Rainy Days, Never Say Goodbye...

The skies have been washed clean and shine down, through the thick cover of dark grey clouds. There's a freshness in the cool breeze that caresses my cheeks and plays with my hair, tossing it around into a tangled mess. The atmosphere is pregnant with the odour of freshly watered earth that teases my olfactory nerves into alertness and makes me sniff with curiosity. The suffocating presence of smoke, fly ash and dust particles seems to have been tamped down by downpour.

The streets, with their colossal absence of storm-water drains (I swear I don't understand why so many streets in Pune are missing drains for the longest stretches - pray where is the water supposed to go when it rains?), were flooded this afternoon creating a wonderful chaos that is so quintessentially "Indian Monsoon." Several trees on F.C Road, J.M. Road and I'm sure elsewhere couldn't withstand the naughty winds that lashed across the city and fell down to block entire streets and add to the commotion. A few billboards also bowed down to the forces of nature - fully-bent mind you, not that half-hearted bowing down!

Yes, it rained in Pune today. While the heavens have been opening up occasionally in the past couple of week, it wasn't much of a show and didn't succeed in bringing down the temperatures much. Today's grand display reminded me (almost painfully) of the monsoons I was accustomed to in Bombay - fierce winds that made a mockery of umbrellas accompanied by a sudden and heavy downpour that left you soaked to the skin within seconds. The pretty flowers adorning the street that goes upto from Patrakar Nagar were blown askew and scattered themselves all over the tarmac. Nature at her disheveled best.

I was caught in the downpour as I left class - and nearly got soaked, but for the semi-shelter of a bus-stand and then the parapet of India Art Gallery. As I stood there shivering in the cold wind and rain (I'm tempted to describe it as "un orage" a.k.a, a storm, but I know that would be a gross exaggeration) my minds drifted back to the innumerable times I've been caught in such rains in Bombay.

At Marine Drive with Aprajita, when we were both soaked to the skin within seconds - we had later walked down shivering like drowned rats to Churchgate Station to get ourselves some mouth-watering Frankie and Softy from the stall at the Station. Appu insisted later that I got a bigger softy because I was wearing a white top ;-)

At Bandstand with Kunal and Appu after having been unsuccessful at getting tickets at Gaiety (this was in the days before multiplexes happened to India) - we had forced Kunu to get into a bus on our way back to my place, gotten stuck in terrible snarling traffic that made the 45 minute commute last for over an hour and then walked from the bus-stop to my place bent under the onslaught of the rains. Kunu, I think, caught a rick from my place to his, which is like a stone's throw away! ;-) We had nagged him into changing and rerturning back for dinner and post-dinner talking into the wee hours of the morning!

At Mithibai when the rains had flooded all of Bombay - we were told to "evacuate" college - had to find our way out of college balancing on stilts because the "campus" outside the canteen entrance had flooded completely. I managed to get a bus which was packed like a tin of sardines and stood on the second step almost all the way home - at one point the water actually lapped at the feet of the person on the last step. A friend walked home, another hitched a ride with complete strangers. A professor who lived in the far-flung suburbs of the city had to take refuge in a colleague's home because trains were not running at all!

At Versova rock-beach, again with Appu and Kunu - this time we stubbornly stayed stuck to the rocks till we were quite wet, acting silly and drunk, scandalising the chana-wallas and others who were on the beach, singing a stupid song we'd made up right then and there..I vaguely remember the lines "It's raining in paradise, You are my fire I am your ice!" ;-)

At Amit's house in Versova, sipping garam garam chai and watching the waves lash angrily at the walls below, even as the winds howled wildly around his building. I'd shifted away from Pune the week before, and this was my first visit back "home" - little did I know how much I'd yearn for that sight in the months to come.

At my adda in the months that followed, high up on the 6th floor of my building, the windows pushed to one side, perched on the granite platform, arguing with Mansi at 2 am. She was down for her annual vacation and I'd rushed to Bombay to spend time with my bosom-buddy and guardian-angel - spent three unforgettable days in Bombay, catching up with her, opening my heart out to her (as always), chatting until the wee hours of the morning, not to mention getting my bheja-fried. That night it had rained like crazy and we'd sat there just admiring the sight of the rain-lashed streets below us till Mansi couldn't resist the urge to pick up at my brains again! ;-)

By the time I parted ways with my classmate who was my fellow-refugee, I was flooded with images from those wonderful days. It feels like yesterday, yet so far-away and so out-of-reach. I never thought I'd say this, but I love monsoons - the good Bombay variety, which spell heavy downpours, skies over-cast with dark grey clouds for days at ends with no hint of sunshine, the dampness which permeates homes, wet clothes and musty smells, flooded roads, chaotic traffic et al.

While my father would say all this calls for a cup of steaming elaichi chai and pakodas, I call for a big mug of steaming cappucino and a massive salami sandwich dripping with mayonnaise! I believe they call this a generation-gap ;-) On that note, I bid all of thee adieu and a good monsoon this year!

(Meanwhile a story brews to perfection in my head and I shall sit me down and type furiously away till I have carved out my newest creation to my satisfaction...)

Questioning, Endless questioning...

Back from Delhi and still trying to get back into routine - it's wierd, I slipped back into my usual routine within a day when I got back from from Germany after three months of more-or-less independant living, different lifestyle, not to mention quite a bit of traveling in the last three weeks of my stay there. But a week away from home unsettles me much more and I end up taking nearly two-three days to settle down...and while I'm doing that I indulge in an array of melancholic thoughts that inevitably lead the way to introspection, self-questioning and sometimes downright depression as I wonder where I'm headed.

In Delhi, my uncle who's been an astrologer ever since he retired as a Principal of an Engineering college, told me that I have a very stubborn personality and once I have a particular vision in my head I refuse to veer from my path, no matter how many other opportunities are thrown my way and no matter how good and enticing they may be. I hated to admit it to him, but he was so right - I've been indulging in exactly that for the past six months and I sometimes wonder at my wisdom in these actions. Yet I know I would never be happy doing any of those things that came my way - and I simply refuse to settle for something I haven't wanted/planned for. A bit too early in life to compromising on dreams, isn't it?

Questioning, endless questioning. Does it really bring us any answers? And if it does, are we really satisfied with the answers we get? Sometimes I think if we just stopped looking so desperately for these answers that we seem to be perennially seeking, if we simply paused in this relentless quest for the meaning in our life, and just "be", we'd probably find the answers have always been right there.

Faced with a dilemma once again. Disappointed once again by a friend, in whom I put in way too much faith way too soon. Why do I set myself up for the fall each time? I thought I'd learnt the lesson the last time. But, no, I didn't. So who do I blame?

Yet another question.

I need to read something invigorating and exciting - the two books I'm crawling through aren't doing anything to excite my grey cells - Foucault's Pendulum by Umberto Eco and The Way of All Flesh by Samuel Butler.

Gwen Stephanie's "Holla Back Girl" - I liketh! Very cool, very danceable number! Need to find a bakra who will download some songs for me, or else go on a major music-shopping spree. Wonder which will happen first?

Back from the Capital City

Delhi was good.

Actually I should say Gurgaon was good since I spent most of my time there. We headed straight from the airport to my Bua-phuphaji's place in Gurgawa (as the locals call it) - a very relative-centric trip, I didn't really step out much and when I did it was oriented towards running errands along with my cousins, or else going to Delhi to meet some more relatives and friends. Had hoped to get out more, indulge in some bohemian shopping, pick up interesting stuff from the much famed Delhi-bazaars, check out my friend's studio and more - but when I reached there, I discovered my Phuphaji, whose 50th wedding anniversary we were there to attend, had an entire itenary of events planned up for the next four days. There would be simply no wriggling out of it, without in some way displeasing/insulting/offending him. So there was a drastic alteration in plan-of-action and I ended up spending most of the time, chilling out at home, catching up with aunts/uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews, while dodging religious functions (by playing Uno with my cousins and their kids, no less!) and pigging out on endless meals! I was actually feeling "food-ed" out (pardon my use of neologism) by the last day there.

The one day we went to Delhi - Greater Kailash and Jor Bagh - I liked what I saw of it. My last trip to Delhi had been in 1999, just after my H.S.C exams, and I was still lacking all sense of geography and appreciation of different city cultures, so I was actually seeing Delhi with new eyes. I liked the wide, well-laid out and well-maintained roads. I marvelled at the gardens surrounding Qutub Minar when we crossed it on our way to GK. I was very impressed by the fly-overs that have apparently eased traffic load on the hitertho congested Delhi roads. (Hate to admit it, but they simply aren't doing it right in Bombay - most of the completed fly-overs are such an eye-sore and have ended up as a haven for squatters, instead of the shopping complexes/green islands etc as they were planned to be.)

