When are you settling down?

“Marriage is a union made in Heaven … and hey wait till I finish my line…. And lived in Hell.”
These are not mine but a popular quote of the wisely that I am sure you are well aware off.
Yet, India seems to be obsessed with marriage. Why put one more blame on our politicians and the bureaucracy? Look around you and see how crazy we all are to see people getting married and struggling to remain so till death do them apart. So much so that whenever we come across a fresh carefree breeze of youth in the neighbourhood the pang of jealously brings out the evil in each one of us. And it becomes our business to constantly bombard the parents with the time tested and tried question of “when are you getting your daughter/son married?” Till the time they get restless and pass the germ ahead.
As if that wasn’t enough we feel it is our birthright to bug the prospective bakra (read the goat to be butchered) with again the old boring question of, “ so when are you calling me for your marriage dinner?” As if this is the last supper we’ve been waiting all through our lives without which we just can’t reserve our berth in Heaven.
Most times we get so carried away that we don’t even run shy of playing cupid. Whether the subjects of our real life drama (directed by us) is least concerned or doesn’t hide his/her irritation doesn’t dampen our morale. We carry on our crusade of so-called settling people down.
The term settling down itself has a different connotation in our country. Elsewhere it would mean to have a good job that does not require dealing in arms or killing people, to have a decent pay package if not a big fat one that doesn’t require extortion or blackmailing. All in all to have a life where you are not doing anything against the law and still being able to pay all your bills along with a certain portion of the income reserved for indulgence.
But, hey, in India “settling down” has a new meaning that’s unchanged since eternity. It means to get married and stay married forever. Even if you’re able to enjoy all the finer things in life more frequently than others yet you won’t be figuring out in the list of the accomplished haves until you tie the knot. And it is everybody’s business here to make you settle down (your opinion is immaterial).
But the moment you take the pledge and still learning to swim. There comes the loud chorus of all well-wishers, “See, we told you not to marry?”
And you are left scratching your head wondering, “When did I miss the statutory warnings?”
But before you know you’ll sail through with a vengeance that screams, “Pay back time folks! If I wasn’t spared, why should anybody else?”
While you go on greeting, “Wishing you a very happy wedded life”.

Bye Bye Love!

The pain of losing a pet is something that’s new to me. Now, a lot of people who haven’t had the good fortune of having one would never be able to relate. And without any offence to those who are scared of pets or have formed some kind of aversion to them, I must say that you are missing out on a wonderful experience.
These little creatures just storm into our lives and create a place of their own. Trust me when I say that you don’t have to be an animal lover to have one. They just teach you to love in a whole new way that is alien to our species.
Like my dog Rocky did. He just marched into our lives with severe resistance from most around. And even though I didn’t have a pet before, his beautiful eyes made me fall in love. And in true filmy style I argued, I fought, even I cried in front of the whole neighbourhood till the opposition softened and allowed me to keep him.
Now, it wasn’t a smooth ride. Especially when Rocky had a taste for only the finer things in life. Like he refused food without Chilly Chicken on the menu followed by a bowl of rice and milk with a generous sprinkle of the super rich cream. Or say, when he would just go hungry for days wanting only Vanilla Ice Cream to savour. Even he needed his own bed with a pillow to rest along with a thick blanket and hip coats for trendy winters. Obviously, a handsome fellow like him wouldn't like to be left behind. Yet all the effort was worthwhile for the hearty welcome he gave every time I came back is the best by far, even better than any man would have. And even before realization daunted us, Rocky became the centre of our world. Our life revolved around him and he earned many nicknames to which he responded with the ever friendly wag.
Times changed and marriage took me to a different city where I howled for my beloved Rocky for long. Finally the hubby who never had a dog before with a fetish for cleanliness took pity on me. And bought me my second pet, a Labrador named Buddy. He eased my separation pangs yet Rocky gave me the best welcome each year when I went visiting my folks.
Today when Rocky is gone, the void in my heart is too great to be filled. I meet him in my dreams more often than before. I hold my second one tighter than before hoping that the pain would ease. Life is going on yet I miss Rocky terribly for it’s him who taught me the meaning of “love”. May you rest in peace and solace!

