the big fat indian tamasha

Like all girls, I have always dreamed about my wedding day. I’ve played my favourite Bollywood track on repeat, imagining my friends and family dancing around me while I become the centre of their universe for just a few hours. It would be my day and of course my hone vaala’s day. But it would belong to me a little more than it would belong to him. But now it seems I have to share my day with a hundred people with hundred different opinions. I will have to do things I don’t really believe in and listen to a pundit that I don’t really agree with. When did weddings become so impersonal?

 Yes, Indian weddings and traditions date back to thousands of years but during those thousand years, someone somewhere decided to turn a wedding into a tamasha. The very reason for a wedding has been diluted by over the top customs, social obligations and eye-watering bling. I know so many people that want to elope to a small island and get married with no one around except seagulls and crashing waves. But unfortunately tradition and obligations bind them to the big fat Indian wedding.

I respect and even like tradition as long as it’s in small doses. But I don’t really want it following me as I take my 7 pheras. I want to dance around the mandap wearing flip-flops and a neon colored lhenga with a hipflask hanging loosely around my waist.  But nope, I will have to be a demure angelic virginal bride as I walk around the fire and smile coyly while eyes judge me. I will be a victim and I can’t fight it because even though it’s my day I have to make everyone else happy. Funny isn’t it?

But what I’d hate even more than painful earrings splitting my earlobes into two is the guest-list syndrome that I have witnessed many, many times in the past. So you had a shot with someone once and indulged in drunken conversation and that person is already picking out sarees and designer ties for your wedding. Even colleagues expect to be invited just because you ate lunch with them one odd day in a crowded cafeteria. And so does so-and so aunty who is so-and-so’s aunty who once smiled at you with pan stained teeth. If they don’t get a card, they think it’s an insult. Seriously? An insult? I know someone who returned someone’s ladoos because they didn’t get a card for the wedding day. Just eat the ladoos, man! It’s not about you! It’s about two people celebrating their undying love for each other. It’s about two families becoming one. It’ s about over-the-top laughter and smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. It’s not about egos, demands, people pleasing. It’s only about love, happiness and positive vibrations. So no, you and your paan stained teeth will not smile for photographs during my wedding.  

I am not a wedding hater nor am I attacking “traditional family values” or the very fabric of society. But as I get ready to venture down the path of the seven pheras, I am educating myself about certain fallacies that blind people during wedding planning. A wedding doesn’t make a marriage. Let two people start their journey the way they want to start it. Not let tradition, customs and what nots become hurdles. Let two people enjoy every second of their celebration, make silly faces and get uncontrollably drunk and do everything under the sun that makes them happy.  So even though this day might become a little less mine, I’m still going to have a few moments that will belong to me. And tradition will never know

The year that was

2012 came to an end, but the world didn't.  It was a weird year. A funny year. It wasn’t a great year. I didn’t accomplish anything big but I did manage to quit my job. I love what I do but I just don’t know if I love the life that comes with it. I decided to big goodbye to my brands, stuff my last and final low paying salary check in my pocket and walk to greener pastures. I wanted to be a foot loose and fancy freelancer. Even though the first few months were promising, the few ass holes that refused to pay me my due ruined it for me. So with the money running out, and the loan officers harassing me, I had to quickly find something that would pay the bills. After rejecting an offer from another “big agency” I took a job at a tiny place that pays better than the big guys. I now have a flexible job where I get to write and get to leave before the sun goes down. It’s not permanent but while I figure things out, this will do. 

Besides committing partial career suicide, I also attended a lot of weddings this year. I’m getting pretty good at being a guest. I’ve mastered the fake smile and can also zone in and out of boring conversations perfectly and I've made a massive attempt not to get too drunk. I rolled off a chair and tore my saree at one BFF’s wedding two years ago. But now I think I am a more refined wedding attender. I still have to learn to tie my own saree though. There are a few things I just cannot do. It’s like a disorder or a handicap or whatever. I cannot do math. I cannot fold clothes. I cannot wrap presents. And I cannot remember or give directions. So I am pretty sure I cannot tie sarees. But I must learn because if I am going to marry my Rajput boyfriend I need to be an expert saree wearer. I do look good in one though. Hawwt even.

