2015 in review

The year 2015 didn’t really start on a great note. I got hurt, got my entire extended family hurt, and ended up feeling like the biggest fool on the planet. But then, I survived. Once I cut out the toxicity, I was able to quite magically recover, almost instantaneously.

Somewhere down the year, I learnt to smile again. Be myself again. Be funny, be loved, and be great at what I do for a living. I learnt to drive. Went for long drives by myself. Treated myself to a vacation with some amazing friends. Met new people. Made new friends.

A few months later, self-healing in the form of reiki reached me. What started off as a one-time, what’s the harm in trying project, has now become a permanent part of my life. The positivity, the ability to react to situations without getting too emotional, and to heal myself and heal others has been quite a life-changing experience.

And then I started running. With marathoners. Alongside passionate runners. Though it happened by pure chance, I got hooked. I loved the runs. I loved Cubbon Park in the mornings. The sweaty realizations. The calm determination to keep up with the others. The painful stretches afterward. I fell in love.

I moved out. I moved to a bigger, more beautiful place. Closer to work, but more importantly closer to peace. The quiet of the new place has instilled a new sense of peace within myself. A close friend is now a mother. A closer friend is well on her way to become one. I have become a proud aunt this year.

I have always wanted to see snow. I have grown tired waiting for someone who will take me there. And so I am going to the Himalayas. I have never gone on a vacation by myself, let alone an arduous trek. But by the end of 2015, I would have those two items crossed off my bucket list.

So, in conclusion, I would say the year turned out pretty amazing. Life remains beautiful.

I wonder

The finality of death scares me. It is like reading the last chapter of your favorite book. As it slams shut, so does your complete identity. What you liked, how you talked, who you hated, how you laughed.

You are just a mere reconstructed memory. Sometimes glorified, sometimes damned, but mostly forgotten.

Sometimes, I wonder how it would be if I knew you were slipping away to the other side of the rainbow.

Would I have kept up the promise of laying with you on a bed of grass, watching planes roar above our heads? Would I have talked about my dreams and your fears? Would I have not just laughed heartily at your jokes but also comforted you in your dread? Would I have given you a goodbye hug instead of a nonchalant wave, the last time we had dinner together? Would I have been more me if I had known you only had 10 more days here?   

I wonder.

Quest

You are not pretty. In a moment of weakness, when the masks come off, get a glimpse of your soul. Your very own selfish, ugly soul baring its teeth, threatening to take you down with it.

But that is the truth. You are ugly. You want to be loved. You want to be wanted. Your cry hoarse about rainbows and unicorns and burnt-orange sunsets. And then you turn away and start building those infamous walls around yourself. One brick a day.

Your pillow, damp with sweat and tears, stands testimony to how much cowardice you have dedicated your life to. All the times that might have been. All that intimacy, you would gladly trade for a lollipop. And all those dreams, rising up above you; finding better places to be realized.

Are you really that delusional? The invisible bear on your back has put on weight. Coiling under a blanket does not help anymore. Stop being such a mucking foron. And hope again for that whiff of passion. That dark lining on the silver sky. Those fruity kisses. The slow waltzes. And once again, those saccharine sweet summers. 

Inked

Getting a tattoo is just like going through a breakup. It is messy, painful, you lose blood and some sleep, but it is totally worth it!

Stage 1: The act

The minute the needle starts piercing through your skin, and you lose the first drop of blood, you begin to think if it is worth it at all.  And this is when the tattoo artist starts looking like a dopehead who will not hesitate to plunge his needle right through your heart if you make even a slight whimper.

Scissorhands will scissor your hand right off

Stage 2: Denial

The morning after I got inked, I woke up to a plasma-oozing kitty cat that was now permanently etched on my skin. Permanently. No looking back. I flipped so much and so hard, and my screams rattled the neighbourhood. And then the denial began – Maybe the ink won’t stay. Maybe it will run out.  Maybe my hand will be good as new the day after. Right? RIGHT? No.

Stage 3: Anger

In exactly 48 hours, your beautiful tattoo starts looking like this:

The kitty-gets-dipped-in-slime tattoo

Yes. Scabs form, it becomes itchy, the skin feels tight, and you would do anything to get that goddamn heavy feeling off your heart (and your wrist, in this case). I also wanted to kill Mr.J, my genius friend and tattoo-partner-in-crime for talking me into this!

