An Excerpt From my MA Dissertation - Stereotyping Women In Lifestyle Magazines

When I was born, they looked at me and said: 'What a good boy, what a smart boy, what a strong boy!' And when you were born, they looked at you and said: 'What a sweet girl, what a beautiful girl, what a pretty girl!'" "What A Good Boy," The Barenaked Ladies. 

For several decades now, media critics and feminists alike have been examining the role of the media in creating and reinforcing stereotypical representations of women and femininity. But only recently have they expanded the research to consider how the media also constructs, informs and reinforces prevalent ideas about men and masculinity, which in the process also builds a stereotypical notion of femininity. Take for instance ‘Masculinity and Men’s Lifestyle Magazine’ a book by Beethan Benwell which deals in detail how stereotypes of masculinity are formed by the media or a book by Jonathan Bignell ‘Media Semiotics: An Introduction’ which talks about the semiotics of advertisements in both Men’s and Women’s magazines and how women are framed as sexual objects in this all male world of media.
. What remains my concern in this paper is to try to figure out the ways in which these magazines in the process of constructing a stereotypical masculine identity, continue to relegate women to the background and, in doing so, are examples of social backlash directed against specific gains made by women in the paid labor force, mass media industries and other professions. It is true that it is no coincidence that as women are achieving greater social, political and professional equality, these magazines symbolically relegate them to subordinate positions as sex objects and objects of recreation for men. And it is also true when we often complain that the pressure put on women through ads, television, film and new media to be sexually attractive—and sexually active—is profound, more perhaps today than during any other times. Is it then to say that women who have now begun realizing their potential, which for long had been suppressed, are threatening the long and well preserved superior subject positions occupied by men? This is however not to say that Men’s magazines deliberately and visibly try to undermine the gains made by women, yet to suggest that the way in which a woman appears in these magazines through there articles and their advertisements is such that the only aspect of her that can be highlighted is nothing but her body and her intelligence is often made fun of. There are recurrent articles in Man’s World about how 10 famous men in India rate such and such woman’s sex appeal, or who according to ten business tycoons are the five sexiest women India/world. These magazines also deride women by showing them in low light through cartoons, take for instance a cartoon where a woman come in with a packet of oil n complains to her husband saying the shopkeeper cheated her by not giving the 100% cholesterol free that is mentioned in the pack etc. and most importantly, how they handle women etc. What is interesting however in these magazines is that they take women to be this object available to be seduced by good looks and manners of men. The tone of the magazine especially in its ‘Dr. Know’ (a section that deals with the problems the readers ask) is such that it relegates women to this inferior objectified level. The tone in this section is always filled with sarcasm with this assumed cool attitude towards life, and a kind of rhetoric that is filled with wit and humour which never answers questions in a serious, responsible direct way.Whereas in a women’s magazine the problems whatever it may be is invariably dealt with more seriousness and concern even when the question is from a man. What can be the reason for such a wide difference in the treatment of almost the same issues? Here comes the question of stereotypes as in why do the men’s magazines mostly have this kind of a comic approach to questions relating to the private realm? Has it something to do with the fact of creating stereotypical identities of masculinity and feminity which exist in society – to say a silly, emotional, infantile female who needs to discuss such matter of fact things as against a more mature man who does not need such advices.

P.S - I am thinking on starting up again on my dissertation. May be I will begin with re-writing it and then take it further.

Ramblings. You don't really need to read this.

It is such a pain to discuss marriage, see people getting married, your mother wanting you to be married, your roomate moving out because she is getting married, and your about to be married friends trying to convince you to get married, and your sister telling you that you are already almost 27....and marriage, marriage, marriage....

I had been intending to make this post sometime last week or the beginning of this week. But due to a lot of work could not do so. And now, I am trying my best to recollect and write about the dislike I had developed in the last few days towards discussing anything to do with marriage. It is not that I have anything inherently againgst marriage of people getting married. It is different that off late, I fail to see the need for it immediately in my life. Also, the fact that due to some reasons, I can't get married in this year, leads me to not think about getting married in the near future :)

On top of all this, my best friend is getting married in May, so she constantly wants to discuss about dresses, and her fiance, and other marriage details. Then there is my roomate who is moving back to her hometown, as her marriage is fixed for June. Then there is other college friend who is getting married end of this month. Then there is my mother who wants to talk about it twice or thrice over the week. All this just burst my own tiny bubble for marriage I think. I do want to get married, but I think there is far too much talk which is just annoying me.

The other day, this couple friend who are getting married came to invite me for their wedding and asked me about my plans for the same and counselled me standing at my door, when I was extremely sleepy and ready to hit the bed, about how I should just go ahead and get married and not think a lot about it. God, in the depressing life that I have where I go to work, come back, cook, read a bit, and sleep...marriage has become another depressing things to talk about. 

I am bored, sleepy, tiered, and I think I do not want to work. Not that my work is boring or anything. But I just don't to come and see the stupid faces everyday. I am sick of seeing the same people everyday. I am sure they are sick of me too. I am undecided about what I want to do with my life ahead...and to add to all this, ruthlessly people want me to take a decision on marriage and more ruthless people want me to just get married. Sometimes, I wonder, what will they get out of the whole thing. Sometimes, I also think I do want to get married. 

I think I am thinking and all this, because I want to postpone this work I need to start on and knowing that I will be stuck in office till some 10 in the night...I don't feel like getting started. I am so sick of the whole routine that life has become that I don't know what to do about it. As I told Serendipiduous today over phone, when he called to say he has chicken pox, I am living my life from lunch breaks to lunch breaks and dinners to dinners. Though, by this I did not want to say that the only interest that is remaining in me is to eat a lot. Infact, I am bored of that too. But I said it anyways, because I was about to go for my lunch break. 

I read this collection of short stories 'Dancing Girls,' which if you notice in my previous posts, I read half in January. The stories are really wierd. They have no ending, and a trial of a beginning. Though, this does not make them bad stories at all. Some of them are really nice, like 'Under Glass,' 'Hair Jewellery,' 'Rape Fantasies,' and others which I can't remember. I am planning on starting Thousand Splendid Suns, I think before starting, I am going to ask Meister about how he liked it. The Meister read the book in his office, I think that could be one of the reasons why one of his boss hates him. 

I had left off at this point, when I had a team meeting where a guy presented about this movie Indian. Something about a bike, racing, and dreaming. This presentation thing is a dumb initiative my team (with me in it) has taken to improve on our presentation skills. As if any of these things help. Not to the un-initiated people like me.  While the meeting was on, the Meister read this and was angry about me spoiling his name/fame in the blogging world by associating him to (apparently) intellectual books. So, I withdraw my statement above about the Meister having read Thousand Splendid Suns. 

Everyone seems like bored or tiered of their present life. We all need change, but we are too scared to take a step towards it. Too lazy, I think. I sure am. 

I am hitting on the publish button after every few lines or so. So, if someone does take the effort to read this post. They might see half sentences as well. 

I am going to Puri in two more days. I so wish, I have a good time there. Sometimes, I feel like just taking a week off and staying at home. From puri, I plan a trip alone to Konark. Me and Serendipiduous  had a nice chat over this on how I will pretend to be a Firang....in this trip of mine.

OK. I need to go sit with a colleague of mine and work on some stupid office stuff. I will continue rambling later when I feel like and have the time.

