DO YOU BELIEVE IN SANTA CLAUS?

Though Christmas is NOT one of the main festivals that I celebrate according to my religion, yet for being in a catholic school I was made to understand that Christmas represents gifts from Santa Claus who comes down our chimneys at midnight of Christmas eve with promises of rewards, and this used to ensure a good behavior from all us kids round the year. But today when I've grown up, I wonder how many other grown ups still believe there is really a Santa Claus? Well, Santa Claus is not merely a wishful thinking for me, but he exists… as certainly as love, generosity and devotion exist. Alas! How dreary it would be if there was no Santa Claus?! Without 'him' there would be no child-like faith, no poetry, no presents and no romance to even make tolerable this season of warmth, love and merriment.

Some of us grown-ups might ask, “Do we need that old fat man with the big white beard to celebrate Christmas?” And there are those who would say we do not need an icon whose most popular depiction arises out of the early color-coding principles of a soft drink manufacturer (for the red and white that we associate with Santa, were designed by the Coca Cola Company in an attempt to link Christmas with the drinking of their flagship product). There are those again who would argue that gift-giving has become an arena of conflict in which families struggling to maintain a decent economic foothold in a cut-throat world are put to the test by the manipulative strategies of advertising & marketing gimmicks. Perhaps it’s time for such grown-ups to re-look at Santa Claus and re-contextualize why we do really need him…
…because we need to give. Our genes may be selfish, our basic and more primal instincts may be aimed at ensuring the survival of our own self and our genetically linked family, but there’s much to be said for giving too. And we are not talking about gifts alone here... we’re talking about giving of our time and effort and of helping others. Let us try to redefine Santa Claus as the spirit of giving and we would see why we need him more than ever.

Our world is one of closed spaces and closed minds. It is one that allows the individual very little control over the way things are. This works in the area of personal relationships too. The more we give, the more connected we become, the better our emotional health and the emotional temperament of the relationship becomes. And it really holds true that whatever we give, comes around. But we should not equate this 'giving' with ‘the parcel with the red-ribbon’ and the little card with a quickie message… because if we agree that Santa is a human necessity, that he is only an embodiment of the spirit of putting others before one-self, that he is a convenient and time-honored icon to represent all that is generous and giving in human nature, WE HAVE TO BE SANTA ourselves.

Yes, Santa still lives. Commerce won’t let the fat man in the funny red suit with white fur trimmings and the three-pillow-paunch, who is a mere 1700 years old, die because he’s too valuable a property. And his this act of giving without asking for anything in return repeated again and again, year after year, spreads joy and happiness all over, making everyone jolly and happy too.

Merry Christmas to all and also to the man who says HO! HO!! HO!!!

MA...

Once upon a time she was a bubbly pampered sister of three elder brothers, who loved handiwork, going to movies, dressing up, painting, playing pranks and her cats. And then she got married to become a wife at 18. Then one day she had ME and became a mother at 20. A few years later, she eventually had my two younger sisters and added to the list of things she previously was. She became a cook, a dresser, a wiper of our dirty faces, a cleaner of our soiled diapers, a nurse when we were ill, a retriever of thrown socks and uniforms, a finder of our lost shoes, a doer of our homework we couldn’t complete, an insomniac. She was a referee in our toy-wars, a slayer of dragons in our nightmares, the face of angels in all those fairy-tale bed-time stories that she’d read out to us every night before tucking us in bed to sleep. She was the expert innovative chef who had to come up with 1001 tiffin-recipes which could not be repeated very often, a duty-bound guard who would walk us to school and bring us back home, holding the umbrellas to protect us from the sun or the rains and sometimes even carry one of my sisters who would get tired walking. She was a soother of nervous school jitters, a coach to prepare us for our tests and exams, a strict (hate-able) character when we scored poor marks, an adorable rewarder when we passed with flying colors and a sporty leader of girl-scouts.

With each passing day, her talents grew: she became a baker of delicious cakes and cookies, a hygienic competitor of the dirty roadside chaat-wala, an ice-cream vendor who distributed popsicles and ‘milkmaid-kulfis’ not only to us but to all our neighborhood playmates absolutely free-of-cost. She learnt to sew prize-winning costumes for our fancy-dress competitions, compose the best school essays which would score us maximum marks in the whole class, come up with the best ideas for our science exhibition projects and embroider the most beautiful motifs for our hand-work assignments. She would be my transporter, guide and motivator for all those numerous art-competitions that I participated in as a child.

Her body, once which was her own to do with it as she pleased, now belonged to us—she ate for ‘us’ when she was carrying us in her womb, her breasts were the only source of food or life we recognized as infants, her shoulders were used by us to cry upon, her arms to be hugged by whenever we needed her warmth and security, and her lap for us to sit and cuddle upon. Her lips became the kissers and soothers for all our unstoppable boo-hoos and tears, her hips were the carrier of our small, squirmy bundles and her hands our cradle.
She could braid or tie-up our hair in the time most people could only manage to wash their faces. She could bathe, dress, feed and get all the three of us ready for school in half-an-hour flat. And she could smile for us even when she didn’t actually feel like. Her feet were used to walk the house with us in her arms at any hour of the night, if either one of us had a difficult time sleeping due to illness or nightmares. And as we were growing up, she even grew eyes in the back of her head and her hearing became supersonic--lest we should fall into wrong things or wrong people at a wrong age.

Her parents had named her ‘Mina’. Then as she became a mother she had as many aliases as a conman. She became—at various times—Mm, Ma, Ma-ma, Mom, Mommy, Mummy, Mum, Mina-ma (I used to call her that, as if to distinguish her as the special one of the various other moms in the neighborhood, she recalls) and for a brief period of her mental vexation, ‘Mins’ (when we called her that teasingly).

Her free time which might have once been occupied to do things of her interest, were now used to tidy the disorderly jumble of our toys, books, empty chips packets, used plates, empty cans of cold-drinks, a carpet of clutter and chaos and a dwelling of disarray.

Her mind which might have once flourished with egocentric thoughts, were sometimes filled with irrational ideations: “What if they fall out of the bed while I’m in the kitchen?” “What if they choke on their food?” “How safe would they be to get back home after dark from their friends’ birthday party?” “What if they choose the wrong guys as their boyfriends or to get married to?” “Did I say anything to hurt my darlings?” “Am I a good mother?” “How will I know if I’m falling short of anything in bringing them up?” etc… These were some of her insecurities I would overhear her sharing with Dad, once in a while when he was home (my dad had to travel a lot due to the nature of his job and he was hardly home till we grew up).

But for us three sisters, my Ma has been and always will be our ideal icon… even more important and loveable than God himself, coz she’d done something nobody else had ever done for us… accomplished a feat so death-defying and magical that many wouldn’t even attempt doing. She’s the one and only form, face, smell and name of pure and unselfish love I’d ever known. She’s my Ma….

A FEW PASSING THOUGHTS....

Sometimes I wonder... how to define a few terms...like 'love'...'happiness'...
how to define a 'color'..... Bottle Green.....Virgin White...
to define an ice-cube finding its way down your back
or how to define a 'heavy heart'....

Can we put everything within the constraints of 26 letters ?
What about the word 'ma'?
There are things in life that escape 'definition'.
Life itself, for instance...

How do we define bitter... tangy... sour...
How to define a mistake... wrong... right...
Ever wonder how it changes with every experience??
For that matter, how do we define 'experience'?

Is a 'kiss' the mere brush of lips?
How long should it last? And how long does it actually last??
Is a 'smile' the mere upturn of the corners of the lips?
Does a sunset actually end when the sun sets?
Does 'pregnancy' last only for 9 months?
How long should our birthdays be?

How much would you pay to adopt a child if you can’t have one of your own?
How much would you pay to be a child again?
How much would you pay to get back your native home which is still under dispute?
What about that '80s studio picture of dad, ma and you?
Do you have a clear conscience?
How much would you pay to have one?
...and how much would you sell ‘that’ conscience for?

Does a 3day 2night vacation last for only 3days and 2nights?
Does a 'kodak moment' last for only 1/500th of a second?
Is 'Love Story' only a 2-hour story book?

How much time is too much time?
Sometimes, a half-hour bubble-bath can seem like an entire evening...
a 3-hour happy dream like a whole year....
a warm hug like a lifetime...
The first morning cuppa tea...perfect bliss...

Does life's most precious moments come with bar-codes?
Or fluctuate on a daily basis??

It might be the red balloon for your child priced at Rs 10,
a wedding cake for your best friend priced at Rs 10,000,
Or a 2-carat solitaire ring priced at Rs 5,00,000...
but considering it's on your left ring-finger, how much would you sell it for ?

MY LI'L SIS

Whether we shared this 'special connection' through genetics or the heart, only my sister and nobody else can understand the complex, deep and dynamic relationship that we both shared with each other as we journeyed together through the various stages of our lives.

