wall behind her and asked her to tear into tiny pieces all the hard bound books that lay on the floor and then I stuffed those tiny pieces of paper down her throat till her oesophagus was full of paper. Of course, I did all of that only in my momentary reverie. In reality, I gave her a good advice. “Lady, if this is what you have been telling the women who come to you seeking answers to their questions, I feel sorry for them. I believe their problems have increased ten-folds after consulting you. I am not going to take any of your nonsense for I came here for some insights into my career not to hear sermons on domesticity. And if you are thinking I would want my Two-fifty bucks back, you are wrong. Keep it as a tip. Goodbye.”
While I bent down at the door tying my shoe-straps, I saw the girl who was scheduled to go in after me, get up from her seat. Her eyes were dancing with expectation and her full round face was brimming with joy of youth. She must hardly be 20. Another one bites the dust, I thought as she pulled down her tank top a little to cover her navel. In two seconds she vanished behind the door, ready to be chastised.
Monday, August 31, 2009
My old man in black with megapixel eye
It’s quite strange the way we human beings feel the sense of ‘absence’. It takes us a shorter time to acknowledge the ‘absence’ of something rather than it’s ‘presence’. Like my phone, for instance. A month ago, I lost it. Well, not exactly lost it. It was stolen from my bag in a crowded elevator. I haven’t yet been able to reconcile with the fact that instead of my beloved old phone, I have been compelled to use a trashy piece of black plastic with an abhorring white screen. My old one, a Nokia N73 Music edition (The champion among all the N- Series phones so far which is sadly about to be phased out) was just one and a half years old. But he had the heart of an adult: warm, loving, responding well to my impetuous and unpredictable behaviour. One minute the music player, the other second, photo editing and right then checking my mail, he has seen it all. Even though, in recent times, I had troubled him quite a bit by downloading random ‘themes’ and giving him a new look every single day, he never complained by slowing down his response mechanism. My old one was a bundle of vitality.
He might have been a very regular looking phone but he had an awesome stamina and his expandable 2GB never seemed to get exhausted as I loaded him with song after song after song. And during lonely drives around the city, when I felt like shutting out the mundane noise, out came the headset and I rocked away to a different world. I was complimented several times about my ‘playlists’ and the ease with which I can 'shuffle' through them. And everytime I could feel the black metal body grow warm and hard! He knew!
I have taken some of my best self-portraits with his 3.2 mp camera and Carl- Zeiss optics. And in places where carrying a camera would set you back by one extra bag, my old man was a handy one. Just a swish of the lens cover and my guy was ready for ‘capture’. Needless to mention, he was my constant travel companion. Whether up in the Hills of North Bengal of at the beach in Goa, my world was just a ‘select’ away. Ready access to my mail made my life so much easier especially when you realise an important message has to be sent to the Boss while you are tying up your bikini, ready to hit the surf in Goa. All it took was some deft finger movements and voila! You are ready to...surf! Once when I forgot the chords of a Jack Johnson number, my Google application salvaged me from what could have been an embarrassing situation in front of my guitarist friend!
When I had him, I hardly noticed him. Today when I have to go on a longish journey, I miss him ever so more. Dearest phone, I wish you were here. You had seen me through some of the toughest times in my life. (Yes, a year and a half ago, I was going through a rough patch). And I can never thank you enough. You never ‘died out’ on me, never ‘hung’ up on me. I only hope, wherever you are, in whosever’s hands you are, may you enjoy the same vitality as you did while we were still together.
He might have been a very regular looking phone but he had an awesome stamina and his expandable 2GB never seemed to get exhausted as I loaded him with song after song after song. And during lonely drives around the city, when I felt like shutting out the mundane noise, out came the headset and I rocked away to a different world. I was complimented several times about my ‘playlists’ and the ease with which I can 'shuffle' through them. And everytime I could feel the black metal body grow warm and hard! He knew!
I have taken some of my best self-portraits with his 3.2 mp camera and Carl- Zeiss optics. And in places where carrying a camera would set you back by one extra bag, my old man was a handy one. Just a swish of the lens cover and my guy was ready for ‘capture’. Needless to mention, he was my constant travel companion. Whether up in the Hills of North Bengal of at the beach in Goa, my world was just a ‘select’ away. Ready access to my mail made my life so much easier especially when you realise an important message has to be sent to the Boss while you are tying up your bikini, ready to hit the surf in Goa. All it took was some deft finger movements and voila! You are ready to...surf! Once when I forgot the chords of a Jack Johnson number, my Google application salvaged me from what could have been an embarrassing situation in front of my guitarist friend!
When I had him, I hardly noticed him. Today when I have to go on a longish journey, I miss him ever so more. Dearest phone, I wish you were here. You had seen me through some of the toughest times in my life. (Yes, a year and a half ago, I was going through a rough patch). And I can never thank you enough. You never ‘died out’ on me, never ‘hung’ up on me. I only hope, wherever you are, in whosever’s hands you are, may you enjoy the same vitality as you did while we were still together.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
The EMBEEYAY
In this world thrives a creature called the ‘Embeeyay.’ He (or she) is biped, penta-dactyl, mostly omnivorous (though the herbivore category is slowly on the rise!).He has a very potent weapon, it’s called: the BlackBerry. Powerful messages could be sent and received thru them. In appearance, the Embeeyay is mostly of medium height- five eight or five nine for the males and five two for the female. The Embeeyays are generally slow-reacting (except in matters of KRAs and PMIs), one-dimensional and superficial species. They are driven in only one direction. They have just one goal in life: achieve the TARGET. Pathetic, humourless, defensive is what Historians prefer to call this breed. They stay and move around in their own little bubble universes. We shall now attempt a CASE STUDY of one such prototype.
Meet Kishore Dhanuka. Plain looking, medium built, bespectacled. It wouldn’t have mattered to the world had his surname been Dhandhaniya or Dhanki, Dhariwal or Dasgupta. Today, he arrived at office a full minute late. He shuffled to his workstation, placed his leather briefcase under his desk and switched on his workstation. From behind, his colleague and now cigarette mate slapped Kishore on his back and joked about the girl they used to chase at B- School. But Kishore didn’t have the time or mood to reminisce. It was month-end and he had to achieve his ‘figures’. Now, a little about the word ‘figures’. Figures: Sing. figure- noun- A set of integers greater than equal to zero; usually referred to by certain species as a target to achieve at the end of a month/year by way of ‘sales’. Kishore was a good sales guy. His boss had given him the highest target to achieve. Forty lakhs in thirty days. But Kishore was going through a rough patch. His dream car was waiting in the showroom but the bank was yet to process the loan. He had spent many sleepless nights worrying about this. Then there was his mother who prodded him every day at breakfast to talk about the girl he was seeing. Kishore wasn’t seeing anybody. Hell, who has the time to see when there are ‘figures’ to achieve. Yet Mrs Dhanuka had an uncanny knack of asking intrusive questions about women. Kishore spent many sleepless nights worrying about this too. He himself wondered sometimes whether he did miss something in life, whether there is a need, after all, to worry about women. And then of course, the huge education loan he was to pay back in seven years’ time. This was not Kishore’s first job as the Retail head of an insurance agency. He had already spent three years in this industry but there were too many worries catching up with him now. After a brief stare at the ‘Siddhivinayak’ desktop wall-paper, Kishore started his day by opening his mail.
