Remember that famous dialogue from 'Maine pyaar kiya' - "Ek ladka aur ladki kabhi dost nahin ho sakte". I had found it cheesy, very cheesy that time, when I was 10 or something. And for some strange reason, it stuck in my head ever since. Actually, honest confession, quite a few dialogues from that movie stuck in my head, I must embarrassingly admit. Anyway, more on that later. I must not digress.
I studied in a co-ed school where the ratio of boys and girls was I think 3:1. All through school, my best friends have been boys. In college too, we were a group of 2 girls and 3 boys. At my first job, it was 1 me and 4 boys that were my Bandra family. In Chennai, in Bangalore, I have ALWAYS been one of the boys and hence always had boys as best friends.
I think it kind of traces back to my childhood, when we were a joint family with 4 boys and 2 girls under 1 roof. While Didi was the quintessential coy girl, I was the one playing marbles with bhaiya on the roads, I was the one climbing trees, jumping on cars, barging into other people's houses on holi with pichkaris and 'gubbaras'. My mom always tells me that I was meant to be a boy but God got distracted and accidentally made a girl out of me.
Of course that does not mean I do not do justice to being a girl. I think I am as "girly" as it gets, but the fact is that I love making friends with boys. I always have. Like a lot of 'my kinda girls', I have grown up having more boys for friends than girls and it is something I had taken for granted, until now.
Suddenly all these boys got married and really became animals from another planet. I love the concept of marriage and I am very happy for them. I have danced in a lot of their weddings and wished them all well but thing with marriage is that it makes these boys suddenly responsible. Something that hit me suddenly and something I wasn't used to. Its somewhat the same when girls get married too but some how girlfriends always find time and space for girlfriends. These boys really turn a new leaf. Actually not a new leaf, they just turn a different leaf when it comes to girls they are friends with. These boys remain thick with boy friends and they continue hitting on any and every PYT that comes their way. But when it comes to girls they have been good friends with, I don't think they know what to do with them anymore. Clearly the girls are not boys so they cannot make their spouses understand that they are doing a boy's night out with the girls. Girl-friends obviously are no good to hit on so that anyway takes away any iota of effort they would have otherwise made. It really leaves us 'girl-friends' in a very precarious situation.
So what does one do? Foolish ones like me believe they can make new friends. That's the thing with men who have been married for over 5 years at least. By then, I am guessing they are open to making friends again, assuming their marriage is blissful and their children are their bundles of joy. Or some such. I always thought it was just the newly married lot that is so badly behaved with their girl-friends.
In the last couple of years therefore, I have tried making friends out of a few people that I have met and connected fairly well with. I meet a lot of people. All the time. Through my job and because I love meeting people. Its not difficult for me to strike a conversation. By the way, mind you, I am not saying I can hold discussions. I don't think I can - I don't have enough wordly wisdom or knowledge but I can spring conversations and flit from one to the other very easily. And because I have always been one of the boys, because it doesn't strike me that boys have now become men, because I still look forward to making lasting friendships, I have been somewhat hopeful and optimistic about being able to make new friends, sometimes.
And this is where the damn movie dialogue comes rushing back and proves itself true. I am stunned with the realization that truly a man and a woman cannot be friends any more. Invariably there is some higher order agenda that becomes apparent almost immediately. Well thank god for that, that its apparent sooner than later, but still, its a bit annoying.
There are times when I have met someone, had a fantastic conversation, have looked forward to more such conversations. Looked forward to just being able to be "me" in that esteemed company. To be able to say what I want, be free spirited as I once was with my boys, to watch movies, go out for lunch, just hang out, stuff like that, with absolutely NO other motive but to enjoy the other person's company and because we connect, which in itself is such a rarity. But no, it is impossible to have a single such association. It always gets complicated, one way or the other. Either the man gets ideas or the girl starts to fall in love or people make a big deal out of it. MAN! it just gets complicated and unnatural and diluted and that is so sad.
As boys turn into men and girls into women, why does purity of intention go out of the window? Why does everything become so agenda driven? Why do people lose "touch" with people-ness? Why do we forget that friendship is still the most precious and cherish-able relationship because it is supposed to be true, pure and a mirror to life. Do we get so jaded and cynical that we stop valuing it? Whatever it is, it makes Sooraj Bharjatiya damn bloody right.
