What is this Beauty you speak of?

He passes the old red-bricked fort,

The majestic white-marbled palace

He spits on the walls of the magnificent minar,

He scribbles over parapets of filigreed finesse

Walking indifferently past the parade of jewel decked elephants,

He does not stop to admire the ceramic dolls,

The woven wares, the coloured kites, the mirrored wall-hangings,

Nothing seems to catch his attention at all

The early morning tunes of the sarangi

The soulful raag which accompanies the first sunrays

The powerful measured chanting of the mantras,

As the priests congregate in the sacred space

The aroma of freshly ground spices

The henna patterns adorning delicate hands and feet

It’s a pity that he is blind and deaf

To the hues and sounds of the busy street

As he accompanies his foreign guest around the city

He is bewildered by the awestruck look on her face

She stops to admire every monument and minaret

She gasps- “This is such an exotic place”!

Sadly the man will never know.

What is the beauty that his friend speaks of?

He has never heard, never looked, never understood.

If only he had taken one moment; one moment to just...STOP.

Birthday Brrrs!!

Hmmm...interesting weekend!

Sundays is the only day of the week when I can sleep till late without giving a damn about all the crazy domestic noises that inevitably filter through my door. My mum tells me I resemble a turtle when I sleep. You know the way a turtle will only plop his head out once in a while. Otherwise he is pretty much dead to the world. EXCUSE ME for being a useless household member on Sundays! You pathetic fellow losers who only get a single-day-weekend know what I’m talking about. What say to a round of high fives looozers??

This Sunday I wake up to the sounds in my head. Oh wait. That’s my cell phone.

As I squint at the phone, I realize it’s an ‘old’ work colleague. Literally.  She is married with a kid. Kid turned one this Sunday so her entire clan lands up in the city to celebrate the birthday of a one year old. Apparently it’s a big deal and all. A ‘lunch party’ is thrown in honour of the kid who has no idea what the hell is happening. And she warns me as she hangs up, “We have booked Orange Hara from 12:00 onwards so DO NOT be late”. ‘Lunch party’ sounded quite fashionably important and I was feeling quite guilty landing up at 2:30. Turns out it wasn’t a big deal at all!! $%**@!!

As I dragged myself out of bed, sincerely contemplating whether I should go, I realized why not. How bad can it be? BEEP! Wrong I was.

It all started with the birthday present. It suddenly hit me that I have never actually shopped for a kid before. I mean sure...I may have been proactive in helping my mum pick up a gift for some strange kid but here I had to take responsibility of the gift! After a lot of thought, I ended up getting a huge red telephone with funny eyes that made funny noises when you lifted the receiver. Wait... there is more!! The telephone has “whills”! The store owner excitedly demonstrated as he hopped around the store dragging the toy by a cable. Weirdo!

So I landed up at the kiddy party with a giant telephone. I was immediately blinded by the camera lights as I met the proud mom who had the bday baby in her arms. “Erm...Happy Birthday”, I said to no one in particular. It just felt foolish wishing the kid who seemed to be in limbo state. Do I wish the mum “Happy Birthday” on behalf of the baby? I didn’t have too long to worry about bday etiquette as I was ambushed by both my friend and her husband. “Who does he resemble? Who does he resemble”? “Are you sure this is your’s cause it does not seem to look like either one of you” didn’t seem to be the right answer. “Uh...(think think! Okay eenie meenie mi-nee mo....) you??” I said looking at the husband. Both parents beamed proudly. Yippie...passed with flying colours!

Well, the rest of the party pretty much sucked. As I safely hung out with a common friend of ours, the only stuff that was actually interesting/hilarious/ghastly was the following:

• Hilarious- Kids of all age groups going berserk as they danced spastically to incomprehensible remixed Hindi songs (what did they care about “Sheela ki jawani”). Apparently one tiny bugger did. The bald baby was excitedly grinding his teeth as he went into a stroke every now and then.
• Interesting and Ghastly- The mothers of babies who seemed to enjoy the party a little too much. Apparently they assumed it was their ‘jawani’ that was being referred to. Hence, bellies rippled on the dance floor.
• Just plain Ghastly- Bloody hell! There were babies running around everywhere..dropping food and stuff on the floor that just looked like some sort of...unrecognizable and very questionable goop. Brrr!!

Oh well...I guess the next time I’ll be attending one of these is when I have one of my own. (Brrr!! Need drink. NOW!)

Grow and Help Grow

I watched ‘Slumdog Millionaire” yesterday night...for the nth time. Well, what can I say! It’s quite a movie, ain’t it?

I remember watching the movie for the first time in the theatre- gold class and all the jiz that goes with it. As intentioned by the director, I ended up bearing an elephant-sized grudge against Anil Kapoor- the host of the show ‘Who Wants To Be A Millionaire’. Sure, there are clearly other characters whom one would really end up hating- the hero’s brother who sleeps with the hero’s love interest, the gangster who imprisons the love interest, the sleazy chap who blinds small children- of their eyesight as well as their childhood.

