Wednesday, 26 December 2012
Thursday, 13 December 2012
The magic word while dealing with autowallahs is confidence... they can smell fear... so when they ask for 80 and you plan on paying 60, the answer is a super confident :
"80 KYUUUUUU? 60 mein jaatein hain roz... ."
No batting eyelids, no shaky voice. Act as if there's a fleet of BMW's waiting for you and you are doing him a HUGE favour by choosing this mode of transport. (Don't be foolish enough to try this after dark, when you are stranded with limited transport options! )
Also the metro here is disconcerting, intimidating but not frightening... if you can read that is... everything is clearly labelled, so don't go asking for info from suspicious looking stupid people who will give you the wrong info very confidently, instead if you really want to ask... ask young student-like fellows... they know their stuff and are usually helpful. The first compartment is reserved for ladies and be prepared to get elbowed more in that compartment. Somehow ladies in the ladies compartment feel that now since they are in familiar territory they can poke around... it's cute...like the familiarity between lovers who make a pashbaalish out of each other's well-endowed legs. And the ladies are fun to watch, there are aunties dressed as 18-year-olds, there are office going well-groomed ones who eat cream-cracker biscuits and touch up their makeup, and there are kids... I shall stop right there.
You know God is kind when you expect to be bossed around at work and instead you are blessed with extremely nice seniors.
I think people in this city have their own warehouse where they dump their winter clothes in summer... where else will one keep all this junk? Don't ask me about colder countries... I have no clue how they manage.
And staying at a relative's place can be quite entertaining...from feeding crows on auspicious days, to offering water to the moon...it's a nice live show. I still haven't had to face the PG drama and though things are not exactly as home, at times you gotta be thankful that you don't have to worry about a nice meal when you get back and that someone will care enough to buy a Corex syrup when you have a cough. I shall enjoy this luxury while it lasts.
And now the blanket beckons.
Saturday, 3 November 2012
But there are few individuals who scare me. Within two hours, they almost damage my ability to think straight for the next twenty-four. Now we all have some relatives who are self-appointed career and relationship consultants, offering advice at an alarming rate. This gentleman I will now talk about belongs to that category but transcends it. In the guise of giving me advice he talks about himself and his daughter.
He asks me what I intend to do. This is where things get difficult as my intentions don't always make sense to them. He asks me the "scope" of my chosen profession. I stare back not knowing what he means by the word scope. Then he proceeds to explain what he means.
What does an editor do? (Of course he assumes I am one. Which I am not. Yet.) So I explain. He then asks "Why will any author except a new one listen to what an editor says?" I try to explain that editors are not superior mortals trying to make everyone listen to them. They try to do what's best for a book. He nods.
Then it dawns upon him that I am not one. So he asks whether what I am saying is based on assumption or facts. I have forgotten my reply.
He then proceeds to express his view that this is a "behind-the-scene" job and asks me why have I not chosen one in which I can be "on the stage". The metaphor is quite lost on me. My mind drifts to the time I played the Shojaru in Ha ja ba ra la. Anyway, realising that it is a metaphorical stage, I say not everyone wants the same thing in life.
Then he comes to the point. The point that has been the most annoying part of any conversation that involved me for the past few months. Since I have cleared the entrance exam for college lectureship and I can get a scholarship for further studies if I get into any research program it is a great puzzle why am I not doing that. 'Why am I not doing what?' I ask. Appearing for interviews, applying for a Ph.D etc. I say I don't want to teach right now. Also, that I don't have a proposal for research. Except that I don't say it bluntly, I ask "Who will write the proposal?" The sarcasm is lost on him. He replies "no one writes it for anyone." Thank god he told me!
Anyway he tells me that proposals don't just happen, one has to go very deep into the subject and discuss ideas. He talks non-stop for a few minutes. My I-am-a-patient-woman expression is almost giving way to an I-am-a-patient one, when he stops. Stops to tell us that his daughter's IQ is above average and that he is known by everyone in his para, from rickshaw wallahs to vegetable sellers. Then he returns to his favourite topic. Me.
