Wh...where...am I?...
Ma'am, just lie back down.
Where am I?
You're in the Intensive Care Unit. You've been in an accident.
What?...
Ma'am please you need to lie down. Your body's been through a lot. No cause for worry now, but you need to rest.
But I...It's coming back to me...I've lost it....
Lost what, ma'am?
I...this thing...it was alive. I held it in my palm. Like this, see?
What is it? Can you describe it?
I don't know...what to call it. It's mine. All purple and gnarly. Bruised but beautiful. And alive. God, I'm so sorry I've lost it. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
Please! Ma'am, you have to calm down. Are you in pain? I could give you something for it.
No! No...I need to stay awake. Alert. I need to find it. I can't go home without it. People....people are waiting for me. They're depending on me.
Breathe, ma'am. I'm here to help you. Nothing's so lost that you can't find it again. Here. Take my hand. Now think. Where could it be? Where did you last see it?
I don't know, I don't remember.
I got you, ma'am. Now think harder. Don't you worry about a thing, I'll take care of the details. Just give me a clue.
I gave it...passed it around so much...it had such strong rhythm. But it's weaker now...
So it's an instrument? It makes music?
Oh yes, beautiful music. But I never learnt to play it well.
No worries ma'am. You know what they say - it ain't over till the fat lady sings. And I'm not singing.
Thanks Nurse, you're very kind. But don't you have other patients to take care of?
Uh-huh. Look child, look to your side - is that what you're looking for?
Huh? What?
The monitor...those strong strokes. Stronger than ever.
Is it...did you fix it...?
Yes, we did. Now close your eyes. Get some rest.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Diff of Op
My mother and I pretty much disagree on how she brought me up.
I say she did a bang up job.
She says I'm unmarried.
I say she did a bang up job.
She says I'm unmarried.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
No Place Like Home
Last week 23 year old Nirupama Pathak died. Under mysterious circumstances, they said. Smothered, not suicide. 3 months pregnant, others said. Choosing the wrong man was her mistake, it was reported.
I believe her biggest mistake was going home. Because, as it turns out, women - girls - like her have no home.
Home is where a woman returns to replenish her soul. It's a place where she knows she will be loved no matter what choices she made out there in the real world. Home is where her wounds are soothed, where she puts her feet up and allows those who claim to love her to wipe the worry lines off her brow. Home is where mothers, fathers, siblings, partners and children rally around & promise to protect her against all odds. Home is safe.
I went home to my parents yesterday. They don't understand many of my choices. We've fought emphatically and disagreed in obscenely loud silences. We are not what Karan Johar would call strictly functional. Yet, when I enter that door I know this strange family of mine will defend me, not do me, to death. Honour for them, is having me as part of their world.
The tragedy is not that this beautiful young thing died along with her unborn child. It's that she was throttled by those who never thought of her as their own. That she had the misfortune of being born in a home where labels trumped her heart. That 23 years of living & loving meant nothing at all, in the end.
And the biggest tragedy of all: Being born to a mother who never had a home either.
That girl never stood a chance.
I believe her biggest mistake was going home. Because, as it turns out, women - girls - like her have no home.
Home is where a woman returns to replenish her soul. It's a place where she knows she will be loved no matter what choices she made out there in the real world. Home is where her wounds are soothed, where she puts her feet up and allows those who claim to love her to wipe the worry lines off her brow. Home is where mothers, fathers, siblings, partners and children rally around & promise to protect her against all odds. Home is safe.
I went home to my parents yesterday. They don't understand many of my choices. We've fought emphatically and disagreed in obscenely loud silences. We are not what Karan Johar would call strictly functional. Yet, when I enter that door I know this strange family of mine will defend me, not do me, to death. Honour for them, is having me as part of their world.
The tragedy is not that this beautiful young thing died along with her unborn child. It's that she was throttled by those who never thought of her as their own. That she had the misfortune of being born in a home where labels trumped her heart. That 23 years of living & loving meant nothing at all, in the end.
And the biggest tragedy of all: Being born to a mother who never had a home either.
That girl never stood a chance.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Really, people...Part III: Ad Nauseum
I love Indian advertising. The Bajaj bulb ad ("Jab main chhota ladka thha..."), the Fevicol series, the Happydent ad and Vodafone pug? Good stuff there. For the most part.
As for the rest...
