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Dont know, dont care

Published on December 2, 2008 in Favourite posts, Life as it happens and No good. 10 Comments Tags: , , , .

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I hate family gatherings. The last time I was in the midst of one, at least six people commented on the way I looked, talked or even breathed for all I knew. They had a gala time being boisterous and smart mouthing about most things which they’d never be able to say out loud in the real world, at least thats what I inferred.

Almost every person beckoned me over and asked – Did you recognize me? Heck, I dont even recognize the same person I met six months back and we’re talking about years and years of reunion here. The only option was to bare my teeth and nod furiously saying – Of course I do! How can I forget.

For instance, I was summoned by someone who’s my great aunt, when in truth I couldnt tell the nature of our relationship to save my life. I walked up to her and a couple of her friends sitting inside, assumed what I felt was a respectable position and then started getting grilled about my life since I was born to 30 years hence.

Then suddenly, this lady at her right snorts out of the blue – Hah, now she doesnt recognize me! Do you know who I am? DO YOU!?!

I assured her that I didnt.

(I didnt want to start knowing her anyway since she seemed to get real angry by this point)

Continue reading ‘Dont know, dont care’

Pseudo feminist

Published on September 7, 2008 in Favourite posts, Gender blender and No good. 14 Comments

I have very strong feelings when it comes to gender discrimination. I’m usually telling people off whenever I come across discussions pertaining to women belonging to the inferior catgory and what not. One of my colleague sometimes counsels students by saying This is not America. While it is true that THIS really is not America, I find it hard to maintain perspective when he says that men can do anything they want because they can. And women cant. Thats the law of society and thats just how it is. So quit with the behaviour-influenced-by-western-culture. Understand?

He’s right, I know. Our culture and society favour men. We, the women are the weaker gender and even though so many issues have been raised regarding the equality of women, the gender debate is far from over.

I, personally dont think that women are any less capable compared to men. If I were a man, I’d be able to afford a wife (who wouldnt need to work) and raise children comfortably. I’d also rather punch the daylights out of all chauvinists but thats just how I feel.

So, it was a shock, a major one at that – when I discovered a woman standing with a measurement strip wound around her neck at a local tailor’s shop yesterday. I tried my best not to stare at her, closed my mouth and proceeded towards the tumultuous ordeal of talking business to her.

(After staring at the lady for a long time)

Me: Erm… where’s the other man who used to work here?

She: (Frostily) That guy left the shop ages back. He doesnt work here anymore.

(Desperately trying to figure if she would screw my dress because whoever’s heard of a female tailor??? Certainly not the pseudo-feminist that I was)

Me: Umm… It’s been years since I’ve visited your shop. Thats why I was looking for that other guy… (Attempting at something that probably does not even resemble a smile)

She: (Smiling back) Oh, thats all right. I’ve been working here for the past 4 years now.

(Sigh of relief as I exhale audibly. If she’s been working for 4 years, my clothes are in safe hands, I figure)

Me: Oh! I just didnt know that you’re working here. Okay. No problem.

As I left the shop, I thought to myself – how ironic is it that I berate others for gender discrimination when I, as a woman, did exactly that just now.

It is doubly hard to change the world unless you can change yourself. Isnt it?

Things to do before I die

Published on August 16, 2008 in Favourite posts and Good things. 13 Comments

I’ve watched The Bucket List a couple of times by now. The movie’s about two old guys who have precious time left to live and make the-list-of-things-to-do before they finally kick the bucket, which for them was soon enough.

I, on the other hand, inspired by a brilliant movie and this one blog here – have taken it upon myself (and my poor blog) to compile a list of things that I want to do before I die. Even if I never really do these things, what the heck – its just a list, right? So here goes nothing.

1. Go skydiving. Ok, so this is on the list in the actual movie. You know whats not there in the actual movie? ME. Back to skydiving, there’s one small problem though. You see, I’m afraid of heights. Cant look down a five-storey building without feeling all dizzy. So that means, I’ll either have to sky dive with my eyes closed or I’ll probably be dead before I reach the ground. I must be crazy to put this on #1. Maybe it should go in the list of things to do that-make-you die instead.

