It is a Truth Universally Acknowledged

That a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. Or that a single girl, in possession of a good fortune or broke, must be in want of a husband. Marriage is a very serious affair in my country. Now, I’m sure that it is quite the serious affair in yours too (this is me liking to think that people from all over the globe read my blog, but I digress) but in mine, especially when you’re 21 and almost a graduate, it’s pretty much supposed to become an end in life. You see, when I think of marriage I don’t feel all warm, sunny and photogenic. I feel like the fire in my backyard, the existence of which I’ve been wilfully denying, is finally on my backside and oh boy, does it burn.

I am at that point in life where a lot of my seniors from school are married and some are with kids while more than just a couple of my classmates are seriously contemplating the thought. In Kerala, where I come from, 21 is the standard age, as dictated by  21st century societal norms, when your parents are supposed to ‘start looking’. Everybody knows if there is a single girl whose parents are ‘looking’ because important NEWS like that spreads faster than common cold. The way I understand it, your entire life is supposed to be spent building up an image that will be found acceptable at this crucial moment when your parents finally open the gates to you. I’ve heard of prospective in-laws sending ‘private investigators’ to the college the girl in question attended, to find and dig up dirt if any. So if you’re thinking of putting up a Facebook profile picture with a boy in it, think twice. You might just kill your excellent chances at a narrow-minded mother-in law.

Now my parents know, understand and embrace my immaturity and have accepted that I am not quite done being a kid or educating myself but every single time I am at a family gathering, the following happens. Some distant relative will start a count of the number of my cousins who’re married and this discussion has lately been ending at the conclusion that my elder brother is ‘next in line.’ He is then exempted by the laws of unfair advantage to the male and everybody looks at me. This is usually followed by collective laughter and elbow- nudges (where I assume I’m supposed to join in, exhibit a degree of reluctant shy-ness, pretend I’m in a Bollywood blockbuster and break into a song about my dream man). Disappointed by my apparent lack of enthusiasm, an aunt will declare that I be ‘married off’ by 23. I will guffaw (because ‘laugh’ does not quite cut it). To this, a very forward cousin will very gallantly stand up for me and say that 23 is too early for ‘today’s time’ and that I shouldn’t think of it till I’m 25 but no later because apparently you’re senile the day you turn 26. I will protest vehemently and say the word ‘career’ and the older adults will promptly gang up and try to drag me away from the materialistic path I’m on because there are more important things in life like getting married to the near-stranger they approve of. Finally, the oldest adult in the room will declare how he/she wants to take part in my wedding before he breathes his/her last and then everybody nods and disperses because that just settles it, doesn’t it?

Now, that right there is standard conversation at any family event. It gets worse if you happen to be wearing a saree. I’m terrified to the point that if I’m wearing a saree and an adult comes up to me to say ‘Look how grown up and pretty you’ve become!’, I immediately look around for that single son or a concealed phone camera. Nobody gives compliments like that to a single girl at a Malayali wedding without having a match in mind. I am especially wary of people asking me to pose for pictures alone because one, my arms look fat if I can’t hide them behind the other people in the picture and two, because I’m pretty sure there is an online community of Malayali moms who love their sons where the pictures are going to be put up and reviewed. My own mother asked me to stand still for a picture the other day and I ran away screaming.

So you see, marriage is  like a humongous boulder hanging over my head on a loose thread right now. Nobody, in my part of the country atleast, seems to understand why anyone would want to stay unmarried after they’ve graduated. I mean I’m sure there’s that accepted thing where you can hunt for jobs in pairs. Travel the world? Even better if you have a husband to go with you! Money? Well money comes and goes and we’ll get you married into a ‘good’ family so there’s no worry there. Higher education? I’m sure your in-laws won’t have a problem with that. What if I’m not even close to ready? You don’t have to be. It’ll be like having a permanent friend you’re expected to sleep with and make babies with that’s all. What if I simply want some time to myself? *scoffs* That’s a western concept. In our culture, everybody gets married and has children before they figure out what they want in life. Also, your biological clock is ticking and you’ll birth alien babies after 30.

