Looking beyond the obvious

We often regard our external appeal in a more superior fashion than our internal elements, which often become bleak under the veneer of flesh. History is proof enough of the fact that man has always tried to look beyond what meets the eye in the larger context of life. And the following four instances just go on to prove that it is always the interior structure that decorates the house better than any outer wall.

She lay on the red couch with her eyes wide open, hinting at her melancholy mood and loneliness. She was wearing a pearl white, heavily embellished gown, with a thigh high slit, giving a glimpse of her flawless and radiating skin. Her long hair formed mop curls towards the end, reaching upto the ostentatiously decorated teapoy placed next to the sofa. Her almond-shaped, black eyes defied the societal notion of perfection. Beauty is said to lie in the eyes of the beholder; but her eyes gave a new meaning to beauty, generating the depth of an ocean. The ladylike charm that she possessed left a lasting impression on many a lovelorn heart. God's generosity was easily felt in her presence. She was nothing but an anomaly in the eyes of the world. Ironically enough, she often found herself torn between taking pride in her divine appearance and fulfilling the personal obligation of beautifying the soul and mind vis-a-vis her external appeal. For her, the paradise of beauty was more real than the armour of flesh.

Aarti Vemula, a third year student of computer engineering in Lucknow University, hailed from the Basauli village of Madhubani. She was one of the few girls from her village who had successfully completed her high school education, only to receive a scholarship from Lucknow University. Girls in her village often looked up to her as their role model in every context of life. She had the knack of striking a balance in all that she did. An academically bright student, she was also an ace Bharatnatyam dancer. The values instilled in her only added to her persona. Aarti was easy to please and she derived pleasure from ensuring that everyone around her was happy. A strong supporter of women's rights, she had always strived to set an example for other women by advocating gender equality. Her parents took great pride and satisfaction in watching their daughter become the torchbearer for all things good. Many girls in Aarti's village were victims of casteism and illiteracy, which kept them from achieving their ambitions. Aarti's biggest achievement arrived when people from Brahmin families in the Basauli village, who had, at once, laughed off Aarti's achievements by saying that her dalit status can never be overpowered by any professional achievements and aspirations, started looking upon Aarti as an ideal woman.

Amar Rath was a 28-year-old poor man who lived in Orissa with his parents, wife and handicapped, younger brother. Living off a meagre income of Rs 300 a day, life was indeed indifferent to Amar and his family. Despite having faced umpteen hardships in their lifetime and their ongoing struggle to make ends meet, Amar and his poor family, with time, had learnt to rejoice and celebrate every moment of happiness that came their way. Their helplessness and poor status didn't discourage them from reaching our to those that were needy and less fortunate like themselves. And for that quality of theirs, they had received ample adulation. One such act that defined the kindness and compassion that the Rath family was known for occurred during the time when Amar was 20 years old. Amar started working since he was 17 years old. He used to work as a peon in the office of a small-time businessman. One day while returning home from work, he met a farmer in his neighborhood, who looked like he was desperately in need of some help. Upon approaching him, Amar found out that the farmer, due to insufficient storage facilities, had sold off his harvest at a very low price for the fear that the harvest would quickly degrade. Amar tried consoling the farmer after learning about his dilemma, and offered to help him in his own capacity. Once Amar reached home, all the family members mutually decided to help the farmer procure some space of land, which would ensure enough protection for his harvest. The family, other than working overtime to collect money to buy the land for the farmer, ran from pillar to post spreading the word about the farmer's misery and asked everyone to help him out. Over a period of 7 months, the farmer succeeded in procuring 650 feet of land courtesy of Amar's family and his neighbourhood.

The Iyer community in South India is well known for being intellectual and highly qualified. And the community takes immense pride in distinguishing itself from the rest because of this distinct characteristic. A few people have achieved the remarkable feat of being prophets in the field of education. There come many times, in a lifetime, when one thinks he/she knows it all. And these phases lead to serious downfalls, which end up being the biggest learnings of life. Raman Swaminathan, a Mathematics scholar, always lived under the impression that there was nobody who could give him a run for his money as long as Mathematics was concerned. One day, his domestic help was busy finishing his household chores when two strangers, armed with guns, broke into his house and held Mr Raman captive at gunpoint. Not knowing what to do, Mr Raman, in a fit of rage, started abusing the two strangers verbally and stated, in no uncertain terms, that he would soon get both of them arrested. The two gunmen got furious upon hearing what Mr Raman said and shot him in the head. The house help was terrorized upon seeing his master lying in a pool of blood. Over and above anything else, he could not grapple with the fact that his master acted like a dunce. He, on the other hand, when the gunmen approached him, surrendered and started giving them everything that was within his reach, in a bid to divert their attention. He slipped out once he pointed to a corner, which he alleged, had some valuables. Once directed, he jumped to his feet to warn his master of the situation, and asked him to refrain from indulging in any kind of argument or pompous behaviour, but without any success. This incident, indeed proved that there is a vast difference between being educated and qualified. A well qualified individual may not always be well educated.

Confessions of a 23-year-old girl

                               

Whoever thought that dying alone is an option is delusional.

According to Cambridge Dictionary, a confession is an act of admitting that you have done something wrong or illegal.
According to Oxford Dictionary, a confession is a formal statement admitting that one is guilty of a crime.
In the context of this write-up, I'm using the word 'confession' to celebrate the idiosyncrasies and  anomaly that prevail in the life of a 23-year-old.
I'm not exactly proud of all my confessions; nevertheless, they make me who I am.

1) Still figuring out what I want from life
Career in its place, love in its place, fun riots take their own place, there is often a moment of sudden realization about where I'm headed. I'm often torn between wanting to be reckoned as a professional on the one hand, and on the other hand, I dream about reaching the peak of spiritual enlightenment and being able to look back on life, 50 years from now, and think that I have done justice to all my duties as a human.

2) Want to be pampered as a child and treated as an adult
Children's Day just went by, and in one corner of my heart, I harbored hopes about celebrating the day amidst fanfare and being doted upon like a little girl. And just the day before that, I tried to convince my parents to let me take our car for a 2-day-long outstation trip and made them buy into the argument about how I was mature and responsible enough to be trusted with car.

3) It's quite early to get married
Marriage as an institution, especially if it is my own, sounds quite exciting and fulfilling as an experience. But, every once in a while, when the question of marriage pops up, my only reply is ''There is still some time for marriage. As of now, it's a little early.''

4) Mind over matter
One of the sure shot signs which signals that one has catapulted into the mature adult league is to know when to let the heart take precedence over the mind and vice-versa. I'm trying, albeit slowly, to make a proper distinction between when to follow the heart and when to let the mind rule supreme.

5) Happy being single
Dozens of people feel that a 23-year-old girl cannot be happy if she isn't committed or on the lookout for a probable match for herself. And guess what, this apparently makes my life absolutely boring and unproductive. Nevertheless, I seriously doubt that assumption.

6) I am still studying
Adding to the supposed misery of the previous claim, I'm still a student. Can things get any more unconventional? Let me say this, here; I'm not working and I'm a single woman, but my life is not all that bad and cringe-worthy.

7) I hate partying and I'm a teetotaler 
You heard that right. My idea of a perfect weekend is enjoying a cozy dinner with my set of people and indulging myself in the company of a novel.

8) I have a 24x7 playmate
My round-the-clock play buddy is my 8-year-old Golden Retriever; Lucky. Our play dates include sloppy kisses, playing fetch, cuddling, belly rubs and long drives.

9) Music makes my world go round
I shall always remain indebted to the person who invented music, for my life would have been grotesquely incomplete and lacked essence had I not been exposed to the musical world.

10) I'm on a permanent chocolate diet
Chocolate and I are like conjoined twins; you will never find us in isolation. And, if I had my way in life, I would officially add chocolate to the list of bare necessities for survival.