But funnily enough, this time around, I wanted to throw a couple of hard punches at Anil Kapoor. What’s the deal with this guy anyway huh? Rich, famous, popular TV host. This guy has got it all and yet he resents the good fortune of a mere chai-walla who is on his way to win the show. Funny how people function sometimes. One would be surprised, maybe even flabbergasted at an illiterate, uneducated boy from the slums giving the right answers to questions that some of us may not know. But to feel bitter about the success of a person who is not nearly as fortunate as you is unexplainable.

Sure, I could apply my Psychology-backed know-how to arrive at what seems a plausible answer. But I am resistant at arriving at an answer that will make me question the basic goodness of man. Nakedly envious of a young boy who is intelligent, down-to-earth, easy-going, naive and almost childlike. As the show host makes repeated attempts at belittling the boy and insulting him on his show, you cannot help but wonder at this shameful show of pettiness. Are we so unsatisfied with our lives that we cannot bear to see another succeed? Are we so wrapped up in our own little world, worrying about our reputation, our status, our fame, and our success that we cannot for one second stop and enjoy another’s happy moment?

Why do we feel so threatened by another’s good fortune? Especially someone less fortunate than you. I find it highly disconcerting that one may find it so hard to sincerely congratulate another without thinking, “What if he does better than me?”; “What if he becomes more powerful/richer/successful than I am?” Why this? Why that?

In the field of training and development, a common issue that companies often come to us with is “insecurity”. Seniors feeling highly insecure because of their juniors performing much better. So what is it that managers most often do? Do not give them opportunities to prove their mettle since there is a risk of them rising the ranks faster. The end result is that these high-potential juniors are underused and misused. What is pity!

What we usually suggest is a development workshop which focuses on attitude change and mind-set change so that these “insecure” managers are sensitized to the damage that they are doing. I wish there was such a thing as Heart-Change. Not unlike a transplant.

It would be great if people could just have a ‘change of heart’. Switch to being happier for others. Kinder to others. More sympathetic to the unfortunate. More helpful to those who have not been as lucky in life. Just switch to having a happier heart.

Here is to wishing all of you the happiest of hearts!

Learning moment

As per research on developmental psychology, children build up the sense of morality around the age of 7-8. Morality in terms of what is right or wrong, just or unjust, fair and unfair. Usually the sense of morality is developed through experiences with their primary caretakers and other people they may come in association with. Primary caretakers could be parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles whereas secondary caretakers are friends and peers with whom the child may spend a considerable amount of time. These experiences go a long way in building the kind of principles that one comes to uphold as important in life.

This explains the role of nurture in shaping the person we are likely to become. In fact, it is quite brilliant how small and inconsequential incidents attribute to great learning in life. Just the other day, my friend was poking fun at my acute condition of “honesty”. When I come across people who are too good for their own good (those who fall under the variety of Goody Two-Shoes, So square that they will get their corners cut when they walk through a door, the ones over whose heads the halo always shines brighter than ever), I do feel nauseous. I strongly believe that having a daredevil-ish attitude always spices up life and people who don’t allow themselves to go off the handle once in a while, lose out on a lot in life.

However, I highly value attributes such as fairness and justice. Hence, the teasing that I sometimes have to endure! I try to embody the quality of justice in actions or decisions I take and also in my treatment of others. Interestingly, I was not like this long ago. But once incident changed my outlook and contributed greatly in what I am today. This is what one would call a life-changing incident. This one incident is still etched in my mind, as if it happened just yesterday.

I must have been about 11 when I was travelling with my family on a train to someplace. Yes, those were the times when we usually took the trains for vacations instead of the no-brainer airways that is the obvious choice now, no matter which socio-economic status you hail from. It must have been a 2 day train journey in which the excitement of travel wears off once you get bored of changing landscapes and an overdose of board games. The sultry afternoon and Deccan backdrop plus the air-conditioned compartment had most of the passengers settling in for an afternoon siesta.

I remember my Mum and younger brother were sleeping on the lower berths and I had the upper left berth to myself. I was reading the book I had carried with me for the journey. My Dad who was just stirring from his nap, looked over to me and asked me if we had any cold drink left. “Nope” I told him. We had bought cold drinks once we had got on the train, from the guy who passes the bogies yelling in his nasal voice, “Ching-gum, chaclette, cheeps”. Now when we were young, my parents always bought one of whatever item was purchased- one for my brother and the other for me. In the case where one item was purchased, it was equally divided amongst my brother and me. We had to learn how to share.

