Did you know?
I can usually go to sleep after I have woken up.
I cannot see any movie in one go, not even a 90 minute English movie. I need to take at least one nap in between. Ask my friends, there have been instances when I have dozed off after the first 30 minutes of the movie, even in a movie theatre, only to wake up at the end and wonder what exactly happened in between. We had been to see Eklavya at the local theatre, and I dozed off in an action-filled scene where Amitabh was crouched on mud in the sweltering heat amidst the slim legs of the camels. The next scene, I see Saif and Amitabh together, only to wonder ke beech mein kya hua.
Wifey claims that she cannot sleep at anytime but night. I wonder why. I just need a place to lie on and close my eyes, telling myself that - you need to fall asleep in the next 10 minutes as if I'm programmed for that. And this way, I can fall asleep even amidst loud music, Tamil soaps where people are screaming and howling at each other, or even the ending of a suspense-filled action-packed movie.
The more exams drew near, the more I used to get sleepy. Instead of getting more tensed, the more I slept. The more I sleep, the sleepier and guiltier I feel. Guilt only increases my tension, making me sleep all the more. Now this is what I call a real life synergistic effect of a vicious cycle.
My naps are as dream filled as you could imagine. My dreams are a potpourri of action-packed, comic, tragic, suspense-filled and romantic melodrama.
Sleep is therapeutic for me. When I am stressed, I prefer sleeping instead of crying.
I believe that only people with a clear conscious can sleep as much as I do.
I have never had to take sleeping pills. Believe me even consuming pills prescribed to make me sleep less wouldn’t help.
I can never breeze through a class without dozing off at least once. Seminars are definitely meant to be slept in. My max concentration time is about an hour. When I can’t sit through a class, I sleep through it. I can even sleep in class with my eyes wide open. And just so that I do not fall asleep, I take my personal diary to classes.
I remember a funny episode when we had a picture exhibition of one of the best wildlife photography. There was a slideshow in a dark room for about an hour, and they were showing pics of animals in the order of their biological classification. This meant that the order would be like this-
Ø Plants and trees
Ø Microbes (bacteria, virus)
Ø Protozoa
Ø Porifera
Ø Cnidarians (jellyfish)
Ø Platyhelminths (flatworms)
Ø Annelids (roundworms and earthworms)
Ø Arthropods (cockroach, spider, prawn, shrimp)
Ø Mollusk (snails)
Ø Echinoderms (starfish)
Ø Fish
Ø Amphibians
Ø Reptiles
Ø Birds
Ø Mammals
Well, I remembered till the Cnidarians. With the darkness and the AC going full blast, who cared? When I woke up, they were almost at the end of the slideshow, showing the picture of monkeys and tigers. And I had gasped aloud- “But how did they come to monkeys so soon? Khatam ho gaya kya?” My friends still pull my leg about that episode.
While I travel in a train, all I need is the upper berth. I love the rocking motion of the train. Barring occasional loo breaks and food breaks, I have dozed the entire length of tracks from the North to the South.
I can never read a book on the bed to relax. I eventually fall asleep. I need to be wide awake and upright in the study even to see a movie or read a novel.
They say I sleep a lot. I say my heavy-duty batteries take a little more time to get charged.
It often happens that I fall asleep in the afternoons, only to wake up in the fading light of the evenings to imagine it to be the dawns of the early morning and start getting ready for office.
If I am hungry and there is no food at home and I am too lazy to cook or to go out to eat, I can fall asleep in order not to feel the hunger.
There have been more than one occasion when I have fallen asleep prior to the day of the examination, only to wake up the next morning and realize that I haven’t yet started to study.
Back in my home town, I couldn’t sleep in loud music or even if the night bulb glowed. After coming here, life has been so stressed and my work requires such weird hours that I have trained myself to catch occasional naps amidst work. I sleep on the couch in the house amidst the droning of the idiot box. Unfamiliar surroundings do not bother me anymore.
I once applied to a study where all you had to do was sleep, while they traced your sleeping and dreaming patterns. I wish they had selected me. I even wish that there was a job with a good pay where you were expected to sleep and only sleep.
I have slept through Sleepless in Seattle, Sleeping with the enemy, and Eyes wide shut. I haven’t yet tried with the movies Jaagte Raho.
Unlike other lovers, I can never claim that I have lost sleep thinking of someone. Who cares?
If they made a movie about me, I’d never let them name it Sona Manaa Hai. Guess what I’d make them name it? Guess guess?
1 SLEEPY IDIOT
All said and done, I lead as much of an active life as anyone else would. I eat, I dance, I attend classes and hang around with friends, I go for biking, I blog, and I do a lot more. It is just that I take sleep as seriously as any other thing I do in life.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Life roxzz
Gone are the days when people introduced themselves with a name and a handshake or a Namaste. See how it goes now. No points for guessing where these names have been picked from (Disclaimer: profile names have been picked up at random and most names have been changed. No need to come thanking me for making you famous in my blog. No crib/hate comments would be entertained). Do come up with your own collection. That would be hilarious.
1. Jaspal @ youtube ne mujhe barbaad kar diya.
2. Sarita @ reached US safely.
3. Surya Prakash @ finished MBA, looking for job.
4. Ajith @ tattoo ur soul but never say die.
5. Neha @ trying to make life possible.
6. Suman @ will be back on 18th July.
7. Tarun @ I am gonna win all challenges.
8. King of Jupiter @ goodbye Kolkata, moving to Bangalore.
9. Respect maah authority @ Deepika Deshpande.
10. Moutusi @ kaajer chaap e pagol (gone crazy with the work load).
11. Suhani @ visit my blog and tell me.
12. Dhiren @ 25 days to go yessssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss.
13. I don’t need your attitude, I got my own.
14. Nupur getting married.
15. Smriti @ new pics uploaded… bilkul fresh.
16. Arun- our 1st lov n las lovz self lov..
17. Rajeev @ congratulations class of 2007.
18. Uma against reservation.
19. Me and my tricolored soul.
20. Aviral still single
21. Vikas the home coming warrior
22. Nemo on top of the world
23. Srikanth my new number updated at *&*^&^&%^$%
24. Anand I just like being myself.
25. Sweta proudly screens “Sivaji” in seattle.
26. Harpreet kaur waiting for parents.
27. Indra @ aar parchina guru (typical tapori Bengali for, can’t take it anymore boss).
28. Amar @ death cannot cure me.
29. Ms.Attitude Godfather is back to me.
30. Manoj I hate fake people and gays.
31. If flrtn z banned in heaven me not going.
32. Shruti I don’t care a damn.
33. Al women r gud fr sumthng or gud fr nuthning.
34. 4:23 the rattle snake.
