Growing up– if I ever needed some extra money - say a thousand bucks – I
had a one point program. I’d simply walk up to my dad, with a make belief
excuse (you know like a science project/ notes photocopying/ guitar classes/
web designing course etc etc) and ask him for an irritating figure of 773
bucks. This was my golden card. I knew Dad would never bother to come up with
the exact amount and would end up rounding it to a neat 1000. Plus, I don’t
know why, but I was totally convinced that coming up with a random odd figure
such as 743 or 635 – made me sound very genuine. You know, like this is the
exact amount I need but if you end up rounding up because you are too lazy to
come up with an even (or, should I say odd) 773 – it’s not
my fault! I was a smartass, I tell you. But my theorem used to take a serious hike- if I were to take money from
So when Tal, a fellow blogger and one of my most favorite people on the blogging circles asked me to do a guest-post for her (no, she wasn't drunk okay) - I was more than happy to say yes and lap it up.
Albert – He was my classmate. I was all of five and his
accented hindi and pretty blue eyes
were more than enough for me to share my lunch with him and rescue him from the
big bullies in the class. But long before I realised a year flew by and Albert
flew back to England.
Status – I lost him.
P.S. I don’t remember his full name but I do sincerely hope
that someday he becomes famous and I look him up the wikepedia and they say
that his early childhood was spent in India. That’d be my first cue!
Nancy – My imaginary best friend in class 4. And Surprise! Surprise!
She was a British National too. She was very pretty, popular and spoke with an
accent. But soon before I knew my colonial hangover subsided and she had to
leave (as imaginary friends can be that way sometimes.)
Status – I lost her
Mrs Gauri– My 5th
grade English teacher- now I was never the brightest of the bulbs in my class- neither
did I fit in too well- it was a new school for me. And I am sure you know how
dreadful new schools can be? But she was the first teacher who made me realise
what it was like to be liked by a teacher. Unlike other classes – for example
Maths (which I dreaded more than a chipkali)
– I always looked forward to her class. She left such an impact on me – that till
date even though I don’t remember much else from 5th grade. I do
remember her – and I miss her. Her husband served in the Indian Army and a year
later she left too.
Status- I lost her.
Bijli – My actual best friend –I
call her bijli because when we were together we were like a thunderstrike –
only she was the light and I was the sound (always late and not that welcome) –
she bedazzled everyone and I went by unnoticed. In short she was the pretty one
and I was the one who people made friends with to get to the pretty girl. Well,
that never really affected our friendship as such for I had made peace with it subconsciously
even before I was mature enough to even realise it for myself. The first
setback to our friendship was when a teeny tiny sliver of attention paved its
way past the phenomenon called bijli- and came to me. Things were never the same again - only because I had managed to steal her thunder.
Status- she lost me.
Abc -Another best friend - A pretty Bong babe who hailed from Kolkata -she was dusky and had mysterious eyes - She must have been a year or
two older than me. I met her on a swing set in the local doctor’s compound.I
was there because mom had to collect some medicines for my nani and she was there because somebody in her family was suffering
And I remember this part distinctly because I didn’t know what
depression was and she had to explain it to me over and over again and it still
hadn’t made much sense to me. Anyway what did we kids know about depression? And
we ended up being friends – or so I believed- what I didn’t know back then was
that besides giving me the verbal definition of depression abc was going to give me my the first practical
on it too. And a decade and more down the line I made the mistake of introducing her to
a guy I really really liked and rest they say is history (you are welcome to
read between the lines by the way).
Status – she lost me.
MTL (My true love)- Corny right?
Relax and be thankful I am not calling him my soulmate ;-) I have not been
incredibly lucky love wise either. But this one person changed my whole world-
nothing else mattered to me- as long as I knew that he was by my side- like
everyone else we too had grand plans for future and stuff- I read his horoscope
before mine but what did I know that God was still holding his magnifying glass
and I was still his favourite ant. Despite the true love and all – it ended.
