Not mine...

By my sixteenth birthday, I was chic, witty and convivial, the envy of most girls I knew. I excelled at school, played soccer for the club and was a volunteer at an NGO. If someone would have told me back then that I’d be pregnant in two months’ time, I’d have laughed it away. Yet, I did. Get pregnant, that is.

My world came crashing down as I realized my mistake and panicked. I’d heard of teenage pregnancies, but hey, who was so foolish? Well, looks like I was. I had no confidant as my boyfriend deserted me. My parents had immense faith in my sense of responsibility, and that did not do anything to encourage me to tell them about the mess I was in. Alone, left to fend for myself, I went through horrible mood swings. There were days I contemplated suicide, fearful of my tough life ahead. On other days, maternal feelings enveloped me as I felt unconditional love for the nameless human form growing within me- unknown, yet so well-known.

My first word, when I had learned of my pregnancy,was, “abortion” -practical, and discreet. I decided I would not let my child see the light of the day. Everyone made mistakes, and this was one of mine. But Fate had different plans. I was well acquainted with the dangers involved, if an abortion was conducted in an unhygienic manner. The safer places demanded money that I definitely could not afford. And so, I had to cross out abortion from my list of possible solutions. Now, the only solution left was giving my baby up for adoption.

Suppressing all my motherly love, I walked into an adoption agency one bright February morning, all alone. I told the woman at the counter my story, and she gave me a comforting smile as she assured me that my baby would be in safe hands. She gave me a list of couples who had applied for adoption, and asked me who I’d choose as the parents of my child. “Me, of course”, I almost said, but then that was just my heart talking. My head told me that my pregnancy was MY fault, and my child shouldn’t be made to pay for it. It deserved a loving family, a good education, and a secure future- things I was far from being able to provide it with. Inside of me, though, I still hoped I would not find a suitable couple, so that I could keep my baby for myself.

Of late, things had stopped going my way. And it happened again. I found a suitable couple, and zeroed in on them. Over the next two months, I got to know them well, and there was not one moment I regretted my decision. They’d give my child immense love. They would be perfect parents. I lied to my parents, told them I was going on a vacation, as I spent the last three months of my term with them, in their house- the place my child would call home.

One morning I wondered, what if my child was born deformed? What if it was impaired in some way? Would they take it as it was? Or would I have to creep into some orphanage and drop my innocent baby there? Possibilities of rejection by the chosen couple bombarded me, ate away at my mind till the morning my daughter was born.

One look at her cherubic face, looking up at me, was enough for me to almost back off, to want to bury her in my coat and run away to some place where no one would see us. She was perfect in every way. As I held her in my arms, she gave me a smile so beautiful, I cried. Were those happy tears? Sad ones? I still don’t know. Two days later, my daughter’s new parents officially adopted her, as I came back home after my ‘vacation’. Nothing was amiss at home, I was still the model young woman in my community. Things moved on, and even though I missed my daughter, I did not try to reconnect with her new family. I did not want my dark past to eclipse her beautifully sunny life.

It’s my wedding day today. And it’s also my daughter’s twelfth birthday. With every passing day in the past twelve years, I’ve learnt a new lesson- lessons not taught in school or in Sunday school. Those were lessons that one learns every time they stumble and fall on life’s pathway. I do not know what they’ve named my daughter. But I do know that today, when she reaches out for her mamma, it’s not me whom she’s calling. Her life is unrelated to mine, yet deeply intertwined. I do not know if one day her family will tell her about me, if she’ll ever know the mamma that bore her. Yet hope does not die within this breast. Her reentry in my life will cause another storm in my life, but I will fight fiercely next time, spurred by the thought of that first smile of hers...

OF MAKEUP, COCKROACHES, MUSIC AND FOOD...

Tragedy:

I define tragedy as the condition I am in when my stick of kohl gets exhausted, and I’ve forgotten to buy a new one already.

Kohl is one absolute essential in my life. I don’t think I’ve passed even one day in the past seven years without the application of this particular cosmetic. I vividly remember dragging myself out of bed, a little more than three years back, when I was down with typhoid, just to wear kajal- people were coming over to visit me, and I could not afford to let them see me minus kohl.

Diamonds are said to be a girl’s best friend, but mine is my stick of kohl, without which I can’t think of stepping out of my room. I can’t even bear to look at myself in the mirror, plain-eyed, even at midnight. Ask Sabrina Tauro with whom I shared a room when I was on a trip recently. Shocked at seeing me apply kajal at about 11.30pm, she asked me if I knew I was going to bed soon!

