Shola Aur Shabnam is a blog that compels you to reach your corniest most corner and makes one think, act, pant, moan and do everything like a pseudo intellectual. Until then, happy reading.....
Mom- Where would you stay? Me- ah Home. You have any better option? Mom- Yes. Why don’t you go to Pune? Me- really! Bali would be a better option only that am not flying down to either of these cities Mom- You won’t fly down to Pune either which way. We aren’t here and without us you cannot stay here. Clear? Me- nope ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Di- Why aren’t you coming to Pune? You must, you must come. We will have fun. Loads of it. All sisters under one roof can bring the city down and tear the curtains. Me- are you sure that is gonna happen? Di- of course girl. Jaldi aaa kudiye [come fast girl]
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Nosy Aunt- Heena, why are you such a wreck. Why don’t you get your dirty ass to Pune while your parents are not here? [Alright, she did not say dirty ass but whatever she did say sounded still the same] Me- But N.A-You quit your job when you shouldn’t have, you studied whatever you wanted to [so not true], and you do things as per your wishes. Now when you are a parasite to your family, why don’t you just help them in this little way??? Get over to Pune!!!!
Parasite!!!!!! Ouch. How true. 21 years past my existence, I still live off someone. I still depend on my dainty mom for the next meal of the day and, worse, I depend on them to pay off my internet expenses as well. The days I promised myself that one day past 18th birthday, I should leave the hook immediately look hazy from this cumbersome distance. “Girl you are hurt”, said my ‘antar aatma’ [soul]
“Of course am not. Look kids of my age don’t do what I do. They never have!!!!!”
“Go shit someone else, not me for sure.”
“Ahhhh ridiculous. I have always worked my fucking ass off!! Kids of my age were partying when I was working in some obscure corner without the knowledge of my parents for that extra dollop of pocket money”
“Without the knowledge of your parents?”
“Well, I did not want them to get hurt that their little girl is working hard.”
“So is this what hurt you the most?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know twitch, what am I and you are talking about. All I can say is, do not bother. Do not bother at all’
“It’s easy to be someone’s soul and then talk as if nothing matters. It is easy for a soul not to be materialistic and not to get hurt when you are called parasite by a nosy aunt, when all she should have done was to mind her own business, at 21! It fucking hurts.”
“Expectations, you have them all spilled across. Why don’t you just go out and have fun while it lasts? Why can’t you go climb a mountain and then get naked?”
“Just to get molested? Woman, I have other better ways to feel miserable about myself. One of them is to go to; yeah you guessed it right, Pune! Go to Poo-fucking-ne just to blow my only chance of freedom? And you know a cool, sensible, intelligent and whatever feels good at this time adjective -person like me does not have to take this shit? Cuz, I, a big girl, quit my shitty, nerve wrecking, system choking job!!!!! How does it matter to my folks or their relatives that how atrocious and agonizing it must have been for me to continue in that kind of environment with those kind of people doing that sort of job! As long as you have money, you have the worth. Blow this out, lose respect”
Antar Arma, did i say thankfully, fell silent on hearing this big, enlarged and larger than life monologue. She smiled and asked me to take a deep breath and then continued saying:
“You know what girl, you need no respect from every quarter. Respect is precious only when it comes from the right corner. Your corner is different and trust me, you are not the only unemployed fart sitting over here. The important thing is that this is your choice. You have chosen it to be this way and have not been dictated otherwise”….
Ahh too much of philosophy, my ears cannot take anything more than that. Feeling like a hybrid form of Baba Ramdev now! Enough of bullshit melodrama. I have to start packing the goddammit bags right away. I ordered myself around. This is the way to go.
‘Am ready to go, raring in least, Am ready to explore, Not as an excited little beast, Am ready to plunge, Am ready to shake, Only if my booty moves as you please…..
Corny, cheesy, oh so mushy, thank you all. I know the adjectives already. I know what it is to be stupid in love and I know what SRK must have felt in the film where he played the role of an obsessive, compulsive and psychotic lover and admirer of a vivacious, bubbly, chirpy and a little overweight Juhi Chawla. Yup, I have been through every phase when I talk about love. My phone starts ringing with my caller tune of Flo Rida’s song ‘available’…..
