The prologue

There are 2 or more sides to a story but what most don't bother to read is the prologue. Seen as a useless piece attached to the drama that unfolds, it was originally something which helped the audience cross-over- from their lives as shoe-makers, businessmen, authors and doctors to a moment which the play-write wanted them to experience. He did so because he wanted to paint a picture in their mind as close to what he envisioned in his. The background and the setting was to place things in context for the rest of the show to make sense as much to a bored-out-of-her-skull housewife as to a arduous muse of a famous pianist. It's a pity that paying heed to the prologue is out of fashion now because it helped define whatever the weaver wanted to weave; without it his work of art would be abstract even if he didn't intend for it to be so.

This takes me back to a conversation which I'm glad I was a part of very early in my life. I've known quite a few who'd confuse this with a debate over 'socially acceptable rights and wrongs' but I prefer to call it my contempt for believing in an 'eternal truth'.
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There was once a girl who feared defeat, she laughed at others for she was not going to give them a chance to mock her. She fortified for she worried she'd lose ground if she didn't. She was selfish because she decided that is the way es muss sein. A lot of people around her cringed when she opened her shrill mouth or rolled their eyes (claiming to be a bigger self) and passed her off as insecure. She couldn't care less.

Prologue: There was once a girl who lost her father when she was 10. All that remained of him were faint memories of his chatter and toys that he bought for her. She realized soon that now she didn't get the shiny car that she wanted from the shop window no matter how much she wailed. She adapted and soon she stopped asking for it. Seeing her mom work from morn to dusk- what she understood of life was that you've got to put up a long hard battle to get what you want. That's all she was trying for: to not be caught unprepared.

The truth you see is very different from the truth I see. You see a wrecked home and frown at the newness which caused it, but he sees long periods of silence and all the happiness that should've been but was'nt. You see a misfit but his friend's see a bundle of nerves. You see an innocent girl with no issues and hang-ups, but I see someone who strategically refuses to open her mouth to orchestrate what she wants.

Well here's what makes the difference- there is no ONE prologue which helps us cross-over. In that sense all our views are coloured. There is no eternal truth, the great thing about life is we can make it as subjective as we want to (reminds me of marketing and how much grey there is to it) and no you needn't agree with me because otherwise I'd be going against what I believe in :)

P.S: Knowing all the answers is not so much fun as it is to be able imagine questions which break the code.

The Wishing Well

I wish there was one in my backyard. I'd either plan my kitchen garden around it or do it up in stylish minimalism using small marble pebbles and white bricks with ivy creepers. 

If I could use it only once and only for myself I'd be confused between the following questions:

1. What am I born to do 

2. What should I do

3. What will I be happy doing

The determinants for the first two would be different- What am I born to do immediately links it to destiny. What should I do is an incomplete question; it should be followed by- what should I do if I'm looking to ...follow my creative pursuits or earn more money or travel the world etc.

What I'll be happy doing is one question which I may think could mean many things but all of which start with a warm fuzzy feeling in the belly. The scales don't weigh equally for long and a lot of times what upsets this state  is the contradiction of two things that make you happy and together they drive you mad (Not delirious with joy but like a raging bull attempting to run into a wall). You have trouble identifying them because they don't appear seemingly contradictory at all.  Warm baths make me happy and so do pretty dresses which happen to be expensive (lets put a number to that so you can get a clear picture- Rs. 25000 lets say). I never have to choose between them because they appeal to two entirely different need states. However my job which pays me that extra Rs. 25000 for the pretty dress doesn't give me the time to take pleasure in the nice long warm bath and if I decide to chuck it I won't really have that pretty expensive dress to put on. Hence Incomplete happiness is even more upsetting, at least if I had none I'd concentrate my efforts focusing on one. 

My random ramblings won't stop until I chase wholeheartedly and that's possible only if there's one direction to run in.

The wishing well project is my attempt to figure out which direction to head for. I know I want to do 'something', I think I know what puts a smile on my face. I have managed to turn anxious high pitched noises of people embedded in diaphragms into muffled voices. But what I still don't have is a game plan; I don't know if I need one.... all I need is a blur for me to scrape through. 

Saluting the bimbettes

The world of YWAs (young working adults) gets increasingly judgmental with each power band and obviously they transition from YWAs to OWAs during this process. They tend to escape the frivolity of what they fret at, by scrutinizing the people down below, who appear much happier compared their own unhealthy worn-out selves. Of course there are exceptions who might soften when they reach the self-actualization phase or when they reach burn-out.

