Indi-yeah!!

Bite me if I never cared about sports. In my defence, I had my own reasons and then merely because I would prefer reading a good book then making judgements on how some random sportsperson on TV is playing (and not that I am getting paid for it). The only thing that ever made me curious about cricket was- ‘Why all do all men lose sense of reality while watching it? Why do they shout and abuse so loud as if the players could hear them through the TV sets? Why do they cry when they their teams lose?’
I hate myself to admit this, but all my doubts ended on this epic day,30th march 2011. The day when Indian cricket team kicked the Paki’s, where it hurts the most.

I vaguely remember my plan for the day. Few hours at office, I’ll come back home, clean up the room and sleep (yippee!!). Little did I know that there was a history in making outside my cramped room and boring plans.

The moment I stepped out, I could feel something different. Cricket was in the air. On my way to office I have seen order and chaos on the same road. It is not every day that you see people wearing blue jerseys and holding Indian flags on one side and green paint faced Pakistani supporters on the other. The excitement was contagious and before I know what was happening, I became the victim of what they call ‘Cricket fever’.
My extremely delayed realization deprived me of the luxury of getting the tickets first hand and so we decided to go to kava and see what the hype was all about. And honestly, I could not complaint. From the time we step in till the time we got out, it was a total frenzy. The atmosphere was no less than that of the real deal. Free beers and whistles, I did everything I could. And amidst all this festivity I saw myself whistling, shouting and abusing with whatever energy I have. (Bite me again for being a hypocrite)
And when India won, Chandigarh went crazy. No festival, no occasion, no party, no other day could be the compared to what we witnessed. We- the Indians, went crazy and me, I was a part of it.
The second best decision (of the day) was to check out the post –victory effect on the city. So we went on the famous Geri route and it proved quite fruitful. Never before I have ever seen anything like this. The roads were jam-packed with people dancing with and giving hi-fives in the air. Hooting and congratulating. Everyone greeted everyone. And though we all are ecstatic about India getting into the finals, this was our true winning. (After all, ijjat ka sawaal tha and India made us proud)

It’s funny how we can compromise with our self-respect and dignity when we are in love. We fight, we curse, we loathe the person once promised to die for, we say things we are not supposed to, and we do things we are not proud of. And when all is said and done, we long to go back and hold hands and forget it all.

What is there about love that we cannot resist? What is there which makes us take in all the hatred and want us to go back to the same person? Why is it that all we remember are the amazing times and not the worse ones? Why is it so easy to be in love and so hard to get out of it ….!!!

After Munni it’s Sheila’s time to hit puberty

I have never been a big fan of Bollywood movies or their soundtracks. They are mostly rip offs of some old classic Hollywood movies or some famous band’s/singer’s compilation. But recently Bollywood has gone a bit original and how, with the tracks like ‘munni badnaam hui’ and ‘Sheila ki jawaani’.  Lyrics with words you would fail to imagine the true meaning behind them. Anyhow, I am certain they don’t have any meaning.

Whatever happened to good, soulful music?  Remember those 70’s and 80’s era when Kishore Kumar’s compilations, Asha Bhonsle’s songs or Lata Mangeshkar’s voice could shake down your soul. The 90’s were still tolerable with Kumar Sanu and Anu Malik (well, I don’t really mean Anu Malik but since I’ve mentioned already that am not a huge fan of Hollywood music, this is all I could come up with). And now with people like Himesh Reshamiya, some more losers and few more losers it’s the ‘death of the music’.

Imagine parents asking their kid to sing that song they know for their guests ‘beta uncle, aunty ko who waala gaana sunao’  and the 5 year old kid with all their skills and efficiency would sing and dance ‘munni badnaam hui darling tere liye’. Does that kid have a slightest idea know who munni is and how she got into all this badnaami?

Imagine the horror of those poor girls who unfortunately got names like munni, Sheila and few more such to come (I don’t think we are stopping that soon) I still am not over the after effects of that Dairy Milk’s advertisement few years’ back, which had this Miss Palampur character. Being from Palampur was like a punishment then, people would actually address me and other girls by ‘Miss Palampur’. Trust me; it was no fun at all. I have all the sympathies with the girls going through the same. I really hope they would sue these music directors and song writers someday who are selling nonsense in the name of music. At the least Sheila dixit should do something. She should feel humiliated on being reminded of her ‘jawaani’ in this way.

P.S- songwriters and lyricists – Please stop treating your music like some brothel selling their best ‘item’ girls and start respecting it for the sake of those who really care.

Want to borrow a Jack?