Sales call at ten, conference at twelve, meeting with agents and prospective clients at four, travel to Messrs Ahluwalia to collect a premium cheque at six, preparing cover notes for tomorrow’s sales calls by eight, conference again at eight thirty. Still he was off-target by about two lakhs. Damn. The furrows on Kishore's forehead deepened. Before even he started his work, Kishore needed a smoke- break.
Kishore’s office was located on the fifth floor of a swanky uptown office complex. The city’s best restaurants were just two blocks away. That place was also the hub of entertainment and the city’s night-life. For Kishore, though, none of this mattered. He worked twelve-hour days and if lunch figured, it would be greasy Chinese food from the street vendor just across the road for 10 bucks. Kishore wasn’t much into drinking or partying though his friends spent endless weekends driving down the city with beer cans in cars and hitting the discos and dancing till the wee hours. The last time Kishore had partied was four years ago in B-School. His eyes drifted from the excel sheet on his computer to a colour photograph on the red soft-board, It was of him with his friends in a hip club in Hyderabad. Man, what a night it was. The music, the food, the beer and the girls. But the picture now seemed like a relic from Stone Age. Before his mind could wander any further, Kishore began listing the clients he was yet to visit in the remaining three days of the month.
Kishore Dhanuka survived the monster called Month-end. Though he was close enough to his target of forty lakhs (He managed thirty eight lakhs, eighty thousand and seven hundred), in this industry, being ‘close enough’ could mean being non- productive. And for perpetual loss making institutions such as Insurance, there is no place for non-productive fellows. But Kishore is a survivor. He will keep surviving till the furrows on his forehead deepens to become bottomless pits of darkness.
Five years and two jobs, Kishore got married and elevated to the position of Retail Head in his new company. After dropping off his pregnant wife to the gynae, he drives his dream car into another swanky address in another part of the city. His appearance has become somewhat swarthy after he started drinking heavily with his male friends. His lanky fingers are adorned with a ruby, an emerald, a sapphire and a topaz. The furrows on his forehead are covered by an orange ‘tika’. He has grown a considerable paunch in three years and is wearing one shirt size too big to conceal his protruding stomach.
He reaches his cabin on time and switches on his laptop. ‘Siddhivinayak’ smiled back at him this time as well. Missing are: the cigarette mate- for Kishore smokes alone now, the colour photograph on his softboard- for it had got buried deep under stuff while he was shifting residence. However, he has a target this time as well. One and a half cores in thirty days. Kishore knows that he would not be there to see his first child right after birth. He had talked it over with his very patient wife Aastha. Kishore looks out of the glass windows in his cabin. The weather outside is dark and grey. Winter was approaching and everything is looking old and dusty, even the sky. A smile slowly spreads across Kishore’s face. It is the first time he had looked out of the window in his new office on the fifteenth floor. It is the first time he had ever looked at the city from this height. He makes an effort to get up from his chair and walk towards the window. He feels the familiar surge of pain shooting up his spine. He had failed many appointments with the doctor. But he just didn’t have the time...
Let me remind the readers that I am not attempting to write a biography here. It is up to you to infer whether Kishore finally got his back diagnosed, whether Kishore had a son or a daughter, whether Kishore was able to achieve his ‘figures’ this time or whether he led a happy life. The choice is yours.
Disclaimer 1: Kishore Dhanuka is a character created by me purely for the purpose of fiction. Any resemblance to any characters living or dead is obviously intentional because there ARE many Kishore Dhanukas living all across the world. And I feel sad about them.
Disclaimer 2: I have nothing against MBA. I believe whichever field one is in, one has to lead a complete, wholesome and enjoyable life. Figures are not the end of the world.
Disclaimer 3: If it seems that I lack technical knowledge in the field of Insurance, it is purely because I am just an observer and have expressed my limited knowledge in the simplest of thoughts without using too much jargon.
Meet Kishore Dhanuka. Plain looking, medium built, bespectacled. It wouldn’t have mattered to the world had his surname been Dhandhaniya or Dhanki, Dhariwal or Dasgupta. Today, he arrived at office a full minute late. He shuffled to his workstation, placed his leather briefcase under his desk and switched on his workstation. From behind, his colleague and now cigarette mate slapped Kishore on his back and joked about the girl they used to chase at B- School. But Kishore didn’t have the time or mood to reminisce. It was month-end and he had to achieve his ‘figures’. Now, a little about the word ‘figures’. Figures: Sing. figure- noun- A set of integers greater than equal to zero; usually referred to by certain species as a target to achieve at the end of a month/year by way of ‘sales’. Kishore was a good sales guy. His boss had given him the highest target to achieve. Forty lakhs in thirty days. But Kishore was going through a rough patch. His dream car was waiting in the showroom but the bank was yet to process the loan. He had spent many sleepless nights worrying about this. Then there was his mother who prodded him every day at breakfast to talk about the girl he was seeing. Kishore wasn’t seeing anybody. Hell, who has the time to see when there are ‘figures’ to achieve. Yet Mrs Dhanuka had an uncanny knack of asking intrusive questions about women. Kishore spent many sleepless nights worrying about this too. He himself wondered sometimes whether he did miss something in life, whether there is a need, after all, to worry about women. And then of course, the huge education loan he was to pay back in seven years’ time. This was not Kishore’s first job as the Retail head of an insurance agency. He had already spent three years in this industry but there were too many worries catching up with him now. After a brief stare at the ‘Siddhivinayak’ desktop wall-paper, Kishore started his day by opening his mail.
Sales call at ten, conference at twelve, meeting with agents and prospective clients at four, travel to Messrs Ahluwalia to collect a premium cheque at six, preparing cover notes for tomorrow’s sales calls by eight, conference again at eight thirty. Still he was off-target by about two lakhs. Damn. The furrows on Kishore's forehead deepened. Before even he started his work, Kishore needed a smoke- break.
