Before I began penning this blog, I started with one that was solely meant for the broken hearted. But that didn't last too long. I used to think I felt the pain that many had suffered and that I had suffered often, but splits, I figured, were just as part-of-life as cell phones and Tantra tee shirts. The calendar ran its course and time worked its magic. However, it was the rush as well as a positive serenity of the old world slumped into the new in the magic that is Bombay, that does not let you wallow in your misery for a day longer than is absolutely necessary.
Ever since I stepped into the city, I've had days that seemed ruinous, almost deadening, making me want to pack up and leave even. The one thing that has held me is the people. Unlike what I perceived initially, it is indeed the people who maketh this city, like any other, considering the cuisine isn't anything distinct and the weather is like a longish March-to-May.
These humans, the special kinds called Bambaiyyas command the pace, the air, the current, the mood of the city. You can have just lost a prestigious poetry contest and yet scream with delight over the phone to a few close friends just because you met the most amazing set of people- smiling, winking, huggable, relatable.
In a conversation with Aditya yesterday, I was told, "Your display picture reminds me of the old you. The you I knew." How, I ask, how can a city considered so ruthless, demanding, swift-to-move-on be such a healing force?
22.11.09
Of Apparel and Apparent Shortness
The novelty of scantily clad women wears off way too soon in Bombay. At ten in the night, on a deserted street such as Babulnath, a woman in a mini skirt is rare. Rarer are three of them, looking to get back home. While a longish stroll home wouldn't harm - not even a mild risk of eve teasing or crime - our bunch decides the occasion calls for an all-out splurge. Small change, the other two consider, the fact that they all seem to have overlooked is that they don't have any.
It surprised me when a pal (visiting from a faraway remote land, far more conservative than apna Bombay) exclaimed, on our walk back to Churchgate station, near a bus stop, at the number of skimpily dressed women who travel by public transport and ogled so lustily and in awe at the bare female human flesh on the little back-n-forth hunt across Pali Naka, though I don't blame him, given the beauty crisis he endures each day.
The ease with which a woman can commute in even starved sections of this cosmo sex-haven, has nothing to do with the men who put up the I'm maha-decent facade. Oh! no sir! It is a simple case of not hitting the kulhadi on the foot. Simple logic: if the "outsiders" did not behave themselves, they'd be either beaten up, or screwed royally by one of the many moral-policing gang bangers. Plus, women's false sense of security comes from this fact, which the men actually use as a means to encourage more women to be less covered up... all for Nain Sukh Praapti!
Of course, some communities are also associated naturally with sexual satiation, or at least the complacency that they can get whoever they want, using slightly more subtle, and even sophisticated means.
The tall and hot bawas have no dearth of nice- NICE women. The Goans are also lucky when it comes to well structured damsels in very little clothing. The Gujju janta (and female jantus) knows how to play around the rules. The bibis live in a different world, and the other locals are a wannabe lot anyway. The greatest benefit from all the men that we women enjoy, is of complete submission and utter helplessness.
It is amusing to walk into a conference room full of Bambaiyya men, raising more than just their eyebrows. While in a less urban setting, women with slightly decent brain power would be ignored or ridiculed or even side-lined, with zero appreciation for the female intelligence, and complete ignorance and neglect of the fact, that instead of concentrating on my obvious assets, they instead of their d**** might want to stand up and take notice. Even in "very professional" Bombay, the d***brains don't really evolve. Only, they know how to conceal better- well, at least they make the attempt. So instead of considering us as dimwitted sex objects, [wo/we]men are a masked as potential threat that our semi-metrosexual boys think will overwhelm their positions at work, in a competitive environment.
The assumption is, a hot woman is hot, looks hot, appears and makes efforts to be that way because she has a motive. The motive isn't even to "sleep" her way up, but simply "tease" her way up the ladder. And when the teasing is done the right way, you never commit to giving the "wrong impression", yet the purpose is served. And this purpose at workplace could be anything at all- anything from some leeway from the IT department, to no-fetching-coffee-for-the-boss, to more frequent increments and rewards in kind.
While it hurts some women to do that because either they're just not equipped, or LAZY, some of us are too motivated and dispassionate to care a f*** about what others will say or do as detriments. One just bulldozes one's way through because there's just such a dearth of time. Traditionally, the sex that was perceived as docile and less equipped, is now sly and cunning. Not exactly the vamp, but she knows how to get her way. She will do so without announcing it to the world. And take advantage of the horny, patronising chauvinists who will weave their own intricate traps and get so wound up in them, that they will have no choice but to give in to the demands of the women around them.