All I'm hoping, now, is for some of my confessions to find a permanent fixture in my life. Can you guess which ones are they?

It's a LoveFools affair!

With the head chef and the owner of The LoveFools Dinner Lab; Sarita Pereira.

On the first floor of Pereira House, which is located right opposite the grand Pali Village Café, is the newly opened The LoveFools Dinner Lab. This authentic dining space pays the perfect ode to the falling number of bungalows, carrying an old world charm, in the city. This joint's exclusive range of cuisines combined with its soothing décor make for the best ingredients for a perfect outing with a bunch of pals, a high-end corporate dinner or a cozy luncheon. The restaurant is very passionately referred to as ''a labour of love'' by Sarita Pereira, the owner and head chef of the eatery, who once worked as an advertising professional at a HR firm.

Food has always been seen as an extension of art, holding the power of celebrating various cultures through their traditional cuisines, by Sarita, who underwent rigorous training in food making under the tutelage of Nandu Jubany in Calldetenes, Spain. The LoveFools Dinner Lab was born out of Sarita's long-standing passion for all things culinary and her desire to go professional with this craft. Research and Development form the core concepts of this restaurant, which derives heavily from her need to literally provide an experience, that has an artistic pedigree to it, to all its visitors. Every meal is curated as per the preferences of those dining, while following a strict pattern of preparation.  The focus is as much on the finesse of the dish as it is on what goes into making it. Since an exclusive 8-course-meal is prepared based on the cuisine that is selected, be it a lavish Mediterranean spread or a typical Rajasthani fare, the bookings are taken a week prior to the day the reservation is made for.

The community table that seats 12-14 people at one time is the highlight of The LoveFools Dinner Lab. It is situated inside a cozy-looking cabin that is adorned with a wall with partially uncovered bricks, giving the cabin a very rustic charm. So elegant and cozy is the feel of the restaurant that one instantly gets tempted to make the place his/her home. The aesthetic appeal of this small dining joint is enough to lure food connoisseurs and people with a penchant for good living, alike, from all corners. One cannot miss noticing the window pane that finds a place exactly opposite the community table. A renowned Mumbai-based architect had been hired to oversee the task of bringing to life the restaurant that Sarita had envisioned. The head chef along with the sous chef, Swati Adhikari, have been very particular about the quality of the edible content that is served, and they believe in accurately weighing every bit of what is added to a serving. An example of their dedication toward their craft was palpable when they mentioned how they take 3 days to prepare caramelized onions, which must bear the perfect texture and retain authenticity in its taste.

Upon visiting this restaurant, you will be greeted by a book shelf that stocks an extensive range of books on food and the process of food-making. The restaurant also restores a little balcony that opens up to the hustle and bustle of Pali Naka, allowing one to take a drag or two and revel in the beauty of the location. What remains with you, long after you have left the place, is the experience that you have been treated to. Quite literally. You are assured of looking at food in a completely different manner, with your attitude toward food very willingly changing into that of a novice. I, for one, was hungover from the evening. Whether it was Hot Mozzarella, the highly palatable Bucol, the frozen popcorn or the oh-so-yummy Chocolate and Lemon ice-cream, every dish seemed hell-bent on making me burp all the way back home. I have been well fooled into loving The LoveFools Dinner Lab.



Picture credits: Aditi Deshpande

Leo or Virgo?

Over the last few days, a news story about how a new Zodiac sign has been discovered by the NASA scientists, because of which the Zodiac chart will undergo a change, has been doing the rounds. If this is true, then the Zodiac signs of a huge number of people should change. I, for one, who is quite a Zodiac aficionado, upon hearing the news, instantly took to assuming that all my existing personality traits would cease to remain the same.

Having been born a Virgo, a number of characteristics typical to this Zodiac sign have, over a period of time, started to seem relatable to me. And a handful of the traits that I have refused to assume the ownership of and have vehemently rejected have now faded away into oblivion, as far as I'm concerned. The perfection that a Virgo is associated with is one of the handful qualities that I'm still trying to contend with. Amidst all the ongoing struggle and being on the cusp of claiming to be a true Virgo, i wish to disprove the changed Zodiac chart. So much so that even before finding out the personality traits and qualities of a Leo, I, in no uncertain terms negated and dissociated myself from every quality that a Leo is known to possess. Until some time back, I was torn between my sun sign and moon sign. The reason being that every time I would beg to differ with a certain point or statement mentioned about my sun sign, I would switch over to my moon sign and find solace, while looking for qualities that, I think, describe me perfectly well. On the one hand, if a Virgo woman is known to be a nitpicker, who is known for her subdued charm and grace as much as for being usually detached, a Leo woman is known to be akin to a lioness; larger-than-life and extravagant.

Recently, I read an article in a leading news daily, that spoke about how some avid followers of Zodiac signs, after hearing about the apparent change in the Zodiac chart, have already believed that their trajectories are going to change and that their lives have started to look aimless. I, on the other hand, turned to the most reliable news sources to obtain the correct information, and at the same time thought about what to make of my Virgo-symbol tattoo. My tattoo, a replication of one of the Virgo symbols, has often been mistaken for my initials. As much as I shirked, before, every time someone pointed to my tattoo and linked it to my initials, the threat of having to sport an incorrect tattoo, and in my case, an obsolete one, made me rethink about what my tattoo actually signifies. A Leo woman, who is often known to embody a dramatic personality and talks nineteen to the dozen, is a far cry from a Virgo woman. But, till the time I don't get a final update on the status of the zodiac chart, for my sanity, I'm going to try and fit into the character of a Leo woman, in the ways that I can, just so that I can refer to them as an extension of my personality, if the need arises.

Till now I have played quite a safe game when it came to switching roles between being a zodiac fiend and thinking of zodiac signs to be nothing more than a mere past-time, with consummate ease. I have reached a stage where I've almost decided that the signs that are supposed to be good matches for a Virgo woman are actually going to be the ones that I'm going to turn to, and will form a proud association with whoever is in possession of those signs. On a positive note, I think I should, now, also consider the signs that supposed to be good matches for a Leo, along with those that are compatible to a Virgo, so that I can experience the best of both worlds and get to choose from a wider range of sun signs, while looking for a match for myself. Or better still, get a Leo-symbol tattoo.

Truth or Dare

Let me take a few seconds to explain what this game entails. I call this game a choice of the brave hearts. In my definition, a brave heart is someone who defies all odds through mental resistance. Today, I have decided to challenge myself to this game in which one has to make a choice between revealing the truth and performing a dare, every time one is at the receiving end of a question. And to make this experience more revelatory, I have decided to talk about the existing truth every time I choose a dare and, similarly, when I choose to speak the truth, I shall also take a dare that will hopefully add to showing me where I stand.

Here are some truths and dares I decided to brave...

Round 1
Choice: Truth

Q: What do you fear the most in life?
A: Regret. I fear living a life, looking back on which, ifs and should haves would have transcended all its barriers.

Dare:  Go out, now, and indulge yourself in any one thing that's been on your mind, but you let procrastination get the better of you.

Round 2
Choice: Dare

Dare: You just threw a chocolate wrapper and a bunch of used paper napkins on the ground. Go and apologize to the man, there, who is sweating it out to keep the streets clean.

Truth
Q: Have you ever disregarded or discriminated against someone who holds a lower status than you?
A: Yes. I have, a lot of times, intentionally and unintentionally, taken people with a not-so-strong background and position in the society, for granted.

Round 3
Choice: Truth

Q: What would you prefer: a) A zombie apocalypse or b) A world in which the purpose of a human life would be defeated by war and the evils of the human mind will intoxicate the world?
A: A zombie apocalypse

Dare: Pick up your phone. Scroll down your contact list and give a call to those whom you are no longer on talking terms with because of ego clashes, insecurity or whatsoever the area of conflict may be; but, in one corner of your heart, you wish to bury the hatchet and reconcile, and talk your differences out.

