May they pay

Weddings are a favourite with Indians, universally. As the wedding season is around the corner, my industry is busy with making the most of it. By making the most I mean doing lots of work around weddings to be able to generate more revenues.
The wedding season is no less than any festive season in India. People too don’t hesitate to spend because it is a question of their “izzat”. So everything has to be royal for those who can afford it and for those who can’t, maybe a personal loan application to buy their “izzat” takes care of self-esteem. Result is show-time for brands to sell and more late night works for us.
But marriages have changed over time (I mean in the metros mostly). The concept of forever or atleast till next seven births is obsolete. Most are happy to make it last atleast the present lifetime. If that happens then it’s a ‘value for money’ deal else alimonies will be filed to recover lost resources.
Men want to get married the moment they have a stable job if not well-paying because he knows that he will get a wife who gets more than him. And he makes no qualms about it. He starts early in preparation of settling down. Buying a home is foremost followed by some sensible investments. Like yesteryear women would prepare themselves through culinary courses, hobby classes that can bring mental stress to her neighbours thanks to rigorous not in-tune singing with completely off-sync instrumental practice sessions within the confines of her space.
These days women have everything else than marriage on their minds. They love sex but not the life-long commitment towards matrimony. And they know that to enjoy sex marriage isn't mandatory. Fun is their top priority and marriage comes towards the end of the tunnel. Financial independence has added the cherry on this cake. They are free, literally in every sense. And who would like to live in bondage.
Every year the wedding season comes. People get married. Some make it and some don’t. They spend and we make. But the only difference is that there is still hope that few who don’t make and have to break will again give themselves another chance, maybe more chances. I mean they will re-marry and the braver ones keep trying till they succeed. And each time they marry, the wedding seems to get grander and grander. Filling out on all those they missed out last time.
Good for them, good for all. Afterall we all do deserve a second chance and many more chances, if they come.

Pic Courtesy: Google Images

The artsy fartsy

It has been one mad day at work, nothing like what I thought it to be. And nothing is going as per my plans. The whole day passed and I couldn’t finish even one writing assignment for reasons beyond my control.
My space has been dedicated to many personal and not so personal causes. Today, I thought of penning one down for a special colleague who deserves a special mention. Not because he is outstanding at work but he is one-of-his-kind, specie you could well preserve in a national museum. His kind is very rare and its a lifetime opportunity to work with him. Should I make the most of it, well that is a different question.
To begin, he claims to belong to the super-exclusive club of the Advertising Art, popularly called Art Directors. But, hey, the guy is everything else than arty. His creatives have rendered many causalities, yours truly, is getting prone to this fatal virus. He is a night animal and only works or pretends to work after office hours. During the office timings all he does is yap, yap and yap over the phone. He is the poster guy of any mobile service provider and if the network fails him, you can find him at odd places trying to catch. So what if he doesn’t catch a single brief or takes a nap between important meetings with the biggies? Quite understandably so because he doesn’t hesitate to chalk out his nocturnal time-table which consists of just one thing “calls and more calls”. Hence, the man gets no time to sleep at night and you’re supposed to empathize with him. Do not dare to question him, else be ready to sacrifice your most valuable asset “time”.
Creativity, designing and him doesn't co-exist. Even the colour schemes mean nothing to him. So much so that at the wag end of the day he comes to ask you about what colour to use. If he finds you in a generous mood maybe he'll quiz you with even visual usages. My copies have suffered many untimely deaths and given torturous treatments that can put many Nazi’s concentration camps to shame. And in between if you try to resist, his tone and arguments are bound to squeeze out your remaining life.
If that wasn’t enough, he has severe addiction to the concept of being in love and marriage and blah. He is in love with the idea of being in love. The problem is that he makes us suffer through his incomprehensible English and many endless stories of love lost. The women were too short sighted to realize that he was God’s gift to them so rejected him. His perfect idea of his ideal woman is also nothing usual. The fact that he is short by all standards is immaterial to his liking for taller, slender read drop-dead gorgeous working yet homely women. The blessed woman of his dreams should be ready to live with his ideologies and even unbearable penchant for writing poetry. She should come out alive of his nightmarish expressions in Urdu of which I am too unintelligent to decipher and so is the case with my colleagues. But the man is pretty focused in his single passion to get married, the sooner the better. Only if girls would realize this and be ready to get sacrificed.
He doesn’t understand the idea of being ignored because he thinks he is too good to be treated anything less than princely. Even an obvious gesture doesn’t register to him and the only way to get rid of him is to eat non-veg near him. Off goes the man, running to his mobile for shelter. A tactic my folks use often to make him run, far away.
Lately when the sufferings got unbearable for us, we decided to make life difficult with stiffer deadlines. The strategy was to interrupt his easy days with work so that he isn't able to handle the pressure and starts looking out elsewhere. We just wanted him to leave before he got sacked and spare him the humiliation. It isn't working at all and while I was spending my valuable office hours in writing about him, he comes and asks, “ Such and such agency is looking for copywriters like you, would you like to apply there?”
He left me speechless. All I could think is thank Goodness I am able to finish atleast this entry today.
Wish me luck, guys!


