Teesri Manzil ;)

 “This is a great workout. No wonder you are so slim..”

When you stay on the third floor of a housing society that has no lifts, you are no stranger to such compliments. Sweating it out in the gym or a stringent diet chart gets no credit, instead the endless row of stairs leading up to your flat grabs all the attention.

Its great to gaze down at the habitation from the much envied height, one also feels relatively closer to the Almighty  (distance wise).

The sun ensures that summers roast you since you are closest to the hot ball while the winters spare none in the city. But there are advantages too. Morning walks are no more a struggle during winters. Three rounds of ‘go up and down the stairs’ , the happy hormones are released and you feel joyful and fit. Also , my five year old neighbour is forever excited to slide down the railings of the stairs. Its his favourite game.

The other day a distant and indeed, a very difficult relative expressed an ardent desire to visit us. I received the entire clan at the society gate. They were visibly happy to see me and I am an expert at masking emotions. When near the stairs, I informed the five member group that it’s a long distance up and our heavenly abode is on the third floor . While four members acknowledged the facts with a smile, the fifth relative (whose mission in life is to see everybody married) was aghast.

‘Oh no, I cant climb.. It’s a long way up.. My joints ache.. No no no no..’

The emphatic ‘No’ made it quite clear that my beloved aunty was not getting much time to increase our stress levels, this time around. Back at the society gate, we bid each other ‘adieus’ and now, I was also deeply and truly happy to see them going.

Gratitude is a wonderful emotion and I am grateful to be residing on the third floor of an apartment without a lift and with narrow stairs that make the climbing up process even more cumbersome. So, a cup of tea ? Third floor ? Anyone ? ;)

How real is the virtual ???......

I love you… when did you last look into the mirror and say the three magic words to yourself.

How silly is what you just remarked, right ? Infact it isn’t silly my friend. We don’t love ourselves or appreciate who we are but strangely enough, expect the world to go gaga over us. To begin with, is our online identity an exact replica of our real self ? I guess not. Most profiles on Facebook have the profile picture of the Shahids, Katrinas and Priyankas of the world. Often if we are tagged in a picture and our nose appears a little crooked (actually that’s how it is) or our hair is not in place (or our scalp is showing), we prefer removing the tag and only like to keep pictures that have us looking like a dream.

A lot of thought goes into a status update. After all, we want at least 10 likes to begin with. The spirit to prove yourself as the cooler one naturally comes to the fore.

Last week I attended a wedding and the couple had met through a social networking site. The guy stalked her for months after which the girl agreed to meet him. It was love at first sight though she did realize that he was far from being the suave gentleman as portrayed through the online chats.

Infact, social networking sites have become another platform to know your romantic interest better. So, if you start conversing with this ‘eligible bachelor’ who is on the look out, the first thing he will do to bridge the gap is start following you on twitter or send you a friend request on Facebook. Under such unexpected circumstances, a well maintained , good looking Facebook page always comes to rescue.

But, if you look carefully.. the real self does reveal in those pictures and status updates. How does one react to a certain rape incident or celebrate his birthday with his friends or respond to a friend’s status update speaks volumes about one’s character traits and personality.

The social networking sites make you social enough to have 500 plus friends in your list but how many of them are we really friends with ? Most are plain acquaintances or people we had a chance encounter with or people who matter in the work sphere. Certainly, they cant be called  friends, yet who minds an impressive photograph or interesting status update inviting comments and likes from strangers ? Also, when we communicate with strangers online, we can be more confrontational and flirtatious than we normally are.. Words and expressions are framed appropriately, jokes are planned and the vocabulary is in place. If you want the world to know that you are single, then update your relationship status and all the eligible bachelors and spinsters in the town would get the intended signal. If you are confused about the relationship and wanting respite, then the status becomes ‘complicated’ so that ex flames can feel encouraged to try their luck again.

