THE INTOLERABLES !!!

Its everyday that we somehow get to know people either by their behavior or their characteristic traits that leaves us thinking about them for a minute.
Like is that really happening!! OMG did he just prove himself he's THE A$!! Do they really exist!! Man!! How much I would have gone the rest of my life without knowing that thing..so on n so forth..

I have had few such lists. Many a times people tell me not to categorize people but I guess its fun. That saves you the trouble of knowing them further which will only add to the hatred you may have for them. Men haven't been the "AVIBHAJYA" part of my life. What I mean is somehow through growing up with hoards of cousins, uncles and of course the B.E.Mech and MBA boys I have become pretty good judgmental as to what next!! So enjoy reading this post if you know exactly what I mean.. :)

HAPPY READING!!!!

THE KUMBHAKARNAS
Kumbhakarna was a demon who slept for six months in a year. And I have noticed men can sleep anywhere at any given time and in any position..huh.. Nothing can ever stop them. Be it an earthquake, a bulldozer rampaging into their house, a woman’s hue and cry, a siren, or theft or even something like a dog licking them; sleep wins, come what may! I’m sure the childhood fairy tale that I was very fond of "The Sleeping Beauty" is one huge piece of bull shit. This story talks of a beautiful princess who is cursed to sleep for a very long time and is awakened by a kiss from a handsome prince. I would like to imagine that it was not the princess who was in slumber for a century but the Prince. Only a man can sleep for a century and beyond and not wake up even if his princess kissed him. He can sleep on a chair, on the couch, on the ground, on a pile of dirt or in his own vomit. Even a Himesh Reshammiya song cannot wake him up.

It just baffles me. Are they designed to ‘switch off’ their nervous system when they sleep? Do men go deaf when they fall asleep? Can they seriously not hear their phone ring? How can they sleep for 15 hours straight?


THE GHAJINIS
Although this name has always revolved around the man who never accepted defeat until he conquered the Indian sub-continent, thanks to A.R Murgadoss' effort in various languages, the name now signifies a man with amnesia. Men forget all the time. It makes me wonder how they even managed to pull along through high school. How did they devour 15 kgs of Social Studies text books by heart when they cannot remember the name of their favorite novel? I would like to think that this is no selective amnesia. Oh! believe me, they do not remember anything. Is it uncommon that a guy walks up to you when you are busy flipping the pages of your notebook 30 minutes before an exam and asks with a ‘cool dude’ attitude, “What are you studying? Do we have an exam today?” See, I told you its not selective amnesia. They forget everything. Birthdays, anniversaries, reservations, keys, exams, deadlines, submissions, itineraries, credit card payments, debts, groceries, what you talk, and YOU!!! huh...

Did God give them a peanut sized brain that probably has 1 GB memory? Do they use the entire 1 GB space to remember their full name and nothing else? That seriously baffles me!!


THE MANTHARAS
Manthara was a maid of Kaikeyi who was a sly. She apparently poisoned Kaikeyi’s mind to banish Lord Rama to the forest. I am constantly reminded of Manthara when I see men who gossip. Everyone on earth who has a functioning tongue gossips. That is obvious. But who ever said men dont gossip? Women are interested in and enjoy gossip but so do men. To my understanding, women generally bitch about people whom they despise. For men, this rule does not apply. They have all the time on this planet to gossip about anything it just has to have the ability to move. Be it about your best friend’s secret boyfriend someone’s third cousin’s husband’s lawsuit or their favorite action hero’s dirty mistress or cooking up stories to end your long lasting friendship with few of your friends. They need to hear it all and they listen to all of it with the same enthusiasm. They possibly can channelize their energy only in two directions one is to sleep and the other is to gossip. :/

I dont understand one thing that why do we still fool ourselves that men dont gossip?


