ROMEO MUST DIE

 ‘Once upon a time, there was a king and a queen. They fell in love and lived happily ever after.’ How dreary are the happily ever after stories. As a child, I was fascinated when the young princess escaped the clutches of her evil god mother and lived a forever happy life with her prince charming who always had the perfect gelled hair and a baritone to die for. But as life started to take away my innocence and maturity started to bring out the worse in me, I started deriving sadistic pleasure from the tales of tragic love where the heart loved but destiny conspired against it. William Shakespeare knew that Romeo must die. He knew that the traditional concept of true love and happiness merging into forever together would have been yet another Barbie Disney tale. What is love without tragedy and what is love without jealousy.

Imagine a happy ending saga of Othello where instead of murdering the love of his life Desdemona under a fit of rage, the tale ended with them making castles by the beach and forever making babies. Picture Cleopatra and Mark Antony counting stars under the night sky or running towards each other in slow motion through a meadow of daisies instead of cruel act of committing suicide due to false news about the lover’s untimely death. What if Salim and Anarkali had a traditional nikah and lived forever together brushing their kathak  skills under the mirrored walls of the palace instead of the tragic episode of the beautiful Anarkali being entombed alive in a brick wall right in front of her beloved Salim’s eye. Tragedy is what made these tales immortal.

Maybe I am a jealous soul. Maybe I don’t like lovers ending up happy, atleast not in tales or movies. I want to see them love and then lose it. I want the universe working against their togetherness for their loss balms the bruises of all the time I was forced to let someone go. It makes me realize how my own nature can work against my own happiness. Sugar coated happy endings disgust me because my reality is far from it. While the heart smiles to the pleasant ending love stories, the soul connects to the tragic ones. The world is too messed up to let go of tragedy.

I am happy that Jack died in Titanic. I am happy Rose lived forever alone for the rest of her life reminiscing. I am glad the ship hit the iceberg for it depicts how sometimes you are destined to sail on the ship of disaster that rams into an iceberg. I want to feel the disappointment, rage and the frustration of the characters, because it makes me feel better about my own situation. Happy Love stories make me lament for my life isn’t effortless or blessed with love that breaks the shackles of the deformed mindset of the society I am part of. Like they say, Misery loves company. 

The reality is that we all have been victims of destiny not working in our favour at some point or the other. I happily embrace the tragic aspect of life because by not doing so I would be lying to myself and moreover I would lose the ability to understand that the meaning of human life goes beyond mere happiness. Forever gloating on the happily ever after tales and never accepting the tragic reality, makes life and us, a lot smaller. A happy ending is nothing but a serious misinterpretation. 

P.S- So tell me what do you prefer? A tale of happily ever after or a tragic love story.

P.P.S- I sincerely do miss writing, especially the humour loaded ones. But my mind has found enough excuses not to and hence I have succumbed to sheer laziness.

One Cup Life Please!!

‘Mediocre’ that is how I do not want to describe my life as. A blatant existence earnestly waiting for some turbulence to happen and catch me off guard. As a kid I remember asking my Grandmother if there was something she excelled at or followed as an interesting hobby. She would look at me from between those plastic jars she was filling with freshly made pickles and tell me that during her time she was not allowed to have hobbies. She just existed and fulfilled her duties as a woman, whatever that meant or included. 

Then came the woman who introduced me to the world, my mother. I was forcefully enrolled into a music class by her during the early years of my school life. My Sundays were dedicated to a funny looking master with his colourful Harmonium, painstakingly trying to make a nightingale out of me. I never understood the concept of doing something you never enjoyed, even if you were good at it. Many a time I would find my mother humming the songs I was forcefully taught the previous Sunday and when sometimes I whined to her regarding my lack of interest in learning classical music, she would look at me with genuine sadness glinting in her eyes and remind me of her dream to learn music as a child, which I was now supposedly fulfilling. Offcourse, I opted out of it when I had enough of the man and his grating harmonium. 