The Weekend Is Over :(

Sometimes, it is so sad to end a weekend full of activities shared with family and friends, that I almost feel like crying when it is sunday evening and everyone packs up to leave for their own destinations/homes. Today, while walking back home from KT's house, after seeing off my brother, his wife, my cute niece, and a friend in the auto, I felt an accute sense of loss...like I am not going to meet them for a long time to come. When the truth is I would be meeting them again in similar set ups in a week's time. But just the thought that now we would all get busy with work and our own fucked up lives, fills me with such sadness that I feel like living my life just the way the weekend had passed. 

I wonder, what is better - a weekend where I entertain myself alone in the comfort of my home, books and, homely chores or meeting these people I love and love to spend my time with? At the end of the latter, I almost have this fatal desire to quit my job and settle for a life which is less complicated, where I do not need to get up early in the morning to get ready for work, and don't need to think about the insane things that life is. 

I hate this habit in me where I become nostalgic almost immediately after something I enjoy has happened/passed. I have this rising empty feeling at the pit of my tummy which ends up with a choking of emotions in my throat. As of now, with the weekend as a wonderful thing of the past, I feel miserable and lonely. I wish the month was a string of weekends where I lived happily ever after with people I love :O

Tagged By The Meister :)

1. If your lover betrayed you, what would your reaction be?

Not really sure of the exact reaction...but later it would follow by trying to make a wonderful story about it. A small amount of harmless bitching and cribbing and then forgetting about it in way it affects my day to day activities.

2. If you can have a dream come true, what would it be?

I have written a beautiful book of the class of Marquez's or better :). Also, that I have a not so huge orphanage.

3.  Whose butt would you like to kick?

No one matters that much really that I invest so much anger on them. And those who do matter, never do anything to get a kick.

4. What would you do with a billion dollars?

With the present state of mind - buy loads of books, travel a hell lot, open an orphanage, try to avoid the cycle of Investment ensures savings and spend every single penny on me and others and once I have done that come back to being a pauper and wait for the billion dollars all over again

5. Will you fall in love with your best friend?

I have already in not one but two occassions -Sameer and KT :). I think it is wonderful...though complicates things for a while.

6. Which is more blessed: loving someone or being loved by someone?

I would say both. One teaches you to focus on yourself and the other being selfless...

7. How long would you wait for someone you loved?

The cliche - All my life/forever. Actually, it all depends on my mood and life.

8. If the person you secretly like is attached, what will you do?

Whine and glorify my pain so much so that he helps me write about it :). Also, about the person, I let him/her be...have practised this art in the recent years.

9. If you could root for one social cause, what would it be?

I think habitation for street kids and their education...not in the farce way things are happening right now in India. Also, for not taking advantage of farmers and giving them their due.

10. What takes you down the fastest?

Betrayals in any way, Pretensions. Also, people who look down on others.

11. Where do you see yourself in 10 years time?

A better human being...rest is irrelevant to me and to all those who love me.

12. What’s your fear?

Becoming one of the urban phony crowd!!

13. What kind of person do you think the person who tagged you is?

hmm...extremely protective and with a lot of defenses. Someone whom I have come to adore as a very good friend and who is really angry about people wrongly using apostrophe's  ;)

14. Would you rather be single and rich or married and poor?

Anything....just want to have my friends and books in either of the case. 

15. What’s the first thing you do when you wake up?

try to figure excuses how I could sleep for a little more longer and snooze my cell phone alarm :)

16. If you fall in love with two people simultaneously who will you pick?

If I could I would be with both.

17. Would you give all in a relationship?

I always do, just that people are very cynical these days struggling with their own insecurities that they fail to see my love.

18. Would you forgive and forget someone no matter how horrible a thing he has done?

Sure...I hate the whole business which leads to forgiving and forgetting, anyways. 

19. Do you prefer being single or in a relationship?

I enjoy both, while you are single you have all the time and space in the world to be yourself....you have your own dreams to follow....when you are in a relationship you need to be more selfless...need to care not just about yourself but the person you love and chase both your dreams together 

I do not tag anyone if anyone wants to have a similar post please go ahead...it is just too 'psycho' a questionaire as the meister calls it.

Books I Read In January

One of my unsaid resolutions this year was to read more books and more authors. Recently, I decided that it would also be nice to do a monthly check of the books I read in a month. So, in January I read Lord of the Rings by JRR Tolkien, The Bad Girl by Maria Vargas Llosa, Surfacing by Margaret Atwood, and half of Dancing Girls by Atwood again.

1. Lord Of The Rings - It is a great book by Tolkien for all those people who love Fantasy Fiction. It is built on a grand scale and makes up for a gripping read. I was so glued to the book that I read it in my cab, during breaks in my office, in the loo...I have to agree that I have not read Hobbits yet which is followed by The Fellowship of the Rings, The Two Towers, and The Return of the King. Yet it does not make Lord of the Rings difficult to understand. The latter three books (Fellowship, Towers, & Return) come together to make the entire series of Lord of the Rings. It is an epic high fantasy novel written immaculately by Tolkien. They say, that Tolkien began LOR just as a sequel to his earlier novel The Hobbit, which reviews claim is a less complex children's fantasy novel.  It is a long book but I think it is an enriching experience to have read it. In the foreword to the second edition, Tolkien says, "It is a massive undertaking not just to the writer but for the reader as well." I think that in itself sums up how great a reading it makes for.

2. The Bad Girl - A tale of unrequitted love (most part of the book), eloquent and torturing romance, and a show of brilliant language use, is what Llosa has packaged for us in The Bad Girl. Just imagine yourself being under the spell of deceptive genius and craftiness and a larger than life presence with whom you fall in love. You will exactly then empathize with the Peruvian hero of Llosa's book. In the beginning, the story does take a little time to capture you, but once that begins...you just go from page to page. For me it was really engaging the way, Llosa has developed both the Peruvian boy and the Chilean girl (since I do not remember the names, i use the demographics to name the characters). Having read many of the other books by the same author, I feel that he masters the art of having multiple narratives (ref - Aunt Julia & The Scriptwriter) and also he has this great finesse in doing jerky shifts in narratives, without throwing off the readers. I would really suggest people to read atleast these two books I mentioned of Llosa's to have a great reading experience.

3. Surfacing - A book by Margaret Atwood. As the title suggests, its about coming to terms with the protagonist's identity. It is a very complex narrative with a lot of global issues like identity, feminism, distruction towards nature are dealt. In the book the protagonist is narrating the story, so all we come to know is either through her monologues or we experience events through the thoughts of her. Wierd thing is the protagonist has not bee named in the entire book. I think, Atwood has grappled with the complex notions of identity, be it then the national identity or the gender identity with as less complexity in her narrative as possible. Though the upper layer (for lack of better and more technical term) of the narrative forms the story of the girl coming to her hometown in Canada - Qubec, to look for her missing father. But the more important plot comes with her trying to come to terms with her own supressed past and the loss of her identity. Other themes which could perhaps be told is the idea of how nature is being lost and destroyed by the inflow of urban populace to the smaller towns, another would be perhaps madness and how the protagonist washes away the negative influence of her past to align herself to her present state(which is shown by her literally diving into the chilly river, throwing away her clothes, and limiting her to raw food. Basically, throwing herself in the lap of nature and fianlly rejoining her lover Joe). All in all, it makes for a very complex, yet great read. Though, I am still to come to terms or become comfortable with Atwood's style...will save my more detailed comments for later when I have a better grasp of her style.