THE SLUGS
Nothing disgusts me more than watching a slug after a rainy day. They are everywhere and dont get out of you way. Oh wait!! They were created to walk very slowly not their fault for being lazy. But what about lazy men? They are too lazy to shower, too lazy to cook, too lazy to brush, too lazy to get out of bed, too lazy to pick the damn phone and return your call, too lazy to text you back, too lazy to finish their assignments on time, too lazy to help with cleaning. This group of men is more of a mixture of The Kumbhakarnas and The Ghajinis in varying proportions. Are lazy men active enough to clean up after ‘nature calls them’? ;)


THE MCPs
I have been calling a hell lot of men MCP's from the time I gotto know its meaning. Much has already been said and written about Male Chauvinistic Pigs and there is nothing new I can add to it. This is the category of men who are buffaloes and have very sharp horns. They take immense pleasure in charging with their over grown male egoistic horns at independent women who they assume are secretly feeble. Too bad they assume things too early only to be proven strongly WRONGED!!


THE GUTTERMOUTHS
The entire sewage system in India empties itself into their already foul mouths. To this group belong those men who eve-tease and torture you both on and outside college grounds. I personally know five such men. I mean, bad luck humped my back for about a year and I had to deal with them. I sincerely hope they go to hell or rest in pieces!!!

I feel like a teenager!!

They say you are as old as you think you are. And now I understand why it is so.

I was the brainy-kid in the family. Something my parents always wanted. I was pushed into a lot many things as a child. Bharatnatyam, Sea Cadet Corps, Karate, Bal-vihar, workshops, libraries etc. Dad and Mum always wanted me to be an overall kid. My sister on the other hand was a pampered one as the whole attention was on my upbringing and I think they thought she would eventually follow, looking at me. So having trusted upon with so much expectation I HAD to do all of the things and not miss a single thing. I never really went to tuitions except in Xth and XIIth. Mom and Dad would tutor me at home. I used to have a strict schedule ala princess minus the privileges. I was always taught “You only EARN stuff; you never GET them for free”. So on day one of my academics Mom and Dad would ask me for a wish list for that year and they would be arranged on the basis of the most NEEDED one. So that was my target. If I would come first at school or the short term classes I would get this n that. That is how I earned my first cycle, first watch, my walkman, my jeans, my wallet, my first BALLET shoes, Casio piano, tidbits from Archie’s, my first coffee mug, my first Pierre Cardin pen, my first gold chain with a heart-shaped locket etc.

It was early learning for me, always chasing something or the other. When I moved out of school it was the college degree, then the Armed Forces, then a PG degree and then a job. I never quite remember what I actually did when I was teenager!! When people would go to Navy Balls looking for BFs I was busy texting them and helping them how to take the first move or what to say if asked for a dance. When people were busy coloring their hair, I was busy putting oil on my sister’s head. When people were roaming around with so called can-be-might-be, I was busy planning for slumber with my gurlies. I never quite lived it as I was concerned with and chasing my next goal. I would be lying if I said I didn’t think of boys at that age but then Nick Carter, Enrique, Milind Soman were my only can-be-might-be. Also not to forget I felt extremely guilty to indulge in the teenage-thingies coz my cousins on the other hand were less privileged ones and I at that time I didn’t want to end up with a husband who would expect a room-service ala thingy.

I was scared most of the time. I wanted to spend my own money. Why put the burden on one’s parent? It was more than enough that they paid for the education and mostly let a GIRL study when the others in the family went against saying “she wouldn’t find a match!!” Thank God for not letting my parents listen to it.

And today I have a decent job, still chasing a dream job. But I have found that youthfulness back, have colored my hair, sit for fish pedicures, take out little kids for a night walk with a friend’s dog, run and exercise, wear colors with accessories even to office , listen to the music I should have had, speak for hours with the ones who stood by, go out for movies ALONE, put up statuses that coz furor, watch the silliest of movie on the phone and do FB all day long just like school kids and most of all be with family as much as I can. It aint satisfying but it definitely feels like I am doing my thing. And I don’t worry about anyone coming along anymore. Coz if it has to, it will. And when it does, it will leave me with “OMG”… :)

कंटाळ येतो आता !!!