2. Get a tattoo. Yes, this is in the movie too. And no, I’m not copying the original list word to word. I’m a big fan of Ami James in the Miami Ink series on Discovery Travel & Living. So, #2, with a little rewrite, will be – get an tattoo at Miami Ink at South Beach, Florida. Woo hoo!

3. Learn how to ride a bike. Yeah, poor me used to drive a three-wheeled cycle when I was a kid and was petrified of a bicycle while growing up. Still am. Hmm… I think I’ll have to look up google to see if they’ve got a word for fear of bicycle riding and add that to my resume.

4. Visit Disneyland. Ok, thats a little pathetic for a soon to be 30 year old, I know. But I cant help it. I used to be a big Disney Time fan when I was younger. My favourite character was Daisy Duck although I used to despise Winnie Mouse. I would like to meet them, yes… but I cant forget this incident five years ago – when I was strolling down Brigade Road and a huge, white suited astronaut came straight at me to shake my hand – thats when I ran screaming away for my life.

Of recent times, I visited a local cafe last Christmas and was greeted by a stick-thin Santa Claus with an enormous pot-belly. Surprisingly I ended up shaking his hand. Yay! I’m no longer afraid of imaginary characters!

I’m also poor at sticking to one topic, apparently.

5. Learn a foreign language. Preferably Spanish. I did try to learn this on my own earlier. Then, I lost my Learn Spanish book. Someone borrowed it “to see” and I promptly forgot the borrower’s name. I guess being able to say lo siento, solo hablas english (thats – I’m sorry, I speak only English) doesnt really qualify as being able to speak in Spanish. Whats more, I think it defeats the purpose.

6. Travel to Europe. “Around the world” would have sounded like such a cliche. Plus, I want to especially visit Austria for two reasons – Sound of Music and Mozart. And yeah, visit Spain and converse with the locals in their language. Why else would I have learnt spanish?

7. Win a lottery. I’m just kidding. If one could do that, this point would be on everyone’s to-do-list henceforth. What I’m actually doing is compensating the extra-long #4 by keeping this point short.

8. Learn to swim. I once nearly drowned in a kid’s pool. That too, while trying to teach one kid how to not be afraid of the water and swim instead. Ever since then, I’ve always been under this impression that if I do want a watery grave in the future, all I have to do is learn how to swim.

9. Write a book. I’ve met people who’ve told me that they’ll write a book, someday. And I used to think – so will I. That was 10 years ago. That person who said this to me is probably dead or too old to gather his wits to actually write by now. And since I havent read any book by his name, I assume that he’s not written it after all. I’d hate for it to be that way with me. So, even if no one reads my book or it doesnt get printed or I dont get famous and earn loads of cash, I’d like to leave a book behind when I finally kick the bucket. How awesome would that be!

Dirty words

Published on June 21, 2008 in Favourite posts, I me & myself and Life as it happens. 9 Comments

I woke up today morning at six thirty
Twenty nine seem like words so dirty
Now I’m watching Friends on TV
And the dog’s about to sing happy birthday to me

Before I went to bed last night
Two friends mellowed me; namely vodka and sprite
As a result, midnight missed calls reigned supreme
While I did surprising song sequences in my dream

The world still seems the same, only I have aged
Even as a sea of turmoil inside me raged
I’m going to miss being twenty eight
I feel like a perfect fisherman’s bait

How quickly did all these years pass by
Half a lifetime flits in a blink of an eye
Much as I hate it, I’m growing old
I’m panicked and nervous – hey, I’m not that bold!

My aunt called me to wish me the other day
At 71, she’s feisty and spirited – that I can sure say
She refused to believe I was twenty nine
I laughed to hear her echo thoughts exactly like mine

I then wondered, if I really have to grow older by the year
Like her, I’d at least live life to the fullest – no fear
I suppose I should be thankful I’m not thirty
I stand corrected – those are the words most dirty

So long, Robin

Published on April 23, 2008 in Favourite posts and memoirs. 4 Comments

So long, Robin. Its been nice knowing you. I cant believe that its over. That we wont be seeing your smiling face in the office every morning. And that you wont be a part of our ‘lunch group’ anymore. This also means no one is going to go to Khusboo anymore for lunch since only you preferred that restaurant so much. But we will miss you very much.

