Thursday, July 22, 2010

Being Honest!

I was seated at a roadside cafe and while sipping the most treasured part of my day, cappuccino duet when my eyes went on an article titled “Art of Confession”. My mind propelled itself with its much needed doses of bewitched thoughts and started spinning as fast a table fan. I soon got all impervious to my surroundings, overlooking the article which instigated my much lethal thought process. My mind rustled and went to and fro from all the candid confessions I have or should have done, searching for the best ones to be shared. And here they are..........don’t drop your jaws please.....

1. I fell in love for the first time when I ceased being 6.

I would not be called sordid if I called it a summer romance. He was my partner and we were to tap our feet together on the summer carnival. The song meant for the D-day could not be better than the most cherished track “I am a Barbie girl”. I indeed felt like one. I could never make a clean breast of how much I fantasised about going on a private picnic with him (I was too kiddo like to think about a dinner date).and was reticent about the lovely pair of eyes he was blessed with. It all ended 2 months later and I cried myself to sleep.......until I fell in love again, this time with a boy with pool blue eyes.

2 I stole a copy of Mills and Boons from my mother’s bookshelf.

I had advanced a year into my teens and was skimming through piles of books at Crosswords when a neon coloured shelf grabbed my attention. Why on earth this books store will colour a section in neon shades when the rest had hues of dull brown and yellow?. I went up to take a morsel of the delights lying there and suddenly was confronted by my mother with a stern look on her face. I knew this was fishy. Later that night i carefully scanned all the books and hit the jackpot. From then onwards I knew why it was painted with neon tinges.

3 I was too scrupulous about the tangible existence of Santa.

Though it’s really hurting to admit this one, it is fairly pivotal too. I grew up banking on Santa for all my credulous and illegitimate needs. I was a staunch believer in the fact that Santa does come on the Christmas Eve. My belief came crashing down the year my mother candidly confessed of being my Santa of past 13 years. I can still feel the pain I felt that moment and how I detested her for making the statement. For the first time I was ripped naked of my belief.

4 I was caught red handed while exchanging exam papers with my best friend

So was the pressure the poor kid had to handle. I didn’t score well that year in my maths monthly exam. Unable to cope up with the failure I decided to steal my best friend who scored a 30 on 30. I could not master mind it properly (what would you expect from a 9 year old) and was eventually caught in the process.

5 I was heartbroken when Tom Cruise married Katie Holmes (I really was)

Oh I can never elope out that memory. How crazy I went to hear the wedding was over. Sudden rush of despair ran through my fingers and slowly sped into my blood. I was heartbroken again for the...ehhh...Leave It.! Till the time I grinned over my DVD collection to have barred the pearl harbour DVD to go out of sight. I watched it again for the 11th time and instantly fell in love with Ben Affleck I decided not to pry over his personal life.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Tet-e-tet with Jerks...

It’s been 3 years since my dad whims about me acquiring a new skill to my list of possessions. And I am equally paranoid about the idea of giving up my whimsical navigations via DTC buses. He fails to understand my inclinations towards what I find amusing in the overtly packed buses where sometimes while travelling u can tell in a whiff what the person had eaten in for lunch or sometime u can easily make out the detail of the tiff he had with his wife early that morning. For me these concise voyages (I prefer calling them that) are much more than whiffs and tiffs. They made me acquainted with jerks and jolts of life which I seldom used to encounter.

   I still feel the whiff of the vivid memories of the day I tried to get a scoop of travelling by public transport. Though the circumstances were in prejudice against my act, it could stop me to assay for it. I was 14 then and being that was no mean feat. Notions of PETA and WWF were slowly carving niches into my brain walls which were coated with thick emulsions of lethal connotations. Apart from getting good ranks and holding president badges, saving the environment was high on to my fancy. Publicising the use of public transport could not be done without actually following the path of “Practice what you preach.” so I decided to en route my Olympiad exam on a DTC bus. It was a sunny day in January which brightened my spirits at the threshold of the day itself. I waited for the bus which would have taken me to my desired destination. It arrived 15 minutes later.

   A sudden stride of people engulfed me in their herd and started to run towards the bus. I was quite astonished to see the sudden transformation of people of cricket playing nation to the soccer’s one.
I too ran along and managed to board the bus which was so jammed that it was quite impossible to even move your eyelids (I pensively mean the statement). From shots of trifle jerks, I kept standing hooked to a seat (by no mean I was to get it). in a spurt, the bus took a sharp turn and made the passengers tossed up in the air. I rolled over to the rear end of the bus and fell on my knees. My eyes rummaged through the crowds for my dad but he was nowhere to be found. Disappointed I wanted to break into tears but suddenly it dawned on me that my tears will wipe away my new found companion “FREEDOM”. I was at no cost ready to be parted with it. I stood up without a single tear and moved on.

