Some people just come into your life like the light of day and brighten everything up as if there was never darkness there. Sure, they can be “JUST’ animals, they can be “JUST” strays. But they cant “JUST” leave without taking a piece of your heart with you.
I think we die because a piece of our hearts is taken away from us every time someone dies and finally we have no heart to survive.
They bid you goodbye when you leave for office. They block your path when you choose to leave. They sometimes just bask in the sun and pretend that they don’t notice you, but they do. They close their eyes and they just lay there waiting for you to come pet them. But they’re there.
One such “SHE” was her.
She wouldn’t let me leave home or come back home without sniffing my feet. Its only “SHE” who taught me how animals can emote. Its only “SHE” who sat with me countless times when I forgot my keys or I was locked out of home, or I was upset or just plain, didn’t want to go home. “SHE” was always there, watching from the corner of her eye, pretending she didn’t see me. But as I walked closer, she’d kick up a storm, wagging her tail so hard !
She’d walk, run, limp, but she would come.
She always came. She always will. We’re worlds apart but I believe she’s around and she’s just a whistle away.
I’ve given you all that I had, and you gave me whatever you had, which was more than I ever asked for. You’ll never know, but that’s perfectly alright.
You’ll always stay in my small, broken, then bandaged, then cemented and now resilient heart.
In a world where there’s barely a span of 5 minutes your phone buzzes for Whatsapp, Facebook, Instagram, Pintrest, BigBasket, Myntra, Amazon, Flipkart, Jabong, SMS, Viber, Skype, Email, Text messages, downloads, Google Photos. Phew ! And there are 16 waking hours in a day. We’re so damn involved in the noise that we cant bear the quiet anymore. We’re addicted to the noise that we are so used to. Car horns, static or the phone. So we do the same with relationships and conversations. We fill the silences up, with static.
Oh my God. I hate the New Year time! I’ve lived on this God damn planet for about three decades and I hate that EVERY! EVERY New Year’s Eve is full of stupid nonsensical people wanting to make New Year’s resolutions and later only to fall back on their bad habits. Finally, get frustrated about life and start drinking or go back to the exact same habit that they wanted to run away from in the first place.
As I sat there with my 9 piece McNuggets, my medium size fries and coke, I saw the most treasured memory of my childhood burned and turned to ashes. This new movie Ok Jaanu and the Humma humma song. What !? Wasn’t it enough that Bollywood ruined “Deewana Tera” by making Arijit sing it ? You’ll argue Arijit has “sing” in his last name, literally. But hey ! So did Sonu Nigam.
What ! You didn’t know ? His real name is Nonu Singam. I mean…. Everyone knows that ! That’s why he’s such a great singer. People made fun of him. Like you’re laughing right now. Hence, he changed his name. Badshah remixed the song.
Suddenly everyone has gone into panic mode. It’s like a mass power outage in everyone’s brains. Everyone is trying to be very logical about this and explain how it affects corruption but have you thought about the conversations you’ll have to have ?
On a side note, my friends and I thought of digging a mass grave to bury the local politicians and builders in the area (who will die of sudden and painful heart attacks) but then scrapped the plan because we didn’t have enough 100 Rs. notes to pay the daily wage workers.
Happy Dassera, Dashehra, Vijayadashmi, or whatever else you may call it in your language.
Dassera signifies the triumph of Good over evil. When I was very young, naturally having very limited exposure to the outside world and having watched Ramanand Sagar’s Ramayana on TV, I believed that Lanka was like Atlantis. I thought it only existed in stories and no one really ever corroborated the theory of its existence. But as I grew older I started becoming obsessed with geography, the Ram Setu, Sita’s caves in Maharashtra and so much more. I always wondered, when Hanuman lit Lanka on fire, what happened to the regular inhabitant of Lanka? Who weren’t ‘demons’? It their king was such a terrible tyrant, the subjects must also have suffered through the tyranny! Were they rescued? Or did they die meaningless deaths? My mother eventually assuaged my fears saying that “Maybe they were terrible people too? Maybe they were exiled into Lanka because they were killers or looters and bandits who caused havoc in the lives of good people?” I mean what do you really tell a 5 year old?
