Fucking Brijesh.

Dee. "I'll have a Caramelized Honey Latte. Iced. Tall. No, sorry, please make that Grande. Non fat milk. Please add whipped cream? Thank you!" I smiled at the guy helping me at the Starbucks counter. Of course I knew my drinks. Non fat milk means that I could manage the whipped cream and God knows I've earned it. And I hope he gets the sign that I changed from Tall to Grande - I think this date will go long enough for me to finish my Grande. As I smile at him, I run my eyes over him, hoping to see him adore my cutesy quirks about my Starbucks drink and I'm not disappointed. Ha! He definitely looks impressed. His eyes have gone wide in admiration. He certainly looks okay, a little bit scruffy, but well, what man is well turned out without some admonishing from a woman? I could work with this. I think his glasses are cute, trendy, and he certainly doesn't look wiry or thin based on what I can see from his plain grey tee, and an open, checked shirt over it. I really can't figure out if there is some lean muscle under there, the shirt is way too baggy. Those shoes certainly look like they come from an exclusive store, I don't think they make Converse sneakers that way, it looks very one of a kind. "Could I have a Caramel Macchiato please?" "Size sir?" "Small." "We don't have a small, sir. We have a Tall, Grande and Venti" "Wow. Okay. Is small...Tall? Oh wow. Please just give me your smallest size?" "Sure sir. Any personalisations?" "No, God no, thank you very much." "Your name, sir?" "Suraj" "You can use my Starbucks card, Suraj!" "Hey, no! This is on me" He has a really cute, shy smile with a dimple on his left cheek.

We walk up to find a place and all the nice comfy couches are taken so we just sit on the shared table that is dead centre of the place. We're the only ones on it, though. I liked this particular Starbucks, it was bang in the middle of the city and walking distance from at least four or five of the nicest, fun places to grab a drink if a date goes really well, and the place itself has a nice urban vibe to it. It opens out into a lovely terrace area that usually has a very well turned out crowd because of it's closeness to all the pubs. Not today though, there is an arty type crowd sitting there raucously laughing. God! Can someone teach them how to dress better? But I like the nice hum of the AC and jazz music inside, so I settle down comfortably and smile. "So" he said, "Blind dates, huh?" "Yes! So far so good though. So how do you know Brijesh again?" I ask. "Well, same college, but we weren't exactly close. But I just took up a new job and we are on the same team and pretty much hang out all the time, it's a really small team. And it helps having someone you know in such a large organisation, you know? So you don't feel like you're drowning in a sea of people! And what about you? All he told me was you guys go back a long way." "Oh yes we do! Our families have actually known each other a long time and we were next door neighbours until Dad decided he had to move closer to the heart of the city. We still see each other's families quite frequently, our folks are always planning one shindig or another. And I'm not complaining mind you, it's great the area we live in. And because they are always tearing down some place or the other and a new pub comes up, it's like..perfect! I am never bored!" "Haha. Okay. Soooo what do you do for fun?" "Well I have a really tight set of friends, you know? So most evenings after work, we just like checking out new places and I like that this city is getting edgier and more urbanised and sophisticated, and the food scene is getting better too. I like exploring new cuisines, and there's a new Lebanese restaurant that's on our list. Oh and I do Pilates most weekdays, it's a lot of fun. And I'm trying this new place next week that is offering Hot Yoga - you know, not that I need it, but sounds interesting!" I smile at him again. He certainly looks impressed. He is lapping it all up. "So what do you do for fun?" I ask him. He might just be nice enough to introduce to the gang, maybe we can even go to some places he is a regular at. Mona isn't the only one who can turn up with a hot new thing in her arms every week. Besides, this guy doesn't seem run of mill and it'll be a nice novelty for the group. "...so yeah, we kind of try to make it a point to meet there every other week. The food is nice and we can sit there as long as we want to and talk!" "Sorry, where is this again?" "Chai Patty? In Indranagar. Small cosy place and you have mattresses on the floor and hot bajjis when it's raining. I mean it's not on the menu, but because we've been meeting there for over two years now, they are nice enough to make it for us! We're loud and we argue. We actually have a guy who will only write leftist propaganda and right-wing-hate-poetry and get this - he insists on rhyming - very hard to believe that he actually makes it funny, especially because rhyming in poetry, you know?" And. He. Is. Laughing. Actually, laughing. Am I missing something? Oh dear God. But well, it'll still be quite different for the group, we're all tired of Mona's men - same old newly monied finance guys. This one will definitely make Siddarth and Adithya sit up. It's going to be a hard sell, this Chai Patty business, to be honest I am getting worried it may be a bit tacky. Maybe this whole poetry business will wrap it all up nicely with this whole angsty young man thing he has going on. That dimple is cute enough to make an effort. I smile at him again. "So you manage pilates and stuff with work?" he asks. "That's pretty cool! I'm kind of struggling to manage a regular time to go running with this new place." "Oh yes! Health is super important, you know? It's worth spending money on. So yeah, I make time for it. Work can get super hectic but it's all about balance!" "In the Force? Balance in the Force!" Okay what does that mean and why is he laughing? Alright, this needs to stop. And he looks a little stumped too. "Ummm so what do you do at work?" he asks. Finally. "Well we curate experiences for people. It's a very niche space. Say for example you have someone visiting you from abroad and say they are interested in the whole slum scene, or folk arts scene? You kind of just let us know and we curate these experiences for them in a way that lets them see the essence of it without really getting your hands dirty, you know? Because we take care of it for you? So yeah, tours, events, etc based on the experience you want! It's a lot of work but also fun! Of course, I'm not the one visiting slums and stuff, we've interns for all that. But it's quite fulfilling, knowing that you're making a difference. Because you know, sometimes the tourists actually make some donations on the tour as they go, it makes such a difference to these people's lives. It's in dollars and euros - life changing for the poor! And I'm helping make that happen, so very fulfilling" Well, he definitely looks impressed. He's gaping at me! "And what about you?" "Well, right now I'm a scrum master at this place, and most people around me kind of hate me for it because they feel like I'm not experienced enough to be one? So yeah, most days it's really tiring and your brain kind of turns to mush and there isn't any space left for any creativity! But you know, it's a stop gap thing. Just making money until a friend and I can do something on our own." Well that's an impressive entrepreneurial spirit, suck it Mona! "That's exciting! So what are you guys planning on starting?" "Well we want to open our own space for creative expression! And yeah it's going to be a struggle, money wise, but we really want people to be able to think and express themselves freely! Poetry slams, spoken word poetry, art exhibitions, anything that lets people be expressive! So we want to make just enough money to run the place, and don't really want a money-making machine! We feel like that will really take away the openness and creativity from a place and limit us on what we want to do." Oh. My. God. I should have stuck with a Tall. Half this yummy drink is now going to go down the drain. Your own business that doesn't make money? I cannot believe all that cuteness is wasted on this guy.