The relatives we met in Delhi are uber-cool. Specially Shyam Mama, a.k.a. Commander Shyam Varma who is an ex-Navy pilot and has had an extremely interesting, exciting, colourful career and life. His wife, a supreme sourt lawyer, who can snap your head off with one single sentence, and is still practicising law even at 67 years is no less interesting! I spent a delightful evening at their place - it helped that they have travelled extensively in France and Germany and had loads of anecdotes to narrate, and that Mama is a chef par excellence when it comes to Mutton and dished out two delicious preparations that evening. Last, but not the least, their handsome German Shepherd - Nero. Drool! ;-)

I had intended to spend ample time with my friends in Delhi, but both times it turned out to be more of a 'snatched date' than a real rendezvous. Met up with a friend at the famous M-Market in GK-II in a resto-bar - though I've known him for years now, I felt like I got to know him so much better in the span of that one evening. Glad I could manage to meet him while I was there :-) I was forced to meet Bhuvan in one of Gurgaon's malls ( Gold Souk, a friggin mall for jewellery, to be exact!) since I couldn't co-ordinate with my friend in Delhi, so I could spend the last day there, before heading off to the New Delhi station. That must be my only regret in this trip, for I was looking forward to checking out his studio in Panchsheel. Bhuvan, incidentally is also part of a band - H.F.T (check out their site!). Once again the time I spent with him was really not enough, but I'm glad I managed to squeeze in the tête-à-tête with him at the last minute! :-)

The journey back was "epouvantable" ( of want of a more apt word in English I resort to French - this meaning horrible, but conveying it much more to my satisfaction) - it made me think I've been spoilt by all the flying I've done in the past two years. Actually not. I've never been subjected to such horrid fellow-travellers in all my bus journeys between Bombay and Pune and even when I went to Bangalore. They were what I'd describe as the quintessential Indian train-travellers - noisy, unruly and infinitely insensitive to the nuisance they are creating. The nieghbouring berths were occupied by a Marwari family, with two highly ill-mannered, noisy, irritating boys and an extremely cranky baby, whose mother did nothing to quieten her down - they basically wrecked the peace of the entire compartment! The innumerable cockroaches that had infested our compartment didn't make matters any more bearable - I must have swatted and killed a few score roaches during the over-night journey from Delhi to Bombay! And to think that the Delhi-Bombay Rajdhani is supposed to be one of the better trains running in the country!

I was so glad when we entered Bombay, though it was a bit unnerving to get down from the train and step directly into the car waiting for us, so we could head back to Pune immediately. I compensated by listening to the Good Morning Mumbai show on my favourite radio station Go 92.5 FM right upto 11 am, when we hit the expressway and started getting bad transmission. Oh! The joys of hearing Jaggu and Taraana ramble on-and-on about the latest in Bombay and the even greater joy of hearing English numbers during the day on radio! ;-)

Back in Pune and finding the weather here is worse than in Gurgaon, which had become quite pleasant after the weekend's storm and rain. Bua-Phuphaji's well-ventilated flat was nice and cool post sunset. Here, I've pretty much abandoned my own room and set-up sleeping arrangements in my parent's air-conditioned room. My bedroom is now more-or-less a dressing room, for it's hot and stuffy enough to rival the best oven available in the market! *Sigh*

PS I have some "uber-mutha-fuckin" cool relatives and friends, and even though I didn't manage to do the sight-seeing, tourist-cum-shopping bit in Delhi, I'm so glad I didn't miss out on this opportunity to meet so many of my relatives under one roof, not to mention the mini-rendezvous with my friends :-) All said and done, this was a pretty good trip!

Lost in Translation :-)

(I'd read some of these before, in my book of Foreign Phrases, but this by-far is the best compilation of translation goof-ups that I've ever come across!!! :-))

The American Dairy Association was so successful with its "Got Milk?" campaign, that it was decided to extend the ads to Mexico. Unfortunately, the Spanish translation was "Are you lactating?"

Electrolux, a Scandinavian vacuum manufacturer, used this ad in the U.S.: "Nothing sucks like an Electrolux."

Colgate introduced a toothpaste called "Cue" in France, but it turned out to be the same name as a well-known porno magazine.

When Braniff translated a slogan touting its upholstery, "Fly in leather," it came out in Spanish as "Fly naked."

Coors put its slogan, "Turn it loose," into Spanish, where it was read as "Suffer from diarrhea."

Chicken magnate Frank Perdue's line, "It takes a tough man to make a tender chicken," sounds much more interesting in Spanish: "It takes a sexually stimulated man to make a chicken affectionate."

Bacardi concocted a fruity drink with the name "Pavian" to suggest French chic...but "pavian" means "baboon" in German.

A hair products company, Clairol, introduced the "Mist Stick", a curling iron, into Germany only to find out that mist is slang for manure. Not too many people had use for the manure stick.

When Kentucky Fried Chicken entered the Chinese market, to their horror they discovered that their slogan "finger lickin' good" came out as "eat your fingers off"

Parker Pens translated the slogan for its ink, "Avoid Embarrassment - Use Quink" into Spanish as "Evite Embarazos - Use Quink"...which also means, "Avoid Pregnancy - Use Quink."

When Pepsi started marketing its products in China a few years back, they translated their slogan, "Pepsi Brings You Back to Life" pretty literally. The slogan in Chinese really meant, "Pepsi Brings Your Ancestors Back from the Grave."

In Italy, a campaign for "Schweppes Tonic Water" translated the name into the much less thirst quenching "Schweppes Toilet Water."

Chinese translation proved difficult for Coke, which took two tries to get it right. They first tried Ke-kou-ke-la because when pronounced it sounded roughly like Coca-Cola. It wasn't until after thousands of signs had been printed that they discovered that the phrase means "bite the wax tadpole" or "female horse stuffed with wax," depending on the dialect. Second time around things worked out much better. After researching 40,000 Chinese characters, Coke came up with "ko-kou-ko-le" which translates roughly to the much more appropriate "happiness in the mouth."

Not to be outdone, Puffs tissues tried later to introduce its product, only to learn that "Puff" in German is a colloquial term for a whorehouse. The English weren't too fond of the name either, as it's a highly derogatory term for a non-heterosexual.

The Chevy Nova never sold well in Spanish speaking countries. "No va" means "it doesn't go" in Spanish.

Ford introduced the Pinto in Brazil. After watching sales go nowhere, the company learned that "Pinto" is Brazilian slang for "tiny male genitals." Ford pried the nameplates off all of the cars and substituted them with "Corcel" which means horse.

When Gerber first started selling baby food in Africa, they used the same packaging as here in the USA - with the cute baby on the label. Later they found out that in Africa companies routinely put pictures on the label of what's inside since most people can't read.

In the French part of Canada, Hunt-Wesson introduced its "Big John" products as "Gros Jos." It later found out that the phrase is slang for "big breasts."

ROTFLMAO

Random Rambling

Call it random rambling or call it a quick update of the last few days/a preview into what's lined up for the next few days or call it an array of disorganised thoughts...
Here it is :-

- Short trips to Bombay simply don't cut it - had to squeeze so much in the span of less than 24 hours on the 16th. A quick shop-stop and a hurried lunch date with Aprajita (some things never change - she still made me wait for her for over an hour). A quick catch-up with Aranyak (my host for the night) and then getting ready for the wedding reception of Tasneem's sister (the real reason for the trip). Driving down from Juhu to NCPA, the venue of the reception and a fun time with Tasneem's college friends at the reception. Then another long drive, picking up people on the way, to Bandra where we dropped off half the car-load 'coz they wanted to go clubbing. Picking up Kunal at Toto's from where we headed to Mocha for wine, which was simply divine...Back to Aranyak's place - gup-shup till 4 am...crashed for 2 hours. Left for Bombay at 6.15 am!

- Promised myself my next trip to Bombay will be MUCH longer, LESS hectic and MORE peaceful - so I can also do some of those chilled out things I enjoy in Bombay, not just race around town cramming as much as I can in the time allotted to me! ;-)

- Back in Pune for Godh-Bharai ceremony of Bhabhi - lotsa people in the house. No electricity. Fan and cooler running on invertor, till it died on us. Then we sweltered in the heat till the power came back!

- Getting my butt into action after procrastinating for months. Trying out something new in glass painting under the tutelage of young woman in same residential complex as me. Human figures as opposed to the floral/birds/abstract stuff I've done so far. Also some interesting stuff with broken glass. Tomorrow it shall be ready.

- Holy Shit, but Diplome Superieur is no cake-walk. I'm going to have to start polishing up my act - can see myself perusing Le Petit Robert - Micro (Dictionary) and le Becherelle (Grammar book for conjugation of verbs) in the immediate future. Not to mention revising Grammar, reading more French stuff and generally being an even more conscientious student.

- Bloody hot in Pune. Heat waves rise from the ground and the sun beats down on me mercilessly, when I make my way to class. The buses are like f***ing tin boxes left to roast under Phoebus' angry glare. The dust in the atmosphere coupled with the dry climate of the city makes me feel suffocated.

- My poor baby Schnapps is suffering from Gastroenteritis. He doesn't like the heat either. Spends the day in front of the Cooler, eats only Dahi-Roti and drinks lots of cold water. Mind you, it has to be cold or he won't drink it!