Kishore’s office was located on the fifth floor of a swanky uptown office complex. The city’s best restaurants were just two blocks away. That place was also the hub of entertainment and the city’s night-life. For Kishore, though, none of this mattered. He worked twelve-hour days and if lunch figured, it would be greasy Chinese food from the street vendor just across the road for 10 bucks. Kishore wasn’t much into drinking or partying though his friends spent endless weekends driving down the city with beer cans in cars and hitting the discos and dancing till the wee hours. The last time Kishore had partied was four years ago in B-School. His eyes drifted from the excel sheet on his computer to a colour photograph on the red soft-board, It was of him with his friends in a hip club in Hyderabad. Man, what a night it was. The music, the food, the beer and the girls. But the picture now seemed like a relic from Stone Age. Before his mind could wander any further, Kishore began listing the clients he was yet to visit in the remaining three days of the month.
Kishore Dhanuka survived the monster called Month-end. Though he was close enough to his target of forty lakhs (He managed thirty eight lakhs, eighty thousand and seven hundred), in this industry, being ‘close enough’ could mean being non- productive. And for perpetual loss making institutions such as Insurance, there is no place for non-productive fellows. But Kishore is a survivor. He will keep surviving till the furrows on his forehead deepens to become bottomless pits of darkness.
Five years and two jobs, Kishore got married and elevated to the position of Retail Head in his new company. After dropping off his pregnant wife to the gynae, he drives his dream car into another swanky address in another part of the city. His appearance has become somewhat swarthy after he started drinking heavily with his male friends. His lanky fingers are adorned with a ruby, an emerald, a sapphire and a topaz. The furrows on his forehead are covered by an orange ‘tika’. He has grown a considerable paunch in three years and is wearing one shirt size too big to conceal his protruding stomach.
He reaches his cabin on time and switches on his laptop. ‘Siddhivinayak’ smiled back at him this time as well. Missing are: the cigarette mate- for Kishore smokes alone now, the colour photograph on his softboard- for it had got buried deep under stuff while he was shifting residence. However, he has a target this time as well. One and a half cores in thirty days. Kishore knows that he would not be there to see his first child right after birth. He had talked it over with his very patient wife Aastha. Kishore looks out of the glass windows in his cabin. The weather outside is dark and grey. Winter was approaching and everything is looking old and dusty, even the sky. A smile slowly spreads across Kishore’s face. It is the first time he had looked out of the window in his new office on the fifteenth floor. It is the first time he had ever looked at the city from this height. He makes an effort to get up from his chair and walk towards the window. He feels the familiar surge of pain shooting up his spine. He had failed many appointments with the doctor. But he just didn’t have the time...
Let me remind the readers that I am not attempting to write a biography here. It is up to you to infer whether Kishore finally got his back diagnosed, whether Kishore had a son or a daughter, whether Kishore was able to achieve his ‘figures’ this time or whether he led a happy life. The choice is yours.
Disclaimer 1: Kishore Dhanuka is a character created by me purely for the purpose of fiction. Any resemblance to any characters living or dead is obviously intentional because there ARE many Kishore Dhanukas living all across the world. And I feel sad about them.
Disclaimer 2: I have nothing against MBA. I believe whichever field one is in, one has to lead a complete, wholesome and enjoyable life. Figures are not the end of the world.
Disclaimer 3: If it seems that I lack technical knowledge in the field of Insurance, it is purely because I am just an observer and have expressed my limited knowledge in the simplest of thoughts without using too much jargon.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Delhi
The sun felt hot as it streamed through the wide-open windows and came to rest upon my bare legs. It was six in the morning and I could see the steely- beige- grey sky and a frozen but super-scorching sun. Sasha was sleeping peacefully beside me on the mattress despite the heat. We didn’t have a bed yet and will probably never have one! But what we needed the most, then, were curtains! As morning and afternoon melted into each other, 33D DDA Flat was a blur of motions. Papa in the other room scurrying to make tea for the nth time, Sasha in the loo with the day’s papers and I shuffling somewhere between breakfast and ironing my clothes. Well that’s how most of the days in Delhi started except Sundays. Sundays generally started at noon and then a cold bath, cold but healthy lunch, some lovemaking and then evening. But those were good days. Days that I miss terribly nowadays.
Since we had just started out, Sasha and I bought a bike because we couldn’t afford a car straight up. Our flat turned from ‘habitable’ to a nest in just seven days. And what made it complete was the comforting thought that we had a bike in the garage on which we could just zoom out whenever we wanted to. Helmets were bought too. New ones for the ones bought in Chennai had worn out too much.
The first few months were spent getting accustomed to the different sights and sounds of ‘Dilli’. The best sound used to be the wonderful ‘swish’ of the air near Raisina Hill. It smelt of power and politics. But one cannot miss the cling-clang of empty ‘seekh’s as they were loaded with marinated mutton to be slow-roasted over the tandoor, especially the one that belonged to the little guy in New Friends Colony’s Community Centre. It was one of the hippest places to be after Saket’s Community Centre. And it was OUR neighbourhood! I still remember many a drunken jaunts to and from the nightclubs and bars that lined up the boulevard of CC, as we used to call it!
The curtains finally arrived one July evening when I had an off day and the house was empty. They were blue, the aquamarine kind of blue with turquoise stripes. The next morning, the sun shone from outside the curtains bathing the whole room in a cool blue light. It was almost time to wake up and Sasha and I made love in that blue light.
Though Saturdays and Sundays were mostly off for both of us, we hardly had the energy to travel to the various places where people generally go for weekend tours. The ‘50 Great Places to See Near Delhi, 2007-08’ was just an artefact lying on our bookshelf gathering dry Delhi-dust. We did go to Lansdowne though. A quaint hill station in Uttarakhand, about 600 kilometres from Delhi. It was in the wet month of August when Delhi gets soaked in humidity and the discomfort level rises to a certain degree. Lansdowne is a military cantonment and there’s not much to do there except trudge up and down the winding slope of the only road that runs through the town. Or, drink rum in the cozy comfort of the fire-place in your hotel room. We did both. It was mildly cold and we didn’t carry any winter clothes and had only each other to keep us warm!
Since we had just started out, Sasha and I bought a bike because we couldn’t afford a car straight up. Our flat turned from ‘habitable’ to a nest in just seven days. And what made it complete was the comforting thought that we had a bike in the garage on which we could just zoom out whenever we wanted to. Helmets were bought too. New ones for the ones bought in Chennai had worn out too much.
The first few months were spent getting accustomed to the different sights and sounds of ‘Dilli’. The best sound used to be the wonderful ‘swish’ of the air near Raisina Hill. It smelt of power and politics. But one cannot miss the cling-clang of empty ‘seekh’s as they were loaded with marinated mutton to be slow-roasted over the tandoor, especially the one that belonged to the little guy in New Friends Colony’s Community Centre. It was one of the hippest places to be after Saket’s Community Centre. And it was OUR neighbourhood! I still remember many a drunken jaunts to and from the nightclubs and bars that lined up the boulevard of CC, as we used to call it!
