Sensibly Proceed

This is not a poem - it's a sort of - it's about me actually. Or not completely about me, because I still try to be very cool sometimes, but it's about the people who don't give in to advertising ideals, who don't think (anymore), that being cool means rebelling, not listening to their parents, living separately, adventure-sporting - all that jazz. This is about the slowly dwindling population who are just trying to live their lives the best way they know how. 

(Of course, I'm not judging adventure-sporters. If you've found peace on that mountain, (or hanging upside-down from it) then good for you).

Sensibly Proceed 

I’m not a product of advertising.

I’m not the photocopy of some movie ideal

I don’t think peace is something you find

After a long drive, at the perfect spot

Where a mountain and river meet.

I’m sure that place is really beautiful

But my peace comes from within

I don’t “belong to the road”.

I belong to the people who travel with me

I don’t “belong just to me”

I belong to my friends, to my family.

I don’t break the rules

I follow them – they make sense.

I don’t “believe in me”

I believe in religion.

I won’t follow something just because

It’s damn bloody cool.

The life that’s been given to me,

I try to make it work.

I try to be responsible for the people I love.

I don’t “make my own destiny”

My destiny’s a mix of what’s written

And my decisions based on what people want,

And what I want, and how much I love said people,

And what seems like the right thing to do.

My destiny’s connected to the people around me.

Society might not always get it right,

But however I choose to live my life,

I invariably become part of society.

What remains to choose is which.

I don’t look for happiness.

I create it – for myself and for the people I live with, and meet, and know.

I belong to the world, and I know, and I understand, and I accept that

With every fiber of my being.

When you find your barriers,

When you know limits,

That’s when you know the true meaning of freedom.

That’s when you can start exploring

When you know you’re never alone.

When you know you belong.

You’re complete.

How I'm asking for it.

So many people have been blaming women for being raped, that I'm starting to wonder if there's some truth in that. 

So I decided to examine my own life to see what I do to provoke rape, and came up with some shocking revelations.

 - It is a woman's job to wake up every morning and pray. I'm ashamed to admit that I neglect my prayers in the morning. If I don't pray, and become prey, it is my fault. 

 - I don't even wear a big black burkha as soon as I wake up - why won't i realise that I'm constantly in danger of being seen - by the garbage collector, or the watchman, or even my maid who almost definitely has some men in her house so if she accidentally describes my luscious body to them, they can't be blamed for any thoughts they may have about me as a result.

 - I take my child to school myself, without a male chaperone, in a self-driven car. How can I drive? Driving encourages independence, and independence leads to dangerous thoughts, especially in women - how can I even think to go through my day without masculine help?   

 - On my way back, - would you belive it - I'm all alone for five minutes! Not to mention the walk from my car to my house - I must not flirt with danger so casually. If I behave like this and something happens to me, who's to blame, if not me?

 - As if this is not enough, I sometimes run errands all on my own - like going to the dry-cleaner's, the grocery store - and all while wearing revealing clothes like salwars and kurtas without a thought to how many men I'm forcing to stare at my barely covered breasts. 

 - I'm almost ashamed to admit this, but, well, sometimes, I go shopping. Or for a movie. With girlfriends, no guys. My cheeks burn with embarassment when I realise how much pain I'm causing all the respectable gentlemen sitting outside cinema halls who have no intention of otherwise causing harm, but are forced to comment on women because of their stubborness to come out when they should be staying indoors cooking for the men of their own household. Women like me.

 - I'm already quite disgusted with myself, but I need to get this off my chest. There are times when I plan to go out - after 9 p.m! When will I understand that whether I plan with my husband or an army of brothers, leave alone the mother of all sins - a ladies night out! - if i go out after 9, I deserve to at least be raped, if not killed.

I need to stop making lame excuses about freedom and independence and women's rights. I must realise that I am being given freedom to do whatever i want within the walls of my home. I do have the right to go outdoors if I am fully covered and flanked by men. If I act irresponsibly - if I try to pursue a career, insist on stubbornly making male friends, flout traditions by dressing in jeans and skirts, then I must atleast have the decency to accept what's coming to me. 