- I got stung by a bee on Monday. It hurt like hell - made me curse and scream in pain as I hopped over to the elevator to make my way back home, entering the house with a howl of agony that brought my mother racing to the door. She rubbed Baking soda on it and made me sleep in her air-conditioned room. By evening the swelling had gone down and my foot looked like a human foot again!

- Longing to have a tall, glass of cold ganne ka juice from one of those stalls in Nariman Point or around Asiatic, or at Andheri Station. Had to settle for awesome Cold Coffee made my mother. It comes a close second to quenching my thirst.

- Way too many mosquitoes in this hamlet. How will I ever have sexy feet that I can offer to my lover to kiss and nibble on, if these damn insects won't leave my feet in peace? Don't see him kissing feet dotted with mosquito bites, or worse covered by Mosfree! Ewwww....

- Way too many phone-calls and SMS in the past few days. Wonder how people stay glued to their phones and cell phones for hours at end. I just get so stressed when too many people suddenly decide to remember me. Am too accustomed to being Plain Jane and generally meandering through life, setting my own pace and organising it the way it suits me. Suddenly jumping through hoops stresses me out big time.

- Delhi next week is going to be just as hot as Pune, if not worse. Am dreading it, yet looking forward to going there after so many years. It's going to be a week-long affair of meeting aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces & nephews and hopefully a couple of friends I have staying in the capital city.

- That translates into a week-long hiatus from Blog-world. Be good while I'm away people - I know you'll will miss charming little irresistible moi, but don't worry you will survive ;-)

Baby Talk

I've oft noticed how there is so much excitement in the house when a baby is due, especially on the part of the aunt-to-be. Now my own brother and bhabhi are expecting a baby in May. When I first heard the news, my reaction was rather...prosaic? I just took it as another logical, accepted step in life. People get married, people make love, people produce kids. It was interesting to think of my brother as a father, since he reacts to little babies the same way I do - as if they are aliens from another world. Leave him (or for that matter me) with one alone in a room, and there is something akin to panic situation in that room! I still can't see my brother as a father - me thinks he's got to do some growing up himself before he can raise a kid, but then men never grow up, so I guess he's no exeption there! ;-)

But why are we talking about my brother? This is an egocentric post - it's about me.

So I'm still not like uber-excited about the baby-to-come.
I have seen my bhabhi go through morning sickness and the first-trimester nausea.
Then I saw her resist food meant for her own good, because she was scared she'd put on too much weight and not lose it after delivery.
I've lectured her on how such stupidity and vanity doesn't help - given her nightmares of giving birth to a weak baby and how she will also become weak later because the baby would have sucked everything out of her - calcium deficiency if she avoids milk at this stage etc etc..
I've seen print-outs of her Sonography and Colour Dopler - showing progress of the baby inside the amniotic sac - reminded me of S.Y.B.A Human Development class and Mrs.Ramola.
I've seen her start eating sensibly (touchwood) and put on atleast some weight, though she's still not ideal in that area.
I've seen her tummy grow big to the size of a football and seen her struggle to fit into her clothes.
I've helped her shop for new clothes.
I've gone shopping for baby clothes - which was kinda fun - ever realised how much a little baby needs and how you could spend so much money creating a wardrobe for a baby that will fit into those clothes for just a few weeks before needing a bigger size?
I've seen my mother and bhabhi knit, crochet, embroider all kinds of things for the baby (ranging from blankets, to booties to little bonnets to sheets for laying in the cot and covering the baby).
I've painted a bedsheet for the baby and am even planning to make a glass painting for their room.

But I'm still not excited and going ga-ga over the thought of a little one crawling around the place.
When I think of the baby I think practically.
I think that I've already seen cousins with their babies and have been an aunt several times over to several neices and nephews, some of whom actually list me as their favourite aunt these days!! (Something to do with my being an "un-professional" bua/mausi who thinks it's cool to have crushes on that guy in class and tells them not to break their backs studying for an exam, 'coz it's not the end of the world if you don't get 90% in the next exam)
I think of nappies and sleepless nights.
I think of the need to provide a good atmosphere for the child to grow up in, the need for parents to strike the right balance between discipline and pampering the child...all such very sensible things.

I don't think of baby powder and all the sweet smells and things associated with babies. I don't coo and make silly noises about how babies are so cute and have chubby cheeks (all of them don't!)...

And I'm thinking to myself - am I normal? Or am I normal?

Guess the innate maternal feelings in me are yet to blossom.

Guess I still have to grow up myself (my brother has company!!) - the child-woman in me still rules supreme! :-)

Starting Afresh...

Burning Old Memories...


Sowing the Seeds of Love...

Petunia

From a Slightly Masochistic Petunia

I'm so sexy I could spit!

Please notice my dark, velvet tongue

lapping at the ground, lightly.

Ah! Deep-throated cry:

My want poisons me.

Stay with me, snap my blossom,

please, while I am coming down from passion,

or I'll die, lie dormant.

The idea of a swaying, living bloom.

- Mary R. Bast

Wanted to post a poem with this photo, but me being the rotten poet that I am couldn't even two lines of verse to go with it - then I stumbled on this poem and simply couldn't resist posting it - the connotations totally left me agape.

P.S These pretty Petunias bloomed on our balcony under my mother's loving care - she has the green thumb, not me - lending a splash of colourful to our collection of plants striving to stay alive under the cruelty of the summer sun.

P.P.S Check out my foot clad in Blue Osho Chappals ;-)

Anti-Jewish Mythology

Although medieval Christians didn't know much about the Jews, their existence held an important place in Christian mythology. Jews were important and productive members of European society, yet their existence as a minority in what was an overwhelmingly Christian and superstitious society, made them the perfect scapegoats. the antiquity of their faith gave them a role as holders of wisdom abd arcane knowledge which mde them both powerful and, to the Christian mind, potentially very dangerous.

Christians, encouraged by the Church believed in the Blood Libel legend, which contended that the Jews engaged in ritualistic murder. Knowing little of their religion and practice, Christians suspected Jews used witchcraft and black magic, concluding that they conducted murder of Christians in order to drink their blood in a parody of the Christian mass, or for other magical purposes. the blood, or other substances, was sometimes believed to have been used to poison wells, and these in turn were thought to have brought on the Black Death. The rumours and legends of the Blood Libel resulted in the torture and expulsion or murder of Jews who were blamed for the death of Christians.

Source: Mythology – Myths, Legends, & Fantasies Ed. Parker Janet, Stanton Julie
© Global Book Publishing Pty Ltd, 2003

Read more about the Black Death and the Jews 1348-1349.

P.S. Reading this reminded me of Arthur Miller's The Crucible - the play was powerful scathing indictment of anti-Communist fervour that had swept the nation under Senator McCarthy in the 1950s. The Communist witch-hunt at that time mirrored the Salem witch-hunt several centuries earlier. Read more about the context of the play here. The play was also made into a well-researched and powerful film with some awesome performances by Winona Ryder and Daniel Day-Lewis.

Adventurous Escapades

Here's a story for you'll (Yes I know it should be on Literary Mosaic and not here, but humour me and play along)...

"It was a sultry summer evening when the young girl emerged from her French class into the growing darkness of the city. Since she lived on the opposite corner of the city, rickshaws usually refused to go there unless she paid them double fare and public buses that she usually relied on, catered to the unsavoury sorts at that hour. So on days that she had classes in the evening, she usually had to ask either her father or brother to work a little late so one of them could pick her up on his way home. That day both of them were out of town, so she swallowed her pride and asked one of her nice-gentlemanly-sort-of-male-friends to do her a favour and drop her home...

Being the perfect gentleman, the man in question rose to the occasion and agreed to come to the rescue of this dainty damsel. He was there on time. Her professor, as usual, left the class a little late, so she came out a few minutes late to find him lounging on his powerful bike, admiring the pretty dames that emerged from the class. Reminding him that he had a fiancee waiting for him in another city, she climbed onto his bike, taking care to tuck in her gossamer fine white Lucknowi kurta underneath her, so it wouldn't get entangled in the bike's tyres.

Her friend grunted in response, revved his bike and shot off like a rocket into the twilight zone. He took the longer route via the Cantonment, as he was prone to. This route allowed him to show off his skills on the bike, since it had wider, better laid roads and wasn't subject to heavy traffic. So he could zip from one side of the road to the other, revving his engine up when he wanted and letting it idly coast along the slope when he felt like that. Meanwhile, she leaned back in her seat and let herself get lost in the web of leaves that covered the roads like a canopy. The stars twinkled back at her through the leaves and the breeze ruffled her hair into a tangled mess. She'd have to spend a long time brushing her hair out when she got home...