And so, when last month, I realized one morning when I was getting ready for college, that my kohl stick was over, and my reserves were empty, I decided to bunk- until I hit upon the novel idea of lining my eyes with non-toxic felt pen- an emergency measure only!

Fear:

Yeah, we all have one thing we’re mortally scared of! I thought until recently, that my weak point was pain- but then I happened to spy a cockroach- and SCREAMED! The ugliest creatures on earth (my personal opinion, of course, with which I’m sure many people would conform)- roaches- dark brown, with their disgustingly bristled legs, and creepy feelers, have the capacity to elicit from me a scream so piercing, so scary, it would put a heroine from a horror movie to shame! Having to dissect a cockroach in my Biology laboratory was probably the scariest thing I’ve ever had to do, and hopefully, I ever will! I’m sure my classmates remember me running around the lab when one of the specimen roaches escaped from the jar in which he was stored. Bless the lab assistant and my teacher for not reporting my antics to the HOD!

My classic question of all time: Why didn’t Noah kill those two roaches when he let two of all God’s creatures into his ark?????

Embarrassment:

Recently- just last week, to be precise, my good friend Vidya Ramamorthy and I embarked one of our frequent karaoke sessions- the kind that we have 9 out of 10 times we meet. Both of us are Bollywood music enthusiasts, and we start belting out our favorite tracks, rather, MY favorite tracks during such times. Vidya (who, BTW, is the ONLY person on the face of the planet, who thinks I’m a decent enough singer to join in with), is one docile lady, and gives in to my insistence when it comes to choosing songs!

And so just imagine my embarrassment, when after all my insistence, I screw up, midway through a song! Be it forgetting the lyrics, losing my voice at the high notes, missing the beats, or messing up the tune- you name it, and I’ve done it!

My cheeks tend to take on a rosy hue, and my head hangs with shame as I hear Vids say, “Maine kaha tha Arpi, yeh gana nahin.... mera wala aasan toh tha kam se kam - ho jata, without any interruptions!”

To top it all, if we’ve been (un)fortunate enough to have an audience when this disaster happens, my shame knows no boundaries as my reputation as a good singer goes down the drain! But mind you, I haven’t yet learnt my lesson, as I keep pretending I’m a broken juke box for about forty minutes everyday!

Bliss:

When I get to eat what I want to, without counting the calories! Yes, I know, healthy is in! Kareena had to gain some kilos before Saif fell in love with her butt all over again! Yet, irrespective of what every girl says about the futility of ‘the size zero fad’, and how she says her boyfriend likes her curvy, secretly, she’d love to be counted in that list of stick thin ‘hotties’ , who’ve ‘achieved it’! Every thin woman loves rubbing in the fact that she’s got the body that makes her the envy of the rest of us! And as far as the feminist who goes on about how it’s only the inside that matters, is concerned, it’s just a classic case of the fox believing that the grapes were sour anyways! In fact, I think this was the feeling that mothered feminism in the first place!

And so, the ‘pleasantly plump’, and ‘well rounded’ girls like me have two options:

a) to stop eating our favorite foods (which invariably are fries, chips, pizza, burgers- anything mayonnaise based), and pretend like food anyways was the last thing we cared about, and that it hardly ever made a difference to our lives (like hell it didn’t!!)

b) to give a shit to what people say about our figures, to be super-comfortable in XL sized clothes; to be able to convince that well-meaning aunt not to worry, some guy would surely see what jewels we were, and marry us, despite the fact that we might not be able to accommodate our bottoms on their bikes- and to continue eating what we love eating! (Kudos to Mahi of Mahi Way!! for celebrating the lives and desires of such women!)

I, unfortunately, am of the former kind! Good food, honestly, far from exciting me, now freaks me out! A platter of my once favorite food now makes me run away!

So, occasionally, like during Pujo, when I let myself forget the fat, and focus on the feast, I binge; and for me, on those rare days, binging=BLISS! Pure, unadulterated bliss!

God has made human beings special... He’s given us myriad feelings!! My favorite four are up there, and you have just wasted some of your time reading about them. But if you’re a girl, you’ll probably know what I’ve been meaning to say. A breakup with your boyfriend might appear to be the most intense feeling you’ve ever felt; but a little thing like shopping goes a long way in alleviating that pain... Sometimes feelings are not defined by the flowery language we see in greeting cards, but by the tiny instances that remind us of who we really are... look out, you just might be surprised!