We had bought 3 cold drink bottles- one each for my brother and I (one was for my Dad and Mum to share. To this day, my parents share a cold drink. They are not cold-drink fans but when they feel like, they share a few sips). Now since our friend was back in our compartment selling Coke (which he made sound like Cock), Fanta and 7-Up, my Dad purchased 2 cold drink bottles and few bottles of water.

I started sipping my ice-cold drink as I continued reading my book. The plan was to drink about half bottle and save the rest for later but as I continued drinking, I realized that I had come close to finishing my drink. Aah! Big deal! I gulped down the last few mouthfuls of cold drink. While my brother and Mum were still sleeping, my Dad and I were having a conversation- I think it was about some book. After about 20 minutes, I glanced at the wired basket in which I had placed the cold-drinks. The cold drink bottle was tempting me. But I knew the rules so I willed myself to ignore my temptation. But 10 minutes later, I was doing quite badly at the art of resistance and kept stealing glances at my Dad who was now reading.

Finally, I called out to my Dad and whispered, “Pleeease let me have a bit of the cold drink from Mohit’s bottle.” My Dad said in his usual soft voice “You just had yours. That is Mohit’s drink”. I rolled my eyes at him in a nonchalant manner and replied, “Yaaa. So? He is sleeping so he will not know. Just say you had little of his cold drink”. I was so smart. And clever. My Dad looked at me and then said, “He is sleeping and you will be taking something that is rightfully his. It is not about a bottle of cold-drink. I can buy you another ten bottles.” Now THAT’s what I’m talking about. Sounds like a plan Dad!

He went on to explain, “See, you finished the cold drink that was bought for you. You can still finish Mohit’s cold drink...he will never know we bought cold drink when he was sleeping. I will not tell him either. But, the only person you need to be honest to is yourself. And deep in your heart you will not feel good because you know that what you did was wrong. You did it behind his back. You will feel way better if you ask him to share and he declines than if you finish the drink that is rightfully his and never tell him about it.” He added kindly, “It’s your call”.

I was listening very intently at whatever he was explaining. I did what was right, and was expected of me at that point of time- let Mohit have his cold drink. I forget now whether I asked him to share or the cold-drink with me or not. It doesn’t matter. It has been ages since that incident.

Today I make my own decisions. Lectures on morals are not sermonized anymore at my place. Both my brother and I make our own judgements on what we think is the best option- whether it be right or wrong.

But even to this day, that seemingly unforgettable, unimportant incident on the train helps me make many difficult decisions. Replaying it in mind makes mammoth problems easier to handle, gets me through the toughest of times, sees me through dilemmas and ends up making me feel good about myself. Deep in my heart I always know- I am doing the right thing.

Death knell

I have felt it up and close

Breathing noiselessly down my neck

Cold. Ragged. Unwelcome.

I am all but reduced to a wreck

Mocking me in ways it wills

A wicked snarl it bestows upon me

Trepidation of what it will reduce me to

Fondly it coils its cold slithery self around my body

I can almost taste the sweat

Feel the caress of icy fingers

I can almost smell its blood curdle

The stench! It will linger.

My feet are frozen to the ground.

Ineffectual presentiment.

To where will I run?

Hah! Baseless impediment!

A pathetic croak escapes

I am screaming inside

Tears threaten me under its derisive perusal 

I give up. I give up the fight.

But wait!

The enemy is but an old one!

Many a time we have crossed paths

I have to fight this fight. I CANNOT run

Recurrence of old fights

Every one of which I have won

Of what have I to be fearful of?

I will do as I have always done

Resurgence of my spirit

Strength of my being

I summon my vigilante- Courage

Riding on Hope with wings fluttering

There is no blood. There is no battle.

My adversary flees as my vigilante jeers

Come and come again, I challenge

Him whose name is Fear 

An UN-FAIR faux pas

Just the other day, I happened to see this commercial on television...something to do with a fairness cream. I believe it was the Ponds ‘Flawless White’ or some nonsensical name like that. Allow me to run you through this ad. It had this petite girl who was definitely not Indian- European maybe. But since Ponds wanted to target the majority of wheat-ish skinned girls, they just had to get hold of a fair, not to mention abnormally pale skinned girl from overseas. Now poor fair girl faces a great dilemma; she has a date with this guy but she just CANNOT go looking like her fair self!

Why? Because she believes her guy will be awfully put off by her fair skin which is not fair enough but apparently has dark spots too (??!). Ummm...what dark spots??!! My guess is that the smart Alec’s who were shooting the commercial forgot to paint hideous dark spots on fair girl. Either that or they expected all of us to watch television with microscopes in our hands so that we could zoom into fair girl’s face to gasp at her so-called dark spots.

So, poor fair girl is scared shitless that she will face rejection and realizes that she needs to do something quick before her big date. But fear not fair girl... cause Ponds-Flawless Fairness Blah Blah comes to your rescue. Ta-Daaaa!