Her friend suddenly stopped in the middle of the road cursing heavily. She looked ahead to see the road block and a traffic policeman steering all traffic through the High Explosives Factory in the Cantonment area of the city. Her friend wanted to turn back, but she reasoned that if he did so, they'd have a ver long ride ahead of them and urged him to take the deroute. After all it couldn't take them longer than a few minutes to get out of this region and back on their usual track! Little did she know...the tiny lane that wound it's way through the Factory stretched on for an eternity before finally showing them out in an unpopulated area. they looked left, then right, but all they could see were trees . No sign of human inhabitation. He turned around and asked her what she'd like him to do next. Refusing to see any possible danger in the situation, she relied on her keen sense of direction and asked him to turn right...

15 minutes later, as they passed a bunch of old villagers and their fourth set of government buildings that looked exactly the same as the previous one, she wondered if they should have turned back from that road block after all. As though he was reading her thoughts, her friend spoke up and told her in a terse note that this was reminding him of the time when he was driving down such a deserted area and a bunch of drunk hoodlums stoppe dhis bike and beat him up. He turned his head slightly and added, "I was alone that time. This time I have you with me and I'm answerable to your parents..." She had a sudden vision of a bunch of drunk men beating up her friend before turning to her, sending chills down her spine.

Surely this little deroute cum adventure to narrate at home wouldn't turn into something she'd regret for the rest of her life? Pulling her Bandhini dupatta tighter around her body, she squinted into the darkness looking desperately for some landmark that would guide them back to civilisation. She was lucky, for they soon entered a village. As her friend made his way across a cobbled path (in India?) she cursed under her breath, for with every bump her back lightly hit the back of his bike. She'd have a sore back by the time she got home - it was hurting her in the exactly the same spot she'd hurt herself five years ago, when she'd slipped down a flight of stairs in college!

As soon as the cobbled path got over, they stopped at a Paanwalla and asked him how to find their way back to the main city. He asked them to go straight ahead and turn right at the third crossing...10 minutes later, they saw a familiar building loom up at them! Bombay Sappers, Cantonment, Khadki, Pune. Had they not been derouted they would have crossed this building just a few minutes after that road-black. Instead they had spent nearly 45 minutes riding through previously unmapped regions of the city, getting their backs screwed on cobbled paths, that were definitely not made for two-wheeler traffic!

Another 30 minutes later, he delivered her safely home, none the worse except for a slight bump on her penultimate vertrebra that would probably require a gentle massage and a heat-pad later that night. Exhausted, she trudged up to her house, while he turned back to ride back across town to his own pad...."

Replace that charming young girl with me and her gentlemanly friend with my friend who I've mentioned before, but can't name on this Blog for fear of being sued. Now replace his Bike with a Scooter, that rarely goes above 30 km/h because of an accident he had while speeding. Last but not the least, cut out some of the drama that I threw in there to make it a racy read...Voila, that was my little adventure last evening!

P.S Since you've already read one piece of "Fiction" I assume you must be in the mood to read some more - I hunted up an old attempt at fiction writing (perhaps the second thing I wrote) and have posted it on Literary Mosaic. Comments are awaited! :-)

Ways of Seeing

On my last trip to Bombay, I had stopped by NGMA and discovered they were running an exhibition of works by Pakistani artists as a part of the Indo-Pakistani cultural exchange. My curiosity suitably piqued, I entered the grand Jehangir Cowasjee Hall with my usual sense of awe and respect, hoping not to be disappointed by what was to meet my eyes. I wasn't. The Calligraphy art was quite interesting (specially the one done in colour, which could be interpreted in so many ways - though I'm sure the script also plays a role in the interpretation, I could make sense of it sans understanding Urdu.) Then there were these series of images done by a female artist all portraying a classic Moghal style juxtaposed against a modern digi-art background. Quite fascinating and an interesting way to show the dilemma of a society torn between traditionalism and modernism. On the third level, there was this painting that said so much about a woman's life in the zenana, how even in that exclusively female domaine life really revolves around the male, and how despite all these "protective" and segragating measures she is still subject to voyeurism. The fact that the art was framed in a Jharokha, made the viewer (in this case myself) a part of this voyeurism.

On the fourth level, they had put up this huge digi-art image showing a Pakistani crowd looking upwards, presumably at a cricket ball. Nothing worthy of comment at first sight. Infact I was rather bemused when I noticed one man giving it detailed attention - so I went forward myself to see what had caught his attention and then the light dawned on me! The entire picture was composed of thousands of tiny pixelated images of scenes from Bollywood films! Now that's how to make a statement with style! :-)

The series of images that truly snagged my attention were on the top-most storey. Radical, they were all feminist in nature and served the purpose of making you sit up in your seat and take notice of each one of them. At times like this, I almost wish NGMA was smaller, because by the time I reach the top storey I'm beginning to feel glutted by artistic impressions. Anyway, digressions apart, flanked by two panels with actual henna aplique work, were three digi-art works, which according to me were the most radical and interesting works. Like the earlier digi-art work that I mentioned, at first sight, this was also a banal portrayal of women in purdah. But on closer observation, you notice that the image is made up of tiny pornographic images, mostly of white women. Not very difficult to interpret, is it? Do what you want, hide her in purdah, lock her up at home, segregate her into an exclusively female area, but the male gaze is still there to strip her naked, inavde her private space, assualt her mentally, physically and sexually.

For a long time after, I was mulling over some of these pieces, in particular these three images and the painting framed by the Jharokha, and came back repeatedly to John Berger's landmark essay "The Female Nude" featured in his book "Ways of Seeing." Berger states that the social presence of men and women differ - while the male presence is contingent on the power he embodies and projects on the world exterior to him, the female presence is expressed by her own attitude towards herself, her body, her appearance, of which dictates what can and can not be done to her. To born a woman, says Berger, is to have been born within an allotted and confined space into the keeping of men. A woman is forced to continually watch herself. She thus becomes her own surveyor, even while she is the one surveyed/object of survey under the male gaze. It works this way - how a man perceives a woman's presence dictates how she will be treated. With the internalisation of these norms, the woman looks upon herself with a similar gaze so as to fashion herself and demonstrate how she she would like to be treated.

Berger then makes, what is perhaps, the fundamental statement of the essay: "Men act and women appear. Men look at women. Women watch themselves being looked at...The surveyor of woman in herself is male: the surveyed female." (The Jharokha? Also think of the women in purdah.) "Thus she turns herself into an object - and most particularly an object of vision : a sight."

Berger, uses the examples of several pieces of art and examples from advertisements to underline the fact that at all times, the woman (subject of art/advertisements) is aware of being seen by the spectator. As he puts it, "She is not naked as she is. She is naked as the spectator sees her." Nakedness in these works is not an expression of the woman's feelings, but more of a sign of her own submission to the owner/viewer's demands and expectations.(Connotation of the pornographic images?) He then differentiates between the naked and the nude. "Naked is to be oneself. To be nude is to be seen naked by others and not recognised for oneself. A naked body has to become an object in order to be a nude...Nakedness reveals itself. Nudity is placed on display." (Pornographic images v/s an image of the woman in purdah?)

To come back to the point, the viewer (voyeur, if you please) has been assumed to be the male ever since the Classics first painted nudes and this tradition has been carried forward into the modern media of advertising, journalism and television. The end result? Women are depicted to please the male gaze and this has been embedded so deeply in our culture that it structures the very consciousness of women, and women readily do to themselves what men would do to them. Think about it....

PS No artists names were cited, because I couldn't remember any! *shame-faced*

Saw that Fat Bitch rolling her mass down the road?

A few days back I saw red when someone insisted on making repeated snide comments about "fat women" that were excused away as jokes (supposedly) - now to me, that kind of a repeated joke is akin to racism or marginilising of any other sort, be it towards a particular race, community, social class or in this case, physical attributes.

While I accept the importance of staying fit and not being obese, I find it extremely devoid of taste, class, not to mention intelligence and basic etiquette when people make continual references to someone's "size" in a pejorative manner. More so, when the person concerned is really not "obese" but merely not in possession of the perfect body...my first reaction is an urge to slap the daylights out of the speaker! What aggravates me more is that these comments are inevitably directed towards women! Even more when the speaker happens to be a male with no perfect body to boast of. And like, why is it that women have to bear a greater social pressure of being "in shape" while if a man goes around town porting a big bellly, it's considered a sign of "happiness", "marital satisfatcion" (WTF?) and the best - "wealth"!!!

Yes, it is good if you're in shape. Yes having a slim and trim body makes you feel good about yourself. But incase you didn't notice, the rule is applicable to both sexes! The way I see it, any guy who expects to his woman to be in shape bloody well be in shape himself. As for the rest of the world with nothing better to do than observe whether someone's "meat-rolls" are spilling over from his/her waistband - Go get a life!

Related reading :- Obesity Epidemic?

House-Full

Good Friday, Holi and Easter – religious significances apart, it made for a long weekend, one on which both the earning male members of the family got holidays and were at home ;-) Made for a full-house this weekend. Add to that our esteemed guests for the weekend who blessed our humble abode with their divine (ahem) presence!

