The Wedding

So what are you wearing for the wedding?" - Clothes of course auntie (with a smile to camouflage my irritation)

Take all your sarees and go to 'Mata Bangles'. He knows better to accessorize women for weddings." - Thanks a lot auntie, will do (can I now have my lunch in peace)

So have you packed all your clothes and other stuff you need for the wedding?" - Errr....ummm... No we still have a week 

You have lost weight" - yes, I gym everyday

You have put on weight" - no, actually I have lost some

So it's you next" - Well hehehehe (I've heard that one before)

Why aren't you wearing a saree" - Wanted to freed myself of a catch 22 situation 

You see there is a guy in america who wants a girl" - (I thought there were many guys in america) No auntie not interested in guys who live in america

You see this guy in america does not want a girl who wants to live in america after the wedding" - (who's this Jack Sparrow I say?) Well let him come down to India and settle here auntie. I shall think about him after he gets his first pay cheque here.

Ninna line clear" (your line is clear now) - Well hehhehehe (when wasn't it clear by the way)

Give or take a question and two that came my way, I can finally declare my brother married. Please note

that I shall not play host to any other wedding in the near future. It really is tasking to get back to the normal sphere of life after one, and that too in the family.

So don't bug me with 'When's yours?'

My Room

I had managed to pack my few precious and fragile artifacts and cadeaux amidst the barbaric acts of violence manifested upon my books and clothes by a team of movers and packers when I realised that my room was almost empty. The last of the carton boxes left the room along with the barbarian handling it, leaving me with an empty room. My empty room.  A room that I had occupied for six years. 

A room where I grew.

 

My parents relocated to Malleswaram from Rajajinagar, in Bangalore - just a month before my naissance - with my brother who was seven. The house that the four of us moved into (technically 3 and a half as I was yet to make my grand appearance) was big enough for four people but had only one of each facility like any other old houses built to house a grand family of five perhaps. A veranda, a living room, a bedroom, a bathroom and 'comme les francais', les toilettes (one). 

Brought into that house in full flesh five days after being born, I grew up in a locality that housed a temple at one end of the road and a bar – yes a bar – on the other end. And let me make it clear, I had never felt safer before. The inmates of the bar took to liking my family, called my mother ‘amma’, dad ‘sir’ and the two of us i.e. brother and me, putta and putti (little ones).  Whenever I pass by, I look fondly at that house. I lived there for 22 years in all innocence and happiness and then dad and  mom realised that the once upon a time large house started squeezing around us as the ‘putta’ and ‘putti’ were all grown and required their own turf.

That is how I came to occupy ‘A Room’.

My Room.

The very thought of moving into a new home excited me.  We were taken to a newly vacated home in Malleswaram (don’t become a sinner by asking why didn’t we consider any other area in the city) for a ‘decco’. The house was on the first floor and opened to a huge living room flanked by two rooms onto the left and right respectively. Trust me having lived in a single bedroom and a single bathroom house; I was elated beyond imagination when the room with the attached bath was awarded to me.  We moved in within a week. And thus began my journey in a room that was mine.

And for six whole years, it was mine.

A room where I grew.

A room to which I carried everything that I had ever possessed  and tried squeezing in the innocence that was mine. But again, you can only fit a few things in a room. You have to let go when you have to let go. And in that room, I let go a few things which had clung to me, some on my own and some taken away.

The room was a witness to my first love and first break up. Right from the frenzy of the romantic ardour taking over my senses to the tears that flooded my eyes and rolled down my cheeks whilst the floor supported my body which couldn’t heave itself on its foot thanks to the pain in its heart, the room saw it all.

The room witnessed a bonding between my best friend and me like never before. It is between these four walls that secrets, wishes and desires flew from the lip to the ear. We spoke without having to bother about walls and their ears. This is where I learnt that everybody grows up and that your best friend is bound to make decisions that might not comfort the bond that you share with her but life in its fullest form is different from one to another. We all have to go our own way. Don’t we?

It was my refuge from a world that never came to accept my school of thought. I would lock myself up and stay in till I felt at peace. The room was a perfect hideout in the middle of the night to run back to ‘Harry Potter’ thanks to the gnawing curiosity in my mind the story created. The reason was always’ Mom I need to visit the loo.’ And she knew I wouldn’t use the other one. I never slept in my room though. I can’t sleep alone.

A million other memories are attached to my room.

This is the place that comforted me when I faced bitter truths about life. And this is exactly where I learnt that every relationship goes through a test of time and just a few of them are rebels. The rest wither and die. I learnt that words sometimes lack density and not everything said is true. I learnt here that people who come into your life have no need to stay and some just wander to plunder and leave when confronted. Not everybody is your best friend. And throughout all this the floor of ‘My Room’ always supported me whenever I needed someone to sob to.

