It could have had been a day like any other.
My dad went to office. My mom did her grocery shopping. B chilled out with friends. M studied for an exam. X spoke on the phone for an hour straight. C, Y and K played hide and seek within their apartment complex. And I, slept on.
It could have had been a day like any other. But sadly, it wasn’t.
Yes, I am speaking about the much-blogged about horrifying day of the 27th of November of this year. There, as hostages were shot and killed, we stayed glued to our T.V sets, blaming the government, the police, the terrorists and the media. But we still watched. We blogged. We posted photos. We discussed the events on online forums. And we started I-too-have-the-spirit-of-Mumbai- groups on social networking sites. We started “Hate Pakistan” campaigns. And then some more.
Criticizing the government which we had chosen.
Hating the media whose every word we listened to, and gossiped to friends about.
We spoke about the spirit of Mumbai, only to get back to work, and our lives the very next, as if nothing had happened.
Then it came to me.
We were the Villains.
There’s a villain in every one of us. In the 11 year old, who hits a girl classmate with a steel ruler. In the middle aged professor who smiles with maniacal glee to see her students suffer. In the old man who kicks the neighborhood dog every morning. In me. In you. In everyone else.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Friday, November 28, 2008
One of Us, One of them
A few days ago, I invited a few friends over for lunch. We were all loyal non-vegetarians. Well,almost. Save for one. She was a vegetarian.
And as the six non vegetarians loaded their plates with different parts of a chicken, coated with gravy, she cringed.
and cringed.
and cringed some more.
And then I thought.
What separates us from vegetarians? sure we tend to enjoy a few morsels of meat a little more than those leafy veggies you seem to find everywhere, But apart from that is there anything really different? Nope, we don't have pointy incisors like most carnivores do, nor do we have claws to tear out the meat. For every one of us, there's one of them. Well, sometimes there's more of us, but I don't think we should get into details.
Its not that we are heartless and don't think about the hundreds of thousands of fluffy yellow chicks which are reared to be slaughtered to feed us, we just swallow the guilt, which may or may not contain a bit of the chicken too. :)
Whoever needs to worry about what came first, the chick or the egg, when you can eat both.
And as one of my frequently-worn T-shirts rightfully says, "Why call animals meat, if you cant eat them?"
And as the six non vegetarians loaded their plates with different parts of a chicken, coated with gravy, she cringed.
and cringed.
and cringed some more.
And then I thought.
What separates us from vegetarians? sure we tend to enjoy a few morsels of meat a little more than those leafy veggies you seem to find everywhere, But apart from that is there anything really different? Nope, we don't have pointy incisors like most carnivores do, nor do we have claws to tear out the meat. For every one of us, there's one of them. Well, sometimes there's more of us, but I don't think we should get into details.
Its not that we are heartless and don't think about the hundreds of thousands of fluffy yellow chicks which are reared to be slaughtered to feed us, we just swallow the guilt, which may or may not contain a bit of the chicken too. :)
Whoever needs to worry about what came first, the chick or the egg, when you can eat both.
And as one of my frequently-worn T-shirts rightfully says, "Why call animals meat, if you cant eat them?"
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
The way I were
A conversation with a friend on the phone about world domination and politics randomly steered to my childhood and before I knew it, there I was standing in my grey and white uniform, with a blue belt around my waist and shiny black shoes that would make any shoe cream company proud, in a very JD-esque daydream (Scrubs does affect me a lot. trust me, it does.)
I haven’t always been the messy hair-sporting, kurta-clad snob that I am now. I am talking about those days when social networking sites didn’t exist (Seems like a long time ago, doesn’t it?), back when Star Plus was an english entertainment channel (It really was, for all those who think I have gone loony and need a good mental check-up. and no, I am not an escapee from an asylum if incase you been thinking about it.). For you to get a clearer picture, I am talking bout the time when I was two feet shorter and a hell lot cheesier (which is saying something if you know me).
I remember being the cheeky little kid who asked his parents why he wasn’t invited to their marriage. Someone who thought that he started blinking at the age of six (A lot of my stories do involve me being at the age of six). Someone who his nose pinched by a cousin with a clothespin and begged others to remove it, in a Himesh-ish voice, forgetting his own two hands. Who fell inside a manhole and still got a scolding for it. Who thought that the world was black and white earlier, like they showed in old movies.
Someone, who thought that there were only three stars in the sky.
I was the boy with the He-man castle, the robot dog, the classic toy cars and the hundred G.I Joes. And someone who was still greedy for more. Who wanted to be a cook, a writer and a national geographic correspondent just because it was a long word and sounded cool. Who thought essay was spelled SA and dressed up as a Chinese woman for a fancy dress competition just because he had stitches near his eyes. ( I still don’t remember why I didn’t become, ahem, a Chinese man.)
I was the boy whose greatest worry in life was whether school would be open on Monday or not (It still is!)
