Mirror Mirror on the Wall…

You have to be hidden under a rock to live in India and not notice what an obsession people have with being ‘fair.’ It’s a genetic fixation that we have no option of doing away with. It’s been drilled into our heads for as long as I can remember “stay away from the sun” or “you’ll become kali if you’re out in the sun too long.” From dolls that are as white as porcelain, to brides who invest their annual salary in a blinding skin lightening therapy, we’re all victims of the ‘fair’ play!

If you have been born and raised in India like I have then the definition of ‘fair’ can vary to a great degree from north to the south. Before Aishwarya Rai’s Miss World happened, the South Indians were perceived as being dark, oily haired, rice eating, round bodied, non-hindi speaking individuals whose ultimate motive in life was to become a software employee. If you’re a proper bred South Indian with a last name that most people would cringe to pronounce, then you’re already expected to have a big vermilion bindi, long braided hair (horror of horrors if you have jasmine flowers in your hair, almost tempting the herd of sheep to run for those flowers), wearing a shirt that screams ‘tacky’ to go with a pair of stone washed faded jeans, knotted eyes brows, sporting a puzzled look saying ‘kyku’ for ‘kyun.’ Well fortunately, times are changing (or so I like to think) and ‘soudhindians’ are able to break that stereotype. 

If your parents are average colored and you’re not looking too bright (pun intended) then you know for a fact that being light skinned has its advantages in our society that is forever starved for white people. My father can be categorized as light skinned. Mum is ‘wheatish,’ another favorite word that should mean ‘not fair’ but means ‘one shade darker than fair.’ So you should have a fairly decent idea as to how my sister and I look, genetically. We are often presumed to be North Indians and far from telugus. If you work in any IT sector, you'll know why I said that. Thanks to India’s geographic location that places us between the tropics, we have very less say in the naturally dusky skin color that varies in a given year, which brings me to re-defining the seasons we have in Hyderabad. It starts in January with ‘mild-summer,’ then it gets hotter with ‘scorching-summer,’ May ushers in the worst ‘clay roasted oven- summer’ and some rain in July-August; just enough to let the potholes overflow and drown a few thousands followed by some more ‘mild summer’ at the end of the year. With the mercury rising; thanks to global warming and a high percentage of people driving two-wheelers filling the atmosphere with a creamy layer of pollution, we can only expect to be toasted mercilessly and therefore be eternally stuck with a tan that can make a country cow proud.

I have personally experienced the benefits of being fair first hand and in our ongoing struggle to ape our favorite celebrity we miss out on the essence of a person. Take the latest episode in which L'Oreal was under the scanner for allegedly using photoshop on a commercial that Beyonce shot for. Apparently, her skin was made to look so light, that she didn't look African American anymore. In India, a vast number of people try hard to fall into the highly misused and misunderstood ‘wheatish color.’ They’re the ‘not so dark-yet not so fair,’ people who are highly optimistic about their skin color thanks to endless promises made by skin products. They are also the ones with a high propensity for a tan that they’ll do anything to get rid of. Matrimonial sites will feature an extra checkbox for this color and boy, are we misled. Finally, the fair skinned. These people are naturally light skinned and or the fortunate few who can afford door-door a/c wherever they go. The rich and the affluent have the luxury of an invisible bubble that protects them from everything under the sun. These are also the ones who naturally have unblemished crystal clear skin that can make anyone go green with envy.

Ever notice how the market is flooded with fancy Bollywood (and even Hollywood) artists who swear by their skin products. Fair and Lovely has been around for decades now, so long that in fact that it should have left everyone fair and flawless by now. It also intrigues me to no extent that in such advertisements, they show that the usage of all these products changes the rest of their skin color too, of course to match their face and then go on to conquer the world, all with one Fair n Lovely. Ain’t life grand! But then that’s just one product. Let’s take Olay, Lakme, Ponds, Fairever, Nivea -who by the way is making its mark for men’s skin lightening products that a lot of heterosexual guys have in their closet. So I guess we won’t be running into any more tall, ‘dark’ and handsome guys anymore.

While the whole Western Hemisphere resorts to tanning beds and 100^º beaches like rotisserie, we waste just as much in time and energy in getting rid of what they yearn for, a nice tanned body. Which brings me to the underlying truth: Indians are fascinated by ‘imported’ stuff. Be it models or products. The ‘imported’ tag fetches so much more than the eyes can see. Even my local Chiropractor has a picture of a little white girl doing the hoola hoops. Ditto with the dentists, local fashion brands, car advertisements and who can forget our background dancers in the Bollywood movies. I’m just as guilty as the girl next door. If and when I do get a farmers tan, I stare in the mirror so long and so hard wishing I could wipe it away. However, my everyday products are limited to practically a bare minimum and nothing else. At the risk of sounding narcissistic I would like to point out that the harder you try to look good the harder it becomes to look good. So many products and treatments can surely burn a hole in your pocket and leave you wanting more, but that is all it will do, leave you wanting for more. It is imperative that you get comfortable with your body; after all it is the only thing that we can so purely control and manage.

So whether you are fair or dark, wheatish or dusky…tall or short and a whole different array of shapes remember a sign of a healthy mind is a healthy body and vice versa. We cannot change ourselves 100% to suit the model in Vogue, but what we can do is be in charge of our happiness and how others view and treat us.

