A quick unfinished story

Friends Forever. Turned into blossoming infatuation. Forever couple. Is it love? Maybe not yet..

Distance, misunderstandings, arguments, fights and lies. A couple broken before love could happen. Friends again. Happy for each other’s happiness.

He falls for someone again. She is happy with someone else again. They are happy in their own worlds. What could be, is a question and a doubt that will forever remain unexplored. A chance meeting, a stolen kiss. Nothing more, back to their happy worlds.

Kids turn into adults. Turn of maturity. Time for permanency. He is thinking of marrying his girl, she is still looking for love, although just happy with someone else.

A sudden encounter. It tears her up that his intense feelings for her are now for someone else. It tears him up that she was never this happy with him. A stolen night.

A few days, stolen from the world. Guilt. Knowledge that this could work. All it needs is effort.

But its too late now. Back into the worlds they built. The doubt, the question will forever remain incomplete. Because just a few days are not enough. They were forever friends. The forever part had magnanimous implications. Torn souls, forced into being friends.

Not happy as more than that, unhappy at less than that.

Not a child, not an adult

I have been often told I think too much and too far. This post is a result of that.

Browsing through youtube videos I came across the videos of Chote Ustaad, a singing contest between kids. I started with the grand finale episode, two really pretty girls singing beautifully. One had the most beautiful, sweet and melodious voice.
The other had the most grounded, husky and fabulous voice.

One had springy curls all over her face, a clear face and expressive eyes.
The other had straight luxurious hair that fell in a cascade around her face, sparkling eyes and an attitude to match.

Both had the public fawning at their feet. Both are less than 13 years old.

What happened to have pimply faces, an unsure attitude, that awkward age when you look your worst for that certain time and not knowing what you want to do with your life because you are not even 13!!

I am scared. Scared for my children when I have them. Because either they will be one of these talented children, or one of the not talented ones. If they are like these, they will be under this constant pressure, which I am sure these children are under. They will have their life decided for them, no matter what it is that they want to do, how it is that they want to live.

If they are not, they will grow up watching these talent shows, wonder what their talent is, why they don’t have a voice like that, or a flexible body like this, or a figure like that one. Or they might know someone who is talented like that, and feel inferior to them.

The summercamp where I teach dance, constantly has parents coming up to me asking me to hone the dancing skills of their child because they think that the kid has the ability to “enter and win boogie woogie”. Or I have even had one come and boast to me about how her daughter has such an amazing face that she has already featured in 12 ads and won around 2 lakh rupees. The girl was 9 years old.

I have had mothers come and tell me “Look, look at my child dance. She goes to Shaimak Davar’s classes every day to train” and when the girl dances, she swings her hips, but not to the rhythm, she looks ahead with her eyes all small and scrunched up, but blankly, and she says, “my favorite dancer is Isha Koppikar and Sameera Reddy”.

I once choreographed a dance for one student for a talent contest in her school, and she was pretty good. We did on the song Remix, which is based on school life. We hunted all the markets to get an awesome costume for her, a black corset, with a leather jacket, a leather skirt with knee high boots and a school tie. When we reached the hall, she pointed out her rival to me. She was a girl dressed in a yellow bustier with chiffon strips for sleeves, and a chiffon transparent harem pants and her hair all curled up and heavy orange eye make up and gloss. I had not let my student put anything more than a dusting of powder on her face to block sweat.
The girl danced on “Saaki saaki, aa paas reh na jaye koi khwahish baaki”, while my student danced on “Na koi tension lena, nahi koi darr ke jeena..”

Ofcourse, the Saaki girl won. My student was heart-broken. And she asked me, “next time can I dance on an item number too?”

I fear the day my child will ask me that. When my child will think that to be liked, she or he needs to expose, be extra-ordinary at something, be supremely talented or have an attitude.

Innnn-Out. Innnn-Out.

Breathe. Breathe harder. Slow. Innnn-Out. Innnnn-Out.

He had “quit” smoking. Except for yesterday when he had a couple. And a few days before that when he had a few at a party. But he had quit. Really.

