A journey called JAM!

Two months ago, if you were to throw the word 'Jam' at me, I'd think "Umm...mixed fruit? Maybe with buttered toast?" I have been that naive about traffic jams despite having lived in what people often call the most 'jammed' city of India. (Tell me, where do they see jams in Bangalore? I mean, every time I tell people I'm from Bangalore, they go 'Oh, the traffic is so bad there' Honestly people, have you not SEEN Delhi traffic?)

A typical day starts with me wondering whether I'll be stuck in 3 jams today or 4. At my age people wonder about so many more productive things - Their future, for instance (Something that would be jeopardized if there are 5 jams and they don't make it to class on time), Their family (Who might also be stuck in jams scattered around the city), Their Love, maybe (Yeah, because 'Soul' mates are often found on the road, holding up the collar of a fellow driver and singing profanity to him hence successfully causing another one of those jamthings.)

But no, I choose to wonder about the Jams, the flavours they come in, their tastes and my cavities for having indulged in so many of them.

Let's start with a typical day jammed with jams. I set off primly, clothes all ironed and resembling the 'after' part of a detergent ad (only to resemble the 'before' part as soon as I step out, thanks to the Weather Lord who makes us sweat and Lady Humidity who wont let it dry)

The first jam starts right at the end of the road. The perpetrator? A majestic Bull. So majestic, that he chooses to ignore the Monday-Morning-Blued irate drivers of swanky cars. (Secretly, I bet these guys wish they had the power of that bull) I wait patiently until the Bull finishes his morning job, avoid the spot delicately, and move on.

Then comes the next jam, (I've become accustomed to so many of them, I have favorites!) This one is near the Metro Construction site. Mini Jam, I tell myself as I look up in silent prayer to Ms.Sheila Dikshit and ask her to finish the Gurgaon-Delhi belt of metro SOON! It passes, and so do we.

Then comes the TollJam. This is caused by people who either have grandiose personality disorder (and think they own Delhi, Gurgaon, the expressway...basically the entire world) or those who have dyslexia (and CANNOT differentiate between a 'Tag' lane and a 'Cash' lane). There are those rare specimens who have Anterograde Amnesia and 'forget' they are in the wrong lane. Everyday.

Finally comes the 15 minutes of bliss. The vast expanse of the expressway coupled with an occasional flight that swoops down to land in the airport on the left takes my mind off the wretched you-know-whats.

We then exit the expressway and enter the Royal Gaspberry Jam. Gasp, you ask? Well, when there is no traffic, I gasp (Oh wow, it must be my lucky day!) When there is little traffic, I gasp (Oh no, the peak hour is gone and that means I'm definitely late) and when there is heavy traffic, I gasp (This one exceeds my last record in length of jams!)

The Gaspberry jam can last anywhere between 5 minutes to 45 minutes. It all depends on karma, my friend. Do good, and you'll drive good. I have, however, found ways to pass my time in what I call 'The significant moments of my day'.

a) I contemplate life. Without cars, that is. I wonder if Rama and Sita were ever stuck in a Chariot Jam..oh wait, they spent most of their public lives in the forests...so my focus shifts to Mahabharata and the wars that might have caused traffic hold-ups...especially since these elephants get a little antsy when there are too many crown-clad people (Read: The new Mani Ratnam movie and the elephant rampage) And so it goes on....

b) I look out. Remember my staring hobby in that other blog post? Well, it comes to full use here. I look at the people around me. Flustered office people who keep looking at the watch with the frequency of blinks, angry auntiejis who have to rush and deliver forgotten books to children at schools, serene drivers who listen to the music enter a robotic trance, Army men (who are mostly expressionless but their good looks more than makes up for that) Once I saw a car full of hippies as well...matted hair and everything..kind of an oxymoron innit? Hippies in Air conditioned cars?

Aaah...I see that the traffic has finally cleared and the jam has now been eaten up by the cars. I turn into the blessed, empty road that curves towards college and finish my day's ramblings.

So the next time you ask me where I'm from and I say 'Bangalore', don't even make the mistake of bleating out 'Oh, the traffic is so bad there!' I might just transform into those collar-holding-gaali-maarofying rowdies and gag you, throw you inside the car and take you to college everyday with me!

CPR for comatose Blog.

If personalities were colours, then the trait of self-obsession would be the new 'pink'! I honestly need to get a grip and move on to other things in life...but till then, I might as well indulge in good ol 'pouring out my soul' rituals in these tag things!

4 places I've lived in :

Bangalore, Delhi, Chennai, Hyderabad.

