Mumbai recently went through a very tough situation when the biggest landmarks and tourist hubs of the city were mercilessly attacked by terrorists. Cops, foreigners, locals, men, women, children…everyone suffered. Thousands watched the TV as shocks after shocks were delivered to the supposedly safe haven of the city. And now that the whole episode is over, its time for the blame game to start.
But is that the only outcome? Everyone is furious at the way humans are being treated like cattle by these terrorists. We’re furious at the brilliant politicians who sat on their fat bottoms while the city limped its way back to life yet once again. When will it all stop? Will it ever stop?
Mumbai is home to millions of people…and that’s not an exaggeration. Once you’ve lived here, it will always be home. Home is where you go at the end of the day – the place you always want to return to no matter which corner of the world you are in. It’s the place where you feel safe and secure. And yet, today I no longer feel safe in this city. It will always be home – but am I being foolish by choosing to stay in a city that is being targeted as the hot-spot for terror? I’ve sat in front of the Taj heritage wing on numerous occasions and watched the beautiful people who come there in their shiny cars. We’ve gaped at the wonder of the Oberoi hotel and walked right in front of the place. I was in Café Leopold 3 nights before the shooting incident – I was sitting at the table near the entrance…facing the street. I shudder to think that it could have been me…it could have been then. It could be anyone…anytime…anywhere.
My heart grieves for the people who’ve lost in the battles that took place in this city of dreams. It also bleeds for the places that will never quite be the same again. Just like the twin towers are no longer a symbol of economy but of terror, Mumbai’s landmarks too are being revamped as the victims of tragedies. The Mumbai stock exchange is just as famous for the blasts as it is for the daily stocks struggle. Café Leopold, one of Mumbai’s oldest corner places, which was once famous as “Since 1871” will now be known as “the place where the 2008 attacks started”. The Oberoi and the Taj, famous for their celebrity clientele and the icons of South Mumbai will attract tourists for a different “terrific” reason now.
My father used to tell me stories of quaint little eateries and tiny shops in South Mumbai where you get the best possible stuff. He would swear by the authenticity and the value-for-money of these places. Today, I remember all the places that succumbed to the fight against terror and I wonder…will I have any stories to pass on to my kids? What will be the legacy I leave behind for them? I’ve heard tales of kids in Kashmir learning to fire a gun as soon as they can walk. Is that the fate of our kids too? Will they too have to “deal with it” they way we do? Instead of an inheritance of innocence and wonder, will they be left with an inheritance of terror?
My life..my words...my blog!!!
Monday, December 1, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Freedom to be...
Someday there'll be a day
When everything will be the way it seems
When we shall have all that we wished for
All along in our dreams
A smile will be a smile
Not a front for a tear
Your life’s course will be yours
And yours alone to steer
Everyone will have someone
They’ll always be together
Friends will be there for you
Now and forever
That will be the day I can finally say
Adios world!! I’m flying away
Coz that will be the day I’ll finally be free
That will be the day…I’ll be me.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
One missed call
Siddharth was on his way home from yet another long day at the office. He knew he was going to face another argument with Aditi. This was the third time this week that they had planned for a “night for two” and it wound up getting cancelled because of their hectic work schedules. The fact that it was raining heavily and traffic was a mess wasn’t helping matters either. His thoughts strayed to the time when it was just the two of them…and love was enough. The long talks on the phone….the coffee dates…the way her face would light up when he complimented her….wait…there were lights ahead…a car….headed straight for his car. He honked and tried to swerve….there was a flurry of headlights which blinded him…an angry grating of metal as the cars hit each other and then…silence.
He had no idea how long he was unconscious. When he spoke up, he was in a spacious white room. He was dressed in white too. He thought – I must be in the hospital…Aditi!!!... I have to call her!!! As he looked around for his belongings, he saw a man come in.
The stranger smiled and said “Hello, how are you feeling now?”
“I’m ok…I guess” replied Siddharth.
“Is there anything you need?”
“Yes…I’m looking for my phone. I need to call my wife. She must be worried sick.”
“Ah...!!! Love marriage eh?” the stranger gave Siddharth a conspiratory smile.
“Yes…been together for seven years. Been married for two of them. In fact we’ll be celebrating our wedding anniversary next week.”
“Were you two college sweethearts?”
“Yes…she is the kind of girl you can’t help falling in love with. I wasted nearly a year gathering up the courage to ask her out. And when I finally did…she was like – ‘Of course I’ll go out with you silly!!! I thought you would never ask!!!’ I’ve loved her ever since – never once looked back”
“Do you still love her just as much? Or is it different now that you’re married?”
“Of course I still love her just as much…more even. She knows that too…just because we can’t spend as much time together doesn’t mean I’ve stopped loving her!!! I work these long hours so that I can provide my family…she knows that…she works just as hard too…”
“But how do you know that she still loves you the same way?”
“What do you mean? Of course I know!!! She’s my wife!!! Its true we’re going through a bit of a rough patch…but that’s bound to happen…we still love each other and we’ll make it through…”
“Let me ask you something…if you could speak to your wife right now, what would you say?”
“Well…I would tell her I’m fine. That she shouldn’t worry….and…I guess I’ll tell her that I love her.”
The stranger handed Siddharth his cellphone and said “Ok…call her then.”
Siddharth dialed the familiar number of Aditi’s cell and waited for her anxious voice to answer….ringing….”The number you are trying to reach is currently busy. Please try again later.”
“Damn!!! Looks like she’s busy...”
“She didn’t answer the phone?”
“She might still be at work…or caught in a meeting…she’ll SMS me though…”
“Does she always do that when she can’t answer the phone during a meeting or anything?”
“Oh yes…always…it’s a small thing between us…she even cribs via SMS about how boring those sessions are!!! She should me messaging me right now….”
“Ok.”
Aditi looked at her watch yet again. Damn!!! That conference call had gone on way too long….Siddharth was going to be mad about having to cancel their plans yet again. She stared at her phone – one missed call. He had called her but she couldn’t even answer the phone. She had wanted to SMS him right then but her boss had swooped into her cabin and started off about the project that wasn’t going anywhere. She had to spend over half an hour to pacify him. Finally, having dealt with him, she picked up her phone and was about to call Siddharth when her phone beeped. It was a message…from Siddharth. “Please don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I love you.” Puzzled, she started to call him back when the phone rang in her hand.
“Hello?”
“Hello, is this Mrs. Aditi Bhatnagar?”
“Yes…it is….who’s this?”
“Mrs. Bhatnagar, this is the police. I’m very sorry to inform you that your husband met with an accident about an hour back. He died on the spot…”
He had no idea how long he was unconscious. When he spoke up, he was in a spacious white room. He was dressed in white too. He thought – I must be in the hospital…Aditi!!!... I have to call her!!! As he looked around for his belongings, he saw a man come in.