4. The Dancing Girls - It is a collection of very abstract short stories by Atwood with underlying complex themes and issues. I still do not understand the few stories I have read in my own vague mind. Will hold on suggesting it personally to people till I finish all of the stories, rest choice is always very personal...so you can very well go to a bookstore and grab a copy.

Since, the tag season is on...let me use it by tagging the Meister, The Chronicles Of R, Myriad, alchera, and shyamalee. You will need to mention the top five books you read in January with a short review and if you think I should be reading them, then suggest so after the review of each book. May be if it helps we could all do it every month end of beginning of next month. This way we all can read a variety of books and discuss about them on our blogs. An added advantage, you could always use this post at times when you do not really have much to talk about in your blogs :)

You will need to mention the top five books you read in January with a short review and if you think I should be reading it then suggesting it so in your own post.

What Happened Day Before...

My mother called me just like any other day. We had our normal conversation about how she spoke to my nephew. How she would take him out everyday once she is banglore...how was my life going?Teasing me with how my work was no work and inquiring on what I ate.

Just before hanging up she said she watched Slumdog. I was like, when? She said, "yesterday night show." I think I was very proud and elated to hear that at her age of 59 she still retains the youth in her to go catch a night show alone with her sister that too in a two wheeler. Post the movie, both my mother and my aunt went to this 'chai bandi' close to the theatre and sat there to drink tea. On their way back they even managed to go for a drive and also had a small accident, which to her was funny, so much so that, while telling me about it she couldn't stop laughing. In my family people just admire and are in awe of the Patnaik sisters...(my mother's maiden last name)They have always been the ones full of life and living it with everything they have.

Even me, have all my life beleived her to be an adventurous woman...who loves to live life to the fullest on her own accord. Just that off late perhaps I had overlooked this aspect of hers....but getting reminded of it was one of the sweetest surprises, I have had in some time. She is the most fierce, most adventurous, most strong, most loving, most caring, and most independent person I have known in my life. I only wish if me and my sister could get even an ounce of her personality in us...

Love You Ma!

25 random things about me :O

I have been tagged by UG...I had requested her to tag me ;). But now I find it difficiult to sit and jot down 25 things and on top random about me. So, here goes.

1. I can't speak over the phone for more than umm 10 mints (exaggerating) or I feel like shitting.

2. I hav a very bad virtual persona...or so I have been told cause I do not show any warthm while chatting.

3. I get way too excited in a library or a large room full of books. So, much so that everytime I enter one, the mission of going through books gets aborted shortly as I feel the need to shit.

4. I am painfully and brutally honest with people I love. 

5. I cannot shop for more than 30 minutes at a strech...get bored.

6. I have this nack of categorizing people by saying "s/he is a good person at heart, you can just see it in their eyes or feel it" as against "s/he is not a nice person."

7. I get along with guys better as I have grown up with my male cousins. Infact, I am scared of a bunch of girls together.  Awfully scared of their mood swings and emotions. As being a girl, I know I can be very moody. 

8. I respect and admire people who are themselves.

9. I am a disbeliever of allopathy and homeopathy. I think they just give us momentary relief but do not cure the root of the problem. 

10. I have a very high threshhold for pain and endurance.

11. I get very embarrased when after a fight or argument or a fall out people come and say sorry to me. I  just cannot handle the situation, as I feel very guilty to make people say sorry to me. I know it is wierd but my eyes well up :O

12. I have very ugly feet. I have this lonnnng toe next to my thumb which stands out like the Tall Man in a circus. Some of friends have suggested just chopping it off.

13. I am usually very brave, but I am shit scared of needles and all things that poke. This is one reason I am scared of donating blood (though I have done thrice) and tattoos(though I dislike it for other reasons more sane.)

14. I get sexually attracted to men (of other more serious things) who are tall, sensitive, who can cook, and who read. Though sometimes I just fall for men just opposite.

15. I cannot tolerate loud sound....whatever then it may be, it turns noise to my ears...be it then music, voices, pubs, and other stuff. This is one reason, I inevitably do not even try to get along with people who are loud(in every sense of the word.)

16. I love homemade food in contrary to eating out. Infact, I love everything that says 'home' to me than 'outside.' Be it then going out, thinking about other people, etc. I love being at home, thinking rather than questioning, talking and reasoning with myself....I know it is narcissistic and I love it.

17. My fav color is Yellow! 

18. I love getting attention and I am quite open about it in front of people I can demand attention as my right. Infact, most of my testimonials in Orkut talk about how "I love being loved and always end up being loved."

19. I would die without my family and especially without my brothers. Infact, they are the only support system I have. Anytime I feel dejected, just thinking about HOW MUCH they love me makes me smile. This is one of the ways, I deal with the way people relate to each other in urban spaces. (I know many of my friends hate it when I say Urban in this alienating manner)

20. Offlate, I have become kindda snobbish in ignoring people who 'do not fit the bill for me.' And I do not feel guilty or bad about it, as I rationalize it by saying I should spend time with people I want, rather otherwise. Also, I think this does not make me less tolerant.

21. I am pretty bad at remembering names. Also, I forget names at most crucial points, this one time in the middle of a Q & A I forgot the name of my co-presenter and she happens to be my dearest and most cherished friend in Hyd. But she was very nice to me and gave me her name with a straight face :)

22. I have this habit of re-creating my dreams once I remember one after waking up. I get so involved with it that I end up  coming up with many ways the dream could end and I get all confused. 

23. I have this habit of giving away anything that I think would not be used in the next 10-15 days. Atleast, this is how KT puts it.

24. I wish to write a book one day and it is going to all about Raigarh (my hometown and the haven for me) and all that I relate to the place.

25. As a test or sacrifice to my friendship and love, I ask people who love me to quit eating Kachori, cause I believe that it enduces headache :)

 

This is my first tag in the past four years or so that I have been blogging and I enjoyed the whole experience thanks to UG!

Yay! now I get to tag others what fun.  So, here people I tag thee- Meister, Myriadmind, Serendipiduous, UglyGirl(as you said I needed to tag the one who tagged me), TickTalks :) Have fun guys. I know most of you would just defame me by not bothering to do this.

It's Sheer Blasphemy

While blog hopping (going from one blog to another), I came across a series of blogposts about Chyetanya Kunte's NDTV fiasco. My very first reaction, I really live the life of an ignorant fool, because how else do I explain my not knowing about this for such a long time. Second, third, and all the reactions that follow till I am exhausted are nothing but of shock and disgust. It's been quite sometime that I have been wanting to make a post about my personal opinion about 'The Ms. Barkha Dutta.' However, I think, after finding about CK and NDTV I am left with no words. I infact feel sad about the lady and the channel that flaunts itself raising the 'free speech' flag all the time. But reading about the Chyetanya Kunte's case, I am appalled at NDTV and at Ms. Dutt, more than I ever was.

I think may be, just may be, someone needs to clarify the meanings of 'free speech' and of 'double standards,' to both NDTV and Barkha Dutt. I agree Chyetanya Kunte's post 'Shoddy-Journalism' was not really professional and lacked facts, but it said nothing to evoke the kind of action that was taken by petty NDTV folks and Ms. Dutt. The apology surely stinks of the double standards that both the entities (NDTV & Dutt) reak of and presents the Indian Media in a new light. 

Yet Another Hour Of Office Time!

