See you soon!
We’ve come a long way since we last sat here. A very long way, a very long time, a very long tiring walk. Ah yes, a long way. Trouble is, we still don’t know where we’re headed.
So, where do we go from here?
Down the rabbit hole. Twirling and twisting and scraping pink elbows, she falls! Thank God she was wearing a pair of jeans and not some poufy skirt.
What about me? What about these tiny shorts, I don’t want my knees to be scarred.
Ah, so we take different ways. You go on, straight down the road and take a left. Keep on walking downhill till you meet me. Okay?
So, you’re going to jump now?
Yes, I am.
Oh alright then, good luck!
See you..!
Soon?
fat = funny!
Lots of places, lots of times…
“S/he’s so hot…!”
“Yes… very…”
“Oh-so-gorgeous…!”
“Did you speak to her/him?”
“Uhuh”
“And…?”
“What do you think?”
“Arrey, tell me…”
“Well… s/he looked blank, I worked very hard and managed to make her/him laugh”
“So? That’s good, right?”
“It was like talking to baby who hasn’t yet learnt to talk!”
“Pity… another dumb one”
*gulps drink*
Somewhere, not so long ago…
“Yeah, he’s funny… but then…” stops abruptly.
“But then…?”
“Well, they say fat people are funnier than others”
“Who says?”
“They do.”
“Uhuh.”
“Oh come on! Where’s your sense of humour?!”
“I think I just lost a kilo…”
And they all laughed.
Somewhere, recently…
“Oh, another good one!”
“Yeah! I’m on a roll today!”
“Y’know what they say…”
“What do they say?”
“As the waistline increases, your jokes get better!”
“Aah… they do.”
“Well… not-so-thin people are more charming and friendly and funny… it’s a good thing!”
“Of course it is! So, you must have shopped for a new wardrobe this weekend!”
“Hehe… just 2 pairs of trousers!”
“Figures… you really need help with ‘em one liners”
Haha. You’re so funny…! We’re so funny! I hear ya!
An engagement, a trip to the hills I
The hills speak a different language… they sing beautiful tunes and they dance in terrifying abandon. It pours hail stones and gorgeous sweet rain. The sun shines bright and doesn’t care for your delicate city skin. Everywhere I look, I find something new to witness, to stare at, to think of. The deodars, the fir, the pine take over my senses and I wish to bottle it all up and bring it back to the safer plains. The quiet is astounding… the surroundings surreal… the hills, a possible second home?
The hills beckoned us with promises of cool breeze, gorgeous weather and beauty fit for the fairies… We left behind my beloved Delhi without looking back… it was 47 degrees Celsius! We reached Shimla after an 8 hour drive with just one stop (!) for breakfast. After hugs and introductions, we were offered beers or shots or whatever suited our fancy. There was drinking and snacking… and drinking! We congratulated Senior Cheems – he was after all engaged, at the young age of… errr… 27 (?) to his childhood sweetheart. He was also the reason behind this road trip. They all talk of how lucky this guy is to have landed Bhabhi Cheems – an absolutely gorgeous bride-to-be whose energy and love for life leaves me surprisingly positive. Well, he is definitely stupendously lucky and she, too. I wish them all the happiness! Here’s a Rhododendron Wine toast to the lovely couple. Oh! and a big thank you hug to the groom’s family for welcoming us, taking such good care of us and feeding us!
We were fed and fed and fed… with shaadi food - Shimla’s best butter chicken, spiciest mutton curry, buttered naans et al, hotel tea time snacks and most importantly very delicious traditional himachali fare. They cooked fern stems in fresh yoghurt and told us it’s called, lungru, the asparagus of the hills (!). There was daal, there was mandra, and this and that… with lots of love and lots more ghee! We indulged in mitha! Tiny gulab jamuns in a sugar syrup sprinkled with melon seeds, to be devoured with rice! The food was accompanied with an endless supply of alcohol! Beer in the afternoons, wine in the evenings, vodka or whisky at night. Cocktails if you feel like it! We could not wipe the silly grins off our faces…! We witnessed the dholki – the song and dance! We let mehndi adorn our hands while the boys provided snacks and drinks… We even stood solemnly while the pandit chanted… This was so much fun and so Bollywood-esque that we posed for photographs too! We were exhausted but so relaxed… travelling on was next on the agenda… travelling on in the hills…
The hills are a perfect setting for silence and neverending conversations. They preen while you stare and write odes to their beauty. They bask in the sun and your attention… They let you breathe and slurp that chai… they let you sit with friends and enjoy the most perfect afternoon beer and the most glorious cigarette. They whisper to you and assure you that you are not alone. They even merge in the scenic background when you are giggling with ‘em friends… I miss you ‘em hills!