The stranger smiled and said “Hello, how are you feeling now?”
“I’m ok…I guess” replied Siddharth.
“Is there anything you need?”
“Yes…I’m looking for my phone. I need to call my wife. She must be worried sick.”
“Ah...!!! Love marriage eh?” the stranger gave Siddharth a conspiratory smile.
“Yes…been together for seven years. Been married for two of them. In fact we’ll be celebrating our wedding anniversary next week.”
“Were you two college sweethearts?”
“Yes…she is the kind of girl you can’t help falling in love with. I wasted nearly a year gathering up the courage to ask her out. And when I finally did…she was like – ‘Of course I’ll go out with you silly!!! I thought you would never ask!!!’ I’ve loved her ever since – never once looked back”
“Do you still love her just as much? Or is it different now that you’re married?”
“Of course I still love her just as much…more even. She knows that too…just because we can’t spend as much time together doesn’t mean I’ve stopped loving her!!! I work these long hours so that I can provide my family…she knows that…she works just as hard too…”
“But how do you know that she still loves you the same way?”
“What do you mean? Of course I know!!! She’s my wife!!! Its true we’re going through a bit of a rough patch…but that’s bound to happen…we still love each other and we’ll make it through…”
“Let me ask you something…if you could speak to your wife right now, what would you say?”
“Well…I would tell her I’m fine. That she shouldn’t worry….and…I guess I’ll tell her that I love her.”
The stranger handed Siddharth his cellphone and said “Ok…call her then.”
Siddharth dialed the familiar number of Aditi’s cell and waited for her anxious voice to answer….ringing….”The number you are trying to reach is currently busy. Please try again later.”
“Damn!!! Looks like she’s busy...”
“She didn’t answer the phone?”
“She might still be at work…or caught in a meeting…she’ll SMS me though…”
“Does she always do that when she can’t answer the phone during a meeting or anything?”
“Oh yes…always…it’s a small thing between us…she even cribs via SMS about how boring those sessions are!!! She should me messaging me right now….”
“Ok.”
Aditi looked at her watch yet again. Damn!!! That conference call had gone on way too long….Siddharth was going to be mad about having to cancel their plans yet again. She stared at her phone – one missed call. He had called her but she couldn’t even answer the phone. She had wanted to SMS him right then but her boss had swooped into her cabin and started off about the project that wasn’t going anywhere. She had to spend over half an hour to pacify him. Finally, having dealt with him, she picked up her phone and was about to call Siddharth when her phone beeped. It was a message…from Siddharth. “Please don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I love you.” Puzzled, she started to call him back when the phone rang in her hand.
“Hello?”
“Hello, is this Mrs. Aditi Bhatnagar?”
“Yes…it is….who’s this?”
“Mrs. Bhatnagar, this is the police. I’m very sorry to inform you that your husband met with an accident about an hour back. He died on the spot…”
Sunday, June 15, 2008
My Krystal adventures
I was probably the last kid in my age group to learn the cycle. Don’t know why but it was something I never really found very fascinating. Maybe it had something to do with the fact my-brother-strongest had a bike n he would usually chauffeur me around…
But then one fine day, I learnt how to cycle. It took me 1 day to balance correctly. Another day to conquer a whole lane uninterrupted. Turning or rather U-turning gave me nightmares (yes, I was one if those scaredy-cat types who put their feet down, dragged the bike around n theeeeeen turned).
The cycle was the beginning of a new found freedom. All the places in the neighborhood somehow looked different when I was perched on the banana seat of the cycle. Somewhere during the journey of life, the cycle got left behind. On some subconscious level it was replaced by a love for bikes. I loved and fantasized about the absolute thrill of being on a bike (even if it was pillion) feeling the wind on my face. From a practical point of view, I loved two-wheelers for their amazing traffic maneuverability. So I decided that I wanted a two-wheeler too. Then came problem number one. How do I learn?
In order to learn a two-wheeler, I needed a two-wheeler. Or I needed a friend with a two-wheeler. Both not available. Most friends had motorcycles. Not helpful. Others had cars. No dice there either. Mumbai also had no concept of two-wheeler training schools like Pune or other small cities. So my desires remained unfulfilled for a looooong time.
Finally my prayers were answered....and I found a teacher. Two days and a few thrilling (thrilling for me, terrifying for my teacher) incidents later, I was ready to bell the cat. And since I’m the live-life-queen-size kinds, I decided to practice by buying a two-wheeler of my own. Enter my brand new cherry red Bajaj Krystal.
And so began my Krystal adventures…as I learnt the ropes of handling my way through traffic, dealing with pesky drivers/riders, using the appropriate abuses for the deserving folks, I loved every minute of it. Every time I overtook another vehicle, I could feel the power surging through my veins. I felt free – free as a bird. No more helplessness in traffic jams, no dependency on auto-rickshaws for late nights or non-profitable destinations, no shackles.
It’s been less than a year since I started riding and every time I come across an unusual character, I know I have to blog about it. So here goes…
1. The over-cautious types: These are the people I can kind-of identify with. They are usually the uncle-types (auntie-types are not known for their lack of speed) or the new-learner types. They drive painfully slowly as though God himself would come down from the heavens and tut-tut them if they cross 35kmph.
2. The speed-racer types: They are the I-rule-the-streets types. The ones who’ll sign up for every driver’s hit-list. They overtake like weeds coursing through a garden. A special variety is the extra turn-show-offing bikers…the ones who love making a helix structure through traffic.
3. The honkers association: They’re the ones who honk for every occasion known to mankind. They honk when they overtake, when someone overtakes them, when they stop, when they turn, when the traffic light turns red, when it turns green, when it doesn’t turn green fast enough, when it turns red too soon, when you are riding in front of them, when you are riding beside them, when you are 5 miles away from them, when someone else within their hearing range honks, and so on….you get the drift. If not, you’ll definitely hear the honk.
4. The splashers: This is a special breed that can be seen during the monsoons. They are the ones who love splashing through pools of water or muck in such a way that it ends up splattering the clothes of the riders/walkers nearby. Most car-drivers/autos/ bikers fall in this category. Having been at the receiving end of these people on quite a few occasions I make sure that I myself never fall into this category.
5. The indecisive walkers: This is a category dedicated to the on-foot folks. This sees a large variety of folks like the ones who wait for the traffic light to turn green before making a mad dash to cross the street (Special mention – mothers/nannies with kids in tow). Or the ones who walk in the middle of the street when there are perfectly fine footpaths for them to saunter on. (Special mention – oldies who give you drop-dead stares if you honk to tell them they’re in the middle of the street). Or my personal favorites, the cellulars – who chatter away on their phone while crossing the street, while diving into / or out of buses, while walking on the wrong side of the street. (Honking doesn’t help here and if by some miracle they do hear you, they give you bugger-off stares as if you are some psycho who’s stalking them). And yes…how could I forget the admiration society – they are the ones who give you multiple looks coz you’re a female…and more importantly…a female on a two-wheeler. The number of looks received is directly proportional to the kind of clothes worn...with salwar suits/sarees at the low end and skirts/shorts being at the high end.