Indian-ism

Saare Jahan se accha… how 'saccha' is that?

We’re all proud to be Indians. True. But wait. What is it that we have conquered and achieved for our country that we are allowed to be so ‘proud’ of? What has been our contribution apart from living here and heavily populating (and polluting) our country and its depleting its natural resources? Sixty-two years into Indian Independence, we’re a country that is over a billion people strong and still the tag of a young nation. While we continue to disregard our flag and show patriotism only when we’re in the limelight, we should really lend a thought to why Indians are so successful across the globe, but India can’t seem to catch up with them? So, unless we’ve personally fought for the country’s independence, I seriously doubt we all have a valid reason to be so pompous.

Not so long ago, whilst the alleged ‘racist attacks’ on Indians in Australia was still fresh in people’s mind, there was a heated debated at home on who the rightful victims were. My theory was simple, why and how can an entire continent witness hate crimes in such close proximity, specifically on Indians? I don’t mean to sound callous but honestly, there is no smoke without fire. Even though there is a minute percentage of people who actually were victims of hate crime, a lot of the ones probably did something to attract that sort of treatment. I am not justifying it; I’m just trying to see why only a certain section of people were subject to that kind of treatment. I can't help but wonder why do we cook up such a storm and then look for answers when the reason lies right here under our noses?

In such cases there's always the kind of people who think logically and a greater section of the pie chart thinks with their heart. Dialogues akin to “That could have been my daughter or your son..” are thrown around leaving even then most level headed people temporarily impaired and far from a judgment. A huge cross section of society tends to feel sympathetic towards the victims, sidelining what they did to deserve it. We're just built that way. Our head cocks to the side and our smile curves downward with a morose nod, trying to imagine what the horror of the situation is, while silently thanking god that it's not one of us or our loved ones out there. I agree. These are stories we hear on television and the read about in the newspapers and think to ourselves 'oh that could never be me' without understanding its not only just a visa and a ticket we need to live in another country, we all need adjustment and compatibility. We should stop to ask ourselves, what kind of messages we are sending to people when we begin to reside in their country? When we re-locate or visit another country, we automatically become representatives of our nation to the people we interact with. So it is only fair that we paint a warm welcoming and gracious attitude. Somewhere along the way, we've begun to think of our existence as a privilege to others and that is part of the problem why Indians are perceived as hard to get along with, apart from more such misconceptions.

Indians tend to have an air of superiority to them that makes them feel like they're exempt from all rules; it's almost as involuntary and natural as a dog marking its territory. Before you jump in denial, let me explain. I was in Chicago a while back at the famous Devon Avenue, that desis proudly choose to call Diwan street. I know people who live in Chicago will swear by this, but here is is: the street was (and still is) filthy. It was downright dirty with ‘pan’ stains decorating the street and just to re-assure my thoughts, there was an actual ‘pan’ shop with a jolly old ‘pan’ wala oblivious to the mess he was creating. Desi vegetable marts emptied their trash in the back alley and there was a serious violation of hygiene. There were five flies for every one person there and it sure was a Chandni Chowk replica. Uncles walked around in lungis and pyjamas that shrank to half their size boisterously laughing, yapping in their native language, coughing up some phlegm and aiming for (or missing) the passerby on a trajectory.

Now if you live in India then you are a silent witness to the miles and miles of ‘pan’ stained walls and roadside urinals which are a common sight. The 'stench network' accompanies billions of people all over India in their daily commute, despite regional messages sprawled across the walls demanding, requesting and ordering people (with fine amounts posted) not to urinate. Oak Tree Road, Iselin, New Jersey. Ditto. This area has probably seen more number of Indian people than anywhere else in the East Coast. Chat walas, South Indian food, fast food, Indian restaurants by the dozen, Punjabi food, beauty parlors, dvd/ movie rentals, designer boutiques with the latest (but flashy) Indian wear, all tempting you to come in and promising a feel of the motherland, both inside and out. They are a screaming proof that Indians love to break rules. Of course, what could be more satisfying than bragging about it…?

Wearing flashy branded clothes and perfumes doesn’t change the stinky attitude we carry on the inside. We have to understand and respect differences which can only begin at home. Indians over the years have earned the reputation of being brash and uncouth. We are slowly wiping out the impression what our forefathers earned of being hard working and humble. Our need to respect others’ culture especially because we come from such a diverse country with such contrasting culture is slowly dying. We are a growing nation with a faster growing population and the sooner we can learn how to gel with different people and get along amicably, the better it is for everyone. It is what we imbibe from our friends and family that makes us who we are, so make sure you’re surrounded by cheerful, positive and tolerant people who can influence you to make this world a better place. So the next time you are feeling patriotic for your motherland, do me a favor...and think of what all you 'can' do to make it proud!

Violation of the wisdom (tooth)

I know me and I know me well. Growing up, I wasn’t exactly the girly type who’d sit boxed up in lacey frocks or well done hair sans fly-a ways, neatly done nails or win hands down for the best dressed Barbie dolls. Nope, not me.

