Till I find Something to write...

Don't read this. Seriously. Honestly.

I don't know what it is man, I just feel so depressed. My mood swings are irritating me. At times, I experience extreme happiness, so much so that I can hug any random dork walking on the road and help him sort out his life, hug him again, buy him ice gola and have paani-puri with him. At times I break into tears , without any rhyme or reason and feel like I can win the 'Hey-my-dark-circle-is-darker-than-yours' competition. Why ?!

You feel bad for me? Don't ya. I mean, I don't even know what I should feel bad about or cry about or complain about. But I am still doing all of that without any specific reason.

I wish I could go back to college. I can't believe it that until a year ago my life was quite happening. I miss those Saturday sessions at IMG. Watching people sing, listening to soothing music sitting at St. Xavier's with the wind brushing past my cheeks. Watching young girls in sari and envying their figure(I am quite tiny , you know ) and guys in FabIndia kurta with mojdis from Colaba Causeway. That rainy evening when I met Niladri Kumar and we shared a minute with each other under my umbrella till his driver could fetch his car. That evening when Sriram, Srividya, Stuti, Nikhil, Aalap and I went to see Taufiq Quereshi and Sridhar Parthasarathy create the most delightful raga together. That evening when my friends and I rummaged through the streets of VT searching for a decent joint to eat non-veg. I miss it . I miss it so much. I miss those colourful invitation cards that IMG would send me inviting me for their mini-concerts. I miss the cabbage and cheese sandwich with the sev as garnishing. I miss the double parcel which we'd take to marine drive so as to not buy anything from those expensive makkai selling guys.

I miss those Prabhat days. I miss those movies. I miss that Asian Film Festival. I miss that garlic bread and keema pav from Light of Persia. I miss the fact that for two years of my college life I was heavily into movies, making, writing, scripting etc etc .. and now and now it is soo empty !!! I miss those long discussions, I miss those weird responses, I miss those 'Happy Together' times. I miss Shobha Ghosh and the screening hall. I miss those long debates on self-governance.

I miss those bus rides from Prabhat near mantralaya from where I 'd catch a bus to drop me off at VT station.I miss those random stares, those parsi bawas, those old sindhi aunties and those Zohra Sehgal lookalikes who'd come to watch movies with us. I miss those snoring grand pa's. No wonder Prabhat made me feel too young for my age. I remember how that man got uncomfortable sitting besides me while watching the steamy scene in which the protagonists make love (sort of ) to each other in 'Train to Pakistan'.I miss the Aveva days. I miss the adulation that people around me threw when we met Majid Majidi. I miss that rush. I miss Scripted. I miss Outline. I miss Copyrights.

I think I miss company. More than anything else. I miss those bike rides. I miss those long chats. I miss those morning tea at Vidya Tea Stall and kanda Poha from outside Sion Hospital. I miss maama. I miss SB's. I miss that library. I miss marketing and Naveen Kathuria. I miss chinese bhel and mango dolly. I miss Lobo.

I miss those best years of my life. I miss my memory too. Because I can't seem to remember a lot that happened during this time.

Shay!

Let there be Fat !!!

Men I know. Men I don't. Men I like. Men I love. All seem to yap the same line to me. Subha , You need to be a bit fat ?! Why? How do all of them think the same way ?

Answer , answer , Anybody?

Breast Pockets

Hi !!!
I am so happy. Happy is such an understatement for what I feel. Bloggy , Coochie Coo.. How have you been ?I think I have a crush on you bloggy. You are so adorable.

Enough.

Today we shall discuss a very serious topic. It's breast pockets. This post of mine is dedicated to all those boobs , right and left both that have been crushed under the weight of several small purses that have signalled women's gateway to freedom ! So, who are these women who do not care much about the most-looked-at part of their bodies? Why are they so keen to stuff them with atrocious looking wallets containing money with a silvery zip? We shall find and arrest them. Oops , then we would have to arrest almost 95 % of India's rural women population and the rest 5% can be covered by the urban crowd who show similar insensitive tendencies.

Of what I have observed the breasts almost always seems to pocket money. Money in thin plastic covers, in small rexin purses, in the knotty end of an old worn-out handkerchief, or money just hiden in itself. The beauty of this system is the ease with which women plunge their hands in and out of their blouse cups. Take money, feel its presence, count it silently and tuck it back into the safety of her blouse.

Now there are two types of women in this stuffing category. Some who only stuff the left sides of their blouse cups, naturally denoting the easy access of the right hand to the breast pocket. Some who stuff it in both the right and left sides of their blouse.

