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July 02 The Greatest Show on Earth- dubbed in IndiaDear India,
i know this blog entry comes as a surprise to most. i don't want you to consider this a half ditch attempt at resurrecting a "Ghost Blog", but as a sincere message to every Indian to wake up and smell the coffee.
Tanzanite is a stone lacking a single electron in its atomic structure, due to which it is left a dull green /purple stone, lacking the lustre and hype of its more fortunate isomer, the Diamond. this sounds eerily similar to our country India, who for sheer lack of good leadership, is stuck in the Doldrums.
If you think about it carefully, Indians love a good family saga. for the last sixty years of Post-Independant India, and a couple of years before that, one family in particular has managed to market the Ultimate Indian Cinematic Marvel. from a population of less than half of what is today, sixty years ago, to today's 1 billion, this is one saga whose TRP's are unparalled. we have watched in foolish awe as one particular political family has governed our nation for the better part of the half century, silent spectators to their follies. a family that has made its fair share of mistakes, for which WE are paying the price today. we are the products of a single family's ambition and short-sightedness. we are a star-struck audience, staring passively at the Greatest Show on Earth. we are the couch potatoes who refuse to turn off this ridiculous show. the commercials carefully interspersed show us that "india's shining", show us images of Modern India being a world player, cleverly lulling us into a deep stupor. we forget to question the integrity of the main show that's running before our very eyes. we merely gape at each twist and turn in the tale.
the price we are paying is high. it is almost too much to fathom. yet we continue to promote this ridiculous show. we don't care who the actors are, we don't question their dedication to our country. we merely chase a brand name, that has done more harm than good. little wonder we're called the Blue Billion.
regards,
an Indian March 23 life's lessonsthe fan mail continues to pour in, the masses wait on tenterhooks, begging for more, and so i decided to drop a quick line and resurrect this gasping, pulseless blog. contrary to what most people imagine, it isn't the new harry potter book that's on everyone's mind, but the Mystery of the Missing Person!
recently i found myself in a couple of amusing situations. the first one started as mundanely as every other ward day, with me standing in front of a ward filled with patients, screaming out their names, while occasionally one of them deigns to raise a finger skywards and draw attention to where they are sitting. most of them look around sleepily in a drug/disease induced stupor, while their relatives who should be responding continue to stare blankly in their permanently stuporous states. so the other day, i found myself with a syringe in one hand and a spirit dotted swab int he other screaming "bhagwan, kaun hai? bhagwan kaun hai?" like a crazy woman when a friend of mine started laughing. we both had to agree that this was a funny way to find out the Truth that many a philosopher and saint have spent lifetimes pursuing. in my mind's eye i saw myself as a bag lady in the streets of New York with a white placard hanging around my neck saying - BHAGWAN KAUN HAI? MAIN AAPKA KHOON LENA CHAHITI HOON!" lesson #1: dont call your child Bhagwan! it's high praise!
the second instance came in true Medical Sitcom-style. 30 Male patient bitten by a snake, comes into the Casualty on his own, speaking an unintelligible dialect. my Houseman asks him "which snake has bitten you?" the patient mumbles the name in his local dialect, leaving the houseman and me at a loss. finally i pop up with a question "saap ke sir pe chashma tha kya?" lesson#2: don't come to me if you are bitten by a snake! January 09 DDLB- the legend continuesa couple of years ago i wrote a script about the Desperate Diabetic Lipstick Bomber. today i found myself very much in the same position- trudging off to the US Consulate for a Visa Interview, with the singular advantage of having been coached by the DDLB.
8:30 am: dada's holding the lift door ajar shouting "if u dont hurry up i'll be late for work!!" i'm scrambling to get all my documents into a politically correct plastic bag. dada asks me y i haven't combed my hair. "i paid 550 bucks for this look!" i retort, somewhat irritated.
8:45 am: madhukar drops me off at the building at mahalakshmi. you see, the mother has paid 150 bucks for me to take a little sojourn down a road that i must have walked a million times since childhood- from mahalakshmi to breach candy. anyways, i'm hustled into a waiting room.
8:46 am: aishwarya rai is working herself up into a lather with "nimbuda nimbuda....nimbuuuuuuuda" on the screen on the wall. since my last association with this song was less than satisfactory on a perilous bus ride back from pune, i couldn't help feeling just a little nauseous. the man behind the food counter insists i have the complementary Starbucks. "no, no," i decline politely, "i'm feeling Vomitty."
8:50am: young man in black sits on the chair next to mine. "hi" he says in a quiet voice. "uuhh....hi," i reply disinterestedly. at this point i'm about to realise that in the US Visa office, people find it mandatory to talk with american accents, a priviledge previously restricted to those who had been as far as Sahar Airport. now it was the trend to start early, and what can be earlier than the visa office itself!
8:51am: "so are you here?" asked man in black. "here? ya i'm here" i reply confused. "oh so where here?" he asked. "in.....mumbai!" i state the obvious. by then i realise that in this sacred zone "here" is america and "there" is india. "over here i live in florida," he voluteered. "i'm there on vacation."
8:52am: i tried to avoid further conversation by staring at the TV screen. not so bad...its Mahive thats playing. i begin to eavesdrop on the conversation between a gujju father and his 10year old daughter in an little itemnumber number. the poor thing was struggling with a tight body-hugging blue dresscovered in sequins with a formidable slit that reached pretty high up when she sat down. "papa vo kya hai?" she asked pointing at a picture of the Statue of Liberty. "vo to phreedom ka statue hai", the father replied patiently. this was all too much for the Parsi lady sitting next to them, looking disapprovingly at the rising slit. "thats the statue of Liberty!" she stated emphatically. "hanh hanh" the father nodded in aqueisance.