And then fair girl smears heaps of Ponds Flawless Fairness Blah Blah onto her cheeks (notice how the girls in all fairness cream advertisements will ignore the rest of their face) which will shock the viewers. Literally shock!! Because post-smearing, fair girl’s pale skin takes on a white hue that is abnormally ghastly and ‘ghostly’. Not only does fair girl transform into white girl now but she also manages to lose whatever little colour she had in her face. But apparently, white girl is ecstatic about her new ghostly skin colour and so is Mr. Shallow and they both disappear into a sunny landscape happily after.

Let’s rewind for one moment now. Firstly, you get a European girl to advertise for a fairness cream which is completely absurd. It’s one thing to show an Indian girl using fairness cream but it’s hilarity to have a fair-skinned girl sell fairness cream to a wheat-ish skinned audience. Also, WHAT is with the spooky white make-over that supposedly leverages the appeal of the fairness cream? Why would anyone want to look like they have been drained out of every ounce of blood? This commercial is a marvel in the way which it truly defies logic. Not only does it encourage Colorism but it also spreads the very unhealthy message that depressed are those who are dark-skinned.

Most fairness creams drive their products through the atrocious philosophy that success belongs to those who bleach their face to lighter hues. Do not mistake me...I am in no way commenting that Indians with dark skin have no right to want to be fairer. For someone who does not have a dark skin tone, I cannot afford to be judgemental and rubbish the fact that some dark skinned Indian women may desire a lighter skin tone. In a society which still believes that ‘fair is lovely’, it is not altogether unnatural for a dark skinned woman to want to make use of fairness products. Self-esteem issues may haunt the dark-skinned, especially in those families who attribute great value to light skin colour. But to have commercials whose sole objective is to entrench in people’s minds that dark-skinned will face failure in life is absolutely uncalled for.

Whatever does your skin-tone have to do with how well you can or cannot do something? How is your will and passion even remotely associated with your success in academics or your career? Unless your profession has to do with you looking good, like modelling for instance; and even then, dark skinned models are sultry! Whatever happened to ‘Tall, Dark and Handsome’? I have never quite understood the obsession that many guys have with their hair, but this new obsession with looking fairer just seems to take the trophy for idiocy! Having guys act like pansies is very disturbing indeed!

There is a very immediate need for a shift in the mind-set of Indians with regards to skin colour and success. Self-esteem and self-respect is ultimately all a matter of the mind. In fact, a guy who is intelligent is extremely attractive to me vis-a-vis some dude who spends 2 hours in front of the mirror. It is funny how most of my high school crushes have always been dark, quite unattractive but extremely intelligent individuals! I hate to sound passé, but beauty is skin-deep. And when I say skin-deep, I DO NOT refer to skin colour, but to the substance you are made up of.

Shallow are those who will judge you on the basis of your skin colour; so snap out of this obsession with looking fairer! Prove yourself by actually making something out of yourself, something which will make you proud and happy. In the end, would you rather spend time with someone whose fixation with flawless bleached skin drives you to spend frustrating hours in front of the mirror or with someone with whom you can just have plain fun?

Tender Hands

I am a little boy of six

Selling plastic toys from door to door

I wander in grey unknown cinderblock neighbourhoods,

Just to earn rupees four

I am a little boy of eight

A determined voice in me says

I just have to earn more today

So that baba can pay off his debt

I am a little boy of nine

I yearn for ma’s love and to play with toys

I yearn to read and write and study in school

Just like all the other boys

I am a little boy of ten

Shivering in the dark, cold merciless night

I am suffering for the blunder of not having made a penny today

Even my manager is nowhere in sight

This is what happens to all the lads

Not one single penny who have earned

They are left in grey unknown cinderblock neighbourhoods,

Only to be found half-life, whimpering on the frozen ground

I bear cataclysmic relentless whippings

If I have not a single penny made

But when I see my father haggard and slumped

I shed countless tears for his sake

I am a boy of eleven now

I am determined to change my destiny

My dream to study will no longer be a dream

From the bondage of child labour, I shall be free

Education will redeem me from this life of misery

I will study hard and work no more

I will touch the horizons of the skies

And no longer survive to earn only rupees four.

My message as a thirty year old President,

“Child labour effaces the ignited minds”- this we cannot afford

The time to realize the power of education is now or never

Please! Please let the tender hands lift the pen and not the load.

In praise of a Teardrop

“I don’t really remember when I last cried”, I have been often told. I don’t know whether I feel sorry for them or for myself.

Tears come easily to me. A beautiful movie moves me to tears. I still cry every time I watch ‘Stepmom’. I cry when people I love move far away. I may try to hold back those treacherous tears but they will come, eventually. I remember willing myself not to cry as I said goodbye to my Dad when I was moving to another continent. Ironically, I also cried the time when I was returning home; this time it was because I knew I would terribly miss my friends.

