Recently, I was having this perfectly ordinary conversation with a colleague of mine when she casually dropped this line…..
“You know, my mom had tried to abort when she was pregnant with me, but that attempt failed. So she carried me to full term.”
Mentally, I’d gone all slack-jawed while keeping a normal face on the outside (or so I believe). But such was the impact of that one line that I’ve even forgotten the context in which it was said. The colleague in question didn’t seem too fazed, but I was reeling from what I’d heard. Needless to say, the rest of the conversation went over my head.
How do you deal with the knowledge that your mother tried to get rid of you when you were in her womb???? We’re all conditioned to expect being wanted in some capacity or other.....Most of all by our families.
No doubt, abortion was, is, and will always be a question with no right or wrong answers. I’m against taking a life, especially when the target in question cannot fight back or speak up. But I also think that the mother in question is the only one who can take a call on the matter. That too only in certain circumstances.
Well, I’m not going to debate the rights and wrongs of an age old issue here. Fine, so you tried to abort your baby for reasons best known to you. Assuming your child survived an abortion attempt, is it really necessary to let them know about it later? Does the parent in question even have a clue about the emotional crapload they’re dumping on a kid’s head??
Granted, from what I know my friend seems to have had a normal, happy life with her folks so far. But how does it feel to know that at some time, however long back, you were not wanted? That the ones responsible for your existence actually tried to eliminate you from the scene? And yes, this friend will have certain health issues for life, thanks to the botched abortion.
I guess this is better than what another friend of mine went through. Her teen years weren’t very smooth, what with her being the much younger child and her mom having a successful, demanding career. One particularly nasty mother-daughter spat stopped dead in its tracks when her mom yelled, “You know something?? I never wanted you. I knew it wasn’t good for my career. I would’ve aborted you, but your grandmom wouldn’t budge.”
We could only watch the trauma she went through while trying to come to terms with that revelation. She’s married now, with a child of her own. On the face of it atleast, she seems to have made peace with her mother. It’s not something I can ask about despite being a close friend.
I really don’t know.
And I can’t judge either, though it’s really hard to restrain myself from doing so. Mebbe it’s coz I’ve never seen an unborn child being regarded with anything other than joyful anticipation. Anxiety yes, but of the positive kind.
I guess there are some situations in life where the bliss of ignorance is the best alternative.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
Kabutar Konundrums
No, I’m not a K-serial addict.
Yes, I know conundrum is spelt with a ‘C’.
Yeah, yeah, yeah..... I used a ‘K’ coz I felt like it.... Fine???
But I digress…back to the ko....errr....conundrums.
I swear I used to be this nice, gentle, more-peaceful-than-the-Buddha type....compared to Phoolan Devi at least. But Mumbai’s changed all that. The villain here is the pigeon a.k.a. the kabutar.
Oh you know them……remember that standard movie scene, where the grey birdies fly away as the camera zooms in on the Gateway of India?? They’re the ones. Yep….. you see them right before the camera moves on to Marine Drive.
Ok, that’s enough of SoBo for you. Time to move on to a scene that recurs fairly regularly in less glamorous parts of the city.
An ordinary shoebox-sized apartment in suburban Mumbai.
Background noise. Scraping and the ruffle of feathers. A guttar-goo that’s suspiciously close by. Stealthy human footsteps.
A sudden explosion of noise. Falling furniture. Flying pigeon, followed by flying books, newspapers etc, followed by an outstretched broom. And the outstretched broom has a screaming, cussing Zahra attached to the handle.
Despite her blinding fury, Zahra manages a valiant swipe at the offending creature. A bottle of water falls down, valiant victim to the valiant swipe. Idiot bird keeps trying to fly out of a closed window despite a clear path to the open one next to it.
Now comes the part that Zahra REALLY has a problem with.
Dumb pigeon perches on the curtain rod and lets loose. And I mean LOOSE.
Like, how on earth can such a small creature produce so much SHIT??!?!?!? Having fulfilled his vile agenda, the $%$#%& bird finally figures out that a window is open, and flies out. Bravo.
Can’t believe they trusted these creatures with messages in the World Wars….. but back to the ish-tory. Bewildered suburban pedestrians stare in surprise as a wild haired, wild eyed, screeching (but ..ahem…amazingly gorgeous) woman, sticks her head out of the window, brandishes a broom and yells…
“Miserable creature, may you DIE of constipation!!!!!!!”
Deafening, shocked silence.
“Aww, c’mon yaar, my aloo ki subzi wasn’t that bad.”
That’s the roomie who’s just come in. Zahra gives her a baleful look and gets back to yelling outta the window (still looking amazing btw…cough, cough!!)
That’s pigeons for you. I mean, seriously, the world would be a nicer place if these (and other) avians had no excretory systems at all. Or excretory outlets. Whatever.
Btw, before I forget… let’s have a round of applause for the exquisite Ms. Sonam Kapoor. Rumour hath it that she’s a serious candidate for Best Supporting Actress post Delhi-6.
What? You don’t know why??
Remember the masakali-matakali routine with the kabutar supported on her head??
“Zahra, your PJs………….. Grrrrrr!!!”
Uh-oh. That’s the roomie coming after me with the broom.
Time to run fo…thwack…OUCH!!!
Yes, I know conundrum is spelt with a ‘C’.
Yeah, yeah, yeah..... I used a ‘K’ coz I felt like it.... Fine???
But I digress…back to the ko....errr....conundrums.
I swear I used to be this nice, gentle, more-peaceful-than-the-Buddha type....compared to Phoolan Devi at least. But Mumbai’s changed all that. The villain here is the pigeon a.k.a. the kabutar.
Oh you know them……remember that standard movie scene, where the grey birdies fly away as the camera zooms in on the Gateway of India?? They’re the ones. Yep….. you see them right before the camera moves on to Marine Drive.
Ok, that’s enough of SoBo for you. Time to move on to a scene that recurs fairly regularly in less glamorous parts of the city.
An ordinary shoebox-sized apartment in suburban Mumbai.
Background noise. Scraping and the ruffle of feathers. A guttar-goo that’s suspiciously close by. Stealthy human footsteps.
