In which we resurface

So I have been away. If I start giving reasons on why I was away, I would not have many. But the primary and most important reason has been my laidback attitude. When I am writing this post right now, I am thinking ( in the age old ways of psycho analyzing myself) what has changed that has made me write this post. Probably it’s the onset of autumn. There is slight dew in the air, days are brighter, sunlight is crispier and there is a strange sweet smell in the air. I wonder how these seasonal patterns correspond so well to hindi calendar. Tomorrow, I guess is the first nav-ratra ( going by the stall selling pooja samgri), and though I have no interest, inclination or belief in these things I feel nostalgic of the days when my mother would send me buy some last minute thing that she had forgotten.

Khair. Enough of reminiscence! I have cribbed a thousand times on how my life is so boring and uninteresting that I have nothing to write, that I feel guilty now that so many interesting things have happened recently and I have been darn lazy to write about any of them/

First things first. I got myself tested for HIV. My second time. It was something I had been planning, procrastinating and afraid to do for long for simple reasons. Every day, I would pass by this lab and stop and look at the sign board thinking wheather I would need a prescription to ask for the test, and what the people at the counter, the lab assistant who may take my blood sample will think. Will that make me look gay, or they will think I am a promiscuous bitch?

I am sure they have better things to worry about than these things when its their daily routine to come across jerks like me. So there I was, two weeks back at Lal path labs mustering all my courage. I asked the lady at the counter for a HIV/ ELISA test. ( I had got it done first when I found a hicky on my chest which looked a lot like what caposi sarcoma looked on Tom Hanks in Philadelfia.) The person who took my blood sample was as nonchalant as I expected him to be. Though I wanted to run away from there asap, he made me sit and hold the cotton on the point where sample was taken. And did it feel like eternity, sitting there surrounded by that eeky spirit and phenyl air?

I am sure most of you have seen the SATC episode where Samantha ( Btw, did any one check out the new movie’s pics? They all look fab.) gets her test done and she is anxious to get her results while waiting in the hospital lobby to be called any moment to get that counselling. Dr Lal labs saved me from that torture since they have online reports. I can’t begin to imagine to collect a test report finding oneself positive. With my heartbeats going up and staying there, I opened and found it was negative. It was negative. ( on second thoughts, I think if I was a better writer, I’d have begun with the suspense of the test and not broken out the news that it was negative in the first line itself. The way I see it, I too can do it. Just that I am lazy. J )

Hmm, the second thing. I finally met the designer and my notting hill moment did not just stay as an audio conversation. He was actually very nice and cordial and horny . I had already gotten over with the whole thing, so it came as a positive surprise. Peace.

Last month, I also decided that I needed to beautify myself so I invested in a chemical peel session. And I just looked like Samantha when she had got her peel done. ( for those who havn’t seen SATC, go watch it. You have no excuse). It was horrible. I had to be not only indoors but confined to my little apartment. I face resembled a desiccated currant, and no way I could have gone to work looking like that. ( yes, being a style icon does have its downsides). Thankfully, the swine flu scare was at its peak and I cleverly excused myself from going to work by telling people that I have Cold. Anyway, my ordeal lasted for one whole week and I could see a lot of suppressed smiles on my neighbors when I picked my morning newspaper ( only time I went out of home in 7 days). For those who are interested in knowing the results of the experiment can write to me, I will send them before, after and ‘in between’ pics.

P.S. I have been thinking of late why I chose 'TLOB' as my blog alias. I had finished reading the book when I started this blog. To rediscover my quirks, I went back to the book and fell in love with it. I will write a review soon, I think, at least, my alias deserves that,

The Monsoon Hungama

It's finally raining here, and what do rains bring with them? Raincoats, umbrellas, chai pakoras, rainy day etc. But being a responsible adult I have gotten over most of these things except one. Yes, Discount sales. This is the time of the year when all the brands I have been eying for past summer season are available for some discount, provided there are some pieces still left in my size. ( Is this only me or does everyone feel that they never get the size of a particular outfit they desire most?)