Different strokes…all brought together…as part of my Krystal adventures…!!
But then one fine day, I learnt how to cycle. It took me 1 day to balance correctly. Another day to conquer a whole lane uninterrupted. Turning or rather U-turning gave me nightmares (yes, I was one if those scaredy-cat types who put their feet down, dragged the bike around n theeeeeen turned).
The cycle was the beginning of a new found freedom. All the places in the neighborhood somehow looked different when I was perched on the banana seat of the cycle. Somewhere during the journey of life, the cycle got left behind. On some subconscious level it was replaced by a love for bikes. I loved and fantasized about the absolute thrill of being on a bike (even if it was pillion) feeling the wind on my face. From a practical point of view, I loved two-wheelers for their amazing traffic maneuverability. So I decided that I wanted a two-wheeler too. Then came problem number one. How do I learn?
In order to learn a two-wheeler, I needed a two-wheeler. Or I needed a friend with a two-wheeler. Both not available. Most friends had motorcycles. Not helpful. Others had cars. No dice there either. Mumbai also had no concept of two-wheeler training schools like Pune or other small cities. So my desires remained unfulfilled for a looooong time.
Finally my prayers were answered....and I found a teacher. Two days and a few thrilling (thrilling for me, terrifying for my teacher) incidents later, I was ready to bell the cat. And since I’m the live-life-queen-size kinds, I decided to practice by buying a two-wheeler of my own. Enter my brand new cherry red Bajaj Krystal.
And so began my Krystal adventures…as I learnt the ropes of handling my way through traffic, dealing with pesky drivers/riders, using the appropriate abuses for the deserving folks, I loved every minute of it. Every time I overtook another vehicle, I could feel the power surging through my veins. I felt free – free as a bird. No more helplessness in traffic jams, no dependency on auto-rickshaws for late nights or non-profitable destinations, no shackles.
It’s been less than a year since I started riding and every time I come across an unusual character, I know I have to blog about it. So here goes…
1. The over-cautious types: These are the people I can kind-of identify with. They are usually the uncle-types (auntie-types are not known for their lack of speed) or the new-learner types. They drive painfully slowly as though God himself would come down from the heavens and tut-tut them if they cross 35kmph.
2. The speed-racer types: They are the I-rule-the-streets types. The ones who’ll sign up for every driver’s hit-list. They overtake like weeds coursing through a garden. A special variety is the extra turn-show-offing bikers…the ones who love making a helix structure through traffic.
3. The honkers association: They’re the ones who honk for every occasion known to mankind. They honk when they overtake, when someone overtakes them, when they stop, when they turn, when the traffic light turns red, when it turns green, when it doesn’t turn green fast enough, when it turns red too soon, when you are riding in front of them, when you are riding beside them, when you are 5 miles away from them, when someone else within their hearing range honks, and so on….you get the drift. If not, you’ll definitely hear the honk.
4. The splashers: This is a special breed that can be seen during the monsoons. They are the ones who love splashing through pools of water or muck in such a way that it ends up splattering the clothes of the riders/walkers nearby. Most car-drivers/autos/ bikers fall in this category. Having been at the receiving end of these people on quite a few occasions I make sure that I myself never fall into this category.
5. The indecisive walkers: This is a category dedicated to the on-foot folks. This sees a large variety of folks like the ones who wait for the traffic light to turn green before making a mad dash to cross the street (Special mention – mothers/nannies with kids in tow). Or the ones who walk in the middle of the street when there are perfectly fine footpaths for them to saunter on. (Special mention – oldies who give you drop-dead stares if you honk to tell them they’re in the middle of the street). Or my personal favorites, the cellulars – who chatter away on their phone while crossing the street, while diving into / or out of buses, while walking on the wrong side of the street. (Honking doesn’t help here and if by some miracle they do hear you, they give you bugger-off stares as if you are some psycho who’s stalking them). And yes…how could I forget the admiration society – they are the ones who give you multiple looks coz you’re a female…and more importantly…a female on a two-wheeler. The number of looks received is directly proportional to the kind of clothes worn...with salwar suits/sarees at the low end and skirts/shorts being at the high end.
Different strokes…all brought together…as part of my Krystal adventures…!!
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Recipie for love
Take one fresh and tender kiss
Add one stolen night of bliss
One girl, One boy
Some grief, Some joy
Memories are made of this,
Of simple moments just like this.
Don't forget one small moonbeam
Blend in lightly with a dream
Your lips and mine
Two gentle sips of wine
Memories are made of this,
Of surreal moments just like this.
Add to this the scent of warm skin
With the passions that run withinAnd for the final garnish
Just take his hand and make a wish
Coz memories are made of this,
Of silent moments just like this.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Tales of the super siblings
Disclaimer: This post has the tendency to sound like a testimonial / super buttering attempt for my bro.
The school bus is zipping along on its way. All the kids are jumping and shouting. As the bus stops at one stop, one of the kids jumps out. He tells his friends to hold the bus till he reaches home. A fierce glare in the bus driver’s directions tells him to do just as he says. He zooms at super speed and reaches home. Racing to the balcony, he waves to his friends and asks them to wait for one more minute. He goes to her baby cot. She’s sleeping….”MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM…she’s sleeping again…why is she always sleeeeeeping?” Undaunted, he picks her up gently and takes her out to the balcony. Showing her off to his friends, he waves her hand to them and finally the bus is free to go on. This is my earliest memory of my bro.
When most kids are not too happy about sharing their parents with a sibling, my bro realized the potential coolness of being the only kid on the block with a baby sibling- especially a sister. This automatically elevated me to baby-icon status. How he loved to flaunt his baby sister in front of all his only-child friends.
As I grew up, the novelty wore off, but the love didn’t. Another fond memory of mine is of the time we were visiting Matheran. I had brand new shoes - the kiddie ones that made those squeaking sounds. I was old enough to walk now so had insisted that I would walk and not be carried around. But after walking a few steps, I noticed that that the red dust was spoiling my new shoes. So I promptly did the most logical thing in this situation. I started howling at full volume. My dad and bro rushed to my rescue and managed to find out the reason for my impromptu tantrum. With a smile, my dad brushed off the dust and hoisted me onto his shoulders. But my howling continued. Why u ask? Didn’t I say I wanted to WALK? For those of you who have heard a toddler crying his guts out that too at close range, will know that anything and everything is done to quiet the lil punk down. So my dad promptly put me down. I shut up, blinked and confirmed that my feet were on the ground AND that my shoes were clean again. And off I marched again. Five feet later, we were back to square one – me with dusty shoes and howling again. The shoes were re-cleaned and the walking re-resumed. This cycle continued 2-3 more times. Then my dad exhausted his patience limit and hoisted me on his shoulders without further ado. Having become sufficiently immune to my dramatic sobs, he managed to ignore them successfully. But my bro couldn’t. So he took over from Dad. And he brushed and shushed me every five minutes for the rest of our walk that day - without complaint. Whenever I’m exceptionally mad at him for something, I remember this incident and cannot love him more.