A sudden explosion of noise. Falling furniture. Flying pigeon, followed by flying books, newspapers etc, followed by an outstretched broom. And the outstretched broom has a screaming, cussing Zahra attached to the handle.
Despite her blinding fury, Zahra manages a valiant swipe at the offending creature. A bottle of water falls down, valiant victim to the valiant swipe. Idiot bird keeps trying to fly out of a closed window despite a clear path to the open one next to it.
Now comes the part that Zahra REALLY has a problem with.
Dumb pigeon perches on the curtain rod and lets loose. And I mean LOOSE.
Like, how on earth can such a small creature produce so much SHIT??!?!?!? Having fulfilled his vile agenda, the $%$#%& bird finally figures out that a window is open, and flies out. Bravo.
Can’t believe they trusted these creatures with messages in the World Wars….. but back to the ish-tory. Bewildered suburban pedestrians stare in surprise as a wild haired, wild eyed, screeching (but ..ahem…amazingly gorgeous) woman, sticks her head out of the window, brandishes a broom and yells…
“Miserable creature, may you DIE of constipation!!!!!!!”
Deafening, shocked silence.
“Aww, c’mon yaar, my aloo ki subzi wasn’t that bad.”
That’s the roomie who’s just come in. Zahra gives her a baleful look and gets back to yelling outta the window (still looking amazing btw…cough, cough!!)
That’s pigeons for you. I mean, seriously, the world would be a nicer place if these (and other) avians had no excretory systems at all. Or excretory outlets. Whatever.
Btw, before I forget… let’s have a round of applause for the exquisite Ms. Sonam Kapoor. Rumour hath it that she’s a serious candidate for Best Supporting Actress post Delhi-6.
What? You don’t know why??
Remember the masakali-matakali routine with the kabutar supported on her head??
“Zahra, your PJs………….. Grrrrrr!!!”
Uh-oh. That’s the roomie coming after me with the broom.
Time to run fo…thwack…OUCH!!!
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Intellect - His and Hers
A sincere request to all the guys out there.....
When you talk about wanting an intelligent and accomplished woman in your life, do take a moment to consider exactly how much intelligence and accomplishment you can handle. For nine times out of ten, I've seen that a man is more comfortable if he is the intellectual superior of his partner. Preferably on the career front as well. Superior, mind you, not even equal. I don't intend for this to be a blanket statement.... I have seen some exceptions, but they have been far and few in between. Fine, so we've got a truckload of societal conditioning to deal with, but I won't get into that right now. And yes, quite a lot of women seek a partner they can look up to.
Like, dude, it's your life and your opinion. And it can significantly impact somebody else's life too. So please be frank about it, and don't try to be what you're not. In case you haven't considered this aspect till now, please do.
I really can't tell if you'll find much female support for directly/indirectly saying that you want the upper hand...... but I can assure you that the honesty will be greatly appreciated.... and respected.
Even if it takes a little while coming.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Songs of my days
Come to think of it, I could retrace my entire life through a series of songs.
My earliest memories would be of listening to tape after tape of Yesudas and Chitra’s Malayalam duets. And some SPB hits in Tamil. Not to forget Ilaiyaraja.
And that brings back memories of days before the scourge called 'education' hit me (:-P)…of our first home in Gelfie-land, and the tape recorder that proudly stood on the sideboard. Unfortunately my aged-three-years version of Kannai Kalaimaane is still quoted verbatim by my folks (Sob!) Am not trying to say that the aged-twenty-something version’s better, but atleast the words are not scandal-inducing. Btw, that song’s the Tamil precursor of Surmai Akhiyon Mein.
Net result: I’m a lifelong fan of Yesudas and still think nobody can sing like he does. Like, for heaven’s sake listen to that voice, and then consider that he’s pushing 70 now!!!
Time moves ahead. Now there are early morning rides to school. And buddy, I mean early, coz my classes started at 7!!! I was a whiner-cum-howler who’d faithfully cling to her Amma’s hand every morning, so school, predictably, wasn’t the best way to start the day. The only consolation was the music during the ride in Dad’s (and my) beloved 1990 Daewoo.
Enter Messrs Kishore Kumar and Mohd Rafi.
Aiyyayya karoon main kya sukoo-sukoo??
Gaata rahe mera dil…Ek ajnabee haseena se yun mulakaat ho gayi….
Kehna hai…humein tumse pyaar kitna…..
Is mod se jaate hai…
Aur agley mod leke, we’d finally reach school. And those songs would be playing in my head all day. Kishore Kumar’s amazing no doubt, and I am a big fan. But somehow, I’ve always had a softer corner for Rafi’s songs.
Not too long after came the glorious day when I took my ‘savings’ (all the chillar collected over several years) and bought….
The recorder found its way to my study corner, as did Amma’s contribution to my music fetish. Two complete albums of Jim Reeves. And thus did a lifelong love-affair bloom. Maaannnn, whattayyyy voice……I still turn into a puddle of incoherent, starry-eyed idiocy when I hear his songs.
If there is some other way to prove that I love you… (Oh, Jimmmmm…really???)
….. I swear I don’t know how (It’s okay…. Believe me!!!)
That such amazing talent died so young is a big, biiiiiiig loss. Oh btw, THIS is the man responsible for my voice fixation….. In case you didn’t know already, a good voice can do wonders for a guy’s wow-score in my rule-book (90% weightage sometimes!!)
Oh come on, don’t snigger. Gals, imagine your honest reaction when you meet your dream man who’s a John Abraham/ Junior B look-alike….. and then realise that he sounds like Sachin Tendulkar…or Laloo Yadav. No offense to either of them, but I trust you’ve got the point.
Back to the music. Then Abba came along as did the Beatles, BeeGees,
And the melange grew more and more interesting as school progressed to college. Pop, rock, retro and movie music combined into unique definitions for each year. Or situation.
Any song from Minnalae brings back the cheering and yelling during fiercely fought inter-dep contests during undergrad. Kaakha Kaakha is permanently linked to a howlarious class trip to Goa.
