‘Splits’ Aren’t Easy

Disclaimer: Totally a fictitious story. Totally did not happen to anyone, alive or dead.

*avoids eye contact with MS Word*

So, there was a group of young new recruits (management professionals), on a trip to various locations on Corporate Business Induction. There was just one female in the group, by the way; let’s call her The Girl. The induction went rather smooth, as per plan, for the first blessed 2-3 days, with no ‘accidents’ or notable untoward incidents.

One fine afternoon, however:

The group moved out from one particular regional office (in the outskirts), after hours of gyaan and discussion; Lunch at a famous resort some miles away, beckoned- especially to The Girl, who had always shared a more intimate relationship with Food than with Enlightenment. *Blogger pauses to swallow a mouthful of her aadhi-raat-wali Maggi*

She rushed ahead of the group, towards the vehicle, to grab a comfortable seat (in the initial 3 days, she had enjoyed the prerogative of the co-driver’s seat, by virtue of being The Girl. However, as deceptions never last long, she was soon recognized for lack of Lady-Likeness, and brazenly asked to sit squashed in the passengers’ seat- always with too many passengers in it. The Co-driver’s seat, it was established, was to go to the healthier ones. Oh, those sweet days, when she was not counted amongst the ‘healthier’ ones. What? Empathy is an important skill!)

As the others bid farewell to their hosts, and proceeded towards the vehicle, in the second of a divine moment, she noticed, to her horror, a split in the arm of her crisp, relatively new, full-sleeved Formal Shirt. Like a patch of benign tumor, it was there. Proud and visible, but, only just. And so far, visible only to the one who’d know to look. The Girl, usually slow in all responses to everyday stimuli, swung into action, and excused herself to one side. Looking out for some shop (any shop) in the almost-remote area, she discovered one, and hurriedly purchased a roll of thread and a needle, walked back into the vehicle, with as much dignity as she could muster. Note that since half her energy was invested in keeping the tumor out of public view, there wasn’t much dignity mustered.

So, they reached the resort, and starving souls- all, walked right into the restaurant. As soon everybody took a seat, she excused herself and rushed to the restroom with only her bag, and prayers on her badly ripped person. And once in there, she got to work, like she never had. They made the Needle and the thread still the same as they did many years back, when she was a little girl, making homely dresses for Barbie and Skipper (that the spoilt videshi brats would never wear).

It was a huge place- the resort; half way through the task, quite a few minutes had expired, and her phone rang. One of the group members wanted to know where she had disappeared to- it was a small group, and ‘rushing out to shop silly, with an entire group (including an elderly gentleman) waiting on her, for official lunch, was not the best way to bond’ He conveyed something to this effect. In very different words. She drew a long breath, and, as all of us who must take an unavoidable call in the Oh-so-obvious-echo-walls of a loo, she shut her eyes and muttered something cogent in response, before hanging up. Okay, she encouraged herself..almost done! A few more minutes, and this will be as good as it can get! And a few minutes later, the patch was (shabbily) stitched, no doubt..but horror of horrors: it was patched inside out! :-O

As a hypothetical tear rolled down her dramatic cheek, she got another (more polite) call of reminder: Erm.. “Where the *heaven* had she disappeared?” Only, they didn’t mention Heaven. She swallowed the shame of another Oh-so-obviously-loo-voice, and solemnly resolving to never forgive the Ironing lady for scorching her shirt (If she’d wanted it scorched, she’d have done it herself! This was stuff The Girl was good at!). She undid the effort of the first 10 minutes, and 15 more minutes of agony and an sms beep (‘where are u?!’) later, she had managed to pull the rip together. It was not the most professional wear, but, at least not something for which she could be charged with ‘misconduct’. In an illogical act of compensation, she diligently rubbed each of her feet against the legs- in a bid to make her forever-unpolished and soiled- shoes sparkle. Not a bad job- she heaved a big sigh of relief. Drenched in sweat, she stepped out (sheepishly, for she had been in for almost 30 minutes). As she dragged herself to the sink, she did a double take: an unfamiliar face jumped out at her, in the mirror: Behind her, on the floor, sat one of the cleaning ladies.