‘ooooooohhhhooo ooohhhoooooo oooohooooo
It’s the time, it’s the right time,
It’s the right time, Yo it’s the perfect time
babeh babeh babeh
Am a single man, Now let’s go hit the town and start the mingling’
I picked the phone up. He said he has reached. Whattttt, he has reached already!!!! He is here, with me, finally. Oh shit, I have not gone to the parlor to wax, I have not decided on what to wear, I haven’t had the planned hair cut, I do not know what the fucking hell was I doing all these days!!!!!!!!
God damn my periods, my chums and my temper. Boys, next time you bump into a girl, lady or a woman, irrespective of size, caste, taste and vital statistics, please do not judger her so prematurely if her only occupation seemingly is to hiss like a snake, throw temper tantrums at the guy behind the desk at shopper’s stop because he wants her to take the citizen card/membership blah blah, or look generally displeased with life. Please do not dismiss her as another bitch who deserves to be fucked hard doggy style as much as one could with an Amar Singh lookalike male, or worse Amar Singh himself. She is helpless. She is not all that bad. She is the victim of God’s unpractical jokes. Yup, she is suffering from PMS. The legendary Pre and post menstrual syndrome where her hormones are on a high imbalanced rush. Seriously, it is not her fault and it is never going to be hers. A thing which my boyfriend does not understand and I cannot bow down from.
He is coming to meet me after 2 months when it is so obvious that am engulfed in the war zone of my hormones, stickiness down there and infuriation due to humidity and hotness outside. Too much for a person to put up with and bear. He cannot meet me for long today. He said just that. My hormonal rush, humidity outside, my tensions of not having submitted project yet, my another worry of being dumped by relatives after the age of 40 as just another talent lady who could have been but is not, and my stickiness out there, cramps in the stomach, cramps in the back, no food from morning, no mom and dad at home, no fucking nothing and he cannot meet me for long after two fucking long months!!!!!!! Wham, bam damn. Alert. Alert. Alert. Tears rolling down my cheeks, my eyes are as red as a slithering and vengeful snake woman who just came to know that her current lover is the murderer of her dead snake husband. My eyes were flushed, my mind was down and my emotions were out of control.
I shouted, I shouted, I shouted like a mad raving woman. I cried. I sobbed. I hit the floor with the remote control and he was flummoxed. Poor little boy. I feel bad for you. Am emasculated in my world and he is confused in his. After being with me for such a long time period, I cannot still fathom that how he cannot put up with a woman who is menstruating. I put up with you all the time, why can’t you put up with me once?
Dad- you cannot take a step outside the house now
Me- I will and I can.
Dad- get a separate arrangement for you because you are not coming back here to stay anymore
Me- Alright. I will.
Bam. He had waited for over half an hour in his black colored, fat ass big and boring Scorpio. We met, we laughed, and we felt awkward. He drove around and I felt insecure about my appearance. Oh god, this is not how it was supposed to be like. I had planned on to look so ultra sensual and sexual on the first day of our meet together after what feel like ages! I had planned on wearing something elegant, regal, sexy and strappy. And what did I wear? The same old rut. Shite. Whatever little make up I had put on was washed away in the beads of sweat due to ultra thick humidity outside.
We drove further. Halted the car in a reclusive corner of a sprawling residency which we usually frequent in and around my area. He had already rolled a joint and I was in no mood to pass off this little bit of respite that I hadn’t had from weeks now. We smoked up with a sudden rush and surge of relief. Down went the sorrows, the fight, the menstruation, the cramps, the humidity, the stickiness of blood out there, the worry of not having submitted the project, the worry of becoming old and not an ounce wiser. It hit me where it hurts most and finally I was liberated. Liberation, liberation, free, free, independence, yelled my strapped and shackled mind. I was free at last. I got the wings and I started flying in the sky. I looked at him and asked whether he will join me in my expedition. He said yes. With Alice in chains playing in the background, we flew across the sky. I touched him. He touched me back. He kissed me. I was forthcoming alright. We were together, we were in unison, we made out in the back of his car like mad and happiness ensued.
Peace, peace and more peace.
Love, love and the lovely world.
Peace and love and some more peace and some more love.
