I Won’t Love You…

I won’t love you…

I won’t love you in all the ways that you have been taught till now,

By books, by movies, by rumoured tales of happy endings that have floated your way in long forgotten conversations.

I won’t be the girl that dreams are made of, for I’d rather live our time together with eyes wide open.

I won’t blush, I won’t be coy. I won’t lower my eyelashes when you give me ‘that’ smile.

I won’t wait for your gaze to turn my way, and forget to breathe when it isn't.

I won’t miss you, or at least won’t tell you that I do.

I won’t whisper sweet nothings in your ear, because they are for people who don’t have enough things to say to each other.

I won’t gaze into your eyes lovingly when a camera is trained on us, even though manufactured magical moments on red carpets tell us that I should.

I won’t tell you that I love you, for my tongue is sure to stumble and trip over the words.

I won’t complete you; neither will I let you do that for me.

I won’t hold on for dear life to your attention, for that’s not love, that’s fear.

When you’re gone, for however short a period of time, you won’t see me shed a tear.

I won’t wheedle you into buying me stuff, and pass it off as the trait, and the right, of a woman in love.

I won't let my smile differ from when we eat roadside chaat to when we dine at places of acclaim,

For as long as it's with you, it's all the same.

I won’t tell our tales to my giddy, giggly friends, so you’ll have to pardon me if the wonders of you don’t reach many ears.

I won’t get jealous when you fancy someone else, and dare you take it as a proof of my detachment.

I won’t shout from the physical or virtual rooftops that you’re mine.

For the world will ‘like’ it and make it mundane, a word which I won’t let our love define.

I won’t ask you to pull my chairs or steady my step, and I won’t let you pick up my luggage.

I won’t pretend to be weak just to make you feel strong, that’s just wrong.

I won’t call you perfect, nor hold you to perfection’s boring, stifling standards.

I won’t make you the centre of my Universe. Trust me, you don’t want that kind of attention!

I won’t…for the life of me, say that 'You are my life'.

And it would be over my dead body that I say ‘I’d die without you’. (How ironic!)

I won’t stop you if you leave me, nor entreat you to stay.

I won’t fight for your love, because how can I fight against you for ‘us’?

I won’t try to bind you for a lifetime with a contract. No, no threats, enticements or guarantees will make their way to you.

I won’t barter with you- no gifts in exchange for love, no trading diamonds for a missed birthday, and no vacations for forgiving transgressions.

I won’t look to you for my solutions or miracles, nor will seek solace in your arms from the big bad world.

You are human too, and you’re mine.

What I will do is love you, without saying it enough to dull its impact.

What I will do is call you silly names, and leave you to decide if it’s a term of endearment, or irritation.

I will match you gaze for gaze as we look together towards the future, our future.

I will take long walks on the beach with you, and turn them into impromptu races which you’ll let me win :)

I will make a world for you, and hide its key from the world forever.

What I will do is let you make mistakes, and take immense joy in correcting you with a haughty sparkle in my eye.

I will watch every day as your imperfections fall away, revealing more delicious imperfections inside.

On overcast nights, I will use your fingers and mine to tell you all the ways in which you are magnificent, ways which still haven't been unearthed by you.

I will read with you and pick your brain, wanting to know everything there is to you.

I will never let you run out of your favourite perfume, because I'll love the way it smells too.

I will leave you be in a roomful of people, needing no anchor tying you to me,

And every time someone makes you laugh, I'll pray for him to the powers that be.

I will bask in your successes but they will only be yours; and battle with your failures, which will always be ours.

I will laugh at all your jokes, yes, even the lame ones, and hope that you didn't see the eye roll at the end of the giggle.

I will be a goofball till you guffaw and wonder where you got me from, and then trace our steps back to where you actually did.

I will let you be your own person and I will be mine, because really, how tragic do two incomplete souls sound?

I will let you out in the world to fight your own battles, and the ones that hurt you; I will gladly destroy them for you.

I will share the burden of wooing and take you out for a night on the town,

And I will knowingly totter in high heels just to clutch your arm a little tighter lest I fall down.

I will tell you that I want a reflection of your nose or your hair in the faces of my children,

Right before knocking down the bedside table lamp during our pillow fight.

On the days when you aren't around, I will get on with my life, safe in the knowledge that you will find your way back to me.

And if you don’t, I will still wish you all the happiness in the world.

I will keep you in my prayers till the end of time,

Because you are human too, and you are mine. 

Happy Birthday Shah Rukh! Here’s the only gift I can offer :)

Hi Shah Rukh, wish you a very happy birthday. My mere mortality would laugh in my face if I even tried to comment on the scale of celebrations happening around you and in your fandoms, especially after the humongous success of Happy New Year (Yay!), so the less I say the better.