Um.. what else. I had a lot of fights this year. Lots. With my parents and my boyfriend. I’d like to think that I was “going through something’ or my hormones were outta whack. But whatever it was, I was a moody bitch. Of course I wasn't the only one to blame. My parents turned into the people I’d never thought they’d turn into- the get-married-now- or break-up- so- we- can- find- you- an -eligible –groom- parents. Yikes! Who are these people? Of course like most boys or men, my boyfriend would say- “dude, I’m not ready man.” So I was caught in the middle of the get married and the not ready to get married. So the first 6 months of 2012 were absolute hell on earth. Luckily my other relationships were pretty peaceful. Of course some relationships changed, some became stronger, some remained indifferent and some I continued to fight for.

 2012 was also the end of my 20’s and when I grew old. Aahhh my 20’s were definitely the best years of my life. But recently I spent half an hour chatting with a 20 year old, and even though she was a mature 20 year old, I FINALLY felt the difference. I usually can mould myself into a younger person and gossip about the things they want to gossip about or make dirty jokes that I know they’d appreciate, but for the first time it felt like an effort. Even though my personality hasn’t changed much since I was 16, I think I have finally metamorphosed into a lady. A loud and at times inappropriate lady, but a lady nonetheless. I also realized that even though I enjoy the occasional party where I air kiss and spend time checking out other girls and sucking in my gut, I really can’t go out that much. I use the word can’t because my bones and liver just can’t take it anymore. After a night of dancing and drinking, I wake up feeling like I’ve run a marathon and I am more nauseous than an army of pregnant women.  I prefer dinners, and glasses of wine filled with conversation

 So I did learn lessons in 2012. Big lessons,retarded lessons, trivial lessons, hilarious lessons. I've learned to take care of myself a little better. I have come to terms with certain things in my life and I have learned a few new things and revisited some old things as well. So now  I'm ready for you 2013…I have big plans for you. Big plans.

‘Things You Should NEVER Say On Facebook If You’re A Human Being Or Can Type’

As usual (albeit not proud) I start my mornings with my facebook news feed.

I see hundreds of statuses. Some of them make me laugh, some make me flinch and some are just information overload. Lady- I don’t need to know that your cat choked on a fur ball. Even though I love cats, I’m sure even she wouldn’t like her fur balls discussed on a public forum.

I prefer to have fun with my statuses, get creative even. I don’t need the world to know what I’m up to every waking moment because even though I have a slightly obsessive and borderline unhealthy relationship with facebook, I know my life is kinda not cool all the time. So I spare the world details. You’re welcome.

Anyway, after much rambling about facebook ramblings, I present to you my imaginary status updates called- ‘Things You Should NEVER Say On Facebook If You’re A Human Being Or Can Type’   A 100% fake but all fiction is inspired by reality, innit?

-          I LOVE stalking ugly people when I’m low. It makes me feel so much better about myself.

-          OK I just had sex with a loser! Gr-o-ss! I think he cried as he you-know-whated.

-           My boss is such a  Ch**t. I’m totally going to quit once I hear back from this new company. *FINGERS TOES HAIR CROSSED*

-          My girlfriend needs a bikini wax ASAP. I like floss every time I go down there!!!!!!

-          I feel sooooo bad when some country goes to war….. I’m so lucky everyone loves America. Maybe it’s cause we mind our own beeswax.

-          Whoo hooooooooo! I just drove home drunk and I couldn't see shit but I made it to my bed..good night bitches.

-          OMG! I think I saw my dad having lunch with a really hot woman. Do you guys think he’s having an affair? If he is- I’m gonna kill the mother f*cker for no longer f*cking my mother.

-          So what exactly does- hung like a donkey mean? Is it some sort of death sentence or what?

-          OK girls, I need your help. Where can I go to get my butt hole bleached??

-          I told that bitch that if she f*ked with me again.. I’d F*cking shoot her with that gun in my pocket which actually is a gun in my pocket!!!

-          Shit yaar I got caught cheat on my frikkin test! I’m going to be smarter during my next exam and hide the notes in my chaddis.

-          I didn’t wear panties to work today. I’m a bad girl *blush*

-          I’m not going to vote this year. I mean, it’s not like EVERY vote counts, right.#stupidelections.

-          At the end of the day all men are the same.. except some have bigger penises and some have penises that look like vaginas.

-          I'm dating a cop and he has no idea about my little drug problem.

    To be continued……..