For many years that answer assuaged my fears and worries. But then my hands fell on a book called Asura. And, my life turned…
On a rainy October morning I met someone who I never thought would be an inspiring image for anyone. He started off as someone who couldn’t speak English. A completely unkempt, skinny guy who just did some stuff well. Meh! So what? Anyone can do some stuff well. A terribly shabby, uninspired soul who just knew what he wanted to do. This time, when I met him, he was an entirely changed person. But….
My dad told me a story once that there was a man who spent his whole life looking for the philosopher’s stone. A stone that could turn anything into gold. He became old and frail. A monk, who felt pity for him, told him to look for the stone on a certain path near the monastery. The priest said, “Carry a stone with you and touch every stone on this path to the stone in your hand. Whichever stone turns it to gold, is yours to take. I don’t have much to give you, but have some food and drink the refreshing water from my well before you leave. ” he said, as he motioned to the well behind him.
The old man was so happy that he finally had found his treasure, he dismissed the monk’s suggestion and started on his journey. He labored all day and night. Nothing happened. Another day came and another day went. Another day came and another day went. Days turned into nights and nights into day and finally, the path circled back to the monastery. The Old man threw the stone at the monk’s feet and said “You lied to me. There’s no stone like the philosopher’s stone”
Find a fair guy or girl with clear skin and a complexion to die for, with eyes that can melt the hearts of the stone-hearted. And then make eye contact. If they look at you like you killed their अण्णासाहेब, Bang on ! हेच ते ब्राह्मण ! (This happend because their minds are constantly engrossed)
Say it as it is
“आहो Shook shook ! मेरे डोळे का Surgery होनेका है. And रिक्षा साठी सुट्टे नाही आहेत. तुमच्या कडे पंचास Rupees आहेत काय ? I will be much obliged.”
Kidnap the first guy who takes out fifty bucks. Because no one else on the planet will follow this Hing-rathi-ish. See, it’s a requirement to be proficient in three or more languages. But only they are much too used to this language.
So I bunked office one day and went to see my new found love. I mean, Akshay Kumar. Something about him just suddenly felt different.
The following events were warning signals that we shouldn’t have gone for the movie.
Reached late. Sprinted from parking to the cinema hall.
Took the lift pressed 2 and waited. And waited and waited and waited some more. And thought.
“Either we are moving very fast or we are not moving at all”. Realized that the button was not pressed and the couple behind us on the lift was completely oblivious of the fact that the lift was not moving. They were busy saying “Dekha baby ? I was saying na ? Let’s take the stairs ?”
“Aww baby, my baby, shweet baby, cute baby”.
I wanted to ask “Is your baby going to cry during the movie ?”
Just then I felt a tug at my hand. My partner in crime was giving me big eyes. Like, “Can we please get through one micro event in our lives without you not embarrassing me in public ? Just one ?”
After the roaring success of How to find a Marathi Brahmin in a crowd, I bring to you, how to spot a Malayalee. I am cursed, I mean blessed with Malayalees all around me. My best friends, not one, not two, not even three. All of Kerala has been instructed to come to the north and find me.
I’m not sure but this is some kind of ritual. They whisper my name in the baby’s ears and then the baby rests only after finding me. Regardless…
Find a group of guys/girls around Matunga east or Malad Orlem. And carry an animal with you. Any animal. Dog, cat, rat, snake, rooster, elephant, camel, rhino, hippo. But where would you find a Hippo !? So adjust, take a dog. Set the dog free. The person whose feet this canine goes and licks…ask him “Sherri ?”. If he looks up, keednaaap that Malayaliaaa. They’re hypnotic SO under no circumstances are you to make eye contact with them. And if you don’t want to get beaten up, I would suggest, refrain from calling them “Mallus”.
If you’ve grown up in a middle class household in the late 90’s, you’ll relate to this article. As a child in a middle class family, we got everything and nothing, everything that we needed and nothing that we wanted. Of course, we got some grit, some determination and a lot of love. And you want to read about that crap, this is not the place.
So, as a child in a middle class family, I was used to chaos and confusion reigning over everyone’s life on a daily basis. This is the story of how my family’s middle class inadequacies became the center of my life. And how these, made me realize the “True” purpose of life. There are 10 things here under this listicle, and if you can tick off all of them, you truly belong to a middle class family from India.