Speaking of shopping, it always makes me feel good, however short natured my happiness may be post that binge. It's for nothing that they call it retail therapy. There is another thing that takes over me everytime I enter a mall. I feel like a man possesed. I feel like there is a greater calling for me there. I feel I am here for a mission and I have to salvage the earth from these hoardes of shoppers who have come to find precisely those same things which could make my life so better. I have to be quicker, faster and better in findings those items than these lesser mortals and save humanity. I try hard. I scan every one around. Every one else is suspicious of every one else's intention. We are all competing in the same pool, one better be. Resources are scarce, and there is too high a demand ( trust me, you will feel the same way when you see the que outside Benetton showroom in CP. And yes, the que was for billing ).

Well, you win some and you lose some. Not always I grab the best stuff. ( most of the times you can't really wear it till next season. So one has to be Patient.) But I do have reputation for haveing the eye for the best stuff. Stuff which people overlook. Stuff I know will look on a a body than a clothes rack.

So, this year, or rather this sales season, I am holding myself a bit. Reason is the great economic situation. I had a negligible salary raise which can't even compesate for the inflation, let alone for my fashion needs.

But I am happy. There is always a next sale season to stuff on the gooddies.

hmm...I am sleepy and tired

Yes, that's what you do when you surf till late night and wait for things to happen to you. On top of it, when I woke up this morning, picking up my daily dose of newspaper I saw the headline say " Did you see the longest solar eclipse of the centuary?". Ahh, now they are making us feel guilty for sleeping late. Or rather waking late.

I can be least bothered. I am not gonna give any 'daan' becuase of the eclipse, that's so Pagan. I wish we indians had some more objectivity and we could start questioning the expected beliefs. And I bet any one who has experienced the nuisance caused by 'Kaanwariyas' will surely be put off by this brand of religion.

Now, this reminds me to declare that I am not religious at all. I am not proud of it, nor I am concerned. It's something fact of the matter. Chris: if you read this, I'd like to know what you think. Btw, I know that you sleep with your Blue book beside your bed table.

In which I get really Happy Happy

So it has finally rained in Delhi. Like I once prophesized, my mood is closely linked to Delhi Weather, and it was getting fouler by each passing day. The only reason kept me going to workplace was excellent cooling they provided in the premises, and the power cuts at home. Yes, all the reports of power cuts that you see on TV are not, for once, fabricated. ( Most of the time, all the nuisance makers start pelting stones etc on their object of scorn- Police station, Power station, Buses – only when they see a TV camera close by). Coming back to all things cool, it has become much cooler and humid. I don’t mind humidity as much as that searing heat which has tanned me in not a good way. I am thinking of de-tanning solutions. Any suggestions?

Since I last blogged almost a month back there is so much to post.

But before that let me just announce to the world that I feel happy.

Happy and content after a long time. And it’s just not the rains that have made me happy.

I like things sorted out. All the rationales, explanations each neatly applied into their right respective problem areas. I get my answers mostly from what I read, what I observe, who I meet etc.

This time I know there have been lots of triggers but it’s mostly the realization of how good life has been, or rather there are far more positives in life than negatives in my life.

Like I mentioned before, I have taken reading Marian Keys with a vengeance. I am on my second book ‘Last Chance Saloon’, though this is one guilty read, I enjoy her enormously. The book deals with friendships, love and cancer. Yes, chick lit is the least place one would expect Cancer to be written about.

I have never written about it earlier but reading about the disease and the various tests, chemo, radiotherapy affected me deeply since I have had a close encounter with the ghastly disease myself.

Three years back my mother succumbed to the disease. It was not the best time for any of us in our family. I know how it sounds when you say it was not best, but cancer was not the only thing that was going against our family. In the book, when I read about how the patient goes for bone marrow test, and how actually despite being given local anesthetic the needle has to prick the actual bone marrow which can’t be numbed for the sample. I remembered the day my mother went into that tiny room after a wait of two hours in the intolerable heat of that dingy hospital. She never told us back how painful it was. At that time, our only concern was to pray for test results to come negative.