In essence, the online world is a virtual world where everybody concerned is trying to put their best foot forward, at times by conditionally expressing themselves and at other times through words of wisdom and portfolio pictures. But the person behind that laptop , even better ipad or tablet.. is you.. So why not be real ? The next time, you are tagged in a picture that shows your belly and also your scalp.. do not untag, instead make it your profile picture. Let the world know the real you and love you for who you are ! You are special, beautiful and unique just the way you are.. a sample like none other !

Its coldddd... !!!!

The doorbell rings.. I look at my dad who looks at mum who stares back at me.. and each look carries a plea.. ‘please open the door.. I cant get up, its coldddd !’

Finally, the lady of the house, as always , takes the lead in responding to the restless stranger at our door step who, by now seems to be enjoying the ‘Go-on-ringing-the-doorbell’ game. Well, he is also feeling coldddd !

The fact of the matter is that this biting cold has left one incapacitated to function normally. The thought of taking a bath is dreadful in itself. The few moments that give you solace are the ones when you are embraced by ripples of warm water in the cozy bath tub or when you are cut off from the world , hidden in the recesses of your warm quilt, or when you are joyfully sipping endless cups of tea that does give you momentary relief.

And who cares about going to the beauty parlour ? So what if waxing is long overdue and eyebrows are shaggy and bushy. Non smokers can also be seen smoking perpetually. The elderly couples look endearing in their monkey caps. Winter attire can be equally trendy, girls in my neighbourhood make me believe so. Their pet dog aka Robert is also sporting a stylish jacket that has ‘Pet Mafia’ written on it. The whole family including Robert can be seen fighting for seating space, right in front of the heater.

So, while we do want the temperatures to increase, most of us are relatively acclimatized to the Delhi weather and we do manage to get through the Delhi winter each year.

But, that’s not true in all cases. Shakuntala, my house maid, walked in this morning without her slippers. It was a ‘cold’ sight and we could hardly fathom how she managed to walk the distance on this cold morning barefoot.

‘Chori ho gaye aunty’ she was sharing the sad tale of events with my mother who deeply empathised with her and took out a pair of slippers from the shoe rack for Shakuntala.

“Aunty, aur razai bhi. Bache le lete hain. Bahut thand hai..”

For many like Shakuntala, this is the ‘winter’ of their lives. They are victors if they get through this season alive.  

Grateful that we have all the clothes, the quilts, the tea bags, the heaters, the boots, the jackets..et all to keep us warm and safe. Hence, it would be a good idea to share some of our stuff with those who need it.. After all, its the warmth of a sincere heart that can beat the cold, no matter how biting or fierce !

God's own country !

Welcome to the land of lungis and appams ! This is God’s own country and the humans call it Kerela !

An eventful three hour drive from Coimbatore to Kerela with an unrelenting driver whose speedometer refused to slide below 100 km per hour, happened last night. My earnest desire to admire the coconut plantation in Kerela  has been realized as I did arrive here safely this morning. After profusely thanking the driver, I was led to a village called ‘Rayira Nellur’.

‘What is the difference between  a lungi and a dhoti uncle ?’ My uncle smiled at the innocent question and excitedly replied.. “You see, this white wrap around that I am wearing is a dhoti and the coloured wrap arounds are lungis..”

There is no denial to the fact that these wrap arounds are very airy indeed and hence, many pairs of thin hairy legs can be seen all over the place. Around forty per cent of Keraliites can be found in the Gulf and in our neighbourhood here, a mansion is being constructed by one such gentleman who is serving a ‘shaikh’ in the UAE.

After having a sumptuous breakfast of ‘Puttu and Payar curry’ , we headed to our uncle’s parents’ cottage nearby. A 92 year old alert father and an 80 years of age, charming mother greeted us at the door. They live in a house that is 150 years old. The father has worked under the Britishers and retired from office in the year 1975. They are surrounded by rice fields, coconut trees, mango, jackfruit etc                                                      while human beings are a rare sight, animals being more in the visible range. The nearest grocery shop is at a 3 km distance , yet the couple is so peaceful and content. The mother spoke to me in a language that I couldn’t comprehend while the father gleefully faced the camera as my photographer uncle set into action.