I changed jobs, I met new people, I befriended some and abandoned a few (I had to). And in the meanwhile from 23 I had come to call myself a 29 year old, someone to whom peace mattered more than any other possession and space mattered much more than the world itself. I lost myself, gave up looking and then discovered where I was. And when I was on the verge of that great discovery, time had come to pack my bags again.  This time neither had I outgrown the room nor had it shrunk in size overnight but I guess, my chapter in that room was over. I had to move on.

I know not what the other room has in store for me, I may change more rooms after this one but what ‘My Room’ holds, taught me and made into is closer to my heart than perhaps any other that I would live in.

I sat on the cold floor looking at my empty room. It looked exactly the same like the day it did when I first stepped in, when all of a sudden my brother walked in to shake me out of my reverie to ask if nothing was left behind.

I told him that nothing was left. He walked away. But I didn't tell him that something was still left.

Me.

Mon Dieu

Dear God,

Thank You! Thanks for this wonderful human life that you have bestowed upon me. I cannot imagine being a plant, an animal, a bird or something as gross as a centipede (due respect to your creative skills).

Thank you for having made me a woman. It is far better than being a man (your spitting image, I guess) who’s wired in a weird way. And they say I am from Venus.

Thank you for having made me strong, confident, faithful and slightly tolerant towards different species who have contributed nothing but unwanted anxiety (you could do something about them)

And thank you for keeping me single till now. I am sure you are not in a hurry to let my prince charming cross my path (what are you waiting for? Christmas)

That was about you. Now let us talk about me.

I have been a good human being. No doubt about that.

I have been there for the needy (friends who needed me post a break up, accident, broke and berserk etc)

I have sacrificed a lot and have not cried out loud about the same (except two days back when my folks snatched the remote from my hand and a few instances in the past)

I have been an epitome of hard work and dedication (no laughs about this ok?)

Stories of how I have helped people whom I know (especially getting them in to more problems) are well known.

I never forgot that it is you who has made my life so beautiful and I am glad that you have given me many moments to cherish (but you haven’t really upped your PR work post the Bryan Adams moment)

You have made me fair (not my skin! Duh) and have given me a mind that does a great amount of balanced thinking (still, you could have made me the oldest kid at home)

I agree that I have presented my ‘materialistic’ wants to you on many occasions so that you could sanction them. Petty things like passing marks in maths and great things like peace, tranquillity and a stress free life. You have fulfilled most of my wishes (math was my effort), conveniently ignored a few (read peace, tranquillity, prince charming, jimmy choo, Bentley and swarowski)

No complains. Take your time. But make sure you are listening to me this time.

Make my visit to the dentist ‘SMOOTH’.

A Story Called Life

‘So how is life?’ she asked.

‘Not as good as it used to be’ I said.

We smiled. She knew what I meant and I couldn’t have put it better. 

I could see various responsibilities – some willingly taken and some being thrust upon - manifesting on her face and she could see that I’ve been betrayed, taken for granted and mislead which in turn gave me a look of scepticism. 

But who were we to blame?

I remember listening to dad narrate the story of snow white, rapt with attention, a princess mislead into the forest where she slips into a deep slumber only to be awakened by her true love. A happy ending! 

The next evening it was Cinderella, ill treated by her family, only to escape in time for a bash after which the prince sought after her and married her. Another happy ending!! 

Rapunzel was next in line. Well the only problem she had was a mane that stretched to eternity which obviously got chopped off by the prince who fell in love with her and helped her escape from a tower where she was locked away. Happy Ending Truly!!!

Dad read these stories most nights to lull me to sleep, mom and I would watch the same on TV and I was induced into reading the same.
I read them.
I read them every night.
And every time I read them I believed that ‘bad’ doesn’t last long but ‘good’ does, the evil are weeded out and the kind hearted people can never be betrayed. In short ‘And they lived happily ever after’ would be everybody’s mantra for life. 

She believed them too. Just like me. And in the years that we grew up together we dreamt that some day over a cup of tea served in a dainty tea set we would discuss how well manicured our lawns were, how tough it is to match the lip colour with the nail colour and of course how all the best and close still remained our 2 am friends. Happy Carefree Life. 

But nobody told us that fairy tales belonged to the books alone and that l wouldn't find my prince charming just by acting dead, wandering in the woods or by stepping out at midnight and leaving one of my shoes at the party.

No one told us that life wasn’t always fair. That the word ‘Priority’ would play tricks which would either fetch us accolades or beat us down to pulp with criticisms flying at us from everywhere. 

No one ever mentioned that ‘Money’ would play a very important role in our lives. So much so that some relationships would be defined only on the basis of the riches and the goods that we have.

