Nxt Gn

These days I am low key obsessed and jealous of Alfia Jafry. I have been pulled into a wholesale obsessive desire to know what is possible about the entire Khan family network, ably fed by all kinds of reddit threads on these people. Part of it was alleviated when I sat through Moving in with Malaika. While some parts of the series were interesting, most of it was really very bad. The stand up bit was painful. Also, was that dig at Sumukhi Suresh necessary in the opening part of Malaika’s act? The spread, reach, insiders and outsiders to the Khan network, past and present is very interesting. Given how closely their social and professional circles overlap, it is fascinating how they have been able to keep their professional interests and personal conflicts separate. For instance, the writer of Moving in with Malaika is also a close professional collaborator of Salman Khan. Even Farhad Samji who has Salman’s support in churning disastrous films makes a guest appearance in the series to offer Malaika a film. She stutters and we have to sit through another painful episode of her taking Urdu classes and then at the end of it all, I think she declines the film.

The series could have had so much potential. But it is an opportunity squandered. How awesome would it be to have a reality show on the Khans itself. The ex wives, current wife, exes and current girlfriends, children, brothers, sisters, parents, and all their intersecting friends and professional networks. What I wouldn’t give to know how was it for Alvira to grow up with not one, but three hulks for brothers. Given that both Arpita and she continue to be cordial with Aishwarya, how has she handled her brother’s frequent out of control spins with his romantic interests? I am more curious about this because before Farrey released, Alizeh Agnihotri had this awesome Instagram account where she used to document Bollywood fashion history. One of the posts she had made was on Aishwarya Rai’s look in Dhoom 2. It was such a well done post and also an interesting account overall. However, she archived all her posts and turned it into an empty handle when her film was out, which is a pity. I wish she has let it be. Therefore, I am very curious about Alvira Agnihotri as a person and I think if anyone deserves a web series similar to Bollywood Wives (which I avidly watch), it is the Khan-daan. Sadly, all this will never happen cos there is only one documented instance of Alvira publicly saying anything about her family and even that was for Arbaaz.

I have always thought of Malaika as quite awesome and iconic. This is because I always feel that someone like me takes strength from scholarship to validate and imagine ideas and practice of feminism in my personal life. The written word, in that sense, and intellectual discourse is my source of strength and the wall that I fall back on. People like Malaika practice these ideas in a much more organic and lived manner. They may fully hesistate to call what they do feminism and may distance themselves from the word, but their choices are so bold and courageous in wanting to stay true to their core and standing by it as the consequences of it all hit the fan. I remember being so shell shocked when Rajeev Masand first blew the lid on the Malaika-Arjun thing in a blind in his Open magazine column. Sittting in far away Austin, it took me some time to process what I was reading. The identities were so plain that it was clear to all with no need for any second guesses. Would not have been easy for any of the parties involved to have ridden that wave. But, Malaika did and survived. And thrived.

When I got done with the series, and was engaged in more ‘research’, I came across an episode of Jeena Isi Ka Naam Hai featuring Arbaaz as the guest. Hosted by the awesome Farooque Shaikh, the episode was a total trip. It is in this episode that Alvira makes an appearance and speaks. While it was a very nice watch, it was also a tad saddening, knowing how things eventually unfolded for everyone. By all accounts, Arbaaz appears to be the most sorted of the three brothers. Listening to his interviews, it does seem like he feels a tad baffled at Salman’s success cos he has always been the more stable and sensible one. They are barely 18 months apart in age and are as tight as brothers can be, but Salman and Sohail bond more. Maybe cos Sohail is the youngest so he would have looked up to his elder brother more than the middle one and I think he gets more easily co-opted into being Salman’s sidekick. One suspects that Arbaaz is quite sandwiched between two natural allies and consequently must be bickering a lot with both of them. Unlike Salman, Arbaaz also has a bit of a feminist streak in him and does not mind taking a back seat to women. In one segment, his friends recall how he was besottedly shopping for outfits for Malaika. It was all rather sweet and Malaika being Malaika appears true to type in her tight jeans with toddler Arhaan on the show.

I also watched Moving in with Malaika cos I was curious about Arhaan. In fact, the reason I even watched it was because Arhaan’s segments were being discussed on a reddit thread I was reading. I used to think the kid must be badly damaged by all that he had been put through. I thought he must be quite shy and resentful, but dude is chill and thriving and comes across like any other teenager in the series. He also seems up to interesting things. Launching something called dumb biryani. Full points for cleverness and keeping the curiousity quotient high. There is even a dedicated Instagram fan account called Nirhaan that carefully documents the exploits of Arhaan and Nirvaan Khan.

Which brings me to the most interesting grandkid of the Khan family – Nirvaan Khan. Again, he seems to be the most publicly close to Salman. He was involved in the production of Tiger 3 and also appeared in the lockdown video his chachu made. At barely 24, Nirvaan who one would not really pin down to be a looker or a charmer is actually living quite a life. For him, Alfia Jafry who is Rumy Jafry’s daughter, walked out of her marriage, fled to Los Angeles seeking a fresh start, and returned to Mumbai to reclaim her friendship with Nirvaan. One wonders why Rumy was trying to get his daugther married off in such a rush. Maybe his collaboration with Salman soured at some point and he was not happy that his daughter appeared to be in love with someone from that family? The reddit gossip is silent on the reason why Rumy seemed to have disapproved of his daughter associating with Nirhaan.

In any case, it has all appeared to have ended well. Alfia is a regular at all their functions and even travels abroad with the family for events like the CCL matches. She bonds well with Seema, is always by Nirvaan’s side, and now has a show coming out on Prime produced by Dharma on the influencer gang she fled to from her marriage – namely Alanna, Alavia Jaffery (Javed’s daughter and no relation to Alfia) etc. You bet I will pounce on this show the moment it drops. The low key obsession and jealousy with Alfia is that she is so pretttttttty! Plus, to have had such an eventful, stormy life even before you hit 25 and to have it all end well and be reunited with the love of your life. Fairy tale bliss.

P.S. I wish Nirhaan would not try to recreate anything to do with Salman and his films. I know they have first dibs on it all and are his nephews, but I cannot bear it.

P.S. I would like to review all Koffee with Karan episodes right from Season 1 and contextualize them to the present. The Vivek Oberoi episode was so interesting! I wish olden blogging days were back. This would have made such good blog material. But the time and motivation to blog is no longer there.

Dunki

First day, first show, was seen. This means different things depending on which cinema hall you are going to. In Pune, the Inox at NIBM extension, (the extension is important), is where we head to for films these days, and the first show there, began only at 9 am. Other places were screening at 7:30 am etc. While seeing the film, I was noting things I wanted to write about, but by the time we got home, I forgot everything. The movie was reduced to a blur and I had to give myself time to recall and piece together some parts of it. Point to be noted milord that there were no memorable songs although hearing Sonu Nigam instead of Arijit Singh on one track felt very nice.

I think I enjoyed the second half of the film more. SRK tends towards styling his hair differently to showcase his character arc. He wears it flopping across his forehead when he is acting up and being comedic and youthful. I first noticed it off screen from the days AbRam was born. SRK too started wearing his hair like cutie AbRam who would sport a katori cut in those days. It was as if SRK too was striving for resemblance with his baby and/or hoping that the baby’s youth would rub of on him. I always thought that the King was making a last bid at defying his age when he first started doing it.

