Every six months we come across a new set of words that people use so lavishly and without any context, for example 'rocking'. There was a time when in Delhi, everything was rocking, from food to weather to people to an auto wala to errr...say a room lizard on the wall. The word for this season is 'PASSION'. From celebrities of all shapes and sizes to reality TV contestants to businessmen to housewives, everyone seems to be passionate.
But I experienced real passion on my vacation. Passion for life, for dreams, for things one really wants to do.
Mrinali Sinha (Name changed, coz she doesn't like being discussed in public). My bestest friend everrrrr! Our friendship began in our school (not where we studied but where we taught!) She went on to become some fancy editor in some fancy Multi national and I pursued radio. This time when I met her, she had given up on a well paying job, had used all her savings to pursue her passion for photography. So here's a lady almost my age, going to a class of almost teenagers or college pass outs and fearlessly following her dreams. From driving a Santro in Delhi to travelling by buses and trains in Mumbai, from the comfortable confines of an air-conditioned office to the streets of Dharavi, horse stables and other such shady places, she has resolved to do what she really wants to do. The future is unsure, the pocket is almost empty, the expenses are super crazily high, but her sheer passion for her vocation keeps her going. Truly INSPIRING! All my choicest of prayers for the love of my life! (She is planning to start a course in basics of photography, if you need her number, get in touch with me. I promise it will be worth your money!)
Saransh Goila- Our friendship began once again in a school, a school where I taught and he studied. Saransh is crazy about movies or passionate, the word of this season. If there is a movie, he has watched it- cast no bar (starcast silly), language no bar, length no bar. If we are going out, he wants to watch movies, if we are not, he still suggests to watch movies except this time he made 'movie watching at home' an experience to remember a lifetime. Saransh bought a new house, read up on the net about speakers and screens, did his massive research and turned his living room into a mini theatre. And no it's not a home theatre system we are talking about, instead a theatre in his home. So there's a hundred and ten inch big screen that covers one full wall, there are amplifiers, speakers, projectors, a labrynth of wires and a thousand other things that I can't even phonetically articulate. He painted the side walls with movie posters, fitted some blue-tinged, dim theatre lights and hold your breath and jaws for this one- got the superexpensive, supercomfortable LAZY BOY recliners. (Yes he is a rich bugger!) Now that ladies and gentlemen is what I call true passion, the kinds that leaves me stunned!(So proud of you Saransh! Hugs!!)
Sanjay Dharmani. No we didn't go to the same school. We were born in the same family. My elder brother. I might not relate to him on a lot of issues but he never ceases to inspire me with his ambition, dreams and yes you guessed it right his drive and passion to translate his dreams, his ambitions to reality. Now a chicken like me (sans any major responsibilties) can never dare think of giving up my job and pursue what I really really want to do. But my exact opposite sibling does exactly that. He is married with a kid and yet he dares give up his fat package job to pursue his dream of running his own business- BRAINVILLA (in Bangalore) where you can rent out and buy books and toys. The man is a true genius. He has a mind of a business man, nerves of steel and a heart that oozes with optimism and passion. He is a shinning example of the fact that hardwork always pays off. So now he is a senior manager in an MNC and is running two outlets of BRAINVILLA successfully. Guys if you are planning to buy some books or toys, look up for Brainvilla on the net and do the needful.
So the long and short of this is that we all are chicken inside, we all have zillion fears and trillion doubts, but we all have just ONE life. Just the sheer passion of these three gives my heart a lift, my flesh goose and my throat a lump! A biggggggggggg hug to them!
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Monday, November 22, 2010
Musings
I still believe in smiles. The fake ones. They always look real to me. Do we ever learn from our mistakes? I don't. I fail to make that change in me. I can't change me. I believe in smiling genuinely. I can't tell the fake ones from real. Or maybe I can but I don't.
