You're not the boss of me!

See, here's the thing. We all know and acknowledge that the boss is the boss. He runs the show. He calls the shots and that's just the way it is. Everywhere. At work, at home, in relationships and among countries. Uncle Sam has lost his bonkers, he is slowly loosing his grit and his innate 'uncleness' is wavering. YET he is the BOSS. And probably will continue to be in the near future until someone serves him the notice.

We all have our problems with the boss. The shot calling, arrogant, interfering, won't let us breathe boss. We've all questioned his ways and his stupidity and we also know that in all probability we wont be getting any answers. But since, people like you and me who don't like to shut up for a long time, I am going to go ahead and ask some questions anyway. But first, let's start with a story.

Once upon a time, there was a small country called Ukraine. Like all other countries, big or small, it had it's problems, times of revolt and times of despair. Recently a former prime minister, Yulia Tymoshenko, under went a trial for her corrupt little hand in gas deal with Russia. She was sentenced to 7 years imprisonment. People in Ukraine and the ever so 'good' people of Europe and America feel that she's being set up. She is being eliminated as a strong political adversary of the current president Mr. Viktor Yanukovych. So what happened next was that, our Uncle Sam stood up and said, "I object. I do not vouch for this preposterous 7 year statement that clearly isn't the just thing to do. Now, take back your statement or there will be consequences". By consequences, he meant that the trade agreement between Uncle Sam and Ukraine will suffer. So the judiciary in Ukraine have all put on their thinking hats and are reviewing the rather harsh sentence against Ms. Yulia. Uncle Sam for his part, got up, tightened his vest around the large belly that seems to be shrinking by and by, gave an arrogant nod and humph and left to oversee (read meddle) some other business.

Now, here's my question (after all this drama), that if Uncle Sam thought it right to cut off trade ties with Ukraine over Ms. Yulia's imprisonment, why isn't he taking the same steps towards Pakistan?

I've always thought, really, that the short and simple way of dealing with the devilish ways of Pakistan, was for majority of the countries to say 'No Trade until you mend your ways'. How hard is that? In the recent demise of Mr. Osama Bin Laden, Pakistan actually came out to be the second lead of the drama. The hero was of course Uncle Sam, he cannot share his limelight with the less talented, but Pakistan was the second lead. I mean, yeah the public is too busy worrying about paying taxes and planning the next meal, but we're not THAT self involved. Uncle Sam wants something that Pakistan has to offer. He wants it bad. We get it. But for how long and why are WE paying the price for it? Does the charade ever end?

Dark times lie ahead!

It's a gloomy Tuesday afternoon. Time - 4.15 PM. It's a tinge darker than grey outside. A colour to match my mood. Am all 'greyed' up inside. For the first time i feel strange in a strange land. Like I dissolved into something, something foggy. How am i supposed to find myself? Crawled up on my knees, frantically reaching out to find something familiar to hold on to, to lean against and get a sense of direction. It's scary in here, awfully silent and no matter how many times you scream to ask a question, nobody answers. So easy to get lost in a labyrinth of nothingness. So convenient. Leave the self behind, just loose yourself in this vast nothingness.

Writing this post is like waving a red flag while being buried in the fog. A way of reaching out, hoping someone sees the flag and hunts me down. Someone to bring hope, that the fog will lift and i will find my way back around to myself. A little lost, disheveled, confused by the journey but nevertheless, back.

Something Different!

How many times have you walked down a street and suddenly stopped to see a house or a tree or a small by-lane....something that you thought was never there, although it always existed but you never saw it! Walking down a street that you've walked a hundred times before and TODAY you see the nice little house, with a balcony and a kid playing in the house. Life that always existed but you didn't take notice of! Happens all the time doesn't it? These little jolts we get that bring us out of our reverie...makes something old, NEW.

I hear voices everyday. There is some construction going on just below my building, the noise and ruckus it creates irritates the hell out of me. I can hear the workers when they take a break, laughing and chatting. Just another day. Today i heard them. Not that i understood what they were saying but their voices were new to me. The rhythm of their laughter, their loud banter. In a totally foreign world, i felt at home. Suddenly, it was Mumbai and i was sitting in my room trying to concentrate on something and couldn't cause of the noise a group of people were making outside. It was the same noise... the same chatter and laughter, the same rhythm. Then again it was Chicago, i leaned out of my window to look at the workers. I couldn't make out the language that they were talking in or the words...just that they reminded me of home.