I was a capricious tomboy roughing it up with my brothers and the neighborhood boys. I was the misfit who’d see nothing wrong in going on a simulated rescue mission. Of course, the guys would sneer at my brother for tagging me along, but then I doubt he had much choice growing up with a bossy kid like me. The rest of my adolescence saw a lot of bike falls, knee-elbow bruises, stitches on my knee and forehead (at which point my doting father cringed at who would want to marry me.) I also had a tonsillectomy which made its way to the top of my most ‘unfavorable experience’ list. Gurgling my own blood was not exactly on my agenda but then neither is most of the inauspicious stuff we have to deal with. If anything I have been fairly brave (yeah my modesty shines through in times of adversities as well) bearing everything with a grin, shrugging it off and getting on with other stuff.

Today was different. I had to see a dentist. If I had to trust my screaming instincts I would have bolted outta there before she said “hello”, but I was in pain and popping pills is not exactly my idea of a permanent solution.  I knew that dentists’ thrived on patients like me to get a ‘paisa vasool,’ and that made me more nervous. She seemed nice, sure! To her I was business; to me I seemed like fresh meat! My fearless façade was wiped out in a jiffy when I heard the unthinkable. I needed to get a filling! The scene suddenly felt like a triple retake zoom on the innocuous young bahu who exposes a covert operation to kill her.

For most people the unthinkable would vary in the degree of pain it caused. My mom and sis would have a root canal or get a handful of teeth pulled out, all in one sitting. I dreaded anything that hindered with my ability to eat, chew and swallow. After all food is ‘fuel’ for the human body and I wasn’t going to let some fancy doctor take that privilege away from me. Over the years I’ve developed a high endurance for pain, 50+ stitches on my body at different places are a screaming proof to that figure, but digging holes inside my mouth, whether for beautification or to end the misery of pain in my case, just wasn’t justified.

After some serious inspection and some prodding, she pointed out that I have two cavities both in my wisdom teeth. I was offended. I am extremely good with my dental care; I brush, floss and clean every unreachable corner with care, precisely to be able to avoid things such as these. Well obviously I didn’t do good enough and I was going to be punished for it. I just hoped it wouldn’t cost me my tooth, literally! I was already talking in a high pitched stressed out voice by now. The doctor explained to me that it was no big deal to have cavities (yeah sure) and that I needed to get a plain and simple filling. She also conveniently told me that I can have them both pulled out and there is no use of wisdom teeth as such. I did a double re-take on her last. I wished she would be gentler with the news she broke to me, I mean hello after all these are my teeth, my wisdom teeth. I had no clue why they existed if all we had to do was pull ‘em out like weeds in the backyard.

I weighed my options and then succumbed. The doctor got ready with her gloves and her assistant got the equipment ready. Incase you folks didn’t know, dental procedures do not come cheap. I sat down warily on the reclined chair. I was asked to open my mouth as wide as I could, without screaming. So I did. And then, what felt like the most painful shock treatment to my tooth started. Apparently, they first ‘drill’ the tooth and get the gooey stuff out and then fill it with some cement hard stuff. Again did not know, can’t say did not care! Ignorance was NOT bliss in this case. I was holding onto the chair like my life depended on it. The drilling resumed and this time it was accompanied by a dull and distant noise. I suddenly realized that I was the source of the nagging sound that my larynx subconsciously made when she kept digging at my nerve endings. She paused to change the tip on the hand drill and I quickly assessed the distance between me and the door to make a mad dash for it. The suction tube was still in my mouth, darn it. No escape.

I endured the pain for what seemed like eternity. It drained me of my strength and left a rubbery aftertaste. Who cares? I couldn’t feel my jaw and my mouth which had a hard time staying wide open for so long refused to shut. We were close to drawing the curtains on this one, the doctor got ready with the filling, it was about time. After smearing and filling the cavity she proceeded to clear up the icky cement stuff. She warned that it might lead to some sensitivity as the cement dries and asked me to abstain from eating or drinking anything for a couple of hours, sure, the taste of her gloves in my mouth made it impossible for me to think of any food anyway. I got up and paid for the painful experience I wondered how many of the room full of people outside, heard me squirm and scream a lil while ago. As I turned to thank her, I prayed deep down that I should never have to come back here for as long as possible, impractical but who cares, I just survived a filling! 

Real or Fake?

My tattoo (the one on my right ankle) has always been a conversation starter, especially at gym where people constantly ask me if it is real after staring at it long enough to leave a hole. Even though I wear a grumpy look (not by choice, my determination has a grumpy disposition in the gym) people somehow manage to chuckle their way over to me and start asking me questions about it.

A few days ago, one such guy approached me twice, shied away once in between and then came back with a mission. He was a little too excited considering we were talking about a tattoo that was on my body. I usually get an array of questions next, stuff like where I got it and what it means, followed by a surge of oohs and aahs when I tell them, of course it hurts. Duh! Its needles piercing your body with ink in them, yes it hurts.

I got both my tattoos a couple of years back. I have one on my right ankle and one on my back, left shoulder. Everyone has a reason behind a tattoo; the lack of it only means that they were too drunk to remember. I didn’t want a silly animal/insect or anyone’s name permanently engraved on my body. I wanted it to be of some relevance to me over a period and not just my mood. I got piao liang thi (symbolic) on my ankle. I would have rather it read my name but I guess the Chinese can’t handle something that complex. Anyhow, it ended up meaning ‘beautiful girl,’ which I hope will continue to hold some relevance a few years from now. The one on my back is an astro-symbol of the bull, the Taurus, again not bound to change. I do plan on getting some more in the future but again, I do want to wait and see if anything can captivate me as much.

