The Blame Is On Her...

She opens her eyes to loneliness. The room is dark except for the faint light which creeps in through the blinds, letting shadows of vehicles passing by adorn the ceiling. She shifts her gaze to the man she was sharing her bed with, only to find him in a deep and comforting slumber. He was what society defined a perfect man and if perfection was requisite to be happy, then she would have been happy. It has been 11 years since she realized she wasn’t anywhere close to that happiness, to that peace of living life the way it should be. 

She crawls out of the bed before the alarm could fill the air with its harsh titter, and makes her way to the adjacent room. A child snuggled under a blanket with a gentle smile on his lips, makes her heart melt in ways she had felt only for one man. A man she had let go off when she should have hold on to. 

Every day as she watches her husband read bed time stories to their child, she hates herself a bit more for wanting a different man in his place. Every night as he slides next to her and runs his hands on her body, she shuts her eyes and imagines another man touching her. She can’t help but loath herself for she knows, the present could have been different, if only…

She has a past she relives in her mind every day, a past she wishes every moment that she could alter. A woman in love she once was, in love with a man who returned her sentiments, maybe bountifully more. She was proud to be the one who loved less for she knew that he would never let go of her. The man loved her and fulfilled her desires, irrespective of his material constrictions and his struggling life. Everything he wanted to be was more for her and less for him, more for being able to keep her forever and less for living his dream. But he knew her too well to know that one day, she will let go of him for what she called, a practical life beyond compromises. He had warned her earlier.

And she did exactly what he predicted. She let go of him for a wealthy man, a better man which her father pointed out to her. He was perfect in her eyes and all she had to do next was to fall in love with him. A good house, a husband with a benevolent character and she believed that with time, she will fall in love with him. She left her lover for a life on a plate readily served to her. He loved her too much to hold her back. 

A faint touch on her chin brings her back to where she was. She smiles at her son with her lips while her eyes mirror the pain her heart was going through. Why couldn’t she love the man she was married to? Her life was perfect society said, but why wasn’t she smiling? Why did she let go of him when all he asked was her to believe in him and in the love they shared? 

Sometimes, she drives by his home on her way back after dropping her child to school. Where there was once a tiny studio apartment, now stood a mansion with a gold address plate on the gate screaming his name. He became everything he said he will, but he now shared it all with a woman who believed in him.

Now, her existence is haunted by questions, the answers to which she cannot ignore. If only she had believed in him. If only she had realized that he was the diamond which time could polish. If only she had stood by his side. 

Life was now just pretence and she knew the blame was on her.

WOMEN CAN'T DRIVE....

 It’s not that I have anything against women, especially since I belong to that particular field of chromosomes, but I adhere to the general notion that women folks can’t drive. There are certain things which women can do and men cant. For example, blame everything on PMS. Similarly, there are certain things which men can do which women can’t and that is drive a vehicle the way it should be. 

Now since exceptions are a part of life, there can be women like Danica Patrick or Desiré Wilson who is the only woman to win a Formula One race of any kind till date. But that was back in the 1980’s! Now illustrated below are the few of the many reasons why women can’t drive.

1) Heel Tragedy- Women prefer to present their very best form, wherever they go and an essential part of this feel good about yourself factor, is the shoes you adorn your feet with. High Heels might look super sexy, but when it comes to its relationship with car brakes or accelerator, it screams anarchy. But my Amma has a solution for this and that is to remove those heels before you start the ignition. Almost feels like it’s a holy ritual to drive!

2) Rear-View Mirror dysfunction- The rear view mirror which is normally installed in the car so as to be able to keep a check on the cars following, assumes the role of a make-up mirror. The woman slides into the driving seat, adjusts the rear-view mirror in a way that her face or her pouty lips are visible and drives the car with more than half of her concentration on her smudged eyeliner. 

3) Multitasking- Women are generally called the multitasking connoisseurs, but sometimes, they abuse the privilege a bit too much and in areas they shouldn’t be. Women care too much about not returning a text or ignoring a call because rudeness even if you are driving is not acceptable. Even if the reply is as stupid as ‘OMG’, ‘SRSLY?’, ‘LOL’, there just has to be a reply to every message that comes our way. 