He came, we saw and I conquered………
In a nutshell
I always know who my boyfriend is going to be. The first time was when I was a tiny winy little girl. I entered the class of my new school and screened around. The kind of screening one does when one has to ascertain and know what kind of people or animals in habitat this place. Yeah that sort of screening. I screened. I clutched my water bottle, hung around my neck, my extremely heavy bag and my frail legs. Not a face that looked friendly. Am sure they would have checked the new girl out but pretended as if i did not exist. I could feel the cold glare of other girls on my skin and I could only look back at those hopeless, vivid and strange faces. I hated the environment immediately and detested knowing that this is going to be my new school. Until, well only until, this new boy I came across. He was all that a girl possibly could not want. To this date I think what was it that I had really liked in him?
I was a daredevil. So I acted cool + bold [deadly combo on the very first day of your school] and sat just next to him. Bang there where he was seated. I guess girls and boys stared me harder as I was sitting in the enemy territory boy zone. I did not care. The girls did not look friendly to me at that point of time so I steered myself clear of them. I introduced myself and he was, well, awkward as hell. He had a strange south Indian accent. He was dark and he was overtly powdered by his mom. All was not lost. He was a Math genius. Final nail in the coffin. Now go and laugh your stinking pants off. Put your hands up and make an L sign to call me a loser while you are at it but, dear people, I have always had a soft spot for the nerds and intellectuals.
Soon I was to become his favourite and the girls were not mess with us. He sat with me on every bench till class 5th and I bloody ensured it. Aggressive and bold? Oh yeah. Sitting one day on the porch near my house I confided this to my sister. She did what she does best. Becoming a traitor and telling all this to my mother and father. Whaaaaattttttttttttttt!!!!! My father and mother did not spare me either. My mom was inconsolably laughing and my father, to think of it, was awkwardly silent. Yeah my dad has always been that kind!! Who cares now but I did at that point of time. I had no ground and sky to hide my face because I knew the entire mushy tale will reach the ears of my teachers. Yeah, my mother was one of them.
For the record of gasping and fawning readers, who have started to think ‘what the fucking fuck? Where does she come from? A boyfriend in a primary school!!, we were not officially girlfriend and boyfriend. He did not say anything to me and if he did not say anything to me then a girl’s ego would not let her do so either. I did not say anything to him. And by the time we moved to standard 6th, with new entrants my interest had begun to change and I found new musings and new things to solve. But, I always knew who my boyfriend was going to be. He could have been. In the line of many could have beens, he is right at a small pie of the entire chart.
I look outside the window. I love looking out. I notice the cars, the trees, the horizon, the people, their problems, their indifferent faces, their indifferent walks, their purses, their bags, their aspirations, all packed in one. I look at their kids, friends, families, goats, dogs, cows, trying to be all juxtaposed in one big pretentious road. Road, yeah they were all on road and I was sitting off the road in a balcony.
I look inside the hall and there is no one. No mom, no dad, no sister and no brother. I am alone and am very happy. Happy because I know this is how you are suppose to be. Think from my perspective and life will fall in place. Life Ha! I marvel how things have changed. How things have changed since my 6th year. I was different then, I was determined then. I wanted to change my life and I knew I had it in me. Now I know child hood is all about thinking shitty stuff that are never going to come true. Astraunaut, actress, writer, orator, dancer, and painter everything goes up in the air. A thin ugly air. You are here to lick someone’s ass and as much as you lick other’s they will lick back yours.
I switch on TV and know that few hours of my life will fly away. It will never be back. It will go away again in an air and all I would have done at the end of 24 hour time deadline will be to have watched television like a couch potato. I have watched a lot of TV. I know the good and the bad. I know how regressive Indian television is and how gaudy do women look. There are good women, bad women and then there is a breed of Indian television. Women with no purpose, no goals, no life, no hobbies, only a smash of thick mascara, big fat ass sindoor, gaudy or semi gaudy saris, infertile expressions and a will to please their husbands. Husbands of these women are sadder. How these people live detached from every one. How it doesn’t matter to them that whether India crashed out of WC T20 so early. I wonder, I marvel and then I look at myself with a dash of guilt. I could have watched ‘How I met your mother’ instead. But I chose to hook with these trashy serials. Why? Because I have no life? Could be. Is this my way to show the world what crassness can get to humans? Ahh nahhh. I look and watch them because like everything in life I lack option.
