Tuesday 29 October 2013

Band Baaja Baarat!

Winter chills. Wedding bells.
As a hardcore Indian who sweats profusely under the blazing sun, and one who loves the smell of mehendi, this is my best quarter of the year.
Come November, invitations start flooding in by the dozen every week. Beautiful sarees, heavy jewelry and dark mehendi starts overpowering the Hindu households. Long lost cousins are placed awkwardly next to us and we're expected to make small talk which generally begins with "we met at *insert random name* didi's wedding last year, remember?" and ends with, "yes yes we should meet up". Next December, repeat.

Weddings are important to every member of the family for different reasons. The kids, because they get a day off from homework and their cheeks pulled by a hundred people. The women because they get to gather up and give and take gossip about the who's whos at the wedding and subtly show off their sarees and jewelry. The men, for it's more often than not, an open bar and temporary freedom from the endless clatter.

Growing up, I've fallen in love with the concept of marriage. The wedding ceremonies starting ten days prior to the D-Day, the attention paid to intricate details, the sanctity of the institution and the family reunions.

My grandmother whispered in my ear before we went to a wedding last week, "Carry yourself well. You're a woman now. People are always looking for matches to make at weddings." It made me laugh. But it made my heart flutter. What if the guy I'm going to spend the life with is at the next wedding I attend? What if he's out there looking for me and sees me doing something weird like choking over a PaniPuri or guffawing loudly? Will he fall in love with my weirdness or will it repulse him?

At my cousin's wedding last year, they clasped hands and smiled deeply at each other when the mangalsutra hitched them together for life. "I want that", I thought immediately. Not just married, but happily married.

Drape that saree, put on the heavy jewelry, let your hair fall over your shoulders, curl that eye liner and smack those red lips. He's somewhere out there, looking for you, waiting. Waiting for the Band to play the Baaja at your Baarat!
Didi's Wedding, December '12.

Balls-ywood.

Final Scene:
Girl runs from the villains who are convincingly slower than a girl wearing stilettos. Bad guy catches up with the heroine and Kaboooom! Macho Man is here!
Twenty odd minutes of blood curdling screams and swishing of every weapon from guns to swords. With two bullet wounds and a torn T-shirt, the hero kills the villain with one stab of the blunt knife. Hero and heroine reunite. The End. They all lived happily ever after.
Remind you of anything? Every other Bollywood movie perhaps?

Don't get me wrong, I'm a sucker for all the drama Hindi movies feed us.
I believe that one day a man will love me as much as Shah Rukh loves his heroines. I believe that it's okay to be standing tall after having two beer bottles broken on your head etc.

But Bollywood puts realism to shame. A conversation between Bollywood and Realism would probably be limited to - "RIP, Realism."
What pushed me to write this? Chennai Express. Hands down.
So, you decide to chuck the ashes of the man that raised you in a random creek and skip off to Goa? Okay.
You're taken to Chennai instead, by one girl and her Sumo wrestler brothers? Okay.
She says you're her husband to be and you accept it ever so gracefully despite knowing her father is the Don? Okay.
You get one chance to save your life from the underworld family and you choose to get drunk and do an item number instead? Okay.
You do flee and then you waste petrol worth thousands and come back to the Don and the creepily tall man, both of who want you dead? Okay.
You fight the creepily tall man and his never ending minions for hours on end, have stab wounds, should have a couple of fractures and yet, you can stand on your feet and give a speech about how you love her and run to her and embrace her? You wake up the next morning with nothing but one tiny Band-Aid on your forehead? Okay.
You expect the audience to believe it all and appreciate your cinematography skills? Not okay.

We've grown up. Bollywood needs to too.
Where the ever so long fight scenes maybe entertaining to some, most of us are looking for something that won't put our brains to shame. It's time for Bollywood to stop playing on the emotions of it's audience and create real, believable art that sets those brain cells churning.

At the pace at which the Hindi cinema is going, we'll have the British taking over us all over again.
Bollywood moments in Life.
Come on Bollywood, show us what you got.

The Three P's.

1. It's Three P's, Not Four.
2. This isn't about a Marketing Strategy.

I'm a middle class citizen of India and this is my story.
I wake up every morning, take the train to college, attend my lectures, take the train back home, do my chores, sleep. Sounds simple? Not if you look closely.
On my way to the station I often come across men who believe that every woman is theirs to stare at. I live through that every day. The overflowing trains are merciless to one and all. Train travel conditions you to swim underwater for a couple of hours at least, if you know what I mean. I thank the Lord every time I get off a train in one piece. On my way back, repeat.
Still sounds simple? Look closer.
I don't belong to that strata of people who spend money for a living. We're the people that don't spend every alternate night in clubs or throw parties that can afford to invite random strangers too.
We're the people that prefer kande pohe over pancakes and puranpoli over...well, you get the point.

