I’ve decided to get off my arse

So am I. Only as I can be.

Hard on the outer, soft in the inner and soppy in between, with the crust almost shedding in indignation as the trespassers slither their way deeper within. They dodge me with menace with every attempt I make to aim at their horns.

Yes, they have a pair and some even pairs – sharp, pointed and dangerously positioned to pierce through me. And lo! there I’m lost. Guess, that’s why people ask me to shut up. Those near ignore me and those afar thank their stars and others sent me notes with asterisks, which I take time to count and deduce what they mean. Crazy me!

But for all the brain cells in me, [yes, I do have them, too] I cannot figure to which part of me they want to cause harm to. Physical, mental, emotional, spiritual, sexual…am I missing any al? Okay, et al…In case I discover some by the end of this.

If at all I get to the end, that is. My ToDo list is cracking my wrist and stiffening my shoulders. But surprisingly it’s also aching my back, which I thought had long ago parted ways with me. Oh my, sweet arse, thank you for bearing me all these years!

There I hear! Gedupp!

This is the sound I am tired of hearing. Loud most times, feeble at times. From where, is what I fear. May be those creepers inside me are barking for not praising them enough! How can I? All they do at all times is stand on their heads and gnaw my insides, asking me to get up.

What do they know of my work load? I have to take care of my family, friends, community, even foes. I have to work to keep my mom happy, dad satisfied, brother smiling, and those cousins’ egos well-fed. I have work at my desk, on my colleagues’ mind and in my boss’s plans. I have work at home, in the kitchen sink, at the study table, in the living room and even bedroom.

But today, I used the trick I learnt at my workplace - Speak more. Work less. I took time to speak to the trespassers yelling at me from within. I tricked them by describing the colourful world outside and persuaded them into stepping out. “Don’t be holed up inside a woman. The world outside is beautiful”, I sang to them.

And they ran away…stupid fellows.

Now, let me get up. As in GET UP. And fill my insides with what I love to hear, with deeds that will radiate into hues that I love to see myself in.

It already feels nice. I feel great. Actually, those fellows were not illegally occupying my insides, yeah. I had allowed them in. Ah! There I go. It was me trespassing on my poor dumb and mute arse all these years.  How long? No guesses, please. I’m forever young… 32 at heart, 24 in mind and 36 in spirit!

 

An itchy affair that a wife won't see

It’s summer time and the couple sings hols

They plan, shop, pack and inform pals

We are away for a month, seeya laters!

 

And then…

 

A day prior to them flying

The husband frantically calls the wife

I have an emergency at work.

It’s a question of survival;

No worries darling, let’s cancel, she smiles.

Am guilty, my love…

Forget it! Cheer up! she intervenes

An idea! why don’t you visit your folks, meanwhile!

Umm… alright, she hesitates

We’ll meet in Greece a week later, babes, he promises

 

And so…

 

The wife goes to her family

A week later, she informs her folks

It’s time to head for my hols, when the husband calls

Sorry, my love. It’s a trail of emergencies here,

You may stay there for the next three weeks;

A cheerful wife soothes, ‘I know how tough it’s on you…’

I’ll manage, my love. At least you enjoy, he stresses

No darling, lemme return. Hols can wait another time;

 

And so…

 

She flies back to an empty home

Exhausted he returns gasping for breath

I’m sorry, couldn’t make it to the airport even. Fuck this job!

She mollycoddles and lifts his spirits

 

But…

 

He can’t sit still

A week later…

And yet he can’t sit still

Worried, she forces him to see a doctor

Are you nuts. This is the heat, he explains

We’ve been here for a decade, this heat never affected you

It’s the stress, you see, he reasons

But you’ve never broken into rashes before

I’m booking with the skin specialist…

Hold on, not needed

You’re red, for Pete’s sake!

Actually, it’s a massage that went wrong

Whhhaawt! You had time for a massage!

Listen, they were novices…

Oh!

Don’t get me wrong, the girls were new…

Pleeease! Out of my sight! Will u!

He walked away itching his ass!

 

Moral: Whatever your eye chooses to read that your brain refuses to comprehend!