I don’t find him very attractive in this avataar. I like him as he was in Swades, Kal Ho Na Ho, Veer Zaara days. So, it was with relief that I saw his hair flicked back and styled his usual self as the second half began. And as I knew, his character arc too changed to one that was more combative (literally) and SRK was quite attractive in some scenes.

To me, the film seemed like a mish mash of many different things Hindi films have already shown. There was Veer Pratap Singh from Veer Zara, then there was Aamir Khan from Dangal, there was Asthana from 3 Idiots, and I forget what else, but these three films were instant recall in some of the key scenes.

As the fim began, I thought of how relieved I was not to be watching an action film with maar dhaad. Maybe here at last, was a memorable and simple story whose characters would stay with you and there will be memorable scenes to return to. I thought of something unrelated to what was happening on screen such as how this was Raju Hirani’s first fim after the #metoo allegations and how not once has anyone mentioned it or how SRK has collaborated with him. Then, as the film progressed, I thought of how this is the first time Raju Hirani was showing violence in his film (I have not watched Sanju) and how unnecessary the killing of certain characters were – how manipulative in fact the characters’ deaths were. I thought how this was the least unlikely of all Raju Hirani films as if SRK was dragging him towards a bit of action and violence. At the same time, I thought of how this film was the least unlikely of all the three SRK films released this year because here, SRK was sharing space with many different characters on whom the film equally rested. I thought about this appreciatively since SRK never makes a big deal of helping people or giving them ‘breaks’ unlike Salman who rubs it in everyone’s face and never lets you forget it.

I saw Kanika Dhillon was one of the writers and she has long been a SRK protege. I am quite jealous, mind you, and even dreamed once that SRK is trying to palm me off to one of his assistants instead of mentoring me as a writer as I was demanding that he do. In the dream, that is. As the end credits rolled, I drew a sharp breath when I saw Pooja Dadlani being credited on the screen by herself i.e. without other credits appearing on the screen with her, as SRK’s manager and I felt, waaaah, whatever did she have to pull off during the Aryan fiasco for her to now take centre stage in this fashion. Unprecedented in the history of Hindi film credits, as far as I know, for the manager’s name to be flashed on screen in this manner.

I think that is all I recall from my thoughts in the film. It was underwhelming, but definitely redeemed in parts.

Since I am in a mood that says it is Salman Khan’s world, I am just living in it, I want to say that in my fevered state, I kept hoping he would appear on screen. I missed him so very much. I got a picture taken with him where he is selling locks of some kind hawking them at BOGO. I posted all this on Instagram stories. I missed him so much. I came home to scroll through endless reels while doing a little bit of work.

And now, the paparazzi did their bit by sending some more social media scrolling my way. Who is this Anand Pandit, I do not know, but the entire Bollywood seems to have landed at his birthday today. Aur yahaan pe entry maarte huey, Salman ke jalwe. Ufffff. And post event, fans doing chance pe dance with him, which ends with a child babbling I love you to him and him turning to acknowledge it. Dead only.

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A post shared by Varinder Chawla (@varindertchawla)

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A post shared by Varinder Chawla (@varindertchawla)

Beauty and the Beast

I took a long metro ride a couple of days ago. To places whose names I had never known. On the return trip, I even got lost because I got into the train headed in the wrong direction. I know nothing about Bangalore because I mostly am just going from home to work and back on my dear scooty. But, it was fun, the trip. I love riding the metro, but alas, have done it very rarely, and that too from home to Church Street, at best. I don’t have reason to ride the metro because my work place is still to be connected. And by the time it does get connected (it was supposed to be by this year end), who knows where I will be. Not betting on anything right now.

It was lovely just being out and about the city and experiencing metro life and the sheer diversity of people you get to see. I tried out new things, such as booking metro tickets on WhatsApp by scanning a QR code and receiving a QR ticket. This is more thrilling than you might believe because I have not had a functional phone since two years and went through periods where I had no phone at all. I only bought a new one after all efforts to revive the one I was using failed. I planned to buy a phone when I felt some things had fallen into place. You see, I wanted a high end phone to take pictures and videos and edit them and also as a social status reward for completing some things, but alas, that was not to be. I was forced into a purchase and I chose a phone for 15K. The best part is that I do not even feel short changed by it. It does everything I need so I wondered what all the fuss is about these very expensive phones that people buy on EMIs. So, getting a QR ticket was cool because the phone that I was using did not support QR/UPI facilties and I am so very pleased at returning back to these conveniences.

So, the long metro ride, was ocassioned by the very few places still screening Tiger 3. I tried, but could not make it to first day, first show. By the time, I had wrapped up major deadlines this week, there were only a handful of screens still showing the film. And of those, only two had day shows, the rest were all night shows, which is not something I can do solo. Both places were very far from home, but yippppeeeee, one was plum opposite the metro station, which made it so very convenient to get to. So, off I went.

I was in the throes of a very bad crush on Salman. All over again. If I were to trace the trigger this time, I think it was because of the December 3 assembly election result. I went through a bad time with the results. The darkness, fear, anxiety was all too real. In a moment of panicked purchase, I bought a book seeking to understand from those wiser than me if there was any hope at all. But, I could not devote the headspace to reading it since I was chasing a deadline. The preface did give me hope though. It spoke about the Constitution, which as yet, stands unaltered. Then it observed: Space exists. It must be used. Quite, I thought. I will return to Aakar Patels’ Our Hindu Rashtra: How We Got Here, in due course, but at that time, I had barely 12 days to go to a deadline and my retreat into spaces of easy comfort was a given.

Bollywood, in its present form, has little to offer other than star kids posturing on Instagram and posting about their temple visits. It is a dull, never ending, pantomine, set to bad music with Instagram visibility mattering more than actual good film content. Everything is a labored, contrived, incestous, regurgitation of patriarchal, violent, assertions of being. This includes Koffee with Karan’s stale boreness this season and SRK’s comeback films, which did well, purely as a reaction to SRK’s victimization at the hands of a vindictive regime. While I reveled in their success and the fact that Bollywood was back with a vengeance, the films themselves did very little to spark joy. In fact, even OTT content is the same old crime and violence.

There is very little from them that stays with you, that makes you want to look them up, that is going to make it to annals of pop culture recall. They celebrate violence, killing, and Jawan in particular was gruesome in the tradition of south indian crime films. Therefore, I do not quite understand the bad rap Ranbir is receiving other than Animal glorifies and endorses misgoynistic violoence. So, the violence from the point of view of a respectable hero who honors women is okay? This whole respecting women discourse itself is so performative with the SRK fandom being so very condescending at all times. They forget what Gauri may have endured during those SRK-PC days? I don’t know. I will maybe articulate when I watch Animal this week cos I am so very curious and since I already know all the bad parts, I am hoping that it will not affect me as much. Plus, the social media frenzy around Bobby Deol’s entry song and Tripti Dimri is whetting my appetite.

The lack of good songs, stories, characters and lines that stay with you, and the lack of nostalgic sheen to gloss over the minuses, means a retreat into spaces that have long held and been held by you. Added to that is the mindless ease of scrolling through reel after reel on Instagram asking for little by way of engagment. My Instagram algorithm feeds me mostly Salman, SRK, and cat and dog videos. And so, I retreated into its mind numbing embrace for breaks as I lay flat on the couch furiously working days and night. My record for this deadline was working for a flat 31 hours with no sleep.

