Parents

God couldn’t be everywhere, so he made parents. I’ve had a funny relationship with mine over the years. Between the ages of 4 & 10 my grandparents were my parents. It took me a little less than a year to acclimatize to the change of not having parents around. By the end of that first year I completely forgot about my parents, they became vague memories & exotic guests who visited us once or twice a year.

I bragged about my daddy to all my school friends & teachers, he was my knight in shining armour, the cool dude who fought wars for the country & the kind man who brought home the shiniest red apples from Kashmir in large baskets.

Mom was an exotic foreign entity with the shortest hair I’d ever seen on a woman with the fanciest salwar kameezes (which were the height of fashion in the early 90s in Kerala where women had long flowey hair & wore only sarees).

After having served with the Indian Army for more than two decades Daddy finally got a transfer closer to home. His nomadic life brought him & mom to Chennai in 1997. They decided to take me with them to Chennai & before I knew it, the world I had known for 6 years was uprooted from me. I didn’t want to leave my Ammumma & Appuppan. I begged them to fight with my parents, to try & dissuade them from their decision.

“Every child must stay with their parents. It doesn't matter where you live. We will always love you”, said Ammumma with tears in her eyes. From a palatial house in Trivandrum I was suddenly brought to live in a large 3 BHK Army flat near the Marina beach in Chennai (which looked very small to me compared to my home in Trivandrum). I was given a bedroom all to myself with a huge balcony, a bed with pink flowers, a study table & a dressing table.

I was shocked to learn that even my brother was given a room all to himself. I had never slept alone until then. I was so used to snuggling between Ammumma & Appuppan every night that I found it hard to sleep in that alien room, with the perennially windy balcony. Late at night when the last light in the house was switched off, I would quietly sneak out to the balcony, shed a few tears & whisper “Ammumma, Appuppa” into the winds, with the hope that my grandparents would hear me & take me back to Trivandrum.

Years went by & I slowly got used to the Army lifestyle which my parents led. Swims everyday at the olympic sized Madras Gymkhana Club pool that ended with chilli chicken, malabar porotta & Feast or Chocolate Cornotto slowly began to soothe away the pain of staying away from my grandparents. I had to catch a large green army bus/truck every morning to go to school, I got bullied by boys half my age & size (because I was a little bit of a wuss back then). I even got bullied by the pretty didis who were dad’s colleagues children.

Pretty soon I hit my rebellious teen years & like every child in the 90s I gave my parents absolute hell! But being the cool folks they were, they took every tantrum of mine in their stride & gave me all the freedom in the world to do what I want, knowing well that I would never do anything to bring shame to the family.

I had my share of late night outs (which ended in dad giving me a verbal thrashing every single time), some terrible friendships & some terrible bike accidents. My parents thanked the Lord in heaven when I finally overcame this phase & began to focus more on my career & my higher studies.

My parents have been my rock. They’ve been through it all with me & I know they would do it all again. Sorry mom, for all the times I didn’t want to listen to you & took you for granted. Sorry dad, for all the times I made fun of you while you fidgeted around with your smartphone, laptop & digi-cam.

You truly are the best parents in the world & hats off to you for your tolerance levels. With me as your daughter I’m sure it was not an easy ride. I hope to give my children the exact same childhood you gave me & I hope to be as loving, warm, kind-hearted, giving, patient & sensible as you are.

The Pursuit of Happyness

Remember the movie with the same title? Will Smith starred as a struggling salesman of a portable bone-density scanner whose luck was down & out. His wife leaves him, he is kicked out of his own home & he has a five year old son who is dependent on him. The movie was downright sad except for the last five minutes when he gets called into a meeting with the senior management of the brokerage firm he is interning with. They call him to congratulate him on his excellent performance as an intern & they offer him a full time position with the firm.

My point is, Will Smith was genuinely in a bad place in his life, in the movie. He needed the money. He had to slog his ass off to make ends meet. What’s our excuse? By “our” I mean, my generation of work hardened overly ambitious position obsessed bunch. And I admit I’ve joined the bandwagon.

We are chasing the positions, the power, the big brands & the money. But are we happy? Are we chasing happiness? Or are we just turning into lifeless working machines that “society” has imposed on us as the “right” thing to do.

I feel helpless getting sucked into the system & to be honest I’m not sure what the alternative is. I love what each job brings my way – the feeling of being looked upon with respect, the wealth of knowledge that I acquire & the opportunity to interact with senior, respected people from my industry.

But am I happy? Are WE happy? I’m not so sure. We drool at exotic destinations from our sad workstations & promise ourselves that we will DEFINITELY make one of those trips by the end of the year, which never materializes of course. Year-ends are the worst time of year because we end up making those “Annual ROI” PPTs to the 10,000 clients we service. Everyone is fried & the only vacation we can think of is going to bed to take a 25-hour nap after horrendous work-days!

The rate at which we are propelling with a hardened drive to jump from one designation to the next till we dominate our respective chosen industries will become our downfall. I cringe to think of what we have turned ourselves into. Happiness, I will find you. WE will find you. In the meantime, please wait for us? Pretty, please? 

Death

Me: “Do you know lots of women die during childbirth? Especially older women, post 30”

Husband: “Shut up, nothing will happen to you”

Me: “But what if it does? Can you live alone?”

Husband: stares blankly

Death, a topic none of us want to discuss, yet have experienced many times over. If you haven’t seen a loved one die in front of your eyes, consider yourself lucky.