"to papa vo kya hai?" asked the little girl pointing to a picture of Mt. Rushmore. "vo to ek rock hai, jisme saare presidents ke faces chisel kiya gaya hai," replied the Parsi lady out of turn. she then proceeded to name all 52 american presidents! oh boy, i thought to myself, if anyone deserved to pass this interview it had to be her!
9:15am: man in black has finished telling me how his saaftware career is so fulfilling. how he finished his engineering from "swami vivekananda" in mumbai, which has said with such a heavy accent that i almost didn't understand what he meant.
9:30am: choli ke peechche kya hai is beginning to play on screen. THANKFULLY at that moment they called for the 9:15 group to get into the bus.
9:35 am: reached the consulate. call for all single men to please leave to bus. a group of four single men from the same company continue to remain seated. they thought single men meant those travelling without a group. the consulate people consider "single men" to be those travelling without a family. a minor quarrel ensues.
9:40 am: single women and families yanked off the bus.....a big disrobing session follows as we remove belts, coin, watches etc.etc. at the gate. i'm searched by the security officers and allowed inside.
9:45am: the process is highly efficient. a big comfortable room where constant entertainment was being provided by a 3 year olf gujju kid, whose only distraction from wailing was slapping his father on both cheeks. the father was trying to console him in his american-gujarati. the kid was inconsolable till his mother appeared on the seen. she was a woman with flaming red cheeks. i could tell the kid had been busy!
9:46am: all annoucements including the ones in gujju are made with southern drawls- pa-tell nu baari, jamalbhai pa-tell ni parivar baari no. paanch pe aave". i'm amused.
10am : my no. is called. i happily go in to interview with a delightful american chinese lady.
mission accomplished! January 05 of signboardsa few of the funny signboards that i saw en route from shirdi to mumbai.
it was a deliciously cold day today, with the temperatures in the car dropping to below zero with my father's fetish for keeping the a/c at its most effective. i found myself cocooned in the backseat wrapped in a dozen blankets feeling eerily like a mummy, trying desperately hard to wiggle my toes in their tight encasement in a vain attempt to prevent gangrene from setting in, while staring out at the scenery on the mumbai-nashik NH3. its a beautiful time of the year to be travelling. the bare arrogance of the mountains standing defiantly tall in the distance was a pleasant contrast to the lush fields of farm land at the foot hills. we saw several tiny hutments with a bunch of cows tied to the door ways, along with the occasional spot of a bright pink sari on a lonely figure working on the land.
just as i found myself trying to remember the words the "the Solitary Reaper" with my father volunteering his own version of the poem, we were slapped out of out reviere by the sight of a huge inverted saucer. "lo and behold!" i thought to myself in true roswell style. "is it a bird? (obviously not!) is it a plane? is it a flying saucer?" it turned out to be "SUNDAR restaurant known for its fine dining and vegetarian food (cooked in a separate kitchen)." i was certainly never going there.
further down the road we saw "MANAS FAMILY RESTAURANT. FOR THE WHOLE FAMILY. WITH BAR.FOR PERMIT HOLDERS ONLY."
and so this charming little restaurant expected the entire family to come with permit-holding kiddos for a meal. how sweet!
a few miles ahead came the more sophisticated sign boards of the Taj group, and some others. the Taj signboard was particularly eye catching. on top of a picture of a champagne flute ran the words "VISIT THE CITY OF PILGRIMAGE. AND HAVE A DRY MARTINI". huh?
and just when i thought the fun was over i saw another one, which was either trying to be exceedingly modest, or simply sticky about morality- "VIKAS HOTEL- FOR DECENT ACCOMODATION."
full marks for creativity! December 10 stealinghave u seen that ad on television? the one where that girl stuffs a music system into her bag and that guy steals an entire television set, after which the words "U WOULDN'T STEAL A TELEVISION SET, SO WHY STEAL MUSIC!" comes in big scraggy letters. it was that ad that sparked a gigatic debate, a war of almost mythic proportions, between my irritatingly virtuous split personality Rupaji, my dear friend Hector Kapur and myself. confused? i'll splice:
1. i saw the ad on tv a couple of months ago, and like all other commercials it was filed in some tiny corner of my brain, along with the Dove soap ad (with the litmus paper test), the ads for "ghost hunter" or ghost whisperer whatever its called, sanitary pad ads (as a woman i can tell u, those actresses in their white pants need to be slapped), and all life insurance ads.
2. spoke to my dear friend boob sometime in the week. she proudly declared that she was never going to download songs from the internet, so influenced by the ad, was she.
3. wrote this off as another one of the boob's eccentricities. she does weird things like buying hand creams after seeing them on tv.
4. continued to do the illegal.
5. Rupaji surfaced a few months later. she tends to appear in times of stress, and torments me with her ridiculous suggestions. after switching the lights on and off 17 times, checking if the locker was locked 6 times, checking if the handbreak is up in a parked car a zillion times i decided it was time to give Rupaji the axe.
6. had a bitter fight with her, where amongst many other things, she accused me of being a thief~! "WHAT!" i thought to myself, "HOW DARE SHE!"
7. stress of exams persisted, so schizophrenic personality remained. rupaji, after continuous nagging convinced to stop doing the illegal.
8. nokia released their new N series, with its fabulous soundtrack. this ad was instantly stored in the front of the front lobe of my brain. the song stuck in my temporal lobe and refused to budge. rupaji and song were fighting for space in my overloaded brain, like people fight for space in the 6:00pm churchgate local.
9. finally decided i had to have the song. rupaji vetoed the idea.
so this is the first fight.
next conflict was between me and Hector.
1. i told hector to download the song for me. he still does it you know.
2."why don't u do it youself?" he questioned. "because it's like stealing!" i replied, horrified that he would think so poorly of me.