35. U cnt change me so be like me (phone number).
36. Anupama rain is falling chama cham cham.
37. Tanmay juzz luv ppl who hate me the most.
38. Indu wants to become a kid again.
39. Samresh (finally 18…)
40. Rohanz- lifez a journey not a guided tour.
41. Sudha in search of boyfriend.
42. Hum kis gali jaa rahe hain @ pramod.
43. Anshu jain don’t go on face.
44. No one dies virgin, life fucks everyone.
45. Shashi @ broadder the smile, deeper may be the wound inside.
46. No fluke score at will.
47. I am too good for this world- adios amigos.
48. Sweet sonali hai main sadke jawaan.
49. Amit turn scars into stars.
50. I luv my job what I hate is the work.
1. Jaspal @ youtube ne mujhe barbaad kar diya.
2. Sarita @ reached US safely.
3. Surya Prakash @ finished MBA, looking for job.
4. Ajith @ tattoo ur soul but never say die.
5. Neha @ trying to make life possible.
6. Suman @ will be back on 18th July.
7. Tarun @ I am gonna win all challenges.
8. King of Jupiter @ goodbye Kolkata, moving to Bangalore.
9. Respect maah authority @ Deepika Deshpande.
10. Moutusi @ kaajer chaap e pagol (gone crazy with the work load).
11. Suhani @ visit my blog and tell me.
12. Dhiren @ 25 days to go yessssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss.
13. I don’t need your attitude, I got my own.
14. Nupur getting married.
15. Smriti @ new pics uploaded… bilkul fresh.
16. Arun- our 1st lov n las lovz self lov..
17. Rajeev @ congratulations class of 2007.
18. Uma against reservation.
19. Me and my tricolored soul.
20. Aviral still single
21. Vikas the home coming warrior
22. Nemo on top of the world
23. Srikanth my new number updated at *&*^&^&%^$%
24. Anand I just like being myself.
25. Sweta proudly screens “Sivaji” in seattle.
26. Harpreet kaur waiting for parents.
27. Indra @ aar parchina guru (typical tapori Bengali for, can’t take it anymore boss).
28. Amar @ death cannot cure me.
29. Ms.Attitude Godfather is back to me.
30. Manoj I hate fake people and gays.
31. If flrtn z banned in heaven me not going.
32. Shruti I don’t care a damn.
33. Al women r gud fr sumthng or gud fr nuthning.
34. 4:23 the rattle snake.
35. U cnt change me so be like me (phone number).
36. Anupama rain is falling chama cham cham.
37. Tanmay juzz luv ppl who hate me the most.
38. Indu wants to become a kid again.
39. Samresh (finally 18…)
40. Rohanz- lifez a journey not a guided tour.
41. Sudha in search of boyfriend.
42. Hum kis gali jaa rahe hain @ pramod.
43. Anshu jain don’t go on face.
44. No one dies virgin, life fucks everyone.
45. Shashi @ broadder the smile, deeper may be the wound inside.
46. No fluke score at will.
47. I am too good for this world- adios amigos.
48. Sweet sonali hai main sadke jawaan.
49. Amit turn scars into stars.
50. I luv my job what I hate is the work.
Tere Mere Beach Mein
Did I tell you that I have a huge fascination for sea beaches? No, it’s not about snorkeling, deep sea diving or any water sports. I just love the idea of sitting on the sand, watching the kids play, the changing hues of the sky, the birds, collecting shells, or just occasionally dipping my feet into the lukewarm water.
![[col+(1).jpg]](http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XXPh1A7rfXU/RnF583sVF5I/AAAAAAAAA70/Jq1jC1vP1m4/s400/col%2B(1).jpg)
I was however disappointed with the concept of a beach here. A trip to the Pondicherry beach (pronounced as Puducherry beach), and I screamed, much to the embarrassment of my wife- Arre par beach kahaan hai? Isme toh pao rakhne ka bhi provision nahi diya hai in logon ne(That was when we landed in Pondicherry). Seems that a beach is not always a sea beach here, characterized by the smell of rotting fish, the grumbling of the waves, the lighthouse, and the frequent nariyal paani's and sundal waala's. I found another beach by accident, and she had screamed out- Wow, this is so very like the Marina beach in Chennai. Yet let me tell you, that none of the beaches I have seen here even remotely come close to the beach culture I am so used to.
![[beach2.JPG]](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XXPh1A7rfXU/RnF5wXsVF3I/AAAAAAAAA7k/A_bZlon6_L0/s640/beach2.JPG)
I haven’t seen all the beaches in India. Certainly not the Goa beach. But then, visits to various beaches in Maharashtra, Vizag, Chennai, and Pondicherry has been enough to get me notice the stark difference of beach culture. For one, there are no buxom aunties lifting their sarees up their knees and occasionally dipping their feet in water, all decked up with gajra and kajra. You wouldn’t notice the newlywed bongs on their honeymoon, characterized so very by the wife, suddenly out of the scrutiny of the in-laws is seen to wear the oversized jeans or trousers of the husband. I hated the Bong-infested Pondy beach so very characterized by the kichir kichir (animated conversation) about Maacher Jhol (Fish curry) and intellectual crap. Here in Paradise Beach (another variant of the Pondysphere). The crowd was totally different here. There were semi-naked men and women basking in the sun, crouched on the sand with bare minimal clothing. Lovers openly kissed and coochie-cooed, and you wouldn’t find a daroga-type man carrying a large danda on his rounds whenever he spotted two heads in unison, thanks to the combined French culture.