Of course, we had our fair share of fights and squabbles. We invented and perfected a method of bashing each other without leaving a bruise mark. But then one day, my bro grew up. And the fighting stopped. And that’s when we started to come closer as siblings. He took me swimming with him…I attempted to learn but was too chicken. He took me around on his cycle – to and from school, etc. and he would quietly and non-intrusively ask about school etc. He became my 9 p.m. alarm, when he would poke his floppy-haired hair into my room and remind me that Home Improvement (a TV show) was about to start. We bonded over comedies and legal dramas. And Vicky’s gymco. After being a chubby kid till high school, he started going to the gym – Vicky’s Gymco. After a couple of weeks, we noticed that he had started lifting everything around the house in a bid to flex his biceps/triceps/quadriceps. His fav seemed to be the chairs….so whenever a chair was not where it was supposed to be, it was probably in my bro’s iron grip. The cycling, swimming and gymming paid off and soon he was flaunting his film-star toned calves in front of me. He used to do a hilarious spoof on Malaika Arora in her MTV style check days…the way she would sit with her legs crossed to give the best view of her sexy legs.
We played different roles in each other’s lives…he was always the older brother and I was his baby sister. But his sense of protectiveness was never suffocating. He gave me enough freedom to do my thing but would not hesitate to reprimand me if I messed up. He was my milestone in everything from studies to responsibilities…my minimum targets always ended up being bro’s achievement + 1. My first set of play friends were his friends…. His choices influenced mine…not coz they were enforced but coz they were good choices. We had a gap of 5 years between us but it was always a positive thing coz by the time I reached where he had been, he was able to give me the low-downs on how tackle that phase of life. His constant desire for perfection would drive me mad sometimes (he made me edit a testimonial twice before finally accepting it)…but it seeped into me too and now I’m just as demanding when I see that potential in the opposite person.
We aren’t exactly your typical filmy siblings who are the best of friends. But we do have a deep bond that surpasses everything. Our roots and our history have shaped us into the people we are today. Even today when we live such different life styles, our basic values still remain the same. Today, he’s my mentor, my guide, my inspiration, my investment advisor (free for me – discounted charges for my friends) and of my course- my big brother…forever watchful, forever concerned about me, always there to catch me if I fall…but never shadowing my day in the sun. My brother, my hero, my super sibling.
The school bus is zipping along on its way. All the kids are jumping and shouting. As the bus stops at one stop, one of the kids jumps out. He tells his friends to hold the bus till he reaches home. A fierce glare in the bus driver’s directions tells him to do just as he says. He zooms at super speed and reaches home. Racing to the balcony, he waves to his friends and asks them to wait for one more minute. He goes to her baby cot. She’s sleeping….”MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM…she’s sleeping again…why is she always sleeeeeeping?” Undaunted, he picks her up gently and takes her out to the balcony. Showing her off to his friends, he waves her hand to them and finally the bus is free to go on. This is my earliest memory of my bro.
When most kids are not too happy about sharing their parents with a sibling, my bro realized the potential coolness of being the only kid on the block with a baby sibling- especially a sister. This automatically elevated me to baby-icon status. How he loved to flaunt his baby sister in front of all his only-child friends.
As I grew up, the novelty wore off, but the love didn’t. Another fond memory of mine is of the time we were visiting Matheran. I had brand new shoes - the kiddie ones that made those squeaking sounds. I was old enough to walk now so had insisted that I would walk and not be carried around. But after walking a few steps, I noticed that that the red dust was spoiling my new shoes. So I promptly did the most logical thing in this situation. I started howling at full volume. My dad and bro rushed to my rescue and managed to find out the reason for my impromptu tantrum. With a smile, my dad brushed off the dust and hoisted me onto his shoulders. But my howling continued. Why u ask? Didn’t I say I wanted to WALK? For those of you who have heard a toddler crying his guts out that too at close range, will know that anything and everything is done to quiet the lil punk down. So my dad promptly put me down. I shut up, blinked and confirmed that my feet were on the ground AND that my shoes were clean again. And off I marched again. Five feet later, we were back to square one – me with dusty shoes and howling again. The shoes were re-cleaned and the walking re-resumed. This cycle continued 2-3 more times. Then my dad exhausted his patience limit and hoisted me on his shoulders without further ado. Having become sufficiently immune to my dramatic sobs, he managed to ignore them successfully. But my bro couldn’t. So he took over from Dad. And he brushed and shushed me every five minutes for the rest of our walk that day - without complaint. Whenever I’m exceptionally mad at him for something, I remember this incident and cannot love him more.
Of course, we had our fair share of fights and squabbles. We invented and perfected a method of bashing each other without leaving a bruise mark. But then one day, my bro grew up. And the fighting stopped. And that’s when we started to come closer as siblings. He took me swimming with him…I attempted to learn but was too chicken. He took me around on his cycle – to and from school, etc. and he would quietly and non-intrusively ask about school etc. He became my 9 p.m. alarm, when he would poke his floppy-haired hair into my room and remind me that Home Improvement (a TV show) was about to start. We bonded over comedies and legal dramas. And Vicky’s gymco. After being a chubby kid till high school, he started going to the gym – Vicky’s Gymco. After a couple of weeks, we noticed that he had started lifting everything around the house in a bid to flex his biceps/triceps/quadriceps. His fav seemed to be the chairs….so whenever a chair was not where it was supposed to be, it was probably in my bro’s iron grip. The cycling, swimming and gymming paid off and soon he was flaunting his film-star toned calves in front of me. He used to do a hilarious spoof on Malaika Arora in her MTV style check days…the way she would sit with her legs crossed to give the best view of her sexy legs.
We played different roles in each other’s lives…he was always the older brother and I was his baby sister. But his sense of protectiveness was never suffocating. He gave me enough freedom to do my thing but would not hesitate to reprimand me if I messed up. He was my milestone in everything from studies to responsibilities…my minimum targets always ended up being bro’s achievement + 1. My first set of play friends were his friends…. His choices influenced mine…not coz they were enforced but coz they were good choices. We had a gap of 5 years between us but it was always a positive thing coz by the time I reached where he had been, he was able to give me the low-downs on how tackle that phase of life. His constant desire for perfection would drive me mad sometimes (he made me edit a testimonial twice before finally accepting it)…but it seeped into me too and now I’m just as demanding when I see that potential in the opposite person.