Round 4
Choice: Dare

Dare: Starting now, don't use any electronic devices for the next 24 hours.

Truth
Q: Do you agree that your digital life has, in more ways than one, intruded into your personal space and marred the relationships that have taken years to take the shape that they have?
A: Yes, my relationships have been affected, by the technological revolution, in a way that has altered the base of my relationships, inadvertently.

Round 5
Choice: Truth

Q: What, according to you, is the one thing that adds to the charm and worth of your life?
A: The ability to be unique and yet be able to relate to the finer nuances of the living race, at large.

Dare: Work toward creating a world in which all lives matter, equally. Make sure to start by simply heeding the unspoken pain and suffering of all those lives that cannot help themselves.


Revelations are like ceasefires that try every possibility of glorifying our individuality by staring in the face of life. Quite unlike what many of us would take this game of Truth or Dare to be, it is best aimed at inducing self-awareness as opposed to making one laugh his/her gut out while the game lasts.

Turning 23 with the joy givers

Growing up, my birthdays followed a stereotype of cutting a cake that, with a lot of difficulty, would bear my 9-letter-long name and wearing a fancy outfit to school and standing out in the midst of all the uniform-donning students. The highlight of every birthday celebration during school years was enjoying watching all my classmates and teachers, alike, croon a birthday song with the highest level of zeal and gusto, while animatedly, clapping their hands. I would be doing great injustice to my classmates if I didn't mention how we would look forward to partake in the ritual of distributing chocolates in the class. What lovely memories these are!

Quite unlike the situation that is prevalent on birthdays, while one is a child, celebrating a birthday as a grown-up entails different idiosyncrasies. Birthdays, at this point, become an annual ritual, just like any other, where everything that makes one happy, including the many obligations one tends to live with, forms the crux of the day which makes the biological clock sail into a new year. My birthday, this year, was a little different. I decided to spend it with a bunch of stray/abandoned canines at an animal shelter home called Animals Matter To Me Rehab Centre. The day of my visit coincided with the day on which the organization was going to reach out to 1200 stray dogs through a sponsored food programme, which saw many animal lovers and social workers come together and take their love for the four-legged animal to another level. All the individuals that contributed to the completion of the task came from different backgrounds; but, the one thing that equated all that were in attendance was our common love for animals, and the fact that each one of us represented the same school of thought; Animals Matter To Me.

I spent a lot of my time, a day before my birthday, mulling over what should be bought for the dogs at the facility. Carrying some packaged food, along, seemed like the best option, given the fact that the sniffers were going to be fed hot snacks earlier in the day. The dogs pleasantly greeted me when I reached their facility. Hundreds of food packets, equally loaded in two vans, were kept ready to be sent out for all the strays in the area. What seemed like a noble act, at first, turned out to be a well-defined step, serving a bigger purpose of shaping the perspective of hundreds of pedestrians that bore witness to this act of kindness. Some of the dogs in the facility were seriously wounded and needed extra care and attention. A lot of the dogs were under treatment after facing high amounts of abuse as stray animals. A few of the dogs were abandoned pets who were found on the roadside in a deplorable condition. The canines that were deemed fit and healthy, and acted like the perfect hosts for the day, were up for adoption. The friendly and gamesome animals that these dogs made, they won all our hearts over with their conduct. I soon began distributing the food I was carrying along, among all the canines. The sight of seeing 20 tails wagging, in unison, every time I reached out for a new packet of food, was absolutely priceless. Never did I think that a bunch of dogs could manage to entertain me much more than I could possibly entertain them. Some of the dogs that were caged, due to ill-health, howled and desperately wished to be a part of the fun and merrymaking.

On my way home, I made a few halts to distribute the food, I was carrying from the facility, among  the strays. By the time I reached home, I was filled with an inexplicable sense of joy and contentment. Looking back, I felt happy prioritizing this visit over any other plans. I couldn't have asked for a better celebration, on my birthday, than getting to spend a few precious moments with some pure and innocent souls, who let me in on how they spread joy, day after day. I felt a little fatigued when I reached home, but not without a reason. My pooch, who was waiting for me to get home, was ready to shower me with his sloppy kisses and show me how he had eaten into my bouquet of flowers and covered the floor with its petals just to welcome me.

Forgiving a thousand times over

In a recently concluded lecture in my college, all the students were asked to describe their most embarrassing moment. My brain went into an overdrive thinking about all the occasions on which I had felt bad about myself. There have been times when I have also been left feeling humiliated, so much so that ''embarrassment'' has ended up being a euphemism for my mortification.

As humans, we often harbor dreams of being perfect in every possible way. And there may have been moments when we have been our most vulnerable selves. Also, we end up chiding ourselves for overlooking all the possible ifs and buts, every time we are left grappling with the undesirable outcome of an action that is based on the I-cannot-not-think-of-anything-better assumption. There are moments when walking around wearing an eyeliner that has smudged takes a toll on oneself. All the questions that occur in one's mind, following the moment of embarrassment, revolve around what the folks around would think of an unintentional lapse that is converted into a mammoth misdoing. The sequence of events that follows the lapse sees a dip in one's overall confidence, resulting in generalising his/her awkwardness. The length of time that these thoughts plays on one's mind is enough to relegate one to the place of a sub-human, who deserves no chance to live. An alternative to this drill is forgiving oneself as conveniently and swiftly as one forgives all else, preventing the fear of failure to loom large over one's blanket of confidence.

The day was hot and busy. The sun was shining brightly over the hour. My car was parked outside a stationery shop. I was inching toward the back door of the spacious stationery outlet to get some printouts.  While I was walking , I glanced at my ex-colleague, who I have always held in high- esteem, and is someone who has constantly pushed the envelope with her high standards of professionalism. I greeted her like a long-lost friend. I was quick to conclude that the aura around her was the exact same as I had experienced before. I had managed to take the printouts in under 5 minutes, after having a brief chat with my former colleague. As I made an exit from the shop and started walking, steadily, toward my car, I stumbled upon a big rock that left me flat on the ground. Looking up, from the level of the ground, everything looked chaotic. I managed to get on both my feet within 5 seconds of falling down. In the distance, I could see my former colleague-cum-friend asking, with the help of finger gesticulation, if I was okay. I gave her a sheepish grin and gestured to her that I was totally fit. As soon as I got inside my car, my legs started trembling and slowly began to show the brunt of the infamous accidental stunt. I tried to recreate the scene in my mind minus the embarrassment. I refused to accept the disgrace that was caused to me in front of someone I knew well. I refused to forgive myself for something that brought along a great deal of embarrassment.

When I was asked to recount my most embarrassing moment, I did not slip into deep contemplation for the lack of an embarrassing moment. In fact, I have been embarrassed more out of choice than out of compulsion. Do I wish to overlook my mistakes and forgive myself because I have no choice? No, since that would cause remorse every time I make a mistake. What I really wish to do is learn to accept myself more with every passing day to ensure that my mistakes lift off the facade of perfection that is wrapped around my mortality. Doing this would help me channel my inner mortal and make me happily forgive myself for all the times that I may have lapsed in the eyes of the world. And, not very late, I shall proudly show my pyramid of mistakes to all those that consider forgiving an act of the weak.