This one, looked like she meant business. And it was not mops.

Throwing the zapped Girl a look that was suspicion, accusation, disgust, and tch-tch all rolled into one set of deadly eyeballs, she stared hard.

Finally, The Girl, dripping sweat and water (and shame) blurt out a cry: Kya hai?! (What is it?)

The lady, employing her best I-know-what-you-did-last-Summer tone, retorted:

‘Mujhe pata hai aap andar kya kar rahe the’ (I know what you were doing in there.)

The Girl: ???

The Lady, continued, triumphantly, like one who’s just caught a thief red-handed :

Aap Cigarette Pee rahe the na! (I know you were smoking a cigarette)

The Girl: .. (tugging at her freshly-sown arm).. !!!! :-O ??

The Lady confided conspirationally: Aap jaise bahut Madam aati hain yahan pe, cigarette peene ke liye! Tch tch.

(Lots of young women like you sneak in here, to smoke a cigarette. Tch tch!)

The Girl: (recovering from her stupor, rather stupidly): Kya?! Nahi Aunty… main toh.. (Pointing idiotically at her patched up sleeve) yeh fat gaya tha.. main see rahi thi..dekho! (An implied, “Cigarettes! Haww.Chii.” )

(What?! Noo, Lady!.. this had gotten ripped off, I was stitching it back together!)

The Bourgeois-Proletariat divide be damned! It was very important that no elderly lady run around with the idea of The Girl sneaking around to smoke. ‘Non-smoker’ was the only highlight of her otherwise pathetic personal-resume.

The Lady seemed to consider that. Or maybe not. But The Girl had to rush. And rush she did.

Oh, she was not so hungry anyway, she told the table, drowning the sound of a rumbling tummy.

And yes, the little shops outside were fascinating enough.

For anyone would rather be remembered by their newly-acquainted colleagues as The-One-With-The-Bad-Table-Manners than The-One With-The-Wardrobe-Malfunction.

The blogger was reminded of this story, on a completely unrelated note the other day: The Girl was reported by some Metro travelers, swiping her card madly at each of the three exit machines, for good five minutes. None would let her pass. A group of eye-witnesses report that she did finally reach the conclusion that her company-access swipe card may not work on Metro machines. She did not look very happy about the eye-witnesses though. They did not bother to cover up their *pointing and Ha-ha-ha-ha*

The blogger, lately unsettled in her head, was scouting for some stories to strongly distract herself. And this was the one that popped up into her mind.

******* Written last night, posted on March 20, 2012.

Ron

March 15, 2012

March 15, 2012

Arpita Lakhotia’s FB Wall:

Shruti : Happy Birthday Arpita Lakhotia :-) May God shower the choicest of blessings on u .. Cheers!

Arpita: What? I don't get a blog this year? Not even a lengthy paragraph long wish!? *sulks in a corner*

Well Arps, Let me share something with you. For ages now, I have almost completely lost the strength to put my thoughts/feelings down. Even my messages/posts etc on FB are only 5% of what I post on the walls of my mind. With age catching up (*cough cough, adjusts spectacles on her wrinkled nose*) my memory is not as decent as it used to be, and I do fear sometimes, that I will have not much material to relive the moments of my life, if this spell of pen-less-ness prolongs.

However, it IS your birthday and my baby is not here today (so I have some me-time) AND it is a weekend (T.G.I.F!! is the only modern day concept that I can actually relate with.. I Loooove Fridays !) AND your comment is so aww-layy- evoking :P, so here goes my birthday wish-post for you:

Few Random yet Relevant Reasons Why Arpita Lakhotia is on my F.R.I.E.N.D list:

• We made many rare discoveries together very early in life. E.g,
• ‘Faeces’ (yani Potty) actually has a singular form! It is: ‘Faex’
• (Source: Pradeep’s Biology Textbook)
• Highly qualified and fancy-feathered people are not always up to the hype
• (Source: Our Umbridge’s disappointing delivery in her subject matter. And her being a disappointing bit of matter herself )
• She was the only one who would actually find me Chandler-Bing funny. Even when I was just being sad (dukhi wala sad) Case in point: A scholastic Book Fair, I come across something in a book, walk up to her, offer a handshake and say, “Hello, I’m Mike, your new friendly dairy owner” and *squeeze her hand*. She bursts out laughing Mu-ha-ha-ha.. like the book said she was supposed to. It was a social experiment I conducted: Every other person I later tried it on, responded to my squeezing, with a dispassionate “now what?” *!!!*
• She sleeps like a log, but is not lazy. I can manage only the first part of the twin-pronged-talent, and I do admire her for the second.
• She loooves being with people. She is connected to everyone. If Nokia could use her, she would be their brand ambassador; the hum(an)alogical- parallel to Nokia Mobile. (Connecting People) Why I like that about her, is that it’s perhaps the only reason we became f.r.i.e.n.d.s.
• She is one of the FEW* people I know in real life who love Harry Potter for the right reasons or have the right feelings/ thoughts about its various details!

( I mean, why did no one else ever feel indignant about Harry and Ron being selfish and mean towards Hermione- the sincerest and most self-less friend among all three! )

• We co-read the first 55 pages “Harry Potter and the Order Of The Phoenix”. My copy (the first to be delivered in our town). And I let her risk us co-read it, during lunch (propped up precariously between us, and Rajma Chawal)
• She confessed to having read my HP-part 2 in her special reading spot (ring a bell, Arps?) :D . It’s a crime I could not have tolerated from any other batchmate.
• She is one of the FEW* people I know, for whom I would love to dedicate a written thought (such as this), and who would actually read it. Or would read it and not make fun of it.
• Once, when I thought all (or some of us) were going to die, and in a fit of kal-ho-na-ho, I mailed a heartfelt farewell-note-of-thanks to my near and dear ones who bother reading their mails, she was one of the few* who did not criticize my silliness/ mock at me for it. Although, knowing her, she may never have read it? Oh, and the fact that she was on that special list! :-)
• I remember her cellphone number and her landline number from Class X (both of which still haven’t changed) It’s probably the only cell number I remember from THAT time. Simply coz I must have dialed it a thousand million times, years back. Or a thousand million more.
• We are not very intimate and don’t ‘keep in touch’. How many people like that would I write a mile long blogpost for? Very few, Ma’am. Very few.
• In an honest-to-God moment, I have to say: I always felt that she was one friend who had been often been mean (hurtful), unfair and whimsical towards me ( She may never have realized/agreed with that). And nonetheless, here I sit, eulogizing my F.R.I.E.N.D. I love her from the bottom of my heart and wouldn’t ever have traded her for anyone (my sensitivity be damned!) for all the richness she has brought me in those wonder years.

Happy Birthday, Arps! This post (right down to the font) expresses my heartfelt wishes for the phenomenal character that is you!

Live long, and prosper.

Signing Off..

Phoebe_Moony :-)

SITCOMS (Part I)

For long I have been meaning to place on record, my absolute love and admiration for some of the good SITCOMS I have grown up watching (Since I am far from being fully-grown, yes, it is Work-in-Progress). Tonight is one of those moments when I have finally gotten around to putting down something very close to my heart- in concrete words. There is a sense of gratitude in my appreciation (which will follow in the lines below)- as I feel I owe a substantial chunk of my “happy hours” in life, to those sitcom-hours.

Laughter may or may not be the BEST medicine, but it is definitely one of the best ways to live any moment. For me, any person, thing or phenomenon that brings me a moment of pure, warm and unadulterated “hahaha”, deserves (and receives- in spirit, at least) a blessing and a heartfelt Respect! I think this is an art that while well paid (sure – they get enough monetary gains, once the sitcom tastes decent success), is still less appreciated. Creating such masterpieces is a rare product of genius and hardwork, on the part of the cast as well as the crew. And it’s definitely not as easy as they make it seem. So, from the bottom of my heart: Respect! *Tips Hat*

I want to talk about a few of these Sitcoms (in descending order of rank). Nah! Forget the ranking- it’s rather unfair.

