Imtiaz Ali: 10 Years, 10 Commandments

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26th October marked the 10th(?!) anniversary of the cult, multiple-viewings-demanding ‘Jab We Met’, a film that demonized ganne ke khet, made us wonder if Manjeet is really impotent and taught self-love to a generation of girls by gifting them #MainApniFavouriteHoon as a forever caption for their Insta selfies. A decade has gone past since then, during which we’ve been on the glorious receiving end of 5.5 more of Imtiaz Ali’s films (counting Cocktail).

Forgive me if this sounds like a Lifetime Achievement Award opening line, but this is a director who continues to have an indelible mark on our collective psyche. Regardless of whether you’re a creator looking for a muse, an unrequited lover, a lost girl looking for her place in the world, or just someone who likes to find themselves in a universe inhabited by characters that are real, but shimmer just slightly with an otherworldly glow, Imtiaz Ali films have a line, a nod just for you.

Did I say Universe? Scratch that, I meant a multiverse. All of Imtiaz Ali’s films (yes, even Jab Harry Met Sejal for you cynical lot) occupy vastly different spaces, but are bound together by a certain sentiment, a singular feel from the Creator, which is called ‘The Imtiaz Ali touch’, for lack of a better term. Watching his movies is like entering the world of the white bedsheet that Heer drapes over Jordan to shut out the world. It’s a world of no rules, no artificiality, no villains, where reality’s rough edges are softened and the prosaic makes way for the profound.
The commonalities that Imtiaz Ali films share have been discussed ad nauseum. I do have a sneaking suspicion that in his mandatory ‘If I were Prime Minister for a day’ school essay, Imtiaz Ali wrote ‘I will outlaw arranged marriage and banish all fiances’. Breathtaking locales, dazzling music,metaphorical travel, deep RUMInations, Punjabphilia, and existential dilemmas aside, there is a laundry list of things, tenets if you will, that can be gleaned from his all his films. I am spurred to list these down today in a Moses-esque moment. You can join me on this (long winding, I’m afraid) journey if you will.

1. Baby you should go and love yourself

If Karan Johar implored us to love our families, Imtiaz Ali tells us that it all begins with oneself. No I’m not uttering the Main apni favourite hoon war cry again (it’s inspiring only so many times), but other Imtiaz characters have paved the way for self love too. Veera freed herself from the clutches of the past and started loving herself, in the bargain giving Mahabir too, a modicum of self acceptance. Ved also navigates the swamp of his childhood complexes to emerge as a success story comfortable in his own skin. The cutesy Viren and Aditi, through their love for each other, finally realized their worth instead of settling for the first good thing that arrived their way. Tara loves herself enough to walk away from her dream man when he turns out to be a mirage. When people say Imtiaz Ali movies are love stories, this is what I take away - loving oneself is paramount, and undisputable.

2. Don’t make history your favourite subject

If Heer focused solely on her background, she would never have experienced Jungli Jawaani. If Mahabir didn’t let go of his past, he would still have abused and rejected Veera’s love. Veera stopped seeing herself as a victim of someone else’s viciousness and created a life that called out to her. Aditya Kashyap released not just his mother, but himself from the weight of her choices. Your past may well shape you and your world view, without taking away your power of not letting it define you, and sculpting a life that you want for yourself.

3. Love doesn’t conjure perfection

Love in real life is imperfect, love on Indian celluloid is mostly glittery and perfect, between puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly and fight against a common pyaar ka dushman. Now look at love in Imtiaz Ali films. It is messy, far from perfect, forbidden, childish, one sided, obsessive, unexpected, even a love springing from Stockholm syndrome. Love doesn’t magically solve all problems; in fact it creates more, and in Mahabir’s case, gets him killed. Humans are the corner puzzle pieces and our love stories don’t always make sense. But just like in real life, it’s always worth it.

4. Throw your calculator away

A relationship is a crucible of power imbalance. A quote in Shantaram goes, “Love is the opposite of power. That's why we fear it so much.” Imtiaz Ali movies ask you not to fear it. Loving more is not a weakness, it’s borderline heroic. You can be like Tara and love more in the face of humiliation and hurt, or like Meera who loves Jai enough to let him find his way back to her. As Aditya says to Geet, ‘Tu mujhe bohot pasand hai, par wo meri problem hai’. Love is a choice we make at every step, and wearing your heart on your sleeve with all accompanying risks is the only way to love. No character says “If you love me, you’ll do ABC for me’, because true love doesn’t hinge on ultimatums.

5. Surrender

Since I’m on a Shantaram streak, another quote says, ‘Sometimes, you have to surrender before you win’. This rings true for Imtiaz Ali characters in all his films. And I’m not talking about surrendering to love, I mean surrendering to one’s own truth. Ved surrenders to the truth of his core, Harry surrenders to the innocence of Sejal, Mahabir surrenders to his fate and the tenderness in himself, Jordan and Heer surrender to finding lost parts of themselves in the other. Tara literally gets down on her knees in front of Ved. Sky high walls keep you safe, all the while shielding you from the best life has to offer. So give up control, or the illusion of it, and be lead to your destiny. I’m not saying this, he is.