4) Just Cant Park- Women may be able to drive far safely than men on an open highway, but when it comes to parking, the chances of them hitting a dormant car, or a wall is beyond the normal probability level. Reversing is just not our forte. There is a scientific reason backing me up, which Google pointed out. 

5) Dolls Over Cars- Car servicing is the last thing a woman will consider, even is the vehicle reacts with a smoking engine, unusual blare etc. Men get an adrenaline rush when it comes to cars and long drives, but for women, they rather enjoy the view or drive just for the sake of reaching the destination. Women are built that way. Blame it on the genes. 

But look at the brighter side of life. When it comes to driving, being a woman has its own perk. A smile accompanied by some eyelid fluttering is enough to ward off the cops. People will always hold a soft corner towards you if you happen to be the woman in a road accident, even if it was your fault. You will be rushed towards by a crowd to be helped because you just got your knee scratched, while the man you hit might be having a haemorrhage. Also, women might be bad with maps, but they aren’t stubborn bulldogs like the men when it comes to asking for directions. When men try to listen to their nonexistent sixth sense, women merely roll the glass down and ask for directions.

P.S- Don’t hate me for writing this. I am out of topics so thought of writing something just to back up the men folk with the stereotype they hold against women. It’s absurd for sure!

P.P.S- I have a driving licence which enables me to drive a four wheeler. The fact that I have never driven a car on road didn’t matter when I was given the licence. The only time I have driven a car was after I got the licence and that too a Maruti 800 belonging to the driving school which I drove on an open ground during which a tree surprised me by coming in my way!

Image Courtesy- dyn.quickmeme.com

YOURS FAITHFULLY, A BROWN PERSON....

Dear Rest of the World,

I am enraged yet amazed by your imprudence. The variety of stereotypes you hold against my brown face is laudable, considering the fact that you absentmindedly pigeonholed us without attesting the credibility of the same. 

I am a proud Indian woman, who according to credible sources, doesn’t smell of curry, isn’t hairy, does not live to get hitched with some random guy her parents find and procreate a minimum of 3 kids with him. I can also read and write English, which even a bozo would have realised by now. 

Please do not categorize people according to the level of body odour, solely based on their nationality. We stink as much as you do and we are aware of the usage of deodorant as much as you are. Our homes might smell of curry, but we don’t, unless obviously if we are covered with it.  If you believe in categorizing people based on what they eat the most, then the Koreans would smell of Garlic, the Italians of Pasta or Pizza. Inside India, the Bengalis would smell of fish, Keralites of coconut, punjabis of Butter Chicken and the people of Tamil Nadu might end up smelling of let's say Masala Dosa. Regardless of their nationality, people around the globe will stink, if proper hygiene is not taken care of. 

We are a hairy bunch of people I agree, but that does not send across a message that ours is a land of unibrows, unshaved armpits, chest carpets and bushy legs. Unless offcourse, if we stop running to the salon twice a month or prohibit ourselves from using waxing stripes or hair removing cream, then the case might be a bit different. Our hairiness depends on our lifestyle. While some don’t find it socially awkward to hang like monkeys inside the local transport bus, flaunting their inch long armpit fur, others cover it up or wax it off. Again, we are not the ones who complain, for we don’t believe in looking like chickens with their feathers plucked off. We are happy the way we are. The Armenians support us!

Woman in our land have the same anatomy like the women in yours. We are not merely a child producing machine. Yes, a considerable amount of marriages that happen in here are arranged by the parents, but that does not mean that we do not have a say in the matter. It is not like we meet a man today and stretch our neck to him the very next day. If you are talking about getting married to a total stranger or someone you don’t know too well, let me introduce you to the fact that you can never fully know a person in a matter of a few years anyway. What do you have to say about the massive divorce rate in your country? Yes, we do have people who have more than 3 children, but I believe the same situation is there in your country. Atleast, we do not have a never ending line of teen moms. God Bless us!

I understand our English accent is not our forte, but we have an accent which can be understood globally. Our vocal chords don’t send across lines, which a common man wouldn’t understand. I know you find the Jamaican or Italian accent cool and rather sexy, but I know that your brain blinks when it comes to deciphering what they actually meant. 