And so, I watched reel after reel of Salman Khan. Those from Salman’s soft boy era; those of him from the 90’s; those that call him peak male beauty; those that just show his ‘entry’ at various events, those that edit him as the sad, wronged, lover; those from his early days on Big Boss, when he was just so charismatic and fun. Now his eyes are sad, the bags underneath them seemingly touching the hanging jowls of his cheeks. His ageing parents’ declining health must weigh heavily on his mind, his own lack of personal happiness that contrary to all his posturing on marriage, is just a clever ploy to not admit that he does not feel justified in deserving happiness and making others a part of his sins by starting a family.

Salman has the saddest, most tired eyes of all. In his and SRK’s ageing, I see my own tiredness with the circumstances in which I work and live. He is very aware of the time that has ticked by and has spoken about how his fans are now grandmothers themselves and that he has little truck with the younger generation other than the the ageing older millenials. Even his own niece is so distant and wary of him. But, still, how the cameras swing towards him. How they love him. How ridiculous he looks, at times, with that swagger that he feels is one of power, but how the cameras cannot stop rolling and loving him. Allow us and our idols this final stretch of holding on to the memories of our youthful ways of being before we fade into oblivion.

And so I scroll through Instagram to escape, ably supported by sharing and discussions with sister and mother on WhatsApp. They have no option, but to listen to my theories and fandom raves and rants and chime in with responses when they are not fed up.

All of it helped me work through reams and reams of badly written arguments and text that I have to be empathetic towards because it was a young student’s first time attempt at publishing. It was exhausting and triggering to have to work at taming and bringing it under some semblance of coherent readability. Research supervision is not for me even with highly committed and motivated students if their written skills are sub par. I know they are learning and I have to be patient and graceful, but I fail badly at this. At least, I was not scolding the student this time because I know they were doing their best. My only release was venting to myself and family about it all.

As the deadline neared, I found myself musing on beauty. No falling into the Salman Khan rabbithole is complete without having to confront the blood on his hands. As I watched him lie through his teeth on an Aap ki Adalat episode about his driver losing control of the vehicle, I thought how dangerous beauty can be. It took me back to the classes that I did on beauty a couple of years ago where we were introduced to Plato, Aristotle, Kant, Hegel etc hold forth on beauty.

Plato, in particular, was deeply suspicious of beauty arising from his critiques of Greek tragedy. He wanted to hold beauty at a distance because the brighter the radiance, the more it overwhelms us. It can take control of our sensiblities in ways that diminish other worthy ideas that do not have its radiance. Such as truth and justice. In my Salman fandom, throughout life, I have cycled through long periods of loathing and disappointment at both his off screen exploits as well his film choices, but they are transient. It is the infatuation, the happiness at seeing him light up the screen that endures. The place to which I keep returning.

By the time, I took my seat for Tiger 3, I was dizzy with the high of having wrapped up deadlines, spiked with the infatuation of a long standing fandom, awareness of my own advancing age, mirrored in my hero’s declining physicality, the fact that what brought me across town was a quest to continue an old, old, relationship with stardom and fandom as a way of meeting with all my younger selves, the escapism I was seeking from the world I grew up in, collapsing around me. As Salman strode on screen with his face obscured, my release was in hooting and clapping. Bhai ki do baar entry hoti hai. First, is his person Then is his mooh dikhayi. So, so, good.

Then the rest of the movie is a blur. Things were enlivened when SRK came on screen. Such chemistry! Just like I watch those seven minutes of Pathaan over and over again for Bhai ki entry and scenes as the only memorable part of Pathaan, I cannot wait for Tiger 3 to release on OTT to be able to rewatch Salman-SRK again. They do not need anyone else, but I suspect this may only work when it is brief. How this is going to translate into a full length film remains to be seen. Unlike Salman’s entry in Pathaan that liften the sagging film, SRK’s entry in Tiger 3, while immediately spicing things, does not have the same effect.

The impact of Salman on Pathaan is far greater than SRK’s in Tiger. I walked out of Pathaan delirious with joy at Salman’s presence and thought it very surprising that SRK allowed Salman to be staged in such a manner in his comeback film. He even allowed Salman to have the last word in Pathaan. SRK was taking no chances in ensuring a hit film. The film closes with a massive Thank you Salman Khan written across the screen as the Pathaan BGM begins to play. And I could not help think how much of a Salman Khan film, Pathaan turned out to be. The same courtesy is missing for SRK in Tiger 3 as it ends with a Thank you Pathaan and not a Thank you SRK. The less said about the Hrithik cameo the better. Could not understand head or tail of it. So, yes, I am a bit wary of how all of this will translate, beyond cameos, into full length movie experiences. Especially because it needs a light touch to work and I really doubt that any director is going to be able to pull it off. For instance, maybe, SRK should not condescend about his intelligence contrasting with Salman’s brawns as he did in Tiger 3? That was one turn off.

I miss the romance, mostly. Because that is what stays with you long after the movie ends. That is what you seek in re-runs. That is going to be Salman and SRK’s legacy long after we all are gone, not their turns as action heroes. Deepika tries in Pathaan, but the chemistry is just not there. She gets cast because she has the physicality to execute an action film, but there is no chemistry, the script does not permit memorable romance. Katrina was fine in Ek Tha Tiger, but she has always been a very thanda presence on screen and while she has been forced into being the credible foil to Salman, the bleak coldness is even more pronounced in Tiger 3.

What a waste. Given Salman’s terrible film choices and his ego tussles with Kabir Khan and Sanjay Leela Bhansali, Tiger 3, was the only film where one could expect some on screen classiness from him, but alas, that was not meant to be. Maneesh Sharma needs to focus on making films like Band Baaja Baraat and Kabir Khan needs to take control of Tiger once again. All one is left with celebrating is the homoerotic chemsitry of Salman-SRK together. They are so gay for each other and suit each other to the T. This part of their career is going to run on their chemistry. The audience connect is tremendous for those of us who grew up watching them fight and make up endlessly. Both given to casual violence, but both salvaged mainly because of Salman’s willingness to accommodate and make space for SRK, as he always has, right from the time SRK arrived in Bombay. And now, it is paying off in spades.

One can only hope that Aamir will bounce back because as a 90’s kid who grew up in the reign of the three Khans, I want this part of my India at least, to continue for as long as possible, but it is going to be difficult because he does not have the fan base these two have.

I continued thinking of the burdens of beauty. In particular, I found myself thinking about this couple I knew in college. Were it not for the Express Youth Forum’s inter-college festival Verve, they would have never come on my radar, but my college was sending a team for the singing contest and my close friend was a singer. We needed to put together a team and there came B with his orchestra. I had never heard of him and I suspect that he was only ‘technically’ a student. Rumor had it that he was way over age and just had a backlog of sorts. Rumor also had it that he was a disreputable don of sorts who had all sorts of connections. And rumor had it that he had defied all kinds of odds and eloped with N, his beautiful wife, who also I was seeing hearing of for the first time.

B was a Bengali and M was a Marathi. B was tall, dark, and dangerous to be around since he was prone to sarcasm and quick wit. M was a fair, curly wavy haired girl, who was confident of her place in the word in the way that only those who are very loved and secure are. She seemed aware of all rumors and reveled that it lent her an aura of mystery and wonder, besides allowing her protection from riff raff, who were likely afraid of B. The little we could get close to B and M was only because of our singer friend who was also a Bengali herself and it was all quite thrilling.