A much-loved violin instrumental of Kabhi Kabhi conjures up visions of the Qutub Minar in twilight as seen from my hostel room. The same view through misty veil-like sheets of rain whenever O Saathi Re (of Omkara) plays.
Of packing bags to go home post-exams, at 2 a.m. amid shouts and screams of laughter, when Dil Jo Bhi Kahey blasts away in the background. Off-key caterwauling to the accompaniment of empty Bisleri bottles whenever Kajra Mohabbatwala plays.
Of how Kajra Re defined us being ragged in the first year of B-School, Beedi Jalai Le when we did the ragging in the second, and Sajnaji Vaari Vaari in our farewell party.
It’s not about the songs having any significance per se in the context. I guess it’s about a significant memory that acted out while the song was played.
Another category I haven’t mentioned so far, but has been there all along is sacred music and gospel. Thanks to this genre I never knew something called stage fright. At least not while singing in a group. Singing in a church choir is something I’ve been doing for most of my life, and the satisfaction it brings is something else altogether. Catching up on musicals by the MMA and MCC choirs in Chennai, and Paranjothi in Mumbai is something I do religiously, and methinks it’s worth the pain taken.
I guess I can’t possibly list down every single song that brings back a recollection. Hopefully, I haven’t lived half my life yet, so I’m wishing that the soundtrack of my life gets more interesting with every passing day.
And while that’s happening, turn up the volume folks…and let the music play!!!
Friday, March 27, 2009
Some years on
I do not love you except…
…because I love you, she completed the line.
I go from loving to not loving you
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire
Her lips moved silently as she mouthed the words along with the speaker. There was a reading going on at her favourite bookstore by an author of some repute, and he was quoting this poem in some context.
Ten years on, she could still quote Neruda with the same ease as she did at eighteen. Never mind that she hadn’t touched a tome of poetry for more than five years. Back then, it was the elusiveness of the meaning that fascinated her. As did the man’s ability to seemingly wrench out a plethora of emotions from the core of his being. The rhythm, the words, the endless contradictions woven together seamlessly…. She could never get enough of it.
A wry smile touched the corners of her mouth. A few years ago, the elusive meaning had finally presented itself…..only too clearly. The contradictions didn’t puzzle her any more. The wisdom that comes with age, she thought wryly. Only that she hadn’t bargained for that much pain to colour the process of understanding.
She rarely took out that box of sepia memories in her mind. Endless walks, endless conversations, discussing poetry, swapping favourite books, sharing ten minutes over a hurried coffee. She marvelled at how some recollections could still make her smile despite the searing hurt that would inevitably follow. How they stayed up talking the whole night beside a dying bonfire during the batch tour. The knowing smiles on her friends’ faces when she told them of that conversation. You only talked? Giggles had followed.
They would never understand. Never could. That just a smile, the way his hand held hers, the pleasing lilt of his voice…. They were enough to make her feel complete and loved like never before. That she had been accepted as she was, with no expectations. That the two of them had placed a meeting of minds above all else. They were an atypical teenage couple.
But they had split five years later in typical teenage fashion, despite pushing their mid twenties then. Pride, and a refusal to accept that each had wronged the other. A reluctance to apologize, an unwillingness to appear pliant. Accepting it now isn't going to help any.
A mental shoulder shrug.
She moved on to the next bookshelf, another bookworm on a late afternoon tryst with her best friends.
In this part of the story I’m the one who dies
The only one
And I will die of love because I love you
She was willing to bet that the Romance section didn’t have a story like hers. One without a happy ending.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Purple dusk deepened to inky blackness as he watched from his apartment window. A sense of loneliness, his constant companion these days, hovered around all he did. Life didn't have to be like this, he reminded himself. Retrospection made it very easy to acknowledge his mistakes, and recall that he’d had a chance to remedy their rift.
Had.
He would live the rest of his life knowing that he was the biggest fool on earth to have turned away the one person who saw him exactly as he was. Accepted him that way. And loved him for it.
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight
To think I don’t have her. To feel I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.
Not bad. He could still recall the ‘Saddest Poem’ as Neruda called it. And he could still picture the rapture on her face when she heard it for the first time. From him.
He turned away from the window, a smile on his face. Hurt yet amused. Silently acknowledging that he would carry this burden everywhere. That at the end of it all, he’d have his own epic poem, and nobody to recite it to. That he did not really want to tell it to anybody but her.
Perhaps, he mused, the embers wouldn‘t come to life even if he ran into her again. They had half a decade, a couple of countries, and a distance like several oceans between their minds to contend with.
Perhaps.
I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her
Love is short and oblivion so long
The buzz of a suburban evening bored into his consciousness, as he settled into his couch for another routine evening of TV, newspapers and retrospection.
Perfectly worded, as always, he mused. Chances are, Neruda was once a bigger fool than I was
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
…because I love you, she completed the line.
I go from loving to not loving you
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire
Her lips moved silently as she mouthed the words along with the speaker. There was a reading going on at her favourite bookstore by an author of some repute, and he was quoting this poem in some context.
Ten years on, she could still quote Neruda with the same ease as she did at eighteen. Never mind that she hadn’t touched a tome of poetry for more than five years. Back then, it was the elusiveness of the meaning that fascinated her. As did the man’s ability to seemingly wrench out a plethora of emotions from the core of his being. The rhythm, the words, the endless contradictions woven together seamlessly…. She could never get enough of it.
A wry smile touched the corners of her mouth. A few years ago, the elusive meaning had finally presented itself…..only too clearly. The contradictions didn’t puzzle her any more. The wisdom that comes with age, she thought wryly. Only that she hadn’t bargained for that much pain to colour the process of understanding.
She rarely took out that box of sepia memories in her mind. Endless walks, endless conversations, discussing poetry, swapping favourite books, sharing ten minutes over a hurried coffee. She marvelled at how some recollections could still make her smile despite the searing hurt that would inevitably follow. How they stayed up talking the whole night beside a dying bonfire during the batch tour. The knowing smiles on her friends’ faces when she told them of that conversation. You only talked? Giggles had followed.