Money is held very close to the heart , literally, in this big country of ours. A women's most trusted possession her breasts, which she coyly hides from the rest of the world is her safest bet. She trusts those breasts/ blouse not to betray her at times of need. When the husband is piss-drunk and searches the house wanting to take some more money to satisfy his thirst, the women knows no place in the world can escape the man's sight. But , she hides it in the most common of places, a territory where the husband has unlimited access. Yet , very rarely would the husband notice and even if he does , don't you remember the famous dialogue 'Mere Girebaan mein haath mat dalo'. Smarty, 'Mere izzat pe haath mat dalo' comes when its not the husband!

This breast pocket might also give some nostalgic memories of their childhood, when their mothers, loving aunts would shyly dig their hands in to their blouse cups , remove a anna or two and hand it to the school going boy, or the ever-so-beautiful village girl to have a candy, fruit or to buy imli, ber or star fruit with salt and chilli on it. Umm.. mouthwatering!

While travelling in the crowded second-class compartment of a train , the child on seeing a candy man pulls the hem of his mother's saree and that is when the heart connects to the breast pocket and throws a command in the direction of her hand which on impulse reaches her blouse cups and suddenly stops short of taking out the money. You ask me why ? I will tell you. It does so because the moment it touches the breast pocket it realises the gradually decreasing weight of the purse inside and the brain decides otherwise. Then all we hear is the screaming and wailing of the kid all along till the end of the journey.

Some may also remember the scene from Monsoon Wedding where the maid, Alice tucks Dubey ji's business card in to her blouse and we can see the ever-so-enchanted Dubey ji played by Vijay Raaz staring loving at Alice for her generous gesture. A gesture indicating love and union in Dubey ji's heart.

A man loves his conquest over this area. When he owns it , he rightfulls makes it his own. When he strays to own one , he either ends up demonstrating a cruel conquest or gleefully becomes the owner of many.

A woman finds it precious, sacrosanct , almost a necessity and happily opens the gate to the man whom she perceives loves her the most.

That's what it is Ladies and Gentleman. The Breast Pocket.

P.S: This entire post is written on the assumption that all women mentioned here are in a sari and blouse. For thouse who are not, the bra is what saves the day, although I may not want to discuss that.

P.P.S: Should this post be called Blouse pocket instead of breast pocket? What do you think ?

Lourve in the train !

I am in no mood to discuss this at length. I am blogging, listening to Aaja Nachle from Monsoon Wedding and I really understand why I like this song so much. It is because it represents celebration like no other song I know. Yes, coming back to Lourve in train. Lourve is no word and I must admit that I am getting better with each passing day in making up these 'Hey-I-can-use-this-in-my-blog-words'. The word here is just an extended expression of the word Love . The one in which you roll your tongue, touch the tip to the front set of your teeth and shrink your eyes the way bollywood heroines do when they want to invite their balam close to them !

Did you try that ? Haha.. Acha hain. Ya . So why am I blogging about this topic? It is because this is the most recent thing that has caught my fantasy. I went to drop ma off to Thane station from where she would catch the netravati (Every malu kid ought to know this , it is the kerala train and it also has a humble cousin called Jayantijayanta!). The moment the train arrived at platform No. 7 , the erstwhile desserted platform, house to flies, beggars and sensous looking gajrawallis with laali, I could sense the gaze of numerous men hitting me. A good number of these must be thinking to themselves , if this girl's gonna be my neighbour I can atleast gape in peace. Won't have to search far and wide to locate one decent girl who's gape-worthy(yes , one of those words!). Disclaimer : I don't look like Helen of Troy but I am not that bad , you know.

It is a game that only patient people can play. Its not for the footloose. You have to concentrate hard. Be alert. This game is for those who believe in 'real' love. This means that , they have a special appetite to think they are faling in love the instant they see a girl (potentially good-looking). There are many like this and please don't call me biased because I have known plenty of girls with the same 'special appetite'.So this applies for them as well. Now the rules of this game are simple.
1. You better learn to stare , stare in a loving way.
2. Smile and laugh as often as possible (more applicable to the girl)
3.Be aleart and be aware of the potential threats (mostly consisting of nagging mothers and serious fathers for the girls and suspicious wives or overfriendly brothers/mama for the guys)
4. Count the number of times you can acctually encounter him/her-toilet, get some fresh air, casual roaming etc etc.

And last but not the least , use all of these instances carefully and aim at the target. This could be a sure shot formula for a scandal in the family, but, well, people never learn you know. The girl will still be coy and inviting in a repressive manner and the guy will be his usual confident self, trying to be a hero in the train, by winning the card game, playing loud music, and by just being confident for no specific reason! See, there are times of role reversal and I must say it's quite a sight. The day goes in casual staring /gaping /brushing hands, elbows (if nearby)/ getting acquainted with her family (if , belonging to the same breed) and much more than this. People do innovate.