Most of all, I must always remember the words of Mukesh Singh, one of the victims of a gang of innocent men on a bus who were morally assaulted by an insolent 19-year old girl who was out of doors after nine, and were forced to conduct a disciplinary gang-rape, "When being raped, she (the girl) shouldn't fight back. She should just be silent and allow the rape." I need to understand that resisting would only provoke them further, and then they will be forced, despite their inbuilt decency, to kill me, whereas they might otherwise have let me go.

I'm frankly shocked with myself and at the same time, impressed with the self-control the men around me have shown with all this undue provocation right in their faces all day long each and every day. I salute these noble men and vow to be careful not to provoke them further by a) being seen, or b) being heard. 

God bless us all. Amen.

Love's lost

Day after day,
love turns grey
And we walk like we're blind
Night after night
We pretend its all right
But there’s no denying
That love’s dying
Between the two of us.
And now there’s no escaping
And even though we love each other,
And the ache strengthens everyday,
Neither will act upon it
Or make it go away
Is our love destined to remain
Dying, as it is, till it dies
And remains dead for evermore?

Jab Tak Hai Jaan – How it should have been

So start the movie with a funeral.

Narration: so like you never know what your destiny’s going to be, right. So you’re like, dude, I can do whatever i want, right? And then like life leads you to places you never thought you would go, so there.

And the next scene is a quiet one, with shahrukh khan tensely disarming a bomb, with Katrina kaif waiting behind him, and her brother behind her.

And everyone’s like really quiet, until a burst of song just takes them all out of themselves, and the guy’s crooning about how she’s like such a bombshell and he’s just so scared she’ll explode and he’ll die and then pieces will come flying out of him and then there’ll be pieces everywhere and how will they clean it up? touching, romantic number.

And she’s like wow, sitting next to him, and listening in a pure white dress and lovin’ it.

And in the next scene they’re in mac donalds eating burgers, and he’s like, “I’m not just lovin’ it, I’m lovin’ you. Will you be lovin’ me?”

And she blushes like a bride and he’s like,” ok, I’m not asking you to marry me, you know. Just a little bit of love.”

And she’s like “Oh yes, he he”

And in the next scene, they’re dancing under the stars and they kiss and make out straight off in his bed, and they’re really tired, but happy.

In the next scene, she leaves.

So then the next scene comes and anushka Sharma is listening to him narrate this story, and she’s like, “What a bitch,” and he’s like, “yesh. Since then I decided that if god won’t give me my love, then I’ll jsut dare death for the rest of my life. Till i die.”

And she’s like, “wow, man that’s great.”

And she’s filming the whole episode.

That’s when she decides to make a short film about him, and his love story.

And she starts researching his life in the army.

And they meet on and off, and he’s like. Oh yo.

And she’s like yeah dude what’s up.

And then they like have some awkward moments and then she’s like oh shit am i falling in love with this dude?

And then he’s like, but i like my wife-who-would-have-been-but-she-left-me-the-bitch.

But then they play truth or dare and they just have to admit that they’re in love with each other. Touching romantic scene in which he’s standing half-naked on one leg in a pool of water and he’s like, ok yes i love her now can i put my foot down?

But then suddenly up pops the first love and she’s like tralalalala i’m bak. And there’s this heart-rending scene in which the second girl is like oh fuck.

And they spend like a few days together and the second girl sees how much these two are in love the rascals and she’s like dude just take her, i’m off. And she offs.

And then he’s like ok you left me first time, now it’s my turn, haha and he also leaves and the first girl is like crying.

But just as he’s dismantling another bomb, the first girl’s brother turns up and this guy’s like what the hell who are you to walk in so late in the film and the guy’s like yeah i wok e up late, but i think you need to be with my sister or i’ll break your bones just kidding she had cancer dude. Have a heart; she doesn’t have a kidney.

And the first guy’s like shit how she does? And the bro’s like. She was constipated anyway, it’s no difference.