It rains so often in Chicago that at first it surprised me. Loud thunders and heavy rain. I see it, experience it and am bugged by it. One day, taking in the rains and the pitter patter of the raindrops, I think of Mumbai. How similar the two cities look when its raining. So beautiful, like something slowed it down, the beauty slowed it down. It brought a warmth to my heart that was beyond words. I smiled to myself in a way that only reminiscing can make you smile.

I've built a home here in a foreign land, among foreign people. I've built a home with a man I love and who loves me. Little things, material and otherwise have given shape to our world. But sometimes, just sometimes, one has to escape to the world that they left behind to find a ground, to give your heart that something...something that is "different and yet the same".

About a girl

She sat next to me and held my hand as i cried over a broken heart. She listened to endless complaints, boyfriend troubles, impossible teenage dreams and innocent hopes. She smiled my smiles and cried my tears. She hated the people who hurt me and loved the one's who made me smile.

13 years ago i invited a girl to my birthday party. I didn't know her so well but she was a friend of a friend. Somewhere in the small, winding by lanes of Bhavnagar (A small town in Gujarat where we grew up), during the routine evening rides on "Rakhding road" (a term we coined ourselves) and endless conversations on the phone...i found my soul mate, my friend for life - Deepty.

From silly infatuations, serious relationships, broken hearts, to finally finding the one person you want to spend the rest of your life with, to Motherhood....Deepty and I have come a long long long way. The world could fall apart and go to pieces but i knew i would be safe, she was there to shelter me, to love me. She's the rock that i stand on, that i build my life around. I don't always visit it, but i know its there. Steady and solid. To lean on, to cry on. Just as she has me. Two parts of the same thing. We are the same thing. Her and me.

Just how is it that a relationship (a long distance one at that) grew so beautifully and nurtured itself into this wonderful, gut wrenching love that we share, i don't know. Maybe i never will and a part of its beauty is in not knowing.

She is entering another fantastic stage of her life soon, Motherhood. I can't imagine that girl that i shared those silly laughs with, being a mother. But then again, i can't imagine anyone being a better mother than her. With all the love and compassion and kindness in her....!! Am waiting with baited breath to hear of the arrival of her bundle of joy.....of the moment when my loving, silly, beautiful Idiot (my pet name for her) turned into a Mother!

Him, her and me..!

The bhel wala at the corner, the kid working at the tea stall, the guy who sells matching blouse pieces to women, the girl who rubs her nose every time she passes me in office, the lady who talks animatedly over the phone, the paan chewing man at my mobile service shop, the rickshaw wala...what is their story? I see these people everyday. They occupy 0.00000000143% space of my conscious mind. That is, i notice them. At times. At times i am completely unaware. I sit in a rickshaw...am staring out into nothingness or talking on the phone. I am hardly aware of the man's face who drives me all the way to my destination. Not even when i pay him do i bother to look him in the face. He is faceless for me...as are the general "public" around me. People dashing to work...people ambling along...women with their duppatas's on their nose to stifle out unpleasant smells, a 6 year old on a big man's cycle...half standing to peddle it. Its nice to take in these visuals....with music to give rhythm to their movements...they all seem to sway at the same beat. The slow laughter, the hasty run, easy wave of hand...they all synchronize to form one beautiful display of everyday acts.
I give my own stories to them....put words to their muttering lips...guess their life crises on the basis of phone conversation snippets i hear. I give them a larger than life appeal and conjure images of aliens attacking them, loved one's breaking up, life threatening diseases engulfing them and give them happy - sad occasions to live, in my head....they live a life of their own in my head for precisely 6.36 min. Then the song playing catches my attention...or a friend calling brings me back to my own boring, grounded life.
Don't we all wish at times we were someone else?!

Confessions of an awakened mind

I am 27 years of age and i have never voted in my life. A shameful confession!! For all my passionate views about politics, democracy and politicians....i have failed to exercise my right as a citizen. As a good citizen.

