JUNE BUG

So as promised.. here's my take on Juno.

A friend made me watch it while I was at Bombay. He had already seen it but he didn't mid watching it again with me. That itself raised my expectations because this guy is very finicky about movies. Anyway, so we go to Marine Drive and buy tickets that could've bought us amazing lunch and jeer at the shallow yuppies driving in with 'panache' as they call it - the beach blonde overdressed-for-a-matinée socialite waiting for her guy to get out of the car and open the door for her. Then we kill some more time on the heavily shot, screened, referred to and cliched marine drive curb in the Bombay afternoon sun. Soon it is time for the movie and we walk in.

I am smug as soon as the titles begin with that song. I know I'm in for a quirky ride. Every dialogue - so matter of fact, so in your face, doubled up with another one soon after, doesn't give you much time to crack up. You are overwhelmed by how OK people are with their 'situations'. And yes, one should be that way.

Ellen Page is Coolness Personified. And I bet that if she reads this she'd say "How lame.. Jeez Poo.. " or something on those lines. I am deliberately skipping the not-so-appropriate parts of her reaction. But I'm sure you can fill the blanks.

"This is one doodle you cannot undo"

"This pink plus sign is so unholy"

"All that's missing is your bas***d"

There are the really deep ones too, but I don't wanna list them out and kill it.

The movie drifts through autumn and winter and spring. But the red and golden athletes keep running. As for those, Juno's vivid description of 'that' can screw any mind over.

The best part about the film is that none of the emotions are out there in the open, but you still get a whiff of them. No one gets cheesy. But everyone gets taken care of. The step mom stitches the special pants for Juno and hits back at the sonogram technician so hard, Juno has to say, "Jeez Brenda! Get a d***!"

And still the movie doesn't miss out on the pain, the longing and the love. Motherhood is taken seriously. And so is a teenager.

The songs are another plus. All of them are cool in their own weird way. Some of the lyrics are downright absurd, the others, just plain gross. But they blend in the movie's undercurrent so well, that you can't think of any other number that could replace them.

In the song "Anyone else but you", one of the lines go "You shook a li'l turd off the bottom of your pants"!! Yes, this is movie is not for the beach blonde who couldn't get out of her own car. It's for you and me. Watch it. Laugh. Get Disgusted. Cry. Cringe. I don't care. But if you are still un-juno-ed, you're missing something.

Joker in the Pack

I read this book a year ago. It starts with the line - "Shekhar Verma has finally arrived." I now know what that means.

As per my last blog, the last week was going to determine my next five years. Hell yeah!! it did. I'm there.

I still don't want to sound high flown. I still don't know half of what's in store for me. Yet, I am smug.

The future blogs will definitely be about more generic issues. It's been long since I talked sense here.

Sneak Peak: A take on one of my frequently watched films - JUNO

Random Thoughts in Bed

It's been really long since I wrote about something impersonal. The last few entries have been quite complacently about myself. And I'm afraid the blog is gradually turning into a quirky journal of sorts. But what the heck, the idea was to speak my mind. And if of late, all that's on my mind is not Hugo Chavez or Fidel Castro or Sarkozy or Ho Chi Minn, then be it. I have been so preoccupied with my life for a change, that I haven't really bothered about people who feature in my life only through Business Line or Google News or Economic Times.

I would like to go on talking about myself, but I'm wondering what. I signed in today because I didn't have anything to write about. Coz, I'm frankly quite confused. It's a funny phase. I am at a point in life that could determine the next five years. The choices I make in the next week could make up what I become within 5 years - 5 years! That's a long time. And who knows what these 5 years have in store for me. I am also at a place where I am discovering myself. I'm finally figuring out what I want from life by ticking off what I am sure I don't want. Till now, I was looking towards family and friends to guide me through these 'tough' decisions. Now, I think I'll do just fine by listening to my heart.

I can take a stand now. A stand to be on my own. I had been looking for someone to look up to. Someone I could depend on. Someone who had the upper hand. But fortunately, spine is hard to find. So I walk alone. And quite a walk it shall be.

I can now revel in the spotlight. My eyes don't cringe anymore. Two hoots!

I can stare them in the eye. Because I am not in the wrong. They are. I have the courage. They don't. I am made of stronger stuff. They may have luck and a good disguise on their side, but I have truth and integrity on mine.

