Little Heartbreaks

Sick and tired of my one big heartbreak, I joined Tinder because who wouldn’t want to curate the Book of Tiny Humiliations & Disappointments? Technology is so helpful.

I signed up with a bad attitude, cynicism seeping from every pore and found a couple of adequate fellows to chat with.

Them: Hi

Me: Hello.

Them: Wassup?

Me: Nothing much. You say.

Them: Happy Diwali.

Me: Same to you.

Indian men possess charming dating skills. As do I.

There was this one chap though, going by a generic and not-hard-to-find-in-a-haystack-at-all name, with a single photo in which you could just about figure out half his face. He had a sense of humour, we seemed to be getting somewhere, when whoosh, for no reason I understand, he ‘unmatched’ me.

It’s hard not to take it personally when you are rejected not just by a human but also by his mobile app.

Now I’m left with the ‘Hi-Wassup-Happy Diwali’ gang and it’s back to square one.

Yet (as Amit if-that's-even-his-real-name said before we were consciously uncoupled) there is always something to learn from setbacks.
My conduct on Tinder has shone a light on how I am in real life.

I aim low, am consistently apologetic and insecure in my interactions with men, all the while imagining that I’m vastly superior. And then, when they behave like subpar humans, I am distraught and tragedy-struck.

But this is Tinder, see? It doesn’t matter. It’s about swiping left or right. I should be braver, aim higher. I should fake (high self esteem) it, till I make (high self esteem) it. I should catfish my personality – instead of a people-pleasing, short-selling apologetic wimp, I should be the straight-talking, deludedly confident, penis-shriveling diva-bitch of my dreams[1].

I should go after the good lookers, the guys whose profile pics have them paragliding in Guam with a champagne flute in one hand, the IIM-As, the Punjabi-chiknas[2].

No. Wait.

The White Man.
I should seek out the White Man.  

---

[1] I realize I don’t even know what my ‘type’ is. Physically speaking. I’m so consumed with feeling bad about my own schlubbiness that I choose the schlubs by default.

[2] Call me racist but most Indian men look like such douchebags in their profile pics. Hardly an open or warm smile amongst the lot of them. And everyone poses with cars that are not theirs, bikes that are not theirs, horses that are not theirs (but wives and children that are theirs? That seems to be the way our chaps wish to attract the opposite sex.)

I'll Take It

I recently returned to film production after nearly a decade of being 'just the writer'. It's been scary and exhilarating to see all the little holes & high points of my script come to life. I'm in love with my subject and over the past 6 weeks, I've poured my heart, soul and last dregs of energy into editing the film.

Today we invited a senior editor to preview the rough cut. After the 50 minute viewing he slumped back in his chair and said, "If I didn't have to watch this film, I wouldn't."

This creation I'm so in love with has turned out to be the world's most boring film.
The heart is there, he acknowledges, but who cares?

I can feel my windpipe constrict and my hackles being raised. I can't understand how something so meaningful to me can be so meaningless to someone else. There is deflation, a moment of 'don't mind me, I'll go back to my writer's dungeon then'. Then there's something else. I'm not 21 anymore and I don't need to run away for another decade.

"What can we do to fix it?" I ask.

And he tells me. It is a singular, most magical solution - the kind that takes my breath away with its elegance. Just like that I'm a student again and I can see why this film needed to suck. I think to myself, Damn it, if this is what it means to make a shitty film, I'll take it.

A scene from 'Jules et Jim', which is not a shitty film

Boating in Kanpur

It is early morning and we find ourselves in the middle of the Ganga. We haven't had breakfast yet and our stomachs churn with every inch we gain rowing upstream.
Tiwariji, whose oil-slick of a hairdo violates my nostrils, sits two inches away from me. He has been sure to take a sip of the holy water before getting on.
We pass temple after temple along the ghats. Turn up the volume on your amplified bhajans. I don't think the gods can hear you yet. 
The stench gets worse.
"Chaliyega wahaan?" the boatman asks.
"Le chaliye, na."

With every slap of the oar, we are splashed by the Ganga; a putrid mess of untreated sewage. Organic waste, decomposed human & animal remains, chromium, arsenic and the always-in-ample-supply human excreta.
There is a man on the banks angling for fish. And now we can hear sounds of a waterfall...

Kanpur is taking a massive dump in the river Ganga and we have front row tickets to the show. The crows in the box seats are having a field day. The smell of human waste is unbearable and it's all one can do to not gag.
"Yehaan pehle bahut saara soos rahta thha..." says our boatman. 'Soos' or the Gangetic River Dolphin.
"Aur paas chalein?"
"Nahi, theek hai."

