Shawarma for the soul

Arrival Anti-climax

Was wondering what I’d blog about when I get here… but fortunately for me, there hasn’t been a lack of peculiar episodes ever since my arrival. My first time at Sharjah Airport was punctuated with derision, disdain, contempt, disapproval – if you are gonna point out that those words are similar in meaning, well, I’m trying to drive the point home mister! While my dad thought that my response was largely leaning on over reaction, I couldn’t help the arrogance. Sharjah, a sister city to Dubai, was more of an anti-climax than anything else!
Labourers from all over – Pakistan, Bangladesh, Iraq, even Azerbaijan — queued up in the line next to mine to avail of Hala services… I for one wanted to machao hala for the poor organisation skills… Why would you just have one counter with just two employees serving aeroplane-loads of people?? (Here I should mention that they did apologise for their incompetence with posters everywhere that read: Sharjah Airport is under expansion and development. Sorry for the inconvenience.)
Well, not everyone had to stand in the damn line… I was among the unwelcome few with a duplicate visit visa and the damn procession lead to two indifferent souls giving out the original version of what let me be in this country! That done, I was out in a jiffy… well, almost.
The baggage claim area held another revelation – the damn wheels of my trolley bag had miraculously disappeared. Since I packed light, I carried it and was subsequently robbed of the opportunity of walking out of the terminal with my nose up in the air and my bag trailing behind at a respectable distance.
Overwhelmed with the feeling that I had got off the plane in the wrong country, what with labourers sleeping at my feet and turning this Emirate’s airport into Mumbai Central Station, I asked my father why in heavens name did I have to arrive at Sharjah when Dubai was a gazillion-times better-equipped airport???
“Because it takes as long for me to drive to Dubai as much as it takes for you to fly here from Mumbai,” was my Dad’s calm reply! That silenced me… well, for the next ten minutes at least.
And to cut a long story short – no, I never cut long stories short J now, do I? – I headed to my home away from home.

Off white lies

My home is bathed in off white – yup, everything – including chairs, futon, chaise lounge, curtains, walls… and on the living room wall is a portrait of the other woman in my dad’s life. Well, it is a disputed fact in the family on how old she really is, but the ironic part of the story is; on being warned by my aunt that she should get rid of the competition, my ma gingerly replied, “But, I got her for him!” Talk about open relationships! So there she stands looking down on all of us everyday, as if to say, “I dare you to look as good in a sari sans the blouse?”
Another feature that adorns our house is my dad’s exhaustive crystal collection. He’s as obsessed about it as my mom’s about cleaning and believe me the term OCD was definitely coined with these two in mind. So, every occasion he gets, he’s sure to find an excuse to buy off white accompaniments; but crystal ware is a sure-fire purchase. In fact, his latest acquisition includes these two crystal bears and a charging bull…ya, he’s got his own stock market theme goin’ on here.
While, I’m not too much a fan of the bears, the bull is an exquisite piece carved out of one piece of crystal… (I still won’t spend so much on crystal…I’d rather steal them from Dad!)

Star attractions

Quick list of what I missed most about this place:

a) 24/7 ENGLISH Radio…not one, not two but I could choose from a selection of five or six English channels… what a change from GO 92.5 and Red FM’s Himesh Reshammiya trash.

b) Getting lost in Julie Andrew’s comic timing, Frank Sinatra’s mid-western morality, Orson Welles’ intense dialogue-delivery – yup, this is a film buff’s haven! I have access to more film channels than I can count… They have this channel called TCM – Turner Classic Movies, Channel 33 or One (as it is called now), Star Movies (The damn ban hasn’t been lifted back home yet), and of course the array of pre-paid movie channels too choose from… – I’m hooked!!!

c) I’m the queen of the couch!!! This melt-into, off white, lounge that we have is something I simply want to pack and take home… Also, the dozen packets of Bugles – original and cheese flavoured – and the home theatre system simply buckle me down to the lounge… There’s no way I’m moving…