       
My father is a virtuous man whose life revolves around his family and the bank he works for. He believes in a stable existence and risks are something he admires when others take, but it has never been his cup of tea. Regular money pouring in every month, loan instalments being met sincerely, lands being bought as an investment, kids scoring well in their studies, the stock market being Bull market, needs of the family members being piously met; all of this and he is a content man. But does this satisfaction denote true happiness? How duties subjugate a man and deceive him unceremoniously. Everyone in my family, has lived a perfectly planned life. School check, college check, job check, marriage check, kids check and from there began kids school check, kids college check, kids job check.  The list goes on till death reminds them that life ends unplanned anyway. 

       
The point is that now I am at such a crossroads, where I have two options. Live a planned life like my family has, or not plan at all but live a beautifully unplanned one. For I do not want to be someone who was so shackled as to never even remember to have a hobby, or someone who relishes on seeing her child pursue a hobby she was not able to, or someone who is so crushed by moral and worldly duties that life became a balance sheet for him, which must tally at all costs. 

       
One should not be compelled to know as to what step he/she is supposed take next. I am 23 yet clueless as to what I must become. Rejected some good job offers because I did not feel connected to the whole corporate lawyer scenario. Still blank as to what life demands from me. Well I did become a lawyer. Isn’t that a good enough achievement for now? Time is of essence, but let it not bind me. Life can wait for right now living is what I want to do.

P.S- No explanations for the hiatus. How are you guys?

The HEAD-HEART Conflict.......

It was past midnight when he caught the flicker on his mobile screen. A call from a number which was glimmering boldly across the screen. A number he once had deleted with a crushed heart and salty eyes. A number which he had tried hard to forget just like the person to whom it belonged, but all in vain. A faint smile escaped his lips as he gently ran his finger across the screen as if touching the woman who had burnt his heart. It’s funny when you cannot hate someone who left you shattered, he thought. He picked up the call after a few rings and decided not to make the first move. Never again, he promised.

She waited for his voice to calm her racing heart but was invited by a deadly silence. Her heart was the reason behind the call while her mind had been voting against it. But the heart was a little child who fell into temptations while the mind like a mature man could do nothing but watch. She decided to make the first move. For the first and the last time, she promised. Her voice broke as she tried to speak. She cleared her throat and softly said ‘Hello’.

He let her voice pinch his heart, as thousands of memories started reeling right in front of his eyes. He decided to remain silent and let her voice tingle his senses. She was in his town for a few days and wanted to meet him before she left. She continued speaking, while he pictured her face and the myriad expressions that touched her features as she spoke. He heard her asking him if 4’o clock in the evening was perfect for the meet. His mind like a prudent soul told him to bluntly reject her plan to suddenly meet him but before he could give it a second thought, his heart did the ominous work and said ‘Perfect’.

She was used to waiting for him and she remembered how his crooked smile would melt away her anger. He would blow her a kiss and wink foxily while taking a seat facing her. She had always wondered why he never sat beside her like the other couples did. The same café, the same time, every Saturday in the 4 years of their relationship. A ritual they followed until she decided to crush his heart and live according to the rules framed by the society and for the honour of her family. 3 years later, she was now sitting at the same café, at the same time waiting for the man she had tried to unlove. It pricked her that she couldn’t. 

He made his way and took a seat facing her, a place he preferred. This way none of her expressions would escape his gaze and her smile would forever be his to cherish. She was still the same for him, deep in his heart, but he realized that even with the sadness in her eyes she still was the most beautiful thing he had ever known. Silence prevailed and he decided to break the ice by asking her to place the order. He liked her to make the decisions and crushing his heart was one of them. He heard her telling the waiter “One classic burger without cheese or mayonnaise for me and Tuna sandwich with french fries and tomatoes on the side for him." He looked at her and smiled knowingly, for she was still the same woman he fell in love with. The fact that after 3 years, she still remembered the little things he liked, interested him but his heart continued pricking him moment after moment. 

She looked at him and couldn’t suppress the warm smile that glowed across her face just at the sight of him. She realised that happiness was stored in moments like these. A smile from him and her heart throbbed with the boundless love she had for this very man. A feeling she had tried to corner and subsequently erase but couldn’t. She let him speak and heard him telling her how his work gave him peace through the tough times. She couldn’t help but ask him to define the word ‘Peace’ and got lost in the philosophies he tried to put across to her. She smiled as she remembered the late night calls where he would talk to her about subjects so random and philosophical that she would unknowingly fall asleep. He would always apologize to her the next day and promise never to bore her again. She jolted back to reality as he said “So this is what Peace means to me. My work brings peace to me”

It was dusk when they decided to part ways, again. She left for her hotel and he started walking back home. He wondered why she had wanted to meet him. It never occurred to him to ask her, for he was busy getting to know the things that happened in the three years they were not in touch. He decided to send her a message but then opted against it. His heart was cherishing the memories of this final meeting and he just didn’t want to ruin it. 