Should I wait a bit more and try and make polite conversation? What do I even talk to him about? He’s just sitting there fiddling with his shoelaces for God’s sake. Maybe I should ask him a little bit more about his work? But what kind of a deal is this scrub master anyway? What are they scrubbing and what for? Honestly though, I don’t care two hoots about all this techie stuff. It all goes above my head. And he doesn’t seem like he is the kind who gets out and has fun in general. So bottomline - I may have to listen to scrubbing-talk and poetry-talk. Fucking Brijesh! What has he gotten me into? My mouth hurts from smiling.

If I break this suckfest up now I should be able to fit in a mani-pedi. I totally deserve one after this crap show. And no friggin way is he going to come anywhere close to my gang. Fucking Brijesh.

Alright. Action time.

"Hey you know, I just realised I have a lot of pending work to get to. Do you mind if we cut this a bit short and catch up another time? Say hi to Brijesh from me when you see him!" Oh and I can't wait to get out of here and give him a piece of my mind!

But oh my god, look at him sighing. Poor thing. Rejection doesn't seem to sit well with him.

I am hitching my bag up and I can see him waving at me with such a sad longing smile. Fucking Brijesh. ________________________________________________________________

Suraj Fucking Brijesh. I get that I owe the guy and he's looking out for me but how did he think this was going to work? I'm still shocked. She's dressed in a, what do they call it? Crock top? Anyway, it's that midriff baring thing. She's waif thin and in heels and all I can think of is that she is going to get blown away with a strong gust of wind, her ramrod straight hair with blingy sunglasses on top with it. "I'll have a Caramelized Honey Latte. Iced. Tall. No, sorry, please make that Grande. Non fat milk. Please add whipped cream? Thank you!" Good Lord! Was that an order or a war plan? I am still imagining her flying in a gust of wind and smile, and thankfully she just smiles back. And now time for this agonizing charade. "Could I have a Caramel Macchiato please?" "Size sir?" "Small." "We don't have a small, sir. We have a Tall, Grande and Venti" "Wow. Okay. Is small...Tall? Oh wow. Please just give me your smallest size?" What the fuck is wrong with these people? Tall is tall. Grande means big and doesn't venti mean twenty? What the fuck is wrong with calling small small? "Sure sir. Any personalisations?" "No, God no, thank you very much." Yes, because I cannot bark marching orders like this one here. Dee. Sigh. I don't even know her full name and I'm scared to ask. "Your name, sir?" "Suraj" I'm glad she picked a common table. I don't want to be too close to those heels, they can impale someone. And it's got a nice view too of...okay. Kill me now. That's Avantika. My Avantika with her streaked red hair. On the terrace. Avantika who I really want to ask for a cuppa and haven't got up the guts to. Avantika who looks like she's having fun. God she looks beautiful when she laughs, her hair is glinting in the sun. And instead I get to stare at big blingy sunglasses. Sigh. "So" I say, "Blind dates, huh?" Lame, but a guy's gotta start somewhere. "Yes! So far so good though. So how do you know Brijesh again?" she asks. I ramble a little and I know I'm not making much sense but I can see Avantika hitting this other guy with a book on the head and that could have been me but no, here I am. Fucking Brijesh man. ".... because they are always tearing down some place or the other and a new pub comes up, it's like..perfect! I am never bored!" Fuck. I have no idea what she just said. Do I laugh? Not laugh? Shit man just ask her something! Anything! "Haha. Okay. Soooo what do you do for fun?" Oh man! Just look at Avantika. She's laughing again and her hair is dancing with the wind in the open terrace. I mean, it isn't even that she is so unconventionally beautiful. I met her at Chai Patty, Naveen brought her along and the woman writes hard hitting stuff. Such a cherubic angelic face and when she writes - wham! ".....oh and I do Pilates most weekdays, it's a lot of fun. And I'm trying this new place next week that is offering Hot Yoga - you know, not that I need it, but sounds interesting!" Focus man. Focus. "So what do you do for fun?" she’s asking.

