My Teddy Bear Dowry

I was 12 years old, when my mother brought home an adorable, teddy bear shaped, Salt and Pepper shaker set. The ceramic duo, looked like they had tumbled out of an Enid Blyton novel. Instead of sitting daintily, on a prim and proper British family's high tea table adorned with muffins and croissants, they were stuck in front of my dad, who was at present, viciously murdering a fluffy, vegetable stuffed omelette, with his fork and knife. I was appalled with the way he was vigorously shaking the teddies, for a generous dose of salt and pepper on his already sodium-overdosed, deep fried egg.

"I want these teddies to be sent along with me, as part of my dowry", I blurted out to my mother, without thinking. My father put down the shakers momentarily and gave me a dubious stare. My mother just ignored me, as always. "Mumma, I'm serious. I don't want them to be used until the day I get married and go to my new house", I persisted. "Don't be ridiculous, Gayu", she replied promptly and went back to sipping her morning coffee. 

When I came back home from school the next day, I observed that mom had washed and put away the shakers in her kitchen cabinet. I hurriedly opened the cabinet doors and smelt the shakers, to ensure that it was thoroughly clean. Satisfied with the odour that wafted up my nostrils, I walked into my parents bedroom and planted my mother with a huge sloppy, wet kiss on her cheek. "For rescuing the teddies", I explained, while she stared at me quizzically and tried her best to wriggle out of my iron grip.

Fast forward to present day, I'm much married and have set up a house of my own. The very first curio set I put up in my house, were the teddy bear shakers. There is almost always, a single tear drop, that fills up inadvertently in the corner of my eye, each time I clean them.

My sofa cushions, eerily resemble my mother's. I'm endlessly wiping and dusting my house from top to bottom, all day, everyday. And my kitchen counters, sparkle like diamonds. If you stare at them long enough, you can see your face reflecting right back at you. While I made fun of my mother's obsessive cleaning my entire life, I realize I've become just like her. 

I've always been the most punctual person in my class, office and among my group of friends. I deliver promises, even before I can make them. Once I've made up my mind, on getting a task done, I'll do it faster than spandex wearing superhero Flash. My punctuality annoys people. My habit of getting things done, faster than I can think about it, irritates my husband. But I can't help it, I am my father's daughter. I'm a stickler for routine. I'm in bed by 9pm everyday, out of the house by 7am latest for a jog/walk/run/swim or a quick workout in the gym. We're restless beings, my father and I, but we're disciplined, restless beings. There is always a method to our calculated madness. 

Our parents try their best to inculcate in us, excellent habits. So the question is, are we ready to face the world, all by ourselves with these values ingrained within us, subconsciously? I would like to believe, yes (with a generous dose of "occasional" babying from mom and dad of course). 

Judgy McJudgerson

Ever had that hair-raising, goosebumpy feeling, of having two eyes pierce down your soul? And just when you turn around, to catch their gaze, they look away? But it begins again in less than 5 seconds? Welcome to the world of Judgy McJudgerson. 

Married but don't wear a mangalsutra? Hawwww! Coloured and cut your hair so short? Hawwwww! Wearing dresses with sneakers? Hawww! It's time for the "Hawww" to STOP! My body, my choice!

Just because a woman is married, doesn't mean she has to look like a Christmas tree everyday. She can keep her hair as long as Rapunzel or as short as Peter Pan. Her choice! She is a girly-girl and a tomboy, so she can wear dresses with sneakers or saree with sneakers if she wants to. Her damn choice!

It's time for all the Judgy McJudgersons in the world, to snap out of it and grow the hell up. While women demand equal rights at workplaces, do they treat their own kind with dignity? I'm afraid not. It is women who put down other women everywhere. And I mean, literally everywhere! Be it at home, at work, at beauty parlours and even in the 2 second ride up the elevator. 

You don't have to squeeze out personal information from a person, however close he/she is to you. If someone wants to talk to you, they will. Poking and prodding incessantly, just makes you less approachable to them. When will people understand this?

I've never been clingy. I never call my husband during the week, even if all hell breaks loose. I don't understand clingy people. When people ask, "Oh no Gayu, how will you manage without Raj for the next two months?", or "Don't you feel lonely, with Raj in another city altogether", my response is, "Firstly, I'm not two years old. Secondly, if my mother in her early 20s could live all by herself in god-forsaken hill stations, plagued with panthers that too, had no clue about when my father would return or even where he was, I think I can survive in a metropolitan city." 