And no one ever told us that not everybody who we meet has a kind heart. They would lie to us, mislead us and betray us. No one told us about the scars such people would gift us with. 

Someday I will have children and I will read out the same stories to lull them to sleep. But the day when they are ready to listen to life’s story I shall tell them these: 

Fairy tales and life have nothing in common. Life is more beautiful. You only have to learn how to keep its beauty intact.

When surrounded by roses don’t get carried away by its fragrance that you turn a blind eye to the thorn that comes with the flower. Life has its share of ups and downs and certainly the good and the bad. Learn to accept them both. It creates a balance.

Money is something of course but not everything. Never trade your emotions for a few crisp notes. They can’t buy you back your lost emotions you see. 

And last but not the least; you are bound to meet a lot of people in life. Your gang of best friends will reduce from 25 in school to 1 by the time you are 30. The decline in the number doesn’t mean you are unpopular. It shows that only one person was worth sharing your joys and sorrows with. Just one person was worth all the time you spent with and that one person will be there no matter what and will stand by your side whenever you face the rotten eggs.

After all, it is life. Not a fairy tale that lasts only ten pages.

Proper or Economy?

“So, how are you going to travel to Mumbai? Train?” asked my grandmother when I called to tell her that I am travelling to the city of dreams for the first time on work. “Ajji, they’re sending me by flight. Indian Airlines from Bangalore to Mumbai and Kingfisher on my way back home.” What followed was an elation of sorts. My grandmother could just not stop beaming over the phone. Her granddaughter would be FLYING to Mumbai. FLYING. A privilege enjoyed by a few. To be frank not a few but by those who could afford flying from one destination to another or by those who worked for organizations who could afford plane tickets for their employees.

The news spread like wildfire. Grandma pictured her granddaughter (yours truly) well dressed, high heels, clutching a handbag and pulling her luggage at the airport, boarding a flight to be made comfy by a host of beautiful smiling women inside the aircraft. What she expected post my return was a call from my end to describe my experience inside the aircraft. She couldn’t care less about Mumbai. She has heard about it from my granddad.

I felt like a celebrity. From all the attention I got. Be it my grandmother or from the lovely stewards mid air.

Such was the song and dance that enveloped an airline user. By the way this was 8 years ago.

Today, the mention of the word ‘Fly’ makes my grandmother ask anybody just one question. Economy or proper?

She’s abreast with all the news and gossip that we grandkids feed the entire family with. So the élan with which she treated an air traveler has vanished.

She’s not the only one though. I boarded an economy flight for the first time when I had to travel to Ahmedabad. Someone who has always flown with Kingfisher and Jet, I expected a similar reception. I patiently waited for my turn to board and trust me the sight that met my eyes made me stop in my tracks. What greeted me inside the aircraft was a long narrow stretch of space lined with seats that looked like a well furnished KSRTC bus.

Reminding myself that the definition of economy has been through a metamorphosis I squeezed myself in the narrow aisle making my way towards my seat amidst a lot of people.

As soon as the pilot geared up for take off, I jostled myself out of my new found ‘economy depression’ and allowed some blood to flow to my face. After all, we were taking off, which means we would be served food in a short while from now. I was starving.

Straight up mid air when the pilot had settled comfortably, I saw an airhostess handing out menu cards. I was impressed. I mean, you call yourself economy but hand out menu cards to manifest your options? Fantastic! My heart was pumping extra blood.

But what drained the color off my face was the price tag attached to every option inside. What? You expect me to pay 75 bucks for a lousy sandwich? That too without extra cheese? Ridiculous.

I bought it. I was starving you see.

The lack of in – flight entertainment made me chew the lousy cold sandwich whilst looking at the vast stretch of beautiful clouds. That was the first time I wished I could apparate from one place to another.

The three hours journey seemingly was taking a lifetime when suddenly I glimpsed terrain. Green and brown patches of land below. We were landing. And slowly my soul which had slipped into coma was coming back to life. We were landing and for the first time three whole hours I was genuinely happy. My countdown to land had started.

Just a few feet above the ground my mind wandered to the most significant aspect of flying. Smooth Landing. Suddenly, my worst fears started haunting me. None of my expectations were coming true right from the time I stepped inside this aircraft. Do I cross my fingers or do I …………..BHAAMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

We landed. And how? I was curious if we had left a mark on the spot where our aircraft kissed the land.

Coming to think of it, the ‘Good Old Days’ as we term them had an elite sense of being and boasted of an unmatched quality. These days airlines have turned into mere Page 3’s of the aviation industry. Cram up everybody into a single place and call them celebrities.