We're making bad jokes now:
Holy crap. We're in deep shit. We're up shit creek with shitty paddles.
Ganga hamaari maata hai/ Mooth humaari khaata hai.
The boat turns and the boatman stops rowing. The current will carry us back to Parmat Ghat. It will then courier the toxic sludge downstream to Allahabad and beyond.
"Don't ever drink anything but bottled mineral water in Kanpur," someone says from the back.
Tiwariji points to the floodplains on the other bank. They're growing watermelons there. Reminder to self: Don't ever eat the watermelons in Kanpur."
Try not to go to the bathroom in Kanpur. Try not to die here either.

At Bangla Ghat, we breathe in the heavy air of our colonial past. The British drainage system in Kanpur was visionary, yes, but we've taken it from strength to strength, getting creative in adding newer effluents to this poisonous legacy.
Oh look, a decaying calf floats by. Baby cow, not human.

Time to head back.
Tiwariji disembarks first. He bends down, scoops up the river water, takes a sip and pours the remaining liquid over his head.
We drive back to the hotel in silence. Breakfast is waiting.

Moral Dilemma

So you're broke. So broke that your bank has changed its name and moved to an undisclosed pin code just to avoid you. And you look back on a long & checkered career and question every passion-induced decision you ever made that helped dig the grave your bank balance finds itself in.

And then, just like that, the seas part, the heavens open up and there is placed before you an offer so tantalizing that you don't stare directly at it for fear of burning your corneas.

It's an offer that promises to wipe out all your financial woes. One that signals a new phase in your life. It gently whispers in your ears - Take me! Take me! So you extend your arms towards it...

But suddenly, fate bitchslaps you and you realize that there is a catch. This offer is linked to some not-so-great corporates, where 'not-so-great' is a euphemism for 'those people who skin puppies for coats', which is a euphemism for 'their constructions displaced millions of impoverished Indians'.

Now poverty nips at your ankles while guilt wraps its fist around your heart.

What do you do?

The Hunt for Weapons of Mass Destruction

Agent P had been happy living the semi-retired life: waking up late in the morning, having leisurely cups of coffee, reading the horoscope and closely studying her stretch marks. She had reached a stage in her career where the days were mostly hers except for the rare occasions when Command Centre called her in for a special consult.
Like today.
"Agent P. We have information."
"Awesomeness."
"Information about the missing weapons of mass destruction."
"Really! You mean they're real?"
"We (cough, cough) don't really have that information."
"Then what information do you have?"
"There are rumours that the WMDs might be in your sector."
"What? How is that possible? I thought their elimination was virtually complete."
"Heh. That's what we thought too. Not the case."
"Well. What do you want me to do?"
"Find them. Smoke them out. And Agent P?..."
"Yes?"
"We're counting on you."

******

Agent P set out. The streets were eerily calm. 
"If they're anywhere, they'd be here." she thought, recalling how earlier, WMD's had been openly brandished at traffic crossings, "...pulling at my clothing, asking for a rupee."
But no need to worry anymore. There was nothing left here.

Nothing left, that is, except the Horses

    

Agent P knew she'd have to conduct a thorough sweep of her sector but she was confident that it was clean. Sure, this place had seen some dark times. But those days were gone now. The city had been sanitized overnight. "Oh that lovable lion!" Agent P thought fondly. No WMDs here for sure. The good Agent plodded on.

Behind the Panels: What the Drone Attacks Left Behind

"Hmmmm...what about that biological WMD, from down the road?" she thought, "Wait, I have some images of it from the last reconnaissance mission!"
She scurried to unearth them.

The Sabziwala: Or is He?

With lightening speed, Agent P sprinted to the secret location where the above WMD had often liked to sit & hum sad Bollywood tunes (the coordinates of which she'd secured, not with a little arm twisting of the local Aunty Brigade's head honcho).
Now when she returned to the spot, she found: NOTHING.

Nothing, that is, besides the Dog

Agent P was beginning to doubt Command Centre's suspicions. She was surprised at how little faith they had in their own ability to eliminate those pesky warheads. "Maybe, they've been misled by the fake WMDs - decoys, red herrings and all that. Heheheh. "

This may look like a WMD but don't be fooled. The presence of the Quadriped makes all the difference.

At some point Agent P realised that it was creepy to laugh alone in a crowd so she decided to move on. It was time to take the Metro.
"I really don't understand how any WMDs can get through THESE many personnel," Agent P murmured to herself. Of course, she was referring to the Red Brigade. And unlike the WMD's they were friggin everywhere.

Blotches of Red Everywhere

But ooh look! So shiny & new everything was. So clean. So airconditioned.

We love this, so shut up

"Aah, with better-than-phoren trains like this, who would want to bother with WMD's?" exclaimed Agent P as she confidently strode into the Women Only coach. As her body swayed with the gentle motion of the train, she began to feel sleepy...sooooo.....suhleeeeeppppyyyy. 

