Monday, July 13, 2009

The Sandwich We didn't Order!

The following post is meant for people who are sandwich children. You know,
you come third or fourth in line after all your cousins/sisters.
You are not the mature and beautiful first child of the great Indian joint family, you are not even the subtle yet intelligent second one, nor are you the adorable last one.
You are maybe the insignificant third one or the irritating attention seeking fourth one.Sighh! I understand your pain. But if you are still in your teens, let me remind you that the lesser you are cared for, the more chances there are of you evolving in to the sexy swan (not beautiful, your face may not change!).

Coming back to the story, the third or the fourth sibling is like the most
unnoticeable child in the family. Elders don't find you as cute as the youngest one,
they don't find you growing up and maturing into a lady as fast as the eldest one is.
They cant even compare you to the second one, cos they are busy comparing the second one with the first one. So there you are, stuck in between odd worlds, thinking to yourself what can I do to get in to the lime-light. You may try your hand at a few odd jobs here and there as well... Try topping your class, but the second one will top first, so by the time, you topped, it will become insignificant. You can try lying vigorously and profusely, but the cute-lying spree of the younger one catches attention of elders, and your lying spree would be tagged as a serious 'pree-teen' problem. You may try fake boyfriends, and guess what then the first one will get ENGAGED!

Does this ever stop, the vicious cycle!!!??!!

Turns out it does! It does have an end... you just have to wait for it. Wait for the ones before you to get married,
and suddenly, almost magically the spotlight shifts focus on you! Yes you my friend! Suddenly people are interested in your
personal life. Suddenly they wanna 'know more'. Since the ones ahead of you are getting married off, they have no one else
to talk about anymore... you are logically next in line, so you are standing right there, in their face!
But trust me, all these years of attention craving, and troubled teens will fade away, and soon you will start regretting the fact
that you are not the insignificant dot in the family picture any more. They will get on your case, they will hunt you down! Aunts and Uncles
of all generations will gather around you and start telling you the importance of marriage and make uncomfortable adult jokes around you which you
do not want to be a part of. But this is what you wanted right! to be a part of the 'circle'. But you realize the crappy mess inside the circle once you
are in the circle, and once you are in the circle, ITS too late!

And as you glance back at the first two... they will just smile and say: its your turn Sista!! Gotcha ;P

Love Thy Boyfriend: Not His Jeans!

As I flashbacked myself truly in an old Hindi Film mode to 1998, I saw myself on the couch carefully throwing away carefully peeled orange out the window while avoiding eye contact with my Mom. ( It's a trick I will teach you guys later).
Then, in a quick sharp pan (in the flashback itself) I study myself wearing my Fat brother's thrown away denim pants, and thank myself aloud for not been seen in those ever in my life (After 1998, that is!).

>>>>>Fast-forwarding myself into the current time-zone, I watch with open (not drooling) mouth as a colleague walked away with similar ill fitted jeans and a printed tee. I take one big step back from the time-machine and look straight at another friend who is trying to read my face for a long time. Finally succeeding, she says with a triumphant look, 'Boyfriend Jeans'.

After the long(ish)(Not Lunch) break full of bitching-gagging conversation on boyfriend jeans ended; I realized I had mixed feelings for this newly found trend which even a lot of Hollywooders are following closely, including Katie Holmes, who was recently spotted wearing what only seemed like one of Tom Cruise's thrown away pairs. To me, they look more like maternity clothes! I mean why would anyone in their right senses wear oversized denims? And actually step out the door looking like a camping tent. But then come to think of it, these denims have a multifaceted role in today’s hectic lifestyle. I mean, who has the time to pick up a broom and sweep the floor? Eh! Just wear your boyfriend/grandfather denims and prance around the floor for a while. It works like magic! The Magic Jeans’ floor-grazing bottom-hem takes care of all the dust and dirt while you walk. You can even sweep hidden dirt with it! Just stick a leg under the furniture and cobwebs are history!

Coming back to the discussion of the newly-found ‘boyfriend jeans-haters’ club:
I have decided to take a minute of silence to pray for those who have been trapped by the evil trend. ‘We pray for your peace, let this be a passing phase like all the fashion disasters of 1980s. Amen!’

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

................ Head over Heels in love with Myself!!

I stand with a shovel in my right hand:
Clearing from my sidewalk the snow unnecessary accumulated.
I pave my own way, I clear my own path.
I stride forward, never looking back.

Things are not always sane for me, I believe Insanity is like social drinking, you can't avoid it and you end up enjoying it. For a twenty something girl like me, living in a big city is an addiction. I can't live without the labels and nor can I survive without the street shoppings of GK or Janpath. I pay my own bills and earn my own pay checks; spend lavishly on my fabulous ‘single-woman' life in a big bad city. I work for a multinational, and stare out of the window in to the dusty landscape in my spare time. The days when the sun shines on my desk are the days that forecast a good beginning. In the midst of the chaos aka work pressure; I manage to find time to update both my blogs; and when people ask me the secret recipe for time management: I give them my special super-multitasker acknowledgement smile.

I am a dreamer! Like everyone else around me, I dream of a cabin while sitting in my cube, I dream of a BMW while sitting in the auto rickshaw, I dream of the rains when the sun pierces through my shades, and I dream of a home when I eat alone at night. Reading anything and everything under the sun is included in my list of 'likes'. I am also the ‘Royal cribber’ and ‘instant mood-uplifter’ Point of contact for those I call friends. Listing out my dislikes will cause my Word Document to crash, but top of the list will be waking up early on a weekend.

I grew up in a comparatively smaller city, the City of Joy as we fondly call it. I fondly call it the city of ‘Chai-Pakoras and Foot-ball in the rain’. I moved to bigger rapidly on-the-move city, where people know you by your cars and the clothes you wear. The city we call ‘Dilwalo ki Dilli’. I graduated first class in what seemed like International Politics and International Relations from St.Xavier’s College: A course that I hated while studying it and miss it to the core now that it’s waved goodbye. Working is a necessity for me, I work so that I can spend, and I work so that I don’t have to depend. I have been ever-fascinated with working women, and now I get to live my own fascination (with first hand experiences of it’s not so fascinating parts). I live life on my own terms, as clich├ęd as it may sound, but there is nothing more true to my character which describes me more than this one phrase. I know that the seemingly innocent phrase gives way to arrogance and spells out the word Opportunist. I am pretending to be optimistic here, and hope to not cross over the very thin line.