Forget the rampant sexism (Tanishq wedding jewelery ad anyone?: the archetype of the independent Indian woman being lured by bling, like a cud-chewing cow...also commented on by fellow blogger).
Forget the ridiculous fear-mongering (fear of sunlight, aging, rice, singlehood, ad infinitum). That's staple.
Because lately, there's been even more insidious shit going on. For some reason we have turned on Africans and it makes me cringe right down to my toe nails. The new Sprite ad shows two ditzes in a jungle. One of them with a handbook on how to deal with African tribals (because, God forbid there should be any other type of African), which he proceeds to do with a jhingalala type Vyjanthimala dance. I don't know how this ad ends because I can never see it through (if one must be racist & stereotype, I'm hoping the tribals turn cannibalistic and eat that porcine motherfucker).
I thought this ad was the most abysmal low we could sink to. Until I saw one so disgusting that my brain retched out any memory of the brand name. I do know it's for a lemon drink (tried searching for the ad online. Failed). The ad shows an African man (again, loin-cloth'd, hut-dwelling, cave-man type) in the desert, parched and trying desperately to collect water in some kind of pot. Hours go by and he manages to get a few drops. He lifts the pot above his head to take the much needed sip. A passerby (cave man 2) enters frame, distracts thirsty cave man 1. Cave man 1 misses his mark, water spills onto dry land and disappears into it. The ad ends when Cave man 1, enraged, chases Cave man 2 around the one straw hut that stands in the desert. Cut to look-ma-I'm-funny tagline and big graphic of beverage bottle.
It's bad enough that we reduce an entire continent to a caricature, that we're ignorant about its culture & people, but to mock its misfortunes and worse still, to use it to sell some lame-ass, over-priced synthetic lemon drink is something I simply cannot stomach (Not feeling well, madam? Nimbu paani?)
Here's a concept, then: How about an ad for a brand of luggage. Luggage so solid, it survives terrorist attacks at railway stations & 5 star hotels. Hahaha...look at that goofy Kasab-lookalike wasting his bullets on our faux-leather finish...that'll show him.
Buy that bag wontcha?
Bit much? Ya. It's late. I'm being stupid. That's what happens when I watch too much TV.
As for the rest...
Forget the rampant sexism (Tanishq wedding jewelery ad anyone?: the archetype of the independent Indian woman being lured by bling, like a cud-chewing cow...also commented on by fellow blogger).
Forget the ridiculous fear-mongering (fear of sunlight, aging, rice, singlehood, ad infinitum). That's staple.
Because lately, there's been even more insidious shit going on. For some reason we have turned on Africans and it makes me cringe right down to my toe nails. The new Sprite ad shows two ditzes in a jungle. One of them with a handbook on how to deal with African tribals (because, God forbid there should be any other type of African), which he proceeds to do with a jhingalala type Vyjanthimala dance. I don't know how this ad ends because I can never see it through (if one must be racist & stereotype, I'm hoping the tribals turn cannibalistic and eat that porcine motherfucker).
I thought this ad was the most abysmal low we could sink to. Until I saw one so disgusting that my brain retched out any memory of the brand name. I do know it's for a lemon drink (tried searching for the ad online. Failed). The ad shows an African man (again, loin-cloth'd, hut-dwelling, cave-man type) in the desert, parched and trying desperately to collect water in some kind of pot. Hours go by and he manages to get a few drops. He lifts the pot above his head to take the much needed sip. A passerby (cave man 2) enters frame, distracts thirsty cave man 1. Cave man 1 misses his mark, water spills onto dry land and disappears into it. The ad ends when Cave man 1, enraged, chases Cave man 2 around the one straw hut that stands in the desert. Cut to look-ma-I'm-funny tagline and big graphic of beverage bottle.
It's bad enough that we reduce an entire continent to a caricature, that we're ignorant about its culture & people, but to mock its misfortunes and worse still, to use it to sell some lame-ass, over-priced synthetic lemon drink is something I simply cannot stomach (Not feeling well, madam? Nimbu paani?)
Here's a concept, then: How about an ad for a brand of luggage. Luggage so solid, it survives terrorist attacks at railway stations & 5 star hotels. Hahaha...look at that goofy Kasab-lookalike wasting his bullets on our faux-leather finish...that'll show him.
Buy that bag wontcha?
