You Ugly You!

Being a girl in India is no easy work. Especially for an urban girl who is flying past the changing times and is yet grounded to her roots. She encounters countless challenges on an everyday basis. Be it travelling in local transport with men having eyes fixated at her bosom, the ‘because you’re a woman’ office politics, the ‘girls should not do this’ family embargo, the ‘mummy ne kuch sikhaya nahi kya’ in-laws brickbat, the ‘ab tak shaadi nahi ki, toh bachche kab honge’ nosy relatives, the ‘girls should not be too curvy or lanky’ pressures, the monthly menstrual torment… it’s all about challenges in here.

And as if that was not enough already, when a hassled girl with tousled hair, tanned skin, undone brows, overgrown upperlips and unwaxed legs makes it to the salon oasis just to make her feel better about herself,… boom!! There comes the nasty witch fairy walking her walk and talking the talk. With a gait announcing her great repertoire in making every girl the princess she’d love to be, she sports some heavily done smoky eyes, bright red lipstick bordered with thick dark lip liner on a mousse laden face, mascara that’s clumped on those frail lashes for her own good, blush that’s the essence to her clowny appearance, liner that well makes her the wicked kitty and most of all, the smirk and narrowed eyes that are all set to scorn and scar you well until your next appointment.

She is your very own self-proclaimed beauty expert; Who may not know nothing about beauty, but all about how to make you look the 'ugly you'!

After a hassled week, on that one Saturday of the month when you’re particularly off your chums, you decide to step into the salon to just ease off and take it slow. The excruciating pain induced by the hair threader, the hot wax or even the face steamer seems to soothe your mind and soul in many ways than one can expect. It’s all mind over matter then. But just as you make up your mind to make the most of this pamper day, that annoying lil’ witch fairy walks up to you, only to make it the worst day of the month!

She starts off with the eyebrows and upperlip. Plucking each hair strand with so-called perfection, she is quick to notice the open pores, dried out skin and patchy compact on your face. When I ask her to keep the brows thick and only rid of the extras, she makes sure that she does so, only to change the shape of the arch and flatten it altogether. Instead of plucking the hair from the root, after good ten minutes of pressing her head like a pecking hen over my eyes, all I have is half-plucked hair that are now, even tougher to rid of. And the upperlip, let’s just say, I can’t seem to find a single hair strand there, but a magical thick black line appears all over it. “Aapke eyebrows kahan kiye they? Ekdum shape bigaad diya hai! Kuch shape hi nahi bacha” I promptly blame the next door parlour for my plight, putting this lady on a pedestal, hoping atleast now she will do me some justice. Turns out, she’s avenging for having gone to the next door parlour! Two days later, I am sitting at home using my plucker to bring my brows in a decent shape, do away with all the extras, and still trying to figure out a way to deal with the magic moustache I now sport.

With a nasty smile, she then takes me to her mysterious wax & facial room. While you can smell the essential oils diffused just a minute before I walked in, the bed is neatly made and equipment rightly arranged. As she hands over the fresh bandeau dress for me to don, she steps out of the room in precisely three counted steps, leaving me to change. As I don my outfit for the day, she knocks in and starts the wax ritual. “Underarms are very sensitive, so we will not use the regular honey wax, but the rica peel-off wax. Its less harmful and easy on the skin.” I’m fascinated! Minutes later, her head is dug deep into my underarms, struggling to peel-off the small clumps of the rica wax and takes a good 20 minutes for a normal 5 minute routine. And that is also somehow, my fault! Face-palmed, as I sit back up for the remaining wax process, bang comes the volley of complaints after just one application. “Kitni ingrowth hai! Aapne full growth hone tak wait kyu nahi kiya? Aap razor use karte ho kya? Ab pura wax do do baar karna padega. Kyunki ek baar mein toh baal niklenge hi nahi.” My repeated response of “yeh mera full growth hi hai” is conveniently diffused in the air, quite like the essential oils. Only thing, the oils are essential, my response isn’t! 

Dare I tell her about how she’s pulling the hair in the wrong direction and not pressing the strip nicely enough for the hair to be uprooted! Shocked after seeing all the tan spots on my hands and the black spots on my back that were dandruff induced and refused to leave my back after 10 years of varied medical treatments, my witch fairy here had the remedy for it all! “Aap back spa aur polishing karwa lo. Aapke sab spots nikal jayenge. Hum ek special oil use karte hain, jissey 10 sittings mein aapki back ekdum clear ho jayegi. Aur aapki skin bhi bohot dry hai. Aap facial karte ho kya? Last kab kab kiya tha? Ohh, mahine mein ek bar karke bhi apki skin itni dry hai. Aapko fir do baar karna chahiye!” Content with mocking at me, she laughs! Quoting a mere 4000 for one sitting of back spa and polishing, I knew I would have to forgo all my weekend excursions for good 2 months! Cos the witch fairy would be perching her long teeth in my money then!