When I come across a sticky situation, I don't say "Tujhe pata hai mera baap kaun hai?" cause I know that the guy in front of me will know my dad just as well as the PM knows the people of this country. Making 'one call' doesn't get me three cars full of people to solve my situation. I can't commit a crime and be rest assured that'll my father will make a few calls here and there and I'll get away scott free.
We don't have celebrities, politicians or the underworld dropping in for chai-biscuit. Nobody in my extended family has ever seen a gun, except in movies, or Diwali.

My father doesn't sport a red tilak on his forehead and wear white clothes and fold his arms to the public. He doesn't stand on a stage and make promises to them. Nobody's life depends on the direction of movement of his head. Nobody hangs on to his every word and hitch hopes to it. We can't have a car with 100% tinted windows and get away with it. I wasn't given a swanky imported car with a VIP number on my 18th birthday. 

I'm an Indian citizen. And I face situations where I'm forced to shut up and gulp down my rights because my life is dear to me. 
No matter how much you want to stand up for your rights, you can't. Cause you fear for life. And as girls, for our dignity.
A wad of notes in their pocket, a gun at their belt, a couple of contacts in their phones and the backing of an influential man is all it takes for these scoundrels to do what they like and get away with it.

India is my country. But all Indians are not my brothers and sisters.
To feel safe, secure and peaceful in this country, you need three things. 

Power, Politics and Paisa.



Wednesday 23 October 2013

Happy Birthday, HeartBreak!

If you can relate to the title, you're either as crazy as I am or you have serious issues in life. Or both.

What is it that makes a person hold on to something that hurts for this long? Lolisms. Had I known, I wouldn't be writing this.
Getting used to a heart break is probably worse than having your heart broken. It's like burning your hand accidentally and letting it flame for a long time. I know, ouch.
But you know what the real issue is? The fire does tend to die out at a point, but you've gotten so used to living like this that you add kerosene to it to keep it that way. You're afraid to try again. The comfort of someone having ruthlessly broken your heart is too convenient to start over. You're scared to start over. All the ifs and buts come flooding back to you. No, it's better to drown in self pity.

Nothing is as disgraceful as self pity. You're really going to sit in a corner, eat tubs of ice cream, become anti social, let go of yourself and become a hippie, all for the one person that never cared? I don't pity you, I despise you.

Till a couple of days ago I was just like you. Conveniently shying away from the world because he was one of them and it didn't turn out so good. Then I saw what a lump of shit I was being. Did he deserve this importance I was giving him? By cutting everyone out, avoiding all those things we used to do together?
Shame on me if I let someone divert me from my way of living my life. That's right, MY life, not his. About me, not him.

It's okay to have your heart broken. There's always people surrounding you with the glue and tape you need. What's not okay is to hold on to it. Don't turn your back to those who're offering to fix you.
I'm proud to have had my heart broken. It opened alleys to so many other people who really cared.
This day last year, I was sobbing. Today, I'm smiling from ear to ear as I think of every person who's here with me.
Happy Birthday Heart Break! You did me good! 
See you around... Not ;)

Saturday 19 October 2013

Nude Souls

"Honey if you're going to be two faced, at least make one of them pretty." - Marilyn Monroe.

Most people I've met have had two personalities. One for themselves and one for the world. So much for Sigmund Freud's painstakingly written theories. It's probably not intentional, just a habit that can be conveniently passed off for a human trait.
So what is it that makes people adopt two strikingly different personalities and portray two different images? I'm no Freud or Bernays, but I have a theory of my own.
I believe that people wear masks to hide their real selves. Be it insecurity, a superiority complex or just plain desire to be someone else. 
Why? That remains unanswered.
There's beauty in simplicity.

At the end of the day, people that love you for what you pretend to be are never going to accept who you really are. Those that have seen the worst of you won't really care. 
Cliche`. I know. But these become cliche`s for a reason, as simple as one that they've always stood true.
To put yourself out there is a task so difficult that people find a way around it. It's time we stop playing hide and seek with ourselves. It's time we stop running in circles and come face to face with our real selves.
How difficult can it be, stripping yourself of everything that's not you?
Accepting yourself is the first step to finding yourself. The day you're happy with your own self, you wont find the need to impersonate someone else.

Beauty is within you. And no, that's not just a statement that sounds pretty and is thrown around in novels to give them depth. That's the raw truth.

"Look inside of you, what do you see?
An unmasked personality, a raw clarity..
You fail to recognize her, you have no clue. 
But that's her, that's the real you."
I wrote these lines the day I met myself. For real.
I've been true to myself ever since. My opinions may clash with yours, but they'll still be mine.