Kunu Baba, took the opportunity to come down to Pune for a relaxing, unwinding, de-stressing weekend, away from the worries of his high-profile clients for whom he scurries around town so they have the perfect home. It’s been a very long time since I had him to myself, so I truly cherished this weekend – somehow talking to him always puts things into perspective and makes me realize how trivial my moments and issues of angst, are in the grand scheme of things…and makes me a wee bit more sensible and mature. He has a good effect on me…*Absit Omen*

Friend from Pune joined us for dinner on Friday night, at Polka Dots – scrumptious meal was tucked away into our tummies – and then on Holi, for wholesome ghar ka khana. We went out for My Brother Nikhil and then for chai and refreshingly cool neembu pani at the Y-point in the University.

Last, but not the least, out adorable little canine guest of the weekend – Filoo. She was adopted by my brother’s colleague around a month back. When her “mummy” had to go out of town for the weekend, my brother happily jumped in and offered to baby-sit her for the weekend – so it was that Filoo came over. Trembling with fear for the first 10 minutes, she quickly threw off her mantle of fear and set about harassing our gentle Schnapps with her rather aggressive feminine wiles ;-) Some bitches start early! LOL – Schnapps who seemed to mature in seconds was rather harassed by her for the first 36 hours or so – he was also amazingly tolerant of the little scamp who’d hang on to his ears and run after him, dive into his food and water and generally refuse to leave him in peace.

By Sunday evening, he’d given up his gentle behaviour and started retaliating by shaking his head to free himself of the pesky little brat, playing back and indulging in a little gentle combat with the little one. She left this morning – Schnapps is dozing since then – recuperating from the weekend or missing his new friend and playmate? (Perhaps something more in the future?) ;-)

Positive outcome of this canine exchange:- We realized that Schnapps, who in the past 2 years has been the baby of the house and is an amazingly possessive, jealous and human dog, shall not react too horribly to the human baby that shall arrive in May. If handled with care and not ignored, he shall easily slip into the role of the baby’s fiercest guardian, protector and close friend for life, just as Tika was to me! *Amen*

Negative outcome of this canine exchange:- The humans of the Shrivastava clan were relegated to the back-stage as the canines took on main-stage. We were more like the extras on a film-set, who were around only to add to the canine drama, provide entertainment and nourishment for them and mop up after them! Puppies are nice, if only they came toilet-trained – hold that thought – babies are nice, if only they came toilet trained! LOL!!

My Brother Nikhil

My Brother Nikhil – I hardly noticed any publicity for the film, perhaps due to my rather decreased intake of television these days or perhaps because the movie isn’t really being marketed aggressively like most other films. I did hear good things about it, and wanted to see it, preferring saner movies to the typical naach-gana-Bollywood fare. So we went for it, after a rather satisfying and satiating meal on Holi. I expected to find hardly anyone at the Multiplex and was quite surprised to see the crowds – more so, when we got tickets only in the 2nd row from the screen, despite being there over an hour before the show!

The film, starring Sanjay Suri, Juhi Chawla, Lilette Dubey,Victor Banerjee and Purab is very sensitively made. Dealing with the issue of AIDS, set against the backdrop of a conservative, closed society of Goa in the late 80s and early 90s, the My Brother Nikhil has subtly but effectively pointed out to the ignorance of the public vis-à-vis AIDS, the ostracism and marginalization faced by the patients by society, friends and even family. What I liked about the film were the realistic portrayals of relationships, the fact that nothing was ridiculed or made trivial, the intelligent handling of homosexual relationships and the subtle dealing of the subject. Purab quite surprised me with his decent performance – the rest were good, as expected, by me.

Drool worthy – Both houses shown in Goa. The palatial house owned by the Kapoor’s (dealers in antique furniture) set by a river, decoated tastefully in old-world charm of antique wood furniture and white-washed walls, set off by the terracotta red roof and tiles and pillars was just so impressive. More appealing to the bohemian side of me was Nigel’s little cottage away from the main hub of the city, overlooking rice fields and a little run-down (or as Kunu would say, lived-in!) Tres nice, specially the room with lines from poems painted on the wall – one of them being “Rage rage against the dying of the light...” from Dylan Thomas’ poem Do not go Gentle into the Night. Also that poster of French films :-)

Disappointing – The crowd at E-Square, which was obviously too wrong for this movie – way too juvenile and too insensitive. They were laughing at all the wrong moments, sometimes at very sensitive moments, showing their complete abysmal lack of maturity and sometimes for no reason at all, making me wonder if they’re perhaps still suffering from the dose on Bhang in their Thandai! True, such a movie doesn’t appeal to most people – but then stay away from it. Why make it difficult for others to appreciate the movie? Me thinks it’s better if few people go watch the movie, as long as the ones who do, actually comprehend and appreciate it.

Bombay Darshan?

So what would you do if you had to introduce Bombay to someone who stubbornly resisted it and thought it to be simply a land of enormous crowds that jostled with you in your private space, a crazy city that seems to work round-the-clock without stopping for a breath, a metro which just seems to spill over everywhere and swallow up everything (and everyone) that comes in it’s path?

*Phew that was a long sentence, said in one long breath*

This is what I did. I treated the person to a gamut of typical Bombay experiences, ranging from Churchgate to Mira Road! :-)

We started off by grabbing b’fast at an Udipi joint then hopped onto a train to Churchgate. Next up – a taxi drive to Fort and then Colaba. Walked around a lot, ogling at those old, though sadly neglected buildings in Fort and later around Causeway (wish I’d stopped to pick up some good bargains – there were some awesome ear rings this time)…Mondegar so rocks! Right from the Caricatured walls, to the “No Smoking” sign that doesn’t prevent anyone from smoking, to the jukebox and the food ofcourse! ;-) NGMA had this interesting exhibition of works by Pakistani artists – some of which were really interesting, not to mention radical! Remind me to talk about this later…That walk down Oval Maidan – I don’t think I’ll ever tire of it – turning around and gazing up at Rajabai Tower just gives me such immense pleasure. Coffee at Gaylord’s before catching an A/C bus to the suburbs…

Midway across town, we hopped off at Bandra – the queen of the suburbs as some people would call it. Down crowded Hill Road to Jogger’s Park and then a long leisurely walk down Carter Road…spent some time there just idling time away till my friends decided to deign us with their presence. Went Café hopping from the CCD at Carter’s to the CCD at JATC – settled in at the latter for a longish period of time, by the fountain so it was nice, cool and breezy. Din-din at Lemon Grass – the food and ambience makes your forgive them for their rather sloppy and tardy service. I don’t think they’ve EVER served me the drink BEFORE the hors-d’oeuvres are over! Ah well, I still love that place and would gladly go there again, with yet another friend who’s not experienced it before. Dessert and wines at Mocha (and I was talking about quick service before, right?) – most nice. Though I think I prefer the Juhu Mocha – nothing beats sitting under the moon, digging into a Kahlua Mousse Cake/Vertical Limit, knowing you can skip over to the beach later for a Kala khatta Gola! :-)

Hopped ricks to the station, as the first one got into an accident in his hurry to get us to the station before I transformed from the Cinderella to Plain Jane ;-) I figured Bombay aint just about the South, or about the queenly suburbs, but also about those far-flung suburbs that are technically outside city limits, so off we went to Mira Road. The Virar local was actually crowded, even at midnight! The only bit in the day that I wished I hadn’t subjected my friend to – but considering the roof over our head for the night was to be in Mira Road, I had no choice…anyways it was quite interesting, what with the guy insisting on forming a protective circle around us to “protect” us from the men drunk on tharra. ;-) Surprisingly, the station market was very much alive when we got there at like nearly 1 am! Wrapped up the day with a session at my friend’s place, after we had spent some time with her adorable brother and even more adorable three dogs.

Friend actually admitted to having enjoyed himself - and thanked me for introdcuing him to Bombay! Score! :-)

Only regret about this trip was that I never made it back “home” – staying as I was away from my usual “adda” I couldn’t squeeze in a trip to my hunting ground. Though I had a wonderful day, followed up by catching up with one of my bosom buddies who’s just shifted back to B’bay from Delhi, I couldn’t help but feel that something was left incomplete. Next time…pakka!

Bombay v/s Pune?

Have been exploring Pune with my friend and guide these past few weeks – he knows some really charming places in Pune and has been dragging me there, willing and unwilling to open my eyes to the charms of the city – it’s his eternal quest to make me admit that Pune is better than Bbay. It isn’t, but yes, I’m beginning to admit it’s not a hell-hole either! Two stubborn Librans locking horns on this one!