Few minutes later, my new found bestie, gets all personal and enquires about my family and whereabouts. “Aapki shaadi ho chuki hai? Lagta nahi aapko dekhkar. Mangalsutra bhi nahi hai na.” “Aap kaunsa job karte ho? Apka office yahi paas main hai kya?” All the friendly banter, only a sly means to gauge my demographic situation and spending power- may be on a 500-1000 bucks tip. 

As she sets the ambience for my facial, there I lay, in a dark room with just one teeny white light emerging from God knows where. I see a ghostly figure right above my face that has some rather rough fingertips as she begins massaging my face. Mistaking it for a scrub, I told her to scrub my face mildly. Offended, she retorted, “It’s just a cream!” Chewing my lip, I went on with the massage that lasted for exactly 10 minutes, (I counted 1- 600 in my mind as she did the honors. That’s how I know.) Leaving my face under the steamer, she walks out only to chatter with her peers and return after 15 minutes. Back again, she uses the dreadful blackhead extractor and pierces my nose, chin and cheeks. Petrified and traumatized, I moan with the regular ‘oohs and aahs’, but the lady is unperturbed. As if I hadn’t had enough, she exclaims about the big bag of “Whiteheads” I carry on my face, that she’s obligated to remove. Forget the 2500 bucks I’m paying for her so-called “finest” facial!

Bruised and abused, my body tells me to pick all my belongings and run straight out in that bandeau dress, without paying a single penny. But to the honor of my sophisticated conscience, I dread and tread to the final leg of my pamper day. The haircut. “Your scalp is oily at the back.” Of course it is cos I can’t see it from here! “When did you last wash it?” I nervously replied, “Yesterday”. With a full poker face I say so, trying my best to hide the nervousness I felt as I’d spent the longest time in the bath this morning, only shampooing and conditioning my hair! After what the witch fairy said about my oily scalp, Cleopatra could well go take a walk! “Your hair is very dry too. What shampoo do you use?” I lied about using the mildest shampoo/conditioner available in the market. Which to her, was the harshest on the hair! As she pushed me into getting a hair spa, I wondered if my wallet was open to bear further vanity abuse. After long persuasion for my kind of haircut, she managed to make a style statement, making my bangs shorter than ever that poked me straight in the eye. 

A pirate that I was by this time, I rose from my throne. She announced that I looked perfect. I indeed did, with some untweezed brow hair, magical black moustache, sprinkles of ½ inch long hair on my hands and legs, overtly peeled steam face, and finally, the pirate bangs! I was pampered as per the salon manual, where humiliating and physically abusing customers only to up-sell services in exchange for a big fat invoice and an ugly face, is all in good faith.

Good faith! Really!? Hot rica wax on the face of all those who even gave these smirk-faced, sly and frustrated witch fairies a job in the first place! 

As the fake-grin Salon Manager handed over the hefty bill and asked for service suggestions, I fake-grinned him back and said, "May be you could put a big scotch tape over your Service Staff's mouth and give her a lesson or two in doing her job right! And yes! If she still doesn't get it, please ask her to just F*** O**!"

After a day of moronic monologue and bruised body, my bed came to my rescue and I sleep it out with one foot on the witch fairy’s face, who by the way, even haunted my dream! Calling me “You Ugly You” on repeat loop, I punch her in the eye, giving her smoky eyes and kitty liner its true definition!

Damn womanhood!

I’m sorry, but you’re not invited!

India is the perennial land of guests! Yes, and that is one turf where no country, region or place could ever beat us. The rate at which guests step in and out of our homes on a given odd day, can easily put the European summer tourist trails, Dubai immigration policies and even the popular club at a weekend to big shame. And we desis being the poor old ‘atithi devo bhava’ maxim advocates, take it in our stride and sanskaar to pay heed to all those random guests and treat them right with all our might.

From heavy duty indulgent meals to giving up our very own private bedrooms to sharing bath soaps (do not judge, I never share a soap with anyone, but most do) to giving the family head-seat at the dinner table, to letting them watch all their fave TV shows, to giving them your cozy couch spot while you sulk on the floor, to giving up on your day’s laptop ritual (ok games) for them to check-in to our homes and put up sucked out holiday pictures on Facebook, to all the drama that fuddles our “routines” for no good! And all this for the sake of keeping that one ‘guest of dishonour’ happy and kickin’! Well, if there’s anything that they are kickin’ on their so-called holiday at our home, it’s just our butt!

When I got married and had the first guest in my house, my mom frantically called me and was just a little short of putting up a notice in the papers, as she warned, “Do not entertain guests in your house! They get used to your hospitality and it won’t be far from now, when their name shows up in your ration card!” I laughed off her suggestion and covered up saying, “I’m just newly married Ma, I’m experimenting with my home and discovering my new independent self. I’m sure I’ll get bored of it soon and won’t let the guests in.” To which she retorted, “But that will happen when you get bored. And believe me, you shouldn’t even wait until that guest routine makes you smash right off the ceiling. Just keep them at bay, or else, you’ll end up being a younger version of me, straight from the 80s until this day!”