It’s just the room you know. Too many people. Innnn-Out. Innnn-Out.

He was choking on his emotions. She had just entered the room.

Mumbai’s underlying faith

What happened to India? As in India a country and not Maharashtra and Uttar Pradesh and West Bengal as different states.

http://www.indianexpress.com/story/358801.html

Is this man crazy? I am a Mumbaite, I am NOT a Maharashtrian, I do NOT speak Marathi, I do not even KNOW marathi for that matter. I was better off without knowing the existence of this man. Should I be banned too?

I am no big fan of the Bacchans. But I do know that Mumbai was always about being a cosmopolitian society. Just like Delhi, and Bangalore and Calcutta to a certain extent. My friend circle in Mumbai was always a mix of everyone. There was a Gujarati, a Maharashtrian, a Catholic, a Marwari, a Parsi, a Muslim and a South Indian. And we were always so proud of it.

No one asked for the state origin of a person before helping them out during the floods. We din’t ask for language proof before stretching an arm and a leg out to people affected by the Train Blasts. Those who went to help after Godhra and the Earthquake in Gujarat were not only Gujaratis. Those who helped after the Tsunami were not only South Indians.

The last time people in Mumbai asked about dharam, mazhab and religion, Mumbai burned. And bled. Is this man mad enough to want to start that again? We have learned from that incident right? We will not fight amongst each other because your God has a different name, your heaven has a different name and your religious scriptures are different from the next persons.

Hell, I don’t even believe in Religion and God. All I believe in is Mumbai. In the people in Mumbai. Their might be crooks, rascals, and eve teasers. But please let there not be people stupid enough to believe this idiot.

Please?

I’m a Grad Student

When you are a Grad student it is assumed that when you shut your eyes for a minute it is because you are re-thinking the thought.

That when you stare into the distance, you are pondering over something deep.

That when you are gazing into your laptop, you are considering a problem and when you are furiously typing away? You are storing away each word spoken in class.

It is believed that when you are discussing something with the guy next to you, it is worthy of disturbing the quiet in the class.

That when you turn to look at someone talking, you are not checking them out.

When you are an under-grad student, it is assumed that you are sleeping, not focusing, lazing, chatting online, emailing, gossiping or checking someone out.

I am a Grad Student.

Alone..

She sets the table. Puts out the soup, toasts the bread, heats the mushrooms. Absentmindedly she picks up the red handled spoons from the holder and lays them next to the mismatched plates. The microwave pings and the oven buzzes. Both the mushrooms and the bread are done. She sets it out on the small kitchen table and pauses. Picks up one of the plates, serves, steps to the sink and eats. Standing there.

When you start living alone, you train yourself to get used to eating by the sink too. Standing.

The spoils of a conquest

A pure white hair-band lying on the floor. In front of the drawn curtains.

The roller chair, abandoned between the room.

Flowers knocked over from the glass vase. The vase, amazingly, unbroken.

The laptop lying on its side with its charging cord dangling from the side.

The book, the page you were reading preserved so preciously till now, on its face on the floor near the bed.

The Ipod speakers blaring an instrumental track you normally always skipped over.

Pillows on the floor and the bedspread crumpled. Bruises on your legs, your calves and your neck.

Going to Imaginary Places..

I am not a feminist because..

Because I do not believe in a weighing scale between the two anyway.

Because I have a lot of masculine behaviorisms which would pit me against feminine stereotypes.

Because I believe in the goodliness of both. Those who don’t? Meet my brother, Mr. Pilot, Jay, Dhum, Pinks, Jats. And meet my Mom, Dhanno, Pri, Radha, Doc and Chocolate. This is the world.

Because I do not see a difference between men and women as two categories.. I see differences between each and every person. And I see that there is nothing called a personist.

Because I stereotype unconsciously and hate myself for it. For men or women.

Because I believe marriage is between two individuals, who are of the same standing. Neither wears the pants nor cooks for the house. Both do both and both should be able to manage both without the other too. And the two individuals can be of the same sex too.

