Analyzing the importance of company in one’s life

A day off alone in Juhu has made me realize the importance of company in a person’s life. At PVR Juhu around 1p.m. for the 4:30 movie show, I figured roaming around the fancy Shoppers’ Stop with a basement Crossword store will help kill time easily. Who needed anybody, I thought to myself as I walked through rows of fiction, while ignoring the bitch of a “Like you have a choice” reverberating in my head.
It was a battle between my inner voice and me. The Crossword-browse was stretched for about an hour and a half and when I couldn’t take it anymore; I thought I’ll get lunch. There was a place called Brio in the same complex and I happily walked in, determined to eat like the ladies to stretch it up to an hour at least. I ordered chicken spaghetti and peach-flavoured iced-tea. I sat myself out in the open with the intention of looking out to a nice view. Sadly, all I got was a table at the end of the café overlooking a bunch of valets standing outside the car-park. Without my bag and the book in it, I took to browsing through 5 measly SMSs in my phone and a couple of photographs there. It was pathetic. The peach iced-tea was, too.
I hence learnt the following things about life:
1. When you need your friends the most that is precisely when they will be unavailable.
2. Ditto for your mobile service provider.
3. When people say they like to spend time alone, they are bull-shitting. Try eating lunch alone with no books, no music, no company and no phone.
So armed with no dignity whatsoever and this new found gyaan, I strode back into Crossword, picked an over-priced writing pad, which are stacked for desperate company-seekers like me and on which the gloating idiots probably made a 100 per cent profit, bought a PG Woodhouse book and went back to the café I had lunch at.
Daring the waiter to ask for my order, I am now sitting at the exact same table, scribbling away, unaware of time. I don’t like hanging around with people meaninglessly but I now know that I am not a loner. Nobody is. You can’t spend an hour without your writing-pad or your books or your music or paints or dvds or whatever it is that keeps you company.

The day Syapa Singh and I ALMOST went to Mussoorie

I got up this morning feeling old and eroded. Like there is nothing left on this planet anymore. So the rebel bit inside then squirted out the adventurous hormones, if there is such a thing and I dropped in, on Syapa Singh [my school buddy, in case u haven't heard the name earlier] when I was supposed to go to office to decorate it for the 2nd Happy Badday of the newspaper.

You must know that every time I call Syapa Singh and announce my arrival, she waits until she hears the screech of tyres outside and then locks herself inside the bathroom the moment I enter her house. Then we have a screaming match from each side of the bathroom door until she finally comes out. Bitch! But today I didn't let that happen, and poor Syapa Singh had to wash her face, pull on a pair of jeans and a tee and tell her mom that she is accompanying me to enquire about a course and we rushed out before we could be hammered with questions. The pathetic lie called for a whack on Syapa's head. Me taking up a course? Going to the temple would have been a more believable, though it would guaranteed Syapa's mom fainting.

So we left for Rajpur Road, intending to drive up a little way till our pet Maggi point. We bought a can of diet-coke each, which Syapa pretended was beer and took swigs from, with all the tashan that the thought of alcohol induces. We started talking about the various trips that we have discussed a thousand times before. We start from Mumbai-Goa, then change our minds and turn midway to go to Dharamshala mid-way, with Syapa telling me about her friend's boyfriend who owns a place in Dharamshala, then we come nearer home and consider an overnight Mussoorie stay and finally promise to chalk out a plan after settling on a dawn-to-dusk trek. Which, of course will NEVER happen.

BUT TODAY my adventure hormones were in full swing and Syapa's are usually in top-gear so we were destined to do something wild. We drove past the Maggi point and before we knew it, we had crossed Shiv Mandir and Kuthal Gate too. Syapa Singh knew it. I knew it. But didn't say it lest we realize it. We drove on. The music was nice, Syapa's imaginary drink was making her imagine she was dazed and happy, and she was giggling about everything.
You must know another thing. Syapa Singh likes to, what we usually call reminiscence, while she is living the moment. So there we are, driving up on the mountains we know are forbidden but which have been calling out to us everyday since we got here, and suddenly Syapa says, "In retrospect, this could only have happened impromptu."



