Is your question right?

“Honey, do I look fat in this?”
“No baby. You look okay.”
“Just okay? That means I look fat. Why can’t you be honest with me? Say that I am fat and you find me ugly. You don’t find me attractive anymore, just say it.”
Silence for few seconds. Then a reluctant sound to break it.
“When did I say that I don’t find you attractive? I love you the way you are and it doesn’t matter to me whether you’ve put on few inches here and there.”
“That means I’m fat, right?”
“Baby, we all are aging. And it is not possible for you to keep looking the same as you were in 20. I don’t expect it either.”
“Oh! So now you mean to say that I am old too. Quite natural, when you are surrounded by young babes all through the day who keep camping around you.”
“Come on! Those girls work with me. They report to me. What do I do if the company hires young executives? I can’t say no and moreover I don’t entertain with them.”
“Whaaat? Now you want young girls for entertainment? You want to bring them hooome?”
“Gawd! When did I say this? Listen, you know what you mean to me right? I am not getting any younger like you and we will grow old together.”
“Good you’ve realised that you are aging. It’s not only me you too are no more the same.”
“I know baby. I am old and tired too. Let’s forget all this and eat. I am hungry.”
Over the dining table.
“Have this pulao. I made it the way your mom makes it.”
“Did you like it? Is it like your mom’s?”
“Hmmm...it’s nice.”
“Have some more then?”
“No. No. I am fine.”
“If it’s nice why can’t you have some more?”
“I am full, darling.”
“I know you didn’t like it because I added a twist to it and it doesn’t taste like your mom’s.”
“No. No. It’s nice. Although it’s slightly different from back home.”
“Oh...home? Then what is this? You don’t consider this house to be your home? Fine, why don’t you go back to your home and enjoy your mom’s cooking for the rest of your life?”
She got up and dumped the food in the dustbin.
Moral of the story (for women): If you ask wrong questions then be prepared to get the wrong answers. So re-phrase your questions in such a way that you can only have answers in your favour. Remember, women are better communicators.
Moral of the story (for men): You can lie better. Remember how good you are in lying to your boss. Ditto at home. After all you know who is the real boss after office, don’t you? Most important, if you don’t have anything nice to talk better to turn mute. Atleast that’ll ensure a peaceful sleep!


Pic Courtesy: Google Images

Nari and Sari

Today, I draped myself with the nine yard after a long time. And it suddenly struck me that whoever talks about the Indian culture and tradition maybe needs to give a good look at our sari. It is indeed one of the most sensuous outfits in the world that enhances the beauty of a woman like most couldn’t. It highlights the curves and hides the flab quite intelligently. That is the reason I have hardly met women who look ugly in a sari. Whatever weight, height you are, a sari just embraces you and celebrates your form.
Sari is also an extremely liberating outfit. It is open and doesn’t suffocate you for lack of space unlike some figure clinging dress where the fit demands you to hold your breath, else the zip might wide open. Even better that you can judiciously flaunt your curves and continue looking sexy through that off-shoulder blouse or the navel display. What could be more cinematic than the southern beauty Sreedevi adoring the pleasing chiffons making both men and women go breathless! Remember?
The draping wonder is a myth-breaker too. Contrary to the belief, that India is a conservative society, sari is progressive which will never go out of fashion due to its unique character. It shows off the skin and worships womanhood. When in the West, it was a taboo to display the navel zone (to an extent it still is), our gutsy sari made the Indian woman take a stand of her own, freely endorsing the forbidden and telling the world her reluctance in following the social dictum. Wasn’t it valiant then and now when the world has acknowledged the sari-power?
Sari is generous too. It is constantly evolving with the modern times and giving the newer generation something to look forward to. It gives you the immense flexibility to wear it the way you like with a blouse that compliments your style. The flashy women can add their backless blouses while the not-so-one can pin up its many layers to hide the obvious. Something for someone, like I have written in many advertising communications.
My only issue with sari is that though it makes me look my best. Why does it have to be so complicated to wear and later manage? Also, sari must think of making itself more city-friendly something which the jeans have managed to do. Sari needs to take a step ahead from elegance to comfort. It should make itself adaptable to urban lifestyle of working professional like me who jumps, hops and runs most days to work. If it manages to become one, nothing can beat our good old sari.


