Of chores, arguments, and a deep connection

Another birthday went by. Just like every year, I received phone calls from well-meaning associates. They repeated their wish of wanting to see me married and I again brushed it off saying that there is still some more time. Some went ahead to certify that my biological clock isn’t ticking anymore, and it might have stopped. I told them that it doesn’t mean anything to me.

Deep in my heart, I know it means quite a bit at this stage. No, not the biological clock but a solid companionship. A companionship that would provide me with comfort, peace and freedom. 

All my life I have lived with my parents and a younger sibling. We love each other to the core but argue at every possible instance. We have different world views, but the same values bind the four of us together. Some days, when I don’t win the major arguments – I tell them that I will pack my bags and leave the house. I have come so close to doing so, but I just can’t seem to take down the heavy suitcases from the attic and fill them with my favourite things. Because all my favourite things can't be packed in the good old sturdy luggage bags or even the mauve one that I bought some time ago.

The list of my favourite things is endless. They may be some material as old as the many audio cassettes of my recitation recordings or the customary studio visits for a picture dedicated to every occasion. They may also be a variety of emotions – undefined emotions that can only be felt in presence of one’s parents. Then there are also the things that I dislike. For instance - I don’t want to live up to the moral science textbooks all the time. 

But I have realised that my likes are quite solid in nature and often dwarf my dislikes. Now, when I travel out for shoots to another city for 2-3 days – I should be mentally kicked about it as I always was, but the fact is - I am not. It has nothing to do with work/shoots, which I am still quite passionate about. It has to do with not being able to see my parents on the days I am out. I may be in touch with them all the time over the phone, but I feel a strange sense of comfort when they are within my gaze.

This behaviour change has happened over time. With age, I have grown fonder of them – as my parents and as a couple. As a couple, they do most things together. Both have retired from their beloved services and now have each other’s company all the time. They cook and do other household chores together. They also have arguments. They stop speaking with each other and also don’t watch their scheduled shows together. But this sight doesn’t last for long. They make it up to each other very soon. I find it absolutely adorable how each time they let go of things easily without holding anything against each other.

And, here I am – fretting over my relationship because I had some sort of a sane expectation, but things did not work out my way. I pause for a moment and think why is ‘my way’ always more important than the other person’s opinion or way. I never get a satisfactory answer to that.

Maybe someday, I will.

That day, we will live together as one big family – his favourite humans, my favourite humans, his favourite things, my favourite things and the many intricate emotions of real existence.

That day, my way and his way won’t collide. And, even if they do, we will still stick together and find a middle ground where I will savour Old Monk and he will make do with a Lemonade breezer.

Until that happens, I am happily ageing up in the company of this endearing couple that still believes in old-fashioned love - where love conquers everything even the silliest of all arguments.

My mother proclaims – “Love is silent. It is important to understand its beauty amid everyday chaos”. My father nods in agreement.

They keep my hopes alive. 

Year after year.

I

I am here, again

Restless and doubtful

I question my existence, my identity, my spirit

Again

Am I just a dot on a piece of paper?

A small, inconsequential, defective dot

Or am I more than that?

A fly, maybe

The one that irritates you,

And you shoo it away every time

Am I a honeybee?

The one that scares you

But you still run after its nectar

Who am I, really?

A human being – am I one?

Am I the one, who feels superior to every other creature on the planet? 

Am I more influential than a dot, a fly, or a honeybee?

If yes, then why am I here, again?

Why do I feel feeble, exhausted, and powerless?

Was I running too fast, all this while?

Was I aiming too big, beyond my will? 

Maybe it is time to close my eyes and rest

And ponder over my actions done in haste

Today

My expectations have dissolved me into nothingness

I feel nothing more than a dot on a piece of paper

A small, inconsequential, defective dot

But one day, I will grow out of this emptiness

Into the world of my liking

Where I will march slowly, and expect less

I will be born right in the next phase

Until then, I pause

Within my dot, I rest

                                                                        

Poetic complexities

The poetic complexities of life

Our walk

You walk

I walk

Life goes on

Creating memories all along

You stop

I walk on

That empty bench

This bench no longer sustains our vulnerabilities. 