3. hec rolled his eyes. he's known me for sometime now.
result- i didn't get the song eventually. exams got over. rupaji died a timely death.
as it so happened, the other day i saw a book i've been wanting to read for sometime now, in the bookstore. like all books in that store it was overpriced, and already looked like it had been read by ten people before me. saw it at the traffic signal that very same evening, and mentioned to Hector that i wanted to buy it.
Hector who never fails to remind me of my eccentricities immediately replied, "but buying pirated copies from the road is STEALING!"
i conceeded defeat.
MORAL OF THE STORY. downloading songs from the internet, though everyone in india seems to do it, is stealing. buying pirated books of the traffic lights is like encouraging stealing. so just watch the ads on tv instead. that's ok.
i'm without both the song, and the book.
October 19 the smell of treasoni was flipping through a well reputed International magazine when i stumbled upon a strange picture. what looked like a child's stick figure artwork turned out to be a picture with terrible implications. a crudely drawn circle filled in with yellow crayon had a steel rimmed set of specatcles on its face, an inverted shoe brush for hair, two bent matchsticks for a nose and a lock for his mouth. on closer scrutiny, the slanting eyes were actually two missiles pointing at each other, and the seemingly innocuous mushroom in his hand, could only represent one of mankind's greatest fears.
the entire caricature was to represent North Korea's Kim Jong 2 and his most recent entry into the nuclear powers of the world.
i'm a worried person.
who makes the rules? why do some have it and then expect others to follow a policy of disarmament? why was this even invented and USED in the first place? whatever happened to the old adage of pointing one's finger at a neighbour and having three more pointing back at u? we can't turn back the clock...we can't erase the irremediable mistake of a Big Country. we can't erase the number of people's lives it has irrevocably changed. and we can't tell other people not to protect themselves from enemy countries.
but who is going to pick up the pieces of this ridiculous race? who is going to bear the expense of nuclear research and the making of bombs? more frightening is the question, who is going to bear the loss of someone actually using the bomb?
the child on the road, to whom OPV wasn't administered due to substandard immunisation programs, due to substandard budgets?
the malnourished family of ten children in a slum?
the haath-gaadi worker who can't afford surgery because he can't afford that one meal a day?
another article that caught my eye was one entitled TREASON, with a list of guilty people from the United States. out of sheer curiosity i opened the dictionary and looked up the word.
BETRAYAL. BREAKING OF AN ALLEGIANCE.
why aren't we trying the perpetrators of the 1993 blasts as well as the recent train blasts in Mumbai for treason? is it becuase their acts of terror don't fit a legal definition of the word. why are they only being tried as terrorists? aren't they guilty of an even greater crime, of killing their brothers and sisters on NATIVE soil. doesn't it mean anything to be a Mumbaiite, an Indian?
killing people is condemnable.
war is a curse.
but betrayal stinks to high heavens. September 30 in the face of fearA train of thoughts chugging through my mind
The panic sets in
I see a face in the mirror before me
The girl of yesterday has gone.
The girl with the chocolate eyes and carefree grin...
Here is a face drowning in fear
Cynicism
Disillusionment
All crowding up the chocolate eye till it is stretched so wide , it might tumble out.
A million thoughts burst in my brain.
I feel the noose around my neck.
(the image of a man i once saw, with the tell tale burn at the base of his neck.)
I see the chocolate eye melt.
Each drop trickle out, thick, rich, brown.
Courses down my face.
(tear cancer, a basal cell carcinoma that occupies the "tear region" of the face. Or maybe because the patient finds nothing but tears on seeing a face he can't recognise.)
I feel light headed now.
The ground seems so far below.
My thoughts are replaced by images
Of faces once seen.
And now forgotten.
August 10 low cut?ok, i'll admit it...we medical students are a strange breed. our conversations are so bizarre that people on the train pratically fall off their seats in an attempt to eavesdrop! mostly, we talk about medicine, sex and television...about the first we have a little knowledge and experience, about the second, alot of knowledge and no experience, about the third endless amounts of knowledge and experience. its a strange life we lead. very imbalanced, i think.
just a short re-cap on yesterday's conversation over dessert at a place called choco's or something like that at the bandra shopper's stop. the dessert corner runs into the main shop, so we found ourselves skilfully trying to down a chocolate mousse with people knocking into our chairs every minute or so. i looked up from an eating break only to find the odd looking man on the next table finally remove the dark glasses that he was wearing indoors, and stare at me strangely! i was quite alarmed and mentioned this to friend no.1. (later i find out he was looking behind me, at his daughter who was holding a new purchase up for approval)
"obviously he's going to stare!" says friend no.1 bitingly. "ur kurta is so low cut!"
i blinked at him in shock. i mean, here i was trying very hard to keep up with the latest fashion, given the binding contraints of medical college propriety, only have my West Side (height of conservative bawa fashion!) kurta so bitterly torn to shreds. "whats wrong with it?" i questioned, a bit aggresively.
"it could have done with one more button," friend no. 2 replied. "it's too low," nodded the third, in agreement. by this time friend no.4 and i were in splits, well aware of the fact that we hung out with the most conservative guys in Mumbai. i mean, these guys are gentlemen in every sense of the word, and its a well known fact that their taste does NOT run to the obscene, revealing, or remotely sexy!
"stop laughing!" whined friend no.1. "we're just telling u because u mentioned that the guy was staring!" while he slowly worked himself up into a lather.
"but there's nothing wrong with this!" i protested amidst uncontrollable fits of laughter. "you don't like anything that shows more than the face and neck of a woman!"
"what rubbish!" he replied. "i most certainly like seeing more than a woman's face and neck!" and proceeded to name all the celebrities whom he found titillating.
"nonsense," responding friend no.4, "on ur wedding night, we'll have to get u a nuptial blanket!"
"huh? what's a nuptial blanket?" asked friend no.3.
"oh," i said, leaning closer, "its a blanket which a single opening for required use."