6. Kooky is cool

We don’t like our leading ladies and gents flawed. Sure, hamartias and heroic flaws are welcome, but not human shortcomings. Imtiaz Ali is having none of that. Jordan is unspeakably arrogant and obsessive, Ved’s upbringing manifests itself in bipolarish ways, Heer is depressed, and the lyrics for ‘Heer To Badi Sad Hai’ in Tamasha are a dead ringer for depression too. Geet is a Pollyanna if you look closely. Harry is a sexual deviant(?) aka he’s every third guy on Tinder. The point is, I love how synapses and neurons of Imtiaz Ali characters don’t always fire normally, and they might be label enthusiasts might say they have mental disorders. This doesn’t make them outcasts or crazy, it just makes them as human as the next person. And yet, they are the protagonists that we love and admire so dearly, not despite, but because of their flaws and idiosyncrasies. Imtiaz Ali - making kooky cool since 2005.

7. Samaaj with a pinch of salt

Ever notice how all Imtiaz Ali characters have aberrant traits? Ved steals loose change from his dad, Heer drinks Narangi and has an extramarital affair, Aditi runs away from her own engagement, Jordan beats up reporters and Mahabir, well, is a straight up criminal. These people fall short of society’s expectations of being ‘good’ people, and still script their own redemption and a happy ending. In our lives too, ‘samaaj’ is a faceless entity to enforce manufactured morality. If you need a shot of courage to be deaf to ‘log kya kahenge’ and listen to your heart like Geet, help yourself to an Imtiaz Ali movie marathon. You will come out on the other side of it not looking for your neighbour uncle's validation for your life choices.

8. No if, no butt, only gut

This is an extension of the earlier point. In almost every Imtiaz Ali movie, you witness the line ‘XYZ karke mujhe achha lag raha hai’, or ‘Mujhe aisa pehle kabhi nahi laga’. This happy feeling can come from burning a photo, sneaking off to Goa, falling in love with someone’s fiancee, kissing someone’s ahem...wife, getting kidnapped, dancing with strangers, etc. Don’t try any of these at home, but the bottomline is that if something feels good and makes you happy, just take the plunge and do it. Moments that make you feel truly alive, awed or happy are hard to come by, so don't let them whoosh past you. You might have a thousand reasons not to do something, but the one illogical voice that tells you to follow your gut, is the one you should be listening to.

9. Women are..well, people

You may disagree with me after watching Jab Harry Met Sejal, but the dismantling of tropes about women is possibly my favorite part about Imtiaz Ali films. Starting with Geet destroying the ‘akeli ladki = khuli tijori’ uncle, to making fun of the sharam being aurat ka gehna in Tamasha, these films wave a feminist flag in their own style. On a more sombre note, Veera stops being a silent pyaari gudiya at the end of Highway, and Sejal plays coy while declaring that she’s using Harry to look for the ring in the same beat. Women in Imtiaz Ali films are in control of their destiny for a substantial part, by having the freedom to make their choices and more importantly, their mistakes. His female protagonists are a shiny knight for themselves and others, all while retaining the charm of a princess.

10. Love's a stop, not the destination

‘Imtiaz Ali has written the best love stories of this generation’, is high praise indeed, though it might be a little off the mark. A conventional ‘happy ending’ that ends at the altar is not what his protagonists are hankering for. His stories are about the deeply personal and momentous epiphanies that all of us search for. Each character in an Imtiaz Ali film has a growth trajectory that’s separate from their romantic journey. Sure, love is the alchemist, which is a far cry from other stories where love is the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. From Janardhan Jakhar to Ved, from Jai and Meera to Veera and Harry to Sejal, each of them evolve right in front of our eyes. Geet, who has 'shaadi karne ka bada shauk' also doesn't find her true love's kiss before she finds herself. They try and succeed in being better versions of themselves, not just better lovers. That the new and improved 2.0 characters succeed at love is important, but not the mainstay of the journey. We could all take a cue from his stories and invest in and commit to ourselves before looking for someone to share ourselves with.

Imtiaz Ali movies are perfect for rewatching, marking out your favourite scenes, quoting dialogues fit for all occasions, and listening to the epic soundtracks that endure very well through time. (P.S.: Radha from JHMS has unashamedly been my work track since August). They’re great friends (like the best books), which you can go back to at any time at any scene, and come back with fresh insights and entertainment. A solid decade of watching Imtiaz Ali movies has left me with these 10 commandments. They might seem like the obvious way of life if you think hard enough, but why do the thinking when they have been distilled so beautifully on celluloid for us? Kyuki Imtiaz Ali hamesha correct baat bol dete hai Jaaneman!

Which are your favourite parts of an Imtiaz Ali film? Let the discussion begin :)  

Images Source: Google

Tea'ching about Tea Cultures

To say that I like tea would be an understatement. I don’t know exactly when or how my love affair with tea grew. Maybe it was the cup of tea had with family, not just in the morning but at any time of the day. Or the cutting chai that was my oasis in the middle of a heavy work day. Or the Iced tea I had during dinner with friends because that was one of the only drinks you could be assured of in a restaurant. Tea became and continues to be my go-to drink, more than it’s more glamorous cousin - coffee.

