Of Childhood Crushes and Fantasies.....

Today morning as I was getting out for work, my glance slid towards my little 7 yr old cousin’s bedroom. There she stood with a huge poster of some Disney Prince and was standing on her toes in an attempt to stick it to her wall. This was the first ‘GUY’ poster in her room and I know that this wouldn't be her last. This was just a bud.

I was not an innocent child. To be quite frank, since I was studying in a convent school, boys were like Unicorns for me. Mystical, magical and unattainable, though unlike Unicorns they did exist somewhere outside the school compound. Unlike the other girls who were busy salivating about Barbie’s gay boyfriend Mr.Ken, I was busy fantasizing about Mowgli. Mowgli was by God my first crush and I wanted to give him babies. 4 babies to be precise. One who could ride on the black panther ‘Bageera’, one to  play with the cuddly bear ‘Baloo’, one to slide down the slimy back of the snake ‘Kaa’ and one who could fight the evil tiger ‘Shere Khan’. I had planned it all while listening to the title song ‘Jungle Jungle Pata Chala Hai Chaddi Pehenke Phool Khila Hai’. Me and my Chaddyman for life!

But then I grew up to be 11 yrs old and Mowgli was not as pleasing to my senses as he used to be. It was around that time that our neighbor Mrs.Kukreja started giving the top floor of her house on rent to bachelors. There was this boy whom I called ‘Mintu bhaiyya’ who was a star among me and my other friends. But I was committing incest in my mind and bhaiyya was the last thing I wanted him to be. I wanted him to give me a ride on his Bajaj Vespa and share a Mango Dolly with me. The way he played Tea set with my friends made me jealous. But what could a girl with a boy cut and a deranged self confidence do?

One day I got up and tied my mom’s dupatta on my head and started pretending that it was real hair. Long-ass-length-hair. With lipstick on my dot like lips and another dupatta rolled as a saree/Egyptian zombie atire around my tiny body with t-shirt as a blouse, I walked to the Verandah hoping to parade myself like a peacock before my Mintu. But it was my father who broke my heart between his uncontrollable laughs when he said “Mintu left for his post graduation at Dehradun”. He left behind a packet of Britannia Little Hearts for me. My second crush broke my heart.

Then Hrithik Roshan came into my life. I would close myself in my parents room since I never had a room of my own, with the walkman playing the cassette of ‘ Kaho Na Pyaar Hai’. As I lay on my bed and the song started playing, I was suddenly Amisha Patel wearing her thigh length white skirt, gyrating uncontrollably with my Hrithik. I was the one for whom he made sea-shell necklaces and I was the one looking deep into his eyes beside the bonfire in a secluded island somewhere near Thailand.

 Then he went ahead and got married to a certain pale skinned Suzanne.

Hrithik Roshan with his 8 pack abs, carved collar bone, bulging biceps and swallowing arms, did not deserve me, said my Dad as tears rolled down my 13 yr old cheek while licking on the Vanilla Ice-cream he bought to calm down the waves tormenting his daughter’s little heart. Dads are the best.

I don’t do crushes anymore. I don’t remember anyone else whom I had a crush on besides these. At least nothing that was this serious and engulfing. So, what do I do now? Well I got graduated from crushing on people to falling in love. Much worse!

But the good thing about Love is, it doesn't come easy. I am a tough nut to crack.  But it did happen once and God, I would always thank you for that!

So dear Mowgli, I am glad nothing happened between us. My little cousin told me while reading the Jungle book that you are happy with a certain blue skirted girl named ‘Shanti’. I hope she pops out 4 kids.

Dear Mintu Bhaiyya. Wherever you are, Dehradun or Mussoorie, I hope you found someone who foresees your premature bald patch just like I did. But maybe you are already bald by now.

Dear Hrithik Roshan. You still look good in your latest ‘Baniyan’ advertisement. Call me. 

P.S- The above photo is a classic case of bad photoshop. Thank you very much.

P.P.S- Tell me about your first ever crush. 

WHAT DOESN'T KILL YOU, MAKES YOU WEAKER !!!

It is funny how people like to reason everything out! Every single incident in their life is seen as a reason that would lead to something that has a higher meaning. Something that was meant to be. They just don’t like to accept things as they are and move on. They need words to lift their spirits. And that is how the term 'Everything happens for a reason' was born. People please!!!