Sometimes I wonder if age is inversely propotional to self confidence. My funky oranges and yellows that I wore in the days of yore rot in the attic now. That says a lot. That air of self assurance and shabbiness that only 17 permits you.
Awkardness is an offspring of mocking judgements! (Aren't judgements always mocking?) I suck at retorts. The wise ones. The witty ones. Or of any type. I grope for words. I fear of bad blood. How come they never?
I sometimes hear them whisper too. I hate it. They would rather say it on my face. That would make me sadder.
I honestly don't find them funny. Mostly I don't get the context. Honestly I don't even care, hence don't even try. I am there, but I am not...like I was...seemingly attentive in my Physics classes that I HATED. LOATHED!
I miss soul mates, the kinds who make tea sessions, coffee tables long lasting memories. Maybe they don't exist. Maybe the problem is in me. I get bored easily. Like I am right now. Bye
Sometimes I wonder if age is inversely propotional to self confidence. My funky oranges and yellows that I wore in the days of yore rot in the attic now. That says a lot. That air of self assurance and shabbiness that only 17 permits you.
Awkardness is an offspring of mocking judgements! (Aren't judgements always mocking?) I suck at retorts. The wise ones. The witty ones. Or of any type. I grope for words. I fear of bad blood. How come they never?
I sometimes hear them whisper too. I hate it. They would rather say it on my face. That would make me sadder.
I honestly don't find them funny. Mostly I don't get the context. Honestly I don't even care, hence don't even try. I am there, but I am not...like I was...seemingly attentive in my Physics classes that I HATED. LOATHED!
I miss soul mates, the kinds who make tea sessions, coffee tables long lasting memories. Maybe they don't exist. Maybe the problem is in me. I get bored easily. Like I am right now. Bye
Saturday, July 24, 2010
That November morning...
I never bunked. Be it school, college or any job. I was quite a loser to be honest. I never had the guts to just take an off and vegetate at home. I would die of guilt and boredom if I ever did that. If I ever took leave, it would mean a dozen pending bills, electricity, phone and water and forever impending bank work. But that day I got lucky. Few days are so simple yet so special that they are etched into your minds forever.
It was some day in November. I was working at Archies greetings and gifts ltd. The office was in Naraina industrial area, some 18 odd kilometres, three blue line buses and ninety minutes away from my home. I reached office well in time. There was a crowd that had gathered outside the office. I usually don’t care so I went upstairs to my office. Murmurs around whispered that the office had been raided. The top notch bosses were in the accounts department. Nobody had started work in hope of getting a day off. We waited for half an hour and were told to go back home. For the first time in my life, I felt nice working in a country that pays tax and takes it seriously too.
I stepped out of the office and instead of catching a bus; I caught a quick cycle rickshaw to the bus stop. The sun was delicious. November suns are usually delicious. I quickly boarded a mudrika, special buses that run on Delhi’s ring road. A ride back home at 11 am meant less traffic, both on roads and in the bus. I comforted myself on a seat and opened my lunch box to munch on alloo ka parathas that mum had packed for lunch. It felt like an early off from school due to heavy downpour or some other emergency. Parathas tasted better in the bus. When I looked out, the city buzzed with activities. I could smell petrol at traffic signals and see lamp posts flashing by.
I also saw effigies of Ravan, Kumbhkaran and Meghnath in some distance. I could only see their heads behind some buildings. It was such a festive reminder of Dusshera and Diwali. The sun filtered through the bus’s window and I basked in it, feeling rich in vitamin D.
I got down at my stop from where I could either catch another bus or take a rickshaw to my place. I decided to walk. On my way I saw a road side food vendor who had then started making fresh kachoris. Interestingly he had two burners on his cart, one in which he fried kachoris and the other, hot gulab jamuns. The man had figured his commerce pretty well. Hot, sweet gulab jamuns served after hot kachoris dipped in spicy aloo ki sabzi. I devoured both. As I walked ahead, I passed by DAV school. It was lunch time. The school reverberated with children’s carefree laughter. Recess time in school was so much fun. It taught us time management. We could do so much in those 20 minutes- polish lunch, quick trips to canteen, a short game of cricket, copy Maths homework, buy maps from stationary shop and cover our notebooks with brown paper. I stood there reminiscing my good old school days. I then delved into those narrow streets that run behind our homes. The sweeper was late. His broom kicked up a dust making clouds of fine dry particles.