For the last few years though, green tea has had the majority of my attention. A work day is incomplete without green tea, and I try out new flavours and brands of green tea with an unmatched zeal.

So naturally, I was thrilled to get my hands on the Tea Culture of the World hamper with a sampling of their various teas. The first thing that struck me was the packaging. The tea came in a beautiful wooden box with the brand name engraved on it. Little touches like these is what assures a tea lover like me that these are folks who take their tea seriously. I didn’t open the box for a long time, wanting to keep the thrill of opening the wonderful box like a gift for myself later. I told you I was crazy about tea!

But I shouldn’t have waiting. 8 varieties of tea in bright coloured sachets greeted me cheerfully. No seriously, there is great packaging and then there is tea packaging that perks you up even without drinking the tea. The tea samples I received were:

1. Rooibos - A South African tea with delicious colour and taste

2. Sencha - Japanese green tea with seaweed. Exotic much?

3. Oolong - Needs no introduction

4. Imperial White - White tea with a hint of jasmine

5. Earl Grey - The famed black tea

6. Darjeeling - One of India’s hero teas

7. Kashmiri Kahwa - Green tea and spices, anyone?

8. Chamomile - When chamomile and green tea get married

Being partial to green tea, I tried Sencha, Kashmiri Kahwa and Rooibos first and the rest followed soon. Another testament to the great packaging - a silken tea bag which allowed me a look and whiff of the teas I tasted even before I made them. The Kashmiri Kahwa tea bag had bits of cardamom and other spices along with the green tea.

So here’s what I loved about the Tea Culture of the World teas. 

The Rooibos is one of my favourites and a definite indulgence for me in the future too. The first impression is the colour, and the rich Rooibos’ colour reminds me of red earth. The taste is at once wholesome, a little bit of tart and lots of flavour bursting with every sip. In fact, I’m writing this blog post with a huge tea kettle of Rooibos for company. (Cups and mugs are for amateurs, and drinking straight from the kettle is the reason I don't have too many photos of the tea in action)

Sencha combined the best of both worlds - the familiarity of green tea with the exciting hint of seaweed. It feels like wellness in a cup, with its soothing flavour and taste. The colour is a big plus, much richer than the ones that I get with regular green tea bags. 

The Oolong Tea feels like straddling two worlds together. It felt like the perfect midway between a green and black tea, which will you warm you right up. I guess Oolong is not everyone’s cup of tea (geddit?) and is an acquired taste to develop, so if you’re looking to try it out, the Tea Culture of the World one is the one you need to pick up, as it will give you a great taste of what awaits you in the Oolong world. 

Now let’s come to the Earl Grey. It’s a tea that genuinely doesn’t need an explanation, but this one does. The Earl Grey from Tea Culture of the World justifies all the superlatives bestowed upon this classic. Not adding anything to the tea once it was brewed allowed me to appreciate the quality of the leaf, and in all honesty made me feel sophisticated and classy. ☺

Imperial White sounds a little intimidating, no? Don’t be thrown off by the name though, it is one of the best and most delicate teas I’ve tasted in my life. The experience starts when you open the tea bag and dunk it in hot water. The room fills up with the fragrance of jasmine. After the trailer of the fragrance, the taste of the Imperial White makes for a beautiful sensory experience. Since it’s a white tea, you can expect a delicate flavour that can pick you up on a morning, or help you wind down after a long day. The jasmine fragrance is unmissable but not overwhelming, making this a tea to experience, not describe. 

Since we’re on the topic of floral fragrances, Chamomile is another of my favourites from the hamper. I’ve had quite a few chamomile teas (thanks to my late nights), so I wasn’t expecting any surprises. Well, the chamomile tea from Tea Culture of the World was quite top notch. The flavour of chamomile is very pronounced, and the quality of the tea is the first thing that puts you at ease. It’s a brew that does what it promises - relaxes you and helps you unwind. 

I won’t write anything about Darjeeling as anything I write will have already be written. Just that if your style of drinking black tea is to douse it generously with milk and sugar, this Darjeeling will open your eyes to the wonder of drinking tea as is - brewed just right without the need for sugar or milk, just tasting the flavour of the hills in a cup.

The Kashmiri Kahwa is a fascinating drink for me, though I’m still on the fence about the time I’d like to have it. I’ve felt that it suits the times of hunger cravings the best, as the spices in the concoction make the tea full bodied enough to fulfill any desire to eat that I may have. 

Looks like I can’t stop writing about teas any more than I can stop drinking them. Apart from these individual qualities that make Tea Culture of the World teas amazing, there are a couple of more things I’d like to point out. First, great work with the packaging, as I mentioned before. The tea bag sachets also have lucid instructions on how to prepare the teas, and useful pointers about the benefits of each tea, which adds to the feel good factor. Also, I’d like to confess that I mostly use a tea bag not for a cup or mug of tea, but for a whole kettle of tea, around 400-450 ml of water at the minimum. These tea bags held their flavour, colour and taste even in that quantity of water as much as a mug of water, which is saying something about their quality.

