Indian Weddings – You can’t miss them!

These two words ‘Indian Weddings’ have been dangling in my mind for quite some time now and I have comported to the simple fact that without being amiably cynical about the innumerable ceremonies, this dim-witted brain wouldn’t rest in peace. Oh no! Don’t make that already bored face for I am not going to delineate the whole process from arranging a suitable partner to faring the bride well.

It’s been quite some time that my college dispatched me for home and God’s grace delivered me safe to my place. Some questions are implied and their answers are more. What I am next planning to put forth is a question which might greet you with an impish smile on your face owing to its own tint of obviousness, but trust me, the answer will not be that straight forward! Why do people go home? Oh no! We have more than a dozen issues to chew our gums on and so we wouldn’t, precisely, list all the possible reasons. But let me add just one more to your drop down menu. To attend weddings. No, it’s not the wedding of your real brother or any other cousin that is being talked about here, just casual weddings. You grasp that? Weddings, which are very unfussy to us, but only theoretically.   

So, we are going to attend the wedding of some uncle’s daughter, who snubbed us as a kid, whose name we find hard to recall when asked by some other acquaintance, whose birth did not brighten us even 1% of how much the wedding does and who did not even choose to be a passive part of our lives until this day,  but ‘The Book on Social Relations’, without any relaxation, says, that if any person walks into your house to invite you with a white card in his hand, gaudily shouting the names of two more morons falling into the marriage pit, there is no reason why even one member of your house should stay back when the couple is being blessed out there, in an overpriced marriage garden. In a country like ours, where talking about the person gains precedence over talking to the person, happenings in the neighborhood are more significant additions to the knowledge than happenings in the family, and Sharma ji’s bahu fascinates us more than ours, there is very little thought left to be attended to, of whether or not to be present at the wedding ceremony. 

Now, one thing which is absolutely beyond the comprehensive capabilities of any human mind is, how can, possibly, the marriage of two people, comfortably unnoticed all this while, stir so much of gossip only from the point they decide to be life partners? You go to a foreign land. You won’t find them talking about you 24 hours a day because that’s just not the way they have been brought up! As effortless as that. But we Indians, yes each one of us, are so accustomed to chitchatting about the littlest of the most unfussy things that we often lose track of our own lives! This, anyway, is a different issue altogether to be dealt with, in a separate post. Here we were talking about the mystical ways in which weddings are Indianized solely by the people attending it, whom you only call for a supper or you think so. 

In every wedding, you are doomed to find a gaudy group of ladies, less interested in the current wedding, more in fixing yours. WHY? I ask, why? It is pretty hell to bypass this group, more so, if you have just crossed your teens. You gift them a respectable Namaste and You are next is your return gift. They expect you to blush for a while, fake of course, and then give your humble consent so that their eternal hunt for your soul-mate can make its way; and given the generation you are born in, more probable than not, you have given your consent to somebody already and so you just keep smiling like an absolute idiot! Well, that again, is a different track altogether irrelevant to the flow of ideas already trapped in here.

So, Aunties! These aunties already have some Mandawat’s or Verma’s son/daughter in their heads which they will, very subtly roll over the ongoing talks to put into your ears and trust me; they WILL make sure you sense the hint. And you always thought education brought in smartness, right? Now another thing which is carefully designed by them is, the filters. Filters, as in, the basis on which they selected 20 out of a whole blessed list of 100. You don’t know the 20, you didn’t know the 100 either! You see, the entire process has been on for quite some time. Now, just wait till the number drops down from 20 to 1. So, next time you are insistent upon proclaiming that nothing is free, make sure you exclude thoughts, imaginations and gossips. Not very surprisingly, the filter in my case turns out be height and of course, education for Engineering still is a degree for them! Amused?

Well, another attribute these days. As a sign of modernity, they will prefer recommending partners for you, especially male counterparts who reside in a foreign land or have spent good 3 4 years in there, pursuing a course. Ladka America me settled hai and then the smirk on the face as if that is the dead end to all the miseries in life. Aunty jee, that is not! But frankly enough, there lies no point in cribbing for you can’t really prevent someone from talking especially when he/she is advising you, for one thing and is 20-30 years elder, for another.

