When The Muse Strikes

With Valentine's Day just around the corner, I've been reminiscing about love and relationships. Not to say that I've had much of a chequered past. I was your basic wall flower with friends who were streets ahead of me in the 'attracting-the-opposite-sex' department. I did give away my heart on a modest scale though.


The very first time it happened,I must have been around 10 years old, when I first set eyes on Rahul Gandhi. It was at Indira Gandhi's funeral - no I wasn't present in person, I saw it on TV and promptly lost my heart! He was C-U-T-E! And having grown to manhood now, he has totally fulfilled the promise of beauty seen in childhood. I was pretty sure I would grow up and marry him one day. Fate would surely find a way to throw us in each other's paths. But then I got busy with school, studies, friends and extra curricular activities and poor Rahul was put on the back burner.

Years later, I was all ready to fall in love again. Considering Fate had taken Rahul Gandhi far out of my reach by then, I had no choice but to look closer to home. So I handed over my eager heart to the next handsome face. And what a handsome face it was! Only problem was the handsome face didn't really notice me. So I proceeded to do some really idiotic stuff - like writing a love letter - which I regretted writing immediately after I posted it (or did I send it by courier? I forget). I was relieved when there was total silence at the receiving end. But my friends would have none of this 'Silence' nonsense.

'You've got to ask him what his answer is!' Err....wasn't the silence speaking loud enough?

'No. No. Maybe he's feeling shy. Or waiting for you to make the move' I did make a move. I wrote a letter didn't I?!!

Dragging me kicking to the phone booth (those days mobiles were not so common) they forced me to make that call. And naturally, I got the expected answer - Sorry!

'Thank God!' I said to myself, but made a big production out of having having my heart broken.

'I shall never love again'!! Even my friends did not believe that one.

I never had the courage to speak of these things earlier. I guess it made me feel vulnerable. But I can do so now, and smile about it and share it with the world at large. And, as I have been assured by my well meaning friends, my tentative forays into the world of love, were tepid at best. Considering the heartbreak I have seen my friends go through, I must thank God for unanswered prayers. Because that has guided me to my true north!

I traveled this week to Bhubaneswar. At the end of a long day, I checked into this nice little hotel, looking forward to some quiet and rest. After filling out the register, I turn and accompanied the attendant who was carrying my luggage. As I neared the lift, another attendant, offered me a glass on a tray. I took it gratefully, eager to quench my thirst....and experienced an assault on my tongue! The clear liquid I had mistaken as water, was actually Sprite. The colleague who accompanied me burst out laughing and then explained that she had done the same thing a split second before me. By the time she turned to warn me, I had already drunk the liquid.

Well, next time, I will surely be more alert and careful about mistaking clear liquids to be water!!

******

Sometime back, I was on an Indigo flight to Kolkata. Usually I am engrossed in trying to deal with my fear of flying and do not pay much attention to those around me. But this flight was a smooth, turbulence free one. So I cast a look around and took in the co-passengers, the condition of the aircraft (pretty good. Good show Indigo!) and then finally rested on a pretty flight attendant. Short hair, framing her face in page boy haircut. Nice hair cut I thought. Won't suit everybody though. Then another flight attendant came upto this one and was talking to her. Then another walked by with the food cart.

That's when I realised with a start, that they all had the exact same hair style. Same short hair, page boy hair cut. And it looked terribly odd and artificial. Poor things, I thought. Forced to cut their hair for the job. Not fair.

Then I took a second look. The hair was not real. It was obviously a wig! Dreadful!

Thank god I wasn't in a profession that required me to cut my hair in a standard style and (worse), wear a wig!!

Have you seen the commercial for 'Community Matrimony' dot com thats being aired across the channels these days? Have a look:

It is wrong on so many levels!

Daughter is going around with a guy that sports long hair. And automatically that's the bad guy? Candidates for marriage - girl or boy - should adhere to certain stereotypes in order to make "good marriages". What about those that do not fit stereotypes? Do they have no chance at marriage without conforming?

Then the whole approach to marriage. The family shown in the commercial seems to be educated and upper middle class. And yet they depend upon the 'community temple' and 'community astrologer' to find a groom for their daughter. Six decades of independence and a decade into the 21st century and we still use mumbo jumbo to find life partners.

Then the most objectionable part of this commercial is the over emphasis on 'community'. It is just a euphemism for 'caste', the deep rooted malady we are yet to shake off. For the most part, people still do not marry across caste lines in India. Note the honour killings taking place in North India when couples dare to exercise their choice.

What does one do when the all knowing 'market' decides to turn a social evil into a business opportunity? Is regulation the answer? How does one address the social attitudes that have allowed space for such unbridled opportunism? We need to take a stand as a society or risk reversing the tiny steps we have taken towards progressive and liberal thinking.

Many years ago, a woman was born to a middle class family. Her parents believed in the power of education. And encouraged her to learn, expand her mind and reach for the skies. They gave her a liberal education, at a time when doing a simple graduation and getting married, was all that was expected of daughters in her community.So she grabbed the opportunities presented to her and chased after her dreams. Some proved elusive, others were within reach.

Then, as she stood at the threshold of thirty, the walls started closing in. The M word began to intrude into her otherwise orderly world. 'Why aren't you married?', 'Are you supporting your parents financially? Is that why they are not getting you married?' The questions infuriated her. At first she deflected them. With aggression, logic and later evasion. Then,under the covert, but relentless pressure, she began to shrink into herself.