Bit much? Ya. It's late. I'm being stupid. That's what happens when I watch too much TV.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
A Day At The Mall
I'm writing this post because my cousin brother believes that one day blogs & tweets will be held up as historical documents, chronicling where we have come from as a people, giving perspective on where we are headed.
Much like Mohenjodaro, my blog is then. This thought delights me.
Therefore, I feel it is my obligation to write about my day at the mall. Not just any mall, but Ambience Mall. To non-Delhiites, this won't mean much. And truth be told, this mall isn't even in Delhi. It's in Gurgaon, which is in my favourite Indian state, Haryana (I jest, surely you sense that).
This is Ambience Mall.
It is very big. It is so big that I had to shrink its image to the smallest permissable size on this blog. It is so big that within its folds of fat, it can hold several football fields and in fact does hold several sporting venues, a brewery & a kiddy amusement park. It is so big that you could include a visit to it in your exercise regime & get a solid cardio burn (which will then be rendered redundant as you speed-walk past the food court). In short, this mall be big.
Now, unlike some of my friends, I am not a mall hater. In fact, I've developed a bit of a mall 'habit', if you know what I mean. I dig the air-conditioning, the polished floors, the yellow lighting and assorted food/beverage smells sneaking up on me as I turn a corner. I like walking past material objects I can rarely afford, because on days that I can, I forget that life is about self-awareness, self-love and trying to reach a higher truth. I have clocked enough hours to be an official mall-appreciator.
Oh but Ambience Mall. It is the strangest mix of crassness & creativity, ugliness & quirkiness, pappiness and awesomeness. It looks like it was put together in a hurry. Like some fatcat in a fatcat boardroom said - "Time nahi hai yaar, budget nahi hai yaar. Jaldi khatam karo yaar, kiraye pe chaddaao yaar." It looks unfinished, unthought of and a little dirty. It's smug in its awareness that airconditioning will get us past the front door. The BMW showroom will do the rest (it's a great microcosm of urban Indian society, this BMW showroom. The untouched, pristine flooring within and the grimy glass windows, pock-marked with all the nose-rubbing & convertible-induced drooling).
The fact that very few visitors can actually afford its merchandise is immaterial. Ambience Mall, like many of its kind, has become a picnic spot. That's alright I guess. Except, looking at all the stuff makes me kinda mad deep inside. It makes me irrationally crave the ugliest bags that Louis Vuitton could possibly come up with (scam of the century, that LV is) and then hate myself because I can't own one. To deal with my rage, I head to the Food Court to eat my feelings but then sight the brewery and get smashed instead. The booze gives me the courage to walk into the exclusive Golfworx, where I see people playing a virtual version of the most outdoor of all outdoor sports, in tiny, darkened cubicles (and they have caddies!!!!!). The salespeople there try to sell me Rs.11,000 shoes though I do not play golf. I walk out.
Luckily, Ambience has made provisions for bowling (another sport I do not play) and boozing, just next door. I am walking in when my mother calls and tells me that 3 malls in Saket (all adjacent to each other) have been evacuated because of bomb threats. It seems, the crowd that accumulates at such venues on weekends is too good for terrorists to resist. That still does not deter from my goal of not-bowling because everything is so shiny and new. I cannot leave. So I watch Delhi's Bowling Team (they look official, t-shirts and all) play. Then get bored.
Walking out, a large building adjacent to the entrance is sighted. It has several chimneys spewing out dark grey smoke. I am informed that this might be where all the power to run the mall comes from. It stops me in my tracks (Mentally. Physically it's too hot to stop. The outside world is not, unfortunately, airconditioned) and sums up my impression of Ambience Mall:
That was an awful lot of energy to bust for a bunch of people not buying a BMW.
Much like Mohenjodaro, my blog is then. This thought delights me.
Therefore, I feel it is my obligation to write about my day at the mall. Not just any mall, but Ambience Mall. To non-Delhiites, this won't mean much. And truth be told, this mall isn't even in Delhi. It's in Gurgaon, which is in my favourite Indian state, Haryana (I jest, surely you sense that).
This is Ambience Mall.
It is very big. It is so big that I had to shrink its image to the smallest permissable size on this blog. It is so big that within its folds of fat, it can hold several football fields and in fact does hold several sporting venues, a brewery & a kiddy amusement park. It is so big that you could include a visit to it in your exercise regime & get a solid cardio burn (which will then be rendered redundant as you speed-walk past the food court). In short, this mall be big.