4 TV shows that I like to watch :

Madhur Jafferey's Flavours of India, New Detectives on Discovery Channel (I dont think it is aired anymore though) , Small Wonder (in English, Hindi, Kannada, Tamil...bring it on in any language, it's always a delight!) and a certain anonymous Hindi serial that I am rather ashamed of admitting on the world wide web.

4 places that I've been to, on vacation :

Hm? My most memorable? Shimla-Nainital-Devprayag-Haridwar-Rishikesh '97 (One trip) , Durgapur (West Bengal) '96 , Goa '03 and Singapore '02.

4 Favourite food items :

• Rasam rice with Papad.
• Dessert Pizzas
• Cinnamon Toast
• Gulab Jamun with Ice Cream.

4 places I would rather be :

• Home (I'm not complaining though. I just wish it was closer)
• Burkina Faso (on Mondays mostly)
• Egypt
• Greece

4 websites that I visit everyday :

• Hotmail (Yeah, some of us still use the thing)
• Gmail
• Delhi University website (for a long long time)
• My Blog. (To re-read my stale posts.)

4 things that I hope to do before I die :

Bring a smile on a face everyday. (very Miss-India-ish no? But I did bring a smile on a little kid's face today, and well...it was a beautiful feeling.)

Go backpacking across Europe.

Make the perfect Chocolate cake. (and pancakes, while I'm at it)

Write a book.

4 novels I wish I was reading for the first time :

• Roald Dahl's Matilda
• R.K. Narayan's Malgudi Days
• Anuja Chauhan's The Zoya Factor
• The entire Enid Blyton series.

4 movies that I can watch over and over again... :

• You've Got Mail :-) Isnt it one of the most delightful movies ever?
• Andaz Apna Apna
• Mozhi
• Ganeshana Maduve (ever watched this Anant Nag flick? It beats the socks off all Kannada movies!)

Do I need to tag this to anyone? I dont think people have been reading this blog anymore anyway....the paltry few who did read it might have given it up for good thinking it is history....until I find some effective revival strategy for my comatose blog, I'll leave it open for anyone to tag and be tagged.

Head over Reels

I like Hindi Movies and I cannot lie. To frown down on them disdainfully, I really try. But it just doesnt work. On the outside I can appear as a pseudo-artsy type who will discuss French and Iranian films, Mis-en-scene and Montages. But inside, I'm a Hindi movie freak. I can burst into a little jingle if the movie of my choice is playing anywhere around me. 

It started with Hum Aapke Hain Kaun....a fitting movie title for my first tryst with cinema, dont you think? While my parents fidgeted in their seats, waiting for those fourteen songs to get over and be done with, I was starstruck! I watched in delight at Salman's gaudy clothes, Madhuri's gollywog hairstyle and her sister's Colgate smiles. Even now, Pehla Pehla Pyaar hai happens to be my all-time favorite song despite the small pleas of my sensible mind which tells me that they are mutilating the pool table on which they sing it. 

Then came Baazigar and Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge. My folks recall how my cousins and I would squeeze into the boot of our old Maruti 800 and sing Yeh Kaali kaali aankhen. They never gave up hoping that we'd stop if some passing car might take pity on us and give some loose change! And Mere Khwabon mein jo Aaye made getting wet in the rain the ultimate ambition of every little girl! Baazigar was actually censored for me, I was not allowed to watch the last few scenes, due to their gory nature....actually, I still havent watched them......and I have no idea how it ends....but I'm sure Shahrukh takes his revenge and the hero shall triumph...not letting me down. 

DDLJ, however, I have watched over and over again. I never get tired of those songs, the ridiculous dialogues and Kajol's weird clothes. Everytime, I sit on the edge of my seat biting my nails as Simran runs down the platform to grasp Raj's hand in the last scene. It just has some magic that will never fade away. 

Kuch Kuch Hota Hai was my next muse. I think I wanted to watch the movie on the day before my Math exam....the only time I had ever rebelled against studying! I clearly didn't have much practice in rebelling because I didn't get my way and had to finish fractions before watching Rahul explain the funda about Romeo and Juliet. The little kid in the movie was so charming, and a flood alert was issued at the very beginning of the movie in Swagath theatre, as I began my crying spells the moment the movie began with the funeral. 

Then came Kaho Naa Pyar Hai....I still remember the shock Sneha and I got when Hritik fell off the bridge and drowned. We could NOT accept that the hero dies, that too in the first half of the movie. The duplicate never convinced me completely...but I decided to adjust. :-P and take it with a pinch of salt. 

