A Mirror's Confession

I’m sorry I lied…

In that moment of harsh truth,

Softened by the pity

Moved by the plea and the fear in your eyes...

A fear shared by all women through eternity.

I lied to save you the pain

But lost……

Though God knows

I tried

Shall We Dance?

Being born in a Punju family that does not need an occasion to break into a jig, my dancing capabilities have never been questioned. Whenever there is a function or a wedding, you can find my entire family grooving on the dance floor.. Well except for the person who is getting married maybe. Since childhood we train our kids to show off their dancing capabilities at various occasions. And the competition is pretty tough. All our kids seem to learn is dance :P

Enough of charting out my lineage where dancing is concerned. I would rather talk about the people I love to see dance.. There are people who bring the dance floor alive.. not because they have any training or such but because they dance without a care in the world. My theory about dance is pretty simple. There are two categories of people who are considered good dancers: Sachin Tendulkars and Rahul Dravids. Don’t get boggled down.. Any cricket loving person would agree that while Rahul Dravid has magnificent technique and correct everything, it’s Sachin we enjoy watching more.. So logically it follows that no matter how much you learn technique, if you don’t have that spark, it won’t work for you. Technique does help, but attitude conquers all.

So here are some people who rock the dance floor..:

Kids: Kids are born Tendulkars.. taking example of the two monsters at home who start jumping enthusiastically whenever any dance-able song is played, well.. It is jumping.. no technique but their delight is unmatched by anyone.. I cannot imagine any adult dancing/ jumping with such abandon. And their repeat performances do not fail to delight.

Oldies: Old world charm or nostalgia.. there is a certain charm about old aunties who step forward shyly at weddings and then rock the dance floor. They are slow, reluctant starters.. but when they get in the groove, you can’t budge them from the dance floor..[Believe me, I have tried quite a few times!!].

Cartoons: Not the mimicry artists from Mumbai, but our very own family walas....there is a mimic or a cartoon character in every family. When this fellow joins the dance floor, you can be sure of entertainment. Be it the filmy heroes or any music rock stars, he/she makes sure that the space vacated the floor or the special music being played for him/ her is justified!!

Sardars: It’s just that when sardars dance there is nothing to match it. Their songs, their music.. makes a delightful mixture. Their enjoyment is vivid maybe because of their music and its beats.. but rock they do!!

Me.. of course: I don’t need a reason to be in this list.. This IS MY BLOG!!

My Best Friend: Rarely have I seen anybody follow dance with such passion.. and I’m not writing this to make her follow my blog.. :P

Salman Khan: Well.. the guy is not a great dancer.. but he DOES take off his shirt each time..

Any South Indian Actor: Especially the not so new ones.. remind me of OSO and SRK.. MIND IT!!

Rajkumari: Not a real princess.. She was a maid or rather a babysitter we once had..she was around ten years old, with a grin stretching from Kashmir to KK.. Ash and I asked her to dance once and BOY...she danced with full abandon.. forgetting that the oil fed lice from her hair were falling on ground.. A bindaas performance.. total entertainment.. :D

Rosesh Sarabhai: HE did dance in a couple of episodes.. when he wasn’t writing poetry or saying Mommaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!

Farhan Akhtar: The man ROCKS!!!

To be contd...

A blank note of love

In my mind, we have

Loved each other..
Showered red roses
Sung a million love songs
Already

And that bench beneath that big banyan tree..
Remember?
We have passed hours there just talking
About many things
Already

We have celebrated a thousand Valentines
In my mind..
Each one more special than the other

What can I give you then
But a blank note of love
I strive to find words to adorn it
To embroider my feelings
with the thread of care

It is not emptiness..
It is for you to pour out
your special memories and moments
I’m all ears to hear you speak
After those silences we share
Where your eyes convey
what you never say

I know you still haven’t found a way
Novel enough for you
So I’m giving you a blank note of love...
Will that do?

I HAVE NO ANSWERS!!!!!!!!!!

I look over my shoulder

With a nervous glance
To make sure “you two” don’t follow
Dreading a meeting with you by chance.....

I’m a nervous wreck by now
Sweating and shuddering alike
Holding my arms up in prayer,
“O lord....Just for today...
Please don’t let the “monsters” strike!!!”

Your ten thousand questions
About a simple cow
Your whats, whens,
whys and hows...

