... that PISS me off! Gnnnnnnaaaash.
1. No milk, sugar or coffee when you are dying for your morning cuppa. Or even worse, one little cup of milk left and just when you’re about to pour it in the cup, either you drop the pan or upturn the filled-up cup. (Lord save the others on such a day)
2. The maid turning up late or not coming in at all, on days you especially need her to come early. Like when there are guests coming and there’s dog poo/pee on the terrace.
3. Finding your phone outgoing suddenly barred without any intimation the shits would bar it. THEN finding weird parallel phone connections on your cellphone. (Vodafone sucks) Or a new battery dying – despite charging – just when you’re expecting an important call or are in the middle of one.
4. Laptop battery dying when you’re filing official story. And of course it’s always when you are just about to save your work. Or a laptop that needs constant power backup else wouldn’t work (why the fuck is it a laptop then?!)
5. Too much static in your hair with it standing on all sides, on a day you need it to look good. And of course, it’s always on these days that people decide to pat you on the head. Result? Backless dress and hair standing at an end giving you the just-been-electrocuted look. And then, standing under the a-c draft in restaurants and the hair blowing out in all directions...
6. Applying a lot of mascara and getting a bug in your eyes two minutes before entering a party. Result? Your eyes water, you HAVE to rub and carefully done-up makeup runs down your face. Of course it was supposedly water-proof mascara.
7. Sudden pimple on your upper lip on an Important Public Appearance day. Any use of camouflaging tactics will only make the pimple more obvious. Also, has anyone noticed how pimples/ zits ALWAYS appear on the Most Conspicuous part of your face? Like the nose.
8. Sudden potty pressure when you are especially far away from any toilet. Like sitting in an autorickshaw, when stuck in a jam, on a fly-over. OR, running late, getting sudden potty pressure, running into the loo, pulling down panty hose, panicking you’re getting really late… and then nothing happens.
9. Going to work with new ideas and a Plan For The Day… and either the boss asking you to do something else, not do anything or the Internet crashing therefore ensuring you cant do anything. I HATE non-productive days at work.
10. YouTube videos refusing to open despite a 256 kbps broadband connection. And then if at all they do open, your laptop hangs.
11. People who SMS after two years and expect you to have their numbers saved. If you’re sending a bloody SMS, why the fuck cant you send your name with it?
12. Stepping on dog pee/poo in your best shoes that have just been polished and not finding anything to clean it with. And of course you smell of poo for the rest of the day and get weird looks from people. OR, stepping on dog piss/poo when you’re walking around in socks. Eww.
13. Your only cigarette falling into the shit-pot or getting wet… And it’s either too late or too early for any goddamn shop to be open. Ditto with your last box of matches and of course you cannot find a lighter anywhere…
14. Lighters and match boxes being borrowed by people at parties and mysteriously vanishing just when you need to light your bloody cigarette. IF you are a bloody smoker, fucking carry your own matches. Stupid people should NOT smoke. (And people who smoke aren’t stupid? Nevermind)
15. A power cut when you’re just 15 minutes from filing your copy and have already told your boss it’ll be in his inbox soon. And then, when you’re explaining your position two hours later on Google talk, the bloody chat tool develops “technical problems” and does not let you reconnect. Or “remote host not allowing connection” on your anytime-anywhere data card.
16. Bladder pressure at 4 am… and it’s fucking cold and you're bloody warmly tucked in. Then walking into the loo and stubbing your toe on a bucket of cold water causing cold water to splash all over you. THEN stepping out of the loo and Point 12 happening…
17. A run in your stockings that you notice half-way to an interview/ party. And being five feet tall the goddamn thing reaches right under your bra strap effectively removing any chances of removing it… If at all you notice at home, you are already late and have not considered another coordinated outfit, because of course you were not considering having runny stockings now, were you? Grrr.
18. Entire nail polish bottle upturning on your favourite dress… Or on your dog. THEN if you use acetone to remove it, the dress material gets all crinkled. As for the dog, the acetone goes to its head and it starts spinning madly…
19. Sitting for sophisticated dinner with sophisticated people, sipping sophisticated wine/ champagne and like a dolt, knocking over the wine/ champagne bottle. And in embarrassment to mop it up, breaking their beautiful crystal ware… (Shudder)
20. Dog deciding to howl on top of its lungs just when neighbour celebrates kid’s birthday on terrace opposite yours. Of course the neighbour considers a howling dog to be a bad omen, usually symbolizing death. And the shit wouldn’t shut up!
