Tenant? No, you have no rights.

The good feeling about this year is quickly fading. Remember the obstacles I mentioned in my last post? Yes, they are making their presence felt.

I’ve said this before and I can’t say it enough—being a single, professional girl living in Mumbai is anything but fun and easy. I’m not discounting the fun bit, but it is hard. For some reason, because you come from outside the city and you’re not married, people judge you. People who you think are probably not so judgemental, judge you and how. Of course, I am also blindly following stereotypes by believing that certain communities are not judgemental, but now I know better.

If you are a single person from outside Bombay, living on rent, beware—you must not have friends or a social life. You must also have a job wherein you can be back home by 6pm (which means please get out of office by 5-5:30pm, given the duration of travel in this city), and once home, please stay put and do not exit the building. God forbid you have friends over for dinner, it will be instantly assumed that you are drinking, taking drugs, having loud, wild, trippy rave-like parties, even though, miraculously, you cannot be heard. But considering that your neighbours have their ears peeled to your wall, you are in trouble.

It doesn’t matter if you come from good, decent, well-to-do, cultured families in a different part of the country. Once you come to Bombay as a single person, you become a whore, someone brought up in a jhopar-patti, someone with no values, and someone who leads a life of no purpose or direction. You are a tenant and an outsider, so you are a nobody with no rights. Make no mistake that just because you are paying rent and a deposit, and not living in a hostel or paying guest accommodation, that you have the same rights as your neighbours, who ‘own’ their apartments, and hence the building, society and all moral judgment. You are not like any other citizen in this democratic (this word is as always, used fast and loose)—you have no rights. I have been told this point blank – no joke.

People sometimes amaze me. I am blessed with a family who has always *always* been supportive of all my decisions and actions. As a result of which, I have *never* had to lie to my folks. When I started dating, I would bring the boyfriends home; when I started smoking, I would smoke in my own house and though it wasn’t discussed openly till recently, I never had to lie. When I turned 18, my dad took me for a drink; any other *personal* situations could always be discussed with my mom (and I mean, anything). My sister of course, has always been and continues to be my best friend, my rock-solid pillar of support and the one who will fight the world to protect me. My family always told me, tell us the truth rather than lie and do things behind our backs. And I did, to the point where today, I am the worst liar on the surface of this planet.

So understandably, if I am not lying to my own family, I find it wrong and painful to have to lie to other people’s families, to landlords and to neighbours. I’m not a drunk, I’m not a slut and I’m not a bum. I’m an independent adult, earning my own living, leading my own life. The values in me have been inculcated by my grandfather, so I know I cannot be wrong on that front.

So how then, do people, on the pretence of society, values and ethics, become better than me by poking their noses into other people’s business; by making the lives of others hell; by bitching to some people about certain others, etc.? How is it that just because they have monthly EMIs on their heads, rather than a monthly rent, like me, they become more cultured, valued and powerful? I have my own house in my home city too; that doesn’t mean that I’m better than my neighbours who are tenants.

It is because of people like this that rapes are condoned in this country. If a girl has boys over at her place, she becomes a whore and then if she is raped, even if it’s outside her home, she was asking for it. I won’t be unfair; it’s not like all the landlords I’ve dealt with in my last eight years in this city has been so—but you’d be surprised at what people can be like. At least I am.

The only good thing is that because I’m a tenant, I’m not rooted to one place. I don’t have to deal with troublesome, small-minded neighbours, and spineless, stereotypical landlords—I can walk away as I please. So, I guess it’s time to walk. 

I met a man...

I met a man a few months ago. He saw me and immediately knew what was wrong. I cried before him and was not embarrassed. He suggested I wear a ring—a yellow sapphire. It’s pretty, though not as pretty as I’d like, and my friends don’t think it’s pretty at all. But I don’t mind it. He told me I am a creative person and I’ve made the right decision. He told me to write my book and that someday he would read it. He told me my heart was broken and would be so, but then he saw my tears, and knew they were true, so told me not to give up hope. He told me that I would face many obstacles in life; that my path was not easy—but that I had to fight it out. He told me to take a leaf out of his book. He hasn’t walked in years, in decades. He told me that if he could overcome the obstacles, there’s no reason I shouldn’t be able to. I promised that I’d try.

