I am allowed to hate my home and love it too...

There have been two periods of my life when I couldn't wait to get out of India. Once when I was in 11th standard. For about six months I had decided I wanted to live in New York like those beautiful people on Friends. I would be like Rachel and Monica living in a nice NYC apartment talking about my first world problems. India was no good and I was meant for bigger things. I was meant for America. The first chance I got, I would leave and never come back.

Of course immediately after my 17th birthday, the American economy collapsed and the subprime mortgage bubble broke and I quietly congratulated myself for being in one of the fastest growing economies in the world - India. Who needs America when you have festivals, colour, beauty, a million languages and so much to do right here? I would make my home in India, I decided.

The second time I truly considered moving to America was when I visited my sister in California last year. It was a month of bliss. The weather was beautiful. I drank water out of the tap and was not worried. There were cycle tracks everywhere I turned. Beautiful trekking trails. Mountains and valleys. Hardly any traffic at all. And I could wear shorts and go for runs and no one would bat an eyelid. I think that's what appealed me to the most. I felt safe in whatever clothes I wore. In India I think twice about wearing something before going out, I enjoyed real freedom staying with my sister. I wore anything at all and was not remotely worried. She lives in one of the safest neighborhoods I have ever been in and I felt truly safe for the first time in my life. So, when I came back home I thought about it hard and long. America meant I would be closer to my sister and niece. And it also meant less pollution, better beaches, cleaner trails and I could run without worrying about some random man attacking me. But India is my home.

I have spent the last 10 years of my life using public transport in this country. Think Mumbai, Calcutta, Pune, Delhi, Chennai, Bangalore and even Hyderabad. I like public transport. You don't have to worry about weaving in and out of traffic and you can put on some music, take out a book and you can enjoy some "me time", till the chaos of the day takes over. But it hasn't always been like that for me. I was 17 when I had to first handle my first frisky "uncle". In Chennai they are famous. They come stand right behind you. And slowly they will put their hands on your hips. Some women squirm. Some women move away. Some women fight and some even ignore. I didn't quite know what to do when it first happened to me. I turned around startled. The man smirked almost daring me to scream at him. I came home in angry tears.

Of course I learnt to protect myself. I would loudly tell them to remove their hands. I would physically grab their hands while crushing their fingers and push them back. I would also sometimes (if I had the energy), fight. All this time it should also be noted (so the moral policing aunties and uncles won't claim that I was asking for this with my attire), I wore salwar kameezes as they were the dress code of my college. In a week I turn 26. I have had men flash at me. I have had men whistle at me. I had have men scream obscene words at me. And every time I have tried to fight back, I have often found myself surrounded by apathy. "You are a girl. This is India. It is for your own safety to be quiet and ignore." These are words I am very very used to hearing from people.

So why do I blame India? The truth is women are badly treated across the world. It's not an Indian issue. It's just that in India, I see it happening more in open. It's more accepted. I read everyday about young girls, women, aunties getting attacked, raped and worse. And every second you can trust me some girl is being harassed. But we tell ourselves that it's not the nation...it's the singular man in question. Does this mean India as a nation is not to blame at all? I don't buy into that theory. While the whole world is often described as a "man's world", in India, it is hard to be a woman at all.

After all this is nation where Sati was once glorified. Where widow re-marriage is still an anomaly. This is the nation where the boy-girl ratio ( 917 girls to 1000 boys) is so skewered because parents simply do not want a girl child. Where young girls are held back at home and not allowed to attend schools. Where dowry still exists. Where there aren't even enough bathrooms for girls in government schools. Even girls who are highly educated are expected to get married at 25, have kids by 27 and cook perfect meals while also having the perfect jobs. The Indian society has lived for centuries and decades under the impression that having a girl child is a burden. When a girl is raped, women snigger and say that she ought to have dressed appropriately. This is a nation where marital rape is not recognised by law. So if a woman was to be raped by her husband, he can get away with rape and she will never see justice meted out. She will never get justice. So, we can't blindly put the blame on the men who think it is their right to mistreat women, centuries of reinforcement in the nation has led them to believe that they can in fact get away with murder.

