Open Letter to Uday Chopra, Priyanka Chopra and Jugal Hansraj (Henceforth referred to as UC, PC, and JH, not out of affection, just laziness):

Hi Guys,

Need some clarifications. About your latest 'venture'. Yes, that one. The very same. Pyar Impossible.

1. Why do you want to eliminate the human race by inflicting such torture on us?

2. Is there a message? Are we supposed to look for one?

3. If the message is "Falling for looks is shallow" then please explain to us dimwits why UC's character is shown to be 'madly in love with' PC's character to the extent of collecting her used plastic cups? Or is it for her DNA sample for some new cloning experiment?

4. Does a geek always have to have oiled parted hair, spectacles and braces? Any idea what trouble parents have in getting their kids to wear specs or braces based on the loosely researched stereotypes that you create?

5. In such an abundant script, could you atleast give PC a bathroom in the future, so that she doesn't have to take bath and live in a towel in the girls' common room?

6. So, because of the message thing you did not want to give UC good looks. Could you atleast give him some IQ in the next movie? Or some self respect? You are the Gods, you decide.

7. The kid. Children in hindi cinema are grossly misrepresented. They are treated either like retards or like bindu-helen-asrani-cupid-amrishpuri rolled into one. If any average Indian 6 year old acted like the kid in this movie, s/he would be grounded. For life. And I think this one should be grounded too...

8. So, we hire a nanny. Then we get them to do house work. Then we ask them to cook an impossibly elaborate Thai dinner at an hour's notice. And then we ask them for love-advice. And take them out for coffee. Way of life. Very normal, yes.

9. This one is for PC. After getting that award for Fashion last year, are you doing movies like What's your Rashee and Pyaar Impossible to ward off the evil eye?

10. Again, why?

A curious viewer.

Mantras in Hindi Soap Operas

Eavesdropping is the Name
No two people in a hindi serial shall have conversations without a third person (usually one who is not supposed to be around in that scene) listening in. All the plotting and scheming shall occur within easy listening range of the targets.

The "Kaagzaat" Trump Card
All property in soap-land is easily transferable. Legal transactions are over simplified and Kaagzaat of the house/hotel/company are easily available to everyone from the bahus to the baas, from the babujis to the local bhelpuri walas.

Thou Shalt Never Be 'Bling-less'
Even if woken up at 3 am, the protagonist (or any other character) shall never appear on screen without daisy-fresh make up, lipstick and the full works. In a silk sari, no less (WHO goes to bed in a silk sari? I could barely make it through my 3 hour wedding ceremony in one...)

Money Matters
Yes, we are a poor family. We are in deep financial doodoo. We're are on the verge of bankruptcy. But our house, it has 48 rooms and 362 bathrooms. Fully furnished. It is ancestral property. We are plenty emotional about it and will never sell it off. Or lease it. Even if we have to make human puppets with our own hair to make a living.

Of incomplete sentences:
"I saw you talking to her."
"Arre, lekin..."
Pause
"I know you were cheating on me."
"Meri baat to suno..."
Pause.
"I want a divorce"
"Par maine to..."
Pause.
Bam! Out she walks...
I would seriously recommend neurological evaluation to this guy. He has obvious difficulty in completing sentences...and they call this a misunderstanding?

That Shashi Tharoor would think India need SA (No, the non-cricketing SA, with Riyadh as its capital) to mediate is amusing. Like two kids in the playground asking a teacher to make sense of their squabble. And that he would use loopholes in English language to defend his opinion is even more amusing. Okay, it was not mediator, it was interlocutor. Yeah, we get it. But in a country run by adults, why is this the most opted for choice in conflict resolution?
It is reflective of the choices we individuals make in daily life. It is our collective unconscious speaking, perhaps. The way we need validation, the way we need acceptance, the way we seek actively to avoid conflicts and 'stay in the limelight, but out of the line of fire'. The comfort zones. We want to make a point without taking responsibility for it. If it is accepted well, we bask in the glory of it. If not, "God forbid, I ever meant it like that!" or "Media twists my statements to meet their own ends". Or something to that effect. Few people stick with what they say, even if it is glaringly politically incorrect (Not that I am advocating that). Fewer still honestly apologize (Not advocating that either).
All of the above is speculation devoid of judgment. It is the way the human psyche works. It works towards meeting very basic needs. Of affiliation and acceptance. Of being universally liked and of being right. And, in some cases, the need of a vote-bank.