I would like to do something for you on your birthday, but my lack of options worries me. I can’t write poems, can’t sketch your dimply face (though you very kindly shared some of the dodgier fan arts on Twitter too), and my sanity doesn’t allow me to tattoo or carve your name on my skin. So I’ll be satisfied by wishing you in the only way I can-through my blog.

Generally open letters are vicious spectator sports, designed to shred the recipient into pieces to the collective glee of people reading them, sort of like a bull fight or the gladiator arenas of the olden days. But this post is a love letter masquerading as an open letter, so it would be a good time for people allergic to PDA to get off this feels train right about now.

It would be easy to pepper this post with a lot of your memorable dialogues but I won’t talk about your films, roles or other very successful endeavors . What I will do is tell you what Shah Rukh Khan stands for in my eyes. Of course you are the romantic hero that has made a million female (and a lot of male) hearts flutter, the possessor of tawny eyes and impossibly deep dimples that you have knowingly exploited to pull at our heartstrings. And you arguably also have the best set of hands and forearms in the world, of which I’d like to make a cast and keep at my house, for, you know, research purposes.

But above and beyond all of that, you’re Shah Rukh Khan, so much more than the sum of your parts. You are witty, well read, self deprecating, an interviewer’s dream, chivalrous and an enviably good father who takes pride in his children. What’s not to like, right? You make it pretty easy for a fan to like you. I don’t know if I’m explaining this right, but I would love you even if you weren’t rich, if you started giving boring interviews, or even stopped making films (please don’t do any of the above). The affection that I have for you goes beyond all of this, and has entered the realm of just wanting good things for you and being happy in your happiness, regardless of what you are or what you do.

Before Facebook and Twitter made declarations of fanaticism a little too easy, my liking of you was displayed in the confident reply of ‘Shah Rukh Khan’ whenever someone asked me who my favorite actor was. I confess, like many other teenagers, I was blown away by Hrithik Roshan’s perfect debut, and later by Ranbir Kapoor’s effortless acting, and the genetic lottery that is Sidharth Malhotra (seriously, there has got to be a cap on good features in a single person) But in spite of these transgressions, I knew that no one else could even come close to replicating the effect that you have on me.

I like most of your films, and I love you in all of them. Except Hum Tumhare Hai Sanam, but we’ll forget you were in it because it’s your birthday. I’m happy when your films do well and you earn money and break box office records (take that 3 Idiots!). I’m thrilled when you win awards, and I grin and clap like a monkey toy on Energiser whenever you come on TV. I shocked myself about how happy I was when you laughed openly and wholeheartedly on Comedy Nights with Kapil, glad that you had some moments of genuine mirth. I hate it when you look sick or sleep deprived during promotions, masking your fatigue with sunglasses. 

While I’m never starstruck by actors I see at events, I have stared at you unblinkingly like a creep on the three occasions that I’ve seen you, and literally squealed and skipped with joy when you gave me a half hug after an interview. Everybody who knows me to some degree knows that I’m your fan, and while I didn’t mean to be ‘that crazy fan’, I think my vehement defence of you and all your films against anyone who questions it gave it away. So much so that even my Teach India learners knew that they would be marked absent on the day they said anything unflattering about you. #justkidding

Obviously I’m not blind or crazy enough to say that you’re perfect or you always do the right things. Remember Hum Tumhare Hai Sanam? But time and again I have realized that even through all of the supposed shortcomings, through all the occasional hamming, regardless of the weird extreme close up of your wet muddy nipple in Happy New Year, my feelings for you remain unchanged.

It is because of this love that I’m offering you the very presumptuous and frankly unasked for gift. What do you give the man that has everything money can buy, and then some? But then I remember your interviews and the way you talk about your loneliness. I see a recent article where Jackie Shroff calls you a ‘lonely Baadshah’. I’ve watched your interviews where you’ve said you don’t have too many friends you can talk to. So this is what I want to give you-my friendship and a listening ear. Not because you can give me anything in return, but simply because it is unacceptable for me that a person I admire and who has given me and so many others countless moments of happiness, is lonely.

Sorry about being self- aggrandizing, but allow me to argue my case. I am a great listener, and it takes a lot to scandalize me, so I would be open to anything that you say. I have no connection to your inner or outer world, so I’ll always give you an honest opinion. I also have a decent sense of humour, which I’m sure will come in handy. I don’t like taking favours or getting gifts, so you know I have no vested interest. I’m also a Cancerian, and according to Linda Goodman and a lot of other star gazers, Scorpios and Cancerians are supposed to have a mysterious and irresistible pull, which will ensure that you like me. Oh, oh, and I’m an excellent secret keeper, which will ensure that none of the things you tell me ever see the light of day.

So I will gladly be your ‘no strings attached’ friend, and listen to you as talk about your day, your ambition, your dreams or a random idea that you thought up in the bathroom. I would just as calmly sit in silence with you as you mull over your thoughts, fanning away the smoke from your cigarette because I’m allergic. Think about it.