The curtains finally arrived one July evening when I had an off day and the house was empty. They were blue, the aquamarine kind of blue with turquoise stripes. The next morning, the sun shone from outside the curtains bathing the whole room in a cool blue light. It was almost time to wake up and Sasha and I made love in that blue light.
Though Saturdays and Sundays were mostly off for both of us, we hardly had the energy to travel to the various places where people generally go for weekend tours. The ‘50 Great Places to See Near Delhi, 2007-08’ was just an artefact lying on our bookshelf gathering dry Delhi-dust. We did go to Lansdowne though. A quaint hill station in Uttarakhand, about 600 kilometres from Delhi. It was in the wet month of August when Delhi gets soaked in humidity and the discomfort level rises to a certain degree. Lansdowne is a military cantonment and there’s not much to do there except trudge up and down the winding slope of the only road that runs through the town. Or, drink rum in the cozy comfort of the fire-place in your hotel room. We did both. It was mildly cold and we didn’t carry any winter clothes and had only each other to keep us warm!
Confessions of the Solitary Shopaholic
I am a shopaholic and I have no qualms in admitting that. But there’s a catch: I like shopping alone! I always look forward to that time of the year when the air in the city becomes heavy with discounts, when shop windows scream SALE . I cannot seem to wait to get my hands on stuff thats up for grabs. Of course, alone! I have often had my friends tell me: Honey, how could you survive shopping alone? Don’t you feel bored? No I don’t. Infact, I feel more comfortable and at ease when I know that I am not keeping my companions waiting outside trial rooms. Two days when I went out shopping: One with my mother and my sister, two: ALONE! On the first day itself after spending five feet-aching hours at the Mecca of shopping in Kolkata- New Market, I came home with just underwear as the only purchase! On the second day, things were slightly more different. This time, I had planned out my whole routine as it were. Since I start my new job on Monday, I needed to fix my face which had become dark and dull in the past two idle months. So a facial and pedicure as a bonus, I started my day out or rather evening out.
After some much-needed pampering of my face, soles and soul, I headed towards Pantaloons. The long queues in front of the trial rooms didn’t annoy me one bit. Infact, I almost enjoyed watching young women parade in and out of the trial rooms, some with satisfied expressions on their faces and most with a look of complete agony as they had to hold their breath so they could fit into their pants/dresses! I loved it! And what opinions the fathers/mothers/boyfriends had to give! That part was even better!
I had primarily come to look for some formal clothes. My budget was tight. And I had to keep reminding myself that since I was fast running out of my savings and loading up on credit, I should keep the “shoppers’ gluttony” at bay. So here I was with three trousers draped over my arms, feeling proud to have kept the ‘monster’ in me quiet!
As I hailed a cab after purchasing just two trousers, I felt a quiet satisfaction spread all over me. For, one: I shopped but didn’t drop! And two: I shopped alone! No smarty pants boyfriends advising me on what to wear and silly parents admonishing me on what not to wear. When I’m out shopping, I’m happily SINGLE!
After some much-needed pampering of my face, soles and soul, I headed towards Pantaloons. The long queues in front of the trial rooms didn’t annoy me one bit. Infact, I almost enjoyed watching young women parade in and out of the trial rooms, some with satisfied expressions on their faces and most with a look of complete agony as they had to hold their breath so they could fit into their pants/dresses! I loved it! And what opinions the fathers/mothers/boyfriends had to give! That part was even better!
I had primarily come to look for some formal clothes. My budget was tight. And I had to keep reminding myself that since I was fast running out of my savings and loading up on credit, I should keep the “shoppers’ gluttony” at bay. So here I was with three trousers draped over my arms, feeling proud to have kept the ‘monster’ in me quiet!
As I hailed a cab after purchasing just two trousers, I felt a quiet satisfaction spread all over me. For, one: I shopped but didn’t drop! And two: I shopped alone! No smarty pants boyfriends advising me on what to wear and silly parents admonishing me on what not to wear. When I’m out shopping, I’m happily SINGLE!
Simple Harmonic Motion
Relationships- what does that word mean? For one, it’s not an entity one can touch, feel, see. Take it as a pact or say a venture where a part of another person and an EQUAL part of you are signed in...in sync or as we learned in school: in SHM...Simple HARMONIC motion.
Yesterday I was supposed to have dinner with a very old friend of mine. Kaushani. And her boyfriend. She’s married to this guy but they are not in SHM! So she has a boyfriend who is twice divorced but married now to someone and has three kids blah blah blah! But she is my best friend and she they love each other blindly. But somehow the dinner date got cancelled because he was not feeling too well.
A few weeks back, Kaushani and I decided to hang out together and hit the nightclubs. We spent a whole night club-hopping and dancing with random guys. Though three tequila shots burned a deep hole in my credit card, I actually had a wonderful time with my girlfriend (for a change!) after a really long time. However, the boyfriend of hers kept calling her every hour to make sure she was ‘okay’ and not ‘sloshed’ and definitely not in the arms of another man! She kept swearing a hundred times that she was sober and not checking out other men. I wondered, is this normal? I mean, what are two single (at least while we were out dancing) girls to do when they decide to go club-hopping? Dance with each other? Do some kind of a gay tango?
Well anyway...while I drifted towards this really nice guy who does bit roles on TV and who’s six feet two with stubbles and a killer smile...phew...K kept a safe distance from the male of the species...Two Bacardis, three tequila shots, two beer pints, two pegs of vodka and a peg of scotch downed, at about four thirty in the morning, I peeled myself off the dance floor at Roxy and got into a cab waiting for us outside the hotel.
After the hangover passed...and it took quite a while to pass...I reminisced on the lovely time I had with K. Who needs men when you have good girlfriends to hang out with? I mean though I am not single as in ‘single’ single...well...okay I have a boyfriend of six years, I’d prefer to hang out with my girlfriends because at some point of time or the other, men can’t really have as much fun as a bunch of girls can...can they? Even though K’s guy kept calling her every sixty minutes, I can guarantee that she had as much fun as I did. Hell we freaked out!
As long as you are in SHM with yourself, it doesn’t really matter if your other half (not necessarily the better half!) is in SHM with you. You don’t HAVE to agree with each other on everything and nothing. K is not in SHM with her husband. Problem is she is not even in SHM with her boyfriend. Love in her case wasn’t BLIND! Love, in her case is like a vigilante. Eyes wide open, guarding her against herself, her own instincts. Before she knows it, her motion has fallen out of harmony with herself. She has been swept away by her guy’s motion...If you are in love...you needn’t LOSE yourself.
Yesterday I was supposed to have dinner with a very old friend of mine. Kaushani. And her boyfriend. She’s married to this guy but they are not in SHM! So she has a boyfriend who is twice divorced but married now to someone and has three kids blah blah blah! But she is my best friend and she they love each other blindly. But somehow the dinner date got cancelled because he was not feeling too well.