But do things ever turn out the way we want? We got the bad news soon that cancer had spread to bone marrow too. In other words, she was on the last stage of cancer.

Before all this happened, cancer was a deadly word. It was something that happened to others. Something that only a few really unfortunate ones get. As is the human tendency, our first response was “why me?”.

Our visits to the hospital answered that question. There were young three year olds kids being treated for cancer and one has to have some nerves to speak to his mother asking his conditions.

There was a pretty young teenager girl who was not just tonsured because of chemo she had stitches on her head. Yes, her brain was operated for removing tumors.

While, we were not actually very lucky either.

There were many rounds of chemotherapy. Her low hemoglobin level before each chemo session required us to find blood donors for every round, and soon we exhausted our friends and acquaintances as potential blood donors because you need three months break before you can donate blood again. We got friends of friends and people who just heard about it and came to donate the blood in the hospital.

Before one session, her blood platelets count dropped abysmally low. If I remember correctly, 5-6 blood samples would make up for one platelet bag. I was too busy arranging for blood that I never had time to mourn her disease.

As I am writing these, I am reliving those horrors. I had read one of tendulkar’s interviews where he said a visit to a cancer ward in a hospital gave him new perspective on life.

My perspective changing moment came too. Perhaps all too soon.

I still remember the deafening cries at the time of one of our earlier chemo sessions when a patient died in the next room. Though, the wife was crying at least hundred meters away from our ward, there was nothing else you could hear in that ward. All other patients and their families had a look which spelt despair and death. Though we all knew that anyone among our loved ones can be the next one to go, we tried hard to look normal. I smiled and tried some normal banter to make it look like an ordinary thing, but I knew in my heart that it was our worst fears coming true.

There were so many moments when I actually thought if it was happening to me. One thing, I took from that experience and which I had forgotten about was the fact that “ why make all the fuss”. I know it’s a very fatalistic approach but perhaps I don’t push myself that hard for things which I know are very trivial when you compare them to cancer.

What if I don’t conoodle with my boss and impress him so he gives a big raise and sends me to an exotic locale for work (Yes, that happens in our company for some ‘lucky’ people). I don’t try that hard. I do my work and let my work speak.

I may not be going to Colombia (despite learning Spanish) or Greece, I have a well paying job. I am quite healthy, though I still have some way before I can de-lard myself completely; people still compliment me on my physique ( in a non sexual way)

I may not be the most intelligent guy on planet, but my colleagues respect me for my knowledge and opinion, and frankly I am trying to give a damn to what people think of me.

I mean if I start counting the things which are in my favor, they will far outnumber my whining list. So I have decided to do one thing. Throw that list to some corner of my head and tell everyone that life is really good.

My Notting Hill moment

My last post was going nowhere. It was erratic, incoherent and befuddled. I think I had not even read it before publishing  ( small mercies that push button publishing offers you); but in retrospect I think it was something I had to do. Something that I had to get out of my system so that I could live peacefully. Since, I still have not told the name of the person to anyone except for my ex-best friend, I carry a huge baggage. It’s not everyday that I have news of me dating a bigshot 

Let’s rewind to a month back.

In the tradition of TV news channel who are hell bent on recapitulating news breaking stories, let me tell all those readers who have tuned in to this post now.

Recap: I had a chance encounter with a very big name in Indian fashion scene. That encounter which started on virtual world transitioned to audio world ( read: phone) and I felt ecstatic to say the least. Here I am- someone who was ( still is ) afraid of getting old alone, who is surly and bad tempered because he doesn’t find people who are capable of  matching anything other than body stats—sitting and idling time since he has nothing better to do on weekends and he gets approached by someone who is not only rich, famous, young, good looking but most importantly intelligent.