But why am I still here? I know a lot of you who love love love this nation, don't like to see it criticised. Would you even believe me when I say that I love this nation too? After all I have described it as being the perfect hell for women. The truth is I love my country. I want to see it prosper. I want it to be corruption free and safe for men and women alike. I want children to get the best possible education regardless of their economic strata and I want the caste system gone for good. But in order for this happen, I have to acknowledge that there is a problem. I can't get angry at the foreign tourists who come here and then talk about how their safety was violated. Their safety is often violated and I cringe every time I read those stories. I feel embarrassed for my nation. And I want it to get better.

After all this is my country. My home. I love the colours. I love the festivals. I love its broken roads. I love the overcrowded trains. I love its smells. I love its mountains. I love its people too. I love bhajjis you get outside Besant Nagar beach. I love how sometimes when you least expect it, a man will let you take his seat on the bus just because he noticed that you were tired. I love its bad movies. I hate its item songs. I love running in Cubbon Park early in the morning. I love travelling and discovering parts of this country that are brimming with history and tradition. I want to be part of its redemption. I want to pay the taxes here and be part of the solution. I want to be there when the roads get fixed. I want to be there when a politician surprises us by doing his/her job for a change. I want to be there when every child in the country has access to education. And I want to be there when women are not blamed for everything in the world. Where mothers-in-law don't kill their daughters-in-law for not paying enough dowry. Where infanticide does not occur. And that can happen only when good conscientious Indians stay back and try to create a new nation where women don't feel like they enter a battlefield every time they leave their homes. I will criticise this country. Because I love it. And I know that by sweeping the problems under the rug will not solve them. The dirt just accumulates. I love India and hate it sometimes. But I am not going anywhere. This my country and my home and it's not safe for me yet but one day it will be. I won't stop fighting. Because India is my home. 

That damn phone - a note on Valentine's Day

So I bought this ugly boxy Nokia phone set four years ago. It was a cheap set even back then and it started malfunctioning about the time I bought it. But I bought it with my shitty salary from my first job and I learnt to live with it. Then a funny thing happened - I got attached to my piece of shit phone.

The phone stopped working properly (and almost entirely) about a year ago. It had already lived past its prime. As my friends and family went onto to buying newer phones and started using words like 'Whatsapp' and 'BBM pin number', I used SMS and called people to talk. 3G? Well, I still have no idea what it's like to have even decent internet connection on mine (technically it supports internet but my phone has its own personality and it refuses to connect me to the World Wide Web). The screen no longer works and it shuts down at random hours. And just when I think it has died for good, it perks up again and reboots itself. Some might even suggest that my phone is haunted.

So why don't I simply replace it? Well, I fell in love. To the little piece of shit. I like the way it fits inside my bag. When I put my hand inside the side pocket of my backpack, I know it's there. I like how it feels when I hold it. And even though the keyboard no longer displays digits (they have all eroded), I have muscle memory when it comes to typing things out. I have used this phone to spend hours talking to my friends, crushes, family and Tata Docomo helpline guys (Docomo sucks but I refuse to change it as well because I can't let go). I have lost this phone in Mumbai, Pune, Delhi, Bangalore and Chennai. Weirdly enough it has always come back to me. My friends claim that it's so ugly and useless that no one in their right mind will steal it. They are probably right.

So when I know it's just a possession, why I can't I let go? Perhaps this is an observation on my own personality. I get attached. Simple. I won't let go of the book I bought several years ago that's tattered and utterly unreadable. I won't get rid of worn out shirt unless my mom throws it in the dustbin. I have never been able to let go of my football club (and boy have I tried). I hold onto to things I love and sometimes things I hate (or both at the same time) and it takes a miracle for me let go of something. I have a toy ghoul that I have lovingly christened my boyfriend. I have had it for eight years now. My mum has tried to get rid of the hideous looking thing for years now and she has been unsuccessful every time. He's my broken ghoul and I love him.

But perhaps there is something else happening here. After all, I have been able to let go of relationships (although takes me longer than other people), and things I have owned in the past. I am attached to things that are broken. Things that no one else will love. Things that are different. Things that don't make any sense at all. Perhaps I identify with those disjointed pieces.