As Ayn Rand said in the Fountainhead, Love is exception making, so I’m making an exception and doing a public display of affection for you on this day. I'm hoping that the Internet plays Tuffy from Hum Aapke Hai Kaun and delivers this letter to you (not Mohnish Behl, you stupid dog!) with 'Radhe Radhe bolo Jai Kanhaiya Lal ki' playing in the background and you accept my offer. Even if this fantastic wish doesn't come true, I'll still be your well-wisher from afar. I wish you more success and greater highs, but more than that I wish you good health and lots of dimpled smiles and true happiness. Happy Birthday Shah Rukh Khan. May your arms forever be outstretched to receive the blessings that the ‘kaayenaat’ bestows upon destiny’s chosen child. 

Isn’t it Obvious how proud I am?

People who have very kindly read my blog know that most of my blog posts are sarcastic/ funny/ borderline preachy or most likely a combination of both. But this night is different. Today I want to write about a friend who I am very proud of. You see, this friend is turning producer and I couldn’t be happier. No, I’m not talking about Shahrukh Khan and Happy New Year (though I’m terribly excited to see him burn hundreds of crores on screen)

The friend I’m talking about is Prajakta, naam to suna hi hoga. Actually you wouldn’t have heard of her because she’s still a student in the US and is turning producer for her student thesis film. Though we don’t go too long way back, what we lack in duration we made up for in quality. She is my late night chat friend, cheap jokes partner, and obviously, the mother of my fictional child (long story)

When she came to India the last time, she told me about a real life incident that happened with her, which she planned to make into a movie. And now she is actually doing it, coming down to India with her crew and shooting the movie. And I’m genuinely amazed at the kind of responsibility she’s showing, carrying a film (short though it may be) on her shoulders.

The story was one of the more intriguing ones that I’d heard in some time, and not the least because the protagonist is a journalist. It deals with the journalist finding an abandoned baby in an alleyway, and how her choices follow her for life. Most of us have never come across an abandoned baby, so I’d be lying if I said that I identify with the story. But most of us HAVE had to live with the repercussions of our decisions just like Keira, the protagonist, which is why the story strikes a universal chord. The film is called ‘The Obvious’ for reasons that are not so obvious, so let’s not get into that.

What’s more interesting is how easily her classmates agreed to come to India for this project, despite all of them being India virgins. But according to Prajakta, they all understand this seemingly alien culture very well, and also helped her develop the story, set completely in Mumbai. ‘Obvious’ly, they are getting lessons in Hindi (unfortunately no cuss words), which will help them navigate the crazy world of Mumbai.

When I spoke to the very enthusiastic crew over mail, they all showed tremendous faith in the subject and a will to make the best product out of the story. The director, Omar Moujaes, who hails from Lebanon, is working very hard to get the location and characterization absolutely spot on, but as a Mumbaikar I can promise that the city will throw up some surprises for the team for sure!

I have a sneaky feeling that most of the crew wants to come to India only for the spicy food, culture and of course GOA! And the first AD-Katie did confess that she would like to check out the beaches of Goa while she’s here.

You might think about why I’m writing about this student film with a team full of young aspiring filmmakers from different countries. You might even have a sneaking suspicion that I’m shamelessly trying to plug this project. In which case, let me clear all your doubts and tell you that yes, I AM plugging this project because it needs YOU. Prajakta and her team have big plans for the film. They want to mount it on a big scale, take it to film festivals and showcase Mumbai and tell one of the million stories that the city sees every day. But all of this comes at a cost. Flying the whole team down, setting them up here, hiring equipment and actors-all of this will take, you guessed it, quite a sizeable amount of money. Prajakta and her team being students, it’s quite difficult for them to raise the money that would be required to cover all the production costs. *cue a heart breaking story about a brave desi girl going to foreign lands and trying to make her dream come true against all odds like the horrible exchange rate and expensive cameras for hire* You wouldn’t let some money get in the way of a person’s dreams right? Right?

If the movie could be made with only good intentions and perseverance, I’m sure these filmmakers wouldn’t have needed any help. Sadly that’s not the case, and they need people to come forward to donate money so that this story sees the light of the day. There will be a link for all the good Samaritans to send their money and blessings (again in the form of money) about which I will post an update soon.

So people who love movies, Mumbai and the idea of foreign people coming to our city, do open your hearts and help ‘The Obvious’ team. Your name will not only be credited and seen at all the film festivals, but who knows, when people in the crew become hotshot Hollywood entities, you’ll know that you’ve had a small part in their success.

The choice is obvious. Will you make it?

AND THE MOST ANNOYING PART OF BANG BANG IS….