It was a bright sunny day in 2004. It was a school day. I was in the middle of my boring business studies class when my class teacher suddenly came up to me with a sad look on her face. “Your father is waiting for you downstairs, take your things & leave immediately”, she said. “Why ma’am?”, I asked bewildered. “Your grandfather is unwell. Your father will explain everything on the way. Leave now”, she said.

Puzzled, I took my things & went to meet my father. He looked shattered. One glimpse at his eyes & I knew that he had been crying for hours. I showered a barrage of questions at him about my grandfather. “Appuppan is fine Gayu, but he is in the ICU so we must go to Trivandrum immediately. Arjun has also come from Bombay. Everyone is waiting at home for you to pack your things”

When I reached home my aunt from the other end of the city (Annanagar) was also waiting for me with her bags packed for our roadtrip. The 10 hour car ride was grim. Everyone sat in silence, anxious to reach Trivandrum.

The silence was finally broken by the shrill ring of my father’s cellphone. “Yes, we are on the way. Yes, we will reach before the funeral”, he said. I looked at my aunt in horror & sobbed hysterically into her saree’s pallu. “You did’nt know appuppan has passed away?”, she asked. “No! I thought he was just unwell”, I replied.

The rest of the journey was a blur. By the time we reached Trivandrum it was well past midnight. I ran inside our house & saw him resting peacefully. My heart broke into smithereens & I cried for god-knows how many hours until someone had to pull me away from him & take me to one of the inner rooms.

The week whizzed by with the funeral & other ceremonies. It was the darkest period of my life. I thought I’d never smile or be happy ever again. My appuppan was no more. My appuppan who dropped me to school everyday & got scolded by me each time I was late to school, my appuppan who wiped away my tears & my runny nose every morning when I made a fuss to go to school, my appuppan who ate all my leftovers from my plate & my school’s tiffin box, my appuppan who took me to Shanghumugham beach to eat giant sized chicken cutlets & vanilla ball icecreams from the beach-carts.

I cursed myself for all the times I fought with him & made fun of him. I wished I was kinder to him while he was still alive. “Your appuppan loved you mole. He always had a smile on his face whenever you called to speak to him”, said ammumma.

He had called to wish me on my 17th birthday in 2004, just a few days before his death. I had no idea that would be my last phone call with him.  I regretted not being around him in his last moments.

There is a large gaping hole in my heart that can never be filled again. Blessed are those who have experienced a grandfather’s love. I am grateful that he was in my life till I was 17 years old.

He was so proud of us – his grandchildren. He bragged about every small achievement of ours to everyone. He created an editorial snippet for me with one of the leading Malayalam dailies in Kerala which boasted about an exam I had taken in which I had scored a distinction. The achievement was not extraordinary, lots of kids from my school had taken the exam along with me & had scored around the same percentage that I had. But to him I was extraordinary & my every little action was special.

My grandmother has lived all by herself for the past 11 years in that palatial house in Trivandrum refusing to leave. She believes appuppan’s spirit will always be inside those walls & near her.

I miss his absence everyday. Especially when a baby is born or a sibling gets married. He would have loved to experience all this. My wedding was held exactly 10 years after his death & ironically in the same month that he had passed away.

I wish you were still around appuppa - to meet my husband, visit my home & see me as this work-obsessed demon that I’ve turned into. You would’ve probably told me to take a chill-pill & you would’ve continued to hide your salty-fried peanut chakna in the steel almirah to be had on Sundays along with your drink.

You are my Hero.1 & my King - no one has replaced you & no one ever will. I love you & miss you so much. 

Finding Inspiration

“You WERE a writer. I was so proud of you when we first met. I used to brag about your blog to everyone. But offlate you haven’t given me anything to be proud about”; said my annoyed husband accusingly.

“I can’t seem to find any inspiration, I always had so many reasons to write about in the past but my brain has become so rusty now. My creativity is dead. I can only think from a very corporate point of view. All my writing now aims at brand reputation, image management & crisis communication”; I retorted.

“Save it. Don’t give me this sad little story. No one has time. You make time for your art. Look at me, do you think I have time to play in 2 bands with my crazy job?!”

He got me there. He did have a crazy job. I barely see him Monday through Friday & his two best friends on the weekends are the bed & the pillow.

When I came to Mumbai 8 years ago I came as a little girl with a dream in her heart & a burning hope to become the next big thing in the world of print journalism. Mumbai’s crazy rentals & the hellish train ride from Powai to Dadar everyday nipped out those dreams in a jiffy. I went running back to mom & dad after all of 3 months. I was not happy that I gave up. I was more confused than ever.

I stumbled in darkness for a few months more till mom rapped me on the head, gave me a reality check & shoved me back into college again to pursue my higher studies. She pushed me into Public Relations. I hated being a student again, I hated the course & I hated all the childish rules & regulations that were suddenly imposed on me by a six decade old system.

As luck would have it, I found myself working for one of the largest PR agencies in the country in my lovely Chennai the minute I passed out of college. I didn’t have to move out of home & I finally found my happy place within the PR industry.

After close to 2 years into the job it was time to pack up & leave home once again & this time for good :’( It was time to get married.

Mumbai post marriage seemed like a completely different city to me. It suddenly seemed less cruel. I was thrown into a world of bright possibilities – personally & professionally. So many places to eat at, shop at, sight see & most importantly - so many companies to apply to. Along with all this came the loneliness, I had to deal with the reality of a perennially travelling husband without the sheltering of my parents.