We aren’t exactly your typical filmy siblings who are the best of friends. But we do have a deep bond that surpasses everything. Our roots and our history have shaped us into the people we are today. Even today when we live such different life styles, our basic values still remain the same. Today, he’s my mentor, my guide, my inspiration, my investment advisor (free for me – discounted charges for my friends) and of my course- my big brother…forever watchful, forever concerned about me, always there to catch me if I fall…but never shadowing my day in the sun. My brother, my hero, my super sibling.
Summer Dreams
Summer is here…with the usual complaints and bothers of too much heat, too much sweat, too much of traffic, too much of everything….as I sit in my AC office and think bout the summer outside, its not the present summer that comes to my mind…it’s the summers of the past that weave their magic over my memories….I see the kids today going off to their fancy hobby classes and summer camps and what not….and all I can think of is…do they really need such an elaborate plan to pass their “vacation”? Here’s how we did it in the good old days….
Summer…its vacation time!!!! No school….no teachers…no homework!!!!
Summer merry-making was kicked off by the traditional gathering of all the cousins who were in the kids category at my granny’s place. Why her place? Simple…my granny is the best cook in the world….fish, chicken, snacks, lunch, dinner, snack-sized nibbles…u name it she cooked it….not to mention mangoes!!! SLURPPPPP!!! Mango-the fruit, mango milkshake, mango ice-cream, mango kulfi, mango juice, the traditional aamras, mango lassi…u get the gist…:)
After the gathering was completed, there was an inventory done of all the possible weapons/potential weapons in the house…there was no mention of dolls coz I was seriously outnumbered in the girls-guys ratio by 1: infinity….its a good thing those happened to be my tomboy years…I happily joined in all the battle strategies and general bashing sessions that we had….my personal fav was battleship….where we accumulated all the pillows and cushion-type things in the house and made an impenetrable fortress. The poor landlubber team (we were very particular about our land-water-sea-ocean concepts) had to then fight a gory battle with us sea folk for winning our battleship. Our weaponry comprised of a unique union of mythology & technology. We had everything from slingshots (a la Eklavya), dart guns (70s-80s movie ishtyle), gadhas (remember Hanuman’s club?), sophisticated machine guns(Rambo inspired), bow-n-arrows ( Ramayana, Mahabharata and all other Ramanand Sagar creations) and so on…and if all else failed the pillows that formed our battleship also doubled up as weapons.
After running around the house and the building compound while screaming war cries at the top of our lungs for the entire morning, we would finally listen to our granny's feeble protests of “don’t create a ruckus” and would take the 2nd break from our mighty battles. The 1st break was when the gola-wala would hit the streets…he was a peculiar creature who would come to our street corner every day around noon with his cart. He had a little tinkling bell that heralded his arrival from afar. As soon as those chimes reached our ears, we would drop everything and run off to our respective homes for money and bowls to get the golas + extra syrup in…onlookers probably saw only a blur of human flesh as we completed the route from playground to home to gola-cart in supersonic speeds. The fact that our 2nd play break would coincide with lunch hour was just a coincidence and had no relevance whatsoever with our hunger pangs. After filling our tummies with the earlier mentioned delicacies, we would resume our games – only now we would play serious, intellectual (read: non scream-able) games. We did this to enhance our creativity and intelligence. The fact that if we played any game that involved speaking in volumes above a certain decibel level would evoke a slow and painful death from the disapproving glares of the oldies in the building. So we played carom, scrabble, Scotland Yard, Business, etc… (Jus tawt if I should include that in my appraisal data…under the creativity/ business/analysis skills section :-) ).
After this display of tremendous patience and self-control till bout 4 in the evening we would unleash the primate inside us and revert back to the screaming games. We had an informal rota for this…every day one kid would have to be the one who goes to everyone else’s house to ask “Aunty, can so-and-so come out and play?” Of course no one could afford to risk their life everyday hence the rota… (Kinda similar to the support rota we have now ;-) ). And the games would begin again…gully-cricket, marbles, some alien kind of football, night badminton, kho-kho, hide-n-seek (this was super fun if sum new kid was the seeker…our idea of hiding was goin to sum1’s house and hogging on snacks or playing some other game while the poor kid “seeked” heaven n earth for us).
Finally at dinner time, we would return to our homes, tired and sweatier than sweat itself…there were no concepts of fancy deodorants then….if we reeked, we simply bathed and went out again…it didn’t matter then dat we bathed like 3-4 times a day (1- the official start-of-the-day morning bath, 2- the post morning ruckus pre-lunch bath, 3- the post evening havoc pre-dinner bath and 4- the last just before bed bath). After dinner, we would head out again for a round of badminton or stay in and have card tournaments…jus coz we were kids doesn’t mean we didn’t take our games seriously…we meticulously kept scores of everything and often had arguments over the scores that were longer than the game itself. This was where the leader came into picture. The leader was the one who had the most influence over the kids. Even as kids we had a keen sense of politics and voted a leader every often who would give the final decision when matters couldn’t be sorted even by fists, blows and kiddie-level abuses. Not once did our playground squabbles ever reach the ears of our parents. We were probably the best example of a fully functional democratic unit.
When we finally did hit the bed to supposedly sleep, we didn’t give in to sleep just yet. This was when we talked bout the lil things that mattered…since we were cousins, we talked bout our respective parents, our schools, our friends, our latest toys, what was the coolest thing we learnt last and so on. We weren’t a joint family per say…but we were definitely connected.
As I look back sometimes on those days gone by…and remember the friends, the food, the games, the times, the top scores, the talks….I’m filled with a deep sense of nostalgia about those wonderful summers…..and the lines of a song from the movie Grease come to mind….
“Summer dreams…ripped at the seams
But oh….oh those summer nights”
Summer…its vacation time!!!! No school….no teachers…no homework!!!!
Summer merry-making was kicked off by the traditional gathering of all the cousins who were in the kids category at my granny’s place. Why her place? Simple…my granny is the best cook in the world….fish, chicken, snacks, lunch, dinner, snack-sized nibbles…u name it she cooked it….not to mention mangoes!!! SLURPPPPP!!! Mango-the fruit, mango milkshake, mango ice-cream, mango kulfi, mango juice, the traditional aamras, mango lassi…u get the gist…:)
After the gathering was completed, there was an inventory done of all the possible weapons/potential weapons in the house…there was no mention of dolls coz I was seriously outnumbered in the girls-guys ratio by 1: infinity….its a good thing those happened to be my tomboy years…I happily joined in all the battle strategies and general bashing sessions that we had….my personal fav was battleship….where we accumulated all the pillows and cushion-type things in the house and made an impenetrable fortress. The poor landlubber team (we were very particular about our land-water-sea-ocean concepts) had to then fight a gory battle with us sea folk for winning our battleship. Our weaponry comprised of a unique union of mythology & technology. We had everything from slingshots (a la Eklavya), dart guns (70s-80s movie ishtyle), gadhas (remember Hanuman’s club?), sophisticated machine guns(Rambo inspired), bow-n-arrows ( Ramayana, Mahabharata and all other Ramanand Sagar creations) and so on…and if all else failed the pillows that formed our battleship also doubled up as weapons.