There are of course times that you feel this huge lump forming in your throat that threatens to explode any minute. Your tear glands may not be at risk then, but your heart surely is. It is a strange kind of hurt which does not affect you personally but breaks your heart nonetheless. This strange feeling comes to me every time I hear a baby cry. They may be tiny but you have to give credit to their lung power! Your heart goes out to that precious being and you feel a strange pain when you listen to its cries.

But this is just me.

It is not unusual for people to be tear-proof. More so with men than women. I honestly do not know if this is gender-defined or whether it is simply because women are more emotionally expressive. It may be both. I know of a friend who was narrating an incident from his childhood. He said, “When I was young, say about 10-12, I actually cried quite often. But then I remember my Dad telling me- You have got to be stronger. Boys must not cry”. And now this friend of mine is quite tear-proof. In all of the time that I have known him, I’ve probably seen him break down once or twice.

A lot of boys are brought up with the notion that men don’t cry. If it’s not advice given by fathers or elders, additional socialization with boys more than girls during growing years is powerful enough to drive the point home. When it comes to emotional expressiveness, girls generally take the trophy! Speaking about their feelings, lending their shoulder’s to cry on (and using other’s shoulders for a download of their own sob stories) is common amongst women. And hence, tears are not unusual with women. It is rare that men will sit around and discuss their feelings and want to talk about how their bicep-tattooed, beer-burping buddy is hurting. If you are an exception, you will most definitely be scorned by your male friends and mistaken by your female friends to be GAY.

I do have male friends (Straight!!) who are comfortable with tears. They are not ashamed to cry when they are hurt and most definitely do not mind sharing their sorrows. I have very often played the role of agony-aunt to several of my friends and I truly believe that a good confidante is not necessarily a good advice-giver. Advice is much cheaper than air! The secret is to listen and if you are genuinely concerned, judge whether to give advice or not. And yes, you have to know how to deal with their tears!

At the risk of sounding sexist, a guy who cries at the drop of a hanky is too much to handle. A guy who sheds a tear or two when he confides in you about his innermost demons is quite endearing. I was recently having a conversation with a guy friend and on asking him when he cried last, he replied after trying hard to recollect, “Ummm...it must have been three years back”. Apparently, it was at a funeral of a person he didn’t know too well but on seeing his best friend break down, he was moved to tears as well. Strange but something that I could perfectly relate to. Seeing your close ones hurt breaks your heart as well. If it doesn’t, you seriously need to ask yourself, “Do I have a heart?”

For that matter, girls who sob their eyes out as a hobby are annoying to say the least. I shall share with you an incident of a girl I once knew who got into a tiff with a guy in her college and was slapped by him when things got out of control. I remember standing there awestruck! Whoever has heard of a guy slapping a girl? Not cool LOSER!! Not cool!! But what happened next was even more unexpected. Instead of giving him a piece of her mind, the girl’s nose turned red first and she started sobbing in shame. Whatever happened to fighting out your battle? This girl was not the outspoken loudmouth that everyone had thought she was!

There are times when women automatically activate their tear glands when they find themselves in a sticky spot. Tears are not an excuse to avoid fighting the battle. When the going gets tough, the tough gets going!! I am not judging you if you cry. Just do it to relieve your pain and worry, not to solve your problems. And never in public for crying out loud (pun intended)!!! I myself have snivelled in the confines of my room when things are getting tough. And I value my tears- they have been cathartic. But I do not for one minute doubt my will and strength to get past whatever is troubling me.

But not to cry at all!! What life are you leading if you have not known the soothing touch of tears trickling down your face? What heart beats in your body if you have not released hurt? It is Charles Dickens who said-

Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts.

Learn to cry. Learn to shed a tear or two.

FEEL...alive!

The Traveller

With a bag on his shoulder and stars in his eyes,

The traveller proceeds towards his destination unknown

Bearing hopes in his heart

The traveller walks the earth

All alone

Blissfully he lies on the ground

With the sapphire sky above

Illuminated lamps glitter and gleam in the sky

He is gently blessed by the gods

Dwelling so high

His spirit is like the lighted candle

At the holy altar

He lends an ear to those who vent their sorrows

He brings to them a ray of light

 For tomorrow

Whenever he leaves, he leaves

A city of joy

He shares a vagrant’s happiness and joy

He gives the unfortunate a reason

To rejoice

He is a nurturer,

The spirit of humanity

He presses an old lady’s wrinkled feet

He gently carries the crippled urchin

Across the street

Nature has created few like him

Sprinkling of cheer wherever he goes

Without a worry for his self

He carries with him,

A burden of woes

He does not have a house

But he does not have a care

He will not serve as prisoner

Within the confines of cemented walls

The world is his, he who belongs to all

A philanthropist or an angel of God?