We so often hear, "Bad politicians are voted by good citizens who don't vote", its true. But its such a huge responsibility, isn't it? Such a huge burden, to be right...to do the right thing...to be responsible for your actions..! Scary..at least to me. And then there is the dilemma of which evil guy to choose to represent you, to put your faith in! For its propaganda campaign congress has released numerous ads and radio spots...all of which are in Marathi. They dare not get overtly secular at this point and address their message in Hindi, they can't afford to piss the maharashtrian's off, giving the opposition more than a likely chance of winning. Raj continues to hammer people with the 'Me Marathi' fever. Politics at its best.

We sit with our friends, discuss politics, talk about how our country is going to the dogs, how the mithi river is still as it used to be, roads have gone from bad to worse and politicians are bloody rascals - India ka kuch nahi ho sakta! We admire Rahul Gandhi and Sachin Pilot, for being so young, for standing by what they believed in and for making that difference that we have not made. We sit and hope that tomorrow the country will be a better place to live in, opportunities will be endless, more fly overs will come up, there won't be any slums scattered all over, we'll have metro's to speed up transport, crime will disappear and the prices for everything will fall. These are our expectations. And we continue to say that these things will not happen even in a 100 years.

They won't. Cause we're not changing. Cause I am not changing. Cause i think of getting my voters id every single day, but don't. Then i tell myself that its because i don't have the time...am so busy, i work late, what's the point anyway...etc etc.

I don't know how many of you share the same experience as me, how many of us feel terribly burdened by voting and make excuses to not vote. I, have decided to be the change, to contribute in a small way to the fate of this city and my nation. I am getting a voter's id.

Smelly things!

Some experiences smell different. They have the smell of fresh open blue skies. Smell of openness and possibilities. These scents are my favorite.

An innocent life coming into the world…the smiles, the happiness associated with her…the end of wait. Expectations and laughter. Smells like the open sky.

A simple movie, about love…about discovering oneself…leaves you with a sense of freedom and a dream. A dream that is more beautiful on screen than in your and my life. That smells like the blue sky too.

The smell of the pitter patter of rain, fear of the thunder and lightning. Feelings of solitude then a phone call from an old friend. Blue blue sky.

Experiences that leave a smile hours after you’ve stopped smiling when you first feel it. Images you run through your head, once…twice and then once again. These are the small things that help me regain my sanity….give me grounding even as my heart soars….!

Just like that...off my mind..!

Left...left...left...then take that small right..ya right there. there is a circle somewhere there...go around it and there is a bend towards the left. you'll see something big which will look like a dead end but its not..just wait till it disappears (eventually, it has to) then go straight through it..don't look back, and don't you dare sit.

THAT is the map of my brain. Muddled...confused...in crumbles. There is no direction or sense of it. I don't know where i am headed and at times when i do, i don't know why. Am not complaining. Sometimes i like going nowhere. I like the feeling attached to uncertainity. The important word here is 'sometimes'. Right now i am enjoying it. Thoroughly. And thats what matters, doesn't it.

Little Rascal..!

Little brothers. A constant source of irritation and wonderment. They have an internal buzzer i think...making this irritating zzzzzzzz sound all the time, always upto sometihng. Hard to ignore. As a kid, my brother always wanted the toys that were mine. He wanted to sit where i sat with my friends...listening to our conversations. He played house-house with us and sometimes wore my frocks. He wanted to be a part of everything. Its endearing now to think of all those times....his mischief and troublesome behavior. Back then i could have wished him away to the moon or even farther.

Growing up was a haze. I don't remember a lot about it. Childhood is vivid though. We would join our feet while lying opposite each other and play cycle cycle. We've fought tooth and nail, physically beating each other. Somewhere the physical fights ceased and verbal began. That tradition continues. Sometimes it makes me sad that i wasn't more aware of his growing up years. Maybe we would have known each other better.

He is a man today...almost. A boy to me but a man to everyone else. The tragedy of growing up and being an adult is that you will always be a child to some. So you never feel fully grown. In my head, he is still my LITTLE brother, who needs to be yelled at, to be told a hundred times and more...who won't listen and who needs constant looking after and counselling. It never occurs to me to treat him otherwise. Its hard to remember that he's an adult. He has his very own life you know...exclusively his. Small detail that i miss out.