Tell me if I am wrong. Every middle class family has a plastic bag full of bags. Well, not in Mumbai now because, you know, the government decided that after all our middle class black money and gold has been “expunged” from the system, let’s also flush out the second most valuable thing in the homes of the middle class household.
Then of course, there’s that chair that is the step child of all the household furniture that bears the brunt of “have worn it but didn’t sweat much, so no need to wash it” pile of clothes. Or a plastic basket instead of the chair.
Of course, there is a spoon/stirrer/spork/chopstick collection in the “kitchen ka kachra” drawer which is mom or dad’s EMERGENCY FALLBACK collection in case of a CUTLERY apocalypse as in, if Thanos decides that he wants to take on the subject of over-abuse of steel resources in the next movie.
But wait; if you dig deeper in the drawer, there definitely is one AIR INDIA spoon/butter knife from the year you took your first flight to wherever. Why our parents want to remember the times we puked on strangers due to air sickness is a sentiment that evades me even today. The real reason why AIR INDIA is going out of business is us.
Moving to the fridge, we have an assortment of Soya sauce, Chilli sauce, expired Oregano packets that quite literally died waiting for the day when “Main isko omlette mein dalungi”. A collection that is so well maintained, that it could put Mainland China’s sourcing team to shame.
Then there’s the dramatic ceramic collection. Mom’s reasoning begins with.
“I must forego the other 5 cups in this set of 6 because one of them was broken by the maid”
And ends with
“FML, MY OFFICE FRIENDS ARE COMING TOMORROW, I DON’T HAVE EVEN TWO CUPS OF THE SAME COLOR. AND TO JUSTIFY IT, I DON’T KNOW HOW TO PRONOUNCE ‘ECLECTIC ENSEMBLE’.”
Everything is not so boring though. There is a lot of thrill. Like when you’re staring at an old black house wear T-shirt and think to yourself “Did I use this to mop up the rainwater last week or does it still have a couple of days to go”.
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to a Brand new season of FEAR FACTOR: POCHA KE NO POCHA
There is the fancy shoe rack that’s empty, because no one ever keeps shoes in it.
The giant multicoloured clothespins (CHIMTAS)pile in the window that honestly, is compromising the structural integrity of the balcony. And yet, when the clothes are washed, not being able to find a single one which leads to the most embarrassing question in the world from the Watchman “Whose bra is this” (Jerry Seinfeld said this, not me)
And finally, that art of bragging about your possessions subtly. “We can’t keep our new car in the building parking because our parking lot has a leak in it”
We moved into a plush new society with white walls and everything! (There’s that subtle art of bragging) And yet, our shameless middleclassness doesn’t release us from its claws.
So, coming back to the point, after reading so much shitty literature, you need the Moral of the story. Sorry to disappoint you, there’s no moral, there’s that salt and pepper shaker which we put on the dining table, which never has any salt or pepper, there’s the unnecessary “newspaper” pile that never gets given away,
there are the gift wrapping papers that are under my mattress that never get used, the endless USB chords that if put together can connect data transfer modules between the earth and the Sun!
Don’t ask my haisiyat, just see my middle classiyat.
On the auspicious occasion of Eid, let me tell you a small story.When people in the country are killing men for possession of beef and other menial reasons, there is a very true, inclusive side to every community that we don’t have the time to see when we are blinded with prejudice.
A close friend was bereaved and we were navigating the extremely crowded, claustrophobic streets of Mumbai Central. The entire feeling was that of gloom given the impending condolence meet and the whole cloudy monsoonish feeling that felt like dementors were on their way to suck my soul.
We walked for over 40 minutes searching for the house. The narrow lanes were getting narrower because of the Eid and as prayer time grew closer, the narrow lanes were lit brightly with steaming hot halogen bulbs which reflected across from the green and golden decorations in every shop. Stalls propped up out of nowhere. And tables full of iftari sweets and savouries appeared out of thin air. The streets bustled with activity and everyone was joyous.It was almost Namaaz time when we walked into a building to ask for the address. Just then the melodious azaan rang through the shanties and the high rises alike.