This bench does not speak to us anymore.

I find you

In stillness and in motion

In darkness and in light

I find you

You are so naive

Leaf kites

My leaf kites are filled with memories,

With feelings never being told,

If they fly to you, catch them quick,

Else they already have a place in my balcony.

Love veins

You say 'Everything is impermanent'

I say 'Put my heart on the litmus leaf'

You may look at the colours fading away,

While I, at the love veins staying alive, forever.

Don’t dare wish to tame us

Just the other day, I was speaking to a well-meaning friend of mine about the #MeToo movement. He told me that this movement has literally terrorised the men around him. He believes that, hereafter, approaching a woman one genuinely likes and wants to pursue, will require a sheer amount of courage on the man’s part. I tried clearing his notions about the movement, telling him that it is only confined to sexual harassment and misconduct in the workplace, and has nothing to do with relationships gone awry. It isn’t about relationships, anyway. He did not seem to be totally convinced. In his defense, he said that he knows about the movement, and is aware that it only represents a scanty section of perverted men. But the repercussions of this upheaval, is the larger damage done on men who sincerely respect, support, and protect the women around them.  

We had a heady discussion on this, and he somehow started making sense to me. But I told him a few things that don’t go down well with me. They are not sexual in nature, but abhorrent for sure.

No, I do not have a #MeToo story to share. In fact, I have a different standpoint altogether. I have worked with two leading English news channels in India for close to a decade, and I must admit that I was plain lucky in this aspect. I never encountered any harassment of sexual nature, whatsoever. The male video journalists, with whom I stayed in some godforsaken parts of the country, covering human interest stories, did not ever make me feel unsafe in any manner. I never had to guard myself for the many all-night shifts with the male video editors that I ever did sitting alone in the office. I always felt I was in a protected environment.  

However, there are still a few things I find a bit odd to handle. And some men do them all the time, considering them to be a harmless act of friendliness. To such men - here’s what I have got to tell you. Yes, it’s time you learn it from us, because we feel you have stayed ignorant for far too long.

Number 1: Look in the eyes while speaking

This is quite rampant within and outside the workspaces. As women, we embrace our curves, and like wearing well-fitted outfits. But that should not call for any unwarranted stares from you. And most importantly, when you are in a conversation with a woman face to face, don’t drop those eyes of yours onto her breasts. That’s a deviant conduct. Some women are strong enough to confront you right then, while others end up adjusting their stoles or placing their side bags well to avoid those unpleasant stares. In either case, don’t turn it into an embarrassing moment for us.

Number 2: We all have an official name

I remember, there was a certain male boss, who wouldn’t call the female colleagues by their names, but as ‘ladki’. This, he would do on the pretext of not remembering the names well. I always found this debasing. Every time, he would call me ‘ladki’ – I would politely remind him of my name. Not that he remembered it the next time, but I showed my displeasure every single time. We all have an official name. Please stick to our names to call us. Also, if you are not an absolute close friend, refrain from calling us ‘sexy’, ‘hot’, ‘sweet’, ‘babes’, and the likes. This is strictly no.  

Number 3: Keep a certain distance

I tell you about an incident. This one time I was traveling back to Delhi from a shoot. I was traveling with a male colleague. It was a cold November evening. I told him that despite wearing a layer of woolen, I was still feeling cold and that my hands were freezing. All of a sudden, this fellow took my hands in his and just would not let go of my hand. He started rubbing my hands – telling me that he was making them warm. The moment I realised what was happening, I dragged my hand, in exactly 10 odd seconds. It wasn’t anything serious, but he got the drift. Or so I guessed.

Don’t invade our personal space. Don’t touch our arms, put your hands around our waist, or ruffle our hair. You might think it is friendly enough to do so. It is not.

Number 4: No sexual innuendos

This is a strict no-no in workplaces, especially if you are not professionally or personally friends with the person. I fail to understand how sometimes every single line in a conversation is peppered with double-meaning jargon. Understand that there is a place and audience for such wordplay. Reserve it for, and with the right set of people.