Last week I was introduced to the charms of a Tekdi, just off Law college road – a short climb upto a mid-way vantage point near a temple (there’s no shortage of those in Pune) from where you can see the city spread out below you, and then a walk through some brush and trees up to a stone quarry, that made me think of Mount Vesuvius and the buried city of Pompeii – my friend of course disagreed and said the crater is too small for my line of imagination, preferring his own version of a fantastic land from the LOTR and some weird creatures scampering around unseen to the human eye. We didn’t quite see eye to eye on this either – so it was yet another horn-locking session! :-)

It was dusk by the time we started back, so we were treated to a most romantic sight – as the sun set and the night crept over the city slowly enveloping Pune in its velvety folds, the city’s lights slowly start twinkling in the growing dusk. I am totally in love with that place – can’t decide which is better, the tekdi or that watch-tower in a crater at the University…

I guess it’s time to concede a point – Round 1 goes to you my dear friend. But I haven’t abandoned the battle field yet. Wait till you see Bombay through my eyes and watch it if it doesn’t hit you with all its glory and that completely unique culture that can be best described as a palimpsest. Watching the sun set behind the Gateway of India, as you come in from Elephanta Islands, is a sight to behold and guaranteed to deliver a hard blow to your solar plexus. Top it off with a walk down Marine drive, hop into a cab towards Malabar Hill and watch the Queen’s Necklace twinkling back at you – you don’t need any inducement to drown in the sheer magic of the moment! :-)

Speaking of fantastic lands, I just posted my review of Salman Rushdie’s Haroun and the Sea of Stories on Literary Mosaic. Go read the book people!

Warli Paintings

Triangular human beings and animals with stick-like hands and legs dance in a loose, rhythmic pattern against an earthy background.

Warli paintings are popular because they are so alive, one can almost hear the drums beating and the tribals singing their folk songs.

Folk paintings from Maharashtra, they are traditionally done on mud, charcoal or cow-dung, using only white chalk powder made from rice-flour. The seasonal cycle, integral to the survival of the tribes, is a central motif. Circles are another motif of Warli paintings, representing the unending circle of life, and carrying forward this spiral movement that gives everlasting joy to the human race.

What you see above is my rather bastardised first attempt at Warli painting (not to mention quite decent first attempt at painting a wall!!) - if compared to an authentic painting (like the one you see here on Akshay's blog) it looks rather empty and spaced out, and well not authentic. But hell I'm so proud of it!

I'm fishing for compliments people! ;-)

A Glimpse into Anti-Semitism

That anti-Semitist sentiments have existed in the world long before Hitler, was something I knew (you can’t read The Merchant of Venice without realizing the extent to which Jews were disliked and prejudiced against – Shylock’s famous speech for mercy can be read at so many different levels, but that of course was the genius of Shakespeare), but I hadn’t realized that how many politically motivated movements against the Jews and Anti-Semitist writing existed nearly a century before Hitler was around. I came across a few while reading up for a French assignment last weekend...

In 1835, Arthur de Gobineau published his essay “Essai sur l'inégalité des races” (Essay on the Inegality of Races )which justified racism. Others who followed the same vein of thought were Alphonse de Toussenel who published “Les Juifs, rois de l'époque” (The Jews, kings of the era) and his disciple Eduoard Drumond. Drumond published "La France juive, essai d'histoire contemporaine" (The Jewish France, essay on contemporary history) and "Les Juifs contre la France" (The Jews against France), establishing the Anti-Semitist library of the newspaper La Libre Parole, which he founded.

And then there was the Dreyfus scandal:-

In 1894, a letter by a French official offering military secrets to Germany was discovered and soon after a Jewish official from Alsace, Alfred Dreyfus, Captain of the Artillery regiment attached to the Secret Services of the State was accused of treachery. The proof? Similarity in handwriting. He was condemned and publicly shorn off his status in the army at the Invalides in Paris, after which he was deported to the Devil Island in Guyana, on exile for life.

Dreyfus's degradation after his conviction: he is stripped of his braid and buttons, and his sword is broken. (Le Petit Journal, January 13, 1895. )

Efforts by his family and supporters to prove his innocence continued, and two years later the case was re-opened and a new suspect, Esterhazy was tried. However, he was acquitted and the President of counsel stated that “Il n’y a pas d’affaire Dreyfus” (There is no Dreyfus affair).

This political scandal ended up dividing France into two ideologies :- the Dreyfusards, who were in favour of The Rights of Man, a secular state and justice and the anti-Dreyfusards or those who following the principles of the old monarchists and Catholic conservatives were leaning towards militarism and nationalism. This was the first time France was being divided idelogically into two parties :- the Left and the Right. (The Socialist Party in France was officially formed for the first time during the course of this scandal that stretched for a decade, in 1901 by George Clemenceau, one of Dreyfus’ supporters.)

The Dreyfus Affair produced an enormous amount of postcards. This card uses the well-known anti-Semitic image of the treacherous Jew (Dreyfus) in the form of a snake. (From the postcard series "Museum of Horror," no. 6 : "The Traitor." )

While journalists like Edouard Drumont were writing anti-Semitist articles in leading papers like La Libre Parole (The Free Word), others like Emile Zola came out in staunch defense of Dreyfus and publicly criticized the government and courts of law for their slight in ruling. Zola, was sentenced to one year in prison after the publication of his “J’accuse” in a leading newspaper “L’Aurore” (The Dawn) – a paper run by Clemenceau. Zola’s open letter to the President brought attention back to the case and it was re-opned once again after the discovery of new proof of his innocence…only for Dreyfus to be sentenced to 10 years of prison on the basis of “attenuating circumstances” (sic) – it was ten years later that Dreyfus was finally absolved of all charges and re-instated into the army in 1906 under the government on Clemenceau.

It took La Croix, France's Roman Catholic daily paper, a 100 years to apologize for its anti-Semitic editorials during the Dreyfus affair. It finally did so on the 100th annversary of the publication of "J'accuse" in 1998.

What snagged my interest the most while reading about this, was one of the international repercussions of this scandal. A young Jewish journalist, revolted by the French anti-Semitism had concluded that it had now become essential to form a state for the Jews. And thus Israel was born in 1948.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you - Nicola...

With all this talk about Women’s Day and strong women going around, I thought I’d unleash Nicola on you –

“They knew her as Nicola. They called her Lady Nick. The feminine avatar of Old Nick – Nick the devil. She could reduce a man to a quivering mass of hormones ruled by his senses with a single slicing look of those sharp black eyes. All she had to do was set her eyes on the man and he was hers. “She’s had more lovers than I’ve had hot dinners,” was how they had introduced her in one talk-show. Lady Nick, they called her. Lady Nick, the home-breaker. You couldn’t cross her without regretting it. Lady Nick, they called her. Lady Nick, the ball breaker.”

She’s up there on Literary Mosaic – go get acquainted and don’t forget to let me know if you like her! ;-)

Currently:-

• Mulling over this statement I came across in a review of a new Franco-Israeli film, titled “La Fiancée Syriénne.”
  « ... Comme si l'espoir était devenu obsolète. » (...as if hope had become obsolete)
• Reading up about a political scandal that took place in France in the 1890s that led to the publishing of Emile Zola’s famous « J’accuse », a drastic evolution of the French press with greater liberty and criticism of the government being introduced, division of the society into two halves, the growth of the Socialist party in France, the first political anti-Semitist writings and the birth of Israel, as a country for the Jews. It’s interesting to say the least.
• Listening to Eagle Eye Cherry’s Save Tonight, off Jukebox Favourites.

Sauvez-moi Dieu! Il ya trop des idiots dans le monde!

I was under the rather wrong impression that only old people with nothing better to do go around finding unmarried young men and women and then harass them to get married. It seems this annoying hobby isn’t restricted to the elderly, as was proven by my rather exasperatingly frustrating conversation earlier this week with a classmate from AFP:-

Girl:- Ai, Geetanjali how old are you?

Me:- *Looking up from book* Hey, didn’t see you come in! I’m 23 – suddenly kyu poocha?

Girl:- So when are you getting married? I mean ab to umar ho gayi hai na?

Me:- *clearing throat* Excuse me? Umar ho gayi hai? Sweetheart est-ce-que tu as vingt ans ou quatre-vingt ans? (Are you 20 years old or 80?)

Girl:- No yaar 23 is the perfect age to get married…you don’t want to get married kya?

Me:- *wickedly* Na re I plan to take the vow of celibacy and join a sisterhood that shall have as it’s ultimate goal the re-establishment of the feminine sacred over patriarchy bring those men begging at our feet, forced to finally admit that women are the superior sex!

Girl:- *giving me a blank look* What all shit you people talk yaar. This is why I don’t read.

ME:- Weird, I thought you were doing French Literature and must be someone who enjoys reading…

Girl:- Accha so tell me, do you know how to cook?

Me:- Yeah. Like how do you think I survived in Germany for three months?

Girl:- Phir?

Me:- Phir kya?

Girl:- Arre, then why don’t you get married?

Me:- Duh! I’m afraid I don’t quite see the logic here. So I know how to cook, so I get married? Like knowing how to cook is the only qualification or something to get that oh-so-desirable job of a wife? *am getting irritated now*

Girl:- I’m sure you have a boyfriend…

Me:- *stifling the urge to throw the dictionary at her* Sure I do, more than one. But none of them are interested in tying the knot yet…

Girl:- *horrified* You are two-timing your guy?