Wow! Now that was some heavy advice. I pondered over my mum’s precious words while I was preparing breakfast for the same guest who was until then, hovering over my parent’s abode, and I was the torchbearer of the gen next of my family. What kept ticking in my mind all the while was that, my mum got married while she was a mere 22. Exposed to a dynasty brimming with sanskaars (albeit only restricted to the daughters-in-law and not the daughters), she spent a big chunk of her early marital years under the in-laws administration. In a joint family of sorts that saw guests checking in and out of the family home every single day. Distressed with the drama, my parents made the finest decision ever of stepping out of the family home into a small yet cozy nest in the city suburbs with their two lil’ chirpies (my sister and me) for their own good. While my granny chose to let my mom depart without a valedictory gift, there’s one precious thing she sure relayed… her guests! They just wouldn’t stop! While our family home was the signature hotel for our guests, they were now enticed to its new subdivision in the city suburb, where the guests could have an entire room for themselves! Some promotion I say! The guests were ecstatic and we were not.

15 years went by and as we chirpies grew up, my parents felt we needed a bigger space and one more bedroom was added for our clan. The circus of guests was like a jinx on our family that prevailed. It went on and on and on. And even to this day, it remains a major part of what my family is famed for. But then I wonder… why didn’t my parents ever shut shop and not let anyone enter their world ever! Why didn’t they do it? Was it really that tough? Hell no! But my parents being the lovely dignified souls they are, could never say no to anyone. While my dad felt that he was the older son and should go on with the family tradition and not irk anyone so to say, my mom did so under sheer ‘How can I say no to them? They should understand na!” burden. While I am the contemporary version of my folks, I have deftly devised newer ways of refusing guests these days and my how they work! Well, for instance, just say, I’m out this weekend. Or, if they suddenly gatecrash, say, there’s pest control scheduled for the day, or when nothing works, just tell them a poker-faced NO right to their face. That works just fine!

Well, I don’t quite have an issue with having guests over, as long as they don’t stay for long and are the people I want to have home. But most people that do come over for a well-appointed budget holiday, are the ones who will put on that fake smile (I can always tell a fake smile & intention) and try too hard to be a part of your family and get to know you better. That’s the kind of people I have a problem with. Who just fake it all to evade pricey accommodations. It’s like they get paid for staying at ours and are covertly unapologetic about it.

Of all the gazillion guests that have been flittering around my parent’s home, there’s one peculiar guest who wins hands down! The ease and finesse with which this guest slips into our home and a few of his family members sprinkled annually, is simply phenomenal.

Say hello to Uncle Pao. He is my father’s age old buddy. They sure had a gala time when in college, but later, parted ways and went soul and bread searching and were not much in touch for time immemorial. Just a random phone call and family wedding invitations here and there. Well, he did help my dad when he started out his business venture back in the 80s, but what he’s received in return is mammoth- much more than the money he invested in my dad and the interest my dad may have possibly paid him for it. What he got, was ‘family’ instead. And why not, if you spend majority of your city time with us, you are bound to know it all and see it all about our family. Who else is there to discuss about the many family quandaries when we speak of third person perspective. He was easily available to us and might I say, had a keen interest in our domestic affairs.

When I was a lil girl, I knew Uncle Pao as my dad’s friend. I still remember the first time he barged into our house. I was about 12 and all alone at home, when the doorbell sang, nudging me off my computer game, only to stare at him through the wrought iron door trying to comprehend a face through that thick black beard. While I reckoned he was Uncle Pao, I wondered why he was at my door in the first place. I let him in and got back to playing Dangerous Dave- a game I was seriously addicted to.  He asked me to move over and plopped on the computer table as he began working on the internet. I was furious! He asked me to make some coffee. I told him I didn’t know how to make one. He asked for tea, and I said, I didn’t know how to make that either. Even if I knew it, I wouldn’t have done the honours for a traitor who stole my throne and was now throwing dictates at my face. I was angry and bored. I settled for TV but never called it truce.

I didn’t see him for almost about 10 years after that episode. Cut to 2008, he makes a midnight entry with his family only to wish my parents a Happy Anniversary. He landed two hours early in the city and waited at the station until midnight so as to make a surprise entry just in time. And surprised we were! My heart melted. I felt, Uncle Pao wasn’t as bad as I had thought of him in my earlier encounter. My sister and I got along very well with him. With the age we were in and having a colossal task of communicating issues to our parents ahead of us, we would often speak our minds in front of Uncle Pao. He would hear us out. My sister & I were a huge fan of him. Need I mention, my star craze fizzled out like any other fan out there? My sister shared some of her major issues with Uncle Pao. Before migrating to the UK, in her thanksgiving speech, she gave much credit to him for his patient hearing when she was down and under and couldn’t communicate with any one of us; and Uncle Pao would untiringly call her every single day and hear her speak her mind. She stated, “He never said a word. It was just me doing the talking and he letting me do it. He knew I wanted a patient listening ear and that’s exactly what he gave me. No opinions and no charges.” Much later I learnt that Uncle Pao had done this ‘you talk and I’ll listen’ bit with many others too, at different levels (some sort of ‘strategy’ I reckon). Now that explains why as of today, he can hear with only one ear. And the other of the pair is essentially ineffective.

