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.

How To Escape An Arranged Marriage...

I am in that tragic phase of life. The phase which every person, be it man or woman cannot escape. The phase in your life which your parents have been waiting for ‘like a boss’. If you are an Indian, your life cycle has been genetically designed to endure the pain of arranged marriages, unless off course you create an outburst in your family and zip them up. This generally results in dramatic tears, exchange of chilli paste coated words and in the worst case scenario, disowning the offspring. 

I was born on 14^th September 1989 at 6:10 am in a place called Bhillai in Chattisgarh and before my first birthday on 14^th September 1990, my Jadakam or Kundli was custom made by an astrologer who claimed that he was King Aurangzeb’s favourite general Mr. Mir Jumla in his previous birth. Last month I stepped out of my student life and now I am the ripe mango which my granny thinks should be sold fast. Everything that glitters is not gold especially for us Malayalees and since it is the most essential item in any Keralite wedding, sometimes more important than the bride itself, the gold accumulation had started the moment I got out of school and into the law University. 

Fortunate I am that my parents did not hitch me up while I was still in college. Four of my batch mates are married and one is now shopping for maternity clothes. But the moment I was done with my college life, my father approached an assumed to be famous astrologer who sleepily asked for my birth date, place and time. He then made some geometric designs on a piece of paper and wrote  utter gibberish. According to him, I have to be married off within 2 years which my Dad thinks is time sufficient to find a dork of a guy to stick me up with for life. Well I will be 23 this September, so going with the calendar, I will be ruining somebody’s life by 25. 

Anyways, this prompted me to Google search some ways to escape arranged marriages and apart from some grotesque links on honour killing and videos about women who ran away from home, there was not much help available. So I sat down and pretended to be Buddha, followed by some eye to wall contact which led to some dull but useful ideas which as they say can change your life, for better or for worse.

Use any one or a combination or all of the following techniques during the groom visiting or bride seeing ceremony-

1)      Be honest- You where taught ‘honesty is the best policy’ for a reason and the reason is this. Be honest even if it hurts the ears of the listener. Let’s call the person who came to see you or the person you forcibly went to see the ‘scapegoat’. Pour in your honesty to the best of its ability but never before your parents. I intend to corner the scapegoat, away from the herd and introduce him to all the not so proud facts about myself with a few monstrous additions like the love for roasting bugs in candle flame during power cuts and my love for watching autopsy videos. This shall go one till he starts thinking I am the devils own. Well the fact that I am an advocate is a turn off in itself.

2)      Married Avatar- Introduce the scapegoat to your post wedding avatar. I plan on telling him that I intend to never adhere to the whims and fancies of his mother, give him nightmares about touching the Below Poverty Line due to my shopaholic tendencies and my devious idea of suing his family in a false case of domestic violence every time a trivial domestic turmoil arose. 

3)      De-Hymenated and Mr.Casanova- Your expertise in the field of bed doesn’t matter until you have the ability to lie about it. If you already are the broken one, then you are the chosen one, if you know what I mean! Just mathematically and statistically let the scapegoat know about the turbulent episodes you have had on bed with people who meant something to you and many who didn’t. It’s a sad state of affair that men still prefer virgins when it comes to marriage and women of expertise when it comes to just a fling. Well use that fact to your benefit. 

4)      Parent talk- Opt to tell your parents about the fact that you do not intend to marry until you feel you should and that they should quit showing you images of men with middle partition and hair oiled enough to stink even on photographs. This can cause a definite mayhem but then again worth a try.

If you utilise the above techniques in the most appropriate manner, you will ward away the scapegoat like a striped polecat. But this may also result in you being forever alone unless you have a back up plan i.e a lover waiting for you. Make sure that your parents are unaware of your evil intent or the situation can get a little too messy. You don’t want no filmy episodes!!!

But who knows there might be some douchebag who might like you inspite of all your ugly talks and your scary facts because he knows your game. That is when you should call it quits!!

P.S- I am back in action. Starting now all the posts that make it to my timeline shall be visited and read. College life is over and I am back home as an unemployed girl who is supposed to start preparing for civil judge exam up next year. 

P.P.S- I joined the gym again and the hot gay trainer is still here to rub salt on my open wounds. My heart aches!! If you are not familiar with the tale of the hottie, pls read THIS

P.P.P.S- So anyone missed me? I have an inflated sense of self worth.