Although it sounded very serene, so much religious fastidiousness would be over whelming for the three of us friends who are fairly omnireligious if not blasphemous already. We were a little taken back by the silence that fell over the lanes that just seconds were bustling with activity and sellers defeaningly announcing their wares.
So, we walked into the building just in time to ask the address of the friends building. The Watchman understood the urgency of the situation and took us into the building. We were literally the only people on the road. And I have never felt so alone in my entire life in Mumbai. You can walk across the road at 3 am and you’ll find at least a milk man or a flower seller. Here, NO ONE. We were scared, to say the least and lost, to add to the fear.
While we waited patiently for the person to tell us where the said address was, the gentleman very graciously said, ” Aapne Roza rakhkha hai kya ? Toh aa jao “… Inviting us so lovingly into their prayer room and at their dinner table.
Ask yourself ! Would you invite a stranger into your home for a meal without knowing who they are, where they come from, what they do ?
It seemed like nothing for a few seconds. But would you invite a stranger to join you for Christmas mass ? Would you invite a stranger to join you for a pooja in your house ? The sincerity of the invite was so refreshing ! And just like that, all the apprehensions were gone. We didn’t feel alone, we didn’t feel out of place. Even though we were amidst strangers it didn’t seem strange anymore.
If that doesn’t warm your heart, I don’t know what will. Eid Mubarak to everyone, especially the non believers, pessimists, and the ones who are holding on to a single shred of hope.
I am officially exhausted from the eve of Women’s Day. All this pink around me is genuinely giving me pink eye. I feel like I am in Barbieland for God’s sake. I don’t really know who associated pink with women and or feminism. But whoever did it, deserves to be beaten in a public square with a pink leash.
Regardless, let me quickly get to the point. So, on the eve of Women’s day, I decided to conduct a little experiment of my own. I set out of home on the 7th of March to see what exactly happens to women on days before and after women’s day. I stepped out of home thinking, it’s going to be a regular day. Shockingly, it wasn’t.
While stepping out of my building, I instructed my neighbor “Hey, could you please park a little bit ahead ? My car blocks our gate otherwise, it could really lead to a problem in an emergency”. She smiled and nodded at me. “Phew ! That was easy”.
I called the watchman, who looked at me like the arrogant, good-for-nothing, “aawaara” woman that I am, and asked delightfully rudely “KYA HUA MAIDUM !” I thought “MAI-DUM hi hu ! To have spoken to talk to him this morning !?”.
“Bhaiyya, please take an Amazon parcel for me”… His eyes went wide with surprise as he asked me “AUR EK ?…” and mumbled something under his breath. When I asked him to repeat what he said, he said, “Too many parcels coming in.. I cannot accept them”..Yeah, I am the small minded, character less woman who arrives home at 2 am and sees the night watchman asleep, happily snoring at the front gate in broad street light.I click a picture and send it to my secretary who is a woman, who fires that watchman and hires a new one. If my parcel goes back, I’ll kill you you little shit.
Women na, I tell you, they’re so dumb.– All the building’s night watchemen organisation.
Moving on. As I got out of my lane trying to hail a rickshaw, I saw one giant poster, a relic from the recent elections, “Congratulations to wife of Mr. X for the blah blah blah” ha ? Achcha ? She doesn’t have a name ! I feel so bad.
I realized I was being ultra bitchy and thought, hey, I should calm down. Maybe visit some kind of spiritual place…what’s that called again ? TEMPLE ! Yeah ! I’ll go to a temple, which is literally two steps away from that hoarding. Instantly, my mind went to the thought “Is it that time of the month ?” as if, it were drilled into my head. As if on cue, there it was, written in bold letters,
“WOMEN HAVING THEIR PERIODS CANNOT ENTER THE TEMPLE.PREGNANT WOMEN BELOW 4 MONTHS CANNOT ENTER THE TEMPLE”.—- All the “we have a dick, we make the rules”holy baba people.