So I tell her about Chaipatty because immediate recall, we just met yesterday. Naveen went on rambling as usual and we were getting the standard dirty looks from the rest of the people at him loudly thrashing certain politicians and Avantika sat there riling him up just for the heck of it, looking so innocent the whole time. I laugh despite myself and shit. Dee is looking at me so strangely! "Sorry, where is this again?" she’s asking.

So I tell her about Chaipatty. Did I not mention it to her already? Okay, what next? My brain is scrambling to ask her something. She said Pilates didn't she? "So you manage pilates and stuff with work? That's pretty cool! I'm kind of struggling to manage a regular time to go running with this new place." Stop rambling you idiot. "Oh yes! Health is super important, you know? It's worth spending money on. So yeah, I make time for it. Work can get super hectic but it's all about balance!" "In the Force? Balance in the Force!" I'm staring at my sneakers. Avantika drew on them and voila, my plain Converse high tops now had Luke with Yoda on his back and a light saber and the detail on the drawing - Mind.Blowing. I should just man up and ask her out already. She looks baffled. Brijesh is going to kill me. Alright. I can do this. "Ummm so what do you do at work?" I ask. "Well we curate experiences for people. It's a very niche space. Say for example you have someone visiting you from abroad and say they are interested in the whole slum scene, or folk arts scene? You kind of just let us know and we curate these experiences for them in a way that lets them see the essence of it without really getting your hands dirty, you know?”

This is getting worse. If I dash out of here, would she even notice? She seems so smug and happy. I wish I was the Flash. Sigh.

“.... It's in dollars and euros - life changing for the poor! And I'm helping make that happen, so very fulfilling" Is she serious? Is she for real? I look at her again. Straight hair like it came out of a doll factory, not even the strongest gust of wind was going to get one strand out of line, and with sunglasses perched on top. That crock top thing with some glittery stuff on it. And look man, I'm a nice guy so I'm not judging anything or lack of, waist up, yeah? And really long heels that can cause you some serious pain if you get on her wrong side. And she looks so proud of herself. Maybe I should introduce her to Savi so they can talk about her experience working with The Missionaries of Charity. You know. I like to watch the world burn as much as the next man. "And what about you?" So I tell her I’m a scrum master, no mean feat, considering my age. And yeah that so-called fancy degree helped get me there. But I realise that to her, I cannot explain how soul sucking it is to tell a bunch of people in their late thirties how to do their job and just how much they really resent me for it. And how shoed in I really am in those damned claustrophobic cubicles. And that the only nice part of my day is when Avantika sends me her writing and I get to just stare at her name on my screen for a bit. But I do tell her it is stop gap until Naveen can suck it up and we can get going on our own. "That's exciting! So what are you guys planning on starting?" Despite myself, I tell her exactly what Naveen and I want to do! I launch myself and zealously explain our philosophy and what we hope to achieve. I'm rambling on and Avantika is in my direct line of vision and I can almost hear her throaty laugh. I just want to walk out of here and talk to her. I’m staring at her and for a second I feel like I have electricity coursing through my body. She’s caught my eye and she’s smiling at me. And here I am, sitting with Dee. Dee what? I don’t know. And Dee can’t be her full first name can it? And what do I ask her next? This is utterly pointless! Fucking Brijesh! "Hey you know, I just realised I have a lot of pending work to get to. Do you mind if we cut this a bit short and catch up another time? Say hi to Brijesh from me when you see him!" And before I can register her words she's picking up a giant glittery bag I can fit my dog in and is waltzing out clicking her heels and I am sure I looked like a gaping idiot the whole time. Did that just happen? I cannot believe my luck and I don't even have time to worry about Brijesh and how dead he is because Avantika is walking up to me with her hair bouncing and a big beaming smile on her face. "Hey man! Fancy dates with fancy girls huh?" "Well that wasn't exactly a date! Hey guess what?" and I show her my shoes. "You wore it dude! Do you like it?" Is she for real? "Avantika. I don't just like it, I absolutely love it!" Oh there’s that laugh! It’s now or never. Come on man. Suck it up and do it. Just look at her. "Hey, listen. Would you like to maybe, you know, go out with me sometime?" I cannot decipher her expression. Great man, Suraj. Two massive disasters within the hour. And you blew your chance with this amazing girl in one, fell swoop. "You know....." Sigh. Yeah. I am doomed. "I don't just spend seven hours drawing on a pair of sneakers for just anybody. Took you long enough, yeah?" and she settles into the chair next to mine.

Weirdo

“Weirdo”

They thought he hadn’t heard it, but he did, he always did. The thinly veiled comments had stopped and it was now full-fledged vehemence that he heard and what he saw was uncontained gleeful faces saying it.

He walked on. He had always walked on.

He sat at his desk and plugged in his earplugs to the dusty CPU and fired up VK. He knew the rest of the people in his bay all shared music through it, listened to the same songs, breaking out in peals of laughter at the same time and from his peripheral vision he could see heads bobbing out of the symmetrical cubicles, all at the same time, with the same gay looks of mirth on all their faces, looking at each other and glowing with the joy of their shared camaraderie. All of theirs except his, from his corner cubicle, from where he had showed one of them how to use VK. Of course they promptly used it to make him feel even more excluded. But he didn’t really mind.