After running around the house and the building compound while screaming war cries at the top of our lungs for the entire morning, we would finally listen to our granny's feeble protests of “don’t create a ruckus” and would take the 2nd break from our mighty battles. The 1st break was when the gola-wala would hit the streets…he was a peculiar creature who would come to our street corner every day around noon with his cart. He had a little tinkling bell that heralded his arrival from afar. As soon as those chimes reached our ears, we would drop everything and run off to our respective homes for money and bowls to get the golas + extra syrup in…onlookers probably saw only a blur of human flesh as we completed the route from playground to home to gola-cart in supersonic speeds. The fact that our 2nd play break would coincide with lunch hour was just a coincidence and had no relevance whatsoever with our hunger pangs. After filling our tummies with the earlier mentioned delicacies, we would resume our games – only now we would play serious, intellectual (read: non scream-able) games. We did this to enhance our creativity and intelligence. The fact that if we played any game that involved speaking in volumes above a certain decibel level would evoke a slow and painful death from the disapproving glares of the oldies in the building. So we played carom, scrabble, Scotland Yard, Business, etc… (Jus tawt if I should include that in my appraisal data…under the creativity/ business/analysis skills section :-) ).
After this display of tremendous patience and self-control till bout 4 in the evening we would unleash the primate inside us and revert back to the screaming games. We had an informal rota for this…every day one kid would have to be the one who goes to everyone else’s house to ask “Aunty, can so-and-so come out and play?” Of course no one could afford to risk their life everyday hence the rota… (Kinda similar to the support rota we have now ;-) ). And the games would begin again…gully-cricket, marbles, some alien kind of football, night badminton, kho-kho, hide-n-seek (this was super fun if sum new kid was the seeker…our idea of hiding was goin to sum1’s house and hogging on snacks or playing some other game while the poor kid “seeked” heaven n earth for us).
Finally at dinner time, we would return to our homes, tired and sweatier than sweat itself…there were no concepts of fancy deodorants then….if we reeked, we simply bathed and went out again…it didn’t matter then dat we bathed like 3-4 times a day (1- the official start-of-the-day morning bath, 2- the post morning ruckus pre-lunch bath, 3- the post evening havoc pre-dinner bath and 4- the last just before bed bath). After dinner, we would head out again for a round of badminton or stay in and have card tournaments…jus coz we were kids doesn’t mean we didn’t take our games seriously…we meticulously kept scores of everything and often had arguments over the scores that were longer than the game itself. This was where the leader came into picture. The leader was the one who had the most influence over the kids. Even as kids we had a keen sense of politics and voted a leader every often who would give the final decision when matters couldn’t be sorted even by fists, blows and kiddie-level abuses. Not once did our playground squabbles ever reach the ears of our parents. We were probably the best example of a fully functional democratic unit.
When we finally did hit the bed to supposedly sleep, we didn’t give in to sleep just yet. This was when we talked bout the lil things that mattered…since we were cousins, we talked bout our respective parents, our schools, our friends, our latest toys, what was the coolest thing we learnt last and so on. We weren’t a joint family per say…but we were definitely connected.
As I look back sometimes on those days gone by…and remember the friends, the food, the games, the times, the top scores, the talks….I’m filled with a deep sense of nostalgia about those wonderful summers…..and the lines of a song from the movie Grease come to mind….
“Summer dreams…ripped at the seams
But oh….oh those summer nights”
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Mars v/s Venus
"All men are bastards."
This is a line on the back of a book I bought recently. My roomie read this one line and pleaded wid me to let her read it first. Justification - shud have a nice healthy dose of male bashing. Twist in the tale - the book was recommended and paid for by one of my guy friends.
Welcome to one of the oldest dog-bones of debates...men v/s women...Mars v/s Venus...
So is it true what most women think of men?
Are men really bastards/schmucks/jerks/psychos/hypocrites etc..? Or are they grossly misunderstood by the female species?
And are women really clingy/needy/overtly sentimental/impractical/dumb/irrational etc?
Well...I'm a girl...but most of my closest relationships have been with guys...mebbe it has sumthing to do wid the fact dat I was a tomboy for the first 13 years of my life...cud also have sumthin to do wid da fact dat I idolised my bro to da point of wanting to be jus like him...(no..this ain't a "boys dont cry" side track)....well watever da reason is...I seem to have the rare gift of being able to understand the male psyche a lil bit better than most of gal pals...so if men are from mars and women are from venus then I am the interpreter who can translate martianese to venusese and vice-versa...
And from all the translation I've done so far I’ve learnt a few things bout both the species...here's a few of those lil lessons...not all...coz I dont wanna lose da exclusivity ;)
Men:-
1. All men are not bastards. There are quite a few who are normal.(normal as per Venus standards)
2. Some men suffer from incurable bouts of mad-eyedness. This is especially obvious when they are standing in front of you and are supposedly talking to you but their eyes seem to be talking to some other part of your anatomy.
3. Men counter a variety of emotions wid anger and a display of indifference.
I'm hungry...growl!!!
I am bored...growl!!!
I hate my job...GROWWWL!!!!
I'm sad..."GRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWL!!!!
Its not like that...She's jus ok.... (shrug of the shoulders and a "watever" expression which actually means he digs her)
Ya..i guess we are... (thoughtful nod of the head when asked if he's serious bout a chick)
4. Men are capable of deep and sincere love. They might look...but they won’t stray. They are also capable of strong and long-lasting friendships.
5. Men are very serious about their careers. Money is not just materials for them. It is the key to a happy and fulfilled life for them. Money = comfort = good matrimonial choice = contended spouse = marital bliss = happy family = good retired life.
Women:-
1. Women have been treated badly by the male dominated society for so many years. They just want to catch up and make up for all that lost time. They were considered inferior for so long that just being equal doesn’t settle the score. They have to better.
2. Women are born to love. Its part of the package. There is no such thing as an unloving woman. She may not always love a human but there will always be one living thing in her life she will love above all.
3. Women work better than men. Men might work harder but women always work smarter. Part of the perks of have to deal with the "Can she do it?" syndrome.