Wrapping up this tea party, Tea Culture of the World is the proper place for a tea lover like me to unleash their tea obsession and have it rewarded with some of the best teas you can find. I’m going to go explore their signature blends and floral teas as soon as I’m done with this batch. Stay Beauteaful!

Dear Ganpati Bappa, we need to talk. Period.

Old picture as I couldn't click one this year

Hi Ganpati Bappa, Happy Ganesh Chaturthi and welcome to our city, our country and our hearts. Everywhere I turn, I can see, hear and feel the abundant joy that you pack in your belly and get for us every year. Believers prepare for weeks for your arrival, and will bid adieu to you with teary eyes when you leave for your watery abode after enjoying our hospitality. It’s one of the best times of the year, where everyone in the city comes together, held firmly by your enormous trunk.

Through the years, I have enjoyed your presence at the family Ganpati celebration that takes place at my uncle’s house and this year, the plan was no different. This is what the day looks like. We get up and go to my uncle’s place early in the morning, my family yells at me for oversleeping and being the last one to get ready, wearing my earrings and fastening my sandals in the car, greeting my relatives and getting started with the celebrations. This year, this is what my day looked like. I woke up late, scrolled Instagram, did some leftover office work, watched Ellen videos, pottered around in an empty house, and am now typing this, still in my pyjamas. No, I’ve not turned into an atheist or anti Ganeshotsav activist overnight. I just got hit by the Crimson Wave. I have ‘female problems’. I’m celebrating Shark Week. I’m down (and apparently out). I’m on my period, which you must already know since you’re omniscient. Ewww, yuck, gross! Bust out the Ganga jal! Sorry to drown the readers’ festive mood in a red sea of grossness, and the squeamish can leave this page and go dance to ‘Jhingaat’ in a Ganpati pandal, but here’s my point. This is not the first time this has happened, and neither am I the first girl to experience this. Literally every girl I know has either dropped out of a plan to come visit you, or worse, has been shunned from your welcome in her own house during her period. When I protested about not being a part of the celebration, I was told, “Ganpati bappa is very strict about this, he doesn’t allow it.” So I thought I should avoid the middlemen and ask you point blank. Do you, son of Parvati, genuinely have a problem with bleeding women? If yes, why so? Honestly, in my daily life, I’m least bothered by either periods or organized religion. I consider both of them highly unnecessary, bloody (pun intended) unfair, if slightly painful facts of life that you just gird your loins (literally) and deal with. In this country, we may not send our girls to an actual school, but we’re taught this important math pretty early in childhood. Period = Bad. Period = Nothing doing with God for 4 days. It’s so ingrained in us (me included) that entering a place of worship is out of the question during ‘maheene ke wo chaar din’. Our feet automatically halt at the threshold of the temple while others go in, and we pray from outside for the family that forbade us to go in, to the God that refuses to grant us an audience because of a biological occurrence. The prasad is then dropped gingerly into our hands, as if we’re Edwards Scissorhands who will cut you up if touched. Look, I’m not here to tell you about the miracle of birth or how women are magical beings who transport souls wandering in the cosmos into the physical realm in the form of babies through their uteruses (uteri?) and that periods make it possible. I won’t tell you that pickles, tulsi plants, food, flowers and other humans are not going to be infected by some zombie virus if we touch them. I won’t refer to your fellow divine being the Goddess Kamakhya, who is revered even more when she bleeds. Of course you know all that, you don’t miss a thing with those big ears, do you? What I want to tell you, and I mean no offence, is that this time it’s personal. This time, your supposed revulsion for menstruating girls meant that I had to stay away from my family celebrations IN YOUR HONOUR for no reason. Because even if I’m always late for the celebrations, or have to leave in a hurry because of office work, I LOVE celebrating Ganesh Chaturthi with my family. This unwarranted, redundant, archaic taboo kept me from dressing up, from meeting my relatives, from listening to the Atharvashirsha Avartan that makes me feel at peace with myself. It means that I have to wait another year till I hang out with my amazing family, making wonky misshapen modaks for you, singing the aarti in a way only my family can - simply but with full emotion. It deprived me of a chance to bow down to you and seek your blessings for my plans for the coming year, it deprived me of witnessing the sight of my darling nephew joining his hands in prayer to you, calling you Bappa in his blessed voice. It kept me from posting a selfie with you on Instagram, damn it! #GannuBhaiyyaRocks. For a God who removes obstacles, you’ve placed quite a few in the way of someone who just wants to revel in your divine company while you’re here. So this is what I want to ask you, and your fellow Gods, across the spectrum of religions and faiths. Why is it that a God, who as legend has it is made from a woman herself, have a problem with a girl’s regular physiological cycle? What makes people so antsy about having a girl on her period around them? How will us being there affect anyone's bhakti towards you? Why do make it so that people have to be shunned from your presence for a thing that they have no control over? Do you expect all women to pop pills to delay their periods and mess with their cycles just because it makes period shamers uncomfortable? Does the 'Sukhkarta Dukhharta' suddenly sound like the screech of a crazed banshee when girls are 'chumming'? Or are you afraid that we'll polish off all your modaks and barfis in our glorious period fueled gluttony? Why is it that we are expected to perform at full capacity at work or at home even when we’re ‘down’, but the simple act of folding our hands in front of you becomes an insurmountable task? Why is it OK for ‘devotees’ to show their love for you by playing 'Kala Chashma' and 'Baby Ko Bass Pasand Hai', drink, abuse and play cards in front of you in the pandal, but God forbid a bleeding woman comes within 3 feet of you? Why can a pandal manager scream ‘Lavkar chal re bhenc**d, line pudhe sarkav’ to devotees while standing at your feet but I can’t say Ganpati Bappa Morya and touch your feet during those ‘khaas din’? And to think your favourite flower is the red hibiscus! Is it just a huge case of misunderstanding, that you never told the so called custodians of faith anything of this sort, and they just banned all women on their periods in a horrific, horrific case of Chinese Whispers? Or is it more sinister than that, a studied and deliberate attempt to make women feel powerless and frustrated, as I am feeling now? The frustration comes from the stonewalling of questions. The response to any protest is, "Because it has always been this way". Wow, that explains everything, guess I can't argue with that unassailable logic.
I don’t mean to be angry at you Ganpati Bappa, I mean, look at that face, who can be angry at you for too long? What I am is confused and disappointed. I also wonder whether I should just walk into the nearest Sarvajanik Ganeshotsav right away, and see if the pandal or the priest burst into flames. Or if you smite me with your Ankush if I dare disobey age old rules. These feelings are followed by guilt that I'm somewhere part of the problem, because I, a seemingly emancipated, independent girl, didn't rebel and go for the pooja. The fear is God forbid if something bad happens to any of the attendees 7-8 months down the line, the blame will be pinned on me and my normal, functioning uterine lining. I hope you can do something about it and pass on some knowledge to the custodians of faith and believers of taboos while you’re here, but even if you don’t, here’s what I can promise you. I will love you and worship you from wherever I am, regardless of whether I can be in the presence of your idol or not. I will live with the ideals that you stand for, despite the discrimination shown against me in your name. I welcome you to my city for these 11 days and hope you have a great time, even if I can’t be a part of the celebration. I will pass on your aartis and stories to my children, and make sure they realize how precious you are. I also promise that if and when I have a daughter, I will break this circle. She will never feel left out during worship or anything else that she wishes to do, and I won’t look at the days of the month while asking her to join me in prayer. She will have the freedom to feel the barrage of emotions that come with puberty, but guilt and shame will not be a part of them. She will march right up to you whenever she feels like, and demand an audience with you. Be nice to her, and give her your blessings. As you have given me yours. Ganpati Bappa Morya!