Me:- Two-timing – let’s see now, with one guy in here in Pune, one in Bombay, another somewhere in Europe and…

Girl:- Ai don’t make fun of me! Tell na…

Me:- *smiling sweetly* I did. I adore each one of them and don’t waste a single opportunity to tell them that…

(Silence for a while, during which I go back to reading…)

Girl:- Arre you used to work na?

Me:- *thinking she finally got the message* Yeah, was freelancing as a copywriter for this design studio back in Bombay…but it didn’t work out.

Girl:- Why?

Me:- Ego on both sides, It didn’t help that I was doing this work just to prevent my brains from rusting and didn’t really see myself making it a career. Besides I’m in no hurry to pile up the green stuff in my account. Studying is what I do best – so I’m going to do that for a while longer, and then take up what I really want to do…

Girl:- You should take up a job in a call center. French. They pay well yaar.

Me:- I don’t find the idea of working in a call center attractive. Somehow it gives me the hibbie-jibbies, the idea of sitting with headphones and answering calls for hours at end, pretending I’m Georgia when I’m so not!

Girl:- No but if you do that, then you can work at night, study in the evening and still have time to cook for your husband, na?

Me:- Ummm? Sweetheart I thought it was established that I’m unmarried!

Girl:- Haan wohi to…get married!

ARGH!!!

GOD SAVE ME FROM SUCH IDIOTS!

Currently:-

• Listening to O Samba – a very good compilation of Latin dance numbers, sent to me by my adorable German friend.
• Excited about lunch – a friend, who’s been avoiding coming over to my place for over a month, has finally agreed to come today for lunch and I’m cooking. What’s on the menu? Nothing fancy – just some Onion soup, Veg-au-gratin, Stuffed Capsicums, Cucumber and peanut salad, served with French Bread. Banana loaf for dessert.
• Btw, I so don’t get it – why do guys have this problem about going over to their (girl) friend’s place? What’s with the “avoid parents and homes and anything remotely resembling family” attitude? Only Kunu doesn’t behave this way – but then he’s the most intelligent and mature guy I know, not to mention that he’s been coming over since he was 10...

Worth reading :-

• Observations from the Rooftop :- it’s a rather polemic blog, if I may say so, touching on issues ranging from the Party scene in Pune to the Nature of Love…

I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For

"I have climbed highest mountain

I have run through the fields

Only to be with you

Only to be with you

I have run

I have crawled

I have scaled these city walls

These city walls

Only to be with you

But I still haven't found what I'm looking for

But I still haven't found what I'm looking for..."

U2 (Read complete lyrics here...)

Woke up early this morning - partly because I slept so badly last night, partly because I'd already set the alarm with intentions of practicising those grey cells before the sun rose over the horizon; something I used to be good at. I've always been a person who preferred getting up early to study, rather than studying late. But with this new lethargy I seem to have forgotten the pleasures of waking up early, listening to music of my choice on Rewind or on one of my old CDs...brewing my own coffee even while it's still dark outside and then sipping it slowly while standing on the terrace/balcony cradling my big yellow with blue trim mug in my hands...and then sitting and doing some mental exercises that kick-start the day and keep those grey cells active all day, not to mention keep the angsty emotions at bay, providing a sense of calm, peace and order inside my cauldron of a head....

This was the first song I heard this morning, moving onto other 80s classics and then some Blazing Drums and now it's Trilok Gurtu. It's 9.41 a.m and I can feel the weight on my heart lifting and a smile teasing at the corners of my lips, as the music takes over and weaves it's magic spell over me.

P.S A new story is up on Literary Mosaic - waiting to be read and reviewed! :-)

Cold

It's snowing in Kasmir - freak weather they say. It's snowing elsewhere in the world also, like never before. Temperatures are falling all over the world. It's cold outside.

And so am I. Cold from inside.

Just cold.

So cold.

Ruminations...

Friendships mean a lot to me. So much that sometimes I give them more importance than family relationships and that it is my friends who know me better than my family. I don’t open up easily to people – am extremely choosy about the people I associate with and befriend. Not being of the rude and blunt nature I often end up being nice to people I don’t think much of, and would rather they stay as far from me as possible, but these ‘acquaintances’ never become friends. So it is, that when I open my heart out to someone, it’s with complete trust that they will not hurt me. And so it is, that when they do hurt me, I feel the prick of the wound sharper than expected in normal circumstances. With almost every friendship of mine that has meant something to me, I’ve erred in expecting too much from the other person and at some time or the other, they have inadvertently hurt me. :-(

Someone recently said that relationships should not become a burden, a liability and a responsibility towards the other – wherein you fear hurting them or letting them down. That there should be freedom in a relationship – freedom to be who you are without the need to explain anything. Yes there should be. But does the freedom to be true to your own self imply that you have the right to be callous about other’s feelings? Does the freedom to be true to your convictions and beliefs and attitudes imply that you have the right to squash any other opposing thought and not even give it a fair hearing? Does an occasional compromise for the one you care about, really have to be such a pain?

Currently :-

• Planning the week ahead of me – it’s going to be a busy one with Dr.M in town with wife – so there are corporate dinners to look forward to, and the delightful role of the MD’s daughter to live upto! Plus I have to get myself back into the groove of studies.
• Disciplining my mind and body – started with the body a fortnight ago. Ab dimaag ki baari hai.
• Listening to Come Undone by Duran Duran – sexy song! Incredibly sexy!

Alzheimer's Disease

Alzheimer’s Disease.

To me, it’s the one of the most humiliating and crippling diseases to be afflicted by. To be afflicted by a disease that leads to the debilitation of the mind, is so much more painful than being inflicted by a disease that affects the body. Seeing your body rot away and being racked with pain day-in and day-out is a torture, but to not even know what “pain” is?

I finally saw Black this weekend – needless to say, the performances are superlative and if the actors don’t sweep away all the awards next year, it’s going to be a disgrace, for I don’t think anyone can top these performances for the next few years. I’d been told that it’s a heart-breaking and touching movie, but I didn’t expect it to move me so much. To say that I had tears in my eyes is an understatement – they flowed down my cheeks and at one point I was sniffling quite loudly. I don’t normally cry in movies so this left me shocked – either I’m more of a softy than I let on, or those oscillating hormones were at work again – I was pre-disposed to the mood anyway, so the movie seemed to just let the dam down! While most people have raved about the movie, there are some who have given it the absolute thumbs-down, which leaves me a little rattled. I don’t get it. I mean so the movie is “depressing” (I think “serious” is more apt) and doesn’t provide mass-entertainment by means of wild song-n-dance routines, but what about the treatment of subject, performances, direction? Does that not count?

In the movie, Mr.Sahay, Michelle’s teacher is afflicted by Alzheimer’s. For someone who has spent a lifetime teaching the blind and deaf the meaning of words, leading them to light, when all that surrounds them is darkness, there couldn’t be a worse fate. To forget who you are, what you are, to forget what words mean – I can’t even imagine it.

After the movie I was ruminating over this, and I remembered my post on Iris Murdoch, writer par excellence.From the mid-1990s Murdoch suffered from Alzheimer disease. First signs were seen on visits to Israel, where Murdoch, who always spoke slowly, had difficulties answering questions. Nissim Ezekiel, father of Modern Indian English poetry and a highly respected professor of English also suffered from the same till his death last year. It made me think about how an author/poet would deal with Alzheimer's Disease - how difficult it would be for them to face not being able to complete a sentence they started, suddenly not knowing what words meant and so on.

Iris, ofcourse is a movie that deals with this subject very well, interweaving the crippling effect of the disease with the biography of the writer. I’d strongly recommend the movie – apart from brilliant performances by Kate Winslet and Judi Dench, it has been made with great skill and feel for the subject.

And ofcourse – BLACK. It’s a MUST SEE!

C'est Moi

Riding the rollercoaster of life at neck-breaking speed should be fun me thinks sometimes. But it ain’t for me – I’ve always taken life one step at a time, cautiously, sensibly. The only time I tried to take large steps encompassing two tiles with each step, I exhausted myself and ended as drained as a dish-water rag once the job is done. That I felt like that, during that one year, used and ready to be tossed out of the window kinda added that essential ingredient in my exhaustion.

But I’m back to my take one step at a time – so I’m dog-headedly pursuing one thing, stubborn as a river intent on its destination. I may meander along the way, but I know where I’m headed. So what if the others think I’m just an aimless petite little thing who’s too frail and delicate for the real world, and needs others to make decisions for her. Ha. Little do they know how stubborn I am and who takes the decisions. Moi. Seulement moi. Personne autre.

I like to think they are mostly the right decisions and that when I err I learn from my mistakes. Once bitten, twice shy – yes that’s me. Not to mention my ego doesn’t permit me to fail, or compromise on perfection in goals yet to be achieved, in dreams yet to be realized. I shall settle for nothing less than what I first set my eyes on. Absit Omen.