It did not help that a trip home was scheduled around the same time. If my mother’s glares could kill, all of you would have been sitting across the fire singing Kumbaya for my peaceful passing.

Stage 4: Guilt

So the tattoo is there but it still does not belong to you. After the scabs fall off, a thin transparent layer of skin forms over the tattoo. In tattoo-lang, it is called the onion skin. This does not fall off until the Halley's Comet zips past the sky five times. And then the introspection begins: So, why did I do this to myself? What went wrong? Was the tattoo an overcompensation for my other failures? Does the tattoo really look like a cat? What the hell was I thinking? Do I even like cats? 

Stage 5: Depression

The onion skin just does not fall off. The ink looks faded. Your friends still scoff. WebMD makes life tougher with all those graphic articles about how chemical tattoo dye infections can result in possible amputation. And your hand still needs baby oil every couple of hours, to not look like King Joffery at the Purple Wedding.

My wrist could die a hundred times like this, and my onion skin would still be there!

Okay!! Maybe not that bad. But waiting for this piece of skin to fall off has been the longest wait of my life.

Stage 6: Sweet, sweet freedom :)

And just like that, one day you wake up to this beautiful tattoo, shiny again, beaming at you. 

Inked!

And despite the melodramatic and symbolic crumbling of life that was supposed to be explained through this post, all you have got to remember is that - it always comes back together! And just like that :) 

Can you breathe?

Emotions. Desires. Ambition. Expectation. Death.

And when death precedes them all. When you invite death. When you willingly submit yourself at the altar of everything that ends; how hopeless would you have felt?

How utterly devoid of hope? 

Imagine being locked inside a room. Just a dark room. No windows. No doors. No beginning and no end in sight. You could have called though. One call for help. 

How resolute did you feel when you hid in the bathroom and drank out of the bottle? And later when you cried in pain? And much later when your body started giving up? 

And when the doctors tried to puncture holes in your throat to help you breathe, did you want to fight? Did you regret your decision? Did you think of your favourite song? Did you think of all the great journeys we have had together?

Do you remember the time both of us almost got thrown out of the bus for being raucous? Do you remember the innumerable times you bailed us both out of trouble? Do you remember our long conversations on the sidewalk?

You, with your long hair and graceful eyes, mindful of the boys staring at us; yet dismissing them with a callous flick of your head. You were beautiful even without trying. Have I ever told you that?

You are gone now. Just like that. And I am trying to forget. To forget the shaky voice that told me you were dead.

But, your credit card bills are due. Your message on my phone still remains unanswered.

Can you breathe? I sure can’t.

Women’s Day

Yes I know.. Just another day for the men to get all self-righteous and post ‘Love all women like you love your mother and sister’ sort of messages on social media, and just another day for the women to.. well, gloat :) Not that I am complaining. But, this year, even though it has barely been 60 days, has taught me so many lessons that I feel compelled to share these learnings. So, here goes:

• Never apologise for who you are. You are what you are. You could be short, you could be tall. You could make heads turn with your outfit or falling down face first on a slippery floor. Either way, you rock the show.

• Never compromise when it comes to work. It might mean working on Saturdays and giving up your Friday movie nights with your girlfriends. But, it is immensely satisfying. The high you get after a job done well is pretty much incomparable.

• Learn to let go. Some things are just not worth holding a grudge against. Most of the times they are not even that important.

• It is ok to feel angry. There have been days I have stormed out of my house, because the omelette on my tava did not behave. And that’s fine. Who says you need to be on your best behaviour every single day? Go on, be a grumpy cat one day.

•  Always help a friend in need. Not to mention the karma points, but you gotta give some to get some.

• Clean. Clean your cupboard. Clean your house. Dust the TV. Wipe the mirror. Yes, it is a stereotype, but it is cathartic. Isn’t it liberating to break away from the shackles of living with an empty chips bag under your bed?

• And here comes the big one: It is OKAY to listen to Backstreet Boys. And to crush on Nick. And to wonder if AJ is still single.   Actually it is OKAY to listen any boy band that does not overdose on auto-tune. 

So, HAPPY women’s day! Try singing to the song and feel like a pro :) Gloat away ladies!  

Welcoming the New Year

2013 in review wouldn’t exactly be my favourite topic. Fall-outs, anger, angst, sadness, and rejection took their own time to slowly and dramatically change my life for the better. For the good half of the year, I had no faith in myself and was almost at the verge of settling for something that I knew wasn’t worth my time at all – professionally and personally. However, the miracle, in the form of an amazing job, taught me never, ever to second-guess my talents and never to give up.