Lying on her hotel bed, she knew exactly why she had wanted to meet him. This time her mind and her heart were in symphony for they knew the purity of the emotion and the strength of the bond he and she shared. They knew time was just an excuse and that something with such depth could never be erased. She now felt calm as life finally started to solve the puzzle and she slept with a blank mind after a very long time.

A day after the meet and he still couldn’t erase her face from his mind. He had decided not to work today and spend the day alone at home just reliving the moment. Insanity that what this is, his mind reminded. A knock on the door and he opened it blaming the world for coming between him and his solitude. A familiar figure with the familiar smile he had worshipped for years stood in front of him.

She pushed him away and hurriedly closed the door. A tear made its way down her cheek as she hugged him. His mind asked a zillion questions while his heart knew all the answers. One look in her eyes and he knew she was here to stay. As they lay on bed, she basked in the smell of the only man she had ever loved. His arms around her, his stubs rubbing her cheeks and his warmth soothing her soul. She caught him sleeping while his arms were still wrapped around her as if he was afraid of losing her again. She nudged him till he finally woke up with a childish grunt and looked her straight in her eyes only to glow up realizing he still had her. 

She finally decided to ask him. “So define the word ‘Peace’ for me again” she said. He smiled and pulled her closer, kissed her gently on the lips and then closed his eyes to sleep with her still in his arms. He now knew what ‘Peace’ was. “I am now at peace”, he softly said and went back to sleep.

P.S- Not the usual dose of humour right and bloody long right? Well I am in an Emo mood right now, hence this post. Fictitious writeup only.

P.P.S- It’s funny how priorities change with time. The people remain the same but the feelings disappear. Strange!

P.P.P.S- Been busy with life and tired of making every post my come back post. I don’t know when I will post next. Soon or never. Battling a screwed up mind.

The Glory Of Indian Roads

Dear Jade,

 I am doing well and at awe with the glory that is India. Every aspect of this mesmerizing country amazes me be its people, the place, the culture or the living. But what struck me the most were the roads, for India with its roads provides you with an experience that no other country can possibly compete with, not even our homeland New Zealand.

          Indians are born with nerves of steel and a blind sometimes paralyzing faith in the supreme power. The ease with which an Indian nonchalantly crosses the road as a colourful unbalanced truck misses him with a gap of a skin, shows his valour. India has two kinds of jungles, the first being the real one and the other one being the concrete jungle. The country rather brings out a whole new meaning to the term ‘concrete jungle’. A 2km ride through the city behind my personal guide Mr Sharma, gave me a taste of the domestic safari. It is much like the real Safari that you and I took in the forests of Africa, the only difference being the swapping of wild animals with the domestic stray ones. Jade, the Indian’s believe in protecting not only the freedom of its plebeians but also that of its animals. As Mr. Sharma gave me an overview of the city with the drive, I spotted a buffalo sun bathing in the middle of the road while his lower half was being cooled by the muddy water of the pothole it had made its temporary getaway. We drove past a herd of cows who were grazing on the bushes which were grown I guess specially for their benefit on the road dividers. As the donkeys seemed to be pondering on life altering questions in the middle of the road, stray dogs were busy chasing piglets across the National Highway. People drove through whatever place was left, making random twists and jolts to escape the craters that I think were particularly designed to give us all a true safari experience.

          I wonder as to what keeps the Indians away from and winning sports events like the ‘World Dirt Bike Championships’. These men of steel with their nerve jittering escapades on the roads and their mastery on the techniques of survival can give the riders from other countries a run for their money. Jade, to drive in India requires skill which cannot be taught but has to be passed down the generation lane through genes. You are born an Indian rider, you never become one! There is but one rule that you need to know before trying out the Indian roads, and that is ‘Just survive it’. The Indians wince at the thought of using a helmet for not only does it hinder their highly fashionable existence but also seems to be a direct spit on their gallantry. Real soldiers don’t need body armour they say!