Is The Honeymoon Over??

I went to watch Slumdog Millionaire last Tuesday. With all the shiny golden awards that the film bagged, I and KT went in with a lot of expectations. 

We hated the fact that we missed the first 2 minutes of the movie. All settled into our seats, we began the journey of Slumdog. I infact quite liked the portion where they extensively show Dharaavi and the kids navigating through the mysterious lanes and by lanes. Then in a very small period of time comes a series of things that any foreign eye thinks is quintessential India - Gallee cricket matches on runways, policemen chasing slum kids, the fan frenzy for Amitabh, the communal riot, the bad beggar gangs, childhood love, if anything was missing Danny Boyle completed it with the last dance number in bollywood ishtyle Jai Ho....though Kudos to AR Rehman for the fantastic music. 

Many might think that I have a problem with foreign directors like Boyle showcasing only the worst of India. But trust me I have no such issues, I am not ashamed of saying or seeing what is my own (I know, i can say this easily, as I don't physically belong any of these spaces), and if I get awards and fame for it....what could be better. But if anyone is to ask me, whether or not I liked the movie....I would say, it was just OK. A mediocre film for me, that did not really transport my movie watching experience to something I had never experienced before. I perhaps wanted to like the movie, so much, that I felt guilty for getting bored. Since then, I have spoken to quite a few of my colleagues, friends, and family who watched the movie and each one of them is a little dissappointed with the fact that the movie was just OK for them too. Why so? What went wrong with the movie releasing in India, when it won such high remarks outside?

To give a very amateur opinion, I think, the whole content of the movie is for a foreign audience, who finds shock and surprise at the sight of a place like Dharavi, seeing all that makes a slum in India. With kids fighting their own way to adulthood, with a child being exposed to the malice of the grown up world, they watch all this in awe and perhaps feel pity. I think, it is all very unrealistic for a foreign eye and therefore, they enjoy experiencing something out of their own worlds. But for us, there is nothing new, we see such scenes everyday. This is where, I think, the movie fails. 

For us, it is a way of life in India. Many of us may be even want to do something to help them. But still we very much accept the fact of their existence and the conditions in which they live. But for the world of America and Britain...it is beyond imagination, leave apart acceptance, to think of this way of life. I think this is where the movie is such a hit outside of India. Talking about cinematic brilliance, I could not really find many of such moments in the entire movie. It is more or less like a very good documentary cinema, if we can place it in that genre. May be the end dance & song number was only to make the audience feel that they were watching a mainstream cinema, may be even the love story was there for this very reason. Though, personally for me, it completely lacks any spark, chemistry, or even reason :)

But I do give points to Danny Boyle, Dev Patel, Freida Pinto for surviving India and Dharavi without a scratch. Also, I think, I will give points to Dev Patel and Freida Pinto for going on and on giving interviews about SDM, without stopping to think...hellos people, you literally had no role in the movie....I am angry that Salim has been completly forgotten...

What I love in the movie is the way, the kids have acted.  Hats off to whoever made them act so naturally. I love Salim's character in the movie, it is the best developed character in the film. I think....more people should be talking about the kid, the guy, and the character who played Salim, than the typical NRI looking Dev Patel, whom if you want you can completly ignore in the movie, or better place anyones face instead of his...and the movie will make no difference at all.

All this said and done, I think the Honeymoon is over for SDM atleast in India! Also, I think this will make no difference to the Oscar nominations or results. Big deal, if the movie is all about India....and a bigger deal if it wasn't really a hit in India, who cares....let's lobby for the film...since very few Indian(ummmm, if we can call it that) films reach the Oscars.....three cheers for Oscars....hip hip horray!

One word for going mad with boxes (9)

The answer is CROSSWORD!

Over the long weekend, I managed to acquire a new hobby...no prizes for guessing. It indeed is crosswords. All my life, untill the past weekend, I hated doing crosswords and thought it to be a sheer waste of time and efforts. Mostly, coz whenever I tried to solve them, I failed miserably. So, much so that, I would forget the simplest of english synonyms. As a kid, I even thought it to be some kind of a monster, which makes you forget your words and spellings :O

But to every crossword solvers relief, I have overcome my fear for them and infact I love them now. Last saturday, I dug out all the supplements for MetroPlus (Hindu's daily supplement, except for Fridays) and tried my hands at around 20 crossword puzzles, loving each one of them. Though in the process, I almost ate up KTs brain asking his help on every second word. And KT being the superman when it comes to crosswords, did not really like getting disturbed between his Tennis, Mahabharat, Enter the Dragon, and other stuff. So, mostly I left many of the puzzles 50%-60% complete, after I got the "eyes rolling, chuckling to self" expressions. However, last night KT and me attempted to complete one old one :)I also completed one at work today with all the online help I could take and with the benevolent Meisters help. Yay! but I completed it all alone(since there was no physical being next to me ;)....kudos to me! But I do not like doing the online version much, and prefer the old school pen and newspaper :)

P.S - Have flicked today's Metroplus from office for a nice brain wrestling tournament at home :)

For Federer!

Have been wanting to blog for a while. But then far too many things at work and work in itself has been overwhelming for a few days. 

So, thought a small post about something new I watched on television last weekend. I am really bad when it comes to choosing what to see on television. I choose the most saddest of Ekta Kappoor operas and watch it, inspite of the fact that they make no sense to me. As, I watch TV once in a week or two may be. So, my room-mate and my boyfriend, usually try to show off their talents in this area. Though, I make my unhappiness with grunts and my constant trials to reach for the remote. I hope neither of them chance to read this, because the moment they do, my TV watching hours are so gonna reduce :(

Coming back to, to why I have suppplemented this post with Federer's pic :)I succumbed to KT choosing to watch one of those history captured series on FOX (a channel covering all these things that are past, present, and future). The show was showing, Federer's journey as a tennis-star. Glimpses from his matches from the past. I really liked what was shown as Federer to me (coz I somewhere identify with his never say die attitude he has as a sportsman) and decided, that if ever anyone asks me who my fav tennis player is, I would grin and say "Federer."

P.S - Post that day, I am trying to keep myself informed about my fav Tennis Player :)New Hobbie you see

Hindi Movie Posters...

A coincidence it might be, but the topic seems to be swirling around my conversations with my  friends and cab mates off late. So, what better than making a post about it.

In our conversations, I realized that hindi movie posters seem to have come a long way. Going back to one of the first image-less posters of the film Raja Harishchandra to the recent glossy posters for the Rock Ons and the Gajni's of our times. I remember having seen some of the hand-painted posters of the movies from 60s through the 80s, all stained with paan. Be it then, the colourful and yet crowded posters, with every main character on it, for Mera Naam Joker or the sole strong face of Amitabh Bacchan dominating it for almost all of his films in the 70s. The hindi movie posters have indeed come a long way. 

When I was a kid, it was an awaited event for every thrusdays. When with my friends or cousins, I would take the most famous galees where the new movie posters would appear for the three cinema halls we had in our town back then. We would wait a minute or two staring at them, soaking in every detail, and only then would we continue our walk to see the same poster again in the next lane. Finally, we would come to decide on a day for watching. 