There is a lot being said about the legend that is SRK, his cricketo-political (What? Isn't that a word yet? Well, it should be.) decision making skills and the intent behind it. Allegations and disclaimers have been flying back and forth. Between not so subtle demands for acquiescence and subtle apologies, media continues to track down every move of his and colour it with their perceptions to suit the palate of the viewers/readers.
What do I feel? Frankly, nothing. He could be pro-India, pro-Pakistan, pro-Afghanistan or pro-Siberia for all I care. And I don't adulate him, nor do I hate his guts. Just no strong feelings either ways. I avoid his movies where I can, I don't enjoy them particularly.
But, this sudden interest in his actions does raise a few questions. As a friend recently mentioned, maybe we *have* been asking the wrong questions. The point is not how he feels about Pakistani players in IPL or what his opinion on Jihad is. The point is, why does it bother us so much? Another person, another opinion. High profile, only because we make it so. We are an emotional lot, us Indians. We tend to put our 'celebrities' on a pedestal and worship them. We build temples for them and break coconuts at their movies' releases. And when their thought processes don't line in with ours, we feel immensely let down. Why? So he has a certain perception about a certain country, and mine don't conform with that. So, my neighbour's favourite colour is pink, and I hate it. Should I declare war on him?
I understand that peoples' concern in this issue was that celebrities have a certain social responsibility that comes with being powerful. 2 things- *WE* vest them with this power. And social responsibility is not exclusive to the political, acting or sporting community by any stretch of imagination. And definitely not because they are in the limelight.
Democracy was about electing an able, qualified representative. It was never about idolizing an actor and making him the demigod of politics. If people are going to subscribe to opinions just because Shahrukh or whoever else voices them, we have big, big problems...bigger problems than his opinions in the first place.

Pictures speak louder than words...

A sign drawn in the sand
And a touch of a stranger's hand
I wonder what it means

Time spinning round and round in this space
Then it's gone without a trace
I wonder where it goes

Deep in the night when I hear no sound
I feel my heartbeat slowing down
My mind's released and free to wander
As I sleep

The past buried deep inside my head
All the words that have gone unsaid
I just want to let them go

Life on a distant star
Or a boat to where the wild things are
I just want to let it flow

Deep in the night when I hear no sound
I feel my heartbeat slowing down
My mind's released and free to wander
As I sleep

If you're quiet you'll hear the sound
Bits of the world as it spins around
We feel lost and we feel found
When we sleep
When we sleep
When we sleep
Sleep

Two worlds colliding in my head
I watch you as you sleep

Two worlds colliding in my head
Two worlds colliding in my head
Two worlds
Colliding in my head

- Amanaska- Sleep (Buddha Bar)

Orkut tells me fortunes everyday. I get my kicks out of my morning cuppa tea and orkut fortunes. Today it is "Tomorrow's life is too late. Live today." Sorry, didn't see that one coming. At all. Specially because it is tomorrow already as I typed this. Oh, ought I to have lived yesterday?
The last two weeks have been very full of PTMs (Powerful Therapeutic Moments, for the uninitiated) and also very full of minor annoyances (which are now threatening to blow out of proportion). I understand that many organizations are undergoing paradigm shifts, but not paying employees is not an acceptable way of dealing with your transitions. Ok? Ok.
Ever seen a movie that makes you rue the fact that you earn enough to spend on movies?
I did today. It made me feel violated in more ways than one....even if you are generous enough to overlook the irrelevantly crass language, which I wasn't, it did not make sense. You know when you sometimes watch a movie thinking in the last scene it will all fall into place and I will go home having understood the story? And it happens? Well, it didn't. Anyone who doesn't know what movie I am talking about and can guess, will get the reward that I have set aside for the person who fixes my title dilemma in blogspot.