"I am not discouraging you," he begins, and tells me that this line has no safety and security. I say I can't teach now, because I need to sleep at night. His wife, so long busy serving refreshments, gets offended and asks why do I think teachers don't sleep at night. I hurriedly explain that I meant if I don't do something that I really want to do, I won't sleep at night. ( All this is extremely ironical because I am a chronic insomniac, but they don't need to know that.)
Then to highlight the insecurity of this line, the gentleman entertains us with the tale of a journalist who headed a respected newspaper few years ago and is now the head of a recently launched daily which is not that great. I wonder what line he was talking about when he comes to my rescue and explains - this media line. With great emphasis on media in the way people talk about escorts, brothels and stuff. I don't even bother to explain that I am not in that media line. I am too busy eating an egg-roll - the only saving grace of the evening.
These paragraphs obviously represent an edited version of what happened.
Am I overreacting? I am sorry if you think so. Though I agree I need to be more indifferent because at the end of it all, these people don't matter.
No, I do not come from a house which has not allowed me to do what I want. I have done exactly what I want, at every step of my life. My parents have never objected. So have many of my friends. But it has not been easy. I know some did not even have this luxury and face more serious challenges. But I can't speak for them. I know parents and relatives want the best for us. I do not question their intention. But what they think is best for us might not be what we want.
They have spent huge amounts bringing us up, have given us the best that they could in terms of education and I'd like to believe that the more responsible among us, keep that in mind. ( Some don't. Like the ones buying 5 phones in a year. I am not talking about them.) Their investment is not only financial, they invest time, perhaps the best time of their lives, and also I can't begin to talk about the emotional investment. However, that, and that alone does not give them the right to dictate how we live our lives. Safety, security and status (of how I hate that fucking word) are relative.
So dear would-be parents, if you want to treat your yet-to-be-born kid as a mutual fund that must provide a high return on investment, then take my advice and invest in a high-quality condom.
Saturday, 20 October 2012
I have watched many, many, many episodes of Grey's Anatomy. What is that you ask? My dear intellectual friend, kindly bring a paper and pencil. Good. Now draw four, or five or may be six dots. Name the central dot - 'meredith' , name the most shapely, adorable dot 'Shepherd', others don't even bother. Now draw lines. Lines connecting the dots. Lines hovering around the dots. One line passing through three dots, making triangles etc. Now over the lines write "sleeps with", "dies", "marries", and "has a baby" ... you now have a blueprint of the plot. But it's still very watchable. Don't you dare judge me.
As usual I have digressed, what I really wanted to say was, that I feel like a surgeon and I shall analyze the syndrome of thakur dyakha. No one actually sees the Goddesss, which in some places is a 15 inch thingy worshipped by a puroot (I spell it this way, since it rhymes with churoot, and I always imagine the former with smoke coming out of their orifices) . So the Goddess that symbolizes this Divine power, exists as a schizophrenic entity- the gigantic one to enthrall us, and the tiny one, worshipped by the puroot. Then we go about messing with our Pujor chuti and do more hectic stuff than we do on non-chuti days. Pujo-madness, pujo-frenzy, pujor-jama, pujor-egg-roll ... all to lull us into the comfort of believing that we are very sane people who don't shop all the year round, people who don't touch junk food at all etc. Baudrillard baby would have had a field day with us. We would be like field rats in his lab.
There are species like me, who are very enthusiastic as long as they are well-fed, not feeling pee/poop/puke-ish and not experiencing any leg ache trauma. Then there are species like my father, who are self-proclaimed nastiks (atheists), yet will visit a pandal in the North Pole if they can. Just for fun.
Of course he visits the pandals on his own. Now that I am an adult (an obese one by the grace of God), I can't be dragged into these adventures. So he comes home in the afternoon and all I have to do is ask , and he rattles off half a dozen names- Shuruchi Sangha, Badam Tola, Cheshotti Polli, Mudiali.... I beg him to stop. He proceeds with the description of each pandal and each idol, and the opinions. Camera? That's for less articulate losers. My father told a man with an umbrella that he was doing a great job by carrying an umbrella, that saved not only him but others behind him in the queue from the heat. The man apparently was very happy because others had been complaining about poking and stuff... losers of course they were. huh.
Once we went to visit the Mohd, Ali Park Pandal , where the theme was peace. The Durga idol had pigeons instead of weapons. The symbolism was lost on my father, and he asked the already-exhausted organisers- "ki korechen dada? payra, payra, payra ...eta Durga?" ... we pretended we did not know him.
