Butterflies inside

Something certainly is in the cards.

I have been behaving oddly. Like women.

I have been a prudent person since I last know of me (except the times I have been mad or lost or wandering or defeated or too happy). I don’t remember when was the last time I bought weapons of feminine exhibits (essentials, being the exception).- womanish hair assesseries, jasmine perfumes, pink watches, golden boots or even downloaded a romantic movie.

But I am surprising myself these days. Almost every day. Like men :)

I have been buying laced lingerie, rose petal massage oil, satin night gowns and yesterday I changed my body wash too. I had always been buying the antiseptic one for since years, and yesterday in super market, the moment I saw this ‘Enchanting Rose’ perfumed body splash, costing four times the normal and weighing half of it. I questioned myself for this unintelligent act, but couldn’t stop. And, today morning, when it splashed my body, I was really picked up to the heaven. I smelt like a Rose bouquet and the bathroom became a garden. Believe me! 

My body still carries its smell. 

And what happened last evening has surprised me to the maximum level. There is me, waiting for a friend for a coffee, and none guides me towards a high end lingerie shop. There was a sale. Pick any at $200. I mocked at stupid women overspending at something that they couldn't wear and show off at work. 

And there, someone was knocking at my heart. As I followed the signs, I was guided to this merciless navy blue devil adorned with sky colored roses over its edges, with satin finish at its curves. Like a bee, I got attracted to this honey filled lingerie. Ammm.. actually hypnotized. I came out shelling 1000$ on this one. And, I am not neither repenting over it or thinking, I should have spent this on books.

I concluded, we all have the capacity to laugh at our own cracked jokes, tickle ourselves and yes, surprise ourselves too. 

Come on, is the dead woman inside me rising from her grave?

Healing over heels

Australian Prime Minister, Julia Gillard falls down heads over heels in public during her visit to India

“The crowd is clapping and hooting. Men are whistling and waving their handkerchiefs. I, dressed black thigh-hugging skirt and off white jacket displaying the red high neck t-shirt worn inside, am happily waving over my fans, walking in my pointed heels over the stage. The President standing with a fixed smile- face with a golden trophy in his hand, waiting for me, while am busy locating my family and close friends in the crowd. My trophy is just a half milli-second away from me and in that split of the second, my stilettos betray me and I fell down, with my face hitting the ground straight, silencing the crowd. The time between the vertical me and horizontal me was unfathomable. I lift up my face questioning what to do now as I see the world mocking…”

This has been my nightmare since the time I started wearing high-heeled shoes. And, I still get such dreams often and I get up panting in my pants.

Indeed, the biggest nightmare a woman can have in her life time is ‘falling down in public”.

I was amused to read about the Australian Prime Minister, Julia Gillard who had a public fall at the Gandhi Memorial. And interestingly, this was not her first, but third fall in the same year. With no offence, she is indeed a “giri hui aurat”. It reminded me of so many events that make me still laugh.

Dont miss the fun: 

http://landing.newsinc.com/shared/video.html?freewheel=90051&sitesection=nydailynews&VID=23850422

One of the latest ones was during my date in Taj Hotel on a rainy evening in Mumbai. While I managed to cross the street in a puddle of water across the Gateway of India, I stumbled in my high heels only to realize that I’ll have to limp for the rest of the evening. Yes, my heel broke. And, before I could fathom what I could do, my beau had arrived with a cheerful smile and handful of roses that deserved no bad-news.

 I did enjoy the dinner with a lame leg and a fake smile, without letting have a clue of my agony filled embarrassment. And, while sending me off, he noticed, “Christ! your one heel is broken?” And, I, without claiming the best actress award, pretending to be unaware of it exclaimed, “Oh, is it?”

Since then, I haven’t been able to heal the scars of my heels.

Another one was when my Aunt was a dressed like a princess on her wedding day wearing a net saree with heavy pearls on its borders, a golden necklace and shoulder touching shiny earrings while her hands were full of red bangles. As she, walked on the stage, with a garland for her groom, and all cameras focused her, while people throwing rose petals on her, suddenly she disappeared from the camera screen. Yes, she fell down, when her heels got struck in the carpet.

 “It is not the pain of falling, but the pain of being seen while falling that hurts”, said she sobbing.

Another scariest moment is women falling asleep in the public transport, drooling and then finally falling. Someone even commented- “I am yet to meet an awake Asian on public transport”.

  

Well, wearing high heels requires more than just balance. Wearing high heels is a contract. You forego your comfort, stability, speed, health and safety to gain height, beauty, elegance, and style. Yes, they make you look good and confident.

Medical Research says that wearing high heels is highly injurious to your knee, hip, feet, and spinal chord. In other words, beauty is pain.

