Lapses of lingy…

Wedding Bells In Badlapur

Why two perfectly sane, intellectuals pursuing higher education in the United States of A should travel all the way to an obscure location in the hinterlands of Maharashtra and exchange wedding vows is completely beyond my comprehension. But, that’s exactly what my bohemian friend Pooh and her hubby did. They had a getaway wedding in a certain ‘Rainy Resort’ in Badlapur last weekend. 

Pooh is a very close friend and I would have braved any number of storms to make it to her wedding. 4 of us set out for Badlapur, bemused and unsure of what to expect at the venue. Only one thing was clear, there was adventure awaiting us on the horizon. It took us about 2 hours to leave the city. But the music was tub-thumping and the mood was happy ‘n’ gay.

It was a weekend of indulgence…contrary to the fact that it was a traditional south-indian wedding with pure veg food and no alcohol. We stalked up on Vodka and rum, ciggerettes and some stuff too. The roads were…actually there were no roads…just bumps and ditches. We got lost, zoomed past a raging forest fire, honked hard at a rickshaw which seemed to have appeared from nowhere in the wilderness.

We reached the venue at 10:30 pm, after arriving at the wrong resort first. A spread of steaming Tamilian delicacies on banana leaves, awaited us. We gobbled it up gladly. The bride looked very pretty yet yet exhausted, a result of stomaching all the in-family wedding politics. We sneaked a couple of ciggies into her room and she was cured in a trice. Her family members of course did not get a whiff of such activities as the smell of tobbacco, no matter how strong, is no match for a whiff of Elizabeth Arden!

My friend looked beautiful in her bridal finery. The twinkle in her eye dazzled as brightly as the sun and moon in her hair. She looked blissful, marrying the man of her dreams.

She had to wear 8 saris in the span of 2 days, including a cumbersome yet scintillating 9 yard piece! However, since she is more comfortable in jeans, it was a comical sight to behold, a bohemian, tomboyish young woman, forsaking the comfort of her trousers to manage reams and layers of cloth wrapped around her body. She continued to nonchalantly sit astride in her 9 yard sari and stand confidently with her hands on her hips. Our friend Prach who carries off the most cumbersome of saris with grace and elan , instructed Pooh to “stop acting like a don and please be a little dainty if you don’t mind”!

It was also terribly rib-tickling to watch her strike a filmy pose for the photographers who made her do such things as placing her index finger on her chin and look away from the camera!

Incidently, the non-teetotallers of the family had made contingency plans of thier own for uplifting their spirits. Thus they sneaked in and out of a little room tucked away, but equipped with all the right ingredients! That’s a lot of sneaky stuff happening, parallelly. Which leads me to wonder why we couldn’t just stop the charade, declare our dubious intentions once and for all and have one rocking wedding?

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   The Party    

Yesterday I attended a party. The guests were a colourful, motley crew of individuals and it was very refreshing hearing the after-work banter of such uninhibited and in fact childlike people. Let me dabble in some character sketching…

Professional singer.
Very talented and in fact exclusive by virtue of being able to soar into a soprano and touch a high ‘A’ note. A little insecure. Flaunts her cooking talent by whipping up her signature dishes—potato salad and lasagna at every get-together, party etc. Does a mean job though. Am salivating at the memory already and yes, every dish has an ingredient of love thrown in.

Journalist from a popular Tabloid
Pretty face. Snooty disposition. Preoccupied with her own ‘I work for so & so and cover so &so’ airs. Humility is completely lost on her.

Singer-Cum-Theater Artist – Cum—Dubbing Specialist –Cum—Chatterbox  
Extremely vivacious, exuberant, effervescent. Articulate. Effeminate. Comes with a wicket sense of humour and comic timing. Very entertaining to have at a party. Nice dressing sense too. White jute shirt, brown corduroys and brown shoes. Interestingly his attire was a mirror image of another chap at the party! In fact they wore exactly the same shirt!!

Sloppy yet Humble Jazz Artist Cum Animator ( not effeminate)
Top quality jazz musician who jetsets around the world playing classical and experimental jazz and performs with all the jazz greats in India too. Besides, wearing his pants a wee bit too high he is quite interesting.

Attractive Bohemian Woman with Afro Hairstyle
Has aquiline features, and in the name of fashion exposes one strap of her bra. She is chatty, and with theatrical flair gesticulates as she speaks, using her eyes to express, like a classical dancer. She sings and plays the piano.