We once told our Spanish teacher (who’s only 22 and touring India alone now, by the way) about the above scenario in response to him laughing at Indians constantly asking him if he’s married or engaged. He opened his eyes wide and suggested we run away. As much as I like to believe that my parents are the coolest people on dear Earth, I can’t begin to imagine the pressure they’re under because they have a single daughter in the house. Good humour can only beat so many aunties at a time. Add to this my general irrational fear of marriage and near-complete ignorance of the inner workings of the opposite sex and I am pretty much living my personal nightmare. Every social event I go, I feel like I’m a moving exhibit presented for everyone’s appreciation and attention. Demons and dark rooms? Bah! Malayali aunties with single sons or nephews? Now that is something to be terrified of. So you see, marriage is quite the serious affair in our country. It is more a societal norm than an individual choice. While there has been quite the relaxation in the ‘Who you can marry’ laws (British guys still don’t qualify sadly enough), there doesn’t seem to be any leniency whatsoever in the ‘When you should marry’ clauses. And so I hope you’ll excuse me now as I wind up this post and figure out my migration to Timbuktu.

TO THE JACKS OF THE TRADES

Whoever came up with the absurd notion that being the jack of all trades and the master of none is necessary a bad thing was, well, wrong. It is almost like telling someone that given you enjoy milk chocolate, you should definitely stick to milk chocolate and not try that strange chilly flavoured one. Or something along those lines. I’ll have all the chilly and curry flavoured chocolate as I please, thank you very much!

Are you one of those people blessed with an angelic serenading voice that can drive Lea Michelle crazy? Are you capable of doing a full mid-air split? Or are you one of those who play professional football while they take a break from the theatre group that they rehearse with when they find time off B-Boying or skateboarding or playing the Cello in the middle of their drawing studio? If you are, and I honestly mean no offence, you are easily responsible for my latest near-quarter life crisis.

You see I am a student of architecture who can sketch just about well enough to scrape by, dance quite decently enough, write a few lines when in the right mood, sing better than Celine Dion in the shower and cook a pretty neat Omelette under the right circumstances. Can I ever aspire to produce anything remotely brilliant on canvas? Nope. Can I do a mid-air split? Nope. Can I ever dream of creating something like Harry Potter? *Laughs at self.* Nope.  Hell, I sound like a dying walrus outside the shower and, left unsupervised, I will positively set your kitchen on fire. Winning Gordon Ramsey’s heart is a pretty long shot.

But hey the thing about being exemplary at one thing? The pressure to remain so. And people talk of you using words like ‘exemplary’ and ‘fantabulous’ because ‘fantastic’ or ‘fabulous’ cannot begin to describe how GOOD you are. The perks of being ‘ok’ at a lot of things? One. Nobody really expects a lot from you and that being so, you are allowed to screw up once in a while. Two. Nobody notices if you do screw up because they are all watching that kid who is exemplary at his stuff. Three. Despite the fact that you could potentially screw up, you get to test the waters everywhere anyway because face it, you’re not that bad either and they could always use you. Which is why I have a blog that not too many people pay much attention to but my content is still out there. I am not criticised half as bad about what I write as, say, Arundhati Roy or Shobhaa De. (Not that I imply I am anywhere in the same league). Also I’m allowed to write for the college magazine. I am part of the official college dance crew, forever positioned in the right corner, second line from front. And my mom lets me cook as long as it is just an Omelette.

Point is I thought a lot about it under the covers with the lights off and everything after watching the latest SYTYCD auditions where 18 year olds do all the things I had aspired to be able to do when I was 18. I am almost 21 now and I’m not even close. But I digress. Point is, it is perfectly okay, I guess, to not be exemplary at anything. The important thing is to be able to be open enough to try everything out! And being ‘acceptable’ at a lot of thing leaves you a lot of room to take a bite of every cake with minimum possible disappointment. Plus nobody pays you a lot of attention anyway so even if you fall flat on your behind on stage you can simply dust yourself and join in again like nothing ever happened! Does not work with being in the centre of attention. And you only get to be the centre of attention if you’re truly exemplary at stuff. ‘Exemplary’. What a funny word.

I feel better already!

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We should be ashamed. Each and every one of us should, right now, be bowing our heads in shame. I do appreciate us coming together in large numbers at the India Gate, shouting slogans in front of the CMs residence, holding all those vigils. Don’t get me wrong for I do laud the sense of brotherhood and comradeship that seems to have awakened in us. But I am ashamed. I am ashamed that it took one girl living out her worst nightmare to bring it out. I fail to comprehend what it is that makes this one girl different from all the others over all those years? That she was raped in a moving bus that plied through some very busy areas of the city while the assault was in progress? Or that she had her intestines pulled out by an iron rod that was thrust into her? Or the fact that she lay naked, exposed and bleeding by the road for quite a while before help arrived? Or is it that she is ‘a fighter’ as her doctor terms it because of her sheer will to live? Because I dare you to tell me that none of the other girls before her had the will to live or the spirit to fight.

