Sacred Insanity

Lights! Camera! Introspection! (Fable - 22)

2007-04-02T09:28:00.000-07:00

I’ve a confession! This blog began as a sort of window to chronicle the mating and dating rituals of modern day urban society and unearth whatever traces of love and romance that still exist. And along the way, talk about whatever questions and doubts and trends one sees. The Fables kept me amused and entertained and also were secret ways of gauging public perception to certain stories one might want to put in a film. For the longest time, I kept my professional life and its stories out of it till the day I wrote the first Bollywood Fable, then after a respectable gap I sneaked in yet another Bollywood post making it abundantly clear that even if I say I’m tired of talking about what I do, I am completely lost when I can’t talk about what I do. And that was also the reason the blog was languishing all this while.
But not anymore! We’re in 2007 and Bollywood has become officially cool. Bollywood is the new sex. It's everywhere and, like sex, it can sell anything: phones, cars, stores, coffee, insurance, banks… It's on the TV news and current-affairs shows. Even internationally! There are hearty chunks of it in newspapers and even the no-nonsense business press. They're all desperate to pin their colors to something that appears to be getting somewhere. And Bollywood is definitely getting somewhere. From the crazy business it was, scorned, or at best tolerated by men and women who had better things to do, it has arrived with bells on, smack in the middle of mainstream culture; selling stuff, defining us, saving us from boredom, sprinkling a little sugar on a cruel, cruel world. No one escapes.
Bollywood is too curious to ignore.
What sort of mania drives this entire industry to do what it does best and finally, get worldwide acceptance and recognition? There is profound wackiness afoot here, everyone knows that. But then you wonder: Is something more interesting happening, too? Because you can't help but find reason for hope in this crass spectacle. Life in Bollywood had never been better. The paychecks are bigger, better and prompter! A happy afterglow has set in and everyone looks like they’ve just returned from an all-expense paid luxury vacation in Ibiza.
When I say “everyone” I mean all those hundreds of people whose names you only see in the credits before and after a film, and names which mean something only if you personally know the person. Otherwise, for the most part it’s always, “Did we miss the beginning? …No, we didn’t. It’s still the credits coming on… Let’s quickly get popcorn!” Well, thanks! You just ignored the huge invisible workforce that’s required to make that film you walked in to watch. And it’s that workforce that’s meeting this sweeping change head-on! And it’s that workforce which we will talk about in this post. And what’s life like for them.
Outside Bollywood, popular perception is that this is an industry filled with spoiled, outrageous, egotistical individuals with completely fucked-up lives. People who are chain smokers, alcoholics or druggies, with totally debauched lifestyles and sex is everywhere. A bunch of losers and uneducated drifters who weren’t qualified enough to do anything more substantial in their lives and sustain “real” jobs. Like sitting in an antiseptic looking office everyday, day after day, with the same people, for 8 hours or more staring at a computer screen while very seriously believing that if given a chance they can really make better films than the best of the experts put together, with no knowledge whatsoever about how the industry works and operates and completely lacking the courage to give up their corporate cocoons for real. Working in Bollywood is never about being given a chance. It’s about taking it. It’s about giving up the security of a monthly paycheck and the fact that if you work like an automaton and go through the motions you will one day get promoted and get a bigger paycheck and so on. Can this beat the smug satisfaction of making a film- right from the conceptual stage to putting it out there for the world to see and either like or dislike? The thrill of watching the first promo on air, of spotting the first poster or billboard, of hearing the songs on the radio, in autos and taxis and in clubs and watching people enjoy it, then going to the theater and obsessively narcissistically watching the people’s reactions. Keeping track of every giggle, laugh, snigger, rude comment, bad moment coming from the audience. Sometimes it’s hard to maintain a positive attitude. Especially during moments that make you wonder if you’d have been better off being a banker, or a computer programmer, or a lawyer. Something well-paid and regular that doesn’t require you to lay your heart on the line for a fickle public which takes great perverse pleasure in being mean to you in different ways. Yes, Bollywood has huge ego issues. It is a very strange and unconventional place to be and it’s not for the faint hearted.
Yet, making a film is a complete labour of love for the creative team that's involved. It's an incredible amount of fun, laughter, shared happy moments, pranks being played constantly on the cast and crew, heated creative arguements and slowly, step by step begins the process of taking a story from out of your mind, penning it down and putting it 'In theaters near you'. Any film set is this picture of cool camaraderie and everyone buzzing and bustling about with their designated jobs and even though it wouldn’t be obvious to a layperson, there is indeed painstakingly put method into the madness. When cast and crew members say, "It was one large picnic! We were all like one big happy family!" It's usually true.
And it’s surely not an understatement or a lie to say that our film industry was built on cigarettes, alcohol and drugs. And sex. I’m not talking about the casting couch here. It’s still The Workforce. Getting some, trying to get some, got some now getting over it, promising some, denying some, wanting some but unable to get it, getting some without really wanting it… You get the picture! Sex is all pervasive. Bollywood works 24X7 not just professionally, but also because everyone is trying to get laid or getting laid. The hip parties are starting later and later because those floating irritants are everywhere – the gossip journalists. If a party is on the radar of the journalists, then it simply isn’t cool enough. Till the SMS’s start coming and you’re informed about the after party and the after-after party. It’s a marvelous world of opportunity for all the men looking to get some. Its also a dangerous one with a lot of mental health and career hazards. If you’re beautiful, good for you. If you’re powerful, even better. It’s a sexual revolution like never before and Bollywood is in a position of power like never before. But something’s gotta give!
Welcome to the Age of Un-Innocence and its biggest victim is Love. While our films are still all about falling in love, that’s where it stays. The glittering lights of Marine Drive that served as the backdrop for romantic trysts are still glowing – but the stage is empty. No one has breakfast at Tiffany’s and no one has affairs to remember. Instead, we have breakfast at seven A.M. and affairs we try to forget as quickly as possible. How did we get into this mess? Truman Capote understood our modern day dilemma very well. The Bollywood dilemma of Love vs. The Deal. In Breakfast At Tiffany’s, Holly Golightly and Paul Varjak were faced with restrictions – he was a kept man and she was a kept woman – but in the end they surmounted them and chose love over money. That doesn’t happen much around us these days. We are all kept men and women – by our jobs, by our apartments, and then some of us by the pecking order at Olive and Enigma, the number of invitations to Strictly By Invitation Only parties at the Big Boys’ Cliques in Bollywood – and we like it like that. Self-protection and closing the deal are paramount. Cupid has flown the co-op in the industry that makes its billions by peddling love and fairy tale fantasies.
When was the left time you heard someone say, “I love you!” without adding on the inevitable and/or unspoken “as a friend”. When was the last time you saw two people gazing into each others eyes without thinking, Yeah, right? And what turned out to be the hot, most debated, most talked about film of 2006? KANK, which was all about falling out of love. Hardly the stuff we like to think about when we think about love but very much the stuff of the modern urban relationship. There’s plenty of sex in Bollywood but the kind of sex that results in friendship and business deals, not romance. These days, everyone has friends and colleagues; no one really has lovers. Even if they have slept together.
And as always, That Woman went hunting for the answers...

"People here build up a total facade that you cant penetrate," said Successful Married Actress. "I feel so lucky that things worked out for me early on, because it's so easy not to have a relationship here - it almost becomes impossible to go back!"
A friend who was recently married called up That Woman. "I dont know how anyone makes relationships work in this town. It's really hard. All the temptations. Going out. Drinks. Drugs. Other extremely gorgeous people. You want to have fun. And if you're married, what are you going to do? Sit in your little poky apartment and stare at each other? When you're alone, it's easier," she said slightly wistfully. "You can do what you want. You don't have to go home."
A few years ago, when Smart Successful Banker, another friend, was one of the most eligible bachelors in Bombay, he dated every woman in town! Six years ago we were still romantic enough to believe that some woman could get him. He has to fall in love someday, we thought. Everyone falls in love, and when he does, it will be with a woman who's beautiful and smart and successful. But then those beautiful, smart and successful women came and went and he still hadn't fallen in love. That Woman was wrong.
Today, Smart Successful Banker is almost 40 and he says he's ungettable. He doesn't want a relationship. Doesn't even want to try. Isn't interested in the romantic committment. Doesn't want to hear about the neurosis in somebody else's head. And he tells women that he'll be their friend, and they can have sex with him, but that's all there is and that's all there's ever going to be. And it's fine with him. He says it doesn't even make him sad anymore the way it used to. So now, he works insane hours, travels a lot on business and when he's home, his only company is a bottle of Scotch, a few DVD's and his new Playstation. All the beautiful, smart and successful women he once dated have moved on too and pretend to have amnesia whenever he's mentioned.
A few weeks back a young writer told her, "I just dont believe I'll meet the right person and get married. Relationships are too intense. If you believe in love, you're setting yourself up to be disappointed. You just cant trust anyone. People are so corrupted these days.
"But it's the one ray of hope," That Woman protested. "You hope it will save you from cynicism." Yet, she understood his cynicism. Recently she found herself telling another friend that she didn't want a relationship because, at the end, unless it lasted, you were left with nothing. And being with the wrong people is far more taxing to one's system than being single!
The writer continued, echoing her thoughts. "We have no alternatives. Look at you and me and people like us whom we know. We wouldn't be in shallow relationships, so we do nothing. We have no sex and no romance. Who needs it? Who needs yet another relationship breaking up? You're too busy with work and other things. So why not just be with your friends and have real conversations and a good time?"
That Woman pondered over the profundity of that statement for a while. It was completely true. She worked insane hours and had great fun doing what she did. But the flip side of being in a job that you so enjoy is that it gives you a sense of fulfillment and well-being that could be completely deceptive. Your sense of self-worth shoots up crazily and you keep raising the bar for the men who're interested in you simply 'cos nobody matches up. Or is able to sustain your interest for more than a week. She'd turned down two nice, eligible men recently who'd asked her out simply because the conversation had been mindnumbingly dull and predictable. And while anyone could discuss books, art and world politics, not many are gifted enough to have inane yet hysterically absurdly funny conversations.
"You're crazy," interrupted an Assistant Director who was with the writer too. "It's not that simple. Emotions dont cost a thing. But you have someone to go home to. You have someone in your life."
"Love is dangerous," said the Writer.
"If you know it's dangerous, that makes you treasure it and you'll work harder to keep it," said the Director. "Look at all the old-fashioned romantics?"
That Woman jumped in. She knew the kind he was talking about. "Every time a man tells me he's a romantic, I want to scream. All it means is that he has a romanticized view of you and as soon as you become real and stop playing into his fantasy, he gets turned off. That's what makes these romantics dangerous. Stay away." She was talking about a Promising Young Director she had been in a relatioship with two years back and it was a disaster. She swore never to date anyone from Bollywood ever again, after that! "But still," she continued, "I totally believe in love. I would be so depressed if I didn't believe in it. People are halves. Being in love with the right person makes everything have more meaning."
"Then someone takes it away from you and you're fucked," The Writer continued.
"Maybe what you want is wrong," said the Director. "Maybe what you want makes you uncomfortable."
"I want beauty. I have to be with a beautiful woman. I cant help it," The Writer said. "That's why a lot of the girls I end up going out with are stupid," he said unhappily. "And that makes you uncomfortable!"
"I want to be with someone who loves Hindi films as much as I do and can have deep, meaningful conversations as well as totally inane, absurd and meaningless ones," That Woman grinned cheekily. "And who can make me laugh. ...And it makes a lot of men uncomfortable!"
And speaking of men, what turns up are basically re-runs of past relationships. Not reruns in the sense that you've actually been out with this particular man before...ex-boyfriends are too easy to recognise. Relationship reruns are much more subversive. they sneak up on you in the form of a fresh suitor who slowly reminds you of an ex-boyfriend until you realize you've already been there, done that, lived that episode of your life.
That Woman noticed she was in relationship rerun only recently. She had, in the past, dated a filmmaker and a corporate type guy and learned precious lessons when the relationships hadn't worked out. The lessons were - Never date anyone from the film industry. Never date any corporate type till they are put to rigorous tests and come out with flying colors.
Back Story -

The Promising Young Director had recently finished his debut film and was already being wooed by Big Production House for his next film. He wanted to cast a particular actor for the role and turned down all other options. That actor had no dates to spare for the next couple of years and his manager didn't see the point of having a meeting even. Some time later, That Woman ended up working on a film by a rival production house, with the same actor in the lead and whenever she'd talk about him or how her day had been, the boyfriend would get really angry and sulk for hours. Then at a party, the actor saw her and stopped to chat with her for a couple of minutes. Her boyfriend was talking to someone else then and she rushed to him to ask if he wanted her to introduce him to the actor and maybe he could set a meeting... He told her to "Stop flaunting your contacts!" and that was the first nail in the coffin. The second one came when Big Production House withdrew their offer to him about a new film and as luck would have it, called That Woman a few weeks later to work on another project with them. Filmmaker boyfriend didn't take kindly to that at all, or explanations that since she was just beginning her career, she didnt have the luxury really to go about refusing work offers that came her way!
They broke up three months after that and she swore she'd never ever date anyone from the film industry ever. The insecurities ran way too high and disillusionment ran way too deep to make you feel happy about another person's achievement without resenting them somewhat.
Corporate Guy came next. Was all nice and caring and understanding till the time he really saw her work schedule and couldn't comprehend why she worked such long hours. And how could she come home late at night and rant about having a long, tiring day and a headache too when all she'd done was be at a music director's studio "listening to music all day long!" She began explaining that she wasn't "listening to music" but actually the songs for the film she was working on and hadn't liked the way one song had turned out and because they had a deadline and studio time booked much in advance, all damage control had to be done that day itself. And it's not easy to compose a song and then make changes in it later. At which point Corporate Guy got all patronising and smirked, "I like the way you make it sound like it's a REAL job." She was stunned. It was a REAL job. It paid her bills and rent. How much more real could it get? The relationship was all downhill from that point on and they broke up soon. But not before a kickass parting shot where she told him how there're no real and unreal careers. Instead, a fine line between a career that's great fun and a career that's so uninspiring and dull, it marinates your hypothalamus in sleep serum.
About two weeks back she was at a party when another Corporate Guy was flirting with her and telling her how much he loved films and would she have dinner with him someday. He came across as a warm, sincere guy till she decided to scratch beneath the surface and put him through a couple of tests. Did he like proper Bollywood masala films? "Err, sometimes! I loved Black and Omkara," he said. What about Dhoom-2? And Don? And KANK? "I didn't watch any of those. They just look very inane and dumb. Films should make you think," he said. So what did Black and Omkara make him think? "Hmmm...tragedies that can happen to any of us...how ephemeral everything is..."

"And you watch films to tell you that? What about feel-good, happy films which make you cry a bit and laugh a lot and also have a couple of hot item numbers?" she asked, incredulous.

"Ah! That's something I've never really understood. Like, the dance around the trees was bad enough to handle and now we have item numbers!" he said derisively.

As far as That Woman was concerned, she had already given him a D minus. But just to be sure she asked one last question, "Do you want to watch Namastey London?"

She kept a straight face as he shuffled his feet, looked around helplessly for a bit and asked, "You're kidding, right?" And he looked shocked and disappointed when she said she wasn't and she really did want to watch that film. While she turned the D minus into a big fat F minus, all That Woman could think was: We've been to dinner. I've already dated you.
Her party epiphany: It's tempting to settle for a rerun when there's nothing else on, but if you recognize some of the lines, and you know how it turns out, why waste your time? Especially if that particular episode of your life wasn't so great the first time.
Few days later, they were all discussing the film script they were working on and when the above conversation was brought up again before a famous happily married actor, he said, "I totally believe that love conquers all. Sometimes you just have to give it some space."
And that's exactly what's missing in Bombay. And in Bollywood.
And as we strive to find some for ourselves while avoiding relationship reruns, we often forget to check out a new season of men and relationships.

Bubble Trouble!!

2006-12-06T17:28:00.000-08:00

Knowledge breeds taste…
And taste kills pleasure.

I don’t know where I read that, but it’s stayed in my mind. And it more or else sums up my current state of being, my likes and dislikes, my passion and my boredom, what I’d kill for and what I wouldn’t give a damn about. Till a while back, everything with me was a constant conflict between knowledge and pleasure. In my case, fortunately or unfortunately, the twain has never met. At least in the conventional sense. What are we getting at here? Let’s try making it coherent.
Its 4:30 AM, I’m in Delhi doing post-production for a forthcoming TV series. I’m at my wit’s end and taking a breather, sipping hot water and looking out the window, literally marvelling at how pretty the city looks. Yes, even in the dark. And thinking about myself. Not in that narcissistic way where I look in the mirror and say, “You’re gorgeous, baby!” But more like “where am I at and what next as yet another year comes to an end.” What brings such profound thoughts?
I got a call a few days ago from a good friend who’s a Bollywood scriptwriter in the big league. Now, without naming names, we must understand that there are two big leagues in Bollywood. The Cerebral Big League (No, it doesn’t include The Factory) and The League of Extraordinary Gloss (That which we love to hate but still watch!). Scriptwriter Friend is from the former and has healthy disdain for the latter. Him and I have spent many hours trying to convince each other about our respective leagues. He’d recently watched Dhoom-2 and the call was about that. He laughed as he confessed how he wanted to leave the theatre halfway through the film but stayed back after an interesting thought struck him. The fact that he should watch the second half of the film “completely from Vijayeta’s perspective,” trying to grasp what I would have “loved” about it and why. At which point, with much glee I informed him that I’d absolutely loved the new Don as well. He confessed to being deeply flummoxed and was waiting for me to return to Bombay, when he could ask me a few very basic questions about those films and if convinced, he’d be as big a believer as I am. Hearing that, I was deeply touched and also slightly amused. I ended up laughing and when the conversation ended I didn’t know if I was laughing out of happy amusement or was it the laughter of the hysterically insane. I had a feeling it was the latter.
So here I am right now, thinking about “My Perspective on Films” and how insane it really is. It’s shocking. So here’s where that quote about knowledge breeding taste comes to mind. When you do an MA in Film Studies, you’re subjected to a lot of textbook jargon about the craft of films. Painfully boring books called The Five Cs of Cinematography, Editing Explained, Sound Theory etc comprised a part of the killer syllabus. The other part, and the more interesting one was Film Appreciation which comprised watching up to 4 films a day in a cold auditorium and discussing each film to bits once over. We saw all kinds of films. They were usually divided into sections like Film Noir, French New Wave, Italian Neo- Realism, The Hollywood Classics and so on… Without inviting mainstream Bollywood cinema to the merry little party. Hmpfh!

Our assignments usually involved writing long essays on topics we could choose and some on topics that were thrust upon us by the professors. Those usually sucked and basically had all of us terribly busy and reading up tonnes of books by tonnes of film theorists with strange French names! I gained maximum knowledge and insight, which coupled with an extraordinary ability to faff intelligently became a very potent combination in helping me get good grades. The essays I chose to write were rather kickass and the subjects were: 1. The City as metaphor in Taxi Driver 2. The Emotional Vis-à-vis the Physical transitions in Taxi Driver 3. The Importance of Shadows in Fellini’s cinema. Case in point: La Dolce Vita and Cinema Paradiso. 4. The Child Woman of Ray’s cinema with reference to Charulata and Samapti (from Teen Kanya) 5. Jump Cuts (of the French New Wave) Vs. Sculpting Time (in Tarkovsky’s cinema) as narrative devices.
Phew! I guess I’ve shown off enough! Point is, I did appreciate most of that stuff. I could watch the works of Fellini, Truffaut, Godard and Tarkovsky a number of times. I loved the Noir films by Jules Dassin, Fritz Lang and Billy Wilder from that era and after that Scorsese’s Taxi Driver proved to be eternally fascinating. While the Japanese and Chinese films provided a good reason to doze off somewhere in the last row of the auditorium. Except Rashomon, everything else was beyond me and the Communist cinema from China made me burst into hysterical giggles which I’d a hard time controlling. One film by Ozu began with a whiny little Chinese child singing an extremely annoying song, the subtitles for which were “Hammer and sickle, hammer and sickle…” I had to duck my head to suppress my giggles and when I rose to leave the class pretending to cough madly, the subtitles were something about the Red Army and rice! Instead of returning to class I bunked and went to watch Dil Chahta Hai, first day first show. It seemed like ages when I wasn’t watching a film to write an 8 page essay on it later! I wasn’t looking at edit techniques, mis-en-scene, blocking, influences in narrative style, subtext, visual grammar and more such stuff even though I’m sure there was lots. The romantic in me was up and about and kicking. I was glowing.
After the film studies exam, which was in January 2003, I’ve never watched any of those films again barring La Dolce Vita as a rare impulse. If someone held a gun to my head, I could still discuss them and tell you what was awesome about them, but that’s that. Knowledge had given me the taste and refinement but completely killed pleasure. And what was pleasure?
Pleasure is Bollywood cinema through and through. The lost and found twins, the ichchadhari nagin films, the films of the early 80s with south Indian sensibilities, the disproportionate voluptuousness of Sridevi and Jaya Prada, kickass jhatkas that could be measured on the Richter scale, villains that took the cake in being over the top and the ever so delightful vamps! I mean, the classics and all that are fine, but this is staple, wholesome regular movie fare. Isn’t it? At least I think so.
The irony was that exactly a day after my exams were over, I flew to Bangalore to start my career in the entertainment industry as an assistant director, it was a huge un-learning experience. No one really cared about how many essays you wrote and how innovative you were while making your student film. The entire movie industry is self-obsessed, inane, capricious, cruel, misogynistic and silly. Sometimes the whole thing seems quite ridiculous when you realise you’ve spent the better part of a day trying to get an actress to dance so you can get at least 3 shots right in an entire song! It’s a beast that requires vast amounts of money, time, and skill to get "right.” And for all the blood, sweat and tears it provides only a few brief, shining moments of rightness before becoming completely wrong. Before being written off by pseudo-intellectual, uppity critics or being run over by next week’s bigger blockbuster with hotter item songs. With each new project in the entertainment industry you understand it as the place where you see where you are on the food chain every day - you can’t help it. You see where you are by the work you’re involved in. Who talks to you at parties? Who you talk to at parties? One survival mechanism here is a deliberate un-selfawareness which leads to an inability to be ashamed or embarrassed or humiliated. And the shoots soon become a happy memory shared by all the unit members who really become like family.
Armed with that un-selfawareness and inability to be embarrassed, I will proceed to admit that even years later, I am still entranced by the opening music when the opening credits come on in the dark theatre. I am shamelessly enchanted and mesmerized by all the “entry scenes” of each character no matter how predictable they are. If I walk into a theatre late and miss the ‘hero ki entry’ I feel awful and I sulk at all those responsible for getting me late. I sit grinning happily when two people are falling in love and when their first song comes on. It warms the cockles of my heart to see a lovely looking Kajol dancing happily amidst the pyramids of Egypt wearing lovely saris and SRK in transparent linen shirts. At that time, they are not SRK and Kajol for me. They are Rahul and Anjali from two different socio-economic backgrounds who’re fighting against all odds to be together. I understand the horrible political incorrectness of Kuch Kuch Hota Hai but I love it nonetheless. I wait for the scene where Rahul sees Anjali for the first time after 8 years and when it comes, I’m usually crying happy tears. Oh, before that, when he ignores Anjali for the hotter looking Tina, I’m just short of sobbing hysterically for unrequited love. While watching Krrish, I’m not watching Hrithik. I’m watching the first Indian superhero doing really awesome stuff and beating up all the bad guys. And for the duration of that film, I really am able to believe that he is a superhero and not another actor hooked on to dozens of complicated wires that enable him to fly/run like that. While watching Dil Chahta Hai, I cry for Aamir Khan’s loneliness when he makes that call to his father and reminded me of myself many many years ago when I was in the hostel and made a similar call home. Omkara is Omkara to me and Othello is a distant memory. When he’s killing Dolly with that pillow in the end, my heart aches for her and I wish that somehow, magically he should know what he’s doing is wrong and stop! I also feel bad for being completely unable to stop him myself! Kal Ho Na Ho remains my all-time favourite film and I’ve been ridiculed countless times about it. But I really feel that the title track is one of the best which symbolises the optimism and helplessness of a terminally ill man, yet without being pathetic. And Kuch To Hua Hai is 100% me when I’m in love even before the film came out and I’m already grinning like there’s no tomorrow! One of the most profound moments for me was the screening of Border after its release in a makeshift auditorium for Army officers and jawans in Srinagar. The silence during the film was something else and I saw many, many people crying discreetly during the Sandese Aate Hain song.
I’m aware this already sounds quite insane, but it’s true. Masala movies just transport me totally into their world. At that point, the last thing on my mind is blocking, shot division, mis-en-scene, narrative devices etc etc. For me, its movie magic all the way. And it's because films provide a complete escape. It offers the fantasy of a life that is way beyond the mundane routine we’re bound by, paying our bills, long commutes, meeting deadlines and dealing with a bad PMS! It is pure, airbrushed, and unadulterated gorgeousness, and it provides the promise of something more, something that transcends the everyday grind. It’s the bubble I can build around myself and the world suddenly looks sooo much prettier. It’s clean, exotic and glossy filled with shiny happy people who sing and dance out of pure unadulterated joy. They cry for the sake of love, for the agony and anguish of love and often there’s a sad song to underscore that feeling. Such ability of the characters to totally give in to any emotion and to lose themselves in it with such unselfconsciousness completely feeds the romantic within me. And mind you, the romantic within me IS. A. G-L-U-T-T-O-N!
The romantic in me gives in to emotions at the drop of a hat. I’m very easily moved by a painting, even architectural brilliance, books and songs. And I’m not ashamed to cry. Though the people who accompany me usually are. Not ashamed to cry, but ashamed of having accompanied me. My biggest regret is going to watch Black without carrying a pack of tissues! And if I were to write a comparative essay on anything to do with films right now, I’d probably do it on the best ever “Confession of Love at the airport” scene of all times. Umm, it’s also my biggest romantic fantasy. Every time I take a flight, I can’t help thinking about it. That The One is madly in love with me and realises just about now and I’d be gone for good after this. So he runs wildly on the roads, dodging traffic, hitching rides, panicking and worrying and trying not to cry but keeping in sync with the heart wrenching romantic song playing in the background. He manages to sweet-talk/dodge airport security creates a merry chaos inside while I walk towards the plane completely unaware right till the point the plane’s about to take-off and he shows up and confesses his undying love to me. (If there are any spectators they should be rooting for him to stop the plane in time so he gets The Girl!) And of course we’d live happily ever after!
And while I’m not watching a film currently, it’s three songs to blame. Melissa Etheridge’s I Want To Be In Love and two songs from Salaam-é-Ishq: Dil Kya Kare and the title track, Salaam-é-Ishq which are on repeat play right now. Er, I think I must mention here that I’m not in love with anyone currently and am still single but I want to have all those “madly in love” moments from films to happen to me right now! Films like this are a total guilty pleasure for me. Pleasure as far removed from the trappings of cinematic “knowledge” as possible. Of course it doesn’t mean I’m not aware of the craft and the way complicated shots and stunts are handled. And all that's 100% make believe created by people like us. And it’s pure knowledge that’s making me go into long, self-conscious explanations like these. I mean, if I liked eating dark chocolate, would I care to explain that much? Hell no! But then, I wouldn’t be perceived as a hopeless retard either, right? I mean who in this day and age goes to watch films and gets so carried away just stopping short of believing that the characters were behind the screen and I could reach out to touch them!
Though sometimes I wish I could. Like right now. The horizon’s a foggy blur and it’s an hour before dawn and work is far from over and here I am seeking shelter in my romantic bubble. I’m thinking of Woody Allen’s The Purple Rose of Cairo. At this moment I could be the tired, overworked Cecilia going to the movies to be transported into that glossy world and the high life. And er, while Cecilia had Tom Baxter walking out of the film and falling in love with her, I want (See? It’s ‘knowledge’ that makes me hesitate so much before naming the name! And the fear that I may be disowned by all those who love me. Oh well! Let’s risk it!) The name’s DON. No, not Shah Rukh Khan in his real self. But the character Don. The man I was literally gaping at right from the first scene when he takes that mock bow with the ballet dancers in Paris. Such deadly panache! And the way he looked as he teed off on that awesome course, that easy sex-appeal underscoring his relaxed body language (Which had more to do with the camera’s languid tilt-up shots of him and divine lighting. There! That’s knowledge again!) Basically, it’s everything. And I want that character to step out of the film just like Tom Baxter does, walk up to me and profess undying love and invite me to join him in his life of crazy adventure, fraught with danger and thrill (Er, yes, a lot of it is illegal but then in the film he never gets caught, right?) I even know which scene made me feel that way. While Don was an incredibly polished and cultured character, my jaw dropped when I saw him in that walk-in sort of safe where he went to keep the diskette which has all his vital contacts. I wonder if anyone else noticed Edvard Munch’s famous painting The Scream in the back, kept with the loving care of someone who proudly cherished his art. Not just that, The Scream was stolen in the year 2004 but it was recovered in 2005 making it a year too late for the complete relevance in the film. Anyway, there’s knowledge sneaking up again. Point is, Don obviously loves expensive art. And I’m sure he’d also love having long conversations about post-impressionists and expressionists and also modern artists. Sort of like Bond. I want to be with him in the car during all the car chases. I want to be with him in that HUGE bath tub in that gorgeous spa-like bathroom. I want to pour him champagne while giving sexy come hither looks when he’s looking particularly dapper in those fitted jackets matched with the Tag Heuer watches. I want to dance with him on Khaike Paan Banaras Wala matching him in his energy and steps. And of course, I want to save him from the bad guys (The gyarah mulko ki police!) YES! Duh! If you look at it from ‘our’ perspective (hee hee, that sounded gooood, OUR) those are the bad guys, but then WHY AM I EXPLAINING!? And then after saving him, I would get to hear the ultimate, million dollar line “Don ko pakadna mushkil hi nahin…” And you know what’ll be so cool about it? He’d say it to me! It’d be his original line and (anyone who wants to make any references to the earlier Don is not allowed to speak here!) I’d be over the moon thinking how cool, witty and sexy he is! Like Tom Baxter he can say: I love you. I'm honest, dependable, courageous, romantic, and a great kisser.
And I guess I’ll have no choice but to say, like Cecilia: I just met a wonderful new man. He's fictional but you can't have everything. And the credits will roll as we drive a cool Mercedes convertible into the sunset. (Does this sound like the film in a film theme from the film? Is Knowledge sneaking up again?)
Sigh!

And I know no one’s going to take me seriously after this brutally honest admission and I’m practically inviting trouble from all fronts from all my intelligent, well-informed friends (especially Scriptwriter Friend who's still trying to grasp why I liked KANK!) and Best-est Friend who's totally understanding when I withdraw into my little bubble, holds my hand indulgently and passes on tissues too when i'm crying in the theater over someone else's life!

But then, I’m happy and knowledge would simply burst my sacredly insane pleasure bubble!
Back to work now! It was an all-nighter after all but writing this was such pleasure. If tonight’s work were a film, this post would be the hot item number in it!
:P
(Singing loudly - I Want To Be In Love)

The Shape of Things: As we judge them!