Now, unlike some of my friends, I am not a mall hater. In fact, I've developed a bit of a mall 'habit', if you know what I mean. I dig the air-conditioning, the polished floors, the yellow lighting and assorted food/beverage smells sneaking up on me as I turn a corner. I like walking past material objects I can rarely afford, because on days that I can, I forget that life is about self-awareness, self-love and trying to reach a higher truth. I have clocked enough hours to be an official mall-appreciator.
Oh but Ambience Mall. It is the strangest mix of crassness & creativity, ugliness & quirkiness, pappiness and awesomeness. It looks like it was put together in a hurry. Like some fatcat in a fatcat boardroom said - "Time nahi hai yaar, budget nahi hai yaar. Jaldi khatam karo yaar, kiraye pe chaddaao yaar." It looks unfinished, unthought of and a little dirty. It's smug in its awareness that airconditioning will get us past the front door. The BMW showroom will do the rest (it's a great microcosm of urban Indian society, this BMW showroom. The untouched, pristine flooring within and the grimy glass windows, pock-marked with all the nose-rubbing & convertible-induced drooling).
The fact that very few visitors can actually afford its merchandise is immaterial. Ambience Mall, like many of its kind, has become a picnic spot. That's alright I guess. Except, looking at all the stuff makes me kinda mad deep inside. It makes me irrationally crave the ugliest bags that Louis Vuitton could possibly come up with (scam of the century, that LV is) and then hate myself because I can't own one. To deal with my rage, I head to the Food Court to eat my feelings but then sight the brewery and get smashed instead. The booze gives me the courage to walk into the exclusive Golfworx, where I see people playing a virtual version of the most outdoor of all outdoor sports, in tiny, darkened cubicles (and they have caddies!!!!!). The salespeople there try to sell me Rs.11,000 shoes though I do not play golf. I walk out.
Luckily, Ambience has made provisions for bowling (another sport I do not play) and boozing, just next door. I am walking in when my mother calls and tells me that 3 malls in Saket (all adjacent to each other) have been evacuated because of bomb threats. It seems, the crowd that accumulates at such venues on weekends is too good for terrorists to resist. That still does not deter from my goal of not-bowling because everything is so shiny and new. I cannot leave. So I watch Delhi's Bowling Team (they look official, t-shirts and all) play. Then get bored.
Walking out, a large building adjacent to the entrance is sighted. It has several chimneys spewing out dark grey smoke. I am informed that this might be where all the power to run the mall comes from. It stops me in my tracks (Mentally. Physically it's too hot to stop. The outside world is not, unfortunately, airconditioned) and sums up my impression of Ambience Mall:
That was an awful lot of energy to bust for a bunch of people not buying a BMW.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
She Came In Through The Bathroom Window...
Over the last few days The Beatles have popped up in the most interesting of ways. On Twitter through random folk, on a fantastic art website called Across The Universe that I am absolutely in love with, then there was the American Idol Beatles week and a crazy episode in a sound studio.
(Also, if you could suggest some music blogs that you like, let me know. Will add them to my blogroll on the site.)
Apparently, it was all a way to get me to start a new blog. So...tadaaaaa....presenting And Your Bird Can Sing (http://aquaticstaticsings.wordpress.com/). It's a music blog about all things that make me go hummmm in the night. It's only 2 posts old (yup, one of them's about the Beatles) but I'm very excited.
So do drop by...
(Also, if you could suggest some music blogs that you like, let me know. Will add them to my blogroll on the site.)
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Crikey!
I may have scared Billu the Blog Burglar away...
So an Ode.
Twas a shorte yet sweete affaire
When ye did venture into mine laire
Withe stealthe ye hastened
To steal, not complacent
To write thine own trash, eh?
And so do accept mine thanks overmany
I pray, thou dost not returneth
But if ye should come
Tis a promise, I'll hum
A merry tune, whilst in Purgatory ye burneth
So an Ode.
Twas a shorte yet sweete affaire
When ye did venture into mine laire
Withe stealthe ye hastened
To steal, not complacent
To write thine own trash, eh?
And so do accept mine thanks overmany
I pray, thou dost not returneth
But if ye should come
Tis a promise, I'll hum
A merry tune, whilst in Purgatory ye burneth
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