Look, I want to feel great about my life. I want to feel wonderful. I want to feel the feel. I look at other coolers lives and sulk for very many days to come. I look at these losers and feel like pushing myself harder. I feel glow of superiority complex and know that all is not lost. I tell myself that ‘look girl. They are losers, they are chutiyas. Look how much better your life is.’ And then I feel good about myself. I feel the glow of superiority. Again I look outside because I love looking outside.
Mrs. Kulkarni was cutting her daily evening sabzi when she brought her daily chore to a magnifying halt. She searched for the remote control and increased the volume for it was her favourite Kareena Kapoor song that had alas come on television after a hiatus of 2 weeks! She once mentioned to me in the subsequent conversation. Like I cared to listen what and how Kareena Kapoor comes after how many days on what screen. She was, as she puts it, a big fan of the star and would do anything to just see her once.
As usual, I was standing in my balcony when she, assuming that I am jobless the way every one does these days, called out for me. I do not like to disappoint people when they have something to share with me eagerly. We get people who can incessantly talk and entertain for hours, but it is a more challenging task to find a person who can boast of a pair of nice and big ears and appetite for listening to others. I lent her my ears. She asked me if I have ever seen her personally and when I nodded in negation she chided me that I go daily to that side of the town. I did not answer that question. I just told her that one of my friends has indeed interviewed her and she is absolutely fair and bright as neon bulb. The latter part I made up a little bit because I did not want to tell Mrs. Kulkarni that her favourite star was any thing but cheerful and vivacious when she met him. I did not want to tell her that she made him stand outside to honour her little missy snob act. Like she did not care who and what scribes are, like she doesn’t want scribes to go after her life and write galore about it.
Frankly, he was dejected with this entire star kid trash. He had been a pretty good actor himself so he keeps the lamp of acting very high in his life. Whenever he hears any star kid reiterating the thought line that “true, we star kids get our breaks easily but we have double the pressure to put up with and are constantly compared to our fine parents.”
He bitterly shared with me one day that how he is sick of such sentences. For him when you come in acting, you come to act with passion and fire to prove oneself and not just become a poster girl or boy for a leading magazine. And if being compared to someone is a more of a pressure than having to put up in a rat hole room with money only for one square food a day and then landing a minuscule role in a movie of a leading actor whose left skin’s hair cannot move as much with expression as that of a lady who had just been botoxed, then he must really be very wrong. One day he had had enough and left his dreams and aspirations lying rotting on the ground. He did not quiet like the idea of being placed secondary to snobs whose facial expressions were as bad as the secularism of Gujarat state. He just left it, and till today he does not regret it.
Mrs. Kulkarni detests, though, the idea of Kareena Kapoor being with a divorced Muslim boyfriend. She asserts that if she is a Hindu, she must also tie the knot with another Hindu. This is her way of leveling the society. Of course, I did not say anything about that either even though she looked at me searching for an answer that would reverberate with her own positivity and judgments. I did not say anything. She also mentioned, passionately, that media must leave the couples alone.
Of course, media must leave the young couple alone. But media, or at least Indian media, cannot hob nob to the foreign shores of Europe of far flung continents where they constantly travel. Where do Indian media get the pictures from? How do they know so much about how and where they eat and what restaurant they frequent? Is it all a deliberate attempt to enhance individual or couple celeb equity? Was it to land, more audaciously, the brand contracts with a lip smacking remuneration?
But, media will not let them alone. In the end, though, it is the media these Bollywoodians need and desire the most. Because not being written about is as good as being written off.
In the meanwhile she also reminisced about how cute Abhishek bachhan is and how old Aishwarya looks with him. How does it matter if Aishwarya is the prettier and more successful of the two? She kept cutting her sabzi while the relay of songs ended. I hurriedly checked my watch and realized that it is time for my cigarette and so I left Mrs. Kulkarni in lurch. I found the packet and checked if there is any one at home. I brought out my cigarettes, puffed the smoke and blew it in air. Desires and pressures in the form of rings got detached from me in the air with every puff I inhaled and exhaled. The higher they went the higher my eyes roved. I looked at them until they vanished as a thin line in the air while the background continued to blare with the song of Chaliya chaliya from the film Tashan picturing the polished and well cut Kareena Kapoor.