‘Shoe’ting pain

Dad decided to take me for a spin and I decided it was a good time to take my stilettos on a test-walk! Our first pit stop was at my aunt’s place. My elevated status was observed and remarked on by my oddball uncle who said, “You’ve grown sooooooooooooooooo tall!” He didn’t bother to look at my feet and I didn’t bother to correct him. Also, I was simply happy that I could rest my feet by then for the damn things were killing me…
My aunt on the other hand was too busy showing off my cousin’s girl friend and thrusting chocolates down my throat. Every time I declined, she’d force it into my mouth saying, “It’s got a Kiwi filling from New Zealand!” Now, how could just the filling be from New Zealand?? I didn’t care much for Kiwi or New Zealand but I had to gulp down at least five since she was determined to finish it off, lest she polish ‘em off herself and put on the weight she had so painstakingly shed!
Next, we headed to Home Centre, a one-stop mall for furniture. We wanted to surprise mom with a gift… By the time I went from aisle to aisle and passed children spilling out of shopping carts, women lunging at curtains, men rolling their eyes at the women lunging at curtains, I was in excruciating pain…In fact, I didn’t realize I was doing a cross between a duck walk and a seal’s shuffle – trying to balance my foot in such a way that the pain wouldn’t shoot up as much as it did!

Furnish a feast

With Ramadan on, I was under the impression that people would break their fast to feast on food. But to my utter surprise they seemed more eager to serve a buffet of furniture. They pounced at fixtures, lamps, pillow covers, as though they were going out of fashion.
The frenzy reached fever pitch when sounds of glass bowls, ceramic vases crashing to the floor came from every corner of the store… not an exaggeration! My dad merely said, “With a 70 per cent discount sale, that too on a Friday, what did you expect?” I was silenced once again.

Punctured tyre, inflated ego

After we bought a regal patch-work quilt, we moved toward the parking lot… my father didn’t realize I was lagging behind until he reached the car. I simply gave up…removed those blasted things off my feet and took baby steps to the car… It was the first time I was walking on the soil of Sharjah… (more aptly, on the sands of the Emirate!)
After 10 minutes of trying to maneuver out of this tight spot an Audi left my dad’s SUV in, he was a brimful of curses (I’d need another post altogether on how colourful my Dad gets when he’s in one of those moods!)
Just then, the tyre went over what we at that point thought was a divider but later turned out to be our undoing! Driving just a block ahead, my dad realised the vehicle was leaning towards the left… Pulling over, his worst doubts were confirmed. He had his first puncture!
Now replacing the tyre wasn’t a joke, especially since my father is one of those diminutive SUV drivers who are barely seen behind the wheel. As we waited for help, (Read: Help here translates to pathans who either help for a small amount of money or just coz they have a good Samaritan gene ingrained in them…or so I heard!) I got off the car, sans the stilettos…
There was this jingbang of kids piling out of their vehicle parked right next to us. With the bonnet propped open, their car seemed to have engine trouble…but the parents were nowhere in sight…it seemed that whoever was with the four kids thought it was better to leave ‘em there and go look for help.
Meanwhile, three pathans did offer help… unfortunately (and that word seems to pepper a lot of my episodes till now), they didn’t know the right way to get the jack on…and what do you know, we ended up with a broken jack. That’s all my dad needed!
While all this heaving and pulling on the part of the pathans was goin’ on a band of young boys, locals by birth but of Pakistani origin were observing closely the developments of our plight…At first from far, then a little closer and finally when the pathans gave up and left, the boys offered their services. While, they tried their hand with the broken jack, they couldn’t do much too…
Frustrated, my dad decided to go in search of a mechanic, the boys promised they’d watch over the car… what they meant is that they’d watch over the girl! Now I’m not a self-aggrandising gal, but…well you’ll know soon enough.
The kids with the broken car approached me and repeated “English??” at least six times… I said “yes”… then the elder one of the four, a pig-tailed seven year-old, pointed to herself and said “Arabi”… In my broken Arabic I asked “sayra kharbah” (Your car’s broken down?)… I never got a reply to that coz all she wanted to know was why I didn’t have any shoes on… After ten minutes of trying to point at the heel of my stilettos and another five recalling what was the Arabic equivalent of “ouch!” was, I gave up…They dubbed me a loon and went off pulling each others hair and clambering onto the roof of their car. (Yup, I was bein’ entertained!)
Before long, the boys trickled out…only one of ‘em stayed till my father got back an hour later with the mechanic and more importantly, a jack. As the mechanic screwed in the new tyre and I requested dad to at least thank the boy who had stayed, putting his life on stand-by for total strangers, the boy waved off the thank you with a “no problem” and stealthily walking past the passenger seat where I was to get in tried to pass me something. Now I was taken completed by surprise. Realising that I wasn’t gonna clutch onto anything he was giving me, he threw whatever it was into the car and ran… It turned out to be a chit with his number on it! Amazing… the lengths they go to.
Well, this passing-of-chit phenomenon has happened to me before – but it has always been more often when boys spot a gang of girls hanging out by themselves at a mall or a theatre…But this happened right in front of my father…although he was too busy to notice since he was mourning the loss of the car’s tyre. Well, can’t blame ‘em… In a land where courtship is a taboo, where plainclothes policemen lurk through malls keeping a close eye on boys trying to strike conversations with girls, this was bound to happen. As the cliche goes: Desperate times, desperate measures… And this chit couture has proved to be a hit, coz the boy/gal just has to slip, drop or pass it and the receiver on the basis of whether he/she liked the looks of him would call on the number.
As for if I called the “boy”… well, let’s just say I’m not desperate enough!