Pic courtesy: Google Images

Love needs no words

Today was the day they met some fifteen years ago. And ever since that day they’ve managed to live with each other without even once telling their love towards one another. Yes, not even once.
In the times of today, when we are taught to speak up. Speak our feelings of love and anger this seems a thing of the past. A past where men never cried and women never left. But their love never felt the need to be told. It never knew the limitations of expressing in words. It was something they felt for each other. They never held hands, they never had romantic dinners, never exchanged greetings or cards. Money was a big issue then and time was a luxury they could hardly afford.
Still the little things that they did for each other filled their space with the warmth of love. Their children never saw them fight. The father was always respected because they saw their mother doing it. Mother was cherished because they saw their father doing the same. The first thing their father did every evening when he came back from work would be to ask about their mother. Mother worked too and the days she will come late, the man cooked a simple meal and waited for her to have dinner together. Children were cleaned and fed. And he would wait for her outside their home, worrying because those days mobiles didn’t come to the picture.
When he got late, the mother would put the children to bed. Finished her chores and wait for him. At whatever time be it, she would serve him hot food. They always had few hours to spend with each other and in those times he hardly spoke. She spoke and he listened intently. Sometimes she complained that he never paid attention but if she quizzed he would never score less.
The first time she fell sick, he got clueless. He spent sleepless nights nursing her and the other half just keeping a check on her. Then when the trips to the hospital got more frequent, he stood quiet. His whole world surrounded around her. He couldn’t let her leave her sight even for a second. The world around him was mourning the inevitable. Yet he didn’t shed a single tear. He became quieter with just one mission to better her pains. He would read her favourite books and watch her while she dozed off listening to them. Made her hair for her and fed her patiently. Even when she refused to eat, he would tell tales to divert her mind and feed her like you do to a toddler.
Only today, he bought her a new nightgown because these days she can wear only those. He went on his own and bought her favourite pink. Dressed her and made up her face, as best as he could. The children kept coming to see her and wish them. They bought gifts for her, everything she likes. But the woman couldn’t stop touching her nightgown, an ordinary piece of cloth. Her first gift from the man she loves. While the man never left her even for a second. To him the memories of their first meeting kept coming back. And the memories of many more followed that made their lives together.


Pic Courtesy: Google Images

Occupational Hazards

With writing comes great responsibility. The responsibility to not only sound intelligent but appear to be one at all time. Even in between your sleep you’re expected to blabber something really smart. So that people around you are disturbed but for a special purpose i.e. to wake up and realize how lucky they are to have your wise company.
But the pressure is tremendous and every time you open your mouth, you have to measure each word that you speak. You are expected to have a higher intellect than most with an even bigger responsibility to manage the dumb. Be sympathetic to the dumbest as they are not as gifted as you are. Bear with their torturous conclusions. And when you go back home, all you get to hear is, “Writing…what kind of a job is it that you get stressed so much? What is the big thing about writing?” Like, till lately all my folks thought were that I copy and write for a living.
Oops…sometimes I feel I should look for a career shift.
The men who write must like to think otherwise. Because a writer is the biggest aphrodisiac for women of all ages. They love to hear the intelligent talks even if they made no sense most times. They love to be in the company of men who communicate their mind. Maybe they think that such men will utter few words of wisdom after sex rather than turn their backs and snore. Some words to appreciate the experience, to tell them how special it was this time. Anything that would boast her ego and overlook the imperfections in her body like the protruding belly which doesn’t give her a clear view of her feet.
While for women, nobody wants to date a writer because she looks intellectual and chances are that she might be one. Who wants brains when all you desire are a pair of good assets that also starts with the same letter B? You can’t stop ogling at those precious little ones while all she does is talk and talk more. Such a big distraction when you have just one thing in mind and she has ten great ideas to pen down.
Then there is this added pressure to look like a writer. A pair of glasses is mandatory with a jhola to fit into the role. Only cotton is accepted because you are a natural and sensitive to the tee. Be it writing or depleting natural resources. You’re a rebel to causes close and far from you. Hence, the ponytail look is better or any weird style that is easy to spot in a crowd.
And even after reading, you still want to pursue a career in writing well you deserve to be one because writers need to be very thick skinned to: criticism, racism and a whole lot of ‘ism’ I wish I was intelligent enough to figure out.