They would never understand. Never could. That just a smile, the way his hand held hers, the pleasing lilt of his voice…. They were enough to make her feel complete and loved like never before. That she had been accepted as she was, with no expectations. That the two of them had placed a meeting of minds above all else. They were an atypical teenage couple.
But they had split five years later in typical teenage fashion, despite pushing their mid twenties then. Pride, and a refusal to accept that each had wronged the other. A reluctance to apologize, an unwillingness to appear pliant. Accepting it now isn't going to help any.
A mental shoulder shrug.
She moved on to the next bookshelf, another bookworm on a late afternoon tryst with her best friends.
In this part of the story I’m the one who dies
The only one
And I will die of love because I love you
She was willing to bet that the Romance section didn’t have a story like hers. One without a happy ending.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Purple dusk deepened to inky blackness as he watched from his apartment window. A sense of loneliness, his constant companion these days, hovered around all he did. Life didn't have to be like this, he reminded himself. Retrospection made it very easy to acknowledge his mistakes, and recall that he’d had a chance to remedy their rift.
Had.
He would live the rest of his life knowing that he was the biggest fool on earth to have turned away the one person who saw him exactly as he was. Accepted him that way. And loved him for it.
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight
To think I don’t have her. To feel I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.
Not bad. He could still recall the ‘Saddest Poem’ as Neruda called it. And he could still picture the rapture on her face when she heard it for the first time. From him.
He turned away from the window, a smile on his face. Hurt yet amused. Silently acknowledging that he would carry this burden everywhere. That at the end of it all, he’d have his own epic poem, and nobody to recite it to. That he did not really want to tell it to anybody but her.
Perhaps, he mused, the embers wouldn‘t come to life even if he ran into her again. They had half a decade, a couple of countries, and a distance like several oceans between their minds to contend with.
Perhaps.
I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her
Love is short and oblivion so long
The buzz of a suburban evening bored into his consciousness, as he settled into his couch for another routine evening of TV, newspapers and retrospection.
Perfectly worded, as always, he mused. Chances are, Neruda was once a bigger fool than I was
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Arbit Observations #4
The Goddess is back.
Yes, you may kiss the ground.
Apologies for the no-show have already been made.....So brace yourselves for another dose of asininely arbit observations from my so-called life. What better way to kick off the blogging for this year??
Tsk tsk…. Didn’t your mama tell you that groaning audibly is rude??? Here goes.....
1. You know your life has sucked as thoroughly as it possibly can when
Yes, you may kiss the ground.
Apologies for the no-show have already been made.....So brace yourselves for another dose of asininely arbit observations from my so-called life. What better way to kick off the blogging for this year??
Tsk tsk…. Didn’t your mama tell you that groaning audibly is rude??? Here goes.....
1. You know your life has sucked as thoroughly as it possibly can when
a. Everything that can go wrong has gone wrong
b. When you thought things couldn’t get worse, they just did
c. AND, the only email you’ve received in a week on your personal id is about a 70% discount on Viagra.
2. The ugly duckling grew up to become a swan. In Andersen’s version at least. In real life, there’s a 99.999% probability that the ugly duckling will grow up to become at best, a verrrry average DUCK. Accepting this fact has freed up an incredible amount of time for me to focus on bigger issues of life. Like the wonderful ambiguity of phrases like ‘Striking looks’ and ‘Unconventional appearance’. Oh yes, Her Royal Duckiness lets out an indignant quack every now and then, but is at peace otherwise.
3. Pointy toed shoes on men give me the creeps. Crrrreeeeeepsssss. I’m talking about the shoes that taper into a point that sticks out ten inches in front of the wearer. Call me antiquated if you will, but my support for the metrosexual man goes only as far as clean nails and good overall hygiene.
4. WHYYYY do my northie counterparts expect me to fall on any and every plate of curd rice/idlis like a starving refugee???
5. Why Zahra? Why not another name? Thought I’d explained that somewhere in this blog. Actually, Thamaraichelvi Kumudavalli and Isabel DeMontmorency St Claude were close contenders. But then I figured that a Zahra by any other name would be just as asinine. Therefore, the name with the least typing effort won.
6. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why Indian men scratch their privates in public with complete abandon. Like, it’s called ‘privates’ with a purpose, right? Mebbe it’s coz of a flawed genetic strain unique to the males of our race. Something like the see-wall-MUST-pee syndrome they already suffer from. Tragic. Am going cross-eyed from all the eye-averting I do during my daily commute.
7. Never do a competent job of anything if you can help it. No more than what's needed to keep your job, I mean. Working my backside off under crazy deadlines, and pulling off the near impossible even once only translates into more loony projects coming my way...with crazier deadlines. Like I want this at 3 p.m. yesterday types.
8. Bairi Piya in Devdas is a pretty decent song, come to think of it (it’s playing on radio as I type) Would’ve been better if they’d shaved off the “Eeesh” bits and taken a good forty seconds off it. Waitaminit….that also means removing the only part of the song I can sing. Eeeeeesh!!
9. And while we’re on songs, I SOOOO miss the hostel gaana sessions. :-((
Words cannot describe the joys of singing Umrao Jaan songs with 3 other similarly challenged AND loud females at 3 a.m., while smirking at the wails of misery from adjoining rooms. (Cackle, cackle) A nice, steaming plate of Maggi at 5 a.m. and my plate...sorry, cup of happiness would overflow. Sigh.
10. I hate pointy toed sh…..Oops, that one’s done already…. Okay, I HATE random and indiscriminate displays of…. Heck, ANY display of butt cleavage. Why, people, why???? Found myself at a crowded coffee shop the other day, with several square inches of ‘it’ on display at chair-level all around (Eeewwww). Guys and gals alike. Somebody help me if I’m missing the point here. Honestly, seeing that the brief is authentic Calvin Klein doesn’t make it any less traumatic.
11. And Dostaana must’ve really sucked yaar. Oh, not that I’ve seen it. Y’see I couldn’t help but think so when all my gal-buddies denounced the movie in unison. When women say that about a movie, despite liberal close up shots of just John Abraham in just his chuddies, then you gotta do a serious rethink. Btw, I’m told his apparel is all original designer wear. Not that I’d know …and not that I think most of us gals would care ;-P
Well, that’s all the arbitness I can manage for now, so breathe easy folks. Am busy pinning up my list of new year resolutions on the wall. Oops, just lost 3 months in getting started.