Yours forever faithfully, Anuja

Why Is It Such A 'Big' Deal?

What you’ll read next is not a well-marinated post, but just some thoughts that were triggered recently. And when the trigger is pressed, the bullets, I mean words have to fly. The below post is not to point fingers at anyone’s personal choices, but a general observation.
A few days ago, I changed my Facebook profile picture, as is expected of a young woman frequently these days. And as is expected of Facebook friends, the likes started trickling in, along with comments that reiterated the fact that I had, indeed, made the right choice by updating this particular picture. A few ‘much pretty, very wow, so beautiful' comments in, I saw some comments that spoke about my apparent ‘slimness’ in the picture. No need to quote anybody verbatim, but the general consensus was that being thin is desirable, enviable, and the perfect situation to be in. We’ve been taught that status quo leads to stagnation, but a slim status quo is the way to go, the delicate balance of which must not be disturbed. Of course, there was the advice that I should probably go eat something because a flat stomach means that I had been starving myself for that picture. Side Note: I took the well meaning advice and have been eating fries, and burgers and sugar loaded stuff since then, like I always have.

The offending Facebook picture

So I, who in my quest to become the acme of self-deprecation, don’t take any of the appreciative comments on my Facebook photos seriously, couldn’t let this particular batch of comments go. So just for my personal satisfaction, let me ask you very politely - WHAT’S THE BIG (ironically) DEAL ABOUT NOT BEING BIG? 

I’m not the first person to ask this question, but I’m hoping I’m one of the last. Who decided that fat (no I will not use the cutesy euphemism ‘healthy’) is not, forget desirable, but even a natural state of being? When did weight become a measure not of mass, but of a person’s worth? Why are people who churn out bigger numbers on a scale asked to be apologetic and not celebrated? Why did ‘ugly’ become a stage whisper whenever the word fat is uttered?

Sadly, we know the answers to this - Our collective conscience has been shaped by beauty pageants, Victoria’s Secret Angels, tall, thin and impossibly cellulite free Hollywood and Bollywood actresses and dare I say...porn stars? We have been indoctrinated by these fantastical images to think that thin is good and fat is abhorrent and worthy only of hiding in dark corners. 

