Soliloquy: Who cares anyway!

When the things that happen around have way more impact on the atmosphere within; when the perceptions, opinions, thoughts and interpretations all battle amongst themselves to have a stand; when the matters boiling over in mind seem too crazy to be spilt out; when the world looks like a crazy sphere and us the sanest mortals alive; when fluxing out what mind has to say becomes a necessity and identifying who will understand it perfectly seems too much of a task, speaking to oneself DOES help; soliloquy, in fact, then acts like a medicine, an elixir or a monitor who ensures that sanity is in place.

When seen being practiced in public, it looks absurd but soliloquy is something which we all do, at some point, at least once in a day. While walking on my way back home one evening, I saw this half-awake, heavily drugged person lying on the footpath loudly complaining about the system, talking to himself, completely oblivious to the people passing by him. Living alone, may be, in a noisy world has made him struggle too much for silence in his life. For once, I did not see anything funny in his behavior; he did not look as if he has lost it or if he is a daft. He looked normal, a person who did not have a live person to talk to or to bounce ideas off of.

I, in fact, love this concept, of talking to self. This practice brings along multiple benefits which goes like follows. Firstly, since I am not saying the trash (that comes to my mind way too often) in front of the person who it is about, I’m saving my ribs from being broken or my face being deformed. I happily stay insured and safe. Secondly, there will be no complex in self-accusation. I could build upon the feeling of being wrong, identify the factors that could have averted the trouble and the things I could possibly do in future to insure I do not make an ape of myself again. Thirdly, I could criticize, applaud, appreciate, make commitments, over-estimate and curse myself without having to take anything on my ego. Everything, anyway, remains at home, no?

Further, I could discuss my dreams, no matter how absurd they may sound, and the possible steps I would want to take in order to inch them closer without having to explain whys and hows. I would want to learn belly dancing, dress in a neon-colored bikini, sip the most expensive wine on a private beach, become a multi-billionaire in a perfectly legal way, buy a lottery ticket every weekend, adopt a cub and NOT explain the ‘why’ part to anyone on the planet.

Lastly, when I am talking to myself, I might appear kooky to everyone but never to myself. I know I am the sanest person around with sound sense of judgment and fine taste in all spheres. Case Closed!

 

Sharing the Anglo-Western dream

This topic has been boiling over in my mind since quite a few days now, not because I am inching closer to changing my relationship status but because this concept seems much more worthy and substantive now that I have grown up.

Back in teenage, when major share of time was spent watching good old bollywood movies, cribbing about oldies romancing and humming aloud cheesy romantic songs, I always wondered how a man could bend on his knees so as to propose his love, giving up his chauvinism, the feeling he is worthier.  No, not me, it was the society in which was I brought up which is to be blamed for my frame of mind for I seldom saw men giving up to a woman.

On my way to maturity in terms of age and everything else, I have felt the wind of change. The Anglo-Western concept of bending on knees in order to pop the age-old-yet-romantic question ‘Will you marry me’ is no longer an ego issue with the masculine breed. I feel a modern city girl, once at least, daydreams of being proposed that way—the man in her life bent on his knees, with a ring (the metal doesn’t matter; or it does? O_o) in his hand, putting in all the efforts possible so as to hear a YES.

There is another perspective from where things might not look that rosy and admirable. It’s when the person in front is not desirable; who is a chump whom the girl has been looking for ways to not encounter ever. If such an unwanted person proposes someone, denying the proposal becomes more so an awkward and embarrassing thing to do, for proposals in public inadvertently attract eyeballs and many awwwws from the people around. Being prompt and opting an affordably sensible way seldom comes handy. Firstly, saying ‘no’ might as well make things worse besides making a public show. The fact that the person who is proposing should better be prepared to hear a negative response never finds its way to reality. Combating conventional prejudice that if a man has accepted superiority of a woman and her decisions,  she will have to say ‘yes’ no matter what stops her from doing that is quite a tough job.

I hope the modern generation learns to listen a ‘no’ whenever they bend on their knees to pop the question.  Aping West, if is done in a manner that advances us, should never be a loathsome subject. After all, chucking user manual to try hands at something afresh might not always prove you a geek. Showing true sportsmanship possibly could!

Sleep all day. Party all night. Never grow old. Never die.

If a person says he does not like to party, chances are he hasn’t met crazy animals of his like. Partying might not always mean wearing as less /better as possible, boozing and hitting the floor, dancing like no one’s watching, saying what might look foolish otherwise, shouting at the top of one’s voices, gormandizing on great food, cribbing hearts out, crying, laughing or in short wasting time ‘living your life’. It might also mean the above lines paraphrased! 

On my way to growing up, I might have attended numerous parties, with families, friends, people I don’t know or rather don’t remember, and for a number of random reasons, one of which also includes my friend’s losing her iPhone 5—that calls for a party too! 

So now, all eyes are set on me, for I am going to play host to the most tantalizing, happening, wishful, legal, and, of course, most tasteful culinary adventure in the town,  MY PARTY where everyone but the ones I choose to invite are allowed to watch and sigh from either outside the gates or from terraces of their homes.

