Outrage, yet again

Some time back, my friend Puneet had blogged about how Indians aren't really seen as Asians in the eyes of the world. It was an interesting perspective, and she had shared this fabulous site which attempts to prove that we are, in fact, eligible to be called Asians.

What stayed with me, however, was this comment that she received on her post:

hehehe... I guess thats what you call an irony then. I'm Indian, but nobody ever considers me to be Indian, however hard I try to be because I'm from the North East where most of us look "oriental" (or should I say "Asian" acc to your post context).

I guess we can conclude that the ignorance you find over there in the West, is pretty much abundant here within India too :) Nice post.

It's true, innit? I was once asked by the security guard at a client site about my "Nepali" colleague - she's Sikkimese.

Why am I bringing this up today, after more than a year? Because once again, I find myself worked up over something, and I'm too passive-aggressive to do anything other than blog about it.

This tweet popped up on my timeline a couple of hours ago:

Tell me when you figure it out!!! RT @b50 How the heck do sardaars land up with hot chicks?

And I'm sorry, but I did not find this anything other than very, very poor taste. I unfollowed the originator of that tweet a long time back, so whether this was meant as a joke, or it was sour grapes, or what, I don't know, nor do I wish to know. What it came across, however, to me at least, is terribly racist - for lack of a better word.

Conversations with the extended family

I am currently in disgrace with the mother because I was a bit too vocal about my opinions at a family wedding last night. Who knew that if a ten-year-old cousin wants to take my phone and read all my messages, I'm not supposed to tell her that's an utterly rude thing to do?

The mother is always slightly tense when the clan converges. You know how in the Koffee with Karan episode Sonam Kapoor had to measure every word she was saying because her mother had made her promise not to come back with the hamper? That is how my mother feels when I am let loose in public - she is never quite sure what I will burst out saying.

My state of disgrace is worsened by the fact that these four asses in the car next to us chose to roll down their windows at a traffic signal and start passing comments at me. Apparently saying rather loudly that those asses deserve to be whipped is not lady-like and therefore not acceptable in front of the clan.

It was decided weeks ago that the mother and the aunts would wear saris - they were the mashi-shashuris tonight after all - but we cousins would all be in suits. Much relief was felt by yours truly, but when I met the aunt in the morning in the market, she again asked what I would be wearing. On being told suit:
Aunt: Wear a nice sari no? What if you meet some nice prospects there?
Me: Any nice prospects will be seeing me in suits only all his life. Might as well start out that way only no.

She was not amused. On reaching the venue however:
Uncle: I don't think we're finding you any nice prospects here.
Me (in my head): Hee. Good to know you're as much as a snob as me.
Me (out loud): I will try to live with the disappointment.

On the way back from the venue, my 11-year-old cousin decide to get us started on Antakshari. Unfortunately, her father and I chose to sing only old songs from the 70s and earlier, which meant she was utterly blank. When she finally got exasperated and commented on it, her 10-year-old brother piped up: It's okay na, Baba is anyway always old-fashioned.

What does that say about me, I wonder?

Playing Agony Aunt

I'm currently sitting at the Mumbai airport yet again, and while I should ideally use this time to work on some essays, the brain is simply not working in that direction. Since some kind of productivity would be nice, I'm going to instead try and reproduce a post that wrote itself in my head yesterday, and which sort of got reinforced in the past hour that was just spent with the best friend.

I don't think I've ever written about love and relationships on this blog, primarily because, well, there's never been anything to write about. And no, there still isn't, not really. But it's that time of year when you tend to start thinking about the last twelve months, and for various reasons, I've spent a lot of time playing Agony Aunt to friends about their relationships this year.

Two very dear friends found themselves in relationships this year; one ended soon after, one is still going strong, touch wood, although the friend concerned does keep asking me how the guy concerned can still like her despite knowing her so well. Another friend broke up with her boyfriend of two years, because he's not ready for commitment, and doesn't know when he will be.

At least three friends at last count have their parents looking very actively for a suitable match - much hilarity, outrage and heartbreak has ensued from this process; maybe someday when they're able to look back and laugh at all of it, I'll churn out another post on it. Yet another friend keeps getting in touch with his ex-girlfriend, finds more proof of the fact that she's as weird as I always told him she is, and then comes to me to vent it all out.

I have also discovered that the childhood ideal of thinking that the cutest love stories are the ones where childhood best friends fall in love is really not true. It is actually very awkward when one good friend from bachpan ke din starts having feelings which are not returned. I still think the sweetest love story I ever saw on celluloid is the one between the Bachchans in Sholay though.