The first year was tough, I was always homesick & I wondered whether moving to Mumbai was the right thing for me to do. But I was no longer a single carefree girl, I had to think about another person before making any life decisions.  I eventually made my peace with this. I had to. If mom had the same thought process 38 years ago, I wouldn’t even be here!

I’ve learnt to set up a home from scratch, I’ve learnt to deal with aggressive cooking & cleaning maids, nosey watchman, greedy society treasurers &  bullying autorickshaw-wallahs! All in a day’s work – Hehe!

Doesn’t matter what job you do or which city you live in. A supportive family is all you need to survive the day, month & year.

Well, there you have it.. another blog post by yours truly after more than two years. Thank you hubby dearest for the much needed kick up my backside.

Matters of the heart are always messy.. Age no bar!

Songs are hypnotic things - they have the ability to take us back in time. Ronan Keating’s “When you say nothing at all” is my wound-of-the-past song. I was watching Notting Hill today on Zee Studio for the millionth time and I heard this song being played in the background and for a moment I just froze.

Snippets of my life came flashing in front of my eyes for the briefest painful moment. 18 year old me, fresher’s day in college, my seniors making me rehearse this song on and on and on until it sounded good enough. I had a bass voice according to one of them who was a “professional musician” and by professional I mean a girl with a nose ring and could play a guitar (whose footsteps I soon followed but failed miserably!) Still have the nose pin though, so yaay me!

Anyway.. back to my story. There I was standing in front of a crowd of at least a few 100s, onstage, mike in front of me and I saw him.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   He who I had a mad crush on when I was in school, he who was a cool long haired guitarist playing in a popular city band, he who was a complete jerk and broke my heart on our first meeting by calling me fat.  

As my luck would have it, he was judging the singing competition that I was partaking in and he happened to be dating someone from my college. After about a 30 second heart-attack I began singing Ronan Keating’s “When you say nothing at all”. I have no idea how I sang, whether I was in sync to the karaoke CD or whether I even finished the song. But when I got off stage my seniors patted me on the back and said “Good job!”

I lost. He made his girlfriend’s junior win. The sweetness of this song is lost on me now.

Years later I saw him.. at my gym. Panting like a dog and looking like a gorilla. I thanked my stars that I didn’t have to end up with him.

This chapter in my life made me set my standards very high for the kind of man I would end up with – a non jerk long haired bad boy guitarist who looked dangerous, but was really sweet and most importantly would never make fun of me or laugh at me ever!  

AJ.. My bestie for over a million years

Ajay, Aj, Devil – many names, one man. Aj has been my bestie before the word “bestie” was invented in the English dictionary of Yo words. He never forgets my birthday and is always the first to wish me every year. He is full of mad ideas, but mind you he sees those ideas right upto its conception. He is NOT all talk. 

Long ago when all I could think about was food and how much more of it i could consume, (without getting kicked out of restaurants), Aj came up with a plan. “One day, I’m going to start a restaurant just for you Fatty” he said and here we are in the year 2013 all grown up and Aj has not one but TWO restaurants! And he has promised me food “on the house” from both his restaurants. Now if this isn't true friendship, what is?

Yesterday afternoon Aj and I had a long discussion about marriage. I voiced my concerns on the topic and he as usual calmed me down with his signature brand of whacky theories and convinced me that marriage is the best thing for me.

Aj and I don’t have a single photograph together, because all the pictures we have together is of him staring at me eat. Early this year I went to Hyderabad with my folks and didn’t inform Aj. He found out of course and before I knew it, he was saying “Hello” to my parents and whacking me on the head for not being in touch.

Aj, you’re a gem! I’m sorry I forgot your birthday.. again! I know you've already forgiven me, like every single year.

See you soon?

Hi-Five

A little more than 5 years have gone by,

But you still make my heart fly,

You've never made me cry,

Despite all the times I’ve made your brain fry,

We've braved together in stormy weather by relentlessly saying aye,

We've downed all our sorrows with a lot of takeaway Thai,

Like all kiddie couples back in the day, we've scandalized the odd Kanta Bai,

We would laugh devilishly about it later over a one by two cup of cutting chai,

It’s a wonder we still look at each other and manage to say Aaye-Haaye,

After all the calories we have gained and lost, let’s not say bye,

For it would it be difficult to hunt down, track and finally fall in love with the perfect guy. 

Vivaan the Extraordinary

You light up our lives with your toothless grin,

Your head of curls look like an upside down bin,

You pitter-patter endlessly in mad circles like you’ve had a whole bottle of gin,

Your “ammumuu” cries make all your grandmothers happier than they have ever been,

Your love for Bollywood songs we have got akin,

Inside all our hearts you are in,

Your love for your cool aunt and grandfather is a big win,

We all wish you had a Siamese twin,

So that we could pull your cottony cheek skin,

Can’t wait for you to grow up so that I can hand you a violin,

I’m sure you will make us all proud with your creative spin. 

Soldier Soldier Meethi Baatein Bolkar..

Soldier! Any red-blooded Indian girl who grew up in the 90s would remember this song and this movie.  I was 15 and it blew my brains away.

At 15, girls dream about their prince charming, marriage and about finding their one true love.I had finally found my one true love... for the second time - Bad boy Bobby Deol! (The first was Leo DiCap from Titanic) I knew right then that i would settle for a boy who killed people for fun, wore black clothes, had wavy shoulder length hair and had a quirky sense of humour.

What a song! What a movie! The bad boy quotient will make you swoon.