4. Women need words. They need to be told that they’re needed and wanted. They need to be told that they matter. You could splurge the treasury of an entire nation on a gift but it’s the hand written card that will stay in her memories forever.
5. A woman can have only best friend at a time. She might claim to have a gang of buddies but her best friend will always be one person. That person might change over time but there will never be multiple best friends. (”my best friend from school/ junior college /graduate school / so-and-so town /abc club circle” and so on…)
So read and learn my martain buddies and my fellow Venusites…coz lets face it…we don’t really wanna live w/o the other species do we? I know I don’t…and I’m glad for the Martians in my life!!
This is a line on the back of a book I bought recently. My roomie read this one line and pleaded wid me to let her read it first. Justification - shud have a nice healthy dose of male bashing. Twist in the tale - the book was recommended and paid for by one of my guy friends.
Welcome to one of the oldest dog-bones of debates...men v/s women...Mars v/s Venus...
So is it true what most women think of men?
Are men really bastards/schmucks/jerks/psychos/hypocrites etc..? Or are they grossly misunderstood by the female species?
And are women really clingy/needy/overtly sentimental/impractical/dumb/irrational etc?
Well...I'm a girl...but most of my closest relationships have been with guys...mebbe it has sumthing to do wid the fact dat I was a tomboy for the first 13 years of my life...cud also have sumthin to do wid da fact dat I idolised my bro to da point of wanting to be jus like him...(no..this ain't a "boys dont cry" side track)....well watever da reason is...I seem to have the rare gift of being able to understand the male psyche a lil bit better than most of gal pals...so if men are from mars and women are from venus then I am the interpreter who can translate martianese to venusese and vice-versa...
And from all the translation I've done so far I’ve learnt a few things bout both the species...here's a few of those lil lessons...not all...coz I dont wanna lose da exclusivity ;)
Men:-
1. All men are not bastards. There are quite a few who are normal.(normal as per Venus standards)
2. Some men suffer from incurable bouts of mad-eyedness. This is especially obvious when they are standing in front of you and are supposedly talking to you but their eyes seem to be talking to some other part of your anatomy.
3. Men counter a variety of emotions wid anger and a display of indifference.
I'm hungry...growl!!!
I am bored...growl!!!
I hate my job...GROWWWL!!!!
I'm sad..."GRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWL!!!!
Its not like that...She's jus ok....
Ya..i guess we are...
4. Men are capable of deep and sincere love. They might look...but they won’t stray. They are also capable of strong and long-lasting friendships.
5. Men are very serious about their careers. Money is not just materials for them. It is the key to a happy and fulfilled life for them. Money = comfort = good matrimonial choice = contended spouse = marital bliss = happy family = good retired life.
Women:-
1. Women have been treated badly by the male dominated society for so many years. They just want to catch up and make up for all that lost time. They were considered inferior for so long that just being equal doesn’t settle the score. They have to better.
2. Women are born to love. Its part of the package. There is no such thing as an unloving woman. She may not always love a human but there will always be one living thing in her life she will love above all.
3. Women work better than men. Men might work harder but women always work smarter. Part of the perks of have to deal with the "Can she do it?" syndrome.
4. Women need words. They need to be told that they’re needed and wanted. They need to be told that they matter. You could splurge the treasury of an entire nation on a gift but it’s the hand written card that will stay in her memories forever.
5. A woman can have only best friend at a time. She might claim to have a gang of buddies but her best friend will always be one person. That person might change over time but there will never be multiple best friends. (”my best friend from school/ junior college /graduate school / so-and-so town /abc club circle” and so on…)
So read and learn my martain buddies and my fellow Venusites…coz lets face it…we don’t really wanna live w/o the other species do we? I know I don’t…and I’m glad for the Martians in my life!!
Sunday, March 2, 2008
A new year dawns...
On a high after the xmas party we decided to go out on new year's eve too..and we planned and plotted and enquired bout every event in a 100 mile radius...and true to the female race we planned and co-ordinated everythin from our outfits to our accessories to our modes of transport....
Meanwhile i was caught in no-man's land as there were 3 different groups for me to party wid...each wid a different venue in mind...some wanted a nice quiet new years eve...my office gang wanted to go all out on a pigging n binging spree...n my roomies wanted a decent crowd party venue...being da born diplomat dat i am...i managed to coerce/convince all of them to land up at the same venue...
After hagglin over the cover charges and wat all it wud cover we were finally there...wid a gang of around 9 ppl....all of dem different strokes...i knew we were in for some interesting events...
After gulping down the free booze and the free starters the dance gods beckoned us...and we danced to watever shit was being belted out in the name of in-house DJ music...it was den dat we noticed de huge gang of boys in the booth next to ours....one of dem in particular was sloshed and had decided it was his mission in life to come and crash our dance circle...he tried every trick in the book from accidentally dancing his way towards us...to tryin to wish us happy new year by shouting "Happy new year...i love u!!!"....his hapless and slightly less sloshed cronies tried to retrain him by forming a human chain round him and convincing him to dance in the centre....
But the best stunt he pulled was wen he decided to re-tie his shoe laces....now call me orthodox but i have always tawt that wen u tie ur shoe laces ur feet are supposed to be on the ground and ur head in the air....but no...dis guy who was probably a yoga instructor for desperate housewives tawt it wud be cool to balance his head on our couch wid his feet hoisted in the air as he tied his laces....all our male friends/protectors and his cronies were poised to prevent him from doing anything beyond that...as soon as he was done he was unceremoniously pushed back into his own circle of friends and was not seen again...
As the clock struck 12..there were cheers of "Happy new year!!!" everywhere....this however was quickly sidelined by another group next to ours where some chick was doling out free new year "love tokens"....
We continued appeasing the dance gods till 4 in the morning....and den finally we left for home...but our adventure was not over yet...
As soon as i reached home, i was informed dat we were heading to Marine drive to watch the sunrise....the first sunrise of the New year..i was excitedly told...now i am not a morning person...i've seen my fair share of sunsets....but the last sunrise i saw was wen i was a kid..i was on someone's shoulder and had blinked my eyes open...seen the sun and promptly dozed off again..so i politely told my roomies to stuff it and lemme sleep...but somehow they managed to blackmail me into agreeing to this comic caper...i blame the booze for this...can make a nice sensible morning grump turn into a morning lover...
So off we went wid two other pals..who were lured by promises of Maggi noodles...and we went dutifully to the station and took a train and landed up at marine drive after an hour long journey...thrilled by our spontaneous adventure so far..we clicked snaps to commemorate our heralding the first dawn of the new year....
As we waited with bated breath to be a part of the beauty of nature in all its glory we watched the sky lightening from deep black to blue and to grey...we even some some hint of pink clouds over the horizon...but no sun was in sight yet...we waited and waited till it hit us....we were facing west...and the sun is known to rise in the east....the glorious sunrise we wanted to witness had taken place behind us...somewhere in the east....