Zahra, you eeeeediot, change that 8 to 9.
Ahem...
Errr.... I'm back.
And looking verrry sheepish for not having written for a good three months. Fie, Zahra.
This being the first post of the year, I guess I should be doing the decent thing and wishing y'all, no matter how late it is. Hey, we have 9 months and 7 days left, okay?!?!
So Happy New Year (embarrassed grin)....and I sincerely hope that 2009, or what's left of it, rather, will be a rocking year for you. Good luck, cheers and all that.
And before I forget, ze blaawg completed a year of existence sometime last month.....
......so Happee Budday and thank you to all that soul curry and filter kaapi that's brought me more satisfaction than I ever imagined. :-)
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Have yourself....
Have yourself a whole five minutes of solo time this morning. To realise that it's Christmas time again, and reflect on the past year.To be thankful that you're in one piece and alive to celebrate it. To remember for a moment those who've moved on, and be grateful for the ones who're still around.
Have yourself the thrill that comes from hearing the buzz that pervades the house. Which doesn't happen on any other occasion ever.
Have yourself the luxury of admiring your Christmas tree for a moment. Of thinking that it is the most beautiful tree on the face of the earth despite being smaller than most and thoroughly battered by your growing-up years.
Have yourself the fun of answering calls and happy greetings from friends and family around. Of back slapping cheeriness and hearty "Look-who's-here"s as everybody comes together.
Have yourself a warm, happy feeling in your heart when you step into a church decked up to the nines. When you see the people you know around. When you call out "Merry Christmas!" in all sincerity despite the fact that you're at loggerheads with them the rest of the year.
Have yourself those I-shouldnt-have-had-that-third-appam feelings inspite of having warned yourself not to overdo it this year. And huge servings of biryani later in the day, with little morsels of plum cake in between. And excuse yourself by saying that Christmas comes along just once each year.
Have yourself the joys of singing carols at the top of your voice, despite being tone deaf and having the neighbours beg for mercy. Of knowing that these songs somehow will never lose their charm despite having heard them all your life.
Have yourself that sense of optimism that comes through on Christmas, no matter what may shake the earth and your faith on other days.
Most of all, have yourself a very merry Christmas and lots and lots of fun. And may you have a wonderful 2009 to look forward to.
Have fun, take care and God bless.
Love
Zahra
Have yourself the thrill that comes from hearing the buzz that pervades the house. Which doesn't happen on any other occasion ever.
Have yourself the luxury of admiring your Christmas tree for a moment. Of thinking that it is the most beautiful tree on the face of the earth despite being smaller than most and thoroughly battered by your growing-up years.
Have yourself the fun of answering calls and happy greetings from friends and family around. Of back slapping cheeriness and hearty "Look-who's-here"s as everybody comes together.
Have yourself a warm, happy feeling in your heart when you step into a church decked up to the nines. When you see the people you know around. When you call out "Merry Christmas!" in all sincerity despite the fact that you're at loggerheads with them the rest of the year.
Have yourself those I-shouldnt-have-had-that-third-appam feelings inspite of having warned yourself not to overdo it this year. And huge servings of biryani later in the day, with little morsels of plum cake in between. And excuse yourself by saying that Christmas comes along just once each year.
Have yourself the joys of singing carols at the top of your voice, despite being tone deaf and having the neighbours beg for mercy. Of knowing that these songs somehow will never lose their charm despite having heard them all your life.
Have yourself that sense of optimism that comes through on Christmas, no matter what may shake the earth and your faith on other days.
Most of all, have yourself a very merry Christmas and lots and lots of fun. And may you have a wonderful 2009 to look forward to.
Have fun, take care and God bless.
Love
Zahra
Sunday, December 14, 2008
The Fellowship of the Ring(less)
Ohmigod.
I can’t believe I actually did this. On my last trip home , I finally gave in to my parents’ subtle demands. Oh well, ‘subtle’ is soooo 2007……. Now it’s more like the Exorcist theme score.
I…errr…. Ahem…. I…… damn, I can’t say this!!!
Oh then TYPE it out lady.
I…. cough, cough….. actually helped them create a profile for me on a matrimonial site. :( :( I solemnly swear that I don’t drink or do drugs.
Stop sniggering willya???
Btw, am pretty sure they’ve already explored multiple alternatives to foist their darling one and only onto some unwitting nalla payyan out there. Note: Do they exist???My suspicions hit an all time high when I saw a string of mails from the Malayala Manorama ID in Dad’s mailbox. I just happened to stop by his desk to ask something, and there was this sudden Alt + Tab rhythm that got started. For the uninitiated, the Malayala Manorama is not just a Mallu newspaper, it’s also the best friend of Mallu parents who don’t know what to do next with their twenty somethings.
I did have my doubts about the wisdom of it alright. Especially since
A) I’m in no particular hurry to tie the knot.
B) My parents’ and my idea of a nice guy vs okay-okay guy tend to clash occasionally
C) Have to keep reminding them that their dream son-in-law is right up there with Santa Claus, dragons and fairies….. a creature of fantasy.
D) And I have to keep reminding myself that all the guys I’ve dreamed of are unattainable public figures, who are married or committed to disgustingly gorgeous women…or just don’t exist. Sigh.
E) As a follow on to (D), the Enchantress reminds me it could be worse. The dream man might just turn out to be gay. Aiyyayyoooo…and good men are a rarity already.
F) Help me God, what if this whole website thingie actually works???? :-S
But on careful consideration it seemed only fair to help them out. After all, parents are bound to need help when they have a gorgeous, amazingly talented and supremely intelligent daughter on their hands.
No, I don’t have a sister.
Kinda dense aren’t you? I was talking about myself.