Guy Who looks like a Gal & Makes a Mean Cheesecake
Has long hair with flashes of erd. Wears champagne coloured leather shoes and blushes every time addressed by a guy. Very effeminate, very sweet, awesome cook.

Pretty Little Potter By Day & Diva By Night
This one is my childhood family friend. Sports a mole on her upper lip. What used to be the butt of bully jokes in school, is now the toast of her circle of love interests, I’m sure. She’s very creative, churning out the most attractive pots from her kiln. She also sings jazz and plays professional pianoforte. Accomplished.  

The Pianist ( not effeminate)
Doubles up as a comic at parties. Escaped from the clutches of classical pianoforte and now plays for money. Plays very well.

Musician & Graphic Artist ( not effeminate)
He was strapping in an overgrown schoolboy sort of way, except he is not a school boy in the least.. Didn’t get a chance to chat with this chap. Funny. 

 Afterthoughts
By buddy Altaf post reading this blog entry got the impression that all the men present at the party were effeminate…well…not quite! Have put a little ( not effeminate) notice against the regular chaps!

The party uplifted my woebegone pre-party spirits. Have been in a very irritable mood for the past few days, even though I’m not surfing the crimson wave as yet. When I’m in such a mood I usually prefer to dissect and get down to the core of the matter.

I did some soul-searching and confiding in close pals and it turns that there are a series of issues troubling my subconscious..

Friends who have made plans, cancelled and not bothered to apologize. Naggy landladies.
Confrontations between the landyladies and roommates.  
Bosses who cringe when you ask for leave.
Impractical diets recommended by gym dieticians.

It all boils down to marrying assertiveness with compassion. It seems I am either assertive in a very ’shouting from the rooftops’ sort of way or compassionate to the point of appearing meek.

Step 1
Imbibe a blend of the two.
Step 2
Practice. 

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 American Marines…or morons?

It was my best friend Yashika’s 14^th b’day and we were celebrating it at Pizza Hut. Pizza Hut was the flavour for that academic season and my gang, a bunch of boisterous boys and garrulous girls got together to gorge on pizza & garlic bread, showoff our party finery and flirt a while.

To my memory, it was a pretty tame party, until two American marines waltzed in, making the girls promptly forgot our preoccupation with the boys in class. We shifted focus to the manlier, well-built hunks that appeared like apparitions straight out of our girly fantasies.

My friends swooned and cooed. Yashika, being the bold lump she is, made a beeline for the pair, fluttered her eyelashes and chatted them up in her usual coquettish style. She is naturally flirtatious and in fact virile. Her charms are reciprocated by most men who let their hormones do the thinking for them…which means that it works on most men.

To my mind they looked like tomato-red, tattooed beefcakes, but all my friends were smitten. The 2 marines basked in the attention, gladly showing off their tattoos, strutting their American twang and whispering inane nothings to giddy-headed school girls with intellectually challenged IQs. 

This memory came rushing back to me this morning, as I read about an American soldier who “did a Vietnam” in Iraq by shooting at an unarmed Iraqi. The video clipping of the incident was splashed on news channels across the world.

Imagine being subject to the whims and fancies of individuals who are devoid of empathy. They resort to physical and verbal abuse to satiate their own boredom. Imagine being abused in your own country by some dim-witted, ruffian turned recruit.

A majority of this tribe is ignoramus, and hence irresponsible. Their knowledge of current affairs, world geography and foriegn culture is next to zilch. They oblivious to the events of rest of the world, viewing it with a myopic vision. Most of all they are oblivious of what their country is doing to the rest of the world.

I’m not saying that the mental faculties of all army personnel malfunction in the same way. But on an average it’s true. 
 
I can visualize the defense  ‘HR’, scouting for youth from the underbellies, ghost towns and shanties, promising to ’rescue’ these kids from a lackluster present, a tainted future due to a lack of opportunity.

The promise of new frontiers, dollar bills and the stamp of honour are waved to them like dangling carrots.

And they enlist and with stars and stripes in their eyes.

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Heart To Heart…

The folks are off to Dubai for a holiday and here I am stuck in Mumbai, unable to steal away because the friends either have a job, have to tweeze their eyebrows or snooze into the wee hours of noon. Sigh!