"haha!!" said friend no.3 , "that like painting and draping and exposing the required part for surgery!"
at which point of time all of us fell down on the floor, laughing!
friend no.1,2,3 are male. (perfect gentlemen i must add, for any interested females)
friend no.4 is female (with a very high sense of fashion and style!)
July 23 young onesi have to admit, there is something terribly endearing about young love! not one to be swayed by the corny and the frivolous, (read i don't like cards with flowers and violins on the cover, neither do i like ridiculous programs like One Tree Hill or songs by the BackStreetBoys) but the occasional site of a young couple holding hands in the rain, in our Pramod Navalkaresque world, does bring a smile to my face. i'm amazed by their boldness, their courage to hold hands in front of the Whole Wide world, while the neighbouring Auntie is clucking disapprovingly and itching to tell their parents!
the thought came to mind the other day on the train, when i saw a young working couple in the general compartment, while i myself sat perched in the ladies' compartment. they were staring into each others' eyes, while their bodies swayed pendulously towards each other with the movement of the train. they were giggling and smiling, so pleased with each other and the illicitness of young love. i found myself smiling too. i looked around and found that i was not alone in my observation. the entire ladies' compartment was staring at them! a few old Aunties frowned, one went so far as to glare, the more indulgent ones smiled reminiscing about their youth. a group of school girls sat their with their jaws wide open, while another college going girl looked wistfully at the couple...
a regular site at the 155 bus stop, is a gaudily dressed young couple who meet every afternoon, chaperoned by a very reluctant younger sister! they laugh and hold hands in plain view at the busstop, while the unfortunate little sister is left counting the number of passengers boarding the bus. i really wonder how they got her to go with them!
i recently went on a trek, where some of the party consisted of a trio. these three college kids were enthusiastically making their way to matheran, but on the way back began addressing a huge crisis in their lives. long story short, one of the girl's parents didn't know that she was going on the trip as a chaperone to her friend and her boyfriend (though the friend's mother knew) and now she didn't want her mother to find out or else she (the mother) would think less of the friend! my friend and i were quite befuddled until we figured out this entire equation, and then began to laugh at her predicament!
so what is so wrong about this young love? is it only validated when it ends in marriage? some of the marriages are condemned as well, because of caste or class issues. why can't those bossy, disapproving women, suspicious parents,and Pramod Navalkar just give these people a break! why don't they realise that its something even they went through (maybe not in PN's case!)
apart from the couples themselves, another grateful lot will definitely be the reluctant chaperones, who are stuck with the most thankless task of them all!
July 12 monalisa smilea letter from a mother to her daughter:
Dear Sonali,
all these years you must have wondered why i put up with his nonsense. the drinking, the flirting, the constant scrutiny over my expenses, the singular lack of freedom. did u think for one second that i didn't want to walk out? did u think i didn't feel stifled in my marriage?
i used to hold my breath everytime i set dinner on the table, waiting for the outburst to follow once he tasted the pot. waiting for the incessant complaints about the quantity of salt, how it must be added before hand. the constant advice from a supposed connoiseur, who didn't even know how to make a cup of tea himself!
i used to wait for remarks about my "inferior" parentage and breeding, till finally they ceased to hurt me anymore. they fell away from me like the peel of a banana. swiftly, noiselessly.
i did it for u. i did it for myself as well. i had too much pride to tell my mother of my misgivings. worse still, i didn't want her to say the words "tolerate it". the grand fallacy of the Place of the Indian Woman in Society. the biggest lie of them all! they may worship us like Godesses, but only infront of the world. they may leave everything to us in name, but its just that- in name only.
it is the cross we have to bear. its handed down to us from one generation to the next, and we teach it to our daughters. we teach them not to expect any better, for that is the nature of men. we teach our sons to behave the same, for that is the circle of life. we are to blame for our own misfortune.
but for u, little one, i have a different plan. u are going to be my little angel who never settles for less.
the glimmer of hope, in our dark society.
all my love,
Mother June 14 the ugly ducklinga group of children crowded the entrance of the US Club, excitedly licking on Vadilal ice lollies (all of them orange flavour) as they waited to enter. the older ones were skilfully balancing the fast dwindling ice on the stick, while the younger ones had resorted to licking off the cold orange rivulets off their fingers and wrists. any passer-by could tell that they were cousins. a mob of children with creamy complexions, hair ranging from black to light brown, each with an eye colour more exotic than the next. there were pairs of blue eyes, green eyes, brown speckled with green, one pair with two different colours, grey eyes, the list was endless. it was amongst this exotic looking bunch that Deepti's dark brown eyes stood out, set on a round chocolate coloured face, crowned by a huge mass of black curly hair. her hair seemed to have a life of its own, moving in the wind like an octopus' legs, eaching trying desperately to grab a ray of sunshine. the attendant at the entrance of the club called out loudly "4 girls and 5 boys" as their grandfather signed them into the club. "i'm not a boy, i'm a girl!" cried Deepti as the man cruelly included her in the latter group. her cousins burst out into peals of laughter, nudging and pinching her all the way inside. Deepti felt hot tears of frustration well up inside her throat. this was the story everywhere! she couldn't grow her hair long, because her mother said it was too unwieldy to manage, and so with her short mane, she looked like a boy!
that night, while brushing her teeth before bed, Deepti looked into the mirror and shut her eyes tight and performed a ritual she did every night. she wished her skin was lighter, her hair straighter, her lips thinner. she wished that she looked like her brothers and sisters, all light-skinned and angelic, the prototypical Indian beauties.
she wished she was Beautiful.
Deepti took a deep breath and opened her eyes to see if her wish had come true. the dark brown eyes stared back at her, while her thick afro lips curved downwards, the lower lip quivering tremulously." it never seems to work," she thought to herself, and clambered into bed.