I hope when you join your new job, you’ll do very well and incorporate your learning experiences while you were with us. Like how not to shout at your boss maybe. Although the fact that you’re very talented and hardworking normally outshines whatever little volcanos you host deep within, rest assured.

You’re such a beautiful human being. You laugh so easily at all my stupid jokes, I used to feel so clever and quite the wit. You are kind, intelligent and having you around has been extremely fun, drunk or sober. I shall never forget you cleaning my kitchen, that incident only made me realize that we were friends for good or bad and most importantly, clean or dirty. I shall miss you. Very much.

I shall also miss not being able to advise you anymore. Oh, what major life changing decisions you used to break your head on! I’m glad you didnt join the other job two years back or else I wouldnt have been able to get to know you this well. I wish you didnt have to leave us for it has been a bundle of fun all these months.

The office wont be the same without you. Everyday was like a picnic, sitting and gossiping half the time. And laughing the rest half of the time. (Boss reading this??? I know you wouldnt care anymore but dont mind if I do) Nevertheless, it has all been fun. And as we begin our separate paths workwise henceforth, I wish you happiness in everything you do. Or for that matter, dont do as well.

In your own words, luck luck luck, good luck dear Robin. Hope our paths cross more than deemed necessary and believe me when I say that the dance floor wont be the same without you. Goodbye, old friend. Your name may rhyme with dusbin but you shall always be king of our hearts.

Winkie speaks

Published on February 23, 2008 in Favourite posts and Winkie. 18 Comments

My name is Winkie. I am about 2 feet high and people usually seem to cross to the other side of the road as soon as they see me coming. I dont know why. I am friendly enough although I sometimes like to bark at random noises at equally random times not ruled by the clock. I can tell when its inopportune because thats when usually a slipper first comes hurling straight at me. Thats my cue to hush up or else a sleepy yet pissed being emerges out of bed to beat me up.

I spend most of my life staring at my owner while she spends most of hers ignoring me. Actually, she spends most of her life staring fixedly at an idiot box, while I can never imagine whats so important to keep her glued there for hours. I cant complain though – I’ve got an easy life. I consider getting two meals a day & sleeping as much as I want a good deal. Speaking of food, I’ve got my owner thinking that I wont eat my food without some meat in it. Heh heh. Some of the canine privileges that humans will give in to easily. I respect my owner for the fact that she includes meat in my diet irrespective of her financial condition at any period of the month.

She also tries to take me for my daily walk as much as possible. In fact, I wake up at the crack of dawn myself after which it is a long wait for sleepy head to finally wake up. If all goes well, we walk unless there’s the inevitable excuse of weather, hangovers and whatever it is that renders people unusable.

I never went to obedience school. My owner uses three different commands for the same thing and she thinks I’m an idiot! I’m never sure what to do when she says ‘Come, Chalo & Aja‘. I know ‘Sit‘ but am usually lazy enough to make her repeat it several times just for the heck of it. I also know ‘Shake hand‘ although transferring human traditions on dogs isnt very high on my agenda. Unless its for an edible treat for which I can shake both hands and more.

I dont have any other animal friends where I live, not counting the strays that get shooed away from the neighbourhood. Last time I tried to befriend the cat, I learnt about their retractable claws. I once tried to make friends with a goat that wandered in from somewhere but instead got introduced to one head butt of a really angry creature. My owner then smacked a stone right between the eyes of that goat but it stared back at her so much that she quickly left the scene with me in tandem.

This winter posed a crucial problem for me, sleeping arrangement wise. Since my owner no longer lets me sleep on the bed, I moved in to the sofa at night. She doesnt approve of this and always shoos me off it whenever she sees me. Thats why, I pretend to sleep on the old blanket on the floor and sneak up quietly on the sofa when she’s fast asleep. She has no clue whats going on and always seems puzzled to see the sofa covering all messed up in the morning, not to mention why the sofa cushions are on the floor. I am so clever, I should be a detective.