But here’s a little confession….. Browsing through some of the profiles made me think I shoulda started this eons ago…… I had no clue there was SO much entertainment on the net for free!!!! ;-D
Tomes have been written about the kinds of matrimonial ads that get published…. Some noteworthy blog posts have been dedicated to them too. But honestly, some of these profiles make you laugh out loud, or think really hard.
Among the giggle-worthy, here are some gems I found :
1. “Looking for a partner….. blah blah blah….. who also likes to cook and rear children.”
Hellooooo?!?!?! :-O Somebody pleeeeease get him a copy of Eats, shoots and leaves.
2. “She should be a candle light for me in my hours (sic) of darkness..”
Buddy, what you need is either an agony aunt or an inverter. Or a plain bulb. And you talk like you expect a LOT of darkness ahead……. NOT the best attention grabber for a future mate. Ladies, I see the potential for a lot of skeletons in this closet.
3. “I’m a coooooooool guy!!!”
I swear that’s exactly what was written. And ALL that was written. Stay far, far away from this one, Zahra-girl. This is the type your friends warned you about on Orkut.
4. “I’m a deeply religious, pious and spiritual person.”
Not that there’s anything wrong with that statement….. Faith matters to me too. But the overall tone of this particular profile left me kinda confused….. I didn’t know whether to continue reading, cross myself or light a candle. Methinks we’ve got the next Vatican canonization here.
5. “Myself a very handsome, caring, sensitive, dynamic personality….”
I just cannot compete with such perfection. You forgot to add ‘unshakeable self-esteem’ to your virtues buddy. Btw, about your profile pic….. Shades that cover 85% of your face don’t help. Especially since the uncovered 15% is not exactly standalone material….. nothing personal, just an objective observation.
My folks discreetly sugest that a profile pic will be in orer.
Mental sticky note: Upload a pic of Lolakutty.... we're talking wholesome Mallu gorge-yess-ness here.
:P
Hmmm…. One of the inescapable phases of quarter-life I guess….. at least the family’s getting some free entertainment.
Quite a few of my fellow victims in the Fellowship of the Ring(less) are in similar predicaments. My best friend (who’s a Bong) wishes that Bong guys were known for physique and looks too, not just academic credentials. Coz all her ‘prospects’ to date have been exceptionally geeky-looking Bong-men with multiple Ivy League qualifications. Anybody who can change that trend…..the geeky one….please let me know….. FYI, you’ll have to be single and Bong AND really tall (coz she is) AAANNNDDD intelligent ('coz she is, VERY) to floor this babe. There. That’s my good karma for the week.
Btw neither of us are six-pack fans, so we’re not very choosy that way. But yeah, we don’t dig family packs either.
On a serious note, it’s kinda disturbing that a LOT of people mention ‘fair’ as a criterion before education or personality or anything else. What’s with this fairness fixation anyway??? Especially when the same guys might be drooling over the not-exactly-fair Bipasha Basu. I know this horse’s been bludgeoned to death, but I just had to give my two cents’ worth of kicks.
Oh and did I tell you, I got a response to my profile the very next day ;-P
The mail started like this.....
“I came across your profile and found it SOOO interesting, I hope you don’t mind (sic)…”
There were a coupla smileys too, for my benefit. Oh yes I mind. Terribly. That profile was meant to be uninteresting and solely for my private edification.
Incidentally this guy has apparently not bothered to use a community/region/language filter while searching. Guess chronic spammers have to do their thing whenever, wherever.Needless to say, that guy’s email got the ‘Delete’ treatment.
Appaaa...AmMAAAAAAAA.... I told you this wasn’t a good idea.
I can’t believe I actually did this. On my last trip home , I finally gave in to my parents’ subtle demands. Oh well, ‘subtle’ is soooo 2007……. Now it’s more like the Exorcist theme score.
I…errr…. Ahem…. I…… damn, I can’t say this!!!
Oh then TYPE it out lady.
I…. cough, cough….. actually helped them create a profile for me on a matrimonial site. :( :( I solemnly swear that I don’t drink or do drugs.
Stop sniggering willya???
Btw, am pretty sure they’ve already explored multiple alternatives to foist their darling one and only onto some unwitting nalla payyan out there. Note: Do they exist???My suspicions hit an all time high when I saw a string of mails from the Malayala Manorama ID in Dad’s mailbox. I just happened to stop by his desk to ask something, and there was this sudden Alt + Tab rhythm that got started. For the uninitiated, the Malayala Manorama is not just a Mallu newspaper, it’s also the best friend of Mallu parents who don’t know what to do next with their twenty somethings.
I did have my doubts about the wisdom of it alright. Especially since
A) I’m in no particular hurry to tie the knot.
B) My parents’ and my idea of a nice guy vs okay-okay guy tend to clash occasionally
C) Have to keep reminding them that their dream son-in-law is right up there with Santa Claus, dragons and fairies….. a creature of fantasy.
D) And I have to keep reminding myself that all the guys I’ve dreamed of are unattainable public figures, who are married or committed to disgustingly gorgeous women…or just don’t exist. Sigh.
E) As a follow on to (D), the Enchantress reminds me it could be worse. The dream man might just turn out to be gay. Aiyyayyoooo…and good men are a rarity already.
F) Help me God, what if this whole website thingie actually works???? :-S
But on careful consideration it seemed only fair to help them out. After all, parents are bound to need help when they have a gorgeous, amazingly talented and supremely intelligent daughter on their hands.
No, I don’t have a sister.
Kinda dense aren’t you? I was talking about myself.
But here’s a little confession….. Browsing through some of the profiles made me think I shoulda started this eons ago…… I had no clue there was SO much entertainment on the net for free!!!! ;-D
Tomes have been written about the kinds of matrimonial ads that get published…. Some noteworthy blog posts have been dedicated to them too. But honestly, some of these profiles make you laugh out loud, or think really hard.
Among the giggle-worthy, here are some gems I found :
1. “Looking for a partner….. blah blah blah….. who also likes to cook and rear children.”
Hellooooo?!?!?! :-O Somebody pleeeeease get him a copy of Eats, shoots and leaves.
2. “She should be a candle light for me in my hours (sic) of darkness..”