Pic Courtesy: Google Images

You are so...

Appreciations are hard to come and maybe that’s the reason why we crave for it. Trust me; people who say that they don’t like to be appreciated belong to a different planet. It’s just that we all want to be appreciated in different ways. Some like in cash and most in kind.
“Why do women spend so much time in trying to look good?” was a question asked to me recently. The only answer I could muster was for appreciation. Life would be so boring if you dress up best and there is nobody to even give you a second glance. Admit it, it feels good. Some of us are shy of handling compliments (like yours truly) and dread a direct comment. While most women love to be floored with compliments, irrespective of age. Ask your partner whom you quiz frequently with the trickiest question, “Do I look fat in this outfit?” And all he says is, “Well! Darling offcourse not you are just a little healthy.” Poor guy! He must be dreading the moment of truth more than you.
Even men are not immune to appreciation. They desire compliments not any less. Be it in the form of cash, a raise. Or a casual compliment about their dressing and style. Shower it and you’ll get your way out. Like each time, my Maa wants Dad to cook all she says is, “You are such a great cook. I can never match your skills and I am missing your cooking.” Her man just jumps from his seat and gets to the kitchen. Men take equal care of their dressing, atleast some I know. Women need to know to appreciate this effort because if you’ve picked up this art then you’re life could be a roller coaster. Sure shot hit to melt all hearts from bosses to boyfriends. Try it but make it very subtle.
Lately got an appreciation for my slogging at work in cash. And boy, delighted I was! All the head-breaking exercises faded in my memory. My memory took me to my childhood days when I had no fear of “what people would say”. My grandpa would command me to dance on his antique filmy numbers and off I would go. Hours of dancing in front of an equally antique audience who had no entertainment in life apart from watching my non-artistic dance steps which could put Shaimak Davar to shame. But those days of innocence, I knew no worldly ways. I danced and danced till they couldn’t watch anymore and I would only stop with the resonating sounds of claps (maybe telling me to stop else their heads would explode). I gleefully stopped thinking the reverse. Ready to begin again before somebody would say, “You must be tired so go and take rest”.
Strange, what all we do to get appreciated! Do share if you have some equally embarrassing incidents to tell.



Pic courtesy: Google Images

Haves of happiness, have-nots of wealth

The world around is busy chasing around. Most after money, some after fame, rest after skirts and fewer after happiness. I belong to the not-so-common last category. And I take pride in it, so what if my folks think I am ‘not worldly’. I have no investments to bank on, no claims to claim long after I’m gone.
But till the time I’m here, I’m in pursuit of happiness. And that comes with days of living unhappily. I tried my best to cope and adjust. In the end my zest for life got me back and I learnt that no amount of adjustments is worth sacrificing your happiness. In the end, we all need to live happily ever-after. Maybe, ever-after is more than two words but certainly worth a goal for lifetime.
The evening views of the slums nearby reinstate my belief in the theory of being happy. I see the have-nots live their life minus the comforts, minus the power even minus the privacy. Yet, they are happy in their lives. The men come back from a hard day at work and very lovingly babysit the kids so that their women can cook the simple meals. They help their women in the daily chores. Some even cook and clean. Whoever thought that Indian men don’t share the household burden didn’t mean this class for sure. Because on a daily basis I do see these uneducated men happily trying to ease the pressure off their equally uneducated women. And we still call them uneducated, education can’t be just about the ability to read and write?
Could we say the same for the highly educated and career-oriented men all around? Sagas of their indifference towards their working partners are told and shared. Most middle class ladies even joke about working on a double shift, one paid for, another unpaid and unaccounted for. Few who do manage to break the norms help discreetly and are often embarrassed if caught in the act. “Oh! He is so hen-pecked”, is the label they fear from. Is this the purpose of education when you are blinded of any empathy for your better half who is struggling to finish the chores? Exceptions do exist but we need to increase the numbers.
My perception of the slums being a hotspot for wife-beating or any kind of abusive relationship has also been proved wrong. Wouldn’t say that they don’t exist but I am still to witness one in my over few months of sharing the neighbourhood. Above all when I peep into their lifestyle, I know I will be fine. Their living amidst nothing, still replete with bliss tells me the price I paid for happiness was worth every dime. And each day towards the end when I look at them, they rejuvenate my tiring soul. They tell me that I will be fine as long as I am happy. Because happiness is the real wealth that lasts. Rest comes at its own sweet time and goes even before you realize. What say?