Another thing to notice was the total lack in business on the beaches. There are no nariyal paani wallas, no gajra sellers, no coca-cola or sutta sellers, no conch shell decoratives sellers, no pony-man you could take your kids on a ride for, albeit after much bargaining about the prices while I wondered if this was a proper donkey or a breed of khachhar (don't ask me the difference between an ass, a mule, and a donkey. I just do not know). People brought their own food and drinks (though not in cello jugs) and their own means of recreation (which ranged from baseballs to boyfriends). There were no sculptors making figurines in the sand. The way they make figures of Ma Durga and Gandhiji and Tendulkar still amazes me. There are no state handicraft shops where you could buy little mementoes and souvenirs. But then again, this was India.
![[col+(34).JPG]](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XXPh1A7rfXU/RnF5pnsVF2I/AAAAAAAAA7c/v27N699aUBI/s1600/col%2B(34).JPG)
Walking down the beach, we found American names scribbled on the sand. To give an Indian touch of our own, we scribbled our own Indian versions- Indian names, Bharat Mata Ki Jai. Pure fun you see.
![[beach.JPG]](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XXPh1A7rfXU/RnF5iXsVF1I/AAAAAAAAA7U/jRiLPRbG1pc/s1600/beach.JPG)
The utter lack of floral and faunal diversity is also something that caught my eyes. There were no holes made in the sand where crabs and spiders sped in and out. No snails, no hermit crabs, no mollusks, no plankton, no stench of dead and decaying fish. In all enthusiasm, I made the mistake of putting my feet in water. The water was cold. Beyond a point, we just stopped exploring around and all we did was take a short walk and get back to the boat.
This reminded me of my childhood days when a trip to the beach, whenever possible would get us all so excited. The ladies of the family would make sandwiches, and we would be running around everywhere, making castles out of sand and collecting conch shells. My dad being panicky about water would never willingly let us step into the water. But it was no fun till you got yourselves drenched. I remember how I would bargain with dad that I’d only take 6 steps in the water and would only let it wet my heels. Yet when dad wasn’t looking, I’d silently venture in, only to have a sudden gush of wave take the sand off my feet and me hurling back. It was such fun getting the waves all on you, tasting the salt, the sand gritting your teeth, playing in the water for hours not caring about catching a cold the next day. And I always wondered how my grand parents or parents never really put much effort into stepping in water, all they would do is sit in a circle and chat amidst cups of tea. I wanted to run around, explore every bit of the beach, collect all the shells that I could, climb up the lighthouse, get myself all drenched, and never come back.
However, now whenever I visit the beach, I can feel my years catching up on me. Or perhaps I just need to be in the company of a bunch of jungle kids to be running around once again.
I was however disappointed with the concept of a beach here. A trip to the Pondicherry beach (pronounced as Puducherry beach), and I screamed, much to the embarrassment of my wife- Arre par beach kahaan hai? Isme toh pao rakhne ka bhi provision nahi diya hai in logon ne(That was when we landed in Pondicherry). Seems that a beach is not always a sea beach here, characterized by the smell of rotting fish, the grumbling of the waves, the lighthouse, and the frequent nariyal paani's and sundal waala's. I found another beach by accident, and she had screamed out- Wow, this is so very like the Marina beach in Chennai. Yet let me tell you, that none of the beaches I have seen here even remotely come close to the beach culture I am so used to.
I haven’t seen all the beaches in India. Certainly not the Goa beach. But then, visits to various beaches in Maharashtra, Vizag, Chennai, and Pondicherry has been enough to get me notice the stark difference of beach culture. For one, there are no buxom aunties lifting their sarees up their knees and occasionally dipping their feet in water, all decked up with gajra and kajra. You wouldn’t notice the newlywed bongs on their honeymoon, characterized so very by the wife, suddenly out of the scrutiny of the in-laws is seen to wear the oversized jeans or trousers of the husband. I hated the Bong-infested Pondy beach so very characterized by the kichir kichir (animated conversation) about Maacher Jhol (Fish curry) and intellectual crap. Here in Paradise Beach (another variant of the Pondysphere). The crowd was totally different here. There were semi-naked men and women basking in the sun, crouched on the sand with bare minimal clothing. Lovers openly kissed and coochie-cooed, and you wouldn’t find a daroga-type man carrying a large danda on his rounds whenever he spotted two heads in unison, thanks to the combined French culture.
Another thing to notice was the total lack in business on the beaches. There are no nariyal paani wallas, no gajra sellers, no coca-cola or sutta sellers, no conch shell decoratives sellers, no pony-man you could take your kids on a ride for, albeit after much bargaining about the prices while I wondered if this was a proper donkey or a breed of khachhar (don't ask me the difference between an ass, a mule, and a donkey. I just do not know). People brought their own food and drinks (though not in cello jugs) and their own means of recreation (which ranged from baseballs to boyfriends). There were no sculptors making figurines in the sand. The way they make figures of Ma Durga and Gandhiji and Tendulkar still amazes me. There are no state handicraft shops where you could buy little mementoes and souvenirs. But then again, this was India.
Walking down the beach, we found American names scribbled on the sand. To give an Indian touch of our own, we scribbled our own Indian versions- Indian names, Bharat Mata Ki Jai. Pure fun you see.
The utter lack of floral and faunal diversity is also something that caught my eyes. There were no holes made in the sand where crabs and spiders sped in and out. No snails, no hermit crabs, no mollusks, no plankton, no stench of dead and decaying fish. In all enthusiasm, I made the mistake of putting my feet in water. The water was cold. Beyond a point, we just stopped exploring around and all we did was take a short walk and get back to the boat.