Now, when I am in hyderabad, a friend reminds me of those posters in a casual conversation, and in my 23 km drive from my house to my office, my eyes search longingly for a single movie poster in one of those forgotten  and wretched walls. To my surprise, the only posters I see are for the recent Telugu movies. Most of those are more like hoardings hung on huge billboards. I am forced to talk to my cab-mates about my fond memories of Amitabh, Mithun, or Govinda staring out of the old posters like Greek Gods, suited only for Indian fantasies. I remember, some of my girl friends staring longingly at them. Alas! I have to admit, the era for not just the hand-painted posters is gone, but so also the era for posters on every obscure wall is gone. Sadly enough, I only realized it far too late. I wonder, why such gradual disappearance, so sudden I surely can't call them?

Various answers flash through my head, may be too many TV advertisements for the upcoming new movies, internet bookings, various resources we now have to find out about the new releases. But could it be also because of the changing spaces we live in today. Who did these posters cater to? Who were their audience...? The general mass....

Has there then been a disconnect then in what constituted earlier the general mass?Perhaps yes, we can now divide the mass of any metropolis into - the Urban and the not so urban mass. The urban, looks at the multi-plexes and the internet for movie information and perhaps the not so urban mass is fast catching up. But how about the telugu movies, I grudge them for having the very boisterous posters, though not so appealing to me, staring out and making me all the more nostalgic about my lovely old hindi film posters. Why do they continue having them, and not just posters, but hoardings too. Who is the then the audience for these films? Do they still remain the naive youngster or rather the teenager that I was a decade back? Apart from innocence and such facades that I just used for my past, I think, there indeed is a serius disparity between the masses that watch the telugu and the hindi movies in Hyderabad. Because, just like the telugu posters, back home we still have these occasional hindi movie poster being stained every minute.

I think, merely for the fact that I choose to live in a metro-city, I will have to say goodbye to those celluloid moments, captured for eternity in a frame and live sulking with the glossy, rich multiplex posters.

For Bubloo & Tukun Da

Ankhon mein masti sharab ki...

kali zulfon mein ratein shabab ki

Jane aayi kahan se tut ke

Mere daman mein pankhudi gulab ki, haye....

Chand ka tukda kahoon ya

Husn ki duniya kahoon

preet ki sargam kahu ya

pyar ka sapna kahu

Sochta hoon kya kahoon

is shokh ko mein kya kahoon...

Still remember the room, the red bucket, the bottles, the voices, and all that is ours...

Conversations...

UG came over the last thursday to my house...it was a nice night of conversations and revealations. On second thoughts, conversations ofter lead to the latter. For me, it lead to a lot of re-revealations of me...

1. For me 'I' is very important, much much more than I have seen it in anyone around me.

2. I have lived alone for far too long and I guard my space like a treasure. Sometimes, accomodating people in it is a pain.

3. I realized people who enter my realm are only those whom I allow, that too very restrictively. 

4. I have a conscious habit of being extra careful while placing two words next to each other....many times it shows. But most times it looks beautiful as well.

5. I was reminded of my mother's teaching once again, "never say or do things consciously to hurt others..."

6. I can be a good listener when I want to be. 

7. I can choose to keep the real me hidden for a very long time, till I feel the need to or otherwise.

8. I love talking  to UG.

9. I adore the way serendipiduous writes and I love its content too.

10. I am a snob in my own way.

11. I wish to write more.

12. The world is much much more that I ever could anticipate in my dreams.

13. I am so thankful to Tukun da for those times when he read the endless pages my register and corrected me.

14. I love him otherwise as well.

All these and much more. But thoughts as with anything else is temporal....so I could feel just something altogether different in another such nights where we talk...

A Jealous Snake

I sit on my window sill
and see the children
laughing and playing
I see their smiling faces,
their merry lives,
and I writhe in pain...

Why could I not be
Happy
Alive
and More...


But Instead,
I crawl slow,
very slow.
Like a jealous snake
on a window sill...

No Title Apt For This...

There is no real reason to write, nothing at all. But perhaps, after reading Premankur's eloquent posts, I want to write something even an ounce as good as he does.

May be I cannot. Writing rests as a forgotten memory which you remember only when you chance to come across some old picture of yours in an old, ragged family album. You try to fondle the memory by talking about it. You may even try to remember the names of all those captured in that memory. Sometimes, if leisure permits, you will try imitating the expressions lost and forgotten. But the end of it all is that you dust the album and shove it right back towards that end of the almirah where yours eyes hardly reach.

Sometimes, I wish I was in a city as quaint as Raigarh or atleast Kolkata. But then, I know people think it is merely an excuse to hide your inability to write. Perhaps, I should atleast begin to admit it...

Amidst the Blue Sky & A Yellow bird

Pikpik, the yellow bird sat gathering the sunny delight of the afternoon. Hopping from one branch to another, she was oblivious that two people were talking about it. The happy yellow bird, underneath the blue sky...

I Don't know...

Sometimes, its very difficult to realize why you are feeling the way you are. There is no justification. In the sense, the recent past events have nothing happening in it to explain your present emotion or the way you feel. Last night, I had a wonderful time with friends, who selflessly indulge me, and yet the morning made me sad. Waking up today, I had this empty feeling in my heart, so empty that it aches of nothingness. 

Hollow,

every morning,

the world becomes a vacuum 

and my heart sucks into the emptiness.

Delighted, it sings songs of misery

Relishes every drop of sad melody

till it can take no more...

no more of what I see

cracked-up faces smiling, false smiles

Social niceties traumatize me

and I see them basking in it

I feel lonely and alienated

Is this how it was supposed to be?

I was supposed to live a happy life

and not get sucked and consumed

by the rest...

It ain't A Game to be Over in a Jiffy...

Life isn't a game that you stop it as and when you like. It is life, you ought to give warnings, warnings, and more of it before you decide to stop. Cruel and unannounced, that can't be the way. No more, I say. 

Death isn't a gift that you just give to someone, without their asking for it. I ask of you to give us a gentle tap, remind us of our time, so we bid adieu. Give us the chance to mend our mistakes, and see lifefull of our loved ones, one last time. Cruel and unannounced, that can't be the way. No more, I say.

I am sorry. I never meant to hurt, but I did. Somewhere, within, I feel, we weren't supposed to be the way we were with each other. We loved, that's all we did. I am sure we did, somewhere deep within, but it got all overshadowed. This time when I meet, I will give you the strangest hug, that will clear out all that was never said, and all that I want to say right now.

Is it Time Yet?

Is it time yet
to play mind games?

It never is perhaps
but yet we do it
incessantly...
I forget all that was Me
And start the game
yet again. This time
I want to learn to cheat lives...
Friends offer generously
So much that I forget it is a game
Perhaps it is...
It is time to go back to what I was
to start and never go back to where it all began...

Sometimes, its hard to let go. Yet that seems to be the only recourse

...Life, Death and Pain

It's not the right time
It's not the time in which one lives
but fear does
Fear about life, death and pain

I do not fear, says the little girl
perhaps she does not know
what life can teach you
just like death teaches you to be brave

It's not heaven that I am hopeful for
the moments spent in tears and prayers
are not for any one god
they just are moments of silence
where I think about well being
of a self, a family and the universe

Perhaps prayers about the universe
fades and is feeble
and so bodies die in pain
souls splatter
like grains on a marble floor

I do not fear says, the little girl
perhaps she knows about life deep within
she is ready to splatter her soul
into infinite pieces
at-least if it answers the prayers of one

The frozen masses join the dance
frenzy
a wild frenzy of splattered souls
plastered in red
sometimes, I lose the color
and the vision gets blurred
anyways its going to be heads, toes and faces
I know, so I let the focus go
blurred visions of the dead, the living
the brave and the unknown
a brother reckons the loss
a mother is broken
a sister listlessly consoles her own grief
a father prepares for the rituals
a pyre is formed
of life, death and pain...

