Wednesday, April 29, 2009

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.

 

Monday, April 20, 2009

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.