Monday, June 27, 2011
All's well that ends well - especially when it comes to a room!
My brother and I have lived a middle class existence, as middle class as it gets. We started off with a joint family where the all pervasive Mother-in-law (suddenly I am taking my mom's side) controlled all of us, all decisions for the family. She decided what we ate, when we slept, what we wore and when who went out. Actually, it wasn't as bad as that just appeared to be. Basically, like in most joint families "then" (I don't know what it is like now to be a part of joint family), one senior member of the family was the local bank. And when that happens, we pretty much know who controls the show. Economics can make or break a country, a state, a city and pretty much a household too.
We moved to being a nuclear family pretty early on in life. One of the few reasons I should thank my father's coveted Government job - it got him transferred out of that joint family set up. In retrospect, that was the single most positive thing to have happened to us. There have been hundreds of fantastic occurrences that have taken place in our lives, but if I were to compare, they would all pale in comparison to this one.
Anyway, nuclear as we were, we continued living the middle class existence. For all our growing up years, home was always the government flats that were always located in the best areas of the city but were small and very basic. Of course during those years, size didn't even strike us as a problem. We always managed to make the house a cozy, comfortable home. When we were in Bangalore, we had a 3 bedroom apartment but for some reason, my stupid brother (then, not now. Now he is a super cool dude), would always insist on sharing the room with me. I have NO clue why, but I remember telling my folks that we should have separate rooms so that I could "do up" mine like a girl's room, but my brother just wouldn't allow for it. And since he was the younger brat, guess who always won!
I remember grudging the fact that I could never have a room to myself. Today when I think of it, I realize that even if I did have a room to myself, I doubt I would have been able to do it up as MY room. I don't think I had any aesthetic sense at that point in time.
It was the same story when we moved to Chennai. Actually I guess by then I had gotten so used to sharing my room with my brother that it had ceased being a problem. Though I still remember secretly wishing I had a room to myself.
I did, soon enough. In Mumbai. Of course in hostel I had to share my room with 3 other fantastic girls so we each only got a corner. But I remember, my corner was the most colorful of them all. Photographs, kitsch, cards, stuff. I was happy I had a room with a corner that I could do up with my sensibility and that was a good start.
The corner soon grew into a full room, with sea view, at Carter Rd. How fancy. Actually not. It was all I could afford as an advertising start-up professional. The room was basic, compact, with a bed, shelf, almirah and TV taking up all possible space. I wasn't complaining, I finally got my own room. But I couldn't do much with it. So it didn't feel all that gratifying, not in the least like the end of my journey of seeking MY OWN ROOM.
Like the corner had become a room in Mumbai, the room soon became an entire apartment in Bangalore. 2 rooms, a hall, 2 gorgeous balconies, kitchen et all, all to myself. I excitedly did up the place with whatever I could manage, with how much ever time I could manage before my time was completely dedicated to my boyfriend then. So it wasn't much but it was a decent haven.
I thought that was the end of my journey of seeking my own "space". It probably was. But the little girl who had always wanted her own room that she could do up, was still left un-satiated somewhere. Somewhere, deep down, maybe the little girl never grew up and never gave up wanting a room. Maybe it didn't matter if I had an entire apartment to myself because to that little girl, she never got her room. Until now. Which is why, today, as I have moved back in with my parents, to live with them after 4 years of complete independence, after having gone through the heart ache of giving up my apartment, after having gone through emotional turmoil of leaving behind a lot of me behind in that apartment, I am still sitting peacefully here, in my new little room, writing this blog.
It was a challenge compressing my entire apartment into my small room but suddenly much of my despair of moving back in with my folks has disappeared. I finally have my own room. In my parent's house. Like I should have when I was growing up. But what the hell, I am happy going to back to being a teenager. And no better time for becoming a child again because my parents have grown up (finally) and I guess it all makes sense now.
We moved to being a nuclear family pretty early on in life. One of the few reasons I should thank my father's coveted Government job - it got him transferred out of that joint family set up. In retrospect, that was the single most positive thing to have happened to us. There have been hundreds of fantastic occurrences that have taken place in our lives, but if I were to compare, they would all pale in comparison to this one.