There were aunties perched on little moodas suitably parked in that patch of sunshine that flooded one corner of the street. Their hands ran in an effortless rhythm to knit sweaters for their families, some of them peeled oranges and pea nuts, some of them haggled with sabzi walas over the price of coriander and some of them complained of approaching winters as they dried clothes on the clothing line. Old uncles had huddled in a park either on charpoys or on chatais. In sharp contrast to aunties, the uncles were very silent. I wonder if it was just a game of cards or their basic nature.
A little walk ahead, I passed by a festive house. I could see a lot of ladies sitting in its veranda, their heads covered and their hands folded. There were double the number of shoes and chappals outside the house. Suddenly the mike shrieked, some fingers ran on a harmonium, someone started beating the dhol and everyone started chanting prayers in praise of Sherawali Mata. It was the sixth day of navratras. Navratras are the most festive days in Delhi. These are the nine days before Dusshera when women observe fast and end up eating more than on a regular day. There are rich elaborate treats of fruits, vegetables and pakoras made of alloo dipped in different flours. Markets are dolled with up different kind of potato chips and red dupattas that mark the celebrations in every house hold. I love these days.
I reached home and surprised mom. She was cleaning the house. The floor was wet and smelled of fresh phenyl. The sunshine reflected from a little poodle on the floor and made fluid images on the wall. Mum had switched on the fan to dry the floor and I suddenly felt cold. We stood in the balcony for some time, chatted over cups of tea and soon I retired to my room with a PG Wodehouse and before I knew, I had buried myself under a comforter, hugging my pillow and my knees and slept like a baby.
It was some day in November. I was working at Archies greetings and gifts ltd. The office was in Naraina industrial area, some 18 odd kilometres, three blue line buses and ninety minutes away from my home. I reached office well in time. There was a crowd that had gathered outside the office. I usually don’t care so I went upstairs to my office. Murmurs around whispered that the office had been raided. The top notch bosses were in the accounts department. Nobody had started work in hope of getting a day off. We waited for half an hour and were told to go back home. For the first time in my life, I felt nice working in a country that pays tax and takes it seriously too.
I stepped out of the office and instead of catching a bus; I caught a quick cycle rickshaw to the bus stop. The sun was delicious. November suns are usually delicious. I quickly boarded a mudrika, special buses that run on Delhi’s ring road. A ride back home at 11 am meant less traffic, both on roads and in the bus. I comforted myself on a seat and opened my lunch box to munch on alloo ka parathas that mum had packed for lunch. It felt like an early off from school due to heavy downpour or some other emergency. Parathas tasted better in the bus. When I looked out, the city buzzed with activities. I could smell petrol at traffic signals and see lamp posts flashing by.
I also saw effigies of Ravan, Kumbhkaran and Meghnath in some distance. I could only see their heads behind some buildings. It was such a festive reminder of Dusshera and Diwali. The sun filtered through the bus’s window and I basked in it, feeling rich in vitamin D.
I got down at my stop from where I could either catch another bus or take a rickshaw to my place. I decided to walk. On my way I saw a road side food vendor who had then started making fresh kachoris. Interestingly he had two burners on his cart, one in which he fried kachoris and the other, hot gulab jamuns. The man had figured his commerce pretty well. Hot, sweet gulab jamuns served after hot kachoris dipped in spicy aloo ki sabzi. I devoured both. As I walked ahead, I passed by DAV school. It was lunch time. The school reverberated with children’s carefree laughter. Recess time in school was so much fun. It taught us time management. We could do so much in those 20 minutes- polish lunch, quick trips to canteen, a short game of cricket, copy Maths homework, buy maps from stationary shop and cover our notebooks with brown paper. I stood there reminiscing my good old school days. I then delved into those narrow streets that run behind our homes. The sweeper was late. His broom kicked up a dust making clouds of fine dry particles.