Life as I knew it

I have tears in my eyes and a severely broken heart as I write this. My student life is over forever. I’m done with my Masters degree from a reputed city college.  And the only thing that I can think of is; all my friends are leaving. That feeling of loneliness is slowly creeping back into my life and mind.

  

“Don’t go” is the only thing I want to say to them, but I won’t. Two years was a very long and arduous time period thrown our way when we signed up for this Masters degree. We hated all the long hours of work, the sari tying at the drop of a hat, the partiality, the never ending internships, and the venom being spit around by certain women. Keeping all this in mind, I should have been the happiest person on the planet when all this ended.. but I’m not. I’m sad. I’m so incredibly sad I could write a poem and if I had taken my guitar classes seriously written a sad song as well.

Debby and Pri, you made me want to come to college every day. And the days you two bunked I hated going to college.  

Neha and Nikki, you made me fall in love with long hours of gossip. It truly was therapeutic after a long and shitty day.  

I pray our friendships never end. I pray circumstances and time don’t change us. I pray that we love each other unconditionally like we do right now, today. 

And I meet my Soulmate Wheels again!

Who says cupid doesn't strike more than once? I fell in love in early 2005 with a smart Purple scooty, my life was absolutely incomplete without her. No her = No me, we were that inseparable. Five years we lived together, loved each other and wiped each others sorrows away. Then the dreaded accident struck. We had many "mini mishaps" together during our five years of love and friendship, but that wretched morning of February 2010 at 6am horror struck both our lives.

I woke up early that day to hit the gym (just like another other day), rode my baby all the way upto Ascendas to get to Fitness One (just like another day) but instead of reaching the gym we skid and fell into a horrible porthole. We scraped on the road for a good five minutes. I could see her getting mashed in front of my eyes. The pain of seeing her slip away was more painful than the fact that my right shoulder bone had officially left the building along with my right foot's nerve.

The rest of the morning was a blur of hysterical parents, neighbours and doctors poking me around with their surgical instruments. I was a vegetable for the next 2 months and I thought of her everyday and cried. I cried knowing I could never ride her or another bike for a while. All my dreams of getting a Harley and zipping around with it on empty fields were out the window. I was depressed, heartbroken and slightly senile with the long empty hours of nothingness that piled up day after day.

And just like that 2.5 months later, I was alright. My doctor yanked out the two gigantic surgical pins from my shoulder and declared I was alright. I ran to my baby and found that she was dusty and wobbly. I patted her and whispered that things would be alright soon and we would be together again.

In less than a month, we had to bid adieu. I was banned from riding her anymore. The loneliness and the depression crept back into my life. To make matters worse I had signed up for a Masters Degree from a reputed college in the city which was eating me alive! I had no way to commute. I was forced to take auto-rickshaws and the less said about the Chennai auto drivers and their God-complex attitudes the better.

Flash forward to 4th April 2012 (ie. today) i'm happy to announce that I'm done with the Masters course from above mentioned reputed college and I'm going to miss being a student. I miss my Purple baby a little less these days, but each time I see someone who looks like her, I feel pangs in my heart.

All my body parts are intact and unbroken, I'm fit as a fiddle! And and and.. The best news of all; I've met someone else - shes red, shes cute, has spunk, has a great music system, smells like a million bucks, is roomy and I've fallen completely head over heels in love. Again! ;)

Ra.One

I loved Ra.One so much that I want to work as a celebrity PRO or be involved with Bollywood and Hindi movies in some way. Has the world completely lost it? The horrible reviews I’ve been reading about Ra.One for over a week had almost put me off watching the movie altogether. I’m glad common sense prevailed and I shut out these so called self proclaimed “movie critics” and decided to form my own opinion.

When we can digest a Batman, Superman, Spiderman and an IronMan performing impossible and near death stunts on screen, why can’t we accept an Indian superhero? I wonder do these “critics” understand how difficult it is to direct a movie? I’ve dabbled with short film making briefly in college for five years (UG and PG) and let me tell you, it is hard! I’ve also dabbled with journalism briefly with a magazine in Bombay and the first rule of journalism is to be unbiased and not be a crusader/interpreter of information! Leave that to the aam junta. They have brains you know.

As a communication and media student, ex-journalist and amateur movie director it becomes my right and duty to enlighten the world about this wonderful movie called Ra.One. The animation is spectacular; you will have Goosebumps watching the beautiful and historic CST station falling apart. The make-up on G.One’s face was impeccable. SRK looked the part of a video game character who tumbled out of his gaming screen and into the real world.

I admit the relationship between G.One and the late video game creator’s son Prateek and G.One’s farewell scene with the boy looked right out of Terminator 2 : Judgement Day. But so what? Let me tell you as an amateur movie maker, the first rule of movie making if you are a newbie is to copy someone else’s style and eventually you will be able to create your own signature style, but that takes time and practice. So it is absolutely not wrong to take inspiration from previously made movies or styles of directing.

I cried twice during the movie. One when Shekhar Subramaniam is killed by Ra.One and his body is being taken in a wooden casket and second when G.One tells the little boy Prateek “I think I will miss you too” and his body forms little square boxes (once again inspired from the Terminator 2 villain’s body) and he vanishes into oblivion.

As for SRK speaking in Tamil and quite badly at that, I ask once again. So bloody what? Sense of humor, much? Don’t we south Indians also make fun of Hindi movies and Hindi speaking people every once in a while in our Malayalam, Telugu, Tamil and Kannada movies? Yes, we do.