Deepti eventually grew used to the underlying social ostracism at every family occasion throughout her childhood. there were the pitying looks from old aunts who stopped to appraise the children. each cousin was more "beautiful" in the Indian sense, than the next, till they reach Deepti who stood out, quite literally, as the black sheep. the Aunts would immediately cluck their tongues and wonder who SHE looked like. Ofcourse some were less subtle than the others and went out of their way to lable her "the ugly duckling" and "neg%$".
Beauty seemed to be an illusive friend, who could solve every problem. she began to wish for it more and more.
years later Deepti looked back on this strange tradition and laughed. she had finally grown up, and it suddenly didn't seem to matter anymore. the Old Aunts were lond dead and buried, and new social trends welcomed all skin colours. Beauty didn't seem anymore useful to those who had it, than to those who did not! and so on her 15th birthday, when a relative remarked "how pretty Deepti has turned out to be!" she turned her face away in shame.
She never wanted to go down that road again! June 10 the diary of a child7th July 1965
Today was the most frigthening day of my life, in all my seven years! it started like all the others, the breakfast routine, the requisite amount of tears over a glass of milk, the squishy bowl of cornflakes and my mother repeating her favorite line most resolutely, "good children listen to their mothers. aren't u a good child?" she was really very persistent, till i finally replied that in no uncertain terms was i a good child. infact i was a very bad one, and really didn't want to do anything she told! my younger brother on the other hand, was acting every inch the angel that he was. it was so easy for him to be good, i thought to myself, he simply did what he's being told! my mother sniffled at my brusque reply, and i saw her eyes well up with tears. "how can my child be so naughty!" she moaned, and went about her morning chores.
summer vacations were quite boring without mona, my best friend in the whole wide world. her parents had decided to whisk her off to nainital for a whole month, and i couldn't imagine what i would do without her! ofcourse i had my younger brother vinod to play with, but he was just so...well...pesky! i was beginning to feel the stress of an uneventful and boring day envelope me, when the phone rang.
"Hello, Good Morning Captain Singh," chirped my mother over the phone. "yes yes, he's expected to return this evening, by a Naval Plane." there was a moments silence after which my mother let out a gasp. "alright, thank you for telling me. i'll find out what i can," she said, and hung up the phone. i could see the look of plain terror on her face, mixed with an element of confusion. she began twirling the edge of her saree padar with her finger, an all too familiar gesture betraying her anxiety. she looked down at me and began talking slowly and carefully.
"baba's coming back from calcutta today, darling. the thing is, i was told he would either come by a Naval Plane, or by the Indian Airlines morning flight, whichever was convenient. there has been a plane crash of an Indian Naval Plane captained by a friend of your father's, and we don't know if he was on it. i need to go to Khanna Uncle's house, and make a few trunk calls," she explained. i could hear the quiver in her voice as she spoke. she wrapped her arms around me. "i need you to take of your brother for a few hours darling. i need you to be brave for my sake. you are a good child beta. will you do this much for me?"
i felt all the blood rush to my face. ofcourse i could do this much for my mother! i immediately hugged her tight an promised to be good and responsible.
my mother then quickly decided to take vinod and myself to the theatre for a matinee show since we didn't have a baby-sitter, which would give her a few hours to sort everything out. she pushed us into a rickshaw and minutes later vinod and i found ourselves in the darkness of the cinema hall, staring at the huge screen.
i don't remember what the storyline was. i can't remember who the actors and actresses were. i only vaguely remember staring at the screen, praying and praying that my father was alive. i wondered who would take care of us if he was dead. would we go live with my granny in bandra? would we ever be happy again?
i felt tears course down my face, and tried to lick them with the tip of my tongue, so vinod wouldn't notice. i saw my father in my mind, smiling down at me. i saw him push me on a swing, hug my mother when she sulked. i couldn't stop the tears. they seemed to be endless!
just then, i felt a tiny hand in mine. vinod gripped my hand tightly and i looked down at his trusting expression. "i'll look after us," he said "i will!"
the movie ended like all others, the hero and heroine embracing against the techinicoloured sky. vinod and i went home, holding hands all the way. we rang the doorbell and waited apprehensively. just then the door swung open, and vinod and i were scooped up into our father's tight embrace. May 27 before sunsetthis past few days i've been chasing the sunset. i glance out of the window at around 6:30-6:45, and gasp! It takes my breath away.
after carefully documenting the sky over the last one month, these are the best sunsets we've seen......i wanted to tell a story using these pictures, because thats what i feel they are doing. the sky is telling us a tale, one that is exciting and enthralling. unfortunately i don't have the time right now, so i thought id just share the photos with u all! enjoy!
May 21 Leaving Las Vegasi tapped the transparent walls around me with my knuckles and heard the familiar dull note of a plastic sheet echo around me. i pressed my nose on the wall and tried to peer as far into the distance as i possible could. there was no one in site. i slumped down on the floor, my back along the wall, and began to review my life, like playing back a tape in reverse....
i have always been terribly vain about my looks. sure, i am a little heavy around the waist, i think, as i run my hands down my mesomorphic body, but that doesn't stop people from staring at my beautiful tear-drop shaped figure, in awe! i must confess, there is no feeling more delicious than catching site of myself in a mirror, or a beam of light cutting through me, revealing a brilliant rainbow reflection on a shiny surface. i love the feeling of dancing through life with a blaze of confidence, obtaining a sneaky feeling of satisfaction from the envious glances directed towards me. ofcourse, people "love to hate me", as the old adage goes! they disapprove of my wanton ways, my easy familiarity with members of the opposite sex, my single minded pursuit for a life of pleasure and comfort. they point fingers at me, judge me, condemn me, but somehow, i always manage to be one-up on them!