Buddy, what you need is either an agony aunt or an inverter. Or a plain bulb. And you talk like you expect a LOT of darkness ahead……. NOT the best attention grabber for a future mate. Ladies, I see the potential for a lot of skeletons in this closet.
3. “I’m a coooooooool guy!!!”
I swear that’s exactly what was written. And ALL that was written. Stay far, far away from this one, Zahra-girl. This is the type your friends warned you about on Orkut.
4. “I’m a deeply religious, pious and spiritual person.”
Not that there’s anything wrong with that statement….. Faith matters to me too. But the overall tone of this particular profile left me kinda confused….. I didn’t know whether to continue reading, cross myself or light a candle. Methinks we’ve got the next Vatican canonization here.
5. “Myself a very handsome, caring, sensitive, dynamic personality….”
I just cannot compete with such perfection. You forgot to add ‘unshakeable self-esteem’ to your virtues buddy. Btw, about your profile pic….. Shades that cover 85% of your face don’t help. Especially since the uncovered 15% is not exactly standalone material….. nothing personal, just an objective observation.
My folks discreetly sugest that a profile pic will be in orer.
Mental sticky note: Upload a pic of Lolakutty.... we're talking wholesome Mallu gorge-yess-ness here.
:P
Hmmm…. One of the inescapable phases of quarter-life I guess….. at least the family’s getting some free entertainment.
Quite a few of my fellow victims in the Fellowship of the Ring(less) are in similar predicaments. My best friend (who’s a Bong) wishes that Bong guys were known for physique and looks too, not just academic credentials. Coz all her ‘prospects’ to date have been exceptionally geeky-looking Bong-men with multiple Ivy League qualifications. Anybody who can change that trend…..the geeky one….please let me know….. FYI, you’ll have to be single and Bong AND really tall (coz she is) AAANNNDDD intelligent ('coz she is, VERY) to floor this babe. There. That’s my good karma for the week.
Btw neither of us are six-pack fans, so we’re not very choosy that way. But yeah, we don’t dig family packs either.
On a serious note, it’s kinda disturbing that a LOT of people mention ‘fair’ as a criterion before education or personality or anything else. What’s with this fairness fixation anyway??? Especially when the same guys might be drooling over the not-exactly-fair Bipasha Basu. I know this horse’s been bludgeoned to death, but I just had to give my two cents’ worth of kicks.
Oh and did I tell you, I got a response to my profile the very next day ;-P
The mail started like this.....
“I came across your profile and found it SOOO interesting, I hope you don’t mind (sic)…”
There were a coupla smileys too, for my benefit. Oh yes I mind. Terribly. That profile was meant to be uninteresting and solely for my private edification.
Incidentally this guy has apparently not bothered to use a community/region/language filter while searching. Guess chronic spammers have to do their thing whenever, wherever.Needless to say, that guy’s email got the ‘Delete’ treatment.
Appaaa...AmMAAAAAAAA.... I told you this wasn’t a good idea.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Paralysis by analysis?
Last Sunday evening was just like any other. Yours truly hovered somewhere around the confluence of boredom, inertia, and a growing awareness of yet another weekend slipping by. I flipped through mags and newspapers while my roomie caught up with Jodhaa Akbar on TV. Nothing new to read….. everything seemed to be a rehash of these ‘basic’ tenets :
1. Purple is the new black. Or pink. Or whatever. Every self proclaimed fashion guru is screaming his/her guts out about how anybody with dress sense cannot get enough of this colour. True. I cant get enough of Cadbury’s either.
2. Saif and Kareena are deeply in luuuuvvvv. Kareena says “Main unke bachchon ki maa banna chahti hoon”. Sho-shweet. Incidentally Bebo, some tabloid had already credited you with that line long before you said it. Whatever, lady. So long as I don’t have to see soppy lines in bold type on front pages everyday.
3. The auto industry is headed south. You telling me every other industry’s headed north??
4. Minister X accuses opposition of sowing the seeds of communal tension in the country.
5. Minister Y retorts that X and his party have let the country go to the dogs with their inefficiency. As evidenced by the recent terror attack.
6. Speaking of canines, dogs all over the country are up in arms at comments made by a certain senile Communist who is as mature as a cranky three year old. Canine leaders reaffirm that their community does not require party endorsements to merit human recognition.
Okay, I made up the last one. But dog lovers and humans everywhere are seeing red. And they’re not shouting pro-Marx slogans either.
A week’s gone by since the massacre at Mumbai. The media has dissected every second of the siege, shoved mikes in the face of every traumatized survivor, and made endless collages of a burning Taj, bloody corridors and slain fighters. No doubt it requires a LOT of guts to stay put at ground zero and provide updates, not knowing if a stray bullet’s gonna put a period to your life. Still, I can’t help but think that we’re guilty of overkill this time too. Now, it’s the CCTV footage of the shootout that’s doing the rounds on primetime slots.
Political parties are making the most of every mudslingin’ moment they get. And they’re ab-so-looooot-uh-ly lovin’ it. So much so that one prominent group just couldn’t wait to put out an ad in the paper asking citizens to vote for them if they wanted change. On Day Two of the siege at that. This, and the consequent blame game have finally convinced me that all our netas put together have a collective IQ + EQ in the region of -2500 (rounded).
Fresh opinions and theories have been thrown at my head every day of the past week. Public opinion also seems to follow a trend these days. Atleast the print representatives of the thinking public do.
First it was to point out that our heroes have fallen for the nation’s glory, and that we should not let their sacrifice go in vain. Weep Mumbai, for it’s your defining icon that’s under siege. THE Taj Mahal hotel. SoBo with its old-world charm has finally lost its peaceful aura to terrorist bullets.
Then it was to speculate on the possibility of an insider job. Otherwise, HOW could there have been such a massive intelligence failure?
All Indians everywhere, look seaward…..The very route used to fuel the communal riots of the early ‘90’s has been used again. Such audacity! Bull. If we couldn’t find the time to do anything in 15 years, then we had it coming.
Parallels, parallels everywhere. My…what a tangled web we weave.
India’s 9/11. Why we have to draw parallels with the US for every damn thing still mystifies me.