Plotting a rendezvous at Kihim beach, friends or no friends. I so have to escape the din, listen to the soothing sound of waves and reconnect with my sub-concious in the luxury of such calm.

Am contemplating whether or not to wear a sari tomorrow in honour of Diwali. I own only one sari, gifted to me by the boss in a moment of affection. I fell in love with the sari post a trip to Europe with the Paranjoti Academy Chorus where our official costume as well as unofficial attire was the sari.I love cotton saris. They are so earthy, elegant and comfortable.  

The sari is a beautiful concept. It can make a woman look feminine, alluring,  mesmerising because it drapes her, blending in with the shape of her anatomy, camouflaging the flaws and accentuating the curves…provided of course she doesn’t irreverently bare the cellulite on her abdomen, slouch,  or allow her sundays to plunge longer than her mondays.  

Attended the gym as usual. I know one thing…I can’t do this for the rest of my life. I’m giving myself a year in this gym and post that, I will settle for brisk walks along the beach or a sport like badminton. It’s so much better to feel the ground beneath one’s feet and the breeze as it caresses one’s cheek versus conveyor belts and synthetic air.

Another hope of meeting HIM dashed…but my current state of mind is conditioned to be positive, not allowing me to descend into the abyss of disillusion.

I try to be happy, because I have no reason to be sad.

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Makeovers

My friend Meera and myself have a new mantra in life…to make people over. Sometimes we do it for free, sometimes for a fee. But the bottom-line is to help people exude the image they desire as well as help them define this image.

The lastest victim is a scruffy looking colleague of mine who could do with some dress-up tips. Little does he know that he requires more than just a style makeover. He could do with some grey matter for instance.

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How To Match-make With Finesse

Matchmaking one’s friends is an art. It must be undertaken with a pinch of subtely and sensitivity. This is because YOU run the risk of embarrassing the two people in question. At the same time, YOU should not feel pressurized in the wake of eventualities that leave a bad taste in themouth ( his or her’s or his’/hers’)

My friend Chaitali who is always effervescent in her bid to organize, permute,  combine and most of all see all single people settled immediately ( even though she was single at the time), set me up with a chap named Darryl. This is how she described this particular individual - ’Catholic, has a big bank balance, is a something-ologist with an MNC and is stationed in some exotic locale tucked away in the far reaches of Africa.

She seemed very optimistic that we would hit it off. So we arranged to meet for coffee. She picked me up from my residence after checking that my appearance was appropriate for the occasion. I mounted her scooty and we sped off in the pursuit of true love.

We reached the modest little coffee shop and I alighted from the scooty. My eyes scanned the entrance and I couln’t spot anyone who looked even vaguely savvy. A man in his thirties sporting a thick moustache walked up to us. I looked at Chaitali and she flashed a smile. 

I suddenly felt very nervous. He reminded me of your bachelor stereotype,  who paves his way in the Middle East, works hard, makes a decent packet and then eventually comes home, to  marry a nice girl ( fair, slim and god fearing) from his community; possibly the match would be arranged by his parents. He would then go back. After about 6 months she would follow suit and instantly vanish into oblivion, and all traces of her would be wiped away from her native forever. 

I don’t mean to sound condescending, but such men are definitely not my cup of tea. Anyways, I thought to myself that I must make an effort to stop my mental processes from running riot at least so as to honour Chaitali’s efforts. We settled ourselves on a table for three.

Chaitali and Darryl made conversation, while I tried to pay attention and stop my eyes from wandering around the restaurant. I stifled a yawn. After about 15 minutes, Chaitali jumped up, fiegned the need to be elsewhere in precisely 10 minutes, and vanished!

I was horrified. I sat with downcast eyes downcast, not quite knowing what to say. Anyways, Darryl very confidently said, ” So, tell me…what is on your mind?”

“Nothing”, I said and became mum again. He continued and I listen with rapt shock whcih eventually turned into amusement, ” I am 30 years of age and it is now time for me to get married ( tough luck, I thought!). Since you are also Catholic, I think we could get to know each other better. Chaitali mentioned that you had previous ties with someone else ( remember to kill her, Merril). Is it over?”

“Actually, things might just work out between us. I really cannot be sure.”, I said with extreme lacklustre. 

The conversation dragged on for about another 20 minutes, as my pupils gotg bigger and bigger. He said he once liked a Keralite girl who worked with him, but did not approach her because she was from a different community and his parents would disapprove ( mama’s boy!).