Being independent and staying in a positive frame of mind, is all in your hands. Man comes alone in this world and goes back to his creator alone. So, you could have 20 children and 5 husbands if you like, but you are alone in this world. And that, is completely okay. 

Stop judging, stop criticizing, stop prodding for information and most importantly stop with the incessant staring. It's not cool. NOT. COOL. 

Poetry In A Ceramic Mug

Four years since I discovered the bliss of sipping on thick, molten hot chocolate. My life has never been the same since that fateful, sweltering hot afternoon in Mumbai. Whoever says hot chocolate should only be had in freezing winters, should be shot in the head and punched on the face, twice, by Hulk.

Chocolate by itself is a divine thing. Imagine it being melted just the right amount, to give it that beautiful, thick, slurpy consistency which of course must be relished slowly and deliberately, in a pretty looking, thick, ceramic mug. I shiver just thinking about it. There’s nothing a well-made cup of hot chocolate can’t solve.

If only Adolf Hitler had been served hot chocolate during World War I and II, if only Ed Gein was given a cozy cuppa split seconds before he committed those heinous murders and closer to home, if only the Stoneman or even Gandhi Ji had one sip of hot, heady cocoa, countless lives could have been saved, wars could have ended and the history of mankind as we know it today, could have been re-written. Who knows! 

A well-made cup of hot chocolate, is potent. It lingers in your mouth and lives on as a happy memory, long after you’ve consumed it. You could even call it a beautiful dream, which you wish never ended. But end it does, unfortunately, like most things dreamy and too good to be true, in this cruel, unforgiving world. And all you can do, is wait helplessly for your next cup of steaming, hot, molten cocoa.

I’d like to believe, hot chocolate is 100% fat free, because it has zero carbohydrates. It’s always best to drink your calories, than to gulp it down, because then the fat flows straight out of your body, as opposed to accumulating in god-awful nooks and crannies, you didn’t even know existed. This is what I tell myself, each time, I drink a sinful mug. 

Whoever invented this glorious dessert, deserves nothing less than a global recognition. If ever mankind ceases to exist, hot chocolate is what we should be remembered by. This is our legacy to the world. 

Life Lessons from Beauty and the Beast

As little girls, we were continuously spoon fed, larger than life, syrupy fairy tale romances that almost always had a happy ending. Then how can you blame us, when we grow up and want the same in real life? Each fairy tale, taught us that prince charming was head over heels in love with the not so financially stable girl. He fought against the world for this girl and he changed completely for her, sometimes from a beast to a man. And we lapped it all up, with absolute glee.

If we look at relationships in the real world, it's sadly a whole different story. The girl is expected to sacrifice her entire identity, starting with her name, her lifestyle, her home, her likes and her dislikes. Suddenly, there's an overbearing man in her life who doesn't want to change the way he lives. Why should he, he is the breadwinner and the man of the house, correct? (Indian logic!) 

The little girl is suddenly told to "adjust", "give in", "sacrifice" and "blend in", while her whole life she has been reading stories about prince charming who will and can be changed. While the Beast doesn't exist in the real world, I think he is symbolic to ego, selfishness, being stubborn and self-centered. For a relationship to work (any relationship - be it friendship, family or with work colleagues) one has to let go of these wonderful beastly characteristics. 

Before we talk about equality at work, let's re-look at the equality in our own homes. Let's raise feminist sons and all rounded daughters, who have the empathy to play ball from both sides of the gender. After we achieve that, we can talk about catching up with Japan and truly stepping into the 21st century as a broad minded, technologically advanced nation. 

(Image Source : http://movies.disney.com/beauty-and-the-beast)

Farewell Sridevi

24th February 2018, was a dark day for cinema lovers. India's dream girl Sridevi passed away due to a massive cardiac arrest. She was India's most successful multilingual, multi-generational actress. She broke the North-South divide with absolute ease. The notion that all South Indians are short, curly-haired, dark and unattractive was broken down by her with multiple, swift whiplashing strokes (imagine that crazy whipping scene from Chaalbaaz right about now)

While much has been written about her success in the movies, let's talk about Sridevi, the mother. How could she possibly give up such a well established place in the movies, just to raise two children? That's called the power of motherhood. Even the thought of becoming a mother or having a desire to have children, brings out in you, your most protective instincts. If you thought, you're a killer at work, try being a mother. You will stand up against the whole world, for your child. 

