THE ART OF BEING TRADITIONAL WITH A MODERN APPROACH....

A quintessential Indian woman should be traditional. She should be shy, reserved, blushing at the rate of 1 blush per 15 seconds and above all she must practice geometrical drawings with her toes on the ground at the sight of a guy she likes. According to the “SOCIETY, A CRAZY BREED” dictionary, a modern girl means “A homo sapien of the female gender who suffers from a psychological illness whereby she believes that she is born with the freedom that only the male gender enjoys.” In a country like India, being modern is the more unacceptable than pre marital sex.

So I got enlisted in one of the premium matrimonial websites last year, for a period of 3 mths. My profile was paid for, extra bucks were thrown in to get my profile highlighted in blue and a little more was spent for the ease with which the male species would come across a tigress like me. After all I am such a magnificent catch. At the end of 3 mths and 72 proposals, all of which came from divorcees, innocent 25yr old divorcee with YouTube links on his profile of him singing,  10^th class fail, 45 year old pedophiles, bald body builders, too thin to be carried on my shoulders, watchman, Muslim men with a fantasy of marrying a Hindu girl and women pretending to be men, my family called it quits. They were disappointed with the kind of crowd I was drawing to myself. My relatives declared that there was something very very wrong with me. When every second Indian traditional girl is finding her Mr. Perfect through matrimonial site intervention, why not me? The answer was found in my Bio which read something like this:

“We are looking for a suitable alliance for our fair, well educated and employed daughter. Our daughter is Modern and was raised in the North. We seek alliance from Like minded boy with SHUDH JADAKAM. Please contact us for the detailed horoscope”

The reason behind my failed matrimonial fashion parade was the word “MODERN”. After a few hours of analyzing, over analyzing, putting forward a thesis and a dozen antithesis, my family decided to replace the word “MODERN” with “TRADITIONAL WITH A MODERN APPROACH”. That is the sole hurdle in my journey towards matrimonial enlightenment. So now my 'About Me' says:

“We are looking for a suitable alliance for our fair, well educated and employed daughter. Our daughter is traditional with a modern approach and was raised in the North. We seek alliance from Like minded boy with SHUDH JADAKAM. Please contact us for the detailed horoscope.”

(Kindly note that there is no mention of the fact that I am an advocate. Thank you very much.)

How exactly does one become traditional with a modern approach? Does it mean that I drape myself with Kanjeevaram saree while wearing Louis Vuitton boots on my feet? Does it mean that I visit the temple every day and later smoke a joint at a rave party? Or does it mean that I touch my grandparent’s feet every time I leave the house and then at night share a snifter glass of wine with them? What exactly did it mean?

And then it hit me. Almost all Indian women are “Traditional with a modern approach”. Yes we are. We do like a drink every now and then but our family doesn’t know about it. We do wear short skirts when with friends but change into Kurta Pajama with Dupatta to cover our ample bosoms when we visit our grandparents. We do not see pre marital sex as taboo but we won’t tell about it to anyone. We like watching or reading porn but we won’t be open about it like the men. We have desires that our man knows but our family thinks we commit the crime that is sex only to procreate. We gossip about women who are adventurous, all the while hiding the adventures we have been a part of. We are Modern packed in a facade that is tradition.

So yes I am an epitome of a “Traditional with a Modern approach” woman. I have my secrets and I have my not so secret desires. I can make you a part of my secrets and force you to fall in love, all the while hiding my reality from the society. I lead a dual life. I am an illusionist.

And so you ask me, will I get married now that I am no more modern? Well, I promise you guys one thing. Whatever happens with me, it shall not be an ordinary story. It shall not be a simple case and it shall definitely not be through a matrimonial website parade. After all, I am traditional with a modern approach. *WINKS*

P.S- Do not see me as someone who is against the idea of getting married with the help of matrimonial websites. I am all for it and many of my friends are getting married to perfect hot sizzlers because of it. I just don’t like being a part of it.

P.P.S- New Year to you all!!! It is upon you and destiny to make it Happy or Crappy.

LEMONS.......

Have you heard the sound of your amazing goals being crushed into powder by the obese feet of destiny? It sounds a zillion times worse than the fart my elderly neighbour Mr. Kukreja involuntarily passes as I drop him to the local supermarket in my Car with the windows up and AC on. It smells worse too.

Judicial service wasn’t meant to be and I know so because I lost it with a margin of 8 marks from the cut off. Having taken a year drop after my law graduation to exclusively prepare for this marathon exam and having being doubted about my choice by every member of my family tree, it quite sucks when you prove them right. But Bollocks! I did try. 