He suggested we have dinner. ‘I already have plans,” I said. “I could drop you home.”, he said. He wanted my no. and all that. I took his down and then we parted ways.

The incident was too bizaare to believe. My girlfriends gasped and my guy friends were highly amused. At the time, I felt a wee bit traumatized because I could not imagine how someone could have such a mechanical view to marriage. He wanted to ‘know me’. Did he not realized that we think like chalk and cheese? How naive he is.

I spoke to Chaitali later that evening and he said that I didn’t know what I wanted! What audacity, I say. I definitely know that I do not want to end up with  stuffed shirt like him!

Chaitali apologized profusely, though I always reassure her that I appreciate her thoughfulness. However, I suggest that if you are planning to set someone up, try to evaluate whether the two people have common interests and also their degree of ‘evolution’.

I did a spot of matchmaking yesterday, sans giving any hint of choreography and it worked famously. The two people in question were impressed with each other, as human beings and not as propective others. That’s how it should start and if it were not meant to be, then it gets nipped in the bud on it’s own…

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My one month of ’free diet counselling’ at the gym is proving to be a big pain in the (cellulite laced) butt.

This morning, I turned over my diet diary to the dietician for scrutiny. She made humongous red circles around especially alarming entries like ‘ fried fish’, ‘mince’ and pasta with a felt tip pen .

No more fried foods, desserts or anything calorie-rich foods. Today’s lunch was palak dosa( with no chutney) and a juice. Grrrrh! Now I am ravennous as hell and want to devour anything in sight!

In fact I want to gorge on spicy Thai cuisine at lemon grass, followed by creamy cheesecake at Out Of The Blue, some steak, mashed potato, spaghetti…

O, how my tummy growls with desire!

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he was articulate, ‘evolved’ and eloquent…witty too. on a scale of 10 I’d rate his looks as 6 and grooming as 12.

He’s older, much married and definitely not eligible. But that’s besides the point.

My ‘kind’ of guy does exist…and that’s the bottom-line of this seemingly meandering blog entry.

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I had a Dream…

For some inexplicable reason, I was living in a plush apartment located in a high-rise with a woman in her 30’s! She had a set of adorable triplets –toddlers, very healthy, very cherubic, carbon copies of the ones in the picture. There was one girl and two boys, with chubby cheeks, luscious lips and cute little stubby hands ( kind of like Meera’s).

The dream proceeds further. One fine day, the window in the living room which is appox. 2 ft above the ground, is left open. The toddlers are playing in the vicinity. One of them edges towards the open window. The others follow suit. The scene is set for an impending disaster.

First one little fella’ mounts the window sill, slips and falls over. His brother follows next. The little girl is scrambling to do the same. But my reflexes jumpstart. I dash forward and grab her. The mother looks on, with a deadpan expression on her face. I yell at her to rush down. She says, ” what’s the use, they are probably already dead”. 

The little girl starts wailing. I whisk her into the bedroom and try to calm her down. I pat her gently and she falls asleep. I go back to the living room and the mother is already engaged in some other work. I rush to the window and look out. I spot two little bodies on the road below. I run downstairs and reach ground level.

I see two bodies which look bloated. From a distance and can tell that one of them is still breathing. I rush up to him with a blanket and envelope him completely. I look at his brother and he is breathing too. I wrap him in a blanket too and then take them back upstairs.

I am relieved that they are alive and I am consumed by empathy for their pain and trauma. I am angry that their mother who is least bothered, and I am sure she has plotted their elimination.

The little girl in the mean time has woken up and is looking all over the house for her brothers. She can’t find them, misses them, starts crying. When she spots them in my arms she sqeals in delight to have her playmates back. I woke up in a cold sweat…

The lady in the dream seemed familiar. She has creamy skin, looks sly and is not communicative. I suddenly realize who she is.

There used to be a woman named Cheryl who lived next to an aunt of mine. She was married but could not conceive. She and her hubby adopted a little girl, and they looked like one happy family. Until one fine day, the husband went on a journey alone. And never came back. They say he committed suicide. Some say he just jumped off a moving train. It was a sad story.

In fact I even stayed with her after her hubby’s demise cause she was scared to live alone.

Eeeeerrrriieee! 

Dream Interpretation

I did a google search on dream interpretation and here is what I found:

* To hear or see crying triplets in your dream, signifies a hasty reconciliation to a disagreement.

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