How often does that happen? ( Twice in my case. I was ostensibly proffered by a Grasim Mr India who really got into me after a converation, but since I could never verify if he was the person he claimed to be, I made little fuss about it and moved on. May be I should post about it too)

I have already written in my last post that how this person messaged me, called me at odd hours and we really connected on phone.

 I had no doubt if he was the real one. He was the real one. I asked him a few question too from what I read from delhi times etc, and he was quite surprised that I tracked such info.

He told me about his business plans as to how he wanted to set up a fashion empire on the lines of western fashion houses and even asked me if I would like to work for him. I was completely taken away by his business proposal. No doubt this guy is going to make it big. He is a force to recon with in Indian fashion and according to media reports he also has good business acumen. It was too good an offer to be refused. I being my usual cynical self played it down focusing on the lesser more baser aspects of life.

Though, after that conversation I did all the research and envisaged myself doing something which I always secretly wanted to do. (People who might get carried away at this moment thinking of me as some fashion queen must be told that I had such weird career aspirations since I was a kid. I still want to be Foreign Service officer, a chef, a journalist, a published author, not to mention, being connected to glamorous industry was also on top of that list.)

But I was in for a shock.

Suddenly there were no messages, there were no calls. And he got completely inaccessible. He never picked his phone though all my messages got duly received.

To put it mildly, I was heartbroken. It was not just any other fling that I had. There are times when you feel there is something great destiny has in store for you and your moment will come. Being a complete cynic, I still have that six year old girl like streak in me who feels that everything is going to be alright at the end. We all feel special. We all feel—at least at some point in time, that life has not been fair to us, that we deserve better. We rationalize, we give examples other people who are far less talented or hardworking but who have made big in life; and we make a list of things that could have been better in our life. If only so…

Despite all this optimism, we chug along the dreary life hoping that our moment is coming. We will have our place on this earth; we will mean something to someone. We will not be just another number in billon other people.

I saw this encounter as my moment. This was my chance to redeem my lost pride which I had for myself.

But what all we wish for does not materialize too often.

It feels bad if one never gets that feeling that one is going to get one’s chance, one’s life changing moment, and one’s ticket to redeem one’s destiny.

But it’s far worse feeling when you realize that you had your chance, you had a life changing moment and your ticket to destiny was not for real. 

I have been having existential crisis sort of thing  for a long time now; but somehow I made peace with myself. Telling myself that life is too long, and I will have my moment when the right times come. But this incident left me questioning those beliefs again.

 What is it from life that I am seeking?There is nothing permanent in this world. Fame, money, power or beauty: These all entrapments.

 What if I have this person rolling at my feet in love, what will that accomplish?

 Why am I so disturbed?

 Why I felt cheated? He never said he loved me or I would be his new boy friend.

 What am I in this world for?

 Am I here for falling in love, making money, making love and then dying?

 I asked these questions again and again. I couldn’t eat, sleep or concentrate on work. I didn’t get any answers. I felt perhaps we make too much of these small incidents in life.

 This fellow—however rich, famous, intelligent he may be-- called a random guy and had fun chat for a brief period. I should have been smart enough to understand it. Though, it doesn’t happen very often in life. But it does happen.

 Big Deal??

 Khair, if you are still reading now, you must got an impression that I am over it.

 On a different note, I caught ‘Notting Hill’ a few nights back on cable. Even the die hard cynics of this world would not be failed to be charmed by this movie. Whatever is happening in the movie: It’s all unbelievable; and that perhaps makes it more believable. We want to believe in goodness of Julia Roeberts and charming goofiness of Hugh Grant. We believe in the movie by the end of the movie.

 “It was nice meeting you. Surreal but nice” Hugh Grant’s character tells Julia Roberts’s character after their first meeting.

 Immediately, I could see the parallel between the film and my story.

 I felt exactly the same. Surreal but nice.