The first time when I remember visiting the hospital to see my newly born sister, I pestered my dad to buy me some clips, ribbons and 'kajal' for her. I remember being quite dissapointed on seeing her so small and the thought of waiting for her to grow up to be able to play with me. My younger sister would usually look upto me when we were very young and growing up, following my every step and every act. She was my little doll, my playmate and my baby, who I used to make sit on my lap while I rode my tri-cycle all around the house. Sometimes I used to drop her down from my lap while overspeeding and then get very scared when she cried turning crimson and blue. As she was three years younger to me, she was just around a year old when I started going to school and I remember my parents buying her a same school-bag, crayons, pencil-box, tiffin-box and a water-bottle, as mine. When I used to do my homework, she would sit by me scribbling some weird nothings onto the blank pages of her notebook, pretending to be doing her homework as well and she picked up all my nursery-rhymes and multiple-tables by heart, long before she even went to school. While I used to tolerate her tagging along after my footsteps, I remember getting very annoyed when she used to wear the same clothes as me when we got ready to go out. (I don't know why, but my parents always got us both similar dresses with a little change in the colours sometimes). Now when I think of it, I imagine we might have looked very cute actually in the same kind of clothes, but that time it was utmostly annoying to see that tiny exact replica of mine in the same get-up and all. I was the shy, dumb one and she was smarter and naughtier. Whenever we used to get chocolates from our parents or guests or relatives, I used to save mine in the refrigerator to take it to school the next day, while she used to devour hers immediately and finish mine as well without my knowledge, leaving the cover intact in the fridge. Sometimes she would beat me up when we fought and fearing of the punishment that she would have to face, before I could react, she would start crying and the scenerio got portrayed reversely infront of the parents.

But I used to be overtly protective about her and kept a strict eye over her at school and anywhere else around the neighbourhood. I would usually help her face the schoolyard bully, do her homework and meet up with her teachers for any mischief or prank she would play at school. I would help her show the neighbourhood boys that girls can wrestle or ride the bicycle as well as any boy can. She helped me learn how to ride the bicycle holding it from behind and running along with me as I learnt to paddle and balance and I helped her recover the cycle when she hit an old lady on the street and ran back home scared, leaving the cycle there. When we were very little, ma used to walk us to school and fetch us back, but as we grew up, we both used to go and come back from school together. We would make greeting cards secretly during our study-time and sell them to our friends at school for pocket money to buy those dirty road-side chaat or ice-candies near our school, which we were not allowed. Of-course these intimate little secrets of ours were never revealed to anyone, not even to our parents... This, and our walks to the neighbourhood veterinary-centre every weekend to buy eggs, bonded us together and we got our first lessons in dealing with money, shop-keepers, purchase, profits and losses.

There were times when we both had our childhood crushes on the same 'heroes' and as we grew up, I provided 'wise counsel' during her first real crush and a subsequent comfort after a so called 'break-up'. We used to share everything.... from our first love-letters to the day-to-day happenings of our school days, year after year and the time I first joinned college, she had a fair idea of what college life was all about with all its intricate details. I tried to provide the best tips when she applied her first make-up and played an expert consultant for her first sports-bra. Now maybe I'll be playing the main designer for her wedding trousseaus. She on the other hand, is the expert counsellor I would turn to whenever I needed an opinion more sane, matured and wiser than my own. And we would both give-and-take, go hand-in-hand and see each other through in most of our growing up period.

Of-course the picture was not always rosy and there were fights... those dreadfully bitter cat-and-dog fights we had in the middle of the night over the switching 'on' or 'off' of the light, or over whose turn it was to make the bed, or over who had worn whose clothes how many times.. These fights sometimes got so bad that our parents had to wake up and intervene in the middle of the night or they would get so worse that we would not talk to each other for days. We would fight for so many silly things that I can't even imagine now why we did. But when you share the same room, the same bed, the same study-table, the same bathroom and so many other things, how long can you not speak to each other? Then we used to patch up and start talking as long-lost friends, only to pick up yet another fight for some other silly reason. But no matter how much we fought or said hateable things to each other, we would stand by each other and do everything in our possibilities to protect each other from any external person or a difficult situation. We would see each other through our good-days, not-so-good-days and those bad-hair-days.

With time, we separated and started living in different places far away from each other due to our educational and career requirements. But we still keep abreast of the latest everyday happenings in each of our lives through calls, texts and visits. While we may not live under the same roof any more, act in the same manner or even get along without an occasional spat when I go home for a vacation, but I also can't think of nothing else which creates a more wild, wacky, poignant, special and lasting bond than our sisterhood.

Yes, she is my little sister who is all grown up now... my friend, my confidante and the life-saviour who helped me buoy through some of the toughest times of my life....

CODENAME : JEANS 13

I had met her some five years back in my previous organisation through a common friend and we clicked from the moment we had met. She too was from my native place and her birthday was just a couple of days before mine. Being of the same age and star-sign, we had lots of things common in our natures and in our likes and dislikes. And we used to hang around together most of the times, especially to all our nocturnal parties after work, our three common guy-friends in tow.

She was just like me--impulsive, headstrong and very bluntly to the point. She feeded my number on her mobile as 'MY ASSAMESE FRIEND' and I feeded hers as 'JEANS 13', though I strongly believe now that feeding her name as 'XENA-The Warrior Princess' would have been more appropriate, her real name being JEENA.

She's a totally BINDAAS person and literally a human-rash of a friend to me, who wants to keep abreast of every latest thing happening in my life. She would need every painstaking detail about every single one of my boyfriends or dates--where we went, what we ate, what we talked about, how many times he blinked, EVERYTHING! (But I don't mind it, because it's sometimes nice to share these kind of stuff with your close friends and have them involved in your life's happenings.) After I'm done choking out every grudging detail, she'll proceed to tell me what I said right, what I did wrong, what she thought I should have done and what I must absolutely do the next time. Most of the times there would be grains of truth and genuine concern in what she says. But sometimes when I'm not feeling my polite self, I would go, "Sod off B**CH, Puhleeez. That's a load of crap" and hang up. Of course she is more likely to return me the favour twice as much at every possible opportunity after that. Very seldom but there are times when she asks for my advice but more often than not, she would tell me the gory details of her ventures. But if I don't completely agree with what she's saying or tell her like I truely feel like it is, she would absolutely lose her cool and she'll go on a rant about how wrong I am and that I don't know anything and that I'm always trying to take someone else's side. She sometimes even goes to the extent of accusing me of being judgemental or being jealous of her. But most of the times I take it in a good spirit.

Incidentally, such an incident happened just a few months back before our birthdays. She was very annoyed at a certain situation, and when I tried to show her the picture as it seemed to me, she could not take it and slammed the phone down on me. Next morning she sms-ed but somehow things got very ugly and obviously, I couldn't stop myself from adding some of my own venom. We had a bitter cat-fight through sms-s as I was about to sit for an examination and we ended up showing each other our bitchi-est sides. My relationship with her suddenly seemed to be a real chore if I had to mind what I am saying to her, all because of her fragile ego and her incredible self-absorbance and annoying sensitivity. So we stopped talking to each other. We did not even call each other up on our birthdays, we were both so mad at each other then. Her birthday comes first, so I wished her through an e-card. She did exactly the same thing. This got me more annoyed because she did not even come up with anything original. She was still copying my act. Then nobody said anything and we both went to a deep freezing zone.

This Diwali, she made the first move. By then, I was missing her-- being with her and sharing our spicy life-stories, and I tried to figure out why we had gone to such a bitter extent with such a simple difference of opinion. On the eve of Diwali however, she wished me through an sms to which I replied back on a light note which I'm sure must have brought a smile on her face (or atleast that was what I intended). I sms-ed trying to initiate conversations and how to broach the topic and also prepared myself for a brush-off. But with re-inforced positive feelings that I still had about our friendship, she must have found it difficult to resist my overtures. Neither of us apologised or said sorry till we met last weekend, but I did encourage her to mouth the string of her favourite abuses to me when we first spoke over the phone and returned the favour with pleasure.

Thus, the good cheer thawed the differences that had cropped up between the two of us, and it seemed like the festive time was the best time to get my buddy back in my life again...

AN UNFINISHED LOVE-STORY...

Living in the city where she lived, far away from home was a way to get away from the pressure of a forced marriage. She had always dreamt that if she were to get married ever, it would always be for love and not for security. She had always dreamt of her knight in shining armour who would sweep her off her feet and the wimps who proposed to her didn’t hold a candle to the image of her Prince Charming. However, life had other plans in store and had been cruel to her again and again. And she was under the impression that her Prince Charming would always remain a dream. She thought she would never find even the least interesting person in the place where she actually did, coz life is truly unpredictable. She realised that her Prince Charming truly did exist in flesh and blood but were never to be hers for keeps.

She still remembered the day when she first set her eyes on him. It had been almost two years after she had broken off with her ex, when she had seen him first. He was quite tall, a thing she found a must in guys. And he was with one of the other guys she knew. From that second onwards life became very interesting for her. Days passed where she would just wait for one glimpse of him or an action from his end, just an acknowledgement that she existed. However, it never came. He hardly took any notice of her. She had become used to the ignorance since by then, all the interesting guys being 'already taken' was a part of life for her. She would see him talk to many other girls, but never to her. She was totally bewildered. What is it in her that a person (read 'he') does not even like the sight of? Then one fine day, he suddenly vanished.