With every mask you shed, you go one step closer to finding yourself.
Happiness is directly proportional to the nudity of your soul. Strip the weight off before you sink beyond recognition.

Saturday 12 October 2013

What Really Matters..

Since childhood we're hammered over one thing. Prioritize. Prioritize. Prioritize.
Studies first, TV later.
Finish your food first, go and play later.
Say sorry first, then you can have your toy back.
Everything has been so conveniently categorized into first and second for us.

But today, standing at the threshold of adulthood, everything looks so hazy. We've gone past lunchboxes and homework and Cartoon Network. Okay not Cartoon Network, but the rest. Prioritizing still stands to be our, well, priority, but how? How do I know what's going to make me land on my face and what's not? How do I know what'll make me cry out of happiness and what won't? See that's the downside of growing up. Taking your own decisions and with it, the risk of taking the wrong ones too. 
So girls, boyfriend or friends? I can hear so many echoing in my head, saying "Of course my boyfriend. My friends are just as important but boyfriend boyfriend hota hai."  One out of thousands may have struck Mr. Perfect but most don't. Diplomacy. No wait, sheer stupidity.
Making one guy your priority over a handful of those who probably know you more than your Prince Charming does is nothing but that.
Snap out of Fairyland land, honey. He isn't going to come trotting on a horse every time you're in trouble. Heck he wont even know about it half the time. But they will. Those that he got chosen over more than just once. Those, who mean it when they say Friends 'Forever'. 
I've learned my lessons, lived them too.
Last year I fainted at the Railway platform with just one friend by my side. When the others got news of it, they, as they say "ran a marathon" and came to fetch me. That, to me, matters.
I got told off for something in the library and a friend of mine fought for me. That, matters.
Today, post the incident. Keepers.
I got sick in Lavasa and got hospitalized. Everyone stood with me, throughout. That matters.
Just today, a waiter stepped out of line while waiting our table. That friend of mine stood up for me, told him off in a not so decent manner and sent him off. It reduced me to tears to know that I have friends like these looking out for me. And when I cried, they all knew why I'd really cried. Cause they've actually listened even when I was droning. That matters.

So it's time you reconsider your priorities girls and hold close to you all that really matters.

Thursday 3 October 2013

Inception

The break of dawn wipes away the darkness,
Fades out all the stars, one by one.
The sky turns a liquid golden,
As the sun shines with an air of dominance.

Stifling a yawn I force my eyes open,
All happiness drains out as my dream is broken,
My smile has turned upside down,
What remains of it is a morbid frown..

Closing my eyes, I watch you go,
That bubbly laughter, that meaningless ego.
I see you walk away with the same air of pride,
That like most other things, you never cared to hide..

A tear trickles down my face,
Brings back memories from all those days,
From midnight fights to your hollow race,
To get the best looking girl and show off your embrace.

Everyday is another bad dream,
Every hour is a fresh stream of tears,
Every minute is a decade without you,
Every second, a bundle of new fears..

I stare out of that window,
Will you ever come back?
Isn't it time already? Or is it too late?
It's been quite a while now, I've really lost track.

Reality seeps in like a bitter medicine,
I know you're gone and gone for good.
One day I will forgive and forget,
I know I will cause I know I should.

The shatter of dreams, wipes away the hopes,
Fades out all my illusions, one by one..
The sky is now a bitter gray,
My world crashes as I give up on the comfort of inception.

Karma.



As a estrogen charged human being who religiously PMSs every month, I just got one question to ask to all the men sniggering at different women at this moment, "Why?"
So what if she's wearing a short dress? Maybe she worked hard on that body and feels the need to flaunt it. Since when did the length of someone's dress start determining their accessibility?

Eve teasing. Molestation. Rape. Why? Because you're a man whose brain is down there?
It's pitiful that you doubt your manhood to such an extent that you need to exert force on a woman to feel proud about yourself.
It is also funny that you're so convinced that you'd never get the girl you want so you just force yourself on her.
And lastly, it is sickening that you think you can lay your hands on any woman and she'd whimper and obey.

If that's the way you treat a woman, your mother sure did a terrible job at getting you to respect her, and more importantly, a mistake by adding to the burden of the already over populated Earth by giving birth to you.

The man's world is drawing to an end. Your whim will now be at our mercy. Every woman will fight back and you will probably die of a shock of how strong a woman can be when she decides to.
But I hope that's not how your end draws. I hope you suffer every passing second and have a life full of regrets and sorrow.
A woman who can create a whole human being from within herself can just as easily destroy one.

You will eventually pay for every smirking eye you laid on a woman. For every comment that you passed. For every move that you made.

Cause honey, Karma is a bitch.


One can take you down, two can wipe you off.
.