This looks long for one read, pretty that. On a very light note, so many noteworthy things go unnoticed for we have shut our hearts and brains to the many interpretations of one single gesture or even a remark, maybe.

Even if you are associated in the least possible sense to a wedding, you can still have a pretty good time only by observing people. A laugh doesn’t ask for more.

Many more appealing facts wait to be interpreted a bit differently only to make the atmosphere light. But as of now, what looks good is a well deserved break to the post.

Keep attending weddings.
‘Coz that’s precisely all, you are in India for!

-Anubha 

Feb 3, 2013

     

                

A Wrong Mistake

Many fantasies were unscathed, there you lined up once,

And I was almost sure of my life taking no such turn,

Until you knocked on the door wearing that smile,

Only to observe the distance between our worlds shrinking by a mile,

All apathies confiscated, all strangeness dissolved,

By that sole look of yours, an adolescent was born.

Your past wrangles with me, I conjure to overlook,

For nothing seems stronger facing my yearning for you.

Been betrayed too often, I fancy to falsify the fall,
But warnings barely help, for I cannot control.
You must be the dream of many; there is no reason against,

And so you spurred another dream, there are no amendments.

Abandon my world for nothing sets free my insecurity,

And that I’d be sure of your words; is a distant possibility.

No matter how much I wish, please do not say a word untrue,

For a buoyant heart then, would write your name even in dew.

Lie down, unwind and go back to yesterday,

For the smile you shared with her,
Tickled a tear somewhere, the least to say.

It was my silent gaze into your eyes,

An impulsive up thrust of love, it seemed,   

I sensed you near; I held you close, when

A dream came true, in my dreams.

When someone loitered for long at the door,

You shouldn’t have tapped and drifted apart. 

You shouldn’t have stroked a hopeful heart.     

Growing Up

Examining the topic in its very literal sense, let me just share what all went into my growing up. The very notion of being the youngest fellow at home is not always cuddling, and I sure would have loved to prove, had one got a choice. Irrespective of the innumerable tiny tots who then addressed me as Didi in school, at home, I was always found chasing my brother for every little thing. From learning to signalling an out in the game of cricket, to dripping my first ink pens, it is him; I have always looked up to. Each day we drooled back from school, I always had him to fascinate me with his school talks, for he is a boy, one thing, and two years elder, another. With not much difficulty, I can gather we were supposed to be studying in one room, with the door open, for the simple reason of surprise raids by our parents. And without much amazement, their doubt never deceived them. Till the fifth grade, my mother hardly remembers me doing anything other than the Cursive writing, that too erasing most of the time, and the gentleman on the other table would be found examining the nibs of his pens. With time and over arguments of the type was-just-going-to-start stopped hitting her ears, for her nagging had stopped hitting ours.  

Even after drinking water 7 times and going to washroom over 3, that one hour bit us both like anything. The only promising thought that kept me erasing was the play time thereafter. Again, until the teens, I had no one to look up to except my brother to have me along with him. Apart from the tiny eyes filled with innocence and legs fitted with shoes promising to run miles to pick up his ball, he always needed my dad’s strict recommendation or rather pressurisation to take me along, or entertain me alone, had he to make a choice between his friends and me for he was way too ashamed of his not-so-talented sister playing within a group of six to seven boys. But orders were orders. Grumbling, he had to stay back at times, but that’s just the way things were then. Reflecting back today, it is tough to say if I had done the same or anything even comparable to that and foreseeing at the same time, it is tougher for him to make the same statement today. Back then, choices made with so little thought also never charged, and today decisions made after years of ponder also lead us nowhere. What has changed so much?