This reminded me of my childhood days when a trip to the beach, whenever possible would get us all so excited. The ladies of the family would make sandwiches, and we would be running around everywhere, making castles out of sand and collecting conch shells. My dad being panicky about water would never willingly let us step into the water. But it was no fun till you got yourselves drenched. I remember how I would bargain with dad that I’d only take 6 steps in the water and would only let it wet my heels. Yet when dad wasn’t looking, I’d silently venture in, only to have a sudden gush of wave take the sand off my feet and me hurling back. It was such fun getting the waves all on you, tasting the salt, the sand gritting your teeth, playing in the water for hours not caring about catching a cold the next day. And I always wondered how my grand parents or parents never really put much effort into stepping in water, all they would do is sit in a circle and chat amidst cups of tea. I wanted to run around, explore every bit of the beach, collect all the shells that I could, climb up the lighthouse, get myself all drenched, and never come back.
However, now whenever I visit the beach, I can feel my years catching up on me. Or perhaps I just need to be in the company of a bunch of jungle kids to be running around once again.
Truncated Love
Hi
Wazzup
H r u?
Gr8 gr8.
U liked the buk?
ROTFLMAO
temme
Gud
I lv u
Me2
I lv u 1/0
k. gtg. Brb.
Wtf?
lol. ttyl. Gtg.
k. tc.
U2.
Now that is what I call the expression of love in codes. Anybody care for full sentences, correct spelling and proper grammar?
Gtg.
Wazzup
H r u?
Gr8 gr8.
U liked the buk?
ROTFLMAO
temme
Gud
I lv u
Me2
I lv u 1/0
k. gtg. Brb.
Wtf?
lol. ttyl. Gtg.
k. tc.
U2.
Now that is what I call the expression of love in codes. Anybody care for full sentences, correct spelling and proper grammar?
Gtg.
Bolo Bollywood Ki Jai
Me: Hi ma, wazzup?
Ma: Hi beta. How is the job hunt going?
Me: Not much luck as of yet. Still knocking doors to get a campus job this summer.
Uncomfortable silence.
Ma: Worry not beta. Did you know, Smriti worked at McDonalds, serving burgers and cleaning tables during the start of her career.
Me: Smriti?
Ma (enthusiastically): Yeah, the Tulsi of Kyunki Saas……. And you know, Akshay Kumar was a butler in Bangkok. Rajnikanth was a conductor and Uttam Kumar was a clerk.
Sheeeessshhhhhh !!!!!!!!!!!
Welcome to my family. And this is my mom, sans exaggeration. If Bollywood offered degrees, she could have done her doctoral thesis three times over. She couldn’t tell a killer-smiles Tom Cruise from a gorgeous-looks Hugh Grant. Tollywood with all its Beder-Meye-Jyotsna (the snake charmer’s daughter Jyotsna) and Baba Keno Chakor (why is the dad the servant of the family) don’t hold her attention for more than five minutes. But when it comes to our own Mumbai film industry, the Bolly-cells run in her blood.
I have seen my friends growing up in conservative families where cable TV was a no-no. Going to cinema halls was a taboo till they reached college. Cable TV found its welcoming place in our home at the very beginning of its inception sometime in the early 90s. I have never really been interested in the TV. The cable connection was for her.
Imagine a mom who’d persuade you to go watch a movie with her, and in return, she will treat you to lunch at your favorite Biryani place, take you out for shopping, and promise you to buy whatever your heart desired. For some inexplicable reason, Bollywood has fascinated her as much as the hobby of lip-locking fascinated our serial kisser Emraan Hashmi. Well, Hashmi might grow old someday and find his kiss-eromones (the sub-family of pheromones) not cooperating. But never ever will a day come that my mom would stop raving about Bollywood.
In the 70's when good girls from conservative families never went to the cinema theaters, my mom used to go and my grand dad would bring the first day first show of every Hindi movie. I guess she has seen every movie that our film industry has ever produced, from Main khoon ki pyaasi hoon to Bahu bani Chudail, once and more than once. For ask her about a movie, and she could tell you everything from the protagonists to the directors, to which year it released in, which movie theatre she went to watch it, with whom, wearing what, eating what, and any other interesting episodes that might have ensued. Being from a not-so-movie-fanatic family, one of the reasons she married early was because she believed that while she was married, she would not have to convince my grandparents every time she wanted to see a movie. Both my grandfather and my dad must have spent a fortune getting the 1st-day-1st-show tickets for every Amitabh or Jeetendra movie. From the dhishum dhishums to the matka jhatkas and the choro bachao, she has seen it all.
One peek into the movie, and she could tell you the name, the entire story line, who raped who, who married who, and who fled with who. What more, she knows who is related to who in what way. Ask her and she will tell you amazing facts like how the Kapoors and the Bachchans are related because Amitabh’s daughter Shweta married the son of Ritu Nanda, who happens to be the daughter of Raj Kapoor. She will tell you how in Deewar, the casting was weird because Shashi Kapoor and Neetu Singh are father-in-law and daughter-in-law in real life. Ask her and she will tell you the entire life history of Dimple Kapadia, including descriptions of how she got married early, her marital problems and her divorce with Rajesh Khanna, her affair with Sunny Deol, and so on and so forth. And her Bolly-knowledge isn’t just limited to the Bachchans and the Kapoors of the older generation. She can confidently tell you how Amzad Khan (aka Gabbar Singh) died of a heart attack due to their unhealthy food habits and how his son (the same hero of Raja Ki Aayegi Baarat starring Rani Mukherjee) took a lesson out of this and reduced so many pounds in so many years. She can tell you the entire chronologic tree of the extended family of Kajol that includes people like Monish Behl, Nutan, Joy Mukherjee, Rani Mukherjee, and Shraboni Mukherjee (the jaate-hue-lamha chick from Border).