Then once I was dragged into a 'bojra', a 'launch' which sailed on the Hooghly between the two bridges and it was supposed to be beautiful. However it was not because the loos were dirty. Then Tanusree Shankar's troupe was supposed to dance on another 'bojra' and we the lesser mortals were to view this divine dance from our own 'bojra' after that there was hindi songs and ... Biriyani.
The grand ride home was in the car of a friend's crazy relative who took revenge on a driver who did not know the directions by not giving him the directions. Crazy relative kept mum as the driver took wrong turns and kept asking 'dada kon dike jabo?' Friend, who sat beside me , sms'd "I am sorry" throughout the ride as I glared at her. My bladder would have burst. It did not. I live to tell this tale.
There was a time when my entire maternal family went for a whole night trip. One aunt of mine, eats a lot, her children too eat a lot but she always thinks they are starved, UN-calendar, rib-cage-exposed-type babies. Anyway so she ate a lot and just before the car reached College Square- nature called. Very loudly. She was led towards the pay-and-use toilet. A concerned relative offered a bottle of water you know just in case. This relative's son immediately screamed ... "Ma ota jol na...Sprite."
I don't know if one has ever seen the Goddess on these trips. I haven't. (Had I been a guy I would have been pleased with other kinds of Goddesses but even that is impossible. ) The point is, I have seen enough to stay at home and watch Grey's Anatomy on Shoshthi. Shantih.
PS: Latest Updates-
a.Bitchy woman doing her research in yankee-doodle nation is back town.
b.Father mistook one person's wife for another's and wondered why the father-in-law of the wife1 was spending so much time with wife2. Mother revealed that Father-in-Law of wife 1 is the father-in-law of wife 1. Mystery solved with a hearty laugh and zero embarrassment. Welcome to my family.
c.If someone asks my youngest niece her name, she says "Ami Ghosh", her mother's name is "Maa Ghosh" and father's...of course "Baba Ghosh".
Saturday, 13 October 2012
If it wasn't a disease it could have been ...erm...
"I am Princess Influenza ..."
"I'd love to visit the exotic land of the Influenza tribes."
"Harry Potter stared at Professor Gogoretti as he performed the 'Influenza' curse on the mule, of course Hermione wasn't looking, she knew it by heart."
Now let's come back to mucus-filled snouts. The problem is all good things in life are fast disappearing. Earlier whenever I had a cold, a tiny part of my heart felt great, because it knew that I would have two teaspoons of that delicious, orange Triaminic Syrup. Then it became Numenic Syrup. Then it disappeared.
I also loved the white tiny sweet Homeopathic pills which never did any good. Now that my mother allows me to do what I feel like, I don't choose Homeopathy treatment, but I miss the pills. Then there were green rubbery capsules filled with some kind of oil. You just had to put one in hot water and inhale the steam, capsules dissolved and emitted a nice smell. That has been banned.
Now all I have is disgusting Otrivin which leaves a bitter aftertaste and Cetzine without which I can't live through a cold and which makes me sleep like a log.
Tuesday, 9 October 2012
Okay so many of you may be seasoned cooks out there ... and you may feel this post is silly but I don't care. I am going to do this. I made two yummy paneer rolls for breakfast (okay post-breakfast, coz breakfast at 7 a.m. was Maggi ... m still regretting that !) . Well now that I have wolfed down the rolls I can put up the pics. This was basically my take on this recipe.
First I prepared a marinade with yoghurt, turmeric powder, garlic paste, besan, ginger paste, chilli powder, garam masala, and kasuri methi. Whisked all that and then added the paneer cubes. Left it for 20 mins during which I chopped up onions, cucumber and coriander leaves.
Prepared the dough with atta but added few drops of oil with the water. Then made tedha medha rotis ! (Don't you dare criticize ... it's my first time! I am super happy about it!)
And getting the paneer cooked on high flame for about 5-8 mins, don't worry if you have extra curry, it dries up in the end.
Then it was all about assembling ....