           Jade, do you remember the first lesson our parents taught us regarding the streets? The first rule of the streets is that when you cross it you first look right, then left, then again right and only then cross. Here in India such childish rules don’t apply. The mantra is to just believe that no one will hit you dead and have pure faith in mankind! But one thing I learnt is to drive atleast two metres away from the vehicle in front, for you never know when the driver or the passenger would find the need to build up their saliva and spit unannounced on the road, which sometimes the air carries towards your face. A vehicle on Indian roads needs just a few facilities apart from the basic engine. It only needs a steering equipment, a brake, an accelerator, a horn and a suspension to protect your spine. According to me there is absolutely no need for an indicator at all for it is beautifully replaced by striking out your arm a split second before taking a turn. 

          The Indians are so used to living in a populated country that they know how to share the little things they manage to get. This can even be seen on the roads. The number of people on a motorcycle or inside a car exceeds the actual weight of the vehicle itself, but such minor details do not hinder a true Indian. I now know how the Indian soldiers are able to perform the motorbike stunts I witnessed during the Independence Day parade of the country this time. I am also sending you some pictures for your enjoyment and understanding.

         My love, I have to stop my letter here for my time is limited in this truly intriguing country.  But before I quit the pen, I must tell you that we the people of New Zealand don’t know where our taxes have gone, but the Indians know where their taxes have been used. Just one look at the glamorous roads with its designed potholes is enough.

Thinking about you,

Samuel.  

The one during Independence Day...

P.S- Yesterday happened to be the most embarrassing day of my life. My maid caught me butt naked as she came upstairs unannounced to clean my room. Also the weighing scale at the gym showed that I lost 2 kg's. My joy knew no bound until my father declared that the weighing scale was declared incorrect. 

P.P.S- I want all my readers to make way for something healthy. Yes! I want you to include green tea in your diet. It tastes bitter but you do shed a few pounds :D

               

Image Courtesy- snagesh.com

GAMOPHOBIA !!

Everytime I look at my parents, my soul lingers out of my body, gives me a hot iron shovel hit and reminds me that they are the main reason behind my marriage phobia. Yes I seem to be suffering from this abysmal and indefensible mental issue called the Gamophobia (note the ‘Game’ part of the term). 

When I say so about my family, one might think that I belong to a tumultuous family where melodrama is in the air and dramatic notes play in the background as the members throw brick bats at each other. You might even think of me as a girl who was a staunch rebel because of her situations at home and grew up listening to or writing angry girl songs. You might even try to picture my family as one where the children run around wailing while the adults pry against each other or have round table conference regarding ancestral property division. But no, my family was none of that because it lacked spice. It was the usual, keep your voices low because the neighbours are listening type. My family ran like clockwork where everyone fulfilled their duties as a member, exchanged pleasantries, had dinner together and then returned to bed so as to continue the same routine the next day, every day. I belong to an average Indian family. 

Now the reason why this turned me into someone who fears marriage is because an average Indian family is based on the legendary patriarchal system. In this system the man shouts and the woman tolerates his callousness only because he is a man. According to this system the woman believes that manhood grants its member the authority to dominate and point fingers at the other sex. Almost every Indian family follows this rule. When a man shouts, it is because you did something wrong and when a woman shouts, she shouldn’t because she isn’t a man. 

They say that a father is the first man in a girl’s life and a girl looks for the qualities of her father in the man she wants to spend her life with. Not that I hate my father, but I would never want my husband (if any) to be like him for if he happens to be that type, my marriage would last as long as Kim Kardashian’s, maybe shorter. My father is an amazing father, so amazing that while other kids tried to smooth paste their parents by telling them that both were equally loved, I would be choosing my dad over my mother. It had always been that way. But as I grew up I started seeing the bigger picture. My father is a typical husband. A husband who lives to take care of his wife and kids but does so by losing his temper on issue trivial but holding the fort when bulky issues appear. His anger seems to be at his nose and my mother has to drink it up whenever it runs, only because he is a man.