Today, my tears have dried and my heart has mended. I’m still wearing the ring, I’m still writing my book and I’m still in love. But he is no longer here. The man I met a few months ago, who inspired me more than anyone has in a while, is gone for good. Much before his time. He was a special man, he should have stayed.

I feel strange. I met this man only once. A man who deeply cares about me took me to this man, to help me find direction. And when I met this man, I wanted to believe everything he told me, even though I normally don’t—believe or wear rings. But I believed and accepted the hope he gave me. And yet, now he’s gone.

I’m telling my friends that this man is gone, and they ask me, were you close? No, we weren’t. Did you spend a lot of time with him? No, I didn’t. So why are you so upset? What are your tears for? I don’t know. I feel sad; I feel a void I didn’t think I could.

Do you have to know a person for decades to feel his/her loss? Do you have to spend a lot of time with him to miss his presence in this world? I don’t know. Perhaps. Then why do I feel so? Why do I feel uncomfortable in my gut? Why do I feel the bile of fear rising in my throat? Why am I scared that what he said may come true, and my heart will break again? That I’ll be unable to overcome the obstacles? Why can I not speak my heart openly to the one person I can otherwise tell everything? Why do I suddenly feel like I’m fighting a losing battle?

I met this man a few months ago, and today the man is gone for good. I didn’t know him too well and yet I mourn. Why do I feel so? I feel... I feel like running back home. 

It's gonna be a good good year!

Ten days into the New Year and no blog post?! Chee chee. Well that’s what happens when you have a job and all. Sigh.

But I gotta good good feeling about this year. Once I get used to writing 2013, all will be well. Maybe because unlike others, 13 has always been lucky for me. Or perhaps because 2013 adds up to 6, an even number. Either way, win-win!

The New Year started with a bang, with me hosting one of the most fun parties in a while. I was surrounded with the people I love, the people they love and the people those people love too. In short, I knew very few of the guests before that night and yet had a complete blast! And this was after I spent a wonderful Christmas with my bestie and her family in Goa, with her mom feeding us silly, and me picking up a few Goan recipes (perhaps to impress a certain other mother *wink wink*).

This blast-ful New Year’s Eve was followed up by a loud and crazy visit from my ACJ friends. Ten girls in one apartment—need I say more? But in short, they all loved Bombay, something that us Bombay folk, felt strangely proud of. Yes, I am now of the Bombay folk. I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing or bad.

And soon, once I can swim out of the sea of work I’m drowning in long enough to escape, I go home! Yes, mere yaar ki shaadi is almost here! Super excited about seeing my fams, eating home food, and doing lots of work at this wedding (yes, I am the Best Woman, as it were, and I have been warned that I may lose a few kilos during those days). The first one of my school gang is going down and this is big! The best part—he’s so happy and so in love that it almost restores my faith in humanity, soulmates, the universe etc. More on this special union (yes, I’m cheesy) once I’m back.

I have decided that this year is going to be the year of reckoning for me. I like the way that sounds so it may or may not be true.  But I have decided, or rather redecided, since I’ve decided this again, that this year I’m going to make things happen. I’m going try and fix things that are not right in my life, including friendships, relationships, my finances, my goals, etc. And, in case I see that anything is beyond repair, I will let that go with grace (that is, as much grace I can muster). I know how hard that is for me to do, but I’m going to do it. Since I’m usually an emo mess, the friendship/relationship bit may be the focal point. If it’s a long-standing friendship, I will fight tooth and nail to save it. If the person truly doesn’t want me in his/her life anymore, I will let him/her go—no hard feelings. If I’m meant to be with certain someone, I will make it work. If not, then maybe it is truly time to let go and move on. But I will be positive, and I will try and make those things that I want, happen. SPARTA.