The truth in all likelihood was that B was just an older person who was street smart because he was making a living from running a business as fickle as an orchestra who had to grow up quickly because of the young marriage and had little patience for us undergrad students. So, we were all equally awed by M, who was an undegrad like us, but had eloped with this much older man and was quite worldly wise, unlike us.

I found myself thinking about them this week, wondering how they had fared all these years. Did their marriage last or did it collapse with the weight of M’s beauty and what she thought she deserved in life? Do college romances last? Especially if it came with the weight of parental disapproval, marriage at a very young age, and financial precarity? After all, how much can an orchestra, and a not very successful one, sustain in life? I don’t quite remember how B sounded when he sung. To our ears, it was all quite awesome and I think our team did fairly well in the finals although I am unsure if we won. My friend had a superlative voice and one of the songs she had picked was Dil hoom hoom kare. That is all I recall.

Beyond B’s first name and that he was a Bengali, I had very few leads for a Google search, but voila, I could track down the orchestra and found everything I sought to know. I am happy to report, that the orchestra, a not very good one at that, seems to be thriving. M and B are very much together and happily so, if social media pictures are any evidence. M seems to be ruling the fitness and beauty paegent scene in Pune and there are several foreign trips thrown in for good measure to indicate some kind of affluence. I now follow M on Instagram and like her pictures.

Happy to see.

RaGa

As the writing progressed and gathered steam, I withdrew from most things except my laptop, the radio, and Friends on Netflix that I would watch during breaks. Transformed into a writing cave, the house lay unswept and my body and the clothes on it unwashed. At my unwashed state, I was only too happy to read a similar Facebook update from Joyce Maynard who was currently in the midst of her own writing storm and I felt validated and seen as she said similar things. Although, I stuck to my skincare routine, doing anything in addition to it felt like a waste of time, as if the links that connected words to sentences and sentences to paragraphs would break. I also had to leave for Pune soon so had to ensure that I completed everything important before I left. It was clear that I would not be able to complete the entire writing, but I recalibrated the aim to finish the entire findings section, at the very least and I succeeded. Now, all that was left to do in Pune was to write the Discussion and Conclusion sections, format the paper and get it under the word count. I wrote to the editors and asked them for a week’s extension and thankfully, they were fine with it. I was exactly a week behind schedule, chiefly owing to the time I had to spend straightening out the errant student’s work.

The best place to be in when writing is to at last reach the high fever stage where everything else recedes into the background and you live inside the world that you are writing about. However, reaching this stage is a torturous process, not that the high fever stage is any less torturous, but at least you know that you have succeeded in building enough that it has now engulfed you and then you get pushed towards the end. Therefore, anything that contributes to the breaking of this world is undesirable because you then have to account for the time that it will take for you to get back inside.

The first break happened because I had to sign a document at work and I got called to go to campus to do that. I had ensured I signed everything before I settled into an unofficial work from home because now the workplace is frowning at WFH, but the documents had to be redone and I had to sign them again. I went because I did not want attention towards my absence. Somehow, it is the mindless, egoistic, megalomaniacs who get to be in power. It is almost as if power is a natural fit for these characters and then they make life difficult for others. It is not possible to write with useless demands such as being present at work every single day. This is not how academia functions. Especially when it is summer and the break is the only time we have to focus fully on research work instead of being consumed by teaching. But no, this is not tolerable for some people so they bring about idiotic diktats. Therefore, I was anyway writing at home everyday with a sense of dread and would find myself breathing easy at 5 pm everyday when it was officially off work hours and I had every right to be at home. So much mindless fear for no reason when I am actually working 24 hours.

The thing with flexibile working is not just choice of place, but also choice of time. I would sleep on several days at 7:00 am in the morning having spent an entire night at work because I flourish during the night. As much as I love the sun, I need darkness and solitude even during the day to be able to focus and put out my best. If I am going to bed at 7 am, how do I show up for a full day of work? But of course there is no space for reason. Therefore, the curse of the Poona Camp Sev Barfi will befall them. Why? Cos, I once, very reluctantly gave the authority figure in question, a box of it. I have realized that only when I unstintingly love or feel affection or appreciation for someone, that I will generously share Karachi Sev Barfi, Budhani Chiwda or any other Camp goodies with someone. Countless times I have carried these boxes wanting to give it to one particular colleague, but it has never reached them. Once I get to Bangalore, I question why they deserve it and I happily end up feasting on it myself not feeling even a whit of guilt about my lack of generosity. To me, it just shows that I don’t like them enough to extend this gesture towards them. I will happily give away Chitale things to people. Although Chitale is now right behind my house in Pune, it is not a Camp institution for me so I don’t feel as proprietal about it. But this one authority figure succeeded in getting a box from me only because I was summoned from Pune as the pandemic began waning and as a gesture of acknowledgment of the newly acquired power this person held, I extended sev barfi to them and they happily had it and even emailed to thank, all of which I was anyway receiving warily and grumpily. I was always right about them and one day my box of sev barfi will avenge themselves. Let us see if I do succeed in giving that colleague a box too some day.

The second break in writing happened in a way that made me think of the God of Small Things as a metaphor to explain these happenings in my life because although they are exciting, they rarely add up to anything of consequence, except to make me feel lucky and special, which to be honest, is quite misleading cos if anything, neither luck nor specialness has been in my favor for a long time now.

After yet another night of hard writing, I was trying to sleep as morning rush hour hit Bangalore on July 18, 2023. I found myself sleepily thinking yet again how the sound of traffic has audibly increased over the years. Yet, again, I thought I really need to move and how I am seemingly trapped in this house. I tossed and turned, but somehow the traffic seemed to be even louder than usual and I cursed whatever was going on. I saw that it was around 9:00 am or so and unsuccessfully kept trying to sleep. At last, I gave up and walked to the window to see why the traffic was sounding so different and more chaotic today. I was not prepared for the sight that greeted me. The entire road was cordoned off and buzzing with policemen who were energetically and frantically waving at all kinds of people. The focus of attention was on T John’s bungalow whose front yard I can look into from my window as they are just one house away from me. Just as I was wondering what had gone wrong, I saw a man dart inside with a wreath. My thought was that there had been a huge tragedy. Maybe the members of the family had been murdered. Maybe there was a suicide cum murder pact. I had all kinds of dark thoughts running through my head. What else would explain the presence of such an army of police and an ambulance outside to boot. I thought back to countless news reports of such scenarios that happens in the homes of wealthy people and was horrifed that it was happening to a family in my own neighbourhood.

I quickly brushed my teeth and came back to the window to look for more. By now, a posse of cars had begun arriving and the police became even more energetic, frantically whistling and cordoning of even the pedestrians as people had begun to gather around the gate of the bungalow. Realizing I needed a better view of things to ascertain what was going on, I abandoned my window and ran up to the terrace. Just as I stepped on to the terrace and neared the parapet, I saw a sight that I received with a frission of nerves, excitement, and a heart that just froze for an entire moment.

I saw with my very own eyes, Sonia Gandhi step out of a car and Rahul Gandhi beside her. I was too stunned even to scream. What. The. Eff. Had. I. Just. Seen????