Love me, love me do!
In fairy-tales: Boy meets girl. Girl smiles at boy. Boy tries to kiss the girl. Girl is guarded by dragons/ witches/ insanely tall towers/ the works. Boy kills/ conquers one and all in order to whisk girl away. They live happily ever after.
In Bollywood, in 98% of the movies: Boy sees girl. Boy sings song for girl. Girl preens and flips her hair. Girl eventually sings the same song for boy. Boy and girl fall in love. Boy and girl decide to get married. Boy and girl have class/ caste/ religious differences or old family feud. Boy fights all evil forces that stand in the way of their pure almost divine love. Boy and girl get married, consummate their love and live happily ever after.
In Hollywood, in romantic comedies: Boy sees girl. Girl sees boy. Boy/girl treats girl/ boy like shit. Girl/ boy pays attention to him. Boy/ girl treats girl/ boy like a human being, girl/ boy gets bored and breaks up with him. Then some shit happens and you laugh at it. Then you realise, oh! they are all sad and stupid for no one can find “such love” in “this day and age” of “meaningless sex” and “dating rules”, and they SHOULD be together! Then, something dramatic happens, usually a grand gesture, for them to realise what you’ve known all along! They live-in happily ever after till their next panic attack (caused by commitment phobia).
In India, where arranged marriages and joint families prevail: Boy sees girl. Boy’s mom and dad see the girl. Boy nods discreetly. Boy’s mom and dad discuss the same with the Girl’s parents. Girl smiles shyly and coyly. They get married. Then, they are sent on a honeymoon to a far-away place to consummate their marriage and to get pregnant, for they won’t be comfortable enough to do it in their not-so-big-house with a very-big-joint family.
And they wonder why I am a sucker for romance but not for marriage. Tchah!
Misery needs a couple?
I love stories. Always have. Always will. Now, if I could only find a way of telling them stories. Tales spun from the tiniest possibilities, wrapped in smoke and stardust. Wouldn’t you like that? I know I would… let’s give it a try.
She was brilliant. A kind of brilliant that managed it all without trying too hard. She made passer-bys smile with her smile. Her eyes were something special. She was a drama queen and she used those eyes to perfection, without ever realising it. You see, she wasn’t really suited to this world… she wasn’t. She was kind and good and honest. She let people know when she was happy and was unable to hide her little moments of sadness and the all consuming grief. She cooked and she baked, only when she wanted to. She laughed whenever she found something funny; at times she laughed just to make herself feel better. She was a star, unfortunately, she didn’t know it. Sadly, she didn’t show it either. Did I tell you about her hair? She had crazy curly hair, gorgeous and wild and free… it felt just right on her. To understand hair, I’ll have to tell you a little story.
I had just moved to a hard-water area (yes, I can see some women cringing and smoothing their hair lovingly) and I was obsessed with fixing my hair and managing it without having to blow dry and hair spray every morning. So, I spoke to a gazillion stylists and even more people, if that is even possible, about this hair straightening, this re-bonding phenomenon. I was advised to get it done, I was told to never let those chemicals near my poor fine hair. I turned to her, for she and I had an uncannily similar taste in clothes, hair-styles, kajal and alcohol. We could be referred to as shallow, superficial soul-mates! She sat me down and looked at me. Her dark eyes staring at me disapprovingly, she said, You cannot get your hair straightened. No, I don’t care about the chemicals or the hair loss, it’s about YOU. Your hair reflects an essential part of you. Yes, I did ask her, what essential part of me is reflected with wavy, unmanageable hair? She smiled and said, fun, spontaneous and un-tame-able. You cannot be tied down and converted! Needless to say, I never got my hair straightened. It might have made my life easier, but it wouldn’t have been me. And being me is important. It is.