21. People calling 17 times, non-stop AFTER you have disconnected them the first time. GET the fucking message you idiot.
22. Running out of the bath, shampoo in hair, cold draught on your naked arse, slipping over lazy lying dogs to answer the phone and it either shuts off or is a bloody telemarketeer. I swear if I EVER lay my hands on them… (Preferably when not naked)
23. No candles in the house when the power’s out. Or finding candles and no matches. Or only matches falling into pot. Or no power JUST when you are about to apply makeup… and no candles etc.
24. People deciding to go for after-dinner walks and you are the only one in 6-inch heels. Then being called a spoil sport for not joining. DUH.
25. Being invited for a kickass pool party… and you beginning to leak on that day. And THEN having to baby sit irritating kids of irritating woman BECAUSE “You are not getting in the pool are you?”
26. A full ashtray upturning on your bed, everyday. And the day you avoid and rejoice your dog comes running into the room and does it anyway. Dogs somehow NEVER miss full, upturnable ashtrays.
27. DVD player not letting you change region code for unfathomable reasons. Or suddenly playing a DVD and then suddenly stopping when you get all excited, for unfathomable reasons.
28. Women who leave toilet seats wet in restaurant loos… So you weren’t bathing in there sistah, HOW did you get the bloody seat wet?
29. Women opening taps on full gush in pubs and the water sprinkling all over your white top. And, blob of chocolate/ coffee/ other stainable substance falling on your boob, right on the nipple and of course you are again wearing white.
30. A whole lot of unwhipped, forming-over-cooling-milk cream getting into your mouth when you’re having coffee. You spluttering it out in disgust and it landing on person opposite you.
All of the above – or a whole lot of them – happening on the same day. Sigh. And then writing the points down and not being able to upload because Blogger is “outing”.
January 31, 2008
Man-boobs and what to do with them!
From official story on ibnlive.com = Of moisturisers and men with breasts"Baggy eyelids, receding hairlines, wrinkles, frown lines and sagging necks… these are just a few areas that people want fixed," says Dr Anup Dhir, senior consultant, cosmetic surgery, Indraprastha Apollo hospital. When Dr Dhir says "people" though, he means Men. Welcome to the 21st century world of the Moisturiser Man: The man who takes "personal care" beyond the usual of shaving his daily facial fuzz. This new age man is as comfortable dealing with the crazy stock market swings as he is getting a pedicure, shaving his underarm hair, slapping on moisturizer or even trimming the curls down under.
In a world where first impressions are fast becoming lasting impressions, men in (face) masks is going to become more of a common sight. With competition growing and more young people getting into the work field, standing apart from the crowd is not just about talent anymore. You need to talk smart, you need to look smart and a starched shirt can only make that much of a difference. Looking young and projecting a youthful, energetic image can give a man the cutting edge he needs to stand above the clutter. It's happening the world over and it's happening in India as well. If statistics show that men in the US are spending more than $ 4 billion a year on grooming products – hair colour, facial scrubs etc – the scene is warming up on the home front too. According to industry estimates, the male grooming market is Rs 750 crores (approximate) and growing.
What's good for the girls, is not good enough for the guys
For long men have used beauty products that have been 'found' at home. Many an Indian family has had boys pinching Fair and Lovely tubes off their sister's dressing tables, going in for that occasional hot oil champi at the local barber or getting their mothers to trim extra long nose hair. Today, a man will walk into a pharmacist and ask for a face scrub with as much comfort as he would ask for new razor blades. While there are still men out there who'd use a detergent soap for bathing when nothing else is to be found, the number of men picking up man-specific toiletries is increasing. Age-old brands known to cater predominantly to women's products are quickly catching up and introducing products specifically targeted at men.
Out goes women's fairness creams and in comes the Rs 320 crore beauty giant Emami's Fair and Handsome. If it was 'love or Dove' for women, it was "toughness and tenderness" for the design concept of Shiseido Men's products. Even Nivea, one of the most popular global women's skin care brands has a separate range for its male customers. With male grooming products being one of the fastest growing segment of the personal grooming category, almost every major cosmetics company has jumped on to the bandwagon. While Clarins, Lancome, Biotherm, Shiseido are some of the international players, back home we have Emami, Amway (India) and even Dabur looking at tapping into the segment.