It’s a different ‘picture’

"Cigarette toh shudhu phushphush ke jalaye, ami amar hridoy jaliyechi” (Akrosh, early 2000s). Boss, these dialogues just ain’t gonna work anymore! ‘Protibaad’, ‘Protishodh’ newowa hoye geche, and the ‘Boro bou’, ‘Mejo bou’, ‘Choto bou’ series is over, as all the ‘Choudhuri Porbar’s and “Sonar Sansar’s have been pushed into oblivion. The Bengali movies of the 1990s and early 2000s- very much like a deep fried, heavily spiced, indigestible kochuri- are not being accepted by the newer audiences. Today’s youth, calorie- conscious, yet a lover of excellent taste, expects the same when it comes to cinema. Commercial chobir oto tel moshla ar hojom hoye na! And hence, breaking into Tollywood, is a new breed of directors and scriptwriters, catering to our altered preferences- the masala is just right- giving ‘too much’ a run for all it’s worth! This is what we bongs have gotten around to calling, the ‘multiplex movie’.

Ekhonkar bacchagulo bohut paka! They know everything! Gonjakhuri goppo diy oder mon jeta jabe na, sir! The ‘hero’ of the commercial movie- larger than life- is someone none of us have ever seen in our lives. He jumps off a cliff, and descends on his feet, all his bones intact! He’s shot, six or eight times (depending on what pistol the ’villain’ could afford) - and then he smashes the ‘villain’s’ head on a rock, unhurt... There’s a long list of movies from the 1990s, where the hero tells the villain in a thunderous voice, ‘Mayer dudh kheye thakle bero, haramjada! lorey dekha amaar shathey’.

Sad part is, none of us have had the archetypal older brother who rode an auto rickshaw in order to ensure we got an education. And if one in a million of us have indeed been fortunate enough to have had one, I’m sure we would not have turned him out of the house once we were independent. I haven’t seen too many real life brides eloping with their boyfriends on their wedding day; they know that running around in a 15kg benarasi sari, wearing a king’s ransom worth of gold, is not an easy feat... they’d escape beforehand. But a commoner approach we’d follow is to refuse the proposal outright and tell our parents we’ve made our choice. ‘Cause in real life, a girl’s brother generally does not hire goons to behead her boyfriend.

And therein lies the factor that differentiates class from crass... Today’s movies tell us the story of us. It could be a glimpse of your life, or mine, that we catch in them. The passions we followed, the sins we committed, the little pleasures we indulged in... they’re the basis of a multiplex movie. Set in one of the houses we’ve grown up in, not the palatial mansion that looked more like a bejeweled continent- so gaudy and so huge! The protagonists wear the clothes and makeup we wear, they don’t go to bed looking like they’re going for a wedding! They’re the story of the girl next door, or that boy in class... or even of that transgender we openly ridiculed until a couple of years back, but have now accepted, giving them the dignity they deserve. The characters are neither completely black, nor totally white. They have shades of grey in them, just like we do. And that is why we relate to them. And that is why we love them. They’re bits of us on celluloid.

Be it two strangers falling in love online (Antoheen), or the fingers pointed to a woman’s character when a male friend of hers dies while on a holiday with her (Anuranan), we’ve been there, done that. We genuinely sympathize with Mitthi, yet we don’t blame her fiancée Joydeep Roy for backing out of the wedding (15, Park Avenue) when she suddenly turns schizophrenic, days before the nuptials. Seriously, how many of us would actually go ahead with the wedding? We understand the mixed sentiments of Pablo and Taniya (Madly Bangalee), best friends who end up falling in love, yet deciding to go their own ways when they realized their paths would never converge. They were band members who had clashes with their co-members- religious, academic, and about authority. Now tell me, how many of us haven’t gone through that? Thousands of girls worldwide related to Sri (Autograph), who parted ways with her boyfriend of many years when he illegally used her photographs to promote his directorial début. She was not the Sati Savitri type Indian woman who’d have forgiven her man, irrespective of what he’d have done. Neither am I. Nor are most other girls I know.

The Bong Connection; Cholo, Let’s Go; Cross Connetion; Bo Barracks Forever, Cholo Paltai, Iti Mrinalini... they all depict our love-hate relationship with life, our daily struggles and victories, our laughs and tears. They’r OUR story!