I burnt a toast today. It was the last piece of bread and I burnt it. Tell me how this happened for a reason. Except if the reason was perpetual starvation!

There are so many lines that absolutely make no sense to me. My absolute favourite is ‘What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.’ It is the worst lie that has been told on the face of this planet. I once had this terrible accident where I injured my leg badly. There were tissues hanging out and skin that looked like they were grated using a cheese grater. Of course it did not kill me and I survived. It has been almost 8 years since that accident, and still sometimes I feel the pain around my ankle. So no! What does not kill me, does not make me stronger! It makes me weaker.

Then there is the 'Everything is going to be all right'. What are you? An astrologer? Or are you the animal oracle ‘Paul the Octopus’ who predicted the world cup? If not, then how can you be sure that everything would be alright? Or maybe the interpretation of ‘Everything is going to be alright’ is “ I don’t know if it is going to be alright. I can only hope that it does. If it doesn’t, don’t sue me you imbecile! Life is a bitch but you are not the only one with issues. I ate a fly today, accidentally. Do you think it is going to be all right for the fly? Accept your destiny. DEAL WITH IT!”

I remember I had this classmate of mine named ‘Umapathy’. Umapathy was a Tamil boy who had a dog. A dog named ‘Bhairavi’. Yes! Something made him name the dog after an avatar of Goddess Kali. Anyway, Bhairavi died after eating a lizard. Umapathy came to college with a sullen face and wept over the loss of his dear ‘Bhairavi’. With an absolutely clean intention of sharing his grief and imparting momentary solace, I touched his shoulder and told him “It is ok! Everything happens for a reason”. I think his stare burnt a hole right through the middle of my head. So much for showing some humanity.

Listen to me, I am in no way trying to bash up these lines and stamp them out of existence. I understand that these are just lines to raise one’s spirit in times of despair and that they can be used only metaphorically? But really does it make any sense? It is but a while lie to make you feel stronger than you actually are.

 I know this guy who can drink like an entire bottle of vodka without any dilution in a span of half an hour. I say to him “Drink it all boy!!!!”  because what doesn’t kill him makes him stronger, unless of course he has burnt half his liver in the process, then no it did not make him stronger.

It is funny how we use certain lines as a balm to sooth the pain that life torments us with. Maybe nothing happens for a reason, maybe everything is not going to be alright and maybe what doesn’t kill you actually makes you weaker. But the only line you should actually hold on to with a death grip is “Life, it goes on.....”.

Of course if death says “Hi!!”, then No! It is mechanically impossible for life to go on.

P.S- I love making absolutely no sense!

P.P.S- If anyone of you reading this have cosmetic implants, please do not come to Kerala right now. They might just melt off your fine body. It is frigging hot!!

DUCK-FACE CULTURE.....

I think I am getting old. Old enough to start my conversations with “Humare Zamaane Mein” and old enough to fret about generation gap.  I am feeling old at the age of 24.

Yesterday was Holi and while I was working, the entire India celebrated it with the sole intention of updating the photos of their colourful self on Facebook and Instagram. To denote it with an on-the-spot made statistic, 99.99% people did not even know the story behind the festival. Anyway, I rushed back home after work to be greeted by my little 7 yr old cousin who looked like someone had mistaken her to be a pen and had dipped her in an ink bottle. I smiled as she asked me to click a photo of her and her other sinister friends. As soon as I raised the camera to click, all of them jutted out their waist to a specific angle, kept their hands on their hips, looked at the camera in a quizzical manner and made a duck face. I kept the camera down and left.

For those who live under a rock, ‘Duck-face’ according to Urban dictionary means “ the face made if you push your lips together in a combination of a pout and a pucker, giving the impression you have larger cheekbones and bigger lips.”

But a better definition would be “the grotesque expression made by stupid people in a vain attempt to appear sexually promiscuous.”

I remember how as a kid and during my teenage years, posing for photos meant three things. Either making a V for Vagina sign, or making a sign that we saw many rock stars make in MTV or giving each other finger horns. Half of my photos consisted of me with finger horns.  I was happy with finger horns and Vagina V. The only expression we ever attempted on our face apart from forceful smiles, was the ‘Attitude’ look which 9 out of 10 times made me look like I was suffering from constipation.