Here’s how the invitation card would look like:

Click to expand

The most pataakhedaar-dhamaakedaar event calls for an extra-special invite too. The location has to be our own home. The reason why I am choosing my home as the venue is because it will prove to be a nice place for overnight stay for guests who wouldn’t feel like going back home after an exhaustive evening. Another reason which should better be kept under the wraps is that by partying at my home, I will end up saving a lot on setting up a venue and thus, could spend much much more on good food.

Now, because the party seeks the guests to dress down and come in the attire of the place where they would want to settle having retired from work, it would be great fun to see everyone’s wishes so explicitly exhibited. 

Another glorious aspect of my party—the food—would be a perfect concoction of the best of north, west, south and east, so that all the guests could foresee their retirement days and imagine themselves having the best of what their dreamland could offer. All the parts of the meal, be it starters, main course, desserts or drinks will showcase what our country is popularly known for. Since hard drinks are common to all the states, that clause will be kept open and the best of booze will be made available.

So now, the stage is all set. We know where we have to go and how we have to look like, what we would be gormandizing on and what is there to gulp down and look pie-eyed. The only thing left is to design an agenda. The agenda which would clearly say, Sleep all day. Party all night. Never grow old. Never die. ♥

7 PM: Meet and greet our clan. No kisses-in-the-air allowed—it has to show on *cheeks* if at all it has to happen.

7:30 PM:  Let’s dive into chitchatting and see where all of us want to settle and why.  Why everyone feels life after retirement would be better than now. Time to let the cat out of the bag!

8:30: Starters are up-for-grabs *only till the stock lasts*

8:45: Dance floor is open to be rocked and rolled. Get the best out of you today.

9:30 – 11:00: Pamper your taste buds with the best delicacies out there.  

11:00: Cards, carom, PlayStation, dance floor, gossips, show-off, food, everything is available if you wish to be further pleased!  

12:00: Head home or to the bed. The best of the dreams are waiting for you to close your eyes.

Anyway, no one looks back on their life and remembers the nights they got plenty of sleep. I hope all my guests remember the pleasant experience plenty of spare time and reason to celebrate brings along!

I remember a saying which makes me want to revel even more, if life is a waste of time and time is a waste of life, then let’s get wasted and have the time of our lives.

This blog is an entry to the contest ‘My Gourmet Party’ happening on Indiblogger.com. Know more at http://shopping.kitchensofindia.com/ and see what best Kitchens of India could offer you. 

Sans the better half

The pain of losing someone close, close enough to quickly forget the loss, is what has engaged my mind all this while. My maternal grandmother (Nani) left for her heavenly abode on 6th of this month. The news was something which we knew was going to float, keeping in view her bad health, but was something which we were never, not at all, prepared to hear.

Writing this blog, as if putting a spell on me, has made me weep silently. Having seen her for a lifetime, I can determinedly say that some part of her is alive in me, and of course, in the people who had met her too frequently to call her an acquaintance. A true sweetheart, she shall stay irreplaceable in my mind; nor do I intend to ever let her memories go off it.  

In all the ceremonies which had to happen post she cashed in her chips, I saw a lot of relatives, who I had seldom seen before, coming, crying, sympathizing, condoling and leaving for their homes—as if doing some formality. I saw distant relatives explaining why the death should not be cried over much, as she was really ill, has left flourishing family behind, had seen three healthy generations or was just old enough to live anymore. I also saw people joining in just to catch up with other relatives and to exchange numbers. This really broke my heart.

 

Despite the overfriendly mannerism of our sweet relatives, I see a person who has been, undoubtedly, affected the most because of what happened to my Nani, my maternal grandfather (Nana)—the man who had spent more than 55 years of his life with this lady. Honestly speaking, I had never seen my Nana publicly cuddling my Nani or showing his affection in any manner out in the sun. For the best part of my life, I believed that my Nana doesn’t love her at all. My mindset, how amazingly, got changed in just four days!

Their bond has been a very queer, yet an interesting one. My Nana has been chronically dependent on my Nani, right from the time when he got married to her, for all the things you could think of. My Nani was literally his right hand. When old age approached both of them, they had this cute way of expressing love to each other, by just being there. One’s aura always helped the other get over any disease, big or small, without much fight.

I could say that they never loved each other, I never saw my Nana running extra mile for my Nani, doing anything which could make her smile, but I now see that the love that they shared was above earthly matters of pleasing or appeasing. The presence of one was love to the other. The feeling that the togetherness will defeat all the problems defined their love. Old age hasn’t been easy on anyone, but standing with a big bat to fight them out together was love to my grandparents. I remember my Nana complaining to me that Nani doesn’t bother to have all her checkups done on time and my Nani saying, ‘Inki mat sun, inko kuch pata nahi hota’…
 

 
Now, standing at this point in his life, I see my Nana the loneliest person on this planet. Fighting with old age alone will be looking heck a big task. I see their love now, more evidently. I see him looking at her bed and losing to some thought process. I see his eyes, as if waiting for some miracle. I see my Nana crying his guts out, giving up to the fact that death defeats all. There’s no big bat to fight this away. I salute their love which was there, invisible to all of us. The love was in togetherness, the love is in the aura.