But I digress.

In college, I was always the one who said marriage is not a priority, my career is. That still holds true, but the fact that I am now in my mid-twenties means my friends are a lot more vocal about trying to convince me to believe otherwise - because for them getting married and having kids always was and still is the ultimate dream. Some near spats have happened over this - I don't tell them to make their career a priority, who're they to tell me to change my dreams?

At the same time, maybe it's because of my continued singlehood (is that a word?) that a lot of my advice tends to be on the more pragmatic side. While I will rant a bit if you tell my friend "we're in a normal relationship, not a serious one" (what in the name of heaven does that even mean?!?), I will also understand where another guy is coming from when he says to my friend that he wants to finish his MBA, figure out his career, and then think about settling down - because that's where I am too. And if you tell me - like someone tried - that it's okay for him to think that way and not me, because I'm a woman, I may stab you.

I will also point out that for all their protests about me being too practical, for lack of a better word, I can pull out at least five chain mails between the gal pals where everyone has been giving advice, but when yours truly has written in, they've written back saying that is exactly what they wanted to say, and I always put it so well. True story, sachchi.

Sometimes though, being practical does take a flying leap out of the window. Like when you want to convince your friend to take a chance with the guy she's on the verge of falling in love with, no matter what the complications involved. Because you know that if they do manage to work things through, it'll be worth all of it. I once told a friend that I believe if a relationship is meant to work, it will. Not because of destiny or any of that stuff, but because I do think that if two people genuinely care about each other and want to be together, they can find a way to make it happen. I'm not saying it's easy - I've seen enough to know it rarely is. But it can happen no? I'd like to believe so at any rate.

I will end by saying this: playing Agony Aunt over Gtalk is SO much easier than in person or even on the phone. At least the other person can't see you rolling your eyes in exasperation that way. Or hear you take a deep breath to calm yourself down before reacting to their drama.

I think I'm done rambling for now. And since I was flying somewhere over Western India when this post got finished, and am now back home, I think I'll go sleep for a while.

PS: OH. In other, and sorta related, news, the parents complete 27 years of togetherness today. So yay!

PS2: Does a public shout out make up for the lack of gift? No? Dammit.

Two years on

Exactly two years ago, almost to the hour, I was downstairs in our basement, doing my usual combination of watching TV while tweeting/blogging/Facebooking. The parents were in their room, watching TV. Suddenly, the mother called; NDTV was saying shoot-outs were happening in South Bombay. No one knew exactly what was happening; it seemed like some gang war had broken out.

I called my friend who lived in Powai at the time to ask where he was; he was home, but told me to keep him updated since he didn't own a TV. The brother, in faraway Boston, tended to get worried when attacks happen here, especially since mum and I had almost got caught in the GK blast just two months prior, so I shot off this mail to him:

shootouts happening all over south bombay... not too sure at this point if it's a gang war or terror attack. cafe leopold, taj hotel, oberoi hotel, vt station. find out if your friends are ok.

I wasn't very big on punctuation back then.

By midnight, we knew it was a terrorist attack, but it hadn't yet struck home just how bad the situation was. I put up this utterly frivolous post which I have never yet forgiven myself for, shut down my computer, and settled down to watch TV. And for the next two hours, watched in increasing horror as Bombay burned.

26 November 2008. It's one of those dates when practically everyone remembers where they were and what they were doing when the news came in.

2008 as a year was bad for India. There were attacks happening every few months, if not weeks. Jaipur, Ahmedabad, Bangalore, Delhi - all these cities got hit one after the other that year. And this is what we heard about. Back then the Naxal situation wasn't even getting the media attention it has got over the past year or so; no one was even bothered about Kashmir.

But Bombay caught everyone's attention. The sheer audacity, the targets, the execution, and the way it went on for nearly 60 hours - quite literally, the world watched as Bombay burned.

Everyone knows someone who was affected - directly or indirectly. Even after it was over, emotions ran high for weeks, with India wanting action. Heads had to roll, and India didn't care whose heads rolled. Kasab got the fastest trial and verdict ever, and is now sitting in jail, awaiting the day his sentence is finally carried out.

But a post by Dilip D'Souza asks a very pertinent question: why this and not others? There's a lady he has quoted in his article which hit me.

“If we have a remembrance for one,” she said, “I want it for all. I want it for everyone who dies like this. Otherwise we wonder, what did our sons die for?”