Because existing is about defying stereotypes.

Because people I love being pampered, and I love pampering too.

Because I appreciate people who show chivalry, but hate those who overdo it.

Because I hate being undermined just because I am a woman, and love being respected for un-womanly things.

Because I typically hate sissy kinda behavior, whether it is a guy doing it or a girl.

Because I love appreciating beauty, and woman ARE beautiful.

Because I love broad shouldered, clean shaved guys.

Because I am confused about where I stand at the pedestal of which sex is better, both are essentially just humane but with different behavior systems according to me.

Because I hate being termed, put in a mould, or joining a bandwagon.

Because I have been asked before where I stand on this debate, and my answer has been “I don’t know, I haven’t figured it out yet because I don’t believe in equality or inequality between two of the same kinds. “

Because I do not believe in the existence of this term at all.

There is this cloud wafting over the blogosphere right now about feminism, sexists and such. I did not intend to post anything on this. But this has been a discussion I have evaded from a long time. Here are my views finally, and that too because I realized the vacuum in the existence of it.
For some more views on it, diverse and otherwise, read this and this. She writes real good stuff on topics such as these.
For a different angle all together on this issue, read this.
For some typically blood boiling kind of a read, see this. Actually, I should not be giving him anymore publicity but I need people to see how disgustingly speechless you can be rendered.

There was a girl

She had a strong voice, but it was pleasant and confident to the ears. Very masculine. Too heavy, but soft. Never sounds like what I think it sounds like.

A large frame, broad shoulders and an interesting, open face. God, I wish I was tiny, I tower over everyone. I wish I had even a little bit of the look on my face. I wish I knew how to Look.

An assertive personality, a strikingly comforting style of dressing in smart clothes which suited her well, but were not exclusive designer material. Frumpy. I look huge in this. I can never wear that small little tank top that I think is so cute. I will always have to chose comfort over style.

She was always ready to try new things, learn more. Intelligent but watned more knowledge. Talented to an average person’s level. That is interesting. I would love to be able to be just naturally good at that. Or that. Oh I wish I had some natural flair for something at least.

She spoke less and only when she had something to say. Over the years she realized she did not need to opinionate everytime. My opinions are biased. I need a lot more knowledge and information backing just statements.

She asked a lot of questions since her childhood- relevant and irrelevant- in her clear strong voice. Goodness, where are all these thoughts coming from? Am I sounding like a freak? Shit! Questions again!!

She wasn’t the top scorer in her class- but for some reason her classmates always thought she was. Her comments, opinions and ideas always induced everyone to think that. Her confident views, spoken quietly with her assertiveness always impressed. I need to score better marks. My family expects me to be the highest. They think I am so intelligent, I wish I could just tell them that I am not. Really I am not. I am the anomaly in the family. The one dull one. And these people in my class think I am intelligent just because I speak less. I wish they would stop expecting me to be so brainy too.

Everytime after she spoke, one thought ran before and after through her mind.
Maybe I should just shut up. No one wants to hear me speak.
No one wanted to hear that. Why did I even open my mouth.

Sometimes it must be nice to be a guy..

Forgive the stereotyping but…

Muscle doesn’t look bad on you.

If it’s hot, all you have to do is go bare.

That you have a big stomach is of no concern to you when you have to wear your swimming trunks.

If you get a ticket while driving, no one says, “obviously… male driver”

If you ask where the brakes and accelerator are in a new country and a new car, you are not ridiculed.

You don’t have to worry about some piece, any piece, of clothing being transparent.

When you binge eat, you do not entertain and welcome thoughts of throwing up.

You don’t call it binge eating.

It’s ok if you forget small details and dates.

If someone asks you if you have a child, you can easily get away with, “Not that I know of..”

You don’t have to bother about bleeding.

Or not bleeding.

You don’t have to worry about what the eff are Manolos and Burnheck, Burnbeck? Burnham? uhhh.

There’s more I can add to this list, but considering that this is a family place, I’ll keep the mouse in the house ( wink for those who understood that), but if you want to add any, be my guest commentor.