Now, one can’t deny that the younger child is always the more pampered one, and so was I, maybe a little more. And one can’t beat the elders when you talk of teaching the skills of escaping parents’ signatures on class tests and the fact that Youngers do it more cleanly and furtively, is another point you all got to agree with. To me the story was too short stretched. On getting two out ten (Mind you, I am talking of second class, when getting even half a mark less than full was something that called on for more labour), I could think of no better an idea of surviving than copying my mother's signature. After practicing it at the back page of almost every copy, chanting God’s name I finally rubbed my pen on the final page too. It somehow resembled the original. And I was more than halfway through the plan until my brother recognised the fake sign, one fine day while going through my test copies. Obviously, within a minute my entire ancestral family was well-informed of their extra-ordinarily smart girl. Too cool of my Mom, for her only concern was why her signature and not daddy’s! I wanted to shout out at my brother, for he was no outstanding a student, and that I too had helped him hide his copies in the travel bags, not once, not twice but many times for one has to agree that no matter what, half a mark out of 5, or maybe 4 out of ten are equally bad. But the only reaction which left me speechless was that of my father's. He kept silent till my mother was done with her growling and brother with his had-I-not-checked-her-copy expression, and spoke serenely after that- My scolding or not will not make any difference. She is a grown up girl now. Till she thinks she is right, I am quiet.

Though his eyes sprinkled with that joy of being blessed with a talent that could copy her mother's signature at such a tender age, I knew deep down somewhere his heart questioned the values he had imparted to us or if he really had any, for that matter. His silence that day said it all, while my mother's furious words solely added to my rage.

That day I learnt about the deception of smiles and tears and maybe got the very first indication of growing up.

As time passed by, I stepped into my teens, where the first thing I realised was that everything I wanted to do and eventually refrained myself from doing, did not have the fear of my mom’s scolding anymore. The reasons for holding back had changed and maybe some priorities too. 

Then, at some abrupt point of time you realise that life has ceased itself to answer any question of yours. True. Go ahead. And you shall learn that more often than not the only consoling tap is that of Happens. One should never expect his needs to be catered to at his one ring of a bell. But, who desists to expect? I myself am pondering over this, but someone had once said, not expecting anything in lieu of your good deeds is also an expectation.

I don’t remember lying much to my brother, and I predict he doesn’t remember not doing so. With chocolates in hand, while both the siblings decide to have it right then, it is only the younger one who naively signs the treaty and after consuming his share, realises an hour later that the elder one still has his, waiting to dance on his tongue. That feeling of being betrayed is worse than being ditched by your lover on the day of your marriage, trust me. As some more years passed, I incurred no harm in concluding that two levels in this world are unattainable, one, the level to which a sister entrusts her brother and the other, the level to which a brother doubts his sister.

No matter how much I grow up, how much ever mature I may seem to the outside world, this single world ‘youngest’ is always going to overrule all my maturity. While my brother has constantly been instilled with a sense of responsibility, maybe because both my parents are working, I wonder if in his L.K.G. also he thought of himself as anyone minor to the President.

One never ceases to grow, on should not, in fact. But let me just say, in this process, is there anything that we are leaving behind? Are we, today, aware of how heavily we are paying for growing up? Think. Well, chuck, for want or not, this is the need of the hour. Grow up.

  

  

The Last Hug

Walking beside you with an unrivaled trust,

Treasuring the last moments, for soon part we must,

Rupture the silence; I am looking up to you,

For this might never overpower again, a feeling so true,

Those few words, I have longed to hear from you,

Right time long passed by, I am still waiting in woe.

Failing to accept what I want to, a strange state of unrest,

For who’s a criminal, until confessed?

People share laughs, people share tears,

Who could ever have known, we shared the same fears.

Being left with ‘God is rude’ and statements like that,

Time passed in a blackout and there started the flashback,

A journey that had no beginning, a journey that met no end,

And before the present could come, we sneaked into past tense.

So strong I struggle to stand, memories again make me slip,

Moments tough to let go are tougher to stand with.

I remember your last smile and it still rips my soul apart,

I remember the last hug, unwilling to let go of the past,

With moist eyes today, I think of myself as a fool,

For I naively thought it meant, you wanted to see me soon.