"Male grooming is an exciting market and Dabur India plans to tap this segment soon with a range of products," says Vikas Mittal, Vice President-Marketing (Personal Care), Dabur India Ltd. "The demand for male grooming products is definitely on the rise, which is reflected in the growing number of products available in the market today. According to industry estimates, spending on men's grooming products is expected to rise 24 per cent to Rs 1450 crore over the next five years," he adds. And it doesn't stop just there…
Mark of a man, nip, tuck?
While regular shaving products and hair dyes account for a bulk of sales in the male grooming market, toiletries – i.e. grooming products other than shaving aids – has now emerged as the fastest growing segment in the male personal care market. Hair styling creams and gels and fairness creams and moisturizers are expected to be the fast-movers. But why this sudden desire to spiffy-up from the men?
Perhaps it's the advent of the metrosexual mania, first seen in 2000, the many David Beckham-type men who were the picture of macho but did not mind changing their hairstyles frequently or lathering on lotions to look good. Or perhaps it was the rise of the 'fun, fearless female' clan: The women who demand that if they can suffer a Brazilian to look good for men, the men better shape up and spruce up too. Beauty consciousness has grown amongst the men thanks to the media – from Will Smith advocating looking good to get a date in Hitch to all male characters in F.R.I.E.N.D.S. being soft on overt machoness – and other reasons. Changing lifestyles, demographics, changing work scenarios – especially in the IT, BPO, hospitality and other service sectors – deeper consumer pockets, greater product choice and wider availability along with retailing and economic developments have all contributed to the rising demand for these offerings.
And it's not just in the realm of what-comes-in-a-tube or bottle. More men – young and old – are looking towards cosmetic surgery to fix their looks as well. "Hair transplants top the list of the most common procedures, followed by liposuction, nose surgery, eyelid surgery, collagen injections, microdermabrasion and chemical peels and breast reduction. Male breast reduction is also a commonly requested procedure in India," adds Dr Dhir. While many slave in gyms to get a sculpted Hritik Roshan-like body, others go in for chest implants and calf implants to have a more manly anatomy. Men increasingly want to change the things they don't like about themselves in the mirror and statistics available from the American Society of Aesthetic Plastic Surgery (ASAPS) show that surgery is becoming increasingly popular with men as a way to deal with image maintenance and change.
The ASAPS figures from 2000 list the top cosmetic procedures for men (surgical) to be liposuction, rhinoplasty (nose reshaping), hair transplantation, blepharoplasty (eyelid surgery) and gynecomastic (breast reduction). In non-surgical procedures, botox injections, laser hair removal, microdermabrasion, chemical peels and collagen injections are most popular. Cosmetic surgery seems to come in handy where gravity and age play truant: Body contouring to lift the buttocks, thigh, arms and abdomen help to reshape the body and remove excess, hanging skin for people who lose weight are the other "in" procedures.
Men, like women, are ready to shell out anything from Rs 6,000 – Rs 25,000 to look good… and this is just the beginning. As Dabur's Mittal puts it, "What's key is that it's an emerging market and the consumer need is sizeable and is expected to grow rapidly." So this year when data on consumer spending comes out and shows rising expenditure in the cosmetics segment, don't think it’s just the women.
PS: What's the world coming to?!
January 30, 2008
New poll up!
Hello everyonePlease see the top right corner of this page and do participate in the poll/survey. We will be doing this -- different polls and questions -- from time to time to get an idea of what we think, what we agree on and what we all are happy disagreeing on. Do vote and let's see what the general consensus is! :) And yes, thankyou all for answering the Potty Survey... The results and reasoning behind the poll will be posted soon (enough!).
PS: Letching wrong spelling (thanks Lops!) = Leching.
January 29, 2008
Perfectionism is like constant PMS
PMS and deadlines have almost the same effect on me: Make me not want to get up from bed, bite everyone and generally out-do myself in general unpleasantness. The closer I am to a deadline, the more morose I feel and the more I delay starting on a project/piece. Here I see colleagues vomiting words by the second and there I am S.T.U.C.K. trying to get the perfect opening line. I will sit, stew, write, delete, rewrite, write something else (!) and even completely change the introduction/ opening paragraph – with 1800 words more to go – umpteen number of times before I can get a lead on it. It has been known to give ulcers to many an editor, especially if the cover story has been mine, the magazine has to go to bed on Monday evening and even late Sunday night, I am waiting for inspiration. Strangely enough though, two hours from the you-have-to-email-it-instantly diktat, there is a little DING! in my head and everything that had hitherto not made any sense, falls into place.It has nothing to do with not being able to do the job or not being able to deliver it on time. It has everything to do with my absolute inability or morbid fear of giving in a shoddy piece, or a badly prepared dish or a half-baked cake (I bake, the company’s called “Eat Cake”). In other words a fear of me being second best or average or one-of-the-many. I am told it’s called being a Perfectionist: Someone who wants everything perfect or wants to do everything perfectly. For a long time I had thought it was supposed to be a good thing: Why would you want to do something in half measures? Now am being told – Google search reveals all – that perhaps it’s not that nice and how “perfectionism” leads to self-critical depression, ruined relationships, eating disorders and suicidal thinking. Brilliant! Reading the archives on this blog shows that I've gone through the entire bloody gamut on cyberspace. All because I was trying to be the best I could be, which in other words is perfect… (It also means that each time I read any health article, I find myself displaying all the bloody symptoms!)