This reminds me of the TV serial Filmi Chakkar featuring Satish Shah and Ratna Pathak. Btw, Ratna Pathak is related to Deena Pathak (the strict mom from the Rekha starrer movie Khoobsurat), Supriya Pathak, and Naseeruddin Shah. You should see how animatedly mom match makes the Bollywood couples. She was so upset with the Abhi-Aish wedding, because she strongly believed that Abhishek should have gone for Sushmita Sen or Rani Mukherjee.
Naah, I do not trust his decision anymore. Even that old hag Karishma was no good for him- she told me all heartbroken one day.
But mom, how do you know who is destined to be with who?, I asked her, intrigued.
I know- she said with conviction.
Those were the days of my masters when I used to be all worried about getting a job post masters. That was the time when she had told me that like Shashi Kapoor in Deewar, I should be patient and well-principled. Man, the mention of him had brought back bland imaginations of me informing my sis who supposedly (am just imagining) would have had all the fun in life, daaru, handsome boyfriends, money, while I’d look into her eyes and say- Mere paas Ma hai. And my sister would look at me and scream-
Muahahahahhaaa……..
If dad would let it, I am sure our walls would have had expensively framed pics of people from the Bachchan family, Kapoor Khandaan, and the entire Kutton ka khoon peene waala Deol family. Imagine my plight one afternoon when I come home from work, only to see my mom with a swollen face and tear filled eyes.
What? You okay? What happened?
Yeah I am okay, and she started to wipe her eyes with the corner of her pallu again.
What? Nani is fine?- I asked alarmed. Is it dad? You had a fight with him?
No no.
Then?
Well, Lajja Shankar killed Professor Verma.
Who Lajja Shankar? Who Verma? Do we know them? Are they dad’s colleagues?
No…. she sounded irritated.
Then? Tell me….
I was watching the movie Sangharsh..(sob sob) and (sob sob)…..
Craaaappppppppppp………. I screamed out. See how your Professor Verma is flirting with the chicks in the movie Garam Masala…
Still…….. (sob sob)
Can you believe it, my mom is a fan of Sunny Deol. She is even a bigger fan of Adnan Sami, Akshay Kumar, Sonu Nigam, and Preity Zinta. When she told our neighbor aunty (who isn’t even enlightened enough about Bollywood to distinguish Akshay Kumar from Akshay Khanna) how Adnan Sami, Neetu Kapoor-Singh and Sushmita Mukherjee (the kitty-chick with the crater-faced Pankaj Kapur, who also happens to be Nilima-Sadak-Azeem’s husband and Shahid Kapur’s dad) were her idols because they had so dedicatedly lost weight, aunty asked if they were family friends.
Women have no life of their own. That Bhagyashree chick married a Himalaya loser and bas, end of career. And look at Kajol now. That way, I so very admire Dimple. And am so glad Sunidhi Chauhan separated from that Bobby guy and reconciled with her parents, she told me enthusiastically one day.
Hmm… in logon ke life mein ya pati ka sthan hai ya career ka (these people have the place for either the husband or the career in their lives), I said unenthusiastically.
You know how Rajesh Khanna and Anup Jalota were jealous of their wives?- she started animatedly.
Mom, I’ve heard it many a times. I am not interested.
Too bad, she looked irritated. Look at your other friends. You neither like movies, nor do you like discussing them. What would I do with you?
Well, that is my mom. She strongly encourages me to maintain a diary so that someday when I become famous, the diary can be made into the book of my life (like the book of Amitabh Bachchan). Her references and allusions to anything is mostly related to Bollywood. She once asked me if US looks the way just like it did in Kal Ho Na Ho and Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna. She once asked me if I could get a TV and a cable connection before she visited me. She wants me to wear a Manish-Malhotra type designer wedding. For years, she went goo-goo-gaa-gaa over the chiffon sarees Dr.Simran Mathur wore in Astitva-Ek Prem Kahani. What more, she is full of those adjectives for people like Kajol-type-laughter, Rani-type-husky-voice, Sushmita-type-beauty-and-brains, Bobby-Deol-type-sexy-voice, and Ajay-Devgan-types-deep-eyes. Ask her and she will tell you why Johnny Lever is called Johnny Lever, what is the real name of Sanjeev Kumar, how many movies have Amrish Puri and Sridevi acted in together, and how singer Sonali Rathod eloped with brother-in-law Roop Kumar Rathod and married him to free herself from that animal husband Anup Jalota who wouldn’t let her sing.
You think it is Filmy Chakkar? Yaar mujhe to kabhi kabhi chakkar aa jaata hai. So the next time you crave for some delicious homemade cashew chicken or mutton do pyaaza, you know what to scream?
Bolo Bollywood Ki Jai….
Ma: Hi beta. How is the job hunt going?
Me: Not much luck as of yet. Still knocking doors to get a campus job this summer.
Uncomfortable silence.
Ma: Worry not beta. Did you know, Smriti worked at McDonalds, serving burgers and cleaning tables during the start of her career.
Me: Smriti?
Ma (enthusiastically): Yeah, the Tulsi of Kyunki Saas……. And you know, Akshay Kumar was a butler in Bangkok. Rajnikanth was a conductor and Uttam Kumar was a clerk.
Sheeeessshhhhhh !!!!!!!!!!!
Welcome to my family. And this is my mom, sans exaggeration. If Bollywood offered degrees, she could have done her doctoral thesis three times over. She couldn’t tell a killer-smiles Tom Cruise from a gorgeous-looks Hugh Grant. Tollywood with all its Beder-Meye-Jyotsna (the snake charmer’s daughter Jyotsna) and Baba Keno Chakor (why is the dad the servant of the family) don’t hold her attention for more than five minutes. But when it comes to our own Mumbai film industry, the Bolly-cells run in her blood.
I have seen my friends growing up in conservative families where cable TV was a no-no. Going to cinema halls was a taboo till they reached college. Cable TV found its welcoming place in our home at the very beginning of its inception sometime in the early 90s. I have never really been interested in the TV. The cable connection was for her.