Choices or destiny—it’s a little bit of both. My destiny depends on the choices I make, and the choices I make depend on the direction destiny has taken me. But I refuse to blame this year for anything. I can feel it in my bones that it’s gonna be a good one. And I’m also trying to convince people around me of the same—I’ve become quite the champion for this year!

I truly hope and wish this year is better for everyone, whether I know you or not, because God knows we need one. But work a little harder, love a little more, smile a little wider and hug a little tighter—just try it and see. It might not work, but then again, it just might and you might just end up having the best year of your life.  

Dead

So she’s dead. Yes, she was a fighter; yes, she was brave; yes, she wanted the culprits to be caught and punished; yes, she wanted to live. But she didn’t. She was beaten, raped and stripped, and then she died a painful death. Why, you ask? Because she had the misfortune of being born a girl. She was 23 years old. A good bit younger than I am. She was studying to become a doctor, a doctor like the ones who tried to save her life in vain. Call her a brave fighter; say that her death will not be in vain; announce that this incident has awakened our nation—but the truth is that this 23-year-old girl went for a movie and died.

And what awakening are we speaking of? Have men stopped raping women since this incident? Have they stopped leering at or pinching or molesting girls since this particular heinous crime was reported? No, far from it. Perhaps they are being reported more often now. Perhaps this has given more men across our country ideas on how to show their power over women. Will this bring about a change? Will this make my country a safer place? Hah!

Just this morning, as I was walking through a crowd to get to work, a man took advantage of that crowd to keep bumping his hand into my ass. He only stopped and walked away when I gave him the look of death. Safer, you say?

Today, I am ashamed to be an Indian. For many years in my life, I always said that I never want to leave India, though my family has travelled and lived far and wide. But I wanted to be in my own country, be home. I loved my passport that proudly showed that I’m an Indian citizen. Today, I want to run away from this country, I want to move away, take everyone I love with me and never look back.

I don’t trust that there will be change. I don’t trust that the laws will be made more stringent; I don’t trust that the judicial system will indeed quicken its pace; I definitely don’t trust that the mindset and value systems of men and women across the country will change. I no longer trust my country. I no longer feel safe in my own home, in my own city. I no longer have the faith.

Call me pessimistic, call me a coward, call me what you like. But this is the truth. This is my truth. The truth that this girl is dead, and that her family and loved ones will have to live with it. The truth that the friend who was with her that night will have to live with this terrifying incident. The truth that every single day, I still get letched at, and feel scared to go home alone or stay alone in my own home. The truth that sometimes, I wish I was not born a daughter. The truth that I am completely and utterly helpless. The death of this girl, my friends, is my truth. 

Rape punishment? Oh puh-leez!

What is the big deal about this Delhi gang rape? I mean, it’s just one more girl who has been assaulted, physically and emotionally. Look around, these things are happening in our country ALL THE TIME. We will protest, be angry in our statuses and blogs for a few days, the news channels will piss us off a little more, sympathy will be garnered for a week, and then life will go back to normal.

The news channels, as they already are, will go back to reporting on far more important things, such as the Gujarat elections. We will go back to our far more important lives, which includes planning our Christmas and New Year’s parties. Will we not go out for a drink this evening because of this, and the other innumerable incidents of a similar nature? Nope. We may discuss the issue and tsk at it for a while, before quickly moving on to far more pressing personal issues—boyfriend problems (I didn’t say girlfriends because boys rarely discuss their love-life problems) and who’s the bitch at work.

We will wake up the next morning and go back to work and do what we do every day, and soon, this 23-year-old medical student will be long forgotten. Just like Pallavi Puryakayshta has been along with the various girls in Haryana, who get brutally raped, humiliated and killed every day. They’re too far off—some random women the media is creating hype about. I mean, why would any of this bother me. More importantly, why would any of this bother the democratic government that we voted into power? Oh puh-leez! Be realistic.