Dil Chahta Hai was THE film in my 10th std. I remember how the songs became such a rage, as did Goa. Incidentally, I did go to Goa that year, but came back hugely disappointed with all my filmy expectations thrashed. Aamir Khan, however, became my perfect Hero and in some quaint corner of my mind, I cherish the dream of being shown Sydney the way it comes in the movie, with the helicopter et al. 

Since then I've fallen in and out of love with Shahrukh in Swadesh, Veer Zaara, Main Hoon Na, Don, Aamir in Lagaan, Fanaa, Ghajini, Rang De Basanti, Ranbir Kapoor in Saawariya, Imran Khan in Jaane Tu and even both the protagonists in Dostana! 

I have never disliked a movie that I've watched in a theatre. (Ok, except Aap Mujhe Achche Lagne lage...I mean, even the actors will second me on that one). I've laughed, cried, sang and danced in all those movies. I wonder how people can frown upon these movies being shallow and lame. But that's what retains the charm and the distinction of something being a fantasy and not a boring chunk of real life. 

Logically, the plots makes as much sense as scubadiving in a sewer. Still I get tickled to no end while watching Andaaz Apna Apna (The king of logic defying movies). The first thing I do every morning is scan the papers to see if any over-the-top, melodramatic, ultra-filmy movie is playing. My day is made if it is! I know after reading this blog-long torture of the magic in hindi movies, you all would be rolling your eyes and saying 'Grow Up'....what can i say? I'm head over reels in love with Hindi Movies! 

News to Amuse

'News you can use' - is passe now. The latest trend is 'News that can Amuse'. In my first class of journalism, we were taught that if a dog bites a man, it is...well...normal. But if a man bites a dog, it becomes news. Clearly, my teachers meant that news is something that is meant to be real, but sensational...something that can grab your attention and sustain it long enough to stuff data into that overworked brain. However, dog biting man story was just an expression. Something that distinguishes news-worthy stories from other stories. 

Recently though, I realised that a news channel has taken that extremely seriously. They seem to be literally running around finding men who can be coaxed to bite dogs just to get some news material. They happened to cover a story about a prostitution racket that was exposed and how a woman who was infected with HIV was given 'justice'. It angered the journalist/moralist/feminist part of me to no end. And this is how it was shown: 

News Reader: (In loud, pseudo-Amitabh Bachchan baritone) " this is the story of a poor woman named D. Her dreams and her hopes have been shattered!!!! She is now living the life of misery!!! Only a womaan can understand another womaaan's heart, but in this a womaaan has poisoned a womaan's heart! She has been doomed to a lifelong battle!!!! We bring you exclusive report of......." and so it went. 

The baritone was being supplemented by images of an activist aunty openly slapping another woman. Not just slapping, but basically thrashing whichever body part she could find. The camera man was clearly psyched and hence was shaking (of mirth or horror, I cant say) and the images were blurring but even that could not prevent a couple of dragonflies (or rain poochis) to wave at their mums into the camera. The images were played over and over again (and once, even backwards!) 

So the story was about a girl who was duped into flesh trade by a landlady of some sort. This girl was rescued by a samaritan, who became samaritin-er by marrying her and 'making her dreams come true'. He was aghast to find out that she had been infected by HIV and regretted (this was on record, by the way) 'Having married her and not taken her for an AIDS test'. He decided the best way to give her justice would be to take a couple of activist aunties and thrash the living daylights out of the landlady, which was caught on camera. 

What exactly bugged me in this? 

1) The background music. They were alternating the music of Black (when Deaf-Blind-Mute-Rani is at her lowest possible level of melancholy) and the music of some B grade action flick when the ladies were displaying their brawn.

2) A re-enactment of the entire story was a roughly put together collage of movies where horrible, paunchy men have locked up petite damsels and are waving whiskey bottles around like showering holy water. One scene was so obscene, I'm sure it was ripped right off some blue film.

 

3) The translators who re-told the story in English. While the people in the story spoke kannada, their speeches were being translated with emotional overtones garnished generously with hyperboles. 

4) Expressions such as 'D's dreams came true when he married her' 'Her life was given the sparkling new light of love from a husband' 'One woman's love became conditional and made the other woman miserable' 'Life has now become a bleak beacon'...or somewhat similar. 

Why do I point this all out? Because at the end of the show, I was laughing so much, I literally fell off the chair. Bad effect, since I should have been symapthizing with the girl and understanding the deeper meaning of problems such as prostitution and AIDS. But it ended up having a completely opposite effect on me. For the first few minutes, I sat mesmerized as every technical/journalistic blunder was commited. After that, this just turned into a farce.