I can never allow a man to shout at me for random things and I can never erase it from my mind within seconds. I am someone who remembers criticism and the ugly words that has ever come out regarding me from any mouth. I am someone who cries revenge when hurt and making things right with me takes more than a simple smile or a formal apology. I wonder how my mother continues to live this way, happily sandwiched between the whims and fancies of her husband and her two children. It’s not that my father practices domestic violence or resorts to ill words, but angry tone regarding subjects the woman had no hand on, I find that uncalled for. 

The method my mother adopts to combat her anger or humiliation is put into action after my father has vacated the scene of crime. She does so by mumbling to herself and then forgetting this ever happened in the next 5 seconds. Sometimes she fights back with a low voice but still she lets my father win in the end. Maybe this is what marriage is. Adjustments, because you just cannot get out of it, sacrifices because it is the cardinal principle of marriage and tolerance because you as a woman are supposed to land out of the womb with this lesson already injected in you. 

I know that I should be a clever girl and try not to marry ever, because my marriage is never going to be a success if my man happens to follow the patriarchal system. I am not the type of woman who will happily listen to him complaining and spends her life trying to please him, only because I am supposed to. I should also not be pictured as a woman who dominates her better half or spanks him on his ass with a whip (bedroom play excluded). This is why my parents are hitting their 25^th anniversary and I will be surprised if I ever hit my 1^st.

Maybe I should be a nun, but then even that commitment to God seems patriarchal to me. 

P.S- Even perfection has minute imperfections you chose to ignore. My father is the perfect husband for my mother and she chooses to ignore his anger issues by calling it his way to take out the stress from work and having an unmanageable kid like me. Also society could never make me realize that now I was a grown up lady, but today I noticed my father’s receding hairline and his massive bald spot and it kicked me brutally. Adorable him!!!!

P.P.S- The last time I was this thin was when I was in my 10^th grade. Gym is my second home and sexy clothes fit me!!!

P.P.P.S- Notice the new ‘Contact me’ widget on the side bar? Now you can mail me your queries or suggestions if any.

Image Courtesy-  funnyfactory.cheezeburger.com

THE ALMOST MAN

I happen to write this with a guilty conscience and a confused soul. I used to be the kind of person who supported the general notion that men remain rooted to a relationship until his woman hints him towards tying the nuptials. I never had a strong reason to back up my statement except for the melodramas my eyes had witnessed in movies since the time I had my mind ticking. But after licking dry the experience gathered in my 23 years of life, I have proved my hypothesis wrong.

When a relationship is true and when its depth is boundless, a man drowns in its sweet symphony and never dreams of being rescued. He goes in all lengths and fights all odds to just make it work with you. But a woman caresses her man with her unconditional love while living with the list in her mind about his faults and his shortcomings. She wants to see him grow and she wants to be a part of his growth.  She doesn’t want her Mr. Right packed and delivered but wants to be the one who manufactured him. She wants to be his mother, which later ruins their relationship.

I loved him for the man he almost was. The chemistry between us, the infinite love from both sides and his amazing virtues, made me believe that he is the one I want to invest my future on. I beautifully ignored the adjustments I was making because I was in love, pure and deep love. But my mind and my conscience revolted against my heart and pinched me now and then reminding me that adjustments where part of marriage not love affairs. Why be in a relationship when you feel guilty about it? Why force yourself to prioritize someone when you know your priority is something else.  Why settle in for the almost man for you with your adoration and your succulent love are just being a hindrance to his success. Men never grow until they are challenged and till you smother him with you adoration, he shall never grow.

Sometimes women think they don’t deserve Mr Right. I still think ‘what if I never find someone who loves me the way he did?’ or ‘what if the man I marry never trusts me the way he did?’ But now I have come to peace with this and have given the universe a chance to prove my notions wrong. I believe I deserve Mr Right and my almost man might be someone else’s Mr. Right. I was his ‘Almost woman’ for I was just slowing him down with my blind adoration. Our future just wasn’t linked.

But if only Mr. Right was as enticing as the Almost man. You my almost man will always be the one with my heart.

P.S- Sometimes I feel that I made a huge mistake, but most of the times I feel at peace for I don’t feel guilty anymore. But I don’t regret my past for it was beautiful. But I pray my future does not punish me for it.