There were aunties perched on little moodas suitably parked in that patch of sunshine that flooded one corner of the street. Their hands ran in an effortless rhythm to knit sweaters for their families, some of them peeled oranges and pea nuts, some of them haggled with sabzi walas over the price of coriander and some of them complained of approaching winters as they dried clothes on the clothing line. Old uncles had huddled in a park either on charpoys or on chatais. In sharp contrast to aunties, the uncles were very silent. I wonder if it was just a game of cards or their basic nature.
A little walk ahead, I passed by a festive house. I could see a lot of ladies sitting in its veranda, their heads covered and their hands folded. There were double the number of shoes and chappals outside the house. Suddenly the mike shrieked, some fingers ran on a harmonium, someone started beating the dhol and everyone started chanting prayers in praise of Sherawali Mata. It was the sixth day of navratras. Navratras are the most festive days in Delhi. These are the nine days before Dusshera when women observe fast and end up eating more than on a regular day. There are rich elaborate treats of fruits, vegetables and pakoras made of alloo dipped in different flours. Markets are dolled with up different kind of potato chips and red dupattas that mark the celebrations in every house hold. I love these days.
I reached home and surprised mom. She was cleaning the house. The floor was wet and smelled of fresh phenyl. The sunshine reflected from a little poodle on the floor and made fluid images on the wall. Mum had switched on the fan to dry the floor and I suddenly felt cold. We stood in the balcony for some time, chatted over cups of tea and soon I retired to my room with a PG Wodehouse and before I knew, I had buried myself under a comforter, hugging my pillow and my knees and slept like a baby.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Eureka!
I ate like a pig. Added layers of fat!
103 on weighing scale, I am still not thick-skinned!
Alas!
103 on weighing scale, I am still not thick-skinned!
Alas!
Kitchen enlightments...
They all are like onions that I am peeling right now...
So many layers!
They make me cry too.
So many layers!
They make me cry too.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Wagging tongues...
I had always been scared of people's judgements about me. Nearly altered me, myself and I, for the fear of "what would they think/say?"
They would never stop!
Even NOW, they label some new smart ass adjective on my identity...
I am the newest SNOB in town.
WHY?
Coz I don't respond to their facebook pings anymore!!
Is it really my fault that I couldn't log out before dying?
They would never stop!
Even NOW, they label some new smart ass adjective on my identity...
I am the newest SNOB in town.
WHY?
Coz I don't respond to their facebook pings anymore!!
Is it really my fault that I couldn't log out before dying?
God is...
like a sister-in-law of some random Ekta Kapoor's serial!
Always eavesdropping to my thoughts,
Grinning,
Scheming,
And laughing at my plans!
Always eavesdropping to my thoughts,
Grinning,
Scheming,
And laughing at my plans!
Depression...
Is like swine flu. An Epidemic. Rampant!
Will elaborate later! Might even write a book! Right now, wallow time!
Will elaborate later! Might even write a book! Right now, wallow time!
Life is like a cruel mother...
Shoves reality, like milkshake, down your throat!
P.S- Sans Sugar!
P.P.S- Thanks white dust!
P.S- Sans Sugar!
P.P.S- Thanks white dust!
Monday, March 29, 2010
Gone
Appendix and Tail Bone are passe. Spine is the new vestigial! Hardly find it in people these days!
Friday, March 12, 2010
Lifeless!
