August 10, 2010

NOTE: All my so called “wit” and “sarcasm” apart – I fully accept, admit and appreciate that each individual has his or her own story. Everyone wants freedom. And everyone wants an anchor.

You all have the right to be who you are and what you are – and everyone, in their own, weird, freaky, sometimes even conventional, and traditional, shy, reserved or totally out there way – I repeat – EVERYONE, simply ROCKS!!!


A lot; rather, all of the beings who possess a combination of ‘testosterone’ and, for the lack of a more decent yet obviously masculine word, ‘body hair’ –  would agree with me when I would want to contend the old saying, “A son is a son, till he gets himself a wife.”

So here I am, once again, attempting to debate it from the other side of the fence.

So we’re the ones who nag, and complain, and don’t quite know what we want. Wow. That must be frustrating for all you dudes out there to deal, not only on a daily or hourly, but minute-ly with this species who don’t know what they want. I apologise on behalf of my side of the fence – we, who possess ovaries and guts.

In my defence, I am SO not a feminist. I disagree with the whole funda of reserved seating for women in buses, government jobs, college admissions and the parliament.

I don’t think that men have tortured and subjugated women for generations. I don’t feel bad for women with potential who end up being housewives and daughters in law and mothers for a lifetime.

On the contrary, I think, being a feminist is stepping a little bit on being outright mean.

And although it has been proven by Dr Phil, Freud and the whole jing bang shrink gang that women tend to hold onto relationships tighter because they need security, I don’t quite see it. In a way, it ALL makes sense – when there’s the question of progeny.

What I am trying to find the answer to is the question, “Do men care as much as women about their first family???”

Before the veins in some of your big heads pop, I’d like to maintain that I am not here to make a decision on this. All I am trying to say is, “Girls, let’s give them a break!!!”

Fact: “Guys”, “dudes”, “men”, “bros”, “comrades”, “buds” – they all do eventually end up caring. Caring  for and about. Their. First. Family. I’ve seen it happen to many a “free agent”.

The biggest example is someone very close to me. I have seen this person have everyone (and I mean EVERYONE), wrapped around his finger.

He was the Godfather of his social circle. I have seen him walk the halls in school with a certain aura around him – his juniors glowing in the light of his orb. I’ve seen him playing in the street, ensuring justice is maintained (don’t confuse justice with peace).

The church authorities, the school teachers, the family elders think he’s a boy with a heart of gold.

His first family, however, knows his darkest secrets.

He probably thinks they are beneath the honour of having his company – they’re just not “his kind’a people”. That he does everything they ask of him and yet, they can’t stop gnawing at his brain cells. That one extra chore that’s asked of him results in a tantrum that turns their living room into an all day negative vibe breeding pad. Woo Hoo!!! Sulk Fest time!!!

Sarcasm aside, he’s a very dear acquaintance of mine. So please don’t get me wrong. I know he will be there for me when I need him.

But here’s the thing. How can a guy – who’s apparently snappy crappy to his current family, paint a picture of a happy scrappy future family to his girlfriend???!!!

Another mate of mine, in a DnM session, confessed that “of course” he cared about his current family – he regularly bought knick knack sort of gifts for them. In my put on earnestness but genuine concern, I tried to get through his thick head, the idea that it wasn’t the gifts they needed from him – that care could be expressed without materialistic gestures as well.

In return for my very wise counsel (that’s right! Modesty can take a hike!), he looked at me as if I had introduced him to an Asian speaking Afrikaan. Mind you, this look was coming from a guy who decided to propose to his girlfriend at an orchid farm – because orchids are her favourite flower. (Bloody cheapskate didn’t have to spend a penny on the evening he got engaged to her!!!)

My Dad has always been fond of travelling. In the earlier days of his career, my Nan suggested that he should look for a job that didn’t make him move so much. Being in his element of youthful arrogance, he replied that each new city was an adventure. As he tells his story, the only thing he wants since he married my Mom is to live in the same city as her.