Katrina Kaif! Or rather the character she plays- Harleen. I can hear some voices of protest already, contesting how I can choose the Harmless Harleen over decidedly more annoying portions like the lack of story, script, screenplay and the massacre that paves the way to glitzy hollow cinema with the blood and guts of logic. Yes, I agree with all the above, but I’m sticking to my guns. Miss Harleen from Bank of Shimla is infinitely more grating than all the other factors combined. Allow me to convince you.

Much needed disclaimer: I’m no Taran Adarsh, so I’m not writing derogatory things about Bang Bang because my bank account has been fattened by notable rivals in the same genre- Jai Ho, Kick and Holiday. Nor is it out of love and righteous anger on the part of the other release, Haider (though I do want to smell and nuzzle Tabu’s hair for what she did on screen).

I’m no Shobha De either, whose pension comes from the sole occupation of tearing down the Female Flavour of the Week in Bollywood, and getting chewed to bits and being reminded of her fossilized status in return.

My sole reason for writing this is the sheer number of WTFs I uttered while watching the movie, because no amount of cinematic liberty can justify the mockery shown on screen. If you haven’t watched the movie, then SPOILER ALERT! but since it has crossed the 100 crore mark, I’m sure most of you know what I’m talking about.

*Cue rant* Bollywood is not known for crediting its leading ladies with a lot of sense or strength of character, where Sonakshi Sinha- the collective bad boy arm candy of Bollywood is Exhibit A, and Kareena Kapoor- the actress who has absolutely no contribution in 100 crore films is Exhibit B. But even by these standards, Harleen is the rock bottom of vapidity. She works as a receptionist in Bank of Shimla, brings coffee for all her colleagues while simultaneously fending off borderline pedophilic moves from her pervert grandma. All this while, she dreams of quitting it all and travelling the world, which is very effectively shown with one scene where she looks at a scenic slideshow during office hours.

Enter Hrithik Roshan, a suave international criminal whose focus towards his mission drowns in a flood of hormones as soon as he sees small town Harleen, who is incidentally dressed in a red dress that inches dangerously close to a wardrobe malfunction with every dance move. Seriously? Was she given a Duryodhan type Kavach which protects her thighs from the Shimla cold when the rest of them are covered in thermals?

Anyway, one dance later, Harleen is head over heels in love with the person who uttered literally one sentence about how she should seize the day and not wait for the ‘Ek Din’. Crap-e Diem. And that’s where my problem lies. Let’s be honest here. If Rajveer (Hrithik’s character) looked like a real criminal, say Arun Gawli, would she have trusted him and let him abduct her without knowing his intentions?

Harleen is portrayed as a desperate, single young woman who is waiting for her knight to sweep her off her feet and take her to expensive foreign locations. But the level of naïveté is not only nauseating, it also tells girls that it is good to pause your life for someone else to fulfill your dreams, and if the bloke is a good looking one, look no further! She is from the crop of girls who went Awww! on seeing Ajmal Kasab’s grainy picture in the papers and thought that his death was a waste of cuteness, not paying attention to the fact that he would have wiped off their entire family tree if given a chance. (True story)

I know Hrithik’s Rajveer looks so devastatingly good that he could club a baby seal in Shimla’s alabaster snow or star in a crush porn video and still be desirable. On that note, DO NOT Google crush porn unless you want to forego your appetite and your faith in humanity. But the guy drugs her, takes her to unknown places, changes her clothes, lies to her and throws her off high ledges, without even so much as a ‘May I?’ And all Harleen does is gawk at his bare body like it’s the key to solving world hunger.

On the other hand, when the creepy new VP of the bank hits on her upfront like most self respecting hot blooded Indian males do, she runs away like Siddharth Anand runs away from good sense. Why? Because he wears uncleji clothes that don’t have a gazillion abs underneath? Right then.

Hrithik Roshan is not to blame in this mess. It’s not really his fault if the poor guy has to play Krrish in every movie that he stars in. He can jump off cliffs blindly and we have to believe that he landed safely, because ‘Hum Sab Main Krrish Hai’. It’s like Robert Downey Jr. deploying flares in every movie, be it Due Date or The Judge, just because he is Iron Man. Rajveer can also be forgiven for tossing the Kohinoor diamond around like it’s totally not one of the most precious things in the world, for we can never know the ways of superheroes. Seriously Hrithik, some men in India treat their Kohinoor condoms better than you treat the *actual* Kohinoor. Just saying.

Aaaaanyway, Harleen spends all of this time waking up in strange places, getting dressed up in the latest designer togs, and wait for it- dreaming of a romantic song in Santorini when she already on a free trip to blessed Prague. Gold digging 101. When she gets time off from taking in the gorgeous locales of Hrithik’s torso, she mouths lines like ‘Tum kaun ho, kya karte ho’ at least thrice, while making no attempt to get away from the man that she knows zilch about.