I knew I was not dreaming because Bangalore was hosting the opposition party meet that very day so the two were very much in the city. But, to see them in flesh and blood barely meters away from me was unbelievable. They vanished pretty quickly from sight because they went indoors, but I stood rooted to the spot, unable to move. What just happened? Huh?

I couldn’t believe the timing. Even just a second late and I would have missed seeing them. Just the other day I had left home at 8 am in the morning to go to campus. I thought what if I had gone to work today too. I thought back to my unsuccessful attempts to remain in bed just a few minutes earlier, then the time I spent at the window, then my decision to go up to the terrace, the time it took me to do that, all coming together in perfect sync to take me to the parapet just as Sonia and Rahul Gandhi stepped down from their car.

Wow. Mind was Blown.

I ran back home, body trembling, trying to get the phone to take pictures, but it was on low battery. I quickly messaged family on WhatsApp. My sister was mid-flight on her way back to India so she would not see the message until she landed. Mother too was not responding to messages – she would have been out shopping for sister’s arrival. I tried charging my phone to take pictures cos the two were bound to come out. I saw the media lining up behind the barricades that had been put up and was fully impressed with John that he was important enough to have Rahul and Sonia meet him when they were in town.

Rahul came out to talk to the media shortly afterwards. I could of couse, not hear, anything. But, I could see Mallikarjun Kharge along with him. Later on, I realized CM Siddaramaiah had also been there. Rahul addressed the media and left. I was frantically looking up all news channels, but could find nothing.

Then a hearse pulled up and I ran up to the terrace again. This certainly had something to do with death and not just the opposition meet. By now, another neighbour was also on the terrace. She was a Keralite and she informed me that Oomen Chandy, the former CM of Kerala had passed away at the Chinmaya Mission Hospital which was in the next lane and his body had been brought to John’s house before being taken to Kerala. I learnt that T. John had been a former minister in the Karnataka cabinet at one point. Okay, it was now that everything made sense. Sonia and Rahul were here to pay their respects to Oomen Chandy as John’s residence was a step away from the Chinmaya Mission Hospital although we all wondered why Chandy was seeking treatment at CMH of all places. I stayed watching until the hearse drove away. Congress supporters were sloganeering, people had lined up and were being let into the house to pay their respects. I went back home to read more about Oomen Chandy and discovered just how important he was to Kerala. Later, Rahul attended his funeral. As MP from the state, it was the right thing to do.

Ufffffff. What a morning. Mind blown. Focus lost. I could not stop relieving the moment I saw Rahul and Sonia over and over again. By the time the sister landed in Delhi, she reminded how just as she was boarding, I was telling her about the time Khushi Kapoor was in the flight with me from New Jersey to Bombay a couple of years ago. I do have a long track record of seeing celebrities from close quarters (except Salman Khan, god, please make it happen) and she was laughing how in the span it took for her to travel back to India I went from Khushi Kapoor to Sonia and Rahul Gandhi.

I have not been very convinced by Rahul Gandhi as a leader until he won Karanataka. And even there I thought it may have been due to other things. I appreciated that he completed the arduous Bharat Jodo yatra, but have been skeptical about his viability as a leader. Rahul Gandhi has appeared in my dreams a couple of times for no reason. Both times he has been wooing me and we have gone on a date, but both in the dreams and even after waking up, I have rarely given it much thought and have just felt surprised about why this man is visiting my dreams cos I don’t spend too much time thinking about him. He has all my sympathies and in fact, after my father passed away, I took solace from the fact that Rahul and Priyanka too were living with the trauma of having lost their loved ones and their father in a sudden, painful manner. I find it unconscionable that Modi drags Nehru through mud, that he said the most vile things about Rajiv Gandhi during the 2019 election campaign. I remember raging about it to my father who was a Rajiv Gandhi fan. I was in Madras when Rajiv was assassinated on May 21st and remember spending my birthday a couple of days later under curfew and how upset my father was on what happened. But, I have never been convinced by Rahul Gandhi. My mother though likes him very much. At least better than Modi, she says and to that, I fully agree.

The day after that, the opposition then announced I.N.D.I.A. winning my full approval again. I noted that it was a new moon day and wished them with all my heart for this to grow and succeed. I began following Rahul Gandhi’s social media posts more closely. I am currently disappointed that he is not visiting Haryana. I am hoping at some point, he will speak more about his actual plans for governance instead of only coasting on the rhetoric of mohabbat and love cos that will not win him an eletion. I hope I.N.D.I.A. wins because India has been losing badly for so long and for that Rahul Gandhi has my very best wishes.

And that is how, Rahul Gandhi went from Rahul Gandhi to RaGa for me. I am more interested in him and what he does ever since I saw him. There is an imagined intimacy and fantasy for his personhood for me and I think: Woo me, RaGa. Woo my country. I am very willing to lose my heart to you. It is yours for the taking. Just do this much. I will give you Budhani Chiwda and Karachi Sev Barfi and take you for a walk down East Street and we can stop at Chinese Room for lunch and then walk down Main Street and cross over to Sachapir Street from Taboot Street to the Great Poona Cold Drink House for faluda. And I will do this with all my heart.

p.s. I lost the entire day to RaGa excitement and was back to writing only by night again. What I was writing itself is closely linked to the Congress government and is a stinging critique of what they did, so there’s that too.

Lust Stories Song

At some point, I will return to writing. Posts that show more thought than they have had in the recent past. Posts that succeed in breaking out of the rut and stagnancy that bind them at the moment. Like songs that are sad and songs that even when they are not sad have been heard before. Hopefully, when that happens, it will also be without the spelling and grammatical errors that abound now. Hopefully, the rhythm, interest, and patience in taking the effort to let language sing will return too. Until, then, let this play out. Let the hopelessness run its course until it runs out of itself.

Yesterday was happy ‘eid, ashadi ekadashi, and lust stories 2’ day.

Lust stories 2 was such a disappointment. The first story was terrible. Infantile, preachy, boring. Is it necessary to show growing old in this stale, contrived manner, punctuated by the labored talking to convey the body’s exhaustion with aches and pains? I actually don’t know a single old person who talks this way. Other than Shanta Gokhale and that too because her voice is naturally thin and wavering. Plus, she really is very old and a cancer survivor, so it is okay. Even my mother at the peak of the most blinding pain following her surgery did not have this tone. Granted she is not as old as Neena Gupta’s character in the first story, but still?

The third story was supposed to be the star attraction given new couple in town Tamannah Bhatia and Vijay Verma. I was so much looking forward to it. I liked TB in Jee Karda. In fact, I enjoyed the soundtrack of the series very much and have looped the title track a fair bit. I also liked TB in her interviews. Spoiler alert : And I thought that VV would play a light hearted romantic role since that is what the trailers had led me to believe, but alas, no and everything took a dark turn, although what exactly was happening in Parisol was not too clear. Did they shoot it in Lavasa?

I was so disappointed that I abandoned it and did not watch the last segment featuring Kajol. I don’t like Kajol much outside DDLJ and KKHH and K3G. I don’t think she has a lot of range and really don’t find her watchable outside romcoms or with anyone else other than SRK.

The second story made very interesting points on consent, voyeurism, and class politics. Not at all surprising since it was Konkona Sen Sharma. However, it was far from a light hearted watch and given how many uncomfortable questions it was raising, it did show the mirror in more ways than one, which can often be unsettling.