* One of my biggest fears is that a pigeon will come inside through an open door or window when I am alone at home. This is very closely followed by the fear that I will step unknowingly on a dog while walking on the road and fall over it. And be attacked.
* When I acquire new clothes, bag, folder, footwear or other stuff, I don't like to use it immediately. My logic behind that ('It will get dirty') is often a source of amusement for my family (read 'Navin')
* Music soothes my nerves like nothing else. A hot cuppa tea comes a close second.
* I am extremely fascinated by colours. That there should be so many shades, so many hues, so many colours...is so amazing!
* I find the sound of water very relaxing. Paradoxically, I am scared of deep water and drowning.
* I am pretty superstitious at times. To the extent of qualifying diagnosis for OCD.
* The other OCD aspect in me is my excessive attention to detail. This has landed me in academic hell many times. And I am yet to change.
* I find cooking therapeutic. As long as what I am making turns out good.
* I am not as quality consistent as I would like to be in many things I do.
* I hate fire crackers, specially the noisy variety. I don't mind the ones that make pretty, fancy lights, but I hate the bombs. I have never ever burst one in my life. I like to say it is because I am an environmentalist, but it is actually because I am scared of them.
* When I was tiny, I used to howl at night if the zero watt bulb was switched off. Now, I have difficulty sleeping with the light on.
* When I am by myself and faced with a problem, I talk to myself aloud about how to solve it. I keeps me calm.
* I hate shopping, normally. Sometimes though I enjoy it. Specially if it is with Navin. Or for him.
* I really, really enjoy working with data, in research settings. One of the biggest highs in my life is to see that 'significant at p < 0.05'. I miss research more sorely than anything else in my career.
* I am pretty good at logical reasoning, though I don't use it as much as I should.
* I love trivia. Even if it is useless. Specially if it is useless.
* I'd much rather read the book than watch the movie. I feel books give you a visual creative license that movies can not.
* Waking up in the morning is the most difficult chore of the day. Specially in winters. Ironically, winter is my favourite season, and night is my favourite time of the day.
* I am not a very television person. There are of course exceptions.
* Contrary to popular belief, I am not good at staying in touch with people. This is because I can not sustain phone conversations or online chat for over 3 minutes if they are not heading in a particular direction. I get distracted. Again, there are exceptions.
* I used to be a coffee addict. I have now given up. Tea has taken over.
* I am very fond of kids, but not very good with them. This has reflected in my choice of work, and I now work primarily with adults.
* I'm very finicky about spellings, grammar, punctuations etc. It bothers me incessantly, if someone I care about writes it's instead of its, your instead of you're, or doesn't capitalize the 'I' while writing professionally.
* I love birthdays even if they are not celebrated.
* I love new stationery, brand new books, notebooks, pens, pencils, erasers, sharpeners, pencil cases, the works...they remind me of school days. Back when I was a kid, my biggest fixation of the day used to be whether my bag has more 'compartments' or my brothers :)
* I often google out a word or type it on MS Word to check its spelling. Even when I am fairly sure about it...

It was a wet afternoon. The rain gods were pleased and indiscriminately blessing. I had no raincoat, nor umbrella. My school bag had no zip, and was not waterproof. I knew when I got home, that the colours of the red and blue lines on my english notebook would have run into each other on the edges. That the squares on my math notebook would be smudged. My brand new rain-shoes, worn without socks, were biting into my foot on atleast four different places that I could feel. I knew I would discover more of them, once I was warm and the numbness from the cold water receded. I stood outside the school gates, scanning the horizons rendered hazy by water droplets everywhere. The trees were lush green, greener than I remembered them from the previous afternoon. There was a muddy puddle around me, I stood on a flat stone as though it were a pedestal.
The wind became fiercer, the rain, heavier. I sought refuge inside a building, cold, for some unknown reason, nervous, and alone. It was dingy but warmer. The breeze from outside still made me freeze, but I was safer from the tirade here. At least I felt safer. Notes of a song drifted out of a window on the ground floor. I don't recall the song. I do know it was something soft, very Buddha-Bar-esque. The notes were light, warm, dry. I can't explain how, but they were.I wasn't alone anymore.
The song made me think of sandy deserts and the starry night sky. It reminded me of a lone, tired traveler in search of an unknown destination, seeking directions from nature. There were no words, just endless instrumental music, the kind that transports you elsewhere.
I heard an auto honking nearby. Ventured out and saw it was mine. Elated though I was, I felt like I was leaving a friend behind. A friend who did not yet have a name, whose name I might never discover. Looking back once towards that elusive window and its musical enchantments,I made the saner, more rational decision. I got into the warmth of the auto.
Nineteen years later, I still wish I had knocked on that window and found out what song that was...