What does a duck face imply? I have finally shortlisted four answers for this-

1) Look at me, I am a sexually charged object and I know you want me!

2) I am on a medication that makes my facial tissue suffer from spasms.

3) I am kissing a ghost and obviously you cannot see him.

4) Donald Duck was a huge success. I love Donald Duck.

As I log into Facebook, I am bombarded with the photos of my Juniors pouting beside the Baga beach in Goa, my friends pouting in front of a melting ice-cream, my best friend pouting before the statue of Lord Ganesha at Siddhivinayak Temple and my far off relative Mrs.Susheela attempting a duck face that makes her look like she took this selfie seconds before her trip to the loo to barf her intestines out.

HERE A POUT, THERE A POUT, EVERYWHERE A POUT POUT.

It needs to stop!

This reminds me of my great-grandmother who was so forgetful that she used to throw away the dentures we bought her. Consequently, we stopped buying her dentures and started feeding her with manually mashed food. It was cute to watch her involuntarily pucker and pout as she ate a banana. That was the only duck face I will ever find adorable. God bless her soul.

I am a very calm person, per se. Even though I have this rage against the whole ‘duck-face’ culture on the rise, I still do not go around campaigning against it. I do not leave rude comments under pictures. I just ignore. But yesterday a friend of mine messaged me on Facebook to go check out her new profile picture and to comment underneath. So, as a good friend I went to her profile and was rewarded with a duck face. And just like a good friend would, I left a comment under the picture. “QUACK QUACK”

Of course she deleted the comment and isn't talking to me.

P.S- Selfies rule!

Image Courtesy- Tumblr

FIND LOG....

Once upon a time, in a land not so different from ours, lived a beautiful princess. A beautiful brown princess. The princess was loved by her king father and her queen mother. She was allowed to draw on the walls, walk around with a huge towel on her hair pretending to be Rapunzel and they even let her hang upside down on the mango tree right outside their castle. Basically the princess was brought up in the most awesome way ever!

And then the little princess grew up. The naïve princess used to still hang upside down on the tree, much to the private entertainment of the village goons. She wore things that were not princess like but was rated top by Elle magazine and began to attend late night princess parties. She occasionally even smoked on some grass. But she did all of this knowing that her Daddy King and Mommy queen will love her through all her wishes. And then one day when the princess fell in love with a local boy from the flea market, her king dad and queen mother summoned her to their chamber and uttered the three words of doom………….. ‘LOG KYA KAHENGE’

So, the princess took off her princess crown and set out on a long journey in search of these ‘LOG’, in order to find out what they had to say about her princessy affairs.

Castle walls were jumped, the perimeters of the kingdom were traversed, mountains were climbed and rivers were crossed in search of these mystical creatures called ‘LOG’. And just when her princess feet were about to give up, she saw shadows beyond a thick glass of fog. She dragged herself across till she finally saw a huge crowd of ‘LOG’ who were saying too much to decipher. Like a swarm of bees.

The princess concentrated on this particular lady from the gang of LOG, so that she could finally hear what the LOG said. “Pata Hai,Ramu ki beti ka selection IIT mein nahi hua” said one member of the LOG clan to another, to which the other replied “Aur kya tumhe pata hai, Sushma ka beta Videshi Bahu ghar laya hai. Bechari Sushma.”. The princess overheard someone else saying “Are Maloom hai, Suraj ji ki beti ne lou marriage kar li. Ab kaise mooh dikhayenge Suraj ji.” And then came another one “Prakash ka ek beta hua hai aaj. Log keh rahe hain ki wo baccha prakash ki tarah nahi dikhta.” The buzzing went on and on, till the princess fainted because of the headache.

On opening her eyes, she again concentrated to hear more from the LOG. She wanted to hear more about the guy who brought a Videshi bahu home, or about the Ramu ki beti who couldn’t get through IIT. But she couldn’t hear even a faint whisper about them, for they were now replaced by new stories ranging from “Asha ki tummy tuck operation” to “Ranjit ki beti ka short skirt”. There were new stories and the old ones died a happy death.

It is then that it dawned upon the little princess that these news including her princess affairs are like Bread. No one relishes on a stale bread. Once the bread gets stale, a new packet of MODERN SWEET BREAD is bought from Kake ki Dukaan. The circle continues. The LOG needed fresh dough every day.