But the biggest throw-your-popcorn-and-coke-at-the-screen annoyance comes during the climax, when Harleen tipsily seeks validation from Rajveer while under the influence of the truth serum. Which Danny has already said causes no other effect than speaking the truth. While he is trying to save their lives from bad guys and complete a mission of national importance, no less. She whines on and on about how she is unattractive and boring and that’s why Rajveer didn’t pull a move on her, all while they’re being chased by gun toting henchmen. Even when she finally picks up a gun and fires (I’m sure the director went- ‘Ye to money shot hai boss!’ for the scene), it is after Rajveer reassures her of being sexy and desirable and….. *snore*

I’m no feminazi, but seeing a character with such dire need of outside validation and a ‘princess stuck in a tower waiting to be rescued’ attitude is just shunting us right back to the Dark Ages. And Harleen’s fixation with Rajveer’s looks and daredevilry is the final nail in the coffin of the good guys trying to claim some girls back from the bad boys. This character effectively nullifies all the attempts in recent times, however modest, to bring female characters in the forefront on screen. God forbid if girls dream of being Harleen, the way every girl mouthed ‘Main apni favorite hoon!’ after Jab We Met released.

It’s not like such girls don’t have happy lives, but I would have liked more of a badass female character in mainstream cinema, not one who is a certified parasite for her happiness. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m mistaken to expect such things from a director who names the house in the movie ‘Ghar’. Just one final question to Siddharth Anand and Katrina. Does Harmless Harleen’s  happy ending include a dog named ‘Kutta’ and a cute baby called ‘Baccha’? 

How Candy Crush sweetened my life

Before we dive into this candy flavored article with the punny title, let’s take a minute to ponder over the writer’s bravery in attempting to write this piece of junk literature. I mean, sure, I’ll be called a witch and persecuted for advocating something as evil as Candy Crush- just like in the golden old days. I’ll probably have to change my address and live under a fake identity for life, but what is a blogger if not courageous? So without worrying about my life or property (Edit: I have no property to call my own), I will submit my argument about the ways in which the most frustrating game we smartphone junkies have ever seen has guided me.

1. You can’t choose what cards you get handed out

In this case, the candies that you get to crush. Every Candy Crush game gives you a random arrangement of candies which you have no control over, and you just have to make the best moves you can to get on top of the game. Swap ‘Game’ with ‘Life’ and you have no better metaphor for doing the best you can with what you have.

2. Scores are important, but so is achievement

You know how the game has not one, but TWO goals- get a high score and also achieve the target? Even if you achieve a three star score but fail to do what the level asks you to do, Candy Crush throws a hissy fit and refuse to let you go any further. In real life too, it’s not only about the zeroes in your paycheck, but also about the goals you set for yourself and whether or not you achieve them. And you need to be quite the multitasker if you want to keep standing on these two boats and not drown.

3. Praise is the sweetest pill

You might think that we as a species have advanced enough not to need encouragement from a fake, coded game, but you’re mistaken. Hordes of people would have left the game if it weren’t for the periodic ‘Sweet!’, or ‘Divine!’ or ‘Delicious!’ that it keeps tossing our way (Calm down Candy Crush!) As they say ‘If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there, does it still make a sound?’, would you still go on working if no one was there to appreciate it? So whenever someone around you explodes more candy than you expect them to, praise them. It’ll go a long way.

4. Failure is imminent

Unless you’re a wonder kid whose mother has been giving you Candy Crush lessons since you were in the womb (a not so subtle reference to Abhimanyu and the Chakravyuh), there is no way that you haven’t failed at some level in the game, sometimes miserably so. You might try every move in the book but still end up with one pesky jelly square that spells your doom. That’s just preparation for real life. You might do everything right, but still end up some moves short of your happy ending. Fret not, the beauty of the game (life, not Candy Crush) is that you can start all over again.

5. Being on the bench for a while is good

Just when you think you’ve gotten the hang of the game, and are bursting with ambition to conquer those colourful pixels, your five lives die out on you and give you a timeout, postponing your victory by 30 minutes. Instead of counting down the minutes, take a step back, and get your head out of the game for a while. Look around, introspect, and think about what you could have done better. It might delay the sweet taste of success, but it will make it sweeter than the candy you’re trying to explode.

6. You can either choose the easy way, or the right way

Candy Crush is as shamelessly commercial as it is addictive, selling you extra moves or tricks, all at an additional price of course. Gamers (?) who have too much money to spare on virtual candy buy these moves to reach the next level. There will always be people who take shortcuts in real life too, buying or manipulating their way to the top, leaving you to struggle with your honest, hardworking ways. But trust me, the sense of achievement and independence that you get from doing things without a leg up (or without spending Rs. 110 on a candy smashing hammer) cannot be bought. For everything else, there’s Mastercard.