When he had sat with the rest of the kids at movie time every week, oldest among the lot, he was as curious as the rest of them, childlike, always waiting to see what came next.

When he was told he would be tutoring with the nice lady who was going to carve out time and money because he had “potential”, and he nodded, he wanted to see what came next.

When he was told there weren’t enough funds for him to go to college, because the rest of the kids at the home needed to go to school, he said okay, waiting to see what was next. He helped clean, sew, mop, cook at the home in return for continuing to live there even though he was past the age and had to move on. The kids liked his unobtrusive presence and let him pick the movies, but only after he had checked through all of their homework.

When the nice lady’s daughter came by a year later and said the nice lady was no more, with tears in her eyes, and left him with an envelope full of money, he looked up at the teary eyed woman and before he could react she was gone. My mother saw potential in you, she had said, she had great hopes that you would make it in engineering, she said.

At college, he sat through one class after the other, always waiting to hear what was next. In the company of his long silences, he absorbed every word, always waiting to see what was next. When the men in suits took over the entire college for a day and walked around looking important, and he was asked to interview, he found himself wondering what was next.

He heard whispers from the teachers about the sadness, the potential, and the luck that was bestowed upon this orphan boy. He heard about diversity in multinational corporations. He heard how his life would change.

And it did.

He began to notice things he hadn't before. He noticed that mismatched socks were gross. That worn out Converse sneakers that were drawn on with doodles were disgusting. That tiny hole in his shirt he hadn’t noticed made him a hobo. The lack of a girlfriend meant he was gay. Not liking pizza made him a loser . That the word sick didn’t mean someone was ill. Slay didn’t mean there was violence involved. That calling somebody a bitch with a smile meant they were friends. That his inability to find every little thing awesome, amazing, mind blowing meant he didn’t get it.

He felt bewildered. He was unsure now if he wanted to see what came next.

He didn’t agree, he didn’t understand. He did not think he was the child of tragedy he was made out to be. He didn’t know how to be dramatic at every new song and baby goat and every new internet sensation. He didn’t feel like he was a hobo, or a prude, or gay. 

He knew what was amazing and it was not a cat video.

And now, as he sat looking at the screen with lines and lines of code, he heard it again. In between all the laughter, a head nod and a pointed finger in his direction, with a smile that tried to look friendly but the lips saying,

“Fucking weirdo”.

They never knew that sometimes songs end and you can hear these hateful words through the ear buds.

He pulled open his drafts on email and sent in his resignation letter.

This time, he would know what was coming next.

A Letter To My Brother - Why I am a Feminist and Why I Read Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

I am not the most articulate person. I lack a brain to mouth filter and most times it takes me a while to realise that the flurry of thoughts in my brain and what has spewed out of my mouth in a hurry to explain those thoughts before I lose them, means that I have not said what I meant to say, and you have not understood what was in my brain.

Add to that fact that I am a Feminist. (Yes, I am. I don't burn bras, at least not yet. I do not think men should be burned at the stake. I do not think women are better than men - I do not think anybody is better than anyone else.)

Add to that the fact that we do not live under the same roof any more.

Add to that a huge generation gap that makes it exponentially tougher because it is the age of the internet.

What you get is my complete inability to help you understand why I am a Feminist, and why I need to be one.

And therefore, I hope that I can articulate it better as I write.

You do not understand my need for feminism because you live in a house where the need for it has been non existent. You learned to cook, same as me because it was a life skill, and not because of a gender role (and I will admit your Dosas turn out far better than mine, just this once). You were expected to learn to clean, sweep, clear up after a meal, same as me because it was a life skill, and not because they were tasks assigned by gender. You grew up in a home where your mother went to work, same as your father, and your father knew how to cook, same as your mother. 

You still are in a home where Amma stays up worrying whether it is you, or your sisters, who are out late at night. She does not worry more, or less for you and us, she worries the same.

But I got out of that house, willingly, and for reasons I then believed in. And once I was out of that environment, what was a small voice at the back of my brain, always shut down, always drowned out in the noises of work, and friends, and fun, and worries, finally made it to the forefront and demanded my attention. It was not a demand I conceded to easily, but it got to me in the end.

I paid attention to the voices around me that were condescendingly saying "she may not come back to work, she is getting married". I paid attention to the people saying I got lucky (the man I married was never lucky to have married me). I paid attention to the subtle things that I missed before because I lived in a home that did not allow me to think that way - you did not do something, or did not get out of something, simply because you are a girl.

Oh, the things I heard! Here is one person in particular, every single day a new gem : 
"She cannot go to X-City! She is a girl!" 
"Oh my God the women here drink more than the men!" 
"She went to X-Country with her friends and without her husband" 
The very same person wanted a wife that was employed, and can cook, and was fair and beautiful, and would be his version of a good wife, without ever questioning his skills, his looks, always implying he qualified simply because he is a man. I am glad the person in question is still single. Thank God for small mercies.

As the voices got louder, I began reading more. And I began reading Adichie. She made me think - put the book aside after a few pages and actually think about was she had written, before I could pick the book up again. She may have been talking about race, about colour, about things nobody wants to talk about or admit they even think about, but it was a resounding - "yes, yes, that is what it is" in my head. It was fantastic! Here was somebody asking me questions I was scared to ask myself, and nudging me and prodding me to think, think, think.