"राणी.................................. राणी .......................!!!" च्या गजराने माझी संडे मॉर्निंग झोप उडाली |

मला हे गजर काही अनोळखी नाही| एस्पेशिअली जेव्हा ते दोन वेळा खेचून बोल्ले गेलेलं असता | मी फटकन उठून चादर घडी करून बाथरूम कडे धाव घेतला नोइंग मम्मी तापलेली आहे | १५ मिनिटात सगळं आवरून मी लिविंग रूम मधे हजेरी लावली | बघते तर काय आमचं होम मिनिस्टर , सेक्युरिटी ऑफिसर आणि गुप्तचर विभाग एका गोलमेझ सम्मेलना साठी बसलेले होते | नेहमी सारखी ती बीन बग हॉट सीट सारखी माझी वाट पाहत उभी होती , मी खच करून बैसले आणि जसा एखादा शेल स्नेल ला सामावतं तसा त्याने मला सामावून घेतलं |

मम्मी नी लेप्टोप ऑन केला आणि उघडल्या त्या नको नकोश्या वाटणाऱ्या matrimonial साईट्स | अन मग बघता बघता तिने सगळ्या साईट्स च्या स्टेट्स काढल्या अन सुरु झाली| I tell you, मला झालेल्या गोष्टीन वरून छळलेल अजिबात आवडत नाही | त्यात मम्मी पप्पांना घेऊन बसली म्हणजे मी इमोशनली ब्लेक्मेल्ड and i just dont have any rights to argue|

मग सुरु झाली वन वे ट्रेफिक सारखी गत | फक्त मान हलवायची | आणि त्याचा एंड result काय निघाला : मला वधू-वर मेळाव्यात न्यायचे ठरले | आता नाही म्हणाली असती तर माझी "all girls night out" प्रोब्लेम मधे पडली असती | आणि पप्पांनी हि गुपचूप सांगितला कि ते मला तिथून लवकर पळवतील , मग काय मी तयार १० मिनिटात | पप्पांचा आवडता ड्रेस घातला म्हंटल्यावर गाडीची चाबी न मागता माझ्या हातात :) मग आम्ही तिघे निघालो बोरिवलीच्या एका मेळाव्यात |

It was my first so I had no clue what to even expect. पण तिथे मुली अश्या नटून थाटून आलेल्या कि मुलगा तयार असल्यास आजच लग्न करून मोकळे होतील ;) (poor boys!!!! ) आम्हाला एका टेबल कडे बसवले गेलं अन मग सुरु झाले बघणं and all. मी टोटली spellbound होते , मम्मी जे म्हणायची करायची , atleast १० -१५ अनोळखी लोकांच्या  सहजा पाया पडले असेन , नशीब ती नवरात्र आणि गणपती ची सवय होती नाही तर माझा काही खरा नवतं | मुलं जास्त शिकली नवती पण attitude असा कि shahrukh khan ला हि लाज वाटेल huh..mannerisms नाही etiquettes नाही ...urrrggghhhhh..छळन्या पेक्षा कमी नव्हता | मम्मीच्या मनाच्या शांती साठी ते हि केला, उद्याला तिला म्हणायला नको मी कमी पडले |

१ तसा नंतर तीच म्हणाली चला निघूया एवढा काही नाहीये इथे | घरी आलो अन गोगल गाय सारखी मम्मी स्वतःच्या रूम मधे गेली , तेव्हा वाटलं जी lady मान वर करून माझ्या कीर्ती बद्दल म्हणायची तिची काय अवस्था झालीये | असा हि वाटलं का मी मुलगा नाहीये पण तेवढ्यात पप्पांची थाप पाठी वर पडली आणि ते म्हणाले "बघ आपल्याआप घरी चालून येईन तुझ्यासाठी एक राजा|" पप्पा जे म्हणतात नेहमी खरं होतं पण तेव्हा वाटलं लवकर ये रे मम्मी-पप्पांची इच्छा आहे खूप वाट पहिली आता !!!!!!!

My lifelines - Dad, Hair and Ice-cream!!! :P

On father's day, I was on a memory trail about the incedences with my beloved Dad. There are so many noteworthy of but I came up with this rather amusing memory till date. Hope you have fun reading this!!


Why should my emotions be so inextricably tied to my HAIR, I don’t know but it is a fact that a good haircut can uplift my spirits for a month, while a terrible one has left me in tears so many times.