Saturday, 6 October 2012
Disclaimer: Series 1 was not aired in India. So my post refers to Seasons: 2, 3. Not 4, because it's too fresh in my mind and I'll end up putting all of them here. Especially since I had so many favourites: Andy - Ben (the love-buddies), Kylie, Julia (Dessert queen), Mindy, Amina and Alice.
1. Marion Grasby . Twitter: https://twitter.com/marionskitchen
Who doesn't love her? With a smile that makes her eyes invisible, she just strode into our hearts with her amazing dishes. She won so many challenges and was a power to reckon with in this particular season. She made some of the toughest dishes in the competition. She didn't win it but we all know she's a winner! Love her. Here's a blog post by a fan, written after her elimination : http://ruesdeparis.blogspot.in/2010/12/marion-youre-being-missed.html
2. Jonathan Daddia: https://twitter.com/JonathanDaddia Okay. Towards the end he was not winning the challenges and cooking mind-blowing stuff. Yet he was cute. I liked him. A Lot. He faced god knows how many eliminations and survived. Loved the way he got psyched up when he met Heston Blumenthal.
3. Callum Hann:
4. Hayden Quinn: Sexy surfer who is a great cook. Need I say more? If you didn't watch that Cronulla beach challenge girls, you missed it BIG TIME! My favourite was a fish and chips dish that he cooked in one of the challenges. Was really sad when he was eliminated. Website: http://www.haydenquinn.com.au/
5. Kate Bracks: Such an inspiration! All the way through. After the retro-coffee-cake, she sort of stayed away from the spotlight. But she grew from strength to strength and in the end, I don't think there was anyone who wasn't supporting her. A mum with a dream, who chases that dream. Love her... and her coffee cake and of course that Gingerbread house...Mr. Adriano Zumbo's masterpiece. And guess what? SHE WON!
6. Dani Venn: She's crazy (Korean rice burger anyone?), she's fun and she's passionate. The only person to have won two immunity pins in a single season, says a lot about her skills. Some of her risks didn't pay off but she was never too scared to try! Love her spunk. Website : http://danivenn.com/
Tuesday, 25 September 2012
Reasons for bidding goodbye:
1. Too much info about people I am not interested in. Sorry. That needs editing. I mean - Too much info about people I should not be interested in but I am. (I'll rewrite Robbe-Grillet's The Voyeur.) Hence lots of pathetic hither-thither movement of my virtual self. So and so's marriage, so and so's exam, so and so cried or died. Bleh.
2. Wasting time. (FB Tata has been compensated by greater hello Twitter BUT that will be brought under control.)
Facebook behaves like an annoying clingy boyfriend when you try to leave . The most pathetic being, showing you your friends' DP, with the caption "xyz will miss you". I actually laughed out loud when they showed me that page. They bid you a final goodbye (after you have avoided being seduced back into temptation) by saying something like - We hope you'll be back soon. ARRRGH.
Okay let's see how long this lasts. Wish me luck.
Sunday, 16 September 2012
Have gulped down loads of fruit juice for lack of options.
I absolutely detest going to the bank, if only I hadn't let that damn machine eat up my ATM card. :(
I will go bald.
Charlotte from SATC named her dog Elizabeth Taylor because the dog was as pretty as her. YES, it is precisely for such hilarious stuff that I watch it.
I remember we stayed in a rented house when I was in Nursery and I studied in Alipore Tiny Tots. Everyday as I walked back home with Ma, there was a dadur dokan that we crossed and I would inevitably ask for a hojmi. Some days my mother indulged, on other days she didn't.
I always hated chocolate lollies, they stick to your teeth, in unreachable corners, same reason why I hate eclairs.
Tuesday, 11 September 2012
I think my lower back will collapse, thanks to my amazing posture. I like my work but I don't enjoy staying at home and that is exactly what I am supposed to do for the next few months at least- Stay at home and work. My friend is in an alien city and having a terrible time , which should ideally scare me and induce me to thank my lucky stars that I don't have to go to that place right now, in this season of rain and dengue and malaria, however, as expected I am supremely restless.
This recent film that I watched made me want to dance again. Impossible unless I pledge an oath to bring fitness back into life.
Wednesday, 5 September 2012
My father can talk to anyone, from the bus conductor to a fellow passenger in the auto , he can ask terribly impertinent questions without the slightest hint of awkwardness.