7. Blackmail is real

At some point, you’re merrily doing your thing in the Candy Crush Dreamworld, sure that you’ll come out on top of the level, when the useless Odus decides to fall down and kill you! Or consider the frustrating time bombs that go off after Level 100, who make you sacrifice precious moves to keep them from going off. WHY GOD WHY?! Again- lesson for life. There will always be unavoidable bum-cavities (keeping it PG-13) who will stand in your way for no reason other than for the pure joy for it. The only thing you can do is up your game, render them helpless and watch them feel fail as you emerge victorious in your battle against…well, candy. Take that, Odus you stupid owl with gravity issues!

8. Most people are not concerned about your troubles

Most of us love to gloat about the number of friends and well wishers we have, safe under the illusion of a large support system. But when the time comes and it’s a question of your life and death (not being dramatic, just talking about the game), you’re met with responses like ‘The next person to invite me to Candy Crush will be BLOCKED!’ Try this in real life too. When the going is good, your life’s news feed will be full of friends happy to bask in your success. But you truly need help to level up in life; the metaphoric door will be shut in your face so fast that you wouldn’t know what hit you. And on your side of the door, you’ll find only a couple of friends who have your back. And guess what? That’s always enough.

9. ‘Support’ is not a bad word

Though it’s shameful to admit, I’ve been stuck on a certain level for many days, giving up tens of lives with nothing to show for it. It was then that Candy Crush reduced the target score, helping me to finally heave myself out of that horrid level which very nearly gave me Candy Crush PTSD. Never did I think that I would feel slighted by a game’s offer of help, but this is what we do in real life too. We think ourselves so invincible, that any gesture of help or kindness is seen as a crutch, and is rejected faster than you can say ‘Chocolate Mountains’. But taking that helping hand is better than staying in a chasm of failure alone, so next time someone offers it to you, take it. And don’t forget to return the favour.

10. Life has a way of sorting itself out

While playing Candy Crush initially, I used to give up when I couldn’t find my groove in the first few moves, and just go through the moves to end the life. But sometimes, there comes across a combination that saves your game, and you stare at the screen incredulously as the candy puzzle rights itself and bursts away to glory. Hell, there have been times when I have made a wrong swipe which turned out to be for the best, and everything came cascading down (which is a good thing). So don’t worry yourself over making the right moves all the time. You never know when you might come across a masterstroke that sets everything right.

I know it might seem a little pretentious to peg so many metaphors and life lessons to a simple finger-swiping game, but these are real thoughts I have had while playing it, which I confessed at the risk of being branded a naïve person with too much time on her hands. I guess all I’m trying to say is; if I send you a Candy Crush saga request, don’t block me, OK? It's for your own good.

I didn’t choose the ‘Teach’ life, the ‘Teach’ life chose me

When it comes to sharing life experiences, the norm is that you either tell people before doing it- ‘OMG I’m totally going to skydive this year!!!’ or tell people what you felt after doing it- ‘ZOMG I SHOULD NOT have skydived! *throws up because of altitude sickness*

Being in the middle of something does not make for a very interesting conversation piece, because admit it, a ‘Work in Progress’ sign does not ignite any sense of passion or adventure in anyone. But still here I am, making an attempt to share my experience of being a ‘Teach India’ volunteer, not because it’s an adrenaline rush (actually, it is) or because I want to brag about the halo on my head, but because it is something that has come to being really close to my heart. (Look at me, opening up about things close to my heart. What’s next? Talking publicly about my dreams and fears? Pffft!)

So anyway, I signed up for being a volunteer for Teach India English for Employability Course for 2 reasons-

1. I finally had enough time on my hands to actually do it and take my mind off stupid niggling questions like ‘What am I doing with my life?!’

2. I really, truly, genuinely like the English language (Hah! You thought I was going to say I like helping people, right? Pfffft #2)

In reality, I hadn't given any real thought to the learners (read: students) apart from the fact that their English speaking fates would be in my hands for the next three months *megalomaniacal laughter*

So with these noble thoughts, and after a well meaning but somewhat random phone interview, I landed up for the mandatory training. And the kind of people that I saw actually and figuratively blew my mind. There were college students, young mothers, yuppies climbing the corporate ladders, retirees who wanted to do something good with their life and time, and of course, a lone velli me who observed each of them with a hawk’s eye.

At the beginning, I obviously didn't expect to be entertained at the training, and while coasting along wasn't on my mind, I also didn't have any high hopes of enjoying the training immensely. So in spite of my misgivings, I had a great time, playing childish games and bonding with the smorgasbord of people gathered there for a common cause. 

As expected, I got along well with the young people, and have made some awesome new friends who I would never have met otherwise. But the biggest surprise was the elders. OK confession time. I have a somewhat pained and conflicted relationship to elder people. So while I respect their wisdom and maturity and am on my best behavior around them, I also prefer watching them from afar, and not being too close to them. Blame it on my social anxiety.