It's that time of the year again...or rather it's past that time of the year. When you review the 365 odd days gone by, become nostalgic, and say, "Those really were the days!!!Ah, 2008..." (Or perhaps not). The season for top ten, bottom ten, middle ten and nondescript ten listings. The moment for new resolutions, which might have never been required had the older ones been adhered to. The time for parties, crackers, unmitigated rowdy-ism (no, am not a cynic through and through, just a realist. Any decent psychotherapist will give you the difference :)). Not that there is anything wrong with any of the above...people have their own way of coping with the passage of time.
One thing that changed in the past year, perhaps (it's difficult to say) is that people have begun to take public security (I hope), a bit more seriously. One thing that stubbornly remains unchanged, though, is blogger still doesn't allow me to type titles in English (reward's still open). My faith in technology takes a deeper and deeper blow with each passing day. Ah, well...
On an entirely different, unrelated and irrelevant note, here's an excerpt from one of my lectures a year or two back:
" Psychologists began to outgrow behaviourism when they discovered that there is more to the psychological framework than the simple 'stimulus-response' patterns. Behaviourism treated an individual like a vending machine- you put a quarter, you get a candy. But there are unknown variables, the 'x's, that influence human behaviour and make it much, much more complex than that. Sometime, you insert the quarter, and there is no candy...sometimes there is no quarter....and..well...you get the drift..."

What can I say...Thank God this is not my profession!
HAppy New Year!

We are a resilient lot, us Indians. Things happen, we're shaken. And we get over it. This too, we philosophically tell ourselves, will pass.

People have died before defending the country. Why should it be any different just because its not at the frontiers? But do wars have to be only at the border? We have lost people who have voluntarily gone and faced death, so we might be safe another day. Safe? What is that??

So, people die. Someone out there has lost a relative, a friend, a parent, a sibling, a spouse. Today we don't know any of them personally. So why worry? Tomorrow if the tragedy touches us, and 'news' becomes a personal fact, we'll give it a thought. Till then we will be resilient. This too, after all, will pass.

But, you know what? People are getting tired. Wary. Today when I walk on the streets, I look back over my shoulder. I look at random people on the road and wonder if they have a concealed weapon. When I meet new people, I zero in on their ethnicity and cultural background (not that that tells us anything...prejudice still breeds) rather than their identity as people. When I dine out, I am constantly on tenterhooks. I refuse to take a seat near a door or a window, because I will be first in the line of fire, in case. I am afraid to travel by public transport, I am afraid to travel by a private vehicle. I am afraid to even be a passer-by. I am scared to walk past high profile buildings, I am scared to walk through familiar chawls. I am even afraid to go near the window of my own home, that's how a couple at Nariman House was killed in their own home. Everytime, a family member leaves home, I am on tenterhooks once more till they get back. I am scared to live. And I am not me, I am every Mumbaikar, every Indian citizen. But, I have to stay calm. I have to be resilient. Because I am alive today. Tomorrow, I may not be. And then, in my wake, others will have to be calm and resilient. And the story goes on...

Disclaimer: My thoughts being as scattered as they are right now (and me feeling absolutely no urgency in collecting them), this post might be a little disconnected.
After another long sabbatical from blogging, a re-debut of sorts. This has become routine stuff now, so I won't bother with the regular explanations. Hectic month, festive season and all that jazz.
Was in Bombay for about 10 days. I don't know what it is with me and you-know-who, every time I come back, I land right in the middle of this maharashtrian-outsider fray. It's uncanny down to the point of...well...bizzare. And a little annoying. Okay, a lot annoying.
I have rediscovered tea. As in I have rediscovered tea as my comfort drink. A dusting of elaichi, smattering of ginger, a pinch of chai masala. It rocks my life. Really. It's the daal-chawal of beverages, seriously. It's another layer of homecoming.
I have also recently realized that you can have comfort zones in everything. Comfort-people, comfort-food, comfort-drink, comfort-music, comfort-clothes, comfort-reading, comfort-place, comfort-activity...
It's been cool here in Bangalore, in contrast to Bombay (I have gone back to calling it Bombay now- call it my comfort-name or my little way of protesting). Just the kind of weather where you can go for long walks and not feel spent at the end of it. It becomes dark sooner in the evenings these days, but the nights, they're not totally black-dark. The night sky is a beautiful blue-pink, starless on most nights.
Work is a little more loaded than usual, though still not as loaded as I would like it to be. Testing has well and truly taken a back-seat in my life, sometimes I wonder if our main job-descriptions should read 'travelling'. Okay, honestly, I travel much much lesser than most people in this city do, infact I work about 5 minutes from home, but now that I am on locum for Jyoti, perhaps that will change for the worse.
I think I have for the moment exhausted my ramblings. Or maybe not. Like the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle that you invariably find under the cupboard or pillow after you have packed it up, I'll probably hit upon more things to write about after I log out. Probably. There's not one of Murphy's laws that don't work on me.

