Tuesday, July 21, 2015

The unpacking conundrum

It’s been 2 years and 20 days since we've moved to the big bad city. The big has gotten slightly smaller and the bad has gotten slightly better though. However, my one big concern remains. I still haven’t unpacked all my boxes. Why haven’t I unpacked my boxes? Well, apart from the fact that I am essentially the laziest person alive on earth when it comes to household chores, there is also that weird fear of packaged boxes. A somewhat odd feeling tells me that one does not simply open boxes after 6 months (of unopening) has passed. You need adult supervision (or super-hero-vision) at this point of time when you decide to finally unbox. What if you open up to find a gazillion mini spiders mutated (with superpowers of course), crawling through every inch of that box? And just by opening that box you have now subjected the world to the horror that is mutated stingraypowered mini spiders! You might as well dig yourself a giant hole at this point in time, crawl into it and die. Speaking of giant holes, your un-opened box could have also morphed into a compressed environment of multiple levels of bad energy and condensed claustrophobia making it the perfect portal of doom. A giant mega-hole which (on unboxing) will suck everything in its path like a black hole-ish- death-star and won’t stop until it has swallowed the earth. The other possibility is that everything inside that box is now alive. Something was born in it, something evolved in it, something evolved into a scarier something in it, and now 'the force is stronger than ever'. And it is waiting silently, in that dark swamped (probably moist) box, and when the time comes… well you know where this is going. 

So yeah, I pretty much have a couple of very logical reasons for why I haven’t unpacked yet. A standard expiry date of box opening has to be taken into consideration here, and at the same time I keep telling myself, that if I haven’t required any of those things in those boxes that I packed – I pretty much don’t need them ever. Let’s face it, if you don’t feel the need to take something out of a box for two years, you’ll probably never fucking need it ever. So now the question comes. What do I do with these boxes of doom? Burn. Beat. Repeat? Strategically place them across different crowded places in the city and wait for apocalypse or… just call my mom?! At this point I Googled “magic 8 ball, should I call mom?” and the answer was – “Outlook not so good”. Which is pretty bang on! In retrospect, my mom would beat the shit outta me if she found out I was sitting pretty on 6 unopened boxes for the last 2 years. So that’s a clear No. Also, I am pretty sure one of those boxes has some horrid wedding gifts that I pretty much never want to see in my life. Deviating slightly from topic, which I obviously never do, quick head count of how many different types of hideous flower vases you can get on your wedding day? Apparently, quite-a-fucking-lot!

Anyway, so coming back to the unpacking conundrum at hand. The amount of time I have spent in writing this inane post and venting my frustration about unopened boxes lying in my store room could have been better utilized in either opening them or destroying them, neither of which I have done. Thank you very much. But, at least I realize that I may have a problem. And like most pretentious wise people sayings go- admitting you have a problem solves 50% of the problem. So now, I am doing exactly what most people who are about to have a panic attack do. Search Online. This weekend, I have vouched to at least try and get rid of some of these boxes and to do that I need some weapons of course. By weapons I mean Dettol, thick brooms, dusters and a hazmat suit obviously. 

And I leave you with my favourite quote of the day: “My second favourite household chore is ironing. My first being hitting my head on the top bunk bed until I faint”.

Monday, May 25, 2015

Things I want #Series

#1: Self checkout registers in shops: so that no one knows what I'm buying. 

Read: Three Large bags of Shrimp Crackers. Three packs of Cheesy balls. Three Packs of Cheetos. I'm done with grocery shopping.

Friday, November 21, 2014

A man is but a sum total of his memories.

A childlike grin on his face. I imagined it quite well ... even though I couldn't see it. But, I know that look! That look of excitement and nostalgia. That look of suddenly remembering where you kept something… something you lost long back. 

I asked him again, do you remember how the house looked like? A long pause, and then he said, “Why wouldn't I remember? Of course I was only a boy, but things like these… you don’t really forget. There was a huge balcony. Actually two of them, a small kitchen where thakuma (grandmother) used to cook the most amazing begun pora; the smell mingling in the air… mesmerizing all those who passed by that busy lane. She was a woman like no other, the determination, the patience and oh the cooking! Do you know she used to make idols for puja on her own, what amazing craftsmanship. She collected my poems in secret, and published my first book .. I remember holding the book in my hand and thinking, how did she pull this off?!”