Two days ago, on the roads of Delhi, I saw a piece of graffiti saying 'Justice for 26/11 victims. What about victims of 1984 riots?' As I tweeted when I saw that, it's never going to be enough in this country. There will always something else that'll come to mind and make you feel the despair.

1984, 1992, 1993, 2002. Events that make me cringe when I think of them. Events where justice hasn't happened even today.

I'm not trying to take away from the trauma of 2008. It was a terrible time - I personally know someone who was in Singapore at the time, and whose mother was in Hong Kong. And whose father spent the night hiding in a restaurant in Colaba. And he couldn't tell his mother this, because she was in hospital with her daughter, who gave birth to her first child that night. Can you imagine what this guy was going through? Knowing that he may just lose his father the same night he gets a nephew?

But see, that's the thing. This time, we were hit, so to speak. We knew people who were impacted. It wasn't faceless, nameless Indians dying in some corner of another city. It was people who have access to twitter, to blogs, to freaking candles.

Why don't we ask for the same kind of justice for other victims? Why don't we speak out for any other tragedy?

This is a very hypocritical post. Apart from sharing a whole bunch of links on twitter, what have I ever done, after all?

I don't even know the point of this post. It's more rambling catharsis than anything else.

It's just... the bleakness of it all is very frustrating at times. Isn't it?

The beginning of the end: A review

Amidst the plethora of tweets I've been sending your way about sponsoring my run against Child Sexual Abuse, let us not forget that there was another, equally important, event this weekend: the release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - Part I. And since my obsession for the series is fairly well-known by now to long-time readers of this blog, and since I have reviewed the last two movies on this blog, why not this one?

First things first, I had terrible expectations from this movie. No, really. I know I always say I go in for the HP movies with zero expectations, but this time I went in expecting it to be terrible. David Yates turned one of the best books in the series into the worst movie in the franchise, so I really didn't expect anything great with this one, even though I was marginally impressed with the one preceding that, also directed by him.

However, if I have to review the latest movie in one word, it is this: fabulous. No, really, after Prisoner of Azkaban, I really think this is one of the best in the entire franchise.

*SPOILER ALERT*

The movie starts off with the MoM addressing the media, and moves to the shots of the trio in their respective homes. Which brings up the first lump-in-the-throat moment of the movie - seeing Harry visit the cupboard-under-the-stairs, and Hermione leave her parents' home. The scene with the Death Eaters is suitably creepy, and the chase decent. The gathering at the Burrow could've been better, as could've some of the subsequent ones - no, I'm not going to do a scene-by-scene review, don't worry.

A few scenes do deserve a mention, however: Godric's Hollow was good. I had my face hidden in the father's shoulder in places, that's how scary they made it (and no, you don't get to call me a wimp). The father was chuckling and wishing we could've seen that scene in 3D; I swear, I would've walked out if that had been the case. The scene at Shell Cottage was heartbreaking; I was always very fond of Dobby, and the movie handled it so well. I also loved how they used animation for the Three Brother story - made it very cool.

I was disappointed in places of course. In terms of performance, both Rufus Scrimgeour and Xenolius Lovegood were utter disappointments - I don't think either of them brought to the screen what I imagined their characters to be. Their scenes were among the flattest parts of the movie.

I also didn't like how they left out fairly key stuff - but I think that is by now a common refrain by all HP fans for all the movies. For instance, however, in the Godric's Hollow scene, at no point does it get covered why Bertha Bagshot has been replaced, which made the entire scene fairly pointless, don't you think? One of my biggest problems with the HBP movie was that Voldemort's back-story and what and where the horcruxes could be was completely left out - so here, when these people are looking for the horcruxes, you really are as clueless as they are.

Also, I could shoot David Yates for the minor appeasement of Harry/Hermiones shippers that he tried to bring in. Pointless, silly, stupidly executed - WHY? Oh and given that they didn't show how Patronuses can be used as messages in HBP, Kingsley's voice coming out of a ball of light made no sense, and the doe, while well done, didn't link to anything, y'know? Which makes me wonder about Snapes' story.

I thought they ended the movie at the right moment - it made perfect sense. I've been having a discussion with Suprateek on twitter about the second part - he feels they've left too much to be covered in it. I disagree: if you go by the book, there are really three-four things to be covered, out of which I'm fairly sure they will discard Dumbledore's entire back-story. Snape gets practically no screen presence in this movie, so I don't know what they'll do with him in the second one. Which really isn't leaving much then, is it?