A tattoo artist has to be someone you can trust or come with some recommendation. After all, he or she is going to drill your body with some permanent colors; wouldn’t you want to be absolutely sure? Safety is a must. Be careful of what needles they use and make sure they are sterilized and sealed. Make sure that the ink (organic) that will be used is fresh and unsealed. Insist that the artist first draw an outline of your design on a wax paper and then blot it onto your skin. Then let him/her re-touch the outlines with a pen if he/she has to and then follow the pattern while tattooing you. Your body is not a piece of paper that they can ink and erase and so the free hand tattooing (no matter how experienced your tattoo artist is) is NOT advised. I’ve seen some free hand tattooing gone wrong and trust me; you don’t want to experience it. Post tattoo care is equally important and not to be neglected. If you are someone that can be allergic to ink or cannot tolerate the pain, then this is not your avenue. Human Anatomy for Dummies: Tattoos near the bone hurt more due to lack of muscle i.e. cushion. So don’t pass out half way through your tattoo.

The thing about tattoos primarily is the artist, then its location and most importantly, what it signifies. A lot of women get tattoos on their biceps which sadly is stretched beyond recognition when they bear kids or gain a few pounds years later. Same thing holds good for men. I’ve seen bull dog tattoos on biceps look like buffaloes when the arm gains fat. Tattoos of your partner’s name and beliefs that are limited to a certain time frame in your life can also spell doom as time passes. Johnny Depp and Angelina Jolie will both vouch for that. Let’s hope Saif Ali Khan doesn’t have to undo his symbol of love, the screaming kareena tattoo on his fore arm. Colored tattoos too are a big no no unless you don’t mind getting a re-fill a few years down the lane. The colors begin to fade and look dull and hazy. Among the weird ones, I knew a guy who had his forehead tattooed; it’s something I fail to understand. Also, I don’t’ get it when people’s sensitive and private areas become a canvas for the art. A tattoo is not about self infliction of pain, really.

Talking about tattoos and them being an expression of what we believe or who we are…and blah blah I see a lot of people sporting tattoos these days. I tried typing the word tattoo and viewing images on the net and some really weird and appalling (read grotesque) pictures come up online. Tattoos on the face, skull and inside the eye were some such observations. My friends (regardless of their belief) tattoo symbols of ‘Om’ and the Sikh ‘khanda’ or the ‘Cross’ on their body. I’ve seen Om tattooed right above some womens’ butt crack, I mean why? Some even get hymns and verses of religious script on their body, broadcasted and out there for the world to see. Again, your religion (or anyone else’s) is not something people can proclaim to the world at the cost of others’ sentiments.

Anything religious that people get tattooed is a big deal. For absolutely unaware souls and people who do it in the name of belief, faith and religion, please first research, be aware of what you can and cannot do just for your whims and fancy. Here is a picture of Esha Deol proudly displaying the Gayatri Mantra on her back. The gayatri mantra (or any other sacred script) should not and cannot be sported like a tattoo. People might think they’re above all that and too cool to follow principles and rules but when they get something of a high religious value tattooed on their body in which you commit such worldly sins(and then cremated once you die,) then it is no longer cool. You end up playing with peoples’ sentiments. I can understand (actually NOT) if an Angelina Jolie does it due to ignorance but I don’t see anyone messing with the Muslim faith and getting their scriptures tattooed all over their body, why? It is because there is a certain code of conduct that needs to be followed when you deal with things of religious and sentimental importance.

Esha Deol is stupid enough not to have done her research and made a mockery out of her faith (or not). What is sad is that others follow suit especially in a star worshipped country like India and before you know it people are walking around with the bhagvad gita, quran and the bible all over their body. Hopefully, people have the basic understanding of how a tattoo is done and why they should put so much time and thought into it, before they get it.

Drama Queen has a field day...Hyderabad to Amritsar..Oye! Balle Balle!

And so it began…my promise to myself to fly by the seats of my pants, to be impulsive and go with the flow…little did I know that I’ll have so much more adventure than what I had I bargained for.

When my sister emotionally blackmailed me to visit her in Delhi (for what she convinced me was my much needed vacation) it took more than just packing my bags, I had to be coaxed. It is rarely possible for me not to give in to her whims and fancies but this was different. I had to leave behind the first monsoon showers here in Hyderabad and head to a visibly scorching Delhi. Plus a long break from work and a long hectic schedule wasn’t going to be easy. I got more than my share of the summer this year and extending it by going to Delhi just wasn’t on my agenda. But then the burden of an unfulfilled promise to a highly nagging and unforgiving sister was taking its toll on me. And so I booked my tickets amidst much chaos and endless planning that still left me unsure. Drama has always been my invisible middle name and it was yet to unfold…!