The one place where their ability to comb and sift is stronger than usual is not in office but at airports. I am guessing it could purely be a function of time at hand and the fact that the silent piercing and probing is projected at strangers and they in turn need not be bothered about the glances scanning them in return. The moment two laptop semi-owners run into each other they notice 1. the models of one another's laptops and handsets 2. The label on the shirt and the leather on the shoes (I'm discounting people who hail from south India here- these are things they won't waste their precious money on (the sole purpose of it being yellow gold or an education abroad).

Well at one such time when I was ambling around a book shop at the airport I noticed a sold-his-soul-to-a-corporate man staring at me and almost sighing as I was getting the latest copy of Vogue billed. The next instant he picked up the Economist. Clearly fashion was not his forte but what right did that give him to condemn it outright. It is funny that his ticket to intellectual superiority was a copy of the Economist (even though he slept midway while navigating through an article). And this is how..exactly how, that people with faces which definitely don't delight brand the fairer/thinner others and penalize them for having something that they themselves don't posses. Now I don't have enough dough but I don't remember ever taking pot-shots at Indra Nooyi's badly-gone-wrong haircut.

I enjoy my bimbotic moments also because this word now encapsulates even the finer feminine things thanks to bespectacled rotund men and women in blazers. And after this post, never again will I write-off a bimbette because at least they do complete justice to what they bring to the table; they never promised to meet deadlines or come up with path-breaking ideas anyway. And EOD they're easy on the eyes-For every ugly CEO there are 3 pretty secretaries who make your day:) Here's saluting each one of them!

Go Play!

I'm a nerd...been one all my life. And I've been driven by a singular motivation all my life- To earn more money. It began with wanting that red, white and blue square label on the sleeve of my top, then wanting that crushed black silk off-shoulder dress to lately dreaming of an Oscar De La Renta.

My mum thankfully instilled lots of self-pride into me to earn things myself than to lean on someone who earns  gold biscuits. But I did go ahead and base my career decisions on it. I could have been a real writer and not an abstract blogger..I could have translated the designs in my head to patterns on cloth rather than hoping that the tailor would deliver to my taste. But instead, here I am a passionate marketer with just a perspective on things that someone else creates.

Words like S.A.F.E, BACKUP and REVISION continue to dictate my life even now. To uproot myself is difficult to fathom. Don't know what it'll feel like to break away from the comfort of shiny paper bags. Then I think a little more and it feels what I fear is answering the larger-than-life question 'Who am I'? which is now synonymous with 'What do I do'. Well why can't it be as simple as- I'm (someone who loves to sing) or (a really great friend to have) or (neck deep in love with my boyfriend).

I have this very strong feeling that I will not regret letting go off a 10 lakh salary jump, neither will I regret not building enough resourceful contacts or being considered flaky. What I will instead have qualms about is:

Not being enough of -an affectionate daughter, a doting wife, a helpful friend, a rock solid sibling
Not being able to walk in the clouds because I was too afraid to trek up that mountain
Not being able to travel far and wide because I needed luxurious stays
Not being able to deal with my finances because I don't understand investments or tax or internet banking
Not reading all the books I've wanted to read because of lack of time
Never being able to sing the same way again as I used to 7 yrs back

....Not having contributed anything significant to the country or to the world ....Now that is mediocre!

And no amount of money will make up for the mediocrity.

So I don't HAVE to fare well in the next appraisal, neither do i NEED to be seen in good light by my boss, I also don't HAVE to echo someone else's thoughts. All I need to do is just LIVE....

For my life won't be defined by designations from now...it'll be defined by doing all the things which I thought I could never do....So I'm going to go Play! :)

To Delhi

Here's to the city of roadside dhabbas, kulfi faluda, dolled-up women, wintery mornings, innovative abuses, garam chai, imperial ambiance, selective chivalry, vintage chaos and branded luxury...Here's to Delhi- where people don't need a regional language to bond-it's just a mind-set adoption- Happy 100!

Keep calm and embrace 30

A plethora of 30 somethings around me does'nt bother me anymore and that is what the paranoia is about. Have I overnight made it to their invitee list? Am I that old? Still struggling with a home between a bachelor pad and a household, I certainly don't qualify to swipe into a room full of people who seemingly are facing a mid-life crisis. Also, I am ok attending a string of weddings now, walking pretty in a pair of golden heels but  I will hide under my bed for 2 days at a stretch the moment I get invited to a baby shower..eeks! I like the bubble I live in and am extremely wary of people from that part of the world who insist on bursting it with their tales of horror. Their version of reality is different from mine and I prefer not to get corrupted before time.