The moment your eyes
Get that curious light
I know it’s the right time
to disappear out of sight

Like a maniac I run
And try to hide under the bed
Of course you find me out
And I'm dragged out instead..

And then it begins again
The never ending cycle
“Why is an elephant so big?”
“Why is a cat called a cat still?”

“Why do kids wear diapers?”
“Why don’t big people go to school?”
“Why does Shah Rukh Khan dance on train?”
“How come ice cream is so cool?”

“What does Monu- the doll eat?”
“Where do lizards sleep?”
“How do people get into TV?”
“Let’s sing BABA BLACK SHEEP”

I’m stunned into silence
Where do I begin?
The beginning of the beginning
Or the ending of the end????

There are animals to be identified
And rhymes to be sung
I’m supposed to know Monu’s preferred cuisines
And also the precise ingredients of cow dung

Out of use and incapable
My nervous voice just slurs,
"Sorry my two monsters
I have no answers!!!!!"

Tell me a tale...

Once upon a time... That is how it begins every time- our introduction to the world of stories. And that is the only common factor between stories of two different generations. While growing up, I read stories in books like Nandan and Champak. Stories of kings and palaces and magical creatures. Or else stories about animals who could talk and preach as well :P. I never knew being a storyteller would be such a ghastly job...

Setting: A house in Delhi 5. A lazy Sunday.

Circumstances: Three kids dumped by their respective parents on a poor RELUCTANT babysitter (who is never paid btw)

Scene: A bedroom where the bed is scarcely visible, covered in clutter and toys. A girl enters carrying a bawling ten-month old baby( who incidentally is named Juno), followed by two kids who are trying to get ahead of each other by pulling at each others’ hair, clothes and pretty much everything.. :P. Inevitably the kicking, screaming starts and this time the baby joins in.. The girl plonks Juno on bed and yanks the other two by their arms. They are made to remove footwear and climb on the bed. The reason for their sudden obedience and silence is the one word that works magic.. the offer of a “story”

Here is how it goes..

Shivanshi: Mujhe baba wali, metro wali, jungle wali aur animal wali story sunao

Rachit: NAHIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!! Mujhe crocodile wali, dirty duck wali sunao

Girl: Err.....(Dumbstruck at so many demands, just looks at Juno to see if she has any demands too.. Juno is busy nibbling at the toy duck and oblivious to all)

Rachit: Meri wali story.....

Shivanshi: Meir waaaaaaaaaaali storyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
Girl: Stop it................... Meri wali story suno chup chap..

The kids nod in agreement, having no clue what they have let themselves into.. The Story begins.. It is about a witch with a bloody face, who stalks the streets at night with a candle in her hands looking for naughty and disobedient kids.. She then takes the kids to her hut in the forest where she cooks and eats them. It is being told with full sound effects... There is complete silence in the room, broken only by the girl’s voice. . The kids are staring at her with their mouths hanging open, eyes opened wide.. even the baby has abandoned the duck and is listening avidly... Just as the story reaches the point where the witch reaches her destination and is standing outside the house of a naughty kid.. there is a knock at the door, followed by a loud crash.. And then it is mayhem.. the kids think that the witch has come to get them (When all the while she was narrating the story to them :P). They scream and start crying.. Juno believing that this is a kind of after-story ritual, joins in with full force.. They all try to get as close to the girl as possible who they believe will protect them from the witch.. (AS IF!! She has been searching for the witch’s address to drop them off there). The kids kick each other wildly.. in the resulting scrams and cries, it is discovered that Juno has wet herself.. the knocking becomes more persistent... more bawling.. more crying and screaming.. “What worse could happen??”, the girl thinks aloud..
And then....


...........................


The power goes off...

I leave the rest to your fertile imagination..

P.S. Don’t ask me to show the battle scars.. :P

And then the gods laughed!!

She drew lines.. lifelines in his palm
Tracing the time they would be together
Her own lines washed away like barren sands
And then the gods laughed..

She caressed her womb
Talking to her unborn
Telling stories, sharing smiles
Knowing perhaps that she won’t get
Many such chances
And whenever she paused for breath
The gods laughed..

In her final borrowed breaths
She asked all to keep an eye on her babe
She died clasping the little one’s hand
And then the gods laughed..

And now the little one
Searches for her mother in the starry skies
And the nights when there are no moons
She is silent ... waiting for the voice that sang her first lullaby
And now the gods also have averted their eyes...