Ye Dilli hai mere yaar…Delhi, as I remember it last, was a huge bustling city with a lot of pollution and our usual pit-stop for snow capped mountains farther north. It was where I would specifically head to eat the famous Roshan-di-Kulfi or stop over for the usual trip to Agra. It was better this time, for two reasons. One – I was there to offer moral support to my sister who was headed to Chandigarh for an important exam and she was going to pay me back with her expert advice on where to shop in Delhi, because let’s be honest, Delhi is notorious for swindling out of towners like me. And Two- we planned this trip (or the lack of it) swearing not to settle for anything less but 100% action and fun for which we also roped in our other cousin. I was all geared up to make this visit worth it, thanks to my sister. I mean I did have the sole responsibility of ‘shop till you drop’ on my agenda. Initially, the idea was to stay low till my sister finished her exam in Chandigarh and then head to Amritsar, visit the Golden Temple + Wagah Border to show our patriotism and then sashay back to Delhi for some hard core shopping.

My sister had hyped up Delhi so much that despite myself (and my naivety to live in Hyderabad) I was beginning to like it. Even the most inconspicuous street was twice the size of the ones in Hyderabad. Traffic sense was impeccable and so was the Metro. It is a one of a kind project that has become such a hit in all the well connected cities in Delhi. The Select City Sky Walk mall in Saket made my jaw drop! What we have here in Hyderabad are ‘jhopdis’ compared to it. Sadly, it’s true. Connought Place, Lajpat Nagar, Karol Bagh, Priya’s and Vasant Vihar were some of the places that we managed to check out. Delhi as a city is huge and even though the distance seems pretty close, barring traffic it takes a whole lotta time to get from place A to B. The prestigious AIIMS, India Gate, Raj Bhavan, South Ex, were all a treat for the eyes. Later that afternoon we rushed home to grab late lunch and then packed for our train that evening to Chandigarh. We barely ate in our excitement…and the fact that Indian Railways was going to keep feeding us on the 3 hour train to Chandigarh kept us from carrying any extra food as well. We headed out to grab a ride to the railway station, my mom’s voice in the back of my head screaming at me for not leaving well ahead of time, buffer time. I tuned away from the voice and looked at my sister; she seemed to be well aware of the time and we did a ‘check’ on all the important stuff we needed to take off. We were set!

Call it a co-incidence but at lunch it dawned on me that on my last visit to Delhi with my mum dad sis, we were stuck in traffic for over 3 hours in what would normally have taken 45min to the railway station, the same station we were on our way to catching a train in a few hours. We each ran on the platform racing to get into any coach and later re-group to our correct seats. I felt like a frantic Kajol running for her life…trying to find a purpose to get onto this stupid train that was slipping faster and faster away from me. That was then, this is now. My mum’s shrill voice was back and this time it was louder and scratchier! I looked at my watch; we were on our way and a half- hour ahead of time and things looked good. I was pretty good with my orientation. I knew places and routes when I saw them once, I prided myself on my planning and I was beaming at how well my sister was now taking on those traits. It was 4:45 and we were 20 mins away for a 5:25pm train and then it struck me! The envelope on the table, the white envelope that had my sister’s hall ticket for the exam…I hope to god she had taken it…! It was all happening in slow motion…my sister frantically asking me if ‘I’ had taken the envelope…and I was nodding in dismal. I mean ‘hello’ I was planning a vacation, not go write an exam! It was at that defining moment, a split second it took to make a decision…any decision, and we did.

It was suddenly high adrenaline drama central. We turned around to go back. I mean what good was our trip to Chandigarh without her hall ticket, it was the sole reason we headed in that direction in the first place. The mood was a mix of hope and pessimism, calculating every second we had and dreading to imagine the worst. We ran back, got the envelope and decided to take a faster alternative back to the station, willing to pay any amount to the sullen guy behind the wheel who didn’t seem to care about how panicky we were. We were hoping that the train would arrive late or leave late or just not leave at all without three really insignificant people who at the moment were very sorry, for all it was worth. As we got closer to the station we braced ourselves and swore to run like mad in the direction of the train…hopefully the right one. We half jumped off before the vehicle came to a complete stop, paid him and ran. There was a good Samaritan, a porter who was running with us helping us with our luggage, asking us which train we wanted to catch and then he suddenly stopped. It was like an ugly joke. It was not supposed to happen and it did. This was real. We missed our train! Ugh! Head Rush! My mom’s voice was back with a vengeance and this time it didn’t stop.

I was pretty blank in the moments that followed wondering if this is what Kareena Kapoor felt like in Jab we Met when she misses her train. My sister took charge and volunteered to do the next hardest thing, tell my parents. Meanwhile we decided to consider alternate modes of transport which either looked very unsafe and / or very bleak. It was already 7pm now and we hadn’t a clue about how we wanted to get to Chandigarh. Public transport is safe, great! We headed to the ISBT and managed to find some decent seats on a not so comfy, non-ac, normal bus that was going to be our only hope to get to Chandigarh. Luckily, my co-passenger was a decent middle aged NRI who made the awful journey seem less painful. We were schedule to reach Chandigarh in 4 - 5 hours tops. But looking at how the day was unfolding, I knew it was not going to be one bit easy, and it wasn’t. We reached around 1:30am, a time when most sane people are safe at home. This wasn’t looking too good but I was a daredevil and I wasn’t going to let some half-asleep city scare me. We called the hotel well in advance to confirm our booking and would you believe it, they had a problem with their phone lines and that continued, even at 1:30am at a time that we could really use some help with directions.