The NSG took only two hours to reach the Maldives when a coup started. Why nine within India? Buddy, if I knew that I would also tell you why we let off Union Carbide with nothing more than a rap on the knuckles for virtual genocide 24 years ago.
Angry declarations now. The celebrated Mumbaikar resilience may be finally showing signs of wear. Enough, we say!
The intellectual elite of the country scoff at the peace marches and candlelight vigils. This won’t get you anywhere, they smirk.
The latest question doing the rounds is why there was no coverage of the massacre at VT, no mention of thirty innocents who lost their lives.
Finally, the wheels have turned full circle.
How come Mumbai is finally demanding action?
Does chalta hai, yeh sab hota hai hold only for the aam aadmi? So, it hurts when the elite are hit in their watering holes eh??
And WHEN did the Taj become an icon of Mumbai?? The crowded trains of Mumbai define the spirit of the city better. Therefore, VT is a more appropriate choice of icon.
This country will never cease to amaze me.
In the meantime, I’m gonna go and light a candle for the dead at the makeshift shrine in the corner of my street. A shrine complete with a garishly done collage of pics of the slain top cops.
I’m no Socrates-meets-Einstein-meets-Gandhi hybrid, but I still maintain that some action, even of solidarity, is way WAAAYYY better than no action at all.
To cut a long story short, we Indians are back to doing what we do best. Pointing fingers.
Keep up the rigmarole people, and pretty soon we’ll have a nation that is more than willing to point the middle digit at the powers that be.
And then twiddle its billion times two thumbs till terror, tragedy and apathy meet and snuff out a hundred times something more innocent lives.
Yet again.
1. Purple is the new black. Or pink. Or whatever. Every self proclaimed fashion guru is screaming his/her guts out about how anybody with dress sense cannot get enough of this colour. True. I cant get enough of Cadbury’s either.
2. Saif and Kareena are deeply in luuuuvvvv. Kareena says “Main unke bachchon ki maa banna chahti hoon”. Sho-shweet. Incidentally Bebo, some tabloid had already credited you with that line long before you said it. Whatever, lady. So long as I don’t have to see soppy lines in bold type on front pages everyday.
3. The auto industry is headed south. You telling me every other industry’s headed north??
4. Minister X accuses opposition of sowing the seeds of communal tension in the country.
5. Minister Y retorts that X and his party have let the country go to the dogs with their inefficiency. As evidenced by the recent terror attack.
6. Speaking of canines, dogs all over the country are up in arms at comments made by a certain senile Communist who is as mature as a cranky three year old. Canine leaders reaffirm that their community does not require party endorsements to merit human recognition.
Okay, I made up the last one. But dog lovers and humans everywhere are seeing red. And they’re not shouting pro-Marx slogans either.
A week’s gone by since the massacre at Mumbai. The media has dissected every second of the siege, shoved mikes in the face of every traumatized survivor, and made endless collages of a burning Taj, bloody corridors and slain fighters. No doubt it requires a LOT of guts to stay put at ground zero and provide updates, not knowing if a stray bullet’s gonna put a period to your life. Still, I can’t help but think that we’re guilty of overkill this time too. Now, it’s the CCTV footage of the shootout that’s doing the rounds on primetime slots.
Political parties are making the most of every mudslingin’ moment they get. And they’re ab-so-looooot-uh-ly lovin’ it. So much so that one prominent group just couldn’t wait to put out an ad in the paper asking citizens to vote for them if they wanted change. On Day Two of the siege at that. This, and the consequent blame game have finally convinced me that all our netas put together have a collective IQ + EQ in the region of -2500 (rounded).
Fresh opinions and theories have been thrown at my head every day of the past week. Public opinion also seems to follow a trend these days. Atleast the print representatives of the thinking public do.
First it was to point out that our heroes have fallen for the nation’s glory, and that we should not let their sacrifice go in vain. Weep Mumbai, for it’s your defining icon that’s under siege. THE Taj Mahal hotel. SoBo with its old-world charm has finally lost its peaceful aura to terrorist bullets.
Then it was to speculate on the possibility of an insider job. Otherwise, HOW could there have been such a massive intelligence failure?
All Indians everywhere, look seaward…..The very route used to fuel the communal riots of the early ‘90’s has been used again. Such audacity! Bull. If we couldn’t find the time to do anything in 15 years, then we had it coming.
Parallels, parallels everywhere. My…what a tangled web we weave.
India’s 9/11. Why we have to draw parallels with the US for every damn thing still mystifies me.
The NSG took only two hours to reach the Maldives when a coup started. Why nine within India? Buddy, if I knew that I would also tell you why we let off Union Carbide with nothing more than a rap on the knuckles for virtual genocide 24 years ago.
Angry declarations now. The celebrated Mumbaikar resilience may be finally showing signs of wear. Enough, we say!
The intellectual elite of the country scoff at the peace marches and candlelight vigils. This won’t get you anywhere, they smirk.
The latest question doing the rounds is why there was no coverage of the massacre at VT, no mention of thirty innocents who lost their lives.
Finally, the wheels have turned full circle.
How come Mumbai is finally demanding action?
Does chalta hai, yeh sab hota hai hold only for the aam aadmi? So, it hurts when the elite are hit in their watering holes eh??
And WHEN did the Taj become an icon of Mumbai?? The crowded trains of Mumbai define the spirit of the city better. Therefore, VT is a more appropriate choice of icon.
This country will never cease to amaze me.
In the meantime, I’m gonna go and light a candle for the dead at the makeshift shrine in the corner of my street. A shrine complete with a garishly done collage of pics of the slain top cops.
I’m no Socrates-meets-Einstein-meets-Gandhi hybrid, but I still maintain that some action, even of solidarity, is way WAAAYYY better than no action at all.
To cut a long story short, we Indians are back to doing what we do best. Pointing fingers.
Keep up the rigmarole people, and pretty soon we’ll have a nation that is more than willing to point the middle digit at the powers that be.
And then twiddle its billion times two thumbs till terror, tragedy and apathy meet and snuff out a hundred times something more innocent lives.
Yet again.
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