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! ;)

Two is to tango.. & three is to not!

When it comes to singles, here is one term that seems just so insignificant.. Infidelity. No matter how many people they date, sleep with or have flings, here is one act that will not be held against them ever. And that’s cause they are not bound by a piece of paper or society that tags them as “married”. They can live their lives free as a grasshopper living for the day, and not care what the world has to say!

But when it comes to the married or engaged, this very term is seen in a different and crucial light. Anything that one does to harm the sanctity of marriage is seen by the society as taboo. A person who leaps beyond his/her marriage is all of traitor. I wonder why? We all seek love and affection. As humans, if we didn't get it in one relationship, we tend to hunt elsewhere to gain contentment. It’s like an instinct. One follows the heart and boy it travels – from places to people. 

Being married for over five months now, I have begun to realise the importance and true meaning of this terminology much more. No.. my husband is not cheating on me and neither am I. It’s just that there are so many relationships around me today—I've seen them in a completely different light until now, but the closer I peep, the more I begin to fathom the issues. 

In the year 2006, while I was in college as the much audacious teenager, I felt I knew it all. That I was the biggest critic of each and every thing that came by and no one could judge things, people and situations better. It was then I saw a Bollywood flick titled Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna. Revolving around the subject of infidelity, the film was crisp, filled with emotions and yet, the most silly thing that I ever saw (that’s what my teenage mindset told me). At the time, I felt as though this was the most ridiculous and overrated filmy trash that only needs to be dumped. As years went by, I chose to forget the film as a waste of my precious pocket money and left it just there.. in the past. 

Seven years down the line on this very day, the film and every scene from it plays in front of my eyes. How could I have misjudged such a fantastic subject? Well, I wasn't really the target audience for it.. As the filmmaker would put it. But then again, I feel I had no idea what the subject was all about. The true essence and gravity of the issue hits me only today, and like never before. The film spells the story of two couples that are only compromising in their marriages when they are not very keen on taking it forward and happy in the first place. The lady from one couple and man from the other, happen to meet each other and fall in love. Sex does happen but that too was shown with utmost poise as I see it today. The couple suffers when their spouses find out and undergo a self created punishment by staying away from each other and also separating from their spouses. As a classic Bollywood saga, the lovers unite eventually. But what hits me the most is their journey when they were cheating on their spouses. 

I’d only heard that marriage changes you a lot and teaches you much more than you can take. It is true. Marriage does give immense perspective when it comes to handling any situation. My very close friend T and his wife S are a classic case in point here. I've known them for six years and have seen them at their very best until now. For me, they have always been this fiercely independent couple, strong-headed, career oriented yet affectionate and most importantly deeply in love with each other. Well, their son sure stands as proof here. 

For the past six months, I've been watching them much closely. With flourishing careers and soaring pay packages, independence always existed. But their independence, followed by high self-esteem soon seemed to have transformed into inflated egos. The two had a wonderful son, great careers, a fab house, swanky car. It was just near perfect. But there remains one thing missing here.. love. The intimacy, affection and love that I saw in their eyes for each other seems to have completely faded away. Today, they are nothing more than a mere couple that has everything it takes but no love. In the rat race to succeed in their professional lives, they seem to have suddenly lost the point. 

A recent revelation is that T is involved with another woman. The man’s ship has sailed and how! He is in a relationship with a girl who was a former colleague. With T frequently making official trips away from home, pleasure often tags along. The two have had several such stay-overs by now. The girlfriend in question is still single. She is fully aware of the fact that T is married with a child. But guess that’s really not the lady's concern. Meanwhile, S has no clue about her husband’s interests. She sits up late in the office, working, yet she is upbeat about hanging out with friends, shopping, spending time with family and making lovely meals for her husband with the same zest. Being a tomboy that she is, S too loves hanging out with guys and may be having interests elsewhere too but I can somehow tell she doesn't have the courage to step out and have a parallel relationship. 

While for me, when I see them today as merely husband and wife and not lovers, it breaks my heart. If there was any magic wand that could change the dynamics of their relationship and get them back to where they started out, I’d thank my stars a million times! But who can tell. While I cannot blame anyone here, I do wonder, is it really important to have a parallel relationship when you have one at hand? Are we so vulnerable that we cannot work our way through relationships and hence keep looking for escape paths? 

