We and our obsessions…

I always wanted to write something on this topic, but after three lines, whatever I wrote seemed too forced. All I needed was some incident that would prompt me to write something more. And I got just that today. The incident was as follows:

So this certain someone (let’s call her CS) went to a reputed fitness and beauty center with a voucher that she was given by a friend, for a haircut. As soon as she reached there, this was how the conversation ended... 

“Stylist”: Do you know what the cost of hair-cutting at our salon is?

CS: “I’m sure it’s expensive. But I've got a voucher”(in Hindi).

“Stylist”: I see… Let’s have a look at your hair…

(CS sat down for a hair checkup)

“Stylist”: Your hair looks oily. I think you’ll have to get it washed.”

CS: But I just washed it yesterday. Don’t blow-dry it. I’m OK with a simple haircut.

“Stylist”: But mam, my scissors are expensive. It’ll get damaged. I’m sorry, I can’t take a risk.

At this, the lady left and gave her voucher to another friend.

While narrating this incident to someone close to her, CS said, “Log aaj kal pehenaawe par zyaada dhyaan dete hain. Yehi agar aap jeans mein ya salwar-kameez mein jaao, English mein baat karo toh aapko zyaada importance milti hai…” at this, she could speak no further and started crying like a kid.

This furthered my stance on this subject matter.

• I agree that looks and attire do hold an importance in one’s life. But not at the cost of belittling a person’s self-respect and his or her self-perception. Everybody has the right to have an opinion, but being judgmental only because of that is sheer idiocy. I've known many ladies in western attire and highly decked up having no sense of what is going on in the country and lacking opinions. And those very ladies holding an English Magazine upside down. So the question is, does Westernization lies only on how we look? What about our outlook?
• Does knowing English means knowing it all? I mean what is yours if not for your mother-tongue? If you've adopted yourself to some place or some language, you've made yourself that ways. It was never yours. Had there been only English speaking crowd, you’d have no Munshi Premchand, no Nirala, no Rabindranath Tagore, no P.L. Deshpande and very recently, no Gulzar, Javed Akhtars and many other geniuses who have written and still write in languages they are familiar and comfortable with. Why did Shakespeare never try writing in French? What is language if not for the expression and body language?
• And then again, what’s Education if it doesn't show up in your behavior? I respect everyone who is intelligent, knows how to survive and is well aware of the ways of the world. Though I must admit that I dislike everybody who is pretentious. I can stand someone not speaking a language correctly because he or she is unaware; but I’d really disregard anyone who tries faking it, thereby disrespecting his or her state of unawareness and being someone he or she isn't.  Not that my opinion matters to many, but I’m just saying… in case it does.
• We are hypocrites. And we should unabashedly admit it. Take an example of a “foreigner” trying to speak in Hindi. A Namaste, a Shukriya, a ‘Mera naam whatever hai’ is awwww-ed upon. But on the other hand, an Indian, not so familiar with English is booed. A case of vice-versa expects a similar reaction. So why be confused?

Anyway, coming back to the topic, with due respect to their professionalism, why do they always suggest this add-on of washing our hair, on the pretext of finding our hair oily? I’m sure they have better ways of marketing their services… And well, your expensive scissors. I get it. Those that you got from Alfa market? Hmmm… Fair enough. And the cost of hair-cut you asked. Well, I’m sure it’s as much as the sweeper in your office gets it. Value it. Had it not been for him, you’d have to do it yourself. Bend your head for humility and not for looking down upon people and threading.

I apologize in anticipation if I've hurt anyone in anyway whatsoever; that’s not the intention. My concern is with Indians and their obsession with fair skin, straight hair and English, which is indirectly proportional to their unfair mannerisms, narrow mindset and twisted loose talks.

As for the rest, I rest my case…

Yours Sincerely,
A not-so-intelligent, English writing, jeans wearing but not so decked up girl!

Love Thyself!

‘Love thyself’ was what I’d heard

And then within me some emotions stirred.

I started with vanity and the mirror was my friend

Even the slightest obstruction then, became a fiend.

The fingers tossed the hair by opening a bun

And each strand of hair got individual attention.

The eyes fluttered like never before

And the nose was brushed for opening every pore.

The lips went into a pout and the neck craned

Showing my collar bones and nerves a bit strained.

And I moved from left to right to check the best suited profile

But clicking snaps just that way was considered to be vile.