Lady Gaga's massive 10-inch tapered heels were a hit and it did arouse fantasies, but while walking, the ‘ground realities’ are indeed different.

Like luxury cars and solitaire, stilettos are considered "jewelry for the feet".

Imagining men wearing high heels today sounds like a comic scene but peeping the history, we learn that men also wore high heels including cowboy boots and Cuban heels. Egyptian butchers also wore heels, to help them walk above the blood of dead beasts.

In ancient Greece and Rome, platform sandals were popular particularly among actors who would wear shoes of different heights to indicate varying social status or importance of characters. Also, the sex trade was legal, and female prostitutes were readily identified by their high heels.

Much as high heels signal beauty, overuse of it became an insignia of prostitution, yet it remains a symbol of power. Women not being able to manage in high heels suffer from low self-esteem.

Shoe designer Terry DeHavilland says, "People say they're bad for the feet, but they're good for the mind. What's more important?"

What have you done to me..

What have you done to me,

All I see around is thee…

 In the extreme darks at the corners of the Sun,

I see my feminism rising from the veil of Nun…

 In every hour and every minute of the time,

I see your arms around mine…

 In my oblivion, I feel you,

And question myself if that is really true…

 I don’t ask you for me,

But want myself to remain in this dreamer’s sea…

 This intoxication that makes me closer to my own,

For no reason, awaits your arrival as a messenger in my wishing zone..

What have you done to me,

All I see around is thee…

Kareena Saif Marriage

Another love-less story- an impatient man and a confused woman struck in Showbiz 

Errrr…..Kareena Kapoor got married to Saif, finally. Read on Facebook and Yahoo news. And much before I could get the news, I got jokes about it.  

 I am neither Kejriwal to comment or Salman Khursheed to defend. Neither I am a Bollywood masala maker nor am I a part of Celebrity’s PR fraternity. But I am the one who, these days misses no chance to condemn Bollywood each time, whenever given any opportunity. Personal lives of Bollywood stars are still, our subject matters of discussions. Isnt it?

 “A 32 year old woman shouldn’t have married a 42 years old guy. This is so bad.” said Sahana, adjusting her dupatta on her shoulders. “Saif’s kids attended the marriage, I read. If your earlier wife is dead, it is okay for your kids to attend your second marriage, but not when your mother is alive and you attending your father’s wedding” commented Mrs. Gupta while playing with her spoon in the biryani. “It should be a simple marriage only, if it is a second marriage” as they went on.

“That was an auspicious day, first Navratri” said I, pretending to be part of the long- tongued- Indian women conversation.  

My un-stoppable lawyer tongue continued, “So Kareena changed her religion. She couldn’t marry Saif directly. The marriage had to be under ‘Special Marriage Act’.”

Well, we have no right to comment, opine or decide about the personal lives of our movie stars. Why should we do so… Do we tolerate when our colleague sneak-peeks our mobile phone. Leave aside our colleague- do we allow our family to interfere in our personal lives? Don’t we regard ‘invasion to my privacy’ as the most heinous crime these days.

However, as Indians, it is our birth right to gossip and discuss characters. So here I go.

Keeping Saif and Kareena as items of study, I found they represent the psychology of young Indian mind today.

Let’s start with Saif.

Yes, in the beginning, what was he. I don’t remember in which movie I noticed him first, but all I can remember of him as a lukkha, twiddling around a extra curly haired, non-whitened Shilpa Shetty wagging his neck in the woods with an ugly handkerchief on the ‘haathon me aa gaya jo kal rumal aapka….’. His stardom came much later. And while he was no star, like other boys of his age, he too got attracted towards the broad shouldered- hot-in the town Amrita Singh, a Sikh Muslim high profile Khandaani girl. The same Indian tongues did discuss a 21 years old curious and impatient guy marrying a 33 years old, mature and recently successful woman.

This is again a theory. Young men getting attracted towards mature women. Haven’t we all experienced our crushes on our good- looking teachers at school? For men, marrying a successful mature woman is a kind of achievement. Lalit Modi (IPL wala) married a much old Divorcee Minal who even had a daughter from her earlier marriage.

And when all the fun is staled out of the marriage, children are born and busy growing up, after a decade, realizing their optimum energy has been under-utilised, and that is where the hunt for the new partner begins- so much for glamour and as much as for ego.

So, the rosy landscapes with beach side house end soon. And he divorces. Only to remarry a much younger woman this time….only to give way to the other landscape of a hillside farm house…Same man with different background and women.

In the misogynic society of India, the story of ‘same woman with different men’ is not widely spread but with women empowerment, MNC culture, women coming to Board rooms it is gaining popularity gradually.  

 Now, Kareena.

