Case study 1

A certain someone who I cannot afford to offend has suggested I watch a VAN DAMME movie and even lent me his dvd. And the next day onwards he has been asking me daily, whether I had time to watch the movie. The very thought of sitting through the movie is quite scandalizing for me and desperate, i turn to her for help.

Me: Hey listen, this man has lent me this movie, what do I do now?

She 1: Simple, tell him you’ve watched it.

Me: But what if he asks me whether I liked it or not, or if he wants to discuss a particular scene with me?

She 1: Chill. Begin with a pregnant silence (as if you are speechless) followed by ‘mind blowing‘ and then tell him how the entire movie fascinated you and he’ll be so excited that he’ll start describing the scenes himself; and while he does that drop in the word ‘exactly‘ at regular intervals. That’s it, your job is done.

Case study 2

One my other friends widely known for her demanding and old yet sexy (OYS) mom-in-law is my second source of inspiration. It is commonly acknowledged that her mother-in-law is quite intolerable by all means. She had lost her husband early in life and had henceforth transferred all her affections, demands, tantrums to both her sons.

She 2: You know what happened? The other day myself, my husband and his mom went to this mall to shop. At one point OYS grabbed her son’s hand while walking as if he is her knight in waiting; huh.

We: WTF!!! And what did you do?

She 2: I pulled up by his side and grabbed his other hand

We: Poor him.

She 2: And do you know there was this musical quiz and she stood right in front of the dias and kept on clapping. She even won a CD as an award for “clapping continuously”. I almost felt like digging a hole and burying myself out of embarrassment.

We: Wow couldn’t have been better. But did you compliment her or not?

She 2: Huh, what do you think, of course I complimented her. I told her “I hope I am as energetic as you are when I am your age.”

Nowadays, whenever I am forced to attend a dumb gathering of boring and over inquisitive relatives, I am game. I smear a smudge-proof smile on my face and inquire about every eligible bachelor/spinster, every wedding gone wrong, every ailing aunt, every toddler who has just learned to speak, and so on. And when I am done with all that, I retire to a quiet corner and start observing the glittering, bejeweled, caked batch of people quietly; but if then someone finds me and starts talking, I put my smile back on my face, transport my mind to the Himalayas and start thinking about Brad Pitt (replace BP with the man / woman of your dreams and feel the magic)

I like the mountains. I like photography. I like pun. I like sense of humor. I like short crisp status messages. I like to be left alone. I like being liked. I like to talk less at times. I like Facebook games. I like craziness. I like to be spellbound at intelligence and dumbness…..I like the like button on facebook.

I am one of those social networking freaks who have shifted heart hearth et al to Facebook. Once upon a time there was a social networking site called Orkut which i LIKED, which we LIKED; but that is a thing of the past. The past was about Orkut, the present is about Facebook. There are plenty of things i Like about Facebook, but most of all, I like the LIKE button on Facebook. But there is no feature no button to help me express my liking for the LIKE button and therefore this article.

The LIKE button is also, the short and sweet way to maintain relationships and to quieten friends anxious to display something.

“Hey, I have uploaded a new pic, check my wall”.

“Hey, Pls check my status msg.”

“Have you seen my new profile pic?”

Facebookers are always flooded with such requests, commands, etc. by friends and fellow facebookers. And at times, such requests come when you are neck deep into some shitty work or are simply not feeling like it and yet, you cannot afford to offend this someone. What do you do? You go to his/her wall, find out that post and simply click on the LIKE button below it. Thus, your friend knows you LIKED that particular post but you didn’t have to spare more than a few seconds on it. Thus you save your face, your time and your relationship(s). We human beings cannot express ourselves like we want to always. If you are say, expecting to be invited by a certain friend to his birthday bash, you cannot for sure risk the free booze by not viewing his new photo. Or, if you are cultivating a certain PYT for the next Saturday date, you have to surely compliment her dumb status msg. Facebook for once have understood all our woes and have come up with this marvelous application - the LIKE button.

For the likes of certain bitches, the LIKE button serves many more purposes as well. For instance, you are dumbfounded by someone’s dumbness and want him/her to continue with it infinitely. You have the LIKE button at your disposal dearie :-P. Just visit your friend’s wall and LIKE all those dumb comments; and the charade will go on.

The LIKE button has made life so much simpler and merrier and smarter. I LIKE the LIKE button; no, I LOVE THE LIKE BUTTON on FACEBOOK. Long live Facebook and long live the LIKE button on Facebook.

And India they say have been late throwing some coins into their bowl. Hell!!! Why should India help Pakistan of all countries? Why? Because they cannot help themselves? Because they cause public unrest in Kashmir? Because they are so busy causing other nations trouble that they have forgotten to build their own infrastructure? Or is it because they send terrorists on a boat to massacre Mumbai?  As if these were not enough, they are now reacting like the angry wife shunned by her husband. Pakistan now says we don’t want India’s aid, we’ll wait for UN’s aid.