For jealous is the world of outer beauty

And somehow considers holy worshipping inner beauty.

I told myself, “It’s not a paunch

I just had dinner”, I was staunch.

My legs are thinner (when compared to hers)

I convinced myself in a sentence pretty terse.

“And Oh my fingers look pretty when painted

The broken and chipped nails leave it tainted”…

Well, intelligent I am, do you know not?

I remember the ABCD’s that long ago were taught.

And I am neither silly nor sissy like her, boss!

Who got back to her ex by keeping the same reply to either side of the toss.

O beauty with brains personified is me

Do I need to clarify? Do you not see?

My smile is the prettiest, it glitters my eyes

It’s the most enduring thing. It never dies.

Have you seen me dance? I wriggle and gyrate so well!

Item numbers are such a waste… Watch me revel!

No one matches up to me someone really special I want.

O I’m so perfect! Just one on the shelf…

And immediately someone came and said, “Great! Go F*** yourself!”

For Once...

Go out without putting on some sunscreen for once – UV rays never killed anyone in a day…

Tie your hair in a bun for once – open hair never guaranteed any liberation ever…

Mute your thoughts and listen to the random sounds around for once – will add up to your self-made playlist…

Don’t worry about your outfits for once – wear what you’re most comfortable in…

Let squinted eyes replace glares for once – wearing (rose)-tinted glasses has its own share of shortcomings…

Allow yourself to enjoy your company for once – often, get-togethers can make you feel left out too…

Let the breeze stroll by you for once – why else did we seek the pleasure of a topless car for?...

For all the happiness, if pessimism wallows inside you, for once – stand up and question its shallowness…

We spend too much time worrying about ourselves – for once, let’s spend as much time worrying less…

Clear your doubts and speak up your mind for once – let yourself be at peace with yourself…

Clean sweep!

Any new broom is like first love

It seems it'll sweep (you) at the first sight

But all it leaves is a lot of mess...

It has some flaws and well, who does not?

'It's just a matter of time', you tell yourself (but it's not)

So hard you try to keep it low

And make random movements - some fast, some slow.

But now you know not how it was - cleaner or dirtier before it came

This confusion thus leads you to decide it was pretty much the same...

Gradually you get a hang of it

And life seems easier to deal with it.

But slowly it seems too dreary to carry on

For it's losing its sticks, it has gone gaunt.

And that's when the idea of a new broom comes

But procrastination is the word & all act like bums!

So after a while when you ring out the old, and (b)ring in the new...

You know it will last long for days too few

Because it'll have its own share of drawbacks

So meagre the use and more the whacks!

'This is how it'll be', is what you accept 

You've woken up with and so have you slept

But mind you, be careful for that first sweep

Is never too easy and at least once you weep.

Thus never refrain from first love even if it's a doom

Though be wary 'cuz a broom is nothing but a blend of a bride and a groom!

Quote-martial! - 1

• Nothing comes without a price.. If it does, then it's not worth it!

• If you are satisfied with your job, it's the end of it all!

• All good ideas in my head are like those rare species of men who are good looking and straight..They are all taken! :X 

• Home is where the heart is. Is this why they call ‘Hum aapke dil mein rehte hain?’
•  “Buttering”, “sugary sweet”, “flattering” and “too much importance” is too greasy and can take a toll on the small brains of those who are subjected to such behavior thereby leading to accumulation of cholesterol in their heads. Please read their distorted mannerisms carefully before investing (so much!).

• Nothing lasts forever. No relation does. But if it is to end, end it in a way that the memories of it bring tears, either of joy or sorrow, to your eyes rather than haunting you.
• There’s a very thin line between being funny and witty. People who do not understand the difference are really really funny.

• Just wondering: How is it that the color of objects fade in sunlight while we tan.. :/
• It’s a good thing fairy tales end where they do. Wisdom lies in knowing where to stop...('A Matter Of Time' - Shashi Deshpande)

The man with an un-senior apron

Today’s world is completely ad-mad. Amidst the hustle-bustle of meeting deadlines, the client’s and your boss’s expectations, some whacky people, your parents’ dreams, you meet, also, well… the canteen boys. Wait! Does that sound like a Large Paper Dosa crammed in a soup bowl to you? If your answer is yes, aren’t they the ones who know of your mood foods? If your answer is still the same, try staying overnight in your office with them around. Or for once, order food from your regular joint without giving your name to the delivery guy and be in for a surprise. It’s the canteen boy’s wonder which makes the food come straight to your desk. If you still disagree, then you just haven’t bonded enough with them.