I think way too much. Be it imagining places I want to visit or having conversation with thousands of people inside my head. I can spend hours thinking, specially the latter one. Having conversations with the people I am angry with, my ex, my friends, practically anyone and everyone. I play the role of all the characters in my conversation. Come up with some senseless conclusion, get frustrated and sleep on it. I am sure most us do that too. Making up imaginary conversation. But just a few days back I read this article in a very old copy of Reader’s digest titled ‘Want to borrow a jack?’ And the moment I read it, I wanted to share it. It’s a short story which I am pretty sure everyone can relate to.
Once, a fellow was speeding down a country road late at night and bang! Went a Tyre. He got out and looked and realized he had no jack. Then he said to himself. Well, I’ll just walk down to the nearest farmhouse and borrow a jack! He saw a light in a distance and said, Well, I am in luck: the farmer’ awake. I’ll just knock on the door and say I’m in trouble; would you please lend me a jack? And he’ll say, why, of course-but bring it back.
He walked on a little farther and the light went out so he said to himself, ‘now he’s gone to bed and he’ll be annoyed because I am bothering him-so he’ll probable want some money for his jack. And I’ll say, all right, it isn’t very neighbourly- but I’ll give you ten cents’. And he’ll say, ‘do you think you can get me out the bed in the middle of the night and then offer me ten cents? Give me 50 cents or get yourself a jack somewhere else. By this time the fellow had worked himself to lather. He turned into the gate and muttered, fifty cents! Alright, I’ll give you 50 cents. But no more! A poor devil has an accident and all he needs is a jack. You probably won’t let me have one no matter what I give you. That’s the kind of chap you are.
Which brought him up to the door and he knocked-loudly, angrily. The farmer stuck his head out his head out of the window above the door and shouted down ‘who’s there?’ ’ what do you want?’ The fellow stopped pounding on the door and yelled up, ‘you and your damn jack! You know what you can do with it!
After a short laugh, I was totally nodding my head thinking ‘Yes, I do that all the times’. Yell or demand attention from friends simply because I have imagined that they are not interested talking to me anymore. Do nasty things to people just because I have imagined that they were conspiring against me. I am sure this could have led to wars in earlier time.
Moral of the story- Whenever your brain runs too much, hold your horses and remember to tell yourself ‘WANT TO BORROW A JACK?’

I just don’t want to Grow up

So I am 23 years old now. When did that happen? I have never realized that you grow so that fast. I do not like a bit of it. They say that when you hit your 20’s, you enter a new phase of life. A more mature, career oriented, doing something with your life age. We are what they call ‘young adults’. I personally don’t trust the word ‘adult’ that much. With that word comes so many more hidden responsibilities. You have to be so careful with what you talk and what you think, where you study, and what people you mingle with. What brand of clothes you wear, how many pair of shoes you own and how trendy your bags are.
What was wrong with the childhood and the teenage life? What was wrong when we were just kids, ‘young’ and innocent? Just had to go to school and study, killing time gossiping with your girlfriends, to have crush on cute seniors and not think once about the consequences. Who cared about relationships, making out, breaking up and infidelities? Just one hand shake was enough to give you jitters all night. A missed call on your landline phone was enough to let you know that someone is missing you. The continuous staring was enough to make you blush.
Sharing homework and copying the class test from anywhere you can get the answers from. Buttering the teachers, mimicking, calling them by names. In the recess, always burrowing money from friends to get that new fizzy drink from the school canteen. Cheering the seniors even though they won’t even look at you. Surviving on that one chewing gum stuck in the bottom of your pocket. Having parties, relishing Maggie, cold drink and chocolates. Make a water tank your mirror in the washrooms. Hiding combs in your bags. Enjoying cat fights in the class room. Almost waste a whole month deciding what to give your friends on their birthday ending up giving nothing. Filling the last sheet of your notebook making doodles and drawings from your imagination. Tying Rakhi and Friendship bands and getting those special treatment on your birthdays, when you are  the only one with the bag of candies.
How hard was it? I say not at all. As compared to our so-called-young adulthood, it was a cakewalk. No one to judge you, no one ever expected anything more than good marks from you. Nobody cared what you wear, what car your dad drives or what brand you follow. No one cared about how many friends you have added on Facebook or how many followers you have on twitter. Honestly, I hate to grow up. Every time I look at those school kids going back home wearing that school uniform, chit-chatting and licking that ice-cream, I feel nostalgic. I wish every day to go back to that time and never to return. Those heavy school bags were nothing compared to the burden we carry on our shoulders today.