My brother - Nishith. I fight you, i resist you, i admonish you and I love you! Coming back home is never the same if you're not around.

Heartfelt II

She sat by the window...the grill obstructing her view at places. Raindrops kept falling on her bare hands and a part of her t-shirt that was touching the grill was soaking wet. But she didn't realize any of this. She just sat there...not thinking...not dreaming...not sad and neither happy. Lazy times. A rare leisure.

A phone call brought her back from nothingness. It was an old school friend, someone she'd not spoken to in years. She lived abroad now and was down for a couple of weeks. Standing by the window and talking and laughing, Shruti suddenly became aware of the heavy rain and the water soaked hem of her t-shirt. She realized how shabby she looked and thought she should finally wear the green kurti she bought 2 months ago but had left it unpacked. She needed a haircut....badly. A lunch plan was made. She would be seeing Deepty after ages...she wanted to look good..feel good.

Over lunch, Shruti lost track of time. They spoke of school days...their class teacher and principal...old classmates. They exchanged funny stories and for a couple of hours went back to morning assembly, recess periods, pulling skirts to make them shorter and the vada pav stall at the corner. It was easy..easy to talk, to forget...to let go. Sometimes when you get lost in today...yesterday does a pretty good job of leading you back. Shruti spoke about her today....and somehow it was easier to talk about it than she had imagined. Deepty spoke of her experiences...not very similar to Shruti's but not too different either. "You know Shruti, we give the keys to people too soon...the keys to drive us crazy". This simple line stuck in Shruti's head all the way back home. She kept thinking about it and for the first time in more than one and a half year, she told herself something that she should have long time back - Its over.

Is this how freedom smells? The damp air rising up and giving her a sudden burst into fresh air. She felt like she was in a meadow and not between an impossible traffic jam. She'd lifted this heavy package since so long..now it was gone..she had dropped it and she felt light, her shoulders slumped in relief and she let out a sigh. She couldn't stop smiling. The smile slowly turned into a laugh. For all the times....the beautiful beautiful memories he'd left...for all the kind words...all the caring and all the fun. Raj seemed like a different person all together, all of a sudden. He stood for all that she'd wished for, hoped for and longed for. She chased him, pinned him down and pushed him...to belong, to hold, to stay. But, it was over. Finally, it was over.

The auto rickshaw had a mirror. Shruti leaned a little towards her right and caught an image of herself...and smiled.

Heartfelt

And then he just turned around and left. She stood there watching him leave. His words had not hurt her as much as the fact that he left without once turning behind. Like he'd dismissed her from his life in that one moment. Everything was left behind.

Strangely, she didn't cry. She turned around and made a call to the client to say that the artwork will be ready by evening. Matter of factly. Casually. As if this was some idle Tuesday..life was normal and everything hadn't changed.

Life was a rush. Life also lay deep beneath phone calls, client meetings, emails, prints, coffee, sleep, tantrums, fights, men...!! She felt still at times...as if life was revolving around her at a pace she couldn't keep up.

"Where did you keep the file i gave you this morning?". She looked blankly at the voice who seemed to be asking the question. It took a couple of minutes for her to register who he was and what was he talking about. Once she figured that...all that came out of her mouth was "I don't know, I don't know where i put it....it must be here somewhere..give me 5 min, I'll look for it". It took her half hour to locate the file. A few days later, she sat admiring a Saree that her mother bought. She sat with it in her lap and stroked the fabric while talking of mundane things. Nobody could tell, neither could she at that moment as to why suddenly had she burst out in tears. She cried...in loud gasps. This was the first time since that day 18 months ago that she had let herself go.

"It was the texture, Purvi, I'm telling you...it was the texture of the Saree that made me cry. Suddenly i realized that i couldn't feel my emotions like i felt the Saree...I honestly can't feel anything..for anyone...for anything. I just don't care anymore"

This is Shruti's story. Somewhere yours and mine too. The things we do to each other. We ravage and inflict on each other's minds. Imposing, snatching, scratching and hurting...so much!

Shruti's story is not over. Not yet. Look out for more.

Go Woman!!

I love the attitude :) Hillary Clinton making her mark. Coming out of the shadows of a more powerful and charismatic husband. Admirable. Much like our very own Sonia Gandhi, who has created a brand identity very unique and independent from that of her late husband, Mr. Rajiv Gandhi. Women who've risen to the occassion and have come up a long way with confidence, grace, attitude and pride.