Stories are attemts to write something good, you might end with millions of pages of bad writing...

Stories for me never started with a king and a queen who had a lovely princess. ‘Once upon a time,’ this phrase lost its meaning, when kids started to spend more time in their living rooms, watching intently the extremely simple, yet so convoluted stories of the soap operas. With this, I guess it was the end to the stories that grandmothers tried to keep fresh in their memories, for those sunny afternoons, when schools were shut, and the scorching sun, did not allow us to step out of our houses.

Minu, never had imagined, that the carefully woven urban life would tear apart like this. Being the only child of the Pathak’s, she had the luxury to think of relationships, and master the art of urban living. When, her friends like Shibu, had to work hard to scrape some food to her plate. Minu, had spent a lot of her time, trying to re-conceptualize what the small town, with its un-smitten smell of rotten, thatched roof had taught her. She had managed to manipulate, all that she associated with her bare foot childhood. She thought she eventually had fit in, to this whole plethora of junk that people guiltily called ‘Urban.’

The crowded streets, with its sleek cars, ready to knock any one, in an outrage of heavy traffic, had intrigued her. The bright neon lights at the costly malls, with people flaunting the luxuries, she never had seen, amused and attracted her. The fancy eateries, the avenues that presented itself at every other corner, tempted her to reach out to her long locked, famished capitalist self. She was overwhelmed, how people could be so distant from each others lives, while back at home, shead explain, to not just her family or her neighborhood, but to that of her mothers, about anything she did. She for once had started to feel like the woman, the free bird she had wanted to be. She often dreamt of herself, wearing the red, flimsy gown, standing on the car, like Marlin Monroe. Since, the first glances of the city from Madan uncle’s, cramped car, she had wished hard to try and adopt all that a city had to offer. She practiced hard for an year or two, picking up every bit and piece she could, while her city-bred friend made fun of her naïve and endearing trials.

Amidst the giant buildings, which intimidated the village girl that she once was, she was now happy to be a part of the top floor office, and loved the exorbitant atmosphere, with keyboard keys beating like hear-beats, coffee machines replacing all it could and there she learnt to loose the innocence amidst contorted faces and illuminated screens.

About Nothingness

hmm...sigh...

It is funny when you want to write but have no clue at all about what to write. On second thoughts I feel like scrubbing off the whole plan of writing. But then writing something is always better than nothing. A poem is always an easy and elusive way out. That ways I write something for the satisfaction of the half a reader audience that I have for my blog and always escape the torturous guilt of not writing something for long.

That being an explanation for a shitty post, I think now I can get away with anything worthless.

the only moon that shines
chisels its silhouette with the darkest coal
beneath I stand happy yet sad
to be alone
I do not sigh for the summer night
and try to feel
the crescent that evades
the balmy cool breeze
or perhaps not
yet childhood summer smells
all that is gone by
friends long forgotten
faces never drawn
call me by my kittens name
the mewing grows
and rekindles a spark
I let it smother away painlessly
yet the choking noise suffocates
the summer breeze
I try to think of my favorite river
and remember
it's been long I visited my mothers grave
the grass must have taken her in its lap
sung lullabies till she is asleep
and the moon must be shining as bright over her
as it is over me...

so it is a poem again :(

Shamuka...the only kid I relate to as a daughter

My Girl,
the world you live in
will not be as bad as mine

You will not've to
scream your lungs out
to let people know
pains, a lot of them
and fights, your mother fought
just to give you the Life
you deserve.

By then, I would have lost my voice
making them learn to listen.

You would not've to
beg and plead in delirium
to make people understand
you as a woman
who suffers at every crossroad.

By then, I would have trained
a mile of people who understand a woman.

But, still I cannot promise you
My Girl,
that I 'll be able to reduce your woman-pain,
Yet I promise you this much sweet love
YOU, would not've to
bare your body stark naked
up for a public display,
to satisfy them of the age-old scars
that only this body has suffered.

Till then, I bleed
every drop in me,
like drops of dew from the early winter morning
and I will try to make the world
a much better place for you to live in...

P.S. - I know this poem isn't aesthetically good, rather it can't be called a poem perhaps, still it serves some of my purpose.

About to crash…

Hold the waking up

Let it not announce

A new day

A new way

I live like a pale leaf

And I want to die the same way

Silent

Lonely

And withered

I repeat the images

I repeat my words

I repeat my life

To live it from the beginning

This time promising

To love you better

Love you more

I make a clean start

Fresh like the red wound

And as I start to heel ahead

I fall into a pattern

I think for this hundredth time

The pattern is new

At least the colors

And I believe in the difference

I try to tenderly cultivate it

But I never was like you

And so I forget the beginning

And get lost in the whirlpool

Of thoughts, lives, and loves

I discover towards the end

That I have unwontedly

Lived the very same life

With the very same lies

So I sleep never to wake up

Into a new beginning

Into a new rehearsal

And try to keep company

The remembrances that

I left on the lonely sea shore

And a red rose dipped in acid…

About me....

First things first Happy Birthday Tukun da!

This post comes at the right time of the year when it is his birthday.
I have as always not planned to do this, but a fellow friend had bugged the hell out of me trying to understand me.

To people who really want to know me, I think the first step would be to know this one fact clearly...apart from parents, sibblings (which everyone has) one person I really cannot exist without is him.

I learnt a few very basics things about life from him. Not that I had not heard about these things but I discovered the new meanings of certain things along with him. The most important one being Love! i learnt to love after having fallen madly in love with him... he explained to me that there is so much more to the word than the usual "I love you way, we youngsters take it to be". I got to know it is about romance, about devotion, complete and selfless devotion. It is about music, photographs, colours and most importantly its about using words carefully. I think I am writing too much.
But I really learnt to live and enjoy life with him, along with him. I see the pains he took to make me what I am, and more what he gave me the strength to dare things that I can be.
I remember the times when painfully taught me the word 'threshold' and 'pirolignus acid' and 'constitution' and 'topography' and 'dumrus' and ofcourse the magic word 'marquez'. I hope and (do not wish) that I have spealt them correct atleast after some 9 years now.
it's been long that I said this but I really love and miss you.

P.S - I think I have embarrased you. have I?

To The Legendary Voice....To Begum Akhtar!

Humne samjha tha ki barsaat mein barse ki sharaab
aayi jo barsaat to barsaat ne dil tod diya....

woh mere hain mujhe mil jayenge , laut aayenge
aise talkhiye khayalat ne dil tod diya....

Kill Bill... an essay that I wrote in 11 mintues!

It is difficult for a person like me to pick and choose one movie over and above all the rest that I have seen in my entire life and say that ‘this was the best’. Perhaps it’s a difficult job for anybody, as it is for me. However, right now when I think of one movie that I really enjoyed watching the only name that I can think of is Quentin Torentino’s ‘Kill Bill’.