-> The bouncer-like man with big moustaches standing outside Big Bazaar has now taken to asking me (and 'supposably' other female customers) to leave their handbags and purses with the security. I asked him last week if he wanted me to pay for my purchases with my kidney. He did not answer.

-> Hearing a lot more from my TY batchmates these days, Yay!

-> Have (re)read (almost) all Poirot books now...Thankyou Blossoms. Thankyou Christie. Thankyou Paper.

-> Noone's blogging. And, everyone's asking me to.

-> Anasua called. From the land of Oz. Down Under. Spoke with her after almost two years. So cool.

-> J is now back. Yay again. Welcome back, J...waiting to hear from you.

-> This is a makeshift blog. Till I have something more concrete to blog about. I hate that last month went without a post.

-> How do you pronounce supposably? (anyone who religiously follows 'Friends' can appreciate the gravity of this issue)

-> Still can't title blogs in English. And don't want to in Hindi. So there.

-> This update is inspired by K's comment. Certain people *sinister glare* are earning my wrath by making very politically incorrect statements. I dislike oranges. No more about that though.

यह क्या हो रहा है???

Okay, so this site still doesn't let me type in english. Atleast in the title space. I don't know how to set that right and it's bothering me. Like hell. Anyone with useful tips, your assistance will be suitably rewarded. No help, no reward. Get that?
Okay the up side of this is that a blog in July is happening after all. July has not gone by without a blog. I mean I know it has...but I apparently have the power to turn time back. I really, really do, check out the date of this one if you don't believe me.
So, a blog hasn't come to me (It really is like that...many bloggers would agree, that you don't sit to blog, a blog walks into your mind semi-constructed) in a long long time. Nothing new about that. I haven't had much to say even though the month has been a very eventful one. But now I realised that I do have things to say. And say them I will. So here goes:


To all the Bangalore auto-walas:
Do not, please, do not gang up outside malls and hospitals, eye people coming out with a vengence and accost them with "Elli hogbekka madam?!" I swear I will prefer to walk the additional half mile and take the non threatening bald little insignificant autowala's rick than climb into your monstorous machine. So if you want to come off too needy, be prepared to lose some serious business.

To pedestrians in India:
You smoke, you drink, you pee, you spit,
If you do it in the middle of the road, be prepared to be hit.

To all the two-wheeler, four-wheeler, eight-wheeler, sixteen-wheeler drivers in the city:
There are other creatures on the road. Really. If you opened your eyes a bit, you might even see them.

To the traffic policemen in Bangalore:
Show up. Please, we need you.

To Aamir Khan:
Make more movies.

To the saas bahu serial makers:
You might want to reconsider resource-utilization. After all the special effects, sound effects, and classic expressions of emotions ranging from wildly ecstatic to a catatonic stupor in 40 different people in the house, the only message you manage to convey is the lid of the pickle jar is missing. I'd call that shifty.

To the audience of the saas-bahu serials:
So Tulsi is changed again. Meera tried to kill Bani but she came back. And something has been happening between Anuraag Basu and Prerna for a really, really long time now. But outside of the idiot-box, time ticks on. And life goes on. Yes, it does. I promise you.

To the Indian Cricket Team:
Many modelling contracts, sponsorships, acting offers, and heatedly debated and speculated flings later, I understand winning is not an option. But is playing an option?

To the Aaj-tak and Star News people:
I understand why "Amitabh Bachchan ko thand lagi" would be breaking news for you. It means that the temperature is dropping to an extent that even Bollywood stars are feeling the pinch of it now. It means space ants are about to invade the earth in three months. Yes, no, I understand totally.

Yet again, to the media, specially the above mentioned channels:
Some news is not meant to be sensationalized. What your channel may be selling today might not be news but something else. You might want to think about it.

Via TimeMachine???