People could swindle me. They could take me for a ride. People can take advantage of me. And yet, I forgive and forget. Some might call me foolish. I happen to think likewise. But I can't change that. I will not. That's what makes me what I am.

I can speak my mind. And I always will. I may regret it. But I am born to do that. Have always, will always.

I can take chances. I can be adventurous. I can stop thinking. I can do much more. And I love it!

A dash of Gold Dust and voila!

Yes, I have a Fairy Godmother. I totally believe it now. I get my wishes granted. But they’re never served to me on a platter. I get what I want alright, but only in a skewed way. And she surprises me in ways I couldn’t even imagine. She’s just out there smiling wryly at me all this while – while I fret and crib and cry and have fun. She gives that knowing smile that says – “Girl, you don’t even know what’s in store for you next!” She tests me and teases me. She brings me to such crossroads just to see which turn I’d take. Just for the heck of it.

Just when I thought that there was no hope, an unexpected turn of events comes my way. And it’s all of her doing. I’m pretty sure.

So thanks to my wicked FG, I still stick by my thumb rule in life – Carpe Diem! Live the moment and enjoy the surprise around every corner. Listen to your heart and keep a healthy mind, and have absolutely no regrets. Life is to live it out and not to think about what could’ve should’ve would've happened. If you’re so curious, try it out so that you don’t have to bank on your imagination.

I'm pretty sure each one of us has their very own FG too. They're looking out alright. They laugh at us when we crib and get bored when we're high. They like to put us through ordeals, it's like a soap for them. And I'm pretty sure they conspire along with each other so that we, over here get messed up when we meet. We say things and think some more. They make us feel and expect and dream. And that's how they get a kick out of it. It's awesome!! It's a network they're rewiring all the time with our minds and hearts and we have no choice but to play along.. Uncanny!

Torn

I’m torn – between being tight lipped and outspoken, between being expressive or guarded, between being calm and composed and hysterical. I wish there were a special school for Social Protocol. I really need it. I may be blessed with superficial talent, but when it comes to being a simply, happy girl who wants a cozy life, the looking glass shatters.

People I know see me as a confident, intimidating person at first. When I warm up to them, they see a fun person who has a good sense of humour and not many worries in life. When I grow closer to a further few, they see a person who has her problems, who is always there for them. But at times, they also see a person who over reacts about ‘little’ things, who is inconsiderate of others’ feelings, who is selfish, conceited and complacent. They see pride. They see a superiority complex.

I am a simple person. I take things at face value. And yes, I feel. I feel a lot for everyone around me. I am proud of this, because I know not many people genuinely feel for others. I do not manipulate. Rather, I can’t manipulate. I can’t think things through. I often forget things that people say to me or I say to people. I forget if some random person was nasty to me or made a snide remark. It’s highly possible that I go back totally oblivious of what he thinks of me and talk to him in a very jovial manner after a month or two and take him totally by surprise. I joke around a lot; at times, a little too much.

I try to be quiet. I try to be composed and not always be the wisecrack. It may be appreciated by a few people but not by a few others. So for the people who I have hurt unknowingly, I am sorry. I truly am.

I don’t judge people. I really don’t. But after a while, I know that a person is a certain way and if I think I cannot match up to that frequency, I tend to take a step back.

I am a twisted person trying really hard to become sorted out. I want someone to love me. I want a family, a home and true friends. I thank God everyday for being blessed with the family I have and with the true friends that I’ve had over the years. Success for me is to be a good person who is loved by most people. Not someone who is looked up to by people. I don’t want respect for my ability, but respect for the person I am.

I consciously work towards improving myself – towards perfection – as I see it. Perfection for me is not being able to do ten things at a time, but being able to not hurt anyone around, ever – being a good daughter, a good sister, a good friend and a loyal companion.

All I ask for is truth in return. It hurts when people around me twist things up, when they say something and mean something else, when they remember me only when they need one of my ‘talents’, when they play games. Not because I think it’s wrong, but because I can’t play along.

I have fallen - Fallen for good. I would like to rise out of the ashes. But I will need time. And during this time – I can only hope – hope for not being misunderstood, misinterpreted, ignored and used.

The worst first kiss

DISCLAIMER: All observations and inferences made in the column below are purely based on secondary research – friends, friends of friends, articles in various print media and the internet. None of the opinions are in any manner sprouting from first hand experience. Please do not judge the author based on the views that follow.