Soon we started attracting a lot of unnecessary attention, with each passing minute it got scarier. Guys on bikes and cars were making that extra turn to mess with us. The street we were headed on in our puny little trishaw got murkier. At this point I figured it was best to keep the kitchen knife I had in my backpack handy, I mean, I didn’t want to get carried away and I sure as hell didn’t want to see my face next to a screaming red sign “murderer” on tomorrow’s headlines. My thoughts wandered off to Bollywood movies where the heroine jabs the knife into the villain’s thigh (I didn’t want to think of the consequences if she jabbed him in the chest)…and the trishaw’s brakes came to a halt. Just when I thought my guardian angel was on a hiatus, we ran into a heavily guarded check-post. From what I understand Chandigarh cops don’t take eve-teasing too lightly. We asked for directions and also took the cop’s number for safety. I had my hopes pinned on him to come bail us out of any unforeseen situations till we reached out hotel, which at this point looked pretty likely. After forty five minutes of circling around the sector, we were back at square one with the same group of drunk college guys staring at us with a menacing smile. I could feel my heart pounding in my temples. We got rid of the trishaw, grabbed our bags and ran into the Hotel about 100feet from us. The guys at the reception were more than glad to help and I had to stop myself from reaching over to give them a hug, I was relieved to say the least. After calling our original hotel (the one with the continued phone problems) where we had a booking, we were shocked to know that since we did not inform them of our late arrival, they ended up giving the room to someone else! This was no time to argue with unscrupulous people, we needed a room! Thanks to the prominence of the exam that my sister was writing, all the decent hotels in Chandigarh were booked! It was 2:45am and time was running out. At this point I was beginning to get worried about the amount of stress my sister was going through considering she had a very important 3 hour exam that she had to appear for in less than 4 hours. After a few calls it was clear that we weren’t going to get a room, miraculously my sister’s friend lived in Chandigarh and we counted on her as our last bet. 30minutes later, I was thanking god and the wonderful family that would open their doors to us at 3am.

The exam went off well and we spent the next few hours chatting with our host who was going to whip up a home-style 5 course Punjabi meal for us. We were going to take a detour and spend the night in Kasauli, a hill station close to Shimla and the following morning, head to Amritsar. Our bus drive to Amritsar was one worthy to remember. The 5hr trip was a treat to the eyes. We saw the five rivers that made Punjab farmers some very rich men. The luscious green fields full of ‘sarson’ that made Punjabis such hatte-khatte people. All the women wore patiala salwars…from the skinny to the XXL, it was all colorful around us. We reached Amritsar around lunch time and ate a simple but delicious meal at the langar. The sheer volume of people they fed at any given time was amazing. We witnessed some very affluent people do stuff like clean the floor on their knees, take our footwear, cut vegetables, clean dishes and serve food in the name of service to society, and God. Soon after, we rushed to catch our ride which was going to take us for a tour of the Wagah border. From what I understand, it is a very power packed visual display at the border. The sun was merciless and I can only leave it to your imagination what it did to us when we had to sit and brace ourselves for the show. Needless to say, India had a bigger turnout for the showdown and played ‘Yeh Bharat Desh hai mera’ songs, Pakistan on the other hand was also trying to match the hulla balloo. The BSF guards were an overwhelming sight. Standing tall at over 6feet, each of them looked like they can lift a cow. Very impressive. Amidst overflowing patriotism and pride for India, people started shouting slogans to which Pakistan soon responded. After an array of marching and leaps, the flags of both the nations were brought down.

We came back to our hotel tired but knowing we had an early start the next morning. At 4am we made a mad dash to the temple to catch the first rays of sun hit the golden temple, a beautiful sight indeed. With verses of the Guru Granth Sahib being read out loud and everyone chanting it was truly a devout experience.

Lunch was at the famous Bharawan Da Dhaba and shopped at the Katraj Jay Mills where we got some mad deals on printed material. Let me not forget to mention what a world class Kulfi we had outside the golden temple. We were tired, famished and too beat to head anywhere, but this Kulfi just re-charged every single cell. Our journey back to Delhi was spent sleeping…much of which we lacked on this entire trip.

The next two days were spent emptying our pockets in Delhi. A must visit for shop-a-holics like me. I never shopped like I did here and I don’t plan on doing that for a while, but by god, what a time I had. Must Dos: Have the famous Momos and chat at Keventers in Delhi. Bharawan Da Dhaba in Amritsar for their Alu ke paranthe, firni and lassi.


Moral of the journey: a: The Emergency Chain on the Indian trains, Never Work. b: Expect the unexpected and c: Always have a viable plan B.

Disclaimer: Some of these random acts have been done without any valid thought process, are highly risky and should be taken as an example of what ‘not’ to do. Advised caution and repeat at your own risk. Feel free to contact for any advice on smart traveling.J

*Smitha: Happy Birthday!

A Hit, A Miss and one Helluva Win!

The Great Indian Premier League 2 finishes with a Big Bang and how. For anyone who’s followed the IPL this season with as much infectious interest as I have, you know what I’m talking about. It’s been the topic of conversation everywhere; status messages on Facebook, coffee-time conversations at work and beyond. I’ve practically had a relationship with my television set for those few hours everyday, unwilling to share the remote and unforgiving of anyone who dares to change the channel in that time. It’s been more than a reason to celebrate the different players and teams, in what is India’s favorite and much-hyped sport. Apart from the election fever, which I’m sure we’ve all snapped out of, the next gripping emotion was the IPL. It’s a given. I know I’ve been bitten by the cricket bug and if you haven’t then you’ve probably been on some other planet all together. Welcome to the world of money, madness and cricket!