It's 11:15 am. Or so my cell phone says. I however, have no proof of it. I mean, sure my cell phone and every other watch in the house says it, as does the laptop when I switch it on. Or the television for that matter. But how do we know...I mean know...that it is infact 11:15 am? How? Who first decided what the time was? Did time begin when it was discovered? Or when watches and clocks were invented? Or when the world began? It could be 83 o' clock for all we know. Who says the day gets over when the sky becomes dark? Who, indeed?
Anyway, (if we're to believe my cell phone) it's 11:15 am. There is an almost unnatural stillness in the environment. Someone in the next building is having some welding work done. I can hear the faint whirring of the machine, the very gentle 'thwack' of the heavy sparks falling onto the ground like fiery raindrops.
A lot of the disconnected randomness (isn't randomness always disconnected? or is it?) in my thought processes can be attributed to the movie I saw last night. Navin and I thought it might be good for us once in a while to catch some non-mainstream cinema. That, coupled with our inexorable faith in the acting prowess of Vinay Pathak and Rajat Kapoor, prompted us to give 'Via Darjeeling' a shot. The movie defies time like nothing else. It moves back and forth in time like a pendulum, creating the very real feeling that time is but an illusion. The movie is about an incomplete story with a few alternate endings (alternate cinema in its true spirits?). A supposed thriller, with an insipid story line. A failed attempt at recreating the mysterious charm of some oldtime whodunnits. The glaring effect of over fertile imagination with very very limited creativity (too m uch imagination and too little creativity is always a bad combination- like McDonald Burgers with Sambhar, stone cold Sambhar at that- Did I kill any appetites there? Sorry.)
So, as we walked out of the theatre, our senses numbed with disbelief mostly (and a little with overactive airconditioning), I began challenging the existence of time. Is it there? Not there? Or what, really? Space Aliens, Please Help!!!

Randomness

Am back in Mumbai. 4 days into my trip, I am still taking it all in...the places I have been so closely associated with during different stages of my life. Feels great.Had been to Siddhivinayak today, as I have been going for many many Tuesdays in the past. For me,Siddhivinayak is as different from other temples (with due respect to all) as spirituality is from religion. I distinctly had the feeling that I had come home to an old old friend and was settling down on the sofa for a chat with a hot cup of tea in hand. There is no respect, respect born out of fear of being condemned. There is love, unconditional and unblemished, affection, if you will. And there is respect born out of this affection. I feel at peace with the world outside and within me when I'm at Siddhivinayak- the place that has seen me through some of the most troubled days in my past. Homecoming has many layers, many meanings. This then, perhaps, is one of them.

On a totally different and musical note, I recently heard this song, that had me going bonkers about it. It's the song Kabhi kabhi Aditi from Jaane Tu...Ya Jaane Na.I'm so in love with it. I have it on repeat on my MP3 player. I listen to it about 19 times a day. I was trying to understand why I like it so much and zeroed in on one unique reason among many not so unique ones. The inclusion of the name "Aditi" in the song appealed to me a lot. I feel that there is no greater respect you could give a person than addressing them by their given name. It's also so much more personalized. Like the song is custom-written for someone. IT rocks. Very well sung by Rashid Ali, Amazing music by ARR. So, without further ado, I present to you the lyrics

Kabhi kabhi Aditi zindagi mein yuhi koi apna lagta hai
kabhi kabhi Aditi wo bichad jaaye to ek sapna lagta hai
aise mein koi kaise apne aansuoonko behne se roke
aur kaise koi sochde everything's gonna be ok
kabhi kabhi tho lage zindagi mein rahi naa khushi aur naa mazaa
kabhi kabhi tho lage hardin mushkil aur harpal ek sazaa
aise mein koi kaise mushkuraaye kaise hasde khush hoke
aur kaise koi sochde everything gonna be ok

Soch zara jaaneja tujhko hum kitna chathe hai
rotein hai hum bhi agar teri ankhon mein aansu aate hai
gaane to aata nahi hai magar phir bhi hum gaate hai
hey Aditi maan kabhi kabhi saare jahan mein andhera hota hai
lekin raat ke baad hi tho savera hota hai
kabhi kabhi Aditi zindagi mein yuhi koi apna lagta hai
kabhi kabhi Aditi wo bichad jaaye to ek sapna lagta hai
hey Aditi hasde hasde hasde hasde hasde hasde tu zara
nahi to bus thoda thoda thoda thoda thoda thoda muskura