All they shall be left with, is delusions of having the final say, the upper hand, and utter cluelessness deep down. And eff the pun!!
M.U.H.U.H.A.H.A.H.A
It surprised me when a pal (visiting from a faraway remote land, far more conservative than apna Bombay) exclaimed, on our walk back to Churchgate station, near a bus stop, at the number of skimpily dressed women who travel by public transport and ogled so lustily and in awe at the bare female human flesh on the little back-n-forth hunt across Pali Naka, though I don't blame him, given the beauty crisis he endures each day.
The ease with which a woman can commute in even starved sections of this cosmo sex-haven, has nothing to do with the men who put up the I'm maha-decent facade. Oh! no sir! It is a simple case of not hitting the kulhadi on the foot. Simple logic: if the "outsiders" did not behave themselves, they'd be either beaten up, or screwed royally by one of the many moral-policing gang bangers. Plus, women's false sense of security comes from this fact, which the men actually use as a means to encourage more women to be less covered up... all for Nain Sukh Praapti!
Of course, some communities are also associated naturally with sexual satiation, or at least the complacency that they can get whoever they want, using slightly more subtle, and even sophisticated means.
The tall and hot bawas have no dearth of nice- NICE women. The Goans are also lucky when it comes to well structured damsels in very little clothing. The Gujju janta (and female jantus) knows how to play around the rules. The bibis live in a different world, and the other locals are a wannabe lot anyway. The greatest benefit from all the men that we women enjoy, is of complete submission and utter helplessness.
It is amusing to walk into a conference room full of Bambaiyya men, raising more than just their eyebrows. While in a less urban setting, women with slightly decent brain power would be ignored or ridiculed or even side-lined, with zero appreciation for the female intelligence, and complete ignorance and neglect of the fact, that instead of concentrating on my obvious assets, they instead of their d**** might want to stand up and take notice. Even in "very professional" Bombay, the d***brains don't really evolve. Only, they know how to conceal better- well, at least they make the attempt. So instead of considering us as dimwitted sex objects, [wo/we]men are a masked as potential threat that our semi-metrosexual boys think will overwhelm their positions at work, in a competitive environment.
The assumption is, a hot woman is hot, looks hot, appears and makes efforts to be that way because she has a motive. The motive isn't even to "sleep" her way up, but simply "tease" her way up the ladder. And when the teasing is done the right way, you never commit to giving the "wrong impression", yet the purpose is served. And this purpose at workplace could be anything at all- anything from some leeway from the IT department, to no-fetching-coffee-for-the-boss, to more frequent increments and rewards in kind.
While it hurts some women to do that because either they're just not equipped, or LAZY, some of us are too motivated and dispassionate to care a f*** about what others will say or do as detriments. One just bulldozes one's way through because there's just such a dearth of time. Traditionally, the sex that was perceived as docile and less equipped, is now sly and cunning. Not exactly the vamp, but she knows how to get her way. She will do so without announcing it to the world. And take advantage of the horny, patronising chauvinists who will weave their own intricate traps and get so wound up in them, that they will have no choice but to give in to the demands of the women around them.
All they shall be left with, is delusions of having the final say, the upper hand, and utter cluelessness deep down. And eff the pun!!
M.U.H.U.H.A.H.A.H.A
13.11.09
The Power of Smiles
Last weekend was the most memorable I’ve had so far in Mumbai. Apart from the variety of unrushed fun that the 36 hours offered, the city chose to unleash another human phenomenon to me: the power of smiles.
The action began as I rushed – first to my bus stop, of course – to receive a friend at the airport. What an optimum way to spend two days in Maximum City: Lots’a eating & sight seeing. ALL PUNS INTENDED. But this is not an account of how Arunav Kumar Jha & Priyanca Vibhutiprasad Vaishnav [phew! And no non-South Indian can win with me in length-of-names] spent the 7th and 8th of November 2009. It is a rant about the Power of the Greatest Utility Curve.
When I climbed into the 155, I wasn’t expecting a welcoming empty स्ट्रीयान्साठी seat at 5:15 pm, so I stood near the entry door, beside a wheel-top seat. A mother-son duo was perched on it, with mommy having to instruct her boy (of around 10) not to be so aggressive and grumpy and to stop shouting at passers-by out on the street. The child was uncontrollable. He seemed mentally disturbed, though not entirely “nuts”.
Time soon came for them to get off – it was August Kranti Maidan, I think – so the lady in white-and-yellow salwar kameez urged the child to stand up so they could move ahead to the exit. The kid was obviously unhappy, for his joyride (the little that he was enjoying) was about to come to a halt.