Or maybe I am digging way too deeply into my own psyche over a piece of shit phone. Maybe I am just cheap, who is trying to find greater meaning to nothing at all. Either which way, I have sadly sadly come to the conclusion that it is time to let go of my baby. It breaks my heart genuinely. I am going to miss my POS (piece of shit as I call my phone lovingly). And I am going to replace it with a shiny new toy. Something that's not broken. Something that will make communicating with my friends and family much easier and actually doable. But it won't be the same. It won't have the same quirks as my POS. It will just be like every other perfectly serviceable phone you find in the market. But I refuse to throw away my old phone. It has stood as a testament to my life and it shall stay with me by my side even if I am not using it. When you love someone, you will know when it is time to let go of them. And I know it's time for me to let go of my phone. It has served me bravely and honorably. It has huffed and puffed and worked even when it went against basic logic and science. And I love it to bits but it knows and I know that it can no longer keep chugging along (the audio is out). And hopefully some time this month, I will find the conviction in my heart to go out to the world (and inside a Chroma) and bring home a new member of my family. A new item that shall populate my small world. And hopefully I shall learn to love it too. 

The Rahul Gandhi drinking game

Do you remember that feeling when you would go to an important exam completely prepared and you end up getting most of the questions from the one chapter you didn't touch because you thought it was unimportant? Rahul Gandhi's exclusive interview with Arnab Goswami was just that...only times million and it happened for all the world to see. The sweaty, mumbling, pretty boy of politics, when put under the scanner, did not disappoint - he came across as absolutely clueless. And for the casual observer of Indian politics, it was pure comedic gold. As I watched the interview unfold itself, I was hit with the greatest idea I have had since deciding to watch Dhoom 3 for the second time - the Rahul Gandhi drinking game. Indulge me a bit as I set across the rules for the game. All you need is a shot glass, a wine glass, alcohol and some water.

Drink up my friends!

Actually..um...actually
Every time Rahul Gandhi was asked an actual question do with the country, he blinked a whole lot and said "actually" a whole lot. Every time you hear this word, kindly take one sip of red or white wine of your choice. Sipping is enough because by the time he shall finish that sentence, you would have finished the glass.

Women empowerment
Oh boy. Sigh. The fate of the Indian nari (a clan I belong to) apparently now rests in the hands of the village idiot. And he seems to have taken his role as the crusader for "women empowerment" very seriously. So if you are a man, take a shot every time he says this phrase, if you are woman, take two shots (you really need it honey, we are doomed).

RTI
Yup. Ask Rahul about the economy, he will talk about RTI. Ask Rahul about the caste system in India, he will talk about RTI. Ask Rahul about his favourite sandwich, he will talk about RTI. The kid is clearly in love with RTI (maybe it's the easiest word to remember perhaps?). So, every time, he runs off on a tangent about RTI, help yourself to a swig of Long Island Iced Tea, if you have access to it.

Every time Arnab Goswami smiles
Arnab Goswami knew he hit gold, when Rahul Gandhi started sweating beads of sweat, while hemming and hawing his way through the interview. Goswami had a slight smirk, that widened every time, Gandhi nodded his head and blinked his eyes. The smile of a predator who knows he does not even have to make an effort as his prey was currently not only killing himself but also cooking and marinating himself in a frying pan. Just pour some red wine into your system and toast to Arnab Goswami, the king of smirks.

My family
Oooh boy. Even when he claimed, he didn't "choose" his family, Rahul spoke about his family a whole lot...didn't he? My mother, my father, my sister, my family. I don't know about the rest of the world but I am darn sure, baby Gandhi went back home after the interview to complain about the mean bully and cry into his mommy's arms. One shot of drink of your choice.

Politician/my degree is not fake
Ok, by now I am sure you have gotten really tipsy and are probably just about to pass out. Gandhi visibly gulped when he was asked about his degree from Cambridge. It was awful to watch but also incredibly funny. And he stuttered and stammered his way while tring to convince himself that he was in fact a politician. A glass of white wine as you roll your eyes to Rahul Gandhi stammering about how he's a strange politician who is not after power and does not fit in with the others.

The youth
It's our final catch phrase of the day. "The youth of India" is obviously a cause Rahul Gandhi is committed to. He has done (in his words) tons to empower the youth. So if you consider yourself to be part of the "youth of India" and feel like Gandhi has helped you out in any way, drink a glass of water. It should help settle your stomach after all that drinking...Nobody wants to drink that glass water? Hmm...strange...