For those of you that vaguely remember last year’s IPL like I did, let me refresh your memory and give you some basic info. The team that took home the ‘dough’ was the Rajasthan Royals who were expected to defend their title this year amidst much pomp and vigor with Shilpa Shetty calling herself the ‘new boss’ , shaking her non-existent hips to Halla Bol. But alas, it was disaster from the word ‘go’ for Shane Warne’s Royals who lost out to team 7 from last year’s line-up, the Bangalore Royal Challengers for a meager 58(all out). Ironically, they were also the team with the highest total in an innings for this year’s IPL with a staggering 211 vs Kings XI Punjab. That leaves us with the second strongest team from last year, The Chennai Super Kings who also ‘looked’ very promising this year. The Delhi Daredevils who were undefeated against all four games played against the Deccan Chargers(placed 8^th last year) also ‘looked’ very threatening in the race to the trophy, till they got the boot. That leaves us with the dismal performance of the Mumbai Indians and the lack-luster Kolkata Knight Riders whose stint in this year’s IPL can only be termed as a joke! And then there were The Kings XI Punjab who (un)fairly won the “Kingfisher Fair Play” award after marginally missing out the Semi Finals.

Even though Lalit Modi and co. tried their best to make this year’s IPL bigger and better, there’s been a lot of debate on the magnitude of ‘adrenaline’ it would have served had it been played in India, I mean after all it is the Indian Premier League. The fun and enthusiasm it brings to the crowds in a cricket-obsessed country like India is a whole different ballgame. But with the upcoming elections and the hullabaloo that followed it, the DLF IPL 2009 took a quick detour was finally going to be played in the land of the Proteas, South Africa. Without batting an eye lid everyone who needed a reason for a vacation and cricket lovers across the country, from celebrities to politicians, scurried to catch some action to cheer for their favorite teams.

I thought this year most teams came out a lot stronger and aggressive than the last, well almost. Needless to say, my personal favorites are and were, the Deccan Chargers, who without much ado or hype came about and did what they meant to do, win the championship for 2009. At first they came on strong with a 4-0 winning streak that soon became somewhat of an alternate win-loss scenario. DC was being branded by critics as the only team perhaps who was capable of ‘self-destruction,’ which might have been true sometimes. I mean how else can you explain the terrible loss against Delhi Daredevils who got 7 wickets out of 17 deliveries?

Having said that, I strongly believe that the Chargers were cohesive from the beginning and their strength was and is, Adam Gilchrist. The man (along with the coach Darren Lehmann and Mike Young) honed the young men to a winning performance that I can’t stop raving about. Gilchrist has been supportive and undeterred by the team’s performance. Be it a close margin win or loss, his epilogue was always an excellent cure for the will to live and play. It was his unfailing support for the team and due praise for the opposition that gave Deccan Chargers that little extra nudge to try harder each time. There are very few men of his stature who have the perfect composition of wisdom and humility it takes to be a good advisor to such a diverse team. His acumen of the game has reflected in his decisions on and off the field which one can only term as ideal. His little acts of encouragement for team members and for the opposition speak volumes in the kind of gentleman he is. His equanimity in pressure situations definitely makes him a sought after captain and player. At no point in this entire tournament have I seen him lose his cool or flinch at the sign of a lack-luster performance of the team, which goes to prove what a treat he is for the sore eyes.

His trust in the new faces and upcoming talent was a gamble that actually paid off. The young and fresh players cannot ask for a better platform to showcase their talent. I mean who knew Harmeet Singh before he took that nose dive catch and 2 wickets that changed the fate of the Royal Challengers on Sunday night? Or Fidel Edwards? Ryan Harris bowled a maiden over with the pressure of facing such senior players so early in his career. RP Singh was the man with the midas touch. His ever smiling face gave away nothing even in the face of fierce competition and pressure. Rohit Sharma's hattrick wicket taking spree was opening new avenues for him. As a Vice Captain of the team he has managed to exceed people's expectations without buckling under pressure and delivering hit after hit to drag DC over the line.

The final showdown was every bit the excitement it promised to be. Pulsating, nail biting, edge of the seat suspense is definitely not for the weak hearted. There was no lack of excitement or heartbreak in what I call a fitting finale where the scales titled in favor of the best team that night. When Adam Gilchrist was out for a ‘duck,’ I could feel the ground slipping away from under my feet, but ‘hope’ is a wonderful thing! Even though the captain of the Royal Challengers had 4 wickets to his credit, his team could not live up to the pressure of a glorious finale. Whereas, Gilchrist might have not had any personal runs to his glory, but it took nerves of steel and muscles of iron to lead a slipping team to its victory that night and that’s where his success lies.

The 'Man of the Series' was rightfully awarded to a very humble Adam Gilchrist, who remembered to point out Diwali like celebrations in Hyderabad. He also tops the list for maximum stumps in the series, something he does at a lighting speed catching the batsmen off guard (read Virat Kohli.) RP Singh got the purple cap with maximum wickets in his kitty and seemed visibly ecstatic. Rohit Sharma got the Citi under 23 player of the league award. Anil Kumble was the man of the match and was clearly bogged down by how close they came to tasting success. Roelof van de Merwe was the man with the maximum sixes, again well deserved.

