A true story - Dimply tales

As a child, I was fascinated with dimples (I still am). My best friend Ekta had the deepest dimples in the whole wide world and the whole school swooned whenever she smiled. When she was chosen to play the little princess in our school play ‘Princess and the frog’, I was convinced that the non existence of dimples stood between me and super stardom.

I spent many a nights sitting in front of the mirror with pencils stuck in my cheeks, hoping that they leave behind dimples. I tried smiling by sucking my cheeks in, I tried poking fingers into my cheeks when smiling, I tried praying to God and asking for dimples but nothing seemed to work.

A trip to my native place revealed that my maternal grandmom had dimples that put Ekta’s dimples to shame. My badi mami too had a faint dimple on her right cheek. How, I wondered, did I manage to skip the dimple gene when everyone around me seemed to be blessed by them? My mom who was pakkaued by my dimple fetish chose to ignore my questions while my granny and mami encouraged me by letting me poke my little finger into their cheeks when they smiled.

It was then that I realised that the dimples were a result of missing teeth. While my granny had no teeth at all, my mami had a wisdom tooth removed, leading to the formation of those gorgeous dimples. That summer I pestered my mom to let me get dental extractions so that I could get a couple of dimples, but my mom just didn’t want a pretty daughter (*sobs*)

Not the one to give up easily, I kept looking for ways that would get me my prized dimples. Hope came in the way of Asha aunty, my mom’s best friend. Asha aunty had an unnatural dimple which was formed when she fell on a pointy rock as a child. Her dimple was different. It didn’t come up when she smiled. It was always there. That was the best, most awesomest dimple ever. That dimple could kick Ekta’s dimple’s butt like a million times.

And I wanted it.

After several unsuccessful attempts at finding a pointy rock, I had a brainwave. Picking up a pair of scissors, I marched into my room and with all the precision my trembling hands could manage, I snipped a tiny cut into my right cheek. The fountain of blood that started pouring out freaked me and I went running back to mom who took me to the doctor. That week was filled with loads of shoutings from the elders and wide eyed stares of respect from my cousins. Inspite of the pain, I slept soundly, proud that I finally had the perfect dimple.

Epilogue: The dimple (or to be really honest, the tiny dent) stayed on my cheek for nearly 2 years before finally fading away. This is my brother’s favourite dinner time story, the one he usually narrates to embarrass me. I, on the other hand, keep praying for some miracle which will get me that coveted dimple.

Call me Sugar!!

It all started with the birth of my oldest cousin K. My mom was barely 15 when K , her first niece, was born. Horrified by the thought of being called Aatye (aunt) at such a tender age, she tutored K to call her Didi. Time passed, K grew up and so did my mom. Yet, for some unfathomable reason, all my cousins born after K referred to mom as Didi.

Living in an age where kids start calling you aunty the minute you start working, I found this Didi business hard to digest.

The last straw came last week when my youngest cousin D, came to visit us. And true to tradition, she called my mom Didi and me Akka (older sister). Her incessant chatter sprinkled with an overdose of Didi brought out the devil residing within me. "If you call my mom Didi, shouldnt I start calling you Maasi?" I asked with a grin. The colour draining out of the tiny face told me that I had struck a chord.

D now calls my mom Aatye and serves as an example for anyone who dares to call my mom and me Didi in the same breath. :P

My experiments with Make Up :)

How long does it take for some childhood trauma to wear off? Can you just brush aside the mortifyingly embarassing incidents into some dark corner of your brain and never look at them again? Apparantly not! And these tiny incidents emerge everyday, making living a normal life close to impossible.

This is one such incident which kinda explains why Shanu can never dress up like a girl and why the very thought of make up makes her break into hysterical sobs!!

Chotu Shanu pushed open the door to her newly married chachi's room. Naayi chachi was the cynosure of all eyes, with her kohl laden eyes, mehndi adorned hands, spreading a dreamy Ponds talcum talc fragnance wherever she went. Shanu's annual village trip this time was filled with visits from the village elders lining up to shower blessings and praises on the nayi chachi. Nachi, as Shanu fondly called her Nayi chachi, was beauty personified. Shanu too wanted to look pretty, so that her bhaiyya's friend Govind (who was her first crush) would stop calling her undir (rat).