The most important lesson I have learnt this year is to never limit myself. We often set so many invisible barriers around us and then wonder why our lives have become miserable. I have been told so many times not to get too comfortable with a city or take up a demanding job, simply because I would never know when I would have to ‘give it all up’ as I am at a ‘marriageable’ age.

So, this year, my dreams are sky-high. I want to adopt a cat, no matter what, this year. I want to learn to drive. I want to learn to swim. I want to read as many books as I can. I want to muster up enough courage to finally meet with a publishing house. Most importantly, I want to stop doing things I don’t care about anymore. So, here’s to a fantastic 2014.

Happy new year! 

That one time I almost died...

I have always taken travelling in a bus for granted – Hop in, curl up under the smelly blanket, and hope that the speed bumps on the road do not break your back. Until, I woke up dangling off a 20 ft elevated highway at 3 AM in the morning.

My dad, mom and I were on a temple trip to a nearby village in Tamil Nadu.  The sole intention of the trip was to bribe Lord Shiva enough and accelerate the process of finding a unicorn that wanted to marry me (being 26 and having dramatic ‘will we ever see grandkids’ type of parents is not easy, I tell you)

So, half the journey went without a hitch; until at about 2.30 AM in the wee hours of the morning, when the driver stopped the bus for the very crudely put ‘ladies toilet’ break. As the driver shook us awake and demanded that all the women go for their ‘onnu’ now or never, all of us groggily trooped out. The thinly veiled threat of not stopping for even ‘urgent’ matters, actually worked.

After settling back into the smelly blankets, the bus had barely moved for ten minutes, when it started doing a weird bumpy dance.  Like a bewildered rocking chair that went sideways instead of to and fro. This continued with increased intensity and frequency, until we heard the chilling sound of a window shatter and the bus screeched to a resounding halt.

You never realize how scary an accident can be, until you are in one.  You can see the world whirl outside, hear frantic horns, cries of surprise and shock, and feel every single bone of your body shake in fear.  Our bus, to avoid a collision with a lorry that had abruptly braked in the middle of the freaking highway, suddenly swerved and almost fell off a 20 ft elevation.

What actually happened

This left the driver, conductor, my dad, mom and I, almost dangling off the highway in the middle of the night.  As the tyres had sunk into the mud, the doors of the bus refused to open.  This is when the whole ‘we are OMFGodly trapped inside a bus that could blow up any minute’ tension started to grow. The conductor sensing an alarm (or probably just looking at my pale, resigned to death, face) broke open an emergency exit window at the back. All of us, in a Spidermanisque moment, jumped out of the window one by one.

Then, the wait began. Like some sort of displaced refugees, we stood with our baggage on the side of the highway, under the pouring rain for 40 whole minutes. There was real fear of other speeding vehicles splattering our brains, but somehow we survived. I just stood there, shaking like a leaf, amidst the heavy rains, the gloomy police patrol vans, and the reckless lorry driver (who had by then escaped) being called ‘eruma maadu’.

Our rescue bus finally arrived with flashy lights and a driver who had the smug ‘I think I just saved a bunch of idiots by the road’ look.  My mother, obviously traumatized, remarked that this was all ‘andha Shivan oda’ miracle.

Drenched, scared-shit, and stunned, I could only think – if this really was the Lord’s doing, then our Gods must be crazy!

Ship of Theseus - a rocky ride

If all organs in our body are replaced, do we still remain the same – asks the funny sidekick to his stock-market crazy boss towards the end of the movie. This offhanded and funny remark pretty much sums up what the actual Theseus paradox signifies. This movie is full of moments like this.

Mumbai comes alive on screen – sometimes in chaos and sometimes in deep, contemplative silence. Every frame is beautifully etched and echoes the gloom of reality. One scene stood out for me in particular – The photographer, who goes to a pristine mountain landscape, in desperate need of some inspiration, realizes that she does not find any. Her anguish is clearly reflected in the angry rivulet that gushes forth and in a moment of distress, when she loses the lenscover of her camera, your heart goes out to her.

Another very poignant scene is where the stock-market guy screams at his grandmother and says that happiness and compassion is all we need, while she argues that he still needs to experience a wider range of emotions. At this juncture, all of us are torn because we agree with the guy and with the grandmother too.