But life is a funny thing and she gives you a sign in the weirdest of time. On the judgment day, I was moving in circles around the laptop awaiting the result that could possibly save my dignity. After all the basic purpose of our sad little life is to please the society. Just then the results came out and with the pain in my heart and Sahara desert in my throat I found out that the Indian courts weren’t lucky enough to have me as a judge. It hurt. It even hurt to realize that I rejected the job I was recently offered in Chennai. I rejected 4 decent job offers for this one thing. It hurt.

Just then the door bell rang. I stared at the laptop, rubbed my eyes, searched for my big glasses, wore them and then walked towards the front door. It was my farty neighbour’s little grandson with a huge white sack that he could barely carry. Still recovering from my comitragic defeat I just sat on the ground and looked at him. The little ugly boy just grinned and pushed the sack towards me as he said “Garden se Tode Hain Nana Ne. Aap le lo”

Lemons. Around 50 of them.

And then I laughed looking at the lemons as if I was a witch who just found the missing ingredient to her potion of immortality. I laughed till the kid left me standing alone before the open door as he ran away and never looked back. I laughed till my eyes couldn’t see clearly.  Life had given me lemons and I was not going to weep over it. But what do you do when life gives you 50 lemons. You make “Nimbu ka Acchar”. Yes! And have it with some Mooli Ke Parathe.

It is quite Ok when the thing that you have been working towards for the longest time, doesn’t work in your favour. It is alright when your extended family which was waiting for your defeat has finally got it. It is even fine when you do not know where your life is headed to. But you have got to move. That is all you need to!

So you ask me, what’s next? Well, this blog post is typed while sitting in the High Court of Kerala. Yes!!!  I joined an amazing Law firm here and I am a litigating advocate now. So what if I did not become a judge, I can always stand on the other side and make their life miserable. You see life is good, provided you use the Lemons in your favour.  Your Honour, My Ass!!

P.S- An update after a whole month. Well, atleast you know what kept me busy.  No internet connection so currently using the Law firm's free wifi. Pray I don't get fired. Amen!

MY WAISTLINE

I am thinking of having an apple as I type this. Actually chuck that because to be quite honest, I was thinking of ordering a Margherita Pizza with extra cheese from Domino’s right now, since I am home alone and the Menu card that got delivered to me with the morning newspaper is proof enough that the Universe wants me to have a pizza foreplay today. Maybe by the time I get to the end of this post, this pizza laden desire will go away. 

By the way I am also thinking about grilling some Vegetarian Seekh Kebab later this evening. It is 4’o clock already but Seekh kebabs are not the ones to be affected by the Indian Standard Time. Sadly, today morning as I lay in the Shavasana pose during my powerless yoga class, I had made a resolution to not eat anything that would make me spread like a dough with yeast in it. Speaking of dough with yeast in it, I am still thinking about ordering that pizza. Oh did you know that I have some home-made chocolate syrup in the refrigerator?  Pretty easy to make you know. Some brown sugar, some good quality cocoa powder, some vanilla essence and some water, boiled and reduced till you reach the syrup like consistency. How about killing the seekh kebab idea and making some nice fluffy pancakes. It would soak my chocolate syrup so well. Oh Yes!

Green tea is good. I had two cups of green tea today. So I guess I deserve to go out and buy a Paneer Bhurji Puff Pastry for an evening snack. I know I had that yesterday but something about a nice crumbly puff with a melt-in-your-mouth filling of Paneer and caramelized onions deserves my attention even today. I am already forgetting about the Margherita pizza.

What will mom cook for dinner? There are some Cauliflowers and a few White radishes lying unattended inside the fridge. Maybe I will ask her to make me some Gobi Mooli ke Parathe with a chunk of butter melting in the divine heat of the paratha. That reminds me that I need to go buy some sweet lime pickle because nothing compliments a Mooli paratha than a sweet lime pickle.

Yesterday I wanted to have some chocolate. But I was dieting so I did what a prudent girl like me would do. Yes, I made some chocolate brownies. It was eggless and butter-less of course because I don’t like compromising with my health. But a chocolate brownie needs its best friend to give you a happily ever after. So I went out and bought some Vanilla ice-cream and boy! It sure was divine.  Dieting is for losers. Losers as in people who lose, some weight. I am not a loser.

Did I tell you guys that I became 65 kilos from 63 kilos? Help me out here and tell me if you know exactly why this is happening to me. We can sit together and come to a conclusion while we share that Margherita Pizza which is still ruling my mind. Or you can take a walk with me while I go buy that much delicate Paneer Bhurji  puff. Who am I kidding, we will take the car, even if the shop is like a 100 mts away.