Days went by and turned into months, maybe even years and she became used to the idea that 'he' was another dream which was never meant to be. And then one fine day, just like he had vanished, he returned again to the same ground. It was like a revival of an old forgotten dream... a deja-vu. And they stared talking to each other. On one hand it was great getting this guy for full view all the time, but that he didn’t like her or showed any interest, was another matter. Even during their interactive sessions, they hardly talked about anything except for general topics of life.. all they would ever talk about was the strange philosophies of life, while all the other women had no hassles expressing their likeness for him. He would tell her about his past relationships or about some other woman who he liked, who she knew wasn't even worth him. She couldn’t express her feelings, maybe because she was old fashioned and believed that the man should be the one to come forward or do the chasing, instead of the woman doing the same. She didn't know how she managed to listen to all that gory details of his past relationships or his new-found interests without breaking down, coz she realised then that she had competition and he would never be hers. Most of the time she would be on the verge of crying. Here she had met her dream guy and he could not even see how much she loved him and wanted him. She was constantly crying to god why this had happened... why she had fallen for the 'wrong guy' AGAIN. But she never did keep her hopes high for fear of getting dashed.

One day, late in the night, she received a call from him and for the first time they were actually talking more like friends. She was not her usual self yapping constantly about topics she would never remember later as she had downed a couple of drinks that evening. All she could remember was his voice... a voice to die for, deep and authoritative, asking her if she wanted to take a drive in the middle of the night. She agreed, but the drive never happened. Instead they decided to have some wine, sitting in her balcony, talking about relationships late into the night. She felt God had answered her prayers. There was no looking back after that. He asked her to sit on his lap and she asked him to pinch her so as to make her feel it was happening for real and she wasn't dreaming. Suddenly the need for words were gone... Her Knight in Shining Armour lifted her petite body in his strong arms and loved her in the most passionate way... like a caveman... raw, wild and unsatiable... She had never experienced such joy before. But there were no words of love... no promises... no committments and no future plans... And then he left.

After he left, she broke down unconsolably. She felt used. She felt her emotions were (mis)taken for sexual attraction and that was what was given to her. She couldn’t express her emotions to anyone. She never discussed her feelings. And she felt he was drawn further away from her after then....

HAPPY DIWALI everyone!!

A wish to all, that the bright lights of DIWALI abound every moment of your lives with HAPPINESS, JOY, WARMTH, PEACE, LOVE and WELLBEING. HAPPY DIWALI!!

A very HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my BEST-est Friend !!

I had heard of HER much before I had actually seen or met her, and when I saw her for the first time, SHE exactly fitted into the picture I had of her in my mind. She was one of the 'three musketeers' of the PATHFINDER process of our organisation in the pilot phase when it had just come in, way back in February 2003. Monica-the girl with the most voluptious figure that I've had ever seen, was the proud owner of a scooty and she was more than happy to accomodate Radha-the cute, tiny one and 'OUR GIRL'-the tall, slender one with a beautiful oriental face, and nice straight long hair. SHE was one of the most elegant girls in the whole process.

WE had never interacted so much with each other till about the first six months or more of my being in the organisation, as 'we' were both in different teams and had never been formally introduced to each other. But we did exchange 'hello's and smiles when sometimes my ex-BF (who used to work in the same organisation) talked to her for a super-short duration during our tea-breaks or dinner-breaks. They had both joinned the organisation at almost the same time and I had joinned in a batch later. During those short-stop hellos, one thing that I always noticed about THIS GIRL was her bright, genuine smile that came in straight from her heart, lighting up her face, shining right through her 'spectacled' small twinkling eyes.... a smile that was so contagious, it could lift up any damned soul... and I often wondered if she ever had any problems in her life, or for that matter, if she ever took life seriously at all. I would imagine that she might have been the only child of very rich parents, never having to think twice about anything she wanted in life. Otherwise, how else can anyone be so happy all the time?! Sometimes, when I'd be brooding, complaining, sulking or engaged in an argument with my BF in the office and she happened to pass by us, he would ask me teasingly why I could not be like HER... so simple, ever smiling, no complaints or worries in life whatsoever! to which I would think, believe and curtly reply, "Maybe she doesn't have a boyfriend... like you!"

Time passed by and after about six-months in 'Pathfinder', I was put into a new process- WTS SELECT in the pilot batch, with another 20 odd colleagues, all thrown in from different teams of PF. And after a few more weeks, some more people came in to join us in WTS, 'our girl' included. Those days, I never used to interact much with any of my colleagues in the new process, as we had all come in from different teams and did not know each other much. I preferred to stick around with the BF in all my breaks. But slowly with time, I started bonding well with two girls in the team (Priya and Kalpana) and 'she' too developed a strong friendship with one of the other girls (Divya), who had been her batchmate from their initial days in Pathfinder.With some more time, we had a change of team-leaders, seating arrangements and our friends too. The BF changed his job and left the organisation, shifting base to another city. Both of my two fast-friends got married one after the other and seemed to bond better sans me, with their 'post-marriage' conversations. HER friend too got married and left the country. And destiny made 'both of us' sit next to each other at adjacent work-stations and have our lunch and dinner breaks together. In day to day casual conversations between our work, we discovered our common interests in books, fashion, cosmetics and some other philosohies in life and slowly we started taking all our breaks together at office. We even started meeting up on weekends for shopping and then started staying back at each other's places overnight, depending on which markets we were covering that weekend. I don't exactly remember when or how, but we 'clicked'. And from that time onwards, started a journey of our friendship that was never to end... and we became almost inseperable.

Beneath her ever-smiling face, I discovered her serious side. She was not at all the frivolous girl that I had imagined her to be. Although she was a few months younger to me in age, she was wiser and more matured. I would often turn to her for advice as I had full trust in all her decisions. I realised that she too have had her share of difficulties in life, that too at a very tender age, which had helped her be the person that she is today. Unlike her looks, she was very strong from within, and she was the ONE PERSON who stood by me in the darkest period of my life, helping me nurse a broken heart and recover faster than I would have otherwise had. She was the one person who you could trust to be at her coolest even at the most crucial of situations, and I grew habituated to her calming me down with her wise soothing words whenever I was stuck up in any kind of mess. She would tell me how she had once been of an impulsive headstrong nature and would react to situations just like ME (I was infamous for my hot-headedness). But with time and experience, she had learnt to deal with situations better in a calmer manner without losing her head over it. THIS GIRL with the wisdom of the sages also had the simplicity, straightforwardness and innocence of a child. She had the dreams of a little girl, no different than those of yours or mine. She loved to be pampered and spoilt and could be quite a brat at times. But you could never hate her for that. Infact, you could never hate her for anything at all. She is wise, smart, tactful, honest, polite and innocent all at the same time and can easily get away calling a spade A SPADE, sealed with her sweetest smile.

Somewhere down the line, we discovered that my mother-tongue (assamese) and her native-dialect (nagamese) were quite similar to each other. So, we would often communicate in either assamese or nagamese, especially in cases when we would want to close in from the rest of the world. I remember the many occasions when she would show her freakier side... We would sit at the 'smoking-zone' of our office building for hours, ME being the active-smoker and SHE being the passive one... scrutinising, commenting and forming an opinion on every passing being, thereby. We would gossip, bitch, discuss and practically 'live' in the smoking-zone area, especially on those sunny winter afternoons, as there was not much work in the process, leaving us with ample idle time. But once in a while, SHE would really get annoyed about every smoker's cigarette-smoke passing in right through her sparkling-clean fragrant hair, making it smell of cigarettes, which she would happily forget in even less than a minute's time, if you knew how to indulge her in one of her favourite topics of conversation... it was just THAT SIMPLE. (...and no prizes for guessing WHO had developed the expertise in that kind of creative conversations). We would 'share' both our lunches and dinners at the office cafeteria, shelling out only ONE single coupon for each meal between the two of us. This 'sharing of meals' is NOT ALLOWED, but we would still do it on the sly, justifying the case for the little amount of food we would both eat combined. It was too rib-tickling funny to watch her bargain with a sarojini-nagar-market (one of our favourite street-shopping-haunts) shop-hawker or with an auto-rickshaw driver. She has an even crazier hold in HINDI, much worse than that of mine, and I am actually better off to recognise and correct the mistakes in her hindi-grammar and accent. Another thing which made her absolutely lose her cool was when her credit-card-company people called her up, addressing her with a MR. before her name. If present at the scene, you could actually see those flames and fumes coming out of her red-ears and that little shiny nose. She always dressed on her own terms, as she did everything else. Once, we were asked to follow a tri-color ethnic dress-code theme to the work-place on some special-occasion day. Any guesses what she might have turned up in? What else than her 'maroon' codroy-pants and an equally contrast shirt?! But one thing about her dressing is that no matter what she wore, she could carry it off with an absolute grace, being the hard-core libran that she is...