You need to understand that the minute you identify yourself as a Feminist you are casting yourself into a mould that is already lodged deep and etched vividly in people's minds. You are a violent, loud, irrationally angry person with possible lesbian tendencies - it is unfair on straight and lesbian women to assume that a lesbian is automatically a feminist - who is out to get men and does not appreciate the benefits of being a woman and is unnecessarily creating a hue and cry over nothing.

I finally got to a point where I admitted there is a problem. And I thought it was worth being  a Feminist despite that ugly mould in people's minds about what being a Feminist means. As much as it took me a while to get there and acknowledge it and get over the fear of that judgement, I do identify myself as a Feminist. I am a lot of other things, but I am also a Feminist.

And so I was vocal. I did not scream (you have to trust me on this one), I did not shout, but only politely asked a question, or gave my opinion. 
"Did you ask the girl in question if she can travel alone?"
"But I do not have to move because my husband wants to?"
"Why don't you learn to cook so you can help your future wife?"
"Why don't you consider moving instead of your fiancee?"
"I have been wanting to go on a solo trip - yes that means without my husband".

Here is what I was tagged - Aggressive. 

And here is something to think about - when you are older and can make the above statements in a relevant conversation, make them. There is a good chance that you will be tagged - Progressive.


I will not pretend to believe that I can change people, I do not want to. But I want to be able to do what Adichie did - make people think. I do not have the ability, nor do I want to get people to understand, but I would love the ability to help people think about what they are saying and why. I am trying to make my peace with the fact that most people will not think, will not change, will always laugh at Feminists and Feminism, and that is okay.


I will not pretend that I am right, that I know everything, that all feminists are always right. That would be pretentious and stupid. I am still reading, I am still learning, and I admit I could be wrong about a lot of things. But here are some things I am not wrong about because they have all been deeply personal experiences (and also because I will never let go of the chance to write something in bullet points). How the world is so different for you and I, who grew up in the same home, who have had the same upbringing, but the world is a different place to me than it is for you because you are a boy and I am a girl.

- You do not have to think about where you are wearing shorts to, if it's safe, what your safest mode of transport is when you wear shorts. I do. You wear shorts in the summer like you wear jackets in the winter. I don't.

- You do not worry about how anything clothing above the knee can be seen as an invitation to flirt. I do.

- You do not hear catcalls when you walk alone on the beach. I do.

- You do not hear "hey" a few times followed by "Too much attitude to talk? Bitch". I do.

- Whenever it is that you get married, if you do, you will never be penalised for not overtly displaying that fact by wearing a chain around your neck and rings on your toes. I am. You will not be judged and told you are trying to "appear single to attract attention". I am.

- When you take solo trips, nobody will ever ask you how your girlfriend or wife "allowed that" and not tell you how lucky you are. I am asked, and told those things.

- When you get promoted or move up in your career you will never be told you did that "despite being a man". But I am told that I did well despite being a "married woman".

- Your major life decisions like deciding to get married, will not make you worry about  how it affects your promotion and how you are perceived at the workplace. Mine did.

- Your boss will never ask you over and over "are you pregnant?" out of a deep worry that you may not be able to travel. Mine did.

I can go on, but I will stop.

You do not see the need for feminism because you have never experienced these things, and you never will. You may not even fully comprehend it because these are things that happen to someone else. I do not expect you to wake up one day, suddenly aware of what these things feel like, or change yourself and the world around you. But acknowledging that these things do happen, everyday, many times in the same day, is a big first step.

I do not want to change you, I want you to Think.

An Approval

“It won’t last.”

“What won’t last? Do you think the colour will run? Man they over charge for cottons!”

“No, not that overpriced rag in your hand that passes off for a tunic. This. This phase you’re in, with your head in the clouds. It won’t last. It’s a lot of work, and you need to be practical about these things”

“Pessimist much?! Come on, get over it! I found the guy. You thought I never would. You even asked me if I was gay, remember? Offering your support. Saying it will be okay. I don’t see what the trouble is now. I’m there – a committed relationship. I’m happy. I’m buying a girly tunic in red for God’s sake. It’s not black and it’s not a t-shirt. How do you NOT attribute this to love?

I was there once. With my head in the clouds. With that feeling that convinces you that love makes you invincible, and you can take on the big, bad world and all its monstrosities. Everything feels like a UG 15 Hollywood movie set – the colours are brighter and life looks like it is the most beautiful thing.  You truly believe la vie en rose.

But it sets in though, and slowly. So slowly you hardly see it coming.

Along the way, when you are driving to one of those mundane weekend chores, you suddenly realise that there isn’t a hand that’s reaching out for yours, there isn’t a caress at every red light, no fingers brushing the hair away from your face. What is there of course, is a tattered t shirt and old shorts that walk into a store and look for tooth brushes.

You look in the mirror and wonder why there isn't that need to spend another extra minute – it will only take a minute – to line your eyes with kohl. And then that dreaded thought pops in - what for. The pair of mismatched socks and faded shirt across the room do not care whether your eyes are rimmed with kohl or tears.