1. F.R.I.E.N.D.S

It’s difficult to think of FRIENDS as a sitcom at all. Despite having researched the actors’ personal lives inside out (having rooted for Jennifer Aniston during the ugly Jolie-Pitt phase, and seriously OMG-ing over Matthew Perry’s drug rehab story), one can never think of those people- as actors on T.V, who were ‘paid’ to act out a story. No! They were, and will forever be Rachel, Joey, Ross, Monica, Chandler and Phoebe- who sat with us in our Central Perk, on that couch across that seemed a part of our drawing room, and then went back to a blue- apartment that was pretty much a friend’s house for us. They were all young, innocent, textbook best-friends in a playground- who were put into an adult-life like situation, and made the most of it. They practically grew with us (or the other way around!), we loved them and talked/ thought of them like they were our own close buddies. Growing up in those years, you could never be lonely or friendless. These 6 friends were with you- always, and forever. And since they were friends of all your friends, life could not have been better! Though reviled even in their homeland by some conservative sections for things like “sleeping too much with each other and with everyone in general”, the F.R.I.E.N.D.S were innocent and swore by their friendship (which beautifully never got marred, despite the angle of non-platonic love developing every now and then). Their stories were not so much about “relationships”, “life”, or “friendship” … they were about “wink-wink, ha-ha… witty-witty-snap-snap..”- often loud, crass and slapstick humor. And yet, they taught us a lot of things about relationships, life and friendship; They did! Each one of the actors was remarkable- they brought a unique quality to the character- and there was no way in hell that you could imagine the actor being a person other than the character, and not a F.R.I.E.N.D of the others. The dialogues were funny in context- the script was crisp, and geared to tickle your funny bone, the delivery was memorable and perfectly timed, and while they only tried to make you laugh, they built a small cozy place in your heart and mind. That they became really good F.R.I.E.N.D.S in real life too- helped of course. Unlike all sitcoms since its time, no single character carried the show. All six were significant parts of a huge jigsaw puzzle that fit together. Perhaps Phoebe could be identified as one person with the least “screen/script significance”, even she had her distinct storyline and brand value ( her guitar, her songs were a legend within a legend). Did you know that Lisa Kudrow actually wrote those songs herself? :-)

There are a godzillion memorable lines and moments from FRIENDS (for there was a time when we would carry out entire conversations with each other from those scripts!); will list down a few random ones :

- “Joey, do they know, that we know, that they know about us?”

- “Joey’s apple”

- Emma just said her first word!... What did she say Rach… She said… Galeeba…Erm..that’s not a word .. What?! Sure it is..Okay… what does it mean? I dunno ALL the words!... Alright..make a sentence with it.. okay… ‘Emma just said Galeeba!’

- ‘My Boss wants to buy my baby!’

- ‘ Oh.. I’m sorry, did my back hurt your knife?’

- ‘ Say Ross…I got a science question... If the Homo Sapiens, were, in fact, Homo Sapiens… Is that why they’re extinct?” “Joey… homo sapiens are ‘people’”.. ‘Hey! I’m not being judgmental here!..’

I tuned in to Friends when I was happy, sad, tearful, cheerful- and it always made me Laugh Out Loud. Even if I were to watch it all alone – and even though I knew the dialogues off the top of my tongue. The FRIENDS phenomenon was magic. And we have all been spellbound, and will remain so forever.

When we were passing out of School, Arpita gifted me a poster that she had made. Herself. It had Fat Monica on the left and Slim Monica on the right. On the top, it said, F.R.I.E.N.D.S through… J

At JMC, one of the first ever gifts I received from Mannat was a small, F.R.I.E.N.D.S ka photo-in-a- hand-made frame. I looked over at my desk by chance (having not really looked looked in ages) and I also found a F.R.I.E.N.D.S musical birthday card propped-up there.. We are much older now. Some school would say, we’re old now. We have seen/known many more since. And yet, unlike FRIENDS, they have all been merely SITCOMS.

And I will talk about them next.