Number 5: No dirty dancing

Picture this - I am in a nightclub. I am wearing a short dress. I have my glass of drink in hand. Or in my case, I may not have one. I am there with a close friend, who could be a male or female. And I am literally burning up the dance floor. Now, this scene could be from an official party also. Does this liberated state of mine invite you to come over to me, touch me inappropriately, and dance close? Absolutely, no!  

Unless you are a friend we trust or are happy to shake a leg with, please stay away from us.

Number 6: Don’t shout and silence us

This one time, I was shooting somewhere on the outskirts of Haryana. We had been shooting in the scorching sun since 10 in the morning. It was two in the afternoon now. My male video journalist wanted to break for lunch. It was more than justified that he did so - only if there were eating joints nearby. There were none. A break at that time would have meant to travel another an hour into the city to have food and then travel back to finish the shoot. Not to mention, we had only one day to complete the shoot. So, I told my colleague that we could finish the rest of the shoot, which was not much, and then wrap up at 4 pm and have lunch somewhere on our way back. He not only did not like my plan but literally shouted at me in front of the interviewee. I kept my cool and told him politely not to shout. I understood his anguish and I was equally starving at that time. But shouting is downright demeaning and completely uncalled for. He created a scene and told me that he wouldn’t shoot without eating. I did not speak to him on that ride back. When I reached the office, I narrated the entire incident to my reporting manager. She immediately took it up with the head of the camera section. And within a couple of hours, the camera person was made to apologise. To date, I am friendly with this person and I have seen a radical improvement in his behaviour since the incident. This also goes to show that there should be more women in powerful positions. I don’t know how this episode would have shaped up, had my reporting manager not been a female and considerate enough.

Take yet another incident. This time I was studying at a reputed college. For a class assignment, I was supposed to direct a shoot, wherein I had three classmates assisting me – all men. I did the division of work and told them their respective responsibilities. I asked one of them to get a few production items from the market. When I went up to him to collect the items and remind him of his next lineup of duties, this man - who is 10 years older than me, started shouting at the top of his voice, asking me to stop dictating things to him. He was extremely rude and kept saying that this project was not his, since he wasn't the one directing it. I kept my patience all this while and told him to calm down. But I also did tell him to leave the project, if he was not willing to work on it. He eventually did leave the project. But I still had the heart to put his name in the end credits. What was rather shocking was that there were two other young men in the room. Neither of them had the nerve to tell this man to stop shouting and behave well. I had tears in my eyes as I left the room that day. I did not tell it to anyone. Not even to my roommates. This time around, I did not take it up to the authorities. Being the person that I am, I should have spoken about it, but I could not do so. I neither had the time nor the energy to waste on this issue. There was only one day left for the shoot and there were 11 characters I had to deal with. I was literally running pillar to post to fix everything – with hardly four hours of sleep. Anyway, I was thereafter labeled as ‘bossy’. I wasn’t too unhappy with the tag though!  

What I have understood over the years is that some men, actually very few of them - find it extremely difficult to take orders from women half their age on the professional front. I guess it sort of hurts their big, fat male ego. But you see, you never will be able to do away with us completely. So, it is time you brace the change in the power equation and buckle up!   

Number 7: No overt chivalry

We respect chivalrous men. We really do. But if you do get a clear indication that we are not liking the persuasion anymore, then don’t overdo it. Not every woman is happy to be the recipient of male chivalry. So seek out permission from her before wrapping her around with your jumbo jacket for the intended warmth or urging her to crash in at your apartment after the party, when she evidently does not want to do so. Good manners are all very fine, but if a woman asserts her disapproval over something, it does not remain too gracious anymore to continue insisting on her.

You may or may not approve of all the points mentioned, but there is no denying that they do make a woman uncomfortable, to say the least.

