When in a span of 5 minutes, she spoke of BMW, murder and daal-lauki; I was somehow reminded of an article on Indian women I recently read in Times of India.
When I read that article, I thought it was neither definitive critique nor a mere amalgamation of facts, and I wondered what the author intended and whether the reflection is quite in cohesion.
One moment, it appeared the author’s study was comprehensive and was inspiring me to hold in my hands, a rainbow in all its glory, look through each color of the spectrum, prick the canvas and see for myself where the touch complements sight; not quite indicating where she herself found resonance, if she did and thus intelligently leaving open ends for me the reader. As I began to feel disillusioned, it struck me if there was a chance the author was trying to blame her myopia on fog and chose to celebrate the grandeur of rainbow because that was not to be challenged; if leaving the thread untied was not a choice she made but impotence she submitted to. But then, this would steal from me the pleasure of reading. So I tried not to be conclusive or judgmental and just read on.
It was around 10 in the night and a rather stretched walk around the campus had brought me to FD 1. I felt like sitting in IPC for a while. A long walk, cold winter night and nostalgia of those early days when we used to rush to IPC- between the lectures, right after the insti-hours and again after dinner, ah the days without LAN!! Time it seems has come one full circle; now the LAN is sluggish and IPC is again a better place, if internet be on mind. My walk and my gaze must have been telling of my nostalgia ‘cos more than once, someone looked at me with what felt like sympathy, a look we don’t give to people we don’t know. I grew conscious, pulled up my shoulders and walked in.
At ease again, I logged into g-talk. A green against her name was a new thing to be seen. I pinged:
“Online at this hour and green?”
“I’m at home. Just came back from kitchen.”
“oh! Kya banaya?”
“Daal-lauki”
“Waah. Tu to expert cook hai yaar”
The conversation took the usual route. I asked about her day, she about mine. I complained I had no work to do and how my life was becoming increasingly mundane, she told me she was being burdened with too much work at office and that was making her life uneventful. Such are the ironies of life. Personally, I’ve been in both places and I can only say a tired man’s sleep is sweeter and more welcome than when she slothfully plays with you, teases you but denies to sink in before you’ve lost all hope of enjoying her. She embraces but is cold and waking up is not so much of smiling and stretching your limbs but about begging her to get back in bed when she’s already buttoning up.
I tried to humor it up with a mention of a funny bank-incident that happened with her a few days back. One of my friends had told me she got an extra paycheck accounted against her name by her previous employer. If a 10 rupee note unearthed from an old shirt, a small sum lent and forgotten when returned brings a smile, twenty five thousand in your account you don’t know of is sure one treat. Jokingly, I suggested she should plan on buying a car, pat came the reply:
“Pehli gadi to BMW hi loongi”
I replied with a laughter-smiley but soon I was not sure if it was entirely comic. She was talking about a new model from BMW, how the interiors were pamperingly posh and the horse-power better than any previous model. As she went on to explain it rose from zero to 100 kmph in less than 6 seconds, I realized I never knew more about BMW but the trademark headlights and circular logo. I began to compare her knowledge in cars with my mother’s, who only could go as far as calling dad’s mobile or mine if her car got stuck somewhere, who never knew of a word called mileage and if her humble Maruti was only cleaned with her favorite ‘Kleanex’, she would admire it more than any flashy car on road.
Indian woman sure has come of age.
I asked her when she was buying her BMW- no reply.
“kyun ferarri ka man bana liya kya?”- nothing
‘let’s cut it’ I thought.
“aur koi nayi movie dekhi?”
……………
There’s one funny thing we do when we chat. She would often break away from the chat, no notice. No replies coming my way, I would e-shout
“Nehaaaaaaaa……”
I couldn’t resist, I did that silly thing:
“Nehaaaaaaaa……”
When I finally get a reply, this is how it sounds:
“murder karne ki ichha ho rahi hai meri”
Now I am stunned. What did I do to deserve that? But I soon realize the angst is for her mentor at office who had just called, supposedly to detail her about some assignment. Thus the delay. As she put it, he was being an ***hole for some days, trying to extract too much work and behaving very rowdily. Perhaps he had read that article too and got defensive.
The author was a female and believed that women, with their inherent patience, vision and creativity are sure to outnumber men in the top ranks. She stated women already made a strong chunk of millionaires in India. There were crisp quotations from select power-women and of course how could Shobha-De be missing. For us men, it is often an easy escape to call such ideas and such people feminist. But she sounded plain in her disposition. Moreover, how can facts be feminist?
In the mean while her brother has come back, she bids adieu ‘cos she is to lay dinner- the daal-lauki she had so fondly cooked, she hopes he likes it.