Another case in point is A (aged 55) who has been married for 20 years now. With two sons both in college, he has served his company for over 30 years. With an income of about 20k per month, he manages to live in a one room kitchen apartment with his children and wife. Today I get the news that his wife is having an affair with a man from her office. They talk to eachother for hours over the phone and he visits her when A isn’t at home. A received the news of his wife’s relationship in a rather filmy fashion. The said man’s wife called A and enlightened him about the affair their spouses were having. Well, age clearly has nothing to do with infidelity. On hearing the news, A decided to send his wife a legal notice. And now here’s the best part.. the anger fizzled out in no time. Why? Well, for starters, A’s reputation was at stake and so was his children’s future. So now, although he detests living with his so-called wife, he will have to live the dead relationship only to pacify our society and oblige social norms. Although he wishes never to see his wife’s face again, he will have to do it for the sake of not being tagged as “the man who’s wife had an affair”. 

Such is the melodrama of life. Be it any age group, couples these days have little time for love and respect for their spouses. We live in such a cynical world, that although we love someone with a full heart in early days, we eventually start hating them for their little nutty habits post marriage. Why is it that we have this constant hunger for a change! Why can’t we just be happy and content with what we have! I mean people really have the time, money and energy to invest in parallel relationships. Leave aside the dual life trauma and lying to the spouse. Very few actually have the heart to stick to a relationship and work it out. While we are ready to struggle our butts off in our professional lives, when it comes to our marriages, we are all set to give it up in an instant. Well, high time we learn to value what we have and revive the magic in our marriages. If we can spend eight hours a day making our bosses happy, a few happy hours with our spouse won’t hurt! Would it?

Multiple Personality-----Disorder?

About a decade ago.. (sure I sound very old when I say that but that’s beside the point and I’m not so old.. )I was immensely hooked on to a fiction book titled Tell Me Your Dreams. Written by the notorious author Sidney Sheldon, the story revolved around a lady with a curious “multiple personality disorder”. The book snared me so much, I’d read it walking down a street, in the train (flanked by over-sized aunties and wannabe cool gals) and even during college lectures. Being a slow reader, I always liked to take my own sweet time to complete a book to live the character’s life thoroughly. Doing so brought me much closer to it and its peculiar traits.

Coming to the book, it gave elaborate and incredible instances where the leading lady swapped personalities in a jiffy. As per the author, she did so because she faced a serious medical disorder famously known as the MPD (multiple personality disorder).  As per the common definition, the terminology stands for a mental disorder  characterized by at least two distinct and relatively enduring identities that alternately control a person's behavior. It is accompanied by memory mutilation for important information not explained by ordinary forgetfulness.

Well, as much as the scientific and psychological definition sounds relevant, I feel it’s far from a disorder. Every individual on the face of this earth has multiple personalities. And we all use it to our advantage/benefit. Surrounded by so many people all the time leaves me with no choice but to observe their behavioral traits and what fun it has been! I have come to believe that we all have what they call alter egos/multiple personalities. All those mommies, daddies, sisters, brothers, friends, bosses, colleagues, relatives around you, look at them once again. Just stop for a moment and observe their behavioral transformations. They all have these layers of personalities crowded in there that show up in different situations.

As per the psychological definition, a person with MPD acts as a completely different person away from his/her original personality and even tells his/her name as different. We are no exception to it either. All of us have multiple personalities but it’s just that we don’t call ourselves different names in different situations. An MPD person may even cause harm, but don’t we cause harm to anyone in any given circumstances? Directly or indirectly. In physicality or otherwise. We all do so.

I worked with a media house in the creative department. While my job profile required me to write creatively, I took it a notch higher and studied the entire gamut of people I happened to come across. My observations only went on to prove my “We all are MPD cases” theory. For instance, my colleague would portray a completely different picture about his work in front of me and a stark contrast in front of my boss. And, my super boss had a yet another super contrasting image of my this colleague and his personality. While I too replicate my colleague’s behavior, but in much subtle format, my colleague plainly mastered the art and worked his way through a smart appraisal and a massive reduction in work scope.

Yet another colleague made me feel, he’s this super concerned, well-behaved guy who respects women like a promise he’s made to a dying friend; yet he managed to bitch about every person that walked by, tried to find out all that’s happening and not-so-happening in a gal’s life and most importantly dug out all the juicy gossips that floated around. And the best part was, the bosses and super bosses were mighty impressed because he portrayed to them that he did so only get work done from people and that he’s just another cute boy next door otherwise!