Sometimes I shouted, sometimes I
onetime he cheated, onetime I
We both once made tall claims
But in the end - our love
Status- we lost each other.
I did not mean to bitch – I did not mean to hurt anyone – I just meant to let it out as I have never once spoken about it before.
(for despite whatever happened- these were the most powerful impacts in my life and I don’t think I’d ever forget any one of these people come what may- I know I highlighted the bad stuff first in some cases – but THAT STILL DOES NOT CHANGE THE FACT THAT THESE PEOPLE HAVE GIVEN ME SOME OF THE BEST MEMORIES OF MY LIFE- and if not for them my life could have been pretty- very – dull. I loved them truly and I know at times they did too – it just did not last L but things happen and we move on.. So it was not my intention to take any one of them on a guilt-trip. These are all wonderful people and I know that sometimes they miss me too!)
This post is strictly and only about the commoners.
Ever since Nirbhaya, the gang rape victim, left us for a
better world I have been on the lookout for some sort of a shift in the societal
paradigm regarding women and the general attitude towards them. And it may be too soon to speak but I am sensing a change. I can’t speak for rest of the
country but I feel somewhat elated to tell you that Chandigarh and the tri-city
area sure seem to have learnt a lesson or two.
My friend dvd is new in town and is house hunting – and as
many of you may already know, I did a lot of house hunting myself last year –
so when dvd asked for help I was more than happy to pass on my wisdom –aka The
Butt theory – to him.
That no matter what
every house on the list will have a but now
the only thing we have to see is which of these butts you can put up with.
“What?” he asked confused.
“You’ll know,” I smiled, condescendingly – and here’s how we
spent our day one of house hunting -
·House no.1 -
Three bedrooms – fully furnished –
AC- Double bed- Fridge- Microwave- Cooking Gas- wifi –“Promise me you won’t get
a girl in this house – abhi ke abhi promise karo mujhko.” Now it’s not that dvd
is Hugh Hefner – and would have playmates over all the time -but yes, let’s give him some credit –
he can manage to bring a friend or two home for a party or general merriment
type things. Poor dvd – looked at me for help – by now uncle ji had placed both his hands in his
hands and was fully pressuring him to succumb to the sanctity of the oath and
only thing missing from this bollywood court room drama scene was the Bhagwat
Geeta. We ran for life.
O holy brother have mercy on me– for I live in the land of the demented.
“She should have
taken God’s name and held the hand of one of the men (rapists) and said, ‘I
consider you as my brother and said to the other two, ‘Brother I am helpless
you are my brother, my religious brother.’”
And while we are at it brother (wink wink)– How about you
also sign up for the daily dose of “shit gyan”
straight from Shri Asaram himself – it’s for free - Muft! Muft! Muft! You can also like us on facebook by the way!
I know what must you be thinking? Just two days ago she was
whining about not wanting to get married and here she is worried sick about her
future children. But don’t blame me. After all I am a Piscean, that too a woman
and the ground reality, my friend, is that “WE THINK” and more often than not
we can’t keep shut either.
So, I am in the kitchen - my sleeves rolled up - kneading
the dough – which by the way is my least favourite activity of the day.
degrees outside – I am super cold and my unruly hair strands are coming in the
way but I am afraid not to tuck them back lest I get some
flour stuck in my hair. So I am continuing the kneading just like that – even though I am
really uncomfortable and pretty irritated – and this is when my mom decides to give me a call. Since both my hands are super occupied I let it ring and decide to call
her back as and when I am done with the atta.
But Mom is not able to comprehend my helpless situation and decides to call me
yet again- for the second time.
Now I know such is
the sorry state of things in our dear country that if I let two of her calls go
unanswered in a row – SHE WOULD FREAK.
“Hi amma,” I reply
in a state of complete surrender, helplessly fumbling with my phone in order to
set the speaker mode on.