Nachi's room was like any other bride's room, filled with powders and lipsticks and creams and concoctions meant to make her look pretty. Shanu, who had never even seen a lipstick before, was blinded by the sheer choice she suddenly seemed to have. She picked up every cream she could find, rubbed it on her face and followed it with a generous helping of talcum powder and lipstick.

Feeling extremely pretty and pleased with herself, she bounced off to play with bhaiyya, Govind and his other friends. On her way to the playground, she was greeted with a lot of admiring glances, some subtle smiles and some loud laughs but she attributed them all to her new found beauty. Walking towards the ground, she saw Govind leaning agaisnt the wall lost in conversation with her bhaiyya and his friends. As she approached closer, Govind looked at her. He stared for what seemed like an eternity and then burst out laughing. Bhaiyya didnt stare, he just picked her up and dropped her off in front of mom.

Shanu has no clue how hilarious she looked that day but she is pretty sure she looked a lot like this.

She was banned from using cosmetics till she turned 18. College didnt see her using anything apart from sunscreen either. And now that her mom is convinced that her daughter needs a heavy does of makeup to look anything close to presentable, Shanu cant bring herself to use any cosmetics at all.

P.S: I saw this movie when I was in school and cried my heart out during this scene. Could it be because it was so close to real life?? This scene still gives me goosebumps.

P.P.S: I have alwayz believed that God gave us all our qualities in little pots before we were born..This is how my share of blog writing skills look like...

My pot has developed a crack somewhere and now all my talent is leaking away..the pot is almost empty. That could be the reason for such dimwitted posts. My follower count decreased from 115 to 110 after my last post and has increased from 110 to 123 since I stopped blogging...which again indicates that my posts are detrimental to my follower count :P

P.P.P.S: Both pics are a result of my experiments with MS Paint....nice na? :)

Punti Learns to Drive....

A couple of weeks ago, Punti tried learning how to drive again. As it was nearly a year and a half since she had last touched the steering wheel, my dad suggested she take driving lessons from a professional. So Vishnu Kaka (VK) started teaching her how to drive. After a week of going round and round our complex, VK suggested taking the car out on the road.

As she would to take the car out early in the morning, it was decided that she would drop Sid to work before taking a U turn and heading back home. All was hunky dory till the time she dropped him in front of his office. As they moved towards the main road, the car was suddenly filled with a foul smell. This, in a car which had the windows rolled up and the AC on full blast.

Punti eyed VK with suspicion who suddenly stops singing his favorite Bhojpuri song and stares straight ahead. Unable to do anything but smile and bear it, poor Punti manages to get the car home. 'Jaane de baba, buddha hai...peth kharab hoga' my dad says when she comes to him complaining about VK's antics. "Hume toh kabhi yeah problem nahi hua VK ke saath" I teased. 'Are you sure it was VK'. Punti left in a huff and I burst out laughing.

The desire to learn burning strong inside her, she turned up again the next day hoping VK's stomach was back to normal. But the same thing happened. And this continued for 2 days in a row. It seemed as if VK would wait for Sid to get off before dropping a bomb in the car. Finally, she could take it no longer and decided to stop learning from VK.

This intrigued the jasoos in me because I have known VK for years now and have never come across this problem. Yes, he does tend to sing in his besura awaaz but that is something that can be rectified by playing the radio on full volume. I needed to get to the bottom of this (this extremely gross pun was completely unintended).

So, I decided to accompany Punti on her morning drive. After loads of pestering she finally agreed. We dropped Sid off at work and right on cue the car was filled with an extremely foul smell.While I tried holding my breath and rolled the windows down, Punti looked at me with watering eyes. She was trying to hold her breath too and by the looks of it she was on the verge of killing herself. VK continued staring straight ahead.

Unable to make sense, I stared out of the window when it struck me. We were driving past a huge garbage dump. I asked Punti to pullover and checked the dashboard. And there was the reason staring right at me. Punti, stupid Punti, had turned on the incoming car vent (not sure what the technical term is) which would cause the foul air to come gushing in. The only explanation why the car would start smelling on that particular stretch was that we were driving too early in the morning for any other pollutants to make their way in.

I am sure you must have assumed that being the sweet girl that I am, I told Punti what the issue was. Hah! You are so wrong. I didnt.

Punti still thinks VK is the reason for the foul smell while VK thinks Punti suffers from IBS. I told her that VK thinks she is the reason for the foul smell in the car. She is so embarrassed she hasn't been able to face him.