So coming back to that question, of how she could give up her entire life for her children, it's simple. It's called love. Unconditional, undying love a mother has for her flesh and blood. 

Her death felt personal. I felt a dull ache in my chest, that lasted for 48 hours straight, after reading and re-reading all the pieces of news that kept pouring in about her final moments. I felt sad knowing that I'll never see that raw, versatile talent, lighting up my television screen again. I cried along with her in English Vinglish, when her on-screen daughter made fun of her broken English and watched with eyes wide open, her suggestive "I love you" number. 

Sexy yet innocent. A helpless mentally challenged child one minute and hilariously funny, the next.  A meek, ready to be dominated upon doormat and an opinionated, head-strong fighter of injustice, all in one frame.  There has to be a better word than "versatile" to describe her effortless, flair for acting. 

We will miss you and your big expressive eyes, Ms Hawa Hawai. Women everywhere have lost a  beautiful, strong role model. But like you rightly said, "Jeevan ke kis modh pe, kab koi mil jaaye, kaun keh sakta hai?" So, hoping to catch you in the afterlife. Rest in peace, India's forever Chandni. 

(Image Source : http://www.rediff.com/movies/special/sridevi-the-10-best-songs/20180225.htm) 

My Husband, The Musician

I've always liked musicians, especially guitarists (along with the entire female population across the globe).  I will marry a "long haired rocker dude", I would emphatically tell my family while busily thulping down on some sinful number. "But first lose some weight", would come the reply. 

Luckily for me, I did lose weight, a whole lot of it. Ten kilos to be exact. While looks don't matter and so on, at 21 everyone was shallow. The more weight I lost, the more confident I became. It was during this time, that I decided to pursue my writing dreams and shift to Mumbai on a whim. 

So, with nothing but a head full of dreams and one too many clothes (with matching accessories and shoes), I relocated. I soon realized, that I was barely making enough money to pay for my paying guest accomodation, let alone buy a decent meal. I quickly packed my bags and ran back home to mommy and daddy. 

Despite the hardships (of being broke, living alone and pissing off my parents), I met quite a few interesting people during my short stint. One among them was my husband (which of course I didn't know at the time). My first assignment as a reporter was to interview an upcoming humour metal band from the city. My husband was the lead guitarist of the band. He was a happy-go lucky, bindaas college student, who had ample time on his hands to pursue his musical dreams. He had formed multiple college bands over the years, had met fellow musicians from the Mumbai "metal scene" during his college festivals and managed to form bands, even outside his college circuit.

Over the years, I've seen this young man record, mix, compose and perform live. He along with his bands have created full length albums, band T-shirts, posters, badges and what have you. The glitz and the glamour you see on-stage takes a lot of effort, man-hours and hardcore practice. They put in their sweat, blood and sometimes even money to sell their music. 

In the past decade, the biggest constant in his life has been his love for music. From a carefree college kid, he has morphed into a responsible family man. He manages to play shows in multiple cities despite his hectic work schedule. And while I say hectic work schedule, I don't mean 9am-6pm. He works 24 hours, Monday through Sunday, flies to multiple cities during the week and still finds time to meet his bands, make new music and record them. 

I've heard him play his guitar, at all odd hours of the day and night. He constantly invests in valuable musical equipment, to improve his craft. And the happiest I've ever seen him, is on the days he goes to meet his bands for jams. 

While I don't align with his musical preferences, his dedication and commitment to create better music everyday is something I truly admire. Salute, to you and all your band members who lead this gruelling dual life. If this isn't raw passion, I don't know what is. 

My Everyday Superheroes

While I'd like to believe that Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman exist in the real world, the reality is that we deal with some everyday superheroes, who look less glamorous, are more sweaty and toil in the sun, day in and day out. I'm talking about those men and women, who fill our dreary, monotonous lives with some colour and excitement. 

My idli anna and naariyal paani bhaiyya top this list. Not a day goes by when they don't greet me with a warm smile. They've allowed me to buy food on credit, given me change for Rs 2000 notes (not a mere feat in post demonitisation India) and even served me first, despite their long line of customers. 

One smile and a packet of warm idli-chutney-medu wada from my idli anna is all it takes, to warm both my stomach and my heart. It also helps that he speaks in Tamil now and then, whereby making me feel right at home. I could hug him, but he might stop serving me his delicious, fluffy idlis.