Warm smile, a compassionate touch

He murmurs a blessing as he passes on

He wins hearts and touches souls

As he walks this Earth, all alone

He treads unto foreign lands

The very Homes that he will bid goodbye

His calling in life is all that is his own

So much misery, so many to heal!

Of what use is a compass for a man whose destination is unknown?

Boy oh boy!!

A fairly common phenomenon in any Indian family is the search for a “suitable boy” for the daughter of the house. I come from a liberal family wherein my parents have always supported me in the pursuit of whatever I have been passionate about. They have been encouraging of my interests and supportive through all my personal battles. In fact, I have closely interacted with parents of many of my friends and I find myself very fortunate to have parents with whom I can discuss pretty much anything. I do not know of many friends who can discuss their relationships with their own parents with the same candidness. But like any other, my parents also secretly harbour dreams of my wedding (not similar to the stereotypical filmy-glitzy kind though; they are quite cynical such ostentation). I use the term “secretly” because they are rarely brought up for discussion with me.

Do not mistake me. I am not anti-marriage or anything. I would want to get married someday- when I am mentally prepared. Marriage must not be dictated by age. You could be 18 and make a great life-partner or fail miserably at marriage even when you’re 28. Undoubtedly, marriage is a function of mental maturity. It rarely is comprehended from this specific approach and parents by and large conform to the practice of groom-hunting when the daughter is 24-25.  

At this point in life, I have not even entertained thoughts of marriage. Hence, any thoughts of matrimonial nature are not something which I find exciting. Having been witness to the beautiful marriage that my own parents share, I would love to get married someday- when I am really excited about marriage, when I feel a relationship is special enough to metamorphose into marriage. Until then, I want to give due importance to enjoy and celebrate other things that are important in my life- my new job for instance. But this will not deter my parents from subtly slipping the M word during the most unexpected of times. Well, good luck with that Mum and Dad! 

I have become quite the pro at identifying these well-disguised hints by now and I have my own clever mechanisms to steer clear of them. But the pressure starts building and you may just crack! I have conducted my own analysis of sinister signs and I will share them with you. Here you go...

1. Sincere advice: If possible, stop attending weddings altogether! You meet your relatives at social do’s and they wink at you knowingly and ask your parents, “Sooooo...she has finished her education no? Now what plans?”
2. All your close friends start getting married off. You share the news with your Mum and she over joyously starts off with, “Oh so nice!! Good only! See...” That’s your cue to scram!
3. Your parents increasingly start inviting other families with “eligible” sons to join you for dinners/lunches. And dare you absent yourself under the pretext of meeting friends!
4. Suddenly, you notice that your mother’s friends start calling from all parts of the world to talk about their nephew/godson/neighbour that is looking to get married to a “well-educated Indian girl”
5. Your Mum almost chokes on her food when you announce that you are seriously considering doing a PhD. Her eyes will look like huge saucers as she retorts, “You have two Masters already and you want to study for another 3-4 years? Why don’t you settle down in your job...enjoy your newly-earned money?”
6. Your younger sadistic brother who has overheard your parents discussing your marriage stops harassing you and actually starts getting freaked out on your behalf.
7. You are at your close friend’s wedding and you find the wedding photographer stalking you as he blinds you with flashing lights. You are almost about to slap him hard when he cowers in defence and says, “Madam! Madam please! Your mother only asked me to take good photographs of you. For showing...you know...”
8. (After event 7) You catch your Mum taking the photographer’s calling card, “just in case”
9. When you have been hanging out with this guy friend an awful lot lately and your parents try had to sound casual when they ask you, “Soooo, is it serious?”
10. When your Mum is on the telephone with her friend and the minute you walk in, she starts talking in hushed tones
11. Your friend’s mother who is excitedly making arrangements for her marriage starts offering free matchmaking services to your own parents as a philanthropic gesture
12. When your Mum gives you long hopeful looks on receiving any wedding invitation
13. When your Mum comes back from this wedding she has just been to and excitedly describes the wedding to you while she stealthily adds, “...I am thinking we’ll get it done for your’s as well”. Sneaky huh?
14. If you are one of those who do not like wearing jewellery and you happen to complement the new earnings that your Mum is wearing, she looks at you in mock disbelief and then with teary eyes tells you, “All of this is yours only. Why don’t you wear something on your ears...at least once in a while? It will look nice you know...” And this will eventually lead to a lecture of another nature! So your work is already done and you will not have to rack your brains to get yourself out of this one. (Maddy 1: Mum none!!)
15. When relatives inquire about your age and the answer is almost always followed up with, “Aaaah...Right age!”
16. When your parents ask you about your boyfriend and you discreetly and vaguely mumble something; your parents continue with their interrogation, “But have you met his parents? Are they nice?” No Mum! I’m sure they are plotting to set me on fire so that I don’t corrupt their son’s life!
17. Your Dad actually asks you outright, “So what are your plans on marriage?” This is one that is quite hard to dodge. It’s right in your face!! (Ding ding ding* Dad one : Maddy none!!)