Punti is back to her driving lessons now but without VK. Which suits me just fine because he is now free to drop me to work again :)

P.S:

"Huh? What is this ****? Do people even read the stuff you write?" she asked me when I showed her my first blog.

"You creative types, write ***** and pretend that all is fine in the name of creative liberty. Please try and write something that makes sense for a change"

Needless to say, I took her advice and started a new blog - Fullon Bakwaas.

Punti is one of my closest cousins but she doesn't know about this blog. She loves making fun of people around her, but cannot take a joke sportingly. If she ever finds out that I write about her, I am sure all hell will break loose. She might even start her own blog, dedicated to Shanu bashing (which I think is fab - love the idea of having a blog dedicated to me!!)

I realised that my drafts have many more Punti stories to share, but noone really knows who the real Punti is.

She has lived with us for the last 2 years and I cherish the times we spend together chatting the night away. But, there are times when I wish I can block her out of my life just like I have blocked her on gtalk. But unfortunately, life isnt that simple.

PPS: And neither is blogging - none of my fav bloggers are blogging anymore but thankfully none of them are blaming writers block for it either. The simple - I am bored/Have no time - sounds so much better and modest!!

Project Tillu....

Meenu gets up with a sudden jerk and ends up spilling water all over her desk.

"Hello, watz your problem?" I yell as the water drips over me.

"Sorry yaar, dekh na"

I turn around in time to see Tillu walking away.

Tillu is the only eye candy in our otherwise barren office. So starved are we for any kind of male cuteness that the slightly mandus, lost in his own world Tillu seems like Adonis to us. Tillu/Tilly/Tuktuk is a pseudo name for the adorable guy who works with the team that sits next to my cubicle.

With the news of Chimpu being married and my heart break spreading like wild fire, Meenu did not want to take any chances. She had done a fair bit of research (on FB and Orkut) and had come to the conclusion that Tillu was single and desperate to mingle. But, he was also a geek and terribly shy.

That meant joh bhi karma tha hume hi karna tha….

Anu became our watchdog and 3 short coughs were used to signal his arrival. Everytime Tillu passed by, our cubicle was filled with a frenzy of activity with everyone trying to get a look at Meenu’s cutie pie. When weeks of just watching him pass by did not yield any results and Meenu’s sighs refused to let us work, Mano decided to take charge.

Mano was the only one in our group who had managed to date the guy she fancied. After my Chimpu debacle, I had lost all credibility in match making circles. The girls who would come flocking to me for dating advice had now started going to Mano. I had to redeem myself. I pleaded demanded to be made a part of Project Tillu.

The plan was simple. Anu was to signal us with her 3 coughs and we were to call out Meenu’s name when he passed our cubicle. This, explained Mano, will make him aware of Meenu’s existence. After a week of chanting Meenu’s name, the best amongst us was to be given a lead role. With a dialogue.

Determined to be the one with the dialogue, I ensured my voice was the first Tillu heard as soon as Anu signalled his arrival and the last voice he heard when he passed our bay. Sure enough, my efforts paid off and I was chosen to deliver a crucial line the following week.

With Tillu’s attention grabbed, it was now time to reel the fish in.

Location: Cafeteria

The plan was simple. Meenu was instructed to wear her prettiest outfit. We took the table right behind where Tillu was sitting. As soon as he moved towards the counter, Meenu was supposed to overtake him and my job was to walk behind Tillu and call out to Meenu so that she could turn dheere se, filmi ishtyle.

The setting was perfect. We had the table behind Tillu. Meenu looked ravishing. I had practised my dialogue a number of times..I had to walk behind Tillu and shout out “Meenu, palat, palat” and Meenu and her slow motion palatna would do the rest.

After waiting for what seemed like an eternity, Tillu got up and walked towards the counter. Meenu got up and overtook him in a jiffy. A few seconds later, I got up. As we walked in a single file, Meenu, Tillu and I, Anu coughed. My signal to say the dialogue I had so painstakingly mastered over the weekend. I suddenly realised Tillu was walking faster than I had anticipated. I had to practically run to keep up with him. Just as I got closer to him to deliver the crucial dialogue, I tripped. My hand jerked and I accidentally slapped him on his butt.

Tillu froze. And turned dheere se. Looked at me and gave me a weird, sly smile. And walked back to the counter.