Yet perhaps I am not the only one. Was reading Bluecoffeemug’s post on wanting success so bad he can’t sleep and realized he displays perfectionist traits too. I scored 74 % on the Are you a perfectionist quiz (much prefer such quizzes to what-fruit-are-you-quizzes) and the only question I hesitated answering was, “Did your parents have unrealistic expectations of you?”
If I go back way into my childhood, my trying to be the best goes back to age 9, class 4 and this girl called Suparna Chatterjee who ALWAYS came first. My parents were not the type to make life hell for a child, but I hated the fact that they praised Suparna even a little and just because she bloody beat me to the first position. Mom pushed me to study harder, I took it all very personally and somewhere the child brain decided that I was not good enough. It was also the year my Math phobia started and has lasted an entire lifetime. I was regularly made to stand outside class by this dragon of a woman (who looked like a toothpick) called Mridula Ratnam. MISS Ratnam, since it was a convent school. Even today, I forget basic tables in blind panic and am a regular laughing stock at the grocery store for my inability to calculate how much change I am supposed to get back. Perfectionism is also the reason I am paying a whole lot of tax because I refuse to have a chartered accountant do my tax sheets for me. I HAVE to be able to do it else… I will go on losing more money than I earn to the bloody government. It’s stupid but I am helpless.
Another fall-out of the perfectionist streak that started in childhood is my need for constant approval. As a kid I would make my family sit through poetry rehearsals, dance steps, origami lessons and re-enact entire plays BEFORE the final performance… Now it’s my partner who has to sit through blog posts and articles. Earlier on in my career, my editors (grateful to them) were made to read each paragraph of a progressing story before I delivered the final copy. Even today, it’s a guaranteed sour mood for a day if someone close (not random anonymous commentators) points out a better article on a subject that I’ve written on. Like yesterday it was a stupidly triumphant me who pointed out to Partner how the blogger he reads had used a picture I had ALREADY used on one of my blog posts. Silly, juvenile thing to do, but I realized it after I sent him the link and he replied with, “Baby, I agree, that woman is a bloody plagiarist.” I felt silly and small… Not because he was laughing at me, but because secretly I knew I was comparing myself to another person he read! But I’ve needed the approval for so long that it will take some time to break out of the habit. (This blog has helped hugely…)
My father pointed it out too, “Papu, since childhood you have needed approval from everyone, but as you grow, you won’t get it from everyone and people will use it against you. STOP being a perfectionist. Others have faults too, you can’t throw away things and people because they aren’t your idea of perfect and because you don’t consider yourself good enough or perfect either.” Of course we had a huge fight after that statement. Today though… I understand (still won’t tell him though).
I learned how to cook, bake, glass paint, embroider, fix electrical appliances, took up lipsticks, gave up lipsticks, ride a motorbike, lost weight, put on weight; and much more because I NEEDED to be the best for whoever was in my life then… The flip side? My levels of expectations rose: If I wanted to be everything, the other bloody well be everything for me. And walked out when I started feeling inadequate or was compared to etc. It wasn’t the only reason, but very honestly, it was a strong one. If someone made me feel inadequate – “I wish you had longer legs”, “Why can’t you keep the house cleaner?” “Why do you have opinions on everything?” “Why don’t you understand music?” “You suck at numbers, don’t you?” “Why do you have such a loud laugh?” “When you wink when laughing, it looks ugly” – I would throw myself into the activity, in becoming perfect, come out tops (or drop the activity!) and then walk out on the person. Before the walking out though, life would be constant hell because I was constantly comparing and finding myself short of my own expectations.My first trip to a beach was nearly a disaster because I was paranoid… I didn’t know how to swim (was worried that there’d be women doing swan dives and shit), had never stepped into the sea and wasn’t too sure if I wouldn’t look stupid in a bikini (well, a girl likes to look good for her man especially when there are other naked girls around). Thankfully – and I will always be grateful – Partner was the perfect foil for my constant-need-for-approval. I have said before that I HATE looking stupid before people I don’t know (with those you love you really cannot pretend for long!)… Yet I was fine learning how to doggy-paddle on my first trip into the Indian Ocean, even though I swallowed more seawater than anyone in history. Because I was not made to feel inadequate… It was the most perfect holiday for me ever.