The panic hormones started flooding in as the emergency sirens began wailing in my head. Syapa was oblivious to the damage she had done and mumbled something about the fact that she had said she'd be home in half an hour and that I was supposed to be at work, in between fits of crazy laughter. It was not quite so peaceful on the beautiful mountains with Syapa cackling on one side, a cheesy "Botalan sharab diyan akhiyaan teriyaan" screaming in the music player in front, and a hysterical me shouting "Bhen**** I am driving to f***ing Mussoorie."

But we calmed down and I put on the "sanely happy" folder from my MP3 to help us set the mood and we continued driving up as I am sure the blurred and painted-on kilometres to Mussoorie on milestones reduced. We even managed to stop at a few places to click stupid pictures that determined for once that neither of us possesses what it takes to be a good photographer- especially a good camera.








It was pretty cool. The view was great, the weather was incredible and Syapa's unintended jolts of shock did not do too much damage then. Even when she observed on coming across a broken down car during a particularly mean turn- "You know, the engine often heats up and the car stops during such drives."
We intended to drive up till at least Mussoorie lake, which Syapa guessed would be either 3-4 kms or 7-8 kms from Mussoorie. A disturbing point was that Syapa was carrying no money today and I spent the money I had on our diet cokes.

Then my editor called me to ask if I intended to come to office today (he wasn't so mean but what's the fun of writing about someone who doesn't EVER not co-operate with what you are doing?)

So Syapa Singh and I looked at each-other, sighed, smiled, hi-fived, turned the car around and drove back, wondering aloud if Dharamshala is actually that impossible to happen?

The Cell phone: then and now

During our school and college days, the cell phone was something we MUST have with us at all times, including the shit time (literally).
The basic, gareeb models we then had, the most attractive feature of which was probably its built-in torch was invaluable to us. SMS tone ringing 24X7. Phone calls were rare and if the phone wouldn't shut up after a couple of rings, know that it is from home.
Now, when the cell phone is a super sleek, PDA gadget, it has become something you HAVE to carry with yourself at all times- including (you grudgingly tell people) the shit time.
Real responsibilities, which would flutter around at a vaguely visible distance have suddenly begun to settle down rather heavily on our shoulders, and put forth a hundred reasons why we can't just get up and leave like earlier times, on our whims and fancies. There are chains binding the hands and feet- imaginary ones no doubt, but stronger the iron ones so you really can't break them.

Among the clasps of deadlines, appointments, and commitments, there is another one- seemingly inconsequential but when you come to think of it, more binding than the others. For when you take the day off, the cell phone is what will keep you bound to your desk in your cubicle at work.

In those days, the only you wanted was for someone to call, text or even buzz once. Now, all you want is for the phone to shut up so you can enjoy your precious holiday in peace.

Then, you would never dream of switching off your cell phone. Now, it is what you dream of most of the time.

Then, you thought you had all the freedom only because you could talk to your friends (including boys) at any time of the day or night.
Now, you feel you are free when you switch off your cell phone and toss it god-knows-where while you take a break from work.

Ode to the Bygone, Absolute and Sweet Nothings- The Sequel

I sat down to read my blog after a long time. I have always enjoyed reading my own stuff. I'm funny. But it was different this time. I could see the different bits of my moods showing through each post.
From the marijuana-induced neverland thoughts to the society clean-up obsession; from bitterness to apathy and from humour to nostaligia- each transition is blatantly apparent.
Then I realize I have grown. And for once, not in size. By definition I am still young. But in essence, I am not so sure.

Young was when we thought we could take on the world. Young was when we would come up with new tunes and lyrics in a 60 minutes' lecture. Young was when we would make an award-winning anti-tobacco campaign while smoking our lungs out. Young was when we would quote literature in the BUsiness Strategy paper and then boast about it. Young was when we were dreamy, irrrational and spontaneous.

Young was when we were fearless.

Does growing up have to mean losing your zest for life? Is this reality I have a feeling I have succumbed to? I never thought we would. Not us, not this bunch. Yet, today after a mail from the past, I see this routine I have become.

