The digital camera killed my magic box

                                                        
I used to love birthday parties. But what I loved even more than the parties was reliving the rounds of musical chairs, pass the parcel and creamy black forest cakes with magic candles that refused to die, through photographs from my camera. 
 Before digital cameras, instagram and hipstamatic took over our very existence, I used to spend my pocket money on rolls of Kodak film. After the party was over, I would wait two or sometimes three days until the roll was developed. I would pay my hundred something and a hundred something more if I’d asked for duplicates. The duplicates would  find a place on my pin board and the smiling faces of my friends and I were stabbed with colorful tacks.
But I loved the wait. Unlike today, I never knew what the pictures would look like. Not the faintest idea. Back then photographs were innocent. They were just pure and simple happy memories caught in a magic box with a bright light.
Today pictures have lost that innocence. They are posed, artificial and are ogled at by thousands of judging eyes. Not all of those eyes know you. Some of them don’t even like you, but they still stare at you. You and your coffee stained teeth. You with your bad, bad hair day and “duck faced” pout. Or you with heavy eye-lids after your sixth tequila shot. You are no longer just a memory, you are on display in a museum called Facebook and you will remain there forever.
Don’t get me wrong, I love Facebook. I spend more time romancing pictures and status updates than I spend romancing my boyfriend. I am guilty of changing my profile pictures even before I brush my teeth. It doesn’t matter if bacteria and gingivitis are making their way into my gums and little cavities, my profile picture should be new and improved.
Off late, my security settings have been made a little more secure but there was a time when I would parade every happy, sad, insecure, drunken, and proud moment. I was the star of my own little Facebook movie. Sometimes I’d get rave reviews in the form of many likes and sometimes rude comments that would be deleted at the click of the delete button. But it was already too late because every homefeed had already seen the” oh, Sam cellulite much” remark. 
Another act I am guilty of is the Oh- emm –geee- let –me- see- that –picture- right- after -it –has- been -clicked act. Today we don’t wait half a second to see the outcome of our friends picture taking skills because we know that with a click of yet another button, we can be dissected and torn into tiny pieces.
So we snatch cameras, redo the shot just like the previous shot, smile a little brighter, wipe off that extra concealer, pat dry our sweaty noses and suck in our bellies. So the world will see a more beautiful and perfected version of us. It doesn’t matter if our friend standing posing next to us looks like a tranny that just escaped a train wreck. As long as we look good then the picture is “Soooo gooodd…. Really really nice.. totally gonna frame this shit.” 
It all really is very silly. We spend so much time extracting information. creating stories. building emotions. spreading gossip. feeling ugly. All because of a picture taken by a digital camera. We’re diluting the very reason pictures are taken. Pictures aren’t supposed to be picture perfect in fact the uglier the picture, the more beautiful the story.
 So someone bring me back my magic box.

The Little Things

We’re so focused on the bigger things in life that we lose sight of the little things, when in
fact, real happiness lies in the littlest and simplest moments that we have to ourselves. 

1. Curl up in bed with an old book you haven’t read in years. There’s something special
about revisiting a book at a later time in your life. It’s like catching up with an old friend
you haven’t met in a while.

2. Go for a walk with your best friend.Talk about everything under the sun, moon and stars or absolutely nothing. But bonding outside, in the midst of nature (even if nature is artificial grass and perfectly manicured hedges) makes the moment all the more special.
 
3. Write. Take good old fashioned pen and paper and write about whatever you’d like to write about. It could be a story, a journal entry or even a poem. It will help you connect with your emotional side or just an emotion which sometimes remains bottled up and more importantly, it's a way to learn way to learn something new about yourself.


4. Pick your favorite song and belt it out loud. You might feel like you belong in an 80's video but a hairbrush really does  make a good mic, especially the rounded kinds. The applause in your head will be deafening.

5. Draw. Color pencils or even a sharpie will do .Remember when you were a child and you would disappear into your own fantasy world the minute your pencil or crayon touched the white slightly rough art paper? Well, it might be a few years later, but you'll notice that your fantasy land hasn't changed all that much.

6. Spend some time in a doggy shelter. If you’re ever feeling low or  feeling something you can’t
identify, then puppies with lots of licks and love bites will be able to erase each and every one of your worry lines.

7. Choose a shady spot, preferably under a tree, and people watch. It beats watching TV and it definitely helps you unwind. Little bits of juicy conversation might float past you along with a chorus of happy buzzing.

8 .Do something you’ve never done before. For example, treat yourself to dinner. Go to a  restaurant you've been dying to try, take  a book with you or even an ipod. Yes, people might stare, but so what? You can feel like a celebrity, wave, wink or better yet, stare back at them. The weapon against all staring people is staring back.

DOODY CALLS

                                              DOODY CALLS

I begin every morning with cold coffee. Yum. I have been indulging in my frothy-icy-shaken in a shaker Nescafe since the beginning of time. My day is a little less ugly the minute my milk mustache settles on my upper lip.Yup, I got milk.