And then I realized that there’s actually being no change in me at all. I still am here, happily sipping my tropical iceberg, being completely at peace with life, the universe and everything.
I haven’t always been the messy hair-sporting, kurta-clad snob that I am now. I am talking about those days when social networking sites didn’t exist (Seems like a long time ago, doesn’t it?), back when Star Plus was an english entertainment channel (It really was, for all those who think I have gone loony and need a good mental check-up. and no, I am not an escapee from an asylum if incase you been thinking about it.). For you to get a clearer picture, I am talking bout the time when I was two feet shorter and a hell lot cheesier (which is saying something if you know me).
I remember being the cheeky little kid who asked his parents why he wasn’t invited to their marriage. Someone who thought that he started blinking at the age of six (A lot of my stories do involve me being at the age of six). Someone who his nose pinched by a cousin with a clothespin and begged others to remove it, in a Himesh-ish voice, forgetting his own two hands. Who fell inside a manhole and still got a scolding for it. Who thought that the world was black and white earlier, like they showed in old movies.
Someone, who thought that there were only three stars in the sky.
I was the boy with the He-man castle, the robot dog, the classic toy cars and the hundred G.I Joes. And someone who was still greedy for more. Who wanted to be a cook, a writer and a national geographic correspondent just because it was a long word and sounded cool. Who thought essay was spelled SA and dressed up as a Chinese woman for a fancy dress competition just because he had stitches near his eyes. ( I still don’t remember why I didn’t become, ahem, a Chinese man.)
I was the boy whose greatest worry in life was whether school would be open on Monday or not (It still is!)
And then I realized that there’s actually being no change in me at all. I still am here, happily sipping my tropical iceberg, being completely at peace with life, the universe and everything.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Avanti and I.
A few months ago, in a crazily sun-lit class, I played a game with my friends.
As we sat there, hiding from the monotonous drone of an irritable professor,we discussed emotions that we had never ever experienced.
amidst giggles, snatches of the abovementioned professor's voice and frequent shh-es, I pondered over the question in mind.
Anger,nope.
Love,nope.
Hatred, definitely nope.
Happiness,nope.
Greed,Nope.
Jealousy,nope.
The list was infinite. The lecture wasn't. The closing bell brought an end to the lecture. And to my search as well. Knowing that I had exhausted all possible emotions, I settled on acceptance.
Three days ago, I realized that I was wrong.
Losing someone who you were close to is nothing compared to the way it's portrayed in television soaps and romance novels, its much worse.
Twenty years of knowing her and I realized that whatever I have known about Avanti can't be summarized in a post,a blog or even a dedicated book.
Sure, we all knew about her love for Shahrukh Khan, (it almost bordered on obsession if you ask me) and her hatred towards Yuvraj Singh ( another obsession,if you ask me again!). Yeah, beneath this hair-loving,shopaholic, critically-acclaimed film expert lay a girl like no other.
A girl, who at the age of six, pinched my nose with a clothespin and pushed me onto an overly ripe jack fruit, (though not simultaneously) just for fun.
A girl, who at the age of eight, dressed up as a fairy for a family fancy dress competition wanting to spread peace and harmony across the world.
A girl, who at the age of nine, had a imaginary kangaroo friend named maya.
A girl, who at the age of ten, knew more about the world wresting federation than most boys her age did.
A girl, who at the age of eleven thought that flouroscent green tights and an Undertaker T-shirt were cool, and who was gutsy enough to still think they were.
A girl, who at the of twelve, gave up on meat, because franky speaking, she thought that being a non-vegetarian sucked.
A girl, who at the age of thirteen, loved songs from B-grade Bobby Deol movies, and had the guts to admit it.
A girl, who at the age of fourteen, wanted to become a Miss India Coordinator, and who, in her own cheesy way, wanted to make a difference in the world.
A girl, who at the age of eighteen, said, and I quote " Charlie and the Chocolate factory is a classic Tim Burton movie. Its a movie which says" Come, watch me!"", with a straight face.
A girl who at the age of nineteen, paid for the hundreds of times we went to Mochas or CCDs, telling me that she was going to get pay back when I started earning.
A girl, who at the age of twenty, took me along to see artsy plays at the Prithvi, after which we discussed them rather pretentiously outside the cafe to seem elite.
A girl who at the age of twenty one, obsessed over high heel confidential so much that she could exactly pinpoint a dress in a fashion magazine into the blog's archives, date,name or designer wise.
To the girl, who always wanted to stay tall.
Avanti, this one's for you.
As we sat there, hiding from the monotonous drone of an irritable professor,we discussed emotions that we had never ever experienced.
amidst giggles, snatches of the abovementioned professor's voice and frequent shh-es, I pondered over the question in mind.
Anger,nope.
Love,nope.
Hatred, definitely nope.
Happiness,nope.
Greed,Nope.
Jealousy,nope.