So how bad can it get? Well, a lot can go wrong. The run up to a first kiss is always the highlight of a relationship. The ‘drum roll’ as one of Ted’s weird girlfriends puts it in HIMYIM is so much better than the actual kiss. When you kiss, you make it real – then it is two people in the moment. Up to this time, its in your head – so much left to the imagination. You can think beyond any limits about how it would be. But once you are lip to lip – you hit ground zero. Then you get to the ground reality of technicalities – technicalities I’m trying to pen down, that are not coming out tastefully.

The first and foremost disaster that can occur with a first kiss is if one partner’s foot doesn’t pop. ‘Foot popping’ for the uninitiated is a term used by Anne Hathaway in Princess Diaries (yes, this IS gonna be influenced a LOT by chick flicks.. bear with me). When you kiss someone, you know it’s right if your foot pops (read – when you feel weak in the knees or ur tummy turns or some circuit goes short – if you know what I mean). But what if it doesn’t work this way for the guy or the girl? You’ll be lucky if both of you are in the same place. But if only one foot pops, the same foot turns into a kick in the you-know-what.

We’re past Stage I now and it has been established that both parties want to go ahead with this fateful kiss. Now what? Well, don’t let go of your guard just as yet. Tread very cautiously. The following events can turn a ‘moment’ into a mishap:-

1. A cut lip – you thought you’d show how eager you are and well, you taste something funny. It’s your ‘LOWE’s precious blood that you’ve managed to consume – vampire style. The other party is now wary of you and is now wondering if it’s a full moon night.

2. Too much tongue – It’s not just guys who end up doing it. It could be a girl too. And, trust me. Gross is the word.

3. The suckers – In true mosquito tradition, if one party is focussed on turning a kiss into a dehydration process for the other party, well, then Help You God!!

4. A Right Angle – You’re closing in on your target and your noses bump in a head – on, sorry, nosy collision. This doesn’t mean that you guys have big noses. It just means that you have a poor sense of space or are heavily hyper-metropic. To combat this obstacle, hold your beau’s head in your hands, you buffoon!

5. Hair – A guy always likes a girl with long hair. But not if it comes in his mouth. Kisses with flowing manes all over the place look good only on the silver screen. Note: The strands are well doctored with lots of mousse. And you don’t wanna try this at home coz you don’t want his hands to run through your hair and get stuck there.

6. Bad Breath – If you didn’t get the whiff in the aforementioned drum roll, well, your bad!!!

7. Timing – Highly crucial. If you didn’t hone in on target while the bull’s eye was wide open or vice versa, it sends the wrong signals. A party may get some buffer time to:-

a. Think about what is happening and not answer this question well

b. Come into senses and stop right there

c. Have second thoughts about the ‘moment’ and now mishap.

8. Braces, Spectacles, Nose Pins/Rings, etc – Paraphernalia may well get into the way causing serious physical damage to one or more parties.

9. PDA – You thought you could get away with it, but well, you didn’t You’ve lost the moment and more alright, you probably even have some serious red-faced explaining to do.

This is not an exhaustive list. Additions and editions are welcome.

But one worst kiss still manages to beat all others hands down. A kiss that leads to one party barfing right after – yes, you guys – this is the ultimate insult for the puke inducer. But have no fear – we can still find a day job for you – you could work as a substitute for Electral, you could be appointed at the stadium where athletes puke their guts out right before a weight categorization process, you could even act as an antidote for most poison cases. So there you go!

Well, there’s one more – an arguable close second – a kiss that gives hope at one end and opens eyes at the other.

The inevitable

It may stare you in the face

And you’d try to look through

But there it is all along

His will and something more

The greater book writes for you

What turns you may take

The choices are what make you

The worst and the best

Yet when fate takes her course

You would feel like going back

Begging for the right choice

Or the wrong turn

Knowing that all along

It is Inevitable.

The Dental Visit

Protagonists:

Suravi Shome

Ketan Kaushish aka KT

So this time when I couldn’t put off going to the dentist any more, it turned out that I had waited a little too long and needed an immediate root canal. Suravi and Kinshu were my reinforcements that day. After the procedure, Suravi was at the edge of her seat ready to burst into the clinic and pounce upon the doc and Kinshu was the oh-so-worried dad from “Father has a rough night” pacing up and down talking to HIS mom for some reassurance.