 The bitterness that I had accumulated over the fortnight had dissipated. Not many people get the chance to even have their ‘surreal but nice’ moment. Life is too long, may be I will have many more such moments. And even if I don’t have those moments. I will have many other ways to make my life complete.

 It’s not end of my life.

 P.S. It turned out that my friend is globe trotting to meet buyers and stuff, which he explained me a few days back when he called, and was not able to return calls because he was either too busy or tired. So, all said and done, we are still in touch, though I have given up any hopes of leaving my well paying and secure job to join his fashion house.

 

 

 

 

It's totally Random

Though, I had gone through the existential crisis a few years back, I had not imagined that it would come to haunt me again and I will be caught unawares. Afterall, I was sad, lonely and depressed. How worse it could have got? 

Worse it did get.

 A few weeks back, I received a message, on one of the social networking site I am present, from a person whose picture looked all too familiar. Fake pics are in no shortage on such sites. Everyone knows how an Indian girl conned a dutch man making him believe she was Aishwarya Roy. 

Networking sites, such as the one I was present on has a few popular choices. The message I got had none of the usual suspects. The pic- instantly identifiable by any one who follows the Indian fashion industry even remotely-- had me taken completly by surprise. I hardly have the looks to receive messages from decent looking men, let alone this man. Therefore, I decided this is a fake pic and needs to go to deleted messages. Boredom and curiosity got better of me after I deliberated on it and sent a reply hoping against hope I will receive any reply.

A week later, I get a sms on my phone saying that it was HIM. ( Yes, I sent him my number, I am that desperate. Get over it!) I am all too excited to find that not only is he replying back but he is also real. Real? Do I actually know for sure he is for real, not some fake guy like ipl player. Being the pathological cynic, I demand to speak to him and he smses back saying he is in a meeting.

Ahh, I thought I had caught him.

After an hour, I got a call. The voice was all too familiar, it cannot not be him. I am very good with voices and was sure about him. We chatted briefly and I couldn’t contain my excitement.

From then one, we regularly started messaging each other and talking whenever HE got time ( He is the busy guy, not me).

He had asked me to send him my clear pics, which I did. And suddenly the messages stopped coming.

Hehe.

Big Deal?

Before I go any further, let me write something about the mystery man. Though, it will not be ethical to reveal his name, I can give some general hints.

He is a fashion designer who has made a name for himself in India and abroad within a very short span. He is Young – important for me coz I don’t date above a certain age when I told this to my ex best friend he thought I was referring to Vijay Arora—intelligent, well read with a middle class background.

He offered me a job on our very first call. He asked me to become his business advisor since I was the MBA type who knew his finance and fashion. Though, I didn’t commit anything to him as I was overwhelmed by the fact that I was speaking to this GUY, I was secretly hoping that perhaps this was the chance I could switch career

He was the Indian YSL and I was his business partner.

The fantasy was too short lived.

There is more to it, will write in the part ii

 

 

 

 

 

   

Birthday Blues

There is a lot happening in my life.

But still I feel my life is one of the most boring, staid and placid movies that one can make out of a real life. Last week I turned little closer to thirty. Though, just like the women in SATC, I have promised myself that I would stop aging beyond 29 and will be 30 for some ten years, the reality of having to confront another lonely birthday hit me hard.

I spent the day like any other regular day doing chores such as going to office ( I didn’t put much effort in selecting the clothes, which on hindsight I should have ), coming back from office ( I wonder what fine day it will be when I go straight partying from office, or err…do I have to keep a spare pair of clothes for that? Which will be such a nuisance) and doing my laundry – the third item must sound as if I am some kind of clothes fiend, but actually I am. Remember the best dressed person thing??

Some of my colleague got to know that I turned a year older despite my best efforts at keeping it a secret ( I had done it for last two years on orkut). Damn facebook was the place which I had not figured out much, and it gave away precious information. In fact, one of my blog reader --shall I say my only reader?- also ‘located’ me on facebook which is totally ok with me. 