So now at almost two in the morning, I am stepping back into the old shoes. I am tossing my schedule out of the window, I am digging out the long-stashed cigarettes. I am tiptoeing up the stairs and then noisily opening the door to the terrace and I am lighting up. I am lying on the dirty terrace floor in my t-shirt and shorts. I am star gazing and I am freezing. I am writing for the sheer love of it and not caring if I sound silly. I don't even care if I am scribbling on the sheet or not.


It hasn't left us after all, Khattar. Not yet.

This senseless chain-reaction

The blame of a caste-based or racial aggression in India falls, among other things on illiteracy and on the lack of social awareness/civic sense. My observations over the years at times of such riots/aggressions tell me that racial distrust is present among the literate and the illiterate alike. The only difference may be that the latter take to the streets during such aggression, and the former don’t.

The educated class also feel resentment towards “the other caste or religion”. Their bitterness reveals itself in small comments and gestures in everyday living. It is exposed when a Hindu mother expresses apprehension over her daughter passing through a Muslim colony alone. It slips out with some angry words from a Muslim whose Hindu neighbour may have the Sanskar channel turned on loud. It is frequently heard in lame jokes about Sikhs, which is shrugged-off as humour. It has been shooting off in all directions with the North-South hostility. Intolerance is something that we have acquired from the generations preceding us- it registers in our minds sub-consciously when our elders make these supposedly “inconsequential” and harmless racist comments.

I am an ashamed Hindu today. The latest Tehelka sting operation that has exposed the people behind the anti-Muslim riots in Gujrat has left me feeling horrified at the cruelty that people are capable of. What is even more shocking is the fact that people from my religion and caste do not necessarily condemn it. And we’re talking about the educated lot here. The standard feeling is that these riots were in response to the Godhara case, where “they had burnt our people alive”.
The pregnant Muslim whose belly was slashed open and foetus thrown out had nothing to do with the Godhra Kaand. Nor did innumerable men, women and children who were killed in the riots. The irony is that the fanatic religious “leaders” are all holed up in their comfort zones during such incidents.

India is not secular. On paper, yes. In truth, no. In the quarrel over what “they” did that triggered this reaction from “us”; or the incidents before that, that led to this senseless and brutal chain-reaction, aren’t we forgetting about today and now?

It is not just about religion. During the honouring ceremony of our victorious twenty-twenty squad at the Wankhede stadium, Sharad Pawar had rudely shoved aside one of the women who were carrying bouquets to the stage. A very small incident, the common reaction to which is “Hota hai”. But we did not shrug-off the episode where the same Sharad Pawar was shoved aside by Ricky Ponting during a presentation ceremony.

Of course all issues are turned into political scandals and plots by the ministers and their respective parties. This time too, questions are being raised on the timing of this sting operation, and on the authenticity of Tehelka.

Assuming all clarifications and counter-allegations by the concerned party is worth something; one hopes that there will be some concrete action out of this “breaking news”.

HOW MEN CAME TO BE AS CLUELESS AS PIGS

Pigs are nice. They eat, roll around in the mud, and oink sometimes. They don’t complicate their lives. Dogs don’t, either. Nor do cows for that matter.
But men do. Men weren’t happy being furry, jumping animal and they weren’t happy living on trees. So men evolved. They showed signs of insecurities pretty early on. Maybe they was jealous of how magnificent the tiger looked, with his stripes or how interesting the zebra’s hide was, so they made themselves clothes. Then they took some caves and made them their home. Then followed civilization. You know, settling down in bunches, inventing fire, farming and all that jazz.

Pigs fight sometimes. Maybe for food, or for the muddiest, smelliest spot in the sty. Dogs often fight too- when another dog crosses over to the territory the former marked with his pee or when they may be showing off in front of a bitch. She doesn’t have to be hot. She just has to be. I haven’t seen cows fight, they are quiet things, mostly eating. Good thing they are incapable of multi-tasking, else they wouldn’t chew their food that good.
Men fight. A lot. Men just don’t fight for food or the muddiest, smelliest spot in the sty, or territory or to show-off in front of a female. See men like to complicate things. When whoever created life created life, the simple rule was this-

Quite a lot of food- slightly more mouths. Now fight.