While my sister gives full credit to him for the support, I too give him that. Kudos for the hearing work. After all, he allowed me to speak my mind, albeit only when he permitted me to do so. When he called me, I would talk. Otherwise I was just put off as too callow. I didn’t mind it then and considered him to be the saving grace for my family who was even helping my dad mend his business relations with his brother. My father once coolly stated, “My daughters have never, and will never tell me their problems.” That explains the need for a certain Uncle Pao to step in and fan out his so-called magic wand on us. While my dad said so after bestowing full faith in Uncle Pao's precious foolproof advice for his daughters, he (my dad) was left with little choice when his daughters themselves chose to confide in a certain Uncle Pao. Not necessary I say! It’s a family’s biggest failure when they can’t even communicate with each other and need a third party to do the works. Thankfully, sense knocked in on us and we decided to refrain from depending on our house guest for any further problem resolution!

With time, the Pao clan and our clan mingled. We all were one big happy family who was doing it all wrong. The guest of our home was now the best of our home. The gates were left far too open for this guest, on whom we relied on for even the slightest sight of danger. Our dependency on him had crossed the confines and we didn’t even realize it happened. Nothing wrong with a friend who knew all about our familial issues, but depending on one for it all, was by far the biggest felony. And this realization dawned on me when I was directly hit by the wind straight up. That’s another story altogether.

The cracks it has developed in our relationship will surely be mended with time, but the lessons have been staggering. I have forgiven, but not forgotten. And in retrospect, I wonder how can we actually forgive if we can’t forget?

Post marriage, Uncle Pao was the first and frequent guest of my freshly bedecked habitat. In exchange, I went for a short 3 day visit to his house just twice in two years. And what I saw of him there, left me jarred. I saw this whole new person, who had ignored his family for the longest time and was now trying to make it up to them in the oddest possible ways and miserably failed at it. And when I say he was away, he was at my parent’s home for most of the time attending to some apparent work in the city. He was ruthless, uncaring, obsessive and pushy in his hometown. While he lived in our home for the longest time, I felt I knew him so well. But what I saw of him at his home, was another person altogether.

I chose to ignore that facet of his personality and returned home. But everytime he visited us after, I could see that same facet out there in the open where everyone could see it. Only my family couldn’t. I couldn’t ignore it and prodded further. My series of interactions with him only proved my learnings. What I learnt was that he was only not really interested in our issues. He was the person who was at the edge of tradition and modernity not knowing where to go. Also, he would never give away his opinions on any matter ever. All he would do is agree with you at first and then spell out an entirely different story to the person you wish the message reaches to through him. And when quizzed about his opinion on a matter, be prepared for a response that articulates, “This decision you made always made me uncomfortable.” Well, then why didn’t you say anything sooner? And then the trauma of dealing with a set of angry parents who were told an entirely altered version of your decision even without your knowledge!

While he gave a patient ear to my sister, I believe, he could never really understand her core issues. He was only a facilitator. The one through whom she would communicate with my parents. And ditto for me. As for my dad, Uncle Pao always projected that he had my dad’s back as the brethren issues prevailed, but in actuality, he was/is biased towards my uncle too. And my dad is still juggling with issues despite having a so-called “friend aka support system” by his side, whose guidance would have helped him resolve most of his issues with his brother way before, given the fact that Uncle Pao was the mediator between the two.

He was that boss lady of our house who we would speak our minds to, and be under the impression that she would help us sail through it all. But in reality, we sailed through our problems ourselves. I never ever got any advice/solution for my issues to say the least. I only ranted my issues in front of him. And he gave some vague ambiguous responses. (Ambiguity I must say, is what he knows is his thing. A candid confession he once made and I listened.)

Uncle Pao’s brother (the finance whizz/new age nerd who is good with numbers, and that’s the bubble he lives in!) too helped us when in need. But the return on investment was his brother (Uncle Pao Junior's) full stay including meals and tourism while he visited the city for at least a week for 6 years in a row now. As much distress it caused my mother, I was enraged when I did the math and learnt that we were the loss making entity here. The "one-time help" he rendered, had now become a guarantee of sorts that would bind us to serve these not-so deserving guests who only forged their love for us.