My naariyal paani bhaiyya on the other hand, is most likely a caped crusader by night and vigorous coconut cutter by day. Why I say this, is because he senses me hovering around him , even before I come in clear sight of his eyes. And before I can utter the words, "Bhaiyya ek paani wala dena", he viciously chops open a juicy looking coconut, making the paani spill around him in a crazy 360 degree angle and while I nurse my paani clogged eye, bhaiyya would've placed a fat naariyal in my hands. 

Their bindaas attitude about giving customers credit is something that amazes me everyday. Their tiresome jobs might earn them a few thousands, with which they would be feeding more than one mouth. Then how are they so warm in person and so casual about giving credit?

Hats off to you idli anna and naariyal paani bhaiyya, I am a fan. A lifelong fan. 

(Image Source : http://www.theplayfulindian.com/index.php?route=product/product&product_id=275 and https://www.shutterstock.com/image-vector/coconut-water-cartoon-207717748)

Hong Kong Hopping

Hong Kong, a bustling metropolitan city, with busy people and roaring businesses. No one has the time to look up from their smartphones or even stand still, on their quick as lightening MTR escalators/walkators. Hong Kong comprises of multiple islands namely Kowloon, Lantau, Cheung Chau, Peng Chau, Lamma and of course Hong Kong island. The MTR or the Mass Transit Railway makes travelling inside Hong Kong a complete dream. 

Five days is all you need to discover this intriguing city, filled with shopping, entertainment and relaxation. We stayed at the IBIS hotel located at Hong Kong Central and Sheung Wan, which was a one minute walk away from the MTR station. 

On day 1, we explored the immediate neighbourhood of our hotel, which comprised of a variety of meat markets. Dried and fresh meat ranging from seafood to red meats, were hung enticingly for potential customers. We even stumbled upon a local bakery, that had Hong Kong's famous Egg Tart, Pineapple Bun, Wife Cake, Moon Cake, Sausage Roll, Baked Cheese Tart and Swiss Bun. The breads on both the sweet and the savoury items had a generous hint of sugar. At night, we stepped out again and explored the Harbour City area which comprises of office complexes, a large shopping mall and of course the futuristic skyline of Hong Kong, that one can gape at for hours.

On day 2, we hopped onboard the MTR and headed straight to Victoria Peak. Similar to India's history, even Hong Kong was under the British regime as late as 1997. The cold-loving Britishers, decided to build a steep Tram line, right on the dangerous mountainous terrain of the Peak, just so that they could go up and down as they pleased. Riding this Tram, is a thrill in itself as it goes up and down a dangerous slope. The lush green view of the picturesque looking Peak, will drive all your vertigo fears away, as you ride on the Tram. Next, we headed to the Ladies Market, where I had a whale of a time, shopping for face packs, body lotions and even a cute looking, bright red dog eared muffler. The husband entertained himself, by gorging on the local street food comprising of vanilla egg bubble waffles, curry fish balls, octopus tentacles and noodles in a bag, while I shopped to my heart's content.

On day 3 or as I'd like to call it, "the happiest day of my life", we headed to Disneyland which is located on Lantau Island. The entire experience, starting with the Disney train which had Disney shaped windows, Disney shaped hand holders for passengers standing afoot and rich looking Disney figurines (which was probably made of Teak), was a magical experience. The child in you, will thank you a million times, for posing with and hugging the iconic Disney duo - Mickey and Minnie, chowing down Mickey shaped waffles, taking a 5D ride with Iron Man with the help of his "Stark Vision Glasses", walking up Tarzan's tree house, strolling through a magical Disney forest, taking a scary Grizzly Gulch ride and much more. I shopped extensively at the Disney gift store, to forever remember these happy, innocent moments. 

On day 4, we visited Times Square, which is loosely modeled around the Times Square in New York. It is one of the largest shopping hubs of Hong Kong. You can pick up clothes, shoes and bags for all budget ranges. At night, we headed to Temple Street, Night Market to pick up trinkets for family and friends comprising of Hong Kong fridge magnets, curios, ladies handbags and jewellery. Haggling is the name of the game here. Be a bargain pro or go home, empty handed.

On day 5, we headed to Man Mo temple, to pay our respects to the God of Literature (Man) and the God of War (Mo), both of whom were worshipped by ambitious students, who hoped to succeed in their civil exams of Imperial China. We ended our religious sojourn, by thulping down on some delicious momos, which the Man Mo temple street area is famous for. 