But men had a lot of brains. So this arrangement was boring for them. They did a lot of things, the order of which I am not so sure of. They cut down a lot of trees. So animals died. They also killed animals because there were a lot of guns lying around, and there was a lot of time with very little to do. Then there was sex. A hell lot of it. So there were a hell lot of babies.
There was also a new arrangement, whereby things weren’t yours anymore. Men started paying for it, first with other goods, and then with money. Food was also to be bought with this money. And you earned money by first slogging your ass off for a good degree, and then to find a good job, where the slogging-you-ass-off routine was repeated pretty much till the mortal forever.
This whole fiasco resulted in a new rule, which was like this-

Men fight FOR a job to earn money. They fight IN their jobs to earn money. They fight AT HOME with their parents and siblings and sometimes WITH their PARTNERS to earn money. Then they buy food and a lot of other things. Those who can’t earn and buy food fight, steal, kill or die of hunger. Now this was something worthy of men.
The rules for other animals are different. There are two types of countries. Developed countries and developing countries. The difference between the two is NOT the extent to which you can slog your ass off but the amount of money you can earn consequently. But anyways, if you are a pig in a poor country, you can splash around in really dirty drains and roam around freely with your piglets. If you are a pig in a rich country, you will live in a farm. You will be fed with really good food, and men will be your god, who will decide when and where you are to be transported to your next life, where you are called bacon. The rules for dogs are different, as are those for cows. Basically the rule is that if you are not men you shut up and watch. Believe it or not, a lot of men do this too, especially the ones who are called leaders.

Pigs are hungry for food. As are dogs, and cows too for that matter. Men are hungry for food and for power. Men explain the meaning of power very frequently (though they may not realize it) when they say- “I am right. Do as I say. Do not argue.”
All men want this. Some men can say this to the whole world, some to a country or region, and some to their partner and kids. Some men cannot say this to anyone, though they dream of it quite a lot. Some of these people protest to put across their point, but it doesn’t really matter.

All men think different. Which implies that all powerful men in all countries think different. And all powerful men in all countries say- “I am right. Do as I say. Do not argue.” This, as news readers say, leads to a lot of friction among the countries when in fact this leads to a lot of friction among the powerful men of the countries- same countries and different countries. Pigs don’t think. Pigs are nice.

(We don’t know who, so we say) THEY say that anger makes men do strange things. So to show who is more powerful, these powerful men do a lot of strange things. They develop their factories and businesses, which make very good things. The factories also generate a lot of harmful things, but men don’t see bad things until these have spiralled out of control.
Among the good things is very good food. But when whoever created the world created the world, another rule was like this- What tastes good is bad. What tastes like shit is good. So when they make good food, which is actually bad, people start getting diseases.
Pigs don’t get diseases. Pigs eat polythene and shit it out whole.

The powerful men build big houses so show how powerful they are. Now with all the sex still happening, there are a lot more men. And big houses mean less space for other men. So the other men start cutting down trees. They cut down whole forests. They have a lot of brains but they can’t understand that they are destroying somebody else’s house to build their own. So then the earth becomes warmer. Then they make air-conditioners, which makes it really cool inside but way hotter outside.
The powerful men also make weapons to kill other powerful men with. But they mainly kill a lot of men who are not powerful. Then the other powerful men either support or condemn the killings, and then they hold summits and meetings to fight over why they are supporting or condemning the other powerful men. Like this very powerful man in the US who kills people in Iraq and Afghanistan for no apparent reason.

So all of this has led to a lot of madness everywhere. Men are killing and dying. Some even kill themselves so others will die with them. They are creating diseases and then trying to find cures for them. They are ruining things that matter, and are making things that mean nothing. They are even building a road to the Mt. Everest because they want to run on it with a torch. But you really can’t say anything because all men think they are right.

But there are some others who know they are not right. They know what the matter is. They know that the mind of men will always find reasons to justify their plans and the resulting actions- in the name of modernisation or development, of discovery or knowledge, of war-for-peace or jihad, of religion or terrorism. The justifications are numerous. The summits and meetings will go on, the protests will go on, the wars and attacks will go on, injustice and inequality will continue to prevail- all because men refuse to see and accommodate the point of view of other men.
Simply put the few men who know what the matter is know that power is stupid. But since they don’t believe in power, they don’t say “I am right. Do as I say. Do not argue.” So nobody listens to them and nothing changes.