Just blankly looking at the ceiling,
eyes half droopy.
a sudden sigh,
a puff of wind and a sprinkle of spit.
tossing and turning when the buttocks hurt.
constantly curling up to the past,
and cursing the present.
struggling not to face the rigours of reality...
imagining myself dead
with sullen faces dipped in eerie silence...
me grinning with a sadist grin.
hallucinating...
in the train, at office, anywhere.
seeing pictures on the wall,
talking to myself,
ALOUD!
Dodging suspicious glances...
And sniggers too.
If someone took the smallest denomination of coins from your huge piggy bank, would you know?
CAN I DIE?
eyes half droopy.
a sudden sigh,
a puff of wind and a sprinkle of spit.
tossing and turning when the buttocks hurt.
constantly curling up to the past,
and cursing the present.
struggling not to face the rigours of reality...
imagining myself dead
with sullen faces dipped in eerie silence...
me grinning with a sadist grin.
hallucinating...
in the train, at office, anywhere.
seeing pictures on the wall,
talking to myself,
ALOUD!
Dodging suspicious glances...
And sniggers too.
If someone took the smallest denomination of coins from your huge piggy bank, would you know?
CAN I DIE?
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Hush...listen!
Yak yak yak...
What’s the wittiest way to say it?
I think I can be a bit louder!
Pearly whites! Just flash it silly
Is my cleavage showing?
Suck the fucking tummy in you fatso
Is my Gucci wearing off?
Sniff sniff...
Spray spray...
Bak bak bak...
Weirdest analogies that no one can think of
Picasso’s paintings and Hemingway’s books
The coolest gadget
The hippest hangout
Flaunt your mobile
Disgust at others’
Choicest of expletives
I will keep quiet
They will notice
LOOK AT ME I AM SO COOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Yak yak yak...
What’s the wittiest way to say it?
I think I can be a bit louder!
Pearly whites! Just flash it silly
Is my cleavage showing?
Suck the fucking tummy in you fatso
Is my Gucci wearing off?
Sniff sniff...
Spray spray...
Bak bak bak...
Weirdest analogies that no one can think of
Picasso’s paintings and Hemingway’s books
The coolest gadget
The hippest hangout
Flaunt your mobile
Disgust at others’
Choicest of expletives
I will keep quiet
They will notice
LOOK AT ME I AM SO COOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Yak yak yak...
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Dubai Again
The first thing that I saw when the flight landed was a Carrefour neon sign smiling at me from a distance and I said to myself “welcome to the world of Carrefours, Burj buildings and everything AL. At the airport a hoarding screamed in big bold blacks and yellows- “send money in minutes- western union money transfer...”and my lips blossomed into a nostalgic smile. I have been in Dubai earlier; I have seen the same landmarks, breathed and smelled the same air, the same smell that reeks of affluence, ambition and a hush sense of nostalgia.
Funnily the last time when I landed, I excitedly went and kissed a Mercedes parked at the airport. This time the hotel guys had actually sent a Mercedes to pick me up. It was a good sign and a rare experience. I almost sank into the seat. From a bumpy Air India ride to the inviting seats of Mercedes, it was indeed quite a progress. Like one of the Silver poets would say, it was such a heightened moment of my life, that I wouldn’t mind dying.
Death could very well wait. There was a better surprise lined up. The hotel room. It was a five star at the very famous Sheikh Zayed Road that’s lined with high rises on both sides. My room looked over the dazzling Dubai city, glittering with life and style. The speeding cars' head and tail lights blended with city lights which further merged with stars in the sky, blurring the horizon.
Different emotions mated in my little head- happiness, joy, ambition, failure, success and pangs of homesickness.
The office and people are thankfully hospitable. The chicks are hot. You don’t even know them from Adam’s yet they rush to you with full gusto, warmth and familiarity to give you a nice assuring welcoming hug and if you are lucky you might find few of them tripping and crashing into your arms. No reasons to complain! After all, for a newcomer what matters the most is a sense of acceptance sans any judgements!