Silver spoon fed girl with celebrity parents. Fed only on showbiz. Getting famous too soon and falling in love with a young energetic dashing Punjabi boy. Ishq aur mushq exhibiting everywhere. Kissing in public, and getting shot in restaurants. Then spilling the beans and feeding media with stories of them getting engaged and elders doing the talking..

The puppy love ends owing to shitty reasons of “quit non veg, or I’ll quit you”, or ‘stop smoking’, or ‘how dare you lied about your college crush”. Getting separated and the villain media stirring the cup with red mirchi stories.

As the duo cool down, they realize how struck they are in the cob-web pressure of media tht they knit around themselves. Media creating jealosy inflicting stories of Kareena getting close to Saif, becoming size zero, consequently Shahid  making himself seen with other women..

Why will Kareena take 5 years to decide that she wanted to marry the same man, showing the confused state of mind of the woman, waiting(/missing) her Ex, and later bowing down to the calculations of ‘what is best for my future’ and compromising and taking over the last option available- getting married.

The story ends here. You think so?

That girl in Stilettos

A Mid-Autumn Morning after a dark night 

The alarm rang. “I have a flight to catch. You go now” said he, adjusting the pillow, turning his back and taking the blanket over his face.

Like an expressionless effigy, she got up, picked her bra from the floor and her dress from the tilted chair. It was still dark in the room but the sunlight was falling from the fringes of the curtains in the hotel room. She bent towards the mirror and scanned her face. Her eye makeup was spoilt. There were love bites around her neck line and a little thread was pulled up over her sleeves. She picked up her bag and without turning back, left the room.

While waiting for the lift, the house-keeping staff in the lobby smilingly wished ‘good morning, Madam’, rolling the broom in the floor, while she was trying to tie her shoe buckles, shrugging her frizzy hair falling on her face. Rubbing her eyes, and pulling her dress over her arse, she smiled back and entered the lift, puzzled with 50 buttons.

It was 6 in the morning. The mid-Autumn morning sent a little chill down her spine and she clasped her shoulders while she looked at the rising Sun peeping through the skyscrapers.  The fresh morning air flowed through her hair and her cloak mixing the ladies perfume on her dress and men’s perfume on her body. 

People in sports shoes, holding chained dogs running across the streets for morning walk stared at her stilettos, while the bread vendor on his bicycle whistled at her from behind to stay away from his way.

In the bus, the old woman with her school going girl sat next to her. She glanced at her face trying to fathom ‘her profession’, held her baby tightly in her lap, avoiding to get touched.

The bus stopped with a jerk. She stood up. The toothless Thai man sitting in front looked at her bare legs and rolled his tongue.

She stepped down from the bus and moved forward. The bus driver kept staring at her mushy arse till she got lost in the noise and din of the fish market. 

Ten days with family

Today I got up before my alarm. And I didn’t get up from my sleep, but the shock. As the smell of desi ghee parathas that Mom was cooking for me invigorated me, I realized this gala time of extreme pampering and protection is going to be over soon.

I’ll be calling the Dabba wala from Friday onwards for lunch (without asking for the menu), and opening the lunch will remind me how much difference it makes- a dabba packed for business and a dabba packed out of love and care.

Once again, I'll unlock the doors, and not knock when I come back home from work. The stained coffee mug that I left on the bed in the morning will be lying there- dry and untouched. I'll not get food before I cook. All the talking will be via phone, skype and google hangout. No utensils will make noise or windows opened in the morning. And, my weekends will be ruined by sitting and downloading movies and documentaries. No hurrying up to leave work at Six and none waiting for the door bell to ring. 

Well, on a positive side, these ten days have changed my outlook. Each time I’ll see an elderly woman stumbling in the moving bus, I’ll see her as ‘somebody’s mother’ and offer her my seats no matter how heavy my shoulder bag is....Each time I’ll see a confused man trying to figure out what the Cantonese speaking vendor is saying in the wet market, probably I’ll offer a helping hand to that ‘somebody’s father’ with my recently invented sign language......Each time I’ll see a young guy lost in the streets, locating directions, I won’t take a minute to realize that he is 'somebody’s loving brother'.

He proposed me!

And, he proposed me. 

Like a hard boned blow, it hit me on my head. As if someone asked for my permission this time to take away from myself, the salvaged me. 

Like a poor baby who had just a mutilated baby doll left in her arms after the killing floods that made her an orphan, i clasped my soul in my cracked palms. 

I had bargained to choose myself, over my happiness. The decision was never questioned. It was just a commitment originated out of the duty.

I had promises to keep. The promises that kept me loyal to myself for the rest of my life, and to never barter, no matter how lucrative the deal sounded.

But all I know is that my commitment towards myself is supreme. At no cost I can afford to give away myself to someone. 

Don't know if it is worth it to lose self to get someone who claims to love you.