When men created their own rules, they thought they knew what they were doing. Pigs didn’t think that. Pigs don’t think. But now the men are as clueless as pigs are. And as dogs are. And cows too, for that matter.

Ode to the bygone, absolute and sweet nothings

The events and characters in this post have been modified. The writer has, at some places, used the names of the mothers of the real-life characters from whom this is inspired- both to avoid potential embarrassment to the characters, and potential physical harm to the author.

“It is time we get Sunita married”, Kamal said to the room at large. While all others present (comprising the proposed sacrifice’s aunts, cousin and mother) nodded their heads in assent, I demonstrated my shock by a rather weird-sounding WASSCHIZZZZZZ???!!!
The elders (pun intended) looked at me with the motherly concern, washed so clearly over their anxious faces, and which comes so naturally to them. “I am fine”, I hastily explained, and demanded they tell me what they were plotting. (At moments like these, I almost agree with my father when he says a conglomeration of two women or more should be deemed illegal) “Sunita is 23, has completed her engineering, is working in Chennai now, and obviously has nothing more to do, so we think it is about time she settles down.”

My repeated announcement over the years, of not understanding mothers found a new dimension that day. If Sunita is working, how can she have nothing more to do? The last time I heard work was still work. The Almighty’s angels on this Earth (who obviously take their job too seriously) explained that she could work after marriage if she so pleased but it was time a suitable boy was searched for “our beautiful and smart Sunita.” The Venus inhabitants settle on the appropriateness of this time on the basis of how much of it can they afford to spare for a cup of tea in the evening, over which event such life-changing decisions are usually decided. If time is short, they will settle for topics hovering around domestic helps, neighbours, in-laws, or other individuals comprising their sex.

I like to believe that I have a witty and complicated way of expressing the dullest of incidents. But my brooding over something is always written as: “I kept pondering over such and such incident the entire day/afternoon/evening/night.
I don’t know why but I find it impossible to rephrase this activity.

So I kept pondering over Sunita’s proposed wedding the entire evening. It was absurd, the whole idea. Who gets married at… 23?? Seriously? When did that happen? Grudgingly I realized for the women to start thinking about it is, after all, not as absurd as I initially felt. But I permitted ONLY thinking. In my 21 years of living, I have learnt through experience that you expect of others what you, yourself are prone to do at a given situation. Plainly speaking, I am a lazy bum, who can never stick to her plans.

The next day Sunita flew up to Doon from Chennai. In the evening, the six of us sat down together with stacks of photo albums strewn across the room. That is when the subtle clues of us having grown up became startlingly clear. The “Remember the time when” and the “Oh we were so silly then”, followed by a stray “I wish we could go back to that time again” brought this image in my head where I am sitting in a cosy bubble filled with our football, blackboard, ribbons, bicycles, water-bottles and lunch-boxes, and then I draw a needle from my pocket and burst my beautiful bubble, and am falling down… no idea where I will drop.

From the time when we would snigger to see our elder brothers speak with girls to sitting and talking about their girlfriends, from fighting over whose school is better to brooding over when we will meet next, and from fat little pieces of lards adorned with sweaters, gloves, caps, scarves, and boots, who would bunk school with their parents’ assistance to go to Mussoorie, to good looking (I know, I know- me excluded !@#$%^&), and educated young men and women, it has been a beautiful life.

We have grown up, we are all different, we have our own strengths, and our own weaknesses. We are all standing at the threshold of a new chapter, a new phase in our lives. We either are or are about to become full-time professionals and business owners, possessing for the first time, money that is NOT borrowed or stolen. And someday, not far from today, we shall all bear the responsibility of our respective partners and child(ren).

It has all changed, and I am amazed at how fast this transformation has taken place. What remain are the memories, the learning, and their offshoot- the strong bond we share, and the love we hold for one-another. It is what redeems us in our moments of weakness, what gives us the pride and the confidence we possess, and what makes us return to this beautiful, lazy town to indulge in long days of absolute and blissful nothings...