Anyway, nuclear as we were, we continued living the middle class existence. For all our growing up years, home was always the government flats that were always located in the best areas of the city but were small and very basic. Of course during those years, size didn't even strike us as a problem. We always managed to make the house a cozy, comfortable home. When we were in Bangalore, we had a 3 bedroom apartment but for some reason, my stupid brother (then, not now. Now he is a super cool dude), would always insist on sharing the room with me. I have NO clue why, but I remember telling my folks that we should have separate rooms so that I could "do up" mine like a girl's room, but my brother just wouldn't allow for it. And since he was the younger brat, guess who always won!
I remember grudging the fact that I could never have a room to myself. Today when I think of it, I realize that even if I did have a room to myself, I doubt I would have been able to do it up as MY room. I don't think I had any aesthetic sense at that point in time.
It was the same story when we moved to Chennai. Actually I guess by then I had gotten so used to sharing my room with my brother that it had ceased being a problem. Though I still remember secretly wishing I had a room to myself.
I did, soon enough. In Mumbai. Of course in hostel I had to share my room with 3 other fantastic girls so we each only got a corner. But I remember, my corner was the most colorful of them all. Photographs, kitsch, cards, stuff. I was happy I had a room with a corner that I could do up with my sensibility and that was a good start.
The corner soon grew into a full room, with sea view, at Carter Rd. How fancy. Actually not. It was all I could afford as an advertising start-up professional. The room was basic, compact, with a bed, shelf, almirah and TV taking up all possible space. I wasn't complaining, I finally got my own room. But I couldn't do much with it. So it didn't feel all that gratifying, not in the least like the end of my journey of seeking MY OWN ROOM.
Like the corner had become a room in Mumbai, the room soon became an entire apartment in Bangalore. 2 rooms, a hall, 2 gorgeous balconies, kitchen et all, all to myself. I excitedly did up the place with whatever I could manage, with how much ever time I could manage before my time was completely dedicated to my boyfriend then. So it wasn't much but it was a decent haven.
I thought that was the end of my journey of seeking my own "space". It probably was. But the little girl who had always wanted her own room that she could do up, was still left un-satiated somewhere. Somewhere, deep down, maybe the little girl never grew up and never gave up wanting a room. Maybe it didn't matter if I had an entire apartment to myself because to that little girl, she never got her room. Until now. Which is why, today, as I have moved back in with my parents, to live with them after 4 years of complete independence, after having gone through the heart ache of giving up my apartment, after having gone through emotional turmoil of leaving behind a lot of me behind in that apartment, I am still sitting peacefully here, in my new little room, writing this blog.
It was a challenge compressing my entire apartment into my small room but suddenly much of my despair of moving back in with my folks has disappeared. I finally have my own room. In my parent's house. Like I should have when I was growing up. But what the hell, I am happy going to back to being a teenager. And no better time for becoming a child again because my parents have grown up (finally) and I guess it all makes sense now.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Bacho. Bachao. Shaitan on the prowl.
Kalki, aka Amy aka Saira aka Shaitan was not actually the shaitan in the film, as has been popularly proclaimed by a lot of people who have watched the film. I dont think Shaitan, the film, is about one particular evil mind but about the devil that resides in each one of us.
It didn't really need a film to remind us that there is an off-beat side to all of us, which when given slight vent, can flare up into a bigger monster. To me, more than the film, it is the background score that reminds me of the wild side that exists in me. For sure. Each time I listen to the music from Shaitan, there is something in me that stirs. For some reason, the small rebel streak in me awakens each time I listen to The Sound of Shaitan. When I listen to Josh, I know I imagine myself in that (damn) Hummer, feeling powerful at the steering wheel (even though I do not know how to drive, leave alone drive a Hummer). When I listen to Hawa Hawai, I can just about imagine myself after smoking a joint, rolling in clouds, flying like a fairy through rainbows, beaming like sunlight on the surface of clear water, being the dew on a fresh morning leaf. Its almost a pretty picture but what makes it "Shaitan-ic" is its out-of-ordinary imagery from my actual real life.
When I listen to Pintya (the somewhat festive song), I imagine myself at a rave, jumping all night to the intensity of each note. When I listen to Khoya Khoya Chand, I reminisce the sense of romanticism I used to feel during each time I struggled with small things. I remember having felt like a character straight out of a movie when once upon a time, my local train had stalled away from Dadar station, and it was raining and my phone was out of battery. For some strange, in-explicable reason, there was some random sense of heroism I had felt, that suddenly, I was away from the familiar territory, I didn't know anyone around me, no one knew where I was and I was out of reach. All I could do was trudge along with the huge mass of other people and slowly find my way back into the city. For some reason, it was a thrilling experience.