What I really respect about the movie is that it does not try to milk your tears dry with its overt sentimentality. There are no scenes of animals being tortured endlessly, and no unnecessary footage of the diseased monk frothing at his mouth.

The movie challenges several notions about life, art, and religion. Is the photographer’s creativity worth more than life-saving vision? Can the monk ever make peace with the fact that he is alive at the cost of torturing several animals? Can the stock broker finally grasp what his grandmother meant by ‘this is as good as it gets’?

Kiran Rao's 'Dhobi Ghat' left me thinking 'too wannabe arthouse', but this hits the nail right on. So, do watch the movie and be prepared to leave the hall feeling unsettled.

Failure

There are a few days when you feel like a complete moron for asking inane questions at workplace.  Over the last few years, I have come to realize that it is okay to feel that way. It is okay to ask stupid questions. It is okay if you get judgmental looks for sounding so dumb. It is okay to be rejected. It is okay to feel worthless. And it is perfectly okay to fall face first. Because, if you stop failing, you stop learning. If you stop feeling worthless, you will never be able to push yourself. If you do not cry, you can never appreciate the happy times.

Today, I begin to feel stupid. Today, I begin learning. Once again.

RIP

A very young David

'David' was not the quintessential sweet ball of furry love. He was a selfish brat, an attention seeker and an awfully loud cat. He loved curling up on freshly laundered clothes, learnt how to switch on the AC, and wake us up exactly at 4 AM in the morning. He ate only pedigree cat food, was badly behaved and always slept on the dining table chairs. But, he was still our 'poocha' and shall be sorely missed. RIP David. You were the best.

Nap time with other kittens in the house

‘Sole’ searching at Kabbaladurga

As cheesy as it might sound, a close brush with death is all it takes to get a good look at yourself. While calling it a near-death experience would be an exaggeration, moonlight trekking and rock climbing at Kabbaladurga was definitely a close shave.

Armed with just a couple of energy drinks, water, and torch lights, Ice and I were a picture of calm on the way to this beautiful hill. There were 12 others in the van, who didn't know each other and were a part of this night-trek organised by the Bangalore Mountaineering Club. Listening to awful music and animatedly discussing ‘Game of Thrones’, we had no idea what we were getting into, until five minutes into the trek.

The night had set in and we could barely see anything beyond what the torch lights offered meekly. The two BMC volunteers warned us to keep our voices low, so as to not attract local wildlife. While my eyeballs popped out at the casual mention of cheetahs, Ice had already started hyper-ventilating.

The initial stretch was easy - Just a few rocks, plain land, and some water bodies to jump across. In exactly five minutes, as the foliage ended and the pitch-dark sky was visible again, we got our first glimpse of this massive monolith we were about to conquer. 

The sheer rock face was intimidating but we trudged along. One after the other, like ants, literally and figuratively. For the next twenty minutes, we scaled solid rocks, holding on to whatever we could, to maintain grip. After we climbed over the last ledge, we could, for the first time, see the dangerously steep and smooth terrain we had to cross to get to the top of the mountain.

There were tiny steps carved into the rock at some places. Slowly balancing the sleeping bag and the backpack, and also carrying the torch light, we made our way up. At some places, there were only rusty railings that we could hold on to. At other places, there were no railings or steps, and we just had to be sure-footed. By this time, most of us had lost the confidence we started out with. The intensity had taken its toll on us. One girl just sat down after scaling the insanely dangerous railings stretch, and refused to go ahead. Ice started talking, even more than usual, and I could sense that she was panicking. I was quiet. Just eerily quiet and kept staring straight ahead stonily. At this point, I remember thinking that if I ever did get back home alive and safe, I would live my life like I never have. No compromises, no settling down until I felt like, and no more crappy jobs.

As luck would have it, as I was getting up from a quick five-minute break, a part of my sole just ripped itself off the shoe. With another 30 minutes of rock climbing left, I sent a quick prayer upward, and desperately hoped that the sole wouldn't come out completely. Finally, after some more huffing and puffing, Ice and I were among the first ones to reach the top. It took me about a minute to realize that I had done it.

Spreading out our sleeping bags and feeling elated, all of us stared into the sky, hoping that the stars would lull us into a few hours of well-deserved sleep. Again, little did we know, cosied up in our sleeping bags, that the climb down would prove to be ten times more dangerous.