A few weeks back, Kaushani and I decided to hang out together and hit the nightclubs. We spent a whole night club-hopping and dancing with random guys. Though three tequila shots burned a deep hole in my credit card, I actually had a wonderful time with my girlfriend (for a change!) after a really long time. However, the boyfriend of hers kept calling her every hour to make sure she was ‘okay’ and not ‘sloshed’ and definitely not in the arms of another man! She kept swearing a hundred times that she was sober and not checking out other men. I wondered, is this normal? I mean, what are two single (at least while we were out dancing) girls to do when they decide to go club-hopping? Dance with each other? Do some kind of a gay tango?
Well anyway...while I drifted towards this really nice guy who does bit roles on TV and who’s six feet two with stubbles and a killer smile...phew...K kept a safe distance from the male of the species...Two Bacardis, three tequila shots, two beer pints, two pegs of vodka and a peg of scotch downed, at about four thirty in the morning, I peeled myself off the dance floor at Roxy and got into a cab waiting for us outside the hotel.
After the hangover passed...and it took quite a while to pass...I reminisced on the lovely time I had with K. Who needs men when you have good girlfriends to hang out with? I mean though I am not single as in ‘single’ single...well...okay I have a boyfriend of six years, I’d prefer to hang out with my girlfriends because at some point of time or the other, men can’t really have as much fun as a bunch of girls can...can they? Even though K’s guy kept calling her every sixty minutes, I can guarantee that she had as much fun as I did. Hell we freaked out!
As long as you are in SHM with yourself, it doesn’t really matter if your other half (not necessarily the better half!) is in SHM with you. You don’t HAVE to agree with each other on everything and nothing. K is not in SHM with her husband. Problem is she is not even in SHM with her boyfriend. Love in her case wasn’t BLIND! Love, in her case is like a vigilante. Eyes wide open, guarding her against herself, her own instincts. Before she knows it, her motion has fallen out of harmony with herself. She has been swept away by her guy’s motion...If you are in love...you needn’t LOSE yourself.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
How do I look?
She turned from side to side with an eagre expression on her face. The dress she was wearing was a skintight sleeveless jersey on top of shapeless denim pants. Her body, though slim seemed to ooze out of the dress and her ample bosom heaved with anticipation as she stole a glance at her boyfriend who trained his attention on her neckline with a critical eye. I waited impatiently for my turn at the fitting room. This is not the first time I had encountered buxom nymphs waiting with bated breath for their boyfriends to comment on their choice of clothes or the way the dress fitted or in most cases didn't! Once I was at a popular clothing store and as usual waiting for my turn at the fitting room queue. A young lady who was obviously married came out of one of the cubicles in a asymmetrical yellow skirt. She was holding her kameez up so her husband could see how she looked. The woman was young because her eyes still had that sparkle of youth and newly wedded because her eyes didn't yet have that faraway futile stare which many women who have been married for a while have. Needless to say she expected her husband's jaw to drop and a resounding "wow!" She got none. Instead, the guy who was also talking on his phone waved his hand as if dismissing her choice. His face betrayed nothing though. Only his lips moved in conversation with whoever it was on the other end of the line. The woman was not one to give up so soon. She emerged from the cubicle in 5 minutes, this time in a red knee length pencil skirt. Like most Bengali women, she too had her share of cellulite around her knees and upper calves. Plus she needed a waxing session. I cringed and so did the floor manager who was nearby and happened to caste a glance at her legs. The husband had now finished his conversation and was now looking intently at those not so heavenly legs while the wife catwalked in the skirt and kameez bunched up. I had grown more impatient by now and so had many other women. "Chhere dao. Bhalo noy eta. Salwar kameez tai bhalo. Skirt firt porte hobe na. Cholo..." The expectant smile vanished and off flew the wife into the cubicle. She was out in 20 seconds with the red skirt and the yellow skirt draped over her arm. She handed them to the floor manager and obediently followed her husband out of the store.
It's not just the boyfriends and husbands who form the jury. Often I have seen 'mothers' advocating how high should the neckline be or how low should the hemline be in order for the dress to be passed off as okay. While I was in New Delhi, I had gone shopping for a good pair of dark blue denims. My search took me to the Levi's store in South Ex. There was a teenage girl who was trying out a great pair of acid washed denims. It was super low-rise with extra flare. (The trend of skinny jeans hadn't hit this part of the world yet.) Her mother made her parade through the store and sit on the floor, the couches and even the high stools at the cash counter to check if too much of her hindside was visible. The girl protested saying it was cool to show off your hindside but in the end, the mother's verdict prevailed. She went home empty handed. While they were on their way out I overheard her mother saying: "Papa kya sochenge agar tu iss tarah ke kapre pehnegi...? Dadi kya sochegi? Dadji kya sochenge? Society ke log kya sochenge? Humare rishtedaar kya sochenge?" (What will your father think if he sees you wearing such clothes? What will your grand dad think? And your grand mom? And our society people? And our relatives?)
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Short prose
There were chairs hanging from the ceiling and my coffee mug was magically placed on the desk, inverted. Magically because the coffee was still inside it. And steaming. Funny how things seem to look more ‘in control’ when viewed from an inverted perspective. In reality, there was actually a storm brewing inside my coffee mug!
Phew! I jerked my head up and felt all the blood rush downwards. Felt slightly light-headed even. I was challenging myself to lie on the bed with my head hanging from the side for five minutes. It was just 130 seconds when I couldn’t take it anymore.
Phew! I jerked my head up and felt all the blood rush downwards. Felt slightly light-headed even. I was challenging myself to lie on the bed with my head hanging from the side for five minutes. It was just 130 seconds when I couldn’t take it anymore.
Monday, March 16, 2009
A Modern Fairy Tale Part 1
I have a hyperactive imagination and I consider it to be a blessing. You don’t always want to look at ‘A’ as ‘A’. ‘A’ could be ‘B’ or ‘C’ or ‘Z’. It’s up to you to create. And destroy. I can relate hundreds of instances of creation and destruction that I have done single-handedly. One day when I woke up from my sleep, I thought the bed was floating on the clouds. It was an amazing experience. I could see my 72 year old grandmother watering her plants on the terrace garden. For the first time, I noticed that she talks to her plants as though they were her grandchildren. Next I saw my mother return from her morning walk. I was surprised to see that she stops on her way to feed the pigeons some grain that she…oh my God…carried in a little pouch! Slowly as I glided down, my window came into view. I never knew how my window looked from outside. Today I caught a glimpse of it from the other side. There was a girl lying on the bed. She would be roughly of my age and height. She was lying on one side and there was a lingering smile on her face. Her short brown hair fell over her eyes as she slept. I didn’t know her name but she looked vaguely familiar. I recalled having seen her often.