A couple of minutes later, and through all the childlike rambling, I finally managed to cut through the chatter again to ask, how is Kashi, why exactly did you do there? The thought that my extremely quirky and impatient father in his youth (arguably even more impatient) would laze around in a city like Varanasi, was rather odd to me.

He chuckled and said, "Bridge. I used to play Bridge”. Before I could ask him what bridge was he continued, “Our house was very close to Dashashwamedh ghat, one of the busiest ones in Kashi. On the second floor, right opposite Nishat Cinemas, do you think it’s still there? Look up Nishat Cinemas on Google Maps will you? Oh and there was Gopal Ghosh, he used to run an itar shop. He used to love me so much, I wonder if he is still there.”

Hold up right there! I jumped and said,  how the hell do you even remember his name? He smiled and said, “He used to give me small bottled perfumes for my girlfriend. Free of charge of course!”  But of course, I said (and went back to imagining the childlike grin on his face again.)

These late night telephonic conversations with my father  leave me puzzled, sometimes endeared, and sometimes question my perceptions about him. The rest of the midnight-conversation, with my 12 year old father, revealed his near perfect memory of every nook and corner of Kashi... how the ghats looked, how the sadhus sat around the edges, grandma’s cooking, his frequent trips to Ramnagar, on the west bank of the river, to fetch perfectly round and I quote “slightly greenish eggplants” which apparently led to some of the most unbelievable eggplant dishes, that my mother can’t seem to compete with (even to this day)!

And then I asked him, by the way what did you have for lunch today, and he paused and said, ‘mmm..I don’t remember, why?’

Later that night I  wrote this on a sticky pad-

A man is but a sum total of his memories,
The kites he flew and the cards he played.
The paths he crossed, & the footsteps in the alleys.
A man is but a sum total of his memories
The lives he touched, the strangers he crossed
The ones he shared, and the even the un-shared stories
A man is but a sum total of his memories.
The lovers that never happened
The familiar gazes, and even the unsolved mysteries.
A man is but a sum total of his memories.

Monday, July 7, 2014

10 Things To Teach Your Grandchildren

The smell of sweet candy. Freshly made sweet-meat. Fairytales. Woolen caps and mittens. Partition Stories. Mangoes. Warm blankets and hot chocolate. Home-made cough medicines. Vintage jewelry boxes.Those are some of the things that remind me of my grandparents. I remember my grandmother making sweet and spicy pickles during winters, bottled up in jars and soaking in the sun, on the roof ... just waiting in cute little bottles to be ravaged by sneaky hungry children. Aah! those were the days.

And if you are anything like me, you are thinking.. I have no clue how to make those pickles anymore. Of course, 'Cos you were too busy stealing them and less busy learning how to make them. So, go figure  now.

The summary of course:

Not growing medicinal plants in your backyard. Check
No clue how to knit. Check.
No clue who your cousin's husband's aunt's sister is married to. Check
Pickles are meant to be stolen, not made. Check
Home-remedies = Google. Check
Never Fermenting things at home. (Eww). Check

Congratulations! you are now spiraling your way to become a terrible grandparent. 
< -insert -90s-themed-laughter-track- >

Granted that when we grow old, we wont be able to do any of the old people stuff like knitting a cap for our grandchild or make coconut laddus, or cook amazing food of our ancestors; and definitely won't know shit about housekeeping and growing stuff in our backyards (no Marijuana doesn't count) or making household cleaners out of scratch. But being the incredibly positive, life-affirming person that I am: I am going to remind myself that there are still tons of amazing things to teach our grand-kids when we are older (not wiser).

1. We may not know how to grow medicinal plants and make potions but.... but we can definitely teach 'em how to open beer bottles without openers. #daadimaakenuskhe

Gather around children, and... grab a spoon.

2. Table manners are over-rated! Proper hash-tagging and tagging manners will make or break their characters. The single most important threshold, the moment that defines whether they will be labeled as cool or wannabes, or bitches, or spammers or trolls. It's a matter of life and death and only you can teach 'em that!