At 5.30 AM we started trekking downhill. My soles were completely worn out, and I just hoped that I wouldn't slip. Because, we climbed during the night, the abruptness of the incline did not matter too much. But, while descending, all of us could clearly see how a single slip could prove to be a fatal mistake. At particularly steep rock faces, we even bum-shuffled like babies to avoid tumbling down.

If climbing up that railings stretch was difficult, the descent was possibly even more treacherous. At places where were there were no railings, a single wrong step could have resulted in a sickening Varsha shower of brains, bones, and blood, across the peaceful Kabbala town. We were literally scaling the side of a mountain that barely had any solid footing, and exactly there, Ice started screaming . She had sat down by mistake and she could feel herself slipping slowly. While I put my hand out to hold hers, I knew I couldn't do much, because I didn't have a proper footing and being feather-weight is not exactly great help.

Finally, after screaming for a while, a fellow trekker rescued Ice valiantly, while she blushed bright red. Both of us had hung on to our lives by a thread and had come out perfectly safe. The fifteen minutes of trek after that was something I don’t remember, because I was just so glad that I was nearing the bottom of the hill. The sight of Ice, with her torn T-shirt, scurrying ahead, like a kitten happy after being rescued, was also very strangely comforting.

Only after the van, which took us back to the safety of Bangalore, started moving, did I realize I had bruises all over. My knees were swollen, my hands were sore, I couldn't feel my shoulders, and I looked like I could pass out any minute.

Then, with our bruises, worn-out soles, and torn T-shirts, we grinned widely to each other and said ‘We are totally doing this again next month’.

I don't

Yesterday, for the first time in 25 years, I was judged for who I am not. I was forced to be apologetic for who I am. I was expected to hang my head in shame for doing something that kept my conscience in the clear. I was hated for standing my ground. I was not loved any more for actually making something of myself instead of sitting inside kitchens. And I resent it. I completely resent it. If this is what it takes to 'settle down' and actually 'start living', then maybe it is not worth it. Do I really need a 'social event' to validate my success or show to the world how happy I am? I don't. 

Thupakki – give me a break!

You do not go into a Vijay movie expecting a complex plotline and some intense performances – You go for eight songs (two shot in Switzerland), four fights and anti-climax/climax scenes. Thupakki, while of course entertaining, takes clichés to another level altogether.

First twenty minutes – the hero’s ‘better than gold’ image is re-iterated. He works for the Army, and in case you did not get that, he comes home in his uniform, even when he is on a vacation. Despite being in the Army and getting brain-fried every single day, he gathers enough energy to do a hero-introduction number (in a banian) and cheer fellow Army men. Then, he meets a girl in a traditional ‘ponnu-pakkal’ ceremony , but decides that their ‘tastes’ do not match, within five seconds of seeing her.

But, of course there comes a completely unexpected twist – he meets her again!! How the hell do people run into the same people over and over again? I have run into exactly ten people in my entire life. After some facepalm jokes and the girl re-establishing her pristine, virginal image, he falls for her. Mumbai girl in shorts, who has never kissed/touched another man, never smoked, and has had just one sip of ‘vodka’ -  totally convinced.

Then, there is a muslim terrorist, one sidekick policeman who is a goof-up, and loving family who does not know that Vijay is not just an Army man but also a secret intelligence agent – oh holy mother of all surprises. Terrorists in this movie do not believe in codes. They message like friends. ‘Activate Plan B’ ’when are the guns coming’ ‘all ok with blasts?’ and just so that we understand that they are using private numbers , each time the head terrorist (who btw is really hot) calls his juniors, ‘Non-trackable number’ flashes on the cellphone screens.

Terrorists are more subtle, have excellent deduction powers and have better plans in the movie. Vijay and his group of minions on the other hand, wear suits, stand in the middle of crowded areas, point and loudly say to each other ‘shoot him’ ‘follow him’. Totally discreet secret agents. The climax is another 20 long minutes of facepalmery.

Hot terrorist asks for last wish before killing Vijay, and the hero demands that he be beaten to death. An ego-filled terrorist then removes Vijay’s handcuffs and beats him black and blue. Then, when you are getting ready to cry your eyes out and leave the theatre thinking this is the end of world – a completely out-of-world twist comes. Vijay self-repairs his body. His face, going through several mini-orgasms, erm spasms, helps the rest of the body repair broken bones automatically. Then, of course hero saves the world from terrorist attacks. End of story.