My BIGGEST bugbear with the movie however, is this: HOW could Harry walk all over the place as himself? Yates clearly missed the memo about Harry being listed as Undesirable No. 1 by the Ministry, even though there is a brief scene of such posters being printed. And given that this book is about the Hallows, where in the name of heaven was Harry's cloak?

I loved the movie, but like I was telling the brother last night, in retrospect, I think I loved it in a relative sense. In an absolute sense, I'm not so sure. It's by far the most faithful to the book of all the movies, and is really well made. As a Harry Potter fan, the movie was a delight. As a Harry Potter nut, it could have been better - but then we've always known that about the movies.

Fair warning though, if you haven't read the books, you won't understand a thing of what's happening. Yates makes no effort to give a context to anything, and assumes you know what's happening. Moreover, given the liberties taken with the script, there are places you will have no idea about what's happening if you haven't read the books. A friend wants to go without ever having read any of the books, and wants me to go along to explain what is happening - I don't know if I have the patience for that.

FINAL WORDS (promise): In terms of performances, I thought almost everyone was brilliant, particularly the trio, who have really grown into their roles with this movie. Of course my favourites, the Weasley twins, were brilliant and funny as always, in the brief role that they had. The Death Eaters were all terrifyingly awesome. The only performances I did have a problem with, honestly, were Rufus Scrimegeour and Xenolius Lovegood, and to an extent, Bill Weasley. He just wasn't... cool enough.

For more excellent reviews of the movie, go here, here, and here.

Also go and sponsor my run. Go on, shoo now.

A round-up of news

If you're following me on twitter and/or posterous, you'll know I've been bombarding people with requests to sponsor my run against Child Sexual Abuse, to raise funds for RAHI Foundation, an NGO I've been associated for the past six-odd years. Details here, link to donate here. Please, do donate.

In other news, I was in Bombay last week. It was supposed to be a quick 24-hour round trip, but I had to stay back for an extra night because the workshop I was conducting ran late. My first experience at Delhi's brand-new Terminal 3 wasn't very nice, and Indian Airlines convinced me never to fly with them again, with their long delays and fixation with Akshay Kumar movies as part of the in-flight entertainment. I was constantly tweeting from the airport both in Delhi and in Bombay; plan to compile them into one post when I get a bit of breathing time.

The other news from the Bombay trip is that I conducted a workshop, all by myself, for the first time. Was strangely non-nervous about the whole thing, and by that, I don't mean I was confident about it either. Just strangely... detached about the whole thing. Went off quite well though, although I could've probably been firmer with the participants and not allowed them to stretch the day so long.

But the detachment worries me.

So anyWAY, donate okay? And pass the word around too. If a couch potato like me can sign up for a 7-km walk, the least you can do is donate.

Yes, I'm trying to guilt-trip you into it. Is it working?

The essentials

I have a #genuinekoshchan, as they say on twitter, for the menfolk today. And to be absolutely fair, I also pose it to the women who will not identify with what I am going to ask.

How, in the name of all that is holy, do you people manage without handbags? To take off from what Shwetha wrote on her blog some time back, there are things that are essential and must be carried everywhere.

I'm known for my penchant for big handbags. I have, in my defense, tried buying smaller purses in the effort to look more formal or some such thing, but the things just don't fit in! There's my wallet (which in itself is fairly bulky), my keys, my little pouch which holds all the various loyalty cards I have (and as I've mentioned before, I have a lot), the case which holds both my glasses and my sunglasses, tissues and hand cleanser, and basic medicines which I always carry around. If it's the monsoon I carry a little umbrella with me, if it's winter a teeny-weeny bottle of moisturizer, and if I'm headed to work or for meetings, then I usually have a note pad and a pen. Sometimes there's a book. There's also the little Ganesha statue my mum gifted me which I carry. My phone and its earphones are usually in my hand anyway because I use it to listen to music - assuming I know where my earphones are, they are currently missing, does anyone want to gift me a pair?

I change my bags often, and each bag has a bunch of miscellaneous stuff anyway - old movie tickets, earrings I was wearing and took off because they hurt, the receipt from a restaurant or the NH-8 toll gate, the last eyeliner I lost. But the essentials listed above - those I move from bag to bag.

So tell me, how do you manage without all that? I mean, even if I'm going to a shaadi and am forced to discard my nice handbags, I usually have a tiny purse with the phone, some cash, and mayyyybe an eyeliner and/or lipstick to be on the safe side - because you know, we're girls and we need to use/carry these things blah blah blah. And if the car is there, I leave a handbag with everything else in the car!

