Barbie Dolls

My Barbie dolls remind me of all things happy. While I dabbled with toy guns and behaved like a hooligan most of the time, there were occasions the sister and I took out our doll collection. We played "house-house", made tea, put our dolls to sleep, dressed them up, put make-up on them and even allowed them to be a part of the G.I Joe wars, the brothers played.

They were so pretty and delicate. They were our only toys that were kept spick and span. All heads and limbs fully intact. We never looked at them with a remorseful eye. We never paused to wonder, why they were so thin or why their waists were so small. 

Most importantly, we had zero body issues. We enjoyed our food as much as we enjoyed playing rough outdoor games. The reason I harp on this is because of late Barbies have been scaled "realistically". They're fatter, darker, less delicate looking. Why? Can't this generation of children play with Barbie dolls like we did? Why do they even have body issues in the first place? They're kids! 

Until I was 19, I had no idea what a size zero or a BMI was. While that was probably not a good thing, dinning notions of beauty into a child's mind, is not a great thing either. Children should be innocent and carefree. They should believe in fairy God-mothers, Santa-Claus and ginger-bread houses. If they don't, we've failed them. 

Let children be. Allow them to have an imaginary friend and invisible tea, from pink tea-cups. We owe it to them. We owe it to ourselves. 

(Video Source : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l1vnsqbnAkk)

The Social Media Farce

Ten dreamy photographs of an exotic location or twenty five perfect selfies, does not qualify for a happy life. Not even close. Never judge a book by it's cover. Your recently married friend who excessively posts about his/her spouse, may not be that happy. Neither is that overly mushy couple, who dangles around on your newsfeed every second day. 

I repeat, never judge a book by it's social media cover. Sadness, heartbreak, pain and boredom are best friends for all. Just because a girl looks cheerful in her photographs, does not mean she is happy in real life. As for that couple who travels to exotic places and posts excessive photographs of the place, have you ever stopped to wonder, how often they travel and why.

Oh and lets not forget the office loverrrzzzz. "What pretty colleagues you have and would you look at the size of your cabin. Wow!", said no one ever. Nobody likes a show-off. 

I must admit, I'm guilty of being a social media addict myself. Of late, I've been trying my best to stop uploading so many photographs (at least on Facebook, otherwise known as digital buri nazar land). 

The world is not a happy place. Divorces, family feuds, murders, rapes, child sexual abuse, eve-teasing, the list is just endless. Why share personal details and put out intimate events of your life, in the midst of this turbulent environment. 

I shudder thinking about the future generation. I really hope they rise above this superficiality, because we've failed. We're social media crazed addicts. There's no going back for us. 

(Image Source : https://interlinc-online.com/blog/?p=2940)

Beaches, Dreamy Beaches

I love beaches. Nope, let me correct myself, I am obsessed with beaches. They remind me of all things happy. Some of my best memories, are from spending countless hours on beaches. Shanghumukham beach in Trivandrum, reminds me of my grandfather and the countless vanilla ice-cream balls he has bought for me. On the days I was too cranky/greedy, he would take me to a crocodile roofed restaurant opposite Shanghumukham and buy me a deep fried chicken cutlet that was larger than my face. That roof by the way, was crawling with kids because it was a steep A-shaped concrete green slab that had a "crocodiley" texture.  

Kovalam beach, also in Trivandrum, brings back a flood of childhood memories. My siblings and I didn't need a reason to go play on the beach. We would spend countless hours, wading into the sea until a giant wave hit us right on the bum and made us "drown". In the early 90s Kovalam was so clean. The sand was white, the waters were crystal clear and you could pick up seashells right from the sea-bed. While the brothers dunked each others faces into the water, I would quietly pee around them, with an all knowing smile.

Besant Nagar beach in Chennai also holds a special place in my heart. The minute a college-day ended, I would pick up my best friend from her college (Anna University) and we would ride to the beach. We would plonk ourselves in the Barista opposite the beach and would spend countless hours "girl talking". If that beach could speak, it would probably cry a river (sorry Justin Timberlake). We had young adolescent issues just like any other hormonal-crazed teenager.  

Juhu beach (although I've never been there more than 4-5 times in my life, thanks to my non-beach-loving husband) also has fond memories. It reminds me of home. And, the husband and I have taken long strolls on the beachfront, whenever he has been in a good mood. 