So here I am plodding along steadily towards my goals – just took the next step towards it. For a while there was this huge hurdle, which I couldn’t remove from my path all alone – now it’s gone and am I pleased as punch! Wondering what I’m gassing about?:-)

Classes for Diplome Superieur at Alliance Francaise de Ponna finally started this week. Merci Bon Dieu! I was quite climbing walls in frustration – it’s all nice to be vella for a while, to indulge yourself in siestas, and lazy meanderings of the mind, to pamper one’s mind by giving it a rest, but believe me once the ennui sets in, little can prevent the eventual rusting. It’s inevitable. Ever wondered why house-wives have nothing to talk about but what they will cook for dinner tonight or what their neighbour wore to who’s party? It’s not because as a member of the female species they haven’t got the intelligence to discuss anything else. It’s not even because they do nothing – trust me a housewife’s job is the most tiring job around, not so much due to the physical/mental/emotional work involved but due to the thankless nature of the work. And that is what eventually makes a housewife feel she’s doing nothing worthwhile and then sets in the ennui towards the monotony of daily routines – and la voila la, the rust sets in.

That’s not going to happen to me. Don’t get me wrong here. I’m not saying I don’t respect housewives – home-makers, I think is less pejorative a term. Infact I sometimes think we women are lucky to have this choice – no one thinks less of us if we choose to stay home, putting our homes and our families first, instead of going out into the battle-field to fight for the daily bread. We can actually even do both – quite well, if we set our minds to it. The other half of humanity doesn’t have that one choice (the only choice perhaps that they don’t have, apart from that of giving birth) nor, is it capable of balancing the two worlds as skillfully as we are. But I don’t think I could sit at home and cook meals for someone who will come home fagged out at the end of the day and think that only he has had a difficult day – nopes that won’t happen to me. I know that I need to be gainfully employed in something that brings me a feeling of accomplishment and contentment and fulfillment. I need to important for the few people I am surrounded with. And I need to be able to be there for them, and do for them, what others can’t. I have no grand ambitions mind you. I don’t see my name writ up there with the immortals of humankind – but I don’t want my epitaph to read “She lived…She died.” In place of the elision, I’d like it to read “She lived her life fully. She died content. She won’t be remembered by the entire mankind. But we sure as hell will remember her for what she was.”

Ah oui, c’est moi. Egoistic petite little moi. And you know what? I quite like me :-)

• Current Music :- Beautiful Girl – INXS
• Current Mood :- Cheerful. Naughty. Wicked.

Ranting Bitch

Rant.

I want to rant today.

I’ve become quite accustomed to life in this hamlet, to the idea of living far-away from the main city (far by Pune standards) in an area where the roads are nearly non-existent for most of the year and rickshaw-wallahs disappear in the afternoon for a siesta so even if you don’t wanna risk your life in a PMT bus you really have no choice but to wait at the nukkad for the next bus going to Corporation. I’ve become accustomed to people arching their eyebrows in shock and disbelief when I tell them where I live in Pune, to rickshaw-wallahs laughing in my face when I ask them to go there after sundown and if I’m lucky to find one who’s willing to go, then to haggle with them over the fare! I’ve gotten accustomed to the utter peace and quiet of the colony, for once you enter in, you are quite isolated from the hustle-bustle of the outside world. It’s nice to fall asleep to the sound of the wind outside, hammering wildly at the windows begging to be let in so it can force my curtains to fly high up. It’s nice to walk into a colony kept clean by an army of sweepers, with plants and trees lining the long avenue that leads up to the bungalows at the end of the colony, nice to go for walks in the evening around the bungalows, wondering at the obscene amount of wealth people have that they can maintain Ekta-Kapoor-show-type bungalows and not stay in them!

But I have not become accustomed to the antics of the gaon-wallahs. I used to think noisy baraats were a custom of the rather loud and noisy Punjabis, and even though the custom seems to have pilferated into other communities, Maharashtrians still didn’t have this ridiculous custom. I was wrong. So incredibly, terribly wrong. For the Keshavnagar-wasis sure have very loud, very noisy and very long drawn-out baraats. And to make it worse, for some god-forsaken reason the Maharashtrians here don’t have weddings in the morning (as is normal in their community) but in the middle of the night. So their god-damned baraats are arriving in all their zor-shor close to midnight and they continue to revel in their noise till atleast 1 am. And it sure doesn’t help that they position of the buildings is such that all this noise ricochetes wildly and echoes like nobody’s business!

ARGH!

And oh did I mention that there seem to be way too many people in this bloody gaon, getting married, like perenially? The cacophony outside persists almost through-out the year. A few weeks of peace in January and it’s peak wedding season again!

GRRR!

Why can’t we Indians learn to conduct ourselves in a more dignified, sober manner and show some consideration for others? You wanna have a garish wedding, go have it – but why make my life miserable at the same time?

ICK!

• Current mood :- Grumpy as a sleep deprived bear. Tired. Thirsting for some blood and longing to sink my fangs into the next available victim.
• Current music:- Runaway Train – Soul Asylum. Listening to my favorites from the 80s and 90s – they made real music back then! :-)
• Current read :- Rushdie’s Haroun and the Sea of Stories and Ill-made Mute by Cecelia Dart-Thornton. After a long time, I’m reading again and enjoying the sheer magic words can spin, c’est vrai, authors are magicians!

Furor Scribendi?

I’d like call myself a writer – a writer who has a way with words, a natural flair and a style that is unmistakable. Not to mention content worth reading – more than once. I’m nowhere near that today, I know, but one day I hope to be there. As of now, as a writer, I’m erratic. I can’t bind myself to the practice, for I bore of it soon if there’s an obligation to write. Yet at times I feel a ‘furor scribendi’ and what I must say comes out of me like an out-pouring of sorts, almost a cathartic vomiting. As for style – I can’t really say I have a marked style of my own. Like Pune’s voltage system it fluctuates like nobody’s business and is yet to grow and mature into something I can proudly identify as distinctly and quintessentially mine.

Lately I’ve been finding myself impatient and lazy with the words – I can’t bring myself to write anything remotely worthwhile and actually complete it. The year began with a bang that left me strapped to the bed, and then proceeded to race crazily down the track with no sense of direction and purpose. I thought a hiatus from the monotony of my purpose-less long vacation would do me good, so I took off to Bbay for a rushed trip, returning to Pune only to pack my bags and set off for Bangalore.

A week away from Pune did me some good, especially since I spent the time mostly ruminating and allowing the mind to drift aimlessly as I sat in my cousins’ balcony looking over the tree-tops at the clear skies dotted with pristine clouds. The sounds of quotidian activities would drift up to my ears keeping me connected yet not really jarring my reverie. It was a nice and pleasant break – anti social, for I didn’t meet anyone but my cousins with whom I stayed (had no choice there, did I? ;-) ) and Bua-Phuphaji who also stay in the Garden city.

The city has changed drastically since I went there in summer 2000 with Aprajita, transforming Bua-Phuphaji’s quiet, residential Indira Nagar into a bustling, active, very noisy and traffic-congested area that left me at quite a loss of words. As for the traffic in the city on the whole – they aren’t far from Bombay when it comes to mindless traffic jams. I still find the city nice in terms of weather, having experienced pleasant weather and sweet breezes during my stay, not to mention the usual Bangalore showers that brought back the breezes and forced down the rising temperatures.

And the shopping in the city never fails to please me – I stepped out just once to shop and visited just one mall (didn’t even hit M.G road/Brigade Road and the quintessentially Banglore Commercial Street, leave alone the much-famed new mall in Koramangala), yet I came back pleased with my purchases. Few, terribly so for my usual shopping habits, but good buys.

Creatively speaking the holiday was good, for I splashed some paint on my cousins’ wall adorning it with Berger paint (Rangoli – Brick Red) and then some Warli painting to add that dash of drama and ethno-chic to their living room. Apart from restoring my confidence in my ‘artistic’ inclinations, it also set free my rather dormant creativity, giving rise to a panoramic gamut of ideas and projects in my mind; enough to keep me and my brushes busy in the next few months. :-)

I came back several days ago, but yet that apathetic ennui dogs me – there is a disturbing desultoriness in my thoughts and ways, that I have resolved to break free off, before it worms its way into my system for good. Amen to that! :-)

We are Feminists...

Because
woman's work is under paid or unpaid &
what we look like is
more important than what we do &
if we love women it's
because we can't get a real
man & if we expect community care for
our family we are selfish & if we stand up
for our rights we are loud & if we don't
we are typical weak females &
if we want to get married we are out to trap a man &
if we don't we are unnatural &
because we aren't deemed responsible enough
to decide if, when and
how we give birth,
we are feminists

- Joyce Stevens (an activist over many years in the left, union and feminist movements, starting with her membership in the Eureka Youth League in 1942 and in the Communist Party of Australia (CPA) in 1945). This was written in 1975 for an International Women's Day broadsheet; the words which followed have been republished on postcards, stickers, posters and t-shirts in Australia and overseas. She has also worked for environmental, Aboriginal and mulit-cultural issues.