2006-11-26T07:54:00.000-08:00

Guess who’s back!!
Bravely pushing forth and kicking aside all the layers which add meaning, purpose and definition to our life, enable us to buy beautiful things, indulge in sins and also pay our rent. Layers beautifully topped with loads of stress!
The last few months contained maximum chaos, to say the least, added to a life of drudgery, irrational deadlines, new experiences, new consequences, a whole new look and finally, a whole new set of questions!
How deep is being shallow? Is the beauty myth really relevant in 2006 and beyond? Why are we tolerating the pseudo-feminists who spout nonsense on TV shows?
And while my mind was plagued by doubts and wonder, my thoughts ran amok and penning them down posed a problem. Not one to ramble pointlessly on my blog just ‘cos I have one, I neglected it for a bit (And I wont make it sound glamorous by calling it a ‘blog-break’), till Annie and Megha tagged me and it seemed to hit the nail on the head. “Five Things Feminism Has Done For Me”.
Now, I’m not going to do the tag, but it sure got me thinking about a lot of issues that had been bothering me of late. Most people look very surprised and incredulous when I tell them I’m a feminist. Feminism is the most misinterpreted ‘movement’ ever. Most people think feminists are ugly looking shrieking harridans who’re out to get all men for merely existing. Often one has to simply bring up a women-centric issue even if it’s on the news to be labelled a feminist by ignorant/all knowing male acquaintances. I think being a feminist is something personal. For me to admit I’m a feminist means giving in to whatever the other person interprets feminism as. And then patiently explaining my version of it and how it usually makes so much more sense than theirs. I recently read The Female Eunuch again and was surprised to realise how shockingly outdated it seemed when placed in today’s context. Though, not wholly so. Or maybe, it’s just me, circa 2006, too jaded and worldly-wise to really get the huge impact of "If you think you are emancipated then you might consider tasting your menstrual blood - if it makes you sick, you've a long way to go, baby."
Often I don’t know myself. I do think we’ve come a long way. We’re closer to living the feminist dream now than ever before. Some issues remain, but then they always do. But now, I don’t know how much of my freedom of choice, independence, self-confidence and self-esteem comes from feminism and how much from a great education, great teachers, great family and great friends! To me, feminism has nothing to do with burning bras, hating men, waxing your legs, aspiring to look good and dressing sexy. It’s about equal opportunity. Fair and square. Though, for my MA exam I did write a paper called Starvation Imagery in Popular Media in preparation of which, I’d read and re-read all the feminist bibles, including The Beauty Myth by Naomi Wolf. And until recently, I was genuinely bothered by young girls with eating disorders. Now I’m really bothered by the hordes of pseudo-feminists or as I’d like to call them, TV Feminists, we’re seeing on panel discussions in news shows wearing Fabindia kurtas or cotton saris and big red bindis. Who’ve completely missed the point as they ramble on incoherently in shrill voices, trying to out-scream each other, blaming the media and blaming the corporates.
In college, body image and the commodification of women did matter to me a lot. Then again, back then, I was naïve enough to think that all doubts about body image came from our infamous matrimonial ads and not that much from media images of thin actresses and models. I mean, our leading ladies back then couldn’t really be called thin, could they? Think Madhuri Dixit, Raveena Tandon, Pooja Bhatt, Karisma Kapoor and Kajol before their “makeovers”. Urmila in Rangeela was the thinnest body in our films in those days but we were too busy being surprised by the tiny-ness of those bikinis than feeling terribly complexed and throwing up our food. And we always called her curvy. Never thin.
But I guess we really have come a long way already. All those women are reed thin now more than ever. Even Rekha and Sridevi are thinner now than they were in their pre-teens! And the world’s sitting up and being forced to notice the likes of Paris Hilton and Britney Spears. No matter what we really think of them, they still manage to feature in every possible media, every single day. In spite of the Pseudo-Feminists still feeling threatened by Barbie doll and writing tomes and papers on how beauty is not everything and women are being commodified by the evil media, the men and even more evil corporates. How we’ve regressed into the dark ages where women are mere sex objects and the men all closet Neanderthal. Barbie doll sales have just gone up proving that the factory’s a long way from being shut down. And the bunch of Pseudo-Feminists outside Mattel are quite frankly wasting their time as, horror of horrors Barbie makes a feminist statement!
After my MA, when I started working professionally in entertainment and fashion it was shocking. The people were selfish and insecure, the business unforgiving and the 20% discount small comfort. And being shallow was acceptable. Cosmetic surgery was everywhere, though a little hushed up. I still remember the day when I met an actress on a shoot and as I hugged her I felt something strange, which I thought, must be some kind of reinforced bra. Now, I know it was my first brush with silicone and after that I was totally stripped of my naïveté. I realised that everything was all about packaging. All the time, effort and energies being poured into creating that perfect outer shell. Be it for films, for television, for cosmetics, for books and newspapers and finally, even for ourselves. So much for all the bookish feminist beliefs about a woman’s body image and that fantastic idea of “inner beauty”.
I was shocked to see the latest edition of The Female Eunuch in a bookshop, all candy pink and looking like the token chick-lit novel. So now we need to sell THAT hidden within the standard chick-lit look? Are we, really, as a society gravitating towards being shallow? Nothing sums it up better than the trite Bollywood aphorism: Jo dikhta hai, woh bikta hai! And while the Pseudo-Feminists go blue in the face ranting, it doesn’t amount to anything really. India still is the place where people put in matrimonial ads desiring tall, fair, slim women. No matter how much is written and ranted against it. We’ll crib about commodification of women by the media, chomp on diet cookies and in the same breath bitch about Rani Mukerji’s weight gain, Kareena Kapoor’s large thighs and rave about Aishwarya Rai’s newly acquired thinness. Talk about double standards. And we’ve all done that. Though we like to think of ourselves as the most progressive person on earth, it turns out we are a lot more similar to most people than we care to admit: We, like everyone else, are so accustomed to looking at skinny, skinny women in magazines, on television, in movies, and virtually every place else that when we're confronted with someone with a little extra flesh or jiggly thighs, she seems completely freakish. So insidious, so poisonous is the tyranny of the super-thin that if we take a look at a movie from the 1960s with the quintessential beach or party scene, those women, considered so delicious at the time, look just plain plump now.
I really wonder if all the doubts and concerns about body image really hold. Shouldn’t they be revamped? Why? Well, recently I’d lost weight. (The healthy way! Working out and eating 6 meals a day!) My BMI was down to 23, I had more muscle and an awesome sense of self-confidence. Suddenly, there was nothing at Mango, Benetton, Be: or Wills that wouldn’t fit me or highlight unsightly bulges. Stepping out in the world in skinny jeans and a size S wardrobe was actually no big deal, but suddenly I sensed a world of difference in how people now treated me. I was never grossly overweight. Nor was it a dramatic before and after story where I’d whittled down from 110 kg to a mere 50. Yet, somehow I felt like I had. People who’d known me for a long time professionally seemed to hang around chatting just a tad bit longer, I was getting complimented much more and believe me, when I met new people, the reactions were totally different than before. It left me totally confused because I was sure my new size didn’t necessarily mean I’d become a better human being. But I wasn’t complaining. From my new improved outer shell, the world indeed looked like a better place.
But then my own vision is usually skewed. I’ve always admitted to being shallow and believing rather strongly that looks do matter and not even for a second have I fooled myself into believing that “Inner Beauty” was anything more than a fabulously ambitious phrase filled with depth and meaning signifying nothing. If it did, then it would too, be a multi-billion dollar industry and being endorsed by the “It” girls all over the world! I obviously wasn’t true to my feminist side, for I should be feeling horribly objectified instead of shamelessly ecstatic.
Recently, an international denim wear brand launched a search for a model for a new brand of jeans for women. We held auditions in 16 cities. Tonnes of young girls applied and three things stood out sharply. One, their confidence in themselves, irrespective of their sizes and looks and two, the desperation to be on TV and three, they were all professionals, with full time careers. In all there were some 500 odd girls and each of them thought they could be The One. With each girl we rejected on the basis of her size and looks I couldn’t stop feeling sorry for them and secretly hoped they wouldn’t go home and slash their wrists or puke away every morsel of food henceforth. But surprise, surprise! They were rather sporting about it! Cornering us afterwards to get tips on how to lose weight, how much larger does the camera make you look and how much is too thin!

The feminists say they’ve been commodified, but I’d disagree. I’ve yet to come across a brief by a fashion label or cosmetic brand or a production house saying, “We’re looking at XYZ model/actress for this product and you know what? Let’s all chalk out a detailed plan to commodify her!” Hell, no! Most models and actresses today are intelligent young women holding degrees in law, architecture, medicine and even software engineering. Smart, thinking women who’ve chosen to be in this profession for whatever reasons.
So when L’Oreal comes to India and signs Aishwarya Rai on as their new brand ambassador to say she uses their products because she’s worth it, it’s NOT because they’re commodifying her. It’s because millions of women in India watch her and secretly wished they looked like her and think that using the products will rub a little of that stardust on them. And no, the same effect can’t and will not be created if they used a plainer looking girl right off the streets. No one would care if she was worth it or not. Those kind of “pretty real girls” are used for selling sanitary napkins or toothpaste. After all, women all over will have to buy these products for their sheer necessity, not for their aspirational value!
So what about body image insecurities that we keep hearing about and that I once felt so strongly about as well? Has it sneakily become a part of popular culture? A lot has been written on these issues by the high priestesses of feminism and media critics. So what about body image insecurities that we keep hearing about and that I once felt so strongly about as well? Has it sneakily become a part of popular culture? A lot has been written on these issues by the high priestesses of feminism and media critics. Every now and then, we see a flutter of concern. And usually, that’s where it stops. What happened after skinny models were banned from participating in the Madrid Fashion Week and everyone celebrated and counted that as a victory for “real” women? In actuality, all it did was make BMI a household word and nothing much. Plumper women are still not heralded as the new standard in beauty. And “curvy” is just another veiled reference to being thin. Look at all the women who’re popularly described as curvy. Jennifer Lopez, Beyonce etc. And while they are curvy indeed, they’re also super thin. Not a milligram of extra fat, unsightly bulges or spare tyres thanks to an insane diet and workout regime. Be curvy, not skinny is the new mantra. But how? Think about it. If you can’t think, Google it! The truth is out there. Being “curvy” is in your genes. And to really, truly highlight your curves, you’ve simply got to work out more.
Like in the year 1997 - when Omega pulled out its ads from Vogue UK for instance, and The Body Shop ran a series of ads with the tag line, 'There are three billion women who don't look like supermodels, and only eight who do'. Set against the vast portfolio of skinny images which make up the wallpaper of our lives, these trifling efforts have about as much impact as a bubble on the wind. What tends to emerge after the dust has died down is a whole lot of nothing. There are occasional forays into the fat zone though, like the Dove commercial. Let me blow the lid on its perniciously subtle way of inducing insecurities. Firstly, the ad was NOT for a shower gel or moisturiser (though large women too use those products). Dove is counting on the fact that after we work through our initial shock, we'll think "Yayyy!" find the ads empowering, and buy what they are ultimately advertising, which is, of course, not merely the right to feel okay about your body but a bunch of firming products they're pushing. A product to be used only by fat women with loads of cellulite, which promises instant miracles in terms of a thinner silhouette. There's no doubt that the ads are striking. This is, of course, entirely due to the casting choices of “real” women. If the styling, lighting and packaging remained the same but these ads featured gorgeous, size-0 models, no one would give this campaign a second glance. But there's a dirty little secret here. Because, in the end, you simply can't sell a beauty product without somehow playing on women's insecurities and creating an aspirational value for the product: I wish I could look like her… perhaps if I buy this moisturiser, I will! But Dove’s approach is: That girl in the ad sort of looks like me, and yet she seems really happy and confident… perhaps if I buy this Dove Firming Cream, I'll stop hating myself!
These Dove ads say it's cool to be round and hefty… so long as your skin is taut and firm and perfect. You love your real curves, but you've got a little cellulite? Those orange peel thighs are gross! Jeez woman, run out and buy our cream right now!
While the truth, the whole truth and the really bitter truth about cellulite and lumpy thighs is that nothing short of divine intervention or an insanely rigorous exercise regime could make us any firmer. But women, insecure beings that we are can go ahead and try it as it costs only about Rs. 500, in contrast to similar products by Chanel and La Prairie which cost almost 20 times more! Sadly, this is not a winning play for the long haul. If Dove keeps running ads like this, women will eventually (though perhaps only subconsciously) come to think of Dove as the brand for fat girls. Talk about "real beauty" all you want—but no one wants to be labelled as the brand for fat girls! Which is why, we’ve not seen a second instalment of that campaign yet. Or a follow-up. Or a mad scramble among other cosmetic biggies to do similar ads. Yet, no one will ever say those women were “commodified,” while, in my opinion, they were more commodified than the usual models and actresses. Why? Simply ‘cos the models get paid big bucks to look a certain way. These women would have got paid a fraction of what Kate Moss would have charged to get ogled at and torn to pieces in feminist discussions. A crucial part of a model’s job profile is to look good and be thin. The outer shell has to, has to, has to shine. No matter what!

So what the TV Feminists call “the commodification of women”, I’d call creation of the perfect outer shell and adding an aspirational value. To be mythically attractive, available, yet elusive. Be it clothes, make-up or body proportions. Everything is about aspiring to a certain impossible standard. Remember Aishwarya Rai’s horrible wardrobe at the Cannes Film Festival in 2003? How unforgiving the media was? And what perverse pleasure we all got looking at her pictures and so totally bitching her out. I don’t think there’s been a more holier than thou fashion critique moment from people like us! And look at her now! After losing about 10 kilos, we suddenly have a newfound respect and awe for her. What did we say about Bipasha Basu’s healthy curvy frame in Jism? And how did we react when she was splashed on billboards across the country in a skinny avatar selling Levi’s Slim Jeans. Slim? Bipasha Basu? Hell yes!
But this isn't just about Aishwarya's health and happiness or that of any of the other hyper-thin celebs. These women, and their weight loss, have become an ideal, something to aspire to, for millions of women in India. After all, it’s these millions of women who discus the tiniest detail of the tiniest bit of flab on any celebrity. So is it really simply, just the old demand and supply routine? Do we, as a majority, want to see our models and celebrities really thin? And which is why advertisers, magazines and television supply the image that consumers want to see. Statistics show that if you put a beautiful skinny girl on the cover of a magazine you sell more copies. After all, what other reason would there be for People Like Us, to crib and complain about their being chubby? I mean, really! In my opinion, with a face like that, a few pounds really shouldn’t matter. And it’s not like they're HUGE! But that’s not the image of them we want to see. Remember our reactions to Rani Mukerji's Dominatrix look in KANK? And in the Nach Baliye song from Bunty Aur Babli? 10 kilos lighter and both scenes would have been hunky dory! So, it’s really confusing… So maybe, when asked about their diets and fitness routines, when all these celebs say: “Oh, I love food! I’m a complete foodie! I hate exercising, but I do yoga twice a week!” Are they just getting back at the people who judge them by pushing them into a delusional, amnesiac bubble with the idea that you can be as thin as them while shovelling down three square carb laden meals a day plus snacks and doing a bit of light yoga? Because, however many pizzas Priyanka Chopra says she eats, you can't.
So are the corporates really to be blamed for objectifying/commodifying the women? When super gorgeous women like Bipasha and Aishwarya shrank the moment they were jeered at by the masses, it tells us a lot about ourselves. As one of my designer friends puts it, “Clothes look better to our eyes on people who are thinner. In magazines, on the ramp, on TV and even in real life!” This also hit the nail on the head about what I couldn’t figure about myself when I lost weight. And in this day and age, it's moved waaay out of the realm of feminism.

So, Bingo! The bottom line. Clothes. Put bluntly, clothes look better on a slim frame. While being skinny doesn't mean you've automatically got a good body. But it does, by and large, mean you'll look all right in clothes. And don't we all want that? In my experience, there's a constant jockeying for position on the weight front among women, a competitive, low-grade bitching which applauds the dropping of a dress size and stigmatises the gaining of a kilo. Of course, if you're intelligent and grown-up and plugged into the issues of the day, you tend not to let on that you're fascinated by other women's butts. But you are. We are. We look. We compare. In our image-saturated, overweight universe, we're hypercritical of our peers and our idols. It's nothing to do with men and everything to do with competition between females. So, why, after emancipation, feminism, after – ha! even- Girl Power, should striving to be a size 2 be such a stellar achievement? Isn't it embarrassingly shallow and meaningless?
But we persist, because weight has come to signify all that is desirable, because judgment of character is increasingly based on superficial appearance. The outer shell. We objectify celebrities, inferring all sorts of things from their physical appearance. Image colours everything, simply because, in a world overloaded with information, we cling to what is most obvious: and that's how things look.
We know the repercussions of it all. We know all about anorexia, bulimia and crazy diets. But does it stop us wanting to look like them? Don’t we still just choose to concentrate on their lovely slim arms and sleek thighs rather than the fact that they have possibly just chucked up their lunch. Funny how a brain can curtain off unpalatable truths and feed happily on the garnish.
But perhaps we should look harder. Not at the celebrities, but at ourselves. In the final analysis, doesn't the responsibility lie not with them, but with us?

The Irony and The Ecstasy (Fable - 21)

2006-08-14T10:03:00.000-07:00

While it poured madly in Bombay and the city looked dirtier than ever and most outdoor work came to a standstill, pathetic little opportunists like That Woman ran gleefully to pretty as a peach Delhi! And it was the best decision she’d made for herself in a very long time because it’s not everyday you feel the magic in the mundane-ness of your life.
Greetings from The City I Love Most! Life’s just getting curiouser and curiouser and I’m getting dizzy with the happiness that’s magically working its way around me. In retrospect, a few things stand crystal clear.
A series of seemingly unrelated yet similar incidents corroborated that thought.
Number One was the week long trip to Ajmer, which turned out to be nostalgia on acid! That’s the thing about the city where you’re born and have spent a considerable amount of time. It’s a small town. Teeny-tiny, ho-hum, boring, staid like all other small towns in its league. For That Woman, Ajmer was the city where she always went back to in more ways than one. First it was vacations with grandparents, and later, for the latter half of her schooling. This year it’s been exactly 10 years since she passed out of school and going back was a shock. And the strangely happy realization that no matter how far you go, where you live or what career you choose, you will be bound to your roots and the place you come from. You will share an inexplicable bond with the people of that city even if they don’t know what sushi is and Barista is yet to show up there. The current crop of kids in her boarding school are the same pretentious little snobs that they were, but with cooler contraband items. Like iPods and cell phones! It was so refreshing to be around them, meeting old teachers and hearing them tell you how proud they are of you. As the school’s best debater, you felt invincible when you won the Inter-School trophy and took great pride in defeating that other pretentious little school from Doon! You had a terribly politically incorrect language and the cool insouciance that came from the belief that the only way to go now is up, up and away. The debating challenge was a week away and the school was all abuzz. The only tangible competition was still from “that school in Doon” while “the vernie schools don’t even figure!” That Woman heard this and smiled. How many times had she wanted to use that word, ‘vernie’ to describe random people she met during the course of her work, and because of that didn’t want to really deal with them more than was necessary. People who had bad grammar, bad pronunciations and, well, vernie accents, and their emails were filled with all sorts of spelling mistakes! But she did not have that wonderful safety net of being in school. Instead she called herself an intellectual snob, which in effect meant that the people she was being an intellectual snob with were vernies! But then, you live and you learn and you realize you can’t use certain words in polite company. (Though you can, in your head!) Then you sit there and reminisce and realize that when you're young, your whole life is about having fun, being impossibly reckless and recklessly impossible at competitive events. Then you grow up and learn to be cautious (you could fall ill or for the wrong guy) and politically correct and impeccably polite and you practice the fine art of killing them with kindness. You look before you leap and sometimes you don't leap at all because there's not always a safety net. When did it stop being fun and start being scary and dreary? Where had all that magic and charm gone? And when? This was a time better than any to seriously think of all that magic in our own lives which we see highlighted in feel-good films and books and we snicker cynically.
No more that. Because magic is that exact moment when you step out of the rut, look around and realize that life is a hell of a lot more interesting than just working, making money and trying to get ahead.
Magic is, stepping out of the plane, at Delhi airport and see a beautiful soft misty rain falling lightly. Putting a smile on That Woman’s face as she drove out of the airport to see everything looking so fresh, so green and CLEAN! And when you take the left from West End to Shanti Niketan, you can actually smell the freshly mown grass! And nothing else could top that except a heartwarming, real life love story that makes credible all such lines as: Love conquers all. Someone somewhere is made for you. Love will find a way. Love at first sight…
Actually, make that TWO real life love stories that make credible… you get the drift.

Two years ago, Cynical Hot Babe met Gorgeous Talented Boy and sparks flew. Instantly. For both of them. And they made a lovely pair. The kind that walks down the street hand in hand, talking animatedly, oblivious to the world and the fact that they had missed the right turn that would take them to the restaurant they were meeting That Woman for dinner. They seemed happy, laughed a lot, got touchy-feely a lot and drank a lot. All three of them, in fact, and then went home slightly tipsy and talked till early morning. After which, Cynical Hot Babe and Gorgeous Talented Boy went for a walk and on the way back, he took her to the neighborhood church to check it out.
Meanwhile, That Woman was trying to get out of a really bad relationship but the guy was clingier than Velcro, and even noisier whenever she attempted to peel him off. No matter how gingerly! Gorgeous Talented Boy proved to be a great friend in her times of turmoil and anxiety. They became close friends, so much so, that Cynical Hot Babe joked that Gorgeous Talented Boy should be dating That Woman instead. As time went by, she confessed to That Woman that all was not right in heaven and she really didn’t see herself and Gorgeous Talented Boy as quite “there!” Apparently, their mental make-up and maturity levels were totally out of sync. “He can be my closest friend, we talk about everything, he says the most awesome things about me, is really caring, makes me feel really sexy… but there’s something amiss and I’ve been thinking about it for a long time but still don’t know!” Cynical Hot Babe confessed to That Woman after 6 months. And sitting as she was, in the middle of a bad relationship, obviously the grass seemed greener on the other side and she psycho-babbled some deep, life-altering words to Cynical Hot Babe about the joys of being with a wonderful guy. Knowing fully well that when it came to relationships, very few can really be honest with each other, living as we all are in glass houses. And if you threw a stone, it might cruelly and magically turn into a boomerang and hit you right back! But that didn’t solve Cynical Hot Babe’s problem and in another couple of months, she broke up with Gorgeous Talented Boy. It wasn’t easy. It never is. Especially when there never was a bad moment in the relationship, but just the feeling that the crucial X Factor is amiss. But if both parties are willing to be mature and give it a serious thought, it’s actually possible to “be great friends” instead of just saying it for the sake of keeping the cliché intact for posterity. Which is what That Woman did. In her second attempt to break-up with Mr. Noisy Velcro she used all those clichés, right from, “It’s not you, it’s me,” to “But we can remain good friends,” and like it happens he saw through them and refused to part. He clung on. And soon Gorgeous Talented Boy’s studio became the sanctuary where That Woman would seek shelter from and have long soul searching-cum-bitching sessions with Cynical Hot Babe and him.
The three of them indeed became close friends.
Soon, Gorgeous Talented Boy met Smart French Girl and fell in love. When the others met them, a few months down in the relationship, they immediately saw how they were so perfect for each other. And Cynical Hot Babe pointed out that he’d found that X Factor with her which the two of them had lacked. But there were other issues. Smart French Girl lived in France, and had to leave after her visa expired an year later. The Long Distance Relationship became another ritual they got into, realized its demerits and broke up. Gorgeous Talented Boy was heartbroken.
Meanwhile, a regular networking meeting Cynical Hot Babe and That Woman had with a TV producer turned out to be one of destiny’s biggest success stories ever. TV producer turned out to be a Funny Intelligent Guy who, That Woman thought, instantly liked Cynical Hot Babe.
“Are you crazy?” Cynical Hot Babe snapped back at her when she expressed her opinion. “Stop looking for potential couples and matchmaking wherever we go. This was strictly business, you get that?”
Now, it’s been exactly a year since those famous last words were said. And about 11 months, since they were taken back graciously, when Cynical Hot Babe and Funny Intelligent Guy started seeing each other. It began like all great relationships do, but what carried it to another level completely was the fact that both of them discovered, in each other, that X Factor which their earlier relationships had lacked. And once that part was figured, they defied all odds and intellectual causality and fell in LURRRRRVE in the cheesiest, corniest, sweetest, mushiest way possible! And when I say love, I mean Real Love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can't-live-without-each-other, till-death-do-us-part love.
Of course, Gorgeous Talented Boy gave his seal of approval to Cynical Babe’s soulmate, while remembering Smart French Girl oh so wistfully. As did That Woman and she and Funny Intelligent Guy became New Best Friends who shared confidences, angst and lots of funny stories about Mr. Velcro (who was finally far away in the distant past) and stood by each other in moments of crisis. Cynical Babe had indeed never been happier and her cynicism wore off a little and she smiled a lot easier. And often for no reason at all!
Two months ago, Smart French Girl called up Gorgeous Talented Boy from Paris and confessed, even though she dated other men, she felt really miserable without him. And when he admitted to being equally miserable, in spite of dating other women too, both of them felt happier than ever. Soon Smart French Girl was on a plane to India and into the arms of Gorgeous Talented Boy who immediately proposed marriage and she accepted and even as you read these words, they’re already a happily married couple, living in bliss and planning a life in India and France.
That Woman, always a sucker for romance, grinned happily at the news of their wedding while wiping away the feel-good tears. It was yet another magical feeling when your closest friends, your support system, are in that happy phase where nothing seems impossible, everything falls in place just so and all cynicism and irony is cast aside. When they can bask in the joy and thrill of being in love, being with The One and the subsequent feeling of being invincible! Reveling in every nanosecond of the pleasure, havoc and confusion that comes with it. Indulging in all the fabulously cheesy love rituals because they’re there and one must save all clichés for posterity.
What do we learn from the real-life stories of Gorgeous Talented Boy and Cynical Hot Babe? That indeed, Someone Somewhere is made for you… Love will Find a way… And love indeed conquers all! And these are not clichés, but what people like to think of as clichés. Especially when they’re trying to be uber-logical, really intelligent, highly erudite and all that. They will never be caught dead admitting how much a cheesy, sentimental love story warms our hearts. But even a hundred years from now, people will still be buying red roses, singing mushy songs, holding hands watching mushy movies, exchanging lovey-dovey looks while hearing “their song” and celebrating Valentine’s Day. For, in real life, relationships don’t particularly follow any pattern, logic, or heed warnings. We are so often ruled by our hearts, often we land up in trouble, but then we also recover quickly and move on.
Just like That Woman had done after Mr. Velcro was finally out of her life and into oblivion. She’d moved to Bombay. In retrospect, she realized that Cynical Hot Babe had found The Love of Her Life in Funny Intelligent Guy, on Day 2.
Of course, That Woman didn’t know it back then when she had written this post, lamenting about her woes while wishin’ and hopin’ that they’d find a cozy, fully furnished, sea-facing apartment fitting their budget.
And voila! A year down the line, they did. Among other things, the proverb, “Be careful about what you want, ‘cos you might just get it!” finally started making a bit of sense too. And yes, now she also knows why they say it’s meant to be scary. In life, as in films, things often fall in place with a neat precision that totally warms the cockles of our heart. Sometimes it takes a year, sometimes longer, sometimes on Day 2! There isn’t any ONE full circle that gets completed. Life comprises a whole bunch of concentric circles and each representing every little hope, dream and ambition we have for ourselves. And coming full circle also means Happy Endings. For Cynical Hot Babe, finding a soulmate was easier than finding a perfect house. For That Woman, finding the perfect house had taken a year. And finding a Soulmate would probably take ten. Considering that the most important thing in a Soulmate is Soul, there was no one yet who seemed to possess one in any way, shape or form.
But then, she was too busy preening about the new apartment and clucking gleefully and satisfactorily like Mother Hen at the Full Circles her best friends’ lives had come to.
Maybe, if she detailed the story a bit, highlighted the dramatic points, made Smart French Girl’s phone call and the flight back a bit melodramatic, interesting supporting characters (like herself) and of course a few rocking songs, it would be a wholesome mushy film script with the perfect Happy Ending. The kind that would have repeat-watch value, will make tonnes of money and have loser journalists and jobless ‘intellectuals’ nitpicking for weeks on end about how clichéd it all is and… Hang on, wasn’t she supposed to be on a holiday? When thoughts of work shall not be entertained.
She looked out of her window to see this glorious evening in Delhi when the light turns golden at around six-thirty, and the way it glitters on certain leaves and windows, making the reddish sandstone walls glow with gold dust. It throws everything else into deep shadow, makes your throat catch and you think, from now on, I’m not going to be ordinary or do ordinary things.
There is magic in my life!
***
P.S. Sometime in July, this blog completed a year. And since I forgot to do a “Happy Birthday, Blog” type post, I’m making up for it by gifting it a whole new look. Thanks to Megha, the cool rockstar chica!

A Bollywood Fable!

2006-07-29T13:59:00.000-07:00

Often in polite company, we are asked what we do for a living. And often when I answer, I get a feeling that while talking, I have suddenly morphed into a very bright, colorful, exotic talking bird. Everyone stares for a moment before breaking out into a gamut of expressions. As though the entertainment industry was a dirty word. Some people are downright rude and use that opportunity to run down Bollywood as harshly as they can. Some people think writing and making films is frivolous. While some others want gossip on demand.
Bollywood actually is a great leveler. Everyone and anyone in India can unite over Bollywood in its many forms. The films, the actors, the directors, the sleaze and the gossip. As a nation, we are most unforgiving of our film industry, which, as of now, is the biggest in the world. Churning out more films per year than Hollywood. Just like the world has suddenly discovered Indian art and artists and is shelling out millions for their works, Bollywood too had the same Rip Van Winklesque reaction from the world. Today, it’s a global rage. Everyone knows that Bollywood has arrived.
Yet, most educated Indians are so unforgiving, biased and scathing in their reactions. Why is it okay to fawn and swoon over the fact that the Delhi Metro is an exact prototype of the Australian Metro? People look at it and are filled with awe. But why do they get so vitriolic when Bollywood looks towards Hollywood for technical inspiration (NOT creative, which I agree, is wrong!) and the way the corporate culture works? Our communication services, our banks, our FMCG companies, our space programs, our largely capitalistic economy are all based on the western module. Do we complain? Do we say horrible, mean things about them? No we don’t. Largely for two reasons.
1. We are not equipped to talk about these things. Like Parkinson’s Bike Shed Law.