Oh, hell no! What’s a climax without melodrama? All Army men leave together, back to Kashmir.  People are seen crying, newly-wed Army men hugging wives, newborn babies tugging at their daddy’s shirts for one last time, and more such gut-wrenching scenes. At this point, my friend said ‘Are they going to Hogwarts? Same train they come in, same train they go back in?’

I rest my case.

A b'lore night

Bangalore is beautiful at night. Minus the noise, minus the chaos, minus the confusion – Bangalore is beautiful at night. As my work cab trudges along seamlessly along the smooth roads, there are so many sights and sounds to behold. The man with his midnight-foodstall hoping for one last customer before he can shut shop, men and women who come out of their office for a  smoke-break, a lone couple holding hands, and the doggies on the street gearing up for gang wars.

Flickering street lamps, orange traffic lights, cruising cars that make the most use of empty roads, near-empty bus stands, twinkling temple bulbs, a lone Bollywood number playing on a TV set somewhere,  a pressure cooker whistle, and a howling dog.

Massive trucks that honk endlessly,  a sad ambulance without its siren,  a man taking his dog for a walk, pungent smell of garbage, a hotel kitchen prepping for the morning, scavenging birds,  a lone cow, and distant laughter.

There is hope for a better tomorrow. There is joy in the night that is ending. There is peace on the quiet roads. It makes you feel all alone. And somehow, it is not too bad. Bangalore is beautiful at night. 

Do not speak the truth

I was reminded of these lines that I learnt in my sixth standard Sanskrit lessons a few days ago:

satyam brūyat_priyam brūyan_na brūyāt_satyam_apriyam ।

priyam cha nānṛitam brūyādéṣha dharmaḥ sanātanaḥ

Manu talks about Sanatana Dharma in the verse. The translation ' Say what is true, say what is sweet, but do not say what is true but not sweet, nor say what is sweet but not true. This is the perennial wisdom.' (courtesy: blog.practicalsanskrit.com)

In essence, he says do not speak harsh truths or (more dangerous) sweet lies. This knowledge was imparted by my teacher, when I was very young, and too naive to grasp what it actually embodied. However, the verse stuck on to me and I have followed this philosophy all my life.

What is truth? It's purpose is not merely to set the speaker free, but also to empower the listener. If a truth is being said just to clear the speaker's conscience, but adds absolutely no value to the listener, or goes to the extent of hurting them, then it should not be told.

For instance, let's assume that a friend, after saving up some money from his first job, buys you a gift, which you do not particularly like, what would you do? You could either bluntly state the truth and say that you did not like the gift, or choose to say nothing at all, and accept it graciously. Here, the gift is not just a mere material indulgence, it has a strong emotional undertone because it has been brought out of love. It has been chosen carefully and has been given to you with respect and love. In such a case, the truth becomes obsolete. If you still chose to speak the truth, then it is equivalent to using the truth as a tool to satisfy a very selfish purpose – putting your mind at ease.

Truth is powerful. It can set you free sometimes, but it can also shatter the world around you. I believe you can brutally honest to yourself and to others too,  as long as your truth does not harm them. Once, I was travelling to a friend's place for dinner. She had come all the way from the UK and was calling a select group of friends for some dinner at home. She had started cooking for all of us as soon as she had woken up that day and even kept text messaging her attempts at making dinner. In short, she was excited to have us over. However, I reached late because I started late and as a result got caught in the traffic jam. Now, when asked why I had reached so late, I could have said 'I started late' or 'I got caught in traffic'. While the first one is the truth, the second reason is partially a white lie. 

If I told her that I had started late, it would be truthful. It would set me free. It would help me enjoy the rest of the evening, but it would upset her. It would amount to her thinking that she was cooking for someone who did not even appreciate her time (which was never true). It would ruin her end of the evening. In such cases, does it really make sense for a person to know the truth? It does not do her good, it does not do anyone good - it probably teaches me to start ten minutes early next time I go to her house.  So, doesn't it make sense for me to hide under the white lie and keep everyone happy? 

So, each time I want to pass a comment on what I really think of a shirt someone is wearing, on why a friend is holding onto the past, on why a certain idea will never work out - I think. I think several times. Will speaking the truth help the person in the smallest way possible? If not, I do not shy away from saying a white lie and repeating it, if happiness is the solace the person is seeking.

In fond memory..