She is the ONE GIRL I know, who is utterly stylish and has a great sense of fashion... and nothing fascinates her more than shopping, and reading fashion magazines... and/or the combination of both. She can actually go on shopping till she zeros her bank balance and then start on with her credit-cards one after the other or finally drops down dead out of tiredness. Before that, she wouldn't just stop. On so many instances of our shopping together, I literally have had to drag her away from buying something horrendously expensive which I knew she wouldn't even bother wearing once, after it reaches home. There were so many times when we would go shopping and come back dead-tired, only to glug down bottles of chilled-beer and just talk silly, covering everything from job-dissatisfaction, work-politics, ex-bfs, failed relationships, future plans, more shopping plans and everything else under the sun... oops! under the moon, actually... We would not know when in the midst of those senseless conversations (which made the most sense to both of us then), we would both fall asleep next to each other, with tear-filled eyes and beer-filled guts...

On the bullier side, you would want to think twice before taking her too lightly, by the looks of her lean, fragile frame. She was once being bullied by the two (well-built) sisters who shared a room next to hers in the same building. She took it all silently for over two months, and the day she left that place to move into a new place, well! ASK THOSE SISTERS !!

In due course of time, our process WTS went back and we were both sent to different processes, with obvious changes in our weekly offs and shift-timings. But we still managed to keep in constant touch and would visit each other at every possible opportunity, keeping alive our age-old tradition of shopping, beer-glugging, pork/pizza treats and more importantly, exchanging our latest novels, girlie-gossips and beauty-tips.

We have never ever been pretentious with each other. With us, what you see is what you get. We both know each other in and out and have accepted each other inspite of our individual faults and short-comings. Its not that we always think alike and never have differences. We do. But we have never had any of our differences come in the way of our friendship. I shamelessly invite myself to her place for those innumerable treats of naga-style pork-curry-rice and the ad-on side dishes which I relish so much, and she would watch me hog those sinful mouth-watering, fat-filled, calorie-filled pork dishes, reminding me of my modelling-diet-regime. On her part, she would shamelessly remind me every year, of her (upcoming) birthday long before its even due, dropping obvious hints at the much awaited 'gift' that would bring an instant sparkle to those already twinkling eyes...

Well, this friend of mine-WATINARO AIER (NARO-as everyone lovingly calls her) would be leaving for her hometown (nagaland) for good, in a couple of weeks from now and as she was going through her 'full and final' formalities on her last day in the organisation, I couldn't help but think over our 'past' times together in the organisation and how we had become such good friends in due course of time. I somehow felt very lost and alone (as if a part of me was going to be lost forever), as we spent the day reliving most of our break-times in the old 'smoking-zone-area' and at the cafeteria 'illegally' sharing our last meal at the office, together...

TODAY is special because its her BIRTHDAY. And on this day, if I were to make a wish, it would surely be to continue being HER FRIEND all throughout OUR lives and getting HER as my friend in all the future lives, if WE were to be born again. This write-up is not an adieu-note but only a 'thank-you' to YOU my friend, for being the best-est person I have ever had as a friend and just to let you know that I'll miss you a lot when you'd be gone.

Many happy returns of the day, girl!

OH, WHAT A WEEKEND !

What do you do when you reach a saturation point? When everything happening to you or around you fails to interest you anymore? When you feel you just can't take in anymore of the daily routine? You are mentally tired... so much that your brain has finally stopped taking sane decisions...You are bored of everything- the same work... the same faces... and you don't enjoy living any more... Then, maybe this is a good hint that you badly need a vacation. Maybe this is the time you need to pick up a few essentials in your duffel bag and just GO...

That's what happened to me. After great restlessness and sleeplessness on Thursday night and Friday, I finally decided that I HAD TO take off for somewhere to spend the weekend in total solitude, away from the mad-rush of the city. A quick net-surf strongly hinted that no other place could be better than RISHIKESH--not so far off and just an ideal getaway for the weekend, a land which promised ultimate peace and nirvana...

The travel-guides said that it would take around 51/2 hours by road, so I took a rough estimate of around 7 hours, taking a buffer-time of 1 and a 1/2 hours, considering the flexibilty of Indian Standard Time. I stayed awake on Friday night, packing (I had a very light luggage this time for a change), chatting up on the phone and watching TV, as I feared that if I fall asleep no alarm clock would be able to wake me up on time. I showered, got ready, said a little prayer and waited for the dawn to break. Finally, I caught an auto to the ISBT bus terminal and boarded a bus for Rishikesh at around 6am. As the bus took off, I fell into a deep sleep covering up my loss of the last two-nights sleep, waking up only at a couple of intervals when the bus halted for short breaks. Finally, we were at Rishikesh a little after 12 noon.

I took a share-based auto-rickshaw to 'Laxman Jhula', as I had read that this was a more 'happening' part of the town for weekenders not wanting just a totally 'spiritual-break'. After paying the fare of Rs.8 (mind you, that's the maximum fare within the farthest ends of the town), I noticed a 'Rooms are available' board in one of the guest-houses, very near to the main-market area of Laxman Jhula. I checked in to one of the basic but clean rooms which costed me a measly Rs.150 till 12 noon of the next day, which was the strict check-out time. After freshening up, I set out to see around the place. I walked down towards the Laxman-Jhula--a point where Lord Ram's brother Laxman is believed to have crossed the river Ganga on a jute rope, but today, it is just another suspension bridge with devotees on foot, motorbikes and scooters affording an easier crossing. On the way to the 'jhula' at the northern end, the area is quite noisy with hawkers vieing with each other, attracting customers to their individual stalls. You can find anything from religious goods (like religious books, comics, audio-cassettes, incense and sandalwood sticks and small deity-idols, etc), imitation jewellery(including mangal-sutras, rudraksh and other stone malas,etc), clothing (kulu-topis, nehru-jackets, kurtas, salwar-kameezes, etc), fruits, eatables and even small packets of sugar-dough-balls (to feed the fish) and packs of dry-chickpeas(to feed the monkeys, while crossing the 'jhula'. In those narrow lanes, I bought a few packs of the fish and the monkey feed, and a few packets of 'prasaad' to be offered to the Gods. Just on crossing the Laxman-Jhula, there are two-colourful 13-storey temples--'Swarg Niwas' on the right and 'Shri Tryambakeshwar' on the left. And an ancient 'Hanuman Temple' in between the two. There were several other temples all around in a row, but after visiting these three, I felt the need to put an end to any more temple-visits, and discover more of the place, instead. I crossed back the 'jhula' to reach the starting-point and walked down to the clean sandy beach lining the river. Sitting there by the beach, I dwelved into the cacophony of the temple-bells-chimes, the faint strains of classical music from the nearby stalls and of the noises of the people around, mixed with a heady smell of the fresh river-water and the incense-sticks from the nearby stalls and temples. Sitting on the banks for sometime, watching the peaceful 'Ganga' flow her way down slowly but steadily, I walked up to the 'German Bakery Cafe' just a few steps away, for a quick snack and some tea. The view from there was even better, and still better than that was the amazingly tasty eats the cafe provided at such moderate prices.

Rishikesh is strictly vegetarian and you cannot carry or expect to find any non-veg or alcohol in the whole town, but being a strict vegan on saturdays, it suited me fine. Due to the constant rush of foreign-tourists, the restaurateurs have learnt to be innovative with their dishes. I ordered for a glass of 'ayurvedic-tea' with honey, alongwith a delicious grilled 'vegetable' sandwich filled heartily with their universally acclaimed homemade goat-cheese.

Once satisfied with my meal, I started off for the 'Ram Jhula' again on a shared-based auto, which costed me Rs. 3 this time. On getting down there near the 'jhula', I took a longer route, walking my way through the closely-strewn huts and ashrams and reached the impressive 'Ram-Jhula', swaying a little with the strong wind above the swirling Ganga. It was a very 'moving' experience to just stand in the centre of this 'jhula', feeding the dough-balls to the fishes in the river below. The 'Ram-Jhula' connects 'Shivanand Ashram' on the east bank with 'Swargashram' on the west. I kept walking further on after crossing the 'jhula' and reached a narrow-lane full of stalls very similar to those near the 'Laxman Jhula' area. Here, I spent some time picking up small Ganesh-ji idols, Shivlings, sandalwood pieces, dried amla and ginger packs and a few fruits that I had never seen before. As I moved my way ahead, I came across a place called the 'Parmaarth Niketan'-an ashram trust, which organises 'Gangaji-ki-arti' every evening around sunset, hymns sung in unison by adolescent sanskrit students, dressed in saffron-coloured robes. I walked in following the sweet musical hymn and just within a few minutes the place was swarming with devotees-both Indian and foreigners. The group of students were seated at the stairs of the ashram, overlooking the huge image of Lord Shiva in spotless white marble, seated in padmasan in a deep meditation poise, right in the middle of the flowing Ganga, the deep orange sun setting behind Him. Just on the banks was a 'yagya' (an oblation) going on and the melodious sanskrit hymns by the students and the devotees, singing and swaying in unison to the prayer, made it an experience of the most beautiful form of (mass) prayer I had ever witnessed. This 'aarti' lasted for around 2 1/2 hours, after which most of the devotees offered beautiful flowers, incense-sticks and lighted-diyas in leaf-caskets to the river Ganga as their offerings to Her. Those few hours at the 'Parmaarth Niketan' ganga-aarti brought such peace and tranquility to my mind that I felt 'purified' right upto my soul. My mind was totally blank and at peace, an absolute high without the influence of even a single bit of nicotine. At the end of the 'aarti' and the offerings to the Ganges, a few lighted diyas in stands were passed around and most of the devotees took the warmth of these lighted lamps as a form of the God's blessings.