My memories of this year’s IPL are gonna go way beyond Man(dira) Bedi, Samir Kocchar, Meiyang Chang (who’s way out of his league from his Indian Idol days) Gaurav Kapoor and the unrelenting RCB supporter Ravi Shastri. My personal notes will soon go out to Ravi Shastri whose rampant support to the Royal Challengers was getting on my nerves. There is no space for personal favorites and chanting (I swear) especially if you’re a commentator. I think I heard him say that RCB/ Kumble gets his vote because he was an Indian captain. Well Ravi, when it is a team sport it really can’t be carried by Anil Kumble alone or any captain, Indian or not.

I’m going to wait with bated breath for IPL next year, pride myself on being such an undying Deccan Chargers supporter who in due course has managed to steer some non-cricket people around to root for the home team. wink wink! Who knows maybe someday we will have a Gilchrist statue to replace the millions of faceless (not to mention unimportant) statues at every intersection in Hyderabad. I’m also already looking forward to India hosting the IPL next year. Who doesn’t like loud maddening crowds cheering the home team, which I hope will perform better and stronger for 2010, defending their title- without any celebrities and screaming banners, without any fancy colors and additions, just Gilly and his team all the way from Hyderabad! Go Deccan Chargers!

Invisibly Yours

Ok so how many people excessively use the "invisible mode" on yahoo? Personally, I love it.

Google has it too, but I'm biased to yahoo. Probably not a good thing to say when I'm using blogger eh? In the harsh real world we live in, invisibility is just a figment of imagination, or is it? An invisible cloak, some potion, Mr.India or the Harry Potter kind of stuff would still be in demand 100 years from now.

Anonymity can be such a boon, especially when it involves some nagging and highly irksome people who just won't take a hint. It gives me the advantage of being online yet wary of the gossipmongers who don't spare anyone. It's my magic wand that makes me invisible to the world and available to a few elite who deserve my attention, or sometimes maybe the other way around. It's my escape from the people who want to make small talk and in the entire world's politeness, pick me to ask a favor. Nah, I'll pass thank you very much.

Speaking of being mysterious online, I remember the time (and this is prolly going to give out my age, sigh...it’s only a number...it’s only a number) when hotmail and yahoo were new and happening. Everyone wanted to be on the 'world wide web.' Everyone gave out their email address like a cheap fake smile, like it or leave it type of thing. And everyone, I mean EVERYONE was on yahoo chat. There were a hundred something live chat rooms based on a billion different preferences that stopped at nothing. Chat rooms for different ethnic groups and even a state wise allocation for the really keen ones.

It was for the sophisticated, it was for the sleazy and everyone in-between. There were some who much to my repulsion, wanted to put their life as it unfolded on the internet. Some sort of fetish that was. Most people were on it for social networking. The others were looking for some sort of love that kept evading them; I wouldn't be surprised if they still haven't found it. It was the 'in' thing. There were shady email ids that wouldn't have a hint of the sex of the person, let alone anything else. The fairly naïve ones had their email address with their family name-given name-last name@yahoo/hotmail.com, some still do. It took more than just phonetics to help spell it. It was hilarious. Again, they all loved to sport this totally different personality online. Almost like a façade. I mean sure, who wants to talk to a forty year old pot bellied guy in a grocery store when the same guy camouflages himself into a hot and happening, twenty something guy, bearing an uncanny resemblance to Brad Pitt?

Sure, some people are just very comfortable putting their most intimate secrets in their status message, but is that the true reflection of who they really are? It’s almost like they don a different personality, only this one is more comfortable being so upfront and open. I’ve read people’s life stories in their status messages, funny right? Not one bit. The more explicit it gets the more I cringe at the thought of being a shoulder for them to cry on. I mean how can I tell you what you did wrong and why your boyfriend broke up with you, even if you’re doing it as we speak?

Sometimes even the brave, like myself, tend to slip into the convenience of escapism rather than take on the other invisible 'others'. It’s just so much easier that way. A friend recently started tested being invisible. She’s usually pretty upfront and candid so you can imagine my surprise when she decided to take cover from a certain someone. All that up-in-your-face attitude and then what? You finally lose to such weirdos who ask you the most appalling stuff on chat (any communication except face-face). From stuff like what's your salary to what are you wearing?

These days its 'ok' not to add acquaintances you once rubbed shoulders with in some ancient organization you worked for, if you don't want to. There is no moral police who will hunt you down and nail you for choosing not to be associated to some people who just want to feed off your sympathy or in some cases, the entire you. I get a lot of requests on Facebook from people who I met once and maybe exchanged a very compulsory yet polite 'hello' in some era. Am I going to add you and have you snoop into my profile and proclaim to the world how we're such good friends? Think again.

I like being invisible, in my own sense of the term. Like being in control of who gets to interact with me, yet socially being out there, I mean why can’t I have both? I like the privilege of being able to appear and disappear online (yeah where else?) and sure we all like to bask in the convenience that comes with technology. So the next time you’re online and you’re wondering where everyone is, ping them and you’ll be surprised. Signing off, invisibly yours.