It slowly seeps into you, and takes over who you are, and becomes a part of you. You don’t realise it until you catch a stranger giving you a look with such disdain that you truly start to take a look at yourself. The way you catch a passer-by looking at your house, and you look around, truly see, and wonder why the cracks and faded paint have gone unnoticed and for so long, time to give the whole place a lick of paint. Maybe next year. And it turns into the next, and the next. When you walk around without realising that you have batter caked on your shirt at a checkout counter that earns you the look, you know you have become the living and breathing version of the ancestral home you've inherited after ammamma passed on. Cracked, malfunctioning, with a shaky foundation that means a complete overhaul of the whole place.

But that was my inheritance, not hers. I look at her as she wrinkles her nose at everything she sees. I patiently wait for her to lose patience and give up so we could walk into a store with tees and jerseys. I know those will be the only ones she will wear. The lovey-dovey clothes will rot in the corner of her cupboard until she discovers them one day when she is frantically searching for something to wear to a wedding she doesn't want to go to in the first place.

We were opposites in every way. From the clothes we wore, the work we did, our choice of public transport (she will smart at the idea of not being in control, auto drivers are my saviours). She will use the “da’s” , the “podas”, the “dei’s” and the “dude” at the drop of a hat, I wish I was in Austenland and live there indefinitely so I could hear people talk the way they did.

Not for her the disappointment and the settling. Not for her the killing of a sunny disposition.

As far as I remember, the fact that we were different only made me protect her more. Not for her the killing of the idea of love. Not when it took her so long to take the plunge, trust someone outside of her little circle. When she broke out of her shell of ferociousness to finally let somebody in, how do I bring myself to break her happy bubble?

We finish up, walk in to the place and plonk our bags on an empty chair, look at each and burst into a fit of giggles. We had done some strange things together, but this was by far the strangest. She didn’t feel young enough to be asking for approval, and I didn't feel old enough to be approving any man she was with.

The minute he walked in, the look of joy on her face just took my breath away. I even saw this look of pride that for a minute unsettled me. She was proud, of herself, of me, our little circle, but this was new. He sat next to her and I could see this was a different person. She was not the girl I knew anymore, she looked like she was a young woman who knew her way around the world. He put an arm around her and I could almost swear that she glowed!

We talked, she glowed some more, and I jokingly asked him if his intentions were honourable. He swore they were, that he meant the best, that they were in love, did they have my approval. And that made me laugh. Not because I was nowhere qualified to be handing over approvals, but because I had a vision of a similar intent and vociferous submissions of love. The flashes of memory were so distinct and clear in my memory they almost threw me off. I remembered the feeling of being held and being moved across the floor. I remembered feeling as graceful as a Duchess in a ball. They were immediately followed by memories of feeling broken and misshapen. Of that distinct feeling of being alone and alienated. In my mind, they would always be connected – the girl who was envied for being carried across a dance floor and the girl who wept out of such heartache that it changed her world.

I wanted to protect this happy being so fiercely from all that pain, that I did a double take when two expectant faces looked at me. Of course I was not okay with this, far from okay, definitely not okay. I excused myself.

As I looked at the mirror in the harsh bright lights that all these new-fangled places seem to have, I could clearly see how much I had changed, aged, but not by the years. No. I did not relish the prospect of seeing her turn into a shell of what she had once been. She cannot turn out to be me, as much as she was mine. She was a strange being, a heady mix of me and her father, the one that came into the world when I was nowhere close to ready. But here she was heading into the same pit that I had taken no heed and fallen into. I headed back with the clear intention of finally being a mother, of telling her she was forbidden. My God, for never having said that her entire life, it was going to take some kind of courage to tell her that I was deciding to be a stereotypical mother when she least expected it. But no, I was determined to never let her feel the things I felt.

I walked back, and I had to stop in my tracks. She was right there in the middle of the floor, with her head on his shoulder and they moved like they were in a world of their own. She held his hand and looked up at him, and he laid a gentle kiss on her head. She looked more at peace than I had ever known her to have been.

And that was the end of my determination. Oh, my sweet summer child.

Being A Brahmin Girl....

....means I wake up at the crack of dawn, and after a bath, I commence my ritual rigorous pooja of two and a half hours, before which I would have milk and Prasadam cooked and ready to be offered after my pooja is done. After which I help with cooking and cleaning while chanting the Hanuman Chalisa. And then I leave for work. Of course I will make my prostrations at the pooja room before I leave. After a fruitful day at work (of course I am a techie, would you think I would let my brainy Brahmin brains rot?) I come back home, quickly freshen up, and do a half an hour pooja again. I know I know, what's the world coming to? But my very important tech job means that I have to cut down on the one hour long proper evening pooja. I am hoping the Gods are kind. And it goes without saying I say my prayers before bed. I mean which Brahmin does not do this? Because god forbid if you don't! Abhisthu abhisthu! 


NOT.


Because I am not a god-fearing Pooja (not the girl the religious ritual) loving techie. I would not know SSL (is there something called SSL?) from SAP or whatever it is the techies do (and then obsessively abbreviate). I also am very unhelpful in the kitchen, and if it NEEDS to look like a recently bombed war zone, my mother would ask me for help. I have forgotten all the mantras and chants I learnt when I was little. I can still recite a little bit of the Bhagavad Gita, but the pronounciations will be quite questionable of course.


 I also know that every Brahmin geek with a computer and access to internet would have thrashed this subject from every possible angle. Like this, and this.


But THIS:

This takes the cake! 


I have no idea which newspaper ran this, all I know is that when I saw this at work I had a fit! I was rendered speechless at how stupid the whole thing seems.