Imagine a mom who’d persuade you to go watch a movie with her, and in return, she will treat you to lunch at your favorite Biryani place, take you out for shopping, and promise you to buy whatever your heart desired. For some inexplicable reason, Bollywood has fascinated her as much as the hobby of lip-locking fascinated our serial kisser Emraan Hashmi. Well, Hashmi might grow old someday and find his kiss-eromones (the sub-family of pheromones) not cooperating. But never ever will a day come that my mom would stop raving about Bollywood.
In the 70's when good girls from conservative families never went to the cinema theaters, my mom used to go and my grand dad would bring the first day first show of every Hindi movie. I guess she has seen every movie that our film industry has ever produced, from Main khoon ki pyaasi hoon to Bahu bani Chudail, once and more than once. For ask her about a movie, and she could tell you everything from the protagonists to the directors, to which year it released in, which movie theatre she went to watch it, with whom, wearing what, eating what, and any other interesting episodes that might have ensued. Being from a not-so-movie-fanatic family, one of the reasons she married early was because she believed that while she was married, she would not have to convince my grandparents every time she wanted to see a movie. Both my grandfather and my dad must have spent a fortune getting the 1st-day-1st-show tickets for every Amitabh or Jeetendra movie. From the dhishum dhishums to the matka jhatkas and the choro bachao, she has seen it all.
One peek into the movie, and she could tell you the name, the entire story line, who raped who, who married who, and who fled with who. What more, she knows who is related to who in what way. Ask her and she will tell you amazing facts like how the Kapoors and the Bachchans are related because Amitabh’s daughter Shweta married the son of Ritu Nanda, who happens to be the daughter of Raj Kapoor. She will tell you how in Deewar, the casting was weird because Shashi Kapoor and Neetu Singh are father-in-law and daughter-in-law in real life. Ask her and she will tell you the entire life history of Dimple Kapadia, including descriptions of how she got married early, her marital problems and her divorce with Rajesh Khanna, her affair with Sunny Deol, and so on and so forth. And her Bolly-knowledge isn’t just limited to the Bachchans and the Kapoors of the older generation. She can confidently tell you how Amzad Khan (aka Gabbar Singh) died of a heart attack due to their unhealthy food habits and how his son (the same hero of Raja Ki Aayegi Baarat starring Rani Mukherjee) took a lesson out of this and reduced so many pounds in so many years. She can tell you the entire chronologic tree of the extended family of Kajol that includes people like Monish Behl, Nutan, Joy Mukherjee, Rani Mukherjee, and Shraboni Mukherjee (the jaate-hue-lamha chick from Border).
This reminds me of the TV serial Filmi Chakkar featuring Satish Shah and Ratna Pathak. Btw, Ratna Pathak is related to Deena Pathak (the strict mom from the Rekha starrer movie Khoobsurat), Supriya Pathak, and Naseeruddin Shah. You should see how animatedly mom match makes the Bollywood couples. She was so upset with the Abhi-Aish wedding, because she strongly believed that Abhishek should have gone for Sushmita Sen or Rani Mukherjee.
Naah, I do not trust his decision anymore. Even that old hag Karishma was no good for him- she told me all heartbroken one day.
But mom, how do you know who is destined to be with who?, I asked her, intrigued.
I know- she said with conviction.
Those were the days of my masters when I used to be all worried about getting a job post masters. That was the time when she had told me that like Shashi Kapoor in Deewar, I should be patient and well-principled. Man, the mention of him had brought back bland imaginations of me informing my sis who supposedly (am just imagining) would have had all the fun in life, daaru, handsome boyfriends, money, while I’d look into her eyes and say- Mere paas Ma hai. And my sister would look at me and scream-
Muahahahahhaaa……..
If dad would let it, I am sure our walls would have had expensively framed pics of people from the Bachchan family, Kapoor Khandaan, and the entire Kutton ka khoon peene waala Deol family. Imagine my plight one afternoon when I come home from work, only to see my mom with a swollen face and tear filled eyes.
What? You okay? What happened?
Yeah I am okay, and she started to wipe her eyes with the corner of her pallu again.
What? Nani is fine?- I asked alarmed. Is it dad? You had a fight with him?
No no.
Then?
Well, Lajja Shankar killed Professor Verma.
Who Lajja Shankar? Who Verma? Do we know them? Are they dad’s colleagues?
No…. she sounded irritated.
Then? Tell me….
I was watching the movie Sangharsh..(sob sob) and (sob sob)…..
Craaaappppppppppp………. I screamed out. See how your Professor Verma is flirting with the chicks in the movie Garam Masala…
Still…….. (sob sob)
Can you believe it, my mom is a fan of Sunny Deol. She is even a bigger fan of Adnan Sami, Akshay Kumar, Sonu Nigam, and Preity Zinta. When she told our neighbor aunty (who isn’t even enlightened enough about Bollywood to distinguish Akshay Kumar from Akshay Khanna) how Adnan Sami, Neetu Kapoor-Singh and Sushmita Mukherjee (the kitty-chick with the crater-faced Pankaj Kapur, who also happens to be Nilima-Sadak-Azeem’s husband and Shahid Kapur’s dad) were her idols because they had so dedicatedly lost weight, aunty asked if they were family friends.
Women have no life of their own. That Bhagyashree chick married a Himalaya loser and bas, end of career. And look at Kajol now. That way, I so very admire Dimple. And am so glad Sunidhi Chauhan separated from that Bobby guy and reconciled with her parents, she told me enthusiastically one day.
Hmm… in logon ke life mein ya pati ka sthan hai ya career ka (these people have the place for either the husband or the career in their lives), I said unenthusiastically.
You know how Rajesh Khanna and Anup Jalota were jealous of their wives?- she started animatedly.
Mom, I’ve heard it many a times. I am not interested.
Too bad, she looked irritated. Look at your other friends. You neither like movies, nor do you like discussing them. What would I do with you?