My sister was visiting us recently with her husband. Off the 24 days that she was here, she was at my parent’s for the first 10 days, next 10 at her in-laws and the final 4 with us again. Uncle Pao who takes full credit for making my sister’s wedding a reality, went into a frenzy when she first broke the news of her India visit. His countdown on our WhatsApp group with smileys and the sundry was a start of sorts. It was rather sappy and apparent that a "strategy/agenda" was being secretly harnessed. It wasn’t that he was just plain happy that she’s gona be in town. There was a lot more than what met the eye. So, off the first 10 days my sister was with us, he meticulously planned a trip to our home that lasted a grand 8 days of the 10. That basically left my mum and me with no ‘us’ time with the elder chirpie. While my mum was busy preparing “heavy breakfast” for Uncle Pao, followed by scrumptious meals, she spent most of her time slaving in the kitchen. And I was left with little space to inhabit my own parent’s home cos there wasn’t much space to catch some Z's after a long shopping day with the sis. After all, he was plonked on the couch where I could have easily snoozed, considering my parents would occupy their room and my sis and her husband the other. So I stayed for about four days but chose to leave cos it was getting very uncomfortable and my mom would have at least one person less in the meal plan. While it should have been Uncle Pao who should’ve backed out and left to nurse his own family, I was the one doing the honours. Wait! The best part is now. Uncle Pao Junior cancelled his UK trip because my sis made the India plan, and he decided to visit her in India instead. Apparently, his mood went mouldy when he learnt she wouldn’t be in town during his UK trip. Hence the cancellation of all bookings… bla bla bla.. (Pssst…A little birdie told me Uncle Pao Junior was to stay at my sister’s for a “weekend”!)Talk foul play! He planned his India trip in the second half of my sister’s Bombay sojourn that lasted all the four days. Again I’m cast away from home as my mum is worried sick that she will be hailing the kitchen and making meals for the Junior, and I will have to make bed on the French window if I wished to stay over! (For the record, I didn't care about our house guest and stayed along with my sis and parents at that time and graced my parent's bed alongside mommy dearest while Junior snored to glory, giving some serious competition to my dad in the living room!) Altogether, Uncle Pao and his family got a great deal of my sister’s time on her India trip and my parents and I were left in the lurch, running helter-skelter hoping to steal some moments with our older chirpie.

So here was our very own house patron Uncle Pao and the chronicles of his stayovers.

Oh! And then there was this aunt who would indulge in summer shopping scenes with her children at our home, that grand uncle who hosted his daughter’s 5 day wedding affair with our home as base camp and when he had a heart attack, his many heart blockages were thoroughly washed out courtesy my mom’s kitchen specialities. Oh yes! And those many many visitors who would excuse themselves for having dropped by to check on my ailing grandfather. Most ended up having lunch or dinner with us as my grandad frowned on his karela soup. “Oh look, it’s too late to catch that last bus home, we will leave tomorrow morning.” Permission could well go take a hike!

Uncle Pao and the many guests we served have been a true inspiration for me (to not be anyone’s house guest!), but what I learnt from it all was real.

Guests are dangerous. Try not to invite any home. At least not the same guest frequently. And if you still do, don’t ever share your dilemmas with them, and moreover, owe them anything. It can well be used against you. ;)

PS: To all you guests out there… You may be a friend/relative. But I’m sorry, you’re not invited. You never were. So kindly stay away from my soap, TV, dinner table, couch, laptop and most importantly… my home!

That Early 80s Gal

Every gal is special. Special for the way she looks, the way she behaves, the way she talks, the way she walks, and all other things that don’t even matter as much. And with all these special traits, she doesn’t even realize when she became the cynosure of all eyes.

Her behavior becomes subject to massive scrutiny ever since she steps into this circus called life. Her every move, every spoken word, every outfit worn, every decision made is under strict surveillance. Needless to say, I am in fact speaking about the many Indian girls.

In the early ages, a girl was tied down by so many restrictions, she almost always cursed herself for being born as one. And as years crawled by, things changed for good. The oh-so deprived Indian gal began to be liberated from the shackles of customs and traditions.

As she began experiencing the little joys of life that she was earlier forbidden, the sense of liberty was heightened with time. The Indian guy in every decade has been more so the same. Same basic habits, same basic ideas, same basic beliefs. It’s like a legacy they’ve always been secretly harnessing, that they’ve sworn to abide by no matter what. But it’s the Indian gal who’s seen a herculean change over time. Every decade, you will find a different set of Indian gals. Their evolution with each decade has been simply incredible. From being the oh-so shy to the oh-so brassy, their evolution is a chronicle in itself.

But but but.. its’ the early 80s gal who takes the cake here! Her life story is an enigma in its own right, interpreted by… none! Now, when I say the ‘early 80s gal’, I categorically mean the gal who’s born in between 1980 to 1985. They are one species who were particularly hand-crafted by the Almighty when he was in sheer confusion and utter pandemonium. All hell broke loose? Heard that? Well, yeah, I’m pretty sure they’ve derived it from there! From the early 80s gal. They say, ‘Even God doesn’t understand a woman completely, and we are just mere humans!’ Well, if there’s any truth to it, it has to be pertaining to these lovely ladies in question.