Diary and Calendar Tragedy

It is that time of the year and I am pissed off. It’s the last week of the year and like every last week of every year that has gone by during my existence, I hate this last week too. My parents are the reason. This week to me is known as ‘CALENDAR & DIARY WEEK’.

My Father works in SBI which is known for its most dreary and dead edition of New Year diaries and calendars. My mother with her Income tax department follows that league religiously too. My childhood memories are frightening to the extent of making my brain numb. The last week of every Year brings with it new editions of diaries and calendars, which my parents tediously distribute to everyone we know and do not know. I was forced to carry a Diary accompanied with a calendar to my school, so that I could gift it to my teacher, courtesy the bank. Next day, another set of diary and calendar, courtesy Income tax department. My friends stopped visiting me at my place during this time because my parents would not even spare them of the agony. This is the worst week of the year and it has become a ritual.

My family accompanied me back to Kerala for a week this time. The luggage seemed enormous for a one week stay but why should I question? I was rejoicing over the fact that atleast this year they won’t be parcelling me Bank Diaries or sending it through some distant relatives. But you know my fate is a bitch and my joy was short lived. The following conversation was the reason.

Me- Papa, we got to do some minor shopping. Need things like detergent, soap, shampoo, lotion, talc, Oil and stuff. I do not want to go alone to shop because then you will call me and ask me why and where I spent so much money. So buy it for me before you leave this state.

Papa- Ok Mole. Just make a list of all the things you need and we shall go buy them all.

Me- Oh just the basic needs and some not so basic ones. You know me na. Oh Papa, new semester starting and so I need a new notepad to jot down the notes.

Papa- Not to worry Mole! You don’t worry about the notepad. I bought sufficient diaries from the bank and it is in the luggage. You can take it to college. Also take some for your friends. Your professors would like it too.

Me- Papa! I hate that diary. It is so boring and who thought of putting the Map of India showing all the branches of your bank, on the cover page? It sucks!!

Papa- Don’t talk to me in that tone ever again! Also why are so concerned with how it looks when your basic need is to write down the notes?

Me- But Papa!

Papa- Mole! The Case is dismissed!

Now I am just waiting for my mother to do the same with me because I am sure she will. If not for scribbling down the notes, then for revision purpose. As if I even revise! Gah!! Indian parents are pure torture sometimes. But the worst part is that my father has 10 more years left to retire and my mother has almost 16 yrs. So fuck my life. I cannot wait for them to retire!

Btw anyone who wants an SBI or Income Tax diary and calendar, just ask me before I throw the bunch as far as I can into the Arabian Sea. 

P.S- I am back to my den after being at home for 2 mths! No hurray for that because here too I was forced to join a gym. My parents will leave tomorrow. Yesterday we bought some gold for my marriage which will happen probably after 3 to 4 yrs. Being a Malayalee girl has its downfall. Also in Kerala, you might find a much larger crowd in a gold shop than in a fish market.

Image Courtesy- brownandblue.co.in

MY MOM THE BRUTE....

I am a bad person. I love to see my parents fight or rather I want to see my parents fight. I am saying this because in my 22 yrs of existence I have never seen or let me put this in a better way, ‘witnessed’ a good domestic fight. I am not saying that it doesn’t happen but that even if it does, they never let me catch a glimpse of it. No tears, no raised voice, no angry faces. 

As a child I used to love watching those dramatic Bollywood movies, especially that movie Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Ghum. The way Amitabh Bacchan would say “ Keh diya na… bus keh diya” and Jaya Bacchan would go all quiet and then towards the end of the movie, she finds those missing balls and says “Keh diya na.. bus keh diya”, making Amitabh feel like a little lost puppy in a storm. Since then, I have wanted to see a bit of drama in my family, a sight of my dad and my mother having an exchange of epic dialogues. 

So some days back, my mother had to make her monthly visit to the doctor. Our family is crazy when it comes to personal care and regular visit to the doctor’s clinic. For some reason alien to me, she forced me to tag along and ordered my father to be the driver, which he happily agreed on one condition. The condition being that after dropping us at the clinic, he be allowed to go deal with some official matter and that he would come pick us up, as soon as the appointment with the doctor is done with.

The consultation was over, the medicines were bought and the call was made to ‘THE DAD’. I remember him saying that ‘He is on his way’. I also remember me and my mother standing in the blistering cold for almost half an hour waiting for him. My mother kept quiet while I started pulling my hair, when suddenly she said … 

“He thinks he is the busiest man alive”

I stopped pulling my hair from its root and directed all my senses to her words. Was this going to be the day I have been waiting for? Will I be able to witness a real life drama? Is this for real?? I am going to support her this time. I will nod my head to every accusation she makes and I will also add some fuel. 