(*Have pics of most of the things I’ve penned above…yes, I’m one of those sneaky types who stealthily makes use of my camera phone… the picture quality ain‘t that good coz I’m still getting used to the phone…Cut me some slack will ya, it’s just two days since I bought the phone.. Will try to upload it soon)

So long!

Her full cheeks could never be restrained. Not by the synthetic straight hair that fell limp on her shoulders. Or so he realised on seeing her. Playing the part of an anxious lover came easy, but it was the trappings of commitment he feared. Cupping her palm in his, he said, “I hate Vikram Seth.” *

(*For you Thea)

Have you?

Have you let a song travel through your veins…?
Have you tangoed with a rhythm?
Have you breathed in a hymn?
Have you tasted cadence?
Have you undulated in the arms of a tempo?
Have you given in to the lilt?
Have you soared with the pulse?
Have you made love to a tune?
Have you?

55 poem

They weren’t meant to know…
But she felt their eyes bore
into her and feared the
violation of her secret.
With every lingering look
or loud holler,
panic held her sway.
Needles to say,
she wanted to wash
this sin away.
How was she to know
that a quickie
would lead to a
long-stay hickie?

A matter of perspective

She ended where he began. Though having embarked on the same train of thought, their perspectives differed. Where she stated the obvious, he alluded to the obscure. Together they spun a web of deceit, ensnaring unsuspecting souls into dialogue, deconstruction, and diddling out of their thoughts as they endorsed their top secret project: Mind sharing.

Climax

This time, she went the whole hog. Piecing together the perfect image – the scented candles went up on the ledge, the cheese fondue next to the Chardonnay and the garters, just three inches below her thong. The corset was the secret incentive. Foreplay would’ve been spontaneous, had it not been for his monosyllabic response: “Nice!”

Culpability

Guilt didn’t kick in until he saw the streamers on the wall. But it was the extra P’s penned in a childish scrawl on the birthday banner that drove the point home. I should probably apologise, thought Anurag… Instead, tiptoeing away from his sleeping wife, he called Rina and said, “Darling, I’ll be late tonight.”

Dishing out the dirt

If you like these, chk 'em out here. These are etchings of someone who loves cars that look like they were in a dust storm. In fact, he turns rearview windows into works of art... so now u know where to send ur caked-with-gravel vehicles...

Look ma, we don’t need TV!

I read this somewhere:

Television is dead, long live the web!
Not quite, but with TV audiences dwindling and interest in online video content on the rise, it seems that audiences don't just want to watch TV shows any more - they want to make and star in them too. Dubbed Web 2.0 there's been an explosion in sites that promote freedom to share and use content driven by the user. Microsoft want a piece of the action, launching a user generated video service for MSN called Soapbox. Hardly surprising when sites like YouTube have become such popular web destinations.

Now… this is something that was bound to happen… why on earth would people just restrict themselves to being self-obsessed bloggers? If they are creating the content, putting pieces of themselves online; it was just a matter of time before they got greedy and wanted to flaunt the whole picture. And that’s exactly what’s come to pass! Since most of us poor band-width challenged souls can’t afford to have broadband connections and more importantly, since many more of us still don’t have computers at home, the trend hasn’t caught on in India yet. But I can hear the lull before the storm already. Vanity is perpetually hip and the need to express one self through home-grown films is going to replace the never-ending soaps… with narcissistic ramblings or I-me-myself footage... The war has only begun.

P.S: I'm all for new talents to come to the fore with the opening up of these avenues but as we all know, great artists or creators are needles in the haystack of what we call the world.