I exchanged vows with my long term boyfriend a month ago. While the happiness of being around him all the time means so much to me, all through the month, especially during the first few days after marriage, I came across a volley of MPD cases. Not around me, but within me. I had like a zillion personalities deeply entrenched. While I was this coy, obedient girl in front of my in-laws, I was much the pampered daughter in front of my parents. Quite like the one who swore not move a feather in either her parent’s or in-laws house. While I am the bratty sister, I am also that super cool friend who cares a damn about the world. While I am an affectionate niece, I’m also that witty colleague who will work her way through all odds. While I’m also the gal who will say she loves to wear Indian ensembles to make her folks happy, I am in fact the girl who only swears by international fashion trends.

Point is, we all try to portray ourselves in a certain way in front of certain people. We always want the best of us to come forth in different situations. We all hate being judged but end up judging others for what personality they have.

While we only play around adjectives like, sweet, funny, bratty, smart, witty, brash, bold et al to make an impression, we indeed forget what our true personality is. As a popular saying goes, You are yourself when you do things while you’re all alone. It’s only what you do while you’re alone that counts as your true personality. While I do agree with it to an extent, the thing is, even when we are alone, we have that subconscious feeling, that someone is watching us, like the way an actor feels when he/she is canning a scene for a film. That a silent audience in the theater must be watching him/her. It’s as if a film camera hidden somewhere around is capturing your every move. And there we go! All we do is confuse ourselves and goof up with the personality drama.

All said and done, we sure need to get out there and drop all those inhibitions we have about ourselves. All those fears we have are only causing us to be trapped further and further in this thick mesh of multiple personalities. We don’t know who we really are or what is the true essence of our personality. Where our true character belongs. Well, the answer also perhaps lies within us. All we need to do is introspect and stop using the term Multiple Personality Disorder. Cos hey, if you use it for others, guess what! You have it too!

The Real Heroines of Bollywood

As the director announces ‘pack-up’ after a long day’s shoot and the entire crew leaves for a good night’s sleep, the natives of the edit table rise to the occasion with scores of raw footage to maneuver on. And with a large chunk of these editors being women, the pressures of coping with personal and professional commitments sure brings in the stress. But the women editors of Bollywood indeed know the craft too well to be distressed. Burgeoning as the real heroines of Indian cinema, these ladies have attained much more than mere success in this male-dominated fraternity.

As the movie comes to a closure, on reminiscing the film’s best moments, all we eventually remember are these prominent aspects. The jump cuts, fade-ins and fade-outs, dissolves, cross cuts, fast cuts, montages all these terminologies have only seemed remote for a lay film fan until today. Hardly did we notice these transitions while watching a film, let alone knowing the editor per se. However, with changing times, this integral part of filmmaking has gained much attention with the editors grabbing the spotlight too. With women opting for the glitz and glam roles in Indian cinema, the ladies are seen hitting the backstage in a big way at the edit table as well. Gone are the days when we saw a geeky man parked at the edit room working on the rushes for hours together. A profession that has been a male pursuit for years now, the trend of women editors pioneered back in the 80s when Renu Saluja took the industry by a storm with her prolific editing skills. 

Nevertheless, even today, the film industry is evidently not the first choice for women owing to family woes and parental concerns leave aside the little known profession of editing. As Namrata Rao, the 32 year old award-winning editor of Kahaani confesses, “I left a stable IT engineering profession to settle for Editing. My choice was greatly disapproved by my parents who were concerned due to the volatility of the profession. But I knew this is where I belonged hence went after my dream and here I am.” Veteran film editor Deepa Bhatia who has been in the business for over 16 years now states, “Since I hailed from a business family I was not really encouraged to go this route. But the introduction of world cinema in college literally changed my entire perspective towards the profession.” A Hungarian film ‘You’ by Istvan Szabo brought Bhatia to identify the sphere she wanted to inhabit in filmmaking.

Hemanti Sarkar, editor of the most widely applauded film ‘English Vinglish’ elucidates, “I feel editing is more of a woman oriented job. It is like looking after a child even if it’s not your own. When the film reaches you at the editing table it is like a newborn baby with bits and pieces of picture and sound which don't really make sense. So like a mother you have to teach it every skill of life, love it and look after it, almost like dressing a child for the big day so that nothing is out of place. Find out his or her strong points, encourage it so that when they step out into the world they are the best. And who better than a woman to do so.” Quizzing Shweta Venkat Matthews, editor of the brutal drama Gangs of Wasseypur, she adheres patience and the ability to multi-task as the key ingredient to attain the ‘eureka’ moments. “If you have these, editing will come naturally to any woman who is interested in the art”, asserts Shweta.