Turning 28

Was it yesterday that I beamed at my ecstatic pals that I turned 18? I remember standing in one of the corridors of Seshadripuram College huddled with my friends, celebrating a milestone that added an extra zing to the already raging estrogens. I was 18. Yes. 18. Always wanted to be since I was a five year old. According to the rule book I had attained majority, I could exercise my right to vote, and I could walk into the RTO and demand for a driver’s license for my bike. Fringe benefits apart I was a major who could be entrusted with responsibilities, my parents could find a suitable match and dispose me off and I could have inherited a fortune had anyone left me a handsome will.

I was a free spirit, threw caution to the wind, dint bother knowing how ‘responsibility’ was spelt and dint care about the days ahead. I was living in the minute and I liked it that way. I never felt 18 years OLD. I was growing younger in thoughts, words and ideas. A trait, according to my mom, that would sober down through the years to come. And then, I was 20. Then 21, 22……


Saw the world change. Girls my age blossomed into young women. Some got hitched early. Some, a little late. Many of them are mothers and some have two children. A prominent change that I noticed in most of them was that they had realised a dream that most 18 year olds would dream of. To be a successful adult eliminating every trace of the teenager they once were. When they speak business, they mean business and they’re damn serious about it. They can no more tolerate loose talks, girly gossips and the latest tech news. They would even show inhibitions to express their feelings about Daniel Radcliffe. He’s younger than them you see. It’s a taboo.
So this is where I don’t fit in. Unlike them, I am not an evolved specie and highly unpopular in their circle. But sorry to offend you ladies take a minute and see how lovely my life still is.


I am 28 and ………

I can openly talk about the hotness of Daniel Radcliffe’s nude backside. It’s hot. He is hot too. And is he young? Who cares? Now YOU say this in front of your husband.

I am not married. And not going to be for another two years. I don’t intend to say that all married women turn out to be evolved species like you. Just that some of you have a pre conceived notion that married women are supposed to be the ‘screw your brow for every tomfoolery’ types. I know ten girls from my school and college who’ve remained 18 even after tying the knot.

I am still experimenting. An interesting career opportunity always gets me excited and if I get bored, I find another one. And if you are muttering about my sabbaticals then let me give you a reality check. I pay for my parlour, landline and mobile telephone, my clothes, make up and also shoulder a few other responsibilities at home using the money that I wisely saved for winter.

I still gossip like a teenager. And it does not include topics such as X’s jewellery, Y’s sarees, Z’s husband’s car and certainly not about Saif Ali Khan and Kareena Kapoor.

I am loud. I haven’t sobered down one bit. I may have some feminine qualities but that’s that.

I am still 18. Honestly, I have never felt anything less or more than that. But just because I don’t manifest the maturity a 28 year old has doesn’t mean I am not sensible to sniff responsibilities. I know them better than you.

Just that, when I was 18, my heart had a conviction that kept every inhibition at bay and I simply chose to follow the same.

Hence I am still 18 and will be till I die :)

Outcast

Yes, I noticed that I sported undone eyebrows compared to the pretty ‘Bong’ ladies gathered at the Durga Pooja. I also noticed that what I wore to the said occasion was simple sans any bling and if I would have worn the same in a place like Delhi I would have successfully scandalize twenty dozen Delhi women, fashionistas or otherwise. And yes, I accept that compared to all the one thousand and fifty odd people who had gathered there, I had a bad hair day.

If these three reasons are enough for you to not accompany me anywhere in future, then let me tell you, I don’t fancy sporting a bushy eyebrow myself. Do you think I crave to look like Rubeus Hagrid? Unfortunately, it’s not like your beard that I can shave off even at the slightest sprout. And if I am forbid from visiting a beauty parlour for ten whole days of navratri due to religious sentiments, I don’t intend to break the rule either as it is easy to follow it than get an earful. You just have to wait.

Yes, what I wore was plain but let me add, I am not an exception. And also I don’t detest getting dressed in grand and shiny clothes. But honestly after having spent all morning cleaning the entire house and decorating it for the festivities, if I am given a ten minutes notice period to look my best, be my guest to press my festive clothes neat. Moreover, I have to choose clothes that can go with my slightly healthier body type. You see I can’t lose weight overnight. I wish I really could though.

If I’ve had a bad hair day, then yes I’ve had a bad hair day. I can’t help it.

But what you’ve failed to notice is that I am what I am. I can’t perhaps change in a million light years, because if I did, I wouldn’t be me. And if you still have a problem hanging out with me or accompanying me to any place whatsoever, do me a favour. Don’t ask me to go with you because when you come with me, I don’t care what you look like, what you’ve worn or what you smell like. I care for those few minutes that I spend with you which I would cherish as a memory for years to come.

I am not an outcast you see. I am just me.