As the Gujju Mom scolded and nudged and prodded the now-completely-aggrieved kid, his eyes and mine met briefly. Never one to fight my habit, I gestured my hands to help him come out through the narrow leg space, and smiled. It also meant I was gonna get to sit now!
Yippee! & Phew!
What followed has stayed with me since: The child tapped on my hand that held onto the seat railing. I looked up. His grey face turned out a smile and a wave to say bye-bye. My worries about reaching not-in-time for Ar’s arrival melted into the oblivion. This moment pervaded me so much…
I told my sister about it last before we slept on Tuesday night. She says it is a sign and a strong one from the Guy-Up-There, that he chooses to bestow me with it. Ages ago, my now-no-more school principal said, “Priyanca’s always got a smile – an honest one, a loving one – a smile that welcomes you into her world.” I hope you’re watching Mrs. Mirchandani. I can still love. I can still welcome. And let go, with a smile. As Mirat once chose to say, I have “so much love to give.”
We all do. And to strangers, even more, because we haven’t given them the power to hurt us. Emotionally, we are still unaccessed territory. What makes us strong is the fact that we ARE emotional (says my daddy).
I have never laughed and smiled and grinned as I did on these two dates. [I laugh like a nutter at work though.] Mirat (again) said, “You throw your head back when you laugh”, when he mimicked Viren and Abhishek. It’s like talking to the stars, indeed. It’s amazing how comfortable you become and make another person when there’s the warmth of that sinking arc with its ends pointing to those stars. It’s like the first rains, or standing in a vast sunbeam in the windy winter of Jamnagar, or when your boss says “Good work” or playing with a Labrador puppy…
The smile works for a pick up line like no other. Try it the next time you spot a cute face at a pub. It is what relieves serious meetings of…well…their seriousness. It is what reminds fellow humans that we’re humans too. That, we are entitled to same treatment; that we can dole out same treatment. It’s what makes us forget and forgive the wrong doings of others, and remember the good that resides in ourselves. It gives us the feeling of
Thank you Ar, for smiling and making me smile so much. :)
The action began as I rushed – first to my bus stop, of course – to receive a friend at the airport. What an optimum way to spend two days in Maximum City: Lots’a eating & sight seeing. ALL PUNS INTENDED. But this is not an account of how Arunav Kumar Jha & Priyanca Vibhutiprasad Vaishnav [phew! And no non-South Indian can win with me in length-of-names] spent the 7th and 8th of November 2009. It is a rant about the Power of the Greatest Utility Curve.
When I climbed into the 155, I wasn’t expecting a welcoming empty स्ट्रीयान्साठी seat at 5:15 pm, so I stood near the entry door, beside a wheel-top seat. A mother-son duo was perched on it, with mommy having to instruct her boy (of around 10) not to be so aggressive and grumpy and to stop shouting at passers-by out on the street. The child was uncontrollable. He seemed mentally disturbed, though not entirely “nuts”.
Time soon came for them to get off – it was August Kranti Maidan, I think – so the lady in white-and-yellow salwar kameez urged the child to stand up so they could move ahead to the exit. The kid was obviously unhappy, for his joyride (the little that he was enjoying) was about to come to a halt.
As the Gujju Mom scolded and nudged and prodded the now-completely-aggrieved kid, his eyes and mine met briefly. Never one to fight my habit, I gestured my hands to help him come out through the narrow leg space, and smiled. It also meant I was gonna get to sit now!
Yippee! & Phew!
What followed has stayed with me since: The child tapped on my hand that held onto the seat railing. I looked up. His grey face turned out a smile and a wave to say bye-bye. My worries about reaching not-in-time for Ar’s arrival melted into the oblivion. This moment pervaded me so much…
I told my sister about it last before we slept on Tuesday night. She says it is a sign and a strong one from the Guy-Up-There, that he chooses to bestow me with it. Ages ago, my now-no-more school principal said, “Priyanca’s always got a smile – an honest one, a loving one – a smile that welcomes you into her world.” I hope you’re watching Mrs. Mirchandani. I can still love. I can still welcome. And let go, with a smile. As Mirat once chose to say, I have “so much love to give.”
We all do. And to strangers, even more, because we haven’t given them the power to hurt us. Emotionally, we are still unaccessed territory. What makes us strong is the fact that we ARE emotional (says my daddy).