After the coffee, comes the bathroom ritual. I am a girl and of course, I never poop, fart,burp, or spit in my sink. I just light scented candles and blow soap bubbles and giggle as they pop. And today morning, as I lathered up in all kinds of pink (more things that girls do), I started to think about bathroom rituals.

The first and most common ritual of them all is  'Reading the newspaper on the potty'.

We prefer to fill our brains with disturbing images and heinous headlines, and stare at over-weight, manly looking female politicians with hideous hair-dos than be alone with our own thoughts. I guess deadlines and 'things-to-do' are enough to send our bowel moments on strike. Other people's problems and sadistic murders are much easier on the stomach.

The next ritual is ' Cigi-on- potty.' I know enough people never go to the loo without a "cigi," "a smoke," "a fag" or a "coupla drags."  Whether they are smokers or just pot(ty) smokers, they need that morning rush to help last nights dinner have a pleasent and uninteruupted journey as it makes its way down the large intestine and land in water with some remains of yesterday's Harpic. Inhale. Exhale. Spalsh.

Another ritual that comes to mind is called 'Cigi and Chai.' This one grosses me out. Anything we put into our body should not be in the same room as the things that come out of our body. But like the non-smoker or smoker who can't do without the morning nicotine rush, caffeine is just as integral for a smooth sailing poop ride. Sometimes just a few sips do the trick. So the cig is put out in the chai with a faint hissing sound. The job is done and the evidence is left behind in the form of pungent stink. 

And today with new technology, new poop rituals are  born. The minute, in true crude Indian fashion " the pressure" builds, an iPad makes its way in the bathroom. With every angry bird that flies across the screen, it is accompanied with a splash.

Oh, but the funniest ritual of all, and I don't know if I mean ha-ha funny, is the one that includes Facebook on the pot. Oh,you know who you are. You lose yourself in status updates, wedding pictures and bad foundation, hot boys and shake your head at girls with white bras under black shirts, beautiful people on exotic holidays and wonder when they hell they work, and almost like magic, even without you knowing, your stomach is flat and last nights shrimp dim-sum is long gone. 

So whatever your ritual may be, it is important that you follow it religiously every morning. Even if it means turning the snooze button off so you don't lose those precious fifteen minutes. Because when you're at work or in a public place and doody calls, it can be a super shitty situation. 

That Time Of The Year

THAT TIME OF THE YEAR

With temperatures reaching unbelievable highs you will without a doubt hear “it feels like an oven or a sauna outside” and then you will also hear people give their two cents, or in this case, two paisa (I’d like to think that’s the equivalent) on global warming, “summers are getting hotter glaciers are melting and we are going to die… etc etc.”

In the summer time, people are angrier, traffic is even more impatient, and no one smiles as beads of sweat form on upper lips and other uncomfortable places. Thanks yous are replaced with snarls and snarls are replaced with growls that belong deep inside the jungle. It is an unhappy time, this Indian summer.

For a few of us lucky folk, we find solace in front of our coolers and ACS while ceiling fans gather dirt and muck. No one wants hot air blown on them in circular motions.

And you might as well forget about cold showers to wash away the heat that has entered each and every one of your pores because your shower will play funny tricks on you in the summer. Warm water will flow out of the hot water tap and boiling hot water will flow out of the one marked with a C for cold.

But while we talk of global warming and Mother Nature, heat waves and have heated arguments, children are out enjoying their summer day.

Scorching temperatures are defeated by water bottles carrying thanda paani or nimbu paani. A still day is tackled by running around in the parks and hosing each other with the maali's pipe. Hide and seek and Oonch neech ka papra don’t discriminate against the summer. In fact, children love the garmi more since it stays light out longer and they don’t need to layer up in multi-coloured hand me downs from the 80’s, pokey new turtle necks or daadi’s latest creation.

The truth is we should be more child-like. Let’s not allow sweaty armpits and BO get the better of us. Let’s try to focus on all the beautiful things that come with summer. The wind meandering through the leaves, the extra hours of sunshine, happy bird (not trying to do a cool Angry Bird reverse) calls, the nimbu paani, the brimming – with- juice mangoes, the sweeter than sweet litchis and perfectly chilled watermelons. (Oh and in case you OD on summer fruit you can always turn to Cola bar and Limchu that are just as refreshing if you can excuse the artificial colouring dripping onto your khaki pants or floral cotton skirt.)

So, now go find the shadiest spot in your garden or balcony, tune into the laughter coming from the parks near by, fill your bowl with Mother Dairy's vanilla ice-cream. And then then in between mouthfuls I guarantee that you’ll stop bitching about Mother Nature’s time of the year.

Well, Mama, here I am, home again

I finally made the Big Move back to the Motherland. From the Big A, that is. I had made the decision secretly a long time ago. When, finally, I mustered the courage to tell my family and friends that I want to leave the beautiful apple and move back to Delhi, I became the butt of many versions of "are-you- seriously-stooopid?"