P.P.S- “ As soon as forever is through, I will be over you” –TOTO

P.P.P.S- Not the humour post you looked forward to? Sometimes the soul needs to vent.

THE INDIAN WAY OF FINDING Mr.RIGHT !!

There are two types of young Malayalee women. One, those who are enlisted on any or all of the various matrimony sites or Two, those who rebelled against it or are the fruits of the loins of those fathers who rebel against it. I believed myself to be the fruit of one such loin until I was proved wrong by being colourfully displayed as a ‘Simple, caring, traditional girl’ on a presumed to be a top notch matrimonial site. 

For men being on a matrimonial website is just like being on any other social networking site, except for the fact that it is mostly steered around by their parents. But for women it is like being exhibited as the best possession one can tie a knot to and drag back home from a religion and caste based market.  Now I always knew that day was near. The day on which the saga of my arranged marriage starts. The day when I join thousands of citizens belonging to the kingdom of muliebrity who have already started the search for their Mr ‘Parents & Society claim him to be’ Right. 

As soon as I crash-landed home after 5 yrs of Law University, the crickets alias the relatives started chirping. Ignoring their matters at home, everyone oiled up their eyes in anticipation for the day my parents finally notice their presumed to be mature daughter and take their first step towards the destruction of the independence their offspring was enjoying. Three weeks back, I plunged or was rather thrown with tied limbs into the world of matrimonial sites. Sandwiched between my parents and forcefully glued in front of the laptop, I was made to type my own profile with words which screamed the antonyms of my character and personality. This was going to be a serious case of ‘caveat emptor’, which in simple words meant ‘let the buyer beware and save his own ass’. My hobbies according to the site includes ‘handicrafts, pet & cooking’ and my conscious pricks me on my derriere when I remember the fact that the only craft I ever made was fake flowers made out of AMUL milk packets for the best out of waste competition during my 6^th grade (bastards didn’t even provide me with a consolation prize) and also the realization that my cooking experiments have numbed several taste buds belonging to various creatures including mine. But then again, there is always time to learn, isnt it? 

Now I refuse to believe any chick who says that the idea of being on a matrimonial site never amused her. That bitch is lying! Obviously the scene is different in case of committed ladies. No matter how uninterested you claim to be you will sneak into your account just to look at how many proposals you have got till date or how many members have viewed your profile. You want to be desired or ‘want-able’ if any such word exists. You expect drool-some men to bang on your virtual door and ask your parents for your hand in marriage, even if you look like a dying hag. You can’t blame yourself since you are a woman after all. You will even indirectly provide your mother with your best photos, photoshop it a bit just to be the cream of the crowd. I too was shocked by the change of my attitude towards this whole event. Though I refused to be draped in a kanjeevaram saree and pose before the fake poster garden in a studio with my right hand resting awkwardly on a plastic pillar, I did allow them to upload a few photos of mine on the site. The first week of being on the matrimonial site was exciting since this was a whole new chapter and a new twist to my young life. This is when you should appreciate the technological advancement or even the existence of this thing called software. The site with its drop down lists shortlists the candidates according to your preference regarding religion, caste, height, weight, bank balance, food habits, drinking and smoking habits etc, and voila you have an endless list of probable grooms. 

But this excitement was short lived for the good looking men never send you proposals. After getting proposals from 12 divorcees, 10 uncles and 28 men who look like rapists, I have lost my faith on the Indian marriage system. Being on a matrimonial site is a huge mistake for you will always be bombarded with horrendous proposals. My father lost 1500 bucks to get my profile highlighted on the site so that this gem is not overlooked by the possible buyers and I on the other hand have nightmares about random men stopping me on the city streets and screaming my Matrimonial ID out instead of my name. Anyone on the matrimonial site is an established LOSER. 

I NOW CURSE THE DAY I WAS BORN!!!!!!!

P.S- You shall from now on be tortured with regular posts. Life is like a bag of potato chips and I haven’t figured out why. Sometimes you just feel like suing God!

P.P.S- Some of you mailed me while I was away. You guys are way too generous with your kind words!!

P.P.P.S- I know this post isn’t my best. I am recovering from my deep virtual slumber. So MERCY!!