Redefining Delicacy

Was gonna post this yesterday but never got around to it. It's more of an afterthought on a first-hand account of a BBC correspondent’s misadventure in China's penis emporium where the word 'delicacy' spelt a platter of sexual organs of animals... Well, what intrigued me about this was the whole absurdity of the Chinese. In the land where pagodas cleaving the sky originally symbolised the human male sex organ, where worshipping phallic symbols and sex was the norm, where birds and squirrels were common symbols for the penis, where other symbols include the turtle, snake and calabash, where even mountains and hills symbolised the male and female organs for their life-like shapes and have been worshipped for generations… feasting on a penis hotpot has become a status issue. The unusual selection of “delicacies” that have take the country by storm include the male organs of dog's (their argument: dog meat is low in cholesterol and boosts the male sex drive), donkey (supposedly good for the skin!??), snake (I never knew they had two penises), and worst of all – patrons are ready to cough up $5,700 for most rare of all dishes – the tiger penis! (The poor animal has been stripped of every possible part of its anatomy… and to think the illegal trade has been diminishing the species… but obviously one should take into consideration the urgency of a Chinese high hat's decision to order the uncommon dish and show off the money he makes to all and sundry.
While I've known that the Chinese can stomach just about anything, I simply found it ironic that they’d eat what their culture has worshipped from time immemorial. I realize that it’s not the animal's sex organs that they revered, it’s the symbol of the male sex organ nonetheless… and for the Chinese it’s all about the symbols. Guess they’d also be more than happy to feast on the Chinese dragon - the symbol that has come to represent China - had it not been a mythical creature!

More 55's

5:00 am: They worked unseen… He set off on foot carrying as many milk packets as he could. Manu joined him, dragging newspaper piles fastened to his bicycle. Early hours didn’t matter and never deterred the two for they knew how important they were. Why else would everyone start their day with newspapers and milk?

**

He came once in six months, laden with sweets, saris and all things nice. With his English education and Rolex watch, he was the perfect nephew. Everyone wanted to shake hands, take digital pictures and be seen bear hugging this phoren return. Only little Lalli cringed as she thought of his hand between her thighs.

Untitled

“Breasts: Hold in hands and gently knead. Upper lip: Kiss, bite and chew. Navel: Pat softly with open palm. Throat: Scratch gently with nails…” Cut off in mid sentence by her peals of laughter, he basked in her gay abandon. The manual worked after all. They made love for the first time in four months.

Small world

They met as most lovers do… inevitably! She was smitten with all that he was. But hormones drove him into her arms. Then one day, he left, never to return. Years later, as she settled into her business class seat, a familiar voice asked if she’d prefer coffee or tea. That day she tasted vindication.

Unearthed

I exhumed this poem from a comment I left at falstaff's blog... cudn't find the words of wisdom he wrote... but dug up what I wrote in response to his piece on the kolis in Mumbai... Penned this when Mumbai was being drowned in the wake of the unusually heavy rainfall more than a month ago. Here goes...


Untitled

The lost kings
and vanished empires
drowned in the
sands of time...
But the fisherman
carried his legacy
reeking of bygones,
and grime.

He continued to
pray to Mumba
to restore this
lost island
to its original
form.
And that day
as he walked on,
past the high-rises
and hutments
in the wake
of a storm,
he saw
the sea rise
and swallow
the grey
expanse.

His face
glistened
with glee
for Mumbai
was once more
the harbor of
the people
of the sea.

The Thin Line

It wasn’t a fall from grace, her unblinking eyes urged all. Not just another wretched rich woman suicide. Not another bid for evoking pity...! But instead, they chose to see the loss, the grief, the failure that had become she. Frida only held a mirror to Dorothy. But even she couldn’t fulfill her last wish.

**

With trembling hands she scratched them off one by one. Jaywalking into a bus. Free falling from her 25th floor penthouse. Drowning in the bathtub. Slashing…no too cliché. ODing on valium – a definite maybe. But there was no painless death, was there? Her last entry in the journal read: “I’ll live to see him regret.”

55: Neighbour's envy, owner's pride

Old woman with manicured feet betrayed signs of having got a facial the day before. The glow didn’t hide her spidery veins and wrinkles though. The mehandi masked those strands of grey, but her eyes gave her away. “She obviously has too much time on her hands,” whispered the woman sitting opposite to her companion.