And the reaction is instant. Serve me a bad meal and I can somehow suffer through it, making appreciative noises as I go. Take me out on the mother of all disaster shopping trips and I will still thank you for a lovely evening and promise to give you a company next time around. I am the master of the easy let-down. But cut my hair  in a way I don’t approve, and my reaction to it is completely physical. My face gets red, my throat chokes up, tears flood my eyes and I start breathing heavily . It’s always been this way. L


When I was seven, for instance, my mother persuaded me to get a “bob-cut”. Unfortunately, this turned out to be the code for what you might recognize today as the ala Mandira-Bedi-haircut. That was a time when there was just no access to a talented hairstylist. Short and extremely unfussy, was IN then and my in-all-directions-heading-curls had to be toned down because they warranted a hell lot of attention. The only people who ever complimented me on the results of that disastrous trip to the salon where my mother, the nice Chinese lady who had followed my mother’s instructions against her own better judgment, and a teacher of mine who sported that exact same boxy cut. Call me a diva but I did not appreciate looking like a middle aged schoolteacher whilst still in the second grade. I ended up throwing a temper tantrum in the middle of the salon, whereupon my mother promptly ordered an emergency pedicure for herself and banished me to the reception area where I spent the next forty five minutes cooling my heels, seething in fury, and frightening the rest of the clientele with my panting rage while tugging fiercely at my hair in an effort to make it come out of my head a little faster. K


Before you think I was some kind of special-needs-child, the alarmed receptionist definitely thought so. I should say that I already knew that particular effort wasn’t going to work. It was just another example of my once-ungovernable temper driving me to do things that were the limits of my stupidity.


But the roots of my hair-related rage go back a long way. It all started, I suppose, when my Ajji decided that the time had come to get the baby shiny-cover should be shaved off my head. I rewarded her by screaming like anything. And hence the bowl of black noodle-like-hair  grew and grew, curling into loose ringlets that charmed my mother so much, she forgot I was a baby and not her doll.


I don’t know why she stuck my dad with the job though. Maybe she felt it would be a waste of money to take me with her to the ladies salon where they had things like proper lighting? Maybe my dad offered like the responsible parent he is? Who knows! But I ended up accompanying my dad to the barbershop he frequented. My first memory of getting a haircut is of a smiling man with a neat beard and Daddy sitting next to me, telling me “Not To Move An Inch”. To this day, I can’t relax and get all chatty with a hairstylist because my entire brain is hardwired with my father’s voice telling me “Not To Move An Inch”. And so I won’t by God!


Since my dad is a generous specie (unlike mom) our routine was first the haircut and next came the ice cream. In my memory, the barbershop had blue colored walls, the color of a government office. The ice cream shop, on the other hand, resembled an Old West Saloon, complete with wood paneling and rustic furniture as well as a noisy air conditioner at Churchgate called as Rustoms. And for some reason this was next to the petrol pump. Because that is a perfectly logical place to build an eatery. Chocolate ice cream with carbon monoxide topping.  Yummmmmmmmmzzzzzzzzzz!!!!


I remember the inside of this fine establishment as a crowded and rather dingy place, which means it must have been tiny indeed given my toddler’s perspective. Anyway, as soon as we got in the door, Dad would head straight for the glass counter and ask me for my preference. I was three, my nose barely reached the part where the metal ended and the glass began. I couldn’t see a thing but I did enjoy breathing on the tiny bit of cool glass that my face could reach, and looking thoughtful. Eventually, I would place my order Strawberry!!! And Dad would place his Vanilla!!! If he was feeling adventurous, he would switch it up to chocolate but I think that only happened once or something.


I don’t even know how we decided I was a strawberry aficionado. For all I know, my dad marched in there and growled, “What do little girls like to eat?” At which point the terrified man behind the counter probably said, “Strawberry!” because it was all pink and girly and he was afraid to say he didn’t know. Voila! I liked strawberry. And since it never occurred to Dad to pick me up and show me the various options, I didn’t even know there were more than three flavors of ice cream until I was about 14, which is when I learned about the glories of the mighty pistachio. J


That was the summer when my second cousin came back from Dubai and showed us a fancy parlor that both manufactured and sold ice cream that you could order and consume curbside in the luxury of your very own car. My auntie took me there one night and introduced me to my first falooda. And my life was never the same again. :D But that is to fast forward. Back in our Old West Ice Cream Parlor, we were being served ice cream. Not scoops or scones, but slabs of it. There’s a small part of me that still thinks of waffle cones as exotic because my lizard brain thinks ice cream is naturally served as slabs on cheap white porcelain plates. Good times though!