The rustic enchantress

The soft voice and the downcast eyes
She is an embodiment of modesty and raw grace
The veiled face that refuses to hide her long, dangling nose ring
And an earthen pot that only enhances her ethnic charm
Can someone please tell her to make haste
The well is drying up in the hot sun

Her peaches and cream complexion invites no comparison
Those tanned legs can make many a blonde woman go green with envy
With wind in her hair, and a look of assurance
She is ready to face the test of time
Can someone look beyond that pretty face
Her mind and soul are strong enough to stare anyone in the face

She quietly manages all the household chores
Whether it is scrubbing the utensils or washing dirty laundry
Her kids and kin are the nucleus of her existence
And the needs of her partner form her commandments
Can someone ask her how she manages to hold her own
Whilst donning multiple hats with consummate ease

Her walk enlivens the entire neighbourhood
Taunts and passes are permanent fixtures in her life
But, she chooses to remain undeterred by form of eccentricity
For, she chooses to march ahead, tirelessly
Can someone spare a moment to pat her on the back
For, she is the perfect blend of nature and nurture

A day out with my grandmother

From Amazon to Snapdeal, Jabong to Myntra, all the online shopping portals were checked off the list, while I was looking to buy a handbag. None of the bags available with these online retailers seemed very appealing; or at least, none of the bags came close to the kind of bag I was looking for. I was making a mental note of all the stores I could probably visit, in and around where I live, when my mother suggested that I take my grandmother along if and when I went. Having a seventy-nine year old grandmother who loves to live the good life, when it comes to attiring herself, and is someone who has a well-defined taste in ornamentation, having her come along and help me choose the right bag seemed like a plan, already. Also, the fact that my grandmother doesn't step out of the house very often made me look forward to the shopping trip all the more.

My grandmother was visiting a mall after too long a time-gap. The only time she had visited a mall, before, was seven years ago, outside India. While I was running from one corner to the other, checking out almost every bag that was available, my grandmother was happily counselling me on which bag stood out. Even though I was the shopper, quite evidently, the staff at the mall was more forthcoming every time my grandmother had any inputs or suggestions to give. We finally zeroed in on a black tote bag, after a long search. After finalising the purchase, my grandmother was eager to check out the women's footwear section, which was right next to the bag counter. And I happily agreed to check out one of the most popular attractions, among women, inside a shopping mall. Little did we know that a Sale board has never, in the history of mankind, failed anybody, leave alone us mortals.The outing with my grandmother soon turned into a shopping spree.

The clock had struck 2 p.m. After making an exit from the mall, I came up with a plan to watch a movie. Before my grandmother could reply, the plan was finalised. Holding hands, while slowly climbing the fleet of stairs leading to the main theatre, my grandma reminisced about the movie-going experience some twenty odd years ago, when she had watched her last movie in a theater. Maybe watching a movie was just a pretext under which I could share in the joy of watching her go down the memory lane and react to the social and cultural scenario that exist, today, and, maybe, also get an opportunity to see things from her perspective, be it just for a little while. The movie was a three-hour-long celebration of love, which ends in a tragedy. Such was the all-love-stories-do-not-have-a-happy-ending drama, that we were reeling for long after the movie was over.

Our journey back home witnessed high levels of contentment, because of the way the day had panned out. For the longest time, the black bag will serve to remind me of all the special moments I have spent with my grandmother. And also, it shall never fail to remind me that the elderly need not be restricted to just being advice givers and storytellers. They can be the most gentle and caring friends one could confide in, when the chips are down. A few years down the line, I shall look back, reminiscing about the times gone by, and revel in the pleasure and glory of being able to convince my grandmother to spend a day out with me.

Generational love

Journey from Vile Parle to Churchgate and back

It was 6th August, 2016. The time was 9:22 a.m. As I was making my way out of my house, I felt something damp come in contact with my footwear. As it turned out, the rain water had entered the corridor, making the floor slippery. By the time I ended up hailing an auto, the time was 9:25 a.m. The Vile Parle station was bustling with people. Since I was carrying a train pass, I headed straight to the platform where the Churchgate-bound train was supposed to arrive. On reaching the platform, an announcement was made notifying the passengers that the Churchgate-bound train that was scheduled to arrive at platform no. 2 had been diverted to platform no. 6. All hell broke loose when I learned about the change. My mind was filled with thoughts about the situation that would arise if I missed the train. I was already running late, and missing a train would be only adding insult to injury. The train arrived just as I was walking towards platform no. 6, and I ran exhaustively till I got inside one of the compartments. Trust me when I say that in my entire life I've never bothered about anything as much as I did when I had assumed that the train would leave me behind, failing me terribly.

My classes were supposed to start at 10:30 a.m. By the time I boarded the train, it was 9:38 a.m. Upon finding myself a seat in the train, I realised I had forgotten to carry a copy of the news daily I had planned to read during my 45-minute-long train journey. The girl sitting opposite me was immersed in a book; whereas, the woman sitting adjacent to me looked like she was reading some chants from a small book. I, for one, looked like a clueless onlooker. While some of the women sitting in the compartment were chatting away to glory, the rest of them chose to stay glued to their mobiles. I felt static amidst the loud sounds that the running train generated. For someone who had barely traveled in such a cramped fashion, before, everything that happened, around, just added to my perspective. I had heard stories of how train traveling in Mumbai can be an exasperating and tumultuous task. So much so, that the entire train culture can get to you. I am, yet, naive enough to have a say in whether train traveling in Mumbai, as an experience, needs any changes or not; but, one thing that remains sure is that traveling by trains can help explore and experience the finer nuances of the human life like nothing else.

A few minutes into the train journey, a blind man (or at least pretending to be blind) got inside the ladies compartment of the train and indulged into some kind of singing to evoke sympathies from the passengers and con them into shelling out a few bucks. The man looked no more than thirty five years of age and had a lean and tall posture. He held a stick in his hand and stood singing near every row of passengers. Soon, after being unsuccessful in collecting any money, the man stood near the door to make an exit at the next station. After getting out of the compartment, the young man, sliding his hand through the exteriors of the train compartment, got inside the adjoining compartment. He, again, started humming the same song with the hope that he wouldn't be disappointed, once more. Just then, a lame man, who looked like he was in his late twenties, was walking hurriedly towards the train with a crutch and a bag clinging to his back. At this point, I couldn't help but think about how it is not necessarily physical handicap, but our attitude towards life, as humans, that holds far more power to paralyse us and determine what we do with our lives.

As I was getting out of the train, I saw a bunch of passengers waiting to board the train that I had ably managed to get out of. While some people were working professionals, there was a small group of women, accompanied by their children, who looked like they were out on a day long trip; and the kids were gushing about their plans for the day. Also, there was a handful lot of college students who looked ready to get started with their day's routine which was to begin with a train journey from Churchgate and, probably, end with one back to Churchgate. The purpose of traveling of every passenger may be different; but, what what was to remain constant between all of us was our exposure and experience in sharing in the travails of a common man's journey to and from Churchgate. 

5 things nobody can teach you

The list can be longer based on the experiences one has had in life. I have shortlisted the five things that, I think, people should much rather define for themselves as opposed to following a herd mentality.

1) Meaning of Happiness - Oxford defines Happiness as the state of being happy. And what is being happy all about? It's about one's well-being and the feeling of a sense of pleasure with what one has in life. And the reason I feel happiness cannot be taught is because what makes one individual happy does not necessarily seem to bring joy and pleasure to another individual. I, for the longest time, have derived a lot of thrill from indulging in adventure sports. Every time I hear of someone partaking in one, or see pictures of a bungee jump, I get an adrenaline rush. There's a sense of accomplishment that is attached to performing stunts like this. And there's another set of individuals who finds doing such activities worthless and see them as things that are overhyped, and view the bravado involved as unnecessary. There's always going to be two outcomes to everything one does: positive and negative. It is upto every individual to weigh the outcome of every action in a way that leads them to decide whether a particular thing will lead to happiness or pain.