2. These are things that mark our country’s development. Things that have taken it to being the 12th richest country in the world, and the country with the fastest growth potential.
And Bollywood is a part of it too. But still, we keep dissing it.
“Why do we have all that song and dance still?”
“Hollywood superheroes are so much better than Krrish!”
“Why do we make films for the NRI audiences?”
“What sort of reality is being portrayed in modern films?”
It goes on and on…ad nauseum.
Why? Is it because we all think we are highly knowledgeable when it comes to film technology? Or just because it’s easier to bitch about it? It’s easier to sit in our living rooms watching a film and criticizing the sets, the action and the dialogues in any which way we want. If not that, we will comment on how fat the actors are, how bad their clothes are, the sets are lousy… Does anyone even know what it really takes to make a film and to present it to a billion plus strongly opinionated people in our own country? Not to mention worldwide audiences?
How many people are familiar with the history of the Indian film industry? Just like knowledge of our national history is important when we discuss our economic and technological progress. Why do we ignore the fact that the Indian film industry too has come a long way? And it has not been easy. It has a history. And a rather rich one at that. Let me quickly educate you as I hold a masters’ degree in the subject!
Did you know that India was one of the very first countries to swing into film-making, and has seen global collaborations and won global laurels very early on? The Lumiere Brothers came to Bombay in July 1896 within 7 months of their opening show in Paris. Even before 1913, when Dadasaheb Phalke made Raja Harishchandra, there were several one- and two- reelers made and exhibited. Bombay and Calcutta were beehives of film activity with people such as Hiralal Sen and Save Dada producing and exhibiting films. Films were being made in American cities, but California and especially Hollywood became a center only in 1909 when Col. William Selig went from Chicago to the Pacific Coast in search of perpetual sunshine, something that was in ample supply in Bombay and Calcutta.
The world in those days was more cosmopolitan. Indian pioneers like Himanshu Rai, who made the classic Light Of Asia with Emelka Company of Munich in 1925 had no problem with German collaboration. Franz Osten worked with Rai as a director and had a German cinematographer. In the 1950s another German cinematographer filmed Anand Math and films like The River by Jean Renoir, based on Rummer Godden’s novel, and Bhowani Junction based on a John Masters novel, were made. Indian films went abroad and won prizes in international film festivals. Sant Tukaram won an award at the Venice Film Festival as early as 1937.
After independence, the flow back and forth from India to the West continued, but politics began to change the film industry’s stance. Satyajit Ray learned from Jean Renoir filming in India and went on to regain India’s international position in the world by winning awards year after year. Right after independence.
Independent India was obsessed with making its own hardware and for the first 40 years, a lot of resources were wasted on making machines rather than buying them. Only after 1991 we realized that India is better at software than hardware. Yet, the film industry was there as a shining example of an industry which worked with imported cameras and sound recording equipment and raw stock and yet created the world’s largest motion picture industry.
From the 1960s on, India was also cut off from exchanges with Hollywood as the mutual Indo-American paranoia took hold after Lyndon Johnson’s clash with Indira Gandhi. Collaboration with Hollywood, or indeed any western film-maker, stopped, and foreign producers found shooting in India difficult.
Indian policy makers treated cinema like dirt and something so frivolous, that they refused to give it industry status. Thus driving it into the clutches of black money, underworld, and extortionist financiers. Films were (mostly) financed by the underworld or diamond merchants charging exorbitant rates of interest - 30 per cent and more. The dons dictated the stars, interfered with the storyline, and sometime asked "special friends" to be cast alongside the hero, virtually guaranteeing that the film would bomb. Only after 1991 did sense prevail and by the turn of the century, industry status was accorded to cinema. Bollywood was corporatized in the year 2000. Which meant that filmmakers could now legitimately borrow money from banks and hopefully float equity.
It is now very clear that the world likes Indian cinema or Bollywood as it is and not just in art films. There is a diaspora out there as well as a new fan club growing around the world for Indian cinema. It’s no longer just the NRIs. It’s a global audience. And if it were not so, we would not be holding grand premieres in cities like Paris where even English is not the main language. Parisians going crazy over SRK and the recently concluded Bollywood Week is something to be proud of. We have loads of opinions on Veer-Zaara. Yet the French loved it. After very positive reactions from the German media at the 55th Berlinale Film Festival last year Veer-Zaara was released to the German public in the German language to unprecedented response. The music and the DVDs of Veer-Zaara are the highest selling titles in Germany for a foreign film.
How did this happen? Well, post 2000, the film industry grew up, the corporate world spotted an opportunity, and the rules of the game changed irreversibly. Stars began to report on locations in time not because some bhai was arm-twisting them, but because it was written into their contracts. Films went on to the floor on schedule and were wrapped up on time because the contracts had completion bonds written into them, and because such things as bound scripts had become mandatory to the process. And the phrase "bombed at the Box Office" became redundant because, whether they ran or not, chances are that everything from 36 China Town to the ill-fated Tom, Dick and Harry made at least enough money to tide them over. In a matter of only a few years, filmmaking in India has changed rapidly, crossing over (a favorite Bollywood phrase) to the Hollywood mould.
Why this is important to mention is because now the producers and filmmakers have that security for their investments. If they ensure that minimum returns are guaranteed, they can freely experiment with new techniques, stories and scripts without giving in to the industry stereotypes. Pre-corporatization, films like Black, Lagaan and Rang De Basanti wouldn’t have been possible. Now, arguments like, a film with a blind heroine and no hero, or, a period film on cricket with no action, or a multi-starrer where not only does everyone die the climax doesn’t belong to the hero…are passé.
Just six years, and the results are in front of all of us. Change doesn’t happen overnight and all at once. We’ve successfully covered the first tentative steps. We’ve got the techno-wizardry down pat. In fact, so well that Hollywood has begun outsourcing visual and special effects to Bollywood technicians. Case in point: Lord Of The Rings – Return of the King. How many Bollywood bashers know that the visual effects for this epic film with its mammoth scale of production were done by an Indian company called Applause Entertainment? The same production house that also made the successful film Black last year. No matter what we say about Krrish and his songs and dances, the fact remains that it was a bonafide Bollywood film which did indeed wipe out Superman Returns all over the world. American critics in publications like Newsweek applauded the brilliant $20 million Krrish as they panned the $200 million Superman Returns.
Isn’t this an indication of how talented we are and how technically advanced as well? Our first superhero film does not have any computer generated stunts. Yet, we find it hard to digest the fact that we have indeed made a film that is challenging a Hollywood biggie. Which has broken film records all over South India as well, which is the toughest territory for a Hindi film. Not just that, Krrish is now a case study for our IIM’s and even Harvard Business School and various other top B-schools in Europe as well. And then again, Hollywood is looking Eastwards without any prejudice to remake our films. Soon, Munnabhai MBBS will have a Hollywood counterpart in Gangster MD. Are we proud yet?
Rang De Basanti and Krrish are the harbingers of a new era in Bollywood which began in 2006. No two films will have the same theme. We will have an action-adventure film, romantic comedies, a family drama, a film on extra-marital relationships and infidelity, an Indian version of Lolita, an Indian adaptation of Othello, a fast-paced thriller and more. All the major Hollywood studios have landed here and started production. Right from Twentieth Century Fox to Walt Disney Pictures to Sony Pictures and Columbia Tristar. They’re all here and they’ve brought in their business acumen and distribution networks to make Bollywood bigger and better and totally global.

By the end of 2007, the Indian film industry would have had a complete overhaul, breaking free from privately owned distribution channels which often dictate the way a film should shape up. New filmmakers will not only get funding easily but also the actors they want if their scripts are strong enough. And yes, the screenwriters can finally enjoy their moment of glory and creative freedom. All this will happen under a stipulated timeframe and under iron-clad contracts.
But the point remains that the “multiplex audiences” have become highly insulated. They are so stricken with Hollywood that they fail to ever appreciate and understand the essential characteristics of Indian cinema. Look at the films that came out last year. Films like Bunty Aur Babli, Parineeta, Dus, Black, Sarkar, Salaam Namaste, Bluffmaster… All of them different, all of them highly enjoyable if one watches them without any bias. Salaam Namaste was actually the first mainstream film showing a live-in relationship as a perfectly normal way of life. Look at our television, which has been completely taken over by the saas-bahu sagas. People like us don’t relate to it. Most of our television viewing is the American soaps and sitcoms. We crib about how televison is so retro. But when our films reflect the changing society and bring to fore issues that we actually deal with everyday, we crib about that too. Completely forgetting the parameters that filmmakers have to adhere to while telling a story.
And of course, no one knows how to criticize in the real sense of the term. Forgetting the one basic law of critical appreciation. That you criticize a work of art for what it is. Not for what its not. If Shakespeare had meant Hamlet to be a tragedy, one can’t say, “Oh but it should have been a little lighter! It was too depressing. There was no humor…” Well, there wasn’t supposed to be humor. Similarly, if a film is about emotions and relationships, it would be downright dumb to expect it to be a thriller. And where songs and dances are concerned, don’t they form a very important part of our festivals and celebrations? Don’t we have songs and dances for our weddings, for different festivals, and each state has its own folk music tradition.
How many of watch films in the old, standalone theaters like Paras and Savitri in Delhi? How many of us have watched films in small towns and villages? It’s an experience to sit in an old movie hall, watching the film begin and watching the audience whistling and clapping the minute the hero enters. They applaud every cool dialogue, their appreciation for the songs and dances is expressed through loud wolf whistles and if they leave the theaters chatting animatedly about the film or singing songs or repeating dialogues, you know its paisa vasool entertainment for them. And they are the majority of people responsible for the success of a film. The multiplex audiences smirk and guffaw when they hear things like how a film has to work for the people of UP and Punjab. But then, those are audiences too. And much larger in number than the multiplex crowds who know exactly what they’re paying their hard earned money for. And they don’t watch Hollywood films. They’ve not seen Lord Of The Rings. But by 2008, when Ramayana will be on the big screen with the same scale of production and visual effects as LOTR, they will be awestruck and bring their entire families for repeat shows while multiplex people will still be nitpicking. Why, I’ve even met people who have their smart alecky comments about a film like Rang De Basanti as well. There are people who think they have such brilliant logic when they critique that film, and they wonder why it worked.

Well, for the simple reason that sometimes a film does touch a chord somewhere. And sometimes, it helps for us to shed our cynicism and go back to watching films the same way we heard and read fairy tales when we were young. Actually, even the same way we watched films in the 70's and 80's, when a fatal injury caused during a shoot sent Amitabh Bachchan in the hospital and the entire country prayed for his quick recovery. If that's not love for Bollywood, what is?
The world has enough troubles to keep us sad and cynical all the time as it is. Let’s not carry it over to films, which is after all a world of make believe and fantasy. And really not to be taken all that seriosuly or literally.

Give it a chance!

Much Ado About Tagging!

2006-07-20T03:42:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, some things make an awful lot of sense when we really ponder, dwell and mull over it for endless hours. And then sometimes we go through this “phase” where we look for an awful lot of sense in everything, but it keeps evading us just so. Then there are times when everything falls in place and starts making sense in a perfect way that leaves you feeling that the Universe is smiling upon you. Just like that! Often even without meaning to.
A large part of our lives whizzes past wallowing in either of the above possibilities. And therein lies the irony. What is it that makes it so important for us to seek sense in everything? And why? …Is everyone like that? The series of events last weekend left That Woman thinking and thinking hard about a lot of issues that occupy a good amount of our free time. Things like… relationships (What else?). From the problems of married friends dealing with diapers and rugrats to single people trying to get a date and wondering if he/she is the right choice? A Saturday gone bad, good, bad, interesting in turns. Then you wonder if it’s something you must write about…but you also realize it's complete pointlessness. Just because one hasn't updated one's blog in a while doesn't mean one starts writing those slam book meets daily diary type posts.

So, while you turn inwards to face your neuroses and quirks, you decide to do that horribly self-indulgent yet meaningless thing called a Tag. And two of them at that. I want to know who first thought up of Tags as a concept? And why? I mean, there are those attention seeking bloggers who keep writing about themselves all the time and how hot they are. How the world and its dog is at their doorstep asking for a date but they don’t care ‘cos they’re so hot. And since they’re anonymous, we’ve to just take their word for it! If they don’t write about such stuff, they’ll write randomly about stuff they like (Hot showers on a winter evening… Earthworms writhing in the mud in glee on rainy days…) and stuff they don’t (William Blake on a summer morning… Baingan ki sabzi with aloo paratha…) My point is, why is such trivia about a person important information? How does it matter what my favorite food is or what the name of my first dog was? Is there really no concept of privacy and space? Is the world indeed flat?

With these thoughts, I now proceed to do the tags which were chucked my way by a few dear blog buddies like SmugBug, Sanity Starved and Methinks. I will do the Tags ‘cos I like these people and they had to do the tags too. I also, now, feel like an attention-seeking idiot.

I am thinking about…
The view from a beautiful sea-facing apartment that my property dealer showed us yesterday and whether it would be worthwhile moving there just for the view, even though it’s much smaller than my current apartment.

I said...
“I’m in Delhi,” to avoid meeting a weird acquaintance.

I want to...
Live in Thailand for 8 months learning traditional Thai cooking.

I wish...
The entertainment industry was based in Delhi instead of Bombay.

I hear...
A band called My Morning Jacket and their album called ‘Z’ right now...

I wonder...
If I should go confront the rude neighbor who steals my newspaper without fail, every friggin’ morning, and thus ruining my day before it would even begin!

I regret...
Nothing! Now that I think about it, I realize. Not the worst moments, not the tough, trying times either. If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t be where I am right now. And right now? I’m very happy!

I am...
Intelligently snobbish about the finer things in life. Chocolates (always Belgian, always Callebaut), Single Malts (special spot for Islay and Highland), Fine Dining and world cuisine, Phillipe Starck light fixtures… Sheer heaven!

I dance...
When I feel like. Irrespective of what kind of music!

I sing...
Rather well actually!

I cry...
Watching sweet, sappy, sentimental films!

I am not always...
Nice!

I make with my hands...
Food! And since I cook from scratch, the more elaborate the meal, the more I enjoy cooking it!

I write...
Screenplays, scripts, magazine articles and for the love of it, this blog!

I confuse...
Between names of south Indian film actors and directors ‘cos I believe they all look and behave the same. (If they don’t, don’t tell me!)

I need…
To see my closest friends and family really really happy. Always!

And finally...
The Tag gets passed on to: i-Maleficent, Thalassa Mikra, Girl In Pink, Lemontree, Rosa Not So Rose and Sanity Starved.

***
Now the other Tag, in which I reflect leisurely on my weird habits/traits and tell the world about them too. But as is usual, I have doubts. What or who decides that a habit or trait is “weird”? Is there an International Standard which tells you your habits are weird? And also, what about things which I think are perfectly normal but someone else thinks it’s weird. Or vice-versa. After all, one man’s weird is another man’s normal. Only, normal wont be all that boring!
So without much ado, I shall get my 6 out of the way:

1. Morning Time... The 2 hours in the morning, after I wake up, are my most precious moments to myself. I want to have my shower, tea/coffee, breakfast, and newspaper just so. I prefer fixing breakfast myself; don’t like people talking too much around me; if possible I’d love to be alone for these two hours, with as little noise and clutter as possible. And if any one thing is amiss, it ruins my mood for the rest of the day.

2. I need to have at least 3 different shower gels and shampoos in my bathroom at any given time. Why? I’ve no clue. Maybe boredom? Maybe the availability of too many fabulous products which promise you a fabulous transformation? Or maybe, I’m just a sucker for cheesy advertising!

3. Shoes. The first thing I notice about new people I meet. I believe shoes tell a lot about a person. There are an incredible number of men who’d be otherwise very well dressed but wearing scruffy shoes. And that, often, is the real representation of them. You can’t get away wearing ugly shoes even though the clothes are rather dapper.

4. Working out. Everyday. Six days a week. As diligently as possible. BUT especially before heading for an evening out, be it a date or just catching up with friends. Weight training and a brisk run gives an adrenaline/endorphin rush like nothing else. The skin glows, the blood circulation revs up to add color to your cheeks, the muscles look all toned and sleek and you’re reasonably stress free. Step out of the shower post-workout and stare at yourself in the mirror. It’s the ultimate Goddess moment! Which i'm obsessive about!

5. My fetish for sunglasses. Shades, I feel, are not only an instant glamour accessory, they also work to distance you from the people around you. When in doubt, view the world in blue-tinted aviators. When strangers try have conversations, don’t take the shades off but keep looking at them coolly till they get really uncomfortable and buzz off. And just for this reason, it’s perfectly acceptable to wear shades in the evenings too.

6. “Call me later, I’m busy!” One line I have never said. Because I can’t. I’ve always envied the people who answer calls when they’re in the middle of something awfully important and say this in that inimitable, over-caffeinated albeit poncey way. When I’m busy, I simply don’t answer the phone, choosing to call people back later when I’m free to talk. A couple of times, I have accidentally answered the phone and told myself to tell them to hang up cos I’m busy…but it just didn’t happen. I felt I would be too rude.

And since the buck obviously doesn’t stop here, it passes on to: i-Maleficent, Ditty, SmugBug, Closetalk, Megha and Thalassa Mikra.

P.S. Friends later pointed out that I'd missed out one particular trait which according to them is bonafide Weird. So here's No. 7, a bonus point...

7. Having long conversations with auto and cab drivers. About what films they watch, why, which actors they like, which music, which part of the country they're from... And these are not the "for research" or "fill a questionnaire" type conversations. I have got into debates, arguements and often just amazed by the guy's brilliant logic or a totally new point of view. Depending on how long the commute is. And I always always have a theory or a revelation after that about my own life, career and personal!

Phew!

The Others: Mean Married Monsters and Uber Moms! (Fable - 20)

2006-07-02T05:20:00.000-07:00

The continuation and upholding a friendship with old college friends is something we all have done. And still do. Not only is it good for an emotionally healthy existence, it also puts us in touch with the happy, carefree people we were all those years ago. As time whizzes past, we become surer and more confident of ourselves. Our weird habits become annoying yet sweet quirks that make ours a well-rounded personality with its shades of gray.
While the said time was whizzing past, some of us chose to get married while some chose to remain single. While some single women battle their demons alone, some married ones completely lose their mind and sense of self over that acquisition, better known as Husband. And the annoying little things that inevitably follow - Children. These are The Mean Married Monsters and The Uber Moms.
And no, they are not born that way. They transform. Over the years.
That Woman knew both. Had witnessed the entire transformation and was left speechless, clueless and answer-less. Apart from having felt like a part of The Others.
SB had known That Woman since Day 3 of college and they became great friends. SB had been one of the coolest people in college, with a drive and ambition nothing short of inspirational! Three years after graduating, SB had an arranged marriage. There was nothing particularly interesting or unusual about it, except to people who had known SB and were part of the same happy bunch in college.
You see, SB was one of those girls who’d started out brilliantly in a bright career in advertising while most others enrolled in fancy PG courses. We all know them. They’re the women we’ve been meeting for the last ten years, who are attractive and seem to be able to get everything. And with each passing year, they seemed to be getting better. Whenever That Woman ran into SB they talked a lot. That Woman would bitch about classroom politics at her film school and SB would regale her with stories of major ad shoots, the model she had a fling with, the actress with a bad drug habit and more such nasty gossip.
So, That Woman couldn’t help feeling a mixture of admiration and revulsion when she heard about the “arranged” in the marriage news. SB seemed okay with it, nonetheless when That Woman had called her to confirm the A word.
SB moved into a joint family, with in-laws etc and quit working. That Woman spoke to her a few months after the wedding and SB began talking about her husband. He was not the kind of guy she ever thought she’d end up with, but she was happier than she’d ever been in her life. Good for her! Till That Woman met another friend from the Same Happy Bunch who’d run into SB and had been shocked by the change that had happened to her. Gone were the jeans and western clothes, ‘cos her mom-in-law didn’t approve at all.
That Woman had not met The Husband yet, and enjoyed her conversations with SB till she too graduated from film school and started working. The first stint ever saw her in Bangalore on a chaotic but beautiful film set with a strange bunch of actors. It was an awesome experience. And like all awesome experiences go, one can’t stop talking about them. So, SB too had to hear all the stories of tantrums, on-set romances, That Woman’s encounters of the weird kind with the Tamil film industry and how cool indifference to their actors and technicians was enough to send them in a mad tizzy and long explanations about how great they are.
“Do you realize all you talk about is your work?” SB pointed out at the end of a conversation.
“Well…that’s all that’s happening to me right now! And it’s so exciting… I used to envy you so much when you were working and I was studying. I thought I’d be studying forever,” she said honestly.
Over the years, SB changed slowly and steadily. From high flying career babe to the stereotypical housewife who’s conversations began and ended with her talking about her husband. SB spent great time and energy making excuses for him and convincing others of the greatness of his personality. How he was shy and clammed up in front of strangers but was sooo much fun otherwise and sooo interesting. Gradually, the husband became the sole subject for all her conversations. While That Woman agreed that SB loved her husband and was having fun, they seemed to be running out of things to talk about. SB found a way to connect everything to her husband and then talk about him again. And SB failed to realize that the fastest way to lose old friends was to start telling them how the answer to all their woes and stress is to get married. “Trust me, you really need to slow down and get married. ASAP.” SB said in answer to That Woman’s cribbing about 18 hour edits that lasted 6 weeks.
“What’s marriage got to do with it now?”
“Everything!”
“Huh? …Ok, I gotta run. Will talk later!” That Woman hung up, feeling a little confused and a little angry. Why was SB turning into a Mean Married Monster? Calls were avoided to the point of completely losing touch till fate brought SB and Husband to the same city. And as was inevitable, That Woman met SB and was horrified at the housewife-ication of a power babe. The husband was due to arrive home for lunch any moment and SB spent all those minutes justifying, explaining and making excuses for her husband and how he was the best thing that could have happened to her. The husband came, and That Woman agreed with others from the Same Happy Bunch on how boring the man was. In the 2 hours she was there, he barely spoke 3 sentences, in which he implied he didn’t like his wife commuting alone, hence, all future plans to meet for lunch, shopping, partying were meticulously scrapped by Husband on pretext of SB’s safety in the big bad city. That Woman stopped asking, but continued the weekly phone conversations which soon became long monologues by SB about her in-laws and her doting husband.
“What is wrong with her?” That Woman asked another married friend from the Same Happy Bunch. “You are not like that. You’re still the way you were and just as happily married!”
“I think it’s her husband,” she said for an explanation. And they all understood that but couldn’t do anything about it.
Soon after, SB’s calls were all about how she was trying to have a baby but couldn’t. “Not that it’s not fun trying,” SB laughed, “And Husband’s great in bed!” That Woman almost choked on her coffee. The thought of SB having sex with him was most disturbing and made her stomach churn. “Babe! Get married before your biological clock ticks away!” SB trilled. This was a weekly exercise in patience and a test of friendship. That Woman cut down the weekly calls to bi-monthly, often not taking SB’s calls. Then one day she felt guilty and called her back later that night to hear in great detail, yet again, how much fun it was trying to have a baby and the angst that came with it later when nothing happened. “Don’t you want to have children?” SB asked and That Woman freaked.
“No! I hate kids and I really think they should be sent away soon as they’re born and return only when they turn 21!”
“Oh, be serious.”
“But I am!” And she was. “How was the weekend?”
“Great! I told Husband I didn’t feel like cooking dinner so he took me out to Olive for dinner and I got drunk on wine. …You know, don’t you feel you need somebody to do these things with?” SB started again.
“What things? Having dinner or getting drunk on wine?”
“Oh come on! You know what I’m talking about. …Marriage! Companionship! Love! Security! …You know, that’s all we want, don’t we?”
“I don’t. I want to make a Bollywood masala film with at least 2 item numbers, kick-ass action and a love story so mushy that will make people cry,” That Woman said.
“All this in one film?” SB asked.
“Yup,” she replied and SB laughed out loud on the other end and That Woman felt a little hurt. What was so funny about it, she couldn’t figure. Considering this had been her ambition since college and she was working towards it. “Don’t be mean, SB!” Was all she said. After all, she never laughed at any of her rants.
“I’m not being mean, babes! …Just that I’ve stopped watching films completely ‘cos Husband doesn’t like to.”
“Call me next time you want to watch one. We’ll go!” That Woman’s endless efforts to re-connect with the girl she’d been friends with in college.
That Woman thought about her for a long time. Talking to SB…
Wa s li ke rea ding thi s pos t so met hing l ike thi s
A nd wit h an inc reas ed le vel o f fr ustr a tio n.
What was it like to be SB? How SB, an avid movie buff, could stop watching films completely if her husband didn’t like watching films? And by now she knew he would probably have an epileptic fit if, SB stepped out on her own and Oh my god, have some fun! How did it happen? How could you become this complete nag who even beat your mother in the number of times she’d tell you to get married. And of course reminding her that her biological clock was ticking away. There were lots of things she had wanted to ask SB. (Like, why did she give up her career and wearing western clothes? And why was she forever making excuses for her husband and defending him even when That Woman didn’t say a word?) But didn’t, for the fear of hurting her feelings. Why had SB lost that consideration for her?
***
For that matter, so had AS. That Woman had been greatly thrilled, 2 years ago when AS had suddenly appeared in her mailbox, after being incommunicado since her wedding a few years back too. After that first email, the chain didn’t stop. AS sent monthly updates, complete with lots of pictures, which she’d rather get by snail mail than e-mail. E-mail photos, for most of us who have fucked-up connections, can mean 20 minutes of downloading and maybe even several crashes. By the time the photo arrives it had better be worth your while. And it arrives pixel by pixel, so you have to go through the anticipation of … It’s … it’s a baby … it’s a baby in a… in a… in a pink…in a pink crochet sweater … on a … on a dining table! Awww, isn’t that the cutest thing to ever freeze my computer.
Take it from one who knows, it is virtually impossible to get off a friend’s baby photo distribution list without sounding like a complete misanthrope. (It’s hard enough writing this post without sounding that way.) That Woman had to create a new email address for friends with babies. One which she didn’t check everyday.
You see, things happen to people when they have kids these days. Some parents remain normal. But others, decidedly do not. They go a little bit crazy. Take all that energy and aggression, those hang-ups and unresolved issues that go into one’s career, and imagine applying them to a child. When it comes to kids, people who were once stock neurotics can become, well, just plain crazy.
This was evident when That Woman went to brunch at AS’s house last weekend. Like most couples who suddenly have children, AS and hubby have taken on a whole new group of friends who also have kids. How does this happen? Did AS meet them at some play school orientation gathering? Or were they always friends who, having kids, kept AS on the back burner till she caught up? These were The Others… And she was sure they thought so about her too. Fair enough!
SB was finally pregnant. She never did get along that well with AS in college, but suddenly now they were best friends. Mean Married Monster and Uber Mom. That Woman was still recovering from shock as SB insisted that everyone give her only white baby clothes, because she believed that dye in clothing will cause an allergic reaction on her baby’s skin. Another young woman with a 2 year old son chipped in saying how she doesn’t let her aayah wear perfume or deodorant ‘cos she doesn’t like her baby smelling of someone else’s (cheap) cologne. That kind of behaviour is not limited to mothers. After all, isn’t there something just a tad bit silly about fathers and sons who dress in identical jeans and check shirts with matching caps. Of course, being crazy about your kid and being just plain crazy are two slightly different things. Taken to extremes, such kind of parenting turns psycho. You never know who it will strike or what form it will take, but, like another young mother with a 3 yr old said, “It’s not about love or caring. It’s about obsession.” She was a woman who kept firing babysitters and aayahs, secretly on purpose, until she finally just had to quit her job to take care of the kid.
So there she was now, with her little girl, dressed in a pink frilly dress which made her look like a three tier wedding cake. “She’s just started dance classes. Isn’t it adorable? Everytime she watches TV, she knows she’s to put on a performance too. Don’t you, sweetie? Don’t you?” The woman stooped, hands clasped to her chest, head cocked, face frozen in a large fake smile inches from the child’s face. Then she began making odd gesturing motions. “Blow a kissie. Blow a kissie,” she cooed. The little girl, smiling fixedly, brought her little palm to her mouth and whooshed out air between her lips. The mother screamed wildly.
Just then AS walked in with her daughter, Keya. “Look, apple. Apple, Keya. Can you say apple? What do we do with an apple? Eat. We eat an apple, Keya. Can you spell apple? A-p-p-l-e. Keya, coffee. C-o-f-f-e-e, Keya…”
That Woman just looked on in silent shock. The Uber Mom with little girl came to her. “You don’t have kids, do you?”
“Nope!”
“Oh! I so wanted to have a baby soon as I got married. And the moment I had her, I was like, this is my calling in life. I’m a mother. I wasn’t going back to work. I want her to have the best of everything. Doesn’t she look lovely? I’ve to take her for a ‘go-see’ this evening –“
“A ‘go-see’?” That Woman looked surprised. “She’s with a modeling agency?”
“Oh yes. She’s even got a print ad for a big diaper brand!”
“Awesome!”
“You direct ad-films too, don’t you?”
“Err, yes, I do. But not with kids,” That Woman smiled politely while remembering that horrible day years ago when Best-est Friend was making a film with a kid and a dog and it had been a nightmare. She’d sworn to never shoot with kids or animals after that.
AS approached her with her daughter and SB in tow. “See? Again you’re talking work,” SB chided her.
“All you’ve to do is get married,” AS trilled happily and held her daughter close, “have a child and then take three or four years off.”
“I want to have another baby already,” the other woman chipped in. “She’s grown up so fast. Haven’t you, sweetie pie?”
That Woman thought she was going to be really sick. So she left.
And returned home in an emotional state somewhere between giddy and destroyed. Just then SB called her. “Babes, thanks a bunch for the lovely flowers you got me, but I’m leaving them behind at AS’s place. I forgot to tell you but Husband is allergic to them. So… But hey, it was so sweet of you. I am so nervous now, waiting for the baby!” SB carried on while That Woman was at the end of her patience. Then she almost screamed. Bad things happened to commitment phobic, single working women when they had encounters like this with old friends. You’d go home and lie in bed, and the whole thing would come back to haunt you, until you had to call up your other friends and be a nasty little cat and say, “Babe, if I ever end up like her, be sure to shoot me, ok?”
But right about now, she needed to do something to celebrate her singleness, something frivolous and impractical, something she couldn’t do if she had a baby to dress in a pink frilly horror and take her for an audition. So she went and bought herself a pair of ridiculously expensive designer aviators and called up New Age Guy, “I’m going insane. Gimme shelter! At Zenzi!”

Lemony Snippets: That Man, Booty Calls & The Grapevine (Fable – Part 19)

2006-06-07T21:37:00.000-07:00

Sometimes life gives us lemons. The dull ones make lemonade. The smarter ones do tequila shots. The cynics just look at the lemon and wonder. Just like That Woman did often. ‘Cos often she had no choice! And lemons landed at the most inopportune moments. They’ve an amazing knack of catching you on a bad hair day, or while you’re PMS’ing, or while you’re on a hot date with a hot guy, or while you’re out shopping… Get the drift? Lemons basically are chucked at you when you’d be least expecting one. Recently, That Woman discovered that in one cruel surprise tactic of the Universe The Lemon comes disguised as an Exotic Fruit. Alrighty! Like other horrible things, you deal with that shock too. But it doesn’t end there. You’ve figured that The Exotic Fruit is not true. But it is, what you wish, were true. And that’s the catch! It immediately sends you on a meaningless, strange but immensely interesting, almost euphoric trip to explore what the deal is. Not unlike a Magic Mushroom trip. (Err, I’m told.)
The story unfolds…

The best thing to do when you live an uber-stressed existence is to slow down a bit, take stock, take time out to write, to read, to meet people to sort out your system and smile a lot. And also, have a Fun Alternate Career to facilitate all of the above and getting paid for it too.
That Woman was also a Fashion Stylist. Why?
A. ‘Cos she was good at it. B. Where else would it be possible to be paid for going shopping all day. And 20% discounts everywhere.C. You got to play Fairy Godmother to various people, making them look fabulous. D. You know bona fide stuff like How to make your Fabindia kurta look sexy on days when someone else at work is wearing the same one? E. You could wear stilettos and hip, kitschy clothes at work!
So as a Stylist, she walked into the set for a soft drink ad. The director was a friend and just as she was relishing the idea that she wasn’t the one directing, dealing with production guys and editing…she saw That Man.
“What’s he doing here?” she asked the director.
“He’s an old friend! I asked him to feature in the ad and he agreed,” he grinned as That Man walked up to them.
“You’re looking great!” he smiled as he approached That Woman and they hugged and air-kissed, pretending nonchalance. She was happy nonetheless for the decision to give up the comfy but dowdy Fabindia stuff in favor of a white crochet halter top with her best jeans and pink and silver strappy heels. The blue aviators too.
“Thanks! And since when have you become a model-slash-aspiring actor?” she asked him. “Is it a direct outcome of the company one keeps?” she couldn’t resist that dig.
“It’s not. This is just for him. Strictly one off. …And I’m surprised you don’t know that that part of my life is history!”
“I don’t keep tabs on your life, you know!”
“Still! We’re on the same grapevine. One hears things,” he smiled disarmingly.
“What have you heard about me?” she said that before she could stop herself.
“Oh lots! But I’m not telling. It’s not good manners.”
“How kind you are!” she smiled her fakest smile. “To be keeping track of my life.”
“You have to! One must always know how the other half lives.”
“Not really. Unless one is terribly insecure and ridden with self-doubt!”
“I am,” he said very sincerely. “Terribly insecure and ridden with self-doubt too. …I think I need to work out more and buy a bigger car.”
So she ended the flirty crap right there and walked away. She had 6 people to dress up and an hour for the cameras to roll. N walked in half an hour later to check on his assistants and noticed something strange about That Woman. N was a celebrity hairstylist, with a million tricks up his sleeve for making you look like a rockstar. He’d known That Woman since she began her career as an assistant director and he gave funky haircuts at a famous salon. She was no longer an assistant and he was a hair consultant for a big international brand and charged by the hour. They were great friends and she didn’t trust anyone else with her hair and the hair of the people in her shoots.
“You’ve lost weight, dearest!” N grinned giving her a warm hug. Always knowing how to make someone’s day. “But, you still look fucked-up. What’s wrong?”
That Man came to her with more self-doubt. “Are you sure you want me to wear this?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. It was a dark blue T-shirt with a Superman logo. “Maybe the idea would translate and transform.”
“And with that thought, Ladies and Gentlemen, she makes my day!” he took off the T-shirt he was wearing and put on the Superman T-shirt.
“And with that, your audition as a stripper ends here. I’m sorry you didn’t make the cut,” she winked at N as she spoke.
“Starting trouble!” he smiled at them both. “I’ll learn faster than you’d know. But do give me a second chance!” And he walked away, grinning.
“Ok, let’s get this straight,” N said firmly. “He’s someone you don’t want, and definitely don’t need! Too much, waaay too much baggage. For both of you.”
“And your point is?” she was confused.
“Sleeping with him is out of the question,” he said with an air of finality.
“Well! Who said anything about sleeping with him? Or anything else to that effect?” she was mildly miffed at his statement.
“Darling, some things don’t need to be spelled out. The world is NOT flat and the sky is blue. It’s that obvious!”
And the best thing was, he made sense. And that was also the worst thing.