So, those office folks got a cake and asked me to cut it. I might not have written this before but Cakes and I go long way back. In fact, despite being born and brought in 'bhaiyaa land' my craving my ‘english’ style cake pastry had seen no end. Slowly, I got curious to know as how one can make these at home and after almost hundreds of failed expreiments of gooey, half cooked, burnt cakes which were subjected to my class mates, my maids, pets etc I cracked the formula of making a decent ( read: edible) cake. 

Being a true taurian ( read: stubborn ), I never give up something until I get what I want, and then give it up unceremoniously without any remorse to all those people who suffered because they ate what I gave then disguised as cake. One of my polite neighbors told me after eating my caked that eating these biscuits cum cake is really a good exercise for his gums ( He so wanted to give the brick analogy, I could see from his expression).

So, though I digressed, I wanted to make a point that I can bake perfectly turned out cakes --which I would have done every day had it not been for my fetish for my weight—and no body gets surprised there. Imagine eating a decent cake after you have eaten scores of burnt ones.

On one of those nights, when I have really nothing to do and I am too tired of watching DVDs, looking for dates, soliciting for dates, executing solo dates with myself;  I run to the kitchen and see if I have the ingridients to make a cake. And thus I bake a cake. Since, I can’t eat my cake alone I often bring it to office and tell people that my maid has made it  ( alliteration, ye) even my colleagues have got used to this idea that I am a cake junkie. ( Don’t ask my BMI number now).

Therefore, the first thing that they asked me after they got to know it was my birthday “Have you brought cake?”.

“I am not desperate enough to bake a cake for myself “, I muttered slowly.

“Never mind, we look forward to your next offering any way”, chorused my entire cubicle.

‘Ha ha ha” , I gave their my lame laugh which I do when I get embarrassed/ nervous/ or shy.

All the wishes and hugging ( actually no one hugged me, except for one. How boring?) , a chocolate cake was produced by lunch time for me and I lost my nerves. Remember cakes and I go long way back. The truth is much as I want to be the centre of attraction, if and when it happens I totally chicken out.

I was mortified to find that I have to cut the cake and get my pics clicked ( remember my phobia with images)

As the order of things are, I got my chocolate facial in due time—just seconds after I had taken the first bite. And they even rubbed it on my chest ( I know it was some perv who just wanted to feel me: disgusting). 

Khair, I have given much time to write a trivial event in my life whereas all I wanted to write how it triggered a melancholic wave.

 I will post that soon.

P.S. I am reading chick lit  these days --which I have always frowned upon, but somehow I chanced upon a used book and the writer kept me hooked – and that explains why I start trying to be funny everytime I want to write something serious. Marian Keys is infectious and way better than Indian wannabes like Reddy Madhvan etc.

Literary Dreams: How literal are they?

There is a reason I don’t blog much.

And it’s not about me being lazy which you would have thought—which, on second thoughts is a good reason—but since I consider myself pseudo intellectual the reason I have is more profound one.

I think mostly what I write is crap.

When I read other blogs, I just find my writing and myself so inadequate.

 My writing which gets influenced by who I am reading at that moment flip-flops between styles. I mean I know fully well that I am not Zadie Smith or Atwood or Arundhati Roy, and can never be but there is a constant struggle within me to write something which I would feel proud later on.

And, for the record, there are things that I am proud of.

Now, the previous line was added as an afterthought, when I had written the entire post just to make it funny. But I find, this line looks very forced and artificial. Probably, I am not funny in real life. My humor gets restricted to sexual innuendos and a few one liners from American sitcoms. Yes, no jibber jabber here!.

It’s weird but in dreams I compose passages which are almost like the styles of writers I mentioned before. I don’t speak English much in real life ( meaning I don’t think in English), I learnt english very late and  started reading english texts much later in my life therefore it’s a mystery as to how those words which I see myself writing so clear.

There is nothing vague about the whole experience since it happens very frequently especially if I have read anything by writers I liked, before sleeping.