I am not a Suraj Barjatiya or a melodrama fan, but here’s a thought:

Why must men push their first family away, only to be on leash of another – which they call their own??? Is being Alpha male so important to them that they consider staying away from their parents more “peaceful”???

And if it is about being alpha male; and having their “own” family; having “control” is what they want, I find it rather amusing that women are actually labelled as control freaks. And if men find security in having the power and the control, how can it be established that it is women who look for security?

So these “Masters of their own will” who have the world “wrapped around their finger”; themselves want to be wrapped around someone else’s finger. Some impressive alpha male, I daresay.

So for all you girls out there, here’s some food for thought. According to “intelligent design”, they break free from their people, for us. So please don’t hurt the Alpha male you “own” by saying, “A son is a son, till he gets himself a wife”!!!!!!!!!!!!



My ‘Special’ Guy

July 28, 2010

We all have this someone special in our lives for whom, everything that goes on in our so-called “busy” schedule, can stop dead in its tracks. We think we know how important this person is to us, whether or not we admit it to him / her.

For some of us, it is our parents, for some others, a sibling. Most people like to put their boyfriends / girlfriends / husbands / wives / partners on this pedestal.

For me, so far, it’s my friend.

I am a firm believer of the fact that if the world were to end in 24 hrs, phone lines would be jammed because of everyone telling their kith and kin how much they love them. I am a girl of many words (:D), and I normally am good at expressing my affections for people – in general.

I have told this person many a time that he is one of the 3 people in the world (outside of my immediate family), who doesn’t have to consult the clock before dialling me up – despite the 5 hour time difference. I’ve told him time and again that he is my favourite guy in the world (and not just in the northern / southern hemisphere). I’ve told him on several occasions that I wouldn’t do for many people what I would relentlessly choose to do for him.

I first met him on the 26th of June, 1996. For those of you who, at this instance want to quote Dil Chahta Hai and say, “Subodh, tumhe time yaad nahi hai???”, I am actually going to turn around and say, “Approximately subah ke 8.30 baje honge”.

From that day on, he has grown in my life –

My classmate,

My seatmate

My competitor

My nemesis

My debate opponent

My quiz team member

My math teacher

My history student

My dance partner

My partner in crime

My confidante by day

My ride home at night

My visitor during illnesses

An ‘A’-list guest to my celebrations

My dream merchant

My snap back to reality

The helium to my gas balloon

The pin to my grenade

My clown

My counsel

My philosopher

My friend.

And just when I was starting to think that I am the one who cares more in this relationship; I was jolted to an important aspect of this friendship.

I was made to realise that he cares for me too. A sarcastic question by a mutual acquaintance made me realise how much we adore each other. In my extreme faithfulness towards my friend, I had turned a blind eye for all the gestures of care he had made over the years. I had, for a long time now, failed to see everything that he had done for me.

Not that I’ve been complaining, taunting, or nagging him about it. But I had just assumed that I was the bigger person here. I had taken his “being a guy” for granted. I had begun to think that “O yeah, he’ll do anything for me – I just have to ask”. In my unassumed arrogance, I had grown immune to what he did and said even when I didn’t ask.

I am not in soppy love with him. And neither am I in a melancholic or nostalgic mood. I mean c’mon, its me!!!

But I just want to take a moment here, and tell him once again, “I can’t thank my lucky stars enough for the 26th of June, 1996. Or the day when you got me suspended from science class. Or the day when we memorized the spelling for Gangaikondacholapuram on the school staircase – that doesn’t exist anymore. And of course, though the book is pretty okay, I can’t thank you enough for sending me a copy of ‘Now That You’re Rich, Lets Fall In Love”.



June 6, 2010

The following piece of writing is an unedited version of my personal thought procedure. Some may think its rude. Others may rate it as arrogant, or outrageous. However, it does not intend to confront or hurt anyone whatsoever.