I have always judged the men around me in the professional field. And yes, being judgmental isn’t that bad a thing, after all! I have judged their every move and stopped them right in the first go when something appeared odd to me. If I think a particular person is creepy, then most likely that he or she is, in the real world. I am also of the opinion that every cloud has a silver lining, if only crossing the boundary is not carelessly termed as ‘healthy flirting’.  

The Clouds

That morning, she woke up to the sound of thunder

Her trembling hands reached out to his woolen jacket

Enveloped in his warmth, she walked to the verandah

To collect the tiny photo frames hanging atop the window sash

She brought them all in, and cleared the rain droplets off them

She placed them on the small side rack in her drawing room

The pictures brought back happy memories of their time together

She picked up her beloved’s picture and kissed it

The day marked their 70^th marriage anniversary

Blue

Blue is her favourite colour
It is also the warmest of all
But as the wind blows
Blue changes its colour 
It fades and washes away in the rains

In parts, it looks dull
It looks beaten and stained
It no longer remains warm
Yet she finds it soothing
Yet she feels some undeniable association
She wonders if blue is just her favourite colour

Piku: Holy sh*t!

I know my system quite well. A good night’s sleep and a glass of lukewarm water, is all I need to take a satisfying dump every morning. This activity is very different for different people. Some go to the toilet at any time of the day when the pressure is right and do their business like it’s no big deal. Some have a set pattern like the way I have. And for some, it is an insanely tough task. Tough to the extent that their entire energy in life is directed towards the amount of stool they push themselves to purge. They seldom feel the euphoria that arises after taking an adequate unload.

My mother (Maani) falls in this category. She has been suffering from constipation for the past one year. We are fortunate that it’s not a chronic one for her, but I know the distress she undergoes every single day for this one chore alone. The preparation for this starts from a night before, as she dutifully drinks a glass of warm milk with Isabgol, in all anticipation that she will be able to relieve herself well in time the next day. Sometimes, it works wonders. Sometimes, it does not. The times when it does not, we all realize it without her shouting it aloud. She tends to become a little sluggish and cranky. We just have to see her face to make out whether or not she had it easy that day. And, the times when it is effortless for her, we all revel in celebration. After all – ‘Insaan ka emotion uske motion se judha hua he!’ We know that better. Seriously!

Shoojit Sircar’s Piku is such a heartwarming real film. The fact that a little chat about bowel movement at the dinner table is not looked down upon as an awkward situation, shows the genuineness of this lovely narrative. I love every bit of this movie. Most importantly - the brilliant writing! Much like Vicky Donor, this one too has a well-shielded script that never becomes a stinky pile of shit, even though that’s the central theme of Piku.

The second most impressive aspect of Piku is Bhaskor Banerjee’s standpoint about his daughter’s marriage. He doesn’t seem to lose his sleep over Piku’s single status; rather he believes that –‘marriage without purpose is a low IQ decision.’ He is not against marriage but wants her to find out a good enough reason to settle down. And for him, Piku’s marriageable age isn’t a compelling one. What a progressive thought that is!

I don’t have the exact stats, but it is a known fact that most Bengali women tend to get married late in life. These women could be single, but lead an intensely happy and independent life. Just look out on purpose and you are bound to discover this lot of Bengali women around you.  I, maybe, a case in point too :-)

Piku took me through an emotional whirlwind. Different kinds of emotions emerged, one after the other. In fact, rarely does it happen that I feel for all the characters in a movie. Piku is special in that sense.

But I still have 2 points to make. Not that these would have made this already beautiful film a notch better, but they did cross my mind.

First - I thought the interval sequence was a smart insertion, but not the cut. Would it not have been better to cut the scene when Piku and her father found the knife and were figuring out why it was there, rather than to elongate it up to the point where there is a spat between Bhaskor and Rana over the knife – and Bhaskor throws a fit and sits on the road with his suitcase and demands the knife to be thrown out? Somehow for me, it lost whatever bit of suspense, it was intended to interleave. I never felt the need to judge Rana’s character after that entire sequence.