“What hi,” snaps mom, “say Namaste."
“Oho! Mumma,” I reply
irritated, “I really don’t have time for this yaar.”
“What is this yaar? Look
at the way you speak...."
“acha, I am sorry,
what is it?”, I try cutting our heart to heart short – so that we get to
“When do you think you will get married?” surprisingly
enough she cuts it really really short
(my mother, ladies and gentlemen.)
“Roma aunty was here
Oh-no! Not again – I let out a cry – This can mean only one
thing – mom must have had a fresh dose of “societal attyachar” and now it is her turn to pass on the burden on to me – the
Now a thing or two about Roma aunty before I proceed any further – she is the self proclaimed bharat matrimony.com of our clan and even at the risk of
knowing that this post is not going to go down too well with a certain
people/cousins whatever I am not going to refrain from saying that she derives
some kind of sadistic pleasure watching my parents get uneasy.
And she does it
in a very innocent way too.
“flane di kudi got
married,” she’d start sharing her saucy anecdotes even before she steps foot in
the house. Knowing fully well, how it is going to affect my parents, especially
And, my poor mom, falls prey to this every time she visits –
which in turn means the oh-so-famous “there-is-a-proper-time-and-age
–to-get-married” lecture for me three times a day and 21 times a week.
Dear Roma Aunty,
Please let me be – oh no, let me rephrase- please let my
poor parents be! I can take you with both hands tied but they are harmless
people who don’t deserve this torture from you. Now, I know you are thinking
that you only want my well being and wish eternal bliss for me.
But let’s take
care of just my career first and shall I get married I will hold on to your
card. But until then go spread joy some place else – not my home.
It was one of those days when you decide not to dress up for
class (the very famous I –dont-have-to-impress-anyone-
so-i-am-going-to-look-like-a-patato mode) and then you end up bumping into the
cutest guy in college. (Who, by the way- never, I repeat, never shows up for
the classes otherwise.)
You are wearing an old pair of denims – so old that they are
literally pleading for retirement and your white top- well to say the least-
it’s not white anymore- it's creamish yellow and its best days are behind it.
However, icing on top of this
three tired cake of a situation is that ----- because you were in such a hurry that
morning----- all you could manage from the huge pile of clothes that once was your closet was a pair of mismatching socks. So you can’t even run and hide as
soon as you spot Mr.Cute-pants lest your secret is revealed. You know- the
secret of one pink and one green sock.
So all you can anyway do is walk gracefully – well, whatever
grace that you can muster at such short notice- and keep walking until you are a
teeny tiny dot to him.
Anyway so you get the picture, right? It was an awful day.
I couldn’t feel any less sexy about myself and to make
matters worse my best friend was looking like a total pataka – which means bombshell by the way. (My apologies for the terminology but what to do I can’t find a better suiting word.)
So anyway with
my face hung low I was sitting at the Library – yeah, because there was no
better hideout- not because I am such a scholar.
That is where I met E - this guy who appeared from nowhere - with some pamphlet about Montreal Protocol in his hand.
‘What?’ I made a face, last thing I wanted was to increase
myprotocol gyan by some geeky chump. The college hunk had literally passed through
me – he had not even acknowledged me and here I was stuck with some chashmish – I wanted to die.
‘Read it whenever you feel like,’ he smiled, and left me
I didn’t even bother to look at the pamphlet for a good one
hour – it was only when I was about to get up that I realised there was
something hand written on the back of the pamphlet. It was a poem and a
beautiful one at that. Not because it was a literary genius – but because it
was written for me. Somebody had taken out time for me. I welled up right that
Cool Handwriting, no?
After that I tried spotting E in the library but could not locate him there
... rushed out of the library but couldn’t see him there too.. ...and I have
been looking since that day... to no avail...
If ever you read this - Thank you E for making me feel
sooooooo special and also I am so Sorry that I couldn’t return the gesture.