After having the laugh of our lives..we made our way back home...making blood oaths to keep our lil morning glory incident a secret...we reached home around 8 in the morning and slept till 2 in the afternoon...dats wen Shams entered our room wid the newspaper in hand...w/o a word she held out the front page and handed it to us....There was a beautiful pic of the sunrise....at the worli seaface...taken from the Bandra Linkway..which was half an hour from our place. We looked at each other in silence for a few seconds and burst into uncontrollable giggles...The new year had dawned....and it was special.
Meanwhile i was caught in no-man's land as there were 3 different groups for me to party wid...each wid a different venue in mind...some wanted a nice quiet new years eve...my office gang wanted to go all out on a pigging n binging spree...n my roomies wanted a decent crowd party venue...being da born diplomat dat i am...i managed to coerce/convince all of them to land up at the same venue...
After hagglin over the cover charges and wat all it wud cover we were finally there...wid a gang of around 9 ppl....all of dem different strokes...i knew we were in for some interesting events...
After gulping down the free booze and the free starters the dance gods beckoned us...and we danced to watever shit was being belted out in the name of in-house DJ music...it was den dat we noticed de huge gang of boys in the booth next to ours....one of dem in particular was sloshed and had decided it was his mission in life to come and crash our dance circle...he tried every trick in the book from accidentally dancing his way towards us...to tryin to wish us happy new year by shouting "Happy new year...i love u!!!"....his hapless and slightly less sloshed cronies tried to retrain him by forming a human chain round him and convincing him to dance in the centre....
But the best stunt he pulled was wen he decided to re-tie his shoe laces....now call me orthodox but i have always tawt that wen u tie ur shoe laces ur feet are supposed to be on the ground and ur head in the air....but no...dis guy who was probably a yoga instructor for desperate housewives tawt it wud be cool to balance his head on our couch wid his feet hoisted in the air as he tied his laces....all our male friends/protectors and his cronies were poised to prevent him from doing anything beyond that...as soon as he was done he was unceremoniously pushed back into his own circle of friends and was not seen again...
As the clock struck 12..there were cheers of "Happy new year!!!" everywhere....this however was quickly sidelined by another group next to ours where some chick was doling out free new year "love tokens"....
We continued appeasing the dance gods till 4 in the morning....and den finally we left for home...but our adventure was not over yet...
As soon as i reached home, i was informed dat we were heading to Marine drive to watch the sunrise....the first sunrise of the New year..i was excitedly told...now i am not a morning person...i've seen my fair share of sunsets....but the last sunrise i saw was wen i was a kid..i was on someone's shoulder and had blinked my eyes open...seen the sun and promptly dozed off again..so i politely told my roomies to stuff it and lemme sleep...but somehow they managed to blackmail me into agreeing to this comic caper...i blame the booze for this...can make a nice sensible morning grump turn into a morning lover...
So off we went wid two other pals..who were lured by promises of Maggi noodles...and we went dutifully to the station and took a train and landed up at marine drive after an hour long journey...thrilled by our spontaneous adventure so far..we clicked snaps to commemorate our heralding the first dawn of the new year....
As we waited with bated breath to be a part of the beauty of nature in all its glory we watched the sky lightening from deep black to blue and to grey...we even some some hint of pink clouds over the horizon...but no sun was in sight yet...we waited and waited till it hit us....we were facing west...and the sun is known to rise in the east....the glorious sunrise we wanted to witness had taken place behind us...somewhere in the east....
After having the laugh of our lives..we made our way back home...making blood oaths to keep our lil morning glory incident a secret...we reached home around 8 in the morning and slept till 2 in the afternoon...dats wen Shams entered our room wid the newspaper in hand...w/o a word she held out the front page and handed it to us....There was a beautiful pic of the sunrise....at the worli seaface...taken from the Bandra Linkway..which was half an hour from our place. We looked at each other in silence for a few seconds and burst into uncontrollable giggles...The new year had dawned....and it was special.
Twas da season of miracles...
This is not so much a new year tribute as it is a record of the craziness that was my xmas-new year time....But a lil history first...
I live wid/share a 1BHK wid 3 other gals...we're literally a poster for India United coz we are from North(Sups), South(Shams), East(Smrits) n West(me!!!)....n apart from me n Smrits...the other two are the gharelu main-madeera-nahi-peeti-ji kinds...Until one fine day it turns out that there was a revolution and Sups who'd recently undergone some kinda spiritual transformation talked Shams into "tryin new things" and "living life now"...."who knows if we'll ever a get a chance to try such things later in life"......So of course the most obvious n fun way for us to spend xmas was to go to some place that had booze...xmas miracle number 1.
And off we went on XMAS eve ...in search of a nice lounge/pub (coz a bar is too tacky)...n we drank till like 15 mins before midnite..wen we suddenly struck by the dance bug...but since no one else except sum wierdos were "dancing"...we decided to speed off home n dance away in the privacy of our flat....
So we raced off into the nite tryin to make it home b4 midnite...n we did in spite of our doubtful driving skills...xmas miracle number 2.
once safely home we switched on da TV to the first item number we cud find...think it was a southie number...n let loose...our dance moves cud put rajnikant to shame...its one of the funniest things to see normal ppl dance in ganpati mode....we played every item number from the ages of cinema history....and finally fell asleep exhausted....w/o getting kicked outta our flat for all da racket we made...xmas miracle number 3.
I live wid/share a 1BHK wid 3 other gals...we're literally a poster for India United coz we are from North(Sups), South(Shams), East(Smrits) n West(me!!!)....n apart from me n Smrits...the other two are the gharelu main-madeera-nahi-peeti-ji kinds...Until one fine day it turns out that there was a revolution and Sups who'd recently undergone some kinda spiritual transformation talked Shams into "tryin new things" and "living life now"...."who knows if we'll ever a get a chance to try such things later in life"......So of course the most obvious n fun way for us to spend xmas was to go to some place that had booze...xmas miracle number 1.
And off we went on XMAS eve ...in search of a nice lounge/pub (coz a bar is too tacky)...n we drank till like 15 mins before midnite..wen we suddenly struck by the dance bug...but since no one else except sum wierdos were "dancing"...we decided to speed off home n dance away in the privacy of our flat....
So we raced off into the nite tryin to make it home b4 midnite...n we did in spite of our doubtful driving skills...xmas miracle number 2.
once safely home we switched on da TV to the first item number we cud find...think it was a southie number...n let loose...our dance moves cud put rajnikant to shame...its one of the funniest things to see normal ppl dance in ganpati mode....we played every item number from the ages of cinema history....and finally fell asleep exhausted....w/o getting kicked outta our flat for all da racket we made...xmas miracle number 3.
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