All the places here have sign boards that explain the subject matter to you either in Malayalam or in English. Knowledge of Sanskrit or Hindi alone will do you no good .  Interestingly, most places here have an ‘am’ effect to their name particularly, the places surrounding this village that are called, Naduvattam , Kandam kulam, kunnam kulam, Chaban kulam and Mankulam and ofcourse my favourite ‘appam’ that I will savor this evening.

This place is a stark contradiction to the cacophony seen in the metro cities of the country. Its my first day here and certainly this is not ‘God’s own country’ without a reason !

Off for lunch now and my modest menu comprises of   chawal, sambar, aviyal, uperi, papaddam, kalan, olan, pickle and payasam..  Burp !

The Real Survivor !

I am back at work now after a gap of three months. Life has changed. It will never be the same. What happened on that fateful night did not just bruise my body, but shattered my soul and crushed my spirit. Waking up each morning is a struggle now. When I look at myself in the mirror, I cant relate to the person I see..

Yesterday, my friends took me out for dinner. But I don’t like dinners, I don’t like going out in the dark. I was with a friend on that day, yet it happened. Why did it happen ? My mother did ask me to postpone my plan as there were guests coming over that day. But I insisted. Why did I not listen to her ? Why was it so important to watch a movie ?

Everybody says I am coping well. But, I can see my mother crying in quiet corners of the house. My father dosent come home until late at night. He cant break down in front of me, after all. My brother no longer quarrels with me for the remote control.

… and my pillow is wet every night as the horrifying memories play in my mind as if in a loop.. May be, it was a dream.. may be, it never happened.. I had read about it in papers but how could this happen to me ?

May no innocent woman suffer this destiny. This is my prayer to the Almighty every day. I still believe in him as He chose to keep me alive. My friends tell me that I need to pick myself up and look forward.. I am a fighter and I am certain that I will emerge victorious. Every cloud has a silver lining and a bright future awaits me…. I need to have faith, no matter how difficult..

-A 23 year old rape victim

Yenna Rascala Mind it… !

Did you know.. Rajnikanth can give a missed call to his own number ? Everything that is deemed impossible by God also, is possible for this man… and now I hear that Rajnikanth’s story has been included in the curriculum for CBSE students.

And why not ?? It is truly a ‘rags to riches’ story. Born as Shivaji Rao Gaikwad in a Maratha family, Rajni lost his mother at the age of five. An impoverished lifestyle and a constant struggle to make ends meet, Rajnikanth perceived the essence of ‘struggle’ at a young age. Bangalore Transport Service was the chosen destination of Mr Gaikwad who assumed the role of a bus conductor here. Acting in plays was a passion, when by a stroke of luck, he was discovered by a film director who encouraged him to master Tamil.

And then the Maratha lad transformed into a south Indian deity. Yes, the Omnipotent, Omniscient, Omnipresent ! Consider this.. Rajnikanth has a brain tumor which is incurable. But, in one of the fights Rajnikanth is shot in the head. The bullet passes through his ears taking the tumor along and Rajni is cured ! In another scene, Rajnikanth is confronted with a gangster but he is unarmed and  only has a knife with him. The gangster fires and Rajnikanth, with the knife, cuts the bullet into two pieces !

We are hopeful that the students studying Rajnikanth’s life story will not attempt such logic defying stunts but what is remarkable about the man is his humility post this unbelievable stardom ! Struggle is good. It strengthens the foundation of a human being and with a strong foundation, no building can ever collapse !

As an ambitious child, I too dreamt of growing up to be a bus conductor one day since I believed that the conductor took home, along with him, all the earnings of the day. But it’s a good idea to dream and dream big. After all, did Rajni know that one day he could eat dosa with chop sticks ?