After the 'aarti' most of the devotees were found rushing to the 'Chotiwala' restaurant at the eastern end, to grab some dinner. Here they serve both north and south indian and also chinese food, but their 'thali' is the most famous of all. By the time I reached 'Chotiwala', both the restaurants (run by the two brothers) were full and had a long queue of customers in waiting. And as all the nearby food-stalls selling 'indian' food were also occupied, I found the 'Green Italian Food' restaurant near 'Swargashram', fairly vacant and quickly grabbed a seat. I was a little doubtful of the kind of 'italian-food' they'd come up with, looking at the so-affordable price menu, but the delicious spinach-cheese lasagna along with the huge slice of tiramisu which left my taste-buds craving for more even after I was full to the brim, at just Rs.125, could have put any great Italian restaurants in Delhi to shame both cost-wise and taste-wise.

After dinner, I hopped into a shared-autorickshaw again back to my hotel-room and as the rickshaw driver dropped me right infront of the hotel, instead of the usual auto-stand nearby in the market, he shyly asked me for 10 bucks for the 'special' service and applicable night-fare-cahrges. I got back to my room and fell into a deep slumber, quite early to my normal sleep-time standards. The night was cold as it had rained, and the blanket provided by the hotel was put to full use.

I was woken up at around 6am on the 'divine' sunday morning, to the chaos of the vibrant Rishikesh atmosphere--the constant chime of the temple bells, the smell of incense-induced air and the rays of the lazy sun creeping in through the hotel-room windows, the faint hymns of the Gayatri-mantra and other religious slokas, foreigners walking down the road in saffron 'hare rama-hare krishna' kurtas, everything was utterly purifying and woke me up fresh after a good night's sleep. I took a shower and went down to the bathing ghats of the Laxman-jhula, only to find the 'sandhus' bathing in the river and the prayer-flags fluttering on the river-banks. As it was not a very pleasant view, I trekked a few kilometres uphill on the straight road and in through the lanes and was amazed to feel so much at peace and one with nature even in the midst of a town bustling with people. I walked back to my hotel room and checked out at about 12 noon and went down to the 'German-Bakery' Cafe for a lazy sunday brunch. I occupied my favourite seat overlooking the 'laxman-jhula' with its temples and the bathing ghats, and as I was basking in the view, enjoying my delicious brunch, I was joinned in by a gentleman in his late 40s-David, from NY city-a professor in religious teachings, who is a follower of Swami Paramahansa, and he visits India every year with his troops of 'firang-students'. As we shared a few general whereabouts over our brunch at the same table in the cafe, David gave me an overall idea of the 'Glasshouse on the Ganges' where he and his troop had put up. Though he said it is a little expensive, but the huge volume discounts that they get due to their regular visits, it works out to be pretty reasonable for them. This place is a heritage property from the 'Neemrana' stable, set in a lychee orchard, with tropical gardens full of rare birds and butterflies, on the Rishikesh-Badrinath road. From David's naration, it seemed to be a totally different world secluded from the main Rishikesh town and I promised myself to visit it the next time I landed up there again. In the midst of our conversation, we were joined in by an Italian lady and an Englishman and our conversation got rather varied yet interesting, exchanging meditation-techniques, places to visit in India, local food, weather and the approaching festival-of-lights.

At around 2 pm, I bade farewell to my new-found friends and came down to the 'Triveni-ghats' at Rishikesh, very near to the bus-terminal from where I was to board a bus back. It is believed that if you took a dip in the Ganga at this ghat, it purifies you in and out as the waters here have soul-purifying powers. There were proper changing facilities after you took a dip and it was a really great feeling to let the chilly flowing waters of the Ganga, wash you clean under the hot afternoon sun.

I sat there on the banks for some more time after the 'holy' dip and change, and then took a bus which brought me back to the city where I live... back to my routine life, but with a fresh mind, a relaxed body, a clean soul and a weekend of pure 'Nirvana'...

RANDOM FEELINGS...!!!

Sometimes its a strange relationship very difficult to have a name for or to describe it.. You may just talk to 'someone' with whom you have nothing in common, just sit along with that person and still feel so secure and fascinated by his/her presence... as if you have known that person forever... Thats the ultimate test of a relationship... to be in the mystery yet feel that you belong... to disagree but still hold hands... to not say anything but still know you are loved...

KINGFISHER STRONG....

The effect that 'strong beer' has on my thought-process, is truely amazing. It brings such strange thoughts and feelings that take over my sensibility that it really surprises me. Like yesterday night, when I was struggling hard to catch on some sleep, my tired eyes heavy with hours of television-watching and two bottles of strong beer were shut and ready, but my mind just wouldn't allow me to sleep. It was super-active and set working faster than usual along with my heart.. I could almost hear the ticking of their work-pace...

Out of the blue, I remembered some people and started missing them... people who used to be my very good friends at one point of time, but who I have lost touch with or chose out of my life because of some difference or the other... people who have wronged me... people who I mis-understood... people who have just been out of touch all these years... people who couldn't take in an honest feedback about themselves... people who had fallen in love with me but I didn't... people who I had been in love with, but could never tell them... people who had been there for the moment without any benefit or harm and just vanished out of my life's chapter... people who I just couldn't fit into my life any longer... people who meant so much at one point of time that I thought I couldn't just live without them but I'm still living... people who I had lost to time, space or death... people who meant so much... people who meant so little... and people who made no difference at all... people who I lost and found and lost again... people who taught me to live... people who gave me pain... people who showed me how to laugh and be happy... people who taught me some simple pleasures and truths of life... people who I have fought with like a bitch... people I have played with as a child... people who played a great role in moulding me into the person I am today... people who were just being their own...

Suddenly I felt all alone and wanted to reach out to all of them with a heartful of love and arms full of hugs. I felt that if I died in my sleep, I would never ever be able to tell them that its alright... maybe I was wrong at times too... that, I would want to say 'sorry' for any wrong I have done or said or if I hurt them without knowing... that, it would be so much more beautiful to be friends again rather than being enemies or to have negative vibes with each other...

... and in the midst of such heavy thinking, the 'beer' took over and put me into a deep dreamless sleep....

CHECK THIS OUT....

Recently got this from a friend of mine and its so good that I just cudn't resist putting it up here

FEMALE POEM
I want a man who's handsome, smart and strong
One who loves to listen long
One who thinks before he speaks
One who'll call, not wait for weeks.
I want him gainfully employed,
When I spend his cash, he's not annoyed.
Pulls out my chair and opens my door,
Massages my back and begs to do more.
I want this man to love me to no end,
And always be my very best friend.

MALE POEM
I want a deaf-mute nymphomaniac with a good figure
who owns a liquor store and a flashy car.
I know this doesn't rhyme but I don't give a shit.

OOPS! I DO IT AGAIN AND AGAIN...

For me, following a trend or any latest fashion has always been a pain... in the wrong place. As far as I can remember, I have always been experimentative about my looks and my style, since my college days... last couple of years of my graduating period, that is. Coming from a family like mine, I always had this pressure of looking-'decent'-factor about my appearance rather than attractive. Fashion was not only debatable-it was despicable, worrisome and damnable in our family. I have always been made to understand from my school days that a 'decent girl' is the one who wore her skirts or frocks below her knees. That included even the school uniforms-white shirts, atleast 2 sizes larger than the actual fit and pleated grey skirts falling below the knee-level, hair tied or pleated in 'two', broad red-ribbons intact. Any teacher or sister who would notice anyone with their skirts above or at the knee-level, would pull open the hem-stitches of the wearer or call up the parents summoning for new 'longer' skirts immediately. If it were for my teachers at school, I'd still be sporting oversized 'decent shirts' and long 'granny-skirts' and if it were for my parents, very loose salwar-kameez with dupatta intact and pinned up in the 'right' places. Fitted jeans labelled the girl-wearer as 'super-fast', so wear if you must, there were 'baggy-jeans' available in the 'decent' category. I did sport that kind of a look till I was maybe in the second or third year of my graduation in college.