As I floated just outside her window, I peeped in to have a closer look I noticed that the walls of her room had been newly painted in a dewy green hue. The sun was peeking in through the huge leaves of the coconut tree just outside her window. It was casting a psychedelic pattern of light and shadows over the empty part of her bed. All of a sudden, I felt a jolt. The bed on which I was sitting started rocking and I felt a tremendous force sucking me into a point in the sky. The point grew into a sort of a tunnel which, I understood was the place I was being sucked into. The walls of the tunnel were now closer and I heard a rhythmic beeping sound emanating from it. It engulfed me and the bed and the beeping sound got louder and louder. Then darkness. Silence.
My eyes wouldn’t open. I felt airsickness. The alarm was screeching now. It was seven- thirty. Finally light. Whoa! I was blinded by the sun streaming through the open window! There was a weird pattern on my bed, as though somebody had been sleeping there beside me and had got up in a hurry, leaving the sheets all messed up. I brushed the hair away from my eyes, sat up and turned the alarm off. Mother was back from her morning walk. I heard her in the kitchen rustling up a breakfast. Another day. Any other day. Why do nice dreams have to come to an end? I already knew the answer. To bring us back to the real world. The real world is harsh, cruel. There are no flying carpets, talking plants and wormholes to take you to a different universe. But there are the ogres, the trolls. The fairies, nymphs, dryads. The ogres wear power suits and have power lunch. The dryads wear couture gowns and chiffon sarees. They all carry wands made of thorns. They wear crowns made of Blackberrys! They cover their eyes with Ferragamo or Ray Ban for their eyes will burn if they look at light. This is the real world. And I am a part of it.
I bathed and put on my power linen shirt, denims and Police shades. I was now equipped to venture out into the real world.
As I floated just outside her window, I peeped in to have a closer look I noticed that the walls of her room had been newly painted in a dewy green hue. The sun was peeking in through the huge leaves of the coconut tree just outside her window. It was casting a psychedelic pattern of light and shadows over the empty part of her bed. All of a sudden, I felt a jolt. The bed on which I was sitting started rocking and I felt a tremendous force sucking me into a point in the sky. The point grew into a sort of a tunnel which, I understood was the place I was being sucked into. The walls of the tunnel were now closer and I heard a rhythmic beeping sound emanating from it. It engulfed me and the bed and the beeping sound got louder and louder. Then darkness. Silence.
My eyes wouldn’t open. I felt airsickness. The alarm was screeching now. It was seven- thirty. Finally light. Whoa! I was blinded by the sun streaming through the open window! There was a weird pattern on my bed, as though somebody had been sleeping there beside me and had got up in a hurry, leaving the sheets all messed up. I brushed the hair away from my eyes, sat up and turned the alarm off. Mother was back from her morning walk. I heard her in the kitchen rustling up a breakfast. Another day. Any other day. Why do nice dreams have to come to an end? I already knew the answer. To bring us back to the real world. The real world is harsh, cruel. There are no flying carpets, talking plants and wormholes to take you to a different universe. But there are the ogres, the trolls. The fairies, nymphs, dryads. The ogres wear power suits and have power lunch. The dryads wear couture gowns and chiffon sarees. They all carry wands made of thorns. They wear crowns made of Blackberrys! They cover their eyes with Ferragamo or Ray Ban for their eyes will burn if they look at light. This is the real world. And I am a part of it.
I bathed and put on my power linen shirt, denims and Police shades. I was now equipped to venture out into the real world.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Independent women
I don't know why, repeatedly I return to the subject of women. I am not a die-hard, bra-burning type of a feminist. But I wish women, today, were more assertive about themselves. Now heres a list of what I expect from the woman of today...
1. Grow up and beyond jewellery, clothes, hair and make-up and husbands and boyfriends!
2. Be bold about choices and be responsible.
3. Come out of the shadow of haggling parents who want to get you married.
4. Live an independent life. A life on your own terms. A life thats free from inhibitions.
5. 'Getting married' should not be an ultimate goal of life, for god's sake!
6. Marriage is okay as long as your own individuality is not sacrificed and hidden under yards of sarees and pounds of gold!
7. It is okay to retain your maiden name after marriage and it is okay to be Miss so and so instead of Mrs so and so.
8. Be assertive about your sexuality. Assertive but not overtly promiscuous!
9. Be and look dignified in everything you do.
10. Drinking, smoking and wearing tiny clothes does not define modernity. Modernity lies in the way you think, in the kind of lifestyle you aspire to.
11. If it is possible, wearing sindoor and shankha-pola or chooda should be abolished. I feel they are signs of 'bondage'.
12. Have an outgoing personality. The only man you speak to/have lunch/dinner with/go for a drink with should not be your husband or your boyfriend!
13. It is better to remain unmarried and lead an independent life than to have a chauvinistic pig as a husband.
14. Do something on your own in life. Even if you don't have a high-flying job that pays you lakhs, do something that ensures your financial independence. The worst thing that the woman of today can do is ask for money from the men!
15. Wear good lingerie! I don't know why I am including this in the list but it is imperative for women to wear the right kind of lingerie, the kind that best complements what they are, bodily!
16. Travel a lot ladies! I don't mean travelling on your honeymoon with your beloved hubby! Travel alone/with friends/an unknown group of backpackers, the likes...! That will give you a whole new perspective in life.
17. Learn how to drive a car! Nothing feels greater than sitting on the driver's seat 'with your eyes on the road and hands upon the wheel...'!
18. Ladies, read Isadora Duncan's autobiography. Its marvellous. I think being an independent woman in the turn-of-the-century-Puritan America can be quite challenging. And Miss Duncan has lived her life on her own terms in the early 1900s, something that women in the year 2009 cannot dream of doing! Pull up your socks ladies! Or shall I say panty-hoses!!
I think thats enough gyaan for the day! I should now turn to my sci-fi imagination and churn out some more pulp!
1. Grow up and beyond jewellery, clothes, hair and make-up and husbands and boyfriends!
2. Be bold about choices and be responsible.
3. Come out of the shadow of haggling parents who want to get you married.
4. Live an independent life. A life on your own terms. A life thats free from inhibitions.
5. 'Getting married' should not be an ultimate goal of life, for god's sake!
6. Marriage is okay as long as your own individuality is not sacrificed and hidden under yards of sarees and pounds of gold!
7. It is okay to retain your maiden name after marriage and it is okay to be Miss so and so instead of Mrs so and so.
8. Be assertive about your sexuality. Assertive but not overtly promiscuous!
9. Be and look dignified in everything you do.
10. Drinking, smoking and wearing tiny clothes does not define modernity. Modernity lies in the way you think, in the kind of lifestyle you aspire to.
11. If it is possible, wearing sindoor and shankha-pola or chooda should be abolished. I feel they are signs of 'bondage'.