I will comprehended this silence one day, no matter how tough,

But for all I know today is,

That sometimes being one is also not close enough. 

Too Hefty A Price?

‘When we were kids, we gushed outside in the evening. As restless tots, it was tough sitting at home and most of the time we played games you never have heard of and, sadly, will never do.’

‘When we were kids, going outdoors meant to coaching centers. Yes, it was tough sitting at home and most of the time we remember rushing our vehicles from one tutor to another, learning things we have never used, and sadly, will never do.’ 

What definitive grounds to take pride on. We, without chewing any gum, owe the above transition of statements to the unprecedented competition and of course, the unabated power of time. Who, in our grandparents’ era, must have even had the slightest of the ideas that outdoor games would soon be replaced by the frantic schedule of the coaching centers, the bats and balls with the ‘Speed Maths’ and ‘Basic Physics’ at such tender ages, the childlike stress less smiling faces with spectacle laden dull robots, and Rajan’s house with a huge luring building of some coaching institute. The times have changed, or more so, the climes. Two three years back, nothing seemed so demented so as to hint me that within no time I’d have to quote things of my childhood with a prefix ‘In our times’. But today if I don’t, would they even manage to get the ABCs of the issue being discussed?

So, ‘In our times’, a parent had to rationalize the extra help being provided to his child in the form of tuitions. My father had a tough time justifying even my 10^th class test series in Mathematics. After having me enrolled into one, I wonder if he even considered me capable enough to appear for the boards. A massive tide of water has swept the old notions, and the new ones are occupying the space so hastily that one is left not with a choice but accept them. One doesn’t intend to denigrate the education being offered by the coaching institutes; maybe that’s exactly what the need of the hour is, aptly what the ever increasing competition calls for, but give me just one second of your life to calmly and impartially think upon this question: Is this education worth a childhood?

Stories of kids going to coaching institutes since their 4^th grade or maybe 5^th, aren’t new. They rarely manage to astound a person these days. ‘You Dream, We Fulfill’. Yes, yes, you aren’t a bit wrong in guessing the ‘we’ here; the million lane flooding institutes. The fees of a coaching institute is not 50,000, it’s a childhood.

Who has not heard the childhood stories of their parents form their own mouths? Of course, we all have. And no matter how much ego we have to shed in agreeing to the fact, that theirs was a more carefree time, we all do. Some of the incidents narrated by my father are hard to get through, but that’s where the real fun lies. Imagine, someone finding it hard to believe that something as crazy as what you did, could also be done. Flying kites is fun for us, making the strong thread used for flying the kites with sharp glass in screeching sun, was for them. This is where the metaphorical difference lies. One surely doesn’t expect a person to make threads out of glass but there is no harm in expecting the same happy-go-lucky attitude. Going back, are these coaching institutes demanding too much of a child? Too much, too early? Is being an IITian commendable if the child is being trained unabated for 6-7 years? Are we conscious of the fact that this is not the same as ‘going to lengths for realizing our passion’? When they grow up, will these kids ever know that there is a world beyond course books, and that strangely enough, it did exist even when they were stuck with the concepts of force and momentum? Where are we heading? These grey and white haired people think not a second before cursing the social networking sites for snatching the real world from today’s youth. Could they, for a change, tilt a bit and think in this direction too, of who is to be blamed for the present scenario?

I am not trying to defend the online world (I would love to, though), but till when are we going to be ruled by the old ideology of ‘No matter how much you study, it is always less’, and always blame the advancement in technology for whatever seems to be going the wrong way? It is not as true as it seems. Wait for the right time. It is not only not right but wrong to pay 100$ for a 2$ commodity.

Whatever you do, at the back of your head be aware, that someday you’d be narrating each incident as a story to your kids. Make sure, you do not invite mockery, or even worse, a pitiful laugh. Trust me, there will be no point repenting then. How about considering your deeds, now?  