I left home four years ago on my journey of self- discovery. It's hard to do when you're enclosed by protective parents and chauffer driven cars. I wanted to taste absolute freedom. I packed my life in two large suitcases and said goodbye to my sheltered life.

After graduating from college, I had an itch that persisted: Home began calling. But admitting that I wanted to leave New York and all the great opportunities it has hiding in every nook, corner and crevice, was exceptionally difficult.

Nobody could understand my compulsion. Why come all this way, if you want to turn around and go back before you've accomplished something BIG? I had no answer. They were possibly right both in terms of reasons both professional as well as financial. I have been groaning under student loans—loans that I had initially intended to pay back in dollars while working in the US, preferably in New York. I battled these questions and judgments silently and not so noiselessly. I listened, rolled my eyes, shed colossal tears. But I had made up my mind. I was going home. I was going to do big things in my own country.

So once again, I packed two large suitcases and much cooler wardrobe, heading back to my sheltered life.

It took a while for me to feel at home, at home. The sky was a different shade of blue. The people seemed louder and unfriendly. And my freedom was suddenly yanked from me. My own rules no longer apply. I live at home with Mom and Dad again, and even if I'd been to the moon and back, in their eyes I'd always be their lanky, irresponsible baby. Oh, and of course the this-house-is-not-a-hotel spiel is something I can lip read even before my parents open their mouths to remind me of their rules. Haven't you all heard it? It's a good, sound verbal legacy that I'm sure I will drill into my own kids some day.

There are days when I crave New York. But I've shoved the feeling in a recess deep within me and I don't allow it to surface very often. Besides, I'm too busy falling in love with my country all over again while discovering how to balance the person I was four years ago and the me I am today.

I took the plunge. So, am I truly happy? Yes. Have I done great things with my life, yet? Eh... Sorta.

Any more self- discovering journeys? Probably.

But for now I'm content and it seems that there's no place like home, especially if home is India. I probably love it more than I did when I left notwithstanding every ear-shattering honk, its crowded, chaotic, overflowing urban life, the compulsive familial mollycoddling and lecturing and the shamelessly ogling strangers with their brutal eye-contact.

A family miracle?!!

My dad writes to his baby sister

Hi sis,

Ayesha just showed me the Sai Baba picture from ma's puja room. What do you make of it? Do you think Pam played a prank --- or Lalit did it to freak out Nita and then pretended to believe in it as a way of accomplishing something soul-edifying for mummy? Or was it the work of one of the servants or the old panditji who goes to the pooja room every morning. This sounds too much like the milk drinking ganesha. Or the Virgin Mary weeping tears of blood that as exposed ultimately as a brilliant fraud. But if it makes mom happy, who am I to raise questions?! If word has gotten around, the place must already have become a shrine for Ujahni folks and Saii believers.

Ino

The baby sister responds
AHHHH...my brother the skeptic! Who is actually dying to believe that it really happened - or why the eff would you have written to me:)?

Nah, I don't think Lalit or Pam were behind it - not the servants either, they wouldn't have the intellect - the pandit??? Maybe - but the other thing that makes me want to believe this is the fact that I have actually seen honey and vibhuti drip from Sai Baba's photo in Swaran Bhabi's home as also in Satya and Omi's - long distance miracles of mind over matter perhaps - but still a miracle.

So maybe, just maybe... it's old Sai Baba's way of accomplishing something soul-edifying for mom. Remember how roundly she'd cursed him last year and promised she would never believe in him again or indeed, even pray to him again, for he had let her down by making her suffer the way she had - maybe God simply redeeming himself in the eyes of a woman who believed so implicitly and yet felt so let down - as you say - who are we to question if it makes mom happy and restores her faith!

Love you bro.

Sis:)

Ohhhh boy(s)

This whole falling in love thing was supposed to be easy. I was supposed to lock eyes with someone sitting across from me in a train. A bar. A lecture about global warming. I'd feel a spark and my lips would part magically, revealing a slightly crooked smile and coffee stained teeth. Then candlelight dinner, a first kiss while trying to eat the same piece of spaghetti. He’d profess his undying love for me, get down on one knee, maybe both and ..sigggh.. propose.

Under my fairy tales are stupid exterior, I long for my prince charming and a happily ever after. I want be wooed, oooed and aaaad. Today, a first date is a drink at a noisy bar, after which we eagerly await a text message. And if it comes, we read it over a couple hundred times, interpreting the hundreds of different meanings. Friendly? Flirtatious? It's hard to decipher a tone over a text. Stupid technology.

But the absolute worst part about dating is the fear of "freaking him out." I have to chew on my lower lip every time I feel the gooey words about to escape. A simple" I like you" could be read as, "I want to have your babies right this instant!"

And after dating for a while, we let our guard down and think it's finally safe to use words like munchkin and muffinhead. And while some of us change our relationship status on facebook, they plan their escape.

I've analyzed and dissected them(boys.. men.. men who are still boys ) like an eager Biology student. But I just can’t figure them out.

Weren’t we supposed to be the complicated sex?