Witty banter and smart small talk was addictive. Hence, injurious to emotional health. And this was a proven fact, corroborated by most smart, single women. Who were single, but not available. Not quite unavailable too, but just very, very, very discerning!
And therein lay the dilemma. What if this was a Lemon? Does one make lemonade? Bring out the tequila? Toss it outside the window?
Apparently, neither. She decided to keep it in the fridge for potentially masochistic purposes in future. And she wondered if she was the only one with a mind, twisted enough to do such things, or did most single women do that.
***
Pi called thrilled. He was “in love, baby” with the model he’d met right before the fashion week. And he wanted That Woman and Bestest Friend to meet him and Hot Model for dinner so they could suss him out and give a seal of approval.
There was one BIIIG problem. That Woman and Bestest Friend didn’t think it was “love” this time either for Pi. But they didn’t want to burst his bubble.
When they met Pi and Hot Model, their doubts seemed right. This wasn’t The One for Pi but simply The Twenty-Fifth. And she thought of N’s words to her and wished somehow if she could say the same to Pi. How come when it came to being blunt about people’s dates and relationships, she could never be as blunt as others were to her about hers? Apparently this was the status quo. And seeing Pi so happy and cheery in so long somehow made her wish it would last.
“I met Boring Arrogant Man last week,” Bestest Friend told her over dinner.
“And?”
“And in the course of the conversation, I told him what you thought of him,” she grinned wickedly. “He tried to tell me he wasn’t arrogant.”
“But he admitted to being boring?” That Woman was surprised.
“Yup!”
“And he’s also aware that this is where his Dating Dysfunction comes from? And he won’t do a thing about it?” That Woman’s search for answers began again.
“Maybe he thinks he’s happy like that, I thought so too before I met Hot Model. Now This is heaven! And he’s a Greek God!” Pi whispered in her ear with much glee and she wished her cynicism would go far away and never return. No luck! Pi looked at Bestest Friend, who was much in love with a great guy herself. She had been just as cynical. Still was somewhat, but was learning fast.
Does cynicism go away by association? Nope! A fact That Woman was now resigned to. And knew where it came from. The seemingly positive pressure single women face to be demanding and become “Complete”. We’ve been told to splurge on ourselves, go to spas, get massages and expensive hair therapies, go to the gym, do power yoga, buy cars, and houses… so we do all that. We work harder, concentrate on our careers, discover that the good life is getting cheap. We’re happy with our lives. We’re COMPLETE. But taken to its other extreme, ‘complete’ doesn’t leave a whole lot of space for anybody else. Good news for her, but bad news for The One. Who she was not waiting for.
***
Ruthless Ambitious Golddigger was back in town. In a new sea-facing duplex penthouse, belonging to The CEO she was currently with. And a new set of problems, for which she called That Woman.
“And could you also bring a pizza with you when you come?” RAG giggled. “I’m on a diet. If I order one myself, I’d be cheating!”
That Woman showed up at the penthouse that afternoon with a large pizza and an expression of incredulity on her face when she saw the apartment. It was large, spacious, open, airy, plush, with a terrace that almost extended over the sea like a pier, a Jacuzzi…in short, everything an ideal apartment should be.
“I want to adopt a baby,” RAG announced. “For the greater good of myself. I mean, everyone’s having one! They go to Fashion Week in cute maternity wear and pose for pictures, and men go ga-ga over them! …Look at ZZ, she got divorced, had an affair, had a baby and is positively happy. Just like she did when she had that divine spiritual experience? And everyone started having one ‘cos it was so chic!”
That Woman laughed. “Having what? Babies or divine spiritual experiences?”
“Both!”
“So what’s the deal with The CEO? Has he inspired such thoughts in you yet?”
“Not at all! You know we were holidaying in Ibiza last month and had had a bit much of psychedelic mushroom tea and he told me that if he ever felt like getting married – to anyone- I must stop him!” she laughed.
“Please stop me too,” That Woman said rather evilly.
“Oh come on! You don’t say that,” RAG smiled. “I’m sure you’ll find someone great really soon and you’ll be happy ever after or till whenever you want, babe!”
“Exactly! One day I decided I was done with all bad relationships and flings and random dates in pursuit of eternal love, happiness and…and…maybe even world peace?”
“And then?”
“And then nothing. I just drew a blank. Life’s become even more boring, and no one has answers to my questions anymore. Everyone’s on cocaine and everyone’s a rockstar!” That Woman joked. “And there’s no world peace either, which is comforting in a way! If I’m fucked up, the whole world should be too. And oh, I’ve been off alcohol too for the longest time!”
“I think you should go out more than you do. I love the way you can laugh off most things that disturb so many of us. I’m not surprised most people think you’re cold, cruel and aloof!”
“They think that?”
“Sure! You know, you’re nice looking, smart, funny, successful and you should have a million guys calling you up and asking you out, wanting to be with you. …But you know the truth! And you don’t let it bother you. You can just make a joke of it, while so many others would mope, sulk and turn so bitter you couldn’t stand them!”
“Oh, that’s ‘cos I know something they don’t!” That Woman said wickedly. “I know at least 3 super hot looking models and 2 actresses who are right up there, and no one calls them and asks them out. But if you look at them, you would never believe. They’re just so damn fabulous. Doing great work, having fab bodies and faces that get them their million dollar endorsement deals and magazine covers… I think I’m O.K.!”
“Definitely, babes!” RAG laughed. “Or we could both adopt babies!”
“Good idea, but I might leave mine behind at a Barista or something in a rush. Do you think I could settle for a divine spiritual experience instead?”
But The Grapevine didn’t call those 3 models and 2 actresses “cold, cruel and aloof”. Will someone please burn The Grapevine?
***
New Age Guy was having a party and That Woman decided to go, taking RAG’s advice. He had said he was expecting 20 odd people. There seemed at least 80. “Where’s your date?” New Age Guy asked her.
“Why? Are there cover charges for singles?” she asked sweetly. “Where’s yours?”
“Ok, here’s an idea! Let’s pretend we’re dating. It’ll give us something to talk about and it’ll give everybody else something to talk about to. What say?” he grinned.
“OK. Done!” she laughed. Her revenge on The Grapevine. “If you promise to not let me get bored. If I get bored, I turn into a cat with really sharp claws, ready to strike.”
But even with that premise and a “date” things weren’t exactly the way they should be. It was a great party all right with people drinking everywhere and at any given time at least 8 people in the bathroom doing drugs and tiny groups cosseted together in bitchy conversations. And the other half circulated with great finesse, saying things like, “We should meet more often!” or, “We should work together!” or, “We should do lunch soon!”
And just when she thought she’d heard it all, she heard, “You know I really miss being with you…” she turned around to face Skeleton From Closet with whom she’d had a week-long fling over two years ago. And hadn’t thought of him ever since.
“Really?” she smirked.
“Oh don’t smirk! At least be civil now,” he thought he was being very funny. She didn’t.
“Noooo. Why?” she gulped down her cranberry juice. “Life’s so blah as it is!” She handed him her empty glass and went looking for New Age Guy.
“Where did you get all these freaks from?” she asked New Age Guy.
“They’re not freaks. They’re all nice people with awesome positive energy!”
“Then where did that come from?” she pointed to Skeleton From Closet.
“Dunno! Must’ve followed you,” he doubled up laughing at his own joke. That Woman stood stunned, having spotted Annoying Aspiring Actress walking towards them.
“Wonder who she’s following?” she muttered.
“Oh Baaaaabes! Finally you’re here!” New Age Guy had suddenly sobered up and almost slobbered at AAA as he hugged her warmly. Then he turned around to look at That Woman. “You two know each other, don’t you?”
“Yup!” That Woman smiled. Highly amused by the look in NAG’s eyes in AAA’s presence. Why now, did that glazed glint look so familiar? “Her and her boyfriend too,” she leaned and hugged AAA.
“Oh That Man’s not my boyfriend,” AAA guffawed. “We’re just good friends... Could I have a frozen margarita, please?” she smiled sweetly at New Age Guy.
***
That Woman approached the end of her hiatus from stress and decided to do a lighting design. It was a late Monday evening, rainy and happy when her phone rang and flashed a number she couldn’t place. And answering it was the biggest mistake at that point of time. It was Skeleton From Closet. Laughing like an idiot, “Caught you! I knew you wouldn’t have stored my number!”
“Well…” she couldn’t believe it. Even as the rest of the 10 minute conversation unfolded before her eyes. The gist of which was him asking her if she was seeing anyone. Telling her that he certainly wasn’t. Asking her if she remembered the time they’d spent. Informing her that he certainly remembered. And missed. And wanted to meet her. If only briefly. Just to talk. And take it from there.
She cringed as she hung up on him. First thing she did was to store his number so she could ignore his calls in future. Then she called Bestest Friend to crib about The Booty Call from Skeleton…
***
Two days later she again sat with the lighting design to challenge her mind when That Man called. “I didn’t know you knew NAG too,” he said.
“Why?” she asked. “Known him over 7 years now.”
“Can I ask you something I heard on The Grapevine then?” he asked laughing. “Are you dating him?”
She remembered the party and she being his date. “No,” she said flatly. “Can I ask you a question too?”
“Sure!”
“Did you get a booty call from AAA two days back?” she asked and he was suddenly silent.
And then said, “How did you know that? That can’t be on The Grapevine.”
“Everybody’s a rockstar!” she laughed. And then they made a date for lunch. In an hour. “Can you also help me with a lighting design I’ve been struggling with?”
“Sure! Nothing beats great lunch while discussing cool techno stuff with a smart chick,” he said and hung up.
Chick!!! She couldn’t believe he’d said that. Why? Was it yet another lemon? Or yet another freak accidents of May after the run-in with Skeleton From Closet.
After quickly dressing up for the lunch and picking up a copy of the script, she left home. Still wondering, yet happy that May had ended. With its series of strange coincidences and bizarre episodes. An entirely new season maybe.
Return Of The Freaks: The Booty Call and Lemons.
With two reruns a day. And a marathon on Sunday.
Choose your poison. Lemonade or Tequila?

In Touch With Our Sinner Selves (Fable - Part 18)

2006-05-01T06:56:00.000-07:00

Being at home, on holiday, is sheer luxury. Giving one a lot of time to ponder over lots of questions and confront issues you’d rather not talk about when Mum’s around. Like, how many people have you slept with so far?
Two. According to the magazine surveys on Indian sexuality, that is the median number of sexual partners women said they’d had over a lifetime. Women between ages 18 to 55. Two! And that’s just the median, which means a lot of women said one or zero.
It also put a big question mark on the virtues and morals of That Woman, making her feel like a total tramp!
(Conclusion drawn after having come across back dated copies of two popular current affairs magazines carrying the famous sex surveys, conducted in various cities and largely with women.)

That Woman was on a 10-day holiday, after the killer Lakme Fashion Week TV shows were through. She had not been feeling too well last few months. And even at this age, going to a hospital alone for her own check-up made her feel edgy and a wee bit…nervous, maybe? So she pleaded Mum to accompany her. And she regretted it soon as she sat with a resident filling up a long, inane form, in order to get a fair idea of her lifestyle, before she could go and see the doctor herself.
The resident asked her stuff ranging from do you smoke? How much sleep do you get? Do you workout? To…
“Do you have relations?” she looked smugly at That Woman and asked.
“Relations?” she was confused. Really. “Everyone has relations, don’t they?” and the resident frowned.
“How many?”
“What?” That Woman was totally lost. She thought of rattling off names of family members and her “relationship” with each, followed by extended family too. But she was sure this was highly irrelevant and would require great effort too. The resident got slightly pissed at this. “How many relations do you have?” she repeated.
“What relations you want to know about?”
“Sexual relations,” she emphasized smugly and in Bold and that’s when light dawned on That Woman and she was immediately sheepish. Her Mum sat right outside and she didn’t want her to hear anything of this sort. Besides, the resident needed English lessons.
“None!” she looked her in the eye and lied just as smugly. Feeling awful to be discussing with a stranger the number of men she’d slept with because a) Her mother was right there, and she preferred NOT to have her listen to a conversation like this, and b) Those lucky enough to avoid these much touted surveys will now be forced to confront your total, as she was.
The Number is the actual number of sexual partners you’ve had over a lifetime, not to be confused with The Number You Give When Asked – which is usually inflated for men and deflated for women.
But sooner or later, we all have our day of reckoning. Before hers arrived, she’d never really pondered Her Number. As a single woman living independently for the last eight years, in cities like Delhi, Bangalore and Bombay, it seemed daunting enough just to find a guy who wasn’t gay, married, stupid or all three, then getting him to notice her among all the skimpily clad, model-thin, blonde-streaked girls everywhere, then resolve conflicts with work schedules, taste in books, food and music, and if he loved Bollywood films as much etc. racking up a few partners along the way seemed incidental – unavoidable really. But now, thanks to this survey, she couldn’t think of a potential “relation” without also hearing the Ka-ching of Her Number straying even further from the median. Clearly, this is not the way to live. So she devised the following five-step program, specially designed to help us all come to terms with Our Number, whatever it may be.

Step 1: Dispute the survey.
That Woman is not alone in wondering if these ‘definitive’ surveys are not so definitive after all. Sure, it was conducted by major research agencies with immense credibility and credentials, but she and her friends had these questions for the researchers: Of all the people interviewed, how many had their fingers crossed? How many were interviewed with a current boyfriend or close family member present? Or within earshot? How many were trying to show off their ‘conquests’ by shooting a fantastic figure, like 27? …So if you had had only one partner, and someone had 27, the survey result would show you to have 14! And besides all that, how many of you have ever got such calls, questionnaires or know someone who’s got such calls from research agencies, asking rather intimate questions? …Neither do I. Such things can only happen in front of doctors writing your medical history.

Step 2: Think Like a Man.
Her male friends unanimously agreed that no matter what the number of partners was for men (six, according to the survey) they themselves would prefer to rank somewhere above it. This was not news. When Wilt Chamberlain, in his book, admitted to having slept with 20,000 women, men were less appalled than awestruck. They pulled out calculators and gleefully figured how many women a day or how many at once, would make that number possible. The awestruck look on their faces about the sexual escapades of Pandit Ravi Shankar etc. just supports the notion that men feel much less guilt about sex than women do. When was the last time you heard a male friend say, “We really should have waited,” or “I wish I hadn’t slept with her?” And I know what you’re thinking, a) Society has different standards for men, and b) Attitudes are changing. Not all men behave like that etc etc. But attitudes really seem to be changing. Want proof?

Step 3: Rent Four Weddings and a Funeral.
If only more of us could feel as comfortable with our number as Andie MacDowell’s character Carrie did. Over tea with Hugh Grant, she unapologetically recalled all 33 of the men she’d slept with, and Hugh Grant’s character Charles found it impressive! Most people express doubt that the average guy would be as receptive as Charles was to this sexual tally and tell us in that heartbreakingly cute, bumbling way, I think I love you… But in reality, the problem is not men judging us – it’s us judging ourselves.

Step 4: Get Tested.
This realization struck That Woman at the same hospital a few days later when she collected her blood test reports for sugar levels. Among other mandatory details like age, blood group etc. it also stated that she was HIV negative. Like all others, she knew she’d be and nothing could happen to her. But seeing it stated like that, so plainly, made her look at it a little more seriously. It could, just as easily have been otherwise… The thought left her cold.
It’s quite possible that your concerns about Your Number stem from a deeper anxiety – a fear that you haven’t practiced safe sex as zealously as you should have in this age of AIDS. And there’s only one way to get past this fear: getting tested for HIV. It’s scary, but ultimately you’re better off knowing. Most likely, you’ll receive a clean bill of health. Then you can stop feeling guilty and swear to always always use condoms and get on with your life.

Step 5: Adopt a Different Numerical System.
If you’ve been safe and responsible all along, but Your Number still makes you uneasy, fret not. Just as the metric system is an alternate way of measuring, I suggest The Retrospect System as an alternative way of counting sexual partners. Using The Retrospect System, you count only the partners with whom you were emotionally as well as sexually involved, because those, after all, are the men that really mattered. Say you wish you’d lost your virginity to someone other than Number One because in hindsight, One was a guy you aren’t all that thrilled about and you never talked to him after that. Now, with the same hindsight and in retrospect you can pick the guy you wish had been Number One – your first love, perhaps, and start counting from there. You may also omit anyone who said he’d call and still hasn’t. And ignore anyone identified by a location instead of a name (for example, The Goa Marriott guy). But while you are conducting your recount be aware of roughly how many partners you now regret. You can’t entirely erase those people from your past, but you can make an effort to avoid them in the future. Wait longer. Say No more often. Test your brakes occasionally.

One day, ideally, you meet the guy who gives you a reason to stop counting. If that day has yet to arrive, and all of the above fail you, here’s one last suggestion: Start tracking down old boyfriends so you can keep your number where it is and still have some fun.
***
And these were some other Eternal Questions in the Restless Mind that couldn’t be elaborated more just for the sheer angst they cause to That Woman. They also happen to be a Karma Reality Check. And her Karma was behaving badly again. Alternatively, these could also be I Wish My Life Were a Movie moments…

Moment 1: When you are almost bulimic but don’t lose weight! You see a doctor who’s most worried at your high stress levels and long work hours. Advises you to slow down and workout everyday. As if you weren’t already!

If Life Were A Movie: She would always always lose weight. Doctor would eventually turn out to be The One who’d invite her for a healthy dinner. And cook it himself. While looking uber hot. Like a movie star.

Moment 2: You go to watch Casanova with close friend, Shyam, who gives you the option of either choosing the aisle seat or the one next to it. You choose the latter. Shyam snickers, “In the hope of running into Prince Charming?”
“The few last hopeless efforts,” you say trying to be cool and witty!
Seat next to you remains empty. The entire row after that is filled with a bunch of school kids. 40 minutes into the film, a lone Sardar, short and thin, walks in and takes that seat.
“Why’s he watching Casanova alone?” you ask friend.
“He’s not. He’s sitting next to you!” he snickered again.

If Life Were A Movie: The One would take the seat next to you and both of you would morph into characters from the movie you’re watching and into that story. In this case, film being Casanova, you’d be in Venice, wearing gorgeous corsets, matching wits with The One in all the pretty locations and professing undying love for each other in a hot air balloon. With beautiful firecrackers exploding in brilliant colors all around you in the moonlit sky.

Moment 3: You’re back in Bombay. You return home after a long day. Looking forward to a shower. You discover that the maid has not turned the tap off properly, so the bathroom floor is all wet. You’re pissed off. A minute later you also discover that the maid has used your new bottle of Body Shop Olive Glossing Shampoo to wash the toilet. You are LIVVVID! That was also your last bottle.

If Life Were A Movie: You’d still step in the shower looking and feeling like a Goddess. And most probably the Asst. Director handling continuity would forget and place THAT VERY shampoo bottle back amongst the other goodies in the shelf. And your hair would continue looking, feeling and smelling fabulous.

But sadly, Life is so not a movie. You are where you were. These are a few of the things that burst your various little bubbles. Sometimes the shampoo that created those bubbles is poured down the toilet. Writing it down is NOT cathartic. It hurts even more.
And then you make peace with the fact that the universe may not always play fair. But at least it’s got one hell of a sense of humor.

Pride Unprejudiced! (Fable - Part 17)

2006-04-18T15:49:00.000-07:00

That Woman was in Delhi. And for her, just being there was akin to being in love. She shared special moments with the city. She’d grown with it, grown in it and groaned for it. And now, back there on work, life couldn’t be any better. Work was killing, but wonderful. She spent hours everyday with some of the coolest music people everyday at the sound studio where she went for audio mixing for her TV show. And on her second day there, she met Big Crush.

I was five and he was six
We rode on horses made of sticks
He wore black and I wore white
He would always win the fight

And just the sight of him took her back 14 years, when she was 13, and had her hugest crush ever (then!) on Big Crush! It was a slightly complicated situation. She first noticed Big Crush when she accompanied a friend, wanting to meet her brother, to the twelfth class corridor. And Big Crush was said friend’s brother’s best friend. She was smitten! He was the tallest boy in school. He was a tai-kwon-do black belt, captain of the basketball team, played the drums and the guitar and sang beautifully for the school band. And also was the House Captain! He was waaaay up there in the school’s coolness hierarchy and waaay out of her league! All he ever said to her back then was a very patronizing “Hi!” and she cherished the sound of his voice saying that and how his lips had moved to form that word and she couldn’t eat, sleep or finish homework that day.

Bang bang
He shot me down
Bang bang
I hit the ground
Bang bang
My baby shot me down
After that first day, she waited to catch a glimpse of him in the morning assembly, during lunch break and any other random time when she’d be out of class. And then, stepping out of class became a battle strategy to take the extra long detour so she could walk past his class. And this was most complicated. Because her class was on the fourth floor, west wing. His on the first floor, east wing. Now there were times when she’d have to run to the second floor, west wing. So she always ran down to first floor, east wing, up the stairs to the second floor, running across to the west wing, finishing the work, running down to first floor, walking past Big Crush’s class, catching a glimpse of him, running up the stairs to the fourth floor. A bit much, but we shouldn’t forget how we are when we’re 13! That, I think is the only age when you can really, truly do Anything For Love. Anything!
This went on for the longest time and she maintained a record of the Good Days and Bad Days. Bad Days were when he didn’t come to school. Good Days were when he said Hi to her. And there were a couple of miracle days as well. Big Crush shifted house and moved somewhere which made him take the same school bus as she did. Oh what joy! The first day when she saw him on the bus, she almost fainted. That was Miracle Day. He smiled at her as she walked past him to take her seat. He never sat. He was a senior, and a rather cool one at that, which entitled him to stand by the footboard and do his thing! And she was so so jealous of all the girls from his class who shared such cozy familiarity with him, and could talk to him whenever they wanted. Life was so not fair!
Seasons came and changed the time
When I grew up I called him mine
He would always laugh and say
Remember when we used to play
And then came the day her heart broke in two. She’d been hearing rumors of him going out with Deputy Head Girl and she simply filtered them out of her mind and her life. Thinking that denying it would also negate its existence. And then she saw them holding hands in the bus. Taking long walks down a sunlit path in school which ran through a lot of trees and foliage. And on the day before his board exams, she saw them kissing in the library in a corner. And she actually felt her heart snap into two. It was the most terrible thing to happen to a 13 year old. But it did! The board exams came and went and she never saw him after that.

Bang bang
I shot you down
Bang bang
You hit the ground
Bang bang
That awful sound
Bang bang
I used to shoot you down
Life moved on. Eventually. She passed out of school, then college. And one day she caught him playing the drums in a music video. But at that point, she didn’t think of the crush she had on him. Her first thought was what the hell is he doing in that band? An Indi-Pop band she really liked? But she didn’t have much time to ponder over that either and her life continued. Big Crush was forgotten.
Until two weeks back. When he resurfaced at the sound studio, to compose the theme for her show. She was surprised to see him there. He wasn’t. ‘Cos he didn’t remember her from back then. And they had to be introduced. Unable to resist, she told him, “We’re from the same school!”
“Really? Wow! Which batch did you pass out?”
“1996… I was 4 years your junior!”
“You actually remember me from back then?” he seemed surprised and she felt stupid.
“Well, you were my House Captain. It was a big deal then! And you were also my friend’s brother’s best friend. RD, remember?”
“Oh yesss…” he frowned. “I do vaguely remember now… Did you also commute on my bus?”
“Yes,” she tried to suppress a grin. In that moment, she tried to find her good old naïve, love struck self and tried to think what a similar moment would have meant to her 14 years ago.
They chatted animatedly for some time, discussing common friends, teachers, the yummy chocolate brownies they got in school… and then got down to work. That Woman was most amused by this turn of events. Later in the evening, during a coffee break, he asked her about herself. And as she told him, she felt a heady, dizzy rush of euphoria which she desperately tried to transport back over a 14 year long distance.
The next day, he told her about himself. All that he’d done since school. Graduation, followed by an MBA, followed by a corporate job and marriage, both of which felt awful. He got back to music, which he’d always been passionate about. Played with that Great Band, composed music for jingles, went through a bitter divorce, composed the music for the new album…
She admitted she was a fan of the band. He took her for a jam session they were having, gave her an autographed copy of the new CD, let her share a joint with them and in between had long hours of conversation.
It was a dizzying feeling. It was the most unexpected encounter she could have imagined. But the work deadline didn’t allow her the kind of time she’d have loved to have to dwell over the turn of events. She started work at 10AM every day and it went on till 5AM the next day, followed by 4 hours of sleep before the cycle began again.
She was a little late getting to the sound studio on the fourth day. An SMS from Big Crush popped up: Waiting impatiently to add a little music and sweetness to your life… Show up!
This unsettled her a bit. Why exactly? She couldn’t fathom. And then she tried to imagine what that line would have done to her 14 years ago. And how much it would have meant to her. Then. She reached the studio and found Big Crush sitting there with chocolate brownies he’d bought from her from their school canteen. She was stumped! He looked at her and grinned. “Do these ring a bell?”
“Oh dear! Yes!...” she didn’t know how to react really, but there was something odd about that look he gave her and about that whole moment. And since she couldn’t place her finger on it, she decided to do what her mother always told her to. When in doubt, shut up!
So she kept her distance and stayed aloof as they lay the soundtrack on that day’s episode. She suddenly noticed how all his comments and remarks were not only aimed at her and for her in a room full of 5 people but also highly double entendre-ish. He laughed the loudest at her lamest jokes. And he always managed to add in the fact that they were in the same school and commuted in the same bus and she had a crush on him while he had no clue and how they’ve met again after so many years.
They took a coffee and smoke break and all of them stepped outside. It was 3AM. The posh South Delhi colony where the studio was, looked like Sleeping Beauty. Most calm and serene and peaceful, yet so pretty. She took a little stroll down the road to keep herself awake and he followed her. “It all ends on Friday, doesn’t it?” he asked her.
“Yes. It’s been maddening! But great fun!” she smiled.
“Come with me to Kasauli for the weekend then?” he asked bluntly. “I have a place there.”
She looked at him shocked. And appalled. Not believing that he’d just hinted at having a weekend fling.
“Err…no. I’m leaving for Bombay on Sunday,” she lied coolly. Feeling horrible inside and wondering what about her led him to believe she was so available. And suddenly he became a blur as That Woman’s mind drifted off to attend to the million questions that kept popping up in her head.

Now he's gone I don't know why
And till this day sometimes I cry
He didn't even say goodbye
He didn't take the time to lie

She had been emotionally slutty. By revealing too much too soon. And just because she was mad about him 14 years ago didn’t mean she was mad about him even now. And honestly, she wasn’t. But it was enough to give him ideas. And all the wrong ones too. She realized she had been the one to lead him on ‘cos of her past, and a vivid recollection of her thoughts and feelings back then. Yes, she felt nice having this proximity to him now. But she was just trying to take away this moment and give it to the girl who wanted it so bad back in the past. She did find her old optimistic self, and wondered if she wanted to give her a second chance? To reconnect with the first boy she’d ever had a crush on in order to get back in touch with her own dating innocence and joy? To find out what had she picked up along the way other than emotional baggage? Can it be true that all we glean from adult relationships is how to be more guarded and overly analytical? Is it possible that we were better at love and being in love when we knew less, and didn’t analyze things at all?
The answers came at a price that was too high.
If she looked at him objectively now, he was just another guy going through a bad divorce, a fucked up existence, craving for sympathy and company in the form of a quick hook-up with whoever was willing or available. He tried to be overly witty, funny and charming. Tried to use his band and her love for their music as a major USP. Not e wasn’t aknowing that she had seen and worked with enough ‘celebrities’ to be immune to their charms and wiles. Hll that great after all. He was just another regular slimeball in a very attractive package, which was not used to rejection.
Bang bang
That awful sound
Bang bang
I hit the ground
Bang Bang
My baby shot me down!
At the end of the last day working with him, she drove home at 5AM with mixed feelings and a heavy heart. She felt strangely vulnerable but denied it to herself. She felt cheated but didn’t know how. She still believed in happy endings and she surprised herself. After all, what did each encounter of this sort do to a regular single girl? It simply raised the bar on her expectations from future relationships and how she visualized The One. Her Soulmate.
She slowed her car right in the middle of the AIIMS flyover, on her way home, as the skies turned pink at dawn. A most random thought struck her. 14 years ago was also the time when the AIIMS crossing was at its worst, right before the mammoth construction project began. And look at the way it was transformed now. And the way it had transformed the future of commuting and driving in Delhi.
She laughed at herself. At the total madness of that thought. Of Big Crush and his words. Of her own naïveté 14 years back. Of the real meaning of Whatever Happens Happens For The Best. Of placing it in perspective then and now. Whatever happened then and now had indeed been for the best.
She’d completed another circle on a rollercoaster. She’d been on a merry-go-round and through the revolving doors. She had gone so far out on a limb with her feelings that she didn't realize she was standing out there alone.
But she'd still raised the bar another few notches for herself and her Soulmate, who, like the truth was out there. Somewhere.
Stepping away from the mad rush, the frenzy, the career ladder, the daily grind, he would be somebody she would be able to stand still with for a moment. And he would want to step away from the mad rush, the frenzy, the career ladder, the daily grind to stand still with her for a moment. A moment that would last a lifetime.
She knew her Soulmate had to be a man who was done and over with the flings and hook-ups. And had raised the bar a few notches up for himself. Who was confident enough to give himself just to the woman who was worth him. If that woman were her, she would love him completely, truly and forever. For she was done with her share of flings and bad relationships. And she understood what it took to raise the bar.
And to meet that mark.