Brinda of Antoheen might have been killed, and with her Abhik might have lost his first love; Preeti of Anuranan lost her reputation of being a ‘nice’ woman, Mitthi lost her sanity and her fiancée; but their movies won. Madly Bangalee, the band, might have disintegrated, but Madly Bangalee, the movie lingers on in our minds for months.

These movies have no heroes and villains. They just have characters- like us! And hence, we know what they’re dealing with. Their tears, their smiles, their worries and their joys become ours. They seem to be our friends, and not aliens from some distant planet. No wonder, we’ve taken to them like a fish to water!

Dual....

Looking good. Check. Packed the kids’ lunch boxes after having supervised their bath and breakfast. Check. Made badam milk for the in-laws. Check. Getting that fat paycheque this evening. Check. That’s the ideal Indian woman of today for you. She’s the ultimate blend of tradition and modernity, juggling work and home with perfect dexterity. Be it ironing the creases out of her ever-so-busy husband’s blazer, to check if mom-in-law has had her medicines, to helping the kids with the homework- multitasking seems to be such an integral part of her identity, you’d hardly call it a skill anymore- it’s just something she was born with. As we go on and on today about women’s lib, and how she’s stepped out of the purdah, we seem to have completely overlooked the fact that she has probably had to jump from the frying pan into the fire, as she has begun living an almost dual life.

A lot has been said of how today’s Indian woman looks at her male counterpart in the eyes –she is as well-qualified, educationally as well as professionally, as him. Today’s Indian urban woman has stormed into, and conquered territories that were previously ruled by men- and how!

Yet, amidst all this fanfare, the little fact that has probably been lost upon by us, is that though she shares office space with her man, he does not seem to be willing to share her responsibilities at home. And so, what we have today is a breed of exhausted “superwomen.” Society uses that term to spur her to slog harder, fulfilling its own selfish desires; while the superwoman herself loves the tag- it’s an ‘honor’ that has been bestowed upon her, and she tries hard to fill the bottomless pit of expectations they have from her- not living upto which seems like sacrilege, thus making her feel guilty. Remember Radhika Jha form ‘One Night in a Call Center’?

The modern Indian woman is so pressurized; sometimes it looks like stepping out of the confines of her home was probably her worst mistake. Today, not only is she expected to study and earn as much as men, but also to cook, clean and feed the family- traditional wifely duties. Her husband feels no guilt while helping himself to half her salary to pay for his gaming CDs, but finds it derogatory to his ‘image’ if he helped her with her chores.

At the end of the day, drained of the last ounce of energy in her body, when she tries to relax, she is often accused of not taking enough care of herself- contributing to her shabby appearance, for traditionally, ‘looks maketh a woman’! Worse, after the herculean jobs of the day are done to perfection, she still has to be that demure, quiet woman, flashes of whom we’ve grown up seen in our mothers. She can’t afford to be irritated, despite the hard work taking a toll on her, for who has ever heard a good Indian woman shout, or seen her being irritable? She’s second probably only to Jesus Christ when it came to patience and forgiveness. She’s sweet-natured by default, and has never been known to raise her voice. The very qualities that men use to assert their ‘masculinity’ sound the death knell of a woman’s ‘perfection’.

But what can she be, if not shabby and irritated, dear guardians of society? As she tries hard to strike that perfect balance in her dual life, a little appreciation is the least she deserves. If we take her for granted and make it look like letting her stand on her own two feet is something she owed society one for, we’re way too wrong! We’re not doing her favor by giving he her independence, her right to a good life. She’s the ‘ardhangini’ – one of the two halves of a home. Man is the other. In every aspect. And it’s about time he lived up to that wedding vow!

What it takes

When one day, about three years back, my two-wheeler refused to start when the traffic lights changed from red to green (I always turn off the ignition at the red light to save petrol), I knew I was in a soup. I pulled the vehicle to one corner of the street and began kicking the starter, but to no avail. People passed by, and smiled a mocking smile, as I turned beetroot red in embarrassment and frustration. I was almost home after a long day out with my friends, and I was desperate to get back to relax. But it looked like I was destined to do otherwise.

