Sunday, March 25, 2007

Dreaming through a spyglass...

As of today, my Photoblog is on and active. Finally.

Drop in, anyone interested in seeing random pictures taken by me at random times and places.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank the one person who helped me with this blog. And my mother, and my father, and my brother, and my friends. And the crew and cast of the....

And so are my recent comments hack. With due help from AnonEcon, who has been helping me a lot... Thankoo AE..

Saturday, March 24, 2007

India v/s Sri Lanka: A Predictable Match - Yet So Disappointing

From 5 in the evening, I was glued to the Idiot Box. I had predicted that India would lose, but that was no huge feat. Half the cricketing world must have predicted that. But i was hopeful, which was also no different, all of India was hoping for the best.

When finally the toss took place at 6:30, I heaved a sigh of relief. India had won the toss, and Dravid, as usual, sensibly chosen bowling. When the first Sri Lankan wicket fell, there was an audible sigh which arose from my entire complex. Really. We could hear it. Everyone has their quirks about cricket. Mine is, that if I shut my TV off for 15 minutes or half an hour, a Sri Lankan wicket was sure to fall. And that happened. Our fielding was good. Near the end, and Sri lanka had not scored that well, not unbelievably... it was still possible. The demon called hope was roaring. I distinctly remember hoping that Silva would go. I shut the TV off again, surely the last few wickets would fall before the 50 overs were up. But when I switched the TV on, Sri Lanka had completed their innings with a score of 254. WHAT??? When I last saw it was on 211, whic only a few overs left. How could it reach 254. But it did. Gory truth.

Sachin got clean bowled, Yuvraj Run Out, Dhoni LBW. What was happening?? India was falling down like a house of cards. Dravid swung a few fours, attempted for a six, failed and got caught in the process. When Sachin got out, I told my friend T, we are gonna get run out. At 160 somewhere.. She said she dint expect even that much. I dint too, but I knew they would do 160 to 180 at least. I do hate my black tongue sometimes. And damn that Murli guy.

Now India has only one last hope of staying in the World cup. If Bangladesh loses against Bermuda. Not only does that seem like a far-fetched hope, it even seems like a dependant hope. Or more like Charity. Where it wont be the our team that'll get India into the Super 8 but another team's folly.

Sri Lankan Skipper Jayawardene said. ''India still has a chance, cricket's a funny game.'' While apna Dravid said, ''No one realizes the enormity of the defeat more than the players, I don't think anyone is more disappointed than the team. We all had hopes and dreams from the World Cup, an opportunity like this comes once in four years.'' Which is quite true, the dejected faces of the team were another tug to the heart. Wish they had avoided this by playing well.

I am not much of an expert on Cricket, neither am I a die-hard fan. Just another Indian, heart broken because of the match. I wonder why we said, Khelega toh Jeetega.. don't we know we hardly play under pressure situations...

Friday, March 23, 2007

Mandira Bedi and me...

"Has Mandira Bedi put on weight?" asks my mother, early in the morning at 10 when I have just slunk onto my chair for my life-saving element; coffee.

But the phrase 'put on weight' wakes me up completely, "I have"

Mom makes a face." Mumbai Mirror says that Mandira Bedi has put on weight, her hair is tousled, and her look is messy." "So what's so bad about that," I grumble,"I am all of that and more.."

"She needs to cover her arms and not wear tight stuff around her bust."

"Ah.. well..."

"She needs to wear her khadi kurta, pick up a jhola and go back to direction," says Mum quoting Prahalad Kakkar.

"I already wear khadi kurats, I already carry a corduroy jhola cum bag, and I want to go back to direction, if Prahalad Kakkar will take me."

"Her hair is tossed wrong and is shorter than last year" that's from some other designer or so..

"My hair is tossed, no rights and wrong about it, and at any and everytime of the day it is flying in mutinous directions, and it is shorter than last year too."

She wore plunging neck lines, halters and noodle straps last year.

"Uhh.. trump card, I was never fit enough to wear any of the three."

Mum sighs deeply and says.. these celebrities, even if they put on five Kgs of weight, it's so evident.