12. Have an outgoing personality. The only man you speak to/have lunch/dinner with/go for a drink with should not be your husband or your boyfriend!
13. It is better to remain unmarried and lead an independent life than to have a chauvinistic pig as a husband.
14. Do something on your own in life. Even if you don't have a high-flying job that pays you lakhs, do something that ensures your financial independence. The worst thing that the woman of today can do is ask for money from the men!
15. Wear good lingerie! I don't know why I am including this in the list but it is imperative for women to wear the right kind of lingerie, the kind that best complements what they are, bodily!
16. Travel a lot ladies! I don't mean travelling on your honeymoon with your beloved hubby! Travel alone/with friends/an unknown group of backpackers, the likes...! That will give you a whole new perspective in life.
17. Learn how to drive a car! Nothing feels greater than sitting on the driver's seat 'with your eyes on the road and hands upon the wheel...'!
18. Ladies, read Isadora Duncan's autobiography. Its marvellous. I think being an independent woman in the turn-of-the-century-Puritan America can be quite challenging. And Miss Duncan has lived her life on her own terms in the early 1900s, something that women in the year 2009 cannot dream of doing! Pull up your socks ladies! Or shall I say panty-hoses!!
I think thats enough gyaan for the day! I should now turn to my sci-fi imagination and churn out some more pulp!
Monday, March 2, 2009
Hows that for Sci-fi!
Imagine if the sun is suddenly blown out by a gust of very strong celestial wind! Here's a list of what could happen:
1. It will become dark...very dark! (Huh!)
2. It will become freezing cold! (Yeah like you needed to tell me that!) The temperature will plummet to several degrees below zero.
3. The trees will die. No sun, no photosynthesis, no food for the plants...hence they all start wilting...
4. No trees, no vegetation for the herbivores. No food for herbivores, two things can happen: One, they die. Two, they become carnivores! (Now that's an idea!)
5. If small herbivores die, carnivores go without food and ultimately die. Here too, a gamut of possibilities can happen. Carnivores go without food and die, that's one. On second thoughts, what if they start feeding on fellow carnivores and turn to cannibalism as well...Third, they become aquatic! (This I'll explain later!)
6. Where do humans go? (Good question!) Since the temperature has dropped way beyond freezing point, there's one thing that we can do....any guesses?? We start burrowing! Yeah! If the theory that there is a real hot centre deep down the middle of the earth (read A Journey to the Centre of the Earth by Jules Verne, you'll know what I'm talking about...) is true after all, we can all start burrowing and build homes inside the earth to be close to that heat source. Magma.
7. What do we eat? (Ah! If only they had Mac D's and Pizza Huts down there!) We are forced to become vegetarian! (Finally!) We eat roots of trees that are hundreds of thousands of years old! Of course there will be other animals who will think of migrating deep down under (!) to be safe from the cold! We can eat those too. Take your pick. Fresh rodents! Fresh rodents! Imagine a meat shop under several layers of the earth selling mole fillet and rat flanks!
8. Then if Lamarck's theory holds true (It proposed that individual efforts during the lifetime of the organisms were the main mechanism driving species to adaptation, as they supposedly would acquire adaptive changes and pass them on to offspring.) then human beings would slowly become stooped. Grow large talons (to dig out earth) and maybe even snouts! Hell! We would all end up looking like rodents! Welcome to Gnawville!
Disclaimer: The above views are products of my own imagination and no scientist, scientific research or theory should be held responsible for these views! Infact, these views would make for good quality (but cheap!) science fiction!
p.s. What about aquatic life? Well...need to research a bit on this one! Wait for my next post...
1. It will become dark...very dark! (Huh!)
2. It will become freezing cold! (Yeah like you needed to tell me that!) The temperature will plummet to several degrees below zero.
3. The trees will die. No sun, no photosynthesis, no food for the plants...hence they all start wilting...
4. No trees, no vegetation for the herbivores. No food for herbivores, two things can happen: One, they die. Two, they become carnivores! (Now that's an idea!)
5. If small herbivores die, carnivores go without food and ultimately die. Here too, a gamut of possibilities can happen. Carnivores go without food and die, that's one. On second thoughts, what if they start feeding on fellow carnivores and turn to cannibalism as well...Third, they become aquatic! (This I'll explain later!)
6. Where do humans go? (Good question!) Since the temperature has dropped way beyond freezing point, there's one thing that we can do....any guesses?? We start burrowing! Yeah! If the theory that there is a real hot centre deep down the middle of the earth (read A Journey to the Centre of the Earth by Jules Verne, you'll know what I'm talking about...) is true after all, we can all start burrowing and build homes inside the earth to be close to that heat source. Magma.
7. What do we eat? (Ah! If only they had Mac D's and Pizza Huts down there!) We are forced to become vegetarian! (Finally!) We eat roots of trees that are hundreds of thousands of years old! Of course there will be other animals who will think of migrating deep down under (!) to be safe from the cold! We can eat those too. Take your pick. Fresh rodents! Fresh rodents! Imagine a meat shop under several layers of the earth selling mole fillet and rat flanks!
8. Then if Lamarck's theory holds true (It proposed that individual efforts during the lifetime of the organisms were the main mechanism driving species to adaptation, as they supposedly would acquire adaptive changes and pass them on to offspring.) then human beings would slowly become stooped. Grow large talons (to dig out earth) and maybe even snouts! Hell! We would all end up looking like rodents! Welcome to Gnawville!
Disclaimer: The above views are products of my own imagination and no scientist, scientific research or theory should be held responsible for these views! Infact, these views would make for good quality (but cheap!) science fiction!
p.s. What about aquatic life? Well...need to research a bit on this one! Wait for my next post...
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Women
Miss A couldn't take her eyes off the gold necklace that my friend was wearing on her marriage day. I thought if I look closely, I would find her pupils dilated, almost in a state of trance. "Oh but I can do better than that, " she said finally. Miss A is going to get married in a few days. She had come over to my place for a last 'spinster meal' or what we say in Bengali: aaiburo bhaat. After the meal we were hanging out in my room when I decided to show her the wedding pictures of another friend who had got married last month. That was how she came to be transfixed to the image of my friend in her wedding attire, red benarasi saree and gold jewellery. Too much is never enough for Miss A. She had declared proudly once: I am going to put on all the gold jewellery I can lay my hands on, on my wedding day. I don't care if they match my outfit or not. I want to be covered in gold. There are many women like Miss A who think their ultimate aim in life is to get married and on the wedding day wear an entire jewellery shop on themselves. After all a woman's worth is measured by the kilos of gold she can wear! Sigh!