Good job SRK, good job Ra.One team, you’ve done us Indians proud. We can hold our heads up high and tell the world that we have an Indian superhero now who looks cool, kicks butt with panache and I would (without hesitation) buy the action figure and put it up on my shelf along with miniatures of Batman, Spidey, IronMan and Superman.

The Sky is Purple Syndrome

All fathers have this disease. This disease of opposing every full stop, semi colon, comma, exclamation mark and sentence that pours out of their daughter's mouths. Around the world every little girl is born dreaming of her daddy as daddy the hero, daddy the best, daddy the cutest and daddy the easier half of the parents to bend. But as that little girl grows up so does her daddy and sadly they grow apart. Daddy dearest turns into this argumentative monster who is just waiting to tear you apart with his sharp tongue.

Little Girl : "Daddy, I think the sky is blue"
Daddy : "Absolutely not. It's purple"

Little Girl : "Daddy, do I look round today?"
Daddy : "I think so, yes. Lose some weight"

I'm that little girl and that's my daddy. We fight, till we turn blue in the face, every minute of every hour of every damn day. I'm tired. I'm done fighting. I'm officially hanging up my boots. This morning I saw a little girl sitting behind her father on a bike and she had her hand placed firmly on her father's mouth. I think it's safe to say that every little girl around the world is born to hen-peck her father. And what does this equate to? A hand pecked husband and terrified children.

I blame fathers for women turning into nags and hen-peckers. Our old man gets on our nutcase and argues with us for random reasons which in turn builds an impression in our minds that all men are mad. Sorry future hubby and children. I live with mad dad.

Going the Distance

Mumbai. A city I’ve grown to love because the man I love lives there. Period! Three years ago I left home, didn’t take up my first amazing job offer and slogged it out in an alien city doing a job I hated – all for the sake of love. I would never let my children be so stupid, that I guarantee you dear reader. I was stupid; I don’t know what I was thinking. But my stupidity paid off. I am the happiest woman in the whole world now.

I had a refreshing five day break in Mumbai the past week – my millionth trip to the city by the way and on the flight enroute Mumbai, guess which movie I saw? ‘Going the Distance’ It’s a rom-com about a couple who try to make their long distance relationship work. Relationships are a bitch. It either fucks you over completely or makes you feel like a billion bucks. Throw long distancing to that equation and it’s a living nightmare. Poopie and I (Yes, we call each other Poopie. Don’t ask how. I don’t remember the details too well either) have spent so much time apart that when we are together for the first two days I’m a little disoriented. It takes time for it to sink in that I’m finally in a functional adult relationship and it’s not ending. Ever! Even if we have the worst fights, I know we’re for life.

I’ve had my share of non-relationships. I’ve met the slimey kind, the stinky kind, the musician kind, the smart alec kind, the pervert kind, the God complex kind and the just plain jerk kind. Poopie’s not perfect either, but he’s perfect for me. He accepts me with all my flaws which would include (1) my violent mood swings, (2) my not so great social skills (he is super friendly and has an army of best friends) (3) my perennial hunger and then guilt for binging just to name a few.

I hate leaving Mumbai and I hate (right up to the bottom of my toes) leaving him behind. Without Poopie my life is in shades of grey. I hate dolling up. I lose interest in food. I hate just being happy. I’m tired of missing him and I’m tired of long-distancing.

We have a three year plan which I don’t want to mention now. The ball is in motion and we’re chasing it. Once we get there I will blog about it. It will be titled, “The Victory Dance”.

High on Fresh Air and Transformers

I've been home for the past two days and it is SHEER bliss! Who would've thought that going back to college after a two year break of work, was going to be as hectic and stressful as being a professional? I have a little free time on my hands now before my Corporate Internship begins. I have finished my first year of Masters in Public Relations, by the way. Just one more year to go and i'm free free free!

I've officially become a healthy couch potato. Healthy because I don't keep stuffing my face as I sit in front of the idiot box. I swim, i run, i walk and am well on the way to becoming to my old skinny self again. Plus, I've got this sexy new hair-cut. The point is, I'm just generally happy these days, must be all that "post exercise natural chemical" stuff pumping up my brain. (Do we have a doctor in the house to point out what those chemicals are, so that I sound less vague!)

Anyway, moving on to the subject at hand - Transformers. This is the second time I'm blogging about them. The first post is here (in case you're curious):- http://bonappetite.blogspot.com/2008/02/transformers.html

I love Optimus Prime and his Autobots, especially Bumblebee. He is just SO cute! And when i see them fighting with the Decepticons i just want to pinch their metal cheeks. The Autobots are huge metal toys that are every little girl's dream come true. I've had my eye on all the talking action figures for quite a while now. Mommy has promised to get me the whole set one birthday at a time.

It's so easy to forget reality while watching movies like this and wish for something fantastic to happen to you as well. How easy it would be to ditch my boring classes and become Sam Witwicky just for one day. All hail Micheal Bay! You're a genius sir for bringing alive these cartoon characters.

No One Killed Jessica

1999, I was 12 years old. Old enough to understand what was happening in the world around, but still too young to fathom and understand the gravity of a situation where I was not personally involved. I had heard the name "Jessica Laal" float around me for years after that, but it still didn't sink in. Then I heard of a movie titled "No One Killed Jessica" starring Rani Mukherjee and Vidya Balan and I just had to see it. I've been meaning to write this post ever since I came back home that night from the movie hall.