Mom- He thinks it is because of him that the office runs. He thinks that the boss will die without him.

Me- True true!!

Mom- We have been waiting for so long! Who knows maybe he lied to us and is now sitting with his friend Anil, who owns a shop nearby. 

Me- Possible!!

Mom- I hate it when he does this. I also work! I never make him wait! He always does this. Half an hour it has been. I even want to pee!

Me- Tch Tch!! 

Mom- Why cannot he buy a new phone. Still the Nokia basic model. As if he does not have money for something better. One day I will throw the phone into the washing machine. Always out of coverage area.

Me- Yes it is embarrassing!!

After exact 45 minutes, my father appeared before us with a face that had a very boyish grin pasted on it. I was determined to support my mother on her fight for justice. We got into the car and I waited for my mother to give my Dad an earful. Maybe I should record this one. It’s going to be epic!

But you know how sometimes life plays cruel games with you. Like for example, you are finally going to eat the ice-cream you have been craving for and when your tongue is just a second away from the delight waiting on the cone, it somehow slips from your hand and falls on the dirtiest of all grounds. Similarly, life showed its ugly face to me again.

My Dad asked us if we had any trouble waiting for him. I looked at my mother with expectations surpassing all heights. But she ditched me and said something which made me want to open the car door and jump right in front of a truck. She said…

“Not at all! Our daughter was creating a fuss though. She is hungry you see”   
   

‘Why God Why!!!!!!! ‘ is all I thought, as my Dad gave me his blank stare.

P.S- My mother's facebook password is 'ILOVEMYSCOOTY'. Facepalm would be an understatement.

LIVING WITH A BROWN FAMILY

 I am now officially bugged, beyond redemption. I qualify for the post of the most fickle-minded person alive on the face of earth, atleast that is what I feel. When I was living my life my way 2017 km away from my home, I brutally missed the whole family and ‘MY-HOME’ thing.  So when the semester break arrived, I decided not to intern in another far away state but to pack my bags and go where my heart is, which I supposed was at this place called HOME.

 

Now the first 3 days were epic! I think the reason behind the chaotic rush at the airport on 06-11-2011 was that my entire family and few sets of relatives were present there to welcome me. A crushing kiss on the cheek by my mother, a bear hug by my Dad, a pony tail pull by my brother and a massive cheek pull by my Granny, I realized that I was finally home. 

First 3 days-

Mom- Mole!!! Look at you, you became so dark and look at your hair, full of split ends. Did you not apply the home made Hibiscus Flower shampoo I sent you? What about the Coconut and Tulsi oil? Now that you are here, I will take care of you Mole!!

Granny- Utthappam Or Dosa? I know my Mole likes Utthappam. Afternoon I will make Jeera Rice with Khatta Meetha Dal, your favourite no??!! I asked your Papa to buy some Udad Dal, to make Vada in the evening. 

Father- Mole! Tell me about your college life. Are things okie? Tonight we will have food from outside, right after we check out the new dress collection at the mall. You wanted to buy a dress right? 

4-10 days-

Mom- You became so fat! You should join the gym. Today itself we will go and check out the gym nearby. You need a good personal trainer too. Don’t sit so much! Always sitting in from of your laptop! You just rip off your clothes and leave them for the washing machine to wash. Why can’t you wash sometimes? And your room is so dirty! Is this how you live in your hostel? I am sure your place can host a junkyard war show. 

Granny- What do you mean you won’t eat rice in the afternoon? Have the rice with the curry you had in the morning. And you are asking about the evening snack? You know how old I am? Make something yourself or there is Rusk. Have it with tea.

Father- I don’t think that you should go to the gym just one time in a day. You come back and eat and do nothing. I think you should go in the evening too! This will keep you fit. Mole you have become so lazy! We will go out in the evening and buy you some more gym cothes.

11-25 days-

Mom- You come back from gym and you eat and then you are on bed like you are some old lady. When I was your age, I was married, had a job and also had you in my womb. How will you manage a family. You cannot even cook a chappati properly! You know Mrs. Susheea’s daughter Meena? She just finished school and she makes the dinner, while her mother rests. Tch Tch! What are we going to do with you!

Granny- You are ripe now!  Eligible to get married and you are still stubborn. Why cannot you eat rice and sambar eh? We will get you married to someone who eats just rice and lives for rice. Kids these days do not mature only! How will you take care of a child!! 

