Not Any Funny Stuff

                               

It was lurking during my just-shed-adolescent days. Then it began rearing its ugly head quite often. And now, at the most luring period of my age, it has gained a monstrous stature which hovers over the head like a bunch of ferocious bees stormed onto the man who dared to hit a stone on them. Got the drift? No? Okay, I give you an apt instance here.

On a perfect ideal weekend, we were lunching on a scrumptious meal and the atmosphere was aromatically heavy with the wafting aromas of the piping hot daal combined with the steamed rice and a spicy chicken curry. And then, when least expected, maa speaks directing towards me ,” So, you are still stuck with your no-marriage melodrama  or should we get into details of the profiles been proposed for you?” The chicken piece decided to stop on halfway through my neck and I faltered while giving a meek response. “ err…umm..no..yeah…well..you see…I don’t want to marry so soon. I have made it clear a hundred times. Why keep asking me then?” And the maa’s voice exploded with the intensity that could’ve challenged   Bengal’s incumbent CM’s  ‘ear drum-shattering’ speeches . “ What do u mean by ‘So soon’? You are at the ripe age of marriage!” So, I was attributed with the adjective-ripe.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen! You heard it right. Indian girls at their mid-twenties are as ripe as a stale over- ripe banana which reeks of a staunch smell , smirked by everyone , and if not swallowed  soon, gets it’s permanent address into  the trash can. I am lucky to have a comparatively chilled out father who believes on casual discussions rather than insane hollering so as he sensed the heated argument about to take place between me and my mother , very astutely he shifted the gear to some other direction.

That day,I escaped but it’s not always the case. Nowadays the mother has made it her habit to point on something or the other related to me. Sometimes, I am abnormally fat for her. Sometimes, my head  goes bald according to her as she feels my scalp sheds off hair strands with the same speed as that of a F1-car that wins the race. And I am not a daft to not get the hint she gestures at. It’s the prospective groom of mine, she is worried about, who might not find me a perfect ensemble of a divine character and a modelled figure.

And alas! Its not only my mother who feels I should be garlanded off to a man who will crown me to the honour of a lady that is destined to carry his legacy forward. I go to a friend’s house to find some instant relief. And voila! there lies another mother who immediately jumps on her new prey (that’s me of course)  and slays both of us together with her ear piercing philosophies.

Well, I do not deny that these mothers are  right in their own ways. But again, who wants a smooth and all fun-life to be hitched with a non-glamorous obstacle like marriage? Yes, of course a marriage arranged in a planned manner is not that funky, isn’t it? And if you talk about love marriages, Oh please! Do not even get me started with that. Because, even if u choose a Brad Pitt for yourself, the mothers and all the aunty-clans you’ve got in your whole relative lineage, will make you feel like the biggest loser on earth as if you've picked a street dog over a German Shepherd for pet.

 

It's hereditary

It happened for the first time when I was eight.One odd day,I got confused with the way to the playgorund I frequented often and after a lot of rounds with my bi-cycle ,could finally reach the spot but as my luck had it,buddies had gone back home for it had been a couple of hours past the playing time.later,friends laughed at me and I laughed at myself too ,considering it to be a funny accident and I being the source-element.But then at that tender age,i could hardly figure out that it was just a trailer of my hidden trait of mixing up with directions which was soon going to be as popular as any hot guy among a bunch of single girls.Years passed by and I grew more efficient in my trademark skill of confusing with raods. Then bi-cycle got replaced by a sturdy scooty and that meant no more limitations! Freedom knocked at my door but I couldn't welcome it heartily as I could sense the impending crisis shrewedly looming over me.Then what? As expecetd, I was completely exposed.If a friend asked me to pick her up for the morning tutions,I would reach her home for the evening tution.Provided Jamshedpur is a small town with fairly organised routes,I and my scooty somehow managed to deliver the expectations, others had on us.

But perhaps the almighty wished a better funny show for himself and one fine day,I landed onto this huge cosmopolitan fuzzy place.Its been more than four years I am in dubai now but if you ask me the direction to the nearest mall from my house,I would confidently point towards the
opposite direction so you better know which way to go.If I am supposed to take a left at any round-about,I take it after traversing through all the other turns linking that round-about.And dubai haughtily boasts of its huge round-abouts and fly-overs,so you know the quality of plight, I am suffering through!I always wondered why among all, I was the hapless one to be gifted with this odd trait for there wasn't any sane logic for me to believe that I suffered from some memory shortage problem or neither I had earned any reputation of being a dumb person.