Needless to say, Project Tillu was a flop. Tillu has been dropped from the cutie list. Meenu has now found another crush who they call Mahi but I have no clue who he is. Mano now gives me lessons in how to walk without tripping or slapping people’s butts.

As for Tillu, for some unfathomable reason, I now find him walking ahead of me wherever I go. :P

BOOO........

I dont believe in ghost stories, I honestly dont.

I am the guy you see laughing @ a good ghost story when everyone around is squirming with fear. So, it came as no surprise to my friends when I told them that I was taking the Aarey road when going home after a late night party.

Aarey road is long and winding, covered with greenery. Legend says that this place was a robbers paradise where lonely travellers were robbed and murdered. Stories of murder victims being dumped in this remote area are well known. It is believed that these spirits still continue to haunt this area. Infact, this stretch of road in Mumbai is believed to be so haunted that no one is allowed to take it after 11 in the night to upto 5 in the morning. But, bribing the guard works and you do get a few people who come here looking for adventure, hoping to get spooked. I, on the other hand, prefer taking this route because it cuts my travel time by nearly 40 mins.

So there I was, cruising away on my bike when I notice an elderly man on an antique scooter phut phutting away in front of me. In no time, I zipped ahead of him. A few minutes later, I saw the man and his scooter again, riding ahead of me as if I had never overtaken him. Surprised, I zipped ahead again, but this time I managed to take in the make of the scooter and what the man was wearing. A few minutes later, when I saw him ahead of me again, I knew something was wrong. I hadn't seen him overtake me (there was no way his old Bajaj could have overtaken me anyways) and there are no shortcuts as the road is flanked by a lake on both sides. Intrigued, I overtook him and turned to take a quick look at his face. What happened next, I do not remember, but I woke up at home the next morning with no memory at all of how I got there.

I had to go back. I had to. I couldn't let a weirdo with an antique scooter knock me unconscious. Plus, I couldn't stand all the jokes my friends were now cracking at my expense.

Gathering a few friends, I decided to go back the next night. No, I wasn't scared. I just didn't want to take a chance. I mean there could be robbers and stuff and I didn't want to get mugged now, did I?

We took our bikes and parked right in the middle of the road where I had seen the weirdo the previous night. It was a clear night with the half moon throwing pleasant light. The crickets chirped and a light breeze carried with it, the sounds of the night. Flanked by the lake, the road looked breathtakingly beautiful and peaceful. As we waited for the weirdo to materialise, we indulged in friendly banter.

Suddenly, we heard a rustling sound coming from the lake. The hair on the back of my neck started tingling and there was a sudden chill in the air. Turning back, we saw what seemed like a figure running towards us at top speed. Running on water!!

Screaming as loudly as our lungs let us, we got on to our bikes and got the hell out of there. Atleast the rest did.

My bike refused to start. It was almost as if some weird force was keeping it glued to the spot. I felt someone something breathing down my neck. And then the inevitable happened.

I fainted.

Nothing untoward hasn't happened after that apart from the unexplained knocks I hear on my door at times. Or the weird voices and languages that my room mate says I speak in. Or the way Browny whines at times. I am in perfect shape but avoid taking the Aarey road. No, I am not scared. The roads have become too slippery in the rains and its too foggy in winters. I still enjoy a good ghost story but haven't really attended any late night parties in a while now. Work commitments.

And ya, I still don’t believe in ghost stories.

This is a true story. I tried telling it in third person par maaza nahi aa raha tha...thght the 1st person account did justice. So ya, this story isnt abt me..its abt a guy I know :)

Mere haathon main Jadoo hai ;)

Studying his reflection in the mirror, Sid shook his head "No this isn't the way I wanted it...Try again"

"Ohh come on, I need to get ready too" I wailed

A baby face and puppy dog eyes later, I was plugging in the hair dryer again.

In the 6 months since we moved here, I hadnt seen my mom grin so widely. Chatting and laughing with her new found walking group, my mom looked 20 years younger.

As the name suggests, her walking group goes on morning and evening walks together and spends a few afternoons at each other's house, chating, joking and gossiping. Today, it was mom's turn to play host and the aunty log were treated to a wide range of south indian fare from idli to dosa to mendu wada. Munching on an idli, Mehta aunty stared at Sid and me (we were playing waiters, getting lemonade and chutney and sambhar), turned to my mom and said, "Toh aap bahu kab laa rahe ho?"