But here, I found myself looking forward to see some of the cutest and coolest elder people that I've ever met in my life. Their life experience, coupled with their modern outlook, made for a very charming combination. On that note, old people are also great charmers and flirts, and I giggled more times than I care to admit after being smoothly flirted with *obligatory wink smiley*

There were the expected questions from people around, which started with ‘How much are you getting paid?’ and when I replied ‘Nothing’, ended with a bewildered ‘So why are you doing it?’

Session of swimming in the kiddie pool over, we were thrown headlong into the deep uncharted waters of actually teaching people who have limited/ incorrect knowledge of English. And I couldn't decide if I was more horrified or relieved by this prospect. Relieved because I was reaaaallllyyyyy glad that I wasn't teaching children. Confession time again- The problem I told you about elder people? The same applies to kids, too. I adore them (not really), but I prefer to admire their Awww! inducing ways from a safe distance.

The horror came from the fact of me being a major Grammar Nazi, and the possibility of every student making mistakes at the rate of 2 per sentence gave me a tic a la Sheldon Cooper. But in the end, the worry was for nothing. The sincerity and eagerness with which the students spoke, and their happiness after completing a full sentence on their own more than made up for sentences like ‘I will making a tea yesterday’. I was too busy basking in their glory to flinch or bitchily raise an eyebrow at those errors, which was a given in ANY other setting.

There is something to be said about the joy you feel for another person’s achievement, and I feel as proud as a lioness when her cubs make their first killing. Yes, they do need my help in chasing down the rules of grammar, ripping the irregularity of the language and breaking down the bones of wrong English learned over the years, but they are finally becoming fearless, which is what counts in the end.

Technically , I, their Ma’am, am the one teaching them, but I would be lying if I say I’m giving them more than what they’re giving me (What a cliché, I know) The trust which they place in me, the openness with which they ask doubts, the faith that they will not be mocked, the happiness and pride of learning new words and using them may seem commonplace to an outsider, but it is for me one of the best interactions I have had with fellow humans in my time.

Of course, there are miserable periods of doubt where I wonder if I’m doing the right thing, but all that goes away when they laugh at my jokes, forget their worries and enjoy the games played or remember what I had taught weeks ago and repeat it to me confidently.

They say there is a definitive moment when you transition into becoming a parent. For Ross (from FRIENDS) it was when Marcel held his finger in the hospital. For me, I realized I was a teacher (however temporary) when I referred to my learners as ‘my kids’. Why is that surprising? Well because most of them are elder to me, and even the younger ones would baulk at the idea of being my kids. So yes, when I thought of a middle aged mother of grown up daughters as my ‘kid’, that’s when I knew.

As I said before, being in the middle of something doesn't make for a very thrilling story, it’s always the happy ending that keeps you hooked. I’m still in the middle of the course, but there is one thing I know for sure. Regardless of whether I am useful to my learners, whether or not they remember me, even if I fail to make a huge impact on their life, this experience will go down as one of my ‘Happily Ever Afters’, at least for me. Teacher out.

My Problem With Non-Vegetarians: Reloaded

A few days ago, I wrote a blog post on ‘My Problem with Non-Vegetarians’, listing down my experiences with well meaning but ignorant meat-eaters. Though it was supposed to a tongue in cheek take, it seems to have ignited some passions, with me being subjected to vehement arguments and suggestions from both sides of the border. I crouched down in my No-Meat’s Land till these winds blew over and thought a little more. Obviously, since it was Eid time, nobody would have read my blog through the food coma induced by biryani.

But now that Shravan is upon us and the goats and chicken live to see another day, I hereby launch into Part 2 of my blog with all the passion and hot bloodedness that a grass eater can summon.

1. Eat the gravy and leave the pieces, the gravy is vegetarian!

I regret starting off with this point because I’m rendered speechless whenever this is said. Again, I know that you are very magnanimously offering me a tourist visa into the pleasures of non vegetarian food by passing me the gravy, which essentially is just spices, vegetables and nuts, but how can you not realize that the chicken’s blood, sweat, tears and other ummm…bodily fluids are floating in it too?! I too have heard stories about chefs sneaking chicken stock into vegetable gravies to make them tastier, but I prefer to operate under ‘Ignorance is Bliss’ and eat anything marked with a green dot in peace.

2. Vegetarian is slang for people who couldn't hunt. (Har, har!)

The text in the image manages to crack up non vegetarians every time for some strange reason. They may be also the people responsible for making Grand Masti enter the 100 crore club. I wouldn’t know. Somehow it seems to suggest that vegetarians lack the killer instinct that people who chomp down on meat seem to have in abundance. I for one agree completely. Buying an already lifeless and cleaned chicken from the butcher, squeamishly asking your maid to clean its dirty bits, chopping it into oblivion and cooking it seems like the job for a true hunter. But the true rulers of the food chain just stealthily stalk their prey in the food court, and pounce on the nearest bucket of chicken wings KFC has to offer. Impressive.