FINDING MEGHALAND!!

Welcome to M.E.G.H.A.L.A.N.D. and prepare yourself for confessions of a threateningly un-dangerous kind, from someone SPECTACULARLY ordinary and taking pride in the fact!

Meghaland is a place where, as a very good friend puts it, my “jaundiced perception” rules!! So be prepared for biased views and narrow-minded perspectives.

Anyway, so a couple of years ago I randomly composed a list of people who irk me and wrote down what I would say to them if they were in MEGHALAND. The process was so cathartic that since then I have been jotting down everything and anything in my diary under Meghaland and to my dismay, the list keeps increasing at an alarming rate!! So if you meet me someday and think I’m sweet and silent and submissive.. Take a second guess, I might just be sizing you up and wondering what I’ll say about u in ML. That speaks a lot about my sizing up skills..

So in ML there are some people/things and issues you NEVER EVER speak against especially in a sarcastic/ironic tone, yet with a I’m –only-joking kind of expression. Here it goes:

1. Poetry: Mine of course. If you don’t have anything good to say, then shut up! I am not interested in your criticism, Mr.Eliot wannabe. Get a life and remember.. I got a voice too!!!
2. BABYPHOBIA: If you are grossed out by kids.. WELCOME!! Don’t send me pics of your friend’s brother’s sister’s somebody’s baby assuming I’ll go gaga over them. I just might be tempted to delete you from my friend list!! HUH!
3. Sachin & John: Two celebrities I adore. If you don’t like them fair enough but please spare me the list of their faults.. Especially anything related to Sachin’s voice!
4. Womanpower: I’m not a hardcore feminist.. I have my own brand of humanism cum feminism. Stay away if you are an MCP!
5. Flesh eating: So you might think I’m a heathen considering my craving for non vegetarian food.. Spare me your vegetarian diatribe.. Go eat grass and be happy!
6. Sleeping: There is nothing like “too much of sleep”. 24 hours are too short any way.
7. BLACK: I’m not just shades of white and gray, its black that completes the whole. I identify with Black: it’s me, my color! If you don't like it......search for your rainbow!

ML is not just a space of repressed anger or criticism. It is a testimony to the fact that I'm basically such a nice person that I don't say nasty things to people (at least not to their face :P). It's just me..no apologies!!

BABYPHOBIA

Well having had the [mis]fortune of being stuck with two kids, in a family that needs a babysitter desperately; I have no other course of action than to claim that I suffer from a chronic case of Babyphobia.

I used to think that I loved kids.. you know I was the type who used to adore babies, cute chubby creatures who went goo goo and gaa gaa.. but then I found out that appearances are quite deceptive. Babies are cute....... from a safe distance.. cos then you are not within the hitting distance.. cos then you can’t get wet if they decide to offload.. and most importantly you can’t smell them... So in 2006-7 when I came to know that we were going to be blessed with two lil ones in the family. I was quite ecstatic... see I used the word “blessed”.. that tells you how naïve I was.. Nothing could describe the horror that followed..

To begin with.. and to be honest.. both of then looked cute enough.. Shivanshi was the first one.. chubby and cute.. and Rachit came two months later.... looking and bawling like a monkey.. (They are not twins people.. though the title “evil twins” suits them quite well). Anyway to keep on the story.. well things were quite well as they slept most of the time.. infact all the time. But then my dreamy world of babies started shattering.. the constant wailing, the late nights and early morning milk bottles that I had to warm.. not to mention the constant changing of nappies and diapers.. ufffffffffffffffff.... that was gross.. I even puked one time and felt like fainting while cleaning shit..

Coming to the present day...... 2009. April.

A scene set in Delhi 5:- A harassed looking girl running after two toddlers who are engaged in a fight, trying to tear each others’ hair.. all the while kicking each other and shouting and crying at the highest possible decibel level.. The girl keeps saying.. “No Rachit”.. “No Shivanshi”... “behave you two”.... Finally she yanks them off each other.. Both the kids have messed up hair.. scratches from the fight.. red faces.. and they are wailing at the top of their voices.. Stifling the urge to slap them, she drags them to a house where the drawing room sofa is littered with toys, drawing books, crayons, pencils, aero planes, packets of chips and biscuits. Asking them both to stand in a corner she tries to clear a space for both of them to sit. The kids stand in a corner, trying to look sheepish.. they know they are in the danger of being thrown out of the house any moment. And they do this only for a moment.. and then get embroiled in an argument abut whether Hanuman ji’s nappy needs changing or not.. (Hanuman the soft toy that is!!). The girl snatches the harassed looking hanuman from them and charges towards them with the intention to give them a well deserved whack. Instead the poor thing slips on a toy thrown on the floor and falls down.. This occurrence delights Rachit and Shivanshi who think that their masi/ bua is playing a game.. they jump on her kicking and screaming with delight.. 22 kgs of combined weight causes the girl to faint.....