The movie is a relic we need to watch it to understand what the limits are that a director can reach up to in cinema. It is the height of creative imagination, something that normal human beings can only dream about. With the entire storyline based on a woman, Torentino definitely goes on to achieve what we would call the threshold of feminism and revolution. Uma Thurman, the protagonist does a near perfect job in bringing to life what the director only visualized and hoped for, be it her killing expressions, body language, or the fight sequences, Thurman masters the art of internalizing the character. The movie begins on a very serious note, but Torentino takes it to the realm of the unimaginable with Thurman like a devil slashing heads off, and blood oozing out like a fountain. All these details might seem gory but when you watch them, they are nothing but spectacular. The scenes are beautifully shot, and the technology used only ads to its perfection. I personally would suggest all movie buffs to watch the movie, if not for anything else but at least to understand what a spoof is all about and how a director can do it with so much style that the audience forgets all about the spoof and thinks about it as a classic piece of cinema.

Killing and Dying are the same at times...

Nights

No more have stories

That you do not know

And so

Nothing in me I have

That interests you

And I cannot hold you back.

Will you smile if I got back the river, that

Flew away from our steps

Or will the stories already told

keep you at bay?

I ask

Will you stay?

The morning is so empty

No rustling bed sheets

No early morning dew on the glass window

Nothing only reasons for me

Get consumed in your absence

I wish

You would be back

With all that is so full of you

And as you lay your head

On the nights cold pillow

I would remember this time

To put winter under your sleep

So that it covers your body

And consumes you

You will then be a

Cold dead body

With nothing so life like about you

And I who has suffered long

Will mock at your purple cadaver

I wish

You come back…

This is just beautiful...

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school, where children strove
At recess, in the ring;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

Or rather, be passed us;
The dews grew quivering and chill,
For only gossamer my gown,
My tippet only tulle.

We paused before house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then 'tis centuries, and yet each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.

P.S. - This poem is written by emily Dickinson. I posted it here, cause (i might sound like praising myself) I just could not ignore the striking resemblance between this poem of hers and the way I write always. The imagery, the way she has chosen the words, the shape and structure of the poem and so much more, reminded me of how I write, not as good ofcourse. Perhaps resemblances like these to great poets makes me still stick to the dream of writing well someday...I wish I could. Amen!

RE:Can I use the banned word?

Let me be all hush-hush while I use it. If someone hears me using it, who knows the next thing they do is hang me...
finally the much debated, hated, and contemplated a word appears in my blog...F E M I N I S M !
Watched Paromita Vohra's documentary "unlimited girls", good I would say for the issues that it raises. Is feminism an ideology for ugly women?
Isn't being a woman reason enough to be a feminist?
Do we have to know the history and everything that went into getting FEMINISM the platform where it stands today?
Agreed one needs to know, but perhaps one cannot dismiss somebody just because s/he hasn't read the literature on feminism.
Whatever!
It's surprising how somebody in her interview said that she is afraid to have freedom, cause at the end of the day it leaves her tired of the social structure. Is it enough for women like me and anybody reading this that Feminism today functions perfectly well just in our lives? Do not we need to push it further so that it reaches to lives of all women? Shall we happily wrap up our mouths and mumble things that only we can hear, and be happy and 'thankful' of the situation we are in today? Is it enough to say that it is necessary that women be emancipated and let others fight for the cause? And in the end of it all say something like
"these Feminists are here to create Chaos !"
Sigh! lastly do we accept any and everything in the name of a culture that teaches us to be filth and nothing more?
do we
do we
do we!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

p.s.- the pic was found in a blog I read.

and suddenly it dies...

evenings and winter chapel bells
long lost dusty feet
return home
on a foggy blue noon
the silly dance and celebrations
choke them to death
no footsteps to traceback the homecoming
no shattered glasses and
the smell of cheap liquor
no beaten backs with rashes
no moaning
no gathering
not even the usual flies
what do we call them
the mourning flies?
I guess let them be the yellow butterflies
not even them to show her lost presence
what could he hold on to afterall?
he rushed back with the mad dance
and took with him the mad, celebrating loneliness
this time
careful to leave back a few tiered footsteps
atleast she if she comes back,
Marichiko could trace him back...
but suddenly the wish dies
and withers in the dusty corners
silent, ages
and pales
and dies again
he looks back for it
and asks
did you keep it safe?

Of Death and its Demons...

mad disgust
crazy awakenings
the cruel cycle bell
and another man
discharges his lust
rape
rape
rape
hushed, muffled voices
and then
finally a scream
men with moustaches
and women with lathis
debate and hate
over the pain-painted body
writhing like a snake on the ground
before the conclusion
the woman-heart stops beating
silence for a while
men lower their moustaches
women their lathis
they silently discuss
who won, and who lost
between a young boy
let us call him the Son
quietly lowers the body in
a filthy garbage bag
hauls it to the dead end
of the shadowless basti
burns it amidst nilgiri leaves
breathes in the fumes and the last ugliness
of an announced death...

Realisations...

It is not going to be about anything concrete here, its just that the I hate thinking at times, it is such a futile task. While I wrote that sentence I just felt that i feel just the opposite of what I wrote.

I am scared actually about thinking...it makes me plunge into the sides of me which perhaps I am scared of, which I do nto want to face, which I do not want others to know.

And what is more I like that side of me better, but social constraints do nothing for me to fondle that side of me...

It's just sigh! time I guess.

To one of those poets whom I ve never had the chance to read

This one is to Joy Goswami, I hope I am spelling his name correctly. I chanced to hear a few of his poems some time back, and fell in love with him even before he finished reading his first poem.
To the few who do not who he is, he is a bangla poet and that is all that I know of him. The best thing is he accidently happened in my life, as out of sheer boredom I agreed to accompany my friends to Ravindra Bhavan and came to find out that it was a kind of a 'Goshthi'. To cut the not so important things I will only write one of most beautiful lines I have ever come across,
"megh balika bhisti hoye ge che.."
which when crudly translated will read something like this,
"the young daughter of clouds has grown up to be fine and beautiful rain..."
I know many Bengalis will object to this translation, but thats how I think it meant.

P.S have been wanting to read more by the same author but not able to get hold of his writings, if anyone can please get it for me. What Hopes I have :)

What Do I Title This Post As?

I have struggling for my first line for more than 1 minute now, I guess it speaks a lot about how long I have not written anything. This problem of not able to write but still to come up with a smart sentence comes up (with me) only when I have not written anything. The last post was sometime in july I believe.
So that indeed is long enough.
Another thing that peeps out of these words is about the topic that I am planning or not planning to write on. I can think of nothing right now.
So lemme write about how nothing apart from google has been happening in my life. I go to office, work, have fun, learnt a bit of fussbal, come back and go of to sleep.
thats all that is to my life, but I am enjoying it none the less.

let me postpone writing for now, as nothing good can be written now.

I think I could have named this post as - Nothing!