So who exactly is an early 80s gal? You must be wondering, why I should be speaking so of her in the first place. No prizes for guessing, of course I’ve been around a million of them. Ok not a million, but just a few who are much exemplary for what I shall reveal in the next lines. Now as that is established, back to defining them.

I have a work acquaintance and a friend who I render full credit to for impelling me to pen down this stuff.

Let’s begin with my friend T. Well, she’s not a friend so to say, but just a gal I happened to know while I was experimenting with a work assignment. Say hello to T. A 1984 born, T is a successful Counsellor. Born and brought up in a Mumbai suburb, the South Indian gal was raised in a Marathi neighbourhood. Now, that spills a million beans. I believe, that every child who is exposed to a Marathi circle in the formative years of their life, ends up being very insecure and egoistic by default. I too am a Marathi gal, but you know, I wasn’t raised in an all Marathi environment. Convenient for me, but a fact that remains. ;) T was no exception to the Marathi influence theory. Hailing from a traditional South Indian family, she grasped the Maharashtrian belief system with much ace. When I started my work association with her, I initially felt that she was very unprofessional and took her clients for granted. But the more I got to know her, the more my sympathies burgeoned. Actually, I became more apathetic towards her behavior and accepted her attitude as a part of what she is going through and her life choices.

T is married to a CA, who, if ever gets lost, we all know where to find- in the office! The couple has been living in a far-off city suburb for almost 5 years now. While the man commutes for a good 1.5 hours to reach work, our early 80s gal hits her throne in about an hour. Just recently, she told me about her daily routine. And here’s how it goes. She wakes up at 4am, fills up water buckets, prepares breakfast, 6am yoga class, 7 am lunch box preps, 8:30am leaves home to conquer the world, 8pm back home after a tough war day, immediate dinner preps, 10pm off go the lights! Sundays are meant for licking the weakly wounds and sorting all pending house work, some minor shopping and if time permits, the man and wife cozy up. Now, while that is her set of chores, her husband sets off to work by 7am and gets back anytime after 9pm. With little or no time left for her marital life, let alone socializing with family, T leads a completely solitary life. The loneliness has hit her way off the shore, where she has lost her true self and become this robot who lets no one enter her zone.

Having said that, the gal sure has a lot of time for a lot of guys on text chat. She is a smart, independent woman who wears her inflated ego up her sleeve. But the most peculiar thing I have noticed about her is that, she is exceedingly unresponsive to women. But but but, when a guy comes along even with the tiniest query/word, that big chick smile is a sight to behold! Her face beams up like a cracker, only to burst if a gal steps in her way! A common friend once told me, “if you want T to do your work, be super sweet and lick a** if need be.” The egoist that I am, I settled for being super sweet, and voila! My job was done in no time. However, that’s only until that. I am still at the receiving end of her ego tantrums everytime I go to her with work. She wouldn’t respond to my texts and only when I sit in front of her and put on that buttery mask, I am paid heed to. Eureka! No girl can ever be her friend, forget best friend- for the record, she has none!

When it came to revelations about her relationship with guys, I got too much gossip for anyone to handle. Believe me! The facts are too cool to be true. I can’t mention all of them yet, but here’s a tad lil tale. Our common friend R is almost about 6 years younger than her. He’s in a phase where every gal is a probability for girlfriend. Given the benefit of his gender, R got his job done smoother than ever from T. The two continued to remain in touch ever since. Voice conversations were too passé for the duo, so they held onto their smartphones for smarter conversations. While the all of silly chats went on, one such exchange ended up on a sprucy note, with T revealing the colour of her innerwear on that day! Well, here’s a cool twist to a fun relationship with a friend/client who “she” barely knows, but after this conversation, he knows it all!

While I completely understand that some gals are totally not for having girl friends and choose to have guy friends instead. But with T, it’s more of an ego issue or rather an insecurity that stands just at the crux. Of course, except T, who packages it as her cool attitude. As she may otherwise project that she has been there and done all that, I can sure bet my life that she is still confused about her choices and unhappy of where she belongs today- a place where she has a successful career and married life only on the face of it, but runs a parallel life that even she may not be fully aware of.

Enter another early 80s gal. K is a fiercely independent gal. She’s in her early 30s and for the record, born in 1984. She’s too much of an urban gal to be true. On attaining the MBA tag, in the HR function, K took up a job with a modest firm. With a sound financial background, she did the job just out of the ‘right thing to do’ and some extra chips. Career and ambition were not in the offing then. She met a guy and exchanged vows. Going steady on the career front, they had a baby and then, life was just the usual. After a handful of job changes, she finally now settled for a meaty package at the managerial level. 

While I’ve known her for almost about 10 years now, I’ve always been uncomfortable around her. Now that’s a revelation, as I write. She’s not particularly a happy person. Her husband has an extra-marital affair that I’m sure she knows of, her job is stable, enter boring, she has almost 800 Facebook friends but none she can swear by. Every time we catch up, it’s truly record-breaking that she’s in a crabby mood. It’s not even exactly crabby. She wants to have fun, but the burden of mood swings keeps her at bay and she’s left to be perpetually pensive. And when she is eventually interrupted by us friends from her meditative mode, there comes an irritable shriek. She loves being in a position of authority and is absolutely remorseless about being a chronic attention-seeker. Her behavior is on the extremes at all times to the extent that we friends have to literally be at our goof-proof best around her. Talk about hanging out with your grandmother!