And so it might have been till she met him. A good and decent man. So she crossed that milestone and got married. Love was in the air and everything seemed good.

Then the walls started closing in again - the expectation to conform. And the confusion and veiled reproach when she didn't.

"You don't know how to draw a kolam(rangoli)!" . She restrained herself from sharply retorting " No. But I do know how to stand on my own feet and be financially independent. Do you know how to do that?"

"When are you going to give us some good news?". She wanted to ask " what good news do you want? I just got a promotion. We bought a house. His cholesterol levels are under control. Take your pick"

"Still no kids? Have you consulted a doctor?" She couldn't stop her tears in the face of this blatant intrusion.

"My sister's dying wish was to have a grandchild." How was she to deal with such emotional blackmail? Her back, her spirit even, was likely to crumble under the weight of this expectation.

"Nobody asks you!" she ranted at him. "Am I expected to make a baby alone?". He did his best to shield her. But it was not always possible to prevent people from riding roughshod over her vulnerability, leaving her exposed.

What was she to do? In her mind she knew that one could not live one's life to please others. Hell, this was the advice she had handed out to many friends when they sought her counsel. But saying it and living it were different things.

Its true, there was price to be paid for wanting to live your life on your own terms.

What do you do when you hear that?

1. Stand up straight, hands by your side, chin up and with loud voice belt out 'Jana Gana Mana'

2. Stand up, shoulders hunched over, head down, hands clasped behind the back and head down, as if ashamed

3. Stand up lazily, shuffle from one foot to another, hands behind your back and / or in your pocket, and gaze into space in boredom

These are some of the postures that I have observed people assume, when asked to 'rise for the national anthem'. And am sad to say that there is a preponderance of people taking postures described in nos 2 and 3 over no 1.

Another thing I've seen is that people rarely sing along these days. This could be because they have dreadful singing voices or technology has made us lazy. And of course there are those singing the anthem all wrong.

It worries me. Because it seems like children are exhibiting these traits more and more. Children learn from adults. This must mean that adults themselves don't know the correct words, tune and respect, that is due to the national anthem.

Is the national anthem just any other song? Is singing the national anthem just tokenism? Does not caring about it mean we do not love our country? Are we becoming less and less patriotic? And if we are, does it matter? What does patriotism mean anyway? In a world where the Indian diaspora is growing by the day, has the notion of patriotism become obsolete? What do you think?

We're on the Young World Quiz circuit again! Today we took the train from Calicut to Cochin (sorry, but I prefer the old names)where the quiz will take place tomorrow. I'm now going to rant about my experience on the train journey. You may think I'm totally heartless after you read this post.

Whenever I travel, I pray to God, that seats near me are not occupied by kids. Not the cute, cuddly, infants that sleep angelically on their mothers' laps. I mean the 2-3 year olds that can walk, talk and throw tantrums. And the good Lord intermittently tests my endurance. Which He did today.

A lady, traveling with her two children, took the seat opposite us. A boy and a girl. I looked apprehensively at the boy. I know what boys that age are capable of by way of tantrum throwing. I once traveled with a boy, who stamped his foot and rolled about on the floor while his mother looked on in helpless embarrassment.

I need not have worried. The boy behaved impeccably. It was the little girl who was the star of the show.

She began with the usual kiddy babble and curious looking over the seat backs at other passengers. All fine. Till her mother took away something that she wanted. Then began the shrieking and screaming. I swear to God. I never knew something that small could emit a sound that loud!

The little girl's mother did try to quieten her. At which the child only yelled what sounded like 'Adikenda! Adikenda!' I assumed it meant 'Don't beat me' in Malayalam.

I spent the next four hours trying to drown out the sound of that shrieking by turning on my MP3 player. But the sound penetrated even the melodious strains of Mohammad Rafi. I tried Zandu Balm. Didn't work. Finally, I could take it no more. I left my seat and stood at the door of the coach, watching the countryside whiz past till we reached Cochin.

I'm a person who likes kids. I am! I've been around tons of kids, baby sat cousins and nieces. Kids generally like me. But this little girl? She could patent that shriek as a means of torture.

Still, I have no hard feelings for the little girl. God bless her. But I do wish her mother finds a way to stop her incessant shrieking!

Travel sure takes the mickey out of me these days. Over the past ten days, the spouse and I have been traveling on work all over southern India. It has been exhausting to say the least! After a tiring day at Vijayawada, we were set to leave for Vishakapatnam.

Vijaywada has one of the busiest railway stations in India. Thousands of people milling around, trains arriving, trains departing, vendors yelling and us trying to find out which platform our train was arriving on. The porters told us that Falaknuma Express usually comes on platform 6. The train, scheduled to arrive at 21.40 and depart at 21.50 was nowhere in sight. Soon it was 22.00. The train had still not arrived and I was tired, sleepy and irritable.

The spouse however, evinced no such symptoms. In fact, he seemed to delight in the delay and was full of beans, chatting up other passengers waiting for the same train. In between, he even winked saucily at me and made comical faces. Being the congenital wet blanket that I am, I was not amused and glowered back at him. Sauntering to my side he asked: ' Kya hua?' My grunt...er...reply was interrupted by his phone. I hadn't even heard it ring.

"Yes? Speaking. Yes sir. Please tell me." He glanced over at me before speaking once again.

"What? No. I'm sorry. I'm already married. !!!!

That got my attention in a hurry. "WHAT!" I spluttered.

He was grinning broadly. "Gotcha"!!