Aaah.. looks like she has forgotten that I'v put on five Kgs too. "How does it matter either ways Mum?"I ask wearily.

"But it shows on you too." she growls suddenly!!

Maybe that's why I've been having these mood swings...

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

A Blogger's Dilemma- An Individual's Solution

Yesterday I wrote three posts, at three different times, about three different things, and I deleted all of them. As soon as I wrote them. Because the posts were too raw. I don't mean raw as in undone.. but raw as in naked emotion.. raw as in too much of what I was feeling.

In the night, finally, I wondered, why I deleted all those posts. I started this blog to be able to say what I wanted to. Is it wrong if its too much of emotion?? Its not like I was weeping over anything, or that I was cribbing or whining in any of the posts. I was just home all day, because of another bout of sickness, and was again thinking a lot. In terms of the world around me and my thoughts to it.

I spoke to the person who pushed me to start this blog, and he too thought that I was defeating the entire purpose of this blog.

A few posts ago, I wrote about being rejected from SCAD. I had actually written a different post then what is not up, but I was advised by a friend that I needed to mask my emotions a little. I thought so too. And so I wrote a different post and deleted the earlier one.

Now I am thinking if I should do this. I blog because I want to write. Because I love writing and I want to be a professional writer someday. When and If I am good enough. I don't want to commercialize this blog. Don't get me wrong, like all bloggers, I love my readers, and my commenters. I love the comments I get, and the different perspectives, or arguments, or encouragements or criticisms even that I get. But I don't want to stop writing the way I normally do because someone might not like it. That would be cheating myself right?

If I am not liked because of my individual style of writing then how am I being me, and how will my readers like it.

I even debated over this post. Should I post this, or not??? Will those who read my blog be disgusted with my thought process? But I decided that I take my call here. I either make my blog an original place, or I customize it to what might be expected of me. Either I let you guys know what has been going on in my mind, or I don't, and then never do that again.

I wonder when and why this started.. It's quite possible that this started after my first Blog meet. I met a lot of people from the blog world but I dint know a lot of them, and as expected fewer knew me. But these people, famous bloggers, wrote about intelligent issues. They wrote about politics and witty posts about Indian Media and stuff like that. And that made me think that maybe I wrote about silly things. So I dint stop writing about what I normally do write about, I just began to tone it down. I seriously don't know what is liked more, but it doesn't feel me. Not to me at least. And if there is one thing I have never done and will never do, it is losing my own Identity.

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Desi Dabba Ahoy!!

Starting yesterday, I am posting on Desi Dabba too. My posts there will mostly be cross posted here, like my first post was too (the previous post: Mumbai's very own National Theatre Festival) but I would urge anyone and everyone interested in news, views and opinions regarding the Indian Entertainment Industry to drop in there.

Desi Dabba is a colourful and intelligent mix of bloggers (ahem!!) and posts. Do check it out!!


On a more serious note, does anyone at all know how I can add bloggerhacks to my blog. Till now I had been fighting the tag Baby Blogger heaped on me from the bloggers meet, but it seems like yesterday I resigned myself to it.

Although I did succeed in putting up a cluster map yesterday, I have been highly unsuccessful at putting up hacks. I keep linking to... (shudder!!)uhmm.. not very favourable sites.

My department would be shocked to hear me say this, but I am beginning to realize that I am technologically very very challenged, so if anyone, at all, has the time and patience to teach me about a few basic things about add-ons to my blog, then please do drop me a note.

Thankoo in advance!!

Sunday, March 18, 2007

Mumbai University's very own National Theatre Fest

On the occassion of the 'World Theatre Day' , the Academy of Theatre Arts, University of Mumbai , brings for Mumbaikars a bouquet of India's finest plays, in an 11-day 'National Vasant Natya Mahotsav'.

The Mahotsav, to be staged between March 22 and April 1, 2007 at the Kalina Campus of the University of Mumbai , will present plays by renowned directors like Ratan Thiyam, Ramesh Verma and Ranjit Kapoor.