For 136 minutes that night, I felt someone slapping me hard on my face and I felt anger and hatred towards the shooter (a spoilt brat politician's son whose language would put a prostitute to shame), the witnesses of the murder (the ridiculous page 3 junta who watched the episode unfold in front of their eyes and a good for nothing small time actor whose movies I refuse to watch anymore). She was 23 years old! 23! Thats a whole year younger than I am right now. How could all the witnesses and the legal system in this wretched country have denied someone so young justice? I am sending up prayers to the lord everyday to send them all to a place worse than hell.

I googled extensively on what exactly happened on that fateful night and I discovered that much of what was shown in the movie was accurate. Kudos to NDTV for taking on the "Fight for Jessica Lall" SMS campaign. It took seven years and one news channel to push forward the cause and put pressure on our corrupt legal system to do something about this heinous crime.

My respect for journalists grew even more and my seven month journalism stint came flashing back in front of my eyes all over again. I wondered whether I'd made the biggest mistake of my life by stepping away from that field of work which could have been my path of life right now.

I cried along with Vidya in the last scene of the movie, when the journalist played by Rani informed her "Sabrina you have won!" The Delhi High Court had FINALLY (only after intense media and public pressure) decided to conduct the proceedings of the case on a fast track with daily hearings over 25 days.

You will stay on in our minds and hearts forever Jessica. I hope wherever you are, you have found your peace.

My Apple iPod

Ours was an arranged match, a blind alliance. She entered my life early last year and my heart skipped a few beats when i held her on my palm. She was glossy, shiny, black, small and super cute. For me, it was love at first sight. I knew I had to take care of her and educate her musically. She soon became my best friend, soul sister and confidante. She understood my anxieties and had a tune for all my moods.

And then I committed a terrible crime. I left her behind on a rushed holiday and for six months I missed her terribly. Waking up every morning for a jog, seemed like an ordeal without her. My soul was filled with a void. Nothing could replace her. I tried finding solace in my mobile phone's FM radio stations, but I began missing my iPod even more.

I was finally able to reunite with her three weeks ago and I apologized profusely to her tiny face for neglecting her. My life was complete again and then something happened. I tugged her USB cable out of my laptop while she was charging without hitting on the "Eject" option. Hours later I tried turning her on, but she remained motionless. I tried for fifteen heart-breaking minutes and nothing happened. She was dead and I was responsible.

I cried for a long time, wondering what to do. I had lost her again. I finally mustered enough courage to explain what happened to a tech junkie and he laughed on hearing me sob hysterically. He had the older version of my baby and apparently the same thing had happened to him as well. He asked me to keep two buttons pressed for six seconds and then i saw a faint appley smile light up her face.

I thanked the stars and the boy who saved my iPod's life. A special mention of the person who brought this tiny piece of eternal joy into my life, my big brother Swaroop Mohanlal or better known as Swaroo Schettan.

My Pink Niece

I've never held a new born baby in my hands, infact I'd never seen a new born baby in flesh and blood. So when I saw my fully pregnant sister, I was bouncing around like a bunny, excited to bits. Each time i touched her tummy, the tiny human being inside gave a kick sending goosebumps up my skin.

The whole family had flown down from different parts of the globe to welcome the next generation. The pressure was on the mommy to be. Each day we would go to the hospital and tell her, "Please make it happen today, I have a flight to catch on the 2nd or the 4th". Each time she saw me she would tell me her gastronomic desire for the next day and I would promptly bring it for her. I presume she imagined a big roshogulla walking into her hospital room, each time she saw me. She requested Pizzas and Burgers from a restaurant called 'Ambrosia' on New Years Eve and the very next day the baby was born. I'd like to secretly believe that she had that baby thanks to my Ambrosia trip.

On the hot sweaty afternoon of New Year's day, when the family and I were lolling around wondering whether to sleep or eat, we got a phone call from the hospital saying that the baby was born at 3.13pm. We finally got to see her at 4.30pm. She looked soo tiny, fragile and helpless that I was scared to even hold her. When I finally mustered up enough courage to take her in my arms, a single tear drop flowed down my cheek and then I understood the meaning of being a kunjamma.

I lived in a village for three days and two nights!!

A couple of months ago, I had come for an interesting orientation by our HOD ma’am on M.A Public Relations. I hung on to every word ma’am had to say about my next two academic years, I knew I had to bag this course right there and then. I vaguely heard her mentioning the words “village”, “saree”, “interior Tamilnadu” and so on. I figured, that must be a project I would have to do in my last semester of college. I was mistaken. In less than 4 months, here I am, humbled by the generosity of sixty small huts in a village near Pondicherry, called Nadukuppam.

A week before our visit began a shopping frenzy for medicines, dance-props and mosquito repellants. Monday, the 13th of September found all of us in pitch darkness, waiting in college, for our teachers and transport. We were all sleepy and excited. We jumped onto the bus along with our teachers and promptly fell asleep. We woke up, in time for breakfast and went back to sleep again. We reached Nadukuppam by 11 AM. We were greeted by Ms Joe and Ms Parvathy who were going to be our mentors at Nadukuppam.

The first sight that we saw, as soon as we stepped off the bus, was a roadside bus stand with a whole family inside – babies crawling around, women cooking food and water seeping through on all sides, the family was huddled in a small corner of the sheltered bus stand. We gulped in disbelief, wondering what we were getting into.

We were taken to Nadukuppam Government High School by Ms Joe and Ms Parvathy. Our three day stay was going to be in this school. Our bed was the floor; we were sharing it with all its existing residents, namely grasshoppers, scorpions, spiders and other creepy-crawlies. Our next big concern was the toilet. We ran towards them and heaved in relief when we saw four of them one next to the other. Our relief was short-lived, as we soon discovered a huge snake pit with a family of resident snakes, right next to our toilets. We sent up prayers and tackled our toilet business and ran as fast as we could.