Miss S is now a dutiful wife and daughter-in-law. In the 12 months that she has been married, she had the companion-ship of her husband for just 5 months. He is with the merchant navy, sailing in the South China Sea as I write. Miss S is very adjusting and compromising. She would never dream of hanging out with her friends post marriage as this might upset her parents-in-law. Miss S has discarded all her denims, skirts and tees and has draped the saree for good. Miss S travels from North Kolkata to South Kolkata in the metro for the meagre job that she does. The first thing that Miss S has to do after a tiring day at work is make sure that the compulsory 45 minutes 'chat' with her mother-in-law is done as soon as she is home. Sweet nothings about 'sangsaar' or household I presume. Miss S cooks the family dinner at 10 pm, sets the table, serves her in-laws, cleans the table after they are done and finishes off her own dinner at midnight, alone. She watches TV till 3 in the morning, half-asleep. Before long, its time to wake up to the same routine. Miss S has sacrificed her friends because she is now a dutiful wife and daughter-in-law. Miss S cannot post pictures of herself on social networking sites as that might upset her husband, who is out at sea and out of sight. Miss S is trapped and she is loving it. And she is always ready to give advise on how to 'compromise and adjust after marriage' and how 'all 'husbands' are essentially alike' and so on and so forth. God bless Miss S!
Both Miss A and Miss S are childhood friends of mine. And they would be extremely upset if they ever read this post. "Deblina, how could you defame us so?" would be their obvious retort. "Its is normal to lust after gold. I am a woman after all!" Of course you are a woman and it is okay to lust after gold. In olden days, when women were still subjugated, the gold that she owned or was given during marriage used to be her only wealth. Thats because women in those times never worked. They always had to depend on the 'menfolk'. But times have changed. Of course it is perfectly normal to 'lust' after gold, diamonds, rubies, the likes. But that is not the end of life! "Its normal to adjust and compromise after marriage!" Well I don't deny that. I'm not sure about compromise but it is perfectly normal to 'adjust' after marriage, at the workplace, in the family...you name it. But adjust at what cost? At the cost of giving up your individuality??
I still remember, in 2007, before Miss S was married, I had come down to Kolkata from Delhi for Durga Puja. Miss S, Miss A and I teamed up and went for dinner. After dinner (It was only 7 pm!) I suggested that we go for a drink. Miss A was enthusiastic though she doesn't drink but Miss S vehemently refused. "I cannot drink now...I am getting married...and my husband is not with me..!" And so she mouthed some inane excuses and hurried home leaving me fuming!
The problem with them is that they are too happy in their situations. They would hardly even notice that in the 21st century, such behaviour is not really ..uh...normal...(or...is it??!!) Nevertheless, I now realize that I had expected too much out of my best friends. I really shouldn't have.
Monday, February 9, 2009
the ballad of lolly-licking girls and the grinning lad
I hate the TATA Capital commercial. Many may find it 'cute' but I despise it from the core of my heart. This is how it goes: Two girls. About 7-8 years old. In seemingly raggedy dresses find an antique coin while rummaging through stuff in a very 'run-down' looking house. (We don't know if they live in this house or if they are employed as child labours, gosh! But they look very well off with nice long twin pony-tails and smiling faces that are radiantly clean, a far cry from the very famous Jamal Malik of Slumdog Millionaire.) Off they run to the ice-lolly (gola, in popularspeak!) vendor in the hope of buying ice-lollies with that antique coin. (They think: "Aww...cho-chweet!". I think: @#$#@%**) The vendor looks at the coin, turns it around in his fingers and gives the angry expression: "Nahin chalega!" (Read: Slowdown ke bazaar mein antique coins kaun leta hai bitiya! Chawanni athanni mill jaye yahi badi baat hai!! Or During the slowdown, one is lucky to make earnings of 50 paise...antique coins!!Ha ha ha!Silly girls!)
Dejected, the girls take back the coin, walk over to the side. The younger one stares longingly at the golas made by the Gola-man. (They think: "Aww...poor little poor girl!" I think:*$#@@##) While the girls are sitting near a railing of what seems to me to be a park, they wonder what to do. Enter: Young lad of about 11-12 years old, grinning ear to ear. Girls smile coyly. (At this age! Gosh!) Lad asks for the coin. Girls, discuss it over (with what seems to me to be just by nodding their heads!) and hand the coin to young grinning lad. Lad, still grinning, 'examines' the coin. ("Silly girls. Don't know zilch about the 'valuation' of this piece of antique.") Lad's expression: wait a moment girlies, BRB!
Grinning lad pedals all the way across the town, which seems to me to be a hill-station. Simla, if I am not mistaken. He stops at an antique shop and goes to the counter marked: EXCHANGE COIN! Eureka eureka!! Grinning lad has done it! (They think: "Aww...smart boy na?". I...smirk.) Antique man is impressed by grinning lad's presence of mind. Grinning lad smiles smugly too. (A 'man' thing I guess!) In the next scene, lad hands two pink ice-lollies to the two girls. They are beside themselves with joy. Grinning lad has done it again! Way to go grinning lad!! A prototype of all men. The man's man.
Its no surprise that the girls are shown close-up, licking their lollies from various angles while grinning lad...er...grins. He even shakes his head in the manner of: Carry on girls...
Thank you TATA Capital for reminding us that women are such airheads that they know zilch about the value of money. So we NEED a man to take care of the money matters. While the women go gaga about ice-lollies.
What a shame.
Dejected, the girls take back the coin, walk over to the side. The younger one stares longingly at the golas made by the Gola-man. (They think: "Aww...poor little poor girl!" I think:*$#@@##) While the girls are sitting near a railing of what seems to me to be a park, they wonder what to do. Enter: Young lad of about 11-12 years old, grinning ear to ear. Girls smile coyly. (At this age! Gosh!) Lad asks for the coin. Girls, discuss it over (with what seems to me to be just by nodding their heads!) and hand the coin to young grinning lad. Lad, still grinning, 'examines' the coin. ("Silly girls. Don't know zilch about the 'valuation' of this piece of antique.") Lad's expression: wait a moment girlies, BRB!
Grinning lad pedals all the way across the town, which seems to me to be a hill-station. Simla, if I am not mistaken. He stops at an antique shop and goes to the counter marked: EXCHANGE COIN! Eureka eureka!! Grinning lad has done it! (They think: "Aww...smart boy na?". I...smirk.) Antique man is impressed by grinning lad's presence of mind. Grinning lad smiles smugly too. (A 'man' thing I guess!) In the next scene, lad hands two pink ice-lollies to the two girls. They are beside themselves with joy. Grinning lad has done it again! Way to go grinning lad!! A prototype of all men. The man's man.
Its no surprise that the girls are shown close-up, licking their lollies from various angles while grinning lad...er...grins. He even shakes his head in the manner of: Carry on girls...
Thank you TATA Capital for reminding us that women are such airheads that they know zilch about the value of money. So we NEED a man to take care of the money matters. While the women go gaga about ice-lollies.
What a shame.
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