My mom smiled, "Bahu? Abhi toh hum jamai layenge..Pehle Shanu ke haath peele karne hain" I had half a mind to drop the tray and run off pretending to be shy like some 70s ka heroine but with my T-shirt and shorts, I wasnt really dressed as the demure girl. "Lekin Shanu toh abhi choti hai..aapka beta toh kafi bada hai...uski shaadi nahi karoge kya?"

My mom nearly chocked on her dosa "Nahi nahi, Sid toh Shanu se ek saal chota hai"

Sid burst out into loud sobs while I did a little jig. I have alwayz had people tell me I dont look my age but trust me, nothing beats the feeling that you get when you are called younger than your younger sibling. I now know, how my mom must have felt when my doctor jokingly told me that I look like my mom's older sister (I hope he was joking though).

While I danced to Sid's tuneful sobs and the aunty log clapped, a sinister plan was taking shape in Sid's brain (he can multitask quite well).

"See, this is the way I want it. Dont you remember how it looked when I came home that day?? Try again."

That evening, he decided to get himself a brand new look. He came back home with his hair cut into spikes. The thing with a great haircut is, that it can do wonders to your face. Take away years, make your eyes look bigger, your nose smaller..it can unveil a whole new you. And that is what the haircut did to him. It made him look younger. While the haircut brought with it loads of compliments for Sid, it also brought truckloads of problems for me. For you see, he cant spike his hair himself.

"C'mon ya Sid, this is looking perfect. I need to get ready too. I cant go out looking like this." I complained

Puppy dog eyes and I am back to the styling gel.

5 attempts later, his hair is finally styled the way he wants it and I am able to run a comb through my unstyled hair.

I have spent the whole of last week, spiking his hair. Me thinks, me could open a salon and spike hair for a fee.

While this week gave Sid a whole new look, it also gave me an insight into my own hidden talents. I have realised that I have a flair for hairstyling and dont really need any formal training. I have now decided to pursue hairstyling and have convinced my cousin to lend me her tresses for practising my skills. If all goes well, she will have a great hairstyle to flaunt by the end of this week. But ek se mera kya hoga? I need to keep practicing...So if you are looking for a free makeover, write to me and watch your life transform because mere dost..mere haathon main jadoo hai :)

Googling Memories...

8:45 pm Andheri Local

"Hey, You are Shanu right? From ****** school at Andheri? Remember me?? I am Eliza."

I gave her a broad smile while my mind started hunting through the various names I had stored under the School section in my brain. Its in times like these, that you wish life was like Google..Bas enter the name and you have all the information you need about the person right from her date of birth to how she looks to details of why you are no longer in touch.

Searching….Eliza….Eliza..

Std III

The window seat in the class was her favorite. It allowed her to stare out at the traffic going by and on rainy days splashed drops of cold water on her. Chotu Shanu went to school in a time when the classrooms weren’t air conditioned like they are now..it was the rickety old fan that tried its best to keep the kids cool but failed miserably.

Her neighbor, a long black haired girl nudged her and they giggled. Eliza was her best friend. They shared their tiffins in the recess and played together during PT.

Eliza wasn’t like the other girls in her class. Some things about her were different..like her pretty grey eyes and her long hair..and the million lice that called it their home. The lice would jump around merrily while Shanu watched in fascination. It was like a little kingdom on her friend’s head. A couple of huge ones were called King and Queen while the chotu motus were the servants.

While Shanu played with Eliza and her lice, Shanu’s mommy spent a fortune buying Medicare to get rid of the lice that Shanu merrily brought home with her everyday. A million shampoos and 3 complaint letters to Medicare (to complain about the poor quality of their products) later, her mom gave up. Finally, it was time for the schools to close for summer and the lice finally left Shanu’s head in peace.

“You don’t remember me?? We were bench partners in Std III after which I moved to Canada. We were together again in Std IX remember?”

Searching….Eliza….Eliza..Std IX

Std IX

Shanu looked at the new girl who walked up to her in the canteen..she didn’t look like she was new here. The girl squealed “Shanu, don’t tell me you don’t recognize me!! I am Eliza..we were in the same class in Std III”

Shanu gave her a broad smile while her brain started hunting through the various names she had stored under Std III.

Searching….Eliza….Eliza..

“Uff, this heat is making my hair all ichy and irritating the lice in my hair.” She said.