The Spirit, The Ghost and the Doctor(s)

Once upon a time, there was a young man who had been suffering from a dreadful, degenerating disease for the past many years. It was a curious disease; the cause of which lay in his unhealthy lifestyle and living habits. The disease spread gradually – though with certain damage- making all his vital organs dysfunctional over years. His life, which had started off on a very promising note, had degenerated before his own eyes, and he had been reduced to a state of self-destruction, despair, defeat and - and above all-a denial. Much like a young drug addict – caught between helplessness, self-disgust and yet- continued depravity, he lingered on.. hopeless against hope.

Every night, he would go to sleep uneasy: his breathing was slow, his vital parameters signaling a mortal warning: “Change now! Or Else!” Nights were a struggle: he would toss and turn many times- anticipating disaster any moment. Was his life beyond repair? Or could he go back in time- pick up the pieces of his soul that made him the special, unique creation of God on earth, as they had hailed- upon his birth? Could he simply take control over his body, overpowering the slow-death-inducing cells? He would toss and turn around in bed all night: making a hundred new resolutions each: to wake up a new man tomorrow. To quit all unhealthy elements in his life- and walk out clean and sober. It will all be alright- he would console himself. The consolation, this small ray of hope, along with a sleeping draught (prescribed to him by his doctor) helped him survive each night. As one might guess though, and as it happens with most addicts – the next day was not much different from any of the earlier days: after all, the unhealthy is often the easy, and more pleasurable and after all- it was the only way he had known how to live life. The bright sunshine of the day helped him hoodwink the dark corners of his own heart and the noise of life drowned the voice of his soul. The dreadful nights of deafening silence followed. At night, he was someone else: a white, helpless ghost that cried of innocence, remorse and cursed the evil spirit that haunted his body during the day, and who had stolen his sacred soul bit by bit.

The evil spirit became the greatest enemy of the poor, helpless Ghost. The Ghost spent all night hurling curses at the Spirit; the latter spent all day mocking and torturing the lame, weak nemesis that was the Ghost.

One night, the Ghost – in a state of half-slumber- had a vision. He saw a faceless doctor showing him a pill- engraved, “Cure”; He jumped out of the bed and decided not to fall aleep- and let the Spirit take over, the next morning. No! Why hadn’t he thought of it before. He had been taking sleeping draught all his life- to “get by and around” the symptoms of his disease; to sleep over them. What he needed was a treatment- a cure. A waistband that would hurt him everytime he would indulge in something unhealthy, so bad, that he would have to fight his urge and terminate the action. A draught that would have him faint and topple over before he acted on the urge- thereby, preventing its execution. (Not AFTER- to avoid facing its terrifying outcome) A cane that would rap on his head – everytime the Spirit would infuse unhealthy urges into his head- and slowly and steadily, rap some sense into him. Teaching him the alternate model of living.

It was now Or never. He would walk up to his doctor the first thing in the morning, and scream for help- plead for some cure to rid him of this malaise- before it was too late.

Early, the next morning, the doctor, seemed a bit taken aback as he heard the suggestion. Taking in every word expressionlessly, this is what he thought: Give him the pill to END this illness? But it was selling the draught – year on year- that kept my kitchen running. Keeping the man alive just enough to make him pay. Keeping him diseased, just enough to make him keep coming back to me.

He smiled and said something to the effect that he understood the man’s problem- and could not help but sympathize with him. He offered him a drink as they sat, apparently, mulling over the solution. Looking through the window, he knew that the sun would be overhead soon. And the sleeping draught would work its magic sooner. And when he awoke next, the Ghost would disappear. All he had to do then, was to connive with the Spirit – an old chum – and hand over a stronger bottle of draught. When the spirit did awake, this time, a bit unsure, the doctor briefed him –with a grave look of concern on his face. He elaborated on how “the other doctor” was no one different: but one of their own: a cleverer evil spirit, out to make bigger business, selling his own drugs under the excuse of “curing” an ailment, which was clearly never possible to cure cure. “Imagine!”, the doctor snickered tactfully, “playing our own game with us - are we that naïve or what? Like we do not know what life is all about- how to live it- and how to deal with the consequences of what we do. I mean..come on..”. The man nodded… looking more and more convinced – but not completely so.