Language is no barrier... moye !

'Mr Deutch is a very important client. Please take good care of him. He wanted to get a first hand feel of the Indian markets.. so, suggest you take him to Lajpat..ok?…' This order was wrongly framed as a question and Prashant Kapoor had no choice but to function as Mr Deutch’s escort. A production manager with an export house, Prashant simply abhorred shopping. He never accompanied his wife for shopping purposes and thus wasn’t familiar with the interiors of Central Market in Lajpat nagar.

'Okay sir.. I will.. Umm..'

Mr Deutch was an American and like an unrestrained, super excited grown up kid, jumped into the car waiting downstairs. Prashant reluctantly followed him inside the car.

The traffic jams and the dissonance at the Central Market didn’t dissuade the ‘angrez’ from exploring every nook and corner while Prashant was pleasantly amused.

'Please ask her.. how much are these flip flops for Prashant?' Mr Deutch was all set to bargain with the lady at the shop. In India, do as the Indians do !

'Kitne ke diye ??' Prashant was the compliant translator.

'Ded sau ke do..' the lady at the shop hurriedly replied while trying to manage the many customers at her shop.

'Sir, she says.. she will give you two pairs for Rs 150 only…'

'Tell her to make it three pairs for 150 Rs … Yes Prashant ?' Mr Deutch didn’t want to close the deal so soon.

'Aunty, ded sau ke teen de do..' Prashant insisted

'Hum kyun khade hain yahaan ? is angrez ke ghar na chale jayein…' The lady replied scornfully and Mr Deutch could fathom that she is angry.

'Ummm what is she saying Prashant.. ?'

'Well sir, she says that this deal is not possible buttttt she would lovveeee toooo , youuuu knowwww ummm see the market places in your side of the country…' Prashant knew that Mr Deutch was an important client, hence behind pleasing him was an ulterior motive.

Mr Deutch looked at her, smiled and wanted to take this conversation further.. but the lady interrupted, remarked ‘Hatt Moye’ and resumed talking to other customers..

‘What did she say Prashant ?’ the American was curious.

‘She said .. let it be dear.. not possible…’

‘Aaaahh ok.. so moye stands for dear..’

‘Yes ?? yes.. yes.. you are right Mr Deutch..’

Next Mr Deutch saw a crowded take away and chole bhature here was a tempting sight.

‘Prashant moye, let us order a plate..’ Mr Deutch had picked up a ‘punjabi’ word after all, it had to find a place in every statement of his now.

'What ? yes…ok…' Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, Prashant looked confused and obediently brought along two plates of chole bhature.

‘Thanks moye’

Prashant controlled his laughter with great difficulty.  Mr Deutch had a spoonful of the chole and finding it extra spicy raced towards the shop counter.

‘This is too spicy… How can you serve such spicy food ?’ Mr Deutch was quite unhappy with the quality of the food while the unclothed chef was unaffected.

‘pehle bol dete.. cheeni mila deta ..’

‘What is he saying Prashant ?’

‘Umm he is saying that he could have prepared the dish as per your taste buds but he didn’t know you were coming..’ Prashant was in a state of flux.

‘Oh ok.. I cant have this.. I am sorry moye..’ Mr Deutch left his plate at the counter and paraded towards his parked car while the shopkeeper was still trying to comprehend what he had just heard from Mr Deutch..

‘Kya bola ?'

'Jaane do bhaiya…' Prashant had to cover up for the damage caused.

After an eventful day at Lajpat Nagar, it was finally time for Mr Deutch to leave. He was very grateful to Prashant who had taken him around the whole day and had also doubled up as an efficient interpreter.

‘Okay Prashant moye.. its time for me to leave’ .. Mr Deutch had to now check in .

Prashant was waiting to rush out of the airport and laugh to his heart’s content when Mr Deutch hugged him one last time and said.. “Your language interests me, I will master it soon… moye..”