Awaken! The Breaths Are Numbered

Living in the present doesn't fascinate any more. And the not-so-proved ability of time to mend things in another due course of time seems questionable. But there still is one tranquil thing that calms waves inside you, the thought that from this point on, things can’t get worse. When everything is already at the apex of a mess, there is only direction they can move in now, getting better. Everything happens for a reason, but, by now, haven’t we all realized that this bloody life is too short to comprehend the hidden reasons every time? I mean, at the end of the day, the deeds are human, the expectations are human, the heart is human, we are humans. And no amount of Godly anticipation can ever overlook this fact. In the world we live in, everything is limited. And it is not the inadequacy of resources of nature that demands attention but the exhaustive tendency of resources of mankind. Love, care, and the power to understand. The fundamental resources of mankind. I don’t say that these resources have decayed over time; I rather say they were and they are ‘limited’ to emphasize their incomplete availability since the beginning of the human era. Not obviously visible though, there is some degree of constraint that these attach to their otherwise boundless flow. Not much in the temper of going into the intricate details of this, I randomly switch to what’s beyond the discontentment. What queues up when these resources fail to sustain a person’s emotional survival? In utter disappointment too, what is it that you keep struggling for? Life. Just one more second to live before you die? Okay. Now another one? And one more? and more and more. If one comes to think of it, this sudden eruption of the want to live is, in fact, ironical because the only thing you had ever wanted while you were alive was death. For no matter how much you deny, you never really seemed content with all what you had and all what you were. Then why the hell do you crave for each passing moment when death approaches? Is it the distinction between hell and heaven that you were made to believe in, in your primes? Or is it the mere thought of life after death that scares the shit out of you? In the first place, let us just discuss why are we even afraid of death? Ever thought that life could indeed be superior up in there? They say,’ bless you my child, may you live a thousand more years’. I say; if you love me truly, wish me death.  

But no, not everyone is afraid of death because of the probable reasons stated above. I have some more to raise my hands on, some more to point my fingers to. With this confused state of mind, isn’t it easily understandable that you might never have realized the reason of your very existence? How many of us have a clear proposal of why we ever were born in the first place, when millions of them, supposedly like us, already existed? If studying class by class and then being paid decently was the sole motive behind your being thrown on earth despite the existence of many, then probably I would have solved the purpose better than you, and you, therefore, would not have been considered necessary at all. You have a special purpose. And when that gets defeated, death seems untimely. Look beyond the obvious-looking-default reasons. I know we all must have felt this, but have we ever made a person realize that his presence is felt and that, absence even more? This was your purpose of being alive. Ever told a person you love him without expecting an affirmative nod in return? This was your purpose of being alive. Ever even thought of fighting the good fight with the world instead of fighting with your own inner self just for the sake of convincing somehow? This was your purpose of being alive. Instead of defying the purposes, live up to them. Isn’t it ironical, again, that we spend our lives not doing what we really aspire to, and later repenting that we did not do what we aspired to. A slap on both the cheeks. And the worse, with our own hands!

It is not the life after death that you are afraid of (you might not even be convinced if there is any), but the truth that you disobeyed the Holy Spirit in your first life. What do you confront him with, now? Isn’t life cruel enough to bother about the whipping part? Can we, for a change, take charge of the remaining?

Be sure, there is life after death. Be sure, you will have enough time then to live like the dead. Be sure, the period would be sufficient. Be sure.

For no one is sure of how much time you will be required to wander like the dead, but one is quite certain that you have not much time to spring like the animate.

Awaken. Awaken. Time is malicious and death is approaching to tutor you the meaning of life. 

Home Sweet Home. Seriously?

Day? Don’t know. Date? Don’t care. Month? Probably May. Time? 2 A.M. Eyes? Wide open. Ears? Plugged. Hair? Messy. Face? Smiling. Cause? Probably some ‘awww’ scene in a movie.