Pic Courtesy: Google Images

A life I wanted

Just a normal life is all I wanted
Too usual like the neighbourhood I’ve moved in
Where mornings greet with a familiar busyness
Cries and calls of help from the dear ones
Racing with the school bus for the kids to get in
Juggling between chores for sanity to set in
Waving goodbyes at the passing cloud
Waiting to greet the sunset of time
A story too ordinary for books to feature in
And all I got are twists and turns
Bleeding heart with struggles unknown
Too infectious to open the wounds
For fear of losing even more
Forlorn pain has seized my sight
Numerous loses have failed the tears
Lost I move to search for life
A life as normal as yours
All I wanted is to live the same
Same as the women I’ve known
The wives who dream of a future bright
The mothers who smile at the brighter side
The familiar ups and downs
The known tiffs of love
The comforts of your loved one
All I ended up is a life so strange
Too strange for me to live again



Pic Courtesy: Google Images

Mom is the word

As typical of me, I forget important dates. So this Sunday wasn’t any different. My momma called up and demanded, “Wish me!” Confused, I probed further. “Today is Mother’s Day,” she clarified. Obviously, she left me with no choice. It’s not that I don’t love her; every day of my life is hers, then why one particular day?
When I was young she was one person I could die for. Her approval was mandatory in my life. Whatever I did, she had to be informed. That time, there was a fear factor too which stemmed from my intent to impress her. My whole world that time depended on one nod of approval from her. She was the one who never forced me to go to school. Rather, my “not going to school today” comment was never contended and unlike others she never asked the reason. If I didn’t feel like doing something she never forced and later that became my personality trait. You just can’t force me to do something I don’t like! Bunking days were thoroughly enjoyed by both of us. We even played cricket together where she was the bowler all the time, without a single hint of complaint.
In my teenage times, she was my style guru who did my wardrobe from the colour to wear to the jewellery to adorn. She knew my exact measurements and got my clothes stitched while I was too reluctant to visit the family tailor. She was my hairstylist and vehemently fought many battles with the hairdresser to give me that perfect look. I was the most beautiful star in her orbit and home grooming sessions were conducted to make me look so. Needless to say, like every mother to whom her child is the best. There were moments when competition did strike between us because she had me young. Quite naturally, she looked like my elder sister when I wanted to her to fit the role of my mother. She toned down her styling to please me and erase the passing comments that made me feel older. She entertained my guy friends and cooked delicious meals at home (something she continues to do even today). She held my secret close to heart and didn’t even pass it on to her better half (my dad) till the time I asked her to. It went to the extent that I showed her the very first love letter written to me in college. She laughed and looked extremely pleased of the attention I could manage from the opposite sex.
Now, the time has changed and so has our relationship. She is more the friend who supports me in good and not so good times, like only a mother can. She is my strongest pillar when I need support to lean on. So much so that she is ready to fight for me because she says and I quote, “I know my daughter and she can do no wrong because my upbringing wasn’t wrong.” She is proud of me and doesn’t hesitate to show her affection in public even if it embarrasses me. She still calls me “amar shona (my gold)”. She is willing to break the societal norms just for my happiness. She fights even with dad for me.
Not a day passes that she fails to speak to me, no matter which part of the world she is in. Where can you find a person who is happier than you in your happiness and sadder than you in your pains? So can one day do justice to this very special person?
Yet, just for the records, here’s wishing Mumma “Happy Mother’s Day!”


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Age? Am I Cheese or Wine?

“You know his wife is so young that when they walk together she looks like his daughter,” commented a colleague of mine. “How does it matter as long as they don’t have a problem?” pat came my response. A reaction which later stirred many debates raised many eyebrows on my sense of judgement.
I fail to understand the big fuss about the wide age gap and our reluctance to accept. What is it that such a couple is incapable of doing compared to others with less numbers between them? Are they incapable to make love or fight? Strangely this is a very Indianised take on relationships. A criteria where the woman should be younger than her man and more so the man shouldn’t be older by years to her. And if the calculations don’t match up to the set norms, you run the risk of being a threat to our culture.
A recent case of a famous politician being with a journalist of much lesser age is a classic case still afresh in the minds. He became a laughing stock and many a joke was floated on social media over his relationship. The less feeble hearts would succumb and sacrifice their happiness. The brave ones, like this politician, accepted and ignored the hullabaloo over his affair.
Get a life, people. If two people are happy despite everything, who are we to make life unhappy for them? Let’s not forget that every day such couple do fight the fear of losing a partner to old age and being left all by themselves at the end. So who are we to scream, “See, how old he looks with her.”
And that isn’t all. If the woman is older, we never shy away from saying, “see he is with an aunty.” Life and love is certainly not all maths. So why are these calculations so important?
India is going places and Indians are making their presence felt all across the globe. This presence won’t leave a mark if we continue to live with past mindsets. It is time to change. Time to live with and let others live too.
My apologies for the preachy tone, but just couldn’t help viewing the ghastly reaction of educated India and encroachment on personal lives. Folks, if your life doesn’t hold much interest to you, then, maybe do something about it. Do whatever but don’t bring volcanoes in other’s lives.
And next time, when you open your mouth. Think, what would you have done if the love of your life was thrice your age?