 

I like William and Kate, but love Aishwarya more

So we saw the Royal baby. Kate and Williams showed their bundle to the world without ado. I went over the pictures several times to let my senses adjust to the sight and tell me, yes, I was, indeed, seeing the one-day old future King – for free, sitting on my sofa, sipping my cuppa, in my pyjamas.

Once my disoriented eyes accepted the kiddo, the coffee missed my lips on seeing the poised couple. How can they personify such grace? How can a couple of such HUMUNGOUS [hope the capitals do justice to their magnanimity] importance simply walk out of the hospital and show their baby to the world. Show the prized possession to the masses just like that! Imagine, the world got their treat without toiling. That’s not done. Their act does not honour the paranoia of the masses who labored for weeks even before the Duchess actually began experiencing it.

This is not what I am used to. This doesn’t happen in my country. The royal couple’s conduct was jarring to my desi eyes because I have no shame in admitting that I love being mesmerized by my country folks’ every act. Not common folks, please - the self-dubbed and honorary kings and queens. Our very own royalty!

The celebrity quotient I’m accustomed to is inversely proportional to media hype and diversely proportional to pedigree.

Pix courtesy: Emirates247

This is not how my countrymen treat their royalty. Or rather the royalty treat their compatriots. When Bollywood’s royal family went through child-birth, with equivalent hype and hoopla, they were more grounded. They used the commoner’s Twitter to connect with their well-wishers and announce that the nation has got a gorgeous beauty that could possibly bring back the Miss World crown. They executed their duty and loyalty with aplomb.

The family kept the nation waiting with waning breath and the mother wrestled to keep her so-called privacy by letting out one part each of the baby at a time. At one outing, the by-then famished fans were shown a strand of the baby’s hair; then a bracelet on the little wrist; then tiny pink booties; the tip of her nose; one startled eye; and finally the girl herself was tired of being squeezed to the famous bosom that she wriggled out.

Similar, was her christening. Every Indian was given a chance to name their favourite Bachchan’s grand-daughter. After all, don’t we have the right to do at least that for idolizing the family?  But William and Kate will not let the world take over their privilege of naming their kid. Though frenzied bets are flying around, they will settle down at Buckingham Palace shortly.

That’s definitely no justice to the zillions who eulogise them. They cannot cheat masses by snapping their joy, which they have consistently built-up since William began dating Kate, in a matter of minutes.

But, I guess, that’s Royalty! Royalty need not toil to attract followers. And, yes, privacy is, indeed, a private matter, even for public figures!

IIFA showcases yet another great Indian divide on global stage

[This appeared in TFW]

So Bollywood has done it yet again, just like they have been doing since 2000. In Macao the entire galaxy of glitterati - from mega stars and super stars to the just-arrived starlets and the outdated and near-expiry ones showcased what it claims 'Indian' films to world audience.

Kudos to the academy for naming the awards aptly - International Indian Film Academy Awards!

 

On the one hand we cry hoarse when Hollywood directors show our slums or one of our own is offered a role in their movies. They are damaging India's image; it's in bad taste; this is not the real India...to what a miniscule role; not justified to his/her talent…Headlines scream out, channels pan out and film critics mince no words. And on the other hand, we showcase our selected talent and take heart that we have arrived and soothe our bruised egos.

The IIFA act raises two pertinent questions - do we feel hurt or insulted when foreign directors show the poor shades of India or is it an inferiority complex in us, trying to compare ourselves to Hollywood? Else why should only the Bollywood glitz be presented to the world in the name of Indian cinema?

Bollywood may be self-dubbed as the face of Indian cinema but it definitely does not represent Indian cinema at large. There are hordes of excellent films being made across the country each year, not to forget the versatile actors in other languages.

When India has no dearth of talent, why showcase only Hindi movies and Bollywood actors? It's time IIFA presents the real mosaic of country's film fraternity if the academy needs to be true to its name.

But that will take a lot of courage because old habits die hard. If the Bollywood bandwagon aka IIFA brainstormers care to change themselves they can begin by taking the most obvious cue out from their dream land. There are no mega stars and super stars in Hollywood. Only actors or artists. Think of what India would be sans stars!