2) The attitude to carry - Over a period of time I've realised that a bad attitude is capable of causing much more harm than any war can ever cause. As much as a person may stand for love and peace, living in a war-torn country with a clenched fist is nothing less than foolishness. Sometime back, I came across a beautiful article on the Internet, which narrated a story about how much of an asset right mindfulness and sensible behavior can be. The story includes a visit that the narrator once made, to a mall, with his friend and his parents. The narrator and his friend were inside a book shop in a mall, when they heard loud noises coming from outside the store. As it turned out, the parents of the narrator's friend had indulged in a verbal onslaught with each other. Upon finding out what had happened, the friend of the narrator asked him to go to the bookstore, while he excused himself for a minute. The friend asked his parents to go and sit inside the car till he and the narrator were done. On the way back home, nobody said anything. Once they were all home, the narrator was asked to sit in the drawing room with his friend's mother, while his friend took his father inside a room. After a few minutes, the boy sent his father out and called his mother inside. And later, he took inside both his parents, together, before proceeding with any other doings. As it turned out, the friend took his father inside to discuss the matter with him, and only after he was done that the mother was called inside to discuss the matter, before, finally, talking to both his parents, together, and settling the matter between them, in a way that no grudges were held. The narrator described how his friend was mindful of everything he did, beginning from not reacting immediately, while at the mall, and later, not discussing anything in the car, where the narrator was present. Upon reaching home, he tactfully called his dad inside the room, first, because he knew that women have a soft and tender heart, and that they forgive easily. So, once his dad was explained to about the matter and made to realise his mistake, his mother would not take time to realise her mistake and easily forgive and forget the situation. After the matter was sorted, everybody seemed happy with each other and the fight became a thing of the past. According to the narrator, his friend was a very intelligent person, who knew where to speak, what to speak, when to speak and whom to speak to. Despite living in the same house as his parents, the boy certainly stood out beacuse of his attitude and sensibilities.

3) How to succeed - I used to brainstorm. I still do so. And I shall continue the trend of finding the formula for success in the future. The only difference between thinking about what success is, today, and thinking about what success is, tomorrow, would be the increased strength in my belief that success should not be awaited like a bolt of lightning, which will eventually happen as I keep getting less and less insecure every time 'success' is discussed. The reason no one can teach how to succeed is that success is purely circumstantial, and most importantly, it is a state of mind. What success means to one is not necessarily viewed as success to another person. Let me take a classic example, the women belonging to the royal family of Saudi Arabia, who are surrounded by opulence, are envied by many, and are thought to personify success. Ironically, for these women, the freedom to live their lives the way they wish to is what success constitutes.

4) How to be yourself - Living in a world that has already set a lot of barriers by constantly highlighting the differences between what is acceptable and what is not, there is a very little  scope for people to truly be themselves and experience their true individuality. No matter how much one may be advised about how to break free of all the shackles of life in order to be truly free, the fact of the matter remains that one will always have a road map that is unique to himself/herself, along with his/her own definition of what being oneself means. And conforming to that perspective would be depriving oneself from being his/her real self.

5) Contentment - When I was 3, getting a star on my hand meant the world to me. When I was 7, getting a Barbie doll as a birthday present mattered more than receiving a cash amount. When I was 12, getting to eat my favorite snack after bribing my mother was the most exciting deal. As a teenager, looking attractive became the most important thing. As a young adult, trying to fall in love with who I am, and everything I do takes centre stage. And since there are going to be many exciting journeys, ahead, staying contented looks like the biggest challenge, when the definitions of 'contenment' are varied. Since I have to decide what gives me utmost satisfaction, I choose the path of self-sufficiency as my path to contentment. What about you?

Just because nobody complains doesn't mean all parachutes are perfect.

It was a bright, sunny day. The weather was just perfect. The ferry that took the passengers to see the Statue of Liberty had just started. Every view from the ferry was scenic and magnanimous. The sound of the water was enough to soothe my anxious nerves. While everybody was engrossed in animated discussions, and looked gung-ho about seeing the iconic statue, up close, my mind kept going to my college admission status and whether I would get admission into the stream I had applied for. Life, till the tenth grade, was seamless, living under the shadow of my parents. Opting for a career, when the naivety levels were at its peak, made a classic example of preparing to fail. On my way back, after touring around the statue, a much awaited news was broken to me. It was a news that would eventually alter the course of my life. My admission was secured in a junior college that would lead me to pursue engineering at the degree level. My mental exasperation had come to an end with the development. The journey ahead offered its own share of pressure and exhaustion, combined with my resistance to accept what was to be.


''Ohm's law deals with the relationship between voltage and current in an ideal conductor. This relationship states that: The potential voltage difference across an ideal conductor is proportional to the current through it,'' said Professor Dinesh in the middle of a Physics practical class. The watch showed ten minutes past 4 p.m., and the class was going to end at 4:30 p.m. I was looking around the class and fidgeting with a pen. I just wanted the class to end. After I was home, I could barely stop thinking about my Physics practical class. I couldn't understand why my attention kept drifting from what was going on in the class. I was clearly not on the same page as the rest of the class. "This is not where I want to be," I told myself. For the first time in my life I had felt so lost. Everything was going on at a fast pace; but, sooner or late, putting a brake on something that I was never cut out for was inevitable. Soon, studies started becoming a burden. On the one hand was the lure of a promising career in Science, and on the other hand was a calling that I could no longer ignore. In India, one's career is not just restricted to his/her own self. There's a multitude of emotions and sentiments of various individuals, including friends and family, along with one's own opinion, that contribute towards what career one finally ends up pursuing. I was torn between hopes and possibilities. The mental battle persisted for a long time until I finally took the plunge and switched to Arts.

The queue for the admission form for Arts was quite long. Maybe it was sheer anxiety, or maybe studies had become a challenge that made getting a degree feel like a monumental task. I had explored all the aspects of human thinking by the time my Arts programme began. After struggling for three years with what could have been a memorable brush with college studies, nothing, absolutely nothing made sense, at once. When I should have felt secure in the knowledge that I finally had a chance of changing the path on which my life was treading, I was deprived of all my emotions. All of this, which eventually changed, made me hit rock bottom. All that could have ever gone wrong had already occurred. All the kinds of advice and opinion I would ever receive were already taken into consideration. The time to remain helpless and hope for change was up. It was time to implement correct actions and wise decisions. The best way out was acting upon where my interests lied. All the external voices had to die down.

It's been over five years since my travails began. The journey has been riddled with several highs and lows. Many people pride themselves in achieving great successes and milestones; but, I pride myself in surviving all the odds. Any or every kind of physical harm keeps up the façade of there being a battle; but, I say, the real battle is all about fighting what lies within and to constantly strive to heal wounds that are not translucent, but powerful enough to determine the human trajectory. My battle is beginning to become a distant past; and it hasn't just revolved around getting my educational journey back on track. It has also matured into wonderfully enlightening me on aspects that try to look beyond one's self. And that's the genius of life. Some things are meant to happen for the greater good. And some things lack worth without a fair share of struggle.

The realm of Bollywood music

Be it a thriller, biopic, love story or a slapstick dramedy, a Bollywood movie is incomplete without its share of songs. No matter how irrelevant a song may be to the story of a movie, swaying to the beats of the song, while lip-syncing to it is central to any Hindi drama. So much so that even foreign imports like Nargis Fakhri and Jacqueline Fernandes have managed to survive in Bollywood for this long by simply mastering the 'thumkas', to strike a chord with their desi audience. Sadly for these ladies, the UP, Bihar market has already been captured by Shilpa Shetty.

From Lata Mangeshkar's 'Ae mere watan ke logon' to Honey Singh's 'Char bottle vodka', the meaning of love has come full circle. From using metaphors to describe a woman's grace and charm to outrightly describing her as a vice, Bollywood songs have always gained traction, be it for their mediocrity or their plain lyrical genius. To those that have never been exposed to Hindi film music, it wouldn't take more than a few hit Bollywood tracks to convince one that it is the songs that make the movie, and not the other way around. As I stand here, today, I can proudly attribute all my extended imagination and feminine impracticalities to all the Hindi film songs I grew up listening to. 'Chhaiya Chhaiya' from Dil Se seriously got me contemplating taking a top-of-the-train ride for the longest time, as a kid. 'Nimbooda' from Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam was such a rage that, to this day, I bear the most expressive face every time the song plays. Kal Ho Na Ho's title track was everybody's favored nostalgia-inducing, sad song. The song was a saviour for every person who couldn't sing to save their lives. Ila Arun's voice in Choli Ke Piche Kya Hai always served as a good remedy to scare an ill-behaved child into discipline.