So the princess returned to her princess castle and declared to her Daddy King and Mommy queen “The LOG  may have too much to say, but whatever they say has a validity period which is very restricted. I think I can survive that.”

And so, the pretty brown princess married the local boy from the flea market and lived happily ever after. Killing fleas.

THE END.

P.S- If I tell such stories to my kids, they might just crawl away and never return.

P.P.S- I lost a tooth yesterday. Long story.

NOTE: Check out the Uber Cool Blog Header made by the amazing Neha from 'NOODLES-Neha Doodles'. Click HERE to check out her work!!!!

FREE COMPLIMENTS ANYONE ??

I have this little habit that I am proud of. It is a big deal indeed because there is seldom anything that makes me actually proud of myself. My occasional kleptomania, my frequent perverted thoughts and my absolute ignorance of everything that matters has overshadowed any minute good detail about me, until now.

I remember my grandfather telling me about the importance of genuine compliments and how you should not think twice before sincerely complimenting someone or something. If you think about it, you have a lot of people around you whom you genuinely have something to compliment about. But it is rare that you actually let them know of it.  I on the contrary, blurt out compliments like it is my second job. Provided, they deserve it.

I usually walk back from work but today was one of those days where I ate more than I possibly should and was feeling too pregnant to walk. To add to my laziness was the sight of an auto just a few meters away. As I got closer, I noticed that the auto had a neon pink and orange faux leather interior and a matching neon couch, obviously too plush for an auto. There was mirror work on the roof and small cotton balls hung on the sides. I was amused. As I got inside the auto, making myself comfortable in the ever sinking softest of soft seat and being transported into a neon wonderland, I unintentionally exclaimed "Great Interior!! ".

You guys should have seen the grin on the Auto driver's face as he turned and said " Thank you. Saved for 3 years."

You never realize the hard work a person might be putting for something that might be exceptionally trivial for you. When I complimented him for his quirky auto, he actually was complimented for the 3 years of small  and big sacrifices he made for saving up for it.

Why don't you compliment someone when they deserve it? Is it because they might get elevated to achieve a higher level of self confidence? Is it because you have an ego that doesn't allow you to say a good word or two? Or is it because you don't think your compliments actually matter? If you say yes to even one of the above, 'YOU NEED TO CHANGE'.

So, the next time you see anything or anyone who truly deserves a good word or two, don't hold it in like a fart. Release!

Having said that, do not compliment someone expecting a memento in return because actually, come to think of it, the auto guy did not lessen the fare even by a rupee . Waste!

DEAR DADDY SERIOUS

Nobody is more serious than a young girl’s father. A little girl has the ability to transform a free-bird of a boy into an extremely serious and careful man. My father is as serious as serious can be. 

Recession never hits an Indian father who is busy hoarding money for his daughter’s future wedding. If I were to tell you a round about figure, I have so much gold right now decked up for my wedding that I can even afford a sex change surgery. Ok, bad example.

Around five minutes back I got a call from my father. A certain guy from Australia saw my matrimonial profile in one of the gazillion match-fixing sites I am enlisted in and was desperately interested. With equal desperation he wanted to have our Kundlis matched. Never knew that “May I have your number please” has been replaced by “May I have your Kundli please”. My father sadly told me how his family rejected me because of the Jupiter that is sitting on my eighth house and a certain Mr.Shani who was playing hide and seek inside my Horoscope. He cracked the news of the rejection expecting a painful cry from my side, while I was lost in the feat of trying to figure out how Jupiter can be in my eighth house when I still live with my parents. I cannot even afford to live on rent, forget being able to afford eight houses.

But it is not always I that gets rejected. My father loves rejecting and selecting men according to their educational qualification, salary range, ancestral origin, current living city, height, weight, girth etc. It is exactly like the time when he was researching to buy his second car. 1200 cc engine only, Honda brand, Moon silver colour, power steering, petrol only, air bag and many such specifications. The only difference was that now he was trying to buy a son-in-law with in-built specifications that matched his taste. The process of rejecting and getting rejected is a never ending process.