This life is one life and this world is one world. But yet we are all so different. Each car is driven like any other, but yet it’s so different. What difference should a Lamborghini make to a Nano? Same diesel or petrol, same set of driving skills required and same set of precautions. You look at the former and gawk in awe inspiring expression whereas, the former elicit any form of response on the basis of what suburb you belong to. Some of my posh south Mumbai friends just booked Nano for kicks. Who am I to dissuade them? Who am I to tell them not to pollute the already infested environment or not to clog the illusionary augmented roads? I won’t even cite any one global warming. Firstly, it is mass product mass cause. The way world peace is. Global warming is just another cause for fashionistas to babble about something in their red carpet moment or pseudo intellectuals, like me, to writer or scream about in their free time. I will not and I cannot. What difference does it make to the world of air conditions what temperature is our environment outside?
In my suburban neighbourhood, Mr. Dixit also bought a Nano. He did it with pride gleaming in his eyes and thunder oozing out of his voice. He told every one, whoever could lend an ear, that at 5 he wished to own a fiat. His father was of modest means and as a bank clerk he could not fulfill this desire till his retirement. His father now has gone back to Satara where he is living off his days on daily poojas and doing what old people does best. See the weather around, wonder about the world, go to the temple and reminisce the younger days before their final call is made. His father shall make this one trip to the city to see his son’s proud ownership of a simple and sweet car. Mrs. Dixit donned the most precious sari of hers from the closet along with the same jewellery she wears for any important function. I have, in all these years of my growing up, seen her wear the same jewellery in every marriage party. Not that am a whimsical snob who would sneer at petulant things such as gold jewellery but, I just observed how she never made a big fuss about it to her husband. She was content and so was her husband. They all were happy the day when their Nano had come. Except their 12 year old boy who they have sent to the city’s best school. He has seen much bigger and better cars with drivers chauffeuring his friends all around the place. In fact, he snapped back in infuriation when his mom proposed him to be dropped off in the new car to his school instead of taking school bus. He said he would miss all his friends so much if he were to go in the car. His parents, chose to, believe the reason for his insisting not to take Nano to school premises. Mrs. Dixit giggled in our direction and just remarked that he gets too attached to people pretty quickly. The old boy, I must say, is very smart. He tackled the situation with concealed shame and tactful diplomacy.
The other neighborhood aunties did not just stop at congratulating Mrs. Dixit about the new car but, also remarked, in the tone of impishness and sarcasm, that their husband would learn a thing or two from Mr. Dixit and can buy them at least a Maruti 800 next time. Maruti 800! It is no more in the market; I spoke with an air of superior knowledge. They all turned towards the direction of where I stood and expressed shock and disbelief. They could not, from their facial expressions, come to terms with the demise of the once ‘apple of an eye car’ that taught the entire country how to drive. Yeah, it is no more. I felt too hot standing under the roof and thought fresh air would do me good. I faintly excused myself and made a quiet and yet attentive exit.
How things have changed? How much things could really change. Today having one AC is not a luxury until you have one fixed in the children’s room. Your walls must have a paint of a celebrity endorsed product. If tired, you cannot be just content with a street side Gane ka juice [sugarcane juice] or Nimbu Pani [lemon water], you will have to order ‘thanda matlab? Coca Cola’. Or may be Pepsi. Youngistan Ka wow. [ the latter jingle an ad world specimen. You really need hell lot of creativity to think that this was it!]
In bathroom I face reluctantly the dilemma of using the good old Lifeboy or Dove. Urban dictate is to go for dove which gives you the moisturisation of a milk and cream. Lifeboy merely kill germs and does nothing for my beauty. Yeah right, first soaps, then moisturizers and then comes the dilemma of choosing the right cosmetics with the right kind of branded clothing and branded chappals. Chappals branded? Things have changed, I guess so. I go near the station and see throngs of beggars with their plate and a statue of any favourite god out. For many years, since the time I have been frequenting the station, I have seen only one kind of goddess and only one sort of statue. I wonder why this hasn’t changed so much. What has changed is the demeanor of these street beggars. They have all started looking much more sophisticated and their trick of trade a little bit more polished. I can see and make the difference who are genuine and who are not.
Where do I figure myself in between? I do nothing; I merely plug in the iPod and listen to my songs while I go towards the platform. In the background the music is going on. It’s the song by Gary Jules: All around me are familiar faces, Worn out places, worn out faces, Bright and early for their daily races, Going nowhere, going nowehere…………….