Second - I wish I did not have to cry when Bhaskor died. The movie must have served its purpose, but I so wanted him to take another cycle/rickshaw ride to discover the unexplored bylanes of Kolkata. This, again, without keeping Piku and the rest of the family members informed about his jaunt!
I wanted to see more of him and his antics. I wanted him to do anything interesting, except for never waking up from the bed - especially after taking a fairly satisfying dump of his life! Why couldn’t we see him eating and enjoying stuff that a regular bhadrolok does in Kolkata? (There is a lot more in Kolkata than just the roadside Kachoris!) We could have even liked seeing him play a football match with his old friends. Wouldn’t that have made it even more real?

Thankfully, there was absolutely no drama over his death. It was different from other death sequences that we have seen in films so far. But, I wish, some day Bollywood films move over the myriad adversities of life. In particular, those films where it looks more like a forced placing than the real flow of events.

On one hand, I say I love the movie and on the other, I have 2 important points that are critical of it. That’s fine. This thought was jammed up right there and I had to let go of it today.

P.S.
Please don’t look that constipated. You can release your emotions too! 

A half-baked cake

I baked a perfect heart-shaped raspberry cake today.

It came out soft, creamy, fluffy and spongy.

You ought to be familiar with its colour and aroma.

Much to your delight, it still reveals the same zest for life!

Its contour is colourful and confident

Its natural silkiness melts up the soreness inside.

This time the frozen berries on the top jazzed it up a bit.

And, the lily flowers on the tray have made up for the lost scent.

Yes, that’s the story of one half of the cake.

Let’s keep the other half for some other day.

As yet, it’s unprocessed and half-baked!

Residual Love

You love green apples, I love red ones

You prefer continental, I like Indian

You hog and jog, I sleep and skip

You focus on the destination, I enjoy the ride

You listen to Gwen Stefani, I hum Ghazal notes

You adore winter holidays, I am a bright summer girl

You always get lost in my eyes, I can’t ever track your heart

Yet one part of me in you loves the red apples

Yet one part of you in me sings - ‘I know, we’re cool’

Laugh lines around my eyes – Smile please!

Some well-meaning relatives in my life have only one ambition to execute this year. They tell me that they can’t wait to shop like crazy for my wedding. And that, they are getting old and might not be agile enough to perform all the wedding-related chores by the time I actually do get married. Therefore, I have been told to seriously consider their plea.

Thirty and not a sign of settling down, is considered a big deal in a woman’s life. My parents, thankfully, don’t make it sound as big as the rest of the people in my life do. I have started hearing their sympathetic tones lately.

So, what should I do?

There are 2 ways of sorting this out -

First - I should let my parents do the groom hunt quite actively now and happily participate in all the activities. I should let my profile flash on various matrimonial sites and carefully choose to interact with the right prospective/s. Basically, I should open myself to the route of an arranged marriage system.

Second – I should wait for Mr. Right to come into my life. A dear friend KM had once pointed out – ‘Onnu, don’t you think, you live in a fantasy world or something? How long will you just sit on this and wait for your fairytale miracle to happen to you?’

My reply was, and is still the same – For as long as it takes.   

Is there still a third way of setting this up? I am yet to discover, if there is.

In my mind, I am in no hurry to settle down. But, when I put my mind to rest for a few hours, I wake up to this harsh reality of my life - where everyone around me is screaming aloud in 3 different languages – ‘when are you getting married? Kab shaadi kar rahi ho? Aei mey, kokhon beye korchish?’

Honestly, I don’t know. I really DO NOT KNOW!

I just know one thing it will happen when the Gods up there take time out to decide upon my future. In the meantime, I can only keep my attitude as optimistic as this sales executive at the Levi’s store, who claimed that I can never outgrow the perfect 26-inch waistline! Also, as realistic as the parlour aunty who recently asked me to replace my daily skincare products with anti-aging ones. Precisely, that’s the reason why it is not tough to keep my outlook well-balanced.

And, for some other strange reason, an acquired interest in the field of Sports, is currently defining me as a person.

It’s bound to instill in me the true spirit of sportsmanship, if nothing else. 

P.S.

I love aging. It brings forth a lot of maturity, humility, fun, and some elegant laugh lines.