If you just don’t happen to be a fan of tough love, or you don’t belong to the group that practices the  funda of “calling a spade a spade”, kindly DO NOT READ the following 1050 words:

Have you ever been in a situation, when all the excitement of getting a gift lasts just as long as the wrapping paper did??? (This is of course, considering that you are not one of the people who believe in slitting sticky tape off along the edge of the wrapper, and then iron the whole thing out… BREATHE… BREATHE…. BREATHE… Very Good!!!).

For the record, I consider myself very fortunate (thank you, universe,) to have people around me that care enough to get me presents in the first place. All you guys… this is NOT about you. Thank you so much for all the lovely things you’ve expressed your care with. I love you all – more today, than yesterday. Unless you step on my toes – but that’s another issue, really.

So how did I end up writing about this??? Well, here’s how it all began.

My parents have recently built their own house. Once the “Congratulations for the venture” dinners started; tacky figurines, shifty lamps, and whacked out china (some of which, for the record, I thought was funky) came pouring in, and my Mum’s aspirations of “picking out every little piece for her new nest – herself” – began to chip from the edges.

Then came Easter – and came chocolates. Turns out, one of the boxes we got, happened to be well past use by date.

And ever since then, I’ve had innumerable flashbacks about what I think were gifting faux pas. I see them everywhere – and I can’t switch off. I should… um… probably consider therapy. That’s right.

Like this time in high school where we did the whole Kris Kringle thing, I got was a bottle of nail paint of a colour so obnoxious it made me wanna scream. Moreover, it had dried out – much like sultanas, and the bottle just wouldn’t uncap. And when it did, the paint was so thick I wondered if I was supposed to use it to wax the security guard’s moustache. But then it wouldn’t match his facial hair… so I crossed the idea out.

I know people in real life, who actually have a “gift closet”. I wish them all the prosperity in the world – to afford more and more of such luxury – from the bottom of my heart, but I am ashamedly going to admit that it hurts my ego a little bit, to be given a gift stored for God knows how long, in that exquisite piece of furniture.

I am totally aware, that I am being a bit too picky. But in my defence, I would rather be at the back of your mind when you pick up flowers (if ever, only lilies, please), or a dark chocolate block (dark, please), or a 4 pack of cruisers on your way to mine, than accept something that “luckily for you”, happened to be in that closet before you even knew that something worth celebrating had happened to me.

I guess the root cause of ferral gifts lies in the modern day’s “busy lifestyle”. I mean, we’re all pressed for time, and sometimes, its genuinely hard to get to the shops and spend time to pick out the ideal thing. But that’s exactly where food and drinks come in!!! These things are safe, yet can always be personalised – and are easy to know about a person…!

They say that it is the thought that counts. But is it just me, or is it sometimes, just plain simple obvious how much “thought” was actually put into the picking out of the gift???

And what bothers me most is the following thought:

Has gift giving become so overbearing and stressful a ritual; that it has reduced from being an act symbolising well-wishing to nothing more than a social obligation?

And resorting to passing on what they believe are crap gifts… ??? Man!!! WHAT IS UP WITH THAT??? I mean, that’s just the worst thing!!! So, you received like, the fuggliest sheets for your anniversary. Must you pass them on??? I mean, c’mon… how do you know the scented candles are no good unless you light them??? And what if they turn out to be of a Gawd – awful fragrance after you’ve passed them on???

And last, but not the least, GIFT VOUCHERS??? I mean, T-H-A-T—I-S—J-U-S-T—S-O—D-O-W-N-R-I-G-H-T—R-U-D-E!!! Because they mean nothing but, “Okay… don’t have the time to pick out something what you may deem as “rad” – but that’s what I think your occasion is worth”.

So much for wanting to make someone happy!!! And then having the audacity of putting it in the garb of, “Hey HEY…!!! I got you a gift, okay??? It’s “the thought” that counts”…??? Seriously… that puts the whole “well wishing” thing in perspective.