When I read that article, I thought it was neither definitive critique nor a mere amalgamation of facts, and I wondered what the author intended and whether the reflection is quite in cohesion.
One moment, it appeared the author’s study was comprehensive and was inspiring me to hold in my hands, a rainbow in all its glory, look through each color of the spectrum, prick the canvas and see for myself where the touch complements sight; not quite indicating where she herself found resonance, if she did and thus intelligently leaving open ends for me the reader. As I began to feel disillusioned, it struck me if there was a chance the author was trying to blame her myopia on fog and chose to celebrate the grandeur of rainbow because that was not to be challenged; if leaving the thread untied was not a choice she made but impotence she submitted to. But then, this would steal from me the pleasure of reading. So I tried not to be conclusive or judgmental and just read on.
It was around 10 in the night and a rather stretched walk around the campus had brought me to FD 1. I felt like sitting in IPC for a while. A long walk, cold winter night and nostalgia of those early days when we used to rush to IPC- between the lectures, right after the insti-hours and again after dinner, ah the days without LAN!! Time it seems has come one full circle; now the LAN is sluggish and IPC is again a better place, if internet be on mind. My walk and my gaze must have been telling of my nostalgia ‘cos more than once, someone looked at me with what felt like sympathy, a look we don’t give to people we don’t know. I grew conscious, pulled up my shoulders and walked in.
At ease again, I logged into g-talk. A green against her name was a new thing to be seen. I pinged:
“Online at this hour and green?”
“I’m at home. Just came back from kitchen.”
“oh! Kya banaya?”
“Daal-lauki”
“Waah. Tu to expert cook hai yaar”
The conversation took the usual route. I asked about her day, she about mine. I complained I had no work to do and how my life was becoming increasingly mundane, she told me she was being burdened with too much work at office and that was making her life uneventful. Such are the ironies of life. Personally, I’ve been in both places and I can only say a tired man’s sleep is sweeter and more welcome than when she slothfully plays with you, teases you but denies to sink in before you’ve lost all hope of enjoying her. She embraces but is cold and waking up is not so much of smiling and stretching your limbs but about begging her to get back in bed when she’s already buttoning up.
I tried to humor it up with a mention of a funny bank-incident that happened with her a few days back. One of my friends had told me she got an extra paycheck accounted against her name by her previous employer. If a 10 rupee note unearthed from an old shirt, a small sum lent and forgotten when returned brings a smile, twenty five thousand in your account you don’t know of is sure one treat. Jokingly, I suggested she should plan on buying a car, pat came the reply:
“Pehli gadi to BMW hi loongi”
I replied with a laughter-smiley but soon I was not sure if it was entirely comic. She was talking about a new model from BMW, how the interiors were pamperingly posh and the horse-power better than any previous model. As she went on to explain it rose from zero to 100 kmph in less than 6 seconds, I realized I never knew more about BMW but the trademark headlights and circular logo. I began to compare her knowledge in cars with my mother’s, who only could go as far as calling dad’s mobile or mine if her car got stuck somewhere, who never knew of a word called mileage and if her humble Maruti was only cleaned with her favorite ‘Kleanex’, she would admire it more than any flashy car on road.
Indian woman sure has come of age.
I asked her when she was buying her BMW- no reply.
“kyun ferarri ka man bana liya kya?”- nothing
‘let’s cut it’ I thought.
“aur koi nayi movie dekhi?”
……………
There’s one funny thing we do when we chat. She would often break away from the chat, no notice. No replies coming my way, I would e-shout
“Nehaaaaaaaa……”
I couldn’t resist, I did that silly thing:
“Nehaaaaaaaa……”
When I finally get a reply, this is how it sounds:
“murder karne ki ichha ho rahi hai meri”
Now I am stunned. What did I do to deserve that? But I soon realize the angst is for her mentor at office who had just called, supposedly to detail her about some assignment. Thus the delay. As she put it, he was being an ***hole for some days, trying to extract too much work and behaving very rowdily. Perhaps he had read that article too and got defensive.
The author was a female and believed that women, with their inherent patience, vision and creativity are sure to outnumber men in the top ranks. She stated women already made a strong chunk of millionaires in India. There were crisp quotations from select power-women and of course how could Shobha-De be missing. For us men, it is often an easy escape to call such ideas and such people feminist. But she sounded plain in her disposition. Moreover, how can facts be feminist?
In the mean while her brother has come back, she bids adieu ‘cos she is to lay dinner- the daal-lauki she had so fondly cooked, she hopes he likes it.
3 comments:
dude you leave me wondering what was YOUR idea behind writing this ;)
Dude...Lemmme tell you i am becoming a fan of your thoughts and writing skills :)
Dost I enjoyed a lot reading this....
Even i appreciate your writing skills & d way you express yourself.
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