I have better things to do than sign petitions and light candles for some girl who is dying a slow, painful death in a hospital in Delhi. Besides, the doctor said she has an indomitable spirit. I mean that’s good enough, right? She and her broken, shredded body and soul will figure it out. Just like the other rape victims, dead or alive, and their families, magically figured it all out—obviously, since we haven’t heard about them at all anymore.

Please let’s not waste our energy and space on our facebook walls to show the world just how much we care. We would rather post photos of our winter vacations. In fact, soon I’ll be blogging about my trip to Goa.

Let’s just continue with our lives, as everyone does, and ladies, take the advice of our leaders and try not to get raped ok? Because it is your fault for dressing provocatively; being out late; mixing with men too freely, etc. So pull up your socks, till your neck, preferably.

As long as it isn’t me, or someone I love getting raped, I’ll just stop at clucking and writing a bbm status about how justice has died in this country we live in. And then will change it quickly to tell mah frenz where I’m drinking tonight.

All this continues and will continue while this girl—a 23-year-old medical student(younger than I am)—suffers silently in pain and tears in one corner of Delhi. Slowly she will suffer till she will have no breath left in her. She will die and someone else will get raped and killed, and life will just go on and on. 

December blues

Sigh. Yes that’s how I’m feeling for the last few days so I will start this blog post on this melancholic note. Sigh.

It’s December again, which is usually my favourite month of the year (apart from my birthday month , of course; except that my birthday is on the first day of the birthday month, so it’s over as soon as it starts, you know?). Every December, I start counting down to when I will be heading home, to Calcutta, to party with my childhood peeps. No such countdown this year. My feet seem to be rooted firmly to the ground. In Bombay. Sigh.

Well to be fair, I am going home for mere yaar ki shaadi in January, which is why I can’t go now. But my heart is set, right now, on Goa. I *really* want to go to Goa for Christmas. Firstly, I need to get away from Bombay for a bit and away from my regular routine, and I want to reconnect with lots of things in Goa. So Goa is on my mind.

It’s been a confusing time. Not so much for me, per se, but because some of my closest friends are going through some trouble, and I feel... like I’m a part of it too. I mean that’s natural right? If you’re best friend is going through a heartbreak or family stress, you are there for him/her and hence are a part of it. Actually, my bestie has also been a part of my recent confusion lately, and I absolutely love her for that. She’s one of the few people in my life (and in anyone’s life she is in) who doesn’t think twice before going out of her way to do something for someone she loves. And she’s proved this over and over again. The beauty of what she does is that, to her and in her mind, she’s not doing anything out of the ordinary at all! If she loves you, this is the only language she gets. And I love her for that.

I am at a stage in my current ‘confusion’, where I am and want to be happy, but something is holding me back. A fear of something, I suppose. Recently I’ve been accused of being more pessimistic than usual, and although my initial reaction was to be on the defensive, I realised later that that indeed, is true.

Another friend, who happens to be a pillar to me, explained it to me like this. My pessimism is a personality trait which helps me (apparently) in my career, since nothing pleases me and I always want more; but it harms my personal relationships because often I don’t give them a chance. My mouth was open as I listened to her because honestly, it made perfect sense.

Right now, I feel stagnant again, and I feel the tickle beneath my feet to do something to get rid of this stagnancy. Go somewhere and get inspired. I feel most uninspired right now, partly because my work, though I love it, can be unfulfilling. I even started working on my book—yes, the one I’ve been talking about for a few years now—and stopped again. Lack of time, inspiration, ideas and creativity. Sigh again.

The one pretty good thing is that my new place has worked out pretty well. I love the apartment. After the cute, cosy but matchbox-ish apartment I used to live in, the big windows and breezy nature of this one makes me happy; very happy. All my friends have liked it, certain someone has liked it and most importantly, the mothership liked it. She is NOT easy to please.

It’s December and I want to party, relax, let my hair down. I miss those days when all of us would coordinate all year round and be heading back to Cal at the same time. Squeals of laughter and giggles would fill all our houses, and many times, we would have to keep each other warm since our skimpy clothes wouldn’t do it. I feel far away from that time, in more ways than one. Sigh.