So that's it. This was my drinking game for everyone's pleasure. As a teetotaler myself, I apologise beforehand if I have gotten any drinking terminologies wrong. And just in case make sure you have an ambulance number on your speed dial. This game could be potentially dangerous. Long live Indian politics! I shall drink to that indeed. 

A birthday note to the love of my life

I met her three years ago but if I was being honest with the world, I felt next to nothing. She looked like a potato all scrunched up. Everyone else in my life was enamored but when I first met my niece I was an unimpressed dolt. I wasn't sure how my life would change. I was only a bit angry that now my sister will have even less time to spend with me. Thea being born, was to me, a rather unceremonious event. Something that would hardly affect me.

Our love was at first as one sided as they come. I liked her well enough to wave at her through skype. I was angry when I was pulled off my bed to chat up with a baby who could not understand what I was saying. I did not understand what the fuss was about. But she on the other hand seemed to be in love with me. She lit up when I was around. She called to me various names...sometimes I was Aish, sometimes I was Aaesh...but she would demand even as a baby to see me. Even through my initial indifference, it was obvious the tiny thing had found something in me, she really loved. When my sister first came from California to visit us, I was panicked. What if I could not make any connection whatsoever with my own niece?

I realise now, I shouldn't have worried. Thea already had better plans for our relationship than I did. I just wanted to be able to hold her without dropping her. But when we first physically met in the airport, even though she wasn't even a year old, she pulled me into a hug. Suddenly everything changed. I went from being a nonchalant observer who was trying to get some time to hang out with her sister, to a lovestruck teenager. A tiny ball of human being pulled me into a hug and I knew my life had completely changed.

It's a strange and loving relationship I share with Thea. Our faces brighten up every time we see each other. We are very similar. She is also incredibly hyper active. She befriends everyone in her life. She jumps. She laughs. She runs around so much, even I can't catch her. She won't let me pay attention to anything else in life. And she now calls me Aishu. When I look sad, she hugs me through skype. When I wear a new dress, her eyes widen and she says - "Aishu's so pretty" in a slight Americanised accent. When I pretend to hide, her face darkens as she panics that I have left.

On January 27, she turns three years old. Only three. She has only started with life. But she's my best friend (sorry to all those who think they are my best friends...my best friend is a three year old who is in potty training, deal with it). And as I think about what life has in store for her, I realise I don't want her path to just be roses. I want her to experience everything - happiness, sadness, tragedy, laughter, friendship, love and yes, heartbreak. I want her to be kind to others. To have empathy for those different from her. I want her to smile at everyone when she grows up, as she smiles at me today.

I also want her to see some bad times in life. She needs to know that life is a gift but not one without challenges. That it's not worth it to always be winning in life. That sometimes she will really not see the light at the end of the tunnel. But that's okay. Every time she finds happiness, she will appreciate it that much more. She will be more generous because of the things she may have lost in life. And when the going gets a bit too tough, that will be alright too because I shall be there along with those who love her, to give her a massive hug and tell her things will work themselves out. So happy birthday Thea. Even though you cannot read right now (at least you are pooping properly!), I hope someday you stumble across this blog. And figure out for yourself how a three year old (that's you) changed the life of an apathetic 25 year old (that would be me) who swore she hated kids. I love you baby and I need to give smush you with a bear hug right now. 

You look pretty, uh...no I don't

When I was a kid, I was just plain fun. Ran around like a mess. Fought with everyone and everything. Practically drank in books after books. I was a confident kid and I knew I was a smart kid. The only thing I was never ok with? Being called pretty. Not that many did. But it made me uncomfortable even when my grandparents, my parents, my sister or close friends told me I looked nice. I just could not believe them. It's not what I saw when I saw myself. I saw me. I saw the scabs I got from falling to the ground after a boy pushed me. I saw the boycut which I hated. I saw the small scrawny kid who didn't quite (or at all) look like the girls she saw on TV.