I now pronounce you 'IMMORAL'

If you are a girl and trying to make new friends (particularly guys), the first thing you'll be judged upon is your a. face, b. your assets and c. the most important of all - if you go clubbing, smoke or drink. Why do they need to know this? I tell you why , to make sure that in future they can either sleep with you, crash at your place to party or simply get rid of their hangover.If in any of the above case you refuse to do so, trust me you will be branded as immoral or characterless...How? The answer is simple- despite from doing all the things which in a male chauvinistic society you are not supposed to do you refuse to fulfill his fantasies .You are that ‘bad girl’ he craves for and when the grapes are sour, you get the title.
But sometimes I wonder, are they really right? Does indulging in these things really make us girls characterless? Or does having fun at your own fancy and refusing to sleep around with people make you one? What really makes you immoral, characterless, a slut? Is it because you don’t want to entertain perverts?Or give in to their demands?
Once, I was hanging out with a bunch of random people. We went to a pub and drinks were served.This girl wanted to smoke and everyone started staring at her. One of the guy started murmuring and expressing his hatred for the girls who smoke( And we are talking about a guy here who would, after two bottles down won’t even remember his own name or where he comes from).Now, I am sure this girl doesn’t mean any harm and was clearly aware of what she was doing. But the whole situation got tensed and awkward. My only question was – ‘How are your getting drunk and losing the senses and behaving weird is any better than a girl who is in full control, just getting a cigarette for herself? ‘
At times when you meet your old  friends after years, the first thing they’ll be confirming is if you clubbing or smoke. Is that all,after this long time, you want to know about me?
Well, here’s news for you. I am more than that and I am not immoral. I am god fearing, respect my elders, respect my parents and I love all the things I am supposed to love and care about and people like these fit nowhere in the list.

Roadside Dilemma

Our India is a multi-linguistic, multi-cultured, multi- religious country. But one thing which is common throughout our beloved nation is Beggars. If you live in a metropolitan city or a place what could be called a city then you must be  aware of what I am talking about. The moment you halt your vehicle at a traffic light, a bunch of people will approach you. These are no ordinary people. They are the ‘beggars of our free India’. They might be semi-clad or naked, bruised or handicapped, with small infants hanging from their arm or a 100 year old aged man or woman. Trust me; they have got some serious talent to freak you out while you are impatiently waiting for that light to turn green. They come out of nowhere, peeping inside your car window or cleaning your vehicle glasses with a filthy cloth, or simply knock repeatedly until they drive you crazy. If you are lucky enough and traveling by an open auto or cycle rickshaw, they get to touch you too or have a little ride hanging on the back seat of that rickshaw.
There are times when you refuse to pay them and they curse you and swear at you with the words you never have had heard in this lifetime. One time, during a similar rendezvous with these kids, a little girl of approx. 10 years swore at my friend saying ‘ tere ladoo futtey’ . What the heck does that even mean? May your balls burst, I reckon. Ha! Pretty clever no?
Anyways, I have said enough about the clan. The real dilemma comes the moment these people actually come up with those teary eyes, begging for money or whatever you have got them. I get real tense and nervous when they come. Since childhood the notion of ‘work hard’ and ‘god help those who helps themselves’ has made home in our mind. At times you have seen your elders or parents refusing to give any alms and arguing about how they should get a job and live a decent life instead of begging on the roads. I have so many times heard -not to give in and pity these people because they have no self-respect and choose the easy way out to earn their livings.
I admit. When we see these people, we loathe them, roll up our windows and ignore them. Try to look here and there pretending we are having a very important conversation. Instead of money try giving them free advice, which obviously they don’t need. I also admit, I have tried doing all the above things and crossed every traffic signal victoriously without paying them a nickel. But the post-refusing effect was always hard to handle. The Guilt. How do you get past that? How do you eat when some beggars, hungry or just pretending are looking at you with those hopeful eyes? Who are we to preach them about what they should do? Are we perfect or just too proud? Just because we are sitting on the other side of the window, does that make us decide that these people are nothing but fake and pretending to be poor? Even if they are pretending, how can we rate them? How can we say with surety that they even manage to get a single meal a day?
So, to get over this guilt I always spare some money for them. In a country of ‘Rich become richer and poor become poorer’, everyone is a victim. Who knows what they are going through? Who knows why they have to beg? Who knows whose blessings might change our life? And then end of the day if we think about it, they are not as privileged as we are. We should thank god that we are not on that side of the road. And if we can spend those ten bucks on a smoke, we can very well spare the same to someone.