The other day I went to buy vegetables with my father, who insists on picking them one by one, once they pass his scrutiny, and putting them in the basket. The veggie-seller was distracted and he was about to give us someone else's vegetables;of course my father did not let that happen and said "egulo amar peyaaj noy...ki korcho? tomar ki hoyeche?" (these are not my onions...what are you doing? what has happened to you?) The veggie-seller then narrated a long tale of how the light in his stall wasn't working, he had to get up and fix it so many times etc. I was getting annoyed. Now I realise that at the mall from where I at times buy my fancy stuff like "soy milk" :P , no such conversations happen ... those guys are better dressed and if I hover in front of a shelf for long, they just come and mumble annoying things - "can I help you?" ... "this is good ma'm" ...yes I do prefer that rambling veggie-seller than the pushy, robotic, sales-people at the malls.
Friday, 24 August 2012
I guess the Horlicks people think Men can go about their business with the 'normal' one, we the weaklings need the special 'Women's' one. How thoughtful. So thoughtful that the entire container is PINK. I like pink. Cherry on the cake? Few days back the social media went crazy about an ad selling a vagina-lightening-and-tightening cream. Olay to fight the 7 signs of aging, as if wrinkles make men so handsome.
Sunday, 5 August 2012
Just watched Kahaani on TV at night. Not a good idea.
I like wearing a rubber band around my finger and pretending that it is a HUGE ring...like those cool gigantic stone ones that I adore.
Making a list can be therapeutic. List of what? Vegetables, fruits, animals, board games...go figure!
Having to visit the bank twice in a week is so not cool. I hate it.
Realised today that the forms that we fill everyday are so sexist- the first thing they ask after your name is the name of your father or husband. What are we? Cattle?
Another thing ...a category says ...'If self-employed then tick following boxes: Doctor. Engineer. C.A. Others.' WOW!
Of course there must be more ridiculous ones out there.
Thursday, 2 August 2012
Some rather non-funny updates.
I still am extremely fond of my bright orange bag, it will be with me wherever I go.
Mary had a little lamb. Shiny had an orange bag.
There was a blackout in my part of the world for over 10 hours, here is what I have learnt:
Keep the water tanki full. If you can't, God help.
Sit properly even in the dark as some annoying kid on some terrace has still not mastered the art of handling the torchlight. You might be under the spotlight for no rhyme or reason.
Don't try to fix a candle to a spot by holding the flame of another candle near the first candle's base. The first one melts, bends and soon you have Cupid's bow with no arrow.
Talk softly. There is no noise around. So if you are discussing sensational details about your personal life then probably your neighbours are hearing about it too. Of course if you are the screaming-shouting kind like me then no point. They hear everything everyday.
Don't listen to music on phone and don't tweet about the power-cut. Soon it will give up and go to sleep and then where will you charge your phone silly?
Yes enough about it.
Here is what you CAN do:
Gossip using the land-line phone.
Eavesdrop on your neighbour in his/her verandah shouting about his/her physical/emotional distress to neighbour no.2 on his/her verandah.
Criticize government, power supply people.
Try to call up power supply people. This will keep you busy for hours because you won't even hear the phone ringing on the other side leave alone a human voice.
Fan yourself till your hand aches.
(My father has purchased a fan made of plastic, which has the image of a seductress and is labelled "Mallika". He said the Shaalpata ones were not available. I believe him. I don't have a choice.)
Try and imagine what could be happening on your favourite TV show since obviously you can't watch it.
Yes enough about this too.
Monday, 25 June 2012
I did not have expert reviews telling me one was better than the other. I decided which one was. I did not have the option of Wiki-ing info about a book that I was interested in. If I picked it up, I was stuck with it for a week.
Last night I realised that I don't read like that anymore. Either it's something already established as a 'Classic' or a book that has received good or bad reviews. It is very rarely that one can pick up a book that has not already been labelled.
Of course you always (hopefully) have your own opinion about a book but then that is a reaction to an already existing one that is accepted by many and often thrown at your face. For me, it is very difficult to resist being influenced in some way before I even start reading.
Last week I found a book titled "My Mother's Lover" by Urs Widmer . I read a few pages and loved it. I am going to buy that one. But more than the promise of a great story told in a beautiful way, this book gave me back that feeling of discovery.