I have never laughed and smiled and grinned as I did on these two dates. [I laugh like a nutter at work though.] Mirat (again) said, “You throw your head back when you laugh”, when he mimicked Viren and Abhishek. It’s like talking to the stars, indeed. It’s amazing how comfortable you become and make another person when there’s the warmth of that sinking arc with its ends pointing to those stars. It’s like the first rains, or standing in a vast sunbeam in the windy winter of Jamnagar, or when your boss says “Good work” or playing with a Labrador puppy…
The smile works for a pick up line like no other. Try it the next time you spot a cute face at a pub. It is what relieves serious meetings of…well…their seriousness. It is what reminds fellow humans that we’re humans too. That, we are entitled to same treatment; that we can dole out same treatment. It’s what makes us forget and forgive the wrong doings of others, and remember the good that resides in ourselves. It gives us the feeling of
Somewhere in my youth or childhood,
I must’ve done something good
Thank you Ar, for smiling and making me smile so much. :)
4.11.09
Standard Deviation
After my split a month ago, it was a little difficult letting myself out of the city. As if the fatigue of simply getting someplace got to me.
So apart from the self-mandated Diwali trip to Baroda, I've been avoiding all travel. Even a biking trip. A lot of people have been complaining. But since the complaints are seldom in words, I chose to ignore them all.
Something turned around last Friday. Anubhav called unprompted, and we fixed up for me to travel to Pune. Pune, of all the places! I've always associated Pune with the Shivneri Volvo, the drive through the Pashan DRDO road, E-Square, Not Just Jazz by the Bay, Pizza Marzano, Tareef & Punjabi Tadka, MG Road, Camp, Aundh & Parihar chowk. Before that, with Kothrud, and Chandni Chowk.
Pune's returned* to me often. More than once. It's been my resurrection destination. Like a pilgrimage that I take to relieve myself of yearning, longing, nostalgia, boredom, pain, loneliness...
It made me nervous all the three times that I've had to make this return.
The first time around was right after high school, when I was seeing my first crush after two years. It was nerve racking because I didn't know how he would react, how he would behave, how awkward or comfortable it would be. Always one to obsess about having perfect moments, I was in for a huge disappointment. D. and I had both moved on. He didn't quite care, and I thought he walked like a transvestite. I don't know which was worse.
Meeting Ad. in Pune was insignificant, though it was with him that I discovered the newer parts of the university town. With him, I experienced Pune in the winters, for the first time. Weather in the city seems to be a constant reason for me to go back and soak some of it in. You can smell burnt wood in the evening, a little smoky. And the air is dry, yet a mist seems to kiss your earlobes as if to remind you of what clean air feels to the senses. Of course, when I was riding pillion with Anubhav back to his shack, I kept wheeeeeing (like the Bombay gaonthi that I have become) about how clean and lovely Pune is and how I was already in love with the decision to spend the weekend with an old pal over alcohol and music we both loved (thanks for Aaj jaane ki zidd na karo, Bunnz).
My most extensive touch-n-feel of the Marathi culture hub though, was with Ni. Of course, even with him being there, there was never initiative to venture out to watch a play or two every month or music concerts or attend a weekend workshop together. It was always pizzas and films and dinners and other regular riggin' things IT techies do to kill time over the weekend.
But last weekend was different in such myriad ways. I met Meenakshi. I mean, I've met her before alright, but I spent time with her. Saw the vulnerability of a woman dying to get out, but stuck at home with of parents who aren't exactly conservative, but not quite willing to let go. Get out Meera, get out'a that place, I maintain.
It was also the first time ever that I've actually slept with a guy. Slept. Like snoozed off listening to his snoring and sleep-chattering (yes, Bunnz, you talk in your sleep- Meera will vouch for it). What's poignant about the fact is that he made sure I was absolutely comfortable. The razaii, the food, the alcohol, even letting me mop the floor when I broke the glass and allowing me to prepare dalia next morning for breakfast (at lunch time :P). The champi was my tiny thank you note, Bunnz.
Parallel to my physically being in Pune, I was also living the nostalgia of a boy who spent his most precious moments in this city. My first drink went out to him. In my thought, in my sip.
To be in the warmth of a home with pals can be healing. It's like phoenix tears or vampire blood. Mytically healing, yet unexplainable.
I'm ready to start traveling again, come January+. Make the most of my quota of PLs and explore places on my list. Being in Bombay only helps - you can get anywhere within a reasonable time frame, whether by train or a flight.
I'm finally solo. On a trip of my own. Single and Unavailable, as my Tantra tee announces!