Wine, women & song

Published on February 11, 2008 in Favourite posts, Gender blender and In the drink. 7 Comments

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A typical wedding reception where I live includes a lot of drinking. The host actually gauges the level of a guest having a good time by the quantity of alcohol consumed by that person. And of course, there are plenty of people indulging in rambunctious laughing/talking/dancing. Naturally, the music is loud and there’s a great big, nicely decorated bar in the corner.

I dont have any problem with the above things. If people dont really care whether they have to crawl their way back home on all four limbs, that is their personal choice. What I dont like is the automatic classification of wine & women. The song, as I said before is loud and usually a racy, dance number.

The first thing people will ask me is if I’d like to drink some wine. Sometimes I’m asked for a second choice of red or white wine but thats usually the limitation for the drink offered to a woman. The rest of the guys get their whiskey, rum and what not.

I dont even like wine. That I will drink it anyway is another story.

As I looked around for other women, in the hope of spotting someone who didnt have a wine glass in her hand, I finally saw a grandma getting her glass filled with a big fat, patiala peg. After which the host diligently placed the entire bottle of brandy by her glass.

Either I will have to summon enough courage to widen the range of drink at the very beginning the next time onwards. Or I shall have to wait till I grow old till I am accepted to be a legitimate non-wine person, I think.

I am not your Auntie

Published on January 22, 2008 in Favourite posts and No good. 17 Comments

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A painful memory vexed me into writing this post. Please to not gauge my mood or sense of self depreciation by this one post only.

You think you’re respecting me by calling me this name – but I have news for you. I dont need no respect and I dont need anyone reminding me I am getting older by the day: I am not your auntie.

You think by bumping into me or stepping on my toes, you’re doing the right thing by apologizing profusely, therefore calling me this name – but I dont need no apologies and I dont need anyone to put iodised salt on my wounds: I am not your auntie.

You think that if I help you get the right direction or pick up jetsam from your bag, you’d want to thank me by calling me this name – I dont need a fake relationship or an overgrown niece. Therefore, I am definitely not your auntie.

You think since you’re a teenager or someone emaciated enough to look like one, you qualify in calling all and sundry by this name – have I got a newsflash for you: sooner or later you would so understand what I’m talking about and I wait earnestly for that day.

So after evidently bearing the brunt of how it feels like to be on the other side of the early twenties, I take this opportunity to apologise all the people I myself called aunties and uncles while my brain had not fully developed 10 years back. I wish I myself had read something like this way back… I wouldnt have even dreamt of calling my own auntie one.

Bartley, my son

Published on November 29, 2007 in Favourite posts and REC Calicut. 14 Comments

I once took part in a play in college. I was the mother with the powdered white hair. Although looking back, it seems I was always chosen to play the mother, dunno why. So anyways, this play was put together at the last minute which meant that nobody actually had any time to practice their lines or remember a long list of never-ending dialogues.

A classmate graciously offered to stand in the shadows, holding the script and prompt whenever the characters on stage forgot anything. With that infallible concept in hand, we headed towards enacting a most unforgettable and thoroughly laughable play in the history of that particular stage at least.

The scene was supposed to be a dramatically sad one; the dead body of the son is brought home and the family weeps at the loss of a life so young. When it was time for the mother’s speech of lament, luck had it that I remembered only two sentences which I stupidly repeated like about 10 times. I dont remember now exactly what misfortune befell the prompter but either she took just that time to take a break or she spoke so low that I couldnt hear any of my other lines.

So the white haired mother lamented thus – “Bartley, my son Bartley… now that you are gone, who will feed us and look after us?” That was the first line that I remembered. The second one went something like this – “Bartley, now that you are gone, who will fish for us and bring bread on the table“.

Later on, a friend in the audience told me that the mother came across as being only concerned about where her food is going to come from and for her, that was a tragedy even greater than a son dead.