Now why am I talking about me as a kid? Because I don't think I really got over it. The most uncomfortable I feel even today is when someone compliments me on how I look. I get awkward. I don't know what to say. In most aspects of my life, I am confident as hell. I think I am a rockstar. But call me pretty and I am cowering behind everyone else praying that no one notices how embarrassed I am. And I want to change that this year. No...I am not saying I want to turn into a vain person who is constantly talking about how beautiful she is (although I know for certain it might take an actual miracle for something like that to happen to me). But I want to be able to get comfortable in my own skin. If someone says something nice, I won't brush it off as though I have been insulted. I will be gracious and grateful. I will accept it.

I saw this incredible video where Amy Poehler has spoken about body image issues girls have (Amy Poehler talks body issues). It took me back to my own childhood when I wondered why on earth I didn't look anything like Britney Spears. I think it's important for women to accept who they are. And accept how they look. What kind of a role model will I be for my niece (who also happens to be my goddaughter), if I can't smile when someone calls me beautiful? Will I subconsciously teach her to be uncomfortable in her own skin? So I have thought long and hard about this. And that is going to be my resolution for this year. It's to be kinder to myself. I am a smart, funny, fun and ridiculously hyper individual. I am also a nice person. And I love the way I look.

ME :D :D 

Going back in time with your parents, Sholay style

For as long as I can remember, Sholay has been part of my life. Dad loves old movies and we would watch them together. Mum would roll her eyes when we would sit and watch Sholay for the "millionth time" and would shake her head and leave. When my grandparents were alive, my grandmother would sit in the corner and watch the movies along with us while pretending to pray and my grandfather would serenely sit on top of the divan and smile as I would react to every scene, every song. So, when I found out the movie was being screened in the big screen again I knew I had to drag my parents. Mum said no and then dad was worried about watching 3D with his glasses but then he changed his mind after watching all the promos and I booked tickets.

So, today, on a weekday evening, a boring Monday no else, the three of us walked down the street to the theatre to catch Sholay. I see my dad transform in front of my eyes. He goes from being just my dad to an excited young man. He is literally running because he is afraid of missing the first shot. He doesn't let my mom wear her shoes and even yells at me for messaging on the phone when I should have been hurrying after him. We enter the movie hall. There are about 15 other people along with us. Some of them young college kids and some my parents' age, eager to re-visit their past.

The movie begins. Mom and dad are completely engrossed. Dad leans over and whispers something to my mother. She giggles and whispers something back. He laughs hard when the jokes land and my mom shields her eyes when something bad happens. The two of them are lost. I feel like I am intruding into their space but they are lost in their own world. Amitabh Bachchan walks in, mom smiles despite herself. Hema Malini starts chatting too much and dad starts laughing harder. Both still remember the dialogues. Dad at one point yells the dialogue out loud unable to contain himself. The young college kids laugh and yell - "Uncle you're awesome". Dad laughs back in gratitude. I try to say something and mom shushes me. This scene is good, she sternly puts me down.

A pivotal flashback scene in the movie finds an entire family in peril in the hands of the famed dacoit, Gabbar Singh. Mom flinches and leans towards my dad. The scene plays out. They stare at the screen horrified, the way they probably were when they first saw the film. Dad looks at me and says - "When we first saw it, we just couldn't believe it. Nothing like this ever happened in Hindi films back then." Intermission time. Mum turns to me. She tells me how terrified she was when she first saw the movie. "It all felt so real. I felt so sad." Dad walks back with a glass of coffee. He seems to have forgotten to get me some water. Mom and dad share the same cup of coffee and whisper some more. I feel like I am by now forgotten.

Intermission ends. Enters the original item girl, Helen. Dad whispers something about Helen being hot to my mother. My mum in true mom style rolls her eyes and snorts. I laugh at the both of them, wondering how I hardly ever see this side of my parents anymore. They are oblivious to the rest of the world. The famous climax arrives. Mom sits there shivering. Dad is hugging himself, bracing for the one-two punch that the death of a major character brings. I am crying (I always cry at the end). Mum starts sniffing. Dad is just stoic and staring into the screen. I wonder how he felt when he saw it the first time. He after all practically hero-worshiped Amitabh Bachchan back in the day, long before I was even born. He doesn't speak a word.