Brahmins are not the small pox or the plague to "die out". 


I have always been the first one to crack the nerd jokes, the techie jokes, curd rice jokes and generally join in the revelry online that takes a poke at all the nerdy absurdity we Brahmins love. But blithering statements about "late marriages" and "some couples have only one child" is not funny at all. 


Who are these self appointed "Community Elders?". Where did they pop out of? I think there is enough of a plague of matrimonial sites, sabhas, and magazines.  Brahmin moms (mine included) are tech savvy enough already. Any further "awareness" will lead to mass migration of the younger generation to the "yoo yess" as a means of escape. These "Community Elders" will then have a much bigger problem to deal with.


I belive the ONLY reason Brahmin weddings have a turn out of any sort is to hunt for prospective son/daughters in-law. I know for a fact that neither the food, nor the evening reception's kacheri is any way an attraction. Uncles and Aunties are usually doing the rounds, smiling and giving the girls/boys the "Brahmin-once-over". (Move over Manhattan-once-over. The Brahmin-once-over beats you in speed AND accuracy). I am sure their "databases" are far more accurate and up to date , when compared to anything these so called "Community Elders" are planning to create!


Also, I choked when I read about the apparent Lack of Education. "Some have done ONLY B.A. or B.Sc. ???". Three years after I completed my apparently useless Graduation in Commerce, I still get "Aiyo! No B.E?? Che! " from a whole host of Brahmins who are not even remotely related. Because a non-technical education is viewed with the same distaste as they would a doped hippie ragpicker or a non-Brahmin tech genius. But it is bordering on stupidity to air views like this on a national newspaper (assuming that it was. I still haven't got my hands on the original article.) How do they propose to find a "Solution" in any case? Send all the non-technical Brahmins to a Special Techie Camp so they find brides? Learn How To Be A Techie in 30 days.



I am guessing their next "bride" Idea is to replace "B.E" with a "B.E plus M.B.A".

And we wonder why we are the butt of all jokes? 

The Cubicle Adventures (Part III)

On special demand (yes, you crazy women, you owe me!) the  Cubicle Adventures make a comeback.


So it has been about a year (how the time flies) and I am still in the same job! There IS a God and miracles happen, I guess. And if I think back to a year ago when I started out, I cannot believe the kind of whirlwind changes, and all I have that passes for a reaction is "huh". Very eloquent.


But this is not about how I feel or what I do for a living or how the time has flown. This is about the what passes for an office crowd around me, everyday.I still sometimes feel like a school kid who mistakenly finds herself in a really bizarre place with funny people passing for adults, every morning! 


If you are one of those people who's reporting manager sits around where you do, and you hate it and think you have really sore luck, here's some news:  We have two Bosses. And if you think that's bad, BOTH of them sit BEHIND me.


Aha! Are those "oooh"s and "aah"s and "ouch!"s of sympathy?


The Hummer and The Screamer. The Hummer was the original boss. Hummer is not a reference to his Hummer-like huge hulking personality. It is because I have it from a very reliable source that he apparently hums un-decipherable songs while he pounds on the laptop maniacally. The Hummer has a fan club AND a stalker. Which is very, very bad for ME. Because the stalker keeps dropping by and pretending to be friendly with ME just so she can stalk Hummer. The Fan Club seems stable and does not give me any trouble though, thank God for small mercies. But last I heard a Facebook page was in the works. 


The Screamer was brought in because the work was pouring in and multiplying like the germs they show in those toothpaste ads. Not the cute germs. The really gross ones that make you want to throw up. We were told that this was the reason. But we have reasons to believe that The Hummer couldn't take the Giggling Madness (more on that later) any more and was slowly but surely heading to insanity. We could see the signs. He just kept running around like a loose cannon on the floor, laptop in hand. Anyway. We look at The Screamer like she's a grenade. For now, she is this nice, plump, sweet lady who talks like a kindergarten teacher. But it's a known fact that kindergarten teachers are monsters in disguise (Goosebumps are all true stories) so we are waiting for that giant explosion. Any day now.


I need to meet people from one of those those fly-in-the-wall documentaries. How are they DOING it? I feel like there are cameras focused on the back of my head, watching my every move. It can be very, very unsettling. Bosses are a bad idea, bosses sitting behind you? Now that can compel you to contemplate a career change.


And just when I started contemplating that, enter Giggling Girls.


I am never one to cut a long story short. To start right at the beginning, know how they say you should learn from your mistakes? So i decided to put that to practice. I decided I would not make the same mistakes I made at my last job. (And I don't mean work-wise, I dint really work at my last job. I used to work shifts, and only remember walking around bleary-eyed at odd times, sometimes stopping to wonder where I was and what I was doing there.) So I decided this time round, I was going make a fresh start, and not be the shrill annoying over-friendly person that I tend to turn into without warning. I was going to be (drum roll) the Ice Queen. Ha! 


So the Ice Queen thing lasted about 6 months, I plugged in to music, did my job, came home. I did not speak unless spoken to. I discovered that I could, indeed, converse in monosyllables (a monumental discovery. I also discovered listening to music continously for a few hours gives you a serious case of vertigo, leading to misconceptions that you have a secret stash of booze hidden in the office somewhere ).


UNTIL.


Until the 2 girls decided to ruin everything. They're like drama meets comedy insanity meets shrill giggles all rolled and packed into two cubicles. Hard to contain. Which is why giggles keep bursting out of those two cubicles at two-minute intervals. 