Bartley, on his part also did his best to have the audience in splits. Although he was supposed to be dead, his eyes wouldnt stop blinking and his feet kept twitching for a dead body. We, the cast ourselves had a hearty laugh when we heard of the shenanigans that happened onstage later on.

And to think we got third place for this play. Maybe the judges gave points for all the laughter. And for the semi-dead Bartley perhaps. I’ve not had the courage to participate in any other play after that.

So you think you want a pup?

Published on October 9, 2007 in Favourite posts, Winkie and memoirs. 11 Comments

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Even I did, about a year ago… I wanted a pup so badly that I had to cry, beg and literally throw a tantrum before I was allowed one. It all began when I visited a friend’s place. She had two fully grown male labradors named Kane and Dylan. Kane was the lean, agile & easily excitable one who lived to play and bark non-stop whereas Dylan was the fat, lazy one who ate all his food without a pause and aimed at polishing off Kane’s leftovers, of which there was always plenty.

So I contacted a breeder and after a week, I was the proud owner of a two and half month fat, yellow female labrador puppy who was christened Winkie Poo. Winkie gets her name after the female house elf in the Harry Potter series.

Contrary to all the rules to be considered before buying a puppy, I did absolutely no research whatsoever before buying one. I didnt even know which and all breeds were supposedly good for what type of lifestyle. All I knew then was that I wanted another Kane or Dylan – period. Active or lazy… I didnt really care.

I also didnt have any idea that I would actually have to feed this pup, clean up her mess in the house and take her outdoors on a regular basis. Now its all hunky dory when you have people to help you with all that but when you’re a single mom to your pup, like moi, without the luxury of anyone helping out, you pretty much have to get down and do everything yourself, including picking doggy doo from the floor and disposing it outside. Every single damn time. Yuck was an understatement for a long time…

Trainers and dog walkers were not accessible to me where I live and I suck at training idiot pups. So by now, my dog is a disobedient imbecile who wont respond to any commands. She also refused to be toilet trained no matter how hard I tried to break that habit. For a long, long time. I seriously am not exaggerating when I say that my living room used to smell like a public toilet and was ashamed to let anyone enter my house.

Winkie never slept in her own bed while growing up. She used to sleep at the foot of my bed which I was okay with in the beginning… Then slowly, as the months went by, the small lump at my feet started growing heavier and heavier till I couldnt even move in my own bed at night. Thats when I started kicking her off the bed. Although she was adamant not to accept this new sleeping arrangement, several nights of kicking did the trick and now Winkie’s made the floor next to my bed her sleeping area. Whew!

I’ve spent endless cash on her vaccinations, de-wormings, food, toys, leashes that she bit her way through growing up, chains that she broke due to her sheer strength and so on. I love giving her a nice, juicy bone that she spends hours gnawing happily; which also means that whether there is meat for people in the house or not, Winkie gets meat all the time.

Finally, Winkie gave a whole new meaning to the words “Animal Loving” when she was teething. Her way of showing affection for me when I returned home in the evening was trying to sever my hand away from my body. She thought I was a chew toy and that she could dig her razor sharp fangs as and when she pleased. My arms used to be bruised with angry red slashes most of the time. Anyone would have thought I was being beaten up in my own home!

And now for the good news. Winkie turns one year old this 22nd. She’s now a sweet dog who doesnt strain against the leash and huff & puff when I take her for walks anymore. She’s also stopped lunging at any stray dog that crosses our path during the morning walks. She’s been toilet trained finally and her Animal Loving has gone pffttt. When I think back on what a savage little beast she used to be, I wonder if she’s the same dog…

What I’ve learnt from my stint as a rookie pet owner is that – while a pup may be cute and cuddy and sooooo sweet, she is also a big responsibility that you need to step upto and do your best. I’ve seen many people give away their grown dogs simply because they cant take care of them anymore. Why take one in the first place? Would they do the same to their own child?

I love my dog. She’s the apple of my eye and the best thing thats happened to me. I guess, in the end the question is, if and when you buy a pup, will you be the best thing thats ever happened to them.

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