After this ‘incident’ I decided not to make my friends undergo the terrible torture of a visit to the dentist and hence, go alone. Even then, Suravi insisted to come along. She had been really busy lately and I really didn’t want to make her lose out on more precious time, but the thought of the fights and frowns afterwards about how I ignore her or don’t let her come along made me think otherwise. Plus, I thought, it would be a sort of pathetic break for the overloaded placecommer. So KT, Suravi and I set off for the clinic. KT gave us a ride since he stays virtually next door to the dentist. Now at KT’s place I cleverly made Suravi stay with him and walked down to the clinic for the next set of painful procedures. It was much better than she squirming in the waiting room, God bless her soul.

The noisy construction work in my bucket cavity took a good one hour. I walked out of the office feeling guilty about wasting Suravi’s and KT’s time. I called her up and asked her to come down so that we could grab an auto. She said, “Why don’t you come upstairs for a bit”. I figured it would be rude to just go without meeting KT’s mom. So I went upstairs and rang the doorbell. Aunty opened the door and led me in. I turned into the drawing room to find no one. Aunty told me that they were in KT’s room. I walked in to greet my dear old friends who always watch out for me and tell them that all went well, when my jaw dropped. Both of them were sprawled on separate twirling chairs with their mouths half open, staring into the TV playing, wait for it, a video game. It was one of those one-on-one fighting games where you mindlessly press all keys and laugh like retards. Dragon-Ball Z was it? I’m not sure. It was the same game my brother used to play when he was 13, though. So when they finally noticed that someone had walked into the room, they said a quick high and went back to beating each others’ asses and pointing and laughing. They had great strategies in mind – from which player to pick, to which scene to choose. As if it mattered.

After I while I mentioned, “By the way, I’m ok”. And then came another brilliant ideas in their underprivileged minds – “Appu, you should play!” I politely declined. After their much coaxing, I said, “As tempted as I am, I choose not to deteriorate my grey matter with this - thing” So they resigned to calling each other more names.

Then a thought occurred to me – Suravi was supposed to go back and finish up the tomes of pending work. And I felt it was my duty to remind her of it. So, the good friend that I am, I did. And was I in for some serious brickbats. So I succumbed to just watching two 25+ professionals belonging to a post graduate programme in business hit each other aimlessly on the screen with a Zombie look on their faces.

After they were done with the series of One-last-game’s Aunty laid out the most delectable Idlis on the table which I just couldn’t refuse. They were so good that afterwards I forgot to give Suravi a piece of my mind. What the heck – after all, one shouldn’t be harsh on juvenile delinquents.

I'm singing. I sing when I'm waiting for a cab. I sing when I'm walking through the market. I sing till I realise that I am not alone and then look around to check if anyone's staring at me. But it doesn't stop there. I'm singing in my head. All the time. Ever since I can remember. I guess we all are. It wouldn't be A song. It needn't have words. But it's music alright. And my guitar gives me the strength to bring it out. But only when I'm alone for now. I always found the task very intimidating of 'making' one's own music. But then you realise, that you had it in you, all along.

I remember hesitating as I would traverse the strict notes of Hindustani music in front of my Guru in her sweltering second floor music room where I used to ride down every second day on my little red bicycle. As a little girl, I got my aunt's harmonium as a legacy. I would love to figure out the notes of songs I knew on my own. My mom thought it was quite a feat. But I feel that if you can hum it, you can play it. And then, when I grew up she would leave the ball in my court. She wouldn't ask me to write down the alaap and taan but make it own my own. Scared of going off key, I would keep it simple and never take chances.

But I've discovered that taking chances with music is fun. Firstly you are alone. So you can listen to yourself. Then there's the freedom of modern music that doesn't bind you like the raaga does. Of course the raaga keeps you disciplined, but when you have the guitar chords under your finger tips, you feel a little more confident, as if you are 'holding' the music - quite literally.

I hope I can keep this up. If at all I ever have to give up my day job.