Pic Courtesy: Google Images

The Missing feeling

The very next moment, when I turned my back it went missing. A precious one and my heart sank. It was tiny but too important to miss. I went on a massive manhunt. Scanned every possible corner that I could think of but without any success.
This was my cherished companion of last two years and obviously difficult to let go off. It was my constant partner in good and bad days. My only solace among the phirangi dazzle. One I could never thought of ever parting ways with. But strangely it went missing today.
My heart ached that I lost it not in some foreign country but a country I was born in. When I had held it so tightly over the years and travelled together over the seas, how could I be so careless to let it go at the familiar surroundings of my home? I just couldn’t stop blaming myself. How could I? Especially when I know that it is too vulnerable to hold its ground strong.
I was on the edge of going into a depression after losing a loved one. And about to shed tears in grief. Just then something happened. I caught a glimpse of it lying timidly on the floor, battered yet trying to hold strong. I quickly lifted it with all the tender care. Cleaning it and blabbering few words of affection. Placed it carefully at the place it was meant to be. Instantly, my nose glowed with its glimmering shine. After all it is my nose pin, that too, not an ordinary one. It is a rock called Diamond.
And whoever said “Diamonds are a girl’s best friend” perhaps exactly meant what I felt that time. I prayed and my prayers read “till death do us apart”.



Pic Courtesy: Google Images

The Bong Factor

It’s the Bengali New Year today. Wishes come pouring in and nothing is complete in the Bong culture without food and music. Not to forget the good old aada with friends.
Although I have been raised outside Bengal but my roots are intact, courtesy the parenting of my folks. They ensured we spoke Bangla and nothing else at home. They developed my taste for authentic Bengali cuisine and an immense hunger for Bengali literature. To top it all, the exposure to Tagore songs at an early age, though, honestly I couldn’t understand Him much then. But with every passing age, I kept on falling in love with this great man whom words fail to describe. I often wonder how could somebody relate to your deeper emotions and pen it down so perfectly that he becomes an integral part of your very existence. The pain of my first heartbreak, the soft caress of the first monsoon of my womanhood, the sweet pain of love, the sadness of betrayal...you name it and this great genius has it with a haunting beauty that never ceases to leave your side. My non-bong circle would never know what they are missing and to this my heart goes out especially for the women because no other man I have known who could understand women so well. Ah! Hope language didn’t come as a barrier.
My outside-Bengal upbringing has made me a cosmopolitan. Yet, sometimes I do get to hear, “You still are a bong no matter wherever you’re from”. So here’s to my bong-ness, the things which make one:
• My huge eyes with which I can petrify you and one feature which is universal in bong-women (atleast most that I’ve met)
• My addiction to speaking my mind, even when not asked for, I still love to put my point of view which usually isn’t popular and runs me to trouble
• I am not the fish-curry types but there are days when my craving for it makes me travel far in search of fish, immediately head to the kitchen with fish in hand, cook it and eat it with such impatience as if the world is going to come to an end (mind you I don’t even go to the loo till I complete this ritual at the least number of breaths)
• The constant bathroom singing which my neighbours dread and yet I don’t stop humming the Tagore numbers (even if the lyrics can offend any pakka Bangali or Mr. Tagore might come down to punish me)
• The calculations and planning of outfits to wear during the Pujo days for months before. Saving the new dresses to wear in the mornings and evenings of Durga Pujo. The sudden plunge to wear sarees during those special days with matching accessories. And mind you nothing should repeat. The emptiness when Maa Durga goes back with Doshomi celebrations. The moist eyes bids farewell to Her as if She is a part of the family to be seen only in the next year.
• A funny nickname which means nothing. Weird to sound but I respond to it instantly when called from anywhere in the world.
• My strong affiliation to rice (bhaat). Whether I diet or die, I need rice atleast once a meal. I can eat rice with anything and everything. I need no reason or season to eat rice.
• My attraction towards people who are intellectual rather flashy. People who speak well and read well. I always liked people who made a lot of sense though I fail to make sense at times. My partiality towards the big jhola, spectacle and 100% cotton look.
• My love for Rabindranath, Sharad Chandra, Satyajit which makes me keep coming back to them.
• My aversion to the winters and the tendency to layer myself with clothes to beat the cold. I would have worn a monkey cap (the signature bong look) had there been no peer pressure.
• My hunger to save money and keep going for trips to lesser known destinations. Even you would agree that no matter which part of the world you go, you will always see a Bong.

Pic Courtesy: Google Images