We would sit there solemnly consuming our ice cream, until Dad had scraped his plate clean and I was still sitting there with half of mine on my plate. My mother was bringing me up to share so I always asked him if he’d like some of mine. My father, meanwhile, was bringing me up to not share eatables with him so he always refused. He would then sit in silence, watching me make heroic attempts to finish the entire plate before taking pity on me when I was about three-quarters through and proposing we leave. It was powerful magic, for an undemonstrative man and his willful daughter.

And like all magic, it was contained to that moment in time. These days, I tell my dad he should get a pedicure and take him out for coffee. That is our thing now, I push him to try and move an inch while he lets me order unfamiliar items off the menu. It’s a different kind of magic but one thing remains the same: we have a standing date anytime either one of us cuts our hair.

GROWING UP!!! Part - III

When I was a little kid all I read was Enid Blytons and Nancy Drews. My school’s library would overflow with them. Whenever I would get angry at my parents I would sit in my room and think about ways to make them feel sorry for whatever crime they had just committed. It was stuff like going on a hunger strike or crying till my eyes had swollen or refusing to come out of the room.

None of these plans came to fruition ever L , because I love myself way too much. Also, I can’t cry for that long. I love to eat, especially when my mother is cooking. And she would make sure she made her-bests whenever I was angry so that I could never say a NO. J

So then I would plan on running away. I was never sure where I would go, to the neighbor’s house?!?! Well they had good chocolates. To my BFF’s house?!?! It would be the world’s longest slumber because the kids in Enid Blyton’s novels were planning to join a circus and while I liked animals then, I was told by Tahir that all opening jobs in the circus involved cleaning the **** and there was no way I was going to do that. K

So one day my parents finally went too far, I don’t remember now what they actually did but they probably refused to buy me a fairy frock or something equally heinous coz that’s what passes for mean and nasty around the Tonde household, and I decided it’s about time!!!

I took with me a torch for if it ever got dark, my sweatshirt, a book, saved pocket money of Rs. 20 and two bars of 5-star. I left one 5-star behind for my sister who had not done anything to piss me off in the last 3 days and thus deserved it. By the way I am a very generous person. J Thus burdened, I made it all the way across Sunita Market, within the sight of the main gates of Navy Nagar. I realized the only thing I was supposed to do was walk, but how long?!?!?

Reading so much of English Novels, the thing that came to my mind then was, every important scene in Pride and Prejudice involved Elizabeth and Darcy walking in some way, she finds out about his treachery while walking in the woods and returns home to tell him to go away, then they meet again while she’s walking around his estate, and finally the confession of  their feelings for each other happens when they’re on a walk. Together!!!

That’s just an example from the great works of romance :) think of anybody else you like, from Tolkien to Shakespeare to J.K.Rowling.  Englishmen and Englishwomen novelists will eventually arrive at a point in the story when nothing will do for them but to take a walk. Think over it!!

As for little Indian me, I made my way over to my favorite BPT gardens in one of the inner blocks of Colaba and settled myself with my book, ate my chocolates and went back home to be greeted with good-natured scolding and cries of relief.

Win… J

Winners don’t do different things, they do things differently!!!! ;)

GROWING UP!!! Part- II

Here’s what happens when your parents let you join a Book Club at the age 12. K

Stranger at the Club: What are you reading?
Child Heena: Gone with the Wind. Have you read this?
Stranger at the Club: What?!
Child Heena: I don’ understand all of it but I think it’s good. The drama is really out of this world. I think I’m addicted to it. In fact, I’m going to watch the movie.
Stranger at the Club: Stop it immediately or else you’ll lose your childish innocence soon!
Child Heena: L When I grow up, nobody’s going to tell me what I can read and what I cannot.

Teacher: What are you reading?
Child Heena: The Giant Book of Murder. It’s superb.
Teacher: What?!
Child Heena: See, it has sections for axe murderers, serial killers and prisoners. I am totally loving it for the information that I will introduce into my English school essays to blow out my competition!!
Teacher: Stop it now! Or you will grow up into a psychopath.
Child Heena: *groans* When I grow up, nobody will tell me what I can read

Preeti: What are you reading?
Teen Heena: The Wheel of Time. It is super splendid!
Preeti: What?!
Teen Heena: Yeah, I’m really “into” fantasy fiction! It’s like science fiction but better! There are parallel universes and alternate realities and magic and strange creatures and ..
Preeti: Stop!
Teen Heena: Why?
Preeti: It sounds stupid and I’ve never read any. Here, read “Mills and Boon” like everybody else.
Teen Heena: L When I grow up, nobody’s going to tell me what I can read and what I cannot.