Think this is an exaggeration? Imagine Christian Grey as having the same qualities (and the same bank balance), but being short and fat. Would you be convinced that Ana Steele had vanilla, or any flavoured sex with him? Nope. Think of Superman with a paunch, or Deepika Padukone having difficulty hugging her heroes because her adipose tissue comes in the way. Did I hear you going ‘Yuck!’? Exactly my point. 
Thin, good looking people just have to look good, while ‘big’ people need to compensate with their personality or their achievements. They have to have great personalities, be funny, and by that I mean laugh along when someone takes a ‘LOL fatty’ dig at you, achieve something good, and basically prove that you’re not a total dharti pe bojh. Thankfully, a rising tribe in the world has enough sense to call people out when they fat shame, but it has given rise to a new kind of apologetic and commiserative behaviour. This thought process started with a Facebook comment, so let’s go back there. Correct me if I’m wrong, but the photos of people on the heavier side (nope, still not using ‘healthy’) have comments that are wildly different from what ‘normal’ people get. Fat girls are ‘brave’ for putting up a photo in an off shoulder dress, one has ‘beautiful eyes’, another has AH-MAZING HAIR GIRL!, and the third gets ‘OMG that outfit is so pretty, I want it! (In Size S obviously, not XL like yours) Anything to take attention away from that chunky body of theirs, or to make up for it. Or to tell them that you support them (and their ungainly mass) as they dare to be their own person in a world that hates them for it. For God’s sakes, people who are attracted to chubby people have a ‘fat fetish’, because who in their right minds would like a fatty for who they are and not how much they weigh!?

This new age fat glorifying trend is another slap on the chubby faces of hefty people. Large girls don’t wear bikinis or monokinis, they wear Fatkinis. Models who don’t have their ribs or thigh gap showing are ‘plus sized models’ who are plonked on magazine covers and runways to ‘revolutionize the fashion industry’s standards’. These plus sized women are lauded for their courage in showing fat and flesh instead of bones, and everybody in the fashion industry sleeps a little more peacefully that night. Heavy people are called big boned in an attempt to make them feel better, because we’re all a bunch of illiterate people who don’t know what a human skeleton is supposed to look like. Heavy women are called ‘Women with curves’ or ‘Real Women’, like there was a niggling doubt that fat people are just humanoids made with cheese, butter and Nutella. Sidenote: That would be yum. 

You know what, screw you. It’s not ‘haddiyon ka wazan’ as we Indians like to say, it’s FAT. Deal with it. Bikinis are bikinis, regardless of who wears them. Next thing you know, there are thin-kinis (Ooooh, a nice business idea!), white-kinis, mom-kinis, gay-kinis, straight-kinis and what not. Side note: By that naming convention, aren’t bi-kinis supposed to be worn only by bisexual people? Or bipolar ones? And NEWS FLASH! The plus sized woman on your magazine cover is, sadly, very very normal sized, and most people would give a fat arm or leg to look like them.
This is not a post glorifying fat. If you’re genuinely unhappy with your body, or you have health issues, please go ahead and change the situation. But don’t do it because the world throws a collective sh*tfit if they see one stomach roll or a jiggly thigh. Don’t risk your life with a liposuction just because people say ‘Achha ladka/ladki nahi milenge’, or ‘Shouldn’t you lose some weight before you wear that skirt?’ It’s OK if you don’t have the perfect number on the weighing scale; like your 10th standard marks, that’s a number that will be irrelevant for anything worthwhile in your life.

Easy for me to say, right? I’m not the one trawling through the clothes store to find ONE non-dowdy and non depressing outfit in my size, because fat people don’t have the right to dress sexily. Or I’m being a hypocrite because I like the way Henry Cavill or Anushka Sharma look. Honestly, I don’t consider myself thin. Or fat. I just am. I do have ungainly bits of fat that I want to wish away, but if having love handles means I can eat another portion of wedges or cheesecake shamelessly, then it’s a love I can handle. 

A quote says ‘Your body is a temple, only if you treat it as such’. Have you seen temples? All the best ones are huge, grand, awe-inspiring and stunning. Being larger than life is the only way they can fit in all the amazing things inside, and give us a feeling of grandeur. Go ahead, treat your body like a temple now.

They say it’s a great practice for self love to stand naked in front of a mirror and look at your body for a long time. You’ll start seeing beyond the dimpled thighs, flabby arms and the doughnut tummy, and see the body that has been your Number One Best Friend.

At the risk of sounding like a pseudo self-help author, here’s a friendly neighbourhood suggestion. Even if you don’t have the time to stare at your naked body in the mirror because you have a life, and also because it’s creepy and difficult to explain if you get caught, do this. Stop thinking of your body as something to be judged by others aesthetically. Think of it as a mean (and not always lean) machine that is designed solely for your soul to have some amazing earthly experiences. Think of God as a cosmic Dilip Chhabria who makes a customized Taarzan -The Wonder Car for every soul. Actually wait, that might be counter productive to loving your body.

The point is, when you look in the mirror, you should see the body as your forever companion, who is with you to witness your first step, scraping your knee on the playground, your first kiss, the thrill of riding a bike, getting your face licked by a puppy, getting wet in the rain, looking into the eyes of your loved one, that Swoop! feeling in your stomach while riding a roller coaster, feeling the arms of your parents around you when they hug you, and doing the same to your children. Or even puking your guts out when you get too drunk for the first time. 