**

She watched as the hip chick got onto the train. From the swish of her straightened hair to the unclasping of her tote bag; to the flicking open of a shiny compact, a hand sanitiser, a high end phone – Meena’s eyes drank in everything. With six children envy was the only thing she could afford.

55: 'Dali'ng along

“Memory persisted in a landscape so bleak, where time dissolved… and hung out to dry,” she said mesmerised by this celebrated oil on canvas. It was her first time at both, the Museum of Modern Art and New York. How could I have broken it to her, that the man just had too much cheese?*


(*For those not in the know… 'The Persistence of Memory' is Salvador Dali’s best known work. The famous melting-clock imagery that has been reproduced almost everywhere was created by Dali after a vision he had following a snack of Camembert cheese — the clocks, therefore, have the texture of the soft cheese)

55: Bound by memories...

An old song brought with it a haunting memory. Trying to drown it in thoughts about work, chores and those risqué stilettos in the Clark’s window, she found herself giving in to the tune of nostalgia. As the lilting rhythm inched its way, she remembered – how she had seen too much in those brown eyes.

**
It wasn’t every night that he bared his soul to a stranger. But this wasn’t just another night. He talked about the first glance, the fleeting looks and.... the love. Sia was long gone now, but he still ached. Running her fingers through his hair, the stranger cooed, “At least you aren’t a virgin anymore!”

The world thinks aloud

Was surfing through TV channels, when I chanced upon an interesting segment on BBC's technology-based programme 'Click'... On a lark, I chkd this site they recommended... The whole concept of a global consciousness - "the idea that the human race is subconsciously connected through one global pool of thought" simply intrigued me...
It's a site wherein you give your location and then send a message to the whole world... or atleast whoever is logged in and they'll respond or atleast, u'll get a reaction or jus closure from having unloaded whatever thought has been naggin you... Yup, in a way, it's a virtual confessional but it's not just that...People from all over jus seem to post whatever they r thinkin and it's uncanny how everyone or anyone across the globe seem to think alike or respond to a question in the same way you would have!!!
When the page opens, you'll c a map and then the view will move around the globe until it rests on a pulsing circle. The text message displayed on the screen at the moment will be written by a person sitting somewhere under that dot. You can either simply sit and c the thoughts of the world unfold or join in...
It's also a wishing well for many... you jus drop your wish in the ocean of thoughts from all over and there it stays for a minute for all to see... only to be replaced by another, sometimes compelling and more often silly admission... It's pot luck but, it's therapeutic to see that most of the world is as crazy as you can be.

Well, apart from the fact tht it is addictive, all I can say is, it's worth a try.

Statutory Warning: It's unmoderated...so sometimes the thoughts aren't too well-thought out ;)

Expect anything from: "President Bush says "Bugs Bunny is a terrorist threat" to "Should I cook Japanese or Italian for dinner?" to "Cobras' are bras that can be worn by more than one woman simultaneously" to "I think I just farted" to "Christmas is not celebrated in Germany because the Germans never forgave Finland for being the home of Santa Claus." (Yup u can post anonymously.) Enjoy!

While you are it... do chk out this too... the whole idea of designer pets just got whackier. These genetically produced playthings gimme the creeps. Lemme know wat u think!

Luck ain’t a lady!

The day you don’t dress up, the whole world bumps into you.
The day you don’t carry an umbrella, it pours.
The day your dreamboat sees you, your face looks like a join-the-dots puzzle.
The day you are pulled up at work, you haven’t done your homework.
The day you wear white, you inevitably stain it.
The day you are in a hurry, the trains are running late.
The day you type out a painstakingly long mail, the comp crashes.
The day you are trying to diet, someone gets you chocolate brownies.
The day you go shopping, they take off the sale sign.
The day you have people over for dinner, the lights go out.
The day your friends actually foot the bill, you end up owing them much more.
The day you want to sleep desperately, the temple nearby blares religious ditties.
The day you get a great idea, you forget it.
The day you want everything to go right, things go wrong.
The day you feel like penning your magnum opus, you end up posting this!!!!

Lost and found

It’s the best place ever, thought Nidaan. He could hear Zeenat drawing curtains, lifting bedsheets and screaming out the names of those she had already caught. Pleased, he dozed off under Nimmi Bibi’s kameez. It would be ages before he would be found. After all, weighing 160 kilos, Bibi moved only once in four hours.

55: If only..