All that i am - Brokeback Mountain

Affirmative action..!!

Everybody called me 'Kasturba' back in school. They tortured me. At first it was ok but then it got ugly and out of hand. I remember crying by myself cause i was teased to no extent. Then one day, a senior, Junaid stood up for me. He bullied my classmates into shutting up and warned them not to tease me. The teasing ceased. I had hero worship in my eyes for Junaid. My classmates resumed the teasing after a term or so. This time i didn't cry, i blasted the hell out of them. Kasturba left and left behind a stronger Kasturi.

Every time India faces a terrorist attack, it sobs, in private. Giving everybody the benefit of doubt. We give Kasab a fair trial and capital punishment to prime suspects in bomb attack after 6 long years of probing. Big brother US intervenes and the attacks cease, for a while!! After so many years of hearing Pakistan's tall stories, India has still failed to stand for itself. It has failed to emerge stronger and firmer. In the 9 months of Kasab's arrest, he has not revealed anything of importance, has given no leads, has not aided in the capture of the master minds. And yet, he lives. What for? World Peace? Because he wants to meet his mother or wants a sweet girl to tie him a rakhi? I mean, WHAT? Its ridiculous. Do away with him...castrate him, kill him...set an example. For once, make a statement and say "We are not here to take crap"

Read - http://blogs.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/Mocking-Bird/entry/no-kabab-for-kasab

Stormy Affiar..!!

Rakhi Savant affects our lives. She does. You may or may not have an opinion about Aishwarya Rai or about the Taj Mahal or about the dump of garbage just outside your colony. These are things that just exist...you say 'Ash is beautiful'...'Ohh yes I've been to Taj mahal' or 'Bloody, its stinking here' and you move on. BUT Rakhi is a different thing. You are involved in her life. In what is happening to her and what she's doing. You hate her. You watch her. You talk about her. Sometimes its her break up that you laugh about, sometimes its just the way she talks and sometimes its her wedding. Hell...i am writing my blog about her! The point is, as of today, she is the hottest selling item on the market. Even more than Kasab. People have lost their interest in Kasab, but Rakhi's contract marriage continues to create waves.

Frankly, I like Rakhi Savant. People may think her a dumb bimbo but i cant help admiring her intelligence and gumption. I always have a feeling like she's the one having the last laugh. She must be going to bed with wonderful thoughts of all that she has managed to achieve...all the people who've noticed her, spoken about her,oogled at her and googled her. She is the living example of the best marketing funda ever, "Any publicity is good publicity". She was here to get noticed, she has.

People may talk about her virtues,how morally sound she is and exclaim that the Indian Culture is going to the dogs. Its really funny how they do this. Imagine, a man sitting in front of the television, switching channels. Stops at a news channel giving a detailed analysis of Rakhi's contract wedding and all the controversies related to it. There's a panel of memebers giving their opinion. Very similar to how our budget is discussed on news channels. He stops on that channel and continuously talks about how Rakhi is such a sham and a shameless woman with no values whatsoever. He criticises the media for giving her so much coverage and calls it RIDICULOUS. All this while never taking his eyes off the set. Such double standard idiots we are.

All I can say for Rakhi is 'Go Rakhiiii'. This woman, born to a poor policeman dreamt of taking on the world by a storm. She's created the storm, perhaps not in the direction she wanted it to go but we've got a storm nonetheless!


"A man's face is his autobiography. A woman's face is her work of fiction" - Oscar Wilde

Of times..!!

Have you ever put your hand in flour and played with it?? You feel the texture....and yet don't feel anything. You cant grasp the essence of it. I find writing about emotions very similar to that feeling. No matter how much i play with it and fiddle around...i can never seem to grasp the crux of it. Talking about it or wanting to write them down always makes me feel like I've not completed a story. Like something is loose and not neatly tied.

I want to talk about love and loneliness. About how i feel for him. There's something like wriggling in my heart when i think about him. When i think of times spent and memories made and days that are yet to be.