We just about settled in to our common hall, when Ms Joe and Ms Parvathy called us for a small brief about the village. They told us, that they were trying to help the children of the village who had failed their classes 10 and 12, by conducting stitching classes for them. They were also instrumental in building the common room, of the school where we were going to sleep during our stay.

Soon after, we set out to our assigned streets, along with our teachers and our survey partners. The mini-van dropped us all off, one by one to our respective streets. My survey partner Evelyn and I, hopped off the bus; bottle of water, umbrella, pens and questionnaires in hand.

Our first household was of a newly married couple. The bride was all of 20 and was busy watching Sun Music, she greeted us with a shy smile as we explained the purpose of our visit. We began our rapid fire session and she answered patiently to all our queries. Before long her husband, who was a petrol pump attendant, joined us and he began participating in our conversation as well. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other, as is expected of all newly married couples. It was a little distracting, as the heat was getting to us and we had a tight target to meet. We thanked them for their time at the end of our thirty odd questions and set out to interview another family. We noticed right in the beginning of our tour of the village, that all the households had television sets and the satellite dishes placed outside their homes. Some looked even bigger than the huts they lived in. We found this quite amusing; we realized that their priorities were a little skewed. We discovered that none of them had a toilet; they all went to the nearby ponds for an early morning job, but entertainment just a click of a button away.

Almost too soon, it was time to go back our base camp for lunch, Evelyn and I had just completed six families in total, while the other teams in our class had done ten families and above. We panicked a little, on discovering these statistics, but kept motivating each other, that we would meet our target as well. After a quick lunch, we got back on field again and continued our survey. We met family after family, who asked us who we were, what we were doing in the village and why we were asking them such probing questions about their caste, incomes and educational qualifications. They swept their porches clean for us and invited us into their homes, without hesitation. They posed eagerly for our photographs along with their cute children. Day 1 of our survey had come to an end. Our target of 20 questionnaires seemed like an impossible dream. I slept fitfully that night, between my friends.

I woke up the next morning thanks to the desperate rumbles of my tummy. I looked around for somebody to wake up. One of my classmates’ finally woke up, in the same dire plight and we took off in the wee hours of the morning, torches in hand. I felt a wave of relief wash over me, as I walked back to our common hall and found more people sitting up straight with messy hair and swollen eyes. Priya, Shruti and I decided to rush to the washrooms before it got too crowded. We discovered that the washroom closest to us was clogged and over-flowing with water.

I almost burst into tears at this point, when Shruti announced, “Priya and Gayatri, stand behind this wall and hand me mugs of water, I’m bathing”. We bathed that morning with six mugs of water each, it was an exciting and a once in a lifetime experience!

Evelyn and I had lots more luck on Day 2, while filling out questionnaires. We met our Day 2 and Day 1 target and we were overjoyed. We had picked up speed from Day 1, learnt from our mistakes and kept motivating each other. My pink umbrella didn’t help us much, as we both got burnt through and through and Evelyn kept muttering “Ouch” under her breath every five minutes, as I kept poking her on the head with my umbrella spokes. We interviewed a few “rich” families on Day 2, we went inside households that looked like mini palaces in the middle of nowhere with crude looking sofas, four walls fully cemented and children speaking to us in English.

The night of Day 2 was special for me, as I heaved a sigh of relief on a job well done. I was so happy to be paired with Evelyn; she was a gem of a person and a wonderful team-player. My friends and I whispered under the sheets, late into the night, until one of us fell asleep.

Day 3 greeted us all with a renewed sense of hope and joy. Our stay here was almost complete, our targets were much smaller for the day and we would finally go back home to our urban lives. I shared my washroom with six ugly looking frogs that morning. I kept eyeing them, worrying about when they would decide to jump on my head.

We set out onto the field without breakfast that morning. Evelyn and I walked through huge fields to get to a street called “Ameri” which was quite a distance from our base camp. Our teachers dropped us off, at the beginning of the field. I felt like a Bollywood actress, walking through green fields, but my bubble was quickly burst as I slipped and fell into some slushy brown water.

I ignored my damp uncomfortable clothes and focused on my small target in hand. We interviewed seven families in Ameri and walked back to our bus. We had a quick breakfast and continued our survey again. Evelyn and I interviewed very interesting people that morning. We met a Candy-seller, who spoke Tamil, Hindi, English and Punjabi. He had left his native town to earn a living in Nadukuppam. We met a college professor who disapproved of my handwriting and informed me proudly that all his children were working and were post graduates.

Our lunch on Day 3 was the happiest. We had all met our targets and kept hugging each other. I kept counting my questionnaires over and over to make sure, that this was all not a dream. Nadukuppam village, has changed me, I will never take for granted the luxuries my parents have showered me with.

(Photograph taken by Evelyn Charles)

Anjaana Anjaani

It's the morning after and I still can't stop smiling over the movie. Ranbir Kapoor, looked H-O-T and I wished for him to be mine. There were a few minutes of him shirtless, which made my blood boil and my eyes pop. Move over Hollywood actors and all the other so called "yummy" Bollywood hunks - RK kicks all your asses! That chiseled body, those pink lips, that height, those soul searching eyes.. what more could a woman want in a man?