Here was a book I knew nothing about.
Friday, 22 June 2012
Leaving behind what is familiar is difficult. It was difficult for Elsa too. Left alone for a week, when she finally returned, she was weak, hurt and almost dying. That's a possibility.
I should never cancel calls from people I care about.
I should not spend money buying forms of stupid exams.
In other news- I gave myself a haircut as a cost-cutting measure, but only after spending a ridiculous amount on a piece of clothing. I had a fight with a tailor that included dialogues like- "hum aaj se toh kapda nahi pehen rahe hain na? bachpan se pehen rahe hain" -and similar gems.
I am convinced Detective Kate Beckett's mother's murder will be an anti-climax.
Does one ever get to say a proper goodbye? Perhaps not. But telling your loved ones that you love them just because you are afraid that they might not be there someday is ...well...morbid.
Have you heard the songs from Gangs of Wasseypur ? You should.
Thursday, 31 May 2012
But I have always had trouble with this word. I find introductions scary.For instance, at the beginning of a course when I am asked to "introduce" myself...THAT is an unbelievably awkward moment. My education, which normally is like a vestigial organ suddenly makes its presence felt. I can say.."I graduated in so and so, from so and so .."(blah blah blah). But really is that an introduction? I don't think it is. I think the name should suffice (of course assuming you don't announce it like James Bond). The name is necessary, it would really be impolite to call people making weird sounds, or by whistles .Remember Captain Von Trapp?
No matter how much you want to, you can't really call someone by screaming - "hey you..yes yes YOU idiot!" etc- it would create too much confusion, you see many people will answer at the same time in that case. So,everything else except the name is so bleh and pointless.
And what is the point of introducing oneself to strangers? I mean one hardly does reveal any significant detail. You do not expect anyone to tell you- "Hi, I am Felicity. I collect human ears in a bucket" (JEFF from Coupling is a fictional character my dear).The introductions on social networking sites are slightly better because they are seldom real.
But this is hardly what I am supposed to be doing, the one I am supposed to write is that of a text. I hardly read them before reading a text, they reveal a lot. They should follow a text, because the editor, is practically showing off his skills. I wish I could just say- "This is xyz , written by abc....enjoy."
Of course I can't.
I am so royally doomed.
Tuesday, 29 May 2012
Check out the Donna Hay cake !
Monday, 28 May 2012
One fine morning (okay afternoon) , I purchased a bright orange yoga mat with my pocket money. I developed a strong attachment to the hue after I was gifted a pair of orange pants and a matching black top with huge orange flowers (no not orange blossoms, orange coloured blossoms). It was HIDEOUS but at that time I thought it was nice, like I thought my purple and yellow outfit was nice. I posed very confidently in front of the camera as we toured the nation thanks to father's LTC thing. Those pictures make me laugh. Oh...the mat. Yes, I was going to say that it remains untouched and that I am planning to make good use of it. The fate which most of my plans meet is another question altogether.
I have stored Apu Trilogy and Lolita in the same DVD, also Cleopatra and Pretty Woman in another.
There is this particular ceremony which I wish to avoid, (upanayan, poiteh ,or whatever you call it) and I thought about delivering a lecture on how it reinforces the caste system , and how it should actually be really demeaning to attend such a ceremony and that all of us non-brams should show solidarity and remain at home. However, I don't think this will work. I'll just have to go. sigh.
The computer guy has given me this software called Bangla Word where I try and type Bangla words and the results very often are amusing.
Friday, 18 May 2012
Friday, 11 May 2012
I am not against marriage. I am also not against dancing nude in public. My point is the same for both the situations. An honest desire. Love? No. It might be pure lust. But you should know that it is so. Then get married at 20 if you want . SAY that you want to get married. Don't have to say that to your friends but at least know that yourself.
So what the hell is bothering me? I guess it is the general lack of creativity. The excuses are getting mundane by the day. Parents forcing you to get married? WOW! Do you do everything that they ask you to do? No one can be "forced" (except at gunpoint ). So why put the blame on people who love and care for you? Why not own up and say "I want to get married", and that will be the end of it. Come on! It can be such a happy occasion. Why make it sound so pathetic? Why play the tragic heroine ? This irks me.