I cross streets, wait for trains, listen to silly announcements, eat popcorn, laugh on mad things with friends, get irritated and yell, i travel, i talk, i sing....the clutter called 'everyday'. The clutter is too great to dig out little little smiles from yesterday. Like putting your hand into your handbag and blindly looking for something...you find everything except what you're looking for. But then sometimes..without fiddling inside...some sounds, voices, laughter just come out and stand in front of you,you're surprised at the flash of a memory or discovery. Sometimes you forget that you kept a rose that he gave in your planner...to preserve the memory. There, in a flash...it comes to you as you search for mundane things. The stale fragrance, the faded color, stained page of the planner.

How do i live my day? Get past time that definitely isn't flying? This is how.

War of the sexes..!

One day feminists all over the world woke up and smiled. Prof Karim Nayernia of Britan was the reason for all those brilliant smiles. The prof claims to have created human sperms in his laboratory from stem cells. Meaning, the ultimate role of the male specie has been rendered irrelevant. We don't need their tools anymore.

The battle of the sexes continues. After having spent centuries being beaten,disgraced,raped,exploited...perhaps women feel liberated from their dependency on men. Its only fair to think that and wish it more than anything you've wished for. Who knows, maybe we'll have a different version of the original sin, it was infact Adam who ate the damn apple and chickened out in the end and put the whole blame on Eve.

Hundreds of theories,thousands of books,mars & mercury, yins and yangs later...the two species still remain mysterious to each other. Sterotypes have helped a LOT in categorising and giving a head start. We continue to battle it out, each day...dismissing each other as 'trouble'. 'All men are the same,bastards', 'Dude, whats wrong with you? Your' getting married? Thats the end of freedom buddy'...statements we hear day in and day out. We continue to understand and misunderstand each other, demeaning, underestimating, overestimating, abusing each other. In the midst of all this, we find love, friendship, companionship.

There is a beautiful line that goes, "hum hi hum hai toh kya hum hai,tum hi tum ho toh kya tum ho". What's the fun in having to produce babies with silly laboratory sperms..whats the point? Next thing you know they'll make having sex barbaric. When you have alternative options, indulging in pure pleasure can be termed criminal.

I am extremely gender sensitive and beleive in equality. But I think this whole fight between men and women is just pure silly. Men put women down in words all the time..those who can speak up do so whemenently. There is absoultely NO basis to saying one is superior to the other. Of course they are different...but not unequal.

Women need men for more than procreation and men need women for more than sex.

Then add a little bit if Faith..!

Silent prayers, folded hands, flowers...heads bent and hands folded..in reverence...in faith..!Quick steps...short glimpse...a thousand wishes. She waited patiently for her turn, when it came...she bent down to whisper her deepest desires into the ears of the mouse statue outside the ganesha temple. She spoke, spoke and spoke some more. Wishes and hopes and dreams held so close to the heart...were now being poured into the ears of a mouse statue that would surely deliver her message to the lord. Fulfillment will come and so will happiness. Faith. I, who stood looking at her as a bystander envied her. Not her chance, not her leisure but her faith.

They say faith can move mountains.

I am an agnostic. I have never been enthusiastic about going to temples. The only reason being, I didn’t feel FAITH. I just didn’t feel anything. I've seen people moved to tears while praying...being lost in a world of their own...walking a hundred miles! Maybe mountains moved. Maybe they didn't. But what do i know, I try and push hard...very hard..and go back just to find the rock where i left it!

Coldplay - Shiver

All in your head!!

"Amma where is my white t-shirt...why do you have to rearrange my things...?"/ "Nothing will ever be the same again.." - she said as tears rolled down her cheeks/ "Why the hell does Philip have to go and open his mouth every single time?"/ "Chal yaar sutta marte hai...forget this crap": Sometimes characters in my head just scream out these lines. Different people, vague faces, no names...just voices..!! Faces and glimpses, momentary emotions that i try and capture in a story but they fade off...like smoke...!

They are not people, yet, they are waiting to be. Sometimes i try and give them an identity and sometimes just let them be...as they live the moment and faze off. I forget them most of the times and suddenly recognize some voice that i had relegated to the back of my head...kinda like meeting someone for the second time...'Hey...I know you..don't I??

Some of them will be born, live and grow. Some will die and yet other's will never even be born. Nonetheless all of them have at some point or other, been a part of me...and will take a little of me with them.