As far as spending time in an agency is concerned, most of it is spent discussing new ads done by frivals (friends + rivals), insecure lasses discussing Sushmita Sen’s “silicon boobs”, the weekend – how it was and how will it be (much, more, most exciting!). But that day Shefali and Vivek, while watching TV in the canteen (with Vivek ogling eyes on a firang dressed or rather undressed in a skimpy polka dotted swim suit appearing for a cement ad) and having their regular 5 pm snacks, started off on a different note. Shefali started talking about the weird-Robert-canteen-guy. His French beard and short stature would go around narrating incidents full of miseries. To someone like Vivek, who could stand no nonsense, Robert’s talks seemed like Priyanka Gandhi (Vadhera) wearing a red bindi. Hardly “there” and quite bizarre. (Priyanka, Robert, Gandhi and Vadhera in the same sentence and line… Coincidence is not just a word!). Shefali narrating her latest encounter with Robert to Vivek, while sipping her coffee, said, “This guy came up to me the other day and started talking about how he is underpaid and is still to get the apron that symbolizes seniority. And well, all I could say was a humble ‘Hmmmm’ to every sentence he uttered.” “Hmmmm”, muttered Vivek, “You are still considerate. But yes, he should be sentenced to a life deprived of that apron, for messing around with my fantasies. I was checking Tanisha’s Goa pictures; of her in a sarong, and see-through bikini tops, when this jerk comes up to me and says, ‘Saaheb, Goa ka beach kitna saaf hai na. Main bhi apna honeymoon udhar hi manaaunga’. I care two hoots where he goes for his honeymoon; I immediately minimized the screen and asked him to get me a CCD Espresso Coffee.” Laughing heartily at this, Shefali opened her mouth, full of half-munched sandwich, as Vivek continued. “At times, he is the Osama Bin Laden of my life. But then, I’m Barrack, because well, ‘Yes I can, Yes I can... get rid of him’.”

Just as they were about to get back to work after finishing their snacks, they found the head of the canteen standing right behind them, faintly listening to their conversation; the faintest words being the keywords, actually. They slightly nodded and said a soft hello to him. But Kailash wanted to go beyond that. Just as they went past him, he called them back. “So his uncle, whom he stays with, is isolated from the world and has all kinds of drinks to give him company”, said Kailash. “Why Robert gives his hard earned penny to him is only because he owes him his life. His mom and dad, who died in the same order, one after the other, were victims of bad advertising. His dad, who had a relation outside marriage, all thanks to the classified ads for “relaxation and fun”, fell into a trap of this lady who was the cause of his mother’s suicide. After her death, his father, a penniless creature by then, ended up committing suicide, too. Robert was just seven then. His uncle, who decided to stay a bachelor all his life just so he could take care of Robert, lost his job because he was, as opposed to his brother, just too ethical. He couldn’t survive in the corrupt environment around him and became a slave at the hands of the coloured water. And thus, this is the reason of the emotionally neglected weird Robert.” Saying an “Ohhhh...” to this touchy past narration of his, Vivek and Shefali got back to their desks.

That’s what advertising does. It affects you in more ways than one. And then again, it doesn’t affect just you.

Outside my shadow

Outside my shadow stands a person so new

Whose images and silhouette in my imaginations I drew

Outside my shadow there’s a different hue

A color so vivid, so vivacious, so blue…

Outside my shadow there’s a person unknown

When did she walk past and when was she grown?

Outside my shadow there’s someone who speaks

Nonchalant, spirited and one with wild streaks

Outside my shadow there stands a rebel

Aggressive, loud… coming out of her shell…

Outside my shadow there’s someone grander

But an inner quibble in a moment’s time declares it a slander

Outside my shadow there’s a person who’s fastidious

But it seems too tasking and is thus too tedious

Outside my shadow I want to look beyond

But my pupils consider me too fond

Outside my shadow I want to look beneath

Growing strong seems an option, with dry leaves’ wreath

Outside my shadow I see a dozen of them

Dejected, desolate, uprooted from their stem

Outside my shadow I see no more

Amputated conscience and a heart with closed door…