Shanu, who no longer found lice and their kingdom fascinating, suddenly remembered Eliza and the bottles of Medicare. Medicare smelled yucky..no way was she spending another school year using Medicare to shampoo her hair. No, she was way too cool for that.

That year, the school was buzzing with gossip about the not so new girl Eliza with the mini Lice kingdom in her head, who would remove her socks the minute she entered the class and folded her skirt an inch above the mandatory length. All this in an effort to fit in..and yet nothing was done about the lice and the havoc it played in the life of her bench partner that year.

Search ended…486897 memories found

I beamed “Ahh Eliza, of course I remember you” I said, while I stared at her in surprise. Her beautiful hair framed her heart shaped face and her grey eyes twinkled when she smiled.

I quietly moved from the seat next to her to the seat opposite. It was a great ride back home that day… with loads of catching up and trading loads of gossip about all our ex school mates. I reached home, Medicare in hand, pleasant and happy memories rekindled and most importantly, with the old, not so pleasant ones deleted. :)

A summery tale.....

Little Shanu was never the sporty types. Eating, reading and watching TV was all she did during her summer, Diwali and Christmas vacations. The more she lazed around, the paler and rounder she got. On the rare occasions that she ventured out, she was affectionately called Potli (bundle) by the kids in her locality. Little Shanu didn't care. She was happy being round and pale as long as she could laze around.

Shanu's mommy was worried. She never wanted a pale milky child. She craved for some hint of brown, some hint of red in Shanu's cheeks. She tried pestering Shanu to go out and play. But Shanu was a stubborn child. She refused to go out and play in the sun. Its too hot to play Ma, she wailed. Worried, her mom called Shanu's nani for help.

"Dont worry, Main hoon na" Nani smiled and presented Shanu with a bright pink cycle the next day.

The cycle was the most beautiful thing Shanu had ever laid her eyes on. It had a tiny flower basket with a Barbie doll picture. The handles had shiny festoons, while the tyres had shiny beads. Shanu was thrilled. The summer heat didn't seem to bother her anymore and she pulled her cycle out onto the road. The trainer wheels made riding the cycle easy and within no time she was zipping around the complex. Shanu started spending hours out in the sun whizzing by on her cycle. She turned a beautiful shade of brown, mommy was happy and the complex found a new cycling champion.

All good things come to an end and so did this summer vacation. As Shanu pulled her cycle out for one last spin that day, she eyed the long winding road that she didnt dare take all those days. The uphill road was extremely steep and Little Shanu was scared. But she decided to take her chance that day.

As she pedaled uphill, sweat pouring down her face, she realized why this road was never used by the other kids in the locality. The ride uphill was very tiring and the top seemed to be nowhere in sight. But ride downhill promised to be exhilarating and little Shanu pedaled on. By the time she reached the top she was completely exhausted.

The ride downhill was something she had never experienced. The steepness of the road ensured that she didnt have to pedal at all. The wind swept her hair as she swooshed down the road. She felt like a Bollywood heroine with her hair blowing gracefully behind her and the sun kissing her cheeks.The speed thrilled her and she went into a trance.

Her reverie was broken by cries of "Aaga baya sambhal..kuthe bagtes". (Watch where you are going!). By the time Shanu convinced her herself that she wasnt Aishwarya Rai, it was too late. She saw a lady carrying a pot of water standing a couple of yards away shouting herself hoarse.

Shanu panicked.

She started shouting back "Utha samorun utha" (Move aside).

The lady was in no mood to budge. Ignoring the obvious danger, she decided this was the perfect time to give Shanu cycling lessons. "Brake maar na pori" she screamed back.

Shanu drew a blank.

Brake? Pedal? Handle? Woh kya hota hai??

The lady's horrified expression was the last thing Shanu saw, before the cycle came to a screeching halt.

By lodging itself between the poor lady's legs!!

Shanu's mommy's wish of a red cheek wali daughter was finally fulfilled and it wasn't just embarrassment that caused Shanu's cheeks to turn scarlet that day ;)

Any wonder then, that Shanu doesn't cycle anymore??

Opps...I did it again....

"Beta yeah 84 ka bus stop kidhar hai"

A hundred people standing in queue for the bus and the dear old lady had to choose me to ask this question. My annual pilgrimage just done, I refused to open my bad karma account so soon. I studiously ignored the lady. The girl in front of me looked at me with accusing eyes. I didnt care. Why dont u answer her Miss Accusing Eyes, my eyes accused her back. The lady mesmerised by my innocent looks decided to stand next to me with hopeful eyes. I continued to ignore her. Miss Accusing Eyes could take it no more. She turned to Lady Hopeful Eyes and pointed her to the right direction. The lady seemed like she needed to hear it from me. She looked at me, waiting for my approval. I nodded. Smiling, she left.