And then the first guy is like crying and then he goes to the girl and he’s like ok i’ll marry you but heavy dowry. Haha you have to eat a lot and then you’ll be heavy so then i’ll take gold same weight.

And she’s like ahuhuhuhuh ok.

So then he goes for one last bomb dismantling and dies.

And everyone’s like. Um. Ok....

And then we come back to the funeral and the narrator’s like, ‘see? Don’t play games with god, cuz he has more practice, and you’re just a little bum to him. in fact he even made your bum, so think on that, all right?”

The tragical end. 

Not DDLJ

This is the story that’s closest to my heart; that of my parents. Of all the love stories I’ve heard, none compare to this, at least as far as I’m concerned. Maybe I’m just hopelessly in love with my parents. There are cuter stories out there. But I think this one deserves a telling – if nothing else, it might touch your heart, just like it did mine.

So we’ll begin with a brief history of my mum and dad. My mum was – to put it briefly – traditional. She did have a receptionist’s job – something she still is proud of, maybe it was a really awesome job for someone to have in her day, in her position. So she was a receptionist (awesome), but was traditional. Or maybe it would be more correct to say she was innocent. She loved her mum, and spoke with her about everything, up to and including Jaweed, my eventual dad.

And she looked like an angel. No really, not just because she’s my mum, not because she might read this, but because she did, I have a photo to prove it.

And my dad was a stud. He knew karate, so you couldn’t mess with him, and he was a good-looking basket of fruits. He also – how do I put it – he liked good-looking people, especially of the female persuasion and was almost constantly in the company of one. Doesn’t paint him in an awesome light, or maybe it does, depending on how you look at it.

And they met because of their mothers. Now, for the sake of I don’t want to keep saying my mum and my dad throughout this story, I’m going to refer to them as Jaweed and Maleka from here onwards.

So this Maleka person who I have no personal connections with whatsoever’s mum, Sarrah, did a lot of things, one of which was tailoring, and this Jaweed’s mum, Fatema, had asked her to come home and please teach her how to stitch.

Maleka would accompany her mum sometimes, and that’s where it all began. Jaweed saw Maleka and thought to himself, ‘Wow, what a simple yet good-looking girl! I must find an intelligent and acceptable way of getting to know her better with probable intention of marrying her – only with her mum’s permission, of course.’ Ok, what he probably actually thought might have been slightly shorter, but this was what Maleka told me.

So he started looking for intelligent, acceptable ways of getting to know her and found one that was foolproof – she was weak in chemistry (of the academic sort). So he started to teach her.

Now Maleka refuses to admit this, but probably she was also only too happy to let Jaweed teach her chemistry. 

An obvious double entendre later, they both started to like each other. So this Jaweed asked her out.

He said “Let’s go for a movie sometime?”

Maleka didn’t know what to do. She went and asked her mum – I mean, really? Hot guy asks you out, you go and ask your mum? But she did. And luckily for her, Sarrah liked Jaweed too. So she said, “Yes beta, let’s all go.”

So Jaweed went to the theatre they’d arranged to meet up at, looking his grubby best (that was in fashion then) with a flower and everything, to meet the girl he wanted to get to know better in a purely intellectual manner, and saw Maleka walking towards him grinning broadly, happy to see him. And her mum, walking beside her, and her dad and her two brothers and her three sisters, walking like an army of in-laws ready to attack the date with gusto and innocent ignorance of the fact that this was supposed to be a date.

No one told me what happened to the rose – but they do say that Jaweed sat next to Maleka’s brother throughout the movie, true bollywood style.

Jaweed wasn’t one to give up though. He asked her out again, this time making sure he mentioned that family, while welcome, need not be dragged everywhere she went.

Maleka didn’t know what to do. She went and asked her mum. Sarrah said in the next paragraph for emphasis:

“Go, beta, but when you meet him, before you start talking about anything else, ask him first; is this temporary or permanent?”

And that’s exactly what Maleka did.

They met in a park, I think, and she said, as soon as she walked up to him, or he walked up to her, or they walked up to each other, “Jaweed, is this temporary or permanent?” Jaweed says he didn’t reply because he didn’t know how.