It was then that a young guy (I won’t call him ‘young man’, he was too young even for that) who worked as a helper in an adjoining sweet shop saw my predicament and came over to see what the matter was. He looked into my petrol tank, and told me that my scooter was out of fuel! How silly of me, I had not even thought of that possibility! Despair struck me as I realized that there was no fuel station in a one kilometer radius. Besides, I had spent all my money with my buddies that day! Tears brimmed in my eyes as I contemplated my next move. Realizing my problem, the ‘sweet shop guy’ smiled a reassuring smile at me as he asked me to wait while he got me help. As I just stood there stupefied, wondering what on earth was going to happen now; the guy reappeared with his own little moped, and drew out some petrol from it and poured it into my vehicle! Thanking him profusely, I rode home safely. It was soon a forgotten incident.
Just a couple of days later, one evening, as I was relaxing on my balcony with my mother, I spotted a familiar face on the road. In recognition, the owner of the face smiled a wonderfully radiant smile at me. I knew the smile only too well- it was the ‘sweet shop guy’. I shot a look at my mother, who had noticed him too. Fearing her curiosity and a volley of questions about smiling strangers, I pretended not to recognize the guy who’d only lately helped me so much. Guilt filled my heart as I saw him look astonished and disappointed.
A month or two later, I had moved on. My guilt had been wiped away by excitement at starting college. I often stayed back in college till late in the evening to take part in extra-curricular activities. It was on such a day that I was returning home long after dusk, alone. As I walked on a dark street two lanes away from home, I was chased by a pack of stray dogs- animals I’m mortally afraid of. I broke into a cold sweat and did the only thing I could- pray to God to send me an angel. Running away, I knew, was a bad idea- the dogs always manage to catch up, and the consequences are usually disastrous. My prayers were answered as I heard a voice shoo away the dogs. The pack retreated. As I went forward to thank my savior, I recognized his voice- it was the same ‘sweet shop guy’. He’d seen me in trouble while he was crossing the adjacent road, and he’d rushed over to help me for a second time. I thanked him yet again, and I also apologized for not smiling at hi the other day. I had recognized him only after he had passed by, I said. A blatant lie that he very obviously saw through, but decided not to make a fuss out of. He gave me another of his beautiful smiles and said goodbye.
These days I do spot him in my neighbourhood occasionally. Our communication is limited to a smile- but we’ve formed a bond over it. I now refer to him as the ‘sweet guy’, rather than the sweet ‘shop’ guy. We’ve moved on from being strangers to friends- all it took was some petrol, a pack of stray dogs; and a smile…

The Little Joys of Life

No, I’m not going to start off about the flitting butterflies, the chirping birds, the beautiful sunrise, or the meandering streams! Nature’s beauty has been spoken enough about! Life has plenty of other stuff to give us, most of which go unnoticed by us!

Have you ever discovered money in someplace you never thought you would? Or found some lost money in the pockets of an old shirt? How would you describe that feeling? Bliss? Yeah sure, it is! Even better is the feeling of sheer joy you feel when you discover that precious one rupee coin, hiding in some corner of your bag, when you were falling short of exactly that amount while getting your bus ticket(if you get one, that is!)! Whoever said money can’t buy you happiness?

Do you remember how you felt when you found a public loo(or maybe a wall, whatsay, Indian men?) after holding back nature’s call for what seemed like a lifetime? Birbal once called this feeling the most satisfying, in life! While I would not go so far, I could surely say, I know what he was talking about!

Ever had someone do something for you, unselfishly? Like someone who offered you their water bottle because you were thirsty and there was no water around? Has anybody ever waited for you when you fell behind, while walking in a group? Be it a stranger, or your best friend; an unexpected gesture by someone is the best way to bring a smile onto your face! Check this the next time someone is being thoughtful!

How many of us can deny having laughed, or at least smiled, while reminiscencing about our past? Old photographs, video recordings, baby books (lucky babies of today! How I envy them!!), or even somebody telling us an anecdote from the past; is bound to melt even the hardest of hearts! Past triumphs still make me feel like a victor, my childhood antics still embarrass me; and old heartbreaks (the ones I have gotten over, of course!) now seem like little jokes! Talk about pain making me happy!

I could go on forever! Simple pleasures, especially the ones that seem to pop out of nowhere, make life worth living! Finding joy in the finer things somehow lowers my high blood pressure… and it adds that essential element of mystery to my otherwise humdrum life- for I never know what’s going to suddenly make me happy!

6 July 2011

A Reason

There's a reason

For every pain that you must bear,

For every grief, for every care

There's a reason

For every sorrow that crushes your heart,

For every load that slows Life's cart

There's a reason

For every wound, for every plight,

For every dark, lonely night

There's a reason for sure,

Maybe not for you to know

Yet if you believe you can stand tall

You'll learn to be a phoenix each time you fall!

So surge ahead on Life's pathway-

And you'll be a hero- come what may!

A Hero!