Multinationals, floods, marriage… they talked about everything into the wee hours of the morning. His quick wit and hands-on ways took her by surprise. Through the journey, he regaled her on. But it’s his effortless charm that struck her the most. As she bid him adieu, she thought: If only he wasn’t a rickshaw driver.

This and that...

Illusionists: Anyone who can appear thinner than they actually are.

She never felt hungry…coz she ate her lipstick all the time!

Ideal Husband: One who’d ask his wife, “Would it be
Dark Temptation or Chocolate Fantasy tonite?”

When in doubt, philosophise.

Catharsis: Finding a kindred soul in a stranger.

A poem is like fine wine, it grows on you with time.

Impulsive literature: Writing ‘as is’.

Rating derrières, these asses weren’t themselves a rear species.

Tune-deaf: Being out of sync with music.

Walls of brick and mortar could be razed, but severing ties of blood never came easy.

With my palm as its port, the feather set off on a journey across the world.

**

An unusual day in Bandra

Bandra turned unfair, as traffic snaked its way to Mount Mary.

Stuck on the flyover, commuters gaped at the longest traffic sandwich.

As the bike whizzed past, an imp dodged death and sold the woman a gajra.

An oblivious fatso got a full-on body massage by the Bandra talaab as passers-by gaped in amusement.

Funny: A Dominos delivery guy stopped us at the diversion and asked innocently, “Could you point me to the Dominos outlet please!”

Just as I tipped the waiter generously, he asked us to "kindly" leave the table!

Ice-cream loosened our tongues and we trashed everyone’s fashion sense.

Ricks lined up from here to eternity for gas that would run out soon… What a pity!

hmmm..

No name or place
fit this familiar face.
Guess she wasn’t
that familiar after all.

It’s strange
when a stranger
smiles at you.

Dunking devotion

Gulaal-fanatics
missed her
hiding behind
the newspaper,
while she skirted
the teeming traffic,
courtesy
the longer route
by the mall.

It was her
private caper
to escape
the long haul.

Oddly enough,
she wanted to
be immersed
in the
takara takara,
inspite of it all.

***



Why flock
the beach fronts
when you can
drown him
in a sea of people?

Pookalam

The gold-caparisoned elephant
hobnobbed with the
one-eyed kathakali
while the snake boats
rowed past
the long-stemmed
gold lamp as
my country cousin
typecast Kerala.
How could Mahabali
not stop by?

SFi poesy: Wishful thinking/Narrator's revenge

Just as he was thinking of a great what-if scenario,
it happened.
He became a preening drag queen waiting
for the stylist-lover to waltz by.
The woman sitting two lounges away
had penned him into her blasé chick-lit play…
Careful of what you wish for, is all I’d say.

SFi (Short Fiction)

The key in the lock turned. Pushing the door open, she saw a flash of arms and legs, entwined... enough for her to flee to the next apartment. Here she rang the bell. After five minutes, there was still no answer. Deciding to wait, she rang the bell again and heard it peal faintly from within. This time around, there was a scramble behind the door. When the girl opened with her disheveled hair and shirt inside out, the bai simply said, “Mi nantar yetay!”

l'ultimo

An earnest appeal
to all those
who feel,
that they owe
me an obit...

When I pass on,
do not sob
or make it a habit
to think of me
and grieve…
cause I wasn’t forced,
but chose to leave.

Instead,
just abide by
my last request
and look
for my favourite
tome or omnibus
and bury me in
the pages of that book.

Stray thoughts

a) Thoughts are such vagrant beings that they come and go as and when they please… and persistently beg until you’ve given them their due… Predictably, they find themselves left behind on the last traffic signal or replaced sometimes mid-consideration by another… At least, they don’t need to sign in and sign out everyday.

b) Dodging stray arms, legs, baggage and even children… in Mumbai is much more difficult than dodging bullets…

c) What if people said the first thing that popped in their head to anyone they met? I had that moment today when I saw this emaciated college kid. Well, the only thing striking about this stick and bones gal was her derrière … Surprising as it was, it was completely disproportionate to her body… like an entity by itself… I just wanted to say… “Gurl, what’s goin’ on down there?”… Whether I did or not, is butt for me to know and you to never find out.
After-thought: According to a spot survey conducted by none other than me, I found out that the number of songs dedicated to this part of the anatomy have drastically shot up… In the good ol’ days, there was jus Sir-Mix-a lot’s blasphemous ‘Baby got back’… Back then, women could say they were being objectified by men, but now we have the female species themselves bent on making objects of themselves… How else do you explain Black Eyed Peas’ “My humps”…?