Obsession Part II

How I met your mother Season 4, Episode 4. Ted is about to get married to Stella and he’s shuttling all the time between New York and New Jersey to make time with friends, work on one hand and soon-to-be-family on the other. Stella assumes that Ted would move to New Jersey after they are married and this comes as a shock to Ted. He finds life out of New York pretty hard to imagine. Even so, he decides to move and almost packs. But at the last moment all the memories attached to the apartment come rushing to him and he decides to stay put. That’s how strong one can get attached to things.

Someone told me once that it is unhealthy to get attached to things, people so soon. I end up hurting myself in the process. It’s true, I get attached to leave alone, people, but silly objects to extreme proportions. My grandparents had what we would call a ‘varda’. It would lie in the corner of our old kitchen and Amma would store milk, etc in it. It had a neat net on its door, and they used this big nail to lock the door. I don’t remember what colour it used to be before my dad got it painted white when the house was renovated, but it used to be some ruddy old colour. IT had this amazing rustic look to it and I always treated it as a legacy from my grandma’s household days when they used to move every two years with Aaba’s job. I always assumed that the varda would always remain an integral part of our kitchen – and my kitchen later on. But they gave it away to someone and I was quite appalled. The same happened with the small cupboard where Aaba used to keep his Harde and Mulethi for me. He also used to have those Seven Seas tablets in there, which I’ve burst open many times. They gave that cupboard away too. I couldn’t say a thing.

While in engineering, a friend and I were crazy about Perk. He like it because it was endorsed by Preity Zinta, and I, because, it was a thing we could do. So we used to buy one double Perk every night and eat it, one half each. I ended up saving every wrapper, just for the sake of it, like I would save every other thing – bus tickets, movie tickets, train tickets, etc. I kept them till the end of college, of course when it was time to pack and wind up everything at Bangalore, I had to let go of them. But it’s not like they weren’t put to good use. On his birthday, I gave him Preity ZInta posters and inside them, I stuffed as many wrappers as I could manage. It just made for a memorable moment.

My books, my pen, my guitar, that old shirt that’s always been in my wardrobe, a note someone wrote for me, a letter i got like 10 years ago, a card saved from my 13th birthday – everything makes me eccentric and I am not very proud of it.

But this is what makes me ‘me’. Had I not been like this, I probably would never have made such amazing friends, or cherished fond memories of people and things alike. Of course I do end up making a fool of myself, more often than not. But I guess it comes with the package. So be it.

Of Tears and Green Dogs

Yesterday I realized that one ends up taking so much for granted without once thinking about the fact that someone sitting right next to you is deprived of the very thing that you so easily presume. The movie I saw yesterday was as mundane as it could possibly be. But it got to me. Life is not a movie. It never was.

 

When I was little, I was made to believe that I am a princess cut out for all the goodies life brings. But when some sense got to me at 16, I realized that I am just another girl who is going to have her share of ups and downs, of bad hair days, of good friends and nasty peers, of hostile mirrors and clothes that don’t fit, of failures and more. My father wrote to me a letter on my birthday that very year that talked about life, what lies ahead of me and more. What is ironical is that he addressed me as ‘Doll’. Although I am not that at all, actually far from it.. words such as ‘angel’, ‘princess’ and a corny ‘Doll’ actually mean a lot to my family – coz they actually feel that way. My grandparents, my parents and even close relatives like to believe them. So living their dream has always been a compulsion for me. But it’s been tough.

 

As I have grown up, I have realized that there are no Sleeping Beauty dreams or Rapenzul escapes or Snow White kisses. Prince Charming is an illusion. What one ends up with are complications, regrets and cringy moments, if that’s what we can call it.

 

When I was a gawky teenager (well, a part of me still is), I was called Olive Oyl and Giraffe. I still am but it doesn’t bother me as it used to. Once Tyra Banks said that she used to be called Olive Oyl and I just hoped that even I would be just an ugly duckling. I don’t know now if that is really true.

 

Yes, there is all this and I could crib about everything under the sun. And yet there is so much that I have and that I can be proud of. I can only thank God and everyone around me for giving me all that and making me the person I am. Life is no movie. But it sure can have rave reviews. Making it count is what matters. So rating it doesn’t get you anywhere. But having some popcorn and coke sure can make it quite interesting.

 

Someone said to me once that if you want to know about yourself, look at your friends. The common trait among them is you. And I have always been a million dollars lucky to have amazing friends by me, God bless them all. This someone also taught me courage, an amazing outlook towards life, being nice and more. So this one’s for you… Kudos!!!