When your body is capable of such miracles, what’s a few inches more here and there?

Your body is a friend who’s not perfect, who you may not even like sometimes, but loving it is non-negotiable. And the good part is, the love comes easily once you shut out what other people say. Just like you don’t make friends based on waist size or BMI, your amazing body deserves all the love and happiness, and pride just for being a partner in crime for all your adventures - past, present and future. And in any case, it’s the only one you’ve got, so wouldn’t you rather spend a lifetime with it happily and lovingly, rather than bickering like an old couple? If you’re not convinced, go listen to John Mayer’s ‘Your Body Is A Wonderland’ and ‘Bigger Than My Body’. Seriously, the dude is obsessed with bodies. 
Moral? Fatkinis suck, all bodies are amazing works of art, you’re beautiful regardless of your size, not despite it, and most importantly, never, ever, comment ‘OMG you’re so thin!’ on my photo ever again. 
P.S. - It might seem like this post is written only for girls, but it applies to boys just as much. Just that seeing the number of uncles flaunting their beer bellies and bagel butts in tiny undies on the beach is proof enough that they don’t need too many lessons in loving their body.  

Why human beings are twat waffles

There, I said it. I have believed this for the longest time now, and the whole of mankind has been ‘kind’ enough to prove my theory right. You may argue that we have the best working brains, the gift of language and invention and the highest level of self awareness among all ‘creatures’ which should relieve us of the ignominy of a ‘twat waffle’ tag.

Sadly, you would be wrong (as humans are wont to be about most things). The fact remains that for all our wonderful inventions, the beauty of arts, music and architecture, our social construct, space travel and other achievements (Hurray.), we are the worst things to have ever walked this planet. And that includes a fictional Indominus Rex.

So much so, that if I were a chimp and some scientist came up to me and said, undoubtedly thinking that it’s a compliment, that I have near-human intelligence, I would fling my choicest poo at him and screech at him to stop insulting me and GTFO of my enclosure.

And no, I’m not reserving the Twat Waffle (henceforth known as Twaffle) tag to sundry horrible humans who grope ladies in the bus, or turn without an indicator, or occupy free government bungalows under the pretext of working for the nation. I’m saying it for the entire species.

Why. So. Serious? Because despite our tall claims about intelligence, all we are is a bunch of copy cats and robots, incapable of thinking for ourselves. We take the ‘knowledge’ that somebody preached ages ago and run with it, without using our brains to think if it’s right or wrong.

Take a look at any newspaper or honest website and you will find proof that what I’m saying is true.

Today, there are only 4 Northern white rhinos left in the world. Why? Because some Twaffle ages ago said that a rhino horn has medicinal properties. I don’t blame him, I blame the bastards who are killing the rhino to extinction without knowing that a rhino horn is made of the same material as your hair, keratin. Pull out your hair and eat it, you morons.

Or take the asshole, who ages ago, instead of confessing to his wife that he couldn’t get it up, claimed that a tiger penis is the remedy for sexual problems. I would have stoned the man to death on account of insanity, but no, poachers hunt tigers for their body parts even today, when a simple Google search will prove the impotent a*hole wrong.

And why waste the rest of the tiger? Its bones are supposed to cure many orthopedic diseases, among other things. Never mind that taking an inexpensive calcium supplement will do the same job. Or the fact that the tiger needs its bones more than you need your mobility.

Have you heard of shark fin soup? It’s supposed to be a delicacy, though which twisted, sadist creep came up with the idea of chopping off just a shark’s fin, leaving it to drown and die in the ocean so that we humans can enjoy a bowl of slimy soup is beyond me. And according to some reports, it doesn’t even taste that good! So why do people have it? As a status symbol, of course! Millions of sharks are caught, separated from their fins and then thrown back in the sea to die. Imagine someone cutting off your legs just because they like your pants and leaving you to bleed out in the street. Imagine millions of such people crawling through the streets helplessly. Too bad this scenario would be too gruesome for our advanced brains to bear.

Recently there was good news about the Gadhimai festival in Nepal being cancelled indefinitely. While I was happily reading the news, a piece of history caught my eye. The origin story of the festival says that the founder of the Gadhimai Temple had a dream that the Goddess asked for a human sacrifice in exchange of freeing him from prison and after he sacrificed an animal instead, they have been butchering millions of animals every five years to keep up the tradition. No offence, but HOW CAN YOU SLAUGHTER SO MANY ANIMALS BASED ON ONE PERSON’S DREAM? THAT TOO A PERSON WHO WENT TO PRISON, FOR GOD KNOWS WHAT! Martin Luther King saw a dream, he was assassinated. The Gadhimai founder saw a dream; scores of animals are cruelly killed. Dreams are dangerous weapons in the hands of humans.