Pic courtesy: Google Images

Happy Bijoya!

His routine is fixed. You can match your clock with his timings. Immaculately dressed, he comes to work at dot 8 am and works diligently till 11 am followed by a fruit for snack. Never skips his lunch at 1 pm. Eats the same good old home cooked meal prepared carefully and packed diligently with different bowls allocated for a proper four course meal. Has won consecutive awards for being the ‘Best Employee’ and never misses a deadline. He is the eye of everyone’s envy. Just the perfect man-polished and successful.
5 in the evening he performs a hurried puja at his desk to his favourite deity, Maa Durga. Then leaves the office at sharp 5.30 pm. Come cyclone or an earthquake, nothing shakes his daily routine.
The sound of his car nearing the driveway at home makes his family shudder in fear. The kids switch off the television and hide themselves beyond their course books to avoid him. Wife gets or pretends to be busy in the kitchen. Even his old mother is scared of him. She closes her eyes and pretends to chant prayers to the Almighty to avoid any interactions.
Dinner is served to him at sharp 8 pm. They all dread that moment because all the kids get to hear is the sound of crashing plates and dishes. The father screaming at their mother, “Woman, what do you do the whole day if you can’t cook? The rotis are so thick and the subji is so bland, didn’t your mother teach you how to please your husband?”
Only his voice would echo in the house. The wife keeps quiet and like a robot cleans the mess he created. Then once the cleaning is done, calls the rest to have a quiet dinner at kitchen. The mother prefers to eat in the sanctity of her room.
The alarm bell breaks the silence of the home every morning at 4 am. And if you think, the alarm is set for him, well it is for the wife to wake up and fix a bed tea for her man. She has to put off the alarm as soon as it rings else the man will get furious to be disturbed by the sound. She gives him his no-sugar, no-milk tea and goes in preparation for his daily morning puja ritual for his favourite deity, Maa Durga. Cleans herself, mops the puja room and never forgets to miss any single detail because if she does. Then her morning will begin with a tight slap and her man shouting, “Didn’t your mother teach you to do anything, you are such a lazy wretched woman?”
The morning mundane tires her. Everything has to be on time and elaborate, irrespective of any personal or natural calamity. Her world takes a breather when he eventually leaves for work at dot 7.30 am. Knowing that the curfew will begin again at 6 pm. In between she lives, telling herself, “Atleast I am better than the maid, he doesn’t kick me out and I have a roof over my head.”
All this for Maa Durga?


Pic courtesy: Google Images

Mind it!

Today, a new brief from the chief graced our workstation. A brief that the servicing folks were asked to fill and their creative counterparts will drill their brains to reach to the desired derivatives. Now, in my world of advertising, communication pays for our bills. But the irony is that miss-communication between the creative and servicing can kill the figure in those bills. Whenever there is a miss involved, distractions are inevitable. Hence, the need for a happening brief was felt. Hope it doesn’t remain just a feeling, but becomes a fast practice among the colleagues.
The challenge is that most guys in servicing (with due respect) are scared of the mighty power of the pen. They come from the client and just puke their client’s response at us, sometimes so random that I am left too shocked to clean the mess. And trust me this mess stinks, pretty badly, when concept after concept keep getting bounced, especially when we keep facing fast bowlers crunch in the team. Isn’t it criminal?
But that is life and every creative person is never cool with rejection, be it personal or professional. So we blame the servicing and the client for being uncool and boring. While the servicing blames us for being non-creative and still drawing attention (fatter salaries). The war and passing on the virus from one to another is legendary. Many sacrifices have been made towards this battle with people losing their most prized possessions, even their ponytails. But the saga continues in every agency…
The brief in the limelight had some interesting points to cover. Among them the most controversial one (if you take literally) is the phrase “what keeps the client awake at night”. Imagine a good looking servicing executive (read female) asking that to a pot-bellied, middle-aged client. She’ll question, “Sir, what keeps you awake at night?” He will slyly reply, more sure than ever before, “You, sweetie.”
Oops, shall we go for a debrief?