Father- Why are you watching Masterchef Australia? I would understand it if you actually moved your lazy bum up from the chair and made something they cook on this show. Why can’t you watch the news channel? Ones you get your Law degree, I am thinking about sending you to Delhi and you shall prepare for your Civil Judge exam. Why have you not sorted out your life yet? Tch Tch!

NOW, all I dream of is my Hostel bed, but I have 16 days more left at my home where like I said before, apparently my heart is. Life is so awesome when you are far away from your family and all you get is those loving and caring calls by your parents. I love my family and I cannot ask for a better one because I am blessed with the perfect one, but ones you have tasted freedom or life on your own, you become intolerant to dominance. I agree I am lazy, and I am not mature and I am not half the perfect woman my Mother is, but I am me!! Someone says I am perfect and I like to believe him.

Meet My Family,

Father- I can kill you for him and yes die for him too. The first man in my life and the best one too! He is the reason why I am proud of myself.

Mother- Too sweet to be true. Has a 9 to 6 job, but always took care of me as if she is a housewife. Too innocent, beautiful and the woman I want to be.

Granny- Looks sinfully beautiful even with those wrinkles at the age of 74. Makes the best food my Taste buds have tasted. A gem of a woman whom life has made strong.

Brother- He and I share a love hate relationship, but he will kick anyone’s ass if I ask him to. 

P.S- I did not reply to the comments on my last post, because seriously I did not know what to reply with. I am really thankful to everyone who read because you know it means a hell lot!

P.P.S- I am overeating. The gymming is making me real tired and end up hogging as if my life depends on it. I cannot diet! But yes I am not putting on weight.  Somebody kill my gym trainer. Please!

ImageCourtesy- iamstillzero.blogspot.com

PAIN IN THE BUTT

My bum is not in its pink of health and happiness. Sitting has become a major challenge now, much to the happiness of my mother who believes that your Butt-cheeks expand if you sit for long. I have not tried to research using Google in this regard because I have much better things to do like falling down the stairs while humming the tune of Himesh Reshamiya’s latest ‘I MISS YOU LIKE MANGO’.

So I fell and my brother ran to my rescue, atleast that is what I like to believe though the nincompoop was much more interested to scrutinize if any cracks had developed on the staircase as a result of my butt touching the stairs in a banging manner. The Russell Peters dialogue ‘BE A MAN’ hit my head and I applied MOVE on my left butt-cheek, followed by getting ready to hit the gym where my OH SO GAY trainer awaits to make me feel like a guinea pig running inside the wheel in a chemistry lab.

I forbade myself from squeezing my own ass due to the immense pain while walking and reached the gym after driving almost standing on my humble Activa. To my greatest happiness my trainer was on leave and another trainer with a butt which might make Jennifer Lopez insecure took the opportunity to instruct me for the day. His CHIHUAHUA face made me feel that he would be lenient and that today’s working out would be like finishing up a piece of chocolate truffle, quick and easy. But you know God has made me his source of comical entertainment and he loves to point at me and laugh. The JLo butt trainer was actually a CHIHUAHUA with the soul of a Rottweiler and he made me run for 25 min straight, followed by spin bike for 20 min and other machines for an hour. I was in the gym for 2 hours and he wanted me to stay back for half an hour more. Now no one can blame me for bringing up the excuse of my (long back expired) Grandfather’s sudden need to visit the doctor, whose appointment has already been taken. 

I returned home and rubbed my aching left butt-cheek in the presence of my family and threw myself on the bed, crashing on my stomach. My brother had already spread the news of me almost cracking the staircase with my butt and my mother was demanding her right to see my 22 yr old Thunder Bum. Now she is someone who wouldn’t bless me with Pin drop silence until I give her what she wants and in this case, it was the view of my YOU-KNOW-WHAT. I took her to my room, closed the door as my Grandmother too tried to come for the viewing ceremony and allowed my mother to see what she wanted to see. After close introspection she said something which will remain in my head for a long time, even if it is not forever.

She said “ Your left butcheek looks like Akon’s Face now"

P.S- I am typing this while standing. The blood clot has reduced considerably but still makes me wince as I sit. Sunday is GYM holiday and I am giving my Bum the rest it deserves.

P.P.S- My brother today bought Lakme Perfect Radiance Fairness cream worth 175 bucks. He is 14 yr old. He now wants to buy OLAY men’s solution and asked me to give my opinion in this regard. All I could suggest to him was ‘Become a Man first my little boy’.