Since I have already mentioned, my favorite hobby is people analysis; and for lack of many real people in my life, I practice that a lot on myself.

I have an explanation for everything.

Every tiniest action that I take.

I see this whole writing in dreams as a portent of something similar that used to happen a few years ago.

Circa year 2000, I enrolled myself in one of those English speaking courses. (Embarrassing though it may sound, it was the only option for me since it was near impossible to find and convince someone to speak with me in queen’s language in my  town). The institute forbade people from using any other language except English in premises which created quite funny situations which I think I should devote a separate post later. But the interesting thing in those days was when I started dreaming that I was having an actual conversation ( without faltering, stuttering or  even worse mispronouncing words) before I could have a actual decent conversation one in real life.

Taking a cue from this, I am hopeful that I might write better in future and stop having writers dreams.

If you haven’t got it yet, I have stopped having dreams where I have conversation without faltering, stuttering or mispronouncing words. I have those conversations in real life and people inevitably ask me if I am a product of one of the most famous schools in the town I short lived before moving to Delhi. ( I secretly smile )

As an aside, I saw once an interview of a little known writer who when asked how one wrote good prose responded by saying that in order to write well, one needed to read well first. Those words got entrenched in my mind and I was determined to read as much as possible. I feel that I have made up for those years when I had little access to quality books in last few years since I have become financially independent and moved to a bigger city. However, there is a still a sense that I am not as articulate, expressive or funny as I should be.

There is something else which I read somewhere to the effect that every blogger secretly wants to write a book. This may be true for me and many others.  Because notwithstanding the fact how boring life I lead, there is a book in everyone’s life. They all want to be published.

Before I end this, I have a question. Do you think about the writing process, style, humor etc while you are writing or it just comes naturally? And do you want to be published?

I do but only when I have a little better craft.

Boy's don't cry!

For those of you read my last post—yes, I am referring to USP and Ramby—and didn’t get it, the guy in the second incident was me. I tried to distance myself from that incident and didn’t want to come across as sentimental hob. However, I thought I must confront it and accept who I am  the way I am.

 It turns out that I can cry at the drop of a hat. Well, it was not like this earlier when I used to cry only over issues of global importance such as pimple breakout, my ever increasing waistline or every time I saw food I didn’t like. I have a confession to make since I am already spilling beans on my personal stuff. I hate to look myself in the mirror. Unlike most of the guys who don’t leave any chance to run through their hand in their hair, puff their chest or adjust their crotch the moment they encounter any reflecting object, I would deliberatley duck away from such devices in those frightiening moments.

No prizes for guessing that I would always find fault with something in my body: The surprising thing was that the body part will never remain same. One day I find to my horror that I have a very big nose ( still smaller than Shahrukh’s) and other day it would be my ears ( still smaller than Amir) and on other days I will start looking with quizzical expression as to what was wrong with my ears, nose ,lips...Hope you get the drift.  This shame/ guilt/ anger would last forever and no amount of increased frequency of operation "mirror watch" would make me get used to my own self. 

I mean isn't it the case that if we something long enough we don't notice the obvious flaws. 

Case in point is Dev Patel-- with his perennial goofy expression and lanky body, I don’t know what Freida saw in her, and what I think of Freida’s beauty is very different-- who I have got used to seeing if I can use the expression and find him 'tolerable'.

Coming to my original confession, I don’t like to face mirror –and yes, I hate cameras too, if that was not obvious yet—however, and this is where the big surprise is: I look into the mirror every time I cry. 

I don’t know why I do it, but let me tell you I don’t do it to check how horrible I look.

Do I look to check if I look better ( I am so bored with using ‘look’ so many times, how vain can I get? ) with all those tears, bleary eyes and a running nose. 

Yes, I believe so. How many people can seriously look brilliant while crying? I think I can. With my eyes welled up, ears getting a crimson hue and the lone tear falling on my cheeks, I find it so..so...so not me. I kind of feel I am looking at a different person who I don't know. Who is smarter, better looking, more humane and vulnerable.