Aping can be done either clumsily or with elan. If the 'Bollywood Oscar Academy' believes only Bollywood glitterati can be compared to Hollywood sheen, so be it.

I suggest the Kapoors, Bachchans and Khans endorse a few regional picks and allow the world see the true dimensions and reach of the true Indian cinema.

And to begin with, the media need to stop referring to regional films as the 'poorer cousins of Bollywood'.

Until such time, IIFA would be putting yet another great Indian divide on the global stage - 'The glitz divide'! Don’t we have enough already. Beginning with the Aryan-Dravidian divide; the urban-rural divide; the north-south divide, the rich-poor divide...the list only seems to get longer as the nation progresses.

Little wonder foreigners film our country and describe it to their whim and fly out with impunity.

A night-out I kept the husband waiting

Okay, so this was a busy weekday. Monday, to be precise. I rushed back home from work, cooked dinner for my girl, instructed her for the following morning, checked my mail, set out my clothes for next day and hopped into the car for a night-out. My man drove me for some most treasured moments…

It was a perfect setting. The sun-kissed heritage site that nestled the Orient Guest House was at its serene best as I hugged my partner. The gleaming sandy low-rise was the only witness to our emotions.

Even as I felt the busy Bur Dubai road, where stressed-out motorists were wearing out their patience on respecting bumper distance, and heard the brakes screeching, children screaming, vendors ranting, a wave of solitude billowed our senses, the moment we felt the coarse tiles beneath.

 

We have passed this place a hundred times since we moved to Dubai, but never realised the wealth it beheld.

The stillness the courtyard held nudged awake memories of our childhood. The narrow alleys led to spacious courtyards that had benches beneath trees, similar to the ones we rushed to grab with our tiffin boxes in school during recess. We clicked. One for the album.

 

We walked past another alley when I saw a limb jutting out from the roof of an open door. Eerie. I instantly leaned for support. But after spotting two security guards on the bench at the far-end, courage seeped in my cells and I took another look at the roof. Now, I saw a palm protruding from the ceiling, as well. Eeks! I let them hang and hurried behind, when I saw the board in bold – it was an Art Hotel within the premises.  

With a renewed spring in our steps, we now decided to check out the Bastakiya area, before appeasing our tummies.

We experienced a bygone era as the sikkas led us through tall wind towers and window less walls and hanging lamps on the beautifully restored almost-century old architecture.

A little away, across the street, the Arabian Courtyard was another world unto itself. Amid cafés, galleries and antique shops, we wandered soaking in the experience.

I even picked up a unique hand-made set of seed jewellery as a token of our visit.

Dinner was yum...

By 11pm we decided to retire for the night… the courtyard that took us to our room had neatly arranged antique tables and chairs, with yet another tree and, in this one was, a beverage counter.

The small-framed carved wooden door opened into an aesthetically done room that sang Arabic. Right from the décor and colours to the smell and the feel, it was old-world Arabia wrapped in modernity.

We spoke into the wee hours until our eyelids slurred our vocals…

 

… I was jolted awake when my phone rang.

4.15am.

I turned back to sleep, when it buzzed again.

“Umm”, I said dropping the gadget on my ears.  

“Good morning. I’m waiting for you.”

I sneaked out carefully so as not to wake my partner up and wobbled toward the waiting car.

The husband tucked me beside him and I slept on his shoulders as he drove me back home.

Breakfast, lunch, work…My day unfolded just like another!

 

 

 

Morally conscious papas and mamas @ work

Becoming a parent is bliss. The act of nurturing the bundles into young adults is a blessing.

Tradition, culture, values, beliefs, faith, empowerment, education, vocation, passion… name it, we guide our kids the best way we can in all ways we can at all times we can until we ever can. I know of mamas and papas who are so obsessed with parenthood that honorary doctorates would fall short for their priceless research on offspring rearing. From the best curriculums, the best teaching methods, the best schools in towns, the best extra-curricular activities that can put the kids directly on that spaceship…they know the best.

Here are some comments of such ethically and morally conscious parents I have been privy to.