If a long distance train , then the nightime is quite the action time, where stealing kisses, tickling, passing love notes , pinching in the ass etc is common practice. Oh! How can I forget sleeplessness for the shy and meek. If it's a short distance train (read 24 hrs) then well, the night time is the last of those private moments. Young guns prepare themselves to say goodbye to each other. Some intelligent ones do exchange phone numbers and well, I am not sure If something happens after that. But for those who have managed to spend all this while in quiet submission of the fact that they are not going to meet each other ever, its the end of one stor of 'real' love for them.

The next will start in the return journey, whenever it is.

My friend the crow and me

Just born and restless...

I know , I just introduced myself. I can't write something so soon. I have to wait till this feeling sinks. 'I have opened my new blog account'. 'I am a blogger now'. W-O-W!

But as the title suggests I am restless. I have no particular topic to write on. But I thought why not yap some bull-crap that no one is going to read anyway. I will. I promise. (remember tall promise, or rather taller promise?)

I scanned through various topics to write on and have zeroed in on my friend the crow. Why? Don't you ask me any questions. This is my blog. The truth is the crow looks far appealing a topic of bloggersation, than anything else. So much for being jobless. There is no word called - Bloggersation. So? This is my blog . Remember?

So here we go. My friend the crow is a humble animal or rather a bird. He (I may not know if it's a she, close look is not quite permitted) is happy nibbling at the tiny pieces of bread and big open egg-shells that I throw at him. No wonder , he never guessed that I threw those egg shells to hurt or shoo him away when I don't wish to see his black ugly face. He eats it quietly. Says a silent thank you. (I would like to believe that). Hurries back to his abode and keeps cawing.

One of these days I saw him with another one of his kin. They both seem to discuss something quite attentively. A nod, a caw and a silent sprinkle of some fresh shit sealed their deal or whatever it was. I saw them once again the next day, same time, same venue, same get-up. This time they nodded a little less , cawed more and both of them shat. In the meantime, I started sensing in me a distaste for this new friend of my friend the crow. He/she took all of his time. They met , discussed, nodded, cawed and shat. I was jealous that I was not party to this all-so-important meeting that took place, like a ritual, everyday on my bedroom window.

What had I done to be disowned by the only animal/bird friend I had managed to make in all of my twenty-one years? Tough question. No answer. The freshly opened egg-shells couldn't persuade him to look or fly my way. He had , of-course, with his new-found friend sampled a lot of meat, fish and similar non-vegetarian delicacies that we tambrams couldn't afford at home.

For the next couple of days I was busy (Ya!) and I no more had a clue on what those crows (ya, its no more he and his friend) were hatching. I used to give it a thought almost everyday but never thought of it seriously. I always wondered what they both might have discussed. Was it me? Was it that they were not crows and great men of wisdom and learning who had transformed themselves in to crows to survive in this mortal world? I wondered till the time I couldn't believe myself spending so much time on those two crows.

Hardly a week went by, and I saw both of them perched atop the big jamun tree bang opposite my bedroom window. This time they seemed a lot less formal and there were no signs of fresh shit in the vicinity for the next 15 mins. I got bored and rolled back on my bed.

I hadn't had a clue that would be my last glimpse of my friend the crow. It seems that they both went and sat on a certain electric pole and my friend , the crow fell down on the ground rock solid, without any warning or shock and died at the spot. Was it suicide? I didn't know. You may ask, how do you know if its the same crow? I knew it. I never saw him again. I never saw them again.

And I knew it was him.

Amen.

Hi!

This is not my first blog. I had a blog long ago which vanished into thin air the moment I lost the user name and password. You might ask, what about the 'I forgot my password' option? Well, yes you guessed it right , I was too lazy to search and even lazier to write. Had run out of topics (not that I have too many now).

For all who don't know me ( and that's the most of you) and for all you do (I have assumed that you may never read my blog, anyways) this is ahbuS nardnahcamaR. Yes I know the hint serves just right! I wear glasses and I like them too. I love prawns. I have a soft corner for vodka. I enjoy long walks. I like watching TV. I don't write. Then, why blog? you may ask. Yes, that's just to show the world that I also want to be a part of the 'Hey-I-Blog-and-do-you'? fraternity. I don't have much to say, so won't take that long. Just that, now that I have opened a new account , I'd like to believe that I would write daily(tall promise) and would make it a point to read daily (taller promise).

Will catch up soon.