I'm so tired of being stereotyped by bloggers

3. Hangover cure. Yes! the one that you have perfected over your late twenties. 'Cos they will remember us with a smile, and minimal headache!

A pinch of lime and a drop of phoenix's tear

4. Flicking an amazing < insert- excuse- here > Selfie. A truly great way to bond with those ducky-lipped grand-daughters!


5. And since their protection is paramount we will surely teach them how to set an incredibly difficult password.

The words poop and shit-head can only be cracked by 4th grade-hackers. 

6. Instead of telling them goose-bumpey stories of partition and how we came to India after the war, we'll tell them how we left India and migrated away to #FirstWorldCountries for more money, which we then converted to INR and became millionaires and hence afforded the house and Jacuzzi in which they play now! #Respect

Because. Patriotism.

7.We might not have vintage jewelry boxes and antique-finish earrings to pass on to them, but we can give them this piece of our heritage. That might be worth a fortune by then :P

The Joes are out of the picture. And by 'out of the picture,' I mean, 'out of this earth.

8. You will also share infinite wisdom with them. You'll tell 'em why Charlie Sheen was in fact not 'winning'!!

Is he winning yet?

9. You will also tell them to travel the world and live out of their suitcase for as long as they can. And, meet new people, drive across different forests and oceans and mountains, and never shy away from trying anything new. 

Stop freeloading. Go bar-tend in Hawaii

10. And finally....

It's taken for granted that invariably, without you even trying, they will catch on to one of your passions. Most grandchildren follow the passions and interests of their grand parents without even knowing where it came from. It's almost like a hidden bond; a watermark carefully planted inside them. You might be a rock and roll fan, without even having the slightest idea that your grandfather was a huge hippie back in the day. Or the fact that you turned out to be a great photographer, 'cos your grandfather wanted to be one. Or the finesse and passion you have for baking is something that's passed on to you from your grandmother or the fact that you enjoy reading poetry is because your grandma was part of a secret women's book club back in the 1930s. 

It's one big giant connection just waiting to be explored. This is something that has transcended generations, and trends, and pop culture and weed and internet and teenage mutant ninja turtles and technology and basically anything you can think of. Nothing dilutes that, and no one can take that away from you. It's yours to keep and yours to leave behind.  

Monday, June 16, 2014

The Dinosaur is a hoax made by atheist devils! Jesus lives

Yeah, you read it right. No No, Don't you ridicule yet. You are not the only one that matters. The world doesn't revolve around your opinion. (Yet)

I've been learning this for a while. Trying to learn at least. So basically, I am progressively devoting myself to the cause of remaining calm at the face of stupidity. Which is why you see, statements like these don’t infuriate me anymore? Learning to control your facial muscles when confronted with idiocy is an art, really! And the sooner you master it, the better it is for you, and well, your social circle. So, if someone thinks that you will explode into tiny combustible pieces for being an atheist dumbfuck? Or if someone says that Satan created dinosaurs to distract us from finding the true significance of the origin of life? Or when someone is trolling your blog posts on mythology and how you are an ass and should be thrown out of the country for maligning the country’s glorious heritage! You should just, demand trial by combat Take a long deep breath. And move on.

But then, once in a while I need to cheat. Laugh and make fun! Basically go back to my roots, and be my bitchy best. I have my girl-friends and bffs to go back to whenever I need to ventilate and bitch. It's a good practice and it's starting to do wonders for my skin. Because, pent up emotions, itchiness of soul and general frustration with mankind cannot be good for your skin. But remember never to argue with stupid people, they WILL drag you down, and then they will beat you with experience.

On an unrelated note…  If you need to cheer up on a gloomy Monday. And if life’s suckiness is sucking you down, just look at all the dumbness around you and you will feel better about yourself instantly. One of the easiest ways to do it is to ask the New God – “God show me how dumb people can be….” And God WILL show you.


If you were twice as smart, even then you'd still be stupid.

I'm actually impressed with this one, at least there is ample imagination

Well, I think I've heard smarter things from a schizophrenic with Tourette's.