Sex, Lies and Fashion Week Videotapes! (Fable - Pt 16)

2006-04-07T23:24:00.000-07:00

It’s that time of the year again. Yayyyy! The time, most personal floating in great fragments of enigma, when That Woman took stock of the year gone by, met old friends, acquaintances, competitors and rivals…and made new friends, acquaintances etc. But this year proved to be a little different. And this year, like the Lakme India Fashion Week she felt split in two as well.
She had been present at the fashion week since it began, in 2000. As an Asst. Producer with an American TV crew, which was a great thing then ‘cos she was still in college and foreign TV crews paid weekly and in dollars! And when you’re 20, and living on pocket money, $1200 for a week is not a bad deal at all. So That Woman and Best-est Friend moonlighted at the LIFW for an entire week and got badly hooked to the lovely creative energy there. In 2001, they were in film school and LIFW was reason to bunk boring classes for a week. In 2002, the Commies of the class sneered at them for being associated with a frivolous, mindless fashion event for people who didn’t have any real work and real concerns. People like That Woman, who refused to go to a Narmada Bachao dharna for the fashion week and waxed eloquent in its defence here.
2003 was a tough call. They had passed out of film school, and That Woman, as commitment phobic as ever, refused to follow the herd and join one of the various TV channels. She took the plunge, and along with Best-est Friend, formed a tiny company that managed to get a lot of work outsourced to them by various production houses abroad. Being an entrepreneur was fun, and the first assignment they got was to cover the fashion week completely on their own for the same American TV channel! It proved to be a tough task but they pulled it off, with the help of a few friends doubling up as assistants, wanting to be a part of fashion week. The event that year, was at the NCPA in Bombay. 2003 and 2004 were the same, but fashion week happened in Delhi, at the lovely venue The Grand.
Lakme Fashion Week 2006, back at the NCPA and That Woman knew she had come full circle. In more ways than one. She was no longer an assistant with no decision making capacity whatsoever. She was not making shows for an American company either. Instead, she and Best-est Friend were called to join the Big Guys themselves as producers. And from that vantage point, everything looked different.
There’s a most awesome buzz at the Fashion Week. A buzz that’s indescribable. But almost similar to the buzz on a film set, only ten times magnified. The Buzz that happens only when loads of young talented designers, photographers, media people, choreographers, set designers, make-up artists, DJs, buyers and various other “creative types” congregate in the same space-time continuum for a week. And of course the tones of uber-fabulous clothes and accessories! The Buzz can never be captured on the TV cameras, and sadly, those who’ve never been to a fashion week, will always think of it as a frivolous fashion event and keep ignoring the fact that its poised to become a Rs 2000Cr industry!
And for a designer, his show becomes his sacred personal space which allows him to express himself in more ways than one. Manish Arora’s LIFW show in 2003 had stunning clothes and great music. And the last section of the show had a very well done remix of Saare Jahaan Se Achcha by The Midival Punditz. The section was called India Rocks and the motif was a digitally printed black and white image of two young men holding each other and India Rocks written diagonally in corners in bright fluorescent fuchsia. Something happened in the audience as the first 4 models walked on the ramp real fast. The image of the two men and India Rocks was on skirts, tops, bags, corsets… She looked at Pi, who was wiping away tears from his eyes. Suddenly all the gay men in the audience stood up and applauded really loudly for the longest time ever. And That Woman was in awe of that entire moment.
“For the first time, someone’s made a public statement about gay men in India and that they are as much a part of the country as straight men are. Even though they are treated rather harshly, often with no tolerance and moral policing, they are Indians who are proud to be Indians and think India Rocks. No matter what. And they could be accepted here!” Pi told her later, still looking stunned.
Day 1 this year, she noticed The Buzz was completely, mindblowingly different. There were lots of new faces… a whole new crop of assistants. Where were the old ones? All the people she had known for all these years? The Fashion Week buddies she had hung out with at mealtimes, exchanging gossip? …They’d all moved up too! They were now fashion editors at big time magazines like Cosmopolitan, Elle and the soon-to-be-launched Marie Claire. Design assistants were making their fashion week debuts as designers showcasing their collections on the ramp.
Like her, they had all come full circle too. Like her, they too were now grooming a new crop of young assistants how to watch a fashion show. Teaching them what cut, construction and silhouette meant. Teaching them the importance of buyers at the event. Talking of buyers, where were the familiar faces? They didn’t come ‘cos the event and the Indian fashion industry was no longer a distant rumble for them. It had turned into a mega event meant to be noticed. Which explained why stores like Saks Fifth Avenue, Selfridges, Browns, Harrods had sent in their Vice Presidents and C.E.O.’s to check out the event instead of younger executives.
Fashion Week teaches you to be an individual and to assert that individuality. It’s about pursuing your dreams, not being afraid of setbacks and failures, gritting your teeth and standing tall only to return again next year in a new improved avatar! And there’s no glamour. A designer slogs hard with several darzis 6-10 months prior to the event, deals with bank loans and various other mundane issues to come up with a collection, which is worn by top models and is given its 15 minutes of fame and glamour. After which, is the litmus test. Right there and then! If your audience is staring at the models, either all of them are at a fashion show for the first time, or they hate your clothes. But if they’re staring at your clothes, you know you’ve done it! Your success is toasted right away.
And where That Woman was concerned, the highlight of this year’s event were the three new designers, called Gen Next, from the graduating batch of NID who’d been given the chance to participate after a rigorous selection process. She made it a point to attend their show and requested others to do so too. Nothing hurts a first time designer more than seeing a number of empty seats staring back defiantly when he comes on the ramp to take a bow. It’s unfair, to say the least when there were the same old complacent designers trying to hide their mediocrity behind a Bollywood bandwagon, either on the runway or on the front row.
So in her first decision-making moment, she changed the run order of the episodes. Cutting down air time from a few such complacent designers and allocating it to the Gen Next designers, thus giving them an entire section of their own. These were people who’d be waiting to watch the show on air. Waiting to show their friends, family and acquaintances what there moments on the runway were like.
So while an actor or actress on the ramp definitely added the glamour quotient, she added in her Post Show Review section Albert Morris of Browns, London hailing the young Rahul Mishra as “the next Sabyasachi” and how we, as Indians are responsible for ensuring that our talent stays here and doesn’t wither away in the prestigious anonymity that being John Galliano’s assistant would offer. Rahul is off to Milan soon for an internship, Shahzad Kalim is back from one with Versace and good old Sabyasachi was a permanent fixture in the front row of all these shows. Happy to lend his support, advice and infectious laugh. Knowing well, that he had been there and was still doing that. Weaving his magic, in more ways than one. He was an inspiration for young designers like Rahul and Samar to take up the cause for the dying art of weaving in Kerala and Bhagalpur.
And like Albert said, it’s up to us, as Indians, to nurture our talent. And feel extremely proud when these very people represent the country at highly competitive platforms like the London Fashion Week and New York Fashion Week. And watch life come full circle for them as well!
***
That Woman was approached by a magazine editor who wanted her to write a “relationship advice” column in her magazine. “You know, like you use real life examples from your relationship and the lessons you learn from it and how it’s helped you and your boyfriend. Do you get what I’m trying to say?” she asked with the optimism of someone who had too many bright ideas but too few people to comprehend them.
That Woman paused to let the question die a dignified death before telling her, “No, I don’t get that because I have no current real life examples to talk about. Do you get what I’m trying to say?”
“Oh no problem! You can pretend to be in a relationship and go along with the advice bit. How would anybody know?” she persisted.
“Can’t I do it without the ‘being in a relationship’ element?” That Woman asked.
“No, darling! You’d simply sound more credible if the readers thought you were speaking from current experience. They’d relate to you more and identify with your situation to improve theirs! Don’t you get it?”
That Woman really didn’t. She was worried that “the readers” from all around the country were going to figure out and expose her as a fraud. Who was she to be giving relationship advice? If she was so smart, why was she home alone on Saturday night trying to come up with all that bullshit? Would she be a relationship imposter because she was not currently in a relationship, has not been able to maintain a relationship, and does not have any prospects for a new relationship? Nor does she have a funny term for this predicament.
While women are certainly extremely adept at faking it – from faking our hair color, breasts, bodies, we've even faked fur and leather. She couldn’t help but wonder, has fear of being alone suddenly raised the bar on faking? Are we faking more then orgasms? Are we faking entire relationships? Is it better to fake it than be alone? That Woman still believed in love despite all evidence to the contrary, and she believed in soulmates, although lately she’d been wondering if hers just took a wrong turn, got lost and was too stubborn to ask for directions. She was out there, baby. She was looking. But she also had other things to do along with that. Career and such like.
She felt like the tree in the forest. If no one saw it fall, did it really ever fall? In this situation it meant that if a tree falls in the forest and no one makes a movie about it or writes about it, who cares? So she thought of accepting the assignment as a fun thing and maybe her first work of fiction! But that was all it was. A thought.
Awesome to imagine herself in this ideal situation where she had a fling with all the beautiful men she met. Had no career issues, weight issues, wardrobe issues, money issues, maid issues, family issues…Phew! Where she’d get asked out by every man within a 3 feet radius and men would run over each other to buy her a drink at the club. And when she’d dance wearing those killer stilettos, her feet won’t hurt and people around her would stare in awe and might even applaud. Then she’d pick up one of the men and bring him home and have fantastic sex. Always have fantastic sex, because, in a fantasy everything was perfect. And then she’d realize that this random guy from the club turned out to be her soulmate. She’d be madly in love with him and he’d be even more madly in love with her and…
Hello? Where are the relationship issues? Well, there bursts the bubble. If she had to fake a relationship, she’d rather fake one which is perfect. I mean, if she didn’t have dispatch deadlines from channels to deal with in this fantasy, why should she have any other sort of issues at all?
Was she okay with letting “the readers” get a voyeuristic peep into a non-existent life? She knew people out there who were doing it… in magazine columns, in popular blogs. And she’d never figured out how they found validation in the whole world of pretty sounding lies they’d created for themselves. How would it help if she let a bunch of random strangers believe she was this person living this great life where she got over every little relationship hiccup with a smile and a twitch of her nose? Why could she not be the regular, single working girl who concentrated on her career while hoping other pieces of her life would magically fall in place? And doing all this while trying not to hit rock bottom or lowering her standards almost to the point of no return? If it were a blog, she could be anonymous and lie away to glory. But in a popular magazine, which even she was a fan of? And was read by friends, acquiantances etc...? Wouldn't they know, and find her to be slightly weird?
The thought continues to bother her even after a week. She still hasn’t found the answers. And now, she puts it out here for the world to ponder over too as she goes back to the maddest ever dispatch deadline of one episode per day.
The fruits of this labor of love are up on air on Zee Café at 9:30 PM every evening starting April 10th through April 15th.
And ending in a two hour finale on Zee TV at 6:30 PM on April 16th.

The Unbearable Brightness of Being: Karma Confessions (Fable - Pt 15)

2006-03-19T13:06:00.000-08:00

You know life is being highly unfair when…:
1. Things you didn’t imagine possible actually start happening. Good, bad or ugly.
2. If the above is happening, do you really think there’d be another point?
Sometimes we meet someone who says something that sparks off a thought that gives an entirely new perspective to…everything!
On one such day, That Woman ran into Intellectual Guy, after 3 years. He had changed. He was now the New Age Guy. He was still as funny and witty as ever, still smoked up, still was a bit presumptuous but now he talked about regular stuff with his totally New Age Spiritual Cocktail twist. Which meant using the words Karma, Yoga and Enlightenment a lot along with a little bit of Zen.
On any other day she’d have thought this to be the accidental outcome of being a bit of an IIM ponce who gets to travel the world as part of his job. But right now, feeling as fucked up as she was, he seemed to be making sense. Or maybe it was the combination of acute sleep-deprivation and many martinis. That Woman sat on the floor with New Age Guy catching up, talking, bitching and then for the major part, he told her how our lives were totally influenced by our Karma. And that you could customize your Karma to suit your needs. He coaxed her to try that out for a week.
“How bad a state are you in right now?” he asked.
“Terrible!”
“Oh dear! …You do need a Karma check, darling!” And he explained the Karma theory to her which she interpreted thus.
Karma is what happens when you do anything. If you do something good, you get brownie points (in kind) back. If you do something wicked, the brownie points become Mean Monsters of Mr. Murphy that ensure you’re in deep shit, no matter what, according to his law.
“But, I may not get it until another lifetime, at which time I'll probably have forgotten how it started and ask Why me? All over again…and you might not be around to simplify it like this,” That Woman reasoned intelligently, because, when you talk Hinduism, you don’t talk about just this one life. There are so many of them. Past and after.
“Karma is a Cosmic Law,” New Age Guy said patiently.
“That means you can ignore it all you want but there's no way you can get away from it.”
“Ok, you pathetic little cynic!” he grinned. “But try it once…even if just to while away time!”
***
That Woman had a crazy deadline to meet, by an uber-finicky channel. Just when she was fretting about it, she was given a 3 day/night edit shift, much graciously by The Male Diva. She couldn’t believe it. This was the man who fought viciously about mere 20 minutes that would cut into his edit slot. There had to be a catch somewhere. Oh yes! Tomorrow was Friday. He wanted to have a long weekend off. And in other bad news, the edit shift began Friday evening, and went on till Monday evening.
Damn!
Monday evening. That Woman was a mess! The 72 hour shift had taken its toll. And today was also her Best-est Friend’s Birthday. She finished work at 7:00 and headed straight to the gym to work out the stress. At 10, she was at the lounge by the sea with her closest friends. At 11, disaster happened.
The Male Diva called saying her final tape couldn’t be dispatched as it still had a technical glitch. “You have 3 black frames at…” he droned on while That Woman sat there fuming.
“I cannot have any technical glitches! I checked it myself, twice.” She freaked out.
“Well, if you’re that confident, prove me wrong?” he snapped. She wanted to hit him but couldn’t. Her evening was ruined as it were.
Hating to be the biggest party-pooper, she left.
“You ran a tech check on my final edit without my editor?” That Woman discovered on reaching the studio and screamed at The Male Diva.
“A tech check is a tech check,” he retorted. “Just because you were out partying-”
She stormed off without even letting him finish. Stood in front of the Avid seething with pure rage as his editor looked for her footage. Then took ages to find the time code with the error. Which WAS NOT an error.
She pointed it out to The Male Diva 5 minutes later. Very very patiently. “Those are NOT 3 black frames. That is a fade out, right before the credits. I’m sure you know the concept of a fade out?”
He stared at her insolently. “I know what a fade-out is. I didn’t have time to sit and watch your entire show to watch every thing in context.”
“Do that next time when you decide to interfere,” she snapped as she walked out. Everything around her was a blur as she got a production asst. to dispatch the tape right then.
Once in the cab, on her way back to the lounge, it all registered. She left her Best-est Friend’s birthday party for ...this! And before she realized, she was in uncontrollable tears. She didn’t know why she cried. It was anger, frustration, sleep-deprivation, the (completely jinxed) happiness of having finished that show which meant a lot… She’d never hated anyone more than The Male Diva. And she wanted to kill him.
Only that she had no idea how.
***
That Woman lay in bed, wrapped in a blanket, staring at the wall, her head buzzing and her eyes won't focus. Her stomach hurt and she was shaking. Feeling like a slo-mo version of Dr. Jekyll's violent transformation. Or like walking a mile in someone else's brain chemistry.
Result: a jaw-clenching headache of unfathomable depth, coupled with horrid, abyss-gazing doubt and need.
It wasn’t a hangover. It was the endless hours in the last couple of months, with serious sleep deprivation and the totally unnecessary stress caused by the presence of The Male Diva in her life. She called Best-est Friend, New Age Guy and Pizza. She needed reassurance and lots of forbidden carbs.
“You have to think clearly and positively,” New Age Guy told her once she’d ranted to them. “What’s the one good thing that’s come out of your interaction with this guy?”
She looked at herself, “This! …And I’ve lost about 3 kilos!”
“Which is a good thing,” New Age Guy assured her. “Your losing weight translates directly as good Karma points for being a good, patient child.”
“Is that all?”
“Maybe…” he shrugged. “Or you might get good karma points sometime later in life when you least expect it. Karma doesn’t work instantaneously. But remember, what goes around, comes around.”
“But the principal of karma is also based on the premise that the universe is somehow inherently moral,” That Woman argued. “This may be difficult to believe if you've happened to live in the universe for any length of time.”
“Well, if it wasn’t instantaneous, it might “come around” to you in the lifetime after next. Would you still care?” Best-est Friend said icily. “Besides, I think I know what this guy’s problem is really.”
“What?”
“The fact that he’s short,” she said dryly. “Didn’t you once tell me he was like, 5’ 5” or something?” And they had bitched about how being a Diva is remotely possible when you’re so vertically challenged!
While staring at a slice of pizza, her focus suddenly shifted, like the track-out/zoom-in camera trick in Vertigo. Her brain was shifting out of The Male Diva Stress Mode and back to normal.
She decided to take matters in her own hands. If he was being a diva, she could be one too. And it would come more naturally to her.
And soon enough, she figured.
***
Looked dead, didn't I? But I wasn't. But it wasn't from lack of trying, I can tell you that. Actually, The Male Diva's last cheap stunt put me in a major funk - A funk I was to lie in for 36 hours. When I woke up, I went on what the movie advertisements refer to as a 'roaring rampage of revenge.' I roared. And I rampaged. And I got bloody satisfaction. I've killed a hell of a lot of people to get to this point, but I have only one more. The last one. The one I'm driving to right now. The only one left. And when I arrive at my destination, I am gonna kill...
No, not Bill. The Male Diva. Because of course That Woman was paraphrasing the High Priestess of Killer Attitude. The Bride. From that moment on, she was going to use every minute plotting, scheming and planning revenge. She was dressed to the nines for a meeting with the channel regarding her project he had latched himself on to. As she got into the car, she realized the world looked much cooler from behind her blue aviators.
Karma Favor #1: The driver assigned to her was The Male Diva’s favorite office driver.
She used the opportunity to chat him up and get some dirt. Something she’d never done before. And had thwarted all attempts to the same (by this very driver) by pretending to listen to music.
Karma Control begins.
She sent two “I’m Glad U’re in my Life” SMS’s to Best-est Friend and New Age Guy They promptly replied.
Best-est Friend: U Rock! Go give it right back to him. R U wearing heels?
New Age Guy: Great going! Show him you’re tough as nails. And come out for dinner with me tonight?
Whoa! She smiled and continued talking to the driver.
The Male Diva entered the building only minutes before her. Damn! She gave him a frosty smile as he eyed her chocolate calf-leather 3” stilettos worn over her most favorite pair of jeans and a pink crushed linen fitted shirt. And then there were the good ‘ol aviators she refused to take off even as they stepped in the elevator. If she’d lost weight, she might as well enjoy the unbearable brightness of being. So she reveled in the fact that she towered over him by a good 3 inches.
“Hey! What happened to you? You look beat!” The channel creative head remarked to The Male Diva.
“It’s a dog’s life,” The Male Diva’s attempt at being self-deprecating.
“But you needn’t look the part,” That Woman couldn’t help but quip. “I mean, you did have a 4 day weekend!”
“I was unwell,” he muttered sullenly as they got on with the meeting. She flashed him her trademark Fuck Off, Loser! smile. Some people are like Slinkys. Not really good for anything, but you still can’t help but smile when you see one tumble down the stairs. The Male Diva had many such Slinky moments throughout the meeting. That Woman kept a keen eye on all his gaffes, and deliberately brought up points she’d discussed with the channel’s exec. producer at informal coffee breaks. The Male Diva was caught off guard lots of times and she made a note of them all. If she wanted him out of her life that was exactly the point she had to prove. And to keep him as out of the loop as possible.
“What did you do to The Male Diva at the meeting today?” That Woman’s assistant called her later to ask. “He called you a bitch,” he laughed.
“He did?” she laughed too. “I was just being myself,” she said and told him about the dog’s life comment.
If The Male Diva thought she was a bitch, she must live up to his expectations. Over the next two weeks, she got the chance. Her conversations with the driver and various assistants gave her the vital information that The Male Diva’s wedding anniversary and son’s birthday were within 4 days of each other. And his mother was arriving from Delhi on Monday afternoon. It helped her cause!
Step 1. She successfully managed to plan her shoots to coincide with his so he’d not interfere. (That didn’t irk him much, because he usually only stepped in when the work was near completion so that he could usurp a credit and make her look incompetent.)
Step 2 - Carefully schedule the channel meetings to coincide on his anniversary, son’s birthday etc. and email him the details 2 days prior.
Step 3 - Easily accessing his email account and deleting the mail so being pissed off on the day of the meeting would be completely justified.
Step 4 – Repeat Steps 1 to 3 till the deadline is met.
Side-effects - Yes, it did affect her adversely too and put unnecessary stress as she tried finish 4 weeks worth of work in 2 to go in with her plan.
Karma Control Moments– While plotting, planning, scheming and conniving she remembered to also do the random things that she thought might add up to Good Karma. These varied from giving sincere compliments to at least 3 people she kinda disliked, cooking for a friend who was unwell, NOT getting bitchy with Obnoxious Ex who suddenly resurfaced one day, helping her maid open a bank account, lending a favorite pair of shoes to an annoying cousin for a wedding… You get the drift!
Good Karma Moment – The Big Cheese was present on the first two times The Male Diva bunked channel meetings because of “personal reasons”. So the third time it happened, That Woman’s temper tantrum was justified. “If he can’t even make it for meetings, I’d rather handle this show all by myself!” The Big Cheese finally got her point. And even accompanied her for the final meeting where That Woman sparkled with the sheer brightness of being.
A late night meeting was called urgently where The Big Cheese, at his diplomatic and tactful best told The Male Diva that since he already had two shows on his platter, he thought it was unfair for him to have this one too. And how That Woman had, in the past few weeks shown that she could actually pull it off on her own.
And, good god, this definitely looked like a Karma Payback! Even though The Big Cheese’s big act of diplomacy pissed her off a bit!
After-effects – If you’re essentially a nice person, you’d soon feel a sliver of disillusionment cut through your sense of super well-being. (Do you get it? Okay, let’s try again.) If you’ve largely gotten the raw deal in everything, and UNFAIR becomes The Word that perfectly describes your erstwhile Karma situation and various other situations in life, you’d not be able to handle the warm, sweet feeling of one-upmanship for long. (Think about it. You’ll get it!)
Herein come some uber-profound thoughts …Do you really want to be so Machiavellian to get by? The Male Diva will still run into you everyday. So what if you’re not working on the same show anymore? Do you really want to encounter him everyday and be left with feelings of great negativity, malice and irritation? And, The Big One, what if he did the same to you? After all, what goes around comes around. She remembered New Age Guy’s words, “Karma is like your appraisal report over many lifetimes, the principal that your position in the world is the sum total of your actions in previous lifetimes. If you improve your karma, your status in life improves.”
“In the next incarnation,” she’d retorted.
So she’d improved her Karma all right. But where did she go from here? No matter how hard she thought and debated about it, the fact of the matter was she actually had no energy left to even tolerate The Male Diva’s presence in her life.
And the Incredible Good Karma Trip ended with her making a decision that came from the heart. This was maybe her Satori moment.
The next day That Woman told The Big Cheese she couldn’t continue the show after the current two episodes due to “personal reasons”. (Oh Hell! What goes around bloody sure comes around! Sometimes even as 'personal reasons'!) Everyone thought she was mad. Some even called her a brat, “Because no one quits if you dislike a colleague, for God’s sake!”
“Well, I did,” That Woman said honestly. Why couldn’t anyone understand that she was quite all right, and didn’t mind the money certainly, or the work, but she had reached a point where even seeing The Male Diva would upset her deeply?
What next? Finishing the remaining work to the best of her abilities and keeping away from anyone who tried to make her feel awful for taking that decision. And she had no idea there were so bloody many of them.
And then of course there’s The Male Diva adding insult to injury. He knew she was quitting. The insolence, meanness and malice in his persona multiplied manifold every time he encountered her at work. Which helped, in a way, ‘cos she felt constant reassurance for her decision.
“He says why did you have to give so much attitude when you were incapable of handling the show by yourself,” her reliable assistant dutifully filled her in on what The Male Diva was saying about her. She knew that shouldn't hurt. But it did.
Her phone rang. “Come with me for a walk on the beach?” New Age Guy chirped.
“I’m still at work,” she lied. Not wanting to see anyone. The next one month was pure hell as she dealt with work and the fact that she had no work planned after this. This show was to have kept her occupied for the next 6 months. And of course, she had no idea it would end this way.
Her insomnia worsened. Sleep just wouldn’t come, unless lured by large doses of Corex right after a late evening workout.
Karma sucks, she concluded. There’s no such thing as Good Karma or Karma Control. Murphy’s Law is the only absolute truth and That Woman was its brand ambassador. Yes, shit happens! What goes around will certainly come around and hit you smack in the face. And to really rub it in, you’ll be in an awful funk and all that could possibly go wrong would go wrong. (How else would you explain a vague neighbor complaining to the building secretary about That Woman and Best-est Friend having too many male guests!)
And many such random things which made her keep increasing her Corex doses and sometimes even topping it off with a vodka shot. That Woman was a great fan of Corex. It works almost as well as Prozac, without the side effects or high price. A bottle of Corex – A 4 day supply for her. One day for Sylvia Plath, if she’d tried it.
New Age Guy was being extremely persistent through it all, even after she’d spelled out the reasons for her discontent. “It’s a sign from the Universe that you had to slow down before you burned out,” he said, thus annoying her more. “The only way to true happiness is to live in the moment and not worry about the future. Haven’t you read any Zen stories?”
Zen is an ancient Oriental concept. Because it is very ancient, it is automatically considered to be very profound by New Age Guy. There's nothing like ancient wisdom to impress the hell out of New Age People, and Zen is about as ancient as wisdom can get. What it means essentially is that everything that seems one way could really kind of be the other way too. And that what looks obvious isn’t really all that obvious because it was just a ruse to hide the real obvious. Therefore, since nothing is really obvious -- and generally more towards obscure -- there's not much sense in worrying about the obvious because Zen is everything. It is the indefinable obscure made manifest and really obvious. (Or is it the obvious made obscure? Zen can be very confusing.) Anyway, in addition to being everything, Zen is also nothing. Therefore it is not necessary to do Zen. Don't you find this ancient wisdom reassuring?
That Woman hung up assuring New Age Guy that she seriously considered disappearing into those special places called Zen monasteries where people do Zen, which of course they were already doing even when they weren't doing Zen.
She reached out for a bottle of Corex instead.
***
Exactly a week after she finished her show, she was shaken out of a Corex-induced sleep haze by a persistent caller. It was Sunday, when calls from unknown numbers irritated her most. But Karma Control took over unwittingly and made her answer the phone politely.
It was someone who had seen her show on TV. And what he told her was like HUGE KARMA JACKPOT!!! This was something that figured somewhere on top of her Things To Do Before I Die list. She didn’t believe it was happening to her, even though Best-est Friend hugged her tight and squealed with happiness, “You’re getting to make your own travel show for Major Channel! How cool is that!”
That Woman was still reeling under the shock as she returned from the meeting that confirmed the news. “God! I don’t believe this!” she actually said that aloud when she was alone. That warm, sweet feeling slowly returned. And it was 100% guilt free this time. Was this Good Karma for having quit earlier due to sheer inability to deal with negativity a.k.a. The Male Diva. Did good things really come to people who waited? Or was it simply good old retribution and Divine Justice.
Her phone beeped once again. An SMS from That Man. WHOA!! “Lost or Found?” he said.
“Found! Yet another tricky piece missing from my life. …Welcome back :)” she SMS’d.
“New Art exhibition Wednesday evening. Interested?” he asked.
“Might have been. But leaving town tomorrow for two weeks for the North-East for some rafting and angling!” she replied with much glee.
“Whoa!” he replied pronto.
So there, she grinned as she began packing her bags, thrilled with the anticipation of all the new experiences. Her mind filled with little doubts and lots of ideas on how she’d handle the entire series.
If this was Karma, or Karma Control, she was a believer.
And if it wasn’t, she didn’t want to know!

Venus Envy, The Male Diva & That Tag - (Fable -Pt.14)

2006-02-27T15:23:00.000-08:00

The Entertainment Industry has its own evolution theory. 100% proven, with drama on demand. And camera crews forever filming. There are all sorts of life forms. Lowliest of them being the unpaid interns who go about fetching coffee & cigarettes & answering calls. These are The Under-est of the Underdogs. Survival of the fittest, as a concept, doesn’t even begin to register at this stage. Then there’s the Middle Level Life Forms, which are as diverse, dynamic, large and confusing as the Great Indian Middle Class. They drive the industry. Above these are the High Priestesses and Patron Saints. They rule the industry!
Amongst the Middle Level Life Forms (M.L.L.F.) are various sets and subsets based on ideological differences, attitudinal disparities, intelligence levels and the Coolness Quotient. The professional levels among the M.L.L.F. vary widely, with gaping chasms between salary slabs, job profiles and respectability of the channels/production houses/directors one works for. These range from a lowly Asst. Director to a slightly exalted Associate Director in films, while in TV it’s the slow rise up from an Asst. Producer to Creative Head etc. Street Smartness is a perfectly valid qualification here. So is a Dog-Eat-ALL-Dogs attitude.
It’s a highly un-level playing field in which, also live The Dodgy People. To understand them better, we need to first understand the two types of women.
1. Those who have anything to do with the various saas-bahu, K or non-K soaps across channels.
2. Those who handle everything else apart from those soaps. This includes reality shows, TV documentaries and feature films.
Both these types are easily discernible even though Type 1 Women might try to fool you by dressing like Type 2 Women but the thought processes show up eventually. You have to think differently to do the saas-bahu soaps with even a slight level of competence. You have to think like them!
What’s worse than the Type 1 Women are the men who are as deeply involved in these soaps. Not watching, them. Making them! So, yes, there is a certain part of the male population in the M.L.L.F. which earns its bread and butter by unleashing their immense creative prowess on the unsuspecting audiences through the Eww Inspiring saas-bahu soaps.
We will call them The Male Diva (TMD).
These men form a sub-category of The Dodgy People. And this is how they do it.
Remember Ally McBeal? Amongst other things (Ally included), what was coolest was the unisex bathroom, where all the male lawyers acted out their neuroses.
And we might not have unisex bathrooms yet, but that’s not the point there. Point is, earlier women were told to be like men in order to survive in the big, bad world out there. Now, men are being like women. And the scary part is, no one’s even telling them to! AND they can’t blame it on PMS. Don’t women feel cheated? After all, We’re the women. We have a double standard to live up to. Where’d they come from? And why?
Men were afraid that the women who invaded the workplace would run around the office acting as ditzy and/or manipulative as Ling and Elaine. But while women were suppressing their feminine wiles, guys were secretly taking notes on those wiles. For themselves. Men are now beginning to turn traditional female modes of behavior into macho strategies to get ahead. While women were misguidedly imitating men, men were cattily customizing the competitive tactics that women had honed at home, in kitchens and sewing circles, through the centuries.
So now we see men sharing tender feelings about almost everything with other colleagues. We see men sulking and throwing hysterical fits to get their way. We even see men giving The Silent Treatment to each other! Modern advertising tells them to be the strong, sensitive men women will drool over. So now we have men who take more time off and leave early to be with their wives and kids. Since its chic for men to confess their vulnerabilities, we see men having diva fits and catfights, teary confessions and insane delusions. We have men who now know they need to bond more with each other over stuff more than sports. So we see men openly discussing their love lives. And yes, shopping. Even for shoes!
The bona fide Male Diva was spawned by the Entertainment Industry and he now thrived there. His bread and butter were the saas-bahu soaps, (K or non-K).
He was very deeply entrenched into the finest nuances of Male Diva-dom because he created his inspiration in those soaps. He “experienced” all that angst and emotional overload that we saw on screen. This was his script.
The Male Diva- Enter Smugly.
Those diva fits, mudslinging, vicious gossiping, catty bitching, hysterical confessions, blackmails and grooming obsessions. The Male Diva had done them all. He could very lucidly demonstrate the nuances of shrewish, bitchy, clawing, vengeful, sneaky, vain behavior that is anything but reasonable and impersonal.
Exit Snarling.
Women suffer PMS only once a month. Men have raging hormones every day.