P.S. I guess this is one of the most weird post which I have written ever. But I can't help it if things are turning weird for me-- which I will post sometime soon. Now, I am gonna make a mean biryani ( there was a Hailstorm in Delhi, and it's so much cooler now) and eat it.

 

Signal Madness

Scene1 : Traffic Light, Outer Circle Connaught Place 

A thirteen fourteen year old school kid wearing clean white uniform, his school bag on his shoulders knocks on the window of a car. The car is a white Audi A4 costing 30 lac upwards. The kid has some long, thick pencils in his hands which he is trying to sell for some school project. He speaks to the lady sitting next to the driver. The lady shows some interest. Traffic light turns green. Everyone starts honking behind ( No surprises, this is Delhi). The lady takes out 5 rupee coin ( my guess, but I am sure it must have been 2 rupee) and gives it to the kid. The kid looks disgusted. Some more honking from the desperate drivers.  Seems, she does not want pencils. He throws the coin through the window slit and moves back.

Scene 2: The next traffic light, Connaught Place

Red Traffic light.  A middle aged guy carrying a four- five year girl knocks on a car window. The girl is allegedly sick. Her face is covered with a coarse cloth trying to shield her from harsh sun. One of the most common method of begging. The guy in the car doesn’t pay heed. He looks away. Suddenly, from some where the mother of girl emerges. Desperate, disheveled and angry. She has a bright face with big eyes accentuated by her olive complexion.  The father knocks on the window showing a government hospital prescription and shrieks” Bheekh nahi maang raha hoon main”. The guy in car looks other way. He dithers, then looks for his wallet. He could only find a 100 rupee note in his wallet. He gives it and speeds away. Crying. Crying inconsolably.

Recession Woes

Economic recession is here. As if I didn't know the fact, it was all too obvious. The place where I work has not strated to lay off people. Yet. That is in India of course. Globally, it's a different story.

We all keep hearing about rumors how other companies are firing people left, right and center and it can be our turn any other day. 

I never believed in these doomsdays theories. And I have got enough problems of my own, than to think about when my job is going to go. ( As an afterthought, I don't know how I will continue my retail therapy if things go wrong). But, this is not what I chose to blog about.

As I said, this recession thing has put lot of people out of job but the place where I work, it has made people out of work. Now, if you have bunch of young, smart, intelligent people around who don't have much to do than to spend their entire time either on Facebook or blogsites, what you'd propose to do?

You'd ask them to indulge in mindless activities such as organizing events to get all employess together and spend time with each other. Never mind if you don't want to stand the guy who chats as if he is long lost sibling of Rakhi Sawant or the lady who thinks just because she is punjabi, she can foul mouth anyone. Ah, if these were the problems that really mattered to me.

Some bright chap gave the idea that why not have a poll asking employees some random questions. Most of them very boring and tepid according to my taste. Sample this: Who is the most helpful person? Seriously?? I mean give me a break. Are we here in a personality contest??

Whatever. So while I was completely disinterested in the whole proceedings, a little birdy told me that I was also one of the contenders. The category, though certainly flattering, had me in worry. Was it too obvious??

Best dressed person? I mean who are we kidding here? Like I mentioned that there are a couple of guys who have six packs amply supported by their punju model looks, who dress more expensively ( like Shades costing 15 K) this win was a total surprise to me. Curious I was, as to find out how I beat these people to win the race, and the answer was not difficult and I was told it was my style which won over the expensive brands. haha. Don't I feel good? Yes, I do. I dress quite conservatively opting for very fitted, formal look without giving too much attention to what I am gonna wear next day. But I guess somethings like your style are innate ( reading cosmo, or sartorialist.com always helps), I have a thing for good things not necessarily expensive ( which I'd love to buy if I was that rich) and it sometimes shows. And yes, if you think it's about being gay. So be it. I would prefer being called a stylish person. Straight or gay!