As I started reading more Fashion Magazines with shifted interest to the glamorous Fashion-designing world from the boring accountancy balance-sheets, I became more and more aware of the latest trends, colours, designs and styles suited for different individuals. I still can't get over the first reaction emitted by my college friends when I wore black-nailpolish for an annual college function (a shade which was a specially ordered via someone coming back home from abroad). It matched perfectly with my attire and make-up, but even though it complimented my looks, it was not accepted and highly criticised and discouraged. Nobody had ever heard of the smokey-eye-effect at that time, forget about gothic make-up. One of my friends even offered to repaint my nails with her matte-pink polish over my black-coated nails, to 'normalise' my look. Of-course I did not relent to the offer. Slowly, I designed myself short kurtas with patiala pyjamas as an alternative to the very draggy long salwar-kameezes which everyone wore. The short kurtas looked smarter and were more convenient when worn loose even without dupattas. But of-course, the trend had not started then, and no matter how covered or decent they were to me, eyes were rolled up and eye-brows raised. My parents were enraged and asked me soon to discard away my 'fully-faaltu' designs.

Soon after I completed my college, graduating with accountancy honors, and discovering my new-found passion for fashion-designing, I shifted base to Delhi from Guwahati (my hometown), of-course with much opposition from my parents, who thought Fashion-designing was not a career at all... an MBA degree or Bank P.O. would have been a much preferred option. However, I moved here and as I stayed away from home and far from the constant scrutiny of my parents, I found myself being free to choose my clothes and styles that I liked to carry on myself. I gave away all my salwar-kameezes that I had carried with me to Delhi, to an orphanage. Then I started wearing clothes I found more comfortable to work in. As I was always on the 'go' mode, designing-classes in the morning, part-time job at the 'Habitat Centre' in the afternoons till late night, I was mostly in jeans, 6-pocket-cargos, tees, shirts and kurtas. It was utterly convenient to board a bus or cross the busy ring-road in a hurry, without my age-old salwar-kameez-dupatta get-up. The jeans or the cargos and kurtas with pockets made everything fit in place, handier and hassle-free. I felt free and more confident. I seldom wore salwar-kameez ever, after that. (And my ma still longs to see me in them.)
Next, I got my waist-length hair chopped off to a shoulder-length step-cut. It made me look nicer and much younger. It was also more easier to style as well as to maintain my hair.

For a couple of times when I visited home during the holidays or for any other festive ocassions, each time sporting a new-look, my parents, sisters and relatives expressed shock. But then I realised and made my folks realise that people would say something or the other anyway. If I put on some weight people would remark on that; if I lost weight they would still have a problem with that. Ditto for my hair-style and dressing. Then my parents stopped being shocked any further... or atleast they stopped reacting any more...
Of course, when I went home wearing my newly acquired low-waist levi's as the fashion had just hit Delhi and the other metros in India, my ma was scandalised. She couldn't understand whether I was gaining height or losing weight, as to why the jeans always remained there so low. Also, when I donned my new 'dirt-look' cultured denim jacket (not to mention it costed me a fortune), my dad soaked it in surf-exel for two nights straight before washing it clean with all his might, until the brown colour of it was replaced by no colour or almost white. While I did not realise that my jacket was missing, my dad was so proud of his washing ability that could have given any washing-machine worth its price a run for its money. When he mouthed a string of (un-wanted) advice on how I should wash my clothes more often and I realised what the context was, I could have shouted my guts out in horror... because my priceless jacket which I had even hardly worn no longer looked its worth...

When I went home again once, with my newly acquired tan and permed hair, my folks thought I was dating an afro-american, not a south-indian. "Or was it the South-Indian's influence for my new look?" they asked. I couldn't convince them that it was my choice, not his. Yet again, when I did the poker-straight-sleek look, my ma lost her sleep imagining me losing all my hair and going bald one fine day. Next, when I tried the 'out-of-bed' look, my (then) boyfriend's parents sympathised with how much work I might have had to do or how little I might have earned, so as not to be able to take proper care of my hair. They tried to help and suggested oil-therapy atleast twice a week with genuine coconut hair-oil, especially brought in from Kerala...
With tassels, funky belts, chains, wristbands, broad-netted hairbands and pointed boots to my credit, the reactions evoked were so much more interesting! A colleague of mine said that my feet... actually my boots (which were so new at that time that I was the only one wearing them, atleast at my workplace... some two years back) looked like a witch's feet. So much for my custom-made boots with the exclusive 4-inch heel, made to order from the downloaded print of an international footwear website.
Right after my Goa trip, I went home sporting my hippie-boho-look. The concept was as alien to them as 'walking a mile-crossing the river-to school' was for me. So when I wore my handkerchief skirts at home or a shirt-kurti over the traditional 'mekhela-chaadar' for a family function, I wasn't surprised when my ma sported a 'this is satan's spawn, not mine' look.

The last time when I was annoyed to a great extent, was when I bagged an assignment for 'Schwarzkopf' the famous German hair product company. A German expert was flown in who gave me a new look with a nice style and coloured some parts of my hair, mostly hi-lighting at appropriate areas (the same look is seen in my profile picture with the red-tshirt on). When I walked into my workplace after my assignment was over, most of my colleagues were seen emitting muffled reactions. Only a few liked the look and some were blunt enough to say that it was looking 'horrible'. But that was a part of my assignment with an international client and they paid me... good. And most importantly, I liked it on me. Still sporting the Schwarzkopf-look, when I went home in April with expected reaction, my parents had a problem this time because they thought I now looked younger than my age. Till that time I thought it was a good thing to look younger than one's age (especially when you are on the wrong side of your 20's and still happily single). But my parents explained that if I looked younger, I'd be approached by younger guys for marriage, which is again not a very commonly accepted phenomenon in case of an arranged-marriage.

After the initial gnashing of teeth, swearing under my breath with clenched teeth and listening to the boring lectures from dad and prayers from my ma (as always) to let this be the last time, I tried patiently to explain to them why they need to let me be myself. I talked about my individuality, my modelling needs, women's lib and what not. When everything failed, I reversed the game. I mentioned how I do not grudge them their need to dye their silver strands into jet-black.. how inspite of me suggesting them co-ordinated clothes for a social-do, they would still wear what they fancied... that, it was them who taught me to assert my choices and decisions... And oh! How I simply controlled my urge to laugh out loud when one of our rich relatives tried to understand fashion and bought me a oh-so-bollywoodish 'Bunty-Babli' salwar-piece with 'gota-patti' sequins and dollops of colours and frills...

While all of these debates and convincing can be thoroughly time-and-energy-consuming, they are thoroughly amusing as well, atleast for me. All these debates contribute majorly to my eventful and action-packed 3, max 4days stay at home whenever I visit. But deep in my heart I know, whoever I am or whatever I wear, whether the world accepts me or not, my family and my circle of the closest friends, still will. That's love (for the real me)... that's trust (a belief that I'd never really cross the line)... that's family (who are the closest and most dearest to my heart)...

PATIENTLY WAITING FOR A TRAGEDY

Ma called up today morning at about 9-ish. It was unusual as I spoke to her yesterday only. And from the little quiver in her voice when she spoke, I could make out there was something wrong. My sleep vanished instantly and I sat up to listen to her carefully. She started with her usual, "Are you still sleeping? Its past 9am..." bit. (That's mid-day for her and dawn for me)

Then she came to the real point and it hit me hard... Planetary positions may trigger an earthquake in Assam tomorrow at around 8am. Its magnitude to expected to be of 8.5 by the Richter Scale, which is of a great intensity... almost that of the Tsunami...

For a moment I felt like losing consciousness but ma still kept on talking about their plans.... how she plans to cook everyone's favourite for tonight's dinner at home (just in case...), how she would go to her yoga classes tomorrow morning at 5 and then coming back she plans to make breakfast sooner than usual and if in case the earthquake doesn't happen, what she plans to buy as a gift for our neighbour Dutta-aunty's new-born grand-child...

Just after hearing this much I could not register anything else in my head, the rest was all blabber. My whole thought-process froze and I got nervous... I still am. I asked them to just start off for here right away. But she would not listen. Neither would my dad or my sisters. They would just wait there and be prepared to face come what may. Scenes from the movie TITANIC keep flashing by infront of me and in my mind.... how they all embrace death when they are caught in that sinking ship. What do you feel and how can you prepare for such a natural destruction? I don't know. But I can only pray that a miracle happens and prevents this earthquake from taking place. Amen!

FINALLY I'M GLUED TO THE IDIOT-BOX

For the last seven years of my living in Delhi, I have been very proud of the fact that I could survive all these years without a TV. I have been living in all kind of odd places, varying from hostels to PG accomodations and rented places and though at times I felt that having a TV would have been nice, but never have I felt the dire necessity of absolutely owning one. This is because I am a very outdoor person and don't stay at home much. I'm always on the go.

My day starts early with an hour's swimming after which I come home to have a good healthy breakfast, have a shower, wash up and read the newspaper. If there is something very important (like an assignment or an audition), I try to finish off that chore before I leave for office at around 12:30-ish. I start work at 1:30pm and end at 10:30pm, after which I reach back home at about 11:30-ish. After freshning up I usually read a book/magazine or write something or paint or talk on the mobile or sms-chat. During the weekends I usually catch up all the new movies in the nearby cinemas, thus contributing my loyal share to the sale of the tickets of these multiplexes or better still, go shopping till I'm totally pennyless... but then, that's when the credit-cards come handy. Weekends are also the days when I usually fix up my shoot dates or meet up with friends and cousins.