However strangely my first strand of grey hair had me puzzled in front of a full length mirror (now thats an oddity because I usually stop thinking when I look into one..ofcourse I'm not saying that I'm vain). Neither was it the time to introspect given that I was running very late for work on a Monday morning..but what the heck..life does'nt give us too much time to ponder so make the most of it. Would I someday be part of the TG for an Excellence Creme Loreal? I mean I love the way they pronounce it, but it has never had anything to do with me. Did I fear the sequence of numbers so much? Well...My stomach did a somersault when people sent me anniversary wishes, I choose not to update my relationship status on facebook, My ability to handle corny couples is as good as making an attempt to write with my left hand, I love the fact that I have some friends who are still single and ready for a Sunday brunch unlike others who have to entertain their sister-in-laws.... is it me who should be worried about a quarter life crisis instead? 

And with this my flaky self gets a grip..for now I see the 30 somethings fumble and fall in order to gradually come to terms with whiny babies, responsible fatherhood, home loans, a bad divorce, fewer late-nighters, unending singledom or an entrepreneurial venture. After all, we all take our own time shifting gears. And you can never be ready for the next dart thrown at you. In the light of this realization I shall awaken the sensitive and empathetic spirit in me and vow today: 1. I shall get rid of my habit of referring to people who have kids (1-7 yr olds) as uncle/aunty (its just out of habit and I definitely don't mean to mock them and no I don't call them that on their face) 2. I will not judge their one night of drunken fun at a pub as a desperate attempt to be cool; they have all the right to reminisce. 

Ain't I glad I have a long time to go:)

P.S: I've decided that I will not cover all greys. I like the graceful salt and pepper look. Age is but just a number-Aniston's living proof!

P.P.S: (hmmm... I'm sure she uses hair color..puts me in a fix again...damn!)

Matte-effect

Off late I've been noticing that people gawk at me the moment I happen to mention that I did not move away from my parents to enjoy an independent patch but instead that I happen to use a word for the lack of a decent enough synonym in first-person narrative: 'Husband'. I've been trying to second guess the reasons for their display of amazement which comes through side-head-tilts with a thought blurb saying 'ohh poor girl she must've been caged and forced to marry' or a nod in slow-mo hinting at 'these kids they don't quite understand the complexities so far' or a faint smile which says 'dive into the well sweetie, we're in it together'.

You see, the days of ramrajya are only partially over in India and that has left us confused. I'd have to admit that  I do feel deeply indebted to my partner for his towering tolerance of my pre-menstrual tantrums... his age, title or car has nothing to do with the respect he earns. We carry forward traditions and certain rituals because it gives us a reason to abandon monotony for what seems like milliseconds and celebrate; the original intent behind these, remain imprints in thin dusty books which are cleaned and chanted with utmost devotion at x.pm. Face it, marriage today is not that sacrosanct an institution for the sake of it and thankfully so. But we are at crossroads where a tiny red dot on your forehead, a gaudy red set of plastic bangles or a warm domestic smile are trademarks that a set of people clandestinely look for. At the other side of the street there exist 30 somethings who scoff at giving their space up. Post 10pm when they get back from their plush MNC wannabe gleaming sky-scrapers, sucked out of all energy they like to enjoy an hour at the gym for which they get expensive plunging Lycra necklines in the hope of finally raising a few eyebrows or maybe they need some 40 solitary minutes with a drink while they plant themselves in front of the TV. Ok this might be a wee bit exaggerated because there are others too who move off to a different trajectory and enjoy yoga vacations in the mountains till the others around them dawning white decide to dawn red. I've seen quite a few and by now have a 'dating won't help' theory. Let me explain: It takes three to four years for the numbness to set in...the numbness that the big bad world bestows on fresh college graduates, cut-throat competition induces objectivity and reduces faith, we unlearn a few things- to share, to smile and to cut some slack. The first few years we are still soft clay, we can be cast in the mould we choose but as the years multiply, cynicism takes over. And most end up fixated and over-opinionated used to doing things their way that they will make no tweaks for someone to fit in. Changing their bed side would amount to re-jigging their lives. Tired they make their way into matrimonial columns or take dart shots at others who've got company for a cup of tea and refuse to invite them because of their constant cribbing.

Its not that married people don't want to relive singledom... if you leave it to them they'd like more frequent Sunday brunches with girlfriends, half-a-day to cool off while watching Neo Sports, drunken nights without being mothered around and a lot of them still hide their rings when they're dressed up to the nines. 

For the eligible singles whats more disconcerting is that TinselTown begins to lose all shimmer when you're grooving with Miley Cyrus and Justin Bieber. And for those few women who're still looking to find true love..don't give up hope...just get out of Delhi!