Famous Indian theatre groups like the Chorus Repertoire Company from Manipur, The National School of Drama Repertoire Company and the Mysore Rangayan will be performing in Mumbai after a long time. "This is the speciality of the festival. There will be plays in various Indian languages by some of the prominent directors this country has produced," says Mr Waman Kendre, Director of the Academy. Along with this, several theatre luminaries like Anupam Kher and Naserrudin Shah too might grace the festival. Professor Waman Kendre himself is a very famous Marathi Theatre artist.

Some of the outstanding plays that Mumbaikars will have the pleasure of watching are:
Chakravyuha directed by Ratan Thiyam. This Manipuri play has been staged over a 100 times around the globe by the Chorus Repertoire Company.

Maya Sita Prasanga directed by Ramesh Verma from Kerala. This Kannada play is one of the more famous works of Mr Verma.

The NSD Repertoire Company will bring its famous plays Ram Nam Satya Hai and Shortcut.

Shri. Ratan Thiyam's equally important play Ritusamharam will also be presented in this festival.

Mr Kendre will present his famous play Janeman, which is based on the life of Hijras or Eunuchs. The adaption of the Greek Tragedy Oedipus too will be presented twice. This play is called Vedhapashya.
The entry for this festival is free. But the catch being that interested people need to pick up the Free Entry Card at the Kalina Campus of Mumbai University. The passes will be available from 20th March,2007 between 11 a.m. to 5 a.m. at Academy ofTheatre Arts, Dr.Babasaheb Ambedkar Bhawan, 2nd floor, Vidyanagari Campus, Kalina, Santacruz(E), University of Mumbai. The organizers of this festival are available on these numbers for any other detailed inquiry: 022-26508200, 9869115199, 9820686506. The festival will take place at Marathai Bhasha Bhawan as well as at Muktakkash Rangamanch, Lecture Hall Complex,Vidyanagari, Kalina Campus.

Cross-posted on Mumbai Metblogs

Saturday, March 17, 2007

Hidden sobs

"Sunny go study" said Chachaji.

Rajo clasped her brother’s hand tight. She dint want him to go. She dint want to stay. Sunny looked at her, perplexed, not understanding her behaviour.

He loved her, and sometimes when he heard her sobbing in her room, he realized that living with Chachaji wasn’t enough, she needed her dead mother.

Friday, March 16, 2007

Sand, Sea, Gola and Peace..

A tantrum, a yearning from a longgg time and the need to placate my craving had me at the beach late last night. After a long long long longgg time.

I felt the sand stick to me calves, and the wind and the sea mist make the air shimmer. I felt the sweetness of a Gola on my lips and the grainy sand enveloping every exposed inch of skin. While I sat peacefully, yes, I had made peace with myself, on the cool sand, the long towers of lights looked down on us. The beach was not crowded, of course it wouldn't be, middle of the night. And surprisingly the shops were all open and thriving from the looks of it.

I was hoping for a stark, isolated look, but that would be a little more further on. Where I sat, the lights played with the sand. An old man still cajoled us to buy a balloon and another still came to sell chana chor garam. A lot of married couples, a lot of young boys and a few rare families. But still the beach was not crowded. The sea was lovely, inviting, beckoning. But I was stopped with a dire warning. It seems the sea has been pulling in a lot of people these days, and especially in the nights. The night is a dark sultry inky blue-black. But the sand has a golden hue to it.

The light plays with the sand. The music playing gently(?) from the back, its a lovely lilting song, Maula mere, from Anwar, plays with my mind. I'm relaxing, slowly, I can feel it.

The sea has always done wonders for me. And the wind. And something sweet. A small plop of Rose Gola falls on my leg. My pajamas and my calves are sticky and sweet and pink. My glasses are crooked and falling of my nose, and red shirt is stained. My feet and hands are covered with grains of gold dust. The air smells fascinating. Not a sea-fish smell and not a dank, damp smell. It smells magical.

SCAD was in a beach town. One of the main reason why I wanted it. But SCAD doesn't matter anymore.

UPDATE: SCAD emailed me again. Now they say that I'm eligible, but I just need to send them one more thing!! And somehow I care two hoots now. I guess I'll visit Savannah someday when I'm in USA. To go to the beach.