It has been a year already. And Syed continues to inspire us to do wonderful things that we never thought we would. His close friend and an equally wonderful person, Sathya, painstakingly organized a trip to an NGO called 'The Child' that takes care of orphans and underprivileged children. With the money raised, the children received white boards with markers, school uniforms, and lunch for two days. The home also received money to purchase a 2ft land. 

Thanks Sathya for the efforts taken. Thank you for making all of us a part of this wonderful initiative. There is surely no better way to remember a person as wonderful and unbelievable as Syed.

For those you want to contribute, here is the link of the NGO's website.   They also accept online donations. http://www.thechild.co.in/

‘Barf’i

Honestly, after all those ‘oh so wonderful’ reviews on the internet, I did expect the famed ‘mental’ act by PC and RK. But, No. The movie becomes more unbearable because it tries too hard to be sweet and rosy.  

The movie opens with a heavily ‘inspired’ Charlie Chaplinsque routine, which has Barfi trying to escape from a fat policeman. Of course, Ileana, the Bengali babhi, becomes a convincing Bengali with a big bindi, cotton saree, and a deer in front of headlights look (very original).  She continues to look surprised for the next fifteen hours of the movie.

Ranbir and his statuary warning are the cutest couple in the movie. They travel together everywhere and honestly they deserve an award for sticking together the whole time. Most of the things he does in the movie could actually get you behind bars in real life. But, No. When Ranbir does it, even the policeman laughs it off. He sabotages a public clock, that probably has heritage value. He breaks into a house. He kidnaps a girl. He also drugs a policeman. But, thanks to his life-saving (and cutesy) skills of eating watermelons, he escapes to Kolkata, with a mentally-challenged girl, arousing absolutely no suspicion on the way.  And as easy as it sounds, he finds a place to rent and a job by the time the three minute song is over.

PC is very surprisingly convincing. But, she also is not without stereotypes.  Ungainly shoes, weird haircut, deliberately cross-eyed – oh so totally ‘mental’. Not to sound insensitive, but I have in my lifetime observed and worked closely with so many people with disabilities – physical and mental. And not all of them point and make funny noises. Not all of them have a crystal ball that they gaze into thoughtfully.

I almost forgot the part where Barfi and Jhilmil find time to kill glowworms and blow bubbles in a forest. The glowworm torture chamber hoop is finally discovered by the policeman, who automatically makes the connect to Barfi. Yes, just one hoop exists in Darjeeling and it belongs to the deaf and dumb person in town. No shit Sherlock!

PC mostly gets kidnapped again and again in the movie, and each time she disappears, her father, a popular villain in Kolly/tollywood, or rather her father’s reflection on a window pane appears. The reflection father mumbles something incorrigible in Hindi and then a comic (!) sequence involving both the lead actors ensues.

The music is one of the best things about the movie. It completely uplifts the movie and adds beauty to the visuals. The climax is probably the only part where the entire theatre groaned in unison. The whole couple-in-love dying together sentiment is the quintessential climax in any south Indian masala movie (TR’s veerasamy included).

Overall verdict: Works in parts. Has a lot of funny jokes. But, zero points for handling disability in the most clichéd manner ever.  #notimpressed

I will remember you..

I still remember the first time I heard this song. Sitting quietly on the backseat of a car, overcome with so much emotion, and fighting away tears that were threatening to spill out.

As I struggled to look out of the window, to listen to the sounds outside, watch people pass by, anything but listen to this soulful music, anything to prolong bursting out into tears …

A  strong hand reached out.

A gentle yet firm hand clasped mine, entwining my feeble fingers, trying to invigorate and renew my hope. I resisted  the move first, but in my desperate need,  for a companion who understood and enjoyed the song as much as I did, I surrendered.

I surrendered to the music, to the hand, to the moment – and for a few minutes, I thought the music would last forever. Or did I think the hand I was holding on to, with my dear life, would remain forever?

The song was over in a couple of minutes, the loving hand stayed on for a while…

And then the music ended.

Silver jubilee celebrations

I know I am a bit too old to be talking about birthday celebrations, but who cares, I just turned 25 :) 

I am officially over the hill and my folks might soon give up their quest for finding my knight in shining armour :) I am closer to 26, and eventually closer to 30 too! 

I know this is just another day and just another year, but when the clock struck 12 and I looked around, all I could see were faces that meant the world to me. I still haven't figured out what I want to do, I have made a  lot of mistakes in choosing jobs, I still have to save up tons of money, but if there is one thing I have done right in all these 25 years, it is making the right friends.

Cheers!