For anyone who has read this blog for any length of time, it will come as no surprise that I absolutely suck at directions. Yet, blessed with the innocent, bhola bhala type chehra that I have, I usually get picked by absolute strangers to ask directions to places I have no clue about. On the rare occasions that I travel by train I am asked 'Aur kitne stations ke baad XXXXXX aayega beta' to which I usually respond with a blank stare hoping the lady next to me comes to my rescue before I blurt something out.

Because I suffer from the compulsive answering syndrome.

It doesn't matter if I know the way or not, it doesn't matter if I have never travelled by the Central line before, it doesn't matter if I know whether the dish is vegetarian or not, if I am asked a question, I have to answer it. All the annual pilgrimage trips that my mom plans for me have to do with my compulsive answering problem. She thinks I annually accrue a lifetime worth of bad karma by making staunch veggies eat non vegetarian fare and on other occasions sending people off in directions completely opposite to the one they are supposed to take.

Like yesterday, when a guy asked me which way Malad station was. Being new to the area, I had absolutely no clue. And yet, I pointed him to a completely random direction whilst my mom looked on in horror. An earful of "Why cant you just say I dont know" and " Parmeshwara, when will this girl learn" later, I ran towards the way I pointed, found the guy and pointed him in the correct direction.

Or like at my friend Fari's wedding. Just as I was about to taste a starter, a totally random lady comes up to me and asks me "Beta, yeah veg hai kya?" I quickly take a mouthful and blink at her while chewing slowly hoping she gets disgusted and scoots off. No. She doesn't. She finds it fascinating and decides to wait till I finish eating.

2 mouthfuls of the starter and 5 thoughtful minutes later, I come to the conclusion that it indeed is vegetarian dish made of paneer. I confidently nod and decide to move around and try out something else. 3 starters and a couple of main courses later I realize that in addition to directional dyslexia and the compulsive answering syndrome, I also suffer from pannerchickitisis ie the inability to differentiate between paneer and chicken.

After misguiding 3 strangers this week and turning 5 staunch veggies into non vegetarians @ Fari's wedding (who comes to a Muslim wedding hoping to eat vegetarian khana anywayz), I have decided that I need another quick pilgrimage before the year ends :(

You now know what I am doing this New Year's eve :(

Tweeting good deeds......

I have always been the helpful types. Helping ladies with their heavy grocery bags, helping cute kiddos with their homework to offering my seat to the elderly on the train are things I do all the time (yea and you thought of me as a spoilt brat). But there was one good deed which had always eluded me..Helping an old lady cross the road.

A tweet by a friend which went something like this "Helped an old lady cross the road...she smiled & gave me a chocolate..much like the way my grandmom used to...life is all about these small beautiful moments...." jagofied again the purana daba hua armaan of helping old ladies cross the road. The chocolate had nothing to do with it. I hate chocolates. Infact, a few days ago a rickwala who got senti looking at my bhola bhala chehra, stopped the rick, and bought me a chocolate. Which I took because I didnt wanna offend him. I later fed it to Sid and I am glad to say it wasn't drugged.

Back to the point.

I sat back and tried to analyse why I have never been able to help anyone cross the road. And I arrived at the reason in no time. The rickwala.

My blog has been the silent witness of my love for the rickwala.The dashboard littered with rickwala drafts bears testimony to the fact that there was nothing more that I would want on a rainy day than a dry curtain wali rickshaw. And inspite of the love that oozed out of my every pore, I had been betrayed. By my very own rickwala. My ricking ways had prevented me from crossing the road. Toh kissi aur ko road cross karaneka sawal hi nahi uthatha.

So last week I decided to walk for 10 mins before taking the rick to work. Agar meri kismet main kissi ko rasta cross karana likha hoga toh woh inn 10 mins main mereko mil jaayega. And find her I did.

There she was standing, looking at the rush hour traffic with wary eyes. She looked at me and beamed. Wrong timing. I was late for work. Very late. I was torn between the long time desire to help someone cross and the desire to reach work on time for a change. Me, being me, wanted to have my cake and eat it too. So I decided to help the lady cross the road and then rush back to work.