The above theory was developed by That Woman at 5 AM after being rudely woken up by a call from The Male Diva. Requesting an urgent meeting at 8. And reveling in the fact that he had caused discomfort beyond belief by waking her up after a grueling 2-day shoot. All through which he nitpicked his way beyond That Woman’s normal tolerance levels.
The Male Diva (Enter Smugly). Announce to That Woman he was going on a 10-day vacation and she was to handle a couple of things for him. Starting today. Yes, it was her day off. Well, too bad if they weren’t supposed to be working on this project after the concept stage. And no, it wasn’t priority, but the sooner it got over the better. And that one of the things to do was an audition for a reality show anchor.

Three days later, she was asked to direct a special show for Star World. In a week. The Male Diva was promptly forgotten. She got a production guy to arrange the audition on the day he was returning so he could do it himself.
A week later, That Woman leaves edits at 9AM after a 30 hour shift. The Male Diva throws a fit at not finding her on the auditions at 10.
“But I don’t have to be there!” That Woman was horrified.
“Hell! You selected all these people. I don’t know them, their names, agencies etc.”
“But won’t they tell you all that???”
“I will not hold the audition till you are here.”
That Woman gave up on the 5 precious hours of sleep. Showed up at the auditions.
About auditions? Bad idea! And I’m glad there’s no PETA equivalent for actors.
Factoid: Directors hate most actors. You can never find That Exact Person you’re looking for. By the 10th one you get a little curt and snappy. By the 15th, you start getting pissed off. And then, you’re bitchier. And then…Wow! You’re actually enjoying it! This is fun! Clean, wholesome sadistic fun! You soon forget your anger, frustration and dislike of The Male Diva as you snub and snap your way through the long line of actors. It’s like a punching bag. Therapeutic and cathartic. (And it happens all the time.) Remember MTV Roadies or Indian Idol?
She wrapped up the audition in 3 hours, and headed straight to edit her own show. And this is when the imp of perversity made her wonder what was with The Male Diva and their ilk. These men disliked women for most things, wouldn’t give them credit for the rest and were so baffled by what was left that they tried to incorporate that in their behavior. Even balking at being called “fat”!
Let’s call it Venus Envy. A supposed male envy of all things non-superficially female. Or, the repressed desire of men, to possess female psyches. The Sly Squatters. When women were not looking they sneakily misappropriated everything that largely constituted what they thought was the regular female behavior. Something which simply fluctuated between Highly Irrational to Crazily Temperamental. Making them look like a PMS’ing woman on E, being denied chocolates.
Look at all the public squabbles men are having these days. Sonia Gandhi was/is everyone’s favorite punching bag. Has anyone ever seen her lose her calm? But what does L.K. Advani do after he shoots his mouth off in Pakistan? He throws a diva fit. Threatens to resign and sulks for days. (And out diva-ed Sushma Swaraj!) Kapil Dev bawled his way out of the match-fixing controversy. The Ambani brothers’ very public squabble would put the worst fisherwoman to shame. And to complete the cliché, even went crying to Mommy for help. That Great Male Bastion, our cricket team is having a field day of “he said, he said”. Salman Khan was the bully. Vivek Oberoi whined to the media while The Woman in the story maintained a dignified silence. Saif Ali Khan dished out dirty details about his divorce while the wife kept mum.
That Woman had post-production drudgery all that weekend. But just for a lark did a quick tally with a few friends, to confirm the existence of Venus Envy as a commonly present psychological condition. All of the 30 odd people she’d spoken to (men included), had at some point or the other, seen men behave like bitchy little drama queens. It was a scary thought.
Her day off on Monday was coolly shot in the head by The Male Diva who “Knew you had no edits” so had scheduled a budget status meeting with the Channel. Caveat: The Channel office was in ‘town’, hence would take her about a 2 hour commute. At 9 AM. Having barely slept for 3 hours.
She bitched about it to E-Male -a guy she’d been corresponding with over email and SMS (it’s not as pathetic as it sounds), who lived in ‘town’ as well. He wrote back saying he could gladly be the knight on a white steed, if she was thinking of running away.
But she was thinking of how to kill The Male Diva and make it look like hara-kiri.
The discussions took up almost the entire day, and obviously the show was over-budget (F@#$&*s!) minus commute time. She trudged through the deep quicksand of fatigue and sleep deprivation aided by industrial amounts of caffeine and a wicked SMS banter with E-Male. What a high delicious wit and quick repartee was!

***
Much needed respite after five weeks! Hence lots of time to finish long-pending tasks at hand. Topping the list is The Tag, courtesy, Ditty, Lemontree and EoR.
Does The Perfect Lover really exist? Or is it just another Urban Legend? Propagated to drive the economy as all of us take up gym memberships & buy expensive clothes? What if, like most other things, it’s just a farce? After all, no one has really seen, spoken to, been with The Perfect Lover? And if anyone were to tell me he exists, I’d ask for proof. If Osama Bin Laden gives us periodic “sightings” of himself on a TV channel, why not The Perfect Lover?
So, I’m convinced that The Perfect Lover is not real. But he is, what we wish were real. And there are a lot of other things I’d wish to be real. Things no independent, intelligent, self-respecting woman should go without.
1. Smart Phone – Sleek, cool and highly functional! Remembers everything you punch into it, doles out info on demand, can be programmed to be “Silent, discreet, loud” or easily switched off when annoying. Its all about communication and “Connecting People”. Very important attribute The Perfect Lover should have.
2. iPod - Music too makes the world go round. Yours could totally rock if you tote your music around on a cool iPod, customized and sorted to the last degree of whatever your mood du jour is. Helps relieve stress, boredom and too much silence. Enhances creativity and a general sense of well-being.
The Perfect Lover should be as user-friendly and in-sync with your moods. So, if you press the right buttons, he sings the right tunes. And if music be the food of love, play on.
3. Sexy shoes –It’s sometimes very hard to walk in a single woman’s shoes. That’s why we need really special ones to make the walk a little more fun. And if you like to walk the talk, you obviously have discerning feet. The feel good factor of sexy shoes is infinite. No matter how much weight you gain or lose, the shoes will always fit. They are discreet but unforgettable, ultimate accessories for women who’ve already taken possession of their future.
If heels were humans, they’d be perfect! And we’d know that no matter what, they’d always make us look good and walk tall.
4. Super Cool Bag – With lots of pockets and compartments for each and every little thing you might need at any time. Keys, organizer, wallet, make-up you name it and it’ll hold it. Looks obviously matter as well, so nothing but an uber-stylish one to keep you company all day long, while holding together all the vital pieces of your life’s requirements. Including objects 1 and 2, while coolly complementing No. 3.
To be able to understand and support a girl with all the little things she tells him about herself and which really matter. Even the name of her first pet! Tall order for a guy?
5. Feel-good People – Break-ups, bitchy encounters, new relationships, promotions, gaining weight, losing it, gym crush, career switch, emotional upheavals, PMS, lazy weekends make no sense without your girlfriends. Family, and favorite members of the extended family. Apart from these, there are people like your favorite hairstylist who can make you look like a million bucks on any given day when you’re miserable about something or the other. Or the guy at your neighborhood Barista who knows exactly how you like your cappuccino and gives you preference over others!
Now, if a man matches up to the feel-good factor of these people and then some, he’s an absolute catch! And when I say “Feel-good”, I mean, knock my socks off with your positivity. Seeing you at the end of a day should give me a jolt somewhat like the MSN “nudge”. Yeah baby! You have to be able to rock my world!
6. Retail Therapy and Comfort Food – This is the shallower, more materialistic side of No. 5. And I have no words to describe No. 6. Let’s suffice with… The Abso-fuckin’-lutely Bestest Stress Buster Ever! Imagine finding The Perfect Jeans, The Perfect Gold Stilettos, The Perfect Blue Aviators and even The Perfect Bag on the same day. Imagine wearing all these in One Perfect Ensemble on a Monday morning. And that be the day when God was your personal lighting director, wherever you went, bestowing that soft, dewy pink-gold “glamour lighting” on you. While you walked at your usual pace, others (including an Ex or three!) saw you in slow motion and heard This Song. And God! You look great! And you look forward to lunch, which is a chilled Toblerone shake and a wicked brownie, with magic powers. They’re zero calories, but taste just as good! No guilt ever.
Can a man ever even begin to make you feel as good as this…???
I didn’t think so.
7. Career etc. – You’ve had your rites of passage and this is where you are now. You are what you are because of your career, good or bad. But if you’re passionate about what you do, you seem to be going right. But you’d be rocking if you showed as much passion for The Etc. This could be anything from hiking, photography, snake boat rowing, supporting a cause wholeheartedly and knowing how to appreciate what you have.
This is most important for The Perfect Lover. And this is what will hold him in good stead when he no longer has that perfect face. Sometimes I might just want to have a real conversation with you. And all those days that you spend away from me would make you seem more alluring if you spend them on Career etc. This also raises the bar on being Sexy. If you had intelligence as well, you are sooo Perfectly Sexy. Women would kill for you. And I’d wanna slay your demons for you.
So, all you sexy but dumb men? …Get intelligence.
And all you non-sexy but smart men? …Get plastic surgery!
8. Pet Peeves –What’s a well-rounded, well-sketched and obviously well-lit protagonist without a few shades of gray? Pet Peeves are the best thing ever! And while most people may disagree about this and question their existence, I still believe they offer clarity and make you a more discerning connoisseur of the awesome, which, like the sublime, transcends human reason. If you had paid closer attention and developed your own Pet Peeves you would understand that.
Spiders, cockroaches, unwashed coffee mugs, jeans with sequins on them, The Male Diva, The Monster from the Channel, Any Monster from Any Channel, whiny pile-on colleague, weird roommate, wet towels, maid’s tantrums, Emraan Hashmi and Himesh R, Commies, paneer pizza…
But this is what adds all those quirks to us. So, to be Perfect, don’t be so. Leave enough space for a few odd quirks. No one is Goody Two-Shoes. There would be something that would piss you off no end, or annoy you or upset you. Show those quirks before I write you off as being too plastic. And fake!

So, to follow the rules, i now tag Vikram, Karan, Shyam, Shilpa, Reshu, Pranav, Annie and Smriti. To write 8 points about The Perfect Lover as they perceive him or her. And tag 8 more people at the end of it. It's most fun!

(And there's more to come about Venus Envy and The Male Diva. This was just the backstory. Sadly...)

Happy Violentine's! (Fable - Part 13)

2006-01-25T06:08:00.000-08:00

The phones rang frenetically. SMS’s jammed inboxes and emails flew across continents! The Violentine Rants had begun.
That Woman was happily oblivious to it all till Pi - Gay Best Friend formerly known as P, (Phew…!) called. “Are you single?” he asked but the tone was more like stating the obvious.
“And so are you,” she snapped back with equal attitude.
“And Valentine’s Day is around the corner,” he whined with a hint of sarcasm. This was their Violentine Rant. Which is, a long, angry and ideally humorous ‘rant’ inevitably done after successfully surviving one too many Valentine’s Days.

That Woman suddenly sat straight. “Shit! Yes! …Nooooooooooo!” How she hated Valentine’s Day!
“Look into your crystal ball and tell me what you see for me?” Pi joked.
“Ok!” she took a deep breath. “The planets are in your favor, and you’re in the power seat…for about a day. So don’t sleep through it. You will meet an exciting new man on the 4th but find out he has a boyfriend. Another sexy stranger will come into your life on the 10th -not as sexy as the first guy, but this one is at least available- and you will share an incredible night of passion. Then he won’t call you ever again. Take some risks this month. Although not risks like you took last month. You should ALWAYS use a condom. The planets are sorry to sound preachy but there are some things you, as a responsible adult must absolutely do.”
“Ha ha! Very funny!” Pi grunted. “And what’s yours?”
“This month, your personal life is entering a happier chapter, but that’s not saying much, because you have been a mess! Your planets turn fickle soon after. Pluto can’t decide if you should live happily ever after or die alone. This is the perfect time to lay low. Read a book. Take up Pilates. Any attempts at romance will end in disaster. Jupiter in Leo magnifies your parents’ fear that you will never marry. Hang on though, Nine West’s Spring/Summer shoes collection is coming out this month!”
That Woman knew the rants. She’d done the rants. She had a fresh rant last year when Pi and she decided to throw an Anti-Valentine’s Day party for their single friends…and Pi was suddenly caught up in a whirlwind romance and of course, ineligible for the party. Which never happened, by the way.
This year, she vowed to look at the whole thing more intelligently and logically. Like The Chick Clique was already doing here. So, instead of The Violentine Rant, she decided to earn some Good Karma points by helping people who got major anxiety attacks because of that day.

Dating is God’s evolutionary obstacle course.

A very important point to make and to remember at all times. No matter what! And if you wanted to move from one stage to the other, you had to clear the obstacles. With minimum injury to self. Speaking of which, there’s only one real ‘injury’. Dater’s Remorse. That sick feeling you get after dating someone you didn’t really need and couldn’t emotionally afford. In some people, it has been known to set in really really deep. And by the onset of February, it gets worse.
The unfortunate truth is that while most of us are savvy shoppers, we’re not sufficiently selective when looking for relationships, and that’s why we often suffer from Dater’s Remorse. Perhaps we should try to apply conventional consumer wisdom to men (or women - for all the male readers) as well as merchandise.
Here’s how:

1. Go with a classic, not a trend.
We all know it’s unwise to spend a month’s salary on a hot pink vinyl jacket from Moschino. But when it comes to men, even the most conservative among us occasionally invests in the human equivalent of a fashion fad.
Case in point: Traveling Artist. She was in film school then and her head was filled with great ideas about traveling all over the world, writing travelogues, taking pictures and being content. Since film school had attendance issues, instead of being one herself, she dated one. He had just returned from China and was filled with amazing anecdotes. He had also learned Tai Chi and could do it with a sword. Wow! She was sooo impressed. Concerned Best Friend’s warnings were completely ignored by telling her how he was sooo much more interesting than those boring banker types everybody else was dating. Of course, what turned out to be a fun, impulse buy turned out to require more of an emotional investment than she was willing to make. It took her two months to break up with him. Two-months of pure irritation, anger and annoyance. The good thing about Investment Banker types? They’re familiar with the expression ‘Cut your losses’.

2. Beware of the phrase ‘Some Assembly Required’
Anyone who has tried to follow translated-from-Chinese directions for putting together a food processor understands that when you’ve got to assemble something yourself, the money you save isn’t worth the time you spend. The same goes for men. Many women think that even though a guy is not exactly ‘together’ we can easily straighten him out. The fact is that fixer-uppers are more likely to stay forever flawed, no matter what you do.

3. Make sure your purchase goes with other things you own.
That Woman once fell in love with a very expensive deep red leather couch, and seriously considered buying it, even though it would mean being broke for months. But the couch…The Couch…she visited it a few more times, but didn’t buy, and not just out of sympathy for her bank account. She realized that if she bought that couch, she’d have to replace all her comfy old stuff with new knick-knacks equal in quality and style to the red leather couch. Men can be like that too. You’re drawn to them because they’re attractively different, but being with them may mean changing your entire life.

4. This once – AVOID BARGAIN HUNTING!
I know its end of January and all the sales happen! And for God’s sake, stop reading this and go check them out! That bag you saw for Rs. 4000 might have come down to Rs. 2000 and your sworn style rival could be in closer proximity of it than you are.
BUT, for God’s sake, NEVER EVER pick up a guy at a Sale! I know, I know the temptation. I know the feeling, “It’s not really my style but it’s available really cheap and I’ve always wanted to try it… Oh! What the heck! We only live once!”
Swipe card. Sign receipt. Take home trouble and a sexy pair of shoes!
So, before the ‘Swipe Card’ stage, it’ll be better to remember the principle behind end of season sales. No Refund. No Exchange! So, no picking-up a man just because he’s…there!

5. Check with previous owners.
Once beyond age 25, most men would have to be classified as secondhand (or Pre-Owned, as you please). And we all know how risky it is to buy used merchandise. Dater’s Remorse has been known to especially affect most when you realize the man you thought was The One, was married! Checking helps eliminate such jerks to a considerable extent. This includes men who don’t tell you they’re married when you meet them, men who tell you they’re getting divorced, men who never plan to get divorced, and in most cases – all three wrapped up in a handsome little package.
Therefore, it’s up to you to do basic consumer research. Find out how many previous owners your selection has had. Hear the Jerk Alert Bang: If he’s such a steal, why is he still available? …Is it because he’s not all that hot-looking, or because he’s fundamentally a jerk.
(Before becoming too critical, bear in mind that you’re still available.)

Okay, so the number of players has been narrowed down to a chosen few. There’s nothing worse than almost marrying someone, breaking it off, and having to start over as a victim of Cupidism. Or being in a relationship where the uncertainty drives you mad! You look at the various Red Things That Symbolize V-Day and it seems like they’re mocking you. Imagine two red heart shaped balloons telling you, “We know we’re on our way out in 3 days. Do you?” It’s like failing your twelfth class board exams and having to go back to kindergarten. Having said that, here is what will help the most.

The Relation Competency Exam!
It’s time saving, money-saving and easy to use. You and only you can determine whether your date’s answers merit relationship credit. His Relationship Worthiness. The exam is completely unscientific, and until someone comes up with a better one, this is the standard.

Relationship Competency Exam – for Men

English: What does it mean when you say, “I’ll call you?”
Math: How many women can you have sex with and still be monogamous?
Physics: Find a way to arrange your bathroom things on your half of the sink, knowing full well your girlfriend needs the whole sink for her things.
Economics: Who pays for dinner if your date makes more money than you and how long before you resent her for it?
Psychology: Other than abject fear, what are some possible reactions to the words, “I love you?”

Relationship Competency Exam – for Women

English: When you say, “I’m not in a rush to get married”, define the word ‘rush.’
Math: Is the amount of minutes it takes you to evaluate a date as Relationship Worthy, more than or equal to the amount of minutes it takes you to ignore the red flags?
Physics: Find a way to arrange your bathroom things on your half of the sink while still maintaining the illusion that you wake up looking this good.
Economics: How much should you pay for an apartment you never visit in order to keep a boyfriend from freaking out that you live in his?
Psychology: Other than abject fear, what are some possible reactions to the words, “I’m not ready for a relationship yet?”

[CAVEAT: Following these guidelines won’t guarantee a great relationship, but it will help you cut down on the number of times you feel Dater’s Remorse. Obviously, finding the right man is a bit more complicated than buying a microwave.]

So, Happy Shopping people!
And once the hype and hoopla has died down, we shall come back here to discuss issues of larger existential importance.

Memories of my Melancholy Chores (Fable - Pt 12)

2006-01-18T15:23:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time, in Bombay, lived The Town Princess. In the highest floor of the highest penthouse. She was stunningly gorgeous, tall and thin. She had the prettiest clothes from the hottest designers, tonnes of jewellery, and an infinite number of shoes and bags. She led a charmed life. Everyone knew her and everyone envied her. She was featured on magazine covers. She was invited to all the parties, and she was the belle of the ball. She threw some of the best ones too. And sometimes, when she thought she needed a little change (pun intended) she modeled and she acted. She never worried about anything. She knew all the right people to make those all-important phone calls for her. And all the right people clamored for her attention.
***
Bombay. 4 A.M. But then, the city never sleeps, or stops or some such line about Bombay, That Woman couldn’t really be too bothered to recall. It was an early morning shoot for a music video. And there was a minor traffic jam on the Western Express Highway. At 4 AM.
That Woman sat in the cab, suddenly surprised at her nonchalance about the traffic jam. This should have unsettled her. But it didn’t! Was THAT happening to her too? Had she too just become a Bombay Convert? The thought shocked her. And she discovered, perhaps not surprisingly, the stages of becoming a Bombay Convert correspond exactly with the five stages of dealing with death.
Stage One: Denial and Isolation
It is not uncommon, upon moving from New Delhi, where there are seasons and healthy, plus sized women, to a concrete jungle like Bombay, where there are floods, Bollywood and local trains, for a person to feel lost and alone. As if the world is closing in on you, squashing you into a little metal box, when in reality you’re just stuck in traffic behind a bunch of other Bombay Converts waiting for a left-turn arrow that doesn’t exist.
Denial is one way of dealing with this adjustment. Pretend it’s only temporary. You’re just checking things out. You’ll give it a year and see what happens. This stage is marked by a lack of furniture in your apartment.
Stage Two: Anger
Is what you feel in great amounts when you learn what it takes to survive in Bombay and Bollywood. Why do I need to schmooze with irritating, uneducated people? Why do I need to say nice things to an actress or actor when I don’t want to? Why are the rents so steep for a 300 sq. ft. hovel in Bandra? Why is there no market for a non-commercial short film on Urban Angst and Architecture? Why is there a huge market for a commercial show about a warped joint family? How thin do you have to be to go to the gym? When is rush hour? Why isn’t Citibank, Juhu a good landmark?
This is a necessary, if unpleasant stage. This is a stage when a ‘Godfather figure’ would be helpful, but chances are you will scare yours off. Or, he may demand sex in return. Your first real job will be directing a television show that only your parents will watch. This is the stage during which many people become angst-ridden “art film” actors, or K soap directors, or bad item number girls.
Stage Three: Bargaining
Once you’ve worn a sweater in Bombay, leaving it is no longer an option. You now have to make this work, which means rationalizing participation in everything you’ve been making fun of.
You will write or direct something “crappy but commercial” but vow that your next project will be from the heart. You will appreciate the importance of item numbers in films. You will see a numerologist, but just for kicks (because a high & mighty movie producer insists and you can’t say no!) who tells you to add five various alphabets to your name and that from that point on, you will only date “men with the initials J, P or R”. You will rent a semi-furnished apartment, but you still won’t buy your own furniture. You will think about taking a local train. You go to a club and don’t cringe when they play the latest Bollywood hit song. You stop naming Citibank, Juhu as a landmark and instead say, “Amitabh Bachchan’s house” without batting an eyelid. You will go on the Bandra flyover and marvel at the smog, which you will start calling “hazy sunshine”.
Stage Four: Depression
This stage usually occurs around the holidays. Specifically holidays you have to work through. It is often occasioned by the sight of people buying Diwali goodies and shops selling them. You will miss home, your family, your friends, and those wide roads on which you used to drive. You’ll wonder if it’s all worth it. Whether you’re beginning to watch the credits more closely than the movie. Whether “having arrived” means being married at least twice and getting horribly addicted to something and going for an Art of Living course where you’ll find true love. You will try to express this to a Bombay friend who will say, “You know, that would make a great movie!” This, more than any other phrase, is what will drive you to vipassana where no one spoke for 10 days!
Stage Five: Acceptance
When your commercial project is a hit, it will slowly dawn on you that perhaps your non-commercial ideas are non-commercial because they suck. You will actively lend your pearls of wisdom to fine tune Bollywood kitsch. You will accept that K-k-u-s-s-u-m is a legitimate spelling. You will unapologetically toss around terms like ‘item number’, ‘vada-pav’ and ‘hit and flop’. You will finally admit that you live in Bombay – even to your bank. You will go to a club and they’ll play the song for which you’ve made the video. You’ll stand on the table and dance! You will have one moment of wistfulness each time you’d drive by the sea at sunset and see a huge film poster about Loving Forever. Even though you don’t have a boyfriend or any real prospects for a relationship – initials J, P, R or otherwise.
Your house will be home to little knick-knacks you’ll start picking up on shopping sprees. Some nights you will shoot till 3 AM and leave tired and jumpy from all the tea, swearing never to have vada-pav again. And you’ll realize that somehow, despite everything, you’ve grown to like it here. And as that thought warms and frightens you, you’re going for a shoot at 4 AM on the Western Express Highway, where, amazingly, there will be a traffic jam.
***
One day, when The Town Princess thought life couldn’t be any better, it suddenly did! She fell in love with the Sexiest Bachelor Around. Everyone was shocked! Everyone watched in awe wherever the stunning couple went. Sexiest Bachelor Around was indeed that. Tall, lean, a naughty smile, an evil glint in the eye, a voice to die for and ready humor. He was ALL a girl wanted and more. He was what the girls dreamed about all over the country. His dance moves were copied by everyone. His clothes became style statements. He was keenly watched by the media and the people. He was their blue-eyed wonder boy, who couldn’t do anything wrong. Everyone loved him. And when he was suddenly seen with The Town Princess, he broke a million hearts.
They made a stunning couple. They made people stop and stare wherever they went. They always seemed enclosed in a magic circle no one could touch or reach. The Town Princess had really never been happier…
***
Wannabe Diva Actress showed up two hours late. Threw a tantrum about the clothes she was supposed to wear. Gave everyone a hard time due to some existential angst she suffered on account of Fake Bubbly Actress and was currently on a major casting couch power trip never before seen in Bollywood! Redefining the battle of the sexes her own way AND…AND… getting better and better roles as days went by as well as getting ALL roles meant for Fake Bubbly Actress. AND especially the ones opposite Sexiest Bachelor Around. Shutting up all those who criticized!
“Is he still seeing The Town Princess?” she asked the stylist.
“So we hear,” stylist replied. “You could be The Town Princess too, you know, the way your career is going,” the stylist plodded on.
“No, dah’ling!” Wannabe Diva Actress lit a cigarette and smiled. “I don’t want to be Town Princess ‘cos I’m focusing on my career seriously now. Besides, who really cares for her? Her films come and go and no one even realizes. …She’s better known for the men she sees.”
“But she does manage to see the best of the lot!” The stylist couldn’t help point out. Wannabe Diva Actress just shrugged and smoked.
That Woman got extremely irritated by this conversation. Actors always irritated her. They were a necessary evil to help the business of filmmaking thrive. They were not like normal mortals. They were an unusual combination with something vital missing and something extra added. Sexiest Bachelor Around was a case in point. He was right up there. Not as accessible as he seemed. She always felt that if you touched him he’d really turn to dust. Most others just gave that impression!
***
He was a study in persistence and charm. He’d been around for a long time. He’d been written off by many. Everyone said he had potential. But it just took ages to show up. Then one day, he sang a song and played a part. Suddenly everyone looked up and took notice! He was now the blue-eyed boy. No longer the underdog. He’d survived a public heartbreak too and became the Sexiest Bachelor Around. No, it had not been easy. And exactly why he was enjoying it so much! Yes, he had a right! He was the toast of the party circuit. He was given beautiful clothes, beautiful cars, expensive watches, and expensive toys to amuse himself with. He was smarter than others though. It wasn’t long before his paths crossed with The Town Princess. Together they blinded the world with their combined aura.
The Town Princess on the other hand was different. She’d once been a small girl in a small town dreaming of a fantasy world. Till she grew up and realized it was possible. It was possible because she looked a certain way, and hadn’t really sold her soul. Luxury brands and corporates wooed her. They wanted her to wear their clothes, their shoes, their watches, their jewellery, drive their cars, use their mobile phones, attend their parties, throw her own which they were more than willing to pay for. She loved the charmed life! She fit right into it. But she was not as cold and calculating as others in her place would be. She wore her heart on her sleeve. She believed in love. Her biggest mistake? She looked for it in actors. She’d survived two heartbreaks. She didn’t let those deter her. She held her head high and moved on. Sexiest Bachelor Around was the cherry on her fairy tale life cake.
***
That Woman had grown up on fairy tales too. And like most women her age, she considered fairy tale princesses to be air-headed bimbettes. If only they’d use their brains, they wouldn’t have to go through so much melodrama to find a man. She now had a new perspective to fairy tales. What if Prince Charming had never shown up? Would Snow White have laid in that glass box forever? Or would she have gotten up, spit out the apple, gotten a job and a savings account and moved on with her life?
Pack up! On her way out, she saw Tall Lean Superstar with a starlet, heading to his vanity van. She smiled and pretended not to notice the girl. She remembered an article on Tall Lean Superstar’s pregnant wife in a magazine. And then, there was a man standing at the door who approached her hesitantly. “Have you packed up yet?” he asked. He looked like someone who worked in a bank. “I’m here to pick up my wife.” The wife was the starlet. That Woman sighed. Lied.
“I think she’ll take another half hour.”
All in a day’s work! Bombay did that to you. It was like watching a movie preview. If the film is bad, you leave like you collectively flopped as an audience and perhaps you were having an off night.
She saw a huge hoarding of Sexiest Bachelor Around in his latest film. She smiled. He looked awesome. And him and The Town Princess looked stunning together.
***
The Town Princess’s world came crashing down around her. She had survived the first two heartbreaks. The third one left her numb and listless. Sexiest Bachelor Around broke up with her. He never was in love with her, it seemed. It was a chance relationship that had happened when the two people found themselves miraculously in the same spotlight. It was convenient. It made gossip column headlines. He was now seeing someone with whom he’d make front page headlines! He knew how to play it. He’d grown up watching it all around him. He’d learned from other actors’ mistakes. No public outbursts for him. No overt Public Displays of Affection. His booty calls never got to the press.
The Town Princess broke down. She had stupidly and idiotically not seen it coming. Not prepared herself for this. She was now a damsel in depression. She stopped going out, meeting people, being seen. Sexiest Bachelor Around sang another song, played another part and stole the limelight. No one noticed the absence of The Town Princess for some time. Then the luxury houses and the corporates realized she was missing in action. They queued up at her door. Sweet-talking, cajoling and pleading with her to get back to her old self. When this failed, they got worried, confused, and finally angry. They queued up at her door again. This time with copies of the contracts she had signed when she became The Town Princess. She didn’t have a choice. She had to ‘do the Princess’ till the contract period was over. She gave in.
***
That Woman was a bit surprised when she heard. You had to get your bearings right. Most people fell for the fairy tales without reading the caveat. And reading the caveats made you more calculating and colder. She felt bad for The Town Princess, but that was all. Her own life wasn’t all that great. She realized she had a thing for heartbreaks. She had survived a couple of them. Was embarking upon another already. She was falling in love with someone who didn’t care if she lived or died. She knew this was when her intelligence, logic and reasoning defied her. She couldn’t do a thing! It hurt worse than the worst root canal. But she couldn’t do a thing! She had dated people she didn’t particularly like. Maybe this was Bad Dating Karma catching up. Someday, you had to be on the receiving end. She laughed at herself. Just as Bombay was the irony of having read the finest literature and authors in the world and speaking only of the weather and bad roads. It was the irony of her life too. Maybe some people are never meant to have soulmates. Only a closet full of skeletons.
The cameraman shouted at her from across the room to announce he was ready. She looked around sheepishly. Breaking into such a reverie was a luxury she couldn’t afford.
***
The Town Princess was the star at a big fashion show. On the ramp. She was closing the show. She wore the extravagantly lavish bridal wear, with antique diamond jewellery and tried not think about how heavy the outfit was. The show had ended but for the finale. The lights dimmed and only the sponsor logos glowed. The spotlight came on and The Town Princess stepped on the ramp to the sound of resounding applause. She looked absolutely gorgeous. Her smile dazzled all. Everyone gasped at the brilliant outfit. No one noticed her eyes. Where her heartbreak showed.
Sitting in the front row was the guest of honor - Sexiest Bachelor Around. He never looked up at her. He seemed far too busy SMSing on his cellphone.
She wanted to run. She stopped a foot away from him. Smiled wider still for the dozens of photographers. He never looked up. She wished she could disappear. She turned and posed again. And then, slowly, she walked back on the ramp as the lights faded slowly into complete darkness.
Then all the lights came on simultaneously. Sexiest Bachelor Around applauded enthusiastically and hugged the designer. Not a hint of the past reflected.
Was it really all well just because it had ended well?
***
Bombay is one huge impending deadline and a barrage of new assignments, and if there is anyplace that will make you feel guilty for not getting around to something, it’s Bombay.
Wannabe Diva Actress sat gloating. Her new film was a hit. And to top it all, the luxury houses and corporates had started lining up at her doorstep. She was enjoying her moment in the spotlight. She was not going to go on a contract signing spree. She chose only one brand. Her reason? That was the same brand Fake Bubbly Actress endorsed too. Her agenda was all set.
Bombay allowed you to be Machiavellian. It never judged you, even though you did feel judged every moment of the day. If you came out victorious, that was all that mattered.
Bombay had time and space for everyone to have their 15 minutes of fame. No wonder the city never slept or stopped.
This was the real Mumbai Marathon.