And then - snap! 

"What the faarck! I believe someone has attempted to hypnotize me into abondoning my mission.... NEVER!"

She proclaimed: "I will proceed by bus. For that is the best way to find WMDs - and see the sights."

So she did - but not on the famed HOHOs that everyone was talking about. Partly for investigative reasons and partly because, well, she didn't think the term HOHO would be appropriate to use in mission reports.

Turns out, it was great decision, because look! A real WMD!!

"But I was just going back to my village!" HA! A likely story

Agent P got off and followed the WMD (because they can walk - shut up). Past the thick foliage of the urban jungle...

Past the cutely-plump-now-but-prime-candidate-for-cardiac-arrest-later young boy....

Dodging the perilous traps that the captain of the Red Brigade had promised would be taken care of.

Yo Kalmadi, you missed a spot

Vietcong-inspired Installation Art

And finally stumbled upon this:

Long shot of Terror Groups determined to ruin the CWG

"Dang! I have them in my grip," exulted Agent P as she got ready to speed dial the Command Centre. "Crafty little buggers eh? The perfect disguise: construction workers. Respect."
Within minutes (well, half an hour to be precise) the cops were on the scene.Within minutes after that, the WMDs were dispatched to the railway station & put on trains to nowhere.

All Izz Well. Kinda, Sorta...We..eee..lll

Agent P smiled contentedly as she looked upon the scene. Order had been restored.  Her sector was now clean. (Except for that dirty police fellow digging his nose & leering at her from a distance.)

What could possibly go wrong now?

******
For more adventures of Agent P (well, just one more) click here

In Defense of Shit Writing

The post below is unmitigated shit. I know it. I knew it as I was writing it. It felt wrong but I couldn't stop...sort of like when you eat that slightly off mayo sandwich on a hot summer day. You repent after it's done but that doesn't prevent you from spending a significant part of the next day on the crapper.

Why don't I delete it?

Because there's no shame in being mediocre. At least not when I'm mediocre. I want the post to remain online, in the public domain so that I can maintain perspective. To remind myself that sometimes I'm a bit crazy and all over the place. That sometimes I do things without caring too much. That I'm only blogging, not curing cancer or building cryogenic engines.

That I spend too much time explaining myself after.
My therapist is on holiday. That might be it.

And might I add...Dey-AM, Sendhil Ramamurthy is smokin' hot.

Slim Pickins

31 and single. And here is a brief history, in dialogue, of why that might be:

2009
Me: I believe that marriage can be a beautiful thing, where two individuals come together because they are destined to teach each other karmic lessons of love...
Man: Yeah I know what you mean...I've noticed couples start looking like each other after a few years of marriage.
*****
2001
Me: Why can't we go out for dinners and movies in public like normal couples do?
Man: Because I'm your boss and I say so. And listen, I want that 'How Cement Mixers Work' script on my desk by five.
*****
1996
Me: My favourite part of a man's body? His eyes.
Man (Well...boy, really. He was 16): What colour?
*****
2009
Man: A writer for TV, huh?
Me: Yup!
Man: Saas-bahu serials?
Me: Err...no. Non fiction.
Man: But why not? I watch those serials all the time, they're great.
*****
2010
Me: Remember that awesome conversation we had about life, love, feelings, emotions and puppies?
Man: Yeaahhhh...
Me: So...when I told you how I felt, what did you think about it?
Man: Dunno man, don't remember. Had some brilliant maal man...
Me: But I told you important stuff about me and you!!!
Man: Sorry man...drag?
*****
2003
Me: Hullo?
Man: Hey!!! Where you at?
Me: Ummm...I'm with AnotherMan.
Man: Faaaccck!!!
Me: Are you drunk?
Man: Fuck man, I love you man. I just love you. But I tell you, man...I gotta tell you this...
Me: Yes?
Man: Don't ever fall in love with me, ok? It'll ruin everything.
*****
2005
Man: Gotta light?
Me: Nope.
Man: Go ask that other dude for a light, no. Here, take the cigarette. Go light it.
Me: Ok.
(Cigarette lit, triumphant return)
Man: Fuck! That guy didn't even look at you once.
*****
2003
Man: Writer for TV, huh?
Me: Yup!
Man: You know, you should do an MBA.
*****
2004
Me: If you want us to have a future then I don't want to hear about other women ever again.
Man: You mean you don't want me to tell you?
Me: No, I mean NO OTHER WOMEN if you want to continue with me.
Man: Yeah...about that...I don't think so.
*****
2009
Man: How much money you got in your account?
Me: Errr...don't remember...
Man: Let's go to the ATM and check it out.
*****

(Doomed to a life with cats or bullets dodged? - who knows....)