   I will always thank my first jerk for giving me the morsel of freedom. From that day I have developed an infectious liking to the jerks. They have become a part of me. I always trust their judgments and abide by them.

Friday, July 9, 2010

Good Girl Syndrome.......BEWARE!

Before giving you shots of awareness about this gruesome disease which have afflicted the sorority called girlhood for centuries, I would just like you to make you beware of this malady which I know has developed a base sequence in your moral genes (an apology to all those who didn’t get the privilege to study biology). This disease is not outlandish but has been hovering over our lives from the very first day our umbilical cord was cut. The virus has crept into our DNA and thus makes our lives indispensible without imbued with it.

   I was completely ignorant of the fact that I have been a patient of this disease for so many years until this morning my mother harangued me with one of the most under-rated statements, “you are not a good girl”. And suddenly I discerned and my mind retaliated and started guzzling with events where I have BEEN A GOOD GIRL. In all the anecdotes I could race my mind to, it dawned on me that being a good girl is no less than carrying a baggage which belongs to someone else and to an undivulged place which will never stumble upon our quirky paths. A good girl is a rusty parody of the demands our society has inherited the right to make. A good girl has no rights to leverage upon her own life but a mere reflection of the halcyon lived by someone else. Haven't you have been a patient yourself? I will give you some examples if you certainly don’t feel the virus working on you...

1 you are 11, trying to master the art of behaving in the most effeminate way. You just added a pair of uber-cool turquoise shoes to your ever growing collection and desperately want to wear them to your friend’s party. But since your mother spent a fortune on them, you will not be entitled to make them touch your feet since she wants them to be reserved for her sister’s wedding. You argue and now the virus proliferates and being a GOOD GIRL you give in.!!

2. A bulbous figured cousin of yours is coming over at your place. Your weekend plans went to the dogs and you are still expected to share your little heaven with her, irrespective of the fact that your newly possessed yellow scarf went missing the last time she delivered herself. But don’t you try to forget that you are suffering from the GOOD GIRL SYNDROME, eventually you will agree.

3. You had a woeful day at work. You decide to have some whiskey at a nearby pub. You are just about to quaff it and suddenly a bawdy looking relative of your greets you at the table with his lewd expressions who’s otherwise is a darling at your desk types. Girl, it’s not his fault. Don’t you know just violated a GOOD GIRL norm.

Well well well, now that we have diagnosed the symptoms, it is time to create an antidote for the epidemic breeding on our minds for generations.

P.S. Do we have a GOOD BOY SYNDROME too?
certainly no because even syndromes are prejudiced against poor women!"i stood up"

Monday, July 5, 2010

Don't make development a rare delicacy....!

New Delhi got another non-native gem on its crown on Friday when Prime Minister Manmohan Singh inaugurated the terminal 3 of IGI airport. A peeping inside it can make any delhiite an inch taller and broader. The terminal is seen as a gesture of India’s aspirations set firmly on the global platform whose entrance portico is designed as the Terminal 3. This terminal is well distinguished in many ways. Firstly it stained India’s reputation of prolonged infrastructure projects running out of time and of course budget (do you still have a doubt about why all politicians’ children are Harvard and oxford educated). Secondly it is dubbed as the 6th largest airport terminal in the world when all we have in lists of greatest and largest are population, slums, poverty and........I think I should halt here or else I may deviate from the track on which I am trying to make my article run.

   I too felt all pompous and conceited at this infrastructural marvel being a Delhi person. But my shoulders stooped at the thought of being an Indian. I know I may sound like a heretic but I just cannot exult at this infrastructural epiphany. This terminal is indeed a sign of India’s growing emergence as a global competitor shying away from its previous identity as a third world country but it is making a rusty parody of its former self which was trying to preen the whole nation and not just few favourite children of contemporary India. Though we have developed ourselves to get a customary seat among the elites of the world but have also reserved that place for few so called vestal virgins of the country. Instead of becoming a national street food accessible to people from every corner, growth and development are becoming rare delicacies served in 5 stars to the sophisticated lot.

   I am at no cost against the string of development taking vicious rounds in the lanes of the cities of India. I am not against becoming the nation endowed with one of the largest airports in the world but we should also should not get over the spell of certitude that we are still the nation housing a quarter of worlds malnutritioned children, we still cannot face the stipulations of our citizens which are guaranteed after every 5 year tenure and are soon buried with shedding leaves of the election season; we are still vying to educate ourselves when the literacy rate is ceased at a mere 62%; we are still put on d no. 84 on the corruption index, way behind countries like Ghana and Bhutan. I can carry on this spree but this will not help. We all are blesses with eyes and ears. so if u are still making merry........I may tag it as pinnacle of optimism.