Season's Gripings and Lessons Learned - (Fable-Pt 11)

2006-01-06T16:15:00.000-08:00

It was that time of the year again. December - 'tis the season to be jolly. And suddenly you see couples everywhere. And when I say everywhere, I mean couples crawling out of the woodwork, stepping out or into the elevators, in malls, in banks, in bookshops. And always, always, holding hands. The city became a Noah’s Ark for Humans. Add to it the tinsel, the myriad shades of red, the Christmas trees, the confetti, the odd mistletoe... All things conducive to happy couple-dom. But the biggest of all? The New Year around the corner which gives most couples a (sometimes false) sense of secure togetherness. We are invincible! We've been together so long and actually moving into a new year?! Wow! More power to US! (Repeat 5 times and with extra cheer in presence of Perennially Single mortals! Make them WANT/CRAVE/DESIRE to be one half of a Diabetes-inducing couple!)
Thus giving rise to a phenomenon called Cupidism.
Cupidism - The faulty logic that leads a well-meaning but clueless third party (usually one half of a Diabetes-inducing couple) to believe that two random singles are perfect for each other.
Some faulty logic/Cupidism examples… (Drumroll please!)
#1. “I’ve known him for the past eleven years!” (11 years guarantee! Or your money back!))
#2. “Give him a chance. He needs someone exactly like you in his life right now.” (The ONLY detergent that cleans to a new shade of white! Or your money back!)
#3. “ Won’t you like to go out with someone who loves you as much as I love *insert best friend’s name*?” (Neighbor’s envy, Owner’s pride! …Or your money back!)
#4. “He’s just as miserable as you are!” (Buy one get one free! …Or…yes!)
#5. “Don’t be so picky! Try be more open-minded. Maybe the investment banker is NOT so boring after all!” (Introducing Same Old Bore in fabulous new packaging!)

Cupidism, is largely responsible for most of the horror (and humor) of single womanhood. Faced with this, what's a single girl to do?
She decides to take a much needed break from work and the Couples, Couples everywhere and go home to mom and all the pampering! And to a city that actually has well-defined seasons and wider roads and trees and…as she suspected (but never really admitted) was her one true love. New Delhi and That Woman. Till death do they part. But alas, this did not a couple make!
She settled on her seat finally and saw a vision. A tall, lanky guy, in rimless glasses and a navy blue turtleneck, carrying the Alain De Botton book The Consolations of Philosophy was looking for his seat.
“Dear God, if you love me, may Eye-Candy Man sit next to me!” That Woman thought wickedly. Knowing fully well, such things never happened to her. Eye-Candy Man put his laptop bag on the seat in front of her. There… she sighed. But then, an angel in a short red skirt intervened.
“Ma’am, would you mind switching seats with the lady in front of you…”
Are you serious? That Woman, a vision of charm and cool, picked up her bag and landed on the seat beside Eye-Candy Man! Not believing her luck. God did love her, even though she had to “work” to get what she had asked for. But wasn’t that the essence of our philosophy… So she “worked” a bit more. Reaching into her bag she pulled out her trump card. Status Anxiety by Alain De Botton. He noticed, he approved, he smiled. And he got dimples. God couldn’t be that kind. A man with dimples, sitting next to her, about to start a conversation… So what was The Catch? …There had to be one. There was always one!
“Flying to Delhi?” he asked. Ok, it was stupid!
“Aren’t we all?” she said cheekily. Bad move!
“Yes, we are, indeed. And looks like De Botton is the prescribed reading material for this flight,” he flashed his dimples at her, thus thwarting any other smartass answers she could possibly think.
She smiled back, fastening her seat belt. They introduced themselves and shook hands. She wondered if this was what the airline meant when they beckoned you to fly the good times. If so, she was hooked. The two hours just flew past (intended bad pun) and the conversation had them hooked to each other. They were having one of those great first dates that you can only have when it’s not an actual date. And this wasn’t. This was a co-incidence gone so absolutely right!
The December chill hit her the minute she stepped out of the aircraft. He offered her his jacket. Half an hour later, they were exchanging numbers as they parted ways.
Delhi looked fabulous. And it never let her down. The roads gleamed in the winter sun, the trees looked lovely and the florists on every street corner made you want to believe. In happiness and the fact that it could be found in the most unexpected places. And there was no catch to this one. Being here was reason enough to smile.
Bonding with old friends, meeting new people, re-visiting favorite hang-outs, finding all the books on her shopping list at Fact & Fiction (‘Cos people in Delhi had better taste in books), sipping cappuccino at a café by the road and not getting assaulted by the pollution… Delhi rocked!

***
Eye-Candy Man called her two days later and they met for brunch. (Why brunch? ‘Cos she was sick of dinner dates. Besides, brunch was modern Delhi culture. If you come to Delhi and don’t do brunch… Dude, you’ve not lived!)
So, That Woman and Eye-Candy Man LIVED it up in that Delhi-ciously laidback way for 6 ultra-cool, electrically, magnetically charged hours. Brunch was followed by a lazy walk in Khan Market, checking out music shops and bookshops and stopping at a new café for coffee. He was intelligent, charming, courteous, erudite, funny, witty… Phew! You get the picture. They parted ways at 7 in the evening, with a hug and a wistful smile. They had separate dinner plans with friends.
That Woman had a spring in her step and her eyes seemed bright as she hugged Kickass Babe. A close friend since college who had only recently moved to Delhi after a work stint in Australia. And she wasn’t there alone. She brought along Delectable Dude, her live-in boyfriend of past 3 months. That Woman did a double take when she saw him. Delectable Dude looked like a movie star, but was a Ph. D. in Economics and on a fellowship with an Ivy-league University. WHOA!
“But, hang on,” That Woman pulled Kickass Babe aside. “What exactly happened with Guy X? …And why did you breakup your engagement? Was it because of Delectable Dude? ‘Cos I’d completely understand, if it were so,” she grinned. They did have a lot of catching up to do. Kickass Babe had been commitment phobic for the longest time. Then last year, she started seeing Guy X and grew serious. That Woman and other girlfriends were pleasantly surprised. Then came the even happier news of Kickass Babe’s engagement with Guy X. And Kickass Babe sounding ecstatic on long ISD calls. And then, almost 6 months later, she called to say she had broken up with Guy X because he turned out to be an insecure, jealously possessive, stalking-her-everywhere kind of guy, because now that they were engaged, he did not want her even looking at another man! This was weird, but something like that happened to That Woman too once.
There were men, who loved to commit but once you committed back (and this is the scary part) got so insanely insecure about losing you, that they turned obsessively compulsively possessive! It was a complete personality change. And it could get really really unpleasant. Guy X thought, Now that she’s got my ring on her finger, why does she need other male friends around? I need to keep tabs on her, and go through her phone on the sly to read all those SMS’s she gets from various guys, she calls “friends”!
Psycho ALERT! Cut your losses and run, girl. NOW!
“Delectable Dude’s a blessing!” Kickass Babe confessed. “He’s…normal! And I’m not going to rush into anything… Taking it a day at a time!”
“Why did you ever say yes to Guy X?” That Woman asked. “What was your biggest reason?”
Kickass Babe took a long sip of her mojito. “Because, when things have been going reasonably well, and it’s your birthday, and the guy surprises you by taking you to dinner at the most expensive and chic restaurant in town. And over there, he pops champagne, raises a toast to you, then goes down on one knee and pops a diamond ring… Sweetie, you say YES!”
Long, long contemplative silence followed. This was the reason That Woman was wary of Dangerous Days like Birthdays, Valentine’s Day, Christmas and New Year’s Eve falling in the early days of a relationship. These were the days that should be marked with a red flag on a relationship chronology calendar. Or at least a warning sign: Dangerous Day ahead. And one was just 3 days away. Dec 31.
“Did you ever meet Guy X?” Delectable Dude asked That Woman, breaking the silence.
“No! She was supposed to bring pictures tonight. …Did you?”
“’Course I did,” KB grinned and pulled out an unwieldy stack of photos and handed it to That Woman. She looked at them. Happy photos of KB. KB’s apartment in Sydney overlooking the harbor. KB and Eye-Candy Man having coffee in the balcony overlooking the harbor. KB and Delectable Dude on the beach…
HANG ON. REWIND. …Eye-Candy Man!!!
“Guy X,” Kickass Babe pointed when she saw That Woman going back to that picture. “The only picture I had of him and I brought to show all of you.”
“Hmmm,” That Woman pursed her lips and stared at the photo. It WAS him. Him and his dimples which he flashed at the camera. And which he’d been flashing at her all day today. Which he’d flashed particularly cutely when he asked her to be his date on New Year ’s Eve.
New Year’s Eve - The world’s most over-priced and high-pressure Date Night, which involved serious planning and a midnight kiss that rang in another year.
It was also a night of reckoning. Despite the fact that there are over fifteen million people in Delhi (more in Bombay) there are times you still feel shipwrecked and alone. Like New Year’s Eve. When even the most resourceful and strong-willed survivor would feel the need to send out smoke signals, or put a message in a bottle.
And in one such moment of great vulnerability, she’d agreed to go with Eye-Candy Man to a New Year’s Eve party earlier that afternoon.
And in this particular moment, she saw The Catch that she’d suspected would be there. The fine print that was the caveat to the little * sign on the right of Eye-Candy Man’s head! Conditions Apply. Yeah, baby, they did! And one woman’s Eye-Candy Man was another woman’s King Kong!
“Let’s do tequila shots!” That Woman looked at Kickass Babe and Delectable Dude and smiled.
According to the Unwritten Dating Rules 1) You did not date a close friend’s ex, and, 2) You DEFINITELY did not date a guy you knew had psycho potential unless you were on a path of self-destruction.
Another one bites the dust!
(Along with his dimples!)
And a tequila shot helps clear the head like nothing else.
***
Post New Year’s Eve and well into the New Year itself… That Woman and her closest bunch of friends were at their favorite pub, exchanging career woes, dating disasters, existential issues, dancing to the music they loved, laughing at the silliest of jokes, checking out cute guys, being proud of each other’s smallest of achievements and reaffirming the unspoken laws of great friendship that would sustain them through anything.
It would be childish of them to deny that their lives weren't changing. But for this night, none of them were going anywhere. That's the thing about really good friends and a really great Delhi! As the fog lifted, every single day, you could actually view the world anew.
And it shined!
***
The runway gleamed on the bright morning, That Woman left Delhi. She was back to being her confident, cheerful self, but still a bit startled to see another adorable guy in the aisle about to sit next to her. And even more when she heard him say, “Hi!” And as her eternally optimistic self distracted her for a brief flight of fancy wondering if he was The One, she realized he was still speaking. “Would you mind switching seats so I can sit with my girlfriend, Tiya?”
Tiya looked at That Woman sweetly. She was predictably thin, with blonde highlights in her hair and loads of lip gloss. Okay, issues with current situation 1) Her name was Tiya, so she didn’t like her already. 2) He didn’t HAVE to say her name, so obviously he just enjoyed saying it… enjoyed dating a Tiya. 3) Tiya stole her man. And 4) That Woman was not feeling very supportive of relationships.
So she said, just as sweetly, “You know, I just stopped seeing someone, and I’m not feeling very pro-love right now, so if you don’t mind, I really don’t want to switch seats.”
Tiya looked disappointed. That Woman felt like an arrogant bitch. But she held her ground and her window seat because…why was she singled out to move? …She knew the reasons very well. Because she was single! She could sit anywhere! Nobody would miss her!
Tiya and her boyfriend smiled at each other wistfully and hugged. (Ugh!) How would they survive apart? Not her problem. She was alone. She was going back from the holidays and her favorite city – alone. She had to haul her bags from the carousel alone and lug them alone to the exit point alone and wait in the line for a cab alone and go to her apartment alone. So she figured Tiya could be alone for one fucking flight!
Her boyfriend turned out to be a very nice guy. Him and That Woman talked the whole way to Bombay. And they didn’t talk about her. She was barely a blip on their radar. When he asked her for her pen, she knew Tiya was on her way out. He would give her his number and they would end up together, and the whole thing would make a great story, all because she wouldn’t give up her seat.
He wrote ‘I LOVE YOU’ on his cocktail napkin and then he had the people in front of them pass the note to Tiya.
How many people must be inconvenienced by this relationship!? That Woman wondered as he gave her back her pen.
And she thought of Cupidism. In all honesty.
It's the spinach of dating philosophies — you may not always (or ever) enjoy it, but it's probably good for you. One pro to all its many cons was at least she’d know FOR SURE that the guy was single, available, and neither she nor he was breaking any of the Unwritten Dating Rules!
And that was a big one! HUGE!

***

P.S. This post is for Shyam - A really really great friend (in wonderful Delhi). The fog will soon lift and the world will be a happier, shinier place. For all of us!

And Reshu - For Everything! (...And more!)

The Sucker, the Bitch and the Wardrobe (Fable-Pt. 10)

2005-12-25T04:04:00.000-08:00

If you’re lucky (or unlucky, depending on how you look at it) you might one day run into a certain type of woman in Bombay. Or New Delhi. Like a constantly migrating bird, she’s always on the go. Not in the mundane laptop lugging, Filofax-filled way. This woman travels from one city to another attending glamorous parties, schmoozing with the right people, “working on” the right men. She has carefully crafted Multiple Personalities to suit varying moods, men and changes in wardrobe. Unlike other humans, she doesn’t live/exist. She plans/operates.
Meet the Ruthless Ambitious Golddigger.
(Drumroll please!)
Ruthless Ambitious Golddigger (RAG) arrives at Bombay airport. She’s recently broken up with the son of a rich politician in Delhi. Her luggage – bright orange, monogrammed Hermes – is on the trolley. She’s wearing tight fitting Louis Vuitton jeans with a crisp white linen shirt, a Chopard watch and toting a Fendi bag. She’s broke. Yes. But she’s quite resilient. She spotted an opportunity on the plane. And that opportunity was right there waiting for his car.
Zeroing on him as Potential Sucker she approaches him just as his white Mercedes pulls up beside him.
“Hi!” she dazzled him with her smile and charm. He was taken off-guard. “My driver’s stuck in traffic somewhere…”
And before he knew what hit him RAG and her Hermes luggage were not only crawling into the city in his company-paid-for Merc, he was already asking her out to dinner that night.
“Tonight’s out, darling,” she smiled vulnerably. “I just want to sleep for the longest time! …How about, we meet for a drink tomorrow?”
“That sounds perfect!” Potential Sucker smiled, exchanged numbers and dropped her in front of an apartment building in Juhu.

That Woman was talking to Nikhil, an old friend, “RAG’s in town,” she told him. “I’m having lunch with her tomorrow.”
“RAG!” Nikhil exclaimed. “Oh my God! Is she still alive? …Still attractive? Still as dangerous?”
“Why are men so stupid?” That Woman sighed.
Nikhil went on, undaunted, “There aren’t very many girls like RAG. She’s smart, you know, and really funny and very bold. She’s incredible! You keep running into girls like this and you wonder about their mystery and allure… Their sexual power is like this amazing, dazzling force that can change your life, you think, if you can touch it, which you cant, which -- ”
That Woman hung up on him.

RAG and she were in school together. RAG went to a different college afterwards and got a degree in Communications. Worked at a news channel for a year before giving it all up for the fabulous life she now led. That Woman still kept in touch with her out of sheer loyalty to the boarding school sorority.
That Woman now sat at Olive sipping her Kiwi Margarita, listening to RAG’s story. “M was a nightmare,” she sighed delicately, referring to the rich politician’s son. “It was in the papers and by the end of it, I was so sick of it all…”
“I heard about it,” That Woman said. “So what next? …Will you be in Bombay for a while?”
“Well…not decided yet,” RAG shrugged. “You tell me? Are you finally seeing someone? Or still belligerently single?”
That Woman laughed. “Not belligerently single… But you know the people I’ve been dating. Value Added Man, Boring Arrogant Man… Oh, did you know That Man’s seeing Annoying Aspiring Actress?”
“Oh god! …Since when did she start dating the likes of That Man? …She can’t even hold a conversation intelligently. I still remember once I ran into her at the airport, waiting for a flight, and she said, I love reading. I can sit and read a magazine from cover-to-cover at a stretch!”
“But she’s been with everybody!” That Woman remarked. “Including That Man!”
“Oh please, babes!” RAG said. “I don’t care about that. If a woman wants to sleep with a man, makes the choice, it’s her business. But A.A.A.’s not a good person. She’s cruel.” RAG was quiet for a moment. “She asks for gifts like diamonds. And cash. There are lots of rich men out there who take pity. These actors with their millions. They’ll write a check for an obscene amount. Sometimes just to go away. That flat she has in Bandra? It belonged to Famous Action Hero. He’d let her stay there briefly when she was evicted from her apartment and had no money. And then, before he could see what was coming, she refused to vacate his apartment. Gave him much hell about it. She knew he would avoid publicity at all cost. So the last option was to let her have the apartment.”
That Woman gasped. “I didn’t know that!”
“Oh please,” RAG looked at her sharply. “Don’t be so shocked! You always were such a naïve, sweet thing! …But then, you’ve always had a career. Even if you were starving, you’ve had a career. Women like A.A.A. and I, we don’t want to work. I’ve always just wanted to live. …But that doesn’t mean it’s easy,” she paused to light a cigarette. “How many times have I called you, crying, no money, wondering what I was going to do, where I was going to go next. Men promise things and don’t deliver. And you’ve to deal with that. So in return for what you offer – and you always offer more than sex – it’s perfectly alright to accept all those gifts.”
“Well, money does make the world go round,” That Woman shrugged. She had helped RAG pack her bags and change apartments a number of times. It was things like a Bulgari watch, a Cartier necklace, Tiffany jewels, Louis Vuitton bags, apart from having all her bills paid, her expenses taken care of and luxurious European vacations.
“Nooo!” RAG laughed. “It’s actually sex. Think about it. What do people do when they get money? They buy things and services that will attract sex partners, don’t they? Sports cars, nice clothes, plastic surgery, fancy apartments… They’re all trying to go up the corporate ladder. They’re all extremely lonely. They all hate their jobs. But will they give it up?”

That Woman remembered a conversation with Boring Arrogant Man. He’d said exactly that! And he was so stuck in the corporate rut that he was afraid and unsure of stepping out of it. That’s the only way he knew to make a living. It was his career. And anything beyond that were only just dreams and any step taken towards their realization was a step into the Great Unknown.
So what happened to most men like that? They saw hope in the form of RAG and others of her ilk. An intelligent, attractive woman who could make great conversation, was with him at the end of a long day, make him laugh, hold his hand on long drives, go away with him to cozy retreats for long weekends, was good in bed… Kept at bay the dark depressing loneliness that would otherwise be gnawing at his soul. We’re all taught to believe in happy fairytale endings. But it never really happens that way. Reality was… coming home to an empty apartment. Drained. Trying to thwart your woes with rock music playing loud enough to drown the voices in your head. Looking for mood enhancers like alcohol and soft-drugs… But if you had someone like RAG it was purely another add-on. A better distraction. Which they didn’t mind paying for. Money is power and sex is power. Therefore getting money for sex was just an exchange of power. …And RAG was not just sex, she was companionship. Even though for a moment.

“And men are not fools, much as they’d have us believe that! They want their money’s worth …And you’ve got to keep up. With the clothes and the body. The smart wardrobe, trendy accessories, the gym membership, spas. It’s expensive. I read a lot too. And not magazines! You know that!” RAG winked at That Woman who knew how well-read and intelligent RAG was. She could discuss and debate about politics, science, literature, art and philosophy. She was sharp as a tack, but kept it carefully under wraps.

That Woman remembered an incident at one of the Fashion Week parties. RAG was then seeing Hot-Shot Industrialist. The conversation somehow veered towards dreams and RAG held forth, talking about an interesting article she’d read in the New York Times about Freud. Hot-Shot Industrialist joined the conversation midway and looked at RAG “You know about Freud?” he asked, bemused.
And That Woman saw RAG transform. “Of course, darling!” She giggled and took a sip of champagne from his glass. “He’s dead!” And Hot-Shot Industrialist laughed out loud and put his arm around her shoulders indulgently.
That Woman cringed. But later, RAG laughed it off saying, “Occupational hazard, babes! I’ve to be non-threatening. He knows I’ve a functioning mind. He doesn’t want to see it up on public display!”

“It is sex, not money that makes the world go round, sweetie!” RAG’s voice shook That Woman out of her reverie.
And armed with that newfound knowledge, That Woman left Olive. Her phone rang.
“So you had lunch with RAG?” asked K, journalist friend.
“How did you know? Was it on the news?” That Woman joked, although it didn’t come as a surprise. Most men somehow knew RAG’s whereabouts.
“Last I saw her was when she was with this designer friend of mine! God, she’s a bitch! He was so deeply hurt when she left him for that hotelier! She got him to give her an entire haute couture wardrobe. Worth lakhs! And she still has the cheek to wear those clothes all over town,” K said bitterly.
“Well, that’s how she is, isn’t she? That hotelier got into a drug habit ‘cos he ended up funding hers!” That Woman informed.
“Has she ever been with any of your close friends?” K asked.
“Of course she has! …Ruined him completely,” That Woman confessed. “Apart from leaving his mind a jumbled wreck she also caused huge damage to his bank account. He’s just about recovered. It’s been more than a year now!”
“Well…” K sighed. “I wonder what men see in her?”
He hung up and That Woman called Best Friend to report events of the day. “Did she tell you M dumped her ‘cos he found out she was sleeping with that Argentinean polo player? In his house! And he walked in on them and caught them in flagrante.”
“Oh!” That Woman was surprised. “She told me she dumped him.”
“Yeah RIGHT!” Best Friend laughed.
“Anyway, how does it matter? She’s already working on someone new!” That Woman dropped the bomb. “Potential Sucker,” she told her. “He’s the C.E.O. of a TV network! And he’s desperately wooing her, even as we speak!”
“Well… What are you doing today?”
“Just paid rent and all the bills this morning… I’m depressed, and broke!” That Woman sighed. “I think I’ll go shopping. I can do with new sandals.”
“Oh yeah, babes! We are very shallow people. The world won’t care if you’ve paid your electricity bill or not. But it would definitely notice if you walk out in new stilettos!”

And that pearl of wisdom led That Woman to Inorbit Mall, which cheered her up instantly. Decided to stall buying shoes till a little later, she walked into Crossword to buy books. Where, dressed in beige linen pants, white vest and an open denim shirt was That Man!
“We do meet at odd places, don’t we?” he grinned, hugging her.
“Bookshops are not odd places. Maybe you should come here more often!” she remarked.
“I would now, since you are a regular here,” he grinned disarmingly.
“I am not, actually. I came here to buy shoes!” she confessed.
“Oh! They sold shoes at Crossword? Must be the world’s best kept secret! Where, do they stock though?”
She couldn’t help laughing. “Charles & Keith,” she said. “But you’ve to buy books first to be able to enter that place!”
“Ah! Interesting!” he picked up 4 books he’d selected. She saw the names and was suitably impressed. But didn’t show it. “Mind if I accompany you? I’m done here.”
“Give me 10 minutes,” she said and took out her cell phone to refer to the list of books she needed to buy.
“A woman who makes to-do lists on her phone,” he sighed. “We really are in the 21st century, aren’t we?”
“Shut up!” And she emerged 10 minutes later with the books she wanted. “Do you know RAG?” She asked as she paid.
“Everyone knows RAG!” He smirked. “Heard she was back in Bombay,” he remarked and That Woman kept quiet wondering why men would want to keep track of RAG’s life so minutely.
“Why do men want to date someone like her?”
“To paraphrase John Lennon, RAG is what happens to us, while other women are making other plans!” he raised an eyebrow wickedly.
“Yeah right!” She gave him a look.
“Its true,” he looked at her smugly. “Most men are in a Desperate Housewives kind of situation! I know the guy RAG’s meeting this evening. He SMS’d me to tell me about her. Good friend… but extremely accident prone.” he shrugged.
“I had lunch with her this afternoon,” she confessed sheepishly.
He looked at her, surprised. “Verrry fascinating!” he drawled, smiling slowly.
“Oh yeah…” she was looking at a pair of 4 inch white and gold strappy stilettos in the window of Charles & Keith. That Man was forgotten as she stepped into the store and picked up the sandals to try them on.
They were fabulous. They talked to her. They flattered her. They made her look taller and slimmer. They made the world around her look so wonderful. They promised eternal happiness. They promised never to let her down. They promised, always, always to make her feel like a goddess; in sickness or in health. For better or worse…
She turned to look at That Man. He took a step back and looked at the sandals. His phone rang just then. “I’m at Charles & Keith… met a friend here,” he said and smiled at her. “They’re fabulous!”
That Woman stood looking at the sandals in the mirror, feeling happier than ever. The sandals were juuust perfect. And the next moment, two things happened simultaneously.
She saw the price tag. (It was exactly half the rent she paid!) And she saw Annoying Aspiring Actress appear with at least ten bags of shopping. And she definitely didn’t look like she had paid for it herself.
“Hiii!” she trilled as she saw That Woman. “Oooh, awesome sandals, sweetie! I’ll pick these up too!” she looked at That Man who smiled indulgently. And she wondered when was the last time RAG or AAA had ever paid any bills or any sort of other expenses on their own?
That Woman was seething with rage now. She took the sandals off. Debating whether to buy those or not. She knew these would be gone by next month. AAA picked them up and tried them on. They were the only pair available.
It was one of those deep, life-changing moments for That Woman when someone else’s words of wisdom made infinite sense. Today was Douglas Adams… “Wearily on I go, pain and misery my only companions. And vast intelligence, of course… I despise you all.” And she especially despised AAA at that moment. And what was money (or sandals that cost the same as half her monthly rent) when you were trying to prove a point. As much to yourself as to the two idiots before you.
“I’m taking those,” she smiled sweetly and sarcastically at AAA. And then, trying not to think of her bank statement, she pulled out her card and paid. But it was worth it. Worth every penny! The joy of knowing that it was her hard earned money giving her solace and comfort in these trying times. “My Christmas present!” she added as she picked up the bag with the sandals. She felt really happy.
“Hang on!” That Man had followed her out of the store. “We’re really good at making snap judgments, aren’t we?”
“And we’re really good at making inanimate objects seem like our life support system, aren’t we?” she cooed right back. “Awesome things a credit card can do. Right?”
“Well, I would have had to give her Christmas presents. …So I figured why not let her shop for them herself. Saves me the trouble of thinking!” He justified.
That Woman shook her head and laughed! “I wasn’t talking about her,” she said sweetly, tilting her head to one side. “I was talking about me and my new shoes! …But it’s each to his own, I guess?” His face fell.
“Touché!” he said sheepishly.
“Merry Christmas, then!” she said graciously and walked away, smiling.
Happy. Content. In the moment…

Younger Men, Wrong Men and Nasty Thoughts - (Fable: Pt 9)

2005-12-08T22:53:00.000-08:00

God made man. Then, God made woman. Then we all know what happened which included a serpent and an apple etc. But after all that passed, God made the "Younger Man". And I strongly feel that this part of the story was always held back from us. I suspect, Younger Man took a bite of that apple too. If you know what I mean... And assuming you do, I shall go on!

An insanely early Monday morning. That Woman’s struggling to keep awake while simultaneously trying to look intelligent and thinking up questions that are vaguely coherent. It’s a meeting with the channel and the sponsors. One that she’s been through millions of times. One that she didn’t need to be in. But HAD to. She stifled a yawn, reached into her bag and took out the blue aviators. And just as she was putting them on, she caught Cool Ad Guy wink and grin at her.
“You might like it with an extra shot of espresso?” Came a bright, chirpy voice from behind her when she ordered a cappuccino. Cool Ad Guy. He leaned forward, closer to her ear and grinned again. “Oldest trick in the book!”
“An extra shot of espresso?” she really didn’t get it. He laughed out aloud. Then pulled out his own blue tinted shades from his pocket and put them on.
“May I join the Sleepy Haze Club?”
Ah! Now she got it. And laughed back with him. “I thought I was the only one who did that,” she admitted.
“Well, so did I,” he lit a cigarette. “Life’s a great leveler, isn’t it?”
She smiled, looking at him strangely. He was like that charming, deliciously evil guy from the Samsung ad.

Cool Ad Guy – Once Over…
Low rise Caramel colored corduroys. Red Levi’s T-shirt. A dark blue denim jacket over it. Red canvas sneakers. Short wavy hair casually gelled back. Stubble. And the blue tinted glasses. About 6’ tall. Lean. And about all of 20!

She tried to focus on the meeting but was constantly distracted by Cool Ad Guy. Okay, so what was with the existential philosophy, at 9AM? Also, he was actually the only other person in the entire coffee shop who wore shades. And that was a bit unnerving. Watching her signature statement being plagiarized right under her nose. Yes, life indeed was a great leveler. And wasn’t she being terribly petty and superficial?
God! What was wrong with her? She quickly brought herself back to reality. Meandering was ok. But meandering into things like this?
“Will you put that all in an email and send it to me ASAP? So we can get the ball rolling,” The most intelligent words uttered by her yet. This was called Crafty Camouflage. A few sentences, which could be spoken anytime during a meeting or discussion to make it look like you were really paying attention.
“Your e-mail?” Cool Ad Guy quipped and promptly handed her his card.
She reciprocated with one of hers. Definitely not more than 20!
Soon as the meeting got over, Cool Ad Guy was forgotten and she had moved on to more significant things.

The Jazz Festival. Date with Boring Arrogant Man. (B.A.M. - On the evolutionary ladder, on the same plane as Value Added Man but not Metrosexual.)
Bad idea! Both, the jazz festival and Boring Arrogant Man. They walked in late and just one of the reasons was that he wanted to park his car himself.
Her phone rang right then. So she headed to the restroom. “Yup!”
“Oh its youuuu…” whined her editor from the other end. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. Was calling someone else actually!”
“Well…” she hung up, irritated. Then decided to brush her hair.
“HEYYYYY!!!” a shrill voice trilled behind her. “Long time!” It was Annoying Aspiring Actress she’d once shot with.
“Yes! How’ve you been? And how’s work? Not seen much of you on TV, though,” she couldn’t resist that barb.
“Sweetie, I’m on Page 3 ALL the time!” A.A.A. leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “I’m sort of dating this guy…and he goes to all these cool parties ‘cos he’s in the restaurant business…and his first cousin’s a movie producer.” She adjusted her translucent barely there top to reveal maximum artificial cleavage. Then bent down to touch up the bronzer on her legs. She wore gold tie-up stilettos and a really short skirt.
“Wow!” That Woman forced a smile. “Great… See ya later!”