Visit Hong Kong, if you are an experimental foodie, an enthusiastic shopaholic or a hardcore fan of Disney. 

How to get there : Mumbai to Hong Kong by Jet Airways takes you exactly 6 hours

Hotel to stay in : IBIS Hong Kong Central and Sheung Wan

Being the Youngest Sibling

Being the youngest born is an absolute delight. You almost always get away with murder, with half a tear drop or one juicy limb bite. It wasn't always nice, I'll admit. I'm pretty sure my siblings secretly hated me/were petrified of me/were sick of me or all of the aforementioned. I never understood why I was always left out from their "grown-up" games. I've whined on countless occasions to my parents, asking them why they gave birth to me so late. 

I felt neglected and alone (only in my head of course). In reality, I was always the centre of attention and if I wasn't, I would do something extremely attention grabbing (such as breaking into a random song or jiggly dance, just to hear the collective grown-up people "awwws"). 

I was jealous of anything that took my siblings' attention away from me, such as dogs, board games, other small children and their budding hobbies. I realise now that however old I get, I'll probably always be that annoying, diaper wearing, fat kid for them.

I'll always be showered with fancy gadgets, perfumes and expensive jewellery (from the "foreigns" of course). And now that I'm married, my spouse gets the exact same special treatment and affection. Money transactions of any form (be it paying for a movie ticket, a meal at a restaurant or even the hefty visa fees to enter the countries they live in) are all refused. The baby sister, swiping her debit card, when her big sis/bro is here? Dream on kid! That's absolutely blasphemy! Here, have a candy instead. Or go play with those stuffed toys. 

My siblings are the only people in the world, who can bring a smile to my heart. I literally have a warm, fuzzy feeling, all over my body each time I meet or talk to any of them. The best years of my life, aka my childhood, are frozen in time, with them. They remind me of a happier, more carefree time. 

All children deserve siblings. Siblings, have the ability to forever make your world go round. If you're the youngest, you will always look up to your big brother/sister. And if you're the oldest, apologies in advance, from all the pesky, "never minding their own business" younger siblings. 

The Joy of Being a Tomboy

I was a tomboy much before Kuch Kuch Hota Hai's Anjali ever existed. I was a tomboy even before the word "tomboy" was invented. (I think!) And let me assure you, those were the best years of my life. I loved my silky boxer shots, my toy guns and my rad BSA ladybird cycle. I came back home everyday, with mud in my hair and gigantic cuts on my chubby legs.

I hadn't stepped into a beauty parlour till I was 24. Most liberating 24 years of my life! I didn't thread my eyebrows or wax until my post graduation and my third job. I hated girly-girls. (Still do!) And I hated "friendly" advice, starting with what undergarments to wear and what facials to do. That kind of talk, still puts me to sleep.

I firmly believe, there is much more to life than looking like a dressed up little porcelain doll. Looks fade eventually, but a good sense of humour and intelligence never will. So read, instead of spending  pointless hours in the beauty parlour. Hone a talent, instead of spending wasteful hours obsessing about which shoe, jewellery or dress you must own before it goes out of fashion.

And most importantly, please stop with the preachy, overly friendly "girly advice". Let women be. It really is women, who let other women down. Sad reality! I've experienced this both at home and in the office. 

I personally think, tomboys grow up to be the best women and life partners. We have the ability to think like a man and a woman, at the same time. We get along with men, as easily as we do with women. We have zero inhibitions and are chilled out 90% of the time. We can be both emotional and unemotional, which makes us clear thinkers in the most toughest of situations. Most importantly, we're solid "dudes". You can rely on us, with your life. 

Three cheers to being a tomboy! We're unique and one of a kind. Let's not allow anyone to dull our quirky sparkle. 

(Image Source : https://www.pinterest.com/pin/526921225127391018/)

Bridget Jones

11 years since I started this blog and I haven't once written about Bridget Jones. Shame on me! I discovered my soul sister in Renee Zellweger as the adorable, extremely relatable, thirty something, Bridget Jones. To say that a 14 year old, found a 30 something singleton as relatable, might sound downright absurd! But that's the beauty of Jones. I loved her immensely as a teenager and I can happily confirm, I love her just as much today, as an almost 31 year old woman.