   

TO DELHI GIRLS AND DELHI AUNTIES

Dear Dehi Girls and Delhi Aunties,

Even if my pores are the size of craters on the moon and my pimples the size of ostrich eggs or If my hair looks like straw that reminds you of your horse riding days or if my ass is a sagging bag of cellulite and I cause a bigger splash than Moby Dick when I jump off my diving board or If I look like I spent a summer locked in a jail cell with nothing to eat but salt and bread or If my skin around my eyes have "early signs" of crows eagles and pigeons feet or if my teeth stick out and my breath reeks of whiskey and peanuts or If I have stretch marks under my phelwan arms or if my underarms aren’t perfectly waxed or if my shoes aren’t designer and my nails are acrylic and if I am sprouting hair from my chin or my eyebrows aren’t arched enough or if I am 35 and he still hasn’t “put a ring on it” or I am having triplets out of wedlock or If I wear the same dress 11 times and I have a bulge that isn’t  a baby bump or if I have a jay leno chin and cock-eyed breasts or if I am sleeping with the entire cricket team or a guy who weighs as much as the entire team or if the color I’m wearing brings out my squint or the mole on my upper lip looks a little less Cindy Crawford-ish and a little more like the animal or If my panty line is showing or my padded bra seems “ a little too padded” or If I grunt while I laugh or curse like a sailor or ten or If my toes aren’t manicured and my nail polish too red or if my dark circles remind you of the last solar eclipse.... Please for the love of Bhagwan, mind your own business. Your Beeswax. Your beejnes, jee.

Just keep your ugly thoughts in your well groomed- in- a- parlour head, and stop bitching, commenting, cackling, looking up and down and all around.

Maaaan you women, give the rest of us a much needed break.

Sincerely,

A miffed and disillusioned Delhi Woman.

Bollywood Grew Up

In the eighties and nineties, Hindi movies had one formula that lasted for three hours. One hour was dedicated to the dhishum-dhishum, another to song and dance that included running around trees and getting soaked in the rain that magically appeared on a cloudless day. And one hour was for cliché dialogue and dramatic long pauses. But we still managed to leave the theatre feeling happier and lighter. We’d escaped the real world for three whole hours and entered a world built on fantasy, strange humour and too much make up.

But in the last decade, the typical Bollywood masala Philum has had a complete Michael Jackson-ish make over. Now the song and dance routine actually fits into the story, the hero and heroine don’t have to wear matching clothes and pelvic thrusts that look like PT gone psychotically wild have been replaced by less vulgar goddesses like Munni and Sheila.

Our heroes no longer beat the shit out of an army of bad guys to prove that they are indeed hero worthy nor are they angry men with a miserable pasts. Nope. It doesn’t matter if they have to cry with snort oozing out of one nostril or both. They don’t mind sharing equal space with a heroine, going bald or trading in their six pack for a jiggling stomach with a protruding belly button. As long as they can do “good cinema” or bag a role like a Saif in Omkara or an Abhishekh in Guru, the heroes will surrender their title for a more prestigious one. They want to be actors who can act.

Our leading ladies are not far behind for they too have metamorphosed into better actors. They can carry movies on their pretty little shoulders and don’t need a muscular hero or a stammering buffoon to make their movie a ‘super hit.’ In the past, even though actresses like Nargis, Nutan, Madhuballa, Rekha and even a Sridevi and a Madhuri  were able captivate audiences with or without their thumkas and beautifully kohled almond shaped eyes, they could never be bigger than their male co-stars. But today our Bollywood princesses have  finally come into their own and soon real actresses like Kalki and the girl from Ishaqzaade are going to deflate Katrina’s  ego and overly plumped lips. Well, I certainly hope so.

It’s amazing how the Bollywood formula just stopped working and experimental cinema and brilliant films Dev D, LSD and Gangs of Wasseypur  have started to truly resonate with every movie watching, pop corn eating aunty, uncle, teenager, BTM, ishtud, and even rickshaw vaala.. We no longer care much for Salman’s biceps and perfectly waxed chest. We want to discuss very scene and analyse every emotion. The movie doesn’t end when the lights come back on because we take it with us for coffee or dinner or on a long drive home.

To sum it up plain and simple, we now yearn for gratifying cinema. Even if it means that we don’t leave the theatre feeling happier and lighter because our movies are now telling our stories. So I guess somewhere along the way, we grew up and Bollywood just had to follow.

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.