Well, that is my mom. She strongly encourages me to maintain a diary so that someday when I become famous, the diary can be made into the book of my life (like the book of Amitabh Bachchan). Her references and allusions to anything is mostly related to Bollywood. She once asked me if US looks the way just like it did in Kal Ho Na Ho and Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna. She once asked me if I could get a TV and a cable connection before she visited me. She wants me to wear a Manish-Malhotra type designer wedding. For years, she went goo-goo-gaa-gaa over the chiffon sarees Dr.Simran Mathur wore in Astitva-Ek Prem Kahani. What more, she is full of those adjectives for people like Kajol-type-laughter, Rani-type-husky-voice, Sushmita-type-beauty-and-brains, Bobby-Deol-type-sexy-voice, and Ajay-Devgan-types-deep-eyes. Ask her and she will tell you why Johnny Lever is called Johnny Lever, what is the real name of Sanjeev Kumar, how many movies have Amrish Puri and Sridevi acted in together, and how singer Sonali Rathod eloped with brother-in-law Roop Kumar Rathod and married him to free herself from that animal husband Anup Jalota who wouldn’t let her sing.
You think it is Filmy Chakkar? Yaar mujhe to kabhi kabhi chakkar aa jaata hai. So the next time you crave for some delicious homemade cashew chicken or mutton do pyaaza, you know what to scream?
Bolo Bollywood Ki Jai….
My Dad's Face
Talking about Fathers’ Day, I do not know what’s so special or fatherly about a Fathers’ day, but in a world where even every dog has its day (ahh!!! My puns suck big time, I know), I mean when there are days dedicated for everyone, from lovers to mothers, neighbors, chacha, mama, mausi, in-laws, outlaws, boss’ and ex-lovers, I did not see how fathers could be spared. So I decided to write a post about my dad. Not exactly a post about my dad, but definitely a post about my dad.
What a confusion!!!!
I was brought up with a typical middle class upbringing that included oodles of instructions about what to do and what not to do. The latter in fact vastly outnumbered the former. And my mom thought there is a universal antidote to every problem, or more correctly, to ensure that problems never ever arose in life. And the antidote was my dad’s face.
When I was a kid and I had wanted to break off the neck of that boy who borrowed crayons from me and then showed me his little finger for katti (a gesture used by silly little children, especially girls, to signify temporary discontinuity of friendship till parents intervened), my mom had told me- Don’t mess with him. Dad ka chehra yaad hai na? (remember your dad’s face?)
This way, my mom has strategically used the reference of my dad’s face for almost a quarter century now to keep me off the seemingly evils of life.
At four, I had wanted to ask some aunty why every time we went to their place, mom got the customary packet of mithai (sweets) for them while every time they visited us, they came empty handed. I was just curious about the mathematics of her hospitality. And mom had rolled her eyes and said- Remember your dad’s face?
At six, I had asked mom what was this whole story about the bol sakhi bol tera raaz kya hai song on Doordarshan and what exactly do those pills cure? Constipation? Headaches? Mom had rolled her eyes and said- You ask too many questions. Remember your dad’s face?
At ten, I had overheard Mary Aunty praising her big-butted fat ass daughter for nothing and I had wanted to make fun of her. My mom had rolled her eyes and said- Remember your dad’s face?
At twelve, I had wanted to ask my best friend if he has purchased a cycle. My mom had rolled her eyes and said- Remember your dad’s face?
At thirteen, we changed stamps and I had applied in a kids competition to get some money for purchasing some more of them (stamps and coins used to be traded as was in the barter system)I had asked my mom if I could apply to participate in the competition as well, just in case (the reason was instantly understated). My mom had rolled my eyes and said- Remember your dad’s face?
At fifteen, I had told my mom that many boys from my class had girl-friends, and if I could go look for a girl-friend, and also buy that blazer for my birthday. My mom had rolled my eyes and said- Remember your dad’s face?
At sixteen, I had asked my mom if it is okay for me to try smoking and drinking at least once, just for curiosity sake. My mom had rolled my eyes and said- Remember your dad’s face?
At twenty one, I had told my mom that Malayali girls were a pain and I would prefer a cute looking North Indian girl. I had also told her that I want to get married. My mom had rolled my eyes and said- You’ll marry at 21? Remember your dad’s face?
At twenty three, I had told my mom that I do not want to get married anymore, North Indian or not, and I want to go out, see the world, travel US and Europe and Africa. My mom had rolled my eyes and said- What? Remember your dad’s face?
You get the drift, right?
I tell you, my mom has used my dad’s face as a protection aid to prevent me from every screw-up in life. But then, come to think of it. It is the very face of my dad that is responsible for my dysfunctional love life at an age when my friends have an active love life, married or not. It is my dad’s face that has prevented me from the adventures of getting drunk and calling names to various uncles or aunties and their baby-elephants haathi's mere saathi's. Every time I saw a good looking seemingly date-able girl, I was programmed to see my dad’s angry face, with blood rolling out of his eyes in streams and his nostrils flaring like a buffaloes. Every time I was expected to genuflect to these door ke rishtedaars (long distance relatives) while I wanted to scream- fuck off!!!, I would see the frame of my dad, hands crossed, with a stern expression on his face. Not that my dad is like that, but that is how I am expected to picture him every time I crossed the so called lakshman rekha of maan maryada. What more, I have been expected to see my dad’s face for certain apocryphal involvements with people, where I had no role. Like when I called mom the other day and told her that “X” is going out with a girl, my mom had sternly said- Remember your dad’s face?
Clearly this was an implicit warning about how I should refrain from doing anything the “good boys” do not. But what am I supposed to do if a 30 year old man is going around with a 25 year old girl? He takes her out on long drives, pays for her dinner, buys her sexy clothes, allows her to use his credit card, and provides a shoulder every time she wants to lean on (which happens some hundred times a day). At least his life is not as love starved, colorless, and boring as mine. Ab dhalti jawani mein jo mila.