Dost aur dosti

Friendship Day went by and as typical of me I forgot to wish most of my friends. But they know me well, and they would have been hell worried if it had happened otherwise. Well, that’s me yet I am shamelessly not bothered about it. Perhaps that is what friends are for. No expectations just rock solid support.
Like the one when two gal friends decided to parade the entire capital on an antique two-wheeler without a license and a flimsy helmet. Just because we didn’t have boyfriends to give us flowers on Valentines Day while the rest of the world was too busy proclaiming their love. Hell the world even if it meant a direct drop to hell. Because heaven was never meant for us. Dear M that’s been the best valentine I’ve ever spent.
Or the one, when yours truly stole a helmet in broad daylight from a crowded tea stall. Just because the driver happens to be a dear friend whose helmet met with a same fate earlier that day somewhere he doesn’t even bother to remember. But I’ve heard about “tit for tat” for long and decided to give a demo for once. My friend was too nervous to drive back while I was busy inspecting the steal which had a damaged glass. Dear GD, do you remember how you got the glass repaired and crowned me the craziest of all?
Even the one, when two gal friends (mostly broke) hitch-hiked their way from college everyday and saved the money to treat themselves to orange candy bars. And on occasions very few when the University Special bus did ply, stood at the last stepping board of the bus with the rowdy guys. Playing antakshari and singing loudly to add to the woes of the high profile bimbos. Dear R do you remember how the bus driver and ticket collector heaved a sigh of relief when we got down?
Thank you all for your acceptance of my upfront madness. This is an ode to my friends, small yet impressive group of tolerant people whom I’ve embarrassed at many a time. Some I’ve lost touch while others have stuck like a Fevicol. Yet every distance traveled together imprints strongly on my mind. And they continue mailing me with the subject screaming, “Today is my birthday wish ME”.
Ooops…when will I change at all?

SHE AND HER TRIBE

On her marriage she got 101 sarees- the weakness of her tribe
Happy, merry and young
enjoying all the ceremonies
never realizing what was happening-
her age, main culprit- she was simply 12.

When playing was her only occupation
and responsibilities were unknown,
she was tied to the gorgeous drape of 12 yard
“saree” - the only weakness.

As days went by-
basking in the glory of her new found status
enjoying every moment of attention
yet, unaware
after all it was no more her life.

Holding one by one all her possession
beaming with happiness
she wore each one - so typical of her tribe.

Months passed and before she realized,
tragedy struck her door.
Her husband died.
And with him died all colours of her life
so sudden - so unnatural.

Those very 101 sarees became her burden
Only one colour still remained
White - just white.
Accompanied by a whole list of curses, accusations and
the naked eyes of lust.

Since then she greets thousands of deaths
silently- patiently- so very typical of her tribe.

Why grow-up?

I don’t know about you but I was always in a hurry to grow up real fast, like Maggi noodles in straight 2 minutes. If given a choice would prefer to adorn the Bollywood style where the lead actor would sing and dance on his way to adulthood. No books, no studies (read no Maths) and all the freedom to do watch uninterrupted TV. Adulthood was eagerly awaited by me.
And now, when I am all grown-up battling each day in this big bad world. I often ponder, “Gosh! Where was the hurry to grow-up?” And I definitely do miss the good old days when:
A heartbreak meant “missing the-all-so precious Chitrahaar aired only twice a week in Doordarshan”.

A rejection meant “missing the lifetime role of Juliet in the Annual Day English Play because I am taller than the supposedly Romeo and sported the low maintenance boy-cut hairdo which is beyond anything remotely girlie”.

A problem meant “inability to solve the algebra equation in exchange of being granted the permission to watch the 1-hr long Mahabharata, which was roaring its announcement with the blaring volume of the next-door neighbour’s Idiot Box making me go completely numb and dumb”.