Image courtesy: Google

Happy wala luv

On popular demand, this time a happy one. So happy that this will make you cry with joy.
There’s a love story with a happy ending. Boy interviewed the girl, gave her the job. She reported to him for days at a stretch. They met to discuss work. They discussed briefs which were too brief. Discussions became endless as did the projects. From one night out to another followed. Then one day, when the work happened till the wee hours, he dropped her home. Soon the late nights became a routine and he kept dropping her back. She started enjoying the ride and he, her company.
The days she wouldn’t come to office, he found the days a little too long to carry. The deadlines a little too tight and the irritation level a little too high. One day when she dropped her resignation letter for a better offer, the realization dawned on him. He was happy for her because the break was good and didn’t want to stop her. But something felt miserable. The fear of not seeing her face every morning shook him heavily. Yet, he didn’t know how to address the problem. After all, he was the boss and bosses are never known to miss their subordinates. He decided to take a break to fix his mind.
He was missing for almost a week then. She started missing him. His instructions, his bossism, his criticism of her work and everything about him. Bosses are never missed but why this misery within? She kept wondering and no answer came. She didn’t want to call him and he wasn’t willing to be disturbed. The deadlock was too much to handle. And everyone around them could feel the heat.
The colleagues decided that the situation was grim and getting grimmer with temperatures soaring high. Something needed to be done immediately for the larger goodness of humankind. A genius came with an idea to set them on a date without letting them know. The boss was requested to meet a client on an emergency basis at an upmarket restaurant. The girl was called to meet a client as emergency filler due to the boss’s absenteeism on the same restaurant. Both went and found each other waiting for the same client. The client didn’t show up but they made the most of the opportunity given. No proposal was made yet they knew that they were tied for life. They started seeing each other and the office suddenly became a better place to live.
She left the old to join the new office. And they started being with each other through the malls, movies, exhibitions, restaurants etc. More they met, more they wanted to meet each other. They wanted to wake up to each other and spend the rest of their lives together. Marriage was inevitable. They did marry against all odds.
Today, he watches her sleep like a baby. She listens to the comforting snores without which sleep refuses to embrace her. They fight a lot but still can’t live without talking to each other. When he shouts, she listens and when she erupts he discreetly disappears from the scene. But what matters most is that they can’t think of a life without each other.
He wakes up much before her. And before he goes to work, his job is to fix her tea and breakfast. Sometimes when she oversleeps and gets ready in a hurry. He even feeds her like his baby. She checks on him to find out if he hasn’t skipped his lunch. She lets him party but gets worried if he has overindulged. Babies never came in to the story because fate never let them have one. Yet, they don’t miss having one because they have learnt to babysit each other.
Are you all happy now?

Pic courtesy: Google

Let the festivities begin

The morning began with the all-so-familiar enchanting of the tale of Goddess Durga’s victory over Mahisasura, Mahalaya, as every Bengali household calls it. I had almost forgotten the prelude to the celebrations due to years of living alone; hence, nostalgia of the past took me on a trip to my childhood.
Every year we would eagerly wait for the Durga Puja with sheer anticipation of good times. The festivities meant nothing spiritual just pure undiluted fun minus the studies. Months before the shopping would begin; the special four days meant new clothes on each day. I came from a modest background; hence, meticulous planning was required to ensure that I have enough clothes to wear in the mornings and evenings of those four special days.
And when the days would arrive, we would hold on to every hour praying that the days shouldn’t end. Parents would be busy in shouldering the community responsibilities, while we kids would be busy fooling around and sampling the food in the stalls. Little older ones were busy chasing the attention of the opposite sex, plain painless flirtations would keep them entertained. The more arty ones would take the local platform to showcase their talents while boring the less talented ones (like me). Parents of the gifted ones would proudly announce their achievements making life really tough for people like me. All I would get to hear were comparative analysis of how bright my peer group was and still I couldn’t be inspired by my parents. Tough cookie that I was!
Then came the adolescence years when I thought nobody could look better than me. And Puja days gave me the platform to showcase my beauty (that the world was blind to). These were also those few days, when my conservative background, gave me a free ticket to fashion. I had the liberty to apply nail paint and lipstick without raising eyebrows. And I made the most of it. Any attention was welcomed and my eyelids would batter more, seeing some encouraging glances.
A sudden turn took in my tale with my adulthood days; I started evading the communal meet-ups. Because they became breeding grounds to the numerous marriage proposals and I had high dreams of a knight in shining armor coming to my rescue. The knight didn’t arrive and the proposals died down too. Age daunted on me and the festivities stopped exciting me. Now, they have become few days in the calendar which may/may not translate into off-days at work.
Wishing you all a very Happy & Eventful Durga Puja!