3. You are missing out on the good stuff!

Again, these are members of the well meaning FOMO (Fear of Missing Out) tribe who don’t want you to go through life without tasting the good things on the meaty side of life. Topmost among this is bacon, aka Little Crispy Strips of Salted and Smoked Nirvana. Featuring in this list are also butter chicken, garlic crab and oysters, among other delights. Thank you for your concern, but I honestly like the food that I eat, even down to steamed vegetables and sprouts (Good Girl!) and look forward to a lifetime of eating it, without looking at you with envy. So unless you’re eating sashimi off Scarlett Johansson’s bare…back, don’t even try to hint at me missing out on something desirable.

4. If you like animals, why do you eat all their food? (Har, har returns)

Sigh. The Circle of Life is such that one organism has to die to feed an entity higher in the food chain (again, pay attention in school, people!). There is enough fodder to feed all leaf eaters, and having a conscience doesn’t mean you go hungry. That is why I have no problems with people eating animals, with notable exceptions. My reliable sources tell me that people who eat live animals, shark fin soup, beating cobra hearts and Balut (Google it if you have the stomach for it) have a one way ticket to the pits of Hell. VIP members like Anthony Bourdain and Andrew Zimmern have a Presidential Suite booked in the Seventh Circle of Hell. But I digress. Vegetarians eat plants, which are supposedly cattle fodder, but the premise that a goat will starve because I ate an extra portion of salad is ridiculous. Then again, it can look for greener pastures if I steal its food, something it can’t do if you chop off its head for your dinner.

5. If you are so peaceful, why do you murder plants and eat them?

We all know the age old experiment by Jagadish Chandra Bose that established the fact that plants feel pain and other emotions. So the natural question is, Do I hear my vegetables and sprouts screaming when I put them in the kadhai? No, I don’t. Apart from the fact that these conclusions are now under the scanner, the issue is not about killing your food, it is about how you treat it when it’s alive. My food grows up in the open air, looking at sunrises and sunsets and feeling the wind blow in open fields, before fulfilling its duty as my energy giving life source. Yours sits in a cramped cage with minimum food, waiting for its violent death. Which sounds better? So ask yourself this- Why did Yash Chopra shoot his romantic songs in mustard and wheat fields, and not in a poultry farm? End of discussion.

6. I will sneak some chicken into your food, you won’t even realize it.

I get it. You think that once my Vegetarian V-card is taken away by this sneaky act of yours, I will be more open to sharing a kebab platter with you. But sorry, I don’t take this suggestion (read: threat) as a mark of your friendship. In fact, you might even be related to the sociopaths who slip date rape drugs to women because they don’t understand the concept of consent. So sorry to disappoint you, but no actually means NO. *takes plate to the washroom just so that it is not left unattended*

7. If you were marooned on an island, will you eat meat to survive?

The honest answer is no, I do not plan to hitch a ride with Tom Hanks or the guys from LOST, so I won’t be marooned on an island. I know this is a question designed to know the limits to which I will guard my commitment to vegetarianism, but I think fine dining will be the least of my concerns if I end up crashed on an island. I’m sure there will be lots of edible plants and tubers that will sustain me till my concerned parents send a search party, so I should be able to manage pretty well without blemishing my Green badge, thank you very much.

8. Are you going to raise your kids as vegetarian?

This question actually made me snort and pull an amused face. Is the discussion about food so important that you drag my unborn children into this? Let’s just keep this discourse between you and me, and leave out the kids who are currently snoozing in some corner of my torso, unaware of the absurdity that Mommy has to go through. Obviously, my kids will eat what I eat, till they are old enough to decide on their own preferences, but I would rather you not hatch a diet plan for them before they are well…hatched.

P.S.- If I had the desire or ability to make decisions for my offspring, I wouldn’t be sitting here writing a blog. I would be out getting me some babies to raise.

9. I am a vegetarian, I just eat chicken sometimes.

*straight face* People who make statements like these are the bisexuals of the culinary world (no offence), who bat for both teams as and when it suits them. They support and advocate vegetarianism vehemently with you, all the while sneaking chicken from the carnivore’s plate, just because they officially identify themselves as vegetarians. Darlings, the beauty of the English language is that there are different words for people who eat different kinds of meat, precisely so that switch-hitters like you don’t hijack our terms. A chicken or fish eater calling themselves vegetarian is just as ironic as, as Sajid Khan memorably said during a college fest, a Miss India calling herself a virgin.

So these are the (non-chicken) nuggets that I have gleaned in My Life as a Vegetarian. If you have more to add, please feel free to do so, but keep in mind that all of this is in jest. I don’t think what you consume is as important as what you create, so don’t war with people based on what’s on their plate, but what's in their heart. 

P.S.2- If I get hungry when I’m on that island you marooned me on, I’ll catch and eat whoever runs slower- the wild rabbit/deer/boar, or YOU. My bet’s on the rabbit, so start running.