Statistically, film editing witnesses more men than women, but the latter are nonetheless making a prominent place for themselves here unlike other technical departments of filmmaking like sound, cinematography or camera. Jabeen Merchant, editor of the critically acclaimed film ‘Manorama Six Feet Under’ however sees the subject in different light, “It’s not the same case today. There are more and more women who are coming out of film schools with degrees in photography, direction and sound as well. Also, there exist several female camera persons and other technical assistants who are women. It’s just that they have not cut into the limelight yet or worked with the most prominent banners.”  Aarti Bajaj, another veteran who has ruled the roost for over 15 years with films like Paan Singh Tomar also backs the stance as she states, “Behind the glare, there are a lot of women who are a part of the technical teams. All people need to do is just look beyond the obvious level of people. And in just a matter of few years they all will be out in the open like the women editors today.”

With a majority of Hindi films witnessing the leading ladies as a mere muse to the heroes, the discrimination was always evident. The tradition however changed overtime and the backstage too saw an extensive transformation. “A part of this change can be attributed to the liberty and exposure cinema offers today. People judge you on the grounds of your creativity and the work you are capable of. It has nothing to do with gender anymore”, says Namrata. Deepa Bhatia who started out at the age of 25 states, “I was very young. We are talking about the mid-90s here. The initial 5-6 months was a struggle as it was difficult for people to accept me as an aspiring film editor. But it was not patronizing or derogatory in any way; just the initial difficulty for people to accept this fact. But I never came across any sort of gender discrimination here.” Shweta who on the other hand edited a vengeance-filled action flick like Wasseypur says, “When people came to know that I edited Gangs of Wasseypur, they were not very sure and have told me, you don’t look like the one who could edit this film. They could not relate to the idea of a woman editing a film of this caliber. And that’s what makes me proud.”

While the name and fame certainly bring in much delight but when it comes to money matters, we also see a fairly painted picture here. “There is no discrimination on the monetary aspect.  Generally editors are underpaid as compared to other technicians but we also have the giants like Aarti and Deepa who make much more than the male editors today. It’s the experience and craft that gives you your worth” says Jabeen.

With not just a profession to cater to, these super women support their families and raise children too. The grueling hours at the edit table do take a toll, but the family support is what eventually pushes one to a fresh start each day. Deepa who is the wife of screenwriter/director Amol Gupte and a mother of a 12 year old cites a key pillar of strength in her family. “My husband and son are extremely accommodative and understand the importance of my work. Amol and I work our schedules around our son making sure we spend time with him. And my profession gives me the liberty to do so. There are also times when I am in the edit room and my son is sitting outside completing his homework.” Aarti who is the ex-wife of director Anurag Kashyap and a mother of 11 year old Aaliya elaborates, “As a single mother, I have raised my daughter to be independent. She is fully aware of what my work demands and we share a great understanding.” Jabeen adds, “There are times when we are invited for a family event. The in-laws may not expect my husband to attend but sure wish to see me as I am the lady of the house. But again my job allows me to juggle personal commitments too. Sometimes it’s not possible and I have to refuse which does not go too well either.”

Being a part of the showbiz that is all about glamour and flamboyance, film editing has been an invisible profession all the while. Although due credit is attributed, the job frequently goes unnoticed. But the ladies seem rather comfortable with the idea. Namrata who believes that the work should speak for itself says, “It actually causes more intrigue. When a person finds out that a woman edited a particular film, they are all the more fascinated.” Deepa who considers her job as pure meditation states, “I am absolutely comfortable with the idea as I always knew what I’m getting into. I don’t work for the limelight but just for the joy of working on the rushes.” The seclusion and anonymity of editing works to Hemanti’s benefit who confesses, “I cannot imagine dealing with the million people on sets. When I have to talk to more than two people I haven’t met before, I feel jittery. The edit room is my solace.” Jabeen however feels that after a certain point, one has to make himself/herself noticed and people should know you. And that it stands true for any profession.

As the women editors cut across all barriers, breaking the celluloid ceiling and making it to the top slots in their line of work, they have well surpassed their male counterparts over the years. “Women today are tremendously prudent and know what they want. They nudge their way along and are manipulative in the right sense, thereby opening up newer avenues in the male-dominated scenario” concludes Shweta.  

A profession that is luring more and more women to join the brigade ensuring a stable, fruitful and creative vocation, the future only seems promising for women film editors here on.