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.

Feeding the 'I'

We are born with it - the selfish inaccessible part of our personality that demands immediate satisfaction. It is what drives us to get better and to the top of the world, maybe sometimes, even at the cost of righteousness. We all secretly crave to feed it and we sure can’t tell it apart from what we claim is our 'self-respect.'

I - it is what differentiates a person from the rest of the world. It is one of the most important ways in which we set our selves apart, unique; just like everyone else I suppose. The single letter that can cause so much mayhem and presumably some of the biggest wars in the past. It sure as hell was the reason the timeless epic Mahabharata was fought for eons.

So why do we view this little three lettered word as being so negative yet, own a good amount of it in our system? Why do we simple deny having an ‘ego?’

I’ve posed this question to a good number of people who first get offended and then almost as a side effect, resort to self-denial. While in conversation when I casually broach the subject with friends, they look at me a second longer to see what my aim is when I mention the much debated word. Let’s face it. The last time I checked we all had one. Yes, it’s a little hodgepodge of what we call ‘the voice inside our head’; but how do we get to the bottom of our much tamed pride and self respect without getting walked all over? Ever wondered what part of our body produces the inner voice that we all fine-tune ourselves to hearing?

As we grow up we are taught ‘survival of the fittest.’ In blindly striving to be the ‘best’ we fail to tell ourselves the difference between ambition and superseding it. Why can we ‘not’ put the opposite person down in order to inflate our egos? It's a fad. Sadly, the same society that teaches us to keep ourselves in check is the one that provokes us to flex those biceps, roll up the sleeves and fight back.We all love to think how we're totally exempt from such sinisterly behavior.

Ego is not a subject or an elective. Ironically, it is probably easier to imbibe than the other important stuff we should be learning. Remember when you were a kid and you got bullied? Can you think of anyone who told you about take it lying down or said “Its ok honey. Let him take a few more swings at you and then it’ll all fall in place?” The fact is that we teach kids the difference between genders and why it’s ok for boys to have a bigger ego because they’re superior to girls. We teach them that if they fail they have to cork their tear glands, if not they’re no good. So why are we so surprised that there are are so many acts of rage in our everyday lives? Anger? Me thinks not, it’s the result of a bruised ego.

Honor Killings, jealousy towards a successful wife, ego battles over who said what that span a lifetime…does all of this seem worthwhile in the race against time? We love to go out of our way to prove how we don’t have an ego and in the process, up the ante. A few people have a hard time believing and even if that impossible feat has been achieved the bigger problem is confronting their ego. So many great men and women have talked about being humble but despite all those moral science classes in school, what easily comes to our mind is the poverty stricken hero who lets his vengeance shine loud and clear and predictably, winning our hearts..awww dont we just love happy and fair endings?

What it all boils down to and this might vary from person to person depending on the degree of their tolerability and will power is to ask ourselves: Where can I run to escape from myself? I’m thinking the better (read smarter) alternative would be to smile the next time when someone cuts me off at the traffic light, refrain from gritting my teeth when I have to say sorry if it can help the situation…and lay low when the guy expects you to throw a punch at his face for calling you names. What we don’t do won’t make us lesser than who we are, but what we do in a fit of rage, definitely will.