So it’s been a week, two days and 23 hours. The fact that I am effortlessly keeping a track of time shows how much I am missing home and people. My TAG still smiles the IST at me and after a couple of days of excitedly watching “Keeping up with Kardashians” and “Battle of the hotties” on E! I am desperately switching to Star Plus to watch “Sabki pyari Bebo” or catch news on NDTV, the only two desi channels flashing on my hotel’s LCD, my lame efforts of holding on to my roots back home.
Funnily the last time when I landed, I excitedly went and kissed a Mercedes parked at the airport. This time the hotel guys had actually sent a Mercedes to pick me up. It was a good sign and a rare experience. I almost sank into the seat. From a bumpy Air India ride to the inviting seats of Mercedes, it was indeed quite a progress. Like one of the Silver poets would say, it was such a heightened moment of my life, that I wouldn’t mind dying.
Death could very well wait. There was a better surprise lined up. The hotel room. It was a five star at the very famous Sheikh Zayed Road that’s lined with high rises on both sides. My room looked over the dazzling Dubai city, glittering with life and style. The speeding cars' head and tail lights blended with city lights which further merged with stars in the sky, blurring the horizon.
Different emotions mated in my little head- happiness, joy, ambition, failure, success and pangs of homesickness.
The office and people are thankfully hospitable. The chicks are hot. You don’t even know them from Adam’s yet they rush to you with full gusto, warmth and familiarity to give you a nice assuring welcoming hug and if you are lucky you might find few of them tripping and crashing into your arms. No reasons to complain! After all, for a newcomer what matters the most is a sense of acceptance sans any judgements!
So it’s been a week, two days and 23 hours. The fact that I am effortlessly keeping a track of time shows how much I am missing home and people. My TAG still smiles the IST at me and after a couple of days of excitedly watching “Keeping up with Kardashians” and “Battle of the hotties” on E! I am desperately switching to Star Plus to watch “Sabki pyari Bebo” or catch news on NDTV, the only two desi channels flashing on my hotel’s LCD, my lame efforts of holding on to my roots back home.
Adios...
I have never felt so many breasts in a span of four hours. That’s the good side of farewell, lots of warm-tight hugs from the fairer sex. The flip side is ‘equal number of stinking underarms.’
Honestly and strangely, it didn’t feel much that it was my last day. It hadn’t sunk in that badly. It felt like I was leaving for a vacation and would be back soon. However I somewhere knew, it was a different day for sure. It meant the end of my three year long stint with Fever.
Goodbye is a funny word, especially the way it is said. Some said it causally, some meant it and some meant it so much that they couldn’t say a word and some said it so many times that one could tell that they didn’t mean a word. However, two of my female colleagues even cried... and I celebrated! Two women crying on your farewell clearly indicates that you must have been good.
So until my hands were tired of waving good byes and my cheeks ached of smiling and my friends got mighty bugged of seeing my face again and again after every good bye, I finally decided to leave.
I crossed the Kasturba Gandhi Marg. I shifted my bag on my shoulder, looked back andfroze for a momengt. The HT building slowly blurred behind the emotions that had emerged in my eyes...
Honestly and strangely, it didn’t feel much that it was my last day. It hadn’t sunk in that badly. It felt like I was leaving for a vacation and would be back soon. However I somewhere knew, it was a different day for sure. It meant the end of my three year long stint with Fever.
Goodbye is a funny word, especially the way it is said. Some said it causally, some meant it and some meant it so much that they couldn’t say a word and some said it so many times that one could tell that they didn’t mean a word. However, two of my female colleagues even cried... and I celebrated! Two women crying on your farewell clearly indicates that you must have been good.
So until my hands were tired of waving good byes and my cheeks ached of smiling and my friends got mighty bugged of seeing my face again and again after every good bye, I finally decided to leave.
I crossed the Kasturba Gandhi Marg. I shifted my bag on my shoulder, looked back andfroze for a momengt. The HT building slowly blurred behind the emotions that had emerged in my eyes...
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