Well, god finally decided to let me know the source that passed on this incredible characteristic which now defines me partly. Recently,during a vacational visit to india,I was at my uncle's place.One evening,I and my uncle along with my cousin, went out to get some samosas frm the nearby street -vendor which was just a ten minutes walk from the house.On the way back home,the cousin of mine met a friend of hers and she had to leave us on the mid-way.Then while walking,we reached a junction which led to four roads.And uncle asked me if I remembered the correct road which led to his house to which I smiled shyly and nodded my head to signal him a negative.Then the trouble began,we roamed aimlessly for around twenty minutes more and finally reached the house. After reaching,my aunty quite slyly asked me "so,which new route did your uncle discover today?".Unable to catch her sarcasm ,I reacted quite blankly to which she burst into a cunning laugh and said"my dear,don't you know that your uncle ,who otherwise solves huge physics problems and can easily register complicated formulae,actually suffers from a chronic hereditory defect called "street-phobia" which was very meticulously passed on by your grandfather.And to this my uncle also burst out laughing and very proudly remarked "I wonder who is the next one in our family line to take it from me." I was in a state of extreme shock for a while and then declared "it's already taken so don't worry,our family-heritage is preserved".

Since then,I have been quite chilled out about this defect of mine and have stopped giving angry stares at my friends who occasionally call me out a loser.I ,very calmly reply to them saying"it's hereditary".What worse! I have a car and a job now.O good lord! do shower some sympathy on this poor creation of yours.

Meet the seasonal maniac

Since childhood I have picked up many side-hobbies. And one fact has always been constant till now. Every hobby had its rise and fall as per the wish of the ever swinging mood of the entertainment-loving-cells of my brain. My every pass-time favourite reaches it's period of crescendo in my life which would have me obsessively hooked to it, making me behave like a buffoonish maniac. But the span of these crest and trough filled trend of manias have always been very short because soon I switch to some other element of interest, letting the previous one fall from its cresendo and so it goes on.

It all started with my love for kitchen-sets when I feigned the boss of my imaginary house-hold, cooking pebbles and sand in my mini wok, stirring mud-water in tiny cups and whispering sweet nothings to my doll-kids.Any interference of my mother or anyone would irk me like hell and I threw tantrums all over the house for not letting me play what I called 'kitchen-kitchen'

'Kitchen-kitchen' obsession was soon overtaken by my penchant for sketching and painting. And the penchant again transformed to another staunch obsession.From oil pastels of varying shades to painting brushes of all sizes to fabric colors in tubes and bottles would be strewn all over the floor and I'd lie amongst them, my hands and face patched with assorted colours that could convince any lay man that my parents were blessed with a sensational painter-child.

Then books entered my life and fortunately or unfortunately they are still into my life and my head and my mind and actually everything. But the contents of interest kept varying with my age. First were the fairy-tale stories where every princess had a charming prince to rescue her from her troubles followed by the animated hero,Tin-tin's detective stories where he dauntingly solved all mysteries.Soon, I became an avid reader of Agatha Christies', so much that I used to hide the novels within my course books and read them in order to escape from my parents' glaring stares. Then, as my senses matured, I developed as a reader( I believe). And I got into absorbing the life-altering-philosophies of the so called great philosophers and authors and started spending the whole day, squeezed under my quilt, devouring these books(not literally though) , oblivious of anything and everything going around me.

Even today, if I see a kid dressing her doll and feeding it with imaginary eatables, my childhood love springs out and I happily become a member of some-one else's 'kitchen-kitchen' world.Same holds good with my hobby of sketching. Though the intensity has reduced, but i still manage to portray a scenic beauty,if it appeases my senses, onto my canvas. But my attachment with books seems to grow more and more.Reading something and then contemplating over it brings an unaparallel satisfaction which challenges my perception-skills and broadens my imaginative boundaries.

Unlike my other favourites, my wont for reading refrains from sliding down the crest and it is just scaling up the ladder every day. If an obsession like this can alter one's existence so positively, then I dont mind being addressed as a maniac.