They fell in love, erratically and with Sarrah’s permission.

In fact, I probably wouldn’t be all wrong if I said he wooed Sarrah a lot more than Maleka. He would go to their house, and sit with her, and they would talk about only God knows what. And then, if time permitted, he’d meet Maleka.

So it might be true to say her mum fell in love with him more than she did.

But then Jaweed’s dad, Jaffar(ji), had a problem with the marriage. Why? Because Maleka’s family was poorer than Jaweed’s, which was saying something since Jaweed’s family barely managed to make ends meet.

But all the sons were suitably well-educated and Jaffar(ji) had hopes that they would all marry awesome people, maybe richer than themselves. So he held out.

Sarrah, since it wasn’t working out with Jaweed, got Maleka engaged. It doesn’t matter who to, what matters for the sake of poetic justice is that he was rich. Richer than Jaweed, richer than his father, richer than some other people. Actually, he wasn’t just rich when compared to poor people. He was rich by anyone’s standards (except the unfairly rich. Those guys don’t count). So poetic justice was served.

Jaweed may or may not have been devastated by this. No one tells me this part. What they tell me, which I will get to in a while, is what I will get to in a while.  

I’m choosing to assume that Maleka and Jaweed kept in touch, though she had moved to Bombay and he was still here in Chennai.

I know for a fact that she went through some serious stuff in Bombay. This stuff probably played a role in shaping her decision, you know. She and her family have always had a bigger share of problems than it’s fair to give a person. Maybe that’s why she was so emotional. Maybe that, and the probability that she and Jaweed kept in touch and she realised that he still loved her, made her do what she did, which I will come to now.

She broke her engagement. She left everything in a spirit of independence and rebellion and enough-is-enoughness and probably something-in-my-life-must-go-rightness – and came back to Chennai, with, I’m assuming, little means of support (that’s the way it’s been narrated to me).

She came back, and told Jaweed, “Look dude, I’ve come back for you, you’ve got to marry me, you know.” She might have been more emotional than that, that’s just the gist.

And Jaweed did and they lived happily ever after, after some stuff happened first.

He was okay with it, considering, like I said, they’d probably kept in touch, and he’d probably wanted her back, and probably even called her back, knowing the dude in question. Knowing the dude in question, if they were communicating, he would’ve told her, dude I love you, to which she would have replied (now i’ve to do justice to her emotion, so,) “I love you too, jaan” (I tried), to which he would’ve said, (since he’s a reasonable guy), “well if you love me, then you shouldn’t be marrying that guy, you should be marrying me”, to which she would’ve replied, “ahuhuhuhuhuhuh, what choice do I have, who’s going to save me from my fate which has been decreed upon me by the unfair World?” (the first bit is the sound she’ll make when she’s crying), to which he wouldn’t have replied, “oh darling, I’ll take care of you. Just come off, I’ll die for you if I have to. Love is love, you can’t mess with it, and I’ll love you to my dying breath ahuhuhuhuh.” What he would have said would have been, “nonsense. Come off, we’ll manage,” but to her it would have sounded like the first thing. And she, knowing her, would have come off. (People had guts in those days).

She did. And he was okay with it, although he probably did sweat a bit, and think, even for a second, “oh shit.”

And now they had to deal with the dad.

The next part, you could probably borrow from Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge.

They considered running away, because facing up to his dad was a little scary. Fatema was fine with it, although she couldn’t be forced to have too much of an opinion, or too much of an influence on what happened later. Who helped were Jaweed’s sister and brother. It wasn’t just Maleka who had an army of brothers and sisters, you know.

Farzana, farzu, for short, and Afsar, Afsar for short, stellar, awesome, forward-thinking, heroic, persuasive people, convinced Jaffar(ji) to let the romantic couple get married and make this love story a happy one. Jaffar(ji) held out for as long as he could, but Maleka’s charm combined with the entire family really liked her combined with he didn’t know if any of his sons would even get married and this was at least one less son he had to worry about, convinced him to let the happy couple be.