From the start to the finish, he was a real pleasure to watch, the plot was cute, funny, moving and fairly realistic. I could empathize with Priyanka's heartbroken character, over a cheating boyfriend. We've all been through that at some point. So when she and RK kiss for just one scene in the movie and she wakes up the next morning and tells him, that she feels she has cheated over her ex, I could understand. Men can really be jerks at times and the healing process takes forever.

RK played the adorable "sacrificing his love, for her happiness" bit, perfectly. I loved the last few minutes of the movie, when he proposes to her, in that unorthodox and really endearing fashion, it made me sigh internally and I made a silent prayer to God, wishing for something similar to happen to me as well.

RK + PC = eye candy for both sexes, do you really need any other reason to watch this movie? Go, go and GO!

Hey, Soul Sister - Train

It's been a loooong long time, since a song has struck a chord within my heart's blood oozing chord. I'm left smiling and giddy headed for hours after I hear this song, I wake up every morning, rush to my laptop, tune into You-tube and hit this song, which is always queued up, waiting to be played, and then it loops for about an hour and half, roughly.

From the start to the finish it's an absolute masterpiece. The first verse goes :

"Your lipstick stains on the front lobe of my left side brains
I knew I wouldn't forget you, and so I went and let you blow my mind
Your sweet moon beam, the smell of you in every single dream I dream
I knew when we collided, you're the one I have decided who's one of my kind"

Cheeky, naughty and cute all rolled into one. I wonder what was running through the band's mind, when they composed and penned this song. Was it for one of their girlfriends/wives/fiancées? If yes, they have just upped the games for all boyfriends universally!

The perfect song to wipe out all your blues and sorrows, in under four minutes, guaranteed. Kick out all those comfy eating fatty foods, and turn up your stereos children. This song is here to stay.

Madras Gymkhana Club

The MGC has been my playground for the past 13 years. To outsiders, it may appear to be an extremely snooty club and truth be told, it is snooty. When Thermal and a Quarter played here, the crowd sniffed and ordered another stiff drink from the waiters. When I played with my little cousins on the gym-lawns after 9pm one night, I was shooed away by one of the waiters and my parents were told 'no children allowed on the lawns post 9pm, please'. I still remember going for a New Year's Eve bash with mum-dad to the club and dad had announced to the reception staff that I was over 16 years old. Not knowing the significance of this white lie, I announced quite loudly, "But daddy, I am only 14".

How a club started by the Brits, maintained it's Brit culture for 126 years, is a wonder. Men are allowed inside only with a collared shirt and shoes, no one is allowed on the club premises with their workout clothes on, the last dinner order is taken at 10.30pm and so on.

The waiters haven't changed in all these years and before I can even sit down to place my dinner order, they have a steaming spicy hot plate of chilli chicken dry, ready for me. The food here is fantastic but a little dull, when you've been a regular for 13 years. Of late they have been making a few changes to the menu with regard to continental food and the drinks, which is a relief!

The pool uncle rings his bell at 7.30pm sharp for the kids to scramble out and even today I am asked to leave. I suppose I never grew up for him, in his eyes I will always be a kid and that is a nice feeling. The pool is brilliant, super huge and really well-maintained, you can see right upto the last tile on the watery floor. Many times, I have this eerie feeling that I am being followed by an invisible being in the deep waters and who knows, maybe I am. A restless Brit, may have decided never to leave the pool and I can't blame him/her, I would probably do the same, if I were in his/her shoes.

I grew up gorging on the warm Naans and Nut and Date tart puddings, playing in the old park next to the pool and reading plenty of Mills and Boons from the library. I will never get tired of this club, it is my second home.

Iron Man 2

To start off with, all those who think that Iron Man 2 could not live up to its predecessor, step away from this blog post. Number One: An Iron Man movie can never and I mean NEVER be awful. Number Two: Have you seen the bum and face on Robert Downey Junior?

Iron Man 2 had plenty more badass action scenes, than the first. Downey Junior makes his audience flinch one minute and then “ooh and aaah” the next. For all the feminists who can’t stand male superhero movies and believe that only men can kick some mean butt, fret not; for this movie has Scarlett Johansson playing an ubercool agent, who goes undercover as Iron Man’s personal secretary in training. She has her share of fight scenes – very few sadly, but VERY appealing – she has my thumbs up to act in Elektra 2.

This movie dives a little deeper into the life of the man behind the iron clad shield. He is a wild irresponsible wild parties throwing narcissistic sloth, but is there more to him than just that? And in comes the villain of this piece to answer this question. A physician named Ivan Vanko who believes, that his father was wronged by the Iron Man’s father – Howard Stark. He constructs an arc reactor and a crude suit of his own, along with whip-like energy weapons. Can the Iron Man beat this revenge seeking scientist who is out to destroy the Stark legacy?

To add fuel to the fire, the Iron Man is slowly dying. He is being poisoned by the palladium core in his arc reactor (or in simple terms the shiny blue thingy stuck on his chest), and all attempts to find a substitute element have failed.

Can our sexy knight in shining red armor (with a nice butt) overcome these odds and emerge victorious? You don’t have to rack your brains too much to answer this one; I think I hear the three year old baby next door, screaming the answer out to you. Go watch it. And if you have watched it already, watch it again!

PS: I almost forgot to add, the icing on the cake, the chocolate sauce on the Belgian waffle, the stir fried chicken in the Manchurian – Tony Stark and his former personal assistant Pepper Potts kiss. Finally!! I had to wait two WHOLE movies for that to happen. I smiled and smiled till I could smile no more.