The list was infinite. The lecture wasn't. The closing bell brought an end to the lecture. And to my search as well. Knowing that I had exhausted all possible emotions, I settled on acceptance.
Three days ago, I realized that I was wrong.
Losing someone who you were close to is nothing compared to the way it's portrayed in television soaps and romance novels, its much worse.
Twenty years of knowing her and I realized that whatever I have known about Avanti can't be summarized in a post,a blog or even a dedicated book.
Sure, we all knew about her love for Shahrukh Khan, (it almost bordered on obsession if you ask me) and her hatred towards Yuvraj Singh ( another obsession,if you ask me again!). Yeah, beneath this hair-loving,shopaholic, critically-acclaimed film expert lay a girl like no other.
A girl, who at the age of six, pinched my nose with a clothespin and pushed me onto an overly ripe jack fruit, (though not simultaneously) just for fun.
A girl, who at the age of eight, dressed up as a fairy for a family fancy dress competition wanting to spread peace and harmony across the world.
A girl, who at the age of nine, had a imaginary kangaroo friend named maya.
A girl, who at the age of ten, knew more about the world wresting federation than most boys her age did.
A girl, who at the age of eleven thought that flouroscent green tights and an Undertaker T-shirt were cool, and who was gutsy enough to still think they were.
A girl, who at the of twelve, gave up on meat, because franky speaking, she thought that being a non-vegetarian sucked.
A girl, who at the age of thirteen, loved songs from B-grade Bobby Deol movies, and had the guts to admit it.
A girl, who at the age of fourteen, wanted to become a Miss India Coordinator, and who, in her own cheesy way, wanted to make a difference in the world.
A girl, who at the age of eighteen, said, and I quote " Charlie and the Chocolate factory is a classic Tim Burton movie. Its a movie which says" Come, watch me!"", with a straight face.
A girl who at the age of nineteen, paid for the hundreds of times we went to Mochas or CCDs, telling me that she was going to get pay back when I started earning.
A girl, who at the age of twenty, took me along to see artsy plays at the Prithvi, after which we discussed them rather pretentiously outside the cafe to seem elite.
A girl who at the age of twenty one, obsessed over high heel confidential so much that she could exactly pinpoint a dress in a fashion magazine into the blog's archives, date,name or designer wise.
To the girl, who always wanted to stay tall.
Avanti, this one's for you.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
The Morning After.
It is that time of the year again.
the sheets have been rolled, papers stacked in piles, distinguished from each other by the crease lines and coffee stains and the stationery all arranged, stacked away in order in bulging boxes.The pencils are in the pencil cases while the models have been neatly packed , old fading newspapers depicting the latest in the bollywood circles.
And that is when you wake up.
Picture this.It's the first day of your vacations, and you wake up when the sun's already halfway up, hungover because of the bliss and sheer pleasure of not having to do anything , and I repeat anything for the whole day. but who says happiness lasts long anyway ( well,it does in fairy tales and classic-how-we-met-each-other-stories where everything ends with a "happily ever after")
There you are,having hopped,skipped and jumped across your room, not as a celebratory jig, but because of the sheer lack of space to move about.layers of sheets flood your room,a tsunami of subjects crawling all over you. pieces of paper flutter by, carrying remnants of old conversations and made up games.You see a pencil here and a broken set square there,and as you sift through the almost fossilized layers of junk, you unearth chocolate wrappers and crisp packets that helped you through those exam nights while you crammed in an years worth of notes in an hour.
you flash back to the present,wishing that the junk would have had mysteriously disappeared, having had fantastical visions including a self cleaning mop and a robot which eats rubbish.
But it doesn't.
A vacation,indeed.
the sheets have been rolled, papers stacked in piles, distinguished from each other by the crease lines and coffee stains and the stationery all arranged, stacked away in order in bulging boxes.The pencils are in the pencil cases while the models have been neatly packed , old fading newspapers depicting the latest in the bollywood circles.
And that is when you wake up.
Picture this.It's the first day of your vacations, and you wake up when the sun's already halfway up, hungover because of the bliss and sheer pleasure of not having to do anything , and I repeat anything for the whole day. but who says happiness lasts long anyway ( well,it does in fairy tales and classic-how-we-met-each-other-stories where everything ends with a "happily ever after")
There you are,having hopped,skipped and jumped across your room, not as a celebratory jig, but because of the sheer lack of space to move about.layers of sheets flood your room,a tsunami of subjects crawling all over you. pieces of paper flutter by, carrying remnants of old conversations and made up games.You see a pencil here and a broken set square there,and as you sift through the almost fossilized layers of junk, you unearth chocolate wrappers and crisp packets that helped you through those exam nights while you crammed in an years worth of notes in an hour.
you flash back to the present,wishing that the junk would have had mysteriously disappeared, having had fantastical visions including a self cleaning mop and a robot which eats rubbish.
But it doesn't.
A vacation,indeed.
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