Most of the guys I know roam around with just their wallet and their phone*. I used to stare open-mouthed at these girls in college who could come with one register and a tiny clutch purse which wasn't even big enough to carry their car keys and their phone. Well, they also wore heels to college, know full well that that was just a disastrous idea given the cobbled paths we had, but that's besides the point. My point is, don't you need all this stuff?

*This may be a good time to point out that the brother is not like that. He perpetually needs music and a book and so carries a jhola everywhere he goes. Very shmart the brother is.

Conversations from yesteryears

A random tweet that showed up in my timeline a few hours ago reminded me of one of those strange and morbid conversations that get ingrained in your memory, that took place between the father and me more than a decade ago.

We were walking on the side of the road, when a car swerved and passed by him a little too close for my comfort. Of course, I gasped dramatically, clutched him and pulled him a bit to the side, scolding him for being so careless. He shrugged and laughed, saying he was fine as long as an accident, should it happen, caused a quick and painless death rather than leaving him a vegetable.

Needless to say, I was not amused. But then he went on: if death has to come to someone, it'll come sooner or later. And his or her family and friends will have to deal with it. But if a person gets stuck in a coma, it makes everything so much more painful for his or her loved ones. He then looked at me and told me that if that decision has to be taken, I should take it.

At age 14, I was forced to admit he had a point. At 25, I still hope and pray almost every day, like I have ever since that conversation happened, that I never have to take that decision.

There are snobs, and there are snobs

I can be a snob of the first order, but something I really don't get is following people on twitter for the singular purpose of retweeting them and mocking them.

Calling someone an orkutiya or a bulb, because their idea of expressing themselves is different from yours? Because their English isn't as articulate as yours? Heck, my English is quite decent, but I'm atrocious in both Bengali and Hindi, so what do I have to be so proud of?

Following celebrities on twitter, and then spending your time coming up witty one-liners to mock them? Really? I have the utmost respect for most of these people I follow on twitter - they're intelligent, well-read, and outrageously funny most of the time. But it infuriates me when they judge people they don't know or have never met simply on the basis of their ability (or lack of it) to articulate decently in a tweet.

A lot of people cribbed about Aisha, and not purely because of its terrible script or the utterly flat and annoying personality they gave to the eponymous character (which, to be fair, was exactly how it was in the book, so you can't really blame the makers of the movie). No, a lot of people actually cribbed about what snobs Aisha and her friend Pinky were. (Like, hello, have you ever been to urban India? South Delhi, or even South Bombay from what I hear?)

My point is, people criticized, or even mocked the utter snobbishness displayed by the characters in that movie. But you, who retweets a guy because his opinions aren't completely in tune with yours, or mocks the guy who tweeted his admiration for that celebrity who may not be so great in your eyes. How different are you?

I like... (Part 3)

When I was in school and college, the morning of an exam invariably meant I would have this tight feeling in my arms, and a pain in my left shoulder. I called them my stress pains. For the past few months, I've been having them almost perpetually, and for no good reason either.

The last few months hasn't been the best of times, as my various blog posts may have indicated. There's just been too much I've been trying to juggle, and sort out, and y'know, get it all together. I think I've gone soft even - the slightest bit of niceness makes me all weepy these days. Tchah, I say.

As a result, once again, I find myself needing to do a post of this kind. Without further ado, therefore, let us have the drumroll, and a list of things I like:

Second-hand books, with decades-old dedications written in a squiggly handwriting, and the lovely musty smell of old books.

Finding money in the pockets of a jacket I'm wearing after a long time.

Sweaters with long, loose sleeves that cover half my hands.

The torn winter jacket that my father bought for himself when I was a baby - I borrowed it when I was 15 and haven't returned it yet!

The sound of the princess drinking water.

Compliments that come out of nowhere, which you know can't be anything but genuine.

An evening out with the gal pals - or even the guy pals actually. Both are interesting in very different ways!

People I've never spoken to in my life asking me why there hasn't been an update on my blog for two months.

The sudden crumbling of my writer's block, when the words coming gushing out.

Friends who worry about me more than I worry about myself.

The feeling of satisfaction when I manage to drill some sense into a friend's head.

The warm feeling when I wrap my hands around a cup of chai or soup.

Leaving the car windows down and feeling the breeze - especially if it's just after a spell of rain.

Saying "y'know which episode of Friends this reminds me of?", and having at least two people present bursting into giggles.

Realising someone who was just another acquaintance has become someone very important.

Looking out the window as a flight takes off or lands and trying to recognize landmarks in the city below.

Watching the Gurgaon skyline from the metro.

All such fun, no?