So, all in all, Lust Stories that I was looking forward to for some lighthearted or even interestingly told and crafted stories, disappointed. I wanted heat, chemistry. Instead, I got an interesting exposition on class politics in one and confused meanderings in another. Although, I am happy very muchly for TB and VV so one can be consoled that it has had real life success. I will return to finish the Kajol story some time later. I find Kajol interesting in a strictly limiting way.

I sought out this song today. I don’t think there has been a song that is as explicit about its intentions and lust as this song. Everytime I hear the line

Hain jo irrade bata doon tumkon
Sharma hi jaoge tum
Dhadkane dil ki sunaon tumko
Ghabra hi jaaogi tum

I find my toes curl and heart flutter a bit. I don’t recall seeing much of this film and don’t plan to. As much as I enjoy this song, I don’t find anything encouraging in the Aamir-Kajol pairing and while Aamir certainly tries his best, he looks too jaded. I would have loved to see this song with SRK-Kajol. So, my Lust Stories 2 song comes with a bit of Kajol in it, but from long ago.

It reminds me of this one time in Mysore when I was on fieldwork. As I waited for a colleague to finish up and join me, I became aware of a gaze, a few metres away. From behind the windshield of a car, in a parking lot, sat a young male, his hands on the wheel. He too was in wait for someone, but his gaze was on me. It was a frank gaze. One that saw no reason to break eye contact and look away in apologetic embarrassment, as would have been polite and expected when my eyes met his. See, that would have allowed me to dismiss it as perversion that retreated when caught in the act. But, not him. If anything, he continued to hold his ground, showing little interest in masking and even less in feeling shy about what it meant. And it was me who inwardly gasped and looked away, completely flustered, and unused to both attention of this kind or the honest, unapologetic, sexual intent that accompanied it. One that held the challenge to match eyes and intent with his own. It was thrilling in many parts and how it caught me off guard.

I wondered at that time if it was the new diamond nose pin that sat on my nose that had caught his eye. I was a bit tentative about the nosepin given how large it was and I was still trying to figure if it suited me. My colleague had already admired it and stated her intent to get a similar one for herself. That nosepin and I had a short lived relationship. I went on to discard it, prefering a smaller, less ostentatious diamond pin. I know when it catches the light, it glints and glimmers, but I wonder if I have the requisite besharam to match the rang of the attraction it may be unwittingly extending. Kumaar so aptly describes that process:

Nasha chadha jo shareefi ka
Utaar phenka hai
Besharam rang kahan dekha
Duniya walon ne

Until then, may you always have a gaze on you that lets you know you are desired. And may your desires be returned when they grace others. An old post reflecting on erotica here.

Songs on the late night radio

The music on the radio is back. For some reason, my radio fell silent just a day after I changed the batteries. It took me a week to pick up some new ones. I did so today and now the music is back. I generally play the radio during the night. I default to Fever FM simply because it is next to Vividh Bharati. Shortly before the batteries died, Fever FM would play the same playlist every single night. They have this show called the Loyalty Test where the RJ calls up people and subjects them to a loyalty test because of the suspicions of their partner who dial in to complain that they fear they are being cheated on. I think the entire think is a staged racket. The ridiculousness of the entire thing is too much, but it plays on as I go on with my night routine. I did not even mind that both the playlist and the people feature on the Loyalty Test remain unchanged. If anything, the predictability was often something I would look forward to. The same old Arijit Singh ballads and the Chandbaaliyaan song that unfailingly comes on every night more than once.

Fever FM stops transmission at midnight and I would switch to Red FM after that. They have better songs and play on till longer. I am now curious if Fever FM has changed anything since I last tuned in. Since I switched it on, I have caught Raataan Lambiyan (Shershah), Meri Jaan (Gangubai Kathiawadi), and Bekhayali (Kabir Singh). The best part of late night radios are the quietide of the songs – mostly romantic ballads and the lack of advertisements. They just play in an unending loop with minimal nonsense by RJs and commercial breaks. If I were a persona, for the moment, I would like to be the songs on the late night radio. I just wish there were more stations playing old Hindi film songs, but nobody except Vividh Bharati does that although Red FM used to many years ago. I am not in touch with its programming very much now, but should play it for a few days to find out when they get the oldies.

My Saturday began with a movie that enchanted me one morning in Austin, Texas. Those days, I would sign up for the first month free program of Netflix and then cancel when it was time to pay. Actually, even if I forgot to cancel, they would refund the payment if I raised an order. I loved America for this no questions asked customer first ideology.

So, that morning was slightly drizzly. I was to leave for Norway in a few days and I chanced upon this film called Today’s Special. It had Aasif Mandvi, Madhur Jaffery, Harish Patel, Ranjit Choudhury, and the indomitable Naseeruddin Shah. It was such a lovely uplifting watch. My perenially homesick heart that was starved for the sights and sounds of home felt wrapped in the comfort of old Hindi film songs, flavors of home cooking, and the reassurance of the Indian grocery store stacked high with all things home that used to be my refuge in Austin. All of it was there in the film. I am so glad I wrote about it all those years ago when I first watched it on this blog. When Netflix came to India, I was delighted to find it was still available there and watched it again.

This Saturday, Prime Video put it square and centre again on the landing page when I opened the site and I was delighted that the film had come to find me again. I thought that with my third viewing, I may be bored or its charm may have worn of, but I was hooked again and life a favorite book that you return to every time for some more retellings, this film too drew me into its world again. I no longer am homesick, have all the sights, sounds, and smells that I used to miss, but maybe, I continue to be far away from my idea of home. I enjoyed the film once again and was so glad that it visited me again after all this time.

Someday, I hope I am able to make a film that brings repeated smiles and warms the hearts of people when they need it the most.

Lately, I have found myself unable to complete films/series that have received critical acclaim. I did not get drawn into Jubilee’s world and have left it somewhere on the third episode. I have abandoned Scoop midway episode 4. I binged Dahaad though and liked it. I liked Indian Matchmaking and Kitty XO. I dragged through Never Have I Ever. Kitty XO led me to revisit the All the Boys I Have Ever Met films and while I did not get into Noah Centino the first time I watched them, I found myself quite digging him this time around. So, I found another series he starred in as a new FBI recruit, but was unable to progress with that series too. It was too violent. I enjoyed the Diplomat and thought I might enjoy this one too, but neither Noah Centino’s eye candiness nor Arnold Schawrzenneger’s new dramedy where he discovers that this daughter too is an FBI agent like him appealed to me. The violence was too much to take, how casually everybody goes about inflicting violence and pain and killing on other humans. It was too much to take. I am unable to lend myself to too much intensity even in non violent ways so have not been tempted to even get started on a K-drama.

I did watch Modern Love Chennai on Prime Video when it dropped and loved some parts of it and hated the nonsensical lighting aesthetic of almost all shows. Should do a longer post on it. I absolutely did not get the last segment of the anthology and watched it only to know why everyone is raving about Wamiqa Gabi. I also was very engaged with Bharatiraja’s segment, but was not convinced with what he was trying to sell. It just seemed very far out and also unfair to the poor woman, but the gorgeousness of the two women in the segment overshadowed everything else. Also, the lovely way in which he shows the falling in love on a metro part.