Oh, no, it’s not your slip. Even the last person who read the post thought that it was ‘he’ who was being portrayed so accurately. And bizarre, as it may sound, this is not any hostel scene that I am talking of, for neither did I mention any group of juniors howling in the corridor in their typical local dialect nor did I illustrate the wretched condition of your hostel room, which I assume is worse than that at home (a risky presumption though but the only back bone to the supposition is the omnipresence of that divine lady in your house, You mother). It is solely the virtual tranquility that you create around yourself while you are supposedly working on your laptop with the earphones plugged in, that has been subjected to analysis here. So, I am home since the past few days, nearly 20 (Oh come on! 20 on 80 ARE fucking few days only) and I am almost ready with the sword to chop off your head for your immediate question ‘What’s up with the vacations?’ along with that sarcastic how-useless smile of yours, is really going to stir my blood hot. Sincerely, you might have but I still have not forgotten the primary meaning of holidays. Weren’t they supposed to be an unambiguous synonym of enjoyment and relaxation? No? What went wrong then? Ah! Forget it. This is altogether a different issue that we are getting into. As of now, I would go on with sharing my vacation experiences and would indeed be glad to make you jump off your chair shouting ‘Same here!’.  

No jokingly, I am tired of standing this one accusation almost daily:

‘You no longer qualify to live at home. You are drenched in the hostel air completely and this routine of yours does not fit in for a decent and mannered stay at home’. Dammit, throw me out then! I mean what do they even mean by putting this allegation on me that I do not qualify? I am sure they didn’t expect me to click on some ‘I accept the terms and conditions’ button below some page titled ‘I will now stay at home for 82 days, 7 hours, 6 minutes and 4 seconds.’!
But here is something I have in for you, something that each of us should strictly follow without any why(s), something that should, no would, ease our long stay at home:

·         No matter how fresh, I shall drool and swing and dribble and sway like a sleep deprived fellow from 10:30 P.M. at night, leaving my parents assured that the first and the only thing I’d do on entering my room is doze and dream (decently).

·          If I am unable to get up latest by 8 in the morning, the only thing that I will mummer in the subconscious state is the same old reason justifying my sleep overshoot which says that I could not sleep properly at night and there is some why because of which I was tossing on the bed till 3 with my room lights off (very important clause), so their might should spare me.

·         I will not jump off my chair out of the sheer happiness inflicted upon me by marks such as 11 on 75, for they are supposed to be failing marks. At such occasions, I would hide the happiness of getting double digit marks by silently sitting in a room till my parents actually recall that I had got something similar (a little more though) in the previous semester too and that I had passed that course and quite decently at that. It is only after that, that I am officially released to live the unexpected.

·         When on calls, I will try not to tease the person on phone by the name of his/her crush, if some humanly inquisitive body in around. Still, if it gets irresistible, I shall inquire civilly with words like ‘How’s your friend doing?’ or ‘How is John?’. Being straight helps at times and I know that I am 20 only because someone is 40 and has had it all. I will not act over smart, every time.

·         I will not smile constantly looking down into the cell. I will, however, secretly wonder how my teachers are more understanding in this regard. Though I will expect them to understand, that had the thing being shareable; I would never have smiled so naughtily, I will keep calm and not retaliate at them accusing them of bugging in my privacy.

·         Apart from all these, I will not enjoy any romantic song limitlessly. I will not stress on a particular line of a song vehemently. I can always feel the butterflies within though.

(On our way back to home, the song ‘pyaar deewana hota hai, mastaana hota hai’ was being played late night in our car and singing loudly, as I always am, I stressed on something as risky as, ‘aa hi jaata hai jispe dil aana hota hai’. Trust me; it isn’t a very good idea to rejoice every time.
#100%TrueStory.)

With this, I sign off for this post. Try implementing them; at least a few for vacations still have a long way to go. Don’t take anything for granted. For everything isn’t as innocent as your facebook status,
<3 Home sweet home <3

Keep Smiling for this world is beautiful when you do! :)   

(Do leave in a comment. You never know that might just be the inspiration for something as great as never before.)