So, she with her brilliant eyes and crazy curly hair never tried to change that about herself, for she didn’t know how that would help her cause. You see, she was looking for passionate, extraordinary love. Yes, love. In life, in work, in friendships and in what we these days should refer to as heterosexual romantic relationships. Despite all her naivety, she had been taught to love unabashedly, question what she didn’t understand and observe and learn every new experience or happenstance that came her way. She believed she would eventually find the perfect relationship, for her. But she knew she couldn’t find it with straight hair and clubbing clothes. Just like you, yes, you with the straight hair and that gorgeous clutch, cannot find your man if you went looking for him with curls and a big tote and chappals. It just won’t fall into place… Those kind of opposites only attract in Woody Allen-esque movies and he too… let’s them go their separate ways now…
She had been fed Cindrella stories and numerous other fairy tales. She knew he won’t come on a white horse to whisk her away, but she desperately hoped for a Harley Davidson… or at least one of those nicer looking bikes. When she hit the age of twenty-three, she wanted him to come and get her in a car that had functional air-conditioning. Delhi burns in summers. It does. So, with her heart fluttering and stomach full of butterflies, she tried to put her mind to rest and waited patiently for the man in clean jeans, CK One or Davidoff Cool Water, a nice car, a happy smile and not a roving eye. On her way to finally settling with this list of demands, she had dated many, many boys: pained artists, romantic poets, lead guitarists, wannabe drummers and even, even the nice guy who turns out to be clingy and needy psycho eventually. She also realised that she had in some way, loved these boys/ men. It had been passionate and confusing, extraordinary and something new each time… and fantastic for the first three months. Three, right? Three successful dates in the States, the first date in Australia and a promise of an exclusive relationship after a lot of mixed signals, giggling and phone-conversations in India*.
We love as colourfully as our saris. We plan it all, we want them to be the ones. We fail miserably and we get up and get at it again, just like our political leaders. So, she loved. She failed. She ran. She stopped and took gulps of air and walked home to her parents, where she had a nice plate of hot food waiting for her. She really wanted to find her Prince, her saviour, the one. But she couldn’t help but cringe at the thought of being saved. She could take care of herself? Couldn’t she? Or did she really need the saving? She asked me once, do I need saving or do I need the drama? I thought and I thought while I fed her ice cream and smoked in the balcony attached to my room. We looked at each other and smiled.
He had been the perfectly charming, perfectly princely boy. He had wined and dined her. He had held her hand and opened the door for her. But he wore chinos and loafers and she liked cotton kurtis with her jeans. He gelled his hair! She didn’t care… It had lasted three visits to his favourite club with his friends… I was surprised it had lasted that long. The girl loved her beer and jumped around to The Doors.
Her question remained unanswered. We never really said it, but we both knew… we all need a little bit of both. We do! Our love-obsessed existence and Prince Charming-obsessed reading list makes us wish for a saviour, doesn’t it? But as there is nothing much to be saved from… we simply crave security, the comfort of finally stopping and breathing. We all want to stop making that extra effort and flirting like morons… don’t we? At least for a while…? We all fear commitment but look for it every time we dress up to go out and meet friends of friends. And all that reading! All those stories…! Even the sitcoms and movies! The butterflies, the meeting of the eyes, the first touch, the first kiss… ooooh! No wonder these passionate lovers died or got killed or separated (!), they got bored of each other after the first few orgasms! They didn’t have anything to talk about and they were sick of undressing each other. Oh no! don’t get me wrong, orgasms are wonderful. It’s just that they are not the only factor contributing to a healthy relationship… They cannot even guarantee the love will last for more than a few spasms… eh?
Do we subconsciously equate passion with misery? Do we want the drama, the tears, the bitching and moaning to make it seem worthwhile? Does our comfortable existence bore us so much that we go looking for trouble? Did the writers know it all? Had the story-tellers heard too many stories that had bored them to tears that they stopped at Happily ever after or the more exciting They died in each others arms? I wonder when she’ll finally find him? More importantly, does she need to wait with baited breath? I’ll let you know what happens… but today, she’s meeting this guy who wears clean jeans, likes beer and girls with curly hair…
————
Footnoting:
*We are a confused lot, and when I term it ‘in India’, it is a very incorrect representation of our population. I just represent a teeny tiny population of the country that is battling with what society is conditioning us to be and what our generation is trying to be. Sexuality, relationships and evolving of gender roles is rampant and at the same time very hush-hush. We struggle with technicalities and the terms and eventually come out breathing. We try and make them all happy – the opposite sex, the parents, even ourselves! People need to be serious and start thinking of settling down. Unfortunately (?) I am quite a bad example of the average Indian woman**.
**Warrants a book!