Embracing the unconventional

We belong to Gen Y as they call it—the modern lot, the lot who knows what it has to do, the right time to do it and takes full responsibility of its deeds. We are open-minded and thus, stand with open arms whenever anyone talks about accepting any sort of change. Any topic which could be a subject of buzz around, be it LSBT, cross-cultural or cross-country matrimonial alliances, BDSM relationships, voicing out loud one’s opinion in public, keeping a baby without getting married, is easily accepted by us. Huh? Wait, what instance did I quote in the end? Ugh! 

I am jotting down the news I heard during random talks over coffee with friends about a girl who was pregnant without being married. We must have seen this in numerous movies and this also must be happening with millions of girls around the globe. Contradicting the popular belief of aborting the child the moment one gets to know, this girl decides to keep the baby, understanding the fact that she will have to do all parts of the job alone. Though she has secured the support from her parents, which itself is a big thing—too big to digest in one shot, the society still looks at it scornfully; we, Gen Y disgust it. This student of LSR, walks with her head held high, and gels pretty well with the fact that she already is a mom now and the world knows how!

I would really want to know your first reaction to this, had this happened to someone close or too near to let her thoughts go off your mind easily. There is not anything weird, for there are divorcees who live with their kids after parting with their spouses; in fact, this is the same saga told in a twisted manner. Despite everything, why accepting this doesn’t come easy?

I should have been proud of her, as being modern, this is something which is expected of me and from people belonging to the same circle, but why this girl finds herself a part of random coffee conversations between people who don’t even know her by face? Why is she a subject of mockery by teens, a subject of disgust, a topic to discuss and blackguard? No generation is modern enough to reject the ideologies of the previous generation and walk with a white page to write down its own. Some theories do trickle down to the next generation and determine the general behavior.

I do want to change my attitude towards the thing I have come through, tell the girl that having made the decision to keep the baby, she has survived the challenges to hold up her own light for the world. She is, in fact, sending out a message to all the girls who have been through similar situations but had to give up to the circumstances, not to ever doubt their gifts or value they hold to the world. It is important for her to ground herself to this new reality, to be retold that she is not crazy. Together we are lighting up a pathway to a beautiful future of peace, prosperity and joy – a world where heart and soul are the beacons one is guided by.

I would like to thank her for sharing her light, an era of true modernism is dawning, at last!

I am the Meaning of My Name

At times, (like many others, I’m sure) I get deeply annoyed when some random person comes up to me and asks the meaning of my name. Quirky enough? I don’t like to explain to each mortal on the planet what my name stands for.

I know, I have this weird sensitive nerve which gets bothered the moment someone, anyone, asks what my name betokens.

Flashback — I’ve always wondered the intent of my name—looked it up in dictionary, searched on Wikipedia, Googled it out but poor thing, I could not find the exact implications.

During my childhood, whenever my mom used to cuddle me, I remember putting this question up to her. Reason — I never was convinced by what she replied, sweet. Why, on earth, don’t I find this written anywhere but my mom’s cerebellum that my name implies sweetness!

Now, having been deeply disgusted for a long period of time, I have somewhat learnt to live with the fact that my name indicates nothing. It’s just a ‘short n sweet’ colloquial word. I try to forgive random people poking me by asking what my name indicates or those who reassure themselves by asking if this is a nickname. I forgive them all!

Also, the category who toils hard in listing out the word which sound alike, like China, Cheenu, Cheeni or Cheecho and the class which spells my name incorrectly. I, with a heavy heart, forgive them all!

Of late, when I hadn’t encountered any such thing in my life span, I strangely thought that people around me have grown over the fact that they could possibly make fun of my name, and thus, me. But very recently, while having lunch with a few colleagues, I suffered being the subject of mockery and reason was good old, my name. I was feeling so sorry for those guys who, I realized, could not mature over their infantile brain despite their bodies becoming huge to challenge a mammoth’s. On the spur of the moment, a ray from heaven or my brain thought of a way to figure out this problem once and for all.

(Mind you, this is for everyone who is living with an offbeat name.) Since we didn’t name ourselves, we don’t have to entertain amateurish mentality of kidskins here n there. And most of all, we recall the person, the individual, when we remember anyone in our mind! Does anyone try to guess the meaning too—Yes? Dude, I want to meet you and see how contrast a variety the genes of human beings can sport.

Take this for an instance, when I say Roger Federer, I don’t scratch my brain hard to look out for the meaning of his name in my vocabulary. I hardly care. I get moony about the tennis star, his aura and best of all, his work. In the same manner, I believe, when people would recall my name, they should draw in their minds a rough image of how skillfully I work, how efficiently I communicate and how pleasing I look and not what my name implies. So a declarative message to one n all who are yet to come up to me to explore the meaning of my name— I AM THE MEANING OF MY NAME!

*Case closed!*