Too Lazy...(Twotes from Twavels - Rishikesh/Haridwar)

....to blog. Too exhausted to have integrity of any kind. Too in love with myself to resist making a post out of my tweets. Too unoriginal to give them even the minimum required spin. Copy-Paste, how I love thee...
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
28th March 2010

...and followed up his #epicfail with 'hummey SAB jaankaari hai'. Hey. Ram. 6 minutes ago via web 

Our driver lost his way 4 times: getting out of Delhi, entering Haridwar, Locating Rishikesh and getting back into Delhi. #truestory 16 minutes ago via web 

and if you're going to have 24,000 verses of anything in a song, then switch up the melody once in a while, wouldja? 18 minutes ago via web   

I now know all about the Luv-Kusss story because a squeaky manchild from Gorakhpur decided to cut an album with all 24,000 verses of it. 18 minutes ago via web 

20 hrs straight in vehicle on UPhighway that Mayawati didn't build, most of it stuck in Kumbh traffic with driver who digs Ram Kathas. #hell 20 minutes ago via web 

Kumbh once more 6:13 AM Mar 27th via web 

Sleep Deprivation Phase Three: In which an innocuous statement like 'that haircut suits your face' is misinterpreted as'You calling me fat?' 11:54 AM Mar 26th via web. 

@_vasu : ya man...and i have a killer road trip tomorrow...but i shall overcome. 11:48 AM Mar 26th via Twitterrific in reply to _vasu 

Sleep Deprivation Phase Two: In which she accidentally switches to Times Now but is too exhausted to change channel. 11:46 AM Mar 26th via web 

Sleep Deprivation Phase One: In which she makes the fatal mistake of snorting a cup of black coffee. 11:43 AM Mar 26th via web 

fuck. follow friday falready? 11:24 AM Mar 26th via web 

John Lennon was right when he sang 'I'm so tired, I haven't slept a wink' #lamelyricsthatseemprofound   9:50 AM Mar 26th via web

Things We Lost in The Fire

Shit just happened. There was a fire. No one was hurt but it destroyed my enitre past as a television professional. Tapes destroyed, backup copies destroyed, digital versions destroyed, scripts destroyed, words and images reduced to ash. And I stand to lose a lot of money as a result. Money, that my unemployed ass cannot afford to lose.

The place that burnt down was not mine. It did not belong to me, I did not have a financial stake in it and its destruction does not ruin me. It was where I, the philosophy graduate fresh out of college, walked nervously into the office seeking a job, knowing nothing about television except that I wanted to be a part of it. It is where I spent month long night-shift stints, learning the beauty of masterful editing, the sublime art of cinematography and the camaraderie that comes with making tv together. There are many firsts associated with this place. When I branched out to become a freelancer, this was the place that supported and believed in me the most.

With family out of town, friends too busy or not clued in enough to understand the extent of this tragedy (I must admit, I'm responsible for this lack of sensitivity. I guess I don't reach out enough...or whatever), I am left to my own devices with next to no distractions, left to feel the full impact of what happened two nights ago, absolutely alone. It is hitting me in stages.

The immediate response was a mix of two absolutely conflicting emotions: One, gratitude that no one was hurt. Two, extreme disappointment and fear at having a major source of income being literally burnt to the ground. What do I do now? With no great work on the horizon, I am looking to a very scary future.

My second-stage reaction was calm and a sense that the inevitable had just happened. God, destiny, whatever you choose to call it, had as always, taken matter into its own hands. I find that if we don't listen to signals life is handing out to us, it has a way of teaching us that ensures we never forget again. Bhagwan ka Thappad, I like to call it (!). So, I sat there thinking - I KNEW this day would come. In some form or the other, people, who were becoming too comfortable in their spaces, will now be forced to look at all that is toxic in their environment and DO something about it. And they'd better get the message now. When a fire burns things so completely, it's almost like a cleansing ritual.

As I sit and write, I look back on all the wonderful years - close to a decade - that mark my professional/ personal growth with the place that now lies destroyed. There are SO many memories. So many. Even the bad ones have weight and substance that I wouldn't trade for the world. In those tapes, were the magic moments created not just by me or by the director or the camera person. They were created by a team. For the longest time, they were my family. They taught me everything I know today - both about film making and life. I always thought - no matter how badly I fight or bitch or argue or threaten to break ties and walk away, there would always be a place for me there.
To admit that that is gone is very, very difficult to acknowledge.

When something that decisive happens there's not much a person can do. There's nothing to go back to, and so, I can only look ahead. I'm lucky that way, crisis of any kind, has only fuelled me to act. Whenever faced by setback, I have always fought back and fought hard. Since the firegods have spoken, I guess, it's time for me to bring it on.