‘Amanat’ – because that is what the fourth estate seems to have christened her – is fighting for her life in a lone hospital room. ‘Amanat’.  ‘A priced possession’. Seriously? She is a priced possession because she was brutally raped and violated to the point where she was barely alive? I can bet anything that if there wasn’t a legal clause that made it punishable to divulge the identity of a rape victim, her name, her photograph and almost anything you wanted to know about her would be all over the NEWS by now. The ethics of the media can be called to question here if you care to bring up the girl in Assam who was molested and groped by an entire mob of men as a Cameraman stood by and filmed the entire thing. The media portrays ‘Amanat’ as a heroic survivor. Well, let’s get this straight. She is no hero. She is the victim of a brutal assault that stripped her of more than just her dignity – a simple girl who now faces the horrifying prospect of not being able to eat even a single meal or lead a normal life. The last thing she needs is to come out of that hospital alive and find herself a national celebrity - the involuntary champion of a cause that should have been addressed eons ago. And face the fact that the gruesome details of the attack upon her are the objects of Facebook statuses all over the nation. That would definitely be therapeutic. Do not trick yourself into believing that we are doing her a favour by sensationalising her case and her story. In a way, we are effectively victimising her.

While the entire nation is at India Gate, in front of the TV in anxious wait for ‘Amanats’ recovery or busy changing their display pictures to black dots, there is yet another woman who claims to have been gang-raped in Delhi by five men who were no strangers to her. And an innocent THREE-year old who is fighting for her life in a Mumbai hospital after being raped by her own father. And yet another lifeless body of a girl that has been found somewhere with what the Police call ‘obvious signs of rape’. Tell me they suffered – are suffering - any less. I genuinely commend all those people who are pushing for a change now. Do I support you whole-heartedly? No. Because I feel guilty and guilt makes us want to stop and reflect. Guilty that we turned a blind eye and a deaf ear to all those other women before this. Guilty that we kept quiet as they were publicly and unashamedly blamed for what happened to them – the clothes they wore, the company they kept, the choices they made. Guilty that it took one girl to be assaulted in as brutal a way as had never been heard of before for us to get up from our couches and do something about it. Guilty that I kept quiet – keep quiet – every time I was teased or approached or touched inappropriately by some deprived guy in a very public place.

I sincerely do hope we change something. That we manage to effect more convictions in cases of sexual assault, that we agree on more rigorous punishment than the 7 years we now equal a woman’s dignity to, that we see safer streets and parking garages. But as we push for it all I ask is that we do not use that semi-conscious girl in a hospital bed in Delhi as the reason. All I ask is that we draw on our sense of humanity and morals and keep her out of it all, give her ample space and time for recovery while we fight the battle. All I ask is that we do not further elevate her celebrity status to the point where in the future, irrespective of whether we succeed or not, she will be known as that girl who got raped in a bus in Delhi. That we spare her from those looks of scorn and sympathy, the judgement and the sheer social stigma that comes with it all. Because after the furore has died down and the cause is yet another sheet for our leaders to ponder over, she will be alone in her pain and face it, having publicised it considerably, we will not be there to bear it with her. Hence, all I ask is that we do not fight for her. Instead if we are fighting, let’s fight for us.

To Bollywood, With Love

Bollywood, my love, here is a friendly thought. Stop! Step back. Take a break. Go on a vacation somewhere far way. Refresh. Find yourself once again. Then, come right back. We all need to take a breather once in a while. It is about time you took one too.

I grew up with the ‘Rajs’, the ‘Simrans’, the ‘Rahuls’ and the ‘Anjalis’ you put in my way time and again and you know what? I didn’t mind them one bit. I did not have an issue with the unending fields of mustard, the dancing flowers, the flying dupatta or the train that is invariably leaving the platform. Nor did I mind the dirty cop, the evil mother-in-law, the scheming sister-in-law, the angelic son, the bed-ridden mother, the angry father or the all-forgiving, ideal ‘bahu’ who probably made life difficult for the real-life bahus of the time. So you see? I have taken everything you have thrown my away in near-sportsmanlike spirit – never questioning your efforts or your film-making abilities. But right now, at this very moment in time as your very ardent fan and well-wisher, I am pleading with you to stop!