Most recent conversation-
Me- Mom remember my neighbor? Haan wahi. Arre haan haan wahi. He had a baby girl last week.
Mom- err… I did not know he was married.
Me- oh come on mom. How many times do I have to tell you that getting married and having babies are two totally unrelated events?
Mom- what??? He is not married? What a shame. The girl’s parents would be devasted.
Me (excited)- on the contrary, the girl lives with her parents in California, and they were with her during delivery. He will be in California for the next three months, living with the baby, the girl friend, and her parents.
Mom- you mean as ghar jamai?
Me- mom !!!! they are not married. How can he be ghar jamai?
Mom- Just remember your dad’s face.
Me- errr……What do I have to do in this? I am not the boy friend, am I?
Mom- I don’t know. Just remember your dad’s face, that’s all.
At this rate, I just hope I don’t remember my dad’s omnipresent face then. Yes yes then. Arre you got it right, I really mean then.
What a confusion!!!!
I was brought up with a typical middle class upbringing that included oodles of instructions about what to do and what not to do. The latter in fact vastly outnumbered the former. And my mom thought there is a universal antidote to every problem, or more correctly, to ensure that problems never ever arose in life. And the antidote was my dad’s face.
When I was a kid and I had wanted to break off the neck of that boy who borrowed crayons from me and then showed me his little finger for katti (a gesture used by silly little children, especially girls, to signify temporary discontinuity of friendship till parents intervened), my mom had told me- Don’t mess with him. Dad ka chehra yaad hai na? (remember your dad’s face?)
This way, my mom has strategically used the reference of my dad’s face for almost a quarter century now to keep me off the seemingly evils of life.
At four, I had wanted to ask some aunty why every time we went to their place, mom got the customary packet of mithai (sweets) for them while every time they visited us, they came empty handed. I was just curious about the mathematics of her hospitality. And mom had rolled her eyes and said- Remember your dad’s face?
At six, I had asked mom what was this whole story about the bol sakhi bol tera raaz kya hai song on Doordarshan and what exactly do those pills cure? Constipation? Headaches? Mom had rolled her eyes and said- You ask too many questions. Remember your dad’s face?
At ten, I had overheard Mary Aunty praising her big-butted fat ass daughter for nothing and I had wanted to make fun of her. My mom had rolled her eyes and said- Remember your dad’s face?
At twelve, I had wanted to ask my best friend if he has purchased a cycle. My mom had rolled her eyes and said- Remember your dad’s face?
At thirteen, we changed stamps and I had applied in a kids competition to get some money for purchasing some more of them (stamps and coins used to be traded as was in the barter system)I had asked my mom if I could apply to participate in the competition as well, just in case (the reason was instantly understated). My mom had rolled my eyes and said- Remember your dad’s face?
At fifteen, I had told my mom that many boys from my class had girl-friends, and if I could go look for a girl-friend, and also buy that blazer for my birthday. My mom had rolled my eyes and said- Remember your dad’s face?
At sixteen, I had asked my mom if it is okay for me to try smoking and drinking at least once, just for curiosity sake. My mom had rolled my eyes and said- Remember your dad’s face?
At twenty one, I had told my mom that Malayali girls were a pain and I would prefer a cute looking North Indian girl. I had also told her that I want to get married. My mom had rolled my eyes and said- You’ll marry at 21? Remember your dad’s face?
At twenty three, I had told my mom that I do not want to get married anymore, North Indian or not, and I want to go out, see the world, travel US and Europe and Africa. My mom had rolled my eyes and said- What? Remember your dad’s face?
You get the drift, right?
I tell you, my mom has used my dad’s face as a protection aid to prevent me from every screw-up in life. But then, come to think of it. It is the very face of my dad that is responsible for my dysfunctional love life at an age when my friends have an active love life, married or not. It is my dad’s face that has prevented me from the adventures of getting drunk and calling names to various uncles or aunties and their baby-elephants haathi's mere saathi's. Every time I saw a good looking seemingly date-able girl, I was programmed to see my dad’s angry face, with blood rolling out of his eyes in streams and his nostrils flaring like a buffaloes. Every time I was expected to genuflect to these door ke rishtedaars (long distance relatives) while I wanted to scream- fuck off!!!, I would see the frame of my dad, hands crossed, with a stern expression on his face. Not that my dad is like that, but that is how I am expected to picture him every time I crossed the so called lakshman rekha of maan maryada. What more, I have been expected to see my dad’s face for certain apocryphal involvements with people, where I had no role. Like when I called mom the other day and told her that “X” is going out with a girl, my mom had sternly said- Remember your dad’s face?
Clearly this was an implicit warning about how I should refrain from doing anything the “good boys” do not. But what am I supposed to do if a 30 year old man is going around with a 25 year old girl? He takes her out on long drives, pays for her dinner, buys her sexy clothes, allows her to use his credit card, and provides a shoulder every time she wants to lean on (which happens some hundred times a day). At least his life is not as love starved, colorless, and boring as mine. Ab dhalti jawani mein jo mila.
Most recent conversation-
Me- Mom remember my neighbor? Haan wahi. Arre haan haan wahi. He had a baby girl last week.
Mom- err… I did not know he was married.
Me- oh come on mom. How many times do I have to tell you that getting married and having babies are two totally unrelated events?
Mom- what??? He is not married? What a shame. The girl’s parents would be devasted.
Me (excited)- on the contrary, the girl lives with her parents in California, and they were with her during delivery. He will be in California for the next three months, living with the baby, the girl friend, and her parents.
Mom- you mean as ghar jamai?
Me- mom !!!! they are not married. How can he be ghar jamai?
Mom- Just remember your dad’s face.
Me- errr……What do I have to do in this? I am not the boy friend, am I?
Mom- I don’t know. Just remember your dad’s face, that’s all.
At this rate, I just hope I don’t remember my dad’s omnipresent face then. Yes yes then. Arre you got it right, I really mean then.
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