[CURTAIN]

P.S. And just in case you thought this was a one off thing.. you cannot be more wrong.. this is a daily scenario.. much to my regret..

This is not a blog entry.. take this as my suicide note .. just in case one day things go overboard.. :P

A God of My Own!!

Preposterous idea indeed!! Talking to God?? What the &^%$!! That was MY reaction when I was gifted a book titled Conversations with God. It is the usual reaction of a person who views motivational literature such as the above mentioned book with disdain. And I do not go on here to reveal how the reading changed me and turned me from a skeptic into a believer. No. It just made me realize that I had been conversing with My God for years... unconsciously, subconsciously. I am not a schizophrenic. I know there are skeptics like me out there but it is hard indeed to explain exactly how you talk, how you converse. I believe each one of us has his/ her own God or rather the idea of what God is. A Personal God. A God of My Own. And I have been asked what is my God like. There have been things/ events in my life where my faith in God was shaken badly. Loss of anything you hold dear makes you a disbeliever. And I became that. I ridiculed silently the people who went to temples or prayed religiously. But then God proved me wrong. It was not because of any miracle or any prayer coming true that I started believing in Him again. But believe I did. And yes I conversed with My God. There is a line in Shakespeare’s Henry IV, Part I where a character says, “We Owe God A Death”. The line somehow stuck in my mind and this became my tribute to My God.

We owe God a Death
and yet the ignorance of it
Makes braves die but once
and cowards bit by bit..

We owe God some love
for making us see
The infinity of a moment
and the limits of eternity

We owe God a smile
Coz when we are in pain
He gives us the strength
to stand up once again

We owe God a chance
When faith in heart dies
Coz He comforts us
and with us, He cries

We owe God a life
Coz He set us free
To overstep boundaries
and explore immortality....

My God is a friend, a teacher, a comforter, a mother and most importantly someone I can talk to. He is always there to listen, waiting for you to come.... perhaps it is time you took the step..

Delhi 5

The onslaught of the title track of Delhi 6 on FM stations made me think about my part of the city.. It is known for its market, the crowded lanes and the hustle and bustle.. for me its home.. The lanes are familiar, the landmarks.. well I have seen them change shape and color over a period of time..Delhi 5 is a place where the refugee families, especially Punjabi families, were allotted land for homes after the partition. My grandfather brought his family from a village in Sargoda, Pakistan to New Delhi. My aunt laid the bricks of our homes with her bare hands.. that is the history seeped in this area. I often walk through the narrow galis just to have a look at the homes with arched doors reminiscent of an era gone by.. you can see history here not just in architecture but in the walls themselves.. The tiny balconies and jharokhas, the latticed windows, and the posts made for sitting outside are something you don't get anywhere else.. and there are actual wells on the chaurahas that have been covered up.. people say someone committed suicide by jumping in the well and since then the local people covered it up.. I have had the chance to sing national anthem and watch the unfurling of the flag at one of these chaurahas on and independence day. It was a feeling that cannot be described in words..

In a comparative old locality like ours the special ingredient is the people you are surrounded with.. your neighbours.. you know everything that goes on in their homes and I guess your life is no big secret either.. So we refrain from lighting the lohri in the front of an old woman's house whose husband passed away on the same day many years ago.. and we celebrate festivals together by making rangolis on the doors of not just our own home but everyone else's too.. if there is a wedding in someone's family.. the neighbours help you like its their celebration and in the case of a death... they stand by your side and give you strength.. On sundays when the kids have an off.. the street is teeming with tricycles and kiddos playing on the one slide that we have.. yes we have a slide in our street.. lucky we!! And aunties sitting in the winter sun..knitting or talking.. gossiping actually.. but its a feeling of being surrounded with love.. and safety.. the feeling of coming home at the end of the day.. that is what Delhi 5 is to me..:)