from a tender young age i was taught, by my elders, the art of seduction, a common practice in our geisha-like lives. i was taught to use my charms on people and effortlessly step into a life of comforts and pleasures. my first boyfriend was a elderly gentleman, whose name, for the sake of maintaining his privacy i shall withhold, and merely referr to him by his intials- Mr. T.B. TB. fell in love with me the moment he saw me sailing around the city, one summer day. he began a whole-hearted pursuit and a week later i moved in with him, into his gorgeous pent house. his duplex flat on the 34th floor was modelled to resemble a Sultan's palace, with huge red granite pillars at the entrance, and flooring of the same colour. my room was nestled at the end of a long meandering corridor, with plush interiors and a view to die for!
our relationship was a long and tender one. he introduced me to the world of business and taught me a bit of his trade. i must confess, i was falling in love with him! our idyllic romance however, was, not meant to last! all this while i had turned a blind eye to his many indiscretions but one day, the landlady of the building (another one of his paramours) found out about me and kicked us out!
after that, i was doomed to a string of unsuccessful relationships, all the while craving for something more permanent and long-lasting. i found society was being unfriendly and cruel to me, continuosly pointing fingers at me. what had started out as a faint murmur against citizens like me, was turning into a huge rumble of "drive them away!" The government set up Committees to decide what was to be done of citizens like me. apparently, we were a huge threat to the moral fibre of a society! i felt hurt and betrayed!
last week was the final crack-down on us supposed "anti-social elements." after a huge raid which lasted 24hrs, with three separate investigations, i was imprisoned in this jail with plastic walls. i find myself cold and alone, unaware of what is going to happen next.
suddenly i hear footsteps in the hallway. a man with a mask is peering at me closely. he flings me onto a glass stage and the last thing i remember, is a giant white light flashing down at me, till the glare of the bulb numbs my exhausted brain. my entire life flashes before my eyes.i realise that here im going to meet my end, my whole life exstinguished with one swift blow, like the way we exstinguish a candle, or smudge out a droplet....
May 09 a short storyA cool breeze entered the room sending a stack of papers dancing into the air, while Padma struggled to keep her curly mass of hair of her face. she was in the middle of doing a task she had put off for years, arranging all her legal documents and certificates. A Master of Procrastination, Padma had avoided the ever-growing pile of papers for years, and so after 25 years of marriage she found she was faced with a daunting task of sorting through her husband's, kid's and her own documents, generously doled out by the Indian Government, till it reached a point that every milestone in their lives had been reduced to a minor event scrawled on a piece of Government paper, certified by a Class 3 worker. her marriage certificate, the births of her children, ration card, domicile, passports all dog-earred and faded, as if the paper itself wanted desperately to forget that the event had, infact, happened.
Padma found herself gazing down at her marriage certificate, her husband's beautiful signature a stark contrast to her own illegible scrawl. beneath that was the signature of the clerk in the court. a stranger who bore witness to the most precious moment in their lives, who shared it with them, and then vanished into oblivion in the blink of an eye. Padma's mind wandered back to those early years of their marriage, those bitter-sweet years, which laid the foundation for the rest of their lives.
Padma and Kumar got married on the 2nd. June 1980, on one of the rainiest days Mumbai had ever seen. she remembered entering her husband's house as a new bride, desperate to love and please a family she barely knew. she remembered entering the house and being startled by the two large photos of her husbands late grandmothers staring down at her, garlanded by an old wrinkled set of flowers, way past their prime. the women in the photos had looked upon their grand-daughter-in-law with a great deal of disdain, the corners of their mouth curved downward firmly. she quickly reminded herself to be on her best behaviour.
the years flew by, with children being born, Padma and Kumar rapidly ascending the corporate ladder, holidays to beautiful places, teaching the kids different sports, every precious moment in their lives documented by numerous photographs and postcards. Padma soon re-arranged the house and placed photos of her kids in various corners of the house.she took down the photos of the two severe grandmothers and arranged them on a table. she also put one of herself and kumar on their 10th wedding aniversary. photos of the gorgeous golden retriever asterix who was run over by a car, of Kumar's school re-union, padma with her bridge ladies. their house was a colourful picture of the growth of a family, it's sucesses and joys. it was 25 years, gone by in a flash!
Padma felt her eyes grow moist as she looked at the documents in front of her. she carefully looked around her house and saw all the pictures she had put up, as a sequence, for the very first time. she felt a lump at the back of her throat. she then glanced at the two cross-looking grandmothers now staring angrily at one another. for years they had glared at her in the house, then the last couple of years they had spent glaring at one another, by the mere tilt of a frame.
she felt a wry smile creep onto her face. it finally struck her! it was not that they never liked her, they had never liked each other! April 22 names and their repercussionsa small introduction...my name involves 28 alphabets, is quite unpronouncable for those who meet me for the first time, difficult to pronounce for those who meet me for the second time, and impossible to pronounce for foreigners! i have several "pet" names:
1. one of them (the most popular one) i discovered recently, was the american slang word for "shit",
2.another is the name of a popular pink coloured mammal with a snout, (largely featured on this space)
3.one is the first letter of my name (which i think sounds quite stylish!) and the last being
4.the first four letters of my name.
i have never understood why people give one another pet names. i do it out of affection. all the people i'm closest to have names quite unintelligible to most, bestowed upon them by me. but i think when it comes to me, people do it out of boredom, or maybe out of intense exhaustion brought about by persistently calling out the entire, unedited version. so i'm saddled with a lot of names, some of them derogatory, some endearing.
these are some responses from people when i introduce myself:
1. huh?
2. ooooooooooooh! what did u say ur name was?
3. $%^$&^%^& rajawadi? like the hospital???
4. %#^$&@*tri? like the goddess of medicine?
5. this one applies to the people at barista: "madam, what name can we call out? i'm sorry madam, i can't understand what ur saying!"
6. this one happens when i call up people's houses and their bai's pick up "dananati?"
7.this one applies to a certain someone: "can i introduce to my friends as "suzy"?"