“Oh! **** ***school. I don’t like that. Have you seen their uniform? You just need to look at the way those students walk.”

“I’ll never look at *****. Do you know they hire housewives as teachers there?”

‘Children should settle abroad. They have no future in India.’

Interestingly, these are parents extraordinaire who will wash down culture, manners, ethics and morals down their kids’ esophagus with their daily Bournvita.  Check these out…

“I punish my son, if he doesn’t do his bed every morning before going to school.”

“I call my neighbour’s kids every weekend to play with my daughter. It’s important she learns to share her toys and space.”

“I ensure my girl washes her undergarments herself.”

“I reward my son with an ice-cream every Sunday, if he keeps his toys in place through the week.”

Courtesy: TFW

Now, these mamas and papas after disciplining their wards and planning for their future, when they turn up at workplaces, play brooders. Place a clutch of eggs under them and rest assured your tea-time sandwich is taken care of.

The office boy should collect the print-outs from the printer. ‘That’s his job’, they remind you and yell,  ‘where the hell is that idiot!’

He should offer coffee, guessing their sugar swings, at regular intervals without being told. That’s his job. ‘How many years, you’ve been giving me coffee. You still can’t get it right!’

The cleaner should wash their lipstick-kissed or cigarette-smelling cups after their last sip. That’s his job. Otherwise, the stained cups will accumulate beside their keyboard for days!

If newcomers commit an error, they are corrected loudly and clearly. ‘We also started like this!’

If juniors show enthusiasm, then they are passively bullied. ‘He needs to be shown his place now, else tomorrow he’ll shit on our scalp!’

Once they are done with disciplining co-workers they get down to executing their own future plans…They will block all calendar holidays in advance and if an emergency befalls any colleague during their pre-planned holiday, they will fall ill with a contagious disease!

And, yes, when they sense work pressure increasing or deadlines nearing, their kids would be performing in a surprise orchestra and they would have to be present at school right away...'to boost their morale'!

M...orally-conscious florals!

Every dog has its day…today!

The Financial World published this on June 18 under the title 'What makes News in this viral world?'

But I prefer the doggy title...

....because as you see even I've had my days...



 

‘Dog bites man’ is not News. ‘Man bites dog’ makes News. So I was taught and I have been following diligently until the virus corrupted my sense of judgment. I woke up to the fact the ‘man biting dog’ can be insipid in this age, because every dog is having its day. If you thought one is worth his salt a pinch more, you will regret having formed an opinion too early. The viral world doesn’t let you see a pattern, forget setting one.

If you thought something did well and attempted at mimicking the same you will be left chewing the bone. Alone. You never know what word or action will catch the fancy of billions. Any idea why Psy’s Gangnam style got infants and the aged alike to lift their feet? When our very own Kolaveri happened, I thought better of it. But now with the Korean going bonkers, I prefer our Tamil beats. May be it’s got to do with native virus in my ears that’s hung itself.

One suicide has caught the fancy of the whole nation, whose many citizens opt for similar endings for, again, similar alleged reasons. Yet Jiah Khan and her boy of afriend have captured curious public interest. Probably it was the heart-felt note that was uploaded for public viewing that did the trick. So, will another high profile suicide with a love-torn note create such frenzy. No betting on that!

When IPL scandal exploded in multi-colours and cricket lovers gave up in sighed resignation, one player sprung up more popular for reasons other than the alleged case. His Dawood Ibrahim jeans! Trust underworld to make light of issues? You may end up counting stars, if yours are not aligned right.

Attempt speaking about the bombs that blasted in 1993; add as many gory and insensitive adjectives and adverbs to the incident, and you will still have people groping for the connect. But open with Sanjay Dutt and emotions, reactions and actionswill explode unto you that you will regret even having mentioned it. The actor has covered the real faces behind the blast. Wanna stress home the futility point in an unfortunate incident by using glamorous face in future. By all means, at your own risk!

In fact, risk is the only constant in today’s times when success is defined not by how much of what you possess rather by how much of what you possess is out at what speed. The secret to the risk is, just let go. Even those umms, aahs, uhhs and eeks… record them all. They may just about click the senses of a billion.