So Maleka got married. And Jaweed got married on the same day. And they fought happily ever after.

Yes it’s abrupt, but what did you want? Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge?

the grimm stories in short - very, very short actually

1: She worked all day, she worked all night,

She never complained, nor did she wince;

But then one day

Magic came her way

And she went and married her Prince!

2: She walked on land to get her man

Even though she walked with a limp

He married another woman

She found she couldn't kill him

And died and became a nymph

3: Locked up high, singing sweetly

The handsome Prince, did her find

They met and fell in love

The witch pushed them from above

But he found her again, although blind

Cinderella:

She went to the ball

Wearing a blue gown

And danced with the prince till twelve

Sleeping beauty:

She wanted to sew

But the tricky needle

Sent her to sleep forever

Rapunzel:

She let the witch up

Then she let the prince up

And together they defeated the witch

The little mermaid:

She walked for him,

And died for love’s betrayal,

Poor little Air Sprite!

Beauty and the Beast:

It started as a sacrifice

But true love won,

And the Beast became a Prince

or

He was ugly and rich

She was pretty and poor

They fell in love, somehow.

The princess and the frog:

The cheeky little bastard

Got love’s true kiss

And Behold! At least he looked better.

Or

What started as a frog

Love’s true kiss

Turned into a Prince

Six month old's letter to God

Dear God

Subject: Why would you do this to me?

It started with an urge to move towards the light. I tried, but found my way constricted. I remember wondering why You make these things so small.

So, I popped out – and quickly realised that I didn’t like it. Inside, it was warm and cozy and comfortable. Outside, it was cold and huge and scary and I was being held upside down while someone patted my ass. Random people were screaming incomprehensible gibberish, and that, I’ve come to realise, was just the beginning.

This world is filled with loud, incomprehensible gibberish, and some really funny, abnormally big faces. Well, maybe the funny faces are worth the while, but why would You take a perfectly comfortable individual and throw them out into this mess with no warning? How in blazes are we supposed to adjust? I remember crying – who wouldn’t?

This one’s nice. This face. It feeds me when my stomach does that hungry flip-flop thing, it puts me to sleep – which is one of the nicest things in the world to do – and changes my wet things when they become wet. I like this one. And this, and this. Thank you, God, some nice faces to take Home with me. Am I coming Home soon?

Or maybe we could wait for some time. I know this world has something called a doctor - really, really scary people with big pointy things that they poke into you, but it also has people who call themselves mommy, poppy, daddy, dadu, mamu, popu – then there’s dadu, dadi, dada, chachu, chachi, chacha – so many names for just one person, and so many people. And they wonder why we take so long to talk.

But they’re nice people, overall. They do things for me. Plus there’s some really pretty, colourful things out here. Did you make them? They’re brilliant! You pick them up, and shake them around and they make really cool noise. Such technology! And did You make this hand thing that I have attached to me at all times? With five fingers? You know, I can open them all, and close them all, and they all go separate ways and come back together. Of course, none of them leave the hand thing. I wonder why.

Then there’s the feet things. I wonder if these are attached to me, or not. I don’t see them all time, just sometimes, so maybe they come and go, You know. I try to see how they taste, but the mom, mommy, mother thing keeps pulling them away. She does get annoying sometimes.

God, this world is great! I can get on my hands and legs and roll around and move so that I get closer to my favourite toys – no, not the shaky, noisy things. The other ones. That they use to turn on that thing with the brilliant, moving lights, that thing that makes everything cold, You know. Those are yum. And my mother person and daddy person carry around this thing – I don’t know if You know it – it  makes jingly noises from time to time, and there’s brilliant flashy lights, and then they keep it on the side of their faces and shout incomprehensible gibberish.

If only they would say normal things like “aa” and “baa” and “goo”. I have to teach them how to talk.

But thank You, God, You’ve done a pretty great job. These people are perfectly suited to be my caretakers. Of course, they are a little dim, but with some training, they’ll learn. I do what you told me to, and keep encouraging them with a smile.