My friends and my folks got sick and tired of telling me time and again, in all these years to get myself a TV, but I wouldn't relent. My friends thought I was too stingy to buy a TV, whereas what bothered my parents was my spending all my weekends (and money) at the theatres. What nobody understood, was that I knew--if I got a TV, I'd be totally glued to it and leave everything else... and this was not my imagination... I know myself too well. So, when my father sent me a TV (from Assam), as a birthday gift last month without even letting me know till a day before it was supposed to reach here, I was not very amused. 'Cause that was a little too much. Obviously the cost of the courier must have been atleast at par (if not more) with the cost of the TV itself. But I didn't want to dissappoint him so I saved all my reasonings and debates which would not get me anywhere, anyway.

So even after I received the TV in one-piece and all intact, I was not happy or eager to put it up. It just lied around in the carton in which it was sent, in my verandah. I was too lazy or mostly reluctant to get it out of the pack as I could not decide on a place to keep it in. More than that, I did not want to be glued to it losing out on all my time dedicated to my other hobbies. So I kept ignoring it day after day.

My dad was disheartened when I came up with all kinds of excuses that ranged from 'I couldn't find a stand, and/or an electrician to put it up for me', 'its packed up too tight for me to open it single-handedly', 'the TV-stands/clips available in the neighbourhood market are too costly'. But then he suggested sending a TV-stand from Assam by courier again, and of-course the emotional blackmailing that my ma is so good with, did the trick. Last sunday, when I couldn't take it any more, and I did not have any shoot or audition or any good movie running in the theatres and most importantly, no money, I got a stand fixed on the wall and put up the TV. Finally! almost two-weeks after I received it. The cable was already in place as the last tenant who occupied the place before me, never got it disconnected when she left the place.

So, there it stands now, looking at me from its place as soon as I enter my room and as soon as I wake up, with its longing face... as if asking me to put it on and watch it... like a lover who never wants me to leave it. And I fall in its trap everyday... inspite of knowing that its a trap. Even if I don't want to, I still give my full time and attention to it... like a lover who's into a new relationship... ignoring all the old faithful friends... my books, my paints, sometimes even the newspaper, phone calls and my swimming classes, who wait for me ever so patiently, to attend to them too. And I don't like it. But I can't help it...

I don't know how much time it'll take before my TV understands that I can't be wholly and solely possessed by it and I'll need to share my time with it along with my other friends, but till then, I can't think of any way to make it and myself understand... Thanks Dad!

MY ALL TIME FAVOURITE POEM...

I read this poem a long time ago in a Reader's Digest edition. From then on I have always remembered it...as THE WHITE ROSE is my favourite flower... Today I found it in Google search. Here it is for all to read... See the simplicity of the poem and the beauty of the lines...

A White Rose by John Boyle O'Reilly (1844–1890)

THE red rose whispers of passion,
And the white rose breathes of love;
O' the red rose is a falcon,
And the white rose is a dove.

But I send you a cream-white rosebud
With a flush on its petal tips;
For the love that is purest and sweetest
Has a kiss of desire on the lips.

WHAT YOU DO MIND

(Celebrating the 59th Independence Day.......on a lighter vein)

Come morning and the sky begins to shed its silvery-grey mantle and clothes itself in a pleasant salmon-pink hue and the gentle, teasing breeze tiptoes its way through the sleeping neighbourhood, right upto your bedroom, to make it a little less than comfortable with both the cooler and the fan on full speed. So you have to pull up that 'endi-sheet' to get cozy and continue with that oh-so-pleasant dream that you dont want to end. Just then the crass cacophony of the neighbourhood dogs, roosters, children and grown-ups wakes you up and after checking the time with a squinted half-open eye, you groan : "What the @#*& ! Its only as early as seven in the morning. Why is everyone up so early today? What a way to start the day ?!" But then you remember, today is the 59th year of India's independence. They are being good sports carrying on the tradition of flying kites and showing it their way of celebrating the day. You don't mind.

You try to sleep back again and after vaguely remembering whether you actually could sleep back or not, you jump-start your day with a little exercise and a cup of black tea, as the alarm goes off at 10:00 hrs. After all, its a working day for you, as you work for a UK based call centre. And as you'll be compensated for the day with a day's salary and a comp. off, you dont mind.

Then, when you have to make do with a boring low-fat, low-calorie brown-bread-sandwich breakfast, you dont mind...it's the way to be...fit and healthy. Above all, its the 15th today and exactly the middle of the month and keeping in mind the already deteriorating bank balance (all thanks to the oh-so-irresistible SALE season and all those new movie releases), it will be a challenge to make ends meet decently till the month ends. You check the time again and shift interest between watching the neighbourhood children fly kites from your balcony and/or choosing what to wear to the work place today. Its a tuesday, dress code is ethnic wear and something possibly to give the tri-color a close competition. You really don't mind as such situations come only twice (Republic Day & Independence Day), may be thrice a year (if Gandhi-jayanti is also a working day). You take your shower and dress up, getting ready for work.

After half an hour past the usual cab-arrival time, it seems like an interminable wait for the cab to arrive, you try to keep your cool as you shuffle calls from your mobile to the company transport, to your team-leader and your colleagues in the same cab to find out the status of your cab's arrival. However, your collective hope is belied as it is almost login time and the cab still hasn't arrived. Just then, a transport supervisor calls you to give you a 'token number' and asks you to reach office on your own. You don't mind. After all, it will get re-imbursed, even though it might take a couple of weeks...a month...or a year at the most...

You reach the nearest auto-cum-taxi stand and ask the only 'available' auto-driver and when he demands almost double the normal fare plus toll-charges extra without batting an eyelid and refuses to budge an inch, you don't mind. It is a national holiday today and the poor guy has to earn that extra to make both ends meet. So what if he fleeces you in the process. If he doesn't maybe someone else will. But as you try to step into the vehicle, he suddenly seem to change his mind, as he remembers there might be a problem due to the delhi-noida borders being sealed. Just as you are in a fix and thinking fast on how to tackle the situation, there is a call from transport department again, saying they are arranging for a cab, after all. That, you certainly don't mind.

The cab finally arrives, picks you up and the minutes tick by as you're caught in an infernal traffic jam, and men, animals (read COWS) and vehicles snarl at each other just at the Ashram red-light as the toll-road begins. Just as you heave a sigh of relief on being able to inch forward, you're pushed back to the sidelines. Some V.I.P. and his entourage fly past, sirens wailing. You honestly don't mind, for he may well be on his way to innaugurate some building or flyover, which may/may not see the light of the day.

After the countless number of people being picked up from Noida and a short nap in the cab, you finally reach office at 14:30hrs..exactly an hour later than your log-in time. At work, you find everyone discussing the need to do something about the transport system. But you don't mind that either. So what's new? Which department or which organisation after all, is perfect? You only hope things get better soon. Time for another external-audit survey, maybe. As you settle down to start your work, marking your downtime for being late, and signing the PSB (pre-shift-briefing), you discover that the software you work on(read EVOLVE) refuse to function. There seems to be a SIEBEL ERROR (technology downtime)and nobody has been able to start work as yet. You certainly don't mind. After all, this is a technical shortcoming happening from the UK for all the processes and the IT-team is definitely working to get it up and running soon.... :-((

22:30 hrs, the day's work done with adequate downtime, breaktime, tea, coffee, cigarettes, meals, bay-decorating and some calls, too, its log-off time now. But easier said than done, the same old rigmarole of hunting down the right cab from the other building, starts all over. Once inside the cab, you find yourself precariously positioned between colleagues breathing down your neck, literally and otherwise, as there have been a few allignments, in addition to the maximum people who can actually fit in comfortably. You ignore the foot that is comfortably placed on yours or the elbow sticking onto your head, for all of you are sailing in the same boat...er, cab. Actually its much the same what with the roads being what they are and the driver driving the way he does.

A grand suffering later, again dropping the endless people in Noida and at all odd places on the way, you find yourself back on terra firma. Never mind, if you look like a slightly dishevelled genie, who has met a storm on the way. But the minute you step into your room with the fond hope of a leisurely aromatic bath, followed by reading that book you have been planning for ages now, with a chilled glass of juice, some crunchies and a cigarette, the electricity goes off.

NOW THAT YOU CERTAINLY MIND!

A TASTE OF LIFE FROM THE NORTH-EAST

“Catch a dog, kill it, roast it and eat it, and what you have is a north-east delicacy” , a colleague from North India once remarked jovially. While I was shocked and offended at her ignorance about north-eastern delicacies, I was also made to understand in my tenure of seven-years in Delhi, that just like their topographical beauty, the gastronomic fare of the seven sister-states remain by and large hidden from the rest of the country. Of course, food from the north-east is much more than just dog’s meat---it boasts exotic delicacies that are not a part of the mainstream Indian Fare. The rest of India knows very little about the people and cuisine of North-east India: Assam, Nagaland, Manipur, Mizoram, Meghalaya, Tripura and Arunachal Pradesh. (Though Sikkim is considered a part of the North-east, it is not yet officially declared a member state by the govt. of India). This segregation has more to do with lack of marketing than inadequacies in the cuisine itself. Also you need an acquired taste to enjoy this cuisine. So, these delicacies continue to be prepared and appreciated only within the confines of the North-east.