*It is remarkable how I'm so full of myself to talk of places returning to me, and not me returning to them. But it is the idea that visits me, that makes them return in thought, and therefore, beckon me to revisit. Not to revisit a past memory or an old haunt, but to explore it in its all new avatar.
+Pondicherry is first on list in February. I'm afraid it will have to be solo. No tag-alongs this time. Heck, they might all end up solo trips to pile on friends to take me around and show me their place of thrive.
IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER:
Kolkata | Chorwad | Kutch | Pushkar | Gokarna | Cypress | Vizag | Greece | Sicily | Berlin
So apart from the self-mandated Diwali trip to Baroda, I've been avoiding all travel. Even a biking trip. A lot of people have been complaining. But since the complaints are seldom in words, I chose to ignore them all.
Something turned around last Friday. Anubhav called unprompted, and we fixed up for me to travel to Pune. Pune, of all the places! I've always associated Pune with the Shivneri Volvo, the drive through the Pashan DRDO road, E-Square, Not Just Jazz by the Bay, Pizza Marzano, Tareef & Punjabi Tadka, MG Road, Camp, Aundh & Parihar chowk. Before that, with Kothrud, and Chandni Chowk.
Pune's returned* to me often. More than once. It's been my resurrection destination. Like a pilgrimage that I take to relieve myself of yearning, longing, nostalgia, boredom, pain, loneliness...
It made me nervous all the three times that I've had to make this return.
The first time around was right after high school, when I was seeing my first crush after two years. It was nerve racking because I didn't know how he would react, how he would behave, how awkward or comfortable it would be. Always one to obsess about having perfect moments, I was in for a huge disappointment. D. and I had both moved on. He didn't quite care, and I thought he walked like a transvestite. I don't know which was worse.
Meeting Ad. in Pune was insignificant, though it was with him that I discovered the newer parts of the university town. With him, I experienced Pune in the winters, for the first time. Weather in the city seems to be a constant reason for me to go back and soak some of it in. You can smell burnt wood in the evening, a little smoky. And the air is dry, yet a mist seems to kiss your earlobes as if to remind you of what clean air feels to the senses. Of course, when I was riding pillion with Anubhav back to his shack, I kept wheeeeeing (like the Bombay gaonthi that I have become) about how clean and lovely Pune is and how I was already in love with the decision to spend the weekend with an old pal over alcohol and music we both loved (thanks for Aaj jaane ki zidd na karo, Bunnz).
My most extensive touch-n-feel of the Marathi culture hub though, was with Ni. Of course, even with him being there, there was never initiative to venture out to watch a play or two every month or music concerts or attend a weekend workshop together. It was always pizzas and films and dinners and other regular riggin' things IT techies do to kill time over the weekend.
But last weekend was different in such myriad ways. I met Meenakshi. I mean, I've met her before alright, but I spent time with her. Saw the vulnerability of a woman dying to get out, but stuck at home with of parents who aren't exactly conservative, but not quite willing to let go. Get out Meera, get out'a that place, I maintain.
It was also the first time ever that I've actually slept with a guy. Slept. Like snoozed off listening to his snoring and sleep-chattering (yes, Bunnz, you talk in your sleep- Meera will vouch for it). What's poignant about the fact is that he made sure I was absolutely comfortable. The razaii, the food, the alcohol, even letting me mop the floor when I broke the glass and allowing me to prepare dalia next morning for breakfast (at lunch time :P). The champi was my tiny thank you note, Bunnz.
Parallel to my physically being in Pune, I was also living the nostalgia of a boy who spent his most precious moments in this city. My first drink went out to him. In my thought, in my sip.
To be in the warmth of a home with pals can be healing. It's like phoenix tears or vampire blood. Mytically healing, yet unexplainable.
I'm ready to start traveling again, come January+. Make the most of my quota of PLs and explore places on my list. Being in Bombay only helps - you can get anywhere within a reasonable time frame, whether by train or a flight.
I'm finally solo. On a trip of my own. Single and Unavailable, as my Tantra tee announces!
*It is remarkable how I'm so full of myself to talk of places returning to me, and not me returning to them. But it is the idea that visits me, that makes them return in thought, and therefore, beckon me to revisit. Not to revisit a past memory or an old haunt, but to explore it in its all new avatar.
+Pondicherry is first on list in February. I'm afraid it will have to be solo. No tag-alongs this time. Heck, they might all end up solo trips to pile on friends to take me around and show me their place of thrive.
IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER:
Kolkata | Chorwad | Kutch | Pushkar | Gokarna | Cypress | Vizag | Greece | Sicily | Berlin
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