P.S: I love you Mom and Dad for trying so hard! Here’s to whenever I’ll finally stop dodging....

Technical GLiTcH = Gastronomic miss

Picturesque Scotland! A perfect piece of heaven. Expansive lakes whose ripples are the hues of blue- the breathtaking blue of morning glory, tiny bluebells, of the exotic edelweiss, of sapphires and jade. And the exquisite emerald green mountains that are spotted with globules of fluffy cotton that are the most adorable sheep! And I was Heidi. I could see myself in a flowered dress racing down the green hillock with a pail of creamy frothy milk in one hand and a stick in the other to chase the fat sheep.

Johanna Spyri conjured Heidi amongst the Alps but anyone who watched Heidi on Sunday mornings courtesy Cartoon Network will get the idea.  Only hiccup being Heidi was a chubby girl with rosy cheeks (Seriously!! Who has cheeks that colour?) and she seemed to have a stomach for milk- the full-fat double toned cream kinda stuff. Anyone who knows me will probably suspect that I probably suffer from anaemia (somehow calories have taken a strong aversion to my body). Anyone who probably knows me will also know that I have a strong aversion to milk. Moreover, I do not like flowery prints on my clothes. And God only knows how Heidi sat with the sheep on her lap. Those creatures are adorable but that does not give them the licence to weigh a million pounds! Man...Are those fat-ass balls of fluff heavy or what? Basically Heidi and I cannot be any dissimilar. But I am sure she loved Scotland as much as I did. The place is too beautiful to be true.

So I along with 6 of my guy friends had planned a road trip to Scotland (Yep! I honestly believe you can have the most chilled out time with guys: no clothes/shoes talk and no never-ending bitching sessions). We were driving from Manchester and had stopovers in Edinburg, Inverness, Ben-Nevis, Loch-Ness, Isle of Skye and other locations in and around Scotland. So we had driven for almost 4-5 hours and were on our way to Inverness. It was almost 6ish by the time we reached the lodge. This place was a neat wood and glass structure that was situated away from the commercial complex. The drive had churned up a good enough craving for the edibles.

So Prady, Nishant, Parjanya, Sameer, Ankit, Sahil and I made our way to a locality some miles away where we learnt was a McDonald’s. Now McDs in India is just some fast food joint for cheap grub. But in the U.K., the sight of the orange haired Ronald will make any vegetarian eyes light up in glee. When you are a student in the U.K. and your purse strings are strained, McDs will gain more respect from you than any Shangri-La or Mainland China. Moreover, if you’re one of those meat-eaters whose preferences for food are not as expansive as to include any crawling/moving object, McDs is a much viable option.

We were informed by the lodge administrator that a few eating joints including McD’s (Phew!!) was some distance from the lodge and we thought we’d walk the distance, especially after the long-ish drive. So off we went in search of our very own manna- cheese burgers and greasy fries! We walked on enthusiastically, going Oooh and Aaaah at every pretty sight, putting on the perfect touristy act. Funnily, it seemed that the Scots in this interior region were already indoors, doing the re-fills of the scotch and whisky. The area was strangely quiet and scarcely populated. And somehow the road-signs weren’t of any great help either. So on and on the 7 of us walked, in search of food.

Now let me tell you something about my pal Ankit. He is one of those techno-savvy people who if he could, would probably buy the new popular shiny gadget even before it was out in the market. So with his precious Blackberry clutched in one hand, Ankit sauntered ahead all of us with an air of self-confidence. Come on!! After all, he was a ‘Blackberry Boy’. Flanked by Nishant and Prady whose savoir-faire in technology was impressive enough to mingle with the likes of Ankit, the three of them were trying to figure out the way to McDs with the help of the BB (now who is going to waste all this energy in saying Blackberry; BB sounds more hep). While Parjanya pretended to look interested; Sameer didn’t even bother; and I was busy batting away Sahil with annoyance as he tried tripping me over (his idea of fun always almost involved getting me annoyed).

This craziness went on for a while till I snapped out of my reverie-like state (it happens naturally when you have such a beautiful mesmerizing landscape) and realized that we had been walking for almost half an hour now. The small quake like rumbling that had commenced in the pit of my stomach had now become loud enough for everyone to hear. I tried to control my irritation and asked the techie-threesome, “Don’t you think we must ask someone? I don’t trust that BB map”. And that was it for Ankit. He took offense to his incapability to comprehend the map that his beloved Blackberry had spread out for him and he said rather pig-headedly, “NO! I promise you my BB shall get us to McDonalds in the next 15 minutes”. Grrr...PIG-HEAD! I resigned to dismally scanning the landscape. What was so special about Scotland anyway? It all lakes and hills! Big deal.