I hope my December gets better and more exciting, and in case I can’t write again—Merry Christmas and a very Happy New Year! Please please have a super awesome December; that’s the least the month deserves—especially if the world does end this year! 

A tribute to Yash Chopra

Something I wrote for Sterling Holidays - http://blog.sterlingholidays.com/tribute-to-yash-chopra-a-veteran-filmmaker/

A scion of love; a veteran filmmaker and a man that could make any place on Earth look gorgeous. In his wake, Yash Chopra leaves a void in the Indian film industry.

She stands amidst a field of yellow sarson flowers, pristine in a simple white salwar suit, staring intently at him—gauging whether he is real or a mere figment of her imagination. He stands afar, gazing at her. Then, ever so slowly, he extends his arms and she breaks out into a smile. Without a word, without a thought, she runs towards his open arms and they become one. Tujhe Dekha Toh…

Courtesy: Yash Raj Films

The opening scene of one of the most romantic songs of all time is etched in our memory, as it is. That was the magic that only the scion of romance and veteran Bollywood director, Yash Chopra could create. Oftentimes, he didn’t need words—he wrote epic tales of love expressed on celluloid of gorgeous locales.

At the risk of unbridled posthumous flattery, Yash Chopra was to Indian films what Martin Scorcese is to Hollywood. At a time when heroes were the prime focus of Hindi films and the action genre was being lapped up by the masses, Chopra delved into the world of love. He redefined love and romance for Indian cinema and used beautiful backdrops to do this—the valleys of Kashmir; the snow-peaked mountains of Switzerland; the sarson da khets in Punjab; the field of flowers in Netherlands. Fascinated with femininity, he made his heroines look beautiful, with the white sari, or gorgeous chiffons in lovely pastels becoming a signature of sorts in his films. How could you not fall in love?

Contrary to popular belief, Chopra did not shoot his films only in Switzerland. Yes, he loved the country deeply—so much so, that the Jungfrau Railways in Switzerland named a train after the director and a suite in the Victoria-Jungfrau Grand Hotel was also named after him.

Courtesy: Yash Raj Films

Courtesy: Yash Raj Films

Nonetheless, despite the soft corner he had for the world’s neutral country and a fondness for European locations, Chopra did not miss the beauty his own country offered. Kashmir, Punjab and Jaipur were some all-time favourites. Like any other filmmaker, as director and/or producer, Chopra too shot a fair number of scenes in studios created in Mumbai. But those aren’t the one you associate with the man, do you? It’s the love that blossoms in the open meadows, amid the thousand swaying flowers and pristine settings that stays with you, long after you have left the theatre.

Courtesy: Yash Raj Films

The thing with Chopra’s films was not that it was a mere show of budget, but it was a medium to carry the story forward; to make the viewer connect; to make the audience fall in love—he was offering a whole package, an experience of Indian cinema. The man had vision. He even managed to make Delhi look picturesque in Chandni. Time and again he shot in the beautiful locales of Kashmir, as seen in the song Dekha Ek Khwab from the movie Silsila. He even made The Span Resort in Manali in the film Mujhse Dosti Karoge look like a home.

Courtesy: Yash Raj Films

Courtesy: Yash Raj Films

Today, the man who made magic on screen is no more. No more will he be weaving unconditional love stories against sigh-inducing locales. No more will we see our own love stories on celluloid told by the King of Romance.

It’s almost like he knew. Jab Tak Hai Jaan, he said, would be his last film. And last film it is. Despite Kashmir’s war-torn landscape, Yash Chopra went back there to shoot his last film. Shah Rukh Khan said that though he was sad that he wasn’t able to visit the valley with his father, he was glad he went with his father figure.

Courtesy: Yash Raj Films

In Chopra, the country has not only lost one of its finest filmmakers, but also the foremost champion of love—something much-needed in this hatred-filled world. But Chopra leaves behind a legacy of love, which we can only hope will inspire the violent, love-starved miscreants we read about every day. Rest assured that your legacy will live on, Sir. Rest in peace.

Courtesy: Yash Raj Films