Well, I am sorry for the dead and their families, but I am not as sorry as I would have liked to be. Honestly, I always have this feeling at the back of my mind that these are the people who silently support their country’s attempt to infest terror everywhere in the world; their business of exporting terror to all the nooks and corners of the world. It is time they moved on with their lives and stop bothering everyone else. And most of all stop bothering India. If they do not have the spine to fight their own disasters and have to beg for others’ alms, they better mend their ways.

Call me parochial if you wish; I’ll take it as a compliment.

Welcome to the first Bolly chick flick. You got it right. This article is about fashion in Aisha. The true protagonists of this film are its clothes and its style. The list of stylists and designers in its title credits is far longer than the cast. Ferragamo, Dior, Chanel, Salvatore, you name it and someone in the film is wearing it. For once the couture in Bollywood has got haute and has come of age. Outfits that until now were only seen in the likes of Sex and the City or Pretty Woman or The Devil Wears Prada, is to be seen in Aisha. Dresses, lehengas, hats, silhouettes, bikinis, and so on. And for a refreshing change, parties did not mean LBDs or Red noodle strap gowns (except for the salsa dance party where Sonam wore a red dress complementing perfectly the Latino ambiance). Lots of beige, black and mauve were seen on Sonam, whereas the character of Ira Dubey known for her slightly abstruse sense of dressing had on greens and purples, graphic prints and funky head gear topped with her bold black geeky pair of spectacles. Aisha’s masi played by Anuradha Patel is the typical upper class hostess and matron with her ropes of pearls, her French bun and her chiffon saris. To go with the style was the L’ Oreal make up kit that worked wonder on all the ladies. Pernia Qureshi, the designer of the film has got it all right. From the behenjis to the babes and from the chicks to the aunties, all have been simply fabulously done.

If you are wondering why I am not going into the editing or the storyline of the movie, let me tell you that there’s nothing in its story or cinematography or editing that you haven’t seen already in Bollywood. But the one thing that has made it stand out from all its peers is its STYLE. Moreover, the upper class Delhi world that we see here is also so very Austen. Just like Austen, the characters here are solely about the idle rich (the landed gentry in Austen) who spend their time spending (dad’s) money, matchmaking, swooning over imaginary distresses, attending races and balls and baking chocolate sponge cakes. Just like in Austen, Aisha ends with the ringing of wedding bells (song here) and gives you a feeling that life is all about getting married to a rich guy. And well, I don’t mind that at all when it comes to me wrapped in designer clothes, chic stilettos, leggy lasses and delicious dudes. Don’t expect the movie to give you a hangover, just like its characters, the movie is like that pink candy-floss sold outside theatres - you place it on your tongue and it disappears leaving a faint sweet taste and a tinge of pink.

Hemkund

At Govindghat, the place where the trek for Hemkund starts, I had tea and snacks at a choti and coolly forgot to take back the change. Halway on my way to Hemkund I realised what I have done and decided to visit the same choti on my way back, to test the honesty of the owner. And so I did. This time around too, I had tea and some tidbits and when I asked him how much I had to pay, he said, “what payment? I’ll pay you. You had forgotten to take the change on you way up? How careless of you? Is this the way you handle your money?”

Kedarnath

My mom dropped her wallet in which she was carrying all her medicines and about 500 bucks. we asked a few locals if they have seen a wallet of such and such proportions. One of them promptly said, “if someone of our area picks it up, you’ll surely get it back, but if someone from your side comes across it, you can’t say.” A little later we found him, rather he found us. A lean man in his fifties, his tattered coat unable to keep the cold winds at bay. We tried to reward him, but all he said was “bina mehnt ka paisa hum nahin leta” (I do not accept money that  haven’t earned). The only thing he reluctantly received was a modest meal of dry Indian bread and vegetable curry.

Manali

We put up at the Tourist Lodge of Manali (it no longer stands; had been washed away by a flood) adjacent to the Beas River. We checked in, dropped our luggage and were ready to go out. But the manager had not provided us with any keys of the room. My dad and I quickly went up to him to ask for the keys and he looked at us as if he has never heard a funnier comment. He assured us with a wave of his hands that we didn’t need to lock up our rooms; nobody does that around here. But we are from the plains. We are accustomed to live around thieves, pickpockets and their likes. So we took the keys, locked up our room but now we had to keep it on the pelmet above the door. But when we came back, the keys were there and not a thing misplaced.

These people are one of the many reasons why I run to the hills at the slightest provocation. Their smiling faces pump in oxygen into my corrupt dishonest plains heart.