Thursday, March 15, 2007


I'm throwing a terrible tantrum right now. All in my mind. It can't be. I fought for this. I bloody wanted it. Even if it was not the best among all my choices, I wanted it.

I got a reject. And as if evident I don't take rejection well. I can't be practical and say,
"Oh it's just one school out of the eight very good ones I have applied. And its not even the best. And I already have two accepts from some of the best, this and this."

I can't be sentimental and say,
"Oh hark my love, I fought for applying to you, even though my brother, and your arch enemy was against you. I stood for you and... Et Tu Brutus"

I can't be funny and say,

"Maybe now my now-deceased dream of not really going to USA will come true."

Like my good friend Tag Heuer says it.

And I can't be angry and say,
"@#$$# @$#% @%%%@#$ IF YOU WANT TO REJECT ME, ATLEAST GIVE ME A REAL REASON. BE A MAN, A REAL MAN.. (or be a real university atleast)

I can't be the murti (statue dint sound good) of calm and peace and say
"It's a part of life, my child. Bade bade desho mein, aisi stupid idiotic unreasonable cheeze hoti rehti hai."

I can't be grateful and say
"Mum had predicted that I'd get two rejects. Its good its this university, since my brother had already black-tongued it. (Kaali Zubaan and all..)"

I can't be any. I want a tub of ice cream, and I want a bar of chocolate. Several. I want misery and I want to get into SCAD.


So I'm throwing a tantrum. Stomping my feet and cursing. In my mind...

Sunday, March 11, 2007

Losing a catch or stepping back from it..

Life can be weird. It throws up the best things possible. But you will most probably step back to avoid the hit. The hit of good things in your life.

There are people who will enter your life, make an impact in those few moments of interaction. Imapct enough for you to start caring about them. And never turn around and tell them that you care. Is that being inexpressive or expression-phobia??

And then when those very people are in a soup, you'd like to go upto them and tell them,

"'Hey hang in there. I might not matter a lot to you, but I'm right here. If you need anything."

But you are still smarting from that blow you took of the good things, or the throw that you missed, so you'll prefer to just keep quiet. Or you'd prefer to let them think that you are not the clingy types.

Do unto others what you would want others to do unto you.

In life, there will always be very few people who will realize what is happening inside you. And even then, you might not have answer to their concerns about you. You might not have answers to your own questions!!

Someone wise I know says, moods are supposed to be mastered.

Someone shrewd I know says, you cant decide or shape other's future.

I say, eat a chocolate!!

P.S. : Someone I know, recently gave me some very very good news, and included me in it!! You know I'm talking about you.. so I'd like to tell you that I was thrilled by your news, and by the fact that I was the first to know it. I dunno why!! Thanks!!And congrats.. lets bring out the chocolates!! I mean champagne...

Friday, March 09, 2007

The Oval Maidan- looking across from the sides..

Walking across the Oval Maidan, the wind tugs my hair out from behind my ears and lightly plonks it on my face, the pleasant woodsy smell of its wafts up to me.

The stoned path across the Maidan is always windy. And it always has at least 20 people crossing at any given point. In the morning, people can be seen hurrying along, noisily, in pairs, groups or alone. On the phone, listening to music or just sauntering along. If you look up while crossing the Oval, as it is fondly known, you'll see a huge expanse of the sky. With cottony white clouds tinged with blue floating across lazily. Or on an overcast day you'll be able to spot an sulking grey sky, with dark hued clouds gobbling it up. And observing the sky while walking on the path feels like you are crossing the sky and not the Maidan.

On the greens around the path, there's always some activity happening. Even in the sweltering sun of the afternoon, little children struggle with footballs in one corner. A group of mothers sit in a corner, waiting for their children's class to get over, with duppattas pulled down on their heads to protect them from the sun. In another corner, young men in whites are practising their batting swings and bowling arms. Setting up teams for a cricket match. Near the High court end, their is a group of girls and a few boys in jeans and tee-shirts. Huddled in a small circle, playing a match of under-arm Box Cricket.