The credits roll. We step out. I feel like I have never experienced a movie like this before. I ask one of the college kids to take a picture of me and my parents together. The kids look at my dad and ask him if he watched the movie in theatre when it released. "Yes," my father beams at them proudly. "It was nearly 40 years ago. I watched it in Bombay. I was a young man back then," he smiles nostalgically. Mom who is back in the real world, now drags him to the elevator before he launches on the story of how he watched Sholay for the first time. The three of us smile at each other. Dad thanks me for taking them. I say nothing. For some reason I am feeling emotional. I suddenly remember a conversation I had with someone my own age over the weekend. She said she judged my taste for wanting to watch the movie at all. She said her friends told her the movie was too boring and unrealistic. My parents' voices brings me back to the present time. Mum is telling my dad how authentic the movie felt. "Today everything is done on the computers. There are no real emotions. You just don't care when something happens on screen. Back then it was all so realistic. We felt every emotion. We were scared for the characters. They just don't make movies like that anymore." Dad nods his head vigorously in agreement. "They don't make movies like this anymore."

Saying goodbye to an unforgettable year, Uday Chopra and all

Oh what a year it has been. If ever there was a time in my life when I felt the need to quote Charles Dickens (it was the best of times, it was the worst of times), then this would be it. I learnt a lot about myself. I discovered a spine I never thought I had. I made new friends. I stood up to old ones who took advantage of me and cut out those who I thought were nothing more than negative influences in my life. I was even left a little heartbroken only to find myself being stronger than ever. Every time I found myself disenchanted due to life or job, I found a shiny pink Unicorn. I opened the Pandora's Box and found hope in the form of running. Found a new perspective and embraced myself for all the crazies I embody. I also re-discovered cycling again and found myself with a new passion. So all in all, I would say I had a fantastic year and I don't want it to end. Unlike the end of 2012, I am approaching 2014 with a fresh burst of energy. That said, I am a little sad to say goodbye to a few things from 2013. So I have made a list of them.

Uday Chopra, Shahrukh Khan
Uday Chopra quit acting. So finally the Bollywood gods listened to prayers and made it happen. But as the only person in this universe who watched Neel N Nikki in the theatres, I feel attached to this lump of muscle. I am going to miss ya Chopra man but please never come back to acting again. I watched Dhoom 3 and let me tell you, you still suck.
And Shahrukh, I will always love Raj from DDLJ but there was no cameo of Rajnikanth in Chennai Express. The movie sucked balls and could have used a little Rajni to be honest with you. Am saying goodbye to your future films (unless mom insists we watch them), and we shall always have DDLJ. Boss I really need to move on. Goodbye.

My cycle AKA Dennis Bergkamp
I love my Hercules Roadeo. I even dubbed him Bergkamp (the greatest Arsenal player of all time). But now I have decided to upgrade. So starting next year barring a few months, I shall be riding the city in a shiny new bike. But before that I intend to give Dennis Bergkamp a proper send-off and a nice home where he shall be loved. In that note, I was also sad to say goodbye to my first pair of "serious" running shoes (Structure 16 Nike). We went through a lot babe but I found a better fit :P

My hair straightener
For better or for worse, I have finally come to terms with my hair. It may be a thick mass of uncontrollable mess that constantly changes between being wavy, curly and straight, but it's mine. I love it. It's part of what makes me "me". No amount of fancy haircuts is going to a solve a problem like my hair (10 days after every haircut, it becomes the same length and same mess) but my hair represents me. I too am totally uncontrollable and completely unpredictable. And I am going to embrace that part of me and buy tons of hair scrunchies for the inevitable bad hair days.

My Robin van Persie magazine
So for over two years I have held onto this interview given by Arsenal traitor and all around jackass Robin van Persie. In that interview he promises he never dreams of leaving Arsenal and he's grateful to the fans and the club for sticking with him through years and years of injuries. I held onto the magazine because I held onto my unconditional hatred for RvP. Well, am saying goodbye to both. The magazine will find its place in the dustbin and I shall stop hating RvP. I shall always think of him as the worst kind of football vermin there is, but I have better things to do in life. But yes, I will always chuckle when he goes down the drain...which he will because he is the worst kind of human person there is (I am still allowed to hate him because it's still 2013 :P ). Ugh he is the worst. This is going to be a hard thing to say goodbye to :P