Nostalgia overwhelms

Just one month is left for that much awaited trip to india.Though this time it would be a short one,comprising of only two weeks but it's the same usual 'butterflies in the stomach' type excitement I am going through which occurs before my every visit to India.

This is the time when nostalgia engulfs me completely.The heart pines for those serene streets of Jamshedpur,that vibrant school life,the fun-filled evenings with Rolly( a bosom friend),the summer train journeys to nani ghar and dadi ghar, my scooty rides,the fleeting crushes,aimless strolls in the Bistupur market and so many more things that space would fall short.'why the hell I came here'is the frequently asked question to my conscience whenever i think about those eighteen years spent in india and immediately it bounces back with the reply-'you wouldn't have felt that life's importance otherwise'.

How true!I remember those rainy evenings when maa would cook the mouth-watering pakodas (fritters in hindi) and then shout from the window to summon the neighbourhood aunties for a 'pakoda plus chai' imbued gossipy evening.Here it rains too and maa also never forgets to make her signature pakodas but for reasons unknown, we never get the same taste unlike earlier.Perhaps, the pakoda's taste sprang out from the lively chit-chats of the aunties,the smell of the wet earth from the garden,the pitter-patter sound of the rain drops,the water clogged gallis, none of which are available here.Here aunties are in surplus but not the ones who you find knitting from a big ball of urn or wringing water from a wet cloth in their verandahs or hollering about their mother-in -laws.Send a party invitation via mail or a formal phone call will also suffice and there they would turn up -attired in the latest brands,flaunting the glossiest lipstick and getting down from a mercedes or a limousine. Now, frankly speaking, my mother will prefer to sit alone in the balcony with her cup of tea pondering about her Mrs sharma, Mrs Sinha et al than feeling completely out of place among these stylish peers.

And speaking about those water-clogged gallis, I seriously feel like thanking our municipal department for turning a deaf ear to all our curses and complaints for the immense joy ,I used to feel splashing and jumping in watery roads, is sheer unparallel.Then, there were those mind-boggling street side food-stalls. No Five star or any elite hotel can compete with the golgappas and the bhel puris. Actually, the missing-hygene factor is their trump card. The gushing vehicular smoke combined with the golgappa walla's perspiration becomes the inevitable ingredient for that special tangy taste(did i hear a 'yuck!'?).And here,hygene is the only ingredient stuffed into the pani-puris for chemically treated gloves knead the stuffing mixture instead of the bare palms of the golgappa walla and for five or six bland morsels we end up paying triple the amount.And the ambience we are treated with are - cozy sofas,a soothing music and a pleasant waitress- compared to the loitering stray dogs and cows,the littered trash at some corner and the incessant noise of the passer-bys.

How come i didn't mention about the incredible train journeys during the vacations yet? I must admit that the massive Howrah Railway station, buzzing with non-stop chaos, is an amazing thing. The howling crowd can drive you insane. If u are not an expert in jostling and nudging then be prepared to miss your train.From there we used to board a local train to reach our village and it was mostly over-crowded with villagers and semi-town inhabitants.I and my sister were the spoilt rich kids among them, munching and grabbing on every item the hawkers would lure us with their fascinating selling tactics. Our favourites were the jaggery-infused-nuts(gur-badam) and jhaal-muri(spiced puffed-rice, a speciality of Bengal).

Coming back to my town-Jamshedpur, I am reminded of my scooty rides around the town.An evening scooty ride with Rolly around the outskirts of the city meant exchanging side-long glances with the guys on the bikes passing by.First,I would accelerate a little then he would
speed up.I would try to overtake and he would purposefully slow down.Then some cheesy remarks from the male side would be replied by fluttering of eye-lashes from our side.These encounters always ended with our rides and every evening a new story would evolve.

So,if you are lucky enough to still remain a RI, then instead of asking a NRI about his/her life abroad, do fill his yearning soul with ur desi experiences.And believe me,that person will heartily thank you when back to exile.

It's not just three colours

I was watching this movie 'Gadar' few days back and there was this scene where Sunny Deol flaunts the Indian flag swaying it speedily while walking through a rebellious crowd in pakistan, grappling to seize back his pakistani wife, but not willing to compromise with his identity of being an Indian at any cost.