THINGS I’VE BEEN WONDERING ABOUT:

1. Why the cute little 6-year-old with a coconut-tree pony didn’t accompany her grandpa to the railway station today?

a) Did she run out of paper to make those tiny boats that she daintily folds over as people rush by…

b) Did she get bored playing hopscotch on the foot over bridge?

c) Or did it finally dawn on her that all her blind grandpa was doing was standing there with his walking stick, one hand extended, for someone to take pity and toss a coin in?

2. Simple pleasures:
a) Listening to the public access system at the station and humming Clint Eastwood* in my head :)! *It’s a song by Gorillaz… Am still devising ways to bag sunshine…(If you’ve heard the song, you’ll know what I mean!)
b) Hearing the reassuring drone of an approaching train and then watching it envelope the platform with where it had been and where it will return… a boomerang ferrying Mumbai… The best part is sensing a stir go through the crowd like a Mexican wave, as it draws near… that’s when you know your chariot has arrived.
c) How we’ve bounced back amazes me… The city’s short-term memory seems to have worked in its favour… The other day, a loud, long-drawn-out sneeze was followed by an even louder comment that went: “Oye, desi cheekh!”… Predictably enough, a round of laughter trailed this remark. Mirth had returned as the constant companion of the men traveling in the first class compartment next to mine!

3. Marriage Mania: Everyone around me seems to be tying the knot, or talking about getting married or devising ways to get hitched… Now, I don’t have any problem with those being united in holy matrimony, especially those who’ve known each other for long or the wedlock was bound 2 happen category… but it’s those who are seeing others getting married and jumping onto the bandwagon, that I’m talking about… what’s the damn hurry… we aren’t living in the 14th century, so don’t give me that “society pressure” shit. Stand up to it and don’t settle… or rather compromise damn you!!!!
Afterthought: Just when I was trying to avoid all this wedding obsession talk, my mom just played this old track – You are a pink toothbrush… nodding my head away to its innocent tune, I was rudely shocked when 5 lines into the song, the pink toothbrush proposed to the blue toothbrush to marry it in haste!!!! Don’t believe me… chk this out.

4. Side-dish syndrome: Well, if you are a woman, even if average looking… no I take that back… If you are a WOMAN and walking past men, at a station, or a bus stop or a mall, and you hear this drawn out hisssssssssssssssssss typically followed by a comment, then you know that you’ve been included in their salivating menu for the day… or rather you are “Today’s special: spicy side dish”! Why in heavens name does any male in his right mind think that making that sort of sound is gonna get him anywhere? I think I answered it in my question itself… these men aren’t of the right mind or of the right kind after all.

5. Why men scratch their crotches as often as they blink?
Disgusting as it may seem, they do it anyway… on the road, in a meeting, at a wedding, you name it and they’ve done it there… what is it with ‘em anyway? Polish scientists claim that when men scratch their crotch, it means that they are thinking… hmmm how much does anyone wanna bet that the study was conducted by men?
A friend of mine said, “they grope for ideas in their groin”… Are you kidding me? I don’t think we want to know what sort of ideas originate from down there.
An interesting theory that most of my gal pals would agree with is that they check whether they still have their balls… figuratively speaking of course or maybe not!!! Ok, my point is… if men can scratch their thingammies as and when they please, then we women can spend hours in front of the mirror doin’ up our hair… at least we aren’t making a spectacle of ourselves in public places. On a more profound note, I’d give up brushing my hair altogether just so I wouldn’t have to see 'em religiously at it ever again!

Anatomy of a yarn

They are everyone…

The aunty shopping in her nightie.
The lone girl waiting for a ride by the road.
The DJ mixing songs at the Ganesh Mandal.
The school boys peering into a gutter.
The lovers quarrelling on platform no 4.
The man longingly looking out of a bus.
The septuagenarian pausing to remember.

They are everything…

A tight-fitting tee screaming “Junkie”.
A vigorous wipe down after a brush with an urchin.
A haggling session with the fruit vendor.
A pair of eyes spying a woman and peering at her breasts.
The inevitable lipstick stain on the styrofoam cup.
A soggy cigarette awaiting a light.

Most often than not, we see through them
or walk on by… but rarely give ‘em a second look.
All-pervasive, stories are the constant
companions we take for granted.
But they are resilient beings;
for each that we pass up on,
a million others are born!