The doc leant closer to the man, and said in a conspirational whisper, “ .. of course we get all kinds of disturbing thoughts in the silence of night.. but the best we can do is sleep over them..right?..both of us know, in our hearts of hearts… that a pill like that would mean the end of our lives..pulling the oxygen-tube out of our systems- you think you’re sick now- when all you suffer from is a few hours of anxiety at night- but both of us know what life would be like- without the oxygen tube- sixteen whole hours a day! And you won’t even be able to sleep over those 16 hours. It’s a trap, is all I can say. That charlatan of a doctor too has his own spirit- believe you me, that makes him manufacture these shady pills – for doing god-knows-what!

Tough to know whom you can trust these days- you can scarcely trust yourself. If I were you, I would know better. Now sleep tight, tonight. And let’s talk some more later.”

The next night- as the man, turned and tossed around in his bed- struggling to fall into the dark chambers of slumber- he found himself wondering if the doc-with-the-pill would visit him again? That money-spindling-scoundrel! As if there *were* some cure to this disease! As if he were dumb enough to think that in a world of spirits- feasting off each other’s souls, some random doctor would want to help his spirit grow. As if that scoundrel were disease free! How was that possible, neither the man himself or his doctor were spared of the infection! Devil knows what he had mixed in those pseudo-charitable pills – and why he wanted to give them away…

No.. he wasn’t about to fall for this trap.. he didn’t know exactly how he was going to come out of the hell that was this sickness – (his own devil of the doctor – oh yeah! They were all the same crooks- had never given him any other solution) .. but, for now, he wanted to sleep his fears away. And he had the sleeping draught for the night.

A reconstruction of the most common conversation these days:

A: I don’t support this Anna movement. Shady guy- I hear he’s himself corrupt.

B: Forget Anna- What’s your opinion on the Lokpal Bill?

A: I dunnoo.. I don’t think their so-called solution will really be a solution. What will Jan Lokpal Bill do.. we already have so many systems in place for fighting corruption- how has that helped ever! Anna people are just getting unnecessary publicity.

B: Forget Anna- what systems/solutions do you propose for corruption then?

A: I dunno! .. See, there is always the Government’s bill- and I’m sure they’ll come up with something good.

B: So.. moving from “ nothing can prevent corruption” to “I’m sure something will work out” –what logic? Anyway, so you believe (on faith) in the political parties’ commitment to fighting corruption?

A: I don’t think you can trust any of these politicians – they’re all corrupt. And because of them, we also have to become corrupt. Let’s see what happens.

** Well, it’s funny how we keep complaining of the pain of our ailment, perpetuating the disease day after day- under the pretext of helplessness, and we don’t even want to suggest/design a cure or treatment.

And the Cherry on Top of the Icing on the Cake?

When some of us decide to attempt to doctor the disease, far from helping out or hearing out- many of us focus not on analyzing the merits/demerits of the cure so proposed- and pitching in with ideas for solution building; instead, our energies are diverted to the vital stats of the self-appointed doctors – and reading and writing gossip columns on them.

Which is fine, really. But the next time one files for one’s income tax refund and has to grease a few palms to get one’s hard earned money back- they would do well to look for a similarly-styled shoulder to cry on.

- The Common Man is an excuse devised by Man for all his self-inflicted (and self-perpetuated) woes.

- A perfectly able-bodied and healthy individual almost loses the right to a fair hearing in Court of Justice when they turn a blind eye, a deaf ear AND most importantly, an irresponsible mouth, to the process of justice.

- We are keen to spot the speck of dust in another’s eye, but fail to notice the log in our own (One of the spot-on truths in Jesus Christ’s Sermon On the Mount)

- The Masses, the People or whatever they’re called – are the most unreliable, immature, indispensable, and useful ally of the leader in any cause. Yeah- all at the same time!

More on these and more take-aways later.

Oh, and also, I feel really terrible for Dr. Manmohan Singh. To have led such an impeccable life for most years- only to have it almost undone towards retirement, is so sad.