Earlier I felt that owing to the monotony of her life, she behaves the way she does. But I’ve seen her experiment with a lot of stuff lately. And that doesn’t do its bit either. She is still very bored and angry at the very basis. Every time we hang out, (not that often lately) she checks-in on Facebook and tags us too. But she never ever enjoys her time with us friends. It’s like as if she wants the tag that she’s very hip for the sake of impressing her colleagues and not lose out anywhere. It’s like another star up her sleeve when she’s done things that are today considered “hip”. But at the nub of it all, she’s just plain unhappy. And no, her husband’s other interests have nothing to do with it. That could be one factor in the past one year, but definitely not a reason that justifies her incongruous attitude prior to that. She is just a plain unhappy gal, who’s got it all.. the very adorable child, a great set of parents and siblings, a great set of friends, a job to die for and a husband who has been loving her for until a year now. With so much going for this gal, the almost alpha male, she still remains at the brink of an emotional outburst at all times.

Knowing so much about her and for so long, I always felt that I should sit up and give her an empathetic shoulder to cry on; well, at least a sincere chat that I’d like to open with, “What’s up with you gal?” But realization dawns on me, that I am, in fact not a close friend. A friend that I sure tried being for her, but the reciprocation hasn’t been as much. I am just one of those friends who she calls a friend indeed but not a friend in need/when needed.

While T and K are the two living illustrations I’ve been around, there are several other early 80s gals that are just as peculiar and prove my point to the hilt.

Enough said, I truly enjoy being around these gals who don’t know what to do, but sure know what not to do! Only thing, they can’t bring into play it in their own life. But then, that’s what makes them special!

PS: Every early 80s gal who reads this article… the intent is not to offend. It’s just a fun-spirited piece to be perceived in just that way, and moreso, its all of my observations, so, your negative judgement about this one won’t really matter much. Hell broke loose now? ;) 

A Matter of Voice

Every person is entitled to an opinion. Whether the other person accepts it or no, that’s another thing. But we all are entitled to an opinion of our own. We all come from different set of backgrounds and ideas. Our outlook towards life and everything that transpires is different. And so it all translates into our opinions about people, situations and life in general. So what exactly is the problem at all? Nothing really! When you actually sit down to analyse it. But yes, the problem does persist. Staring straight into our eyes. The problem of forcing our opinion on others.

Well, as much as we all want our opinions to be heard and patronised, that’s not how others perceive it. When we are at the receiving end, there are a complex heap of emotions, ideas and attitudes that make us all perceive a given opinion in a certain way. And that certain way may not exactly be the way the opinion maker hoped it to be.

We all love our voice being heard. Who doesn’t? A teacher who imparts knowledge in school is just as desperate for her voice to be heard, as a politician who wishes his voice is heard (even though just for a tad bit of time before the elections) by the people of our nation. The teacher and politician, here are deliberately placed on opposite ends of the scale in terms of their monetary compensations. For starters, a teacher in our country is indeed meagerly paid. Even the peon so to say makes more money. And, our very own netas rake in all the moolah is no news. The point being, everyone wants their voice to be heard. But is anyone actually listening. We all hear. But do we listen? The voice may be audible enough, but are the words really being understood? I’m not quite sure.

A month ago, my aunt called up my father and uncle and arranged for an urgent meeting. The siblings are only namesake. Like most of us, they too never got a chance to choose their family. It’s the almighty’s gift! Pun intended. ;) The 3 siblings in point here only share a strict cordial relationship, and emotions are far too away packed in a goody box. They do come in handy when crisis strikes. Well, what’s family for if they don’t help you when you’re down and under. 

So, as the trio met up, my aunt began lamenting about her family issues. She is a lady who is almost 30 years in matrimony and may have spent only about 3 years in marital bliss. With absolutely no support and love from the husband, she’s a self-made woman who’s managed a plush 2BHK apartment in one of the prime suburban locale of the city. With one son who’s been perpetually faking his career choice, the boy settled for taking after his mom’s indemnity business. A rather easy way out, but smart one!  He tried his hand at practically everything that his mother coaxed him to do, but his voice went unheard by the autocratic mother. My aunt was every bit on cloud nine with her high flying hatchback car that she plonked on with utmost pride, a son who was taking over her successful empire, a plush house and ya, that’s about it. But the point is, she was ecstatic to the point of delirium. We all knew it had a flip side considering her ego inflated with each passing year. But who’s to tell. The lady’s young lad tied the knot with a semi urban girl who’s caught between the traditional and modernism of it all. A rather quiet gal, the daughter-in-law (DIL) comes across as shy and timid, but her eyes oh boy! They speak a million words, much more than she may actually utter in a years’ time. Her eyes are scary borderline sadistic. And while I noticed this on my very first interaction with her, I found out that although I may voice my opinion, little is anyone going to believe it.