While one end of Oval Maidan, faces the street opening out to Oxford, the book shop, and K.C College, the other end opens out to the campus of Mumbai University, adjacent to the High Court. The Rajabhai Tower inside the University Campus can be seen from any corner of the Maidan. Palm trees, Gulmohars and lots of other shrubberies line the sides of the Maidan. They shed their browned leaves in March, but still don't look bare. "Its autumn", the trees seem to be saying, "but we are not gonna leave you without any shade."

But the best time to walk across that path is in the evening. After Seven. The path is not lit and nor is the vast Maidan. Its just the sides of the Oval that are lit by street lights. Every evening, in the bleak darkness, numerous shaded figures can be spotted lounging in the darkness of the maidan. And another few, crossing the windy path in a hushed silence and beautiful navy blue inkiness.

Walking across the Maidan, in the windy lifts and lulls of the breeze, its a pleasure. A pleasure, which I wonder if I'll get when I leave this city of mine. I don't love Mumbai, I had once said, but now its time to back-track. I do. I don't love it enough to live here forever, that's true. But I love it enough to have loved all the 22 years I have lived here.

And I love every new part of it that these years have shown me.

Thursday, March 01, 2007

Finishing.. but getting finished too..

"So why did you do it??" she asked him.
"I know, I know. It was the wrong thing. I just realized it too late."

She sat ramrod straight as he looked everywhere except into her eyes. This from the person who loved looking into her eyes. She knew that he still loved her. That Seven years of distance hadn't dimmed his desire or feelings. But seven years had dimmed her innocence and naivete.

"I shouldn't have lied to you. I know. You were the most important person in my life."

Painfully she noted the were. Past tense. The first slap.
"So you realize it now."

"I got angry when you dint call me on my birthday. It was always so important for you. And when I called you made the pretext of not being available."
"I was sitting right there. I did not want to talk to you" she clarified.
"I knew it. But I dint know why you did that."
"You dint know why? You dint know when i cried the entire week 7 months before that day."
"Seven months before?? Why then?"

Great. He dint even remember the day she found out all the truth. The day she sat waiting for him at the café. Looking at the door, waiting for him to swing in, armed with the truth and not lies. He dint even know now, after seven years, that that was when her soul died and her heart broke. That was when she stopped believing she had a heart.

"What was seven months before??"
"Nothing important"
"Don't say that to me. I remember all the significant dates. And I remembered you on all those days. You dint."

But that doesn't even matter. Her mind yelled. Those silly days, dint matter, this did. But her mouth remained shut. The second slap.

"I am my own man now. I am standing on my own feet. My own business. My own empire. My hard-earned money."
"So? You think money every mattered to me? I was a kid then, barely 17, I dint care if you earned just 7000 bucks."
"But now no one can tell me that I cant dare look at you."
"Maybe not. But tell me. Why did you do all that?? What did you want to achieve through me?"
"Achieve?? How could I achieve anything of you. You are the one. That's all you ever were"

He's confused about what he's saying. She thought. He doesn't even understand me anymore.

"I wont marry anyone. Don't worry" He said out of the blue.
"How would that matter to me?" she said.
"I wont let your dream come true. Even then, you used to tell me that if things don't work out between us you wanted me to get married elsewhere."
"I don't care either ways", she muttered. But he dint quite catch it.

After a pause she said, "Yea right. You are gonna get married soon buster"

"Well my parents might get me married. But you will be the first one to get an invite" The third slap.
"You wont know where I'll be from tomorrow. You wont be able to see me ever again."
"Oh that's good. Else I would have hunted you down, if I knew where to find you." Slap four.
You dint do that all these years. Her mind screamed again.

"You were my past. And you will not be my future" Slap number Five. And Touchdown.
"You were my nothing. And will never be anything for me." She retorted back and pushed her chair away. She walked out of the café. She felt small. Very small. Petty. And naive. All over again.

But for the rest of the day, she had only one thought in her mind.

Well even if I dint come to know what I wanted to know. At least it's out of my mind. I can start living again. She rushed home to him, and said, "Darling, its over. I met him today and.."

That's when she realized that even he had shut the door on her face. The Final Slap.

And this one hurt. But a lifetime of hurts had numbed her too much to be able to cry.