More craziness? I want to meet the first guy who looked at a majestic tusker and thought, ”This elephant’s tusks will look better as an ornament in my house than on the body of a living animal.” Cue to 2015, and we are still poaching 96 elephants a day in Africa, which means 1 elephant is killed for its tusks every FIFTEEN MINUTES. In this day and age of 3D printing and discovering new materials every day, can’t we make a decision to stop decorating our homes with ivory from a violently killed wild animal? If we value intelligence so much, why can’t we appreciate elephants for their proven intelligence and leave them the hell alone?

Hunting is another ‘sport’ that takes us right into the celestial realms of twat wafflery. How is killing a defenseless animal with firepower (or a crossbow in the case of the ultimate douchebag Walter Palmer) a sign of courage? Yes our ancestors hunted for sport but that was when the Earth was teeming with wild animals! Why can’t we break the trend and refuse to kill animals for sport? Go shoot some terrorists on your PlayStation if you’re feeling low on testosterone, man.

I know I’ve sounded like a crazy armchair animal activist till now, but photojournalist Adrian Steirn (who you should totally follow on Instagram) says the most beautiful thing – "What we do to the animals, we do to ourselves". Aren’t we slaughtering our own kind like animals too?

A God man tells you to sacrifice another human being to earn money and you happily kill an unsuspecting neighbor, without stopping to consider if there’s a relation between spilling someone’s blood and gold coins raining down on you.

Loss in business?  Wife not happy with you? Rape your daughter and solicit her out to other people, you will prosper. Even ‘lesser’ animals risk their lives to protect their young ones, and this is what we smart, social animals do? Scar the little girl who you are supposed to protect against the big, bad world?

Some senile villager claims that women should dress, act and marry in a certain manner and we start collecting kerosene and matches in the wholesale market, ready to burn girls at the slightest provocation. Not before raping them to teach them a last lesson, duh!

Ages ago, someone thought up that girls should bring dowry to their husband’s home while getting married and paved the way for greedy no-gooders everywhere to pilfer millions from the girl’s father’s account without lifting a finger. Unless it is to slap the poor wife around if she doesn’t stuff your insatiable throat fast enough. Someone please explain this to me.

A dialogue writer wrote ‘Diamonds are a girl’s best friend’ and off we suckers go to prove our love with solitaires. Is your love so weak that it needs to be cemented by a commercialized gesture which stands on the legs of genocide, blood diamonds and artificial scarcity? Being romantic and being blind to the facts of the world are too very different things. Personally, I’ll pledge my love to a person who proposes with girl’s real best friend, a dog. Be original and get a (love) life people.

A person, however learned, forms a religion millennia ago and his supposed followers preach that theirs is the only true religion (or sub sect of it) and the rest of them are a threat, and off people go killing each other and blowing themselves up in the hope of getting laid at least in heaven. Obviously you nitwits, if you spend all your youth in terrorist training camps and bunkers in the desert, the only time you’ll get a woman in your arms is in heaven.

Speaking of heaven, it’s about time we saw some definitive proof of this coveted location existing anywhere in the known or unknown Universe. Billions of people have died on our Earth till now and not ONE of them has evidence that Heaven exists, or if it has reserved plots for different souls based on the religion that you followed. Without a shred of proof of Heaven, people kill and commit unspeakable horrors just to reserve a place in La La Land, against all proven and basic logic that harming another human being is bad.

 I won’t ask for proof of hell because I see it everywhere I turn my eyes and we definitely don’t need to waste any more square footage on constructing another one with the latest hot oil cauldrons and pitch fork closets. We can of course threaten homosexuals with eternal damnation and ensure that hordes of them commit suicide out of hopelessness rather than sully our pious ways with their gayness.

This is not even the end of the twat wafflery of humans, and it won’t be till we do something about it. I’m not naïve, but neither am I cynical. I know there is goodness, hope and beauty in this world, but right now I’m just too angry to see any of it. All I can see is a dead Cecil, terrorist attacks, beheadings and dowry deaths. As they say, never underestimate the stupidity of humans in a large crowd. And this is precisely what we are. A nameless, directionless, faceless crowd looking for guidance from either redundant rules written thousands of years ago, or Instagram posts written by a bored pimply copywriter on a deadline.

There is a truth above all of this, and it is our own personal Truth. It doesn’t yell from the rooftops, neither does it seek validation from a fellow human being. All it does is keep your moral compass pointed due North, needing no priest or policeman to tell you what’s right and wrong. The truth is different for every human being, but that’s the beauty of it. And unless you’re a psychopath, your Truth will be the voice in your head shaking off the shackles of evil and taking you to the good. You don't have a mind just to play mind games with the cute girl who gave you her number and your gut isn't a thing to decorate with layers of fat from your junk food outings. Give them the credit they deserve and use them just for yourself once, and see your twafflery meter go down.

I admit that this truth has lost its voice for most people in the scream of sirens and paid television news.  So sit down, calm yourself, and reconnect with this truth inside you. It will whisper to you at first, but given time, it will turn into a squeak and then a roar so loud that you will need no outside crutches to be a good human being in the truest sense, instead of the ‘twat waffle masquerading as a human’ that most of us currently are. Maybe then the monkeys will stop flinging their poo at us.