Tu khush hai tho lage ke jahan mein chaayi hai khushi
suraj nikle baadlon se aur baatte zindagi
sun tho jara madhosh hawa tujhse kehne lagi
ki Aditi wo jo bichhadthe hai ek na ek din phir mil jaate hai
Aditi jaane tu ya jaane na phool phir khil jaate hain
kabhi kabhi Aditi zindagi mein yuhi koi apna lagta hai
kabhi kabhi Aditi wo bichad jaaye tho ek sapna lagta hai
hey Aditi hasde hasde hasde hasde hasde hasde tu zara
nahi to bus thoda thoda thoda thoda thoda thoda muskura

Nostalgia

Haven't blogged in all of MAy. This blog was just to wake up from the malaise and make sure that my archives don't read 'May(0)'. A lot has been happening, and needless to say I have been busy.
Am blogging from an internet cafe, its after AGES that I am visiting one of these. Makes me nostalgic. Reminds me of rainy, college afternoons, hot cups of coffees, sunlight filtering through the leaves of trees overhead, notes to study from, books to photocopy, a teacher who used to admonish us when we would say 'xerox' instead of 'photocopy', long muddy walks, inane discussions, streetfood, beautiful Mumbai evenings... Yes, I got *all of that* from an internet cafe. Don't ask me how. But I could be there right now. Back in time. Sitting by the window with a steel tumbler of coffee in one hand, a book in another, focusing on neither, but the sunrays, now mild and soothing, filtering through the leaves and the grill on the window...Chitra sings in the background...sings some of Gulzar's lesser known lyrics...

Shisham ke patto pe pani
boond boond bajta rehta hai,
Barish beet bhi jaye to
der talak tapka rehta hai.
Boondon se bhigo dena
barishon ki aadat thi…
barishon ki aadat hai….
Yeh bouchar guzar jane do,
kachche rang utar jaane do,
mausam hain guzar jaane do.
Its beginning to drizzle.
I let an unexplained, inexplicable feeling of contentment wash over me...
Sigh. Life's perfect. Touchwood.

The Eternal Dilemma...

The dusk has set in. I choose not to use tubelights today, I want a particular effect that is obtained in dim lighting. Three minutes into our meeting, we're plunged into a silence. Not a comfortable, companiable silence, but an awkward, uneasy one. Not a silence where one doesn't have anything to say. But a silence where one has just too much to say, but also too much is at stake in saying it all. A silence that is very open to interpretations...
I wait watchfully, to see who opens the conversation. Noone does. I feel the pressure of time ticking away on my wrist. If we don't get talking in the next hour, we wait for another seven days. And the last seven days, from the looks of it, haven't been good.
"Ok, Someone's got to start. I don't think this has been a good week."
That's the father. He always takes the initiative in these sessions. That is, when I don't.
"Why do you feel so?" I ask.
"Why don't you ask her?" He gestures towards his 16-year old.
She remains silent, glance averted, mouth set in a determined line. Something about that stance says "I so badly want to be indifferent to this drama, but I can't."
"Its your feeling. Why don't you talk about it first and then we can take it from there." I put the ball back in his court.
He explains that he was very miffed that his daughter was listening to music on MTV (which incidentally had a video of skimpily clad women) at 8 am instead of joining the family for prayers. He switched off the TV. She threw her coffee mug in the middle of the living room. They walked out on each other and didn't talk for the rest of the week.
Tension thickens. Emotions soar. Noone is willing to look the other in the eye. The mother who has been a relatively inactive participant in most sessions looks askance at me...as though she is willing me to mend the situation...or their daughter as the case may be for her. I call upon her to talk about it.
"She should sit with us and pray. These are family values. She should follow them. All we ask for is 10 minutes in the day." I suspect the coming up of a tirade and check it.
I look at the individual in question. Intelligent and outspoken in most previous encounters, she is suddenly rendered demure...as if in face of the number against her. She has an expression of one being teamed against. She looks up at me, carefully avoiding her parents' eyes.
"I don't believe in God. So what's the point?"
"Maybe its our fault. We should have taught her religion when she was younger." The father's voice filters into my subconscious, as I vaguely wonder if religion or faith can be taught. Perhaps it can. But can it, really?
"Its my decision, so will you stop blaming yourselves?" The girl sounds distraught and angry all at once. The anger is clearly one which is not allowed expression, nor existence. It's as though she wants to sound like an adult- independent, strong, firm and composed. The effect is opposite, she is on the verge of tears. She knows that the phase of talking her mind is only restricted to the session.
The father looks angry, but it is evident he is checking his emotions. "We are trying so hard to reach out, beta. Why do you have to make this so difficult?" Those words remain unspoken, but I sense them in the offing. I also sense that the reason they are unspoken could be that they may signify defeat in a way.
"So many people before us have been following these things. Are they all fools?" He asks instead.
"Why do you want me to do something just because you and your ancestors did it? Don't I have a right to a mind of my own?" She is in tears now. Angry, helpless tears.
"What is it that you want?" I ask her.
"I don't want to be forced to pray. I don't want to do things that I don't believe in."
"Is this really about religion? Is that what this is about?" I ask.
There is a pause. Long pause.
"Not really."
Another long pause.
" I don't want to be told what to do all the time." There is a finality in her tone that worries me, it makes me wonder whether we will talk anymore.
"Because..." I feel the need to lead her on.
Another long silence. A very pregnant pause.
And then an outburst.
"It makes me feel this small!" She holds up her thumb and index finger an inch or two apart. "Don't I have a right to think and decide for myself? Everyone except me knows whats good for me."
"Maybe you are too young to understand certain things. Your decisions in the past have reflected your immaturity. You want us to take risks with your future again?" The father says, also distraught.
"Maybe I wanted to make those mistakes, and learn from them!" That was a near-fatal blow. Now the parents look scared.
"You can't survive in this world making many mistakes. When you have wisdom and experience in front of you, why would you need to make mistakes?"
I quail. This is getting to be a dialogue. Not a conversation.
"Maybe because your experiences don't work for me, Dad! I'm a different person. I need my own experiences."
"Why can't you understand-" They stop in surprise. Both have spoken the exact same words at the exact same moment. And indeed, the crux of the issue. Understanding. Theoretically, the easiest thing to do. And practically, the toughest.
My mind applauds the moment. I look from one to the other. And hit upon a universal truth. Understanding the emotional needs of another person and responding to them accurately is a very very difficult thing to do. Even if you are bound by ties of blood. Or those of a client and therapist.