On the one hand where A.R. Rahman songs have been a treat to the ears, a chiffon saree and the alps have done little to break the Bollywood romance stereotype. Looking back, there doesn't seem to be one single auspicious occasion/festival that hasn't been acknowledged with a Bollywood song. If the upbeat and larger-than-life Bollywood songs are the life of every party, then Arijit Singh songs work like magic for the lovelorn hearts. The latest musical sensation that the Tum Hi Ho singer is, he has seen an entire generation let its emotions find a voice though his soulful tracks. Although I have never been a fan of old Hindi film songs, I never seem to get enough of how flowers remained a permanent fixture in songs that tried to potray physical intimacy between the hero and heroine of the movie. Well, it seems like the phrase 'the birds and the bees' found its origin in the old, magnificent Bollywood songs.

Many may thrash Bollywood songs, and brush them off as inferior; but, very few can deny the thrill of grooving to a Bollywood song. As much as Hindi movies are incomplete without their fair share of songs, every wedding, party, and festival lacks worth until the DJ plays at least a few Bollywood dance numbers that can hardly stop people from getting hungover. I have started compiling all the hit Bollywood songs of 2016, and realised that maybe we should get some international artists to sing for Bollywood movies. Or maybe, we can follow in the footsteps of Priyanka Chopra, and try and maybe get someone like Chris Martin to collaborate with Kailash Kher, to get some indie cred. If such a thing has to happen, then I can already see the international audience being left awestruck by Kailash Kher's vocal strength, while Chris Martin entertains the audience with the piano and contemplates being a judge on Indian Idol.

D stands for Dark

The trees were swaying back and forth in the cold of the night, while the gusty winds produced a sound of their own. The leaves of the banyan tree started falling, and soon covered the ground, like a carpet. A beige cat found its little kittens, and proceeded to look for a safe haven. The two barking dogs fighting across from the street, suddenly became quiet.The door of the distant lighthouse started to swing with the winds, making a sound so loud every time it closed, that it almost seemed like some invisible hand was trying to push it as hard as possible. The branches of one of the trees, in the way they were shaped, resembled a ghost. Or maybe, the Dopplëganger of a ghost. The small yellow bulb inside the lighthouse fused, and darkness invaded every corner of the landscape. The door which was swinging very hard with the winds, stopped moving, and fixed itself at a 45 degree angle. The storm, which refused to die down, had now joined forces with torrential rains. At the top of a tree, whose radius was covered with leaves, was a black, horned owl. The owl gave the impression of a spy. A ferocious looking and unforgiving spy, that would send all the alarm bells into a tizzy. The swaying of the trees, back and forth, could be easily mistaken for a demonic spirit, inching closer with every move, and trying to scar any being on its way, physically and emotionally.

Tossing and turning in the bed with disturbed facial expressions, and eyes shut as tightly as possible, loathing every bit of the way the nightmare unfolded, I decided to end my sleep. I exhaled, but not before I could grasp that what I had experienced was just a figment of my imagination. I spent the next 10-15 minutes in bed, trying to understand what had led to the disastrous dream. There are some nightmares that hardly ever leave a trail beyond the time they last, and then there are some others that continue shaking you up, long after they have transpired. As surreal as some good dreams are, a bad dream tends to lurk for much longer, in one's memories.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          

As someone who has confronted fears and nightmares quite well, or at least pretended to do so, I was shocked to see my heart fill with trepidation and anxiety, when I recently watched a movie inspired from the real life story of a teenage girl's brutal murder. So much so, that I felt petrified while walking towards my room, after watching the murder mystery. Maybe, there are times when the connect with a particular thing becomes overwhelmingly strong, and thus, internalising a lot of aspects of which one is a mere spectator, some of which may not even seem real, becomes inevitable. And most of a layman's exposure to horror and dreadful experiences comes from movies. Much has been spoken about and debated, when it comes to the existence of paranormal activities and spirits. As curious and intrigued as I may be about mysterious episodes, I haven't quite been able to understand what it is that is scarier, the timing of the occurrence of the mysterious incident or the incident itself. What is it about the dark that makes the world of murders, horror, and mystery take shape. But, as is quite palpable, some questions only add to the mystery.      

After catching an afternoon show of Conjuring 2, I was more thankful for having chosen the right show timing than for being able to watch the much-talked-about movie on the first day of its release. But the one thing that remains sure is that it feels much safer to experience horror and mystery through someone else's eyes, knowing full well that there are others who are sharing in the experience of shutting their eyes every time a loud and scary sound hints at the arrival of the evil spirit on the 80 inch screen, jerking off their seats when the ghost finally arrives, and slightly leaning on a shoulder next to yours when you are scared as against visualising oneself falling prey to a ghost or blackout, and trying to hide when the ghost tries to follow him/her, until he/she finally wakes up with a thousand minor heart attacks. Also, I plan to watch Conjuring 1, which I have been told beats its second instalment with its fear quotient. This time, I think, I will be sending invites on social media platforms to find good company for the movie, which I plan to watch in the morning.

Autobiography of an abandoned goat

Please help me!

I'm an Asian goat who is currently on the run. I was bred in a farm in North India for milk. My mother gave birth to me and my two siblings in the same farm, which was owned by an elderly man and his sons. We were well-fed to ensure that we grew up healthy enough to fetch our master a good price for our quality milk. Unlike me and my sister, my brother was sold off to a butcher at four months of age, who would eventually slaughter him for his meat.

As new-born babies, when our farm owner didn't depend on us to serve any commercial purpose, I and my siblings enjoyed following our mother everywhere in the farm, grazing through the green pastures of land and indulging in some fun and frolic. I grew fond of my life in the farm, not realising that soon all of us would be separated. My mother was soon sent to another farm, after she was plagued with a rare disease that mired her ability to breed. She went out of favor with the elderly gentleman, who transported her to a farm where she would be reared for meat. My brother met with a similar fate after he outgrew the nursing phase. My sister and I bred once a year ever since we turned one year old, except that my sister died at three years old. She hadn’t been milked for four days in a row, a few months after she gave birth, causing internal congestion to take her life. I realised that as I kept getting older, the attention given to me kept reducing. I knew that I would soon be traded for younger goats, once I stopped giving enough milk. There would be days when I would cry for long hours in my shed, thinking about my family and how much I missed them. Sometimes I wish my flesh wasn't edible and tasty for a goat's meat. Now that I'm baring my heart out, let me also say that being an animal in a world selfishly dominated by humans is a bane.

The day I had been dreading arrived sooner than I imagined. My owner soon started to look at me as a liability, and saw my rearing as unproductive. Like most other goats, I started giving smaller quantities of milk as I grew older. My farm owner was looking to sell me off when he was approached by a local butcher who offered him an attractive price for purchasing me and a few other goats in the farm. Before I knew it, I was already on my way to face the dreaded sword. My owner, who I had thought of as a very kind soul as an infant, now became a demon in my eyes. His actions would only mean that the bond and attachment that I had forged with him through the years were also going to be sold. I desperately wanted my mother to come to my rescue. I felt cheated and vulnerable, and my eyes were filled with terror. I did not know what lay ahead of me. I could now come to think about all the poor animals who, in the past, had met with horrific fates. In no possible way could I get myself to think about many a young goat, whose lives would end in a fashion similar to mine. On my way to the butcher's shop, I tried to escape from the vehicle that squeezed 15 other goats along with me. Alas, the human on the road gestured to the driver of our vehicle about our escape, who in no time jumped to his feet to catch me by the horn! I was pulled inside the vehicle with bleeding horns.
I wasn’t done with my struggle yet.  I tried to escape for a second time when I was inside the shop.