For another record, the last thing I intend to insinuate is that good gifts are only things that are pricey. A gift does not have to have a huge price tag to make someone smile. Or to make them think, “Hey… I saw this and thought of you!!!”

I borrowed an over-used fleece from my college roommate so many times when we lived together that she got sick of me and gave it to me when I moved out. I love that fleece more than any other warm clothing I have.

My other roommate has my coffee mug and my cereal bowl to date.

A friend moved overseas, so I sent him two packets of his favourite Instant Noodles for his birthday.

Another friend gave me a photo frame made from ice cream sticks and jute rope – that’s the centrepiece on my bed side table.

I mean, if it were really so, the “thought” part can easily be organised anywhere – lunch break, commuting to and from work, between going to bed and dropping off, and even while making waste.

So here’s an earnest, most humble request to those who are fans of “winging it” with the gifting part of occasions  – all that’s really needed by your friends and family, is your company. Don’t go so “out of your way” getting them a gift, that you don’t make it back the next time round.


Well, I guess the facade needed to be busted. I took the onus on myself. You’re welcome.


An Opinion on Opinions

January 22, 2010


This is my first attepmt at blogging. Although I have a million ideas bursting in my head right now, I don’t know what I really want to write about.

But something that ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS comes to my mind when I read any article in any media, is:

“This piece, that I’m reading, is someone’s point of view, someone’s opinion, on an issue! Is this opinion, a fact?

Is it true?

Or is there another group of people that may contend the author’s thoughts?

And then, my brain debates with itself on that matter.

Well its not like that that’s ALL that my brain does… but things that I read, listen, or receive in any form, tend to get analysed from many possible viewpoints.

To cut it short, this is how it always ends, “Well… to each his own!”.

But then again, what really interests me is, “How strongly do people tend to hold their own?”.

My Dad, for instance, is an “I’m right and you’re wrong” sort of a guy. But that’s on major issues (especially regarding the household in general, and my life in particular).

There are people I know, who pick their friend circles according to the music people listen to. No wait. Reframe: There are people who think choice of music is reason enough NOT to be friends with someone. Now that’s strong opinion, by day. At night, I’d choose to call a spade a spade and call such strong opinions cases of snap judgement.

“People who listen to Delta Goodrem are losers…!” Really???

“People who listen to Whitesnake are bogans…!” Really?????

A friend of mine has his opinion on general law and order. He figures, ‘If law and order interfere with my lifestyle, then I’m against it”. As ridiculous as it sounds to me, I do see where he’s coming from. But then again, he happens to be a rational, crime record-free human being. If everyone – including the not so mentally gifted weirdos begin to talk like that, I don’t think anyone would give a rat’s a***.

The funny thing is, everyone has an opinion. On everything. All the time. How the hell can that be actually possible??? How can people have an opinion about something being right or wrong, ALL THE BLOODY TIME???

I don’t know if I’m making sense to the readers anymore. But here’s what I mean –

Paris Hilton;


Made in China;

Maids in Thailand;

Immigrants in General;

Local Government’s take on Global Warming;

Local Government’s take on Parking;

State Government’s take on the issue of Unemployment;

State Government’s take on the issue of Bashing of the Indian Students in Melbourne;

Personal life of the boss;

Professional Insecurities of the boss;

Best friend ever’s boyfriend;

Boyfriend’s best friend ever;

Colleague / Competitor’s addiction to heroin;

Colleague / Competitor’s addiction to a***-kissing

And many many many more – are issues we’ve all held opinions on. But here’s what I’m trying to say – in how many of the above concerns, do our opinions matter at all?

Certainly not as much as we’d like! Then why do people put themselves through the whole mental rigmarole, when the conclusion’s gonna be, “Ah well… to each his own!!!” ???

P.S. – For the record, I have no opinion on people’s opinions. One of the very few things I have a strong opinion on, is my smile. I think its awesome. If you don’t, well, you’re wrong!!!