Lynnet: What are you reading?
Present Day Heena: Young Adult fiction. It’s awesome.
Lynnet: What?!
Present Day Heena: I was too busy reading regular adult stuff when I was a kid but now I find that there’s a lot of Young Adult fiction that is really good. So now I’m catching up with it.
Lynnet: Thats awful, have some shame. You’re reading stuff meant for children.
Present Day Heena: L When I grow up…

Am I suppose to feel inferior about it? Or should I cover  The Hunger Games with a newspaper the way some women who read sexy romances on the train do? What about graphic novels? Are those ubercool? Or is everybody nosing at me for choosing to read a comic like a little baby?

If only I read much less and monitored the reactions of random strangers to my choice of reading more, I bet I’d have the answers to all those questions.

GROWING UP!!! Part- I

I am very strict when it comes to my own younger sis. Many a times she has to undergo the brunt of my conservatism. I admit, m fairly conservative when it comes to things like children and their upbringing. I don’t have any but this doesn’t stop me from having opinions. It’s the last remnant of my conservative childhood and I hang on to it, because nothing I’ve seen out there has really challenged it or made me even come close to changing my mind. :)

In my early teens, I wanted to get my eyes brows plucked the moment I saw a classmate sashay down the hall in her short skirt and that arched eye-look at age thirteen. I had the skirt, but I wanted those eyes courtesy eyebrow-plucking. Those clean face and big eyes that looked so very adult. :)

“I think m ready!!” I told my mom as she got her pedicure done at the salon. :)

“Girls are doing it very early these days” said the chinky lady who usually did hers. My mum looked at me and laughed and laughed. When she finally caught her breath, she said: “Chee!!!!” EOD. :(

I had graduated high school much before my mom would let me pluck anything at all. And when I got my eyebrows done for the first time at age eighteen for my cousin’s wedding, it was a family affair with one of my Kakis standing over the poor parlor assistant’s shoulder and whispering “Don’t cry, don’t cry!!!” as my eyes watered. :(

Of course, my mum being a good mother, we did have talks about personal grooming. From manicure to pedicures, cosmetics to accessories, the best part of growing up with a mom and hoards of aunts is that there’s no dearth of advice on anything, and everything from acne treatments to what is the correct way to apply an eye liner. :)

And we eventually talked about growing up – but the emphasis was always on hygiene, not sexuality. In our house, grooming wasn’t just about being attractive. Every summer my Ajji (my mom’s grand mom) would repeatedly remind me that good grooming is about having pride in oneself. You take care of yourself because you deserve it, not to impress other people.

“This is not the way for good girls to walk around the house before the evening lamp is lit” my Ajji would say “You should first wash your face, then powder, put on a kajal-bindi, comb and tie your hair neatly, change into freshly pressed clothes, and then come to the DEVARA to see the lamp. That’s what a gharachi-mulgi looks like”.

There was a time in my teens, when I totally refused to comb my hair, and become a Scary Spice (I totally adored Spice Girls), nobody pulled me down and forcibly combed my hair or oiled my hair, nor did anyone force me to change my style. At the time, I thought it a victory over the Establishment ;) Later I was quite puzzled because the Establishment at our home is quite capable of breaking the backs of ‘little guerrilla’ efforts like that. L

It took me years before I realized that part of the lesson my Ajji and mom were trying to teach me was that, self-worth is something only you can determine for yourself. If they’d forced me to look presentable according to their stringent standards, as they well could have at the time, it would only have appeased their sense of worth, their image of a family member, not mine.

They had let me be ME. More importantly they instilled the values of “self-confidence” much before the invention of such classes around my house. My Ajji is not with me today, but I miss her immensely. She never got down to bashing us up and making us understand. She always had her ways of making us learn life’s lessons. My poor-yet-to-be-born-kids, will have an Infantry-Drill with me around for sure ;)