Second best excuse is - one has to get married. I no longer get perturbed when my elderly relatives say this, because they are from a different era. I do have a problem when I hear my contemporaries say this. Why does one have to? To keep the illusion of the happy Indian family intact? The kind we have seen in Sooraj Barjatiya and Aditya Chopra movies? To avoid being an anomaly in the society? To have a companion for the future? - what if your partner dies in an accident? Do married people die on the same day? Is not everyone alone in some way or the other? Or will your tall and strapping partner protect you from burglars and dacoits? Trust me, many wives have been raped in front of their husbands by hooligans. Sorry it is a rather dismal picture. But it is a fact. No, these are NOT the reasons why one should not get married. But if these are the reasons why one is getting married, then one ought to give it a second, third and fourth thought.
Do not give stupid reasons to yourself and others for doing that. It is not a crime, you don't need to provide excuses for it. Be it love, companionship, friendship, money, lust. Whatever. Just be honest to yourself .
Oh and I have one request for all those who are or will be happily married- Please understand that you have chosen what you want in life but that might not be what others want. So, stop saying annoying stuff like "we should get married at the right age"... What happens in the "wrong" age? Your ovaries do not produce eggs that travel down your fallopian tubes, right? MAY be. JUST MAY BE , there are some people who are not in love with the idea of producing another human being. Possible, isn't it? All kinds exist. You are a type.You are not representative of every woman who inhabits this earth.
If you think I am sounding extremely frustrated and angry then let me tell you a secret, I am actually scared. I thought as an unmarried 30 something (if that is what I choose as my future) I will be judged by some aunties , relatives and few dinosaur-age friends , but then I am being proved wrong. I will be judged by some very close friends. Not only judged but I will have to bear the annoying condescending remarks. One does not even have to reach the stage of marriage for experiencing this. Every now and then friends who get committed will ask "Have you got a bf?" , "No I have not, my favourite brand is out-of-stock", will be my next reply.
Live and let live.
Thursday, 19 April 2012
Yesterday I was reading about a ghastly episode of a man who set himself on fire and blocked the door while his daughters, wife and father died. and immediately I imagined my father... on fire... blocking the entrance of my bedroom. I also imagined some possible remedies...1. a bucket of water in my room. (the last time I insisted on keeping a bucket of water near me was years back when Madhuri Dixit sat on the stairs with a blind child in a pre-diwali "stay safe" ad.) ...coming back to my father in flames...I also imagined having to fight my way out of the room...opening a window so that I don't suffocate etc etc.
I was rescued from this train of thought when my father stormed my room and picked up every hanky that I had used last week and grumbled why I hadn't given them for washing ....(yes I use "cheleder" rumal because those tiny, floral nyaka "meyeder" rumals don't work for me). Anyway I realised my father might not set himself ablaze because the things that bother him are not even remotely close to a debt of 80 lakhs...they are -
1.Why are the keys not in the right place?...a burglar might enter and rob the house of valuables like an out-of-work microwave, two bulky televisions etc..
2.Why the coffee cup is not in the sink? the cups will be stained (OH_MY GOD!!) ...and
4. WHERE is the newspaper? ...of course it is with his wife who reads the entertainment section and keeps it beside her pillow while the other insignificant stuff lies unread on the sofa...(I read newspapers at night). My father likes the ENTIRE newspaper arranged properly, he might not read all of it...but it HAS to be together.
With such grave concerns, I do not think he will set himself on fire anytime soon. I'm right , right?
Also 3 rats were mercilessly killed in my house last week. First my father dismissed me saying that I must have been in a delusion and "it" must have been some lizard.
Then, when I said "it" was climbing up the curtain , he said "they" don't "climb"...then when the teeth marks on the soap confirmed their existence (poor coap eating rats), they were killed (poisoned) .My father obviously refused to admit that he was wrong and he devised a new explanation -- "they" were of a "gecho" type...the ones who know how to climb, unlike the non-gecho type, who don't. I give up!
This was also a rather "happening" week. My dada and boudi visited us and my boudi was drinking tea when I discovered a dead baby cockroach in her cup. Instead of apologising, my parents started debating when the baby cockroach could have landed in that cup, after all it had NEVER happened before.This piece is to warn you .Don't visit us, and definitely don't stop for tea.