I do not understand this seriousness behind this whole ‘get your daughter married before she hits quarter century’ thing. Gone are those days when people of the two opposite genders could converse with each other only through incoherent tensed mewls. I for sure am a very demanding person and I make sure my demands are met. Every girl is worth that. Ok for the sake of equality, men are worth it too.

My father is the best person on earth and I am the type of girl who replies to every girl who say’s “My Daddy Strongest” by “Sorry but I heard he lost the trophy to my dad”. But I must accept that this whole marriage fiasco has been seriously draining the life out of him.

So Dear Dad, it is time you took a deep breath and let things take their own course.  You raised me well, taught me to never go for something lesser than perfect and to always put across my opinions if I strongly believed in them. So here is my opinion. CHILL. Know that these rejections do not matter. I can find my own pet. Know that this gold hoarding will not do me any good. If anything, take a trip with Mom to Peru. I know you always wanted to go there. Know that watching the calendar dates pass by and marking my age will only make you grey faster. I did notice that your monthly visit to the local barber to get your hair dyed has doubled.

Know that you can still be that free bird you were before I was born. Know all this, because behind that seriously serious man, is a boy who used to do stand up comedy back in college.

This post is written for Indiblogger Cadbury Five Star contest - Condition Serious Hai.

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YOUR HONOUR, CONDITION SERIOUS HAI !!!

The number of times I have slept off in an open courtroom is not something I can openly disclose. Especially considering the fact that it was just 3 months back that I was christened a lawyer, it is impressive how I have not yet been ousted for contempt of court.

Every day, I wriggle into my coat, tie the inverted ‘peace’ signed plastic collar around my neck, wear my lawyer’s gown and make my way to the courthouse. I then move into the room where my client’s case would be heard, and the fact that my client is missing in action, amuses me. I sit on the last bench of the court room with dozens of lawyers, nonchalantly going through their case papers, teaching their clients what to speak on oath like a parent preparing a kid for a school entrance interview. I am transported to the land of black and white cinema, with white shirt inside black gowns floating around, the white painted walls and the wooden floors darkened by the shadows of the lawyer robes, forlorn faces, destitute faces, but minus the Bollywood background song to break this monotony. I fall asleep.

The hammer becomes my alarm bell and I am forced to stand up as the Judge enters, which by the way gives me a moment to stretch my way out of slumber. This is when you notice how we are greatly influenced by the Chinese courtesy, as all the lawyers young, old and antique bend forward to look at their boots as a mark of respect to the judge. The judge ignores us all without a smile, sits down and the court session begins.

My case is called and I startle back to reality. I just came here to adjourn a case which my senior said is a piece of cake. I bow, call the judge various names (in honour that is), sneer and successfully get the adjournment. I turn back to the lawyer’s desk placed right behind me to sign on a document before submitting it to the court.

Suddenly the entire court room goes “HAWWWWW!!!” but I continue to sign the document enjoying the symphony in their tone. That is when another lawyer half my height and twice my weight nudges me and introduces to me the eleventh commandment.

 ‘Thou shalt never show thy ass to the Judge’.

I stood straight and in a manner that only a contortionist can, signed the document and walked away mutely as the entire court looked at the ‘SINNER’ me.

Why cannot I show my ass to the judge? Especially when it has layers of cloth covering it and a Dracula gown hiding the curve like a curtain. Why take an ass so seriously? I was just signing a document not giving a strip show.  In Logon ki Condition Serious Hai!

How I want to Look Like

How I Look Like

I wonder what this court house will look like with a little bit of color or a Saturday ‘WEAR-WHATEVER-YOU-WANT-MAN’ day. It is not like I murdered somebody, my client did (NOT). So why cannot I go to court in pink and purple and let him mourn in black and white.  I wonder how it would feel if I could show my ass to the judge while signing the document and not have to walk away from the podium like a rejected devotee leaving the temple or like a video on rewind. I wonder how breezy it would be to walk around the court in simple suits like in the west, than have to drag myself wearing a black                                                       ‘SAUNA’

Never knew that Justice can only be rendered wearing black and white. Maybe it is because lies can only be told in black or white. I wonder all this as I doze off awaiting my next case hearing.

Lawyers ki Condition Serious hai. Cadbury 5 Star, inject us all!!

          This post is written for Indiblogger Cadbury Five Star contest - Condition Serious Hai.

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