I am struggling with writing. I have a looming deadline that is paralysing me. I have been in this situation umpteen times before and it remains as hard and challenging as ever. Writing is tortute. It is all your insecurities mocking you until you are able to find the ‘sur’ of what you are trying to say. And I am unable to find the ‘sur’. I am so scared. All of it is compounded by my inability to focus. Like everyone else, I too have adult ADHD, I guess. I have concluded that the most productive people likely don’t have ADHD. Nothing explains how some are able to churn 4-5 papers every year. Too much. Here, I am struggling to even get one sentence out.

Okay, time to sign out. The Chandbaliyaan song is back. Looks like the Fever FM playlist continues to remain unchanged. Arijit Singh will croon Jo tum na hao rahenge hum nahin at some point, but songs from Humpty Sharma and Badrinath ki Dulhaniya will also play. I just wish that Shashank Khaitan gets everyone for one last movie and complete the trilogy. I love the songs from both the films and am a diehard Varia fan.

Do watch Today’s Special on Prime Video if you subscribe to it. And wishing you lots of late night radio song feels in your life.

Oh, by the way, YouTube recommended a newly dropped Manav Kaul interview by Sid Kannan and I was delighted to learn that Manav considers Vidya Balan a close friend and they very much continue to be in touch and they exchange and discuss the things that they are watching and reading. Maybe my fantasy is playing out in its own ways after all.

🙂

Adventures

This week has been full of adventures.

Two days out of five, I voluntarily scheduled meetings at 9:00 am and left home at 8:00 am. Okay, fine 8:10 am on one day and 8:20 am today cos the student is as ghoulish as me and was shocked I was calling her in at 9 am and asked to meet at 9:30 am instead. As if 30 minutes means much. But, what a trip. I felt soooooooooooooo virtuous arriving at 9:00 am for work. The first day, I yawned every two minutes cos of course, I hadn’t slept well. At last, I fished for a Five Star bar in my bag, broke it into two and offered one half to the student and I consumed the other. The yawns subsided a bit in the sugar rush. I felt bad for the student. The entire Five Star bar was for him as a safe travels wish. I was operating in fire fighting mode for two weeks having summoned him from his fieldsite. His data and sampling were all over the place and his analysis was going nowhere. He received lots and lots of scoldings from me too. I sat with him and his work for close to four hours every time we met. Now at the end of two weeks and four meetings, things began to feel under control and it was time for him to head back and I just wanted to give him the Five Star to make him feel better, but alas. My only consolation is that the student ate it as greedily and joyfully as me. I even gave him jamuns after that cos I was feeling both guilty and pleased that he did not know that he only got half of what was meant for him. Wicked.

Today’s meeting was much better even though I still wasn’t very well rested, but at least I yawned ONLY ONCE! Win. The reason for early morning meeting is only becasue the thesis meetings easily last for more than three hours and I had to accommodate other meetings and getting an early start to the day was the only way I could swing it all.

Now, how the Five Star came to be in my possession is also about an adventure. The body craved chocolates this week so I fed it snickers, mars, one new cadbury launch whose name I forgot, and nutties. I thought all of this was quite excessive so decided to give the five start to the student. I have rarely binged on these things ever so it is okay, I felt, or at least that is how I am consoling myself.

After the chocolates were over, the body demanded potatoes, so I have been on a potato binge this week. I had fried potatoes with lots of oil and then I made potato stew the other day and then again I had fried potatoes. So all in all it has been a chocolate potato week. The recipe of the extremely simple potato stew is at the end of this blog in case you are interested. And then I ended the work week with sev puri and kaju katli. Maybe it is PMS.

The other food adventure that I have been having is of eating pie. Humble pie. So, there’s that too. Character building, as the student I scolded, would say. The poor thing has no idea how much character building I am undergoing even as I supervise his work and scold him when he repeatedly messes up communication.

By far the biggest adventure, friends, was what happened last Saturday. I did something that I thought was brave because it involved admitting that things would not go my way and putting myself out there. Since I heard nothing back and now even if I hear back, it will not be positive news, this was quite brave of me, I thought. But, like I was journaling the other day, even breathing seems like a delicate balancing act these days. I feel if I breathe very freely, the equilibrium will go awry and everything will collapse. So, I put myself out there. Today, while scrolling on Instagram, one woo woo account I follow did a tarot reading and asked me to close my eyes and think of a question and then scroll down for the answer. The answer, my friends, was DEATH. As in endings. I don’t mind it ending, but I just wish I am able to get my due and then end. But, alas, friends, my share of woe being what it is, it may not happen, so I have to be prepared to be out in the cold.

I am sure potato stew will help in keeping me warm.

Before I write the recipe, I want to remember the feeling of those gorgeously plump, lushly firm, jamuns that I found in a store in Thippasandra. I try and pick up things like potatos, tomatos, and garlic from there cos, quite frankly, as I accidently discovered after stopping there one day, MK Retail and FTH Daily rip me off by a lot for these things. So, on Tuesday, when I dropped in there, the sight of those jamuns was irrestible. I spent some time, enjoying feeling my way through each fruit making sure no squished ones made their way into my bag. They were as delicious as they looked and I feasted on them. Also, shared them with student since he does not know I stole half the chocolate bar. Hope he liked it too.

Now for the stew:

Boil and peel potatoes. Set aside.

Grind coconut, ginger, green chillies together.

Heat vessel and empty ground mixture into it.

Add potatoes.

Drizzle edible coconut oil. Please do not reach for your parachute bottle as it says, ‘not edible’.

Let it cook well and come to a boil.

Pour on mound of white rice or whichever healthy version of rice you prefer.

Enjoy.

P.S. Apologies to some who went into a frenzy looking for my previous post, which accidentally got publicly (instead of privately) posted. It was very funny seeing my analytics explode. Sorry for the snippet about coconuts and names of students that may have made readers very curious. They are just some of my nightmares. The last good dream I had was when Girish Karnad appeared and blessed me and said that he is my ancestor and that I would do very well so not to fear. I was over the moon waking up that day, but if only he knew!

Links

The sticky note on my desktop that contains my to do list history has suddenly expanded cos I have been pasting paragraphs of things that I need to remind myself at this moment. Only thing, my computer memory is playing tricks and I do not know if my desktop is overloaded. Hence transfering the said paragraphs along with their sources here:

1. On Waiting.

This was from Paromita’s column on May 21st, 2023. It was to remind myself that although I feel like I am walking through water right now with each step seemingly lasting aeons, my impatience at how long some things are taking to reach their hopefully successful end will only hurt me. Yes, my sadness at these delays is understandable and nothing is where or how I thought they would be, but yet. Maybe, it will make sense at a later date. And if it doesn’t, maybe I will still be enriched by possessing the knowledge and experience of what it meant to have life slow down to trickling steps as everyone passed by in leaps and bounds. Maybe, what I am meant to learn is grace.

Waiting is an unbearable intimacy—with oneself. In waiting we confront our worst fears, most craven insecurities, our pettiest resentments, our deepest wounds—yaniki our most lost selves and we are not all that sure we, or anyone else, want to find them. This era of immediacy is really also an era of power in its most brute and binary form. If you aren’t a winner, you are a loser. The swipe culture we inhabit, generates an idea of control which is rooted in competition—you choose, you decide, right away. You dispense with before you are dispensed with. You call out, before you are called out. In waiting new meanings have time to take root and grow.