Saturday, 7 April 2012
Sunday, 1 April 2012
Friday, 30 March 2012
On the tragic day of my "mukhe bhaat" ( it WAS tragic, in one pic I had lots of flowers on me and I was biting a gold bangle ), I got a giant bear, and a doll. My dida and my mother thought that the doll was too beautiful to be given to me, so they made a glass case for it.
The doll now stands proudly in my grandmother's drawing room beside a small shelf where Ramkrishna, Sarada Ma stare out of their frames in December, wearing sweaters. I kid you not. And the same people gasp when they see a dog wearing a nice red coat in winter. Doggie can't feel cold, Sri Ramkrishna in photograph can.
I digress. So dolls. One of my relatives gave me a miniature room set, it had a dressing table, dining table, almirah and what-not. I was very impressed. I broke the almirah. The dressing table is still there.
Then came the grand moment when someone from Mumbai gifted me a nice doll, a Barbie doll (fully clothed), I was fascinated with it. Then I tore out the hair. Gosh they are such malnourished dolls.
Why do these new kids prefer video games? Cars crashing, people fighting, animals jumping...ewwww!
Then there was my friend who had many dolls. MANY. She even celebrated their birthdays. I did not go, I was too paka . I thought they were silly. I mean HEYLO ! they did not talk like humans or jump and lick like puppies. Still, my friend was better than Saratchandra mahasay's Lolita (forget Nabokov you fool! this one is an innocent puppy compared to that sexy err..nubile...err..whatever). This Lolita wanted dollie dear to get married and then ended up being a "Parineeta" herself. Poor girl. It's like you are playing "kumir danga" (croc vs. land -a fascinating game) and then being told that you will be transformed into a kumir for the rest of your life. Ouch!
So this friend loved her dolls and had a huge collection. Not Barbies but really fat, plump, nice dolls.
That year during Durga Puja "Laal Komol Neel Komol" was being staged. They asked for one of her favourite dolls because Rakkhoshi rani had to eat a baby in one scene . (Again I kid you not!) So very unwillingly my friend gave this doll after repeated assurances that it would be returned in one piece.
They stripped it, and Rakkhoshi rani while eating (yes, yes, pretending to eat) pulled out its hands and legs. When the natok was over my friend found the doll's broken body , a hand and its dress were missing. It was sad. Though at that time I found it to be funny. I thought she was stupid to give it in the first place. I was too selfish. Still am.
My mother bought these soft-toys. There is this place called Phoria-pukur, where she went to a dry-cleaning shop long time back. She gave clothes for dry-cleaning and went back around two years later with a vague description of the clothes and a sob-story of a lost bill. While they tried to find "boudi'r sarigulo", my mother roamed around the street where so many soft toys were displayed. Once she came home with a honuman eating a banana.
Then in "Swet Pathorer Thala" Sabyasachi very lovingly told Aparna Sen that since girls play with dolls , they start to think they are dolls and then the world plays with them like dolls. (How profound and how sad. He must have been jealous, after all men play with he-man, and superman and we don't treat them like superheroes ...aww they should play with golden retriever pups instead). Anyway, so Aparna (like a fool) sets her basket of dolls afloat and says goodbye. I hated her. Letting beautiful dolls sink just because her husband said some shit.
Once in an art and craft class a teacher taught us to make dolls out of a sock. It was sheer torture like all other Art and Craft classes. Why do they have these classes? Art and Craft, PT (Physical torture), S.U.P.W (socially useful my ass! NO NO my ass is not socially useful...pardon me). Our P.T teacher was so thin that her limbs looked an add-on feature, you know body ke sath hath-pao muft! muft! muft! She made us jump and do what-not. GOD I hated her.
One of my nephew plays with a flying helicopter and a niece watches MAA with her thakurma. Both scare me. I avoid them.
Childhood and lost innocence are very poetic...you feel sad and you pen down sublime stuff - Time wields its axe on innocence-innocence lies buried in the sands of time-the time-icicles freeze childhood in the deep freezer of the mind like tiny little crystals of memory-etc etc, you get the drift.
Monday, 26 March 2012
How it's laid to rest
It's enough to make kings and vagabonds
Believe the very best ."