Whatever happened to the apple I was thinking of having while I started with the post? May be I should think about my waistline and just stick to having an apple. No Margherita Pizza, No seekh Kebab, No Paneer Bhurji Puff, No pancake with my amazing home-made chocolate syrup, No Gobi Mooli ke parathe, No melting butter. Just one good old, low calorie, doctor repelling  Apple. After all, I am not someone who breaks a SHAVASANA  RESOLUTION.

P.S- I am posting this a day later. Yes, I just had an apple as I said……in the gorgeous, divine, exquisite form of…….. an APPLE PIE.  Jesus Christ!! Victoria’s Secret should come up with a body mist that smells like an Apple pie with a hint of Cinnamon in it. Oh God!!!!!

P.P.S- HELP ME!! SOS!!!

P.P.P.S- Judicial service exam got over!! Phew! Chennai will happen next week because I have an interview scheduled with a law firm. I might either become a cranky judge or I might become a cranky Criminal Lawyer. I am fine either way! Just pray for me and my waistline, Will you?

 

A BLOUSY AFFAIR......

Studies have shown that 9 out of 10 women are certified blouse readers. Blouse reading is an ancient art of knowing the character and the psychology of a woman by carefully analyzing the pattern of the blouse she chooses to wear. It is an art exercised and promoted only by those belonging to the kingdom of muliebrity and done rightfully so because the trend of Indian men wearing a blouse or a saree  is not yet in practise.

Blouse readers can be found everywhere and are not constrained to a particular age group. Though known to be carrying out their profession individually, they can be found to be collectively practising their gift and expanding their domain at public get-togethers like weddings, kitty parties, ladies sangeet, anniversary bash, spinster party and even baby showers. The key difference between a blouse reader and a palm or face reader is the fact that in the former, the person whose character is being read out has no idea that she is being given a reading free of cost.  Hence, studies have shown that this art is practised for personal amusement and also used as a tool among the feline part of the human race to bond more effectively. 

Yesterday Mrs. Sunita attended Mrs. Kukreja’s 25^th Anniversary bash wearing a blouse with hooks on the back, breaking the conventional norms of having hooks in the front. This act of displaying the hooks instead of conservatively covering it up with the Saree Pallu was noticed by the many veteran blouse readers including Mrs.Kukreja, who later that evening told her maid that she felt that Mrs.Sunita was being a cougar who wanted to entice the men in the party with her public display of the hooks. The maid being an incompetent blouse reader could only nod in the affirmative.

You have to be privileged to deserve a blouse reading since it is not for everyone. The conventional ‘U’ neck, medium sleeved blouse that you wore for Mrs.Chadda’s kitty party acted like the invisible robe that Harry Potter wore during his voyeuristic nights. You need to have some guts and you need to have some self confidence to deserve a free reading. Why do you think the veteran blouse reader at your home i.e your mother pointed a finger at Priyanka Chopra and said “What is she trying to be? The maths symbol for percentage (%)?” as the woman danced to the tune of ‘Desi Girl’ with the saree pallu dividing her chest into half, while her sleeveless blouse displayed her toned arms and her well endowed everything else.

It all started back in the age of sage Vishvamitra who sat for a severe penance, while Menaka a beautiful celestial nymph tried to break his Tapasya with her backless and sleeveless blouse. On watching her so do, the other Apsaras called her a ‘Loose Girl’ and moved their head from right to left with a disgruntled look on their face. It is they who became the Godmothers of Blouse reading and since then, the art has thrived on the bosoms of the confident ladies who took it as their job to promote this secret art by wearing airy blouses at every opportunity they got.

A puffed sleeve means that you are trying to camouflage your skinny hands that resemble chicken legs. A 3/4^th sleeve means you have gigantic arms that you are trying to hide beneath all that cloth. A backless blouse makes the women weep for your parents, while a sleeveless armpit showing blouse points towards your bad upbringing.  A deep back neck with a thread knot in the middle questions your culture while a short blouse that ends an inch below your ample bosom screams about your ugly character. Your blouse style has nothing to do with fashion but everything to do with your moral code of conduct. Your blouse design has nothing to do with your confidence but everything to do with your shamelessness. Your deep neck has nothing to do with the fact that you can carry it off beautifully, but everything to do with your loose character. It is not just a blouse but your armour of righteousness. Your blouse defines your worth.

A woman is a woman’s arch nemesis. While all the men flock together sharing beer and getting fat, women too flock together but with their knives pointed towards the next one’s back. It is time we saw a woman outside the blouse she chooses to wear (pun intended).

Also it is time that I stop writing about such a blousy affair.

P.S- If you are wondering why I wrote about a blouse, even I am wondering the same. Let us wonder together.