8. this one i HATE with all my heart: "dhanno!"
these are just a couple of responses i have had to tolerate, along with feeling absolutely and mortifyingly embarrassed when people try to sum up the entire name! i have lived in fear of introducing my self, the only comforting thought being that if ever i do discover something spectacular, i can name it after myself, and force exam candidates to fail because they can't recollect my name during the exams! what sweet, devious pleasure is that!
sigh! my life has been gloomy...along the way i have met some less fortunate people in the names department, than myself, but they seem to be doing fine. little wonder that when i met someone with a name as complicated as my own, i fell in love!
here are a couple of names which are undoubtedly worse than mine:
1. Apple
2. Brooklyn
3. nagma
4. jayalalitha
5. rainky
6. dinky/pinky/rinku
7.sweety/sweetina
8. clitora/ virgin/ penal
9. bunty/ bubbly/ bajina
see....i'm not so badly off! i rest my case!
March 25 moulin rouge 2in a land not quite so far far away, exists a magical world where animals can talk and pigs can fly. it was in this idyllic setting that a little dog and a little pig fell in love. this is their heart-warming story.
the little pig was looking for her One True Love all her life. she had met all the eligible pigs in her sty, but somehow, none of them seemed to have that particular spark she was looking for. she was waiting for her Prince Charming to come along and sweep her off her hooves, to seduce her with his incredible wit and charm....she blushed a deep shade of red at the very thought of him.
"Oh," she thought to herself, "it seemed forever stopped today! All the lonely hearts in London caught a plane and flew away, and all the best women are married all the handsome men are gay i feel deprived!!"
a few plots away from the sty were the high gates of a kennel called The Manor de Ville, where the most spoilt and pampered dogs lived, in what, as rumours go, were the most plush and luxurious apartment complexes in the entire city. it was in these surroundings that our next protagonist Mr. Red Setter lived as the son of a poor guard dog, who was working in the kennel. Mr. Red Setter was dashing and tall, known for his cassanova ways, and endless fan following of the richest and prettiest bitches in the neighbourhood. however, despite his hectic social life and harem of women, he was on the look out for that one perfect love, one with whom it would be worth spending the rest of his life. "i wanna know what love is..." he thought to himself.
one fine sunday morning piggy woke up to a new day. she felt a spring in her step as she was about to begin a new phase of her life- vet school, her childhood dream! "to dream, the impossible dream, to fight the unbeatable foe," she hummed to herself as she trotted down the road. but a few lectures later piggy found she didn't have the most important thing required to tackle vet school- a bone set! she set down on the grass on the way home, and began to weep.
just then Mr. Red Setter came scampering down the grass in pursuit of a cat who happened to have flashed him (her claws). he saw this sweet little pink figure sitting down looking so dejected, and stopped to find out what was going on. "i need a bone set!" wailed piggy.
"Out across the endless sea I would die in ecstasy, but I'll be a bag of bones
driving down the road alone!" exclaimed the Red Setter, and immediately offered the use of his bone set , which belonged to a late squirrel. "why thank u!" gushed little piggy and began to dry her tears.
a few days later Mr. Red Setter found he couldnt get the sight of that charming pig out of his mind. "i just can't get you outta my head, boy your loving is all i think about!" he cried, when he finally got in touch with her at the supermarket a few days later. "why don't we meet more often?" suggested Red, "why don't we go for a stroll to the Race Course?"
next sunday saw piggy and Red trotting around the periphery of the Race Course. Red was thrilled by the envious looks he was getting from the other strays around the place. they were slyly checking out the sexy pig accompanying Mr. Setter. "isn't she lovely, yeahyeah, isn't she wonderful?" they asked one another.
finally after weeks of courtship Red mustered up the courage to tell piggy how he felt about her. "oh, my love, my darling, i hunger for your touch!"
"what?" cried piggy, shocked! "how dare you!"
"no no," explained Red hurriedly, "i only meant to tell you that love leads us back where we belong. and i belong with you!"
"how sweet!" gushed little piggy. "i've been waiting for my One True Love my whole life. never in my wildest dreams did i think it would come in the form of a dog!"
and so against a technicolour sky Red and Piggy were locked in a tight embrace, and this beautiful love story between such an unlikely pair has been hailed as the most romantic one of its kind, in the history of the land not quite so far far away.
ALL PROTAGONISTS IN THIS STORY ARE ENTIRELY FICTITIOUS. ANY RESEMBLENCE TO ANY PERSON LIVING OR DEAD IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL. March 23 tales of a chachooa few days ago i summed up the courage to step out of the box and go out and get what i've always wanted- a tattoo! actually i got the final push when i heard that a really good friend of mine had gone ahead and got one, and i thought to myself, why not me?
phone call #1: with a great deal of enthusiasm i called the coolest friend i know (i'm sorry, i dont consider u boring med guys "cool!") lets call her MP, to take a couple of numbers of tatoo parlours in mumbai. much to my surprise, i found only two tatoo parlours of good repute in mumbai, and my first phone call was followed by a
phone call #2: to my best-friend-in the-whole-wide-world paralkar bai.
"paralkar" i barked over the phone, "i'm going to get a tatoo, and ur coming with me."
"ok," she said somewhat reluctantly. and proceeded to enumerate the merits and demerits of a tatoo, fulfilling her self-appointed role as the "sensible friend."
"ya ya yeah!" i replied nonchalantly, "i've thought about it alot. always wanted one. so-and-so's also got one. I've even got a couple of numbers."