If in case, you have any stigma attached to us, enlighten me as to why you spend bundles of green papers at tanning salons or act dead on the beach? Leave the job of being Indian, to the Indians. Our Bollywood movies might be filled with songs starring dancing actors, but you shouldn’t be the one complaining especially when you love the ‘GLEE’ series.

It’s high time you quit labelling us as dwelling from the land of snake charmers or as illiterate, poor and corrupt people. OK, we might be corrupt, but didn’t you hear that we are working on it? Ours might be a crowded, heavily overpopulated and sometimes suffocating country but through all of that, the system still works and it works pretty damn well! 

Faithfully,

Just another Brown person.

P.S- This blog turns 1 yr old Today!! I cannot thank you enough for being a reader!

Image Courtesy- ribbu.com

Mole! Let's Shop!!!!

I am a big blot in the name of womanhood. I think I should have been born as a boy, but I am sure I would have turned out to be gay then, because I cannot even imagine rubbing myself to a woman. So, anyway I feel sad to acknowledge the fact that I lack the most basic characteristic of a woman, i.e her colossal craziness for shopping. 

Now this is why I love my Dad. We enter a shopping street, we follow him like a herd of buffaloes  while he does a marathon speed walk from Starting point ‘A’ to the end point ‘Z’ and then poignantly declare that the street has nothing good to offer.  This is followed by my mother nagging me to join her on a secret mission of going to the same shopping street the next day without my father. Shopping with her is a more than just terrifying experience.  

The day starts of with her nudging me out of my sleep, just so that I help her make a list of the things to be bought. She stopped making lists herself from the day the shop keeper boisterously laughed and thus embarrassing her just because she wrote ‘PEARS SOAP’ as ‘PIERCE SOAP. If the list includes ‘Saree’ then I know for sure that my day is doomed.

My mother’s shopping can be divided into three parts- The quarter finals, the semi finals and the finals. She enters a Saree shop and asks the man to show her the latest silk sarees. He starts showing her every silk piece of cloth in his shop, only to realize that the woman is now interested in cotton, because it suddenly dawned to her senses that it is summer. As he shows her the collection, which normal people like me would have bought without even thinking twice, she affirms her likeness with a ‘Hmmm’ and rejects a material with a ‘Tch’. These are the only two words that escape her mouth for what seems like 2 hours. Out of the ones selected, she again does the ‘Hmmm’ and ‘Tch’ process two more times, hence the semi finals and the final round. Sometimes, when there is a tie between two equally amazing sarees, she lets me choose and when I do choose, she buys the one I didn’t. Oh she trusts my taste!

I am the kind of person, who loves shopping when it comes to buying gifts. But when it comes to shopping for me, hell breaks loose. I usually end up shopping alone followed by getting back home licking on a generous scoop Chocolate Ice-cream. The best way to spend money is eating. AMEN!

So, why exactly am I writing about this now? Well, I sent letters to each member of my family for this Valentine’s Day, making them my Valentine. I wrote how much I loved them, how I am what I am because of them and I even let them know what I loved the most about each one of them. Since, I am a narcissist I ordered them to reply to me via SMS, telling me what they loved the most about me. 

My father sent me- “Mole, your mother told me you sent me a letter. Haven’t read it because I am stuck in the office, but your Amma read it through phone for me. I love the fact that you are my daughter and even as you grow up, you are the same innocent little girl at heart”

He loves the fact that I am his daughter? What else did he expect!! And about being the innocent girl at heart, I hate to burst his bubble.

My brother sent me through my Dad’s phone- “I know you are trying to impress Mom and Dad by doing this. Anyway, lots of spelling mistakes in the letter. I told you, my school is better than yours! And I love the fact that you are not here to boss over me.”

My mother sent me this- “Mole, Loved the letter. Brought tears in my eyes. What I love the most about you is that you love shopping with me.” 

Sometimes, you just have to hide your real feelings. I am!! I have conspired so many times about burning down the shop she is planning to shop in, just so that I can escape the agony. Mothers! The worst manipulators! And btw, never mess with a woman when she is busy shopping. 

P.S- I have been travelling a lot and hence, the lack of action in this space. This sadly, is going to continue for a few more days.