Tension meant “disclosing to Dad that I have successfully retained my record of scoring the lowest marks in Maths in the entire class despite his warnings of sending me to Hostel.”

Infatuation meant “head over heels with the brand new Barbie my uncle gifted to me and more importantly none of my friends could claim to own one because it was imported from China”.

Financial stability meant “being able to afford 1 orange bar ice cream (priced at Rs.5) daily and perhaps a rare bhelpuri (priced at Rs.10) once a week.”

An appraisal meant “being promoted as the Class Prefect of a bunch of boisterous lot of whom yours truly was the ring leader and the best political devise utilized aptly by the Class Teacher to keep the class in control.”

Such was life and now years after I miss the simplicity of those old days. Guess I too was simple enough to cherish the precious moments of yester years. Otherwise, who would in their wildest dream wanted to desert the safe haven of innocence and grow up in no time?

Mad or what?

Just the other day somebody screamed at me,” Are you mad?” I feigned deafness. But honestly speaking aren’t we all mad in ways that we are completely unaware?
The industry I belong to is quite infamous for being the legal asylum for insane people. And I don’t have much to regret. This is what keeps us going and makes us little less mundane (with all the due respect).
But aren’t we all in the same boat? If not, then how could you explain?
• Women traveling far and spending double the amount to avail of the discount scheme, even if that means being sandwiched among smelly equally enthusiastic crowd to return in one piece
• The maddening “me first” competition every weekday morning to rush to office, even if that means honking continuously at a traffic signal flashing the immobile Red that even a blind wouldn’t miss
• Hunting for a bride who is rich (able to afford a grand dowry), fair complexioned, convent educated, highly qualified yet homely and domesticated. Even if the groom has never seen a college from inside, charcoal black complexioned, miserably under qualified and jobless
• Hopelessly hopeful about getting back in shape and looking good, when battering the eyelid is the only voluntary exercise you indulge in and oil-soaked food is a must have in the diet plan
• Cribbing about the unhygienic state of the neighbourhood, when all you do is dump the garbage bag in the vacant plot just adjacent (it's lying vacant you see, so who cares)
• Complaining about the sorry state of this country, when all you do is sit back and wait for your turn to fly abroad hopefully to never return (be as an illegal migrant in a room where you’ve to fight for every breath)

We all seem to be losing it. Yet we don’t miss a chance in calling each other by this infamous adjective. So what if I sing to myself while driving, shake my leg in public to my kind of music or talk to the dog about issues as serious as Indo-Pak relations? At least I am harmless.

Such is life

Now, I would prefer to call myself a north Indian at heart, courtesy my years of schooling, college & then employment days. But marriage took a new turn in my life & a calling from south was too good to resist. And I wasn’t complaining either because the excitement of starting a new life was something I was looking forward to.
Years went by and the south has made me feel at home with its linguistic hurdles, Kanjeevaram sarees, gajras and most of all friends who have never made me feel any different.
A very recent trip to the folks back in north did open my senses to the fact that something was amiss. I was no longer the assertive, highly fashionable and heavily made up woman walking on the sultry afternoons with I care for no one attitude.
Rather, here I was the oh so simple gal next-door, making my way through ultra fashionable robust aunties straight from beauty parlours. They looked at me with a pity that you would have for a malnourished child from Somalia. And I looked at them with the horror of being run over by an overloaded & over decked highway truck.
My haggling skills all took a toll. Whenever I quoted a price the shopkeeper knew I was kidding. One of them even chased me off predicting I wasn’t good enough for the purchase. Even the autowallahs knew I no longer lived there and had lost touch to bargain. Probably the visible change in my Hindi accent gave them the clue. Whatever it was, but my purse underwent a heavy weight loss and my pocket suffered a huge dent.
Strangely, my taste bud was the most unhurt and had a great vacation. With food straight from mom’s kitchen what else could you ask for?