So, while I saved my opinion for until now, a year went by. The newlyweds went berserk on social media posting just how much, when, where, what they loved about each other. A minute by minute update of every little detail. Now that’s something eh! While the son turned all his attention to his wife, the mother was royally ostracised. Left alone to sulk and lick her wounds while she narrated her dilemma to her brothers. She began quetching about her DIL and son. And how they ignored her, how they ill-treated her, how the DIL didn’t offer her the sabudana khichdi she once made, how she just wouldn’t listen to her MIL, how she would not pay heed to any decision the MIL made, how she would be this bandit in front of her MIL and the pitiful puppy just when the son walked in, how she later became audacious enough to back answer her MIL and through all this, the son supported his wife leaving his mother raging for good. Well, these are just a few instances. But the matter of the fact was that, my aunt, who was this high-and-mighty woman, the boss lady, the dominant one with voice so harsh and strong (you have to hear her talk, the lady has a shrill voice), was suddenly thrown away from her hot seat, straight into la la land where no one cared about her or her opinion. She had lost her form. She had lost her say. She had lost her voice.

A week after I learnt about her plight from my parents, I felt sorry for her. Sorry for the fact that she tortured my mother at every step of her way when my mom was newly married. For 11 years, she fuelled the fire at my grandparent’s, and was the cause of several showdowns there. I felt sorry that she had a terrible equation with her husband and her in-laws who swear not to stand by her even as she’s left all alone today. Well, maybe if she shrieks in her good ol’ shrill voice, they’d all turn up under sheer fear. But ya! I feel sorry that she could force her opinions on her son in his early years and most importantly for the fact that she created an in-erasable mark on every person’s heart that calls her a ‘high-flying swellhead’. 

With acute knowledge about her personality and attitude, I really did manage to gather some sympathy for the woman. At a recent family wedding event when I saw her groove to her ever-so popular dance move on the hit Marathi track ‘Baaghtoy Rickshawala’, at that very moment when she rolled up for her signature rickshawala step, I had this sudden intervention, that she wasn’t doing it with all her heart and there was something missing. That passion with which she would dance away to glory on that particular song, "that" passion was missing. Her dance moves that day in fact showed her helplessness in rebooting her life’s rickshaw at all. She, was unable to start her rickshaw! There she was, my aunt who was lonelier than lonely. And yes, her eyes did voice this harsh reality.

After continued insistence by my aunt that my dad speak to her son and counsel him on the matter, the meeting never happened. My dad followed up with my oh-so busy cousin for an appointment to discuss family matters for over a month. But to no avail. Hey, may be my dad should have told him he needed a new insurance policy! That would’ve worked! Damn! And I as usual moved on with my life. And so did everyone. With my cousin’s continued ignorance, my dad realised he had no business meddling in other’s business and that his voice had no value there. So he decided to back off after about 20 days. My mum on the other hand decided to raise her voice, call up my cousin and take matters into her hands.

But just after that happened, we all were thrashed in our very backs by one update. An update when I speak today, has to be the social media one! What else! My aunt changed her solo Facebook profile picture, to one where she had carried her DIL in her hands. Yes. My aunt was ecstatic in the picture, and her DIL was happy borderline shocked in it.

I called up my mom right away to find out what’s the matter with my aunt! My mom was miffed about the fact that my aunt was always a gamer and she played yet another one like a wolf. And I, on the other hand was awed by the fact that my aunt actually had that much a muscle to carry a 50 kilogram girl in her hands! Some brawn she’s got I wondered!

A week later, we all gathered for a family party. While my aunt and her son showed up, the DIL was missing. Members of my family told me that the DIL is unwell. We all suspected a baby in the onset. My cousin blushed away to glory for all the attention he was getting that evening. My aunt was strangely upbeat that evening. When we asked her where’s her DIL, she cleared the pregnancy air and said that she has a severe throat infection, and hence couldn’t make it for the party.

Well, well, well! Now here was my aunt who had lost her voice and it all! But that very day, she seemed to have gained it all back in a flash! Her DIL had lost her voice! What better news than that! Here was my aunt who happily trotted all evening because her DIL had lost her voice & hence opinion! (Now what’s an opinion without a voice really?!) She was advised two weeks of rest and medicare. And my aunt knew that 2 weeks was more than enough for her to get her voice back to being shrill and be at the top of her game! She could win back her son and her place in the household and take utmost advantage of her DIL’s lost voice!

Now you know why the image was updated on Facebook! My aunt loves her DIL more than ever today.

That's the circle of voice.. oh sorry.. life! 

PS: My aunt will kill me after reading my opinion, but I couldn’t resist voicing it. If she’s a wolf, I’m a fox! ;)