P.P.S- Well, the considerably less comments on my previous blog post, shows that people actually comment on my posts just because I comment on theirs. I couldn’t read and comment on blogs for some days, and the result can be seen on my blog. People believe in the ‘I SCRATCH YOUR BACK, YOU SCRATCH MINE’ policy. I seriously doubt the credibility of blogging.

P.P.P.S- Happy Valentine’s day to everyone who is stupid enough to actually celebrate this. Me and Prateek did a collaboration and ended up with THIS. He is an amazing writer!

The Case of the Annoying Tenant and the Missing Tree.

We are the epitome of what law abiding citizens should be. In India the term ‘law abiding citizen’ has a realistic definition to it. According to this definition, a law abiding citizen in India is that person who breaks the law given under the code and yet gets away with it by passing a bundle or two of notes to the concerned authority. My family comes under this category of Law abiding citizens.

Our ancestral home which we were forced to sell in lieu of a family feud 2 yrs back, had a huge Eucalyptus tree right in front of it. It was a majestic tree which grew beyond all measures and sizes, to the extent of covering up our entire house with its thick branches and leaves. Sometimes these thick branches would break and fall on the terrace and cause minor cracks on the roof along with water tank breakage. 

We had given the top floor of our home for rent to a tenant who stayed there with his wife. He was a genuine miser who even though could afford to build a house of his own, believed in saving up the money by staying as a tenant on our property. To top it all up, this man was not only a miser, but also the most lethargic man alive on the face of the Earth. Being a miser and also a chronic lazy bum is a really bad combination. 

He hired a chauffeur to drive him and his wife around whenever needed, in his OMNI VAN and also used to tip the poor guy peanuts for cleaning the pathetic van ones a week. I got up early one day with the intention of making my Father proud by taking an early bath and visiting the temple nearby. I got up, did the morning ritual of brushing followed by bladder and bowel relief, took a bath and got ready to give the good Lord a visit. As I stepped out of my home, the first thing I saw made me change my plans and go laugh myself to death. 

The poor lean driver was cleaning the OMNI in a very religious manner by using a tiny red cloth. He bent down to dip the cloth in a soapy solution and got back up presenting before the world the little wonder in his hand. He was holding a Red Underwear with a big hole right on its crotch area. I couldn’t help but ask….

Me- Ye aap kya kar rahe hain?!!

Driver- Dho raha hoon jee van!

Me- Woh toh dikh raha hai, par ye laal kapda kya hai?

Driver- Malik ka laal phata hua Kaccha hai. 

I ran back inside the home and dug my face on my mother’s lap as I laughed half my life out. My father on the other hand, was already bugged with the looser upstairs since he had turned our property into something which looked like a war zone. He marched upstairs and ordered the chaddiman and his chaddiwoman to move out of our property after a period of one month, which they could utilize to find a new place. 

Monsoon approached and made our peaceful existence a problem. Because of the heavy rains, many of the branches of the Eucalyptus tree broke and fell on the terrace crashing the railing down. My Father decided to take the tree down. Some people came, chopped off the tree and took it away. For the first time in 15 years, we saw sunlight the way we should have. I don’t know what they did with the wood. Nor did I care. 

But like I have said before, fate is a jealous bitch of the highest order. Some Police officials visited our home and enquired about the missing tree. My father told him that it was our property because it was in the land which was owned by us and decided to chop it down when it became a nuisance. The officials informed us that someone had lodged a complaint that a majestic Eucalyptus tree had been chopped off without getting the needed permission from the local authorities. This could result in my Dad tasting the Jail food.

But you know these poor underpaid policemen and officials. You really cannot blame them for accepting a note or two in exchange of getting your work done in a speedy manner. I am happy corruption exists because otherwise the policemen wouldn’t have accepted the few green papers my Dad gave them and nor would they have taken the complaint off the register. 

But if you know me well, you would know that I cannot live with the term ‘Curiosity’ lingering in my mind. I badly wanted to know who the man who lodged the complaint was. Sources told me that it was the Chaddiman. Some people and their ways!!!

P.S- I am going through writer's block and hence jut published one of the draft posts. Let me just assume that you all actually give a hoot about my life and that is why you read this post. 

P.P.S- Now is not a good time to ask you parents for money. Valentines day is fast approaching and parents have turned into detectives. So save up!

P.P.P.S- Blogging has become just so boring. This place is dead too!