Jones' childlike nature and constant bumbling around in the most awkward situations, makes her loveable across generations. I have laughed, cried and felt my heart breaking along with her. Today, as I see her as a mother in Bridget Jones's Baby, my heart bursts with pride. She has still not grown up. She continues to remain childlike and innocent, despite the evil ways of the world. 

I wish I was more like her. I wish I could see the humour in life's most challenging situations. I wish I could just snap out of it, with ten tubs of Ben and Jerry's. Until that time, I guess I'll continue watching all 3 movies on loop. 

I want to thank you Bridget, for helping me overcome my awkward, obese teen years. You weren't happy being chubby either, but you did it with panache. You went through a string of heartbreaks until you found your Darcy, reassuring us overly emotional teenagers that love finds you eventually. You cannot chase it down.

You're the ray of sunshine on a gloomy day. You're the generous dousing of Nutella sauce, on my golden brown waffle. And you're the imaginary best friend I've had for 17 years (and counting)!

I probably chose to be a reporter (for a laughable 6 months) because of you. I've also had my ups and downs with the weighing scale and of course, I've also had my share of hilarious showdowns in offices, just like you. 

I'd like to believe we're the same person. I love you Bridget, always have, always will! 

(Image Source : https://www.okchicas.com/curiosidades/como-cambian-actores-diario-bridget-jones/)

Stay at Home Mothers

Mothers, the best people in the world really. Especially, stay at home mothers. They sacrifice their peace of mind, time, dreams and even happiness just to raise a few brats, who may or may not turn out right! The most thankless job in the world, with no salary, overtime salary, bonus or appreciation. We can't live without them. Doesn't matter how old you are. Working, not working, married, unmarried, pregnant, not pregnant, you will forever be mumma's little girl/boy.

I've been raised by some strong, stay at home mothers. They are excellent home-makers (NOT housewives), have a knowledgable opinion on every topic (be it politics or fashion), they are world travellers (thanks to their respective husband's professions) and most importantly, have a broad-mindedness that often shocked even me, a modern-day millennial.  

The fact that they didn't work, didn't make them any less dignified. They were and still continue to be, treated as equal partners in all the decisions pertaining to the household. Bowing down to the man of the house or living under subjugation, are completely alien to me. I've been raised to have a strong voice, but that doesn't mean I hen-peck my husband.  

At close to 90 years of age, my grandmother lives in a palatial bungalow, atop a hill in Kerala. She lives alone, with dignity and grace. In her hay days she was a terrific cook, has single-handedly raised all her grandchildren and has an excellent collection of curios from around the globe, thanks to my grandfather's sea-voyages. He has Captained vessels of all shapes and sizes, for countless decades and finally hung up his boots in the mid-90s. He was a treasure-trove of stories from faraway lands. He had eaten, seen and experienced things, none of us could even imagine. To say that he was way ahead of his times, would be an understatement. 

I get my competitiveness and never-say-die attitude, from my mother. No goal has ever been too big. No dream, impossible. She wanted to be a doctor or a teacher. Unfortunately, her husband's Army life, forced her to back down. He was perennially being transferred from one postcard-perfect location to another, within India. So she passed down those aspirations onto me. She wanted me to be a lawyer or a doctor. Regretfully, I let her down. I chose my own path, much to her dismay. Of course, I'm subject to the occasional "you could have been so much more" jibe. 

Stay at home mothers, you have every reason to be proud! Chin up and soldier on. Don't ever feel insecure, about that classy looking working woman. She might be great at her job. But you, stay at home mom, are kicking-ass at raising that strong-willed child, bargaining with the kirana store/subzi and dhobi walla (whereby saving all your husband's hard earned money) and converting a brick and mortar house, into a cozy-little den. 

Still unsure about your core competencies and skill sets? Leave your husband and child, alone for one week, kick back, relax and unwind. You will be overwhelmed, by the warm welcome they shower upon you, when you return. 

(Image Source : http://shanghaimamas.org/classified/one-of-the-million-ayi-available-in-august-btw-shanghai-expo-and-lujiazui/)

The Magical World of Make Believe

Us 90s kids, have grown up on a staple diet of fairytales from strange foreign shores. Closer to home, our grandparents regaled us with fascinating stories of war, fought by God-men on golden chariots and horses. 

There were no entertainment channels such as Cartoon Network, Pogo or Nickelodeon. We relied on Enid Blyton books, Nancy Drew, Famous Five, Tinkle comics and read-along Karadi Tales cassettes. We took pleasure in slowly devouring hard-bound, beautifully illustrated, rich hand-painted drawings of our favourite Disney princesses, villains and their prince-charmings. 