I tell u, there is something very mysterious about that tricoloured flag. Like any other scene of the movie,I should have absorbed it without being personally perturbed. But something happened, i tell u, seriously something happened after watching that flag being waved among a crowd that denied to respect the values it claimed to carry. It seemed like some strange but a very strong force gushed into my body piercing my conscience. It kept dominating the whole of me thereafter.

I know very well that a national flag inspires patriotism. It inspires the soldier on a battlefield to fight till death, it challenges and dares a player to play for his nation , drives him on the olympic torch flames but how does it inspire an inactive- brained, good for nothing, almost-a-burden -on- the- family, twenty something girl who has always been googling on every single thing including patriotism just to appear intelligent in conversations?


I believe, I am one of that young crowd which delivers speech on corruption , unemployment, national integration and similar issues only on group discussions held by MBA institutions and at job interviews but hardly worries if these issues are seriously nibbling the national economy or whatever into pieces. But again, I am one of that very same young crowd whose heart beats aloud when it sees the Indian flag proudly swaying high up in the air in front of the Indian Embassy in an alien country.

I honestly admit that I dont possess the capability to comprehend this stark irony of detachment and attachment with my national identity but what I could decipher is that a national flag is not just a symbol of a nation's geogriphical and political existence but much more to that. It makes you realise that whether you are a common civilian or a political head of ur nation, when it waves in the free air, your conscience is bound to be morally affected.

Insanity overtakes

I feel like being staunchly honest right now and I have nothing else than my own blog to spew rubbish on. So here it goes,hope u digest the whole.

College is over and I am currently jobless(in the literal sense) and not at all searching for one. According to myself,I have become one lazy,stubborn girl who ,the whole day, absorbs all life-related complicated novels and then delivers senseless philosophies to the hapless members at home who, listen all with utter disdain.I dont have any current plan to look for a job because I am not in a mood to welcome any change in my life presently. I dont mind even if various adjectives have been tagged to my name,few being unemployed, cynical, frustrated, unsocial, grumpy et all. I dont recieve the phone calls even if I am the only one at home while the phone is ringing because i hate faking answers when relatives ask my future plans. Almost all of my friends have decided what to do in their life and are leaving for their respective destinations and I am grappling against the thought of having to stay without them. My sister avoids talking to me much nowadays because i tend to turn violent at her suddenly, without any prior notice , my weapons being cushions, my cell, tv-remote and sometimes my legs.Recently I have started taking fancy of the hindi soaps in which the heroines fall in love with their heroes and among all odds,get married and re-married ,die and get alive and while all the ups and downs of the girl's life,there is a fixed hero who always supports her. And I keep wishing that someday some man jumps out of that tv screen,holds my hand and takes me far away where Ican smile only when I want,where I don't need to explain others about my career-plans,where my friends never leave me away,where no one measures success with money,where no one hurls responsibilities on me,where i dont need to plan my plans.

Well, now the most important and honest fact is that I can afford to carry on my cynical ways partly because I am an indian girl who will not be questioned by the society even if she choses to be jobless for her whole life and partly because of my naive parents who dont mind tolerating my temporary insanity.

The under-rated dilemma

That fat tantalizing mayonize laden burger once again reared its irresistible head to lure my taste buds. As usual,I re-emerged triumphant with a polite refusal and within seconds it disappeared into some lucky mouth.But I wonder what strong force exists that prompts girls like us to abstain from these scumptuous foodies.If you justify with the trait of ascetism then be ready to face a sarcastic grin.If that was the case then we wouldn't have been trying on fagging just for the sake of knowing how it feels and then returning home late night,traffic being the heavy rescuer from parents' wrath. When a twenty something lady says she is on a diet regime, dont fall in the trap of believing it to be a serious concern for a healthy future.Nothing perturbs her more than her female peers' furrowed eye-brows at her slightly potruded tummy.And the another very obvious reason being her continual attempts to be in the popular list among the opposite genders.And why not it be, for scout through your nearest locality and you will find every average man preferring his prospective consort to be in good shape, at the minimum. It doesn't matter even if he himself is a couch potato.The list of factors does not end here for we cannot risk to ignore the incessantly nagging mothers. Though, a mother's lips won't aquaint you with the real reason for her concerns but deep inside, she is quite worried that once her daughter gains some extra pounds, then and there she loses a good match for her. So next time you find an over-weight spinster refusing to some coveted carbonated drink or any junk food, do lend her a sympathetic attitude instead of coaxing her to gobble on it.