 What saddens me now is that many people who have watched this news will only remember it for it's blatant effusion of emotional melodrama and not the hard, harsh facts. The activist aunties will only pride upon the fact that they were shown on TV slapping the villians, but not that they rescued girls from the throes of prostitution. The girl, who will probably be grateful for having been rescued, will continue to make her dreams 'come true' by living with the samaritan. And I really hope the samaritan doesnt drop her like a hot potato once the show is off air. The underlying message of AIDS awareness (which by the way, was the 'theme' of the programme) was lost completely and the cameramen and the crew just blessed the man benevolently for having taken the poor, desolate, HIV woman into his household despite her 'history'. 

Man has really bitten the dog and how! News is now meant to Amuse, apparently. 

Yo! It's Yoga!

My demented title name gives the secret away. What yoga has done to my sanity and creativity...or the lack of it. It isn't all bad though. Sure, yoga lives up to every one of my glossy diet magazine expectations of staying fit and healthy. My temper has been at bay for so long, I have forgotten how to lose it. And I spend my days blissfully ignorant about my scary future college prospects and urge my family to 'breathe deeply' when they panic and decide to panic for my sake. 

But it ain't all good either. Here is a general overview of what happens everyday. I mean it, it's almost like a dejavu. 

I enter the hall. There is an eerie silence which is penetrated by a grunt from Mr.Reebok at one corner. He attempts to stand on his head, an aasana that we wont be taught for another couple of months at least. Anyhow, he still attempts it, half successfully and Reebok can be proud of the extent to which their stretch pants, well, stretch. I turn away so he doesn't catch me giggling from his upside down position. 

I look to Mrs. Smiley. She smiles. Asks me which college I come from. I reply politely that I have graduated. She smiles (sympathetically now) and asks if I am searching for a job. I smile back (reassuringly) and say, no, I'd like to study further. She smiles, puzzled, and turns away to the wall, smiling. 

Another Mrs.100% attendance sits next to me and asks what I'd like to study. I reply 'Psychology.' She puts in her two cents rather enigmatically. 'Psychology and Yoga. One science compliments the other. Do you teach your patients yoga? ' My mind fights with me. Tells me to convince her that perhaps, just perhaps, Schizophrenics might not like to be taught Vajraasana. But I take in that deep breath and cross my legs. 

The instructor enters. Mr.Soul Reason, I call him. We all begin, an eclectic few. As we do the stretching exercises (Mr.Reebok is on Cloud 9), I glance around to see if anyone can make out that I cant even touch my toes. I am the thinnest in the class and yet so inflexible, that cardboard makers could earn a fortune by using me as their mascot. I spend most of my exercise time in looking around to see how much I can accomplish in that race to the toes. 

The aasanas begin. They are fairly simple. And fun, since I can do most. Until we reach trikonaasana. We are supposed to form three triangles with our body and the ground. You do the geometry. I just end up looking like a twisted jungle gym (who still cant touch her toes, rendering her triangle incomplete) while the rest of the class manages to achieve the perfect pose in synchrony. I sigh. And pray for the seconds to pass and Mr.SR to say 'Sloouly Staap'. Immediately after this aasana comes the Ekapaadapavanamuktaasana. Little kids are charmed by the name. So charmed that they don't really bother trying the aasana itself. Older people try desperately to get their kneecaps and foreheads to meet. Surprisingly, I manage to do it perfectly. I look around triumphantly as I see everyone around me writhing and struggling to make the ends meet. Just as I re-do the aasana to teach these poor mortals, Mr.SR looks at me sternly and says 'close your eyes'. Hmph. So much for achieving the perfect pose. 

We move on to Praanayama. No snide comments on this because I still keep my eyes closed, and so do others. 

Finally we reach my favorite part - the shavaasana. We lie down and I contemplate life (or mentally replay yesterday's prime time soap). As Mr.SR (who incidentally begins this everyday by telling us to relaaix the soul reason - it took me three days to figure out he meant sole region.) The silence is pierced occasionally by Mr.Reebok's abrupt and scary snores. Clearly, when the brand says comfort, he takes it too seriously. 

We turn to our right and get up. I open my eyes slightly to watch Mr.Reebok. He seems to be in his own REM world and continues to lie down. It takes me all the patience and constraint that I have learnt in Yoga not to laugh out loudly. We recite the finishing shloka. In our second line, Mr.Reebok's Baritone joins our weary chorus. (I am sure Mr.SR prods him to wake up everyday, but I still have to find the proof. One day, I'll spy a little more keenly.) We all finish and stretch our legs. Mr.SR thanks us, and we all spill out of the class, rather sleepily. 