It all started with Munni. The item song was back! And who better than the girl who made a trend out of dancing on train-tops to do the honours? Munni had just about finished her last ‘thumka’ when Sheila came along blowing her right out of the water. The quintessential‘item number’ had just been redefined. The country was still reeling under the effects of these last ‘numbers’ and the acts that came with it when there came Shalu who claimed to better Munni and Sheila. Now that was saying something. It was quite easy to ignore Shalu. But before I knew it, the item song had caught on! And how! It came to a point where even a, say, serious thriller with controversial political undertones had to have an item song in it. It became an unwritten rule. “Here’s an interesting script! How do we sell it? Let us make a complete mockery of the exceptional storyline, add a fight scene in a bar and then have our heroine strip down to her bare essentials and do a scintillating dance number to a catchy song!”

And then came the Rajnikanth phase. The unanimous laughter to all the jokes was still ringing in my ears when your heroes unashamedly started defying Newton too! Bending bullets, single-handedly decimating an army of highly-built, ferocious thugs, creating tornadoes of dust, riding two bikes at a time in one movie and then two horses in the next. Entertainment! In came Prabhudeva and suddenly Bollywood was in ‘South mode’. Sonakshi Sinha moved in with her dark shades and became the epitome of the crazy village belle who looked extremely South Indian but was somehow expected to fit into a North Indian village setting. ‘Aa ante amalapuram’ became ‘Aa re pritam pyare’ with not one, not two – but three actresses dancing to it. 'Ringa Ringa' turned into 'Dhinka Chika'. Lyrics stopped possessing even the ghosts of sense. Salman was the new Vijay. John was the new Suriya. And Sonakshi Sinha was Trisha, Asin and Nayanthara rolled into one. You churned out movies every week – almost like an essential routine. Your songs, your scripts and even your actors started looking, sounding and seeming the same. Your films went from being visual renditions of stories worth narrating to a bunch of scenes aimed at complementing a heroes biceps or a heroines ‘assets’. You made a movie about heroines, titled it ‘Heroine’ and promptly put in an item song. You could not have been more apt.

So here is the thing. I do not want to watch any more ‘snazzy’, 'bold'  item numbers. I don’t even like the phrase anymore. Being a dancer, that is definitely saying something. I do not want any more six-packs or eight-packs or chiselled bodies that are reminiscent of the very Gods of Greece. I am tired of them all. I do not want to hear about another son of a sardar. I do not want any more size-zeroes. So Bollywood, my love, take a break and redefine your priorities. Give me more of the ‘Rajs’ and ‘Simrans’ for all I care. Or even the evil mother-in-law. Give me substance! Give me ‘Shaitan’. Give me ‘Barfi’. Give me a story. Give me an experience. Give me anything but what you are giving me now. So, stop. Think. And for heavens’ sake, come back when you are ready.

And In Today's Headlines..

I am huge fan of the NEWS. No, I am not the ideal teen who knows everything about everything. But yes, I do like to be aware of what the general populace is up to. And thanks to all those dedicated NEWS channels out there, I do come to know of a lot of high-priority, life-changing stuff. Like how ‘Brangelina’ adopted a kid from yet another impoverished country followed by an hour-long feature on how all their other kids are doing. And there is absolutely no telling you how thankful I am, that on the ‘Abhi-Ash’ wedding, there was ‘Exclusive Coverage’ which included some hazy, extremely unclear video grabs of Aishwarya Rai sitting in a car on her way to the venue. I also heard about Rakhi Sawant’s next attempt at a wedding on national TV, that major twist in the absolutely unpredictable storyline of ‘Balika Vadhu’, the next ‘hot item-number’, the newest size zero, the…  Wait, what did you say again? The Indian Women’s Kabbadi team won the World Cup? No, I did not hear much about that. But hey, did you hear about Sunny Leone?

Remember when all the NEWS we had were those thirty minute bulletins that were aired twice or thrice every day and were presented by average-looking NEWS-readers? Things have changed. The presenters look better. The channels look more sophisticated. Also, the tiniest event is dramatized, enacted or animated and presented with a serious- sounding voice-over that makes it seem like your life just changed. The NEWS is transforming our lives into a slow-paced Hindi soap - with the twists and turns and the vamp we all love to hate but still watch.