Boring Arrogant Man was on the phone outside. She smiled at him and went in, hoping to catch the fag end of the concert. Her phone beeped. An SMS.
“R U here? Saw someone who looked like u.” Cool Ad Guy.
“Where?” she shot back, looking around. Cool Ad Guy scampered from somewhere in the crowd, bypassed Boring Arrogant Man and stood before her. Grinning so disarmingly, she laughed.
“Hi!” he chirped brightly. “What are you doing here? It’s terribly boring! I came with my dad!” and he scrunched up his nose in a rather boyish way. Maybe 21. 22? Maybe.
“I’m here on a date,” she confided.
“With him?” he hinted at B.A.M hovering close-by, still on the phone. She nodded. “Dump him. You can do much better!” She was dying to say I think so too, but bit her tongue. “Hey, isn’t that chick that tart of a social climber?” He asked. She followed his gaze and saw Annoying Aspiring Actress.
“Who’s she with?” she suddenly got cattily curious and Cool Ad Guy giggled as they tried to peer through the crowd and saw her cling on to a guy. She was stunned speechless!
That Man!
“Hey, sorry about that,” B.A.M. came up to her. “Important work call.”
“Oh, it’s ok! I met a friend,” she introduced Cool Ad Guy to him who then went to get her a drink. And just then the concert ended.
She found her gaze moving towards That Man. A.A.A. was clinging to his arm and he bent down to kiss her cheek. And then…he turned and looked straight at That Woman. It took her exactly 5 seconds to change her expression from disdain to surprise to coolly aloof!
And it took That Man exactly 10 seconds to change his expression from shock, to even greater shock, to mild embarrassment to sheepishly friendly grin!
“You know him?” Cool Ad Guy asked, amused.
She nodded as That Man walked up to her. Followed by Annoying Aspiring Actress.
“Hello! …What a surprise finding you here!” he leaned forward and hugged her.
She gave him her million dollar smile. “I’m here on a date,” she informed him. He glanced at Cool Ad Guy and she didn’t want to tell him the date was actually Boring Arrogant Man. “You…?” she glanced disdainfully at Annoying Aspiring Actress and fixed him with an icy gaze.
“Oh… Yeah… I’m here with a friend,” he hoped A.A.A wouldn’t hear that. But she did as she came up to them and clung cloyingly to That Man’s arm and smiled sweetly at That Woman.
“He’s the guy you told me about earlier?” That Woman asked her politely.
“Yes,” said A.A.A. and smiled. And then, much to That Woman’s delight, she ruffled That Man’s hair, “Isn’t he so cute!”
He squirmed and winced. The unbearable burden of his own cuteness.
That Woman caught Cool Ad Guy’s eye and grinned. That Man excused himself on the pretext of getting them drinks. That Woman found B.A.M. chatting animatedly to 2 very old men. The kind you want to (and should) call venerable old gentlemen!
“God, he’s such a bore!” she couldn’t help saying and inadvertently began a comedy of errors. Or…The Battle of the Bitches. Depending on the way you looked at it.
A.A.A. took that remark to be directed at That Man. “Have we met before?” she asked Cool Ad Guy.
“Not that I remember…” he shrugged. That Man returned with a drink for A.A.A. and That Woman.
“Oh I do!” she insisted. “You were an Assistant Director on that coffee ad I was in, two years ago!” She looked up at That Man, looking surprised. “He was such a baby on the sets then. The youngest I think!” And then she gave the battle cry. “I mean, you still are so young! …No wonder you need a babysitter around!” she looked at That Woman and laughed out loud.
That Woman looked at her shocked!
“Oh…now I know!” Cool Ad Guy spoke up sharply. “That ad! But it didn’t have YOU in it?” he narrowed his eyes, trying to remember, and then his face brightened up. “Unless you were one of those 6-7 other girls playing buddy to the main lead? …Hey! Of course now I place you. You WERE one of them!” He laughed out loud and so did That Woman.
“So how long have you guys been dating?” She looked pointedly at That Man and asked. He evaded the question.
“We just met… a week ago,” he mumbled. That Woman got an SMS.
“She is pissing me off!” it was from Cool Ad Guy. Without looking at him she typed back a quick reply. “Me too! You did a great job snubbing her! Thanks!”
“Do I now qualify for a real date with you?” He shot back a reply in a flash.
She smiled. Looked at A.A.A. and went for a raw nerve. “By the way, I’m casting for a music video. It’s going to be part of a film starring John Abraham. Need a tall sweet looking girl who can dance well and act a bit too.” And she paused for effect. “Someone like you actually, but…with dark hair…none of these blonde streaks…”
And at that exact moment, A.A.A. was squirming inwardly to ask for the date, time and venue of the auditions. This was exactly the kind of break she was looking for. And she could dance quite well too, because she took classes!
Cool Ad Guy piped in promptly, “But we need someone younger for that…”
A.A.A. snapped back in action. “Sweetie, just because you’re not out of the crib yet, doesn’t mean the rest of the world is that old!”
That Woman gave her a withering look and turned her full attention to That Man. “So, what have you been up to?” Payback time!
“You tell me!” he grinned at her. “Last time we met, you’d set an alarm and you slipped away so quietly.”
“Come on… As if it bothered you that much!” she smiled sweetly.
“It did…till you sent me that SMS… a week later!”
“Ah! That SMS,” she smiled looking evasive, “Have you seen his fabulous B & O home theater system?” she asked A.A.A. who looked like she hadn’t. “That’s what he uses as a bait to lure women into his den,” she told Cool Ad Guy and grinned.
That Man got a call just then and he moved away from them. A.A.A. couldn’t let that moment pass. “So you got lured by a home theater system?”
“Only till the time we watched Shrek, honey!” That Woman smiled sweetly.
That Man returned. She finished her drink and smiled at him. “I was just going to tell her about those lovely paintings in your bedroom. And how that orange colored wall sets them off so well, especially when you dim the lights and rest your head on those down pillows and look at it…” she handed him her empty glass and smiled. A.A.A.’s face fell.
Cool Ad Guy took That Woman’s hand and they walked away. To Boring Arrogant Man.
“I’m really sorry,” he looked at her smugly. “But I saw you with friends…”
“Oh yes! It’s a small world,” she smiled.
Her phone beeped again. SMS from Cool Ad Guy. “Almost forgot I came here with dad! Let’s do brunch, Sunday?”
She smiled. Typed a “Sure thing!” and pressed send.
The phone beeped again. An SMS from That Man. “Before you reach a hasty conclusion, let me add… If anyone is babysitting, it’s me.”
She smirked. “Liar! Liar! Pants on fire ;-)”
“Lunch, Sunday?”
“Already have plans with someone… Sorry!” And somehow typing those words and sending them made her feel really, truly wonderful. For some inexplicable reason.
“Shall I get you a drink?” B.A.M. asked her politely and she shook her head.
“Already had one too many! I’m working tomorrow.”
“On a Saturday?” he looked genuinely shocked.
“Yup!”
“Whoa! I thought my job was crazy!” he was an investment banker.
“Well… Guess it happens to all of us…” God! She was running out of things to say. And this had been the general drift of the conversation they’d had all evening and a few times prior to that.

12:30 PM. Sunday morning.
A cell phone on silent mode with 8 missed calls and 3 messages. That Woman was still in bed, having returned at about 3 AM from edits. She shielded her eyes from the light streaming in from the windows and frowned. Suddenly she remembered! Brunch with Cool Ad Guy! But he hadn’t specified where? And what time exactly? And most of all…she was too tired to go anywhere. She picked up her phone and went through the missed calls. 4 were from Cool Ad Guy. Shit! He must have been waiting. 1 from Boring Arrogant Man. Why? Oh, Why? 1 from Annoying Aspiring Actress. Gawd! She’ll never give up! And 2 from her best friend.
She got out of bed, wondering what to say to Cool Ad Guy. How old WAS he, really? Her doorbell rang just as she stepped out of the bathroom and she winced as she walked to answer it.
“Didn’t want to step out of the house, did you? And you wanted to lie to me, but couldn’t ‘cos you remembered how sweet and charming I was. And my missed calls made you feel guilty, didn’t they?” Cool Ad Guy standing at her doorstep with a bottle of wine, a pizza, yellow gerberas and the newspaper.
Cool Ad Guy – Once Over…
Low rise light blue jeans. White T-shirt with a bright turquoise print. Red canvas sneakers. Short wavy hair casually gelled back. Stubble. And the blue tinted glasses. How old WAS he…?
“And you can ask me in once you stop checking me out!” he grinned. She stared at him incredulously.
“Hi!”
He laughed. “Hi! …And was I right, or was I right about you planning to lie to me?”
“You were right!” she admitted. “But hey, how’d you know where I live?”
“You know,” he sat down on the couch and carefully placed all the things on the table, “it’s not difficult to find out. We do have common friends!”
He picked up the empty vase on her dining table, walked into the kitchen and filled it with water and neatly arranged the flowers into it. She simply stared at his ease and comfort around her house. And that too in the first 10 minutes!
“You don’t mind, do you?” he asked her.
“Oh! No…no…” and then she realized she was still in her track pants. “I’ll be right out,” she scampered inside her room to change. Came out wearing jeans and a bright pink T-shirt. She’d also added a quick dash of kajal and lip gloss.
He was in the kitchen. Making coffee. She couldn’t believe it!
“So how’ve you been? I’m happy to know you survived your Friday date!” he winked.
“So am I. Hey, Annoying Aspiring Actress called me today. Missed call, though. And I don’t want to call her back.”
“Good idea!” he grinned, pouring the coffee in two mugs and handing her one. “So how’s work?”
“Great!”
“How’s life in general?”
“Well…good too,” she sat on the floor cushion sipping her coffee.
“Ok…” he frowned, “What else? …How’s your love life?”
“Well… quite pathetic actually!”
“Yes! I saw what you went out with!” he looked at her disapprovingly and she laughed. God, he was cute! But how old… How old… “Do you like the coffee?”
“How old are you?” It shot out before she could check herself.
“24,” he answered pat. “And you are…twenty-something…?” he raised an eyebrow cutely.
She nodded. “Twenty-something! Right!” What do you think you are doing? Hiding your age like those ditzy actresses trying to look younger by getting constant plastic surgery.
“27” she said, wishing she was 26, at least. Shut up! If you are 27, you are 27!
“Shall I open the wine?” he asked.
“Sure!”
And thus began the Sunday brunch!
“So do you think A.A.A. is really seeing that guy?” he asked.
Vicious gossip for the next hour about random actresses, models and people they knew. Followed by a mushy movie marathon. Starting with Love Actually. Stopping midway to realize Cool Ad Guy was crying. She was too, but she pretended otherwise as she looked at him and grinned. He grinned back too, albeit sheepishly and she felt something in her heart for him.
What? …Oh no! NO! …Not those thoughts… Please God, nooooo…
She looked away, staring at the TV. Deliberately not looking at him. The film ended. Their hands brushed as they both reached out for the box of tissues. She looked at him. Her heart cringed. He still looked so sheepish.
No. No. No. Don’t. You can’t think like that! You’re a modern, independent, educated girl! You can’t, should not, will not think like that. Of course, you can date a guy 3 years younger… You can. You can. You can.
“What happened?” he asked her.
“Nothing. …You just…well…you just feel like a younger brother!” she blurted.
How can you? How can you? HOW.CAN.YOU. And even if you THOUGHT so, why did you SAY it? God, he’s so cute! SO. DAMN. CUTE. And you’ve got to spoil it all…by saying something stupid…like he seems like a younger brother!

“Well…” he stared at her seriously. “In that case…what’s your take on incest?”
Her phone beeped. An SMS from That Man.
“If second thoughts strike about Sunday plans… Just SOS!”

Cuteness, Intelligence and Shifting Perspectives (Fable Pt. 8)

2005-10-21T04:52:00.000-07:00

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times," When Charles Dickens wrote that, he must be having an affair with his married ex-boyfriend.
That Woman was having dinner at a swanky restaurant with friends when a waiter brought a note to her. "Is that really you? Never would have imagined finding you here. Coffee, later? VS." Her heart jumped as she saw the man who'd sent it. He smiled at her from across the room. She was sure everyone could hear her heart beating. She smiled back and sent an affirmation for "Coffee, later?"
That Woman had gone out with VS 9 years ago. The relationship had lasted 18 magical, blissful, fun months. She was younger, more audacious, spunkier, just out of college. He was about 10 years older, wiser, swiftly moving up the career ladder, sensitive and kinder. Problem arose when in a fierce burst of independence, That Woman accused VS of treating her too indulgently. Not taking her seriously enough. This was a result of having long soul searching conversations which shimmered with her optimism. He fielded it with his cynicism. The kind that comes when you've been working for too many years and have been around and seen it all. He never laughed at her dreams and thoughts. Just smiled indulgently and fondly. They broke up one summer afternoon when she got admission into a snobby film school, moved out of his chic little barsaati and into the hole-in-the-wall she could barely afford. He went to London. The break-up was amicable. No blood, no concussions. Look ma, no scars!
She got caught up in the professional life in the media world. He rose up the corporate ladder somewhere. And they never met. Till today. And now, with all the years behind her, she realized that on the Relationship Rating Scale, this had been one of the best.
He smiled as he watched her approach him at the coffee shop. Her heart was in her mouth. He'd aged very well. Looked drop dead handsome and she was just dying to hear that baritone voice! "This is amazing!" she grinned.
"Indeed. I never would have imagined I'd run into you like this. In Bombay!" He hugged her warmly. "You look great!"
"So do you!" She smiled. "I live here now. In Bombay," she loved the way is eyes widened with admiration. And maybe, a hint of pride! He was the first boyfriend who'd told her ambition was a good thing!
"Married?" He asked, rather suddenly.
"No. ...You?"
"Yes," he looked hesitant but she didn’t want to probe further. They sat and talked about all that had happened in the past 9 years. It was a lot of catching up.
Its strange meeting an ex unexpectedly. Your whole life post break-up flows past you in a brilliant montage. You clearly see where you were at, where you're now and all that you've been through in between. And, if the relationship was a good one, you also remember ALL the good moments you've shared.
That Woman and VS spent over 3 hours talking. And both were equally surprised that there was so much to talk about. A dinner date was fixed for the following evening too to tackle the spill-over of tonight's conversation. The good night hug lasted a tad too long. We make resolves. Loads of them. Everyday. And then we break them too...just like that! Just as easily. When it comes to resolves, we all live in glass houses and shouldn’t throw stones. Because you never really know!
And a startling thought woke her up the next morning.
"Would you date an ex?" she asked V the next day.
"Absolutely. Each one of them. Even those who broke my heart!" he answered. He echoed her heart’s voice.
Same question was put to Shyam who was the voice of reason. (…Ok, sometimes!)
“Ummm… No.”
“Even if the relationship was one of your best?” she asked tenaciously.
“In that case it should have worked,” wise caustic comment, typical of Shyam. “There’s a reason why they’re ex.” Ok, ok, got it!
“The scars will run deeper this time onwards,” said R, who is voice of reason 10 times Shyam.
Dinner with VS at hip new restaurant. Conversation still didn’t run out. Cocktails at quiet lounge. Conversations grew deeper and more meaningful. And he didn’t go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like, “I’ve missed you so much!”
“Me too,” she said with the greatest honesty. And she had indeed. She had been through a lot to be where she was and she missed having a soul mate.
He held her close. She asked him over to her place.
And it happened. They kissed.
It felt like a scene from Koyaanisqatsi. She knew what exactly was happening. Her stomach seemed poised to eject from her body at any moment. She was clinging to broken shards of reality.
They kissed again. It felt beautiful.
Then, after a few terrifying minutes like this, it all smoothed out. Her stomach settled. The eyes refocused. She decided that she was not in fact drowning ... and that the basic laws of physics still pertained. She gathered herself, and stood up straight.
As if on autopilot, they kissed again. And she led him inside.
Yes. An extremely bad move according to the voices of reason. But it was victory for the heart at that moment in time.

***

Each day that passed brought an interesting episode that made her think.

DAY 1

She could see the park from her window at work. The trees there were waving wooden fingers at her, and birds were somehow flying without flapping their wings. It felt like there was a magical accordion in her skull and it was pumping a thick, steady breeze of colors through her brain.

She starts contemplating about her time with VS. And this whole thing about The Running Into An Ex.

Maybe the past is like an anchor holding us back. Maybe you have to let go of who you were, to become who you will be. Maybe we just obsess over relationships that feel un-finished. Maybe our mistakes are what make our fate. Without them, what would shape our lives? Perhaps if we never veered off course, we wouldn't fall in love, or have babies, or be who we are. After all, seasons change. So do cities. People come into your life and people go. And the ones you love or have loved are always in your heart. And if you're very lucky, a phone call away.

How amazing it was—the way it jolts you from patterns and ruts and lets you examine your everyday life from the outside. And then she thinks about the people she's met here - on The Planet of the Exes- conjuring their faces in her mind. She remembered the thoughts and stories that spilled out in her conversations with VS. Each person and thought and story forges a teensy new dot in her brain...a dot that hadn't been there before...and these dots join a web of connections in her head ... and the people and places and thoughts and stories swirl together in an overarching conceptual understanding of the universe and her place in it...

***

DAY 2

At dinner, T complained about her husband. He was cheating on her and she knew it! She also knew the Other Wo(e)man. Their marriage had been quite rocky for the past year. And her husband was a total bastard and we all knew that! But now T was seriously contemplating divorce. And she seemed quite calm about it.

"Well, it was his idea, to begin with!" she said coolly and That Woman was shocked. "Oh come on! It's such an obvious cry for attention and flexing the muscles. K would never want a divorce. Where would he go? How would he eat? How would he be able to afford those expensive Rajesh Pratap shirts he loves so much?"

Okay, so she was right about K. K was a documentary filmmaker who cruised through life making issue-based films while T earned the wine and cheese. T was Vice-President of a major TV news channel.

Back home, as she waited for VS to return from his business dinner, K's words kept running in her mind. And she questioned herself with cool logic. Did she want to be the Other Woman, ever? Just the thought made her cringe. VS and her had never really discussed this. They just talked a lot about all sorts of interesting things. Or they made love. She rationalized, that all the time they really got was between 11PM to 9AM after which they'd leave for work. You dont spend the little time you got together discussing things that would make you feel bad.

***

DAY 3

"No, really! What do you think you're doing? And where is all this supposed to lead?" questioned R.

"Well...i dont know. But it feels nice. As of now."

"Gimme a break! You had REASONS to break up with him all those years ago. And he's now married, and has a child too!" R went on.

***

DAY 4

"Have you ever felt love pass you by?" She asked V. They were standing on a street corner near her building.

"Oh, all the time!" he said.

"You know, when you meet someone who's just right for you. And you know you're in love and you'll be happy for the rest of your life... And at that very moment, you come to know something startling. Like, maybe he's gay!" she spoke from experience.

"Or, maybe he's married!" He spoke from experience too.

And at that exact moment, bright, sparkly, colorful firecrackers went off in the street nearby.

She stared at V. Was that a sign? And V looked amused.

***

DAY 5

The firecrackers never left her mind. She woke up that morning thinking about relationships.

There are those that open you up to something new and exotic, those that are old and familiar, those that bring up lots of questions, those that bring you somewhere unexpected, those that bring you far from where you started, and those that bring you back.

VS brought her back to that place in her past where she still believed. In everything!

"The idea is to not be too intelligent about life, love and other things!" she remembered Old College Friend saying that.

She had agreed then. "It's much easier breezing through life pretending to be dumb and fluttering your lashes. There will always be someone dumb enough to take care of you. But rich. Extremely rich!"

"Intelligence brings appendages like cynicism, suspicions, contradictions and just too many questions you get tired answering. Look at the average girl in a Barista who's desperately clinging to a jerk of a boyfriend? If intelligence crept in, she'd drop him first thing," That Woman stated. And it was true.

Her intelligence had been asserting itself for the last 5 days and she was trying to keep it away.

***

DAY 6

Today was going to be crazy. She had a 12 hour shoot with an American soap star who was visiting Bombay. And the channel that aired his soap wanted her to make a special. She wore her best stilletos to put her in a better mood.

"I'm quitting my job," said Music Exec. Girl surprising them all. They had always envied what she did. "I'm going to South America. Just travelling around."

"God, I wish I could do something like that!" That Woman sighed.

"You can," Music Exec. Girl said passionately."I mean, what's stopping you? I woke up 2 months ago and looked around, and i thought, what the hell is my life about? What am i doing? And i realised I need to live. Outside of all this. I need to get some perspective on life."

"It's all about that, isnt it?" That Woman said thoughtfully. "Perspective."

And just then, she saw VS entering the coffee shop of the hotel she was in. She was startled. It was the same feeling as the fireworks on the street.

"How come you're here?" she asked him.

"Had a conference to attend here, baby," he hugged her briefly. Then watched her walk away shouting instructions to her crew on the walkie-talkie. He looked highly amused.

Perspective... The word got stuck in her head.

And yes, it was beginning to be a long, tiring, crazy day.

An SMS from VS made her smile. He was wondering if she could sneak in a quick sandwich at the coffee shop. He sat there smiling as she walked in juggling her bag, the script folder, 2 tapes, walkie-talkie and her cell phone. She was arguing with the event management company as she sat opposite him. Looking highly stressed but completely in command of the situation. She hung up after 10 minutes. Victorious.

He smiled at her. "This is the first time i'm actually seeing you at work. You're so different!"

"Am I? How?" she asked, sipping on water.

"I dont know," he said. "You look very...cute!"

Her heart broke in two so quietly that only she heard it. But didnt let the hurt show. She faked a shoot emergency and ran off into the nearest washroom. Tears stinging her eyes. She washed her face. Re-applied her kajal and proceeded to resume the shoot after the dinner break.

Cute, she thought with disgust. In other words, nonthreatening. Pleasant, but not good enough to be taken seriously... Someone who was just drifting along. And this from the man who'd told her to have a focus and sufficient ambition in life. Who'd told her that you shouldnt have to sacrifice who you are just because somebody else has a problem with it. The words that had been part of her support system the last 10 years that she'd spent trying to make it in her career. Working long hours, surviving insane amounts of stress! And if she had to choose a word to summarize all that, CUTE definitely wouldnt be it.

And she definitely did have a perspective on this one.

She went home alone that night. Her feet hurt like hell. She must have walked 10 kms up and down the hotel corridors all through the day. And she was famished. The emptiness of her apartment unleashed the intelligence she had so carefully kept under wraps. She knew what the last 10 years had meant to her. She knew exactly how she had evolved in those years. And she realised that the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you can find someone to love the you you love, well, that's heavenly!

Shhe made herself a sandwich. And then suddenly, didn't feel like eating it. That's the thing about needs. Sometimes when you get them met, you don't need them anymore.

It was another perspective. And what's perspective, but a state of mind. Going to an art museum shifts your perspective. Meeting new people shifts your perspective. Smoking weed shifts your perspective. Moving from Delhi to Bombay shifts your perspective. A successful career shifts your perspective. Being with an ex-boyfriend shifts your perspective.

But can you really move into the future if your past is present?

Would she still be called "Cute" if she didnt? Or what if she did?

Or was it just another shift in perspective?

Will there be firecrackers in the street again?

Hopeful Peddlers and All Stars (Fable - Pt. 7)

2005-10-16T16:16:00.000-07:00

What do smart girls do when they’ve to wake up early in the morning and they’ve to party the night before? They set the alarm much in advance, should they forget later.
And that’s exactly what That Woman did. The alarm goes off at 7AM and she’s out of bed by 7:15. And then, horror of horrors, she sees a man. And then it all comes back.
Last night. Cocktails at an art gallery. Toasting a new, young artist. Alcohol, art, artist. Quick repartee and interesting conversation. More alcohol, art, artist. Discussion on films. Even more alcohol…artist. Then: Blur, blur, blur! Now: Home, bed, artist in it.
“Oh dear!” That Woman’s immediate reaction. Trying not to make too much noise, she goes about getting ready for an early morning shoot. And just as she was about to step out, Cute Artist wakes up.
“Heyyy…” he mumbles, looking surprised, looking cute.
“I’ve to go, baby. …Call me sometime!” and she’s out of the door.
He did call. A week later. Dinner, alcohol, a shared joint, home, bed. And the morning after she woke up before him and left for work.
He called her again that evening peddling a relationship.

(Warning: In this space and in our world, a LOT of people do a lot of things. We shall not be judgmental about them. Especially the women. Yes, it’s true. Sometimes women want to have just sex. No conversations. No commitments.)

“Honey, if I wanted to have an affair with you, it would have to last a long time. I don’t want a fling.”
“Oh!” she’s confused. “Ok. If that’s what you want…” More decisive now. “Take care. Bye.”
“Why do you want a fling when I’m ready to commit?” Cute Artist said.
“Well… simply because I don’t want commitment. A fling is just what I want right now,” she replied honestly.
“To begin with?” He asked…hopefully.
“No. There’s no beginning or whatever. It’s no-strings-attached or nothing!”
“Well…”
“Well…what?” she’s irritated.
“Well… It’s not right!” He would finally blurt out.
“Why not?”
“Well…how can it be? Just sex, no…no…emotions?”
“Yes.”
“Nooo… I mean…why would you want that?” his lame attempt at reasoning.
“And why can’t I? …Men do that kind of stuff! I’m at least being honest and telling you outright instead of just plain cheating!”
“What about love?”
“I don’t love you.”
End of discussion. This is where That Woman hangs up leaving him wondering…

Why are men peddling relationships? And why can’t women have sex like a man? An interesting topic for conversation at a weekend party in the suburbs.
“And you didn’t feel a thing?” asked P.
“None whatsoever!” That Woman answered.
“I know what you mean,” this was S, close girlfriend and kickass journalist. She currently liked two men. Hot Guy for his body and prowess in bed. Smart Guy for his conversations. Her woes began when Hot Guy started wanting conversations and Smart Guy wanted sex. “I really don’t know what to do? Hot Guy wants to go for dinner and that entire talking bit and I’m like, let’s take a rain check, sweetie, I’m at work, while I’m actually out with Smart Guy having dinner. And after dinner, Smart Guy wants me to come over to his place and I tell him, not tonight, sweetie, have an extremely early morning tomorrow.”
“I think gay men have it all figured,” P added. “I just walk up to the guy I fancy and tell him I want sex and no relationship. And more often than not, I score! But I also back off when someone wants a relationship. But they don’t come peddling!”
“Exactly!” That Woman agreed. “There’s a thin dividing line between attraction and repulsion. And repulsion starts when they begin wanting to have deep, meaningful conversations with you. Instead of just sex.”
What IS with men today? Gone are the days when you could have a wonderful no-strings-attached without having the guy “peddle” himself as a prospective boyfriend/soul mate/husband to you. Not only is it downright annoying, it’s also kind of embarrassing to see a man whine before you. Another interesting point to note – the peddling doesn’t start as whining. It starts in a very holier-than-thou way.
“And then they go about calling you an absolute total bitch!” S added disdainfully.
“But you’ve GOT to be an absolute total bitch if you’re doing that kind of thing!” P showed solidarity and suddenly he grinned looking at someone. “Guess who’s here!”
“Do we know you?” That Woman smiled saucily.
That Man took out the cigar from his mouth, looked away to flick the ash and smiled, “No. We’re just strangers in the night, exchanging glances!”
“What fun!” she said wryly.
“So, why’re you being an absolute total bitch?” He looked highly interested.
“Same reason why men are absolute total bastards when you want to have a relationship with them and they just want sex!” That Woman stated plainly.
“Ah! I see. So who do you want to have a relationship with?” He asked.
“I don’t. I just want to have sex. The way men do.” She replied standing straighter and chin up.
“So you ARE an absolute total bitch!” He laughed, rather amused. Raised his glass to her too. She smiled. “This is a real question for single, independent women these days, though!” He added.
And he was right. And he was also one of the few, rare men who knew what exactly was happening to the women. And why? For the first time in India’s history, a large number of women in their mid-twenties and onwards have as much money and power as men – or at least enough to feel like they don’t need a man, except for sex. And its become easier for single women to adopt babies too. And yes, this paradox is the topic of many an analytic hour till That Woman tried it out herself. Giving up on relationships, as it were, and throttling up on power, in order to find contentment. And as we’ll see, it worked. Sort of.
“You agree with it, then?” asked S.
“Of course. It’s only fair. Men have done it all their lives. Some still do. And almost all men have promised a relationship in order to get easy sex at some point or other in their lives. And almost all men, at some point, have opted out of a relationship stating commitment phobia as a valid, acceptable reason! It’s only fair if women do that now.”
“Then why do men come peddling relationships now?” She asked.
“Well...it’s just Step One in a turf war,” he replied. “No one likes it when women do things like this. We come from the caves. Remember?” He snapped his fingers in front of her eyes and walked away to the karaoke station puffing at his cigar.
“Yes,” P agreed. “Soon you’ll have men on all those Tele Shopping Ads peddling relationships. And sneakers hanging from lampposts will no longer be a code for ‘Crack Available’. The man will be pushing himself.”
She laughed out loud. Throwing her head back. “I’m loving it!” she said smugly.
“What?” S asked.
“You know that phase when you’re horribly broke and there’s this great party you’ve been invited to. So you go and blow up a huge chunk of your last money buying a sexy new pair of sandals. You go to the party and you have the rocking-est time you’ve had in weeks. Suddenly everything looks better. And all your pending cheques arrive the following week?” That Woman looked really excited.
“Of course I know!” S laughed.
“It’s that joyful confidence that fascinates men. They don’t know whether to love you or hate you!”
It hadn’t been easy for women to get to this point. And that’s why they’re tough as nails, proud and smug. This place of complete independence where we had the luxury of treating men like sex objects. It had taken hard work, loneliness, a series of heartbreaks when you’re younger and a believer, men who’ve used you, men who’ve never cared, men who’ve cheated on you, men who’ve not committed when you wanted them to…till the realization that you’ve to put an end to it. There might never be anyone there for you and you had to take care of yourself in every sense of the word. And a man’s presence is not what gives meaning and substance to your life! They don’t want to have a relationship, but as soon as you only want them for sex, they don’t like it. That’s when they call you an absolute total bitch!
“After a while, you don’t even want to have feelings anymore. You just want to get on with your life!” said S. “Women have wasted a lot of time earlier over men… but not anymore!”
“I agree,” That Woman said. “Cute Artist was great in bed. My work’s going great. I still hang out with you guys. A large thick chocolate shake with large fries takes care of odd cravings and shopping helps mood swings!”
“Oh, totally!” P agreed. “Your cravings for salt, sugar, hot, cold junk food taken care of in one cool meal. Followed by shopping. Even sex is never that good!”
“You need to sleep with someone new!” That Woman advised.
“So do you!” he retorted.
Suddenly there was music!

Somebody once told me
The world is gonna roll me
I ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed
She was lookin’ kind of dumb
With her finger and her thumb
In the shape of an L on her forehead
That Man was singing an incredibly inspirational song in an incredible voice. P, S, That Woman whistled. And joined him for the chorus. This was her song tonight.

Hey now you’re an All Star, get your game on go play.
Hey now you’re a rock star get your show on get paid.

That Woman was walking down the stairs. “Are the shoes hurting you?” That Man actually noticed. “They’re a size smaller,” she admitted sheepishly. “But I LOVE them!”
“They’re gorgeous. Can I take them for a drink?”
They went to That Man’s place. He opened a bottle of wine and they watched Shrek 1 & 2 on his famous Bang & Olufsen home theater system. They sang all the songs aloud. Twice. Ate a lot of salty popcorn, smoked weed and then she said, “I have to go.”
“Its 4 in the morning. I’m not going to let you go home now,” he stated.
“I’ve an early day,” she told him.
“So do I.”
He gave her a T-shirt and boxer shorts and went into the bathroom while she changed. She got into the bed. He had down pillows which she always associated with all the happy memories she had. And they were extremely comfortable.
When That Man came back into the room, she was sound asleep. Her cell phone beside her pillow. Due to ring in 4 hours.