When my grandfather invested in a VCR, the siblings and I went ape-shit crazy (for the lack of a better term). Our trips to the VCR tape lending shop, were maniacal to say the least. While they rented the latest Hollywood action movies, I kept bringing home Walt Disney's animated "Beauty and the Beast" movie. 

I didn't know it then, but the 25-30 odd times I watched it, the subconscious message I was imbibing from it was; marry a very bad boy, the badder the better! Needless to say, my teen years were gripping. My parents were exasperated! However, I don't blame those wonderful cartoons, for my foolish hormone-crazed actions. Those were all on me. 

Each fairy tale has a hidden moral to it, if you read carefully and have the patience to peel off it's layers. Cinderalla's 12am curfew, tells children to be home on time or turn into a pumpkin. Snow White's shiny-red apple, conveys the message of never talking to or accepting food from strangers. Aladdin teaches children to never lie or hide your identity, people must love you for who you are. 

Fairy tales are immortal. You're never too old to re-read or re-watch one. The solution to most of our "adult problems", lie in fairy tales. All we have to do is believe.

(Image Source : https://style.disney.com/living/2017/11/04/disney-princess-phone-wallpapers/) 

Bombay

Bombay, Mumbai, Bambai, Aamchi Mumbai; many names one emotion. Warmth, plenty of it. Home to millions of outsiders like me. The city of dreams, romanticised in numerous Bollywood movies, home to some of the trendiest fashion designers in the country and so much more.

To be honest, I hated it when I first moved here in 2014. I was terribly homesick, lonely and depressed. But slowly and steadily, I found my footing. I made friends, I hired two fantastic kaamwali bais and converted a brick and plaster house, into a cozy little home. 

Bombay is a city of hard work and ambition. Starting from my kaamwali bais at home to my boss at work, everyone takes their job very seriously and is professional to the T. Work hard, party harder is indeed the motto of the working class in Mumbai.

I can't pinpoint the exact moment in time, when I began to fall in love with this city. The transition from a hardcore Chennaite, to an almost Mumbaikar has been a slow one. I now dream of growing old here, raising a family and perhaps even rising up the corporate ladder. 

Like every city, Mumbai has it's rough edges. The local train travel and the monsoons are a nightmare. So is the traffic. If you can survive all three, you have successfully unlocked the key to happiness, of living in Bombay. 

Rich or poor, young or old, ambitious or lazy, Mumbai will welcome you with open arms. All you have to do is step into that warm embrace and just breathe. 

(Image Source : https://www.oyorooms.com/blog/exploring-good-old-bombay/)

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!" 

The Euphoria of Exercising

Horrendous day at work? Husband giving you hell, over that undercooked piece of Tandoori Chicken? Feeling fat? Feeling low? Whatever be your problem, exercise, exercise and more exercise is the only solution. There's an undeniable spring in your step and sea change in your personality, the minute you're done with a satisfactory one hour of exercise. 

For me, exercise is like meditation. I go to my happy place and allow myself to have long conversations with my soul. Excuse the cliche, but I'm 100% serious. I strongly believe that the saying, "there are some things money can't buy" was written for exercise. Nothing else in the world can give you that undiluted feeling of peace, than a good one hour of sweaty calorie burning activity. 

People who exercise are the happiest people in the world, because they can eat like a pig, guilt free. That extra slice of pizza or gooey cheesecake won't hurt you because *cue drumroll* exercise! 

My sleep-loving, late-rising husband is often perplexed with my annoyingly-chirpy, schizophrenic behaviour, post my one hour session in the pool/gym/park. "It's not me, it's the adrenaline rush" I say to him, while he stares at me blankly, with a sleepy 'one eye open' daze.

The time of day you choose to exercise, is of paramount importance. Mornings are best. However, if you choose to go in the evening, be prepared to stay up all night, to keep the night-owls company. That same "happy high" feeling will make you, your night watchman's key contender (and most likely you will win). 

Exercise, it won't let you down, it won't break up with you, it won't make you feel bad, it won't emotionally blackmail you. Most importantly, it definetely, won't give you grief over that under-cooked piece of Tandoori Chicken. So run, jump, swim, gym, dance. Get up, get moving! No excuses! 

(Image Source : https://www.pinterest.com/enhancedreams/workout-and-fitness-quotes/)