Yes, I respect the fourth estate. I am, what one might call, a ‘wannabe’ journalist myself. That said, here is another thing I have noticed. Everything everyone says nowadays is said with the invariable motive of giving the press and the people something to talk about while they busy themselves demolishing the system in smoother, subtler ways. I recently caught a glimpse of a feature on a respected NEWS channel as part of the assembly elections in a state. There was a politician ranting at a public event about how this other politician “gets up at 4 am in the morning, works for 5 hours and then starts drinking”. There was also something about a “Patiala Peg” and how “he takes it neat”. In the era which has redefined ‘corruption’, ‘money-laundering’ and all those other words that can undo a nation, how can we allow a drunk politician to exist? But that is, of course, ignoring the fact that in some of our states, the government itself sells subsidised alcohol. But no! A politician who drinks? Unacceptable! Who cares if he’s qualified or not corrupt or the biggest money-launderer in history? It all fades in comparison to the fact that ‘he takes his drinks neat’, because that right there, is undeniably the perfect yardstick to measure his credibility. The way I see it, this is the only thing the above statement implied. If you can think of a saner motive, I would be extremely interested to know.

We were made to read “A Brave New World” by Aldous Huxley in school. In it, the author suggests that in the future, all important information will be lost in a stream of irrelevant data that will be relayed to us continuously. Now go watch the NEWS. Watch that ‘heart-wrenching’ story of the reality show contestant. Watch the ad for that couch that can be successfully dragged around on rocks for whatever reason without causing any damage whatsoever.  I even remember watching this show where they zoomed in on a picture of a celebrity taken at some event, highlighted a portion of her arm in red and suggested that she needed instant ‘hair-removal’. Imagine the amount of irrelevant things that are being fed into your mind. Not all of us are a Sherlock Holmes with an attic for a mind that holds no data that is irrelevant to his immediate existence. Which is why, while we know of the Copernican theory, we also know how many kilos ‘Ash’ gained after Beti-B.

The NEWS today is tailor-made according to what we ‘want’ to talk about, not what we ‘should’ be hearing. But wait, I am a Libran – born diplomat. Hence I have to say, I also admire NEWS channels who, in times of crisis relay information round the clock (except when they do real bright things like broadcast a telephone conversation with a hostage (who might just be a politician) on National TV that reveals where a large group of targets are hiding inside a terrorist-ridden building). It is the other days I refer to – days when you and I are out of ‘interesting’ topics to gossip about. That is when some NEWS channel promptly throws us bits of information on the latest ‘Bikini Babe’ or the newest set of 8-pack abs and lo! In less than a second, the winning Kabaddi team, the corrupt minister and the martyred soldier become history. And all is right in the world again.

MEET THE RELATIVES...

This is an excerpt from a normal conversation I would have with a long-lost relative if I happen to run into him/her at some family event.

Relative 1 : Look at you! (turns to Relative no.2) She’s become taller than her mother now!

Me : (with a weak smile) Yes, uhmm..

Relative 1 : Oh my, you do recognise me don’t you? I was there at your 5^th birthday party!

Me : (looking around for mom) Oh yes, I do! How can I forget? (very broad smile)

Relative 2 : (with an evil smirk) Really? Tell us who we are then.

Me : (finding mom) Mom! Look who I met!

Mom : Oh, why its… (spills the beans on the relatives’ secret identity). You do know them, don’t you?

Me : Of course, mom. They were at my 5^th birthday party! (tries to make an escape. Fails miserably)

Relative 1 : So what do you do now?

Me : Oh, I finished my first year of Architecture at Manipal.

Relative 1 : So grown up! (smiles) I’ve heard so much about Manipal. How do you find the place? (raised eyebrow, expectant look)

Relative 2 : Architecture? I have an uncle whose wife’s brother’s neighbour’s son is doing Architecture. Very nice boy. What is the course about anyway?

Me : (confidently) Oh,it basically deals with designing buildings and all that.

Relative  2 : You mean, draw plans for houses? Well, in our days you see, the mason and carpenter did all of that. Now they have a degree for it! (laughs tauntingly and looks at Relative 1, who promptly joins in)

Me : (grudgingly) Its not that easy really.

Relative 1 : How difficult can it be? (without waiting for an answer) It’s a five year course, like medicine. (with a concerned look) You’ll be quite old when you get out of college. Then you have to find a job, find your footing. It’ll be difficult to find a nice boy when you become that old. (turns to Relative 2)

Relative 2 : Yes, indeed! (turns to mom) You know that boy I mentioned earlier? He’s about her age. You should try casting your net and roping him in early! (winks in my direction)

Me : (I bet he isn’t a fish) Haha. (glares at mom)

Relative 1 : (turning to mom) It’ll only be a few years before she’ll have found her own boy (points finger in my direction). Don’t do that my child. You’re there to study, remember. (turns to mom) Did you hear about Govinds daughter? Such a nice man and his daughter decides to fall in love! Exactly why todays children……

(Quick escape. A moment of relief. And then I bump into the next long-lost relative)


Image : scifigeektees.com