By now, Nishant and Prady had lost interest in the BB as well. So as we all trudged along like nomads, Ankit kept mumbling to himself like a mad scientist while he feverishly worked his BB. We were crossing a small field when Prady exclaimed, “Oh! Look at this rabbit!” So we stopped to check out the rabbit that was the colour of chocolate...but not quite. It was the brown of fudge but with streaks of white...the white of vanilla ice-cream...Damn!! Stupid hunger pangs!! So while we watched the tiny furry creature nibbling on a vegetable of some kind, from a burrow nearby scampered two more rabbits. We watched as the three rabbits chased each other around the field. In the meanwhile, there was an argument whether these were rabbits or hares. As a close inspection of anatomy was being conducted, I stared forlornly at the piece of veggie that the rabbit/hare had dropped. DO NOT JUDGE ME!! When you can almost feel acidic juices in your stomach eating away at the insides of your stomach crazy thoughts do take shape in your head.

The disturbing visual of my insides disappeared as I heard Ankit shout, “We are on the right lane! Up ahead is McDonalds”. I could have almost fallen to my feet and kissed his BB with gratitude! Suddenly all of us felt this spurt of energy as we half-walked half-ran up the road with hope in our eyes and joy in our hearts (and noises in my tummy). If I recollect correctly, we also hummed some song on the way as well. As we reached the end of the lane, we noticed a junction that was forked and both the lanes went on without any sight of a food joint. We stood in disbelief as we stared at the deserted lanes. Now I am anything but patient. I could feel the vein near my temples throbbing as if it could not contain the hot red blood that threatened to spurt out any moment. I turned slowly to face Pig-Head who had led the pack of hungry wolves with an arrogant smirk on his face. “ANKIT! YOU-SAID-WE-WOULD-FIND-MC-DONALDS-AT-THE-END-OF-THIS-ROAD.”

The other five who had been about to lunge at Ankit’s throat some seconds back, re-evaluated their decision and decided to come to Ankit’s rescue. My short fuse was something that everyone had had the misfortune of witnessing in the past. So in order to prevent a scuffle, Prady quickly grabbed the BB from Ankit and said, “Now now...let’s figure this out”. After much collective analysis, Ankit explained to me apologetically, “Maddy...actually the BB showed McDonalds right in this location. Only that “McDonalds” is not the food joint...it is the name of this lane. That is why we have been walking on the same lane for a while now. I thought we would find the food joint down this road but...ummm...” What followed was a string of expletives and obscenities that were as long as a song. But aaaahhhh....did I feel good or what!! Ankit almost withered under my glowering gaze. After having vented out my frustration, I grunted, “the next person we see, we WILL ask for directions”.

So we walked back the McDonald’s ROAD in search of any inhabitant. I hate Scotland! No wonder the people don’t step out of their homes. Stupid lazy Glaswegians!  Don’t they have a life? They’re probably drunk every night in the four walls of their own homes. So anti-social!! Bumbling rustic idiots!! Soon, we noticed a Glaswegian couple walking in the opposite direction. Like a mirage! Sahil almost frightened them off as he ran towards them in wind-force. We asked for directions from the couple and turned out McDonalds was a 20 minute walk from the lodge and we had been wandering for the last hour. I was so happy I swear I had to hold back tears. It was almost 7:30 now and dark already. As we hurried to the location as directed by the locals, I could see Ronald’s orange hair and broad inviting smile from a distance. Oh my gosh!! That joker was so damn handsome!

We were practically the only other customers in the joint apart from a couple of other tables that were occupied. The till-attendants sniggered with amusement while we looked like over-excited foreigners who had never had the privilege to eat at a McDonalds joint. We waited for our glorious food to arrive. I drove everyone crazy as I tapped my foot impatiently. McDonald burger and fries!! I promise I shall never make fun of you!! I hereby pledge to treat you with the utmost dignity and respect that you truly deserve. I shall never ever shrug the suggestion of eating at McDonalds and ‘Eh’ at you in an off-handed manner. I love you!! I love you!! I love you!!

Our food arrived. Eating at McDonalds that day was almost an orgasmic experience for me. I sighed in gastronomic bliss as I happily tucked into my chicken burger and slurped my Oreo shake. I caught Ankit’s eyes once as he watched me gobble down my food. I shot him a dirty look which made him rather uncomfortable. While all of us revelled in the satisfaction of chomping down fast food, no one noticed as Ankit looked over to me, quickly hid his BB in his pocket and patted it protectively for fear of its possible “mysterious” disappearance.