"so call up and make an appoinment," she suggested.
phone call #3 was to the first tatoo parlour, whose name i decline to mention on this space, due to the unfortunate experience of my good friend lulla with a pair of not-so lovelies. the name was a somewhat catchy one, with two rhyming words, the second one grandly stating the name of our very close relatives. dont misunderstand, this was not a shop owned by one of the family. the name, i'm guessing was merely meant to sound funky. i had a few reservations about entrusting my precious flesh in the hands of someone who claims kinship with an arboreal brachiator without even an apposable thumb. "how steady would his hand be?" i wondered! anyways, i proceeded to call and enquire the size, shape, cost, hygiene etc.etc. and found the entire affair to be WAY out of my meagre budget.
phone call #4: was to the next and last parlour on my list, whose name i will again withold for above mentioned reasons.
"XYZ's chachoo parlour," gushed the voice at the other end.
"umm", i said, having missed most of that opening line," is this XYZ'a tatoo place?"
"yes?" queried the enthusiastic voice on the line.
"i wanted to know how much u charge for a tatoo the size of my little finger, pink in colour, etc.etc." i asked.
"for a small chachoo we charge Rs. 1500 and up, for new needles and new ink we charge ABC extra, for bigger one we charge blah blah blah..."
wait a minute i thought to myself....did he just say "chachoo?"!!!!!?????
what the hell is that?
phone call #5 was again to paralkar bai, when she cautiously warned me that i wouldn't be able to bathe for a week afterwards (torture for a piggy like me. we love water, us pigs, contrary to human belief) and urged me to read up a bit on the internet.
very soon i found myself at the webite of the New England Journal of Surgery, staring at a bunch of hypertrophic scars and keloids, on the arms and backs of some hapless adventurers. i swallowed hard....
so i guess the tattoo wasn't meant to be! i've kept it on hold for sometime, maybe in a couple of years.....
for now i'm content with my new hair colour and funky haircut, untill the curls break and the hair colour looks shaby, until i have to cut it off before my final exams.....
PS: for the record, that evening my uncle came over, and was trying to convince to take dermatology as a speciality, as a part of my "future plans".
"u can make so much money," he told me. "then u can start a body piercing and tattoo parlour as well!"
call it karma, call it coincidence.....i thought it was down right freaky!
March 19 frustrationthis article is a work born of self-pity and dejection. read on, only if u want to humour me.....
confusion is a cruel cruel thing. it tears us apart more than any other emotion. i'm at a phase in my life when "studies" means a lot to me. to most other people, it should be the most important thing in my life right now. i'm fortunate enough to enjoy what i'm doing. i have all the material necessary right next to me.
but something's lacking.....
each time i sit down to read my mind wanders and i begin to recall a lot of inconsequential things. topics that usually take me an hour, take me a couple to read. after that, i find i'm none the wiser.
it's a frustrating feeling. i've become a lazy person. i try to take shortcuts in every aspect of life. i don't stay back to take cases these days.....i don't study in the library. instead i try to run home as fast as possible. to sleep.
my mind is one big mess. i'm distracted, confused, frustrated by my lack of sincerity. i have timetables i don't follow, lists i seem to loose, books i need to read, timepass i don't need to do, TV that i should renounce, classmates i need to stop comparing myself to, examiners i don't want to worry about...
i want to sleep for one night and not see patient's faces, dejected and unwell.
i want to sleep for one night and not dream about horrible examiners, resurrected from the dead.
i want to sleep for one night and not feel ashamed and guilty, for the hours of work i have failed to put in.
i want to sleep for just one night and not feel frightened that my lack of ambition, sincerity, thoroughness, is going to make me a bad Doctor, and a burden to this already saturated community.
maybe then when i awake........
i'll start studying seriously. March 07 don't u remember?I can't understand why mummy's so frazzled today. She's taking extra care to bathe me this morning, and then is dolling me up in my best romper. i wish she knew that i hate it! i hate the stupid bat and ball on the front of the red outfit. uuugh, she's beginning to smear that black dot stuff on my face! wait a minute....what is she saying? "kissi ki nazar na lage!" huh? what does that mean? thank God, the last of this ordeal is over....a minute more and i was going to start showing off my LOUD soprano wail!
oh, she's really purring and cooing over me today...i wonder why? is it my birthday? is it HER birthday? damn! i can't remember! the stress of it all!
we're getting into the rickshaw. she's clutching onto me tightly, while she gives the address to the rickshaw driver....what? rajawadi hospital? are we going to the hospital? ok!
we reach the hospital compound and mum begins to show off her talents! she cleverly balances me, her handbag, the change from the rick shaw driver, my hand bag, her wallet. she holds me by my tummy....hey lemme kick and scream a bit. maybe that'll help her a little. maybe i can wiggle out and look for the canteen. damn! mummy's not giving up, she's holding on tight!
we enter a room with a lot of squealing babies lined up with that harrowed mothers. some are sneezing and coughing: ugh! cover your mouths please!
finally we reach the front of the line, and i have a panoramic view of the cutest guy i have EVER seen, upside down, ofcourse. i've managed to wiggle around in mummy's arms, and am showing off my ability to view the world upside down, much to the admiration of the entire crowd.
"what a pretty girl!" he exclaims.
"why thank you!" i think to myself, and gurgle adorably at him. he practically melts! oh, the power of my charms!
he asks mummy my name and age....hey i may be nine months old, but you're not too old for me. i promise!
i watch him fill up a transparent plastic syringe with some colourless fluid. there are a few bubbles on the top, he carefully taps the syringe. that looks like fun! i wanna do that! i reach out for the syringe, but he gives me his finger to grab instead. ok, that's also fine! he carefully rubs some cold liquid onto my thigh, and then inserts this sharp pointy thing into my thigh! hey wait a minute...........
that HURTS!!!!! OWWWWWWWWW!!!
WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! WA! WA! WA! WA! WA!
"it's over, it's over!" mummy cooes passively into my ear. i look up at her and sniffle piteously. a few left over "waaas" escape my mouth. mummy hugs me and holds me close, gathers all our stuff, and we're on our way home.
well that wasn't bad! when's the next visit? i wanna meet that handsome doctor again!
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