Work could be a threateningly growing mini-mountain, mails could be whizzing around yelling threats, there could be a thousand mind-numbing-ly boring training sessions and maybe even the false ceiling in office could fall on our heads. But the Giggling Girls WILL giggle. I kid you not, if the ceiling did happen to fall on our unsuspecting heads, there will be some shrill giggles emanating from underneath the rubble.


And they are also the single most important reason I like going in to work and are the prettiest girls on the floor. (It is morally and ethically wrong to publish untrue facts like this in return for Snickers, Mars bars & Gems. Just saying.)


There are also some other regular features that roam "the floor".


The "Pole". The Pole is a veritable "chick-magnet". And no "The Pole" is NOT slang for a Polish immigrant,this blog does not believe in racism. "The Pole" is an unbelievably tall individual, and wherever The Pole goes there is a buzz and a gaggle of girls around him.It's quite funny to watch sometimes- The Pole moves, the gaggle of girls moves in synchrony. The Pole stands, the gaggle stands around him adoringly. Oh and the Pole seems to revel in it! I sometimes wonder if I will see him at work the next day, most of the guys throw him these very vengeful glares every time they see him (along with his gaggle) pass by. And if looks could kill The Pole would be dead a thousand times over.


Megalomaniac. Made an appearance in Cubicle Adventures I & Cubicle Adventures II. Still going strong with the megalomania. He also keeps a hawk eye (oh those beady eyes are the stuff of nightmares) on the Giggling Girls and ME. His pretexts are so brilliantly creative. They range from "what did you girls eat for breakfast today.." to "the reason why I'm bald is...". And all this to see what we are up to when we are standing there giggling for no apparent reason. Well we definitely aren't planning a suicide mission or scheming for an embezzlement, we are also pretty incapable of helping him with any Ponzi scheme he might have, so he usually walks away bored.


Mr Bean, débutante in the Cubicle Adventures, and we think soon to be successor of Megalomaniac. He has all the markings of a fledgling megalomaniac. That crazy glint in the eye, that bordering-on-arrogance strut when he walks, and the "hey could you please talk a little softly because my very important very secret mission to earn billions for my company is being hindered by your noise levels" lecture. I was once the recipient of his meant-to-intimidate-you cold glares. Definitely Megalomaniac Junior. 


The Newbie. He is definitely another "chick-magnet". And since he sits right next to me, I am subjected to listening to a lot of "coo-ing" from the girls who find excuses to come talk to him. But the upside is that The Newbie is actually quite, quite funny! And gets along with the Giggling Girls like a house on fire! It has been decided - Judgement reserved, Newbie will be observed for a further (undisclosed) period of time and any increase in funniness will be made note of and considered favorable for a good Cubicle Adventures review.


The College gang. For almost a month there was a huge buzz at work! There was so much excitement and the guys were all "oh the college girls will be here soon!" And honestly it was a little insulting. The rest of us might not be recent pass-outs, but we weren't exactly crazy women with warts everywhere and smelling of cats, were we? But anyway, the College gang arrived. With a bang. And did splendidly and lived up to expectations. It has been a few months and the buzz is still going strong! The floor is noisier. The men seem more enthusiastic. Even the conversation in the restrooms has changed from "my mother in law, my domestic help, oh my mid life crisis, my husband" to "oh yes lets go drinking Friday! where did you buy your blah blah! yes I'm so excited about that new thingammajig we learnt today!". I shudder to think what kind of conversation change this has brought on in the restrooms of the opposite sex.


All in all, it's a little easier walking in to work knowing that the craziness could lead to good things. Like providing fodder for a sorely neglected blog. 

Ok, so, my phone is reverse-psychic.

In the general craziness that is a regular work day, my phone seems to be poking me and nudging me and trying to say "look! THIS is how you see the funny side of things!"

It's not my phone per-se, maybe just my service provider. But picture this, there is a massive issue and so-called discussions with a person i would love to empty my entire knowledge of cuss words on, (let's call him "B" shall we?) and I'm actually considering putting B on a permanent hate list, when my phone beeps and the text says "Will your friendship turn to love?" followed by "to know sms blah blah bleh". Bad sense of timing?

But it was not just the one time!

Weight jokes are a daily occurance. And not fat jokes, i am the butt of all "thin" jokes. (And believe you me I am NOT thin, just regular weighing average individual). If you think people got creative with fat jokes, you should hear some of the Thin jokes. I envy the fat-joke bearing guys, they at least have the sympathy of the world!
Anyways, there was this regular coffee thing going on when a not-so-regular guy decided to join and take the jokes to an insulting level.
So there I am seething and fuming and wondering where all those bars of chocolates and the cheese and junk have disappeared, and beep goes the phone, "Reduce so-many kgs in so-many days! Guaranteed results! Try the Slimming Sauna Belt"

And there was this other day, a Monday, and by some crazy, inexplicable miracle, it's a happy day at work! All laughter and jokes and no crazy emails and no people trying to snap my poor brain in two. I'm thinking, "well, it's not so bad after all! I do think I like my job!" and it pretty much went on some more in the same vein (I can get VERY talkative, even when I'm only talking to myself.) and beep. "Stuck in the wrong job? Find the right one! Sms blah blah bleh bleh".

Phone in bin. *wipes hands*