On entering the shop, I  saw a tonne of goat meat lying in the garbage can. As it turns out, the demand for our meat varies on a daily basis. Hence, a lot of our meat goes to waste when stored in mass quantities. I was eighth in a line of sixteen goats that were meant to be butchered for their meat and skin. I could sense the fear building up in the eyes of all the goats. The butcher picked up a large sword that had dried blood stains and sprang into action. And, we were one down! Blood spewed over all our faces, taking our fear to its peak. Some of us indulged in loud cries, but even our loudest screams seemed to fall on deaf ears. Our cries got worse as the next three goats shut their eyes, one after another. The butcher, now, decided to attend to his customers, but not before chaining the rest of us inside a room. The room looked like a store-room for all the live animals that were brought in. The room had two exits, with the second exit leading to the main street. My brain started running helter-skelter, trying to find ways to break away from the confinement. I tried to pull myself away from the chain that held me close to a wall. While I was helplessly trying to loosen the grip of the chain, I heard something snap. Bravo, I had finally managed to set myself free! I decided to make a secret escape using the second exit. I pushed the rickety door hard and quickly made a non-fussy exit. I felt very sorry for the other goats that were left inside, and sincerely wished for their rescue. I, still, was not totally safe, but experiencing some freedom for the first time, while I was on my own, surely added enough value to a goat's life in this human-centric world. 

A day without internet

Wake up. Go to the loo. Plonk on the bed with the mobile phone. Multiple screams from mother go ignored. Check all the accounts across various social media platforms. The final call for breakfast arrives. Get up and brush the teeth. Eat the breakfast. Pick up a news daily. Check the phone before settling down to catch up with the latest news. The rest of the day passes with frequent breaks to check the phone. To be precise, the breaks are exclusively reserved for checking WhatsApp, Facebook, mails, and Instagram, among other things. Well, that's what my routine consists of, when the internet is working.

There are times when this routine is disrupted, although, not very often. They are the times when there lacks a secure internet connection. And those days seem like the worst of the nightmares. Recently, the WiFi connection in my house had lapsed for one entire day. Yes, you heard it right, one entire day. As someone who mostly relies on WiFi connections, a mobile data pack is rarely availed of. Contrary to the tone expressed in the previous sentences, the beginning of the day without internet was pleasant. Surprisingly, I did a lot of things that wouldn't have been possible to do, alongside the constant buzzing of the phone. For the first time in a long while, I looked around my messy room and realized that I had the last opportunity to save my room from looking like a godown that stocked all the trash one could possibly find in a room. Hey, I've never felt more productive than when I finished the herculean task of cleaning up my godown-like messy room! Constant struggles to fix the dormant internet connection were on, all through the while, without any success. There is a vast difference between voluntarily choosing to turn off the internet to avoid distraction and not having access to internet, and thus having to make do without it. It is at this point that I realise how I may be missing out on some important mails and messages, and I simultaneously start feeling disconnected from all the goings-on around me. And it is also these very moments that trigger a quest for occasional detachment. In the meanwhile, various books were browsed through. Also, I began scrolling down my contact list with the hope of talking to people I've not been in touch with. Voila, I manage to surprise a couple of contacts with the gesture!

Today, we live in an era where almost half of the world's population makes use of the internet on a daily basis. I wonder how the older generations saw people live a life without television, mobile phones, and refrigerators, let alone an internet connection. Late afternoon, I sat my grandmother down to know what life was like, in her heydays. I couldn't help but feel enchanted while my grandmother shared some anecdotes from her life and reminisced about how a big family always found enough ways to remain amused and entertained. My evening plans of watching a movie, online, were substituted with a visit to the Juhu beach. The beauty of the sunset, which I have heard of more than I have witnessed, was experienced in all its glory. The gentle ocean waves, cool zephyrs, and the sand castles seemed to quickly fill all the empty spaces in my life, and everything felt just perfect.

Something seemed amiss when I headed back home. As it turned out, I hadn't touched my phone in a long time. Just like how an empty house lacks value, my phone, on that particular day, seemed empty and worthless. I frantically made a few calls at my internet provider's office, just to know that I would have to wait until the next morning to get my internet connection fixed. Honestly, no problem or obstacle in my life has ever seemed as grave and severe as the one I was facing, when I was cut off from the digital world. I planned to buy a mobile data pack, the next morning. The plan didn't materialise as I woke up to an active WiFi connection, the next morning. It felt like the most pleasant start to the day. There is a saying that goes as 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder,' and in my case, this statement couldn't have meant more.

The high-octane life!

I found myself in a catch-22 situation when, despite assuming that my life had steadily changed over a period of time, I couldn't help but admit how life looks drastically different at various micro-levels, looking back. These micro-levels altered my life at a macro-level. Upon having a discussion with a friend who drew my attention to how, today, we all prefer living our lives in the fast lane, and many compromise on their future needs and requirements, just to be able to sustain a modern-day lifestyle. Can money buy comfort and luxury? Yes. Does a glorified social status improve one's standard of living? Yes, under pressure. Does money indulge? Certainly. But the real question here is, 'At what cost?' Money's indulgence seems short-lived and fails to seem legit when bigger hopes and wishes are compromised upon. As much as the argument of enjoying the allowances of a friendly environment and lifestyle seems appealing, there is also a thought spared for the output and longevity of our actions, for the greater good.

The atmosphere is competitive. Time is running out. There is a drastic upsurge in the activities and ideas that multiply rapidly. Making quick bucks has become a norm. And there is no looking back for spendings. Educational qualifications are at par. City life has gained totally different momentum. Material riches are shaping attitudes and personalities. Nuclear set-up of homes has catalyzed independent thinking. Has the change struck, now? But, in keeping with the daily requirements and demands of the life I lead, this qualifies as a very basic life, say many. In fact, my outings and parties with friends, my fitness and vanity enhancing regimens, and healthcare requirements haven't even found a mention in this ever expanding list, says one of the 21st century go-getters. Amidst all these doings, how and why should one ever find a reason to slower his/her pace of life and let a low-on-ostentation life take over, like before? Much to my dismay, I have lived my life according to a certain standard, without ever thinking if my life has been a product of the society's influence or if I have inadvertently been pressured to chug that path of life, which is both emotionally and financially exploiting. Although, today it seems like my life is torn over between what has been socially deemed acceptable and what I have grown up on.

Media has been the biggest game-changer when it comes to enlightening and overthrowing the old, familiar Indian lifestyle. Fashion senses have evolved, and how! Shopping season that would arrive once every year, mostly coinciding with a festival, no more requires an occasion to arrive. An organic generation gap seems too heavy to bear, and at times also seems like mental baggage. Family outings and get-togethers over dinner have been traded for potlucks, clubbing, and weekend getaways with friends and colleagues. I was growing up when this noteworthy transition took place, and for some reason, this transition victimized people before they could manage to come to terms with this speedy change.  Growing up with the basic necessities of life and occasional add-ons, gratitude has become second nature to me, for all that I had back then, but seems somewhat missing, today. A city like Mumbai may resemble a match-box when one considers the proximity and size of homes. But, the warmth and affection do not flow as easily as the wrath of the people, around. Sharing a bed, earlier, never required much of a thought. The same thing today, after a decade or two, seems like a major life decision. What can these changes be attributed to?