I smiled and asked her if she needed to cross the road. She nodded meekly. I held her hand and started motioning her across the road (Kya karneka..I was late). I held up one valiant hand against the traffic hoping the cars and buses would heed my isharas and slow down. But naah..they didnt seem to be in the mood to slow down. No zebra crossing or traffic signal in the vicinity ensured that I would have to wait for a break in the seamless traffic. Secondly, getting the lady over the divider seemed like a task in itself.

And I honestly, didnt have the time. It was a choice between helping her cross the road and keeping my job. And in these times of recession we all know what wins hands down. Yup, my job did.

I flagged a rick down and while I was getting in, I was struck with a brilliant idea. I asked the rickwala to take a U turn so that I could drop the lady on the other side. The lady who was quite impressed with my hosiyari nodded happily.

Yet again, the rickwala had come to my rescue. My faith in the rickwalas of the world restored, I happily tweeted about my good deed:

"Helped an old lady cross the road in a rick..how brilliant am I :)"

Out of Order

She had stopped wearing kajal. She didnt want the compliments her large kajal adorned eyes attracted. She had stopped smiling, wary of the compliments her smile would bring on. She was wary of compliments, she was wary of letting her guard down. She was scared of getting hurt.

Nothing seemed real anymore. No one seemed genuine.

"Lift out of Order"

She looked at the watchman with questioning eyes. 'Maintenance ke liye band hai bibijee...1 hafta nahi chalega" came the reply.

She nodded. Her mom was right when she had asked her not to take the 7th floor flat. "What if the lift stops working or there is a fire..how will you manage to get down" she had argued. But she loved heights. None of her mom's persuasion had worked. “Hmmpt..ziddhi hai apne dad ki tarah” her mom had grumbled.

Another imperfection in her imperfect world.

Not so long ago, she loved taking the stairs. She thought of it as the exercise she desperately needed. The full-length mirrors on each floor made the climb up pleasurable. She could see the way her face slowly turned red as she climbed up floor by floor.

But things were different now. The break up had changed everything.

All she wanted to do now, was to take the elevator to her flat, lie on the bed and cry. It had been 6 months now and she still wasn’t over him. The phone calls that went unanswered and the emails that weren’t replied to, only added to her grief. The climb up reminded her of the numerous times they had raced up these stairs, he always slowing down to let her win. Breathless, opening the door would seem like a chore. The view from the top, with a coffee cup on a lazy morning while the rains poured, the sweet nothings, the giggles, the smiles, the hugs, all seemed like a lifetime from the past.

3 years of togetherness, now nothing.

By the time she turned up towards the fourth floor she was already breathless. She clutched her sides and rummaged through her bag for a bottle of water..it was then that she saw him.

Sprawled across the floor in his 4th floor apartment, he was busy reading a book. His curly mop of hair was unkempt and he seemed oblivious to the world. A half eaten pizza was strewen near his feet. She couldn’t stop staring at him. She had never seen something so beautiful, so perfect. He felt her eyes on him and looked up. And smiled.

Ooohhhh..a dimply smile. And beautiful brown eyes.

“Hi, My name is Rahul."

“Hi, You new here?”

“Yea, just moved in a couple of weeks ago. I wasn’t told the lift here needs to be closed for maintenance. Doesn’t happen anywhere else.” He rolled his eyes

“Yea, we are kinda used to climbing the stairs now” She shrugged

“Thank God, I live on the 4^th floor. Sorry about the mess though. I am a writer. You will find me sprawled across on the floor all day. I hope for your sake, that you don’t have to take the stairs everyday.” He laughed.

She nodded and continued climbing.

It was weird how easy it was talking to him. She wasn’t the type to talk to random guys. But there was something about him that wasn’t random. Like she knew him from somewhere. He seemed so likeable, so friendly.

Back home, the phone rang. A couple of ‘yes’ and ‘hmms’ and ‘I will be there in 15 mins’ later, she hung up.

As she dressed, her mind wandered. She could have sworn that the guy who seemed so real a while ago was all but a fragment of her imagination. He was too good to be true, too perfect. She shook her head but his dimply smile refused to leave. You will find me sprawled across on the floor all day his words rang in her head. Suddenly, the climb down the stairs didn’t seem that bad.

She smiled at the mirror as she applied kajal to her big beautiful eyes.