You see, none of the above is evil but its an obtuse part of our personality that exists, whether we agree or not, whether we can see it or not. And we don't need to be coke-heads, rich kids with no aim or any such sort to know intrinsically that there is a Shaitan in us, in each one of us.
I feel good knowing I have a Shaitan. I am also scared sometimes knowing there is a Shaitan. Its after all, only a thin line separating us from that Shaitan. Who is to say that if we were not pushed a little, if circumstances did not present them in a different manner, if life did not have other plans, our Shaitan would not come out in exactly the same way that it did for the 5 friends in the film.
To be honest, one of my favorite scenes from the film were when one of the 5 guys takes off his belt to hit himself and in fact out-does the religious man, right in the beginning of the film. The other fascinating bit in the film was the Khoya Khoya Chand sequence. BEAUTIFUL. INCREDIBLE. SORDID and SADISTIC. In a very Tarentino way, the gory scene was juxtaposed with a romantic song and shot in such a soulful manner that it almost romanticized the fight, the blood, the dying and the gore. The way the dead girl is shot at again and again has to be a reflection of a sick mind but appreciating that has to be a sicker mind. The only reason I think one can appreciate that sensibility of the movie is because it related to the internal Shaitan in me and possibly a lot of other people too. What other explanation could there be for that?
It didn't really need a film to remind us that there is an off-beat side to all of us, which when given slight vent, can flare up into a bigger monster. To me, more than the film, it is the background score that reminds me of the wild side that exists in me. For sure. Each time I listen to the music from Shaitan, there is something in me that stirs. For some reason, the small rebel streak in me awakens each time I listen to The Sound of Shaitan. When I listen to Josh, I know I imagine myself in that (damn) Hummer, feeling powerful at the steering wheel (even though I do not know how to drive, leave alone drive a Hummer). When I listen to Hawa Hawai, I can just about imagine myself after smoking a joint, rolling in clouds, flying like a fairy through rainbows, beaming like sunlight on the surface of clear water, being the dew on a fresh morning leaf. Its almost a pretty picture but what makes it "Shaitan-ic" is its out-of-ordinary imagery from my actual real life.
When I listen to Pintya (the somewhat festive song), I imagine myself at a rave, jumping all night to the intensity of each note. When I listen to Khoya Khoya Chand, I reminisce the sense of romanticism I used to feel during each time I struggled with small things. I remember having felt like a character straight out of a movie when once upon a time, my local train had stalled away from Dadar station, and it was raining and my phone was out of battery. For some strange, in-explicable reason, there was some random sense of heroism I had felt, that suddenly, I was away from the familiar territory, I didn't know anyone around me, no one knew where I was and I was out of reach. All I could do was trudge along with the huge mass of other people and slowly find my way back into the city. For some reason, it was a thrilling experience.
You see, none of the above is evil but its an obtuse part of our personality that exists, whether we agree or not, whether we can see it or not. And we don't need to be coke-heads, rich kids with no aim or any such sort to know intrinsically that there is a Shaitan in us, in each one of us.
I feel good knowing I have a Shaitan. I am also scared sometimes knowing there is a Shaitan. Its after all, only a thin line separating us from that Shaitan. Who is to say that if we were not pushed a little, if circumstances did not present them in a different manner, if life did not have other plans, our Shaitan would not come out in exactly the same way that it did for the 5 friends in the film.
To be honest, one of my favorite scenes from the film were when one of the 5 guys takes off his belt to hit himself and in fact out-does the religious man, right in the beginning of the film. The other fascinating bit in the film was the Khoya Khoya Chand sequence. BEAUTIFUL. INCREDIBLE. SORDID and SADISTIC. In a very Tarentino way, the gory scene was juxtaposed with a romantic song and shot in such a soulful manner that it almost romanticized the fight, the blood, the dying and the gore. The way the dead girl is shot at again and again has to be a reflection of a sick mind but appreciating that has to be a sicker mind. The only reason I think one can appreciate that sensibility of the movie is because it related to the internal Shaitan in me and possibly a lot of other people too. What other explanation could there be for that?
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