Of course, not in these “blatant” words but they seemed quite blatant to me. What I did next, might hurt quite a few religious sentiments, but considering that I wasn’t struck by lightning, wasn’t killed by a half man-half animal being or wasn’t crushed by a falling tree and did not summon the apocalypse on my overly urbanized city, I thought it was quite okay. Besides, what’s happening inside my body is not your problem unless it’s growing teeth and gnawing at your face. That’s called a baby.
A very subtle lordly,” HOLY” man once told me the true reason why women are not allowed in temples during their period (Did you cringe? Because if you did, stop reading right now). He said, there’s a radiance about women during these days, so if they do go outdoors, they lose their radiance.
YO, MR. BABA, FIRSTLY, I CAN BUY RADIANCE IN A 20ML BOTTLE AT A CHEMIST’S SHOP. ITS CALLED AN ANTI AGEING CREAM.
AND SECONDLY, RADIANCE? WHAT RADIANCE? WHY IN THE WORLD WOULD A SUDDEN A VIOLENT DROP IN HORMONES MAKE ME MORE RADIANT!? HEH? IF AT ALL, IT TAKES AWAY THE BACHA KUCHA RADIANCE AND ABOUT 600 STRANDS OF HAIR EVERYDAY. AND OF COURSE IT’S LIKE A BATTLEFFIELD BECAUSE THERE IS LITERALLY A RIVER OF BLOOD (I told you to stop reading if you cringed).
Well, myth busted, I am still alive, no flaming asteroids making their way towards Earth yet…I’ll keep you posted.
Yeah… Not kidding. I had never really realized or bothered about this. Besides, to protect my radiance that day, I had covered my face and neck with a scarf which was obviously oversized enough to cover everything until my stomach. I was wearing a worn out Captain America Tshirt and a decent pair of jeans with a backpack that could rival Everest climber’s rucksacks.
After this very enlightening experience, I couldn’t wait to get off and go to work where I knew I was surrounded by educated people. Or so I thought…
As soon as I entered, I had apparently interrupted a very important “Women’s DAY” celebration meeting which was why I was instantly pulled into a whirlpool of discussions about what “what games to play during office hours”. Yeeeeiiiiiiiishhhh.
Eeeeekkkkk khikhikhikhi, hehehehehhehe, huhuhuhuhhu, ahhahhhhhha, awwwww, so cute — all women planning an exciting get together.
After being welcomed by this unnervingly lovable Chai-wala, someone yelled,“ALL THE PRETTY LADIES IN HOUSE, <name>’s HERE SO LOOSEN UP YOUR BLOUSE”
MY MIND WAS SCREAMING“HEY <name> IN THE HOUSE…NO ONE’S LOOSENING THEIR BLOUSECUZ YOU’RE A BIG SCHMUCK ….AND WE DON’T GIVE A …..RAT’S ASS.”
I don’t know, I am not the best at rapping.
Just then I received a text from an old colleague.
THE INEVITABLE HAD BEGAN. “HAPPY WOMEN’S DAY. I salute your…” Nowadays whatsapp has become a very convenient way of stalking people in the digital universe whether it yields true or false info is another matter entirely.
Oh good Lord in the blue heaven let there be lava rain tomorrow and let the rain kill me so that I dont have to listen to this A grade crap anymore. Please God I beg you. If I have to see one more message about women empowerment, I will staple their fingers to each other and glue their mouth shut.
In the same text he also asked me, “YOU LOOK THINNER IN YOUR DP, DID YOU LOSE WEIGHT ? AND WHO ARE THESE CUTE BABIES IN YOUR DP ? YOUR BABIES ? GOOD NEWS ?”
NO, I BOUGHT THESE BABIES. FROM AMAZON. 50 RUPEES PER KILO. BUT I GOT THE WOMEN’S DAY BOGO OFFER. EK PE EK FREE.24 HOURS PRIME DELIVERY. 100 RUPEES EXTRA FOR DELIVERY. YOU WANT ONE ?
GOOD NEWS IS, I AM STARTING A POOP FACTORY. ORGANIC POOP. FROM THESE TWO BABIES. TO BE FLUNG AT FACES LIKE YOURS. TUJHE KYA KARNA HAI KISKA BABIES HAI !? DUKKAR KE PILLE ?
We’ve come a long way and we have a long way to go before its a Happy Fucking Women’s Day !