I smile at another classmate while getting out, and in an attempt to make polite conversation, I ask her where she works. She says, 'I'm studying in II BCom.' And gives me the cold shoulder since that day. Hmm...I guess Yoga is a solitary pursuit after all! 

What's YOUR hobby?

Funny word innit? People keep asking you 'What's your Hobby' as if it is your blood group and would be essential to know for your survival. When I was a kid, I'd be constantly pestered by aunties and uncles. Being an only child, it was presumed that a hobby is a great substitute for a sibling. I'd always angelically smile and say 'ReadingWritingTravelingandListeningtoMusicaunty.'  Even in my resume, I've continued to follow the same format. Although, I must confess here that I do possess other hobbies. Just ones that I cannot reveal in a resume or a social function. 

My first hobby is staring. Not that perverted voyeuristic type that's running in your dirty mind. But just staring. Staring at people, posters, streetlights, garbage dumps...anything. Generally when my object of interest is a person, I'd be mentally figuring his/her life out. Wondering where they're off to, what they might be doing and what they might have been in the previous life based on their facial features (I've concluded half the people who travel in route 27 were seahorses.). While this hobby is hugely entertaining for me, it isn't so for my object. Once my classmate demanded to know why I stared at him as if he were a slug and I couldn't wait to squish him! So Staring can certainly not be entered in social networking profiles as a Hobby. 

Collecting. I started off fairly harmlessly by collecting Stamps, Coins, Shells etc.  A trip to Kodaikanal got me into collecting Pine cones. I decided I would paint them and adorn my room with them...until some started attracting weird looking bugs. I then progressed to collecting leaves (for a sci..science project, of course!) and pebbles. I moved on to collect travel pamphlets. In the hotel lobby at Singapore, I set off smartly in the direction of that pamphlet rack and pulled one of each type, much to the embarrassment of my parents. I then proceeded to read through every single one of them. I even convinced my dad and uncles who traveled abroad to get me route maps and brochures from there as well. I now know transport systems of Germany and Kenya at the back of my hand! My latest collection is Cadbury Dairy Milk wrappers. I must be owning at least over a hundred. An explosion of purple in my desk. 

Writing my name. I could write my name over and over again in different fonts, materials, colours. I'm obsessed with my name, I suppose. At least it's better than writing Leonardo Di Caprio all over my notebooks. (I tried that once, it was the longest name I knew, but reverted back to my own name.) Actually, I just like writing. Anything. I like to write stuff and then sit back and admire my handwriting. Really, I should be banned from this selfless world. 

Watching advertisements. They're so much fun! Especially the type where you have to figure out the product because there is no inkling of it until the very end of that 40 second commercial. I have a list of favorite advertisements....that may even exceed my list of favorite movies! 

and finally, writing all this out on public spaces of the Internet. Really, if you haven't figured out as yet, I seem to find some cathartic joy in embarrassing myself on the World Wide Web. Hopefully there are more like me out there who pride upon being so self-obsessed! 

Some Obscure Poetry

 

(I have just finished three years of literature. For the life of me, I cannot understand poetry unless it rhymes. I know, it sounds very five-year-oldish but honestly, I have always wondered how poets can turn mundane situations into fascinating inspirations. I decided to try it out myself. I mentally took note of all the stuff while cleaning out an old shelf and tried to make a poem of it. I must admit, it didn't come naturally to me, and I used the Synonyms option in MS Word a tad too often. But for a non-poet, or maybe a non-serious poet, this is refreshing. As I re-read it, a lot of lines sound very familiar so I suppose I have subconsciously plagiarised from poets I have read!) 

A Resolution

It took some serious blackmailing and a threat

To turn my holidays into an endless strife

When I finally decided to pay back the debt

And clear out fifteen years of my life. 

Fifteen long years of my student life

Locked away in that dusty cabinet

Old memories sharp as a brand new knife

Fighting the seams for an outlet. 

Newspaper clippings of a forgotten tale

Diaries and Notebooks, filled with scribbles

Tickets to The Frog and the Nightingale

I look longingly, take in little nibbles. 

Old School Magazines, my articles well thumbed

That math answer paper, my first 100 marks 

They thaw out thoughts that have been numbed

And frozen, like ice, in desolate parks.  

I clean out the shelf and lose myself in 

Clutters of memories so yellowed and deep

Now, its time for them to enter the bin

As new wool gathers on the sheared sheep. 

Writing on such thoughts is perhaps, cliched 

But those earmarked experiences are not

Fifteen years later, when this day is frayed

The process will repeat, and replace this blot. 

(If you know me and are wondering whatever happened to that bubbly person who does not look beyond chick-lit, either you have to suggest some ways of helping me pass my time or endure more such obscure poetry!!)