The dishes of the North-east are not laced with oil and spices, yet they are delicious, and the use of the locally grown aromatic herbs, make them nutritious as well as exotic. They are light, healthy and easy to prepare. In fact, simplicity is the hallmark of north-eastern cuisine. The basic components of a north-eastern meal are steamed/boiled rice, accompanied by a gravy-based fish or meat/chicken dish, a green-herb chutney washed down with a soup of boiled vegetables. The best way to relish a northeastern meal is to eat it with your hand, (though the new generation uses spoons and forks) . Unlike the oily rich food in some other parts of India, which cannot be had again, you keep coming back to the simple fare of the north-east.

There are differences in the items consumed and in the preparation of the food, based on religion and culture among the people of the north east . The tribes that are not influenced by Hinduism, relish red-meat & pork while the hindu communities like ‘Axomiyas’ of Assam eat fish, chicken, ducks and mutton, and the ‘Meities’ of Manipur eat fish at the very most. The people of the predominantly Christian states such as Nagaland, Mizoram, Meghalaya and about forty percent of the Manipuris, do not have any religious restrictions in their diet . Tribes like the ‘bodos’ of Assam consider a meal incomplete without pork and the tribes of Tripura must have fermented fish to complete their meal. The style of cooking also differs from one state to another in the North-east. Each of the sixteen naga-tribes, for instance, boasts of a distinct delicacy. The ‘angamis’ cook a chunky meat-dish with raja mircha (jungle chillies) and a paste of ginger and garlic. While the ‘ao tribe’ uses little small green round chillies smaller than peas when they make their chutneys. This ensures that the meal will be good. The ‘Tangkhul’ nagas of Manipur are so fond of pork that they have a special earthen pot called ‘hampi’to cook it, which imparts a unique flavour. Some tribes like the ‘himar’of Manipur and ‘garo’of Meghalaya are known for their love for chillies and tangal (indegenous soda). The ‘axomiyas’ of Assam relish fish curry in a tangy flavour, which is cooked with gourd and tomatoes, garnished with coriander and lime juice. They also use unripe papaya and 'khar'(an alkaline liquid made by burning the dried trunk of a banana tree) to enhance the flavour of duck-meat. Potato is used as a thickening ingredient in chicken and mutton curries. Except for the ‘meiteis’ of Manipur, who rustle up a delicious fish curry using oil and spices, the non-vegetarian dishes are rarely cooked with too much oil or spices. Pork or chicken cooked with bamboo-shoot and akhuni (fermented soyabean) is very popular amongst most of the north-eastern tribes. Chilli powder, ginger, garlic and garden-fresh turmeric, mint-leaves and holy-basil are widely used ingredients as flavouring agents, along with fermented fish, soya-beans and bamboo-shoots (known in different regions by different names). Green leafy vegetables are seldom cut with a knife in the native villages. They are torn or shredded by hand, as it is believed that a knife spoils the taste. Also, when boiling vegetables, they do not cover the pan, in order to retain the natural colours. Sometimes these greens and vegetables are cooked ‘al dente’(semi raw), which adds to the flavour and nutrient value.

A typical north-eastern kitchen is very spacious. In olden days, people entertained their guests in the kitchens. Most of the hill tribes are great meat eaters. Chicken, pigs, cows, goats, ducks and fishes are reared at most village homes for consumption. To make sure they never run out of meat, almost every kitchen in the north-east, especially in the hilly states, stocks dry meat. Wedding ceremonies and religious functions are the best occasions to sample traditional dishes. At the weddings among most of the tribes, it is almost customary to serve as many non-vegetarian dishes as possible.

A north-eastern meal is quick to cook and does not involve elaborate preparations. It is served with all dishes placed on the table at the time of dining, rather than in courses. The dessert, of course, comes at the end of the meal, but it is not served daily, and only during special feasts. Though milk-rice-kheer(paayox), coconut laddoos(naarikol-laaru), rice pancakes stuffed with sweetened coconut gratings (pitha), sesame-jaggery stuffed pancakes and sesame-jaggery laddoos (til-pitha and tilor-laaru) are some of the festive sweet dishes in Assam, when it comes to sweets, the people of north-east cannot match their counterparts from the rest of India. They do not necessarily round off their meals with sweets. While they enjoy sweets, they'd rather prefer the natural flavor of fruits. Almost every home owns a banana, a guava, or a mango tree, so they are seldom bought from the market. Seasonal fruits such as papaya, pineapple, guava, mango, jackfruit, peach, lychee, jamun and pomegranate, usually complete the meals.

With rice taking the centrestage of the meal, and the abundant use of fresh vegetables, leafy greens, herbs and fruits, supplemented by meat or fish, north-east cooking is high on nutritional value, less on calories, and is actually a high-fibre diet. Experts correlate this diet with low rate of cancer in the people of this region. The north-eastern women are also known for their exotic ageless looks with clear baby-soft skins and lustrous tresses. A north-eastern meal is always balanced and for every spicy dish there is a bland one. Among the hill tribes, no meal is complete without plain boiled vegetables, to go with the more spicy dishes. It is the soup of these boiled vegetables that gives the tribes men the strength to climb the lofty mountains and walk the miles to their fields.

In this age of health freaks and diet watchers, the answer to most problems is a low-calorie high-fiber diet which is what north-east cuisine is all about.

Often, we find the Tibetan momos and 'indianised' greasy-spicy chowmein being consumed by some North-Indians, associating them with northeastern or chinese food. But in reality, there are some local vendors who are just cashing in on these borrowed items in the name of northeastern or chinese food, while experimenting with the traditional dishes adding oils and spices to their own whimps and fancies.

But I believe, it wont be very long before the northeastern flavors start getting popular. Northeastern cuisine is just waiting to be discovered and this article (most detailing of which has been taken from the preface of a book I once read, about some north-eastern recipes...i don't remember the writer's name) is just an attempt to introduce the flavors of my native place to the readers of this blog.

BE SELFISH in LOVE !

on Love... from a slightly different viewpoint...

Who comes first, YOU or YOUR RELATIONSHIP? Answering -THE RELATIONSHIP- may sound the only appropriate answer with a deep sense of love, loyalty and commitment... but it would be a very unhealthy answer, for sure. If you do not seem to agree, just think over it again... Isn't it true that only when you can honor and love yourself first, that the relationship can be a truly loving one and not one based on need, dependency, fear or insecurities? Only when each partner comes to a relationship whole and complete, the relationship is healthy. That relationship becomes an enhancement of your life and not life itself.

Still not convinced? Just think. When flying on an airplane, ever wondered why the flight announcer tells you to put on your own oxygen mask first, before you help your child, in case of an emergency? Seems selfish, doesn't it? Because we have been taught from our very childhood, that the ultimate in love is to sacrifice. Then why do these airlines tell us to save ourselves first? There is definitely a practical and more sensible reason to it, as against the preaching from our school-time moral science lessons. Think about it. How can you save someone else, for that matter your own child or spouse or anyone else so dear, when you're either unconscious or worse still- dead?

Love is similar to that air mask. We can't love fully and wholly unless we love ourselves first. If we strap that air mask on, good and tight, we can love an endless amount. If we don't love ourselves first, we would have no love to give. If we truly put ourselves first in love, nurture our souls and hearts, honor what we want, and make our happiness of the heart and peace of the mind the number one priority, we are better equipped to love others... love deeper.

Again, we ought to know exactly what we want in love. Today, the definition of love is not the same as it used to be. People are more materialistic, conveniently termed more 'practical'. Today, when a relationship starts, most of the times the word LOVE does not come into the picture at all... as if it is associated with some kind of fear of committment. Most of the times its an unsaid 'understood' term for later convenience. But why the pretence? If we do not want to be in a relationship, we should not force ourselves to be in it, just out of any kind of obligation-be it sex or social pressure. It would just make everyone in the relationship unhappy and do no justice to anyone. It is better to be single than to be in a relationship which is incomplete, makes both the partners unhappy and hurts everyone else involved.

...because love is an emotion, a feeling, a wanting and a being, which should make us and everybody else, feel good. An unhappy mother cannot raise happy children. An unhappy husband will never be able to keep his wife or children happy. An unhappy boss can never motivate his subordinates enough to get good work out of them. An unhappy lover will always break the relationship than blooming it into a beautiful one. If children choose careers just because their parents wanted them to and not because of their own passion, they can never excel in their careers. We love others to the degree we love ourselves. So before entering into any kind of relationship or taking onto any commitment of a new or existing relationship, we ought to make ourselves happy first. Only then can we work at our relationships... be it with friends, parents, children, lovers, spouses, friends, colleagues or anyone else. Only then, our lives would be different... healthier, happier and more meaningful...