Beaches give me a sense of belonging. If it were upto me, I'd live underwater forever like Ariel. I'd build myself a dome shaped glass house and keep staring at the foliage, whilst munching on my freshly fried shark, swordfish, basa, shrimp or crab. 

Ungoddess

My face is up here, press wale/paneer wale/paper wale/medical shop wale/sabzi wale bhaiyya. Following me like a puppy inside the gym and gaping at me with your havas bhari aankhen is not going to get you laid (sorry for sounding so crass, but when the issue at hand is so disgusting I will not mince my words).

Married, unmarried, short, tall, fully grown adult, pre-teen, teen; doesn't matter what age group, marital status or body type you fall under. Have boobs? Will stare. While some men do it obviously, some are more subtle, aka male colleague at work, male boss, male client, hell male watchman at work even!

No roadside romeos/inside your fancy office cabin romeos, giving us the "come hither look" and staring endlessly at our chests are not going to get you a date, a decent conversation or our respect. 

The "stalk her endlessly and annoy her till she falls in love with you" tactic, works only in Bollywood, Mollywood and Tollywood. In reality, such advances only builds fear in the minds of women.

While we're on this topic, I might as well share my thoughts on the new fangled, supposedly "cool" phrase invented by young, single, millennial men; "Friendzoned". There exists no such thing! What about the million women in the world who have been rejected by men? Forget about creating nonsensical terms, you will have no idea about the broken heart she is nursing. You know what we call that? Self respect. Dignity. Maturity even!  

No, I'm not a femi-nazi (before you jump to conclusions). I admit, there are some psychotic women as well who stalk, bully and create havoc in men's lives. The woman is not always the victim. There are plenty of good men in the world as well. 

Unfortunately, the ones I come across in my mundane day-to-day life, turn out to be the road-side romeos. And while I try to explain to my sleepy, work stressed husband about one particular joker at my gym, I'm thwarted with "But look at what you're wearing!". This from my IIT educated, smart, intelligent, 21st century husband. 

I sighed in frustration, quietly slung my gym-bag over my shoulders and battled yet another day of smirking and incessant staring. Such a pleasure being a woman, no? "Prem se bolo, Jai Mata Di" indeed. 

(Image Source : http://www.dnaindia.com/india/report-hyderabad-281-eve-teasers-caught-by-she-teams-in-one-year-2139682) 

The Opulence of Durga Puja

"Durga Maa is Goddess Parvathy beta. The whole festival symbolises the Goddess' visit to her maaike, (mother's house) along with her children", explained my mum-in-law earnestly. The 10 day festival is an elaborate affair with gigantic pandels, an overdose of food and gorgeous looking Maa Durga idols that look absolutely out of this world. 

Pandel hopping and thulping down freshly cooked, warm bhog in the sweltering Dilli heat is not for the faint-hearted. Despite being a Pujo-pro now (or so I'd like to believe), I had a heat stroke and nearly fainted by the Sindoor Khela day (or the last day) of Pujo. 

So why take so much effort you wonder. The simple answer to that question is warmth. Warmth not just from the killing Dilli heat, but warmth from a dozen strangers you meet at the pandel. For those 10 days, the Bengali community unites as one big happy family. 

For young Bengalis (like my husband), the festival is a trip down memory lane. It invokes in him fond childhood memories, of participating in the various Pujo cultural programmes and winning prizes. 

This was my fourth year of Pujo in Dilli and much like every year, I have returned to Bombay with a few extra pounds. The freshly fried chops (cutlets stuffed with meat filling) at all the pandels, the irresistible Bengali mishti (sweet) and my mum-in-law's fantastic cooking are to be blamed. 

After a whole day of pandel hopping, aggressive mall hopping is carried out, to buy new clothes and gifts for the entire family.  Energy levels are at it's peak, much like the unusually hyper, pink bunny from the Energizer battery advertisement. Some more food thulping sessions are squeezed in, until the top buttons of your jeans burst. 

Durga Pujo is not a mere 10 day festival. It is an exhilarating experience, that will enthral your mind, body and soul. Give in to the sounds of the Dhak while you relish on that freshly fried Mughlai paratha and say "Bolo bolo duggaa maai er joyy!"