2. On Rejection

This is also from Paromita’s column that she used to write in the Mumbai Mirror from July 7, 2017. Just to remind me that having to deal with these feelings will always be tough and I should acknowledge them and not brush them aside just because I am now older and have encountered them more often than not

It is hard enough not to be loved back when you love someone – there is a sense of loneliness, of dullness, motivation is hard, crying is easy and self-worth sounds like some new Apple product you can’t afford. People who are hurting need to be hugged, pampered, indugled and as they slowly mend, given gentle reality checks.

3. On working with love and intent

This is from my own journaling. Something I had written as part of a private post in January this year. To remind me to approach my work with love and to nurture it even when things are hard as they are now.

Today is the day I got an epiphany that maybe I don’t love my work. My work represents or is enmeshed in issues of power, insecurity, ego, instability, making do rather than love. What might it mean to make a fresh start. With intent and love? Let us hope I someday get to do it. Until then, I will try and bring love to what I do instead of the ugly hard things. I will bring softness, connection, care, love, affection, trust, faith. I will operate from these places for my current work. I am I will keep the faith and ground myself in work with love and care and even if it is hard and boring, I will do the hard and boring thing with love and care. Because it is mine and I should take care of it and I should tend to it and nurture it. Thank you.

4. On delusions

This last one comes from an article I read today on Savarkar by Jeyamohan, the Tamil writer, published in this week’s Frontline. It is all the rage on Twitter right now. While everything, Jeyamohan writes was illuminatingon Indian political history and its current discontents around these men, this is to remind myself to always check my motivations and understand thoroughly why I intend doing what I do. To not act from a sense of misbegotten personal adventure, to not have misplaced confidence from imagining myself in a certain manner, to be mindful and attentive to the concerns of those who depend on me.

Their rebellion was a childish effort completely based on their belief in violence and a misbegotten sense of personal adventure. Their misplaced confidence came from imagining themselves to be extraordinary men capable of determining history. Essentially, it stemmed from a lack of faith in the great power of the people. The key questions to decide the merit of leaders is to ask what their understanding of history amounted to, what methods they chose and what the ultimate consequences of those choices were. Leaders should always be judged on these counts alone.

Track sound

Last night, the late night radio threw up this track. My god. Was reeling from the unspooling of memories of Calcutta 2006 this caused.

Those days of the Nokia button phones and strategizing how to make the battery last through a long train ride, MP3 music players and downloading songs from .pk sites that you connected to on a dial up connection, the recharging of prepaid mobile phone packs and mutually understood missed class, the love for Indian Railways and the first solo train journey all the way to Howrah. Mum anxiously seeing me off on the Azad Hind Express, worried that there were only men in the sleeper coach where I had so excitedly and smartly booked a side lower berth for myself. The previous year, I had traveled all the way to Arunachal Pradesh with a professor and a colleague and felt very worldly wise about all things railways.

With that knowledge, I was off. To discover the city that a year ago had me at hello with its yellow, yellow taxis. We had to break our journey at Howrah on our way to Assan and had a lot of time to kill before our train. That stop in Howrah stole my heart. I also lost a wrist watch in Gariahat that I had won in a lucky draw sponsored by the Express, but I decided not to spoil the trip by dwelling on it too much.

This time around, I had 10 whole days in Calcutta. The sister of the friend who was hosting me would play this song often and it ended up being the background track of my trip.

In those days, we did not have cable connection at home. Part of some austerity measures that needed to be taken so I was out of loop of a lot of pop culture. For one, I had no idea that a film like this was coming out or who was in it. In fact, I just discovered what the film was and who was starring in it. I realized as I was writing this that I had done a round up of songs that defined the year 2006 for me. I seem to have missed this song. Let’s correct it. It was the 20th song in the Mirchi top 20 last night. What a blast from the past.

Winning at skincare and top fan of home pages

Dear Friends,

As part of anthropological interest, please know that at this point in time, there is great buzz around something called as oil based cleanser. Promptly, as soon as this buzz became known, I partook of it. In my defence, the brand I follow, offered free merchandise, which sealed the deal. So, for a fluffy bow hairband and two smaller bands – apparently they are wrist bands, but I do not know how or what they are for, I became a poorer by a lot of money and gained a 75 ml tube of buttery balm.

Friends, I must say all this was very new to me who comes from the world of soap and water, but at the urging of beauty influencers switched to a gentle cleanser to protect skin barrier and maintain ph balance and other sciency things that are all the rage of the beauty world. But this oil cleanser is one up even on gentle cleansers. To cleanse, I squeeze some of it on my palm and apply it to my dry face. I spend a minute or so massaging on to my face. It smells great so I immensely enjoy it. Once, I feel satisfied about massaging enough, I then wet my palms and proceed to emulsify it.

Friends, I am now richer with the knowledge of what emulsification is because of this. It means that the oil now begins breaking and becomes a whitish liquid, a bit like foam, but not foam, because friends, a foam based cleanser is a different deal and it wouldn’t behove an oil based cleanser to behave like one. Diligently, I continue to follow the instructions, which, well, instructs that I wet my palms and emulsify until every bit of the face is emulsified.

Post this, then I have to rinse my face and voila! As per the claim, all trace of oil, impurities, make up, gunk, SPF etc etc have now vanished and I am left with squeaky clean skin that does not dry the face. Now, since I don’t really put make up, I don’t know if it is wise for me to spend all this money on these kind of products, but it feels so nice, friends. I feel luxe. Also, my skin has always been a trouble free zone. I rarely even get a whitehead, leave alone a pimple, but I have taken to it with a vengeance.

It has been more than a year now and it is for others to say if there has been any difference. For the amount of money I spend, there bloody well be, but no one has mentioned anything. Except for a dermatalogist I went to see because I had to spend money before financial year end for reimbursement and she mentioned that I had very good skin. But, friends, she was also compelled to say it becasue I asked her. Lolz, friends.

My arsenal now includes day cream, sunscreen of SPF 50+++, oil cleanser, night serum, night cream and other things that I get as freebies. These are usual sachet size samples to tempt me into spending more, but I have not put my money on eye cream etc until now, which is what I end up getting. I am suspicious of eye creams and I don’t see how they work.

Friends, my own assessment of my skin is that it is more even, tiny sun spots near my eyes that I never even knew were there until I seriously got into buying these fancy things have faded. The dermat offered to bleach them off for me, oh ho, more money, you want me to spend, no thank you. All this is already too much, but I am having so much fun feeling fancy with all this that I quite enjoy my new bed time playthings cos my night skin routine is far more fun that the day routine. I do feel my pores have become less visible and that overall, maybe, I look more brighter. And because I am using better quality stuff, my face does not look like it is swimming in oil. Hopefully, I don’t know. Let us just hope that there is some use to all this beyond the fact that I do enjoy and look forward to my night routine.

In other news, I am also now the proud owner of two badges on Facebook that designates me top fan. Of what? Ever since I gave up on finding a suitable home to buy or rent, I have channeled my sadness about it into liking all kinds of home interior photos that Facebook keeps pushing my way. A couple of weeks ago, I was startled to know that my liking has reached such epic proportions that Facebook wanted to recognize my activity by designating me top fan. It did not stop there. Today, again, I was notified by Facebook that I have become a top fan of yet another page. I was not even aware that the photos I was liking came from a page called ‘Pricey Pads’, but friends, here I am! A verified badge holder (something I badly wanted but could not get in school) on Facebook of Pricey Pads. Never mind that I am far, far, away from any kind of my own pad, leave alone one with a fancy price tag.

Good night.