Sailing to Byzantium

People who are expecting that I will talk about some nice, picturesque escape route to my dream land, like Yeats (he is the poet for this one, right?) might be disappointed. I am rather going to write about my very realistic, painful yet adventurous trips on the bus from Tarnaka to Punjagutta, where my office is. First thing I loathe the most about it is the beginning, where I have to get up early in the morning to catch the bus. After a brisk short walk I reach my bus stop and hope against hope for two things, one that the bus comes on time and two that the bus has just enough space to accommodate the lesser mortals like me, who can’t afford an auto to work every day. Alas! Nothing of the two happens and right then the adventure begins. I and the rest, boarding the bus from the same bus stop, immediately become enemies after having spotted the bus that comes blissfully unaware of the panic it has caused so many of us and merrily comes crawling at its own sweet pace. Now ready to charge, we rush to be the first one to get on to the ugly, misshapen body, which at this moment seems nothing more than a mass of hands and legs, a few heads all attached together. After having squeezed myself into that whole mass of distorted human body parts. I try to find an inch of space to land my feet. Aha! I have spotted one, between to fat women that will be pretty comfortable, isn’t it? But nothing, comfort is this alien word in this moving planet. After having stationed myself there I realize the mounting pressure from all four sides and curse myself to have taken the endeavor. But just then this sweet lady compromises and lets me have some more of space that she all this while had managed to keep to herself. That really did come as a rescue as I could atleast get my other feet on ground now. I realized that these girls, who stared at you with disgust the moment you tried to nudge, are so very comforting when they realize that the whole trauma is new for you. They make you get used to it. The trips that I began loathing are now very much a part of me . I do not detest the mixed smell of coconut oil and jasmine now.

I am getting so used to my Bus journeys that now I have begun to recognize faces, faces that smile, a happy comforting smile even in the most uncomfortable postures, when they see me enter that mass. Faces that perhaps will miss me, when from day after I won’t get on to the bus at my bus stop. Now that I would no more be traveling by these buses, I wish I had a few more days. So this one is to all the pretty, Hyderabad girls with whom I have spent quite some time now, in those crammed spaces, where inspite of being so protective of the spaces entitled to us by the goddess of APSRTC, we have been so very accommodating to others

Necklace Road - Seetafalmandi

The old eyes watched the expanse of waste land that one could usually see while returning back from the MMTS local train in Hyderabad. The piles of garbage, the motley of dirty, filthy houses, rags covering the thatched roofs everything might have been so much home to the old lady sitting in front of me, with a huge bag of her entire world, her tired, dry hands clutching to the bag, had a story of hard work and suffering. The train crawled on to a much filthier space ahead, a serpentine drain, with the city’s bourgeoisie dump, had the stench I or anybody my age generally associate with utter poverty and grime. With all the fellow faces contorting from the rotten smell, I saw the old woman remained with the same expression, placid and calm. Her eyes had this still, sad look that had seen so much filth that, this present muck made no difference to her. These eyes seemed so withdrawn from the whole world, ready to face anything that life could possibly bring with it. I engrossed in the life around me, could not understand the depth these old soul had experienced. I with my urban, affluent experiences of life could perhaps never understand that life meant living for her, food meant survival for her, and home meant the world for her.

I did not know how she lived her life, how did her hands become so rough that she could no more caress the little child her daughter might have given birth to. I did not know how her feet had become so parched that it hurt to continue walking or perhaps the blood seeping out of the cracks did not bother her of the marks it left on her torn, fragile sari. It did not bother her that people in the compartment preferred standing than sitting next to her. But it bothered me with my urban, educated mentality, seeing her sitting alone, aloof from the whole world. But my presence added nothing to her comfort, perhaps she was used to such pitiful, friendly gestures, which only made her feel more degraded. I realized that her eyes did not complain of the life she had lived. Perhaps I had got it all wrong, I perceived her to be sad, and perhaps she wasn’t all that sad after all. Her eyes did not have sad tales to narrate for her grandchildren; they will be stories of the king who lived a long, lavish life, of the princess who fell in love with a young, poor guy. My station was arriving and I looked more intently at her trying to decipher more of her life and suddenly the train stopped with a jolt, the cannonading sound stopped and a small packet fell out from the old woman’s tattered sari. A cheap green, transparent polythene packet, with a small new plastic elephant in it. Perhaps for the new born grand daughter, she picked it up and wiped the little dirt that had collected on one side of the packet, from one end of her sari. Nestling it safely to where it was, she for once looked up at me and smiled meanwhile the train had reached where I had to get down. Walking back to my hostel room, I no more gave a look of pity to the people living in the slums just opposite the huge gate of my institute.

In Conversation:Part I

Solan: hiya
Shyamalee: hi dear...
Solan: busy kya?
Shyamalee: No dear... not at all for you...
Solan: ok tell me your views on this reservation fiasco
Shyamalee: what to say... though as an instrument I am very much for it...I can also smell the dirty politics behind it.
Solan: leave the politics but as such are u against it. Do you think India does not need reservation?
Shyamalee: No... I think India needs reservations
Solan: that’s all na do u think sitting in air conditioned offices and thinking and writing about all these issues is a crime?
Shyamalee: No... What we need a healthy debate...? I too get quite a few mails against reservation. Most of those are based on stupid arguments. I ignore them like Jesus..."forgive them they don't know what they are saying". Of late, I am trying to learn the art of Non-violence... what I understood... it is a very difficult art. Hats up to Buddha, Jesus, Gandhi who practiced it to the core.
Solan: but then, the rate at which these anti- reservation mails reach my inbox from all over, I think any such callous forwards will have a repercussion in the ever so gullible Indian minds. Don't u think so?
Shyamalee: No... This type world is too small in this country. And it is not easy to penetrate the mass in this way. You can wash out only a few fragile minds... not all.. And yours is not among those.
Solan: no m not talking about myself. But others, and though the percentage of people capable of reading such stuff is low, but from amongst these only we hear loud voices na, the mass anyways is not concerned
Shyamalee: And that’s the point of debate.. What we want is let this unconnected mass be a part of it. Then, it does not matter which side they take.
The wonderful thing about this country is its democracy. In last fifty odd years it has only strengthen... I for think so. And the politicians have to connect themselves with this unconnected mass. So its not easy to anti- the policy. So all these noises will turn out to be meaningless at the most.
Solan: are u suggesting that these anti resv. Stuff might go unheard of
Shyamalee: Yaa.. There is no way out....
Solan: haaan? But don't you think the intensity with which things are going will bear no consequences
Shyamalee: This is my feeling... After working with the unconnected people...seeing policy and bureaucracy from close quarters...That’s where the irresponsible politics lies...that distracts the youth from healthy debate. But its, I feel only a transitory phase.
Solan: amen! What else can I say?
Shyamalee: You are not among the one to oppose or support.... you have the duty to understand it...though I know we all live in politics, but, our politics has taught us to be so..
Solan: then who does so?
Shyamalee: partly...activists...others include those fragile minds who are in the herd. We are supposed to learn things. Society to be precise..
Solan: humm
Shyamalee: And as learner we are open to viewpoints…Now you recall what I wrote on your feminism blog...I meant this...
Solan: humm

I am Losing The Ability To Dream…

It’s a weird sense of loss that I felt the other day when trying to recover my soul that feels like leaving my body after a weeks work. It’s been a habit with me since my early childhood days to lull myself to sleep, trying to recreate my dreams, interrupting every time I felt that my dreams weren’t beautiful, every time a felt that this particular thing might not look good if someone chances to see it. But day before when I lay alone trying to create one of my often dreamt dreams, I just could not. There was no me getting a booker prize, there was no me dedicating that prize to my brother – nothing. Just a white blank space loomed large.

My whole world felt numb suddenly. I feel so disturbed.

May be this will make a good beginning of a story, a young girl, with her dusky skin and long black hair that fell on her mauve shirt like waterfall forgets to dream. And suddenly is faced with the harsh reality that life is.

Won’t make a bad start actually.

Let’s see when I venture to write further.

P.s- got my first salary and sadly I did not at all feel excited about it, the way I am supposed to.