Today, there is no better feeling than that of being born at a time when the constant buzzing of a phone did not eat into my personal space. It feels good to revel in the old world charm of people being able to afford to be totally inaccessible, and access their deepest desires. Gratitude is also shown for the time when family talks/chats were prioritized over reel life family dramas. The art of sharing and saving up for later, and the greater joy of rejoicing the stored treasure of one's favorite cake have become the fondest memories. And also, the feeling of having witnessed a life where the people living together made a house, and not the other way round. I shall pride myself for being able to differentiate between a robotic and absolutely carefree and non-robotic life. And also for knowing what it is like reading a hard copy of a book before the kindle came in, what enjoying swings and see-saws in a park is like before video games took over. I know that a bed-time story will always hold more essence than falling asleep to Angry Birds on television. I know how a normal life existed before the high-octane life took over.

Air rides, flying syndrome, etc

Summer is right here. And when summer cruises through, travel plans decide to invade. So of course, it is destinations galore. Except, every time one has to clock long miles by air, the thought of long flights makes every other thought turn turtle. Or maybe it is the jet-lag which follows, that plays spoilsport and disrupts the excitement and immediate schedule of one's travel plans.

I'm someone who seizes every opportunity to cuddle and play with babies. Babies are soft and warm; and the cute species that they are, they also make for the best stress busters. As honest and factual as the previous statement happens to be, it is also an open-ended one. No guesses then, that baby passengers are a big no-no. My dislike for baby travelers can be attributed to a flight I was on, sometime back, when an infant had resolved to cause a mental riot on the aircraft; maybe so that he could draw everyone's attention to how his bassinet had no comfort, while the babies seated in the first class were having a gala time in their comfy and spacious bassinets. Also, I'm not sure if it's just me, but late night flights seem to be the most adventurous ones, when it comes to tracking one's actions and emotions. Every time I have boarded a late night/midnight flight, the importance of my bed in my life has increased substantially. The compact and if-you-recline-the-passenger-behind-gives-you-dirty-looks seats just add to the misery of every economy class traveler. As a kid, I always admired air travel. I don't know if I was lured by the goodies that a kid receives on flights or by the air of sophistication and the sense of everybody showing high levels of discipline or at least pretending to do so until the aircraft landed, when it began to look more like a Mumbai local. Window seats are great when one wants to remain oblivious to the on-flight happenings, until that extra glass of water makes you rush to the loo, inconveniencing everyone on your way out. Unlike the scenario on every train journey, on a flight, one is unknowingly expected to head straight to where the lavatory is, without making any animated gestures towards anybody on the way. Like anybody who has traveled by trains in large groups would know, there are always a few people from the group who love to jump compartments. These are the people who, when they want to use the toilet, leave their seats minutes in advance, just so that there is ample time to greet everyone on the way and have a cup or two of tea, if insisted upon.

My vote always goes to the helpless flight attendants who are at the receiving end of many a passenger's frustration and high-handedness and still have to smile like they are pleased to have them on board. It is both annoying and hilarious, in equal measure, to see some passengers ignore the flight crew, when they prepare to spring out of their respective seats before every landing. I seriously wish to know if these people really think that the flight is going to take-off without letting them exit. How I wish I could know the answer, someday! The other alternative to understanding the reason behind this oh-so-silly action is to get feedback forms filled by passengers, just to know if that is their way of retaliating for a terrible flying experience. Whatever the case, these are the same people who believe in halting the road traffic when they get into a minor accident with another vehicle.

I'm looking forward to a journey when every passenger will have a separate cabin, which will almost be akin to a private journey. The cabin should be inaccessible to any view or sound of babies throwing a fit, and fat aunties encroaching on the other person's seat through the arm rest, while using the reclining mechanism. Meanwhile, I hear that the real reason why Kingfisher Airlines got grounded was the free flowing booze, that left the passengers incapacitated. Guess, extreme sophistication brings its own perils.

The act of balancing the equilibrium

It is quite often that I find myself mulling over the ironies of life. And I dare not say that they are far and few between. I have reached a point where I enjoy looking at everything as a third person. Right perspective is often obtained when things are looked at without dragging oneself into the situation, which is also when things start veering from 'Me against the world' to 'This is what the ideal situation should have been like.'

You know irony exists when you see a person who finds it difficult to make a choice between a $2000 Versace bag and Swarovski diamond set, when there is someone on the streets who barely has any clothes for cover. Irony is right in your face when you witness nations warring in the name of religion, and simultaneously you see fundamentalists stressing on why a woman on her periods should not be allowed in the periphery of the idol of a God. Irony is palpable when a meritorious student commits suicide for losing his/her college seat to someone who gets in by giving a donation. The irony gets greater when a woman wearing a crop top is labelled 'untamed', whereas a woman who reveals her stomach and back in a saree is seen as being virtuous in the name of 'sanskaar'. Why is it that a beggar sleeping on the roadside seems much more content and peaceful than a successful entrepreneur, who pops pills to handle the stress of juggling a dozen ventures? Why are marriages often dreaded and made to be the target of jokes, when people that choose to remain single are subjected to strong judgements and snide remarks of the society? We live in a world where it takes a person's death to realize their importance and value in our lives. We have resorted to the medium of satire to understand and tackle the society in a better fashion, and on the other side we have politicians, like say an Arvind Kejriwal or a Rahul Gandhi, who have proved that they can go to any length to get votes, even if that means having to ridicule and shame themselves into furthering their ulterior motives. The hit on the head that secures the nail comes in the form of a certain section of the society frivolously upholding its religious tradition of protecting the cow by violating the human peace on the basis of a mere suspicion of someone having violated that tradition.

The line between being virtuous and ethical and accepting everything at face value and not questioning the existence of norms is blurred. Realizing the existence of that blurred line is mastering the art of balancing the equilibrium in a place where distortion exists in every respect of life. Ironies arise from the lack of practice of questioning why things exist a certain way. We simply view success as rising higher in the eyes of the world and hence, comes the pressure of keeping up the facade of being subservient to commonalities and stereotypes. And failures have a yardstick that is defined by the most miserable downfalls, by default. Picture an A car running at 120 kmph in front of a B car that is moving at 100 mph. The driver of car B may find 120 kmph too high a speed limit. Sure. I agree. And as a third person who is just an observer of the two cars, I also do not approve of the speed limit of car B. But, the driver of car B who compares the speed of his car with that of car A will always live thinking that he is driving safe. Such is the method of our functioning? Why is someone's wrongdoing used to balance our acts? A wrongdoing will always remain a wrongdoing, however much it is tampered with.

So, why is one religion's misfortune blamed on the existence of another religion? A blame game does not reduce the intensity of a misfortune. How does a rival's downfall and source of pain become one's antidote? Treading the path of non-encroachment seems like the best way to maintain the balance in life. Competing with someone above oneself leads to a life of underestimation, whereas looking down will only delay the journey to reach the finish point. To sum it up, an ice-cream either melts or causes a brain freeze, if eaten at a speed other than your own.

Teachers' wonders

         


                                                               
                     
Helping hands have blurred
Warnings and scoldings have waned 
Care and concern have died a sudden death
Lessons have become shallow,
O teacher, how I miss the days,
When finishing your homework was the biggest worry!
                                

Living without a time-table borders on helplessness,
A break lacks worth without a bell,
Notoriety without punishments is futile,
The blueprint for life is unavailable,
O teacher, I want to relive the days,
When getting a star in my book was the greatest source of joy.


The time when 'Sorry' was a golden word,
Getting consoled after tears filled the eyes was the best therapy,
A remark in the handbook was the only disappointment,
The excitement of sitting on the front desk was palpable,
O teacher, I yearn to learn more.
And I promise to never give you a chance to complain.


Under your tutelage, time just rushed,
Glad I am to have been your protégé.
Even a million thank you's will not justify your stature,
For every child you have enlightened,
Gratitude will flow through an entire generation.
O teacher, do look back to see your child soar high,
It is my teacher who believed in my ability to fly.