P.S.: I know, J this may cut close to what I read the other day, but couldn't help...I just had to post this...

Misused Words Series #1

One word that I find is often used in the wrong context is the word "Psychic".

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Edgar Cayce (1877 – 1945) was one of the best-known American psychics of the 20th century and made many highly publicized predictions.In popular culture the word psychic (pronounced /ˈsaɪkɨk/; from the Greek psychikos - "of the soul, mental") refers to the ability to perceive things hidden from the senses through means of extra-sensory perception.

Many people however appear to use it in the context of someone being eccentric, or weird.

Painfully Krrazy...

The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Yes, it really is. I discovered this the hard way on saturday. The means of discovery? A full two hours forty nine minutes of pure crap.
Had been to watch Krrazy 4 (or however else the makers of the movie want you to spell the name). The movie, predictably enough, is about four 'crazy' people. There is a man who believes he is living in Gandhi's time (or something like that, it wasn't very clear). Another one whose diagnosis is unclear, but the only thing obvious is that he doesn't talk atleast until the end of the movie (not that I'm complaining). Yet another who's vaguely a Mr. Goody-Two Shoes. And then there's this guy with the mercurial temper.
I'm not about to review the film here. The movie seems to have a message that the makers are not quite sure how to communicate to their audience. And so we are left with a not very convincing speech about the age-old 'abnormality vs normality'issue, and some painfully unfunny (is that a word? well, it is, after this movie!) sequences. It hurts to watch people play through cliched ideas of giving some one electroconvulsive therapy to 'turn them mad'. Or portray it in such a crass, insensitive way. Even if it is the villian who is being *rendered insane*. To watch someone play someone with a psychological infliction in Hindi Movies is quite literally painful, because they all seem to believe that such people are always regressed, aggressive, climbing trees, doing meaningless things, and basically imbecile. Very few movies dare to try and understand the method in the madness...What makes people 'tic', if you will. Like 15 Park Avenue. Or Maine Gandhi ko Nahi Mara. Or Taare Zameen Par.
There was just one scene in the movie, where Irfan Khan's daughter teaches him how to draw a star...There's something very poignant about a child having to play an adult's parent.
Indian Cinema has a long long way to go before it comes of age. Atleast in matters of the mind...