Ataxophobia

[Someone pointed out that it's been quite long since I wrote verse.. so here goes.. the immature aabb still stays.. n this is as deep as it can get.. can sink no further :)]

Organized chaos surrounds me

Stretches as far as I can see

Have brought it upon myself, yes

Guess I innately prefer being in a mess..

This mess is crisp, clean and crystal clear

Irritatingly perfect - and I'm neither there nor here

As much as I try to wash off my hand

It sinks me further

As if it were quicksand...

Am I looking for a trapdoor?

With blindfold and a straitjacket, what's more

I like to be bound

By the limits of sight and sound...

A weighty problem..

Bring on all the fat jokes. The signs are all there. My jeans talk. And it’s certainly not sugar coated. They talk facts. And numbers. I could evade it if I want to. But it’s staring me in the face; or rather, through that mirror. The pin of the weighing scale looms at a scary 56-57 kgs, depending on the inaccuracies of scales. My friends say that the scale must have been the one installed at the railway station. But I know they’re not.

What does this sudden sign of prosperity attribute to? The heavy, fatty food at Delhi? Well, I had the same diet at Indore. The endorphins (aka happy hormones) that I’m supposedly producing with the sadistic pleasure derived from my friends’ plight? I did that too all along. The ‘lowe’ bestowed upon me by the campus? Lesser said the better. The lack of exercise? Possibly. I guess I’m getting warmer here.

But it’s weird for someone who has always been under pressure to gain more weight by friends and family alike to suddenly jump over (sorry, no more agile, nimble jumping – make that lumber around) the fence to the other side and be the ‘butt’ (yeah yeah I know you’re smiling now) of all the fat jokes. Now whenever I eat that li’l extra, a hasty exchange of furtive glances and stares is rampant across the table. People give me that knowing smile these days as if welcoming me to a new club or fraternity so to speak. Make that fraternity on second thoughts.

I have never had anything against people who have been well endowed. In fact I have always been considerate towards them and have never cracked any of those kind of jokes. But I like it here - to be on the thinner side. To hear from everyone I know that I need to put on weight. I like protesting that I am made this way – genetics, hereditary factors, metabolism and all of that. And all this time I am constantly hoping that it is this way.

I don’t mind the extra few pounds either, if they are at the right places if you know what I mean. But if all the extra cheese, sandwiches and pizzas decide to focus on my cheeks, it’s not so fair, init? So help me God and lead me to the good life, the healthy life, the life where I can still fit into my old pair of jeans that I still have since the time I was 15 and the courage to carry off that little skirt in my closet. Because my clothes talk.

The words flow out...

What is it with me these days? I know I’ve always liked prose. But I have never been “a-verse” to verse either. In fact, I discovered that I like writing only when I started writing poems – poems for people I knew – funny ones, sweet ones. In my engineering days, a poem written for the birthday boy/gal was a certainty. I could write about a teacher and have everyone in splits. They were never poetry, really. I would say that I can rhyme words. That’s it. It’s Anant who’s the poet of the family. Having tried some deep, profound stuff myself, I just realize how shallow I am. So I gradually came to my senses and stuck to the good ol’ long drawn paragraphs.

But I never thought that I would end up being so daft that I would actually avoid poetry. As I come across any piece, I start reading it with a critical eye. As one line follows another, I begin to give up – on the poet and wonder why he can’t say what he has to say straight. I have begun to have ‘standards’, which I am not very proud of. And by standards, I mean that I would like a Lewis Caroll or a nice Winnie the Pooh by Milne. P G Wodehouse can work wonders and so can Ogden Nash. But If it’s not Wordsworth or Keats or Shakespeare or Byron or Browning or Frost or Tennyson, fat chance I would finish reading it. It’s not about whether it’s an epic or a sonnet, if it doesn’t make sense in the first few lines, it won’t make sense to me at all.

Have I really become a dry person? Has education ruined my imagination or my ability to let my mind take flight? Am I not naïve enough anymore to believe? Or is it courage that I have lost? Have the numbers, facts, statistics and drab uncreative chapters killed the Peter Pan in me? Or is it my deteriorating grey cells that have made me incapable to comprehend something new? While I keep wondering about all of this, I find that I can still read. And write. What else does one need anyway.