For all of you who are perhaps a bit like me: Comparing yourself to others, thinking you need to be the best at everything you do (or not do it), spoil a party because you don’t think you’re looking nice, delay deadlines because it’s not the ‘perfect piece’, refuse to ask for the price/pay you deserve because you are not certain about yourself, get palpitations because your friends are buying a big car while you can only afford a Nano… Please STOP. We cannot be everything, not me, not you. And neither can someone or something else be everything for us. Often when we are chasing Being Perfect, we lose out on other things around us. I am slowly learning to give it up, I know it will take time.
Like quitting cigarettes, because you see, I AM a perfectionist! As NY Times says, “The burden of perfectionist expectations is all too familiar to anyone who has struggled to kick a bad habit. Break down just once — have one smoke, one single drink — and at best it’s a “slip.” At worst it’s a relapse, and more often it’s a fall off the wagon: failure. And if you’ve already fallen, well, may as well pour yourself two or three more. This is why experts have long debated the wisdom of insisting on abstinence as necessary in treating substance abuse. Most rehab clinics are based on this principle: Either you’re clean or you’re not; there’s no safe level of use. This approach has unquestionably worked for millions of addicts, but if the studies of perfectionists are any guide it has undermined the efforts of many others.”
Perhaps I shall take Crimson’s advice and do the quit-slowly thing. (Or am I just being a perfectionist scaredy-poo, cold-turkey or nothing?)
PS: Another deadline, blog-effectively delayed. Hrmph.
January 26, 2008
‘Vag Berger’ served here…
And you can see the sign for yourself: At the ‘Nescafe’ stand, the international terminal at the Indira Gandhi International Airport, New Delhi. Welcome to India.
“You can buying many things in India and you still have many money. You can eat many foods in India – some very much spicy – and you still have many money, all this I learnt when I went here in Delhi two weeks back,” she said to me. The Indian hosts whose party it was and their guests roared with laughter at her description of India. Someone said, “I just LURVE her accent.” She was French. I swear the grammatical mistakes she made – or fucked up English she spoke – was EXACTLY the kind of English many Indians (or most) speak. Yet, no one loves an Indian’s accent. It’s funny but never sexy. And fuck the world, even most Indians get embarrassed when a fellow countryman speaks broken, faulty or bad English. Why? Shrug, I don’t know, it’s just one of those things.
So I was at this party and everyone was smiling and drinking when this tall Indian lady with hair down to her hips walked up to me and slapped by bum. It’s become cool I think, girls slapping each other’s bums to be hip. Even as I tried hard to not rub my posterior (it stings in the cold… and rubbing your bum in public draws attention), the Indian lady chimed with all her lower teeth flashing, “Happy Australia Day!” Of course, it was January 26th. I thanked her and wished her “Happy Republic Day” instead, January 26th being the Indian Republic Day as well. The day this country adopted its Constitution and decided to govern itself and became the world’s largest democracy (some would say we are still trying, I would agree). She was somewhat taken aback, then flashed the rest of her teeth and responded, “Oh yeah, I forgot, I surrendered my Indian citizenship last year and now am an Australian citizen.” She even had a little Australian flag – a washable tattoo – on her neck. Of course in India, it’s better not to have anything to do with the national tricolour and definitely not advisable to have it anywhere on your body. Unless you can walk around with a pole with the flag on it because that seems to be the only place the flag will not be disrespected.
Then I was reading what my blog-friend Plum (a Scotsman) writes about his harrowing trip to India. He says, “You can't do fast in India, it's impossible. I found a taxi driver who took me to Colaba (Mumbai). Unfortunately he charged me 500 rupees when it should only have been 50. Ripped off again. They could see me coming a mile away. I hadn't mastered the art of haggling yet. I was going to have to smarten up very quickly or I'd be skint in the first week. I ended up in a hotel called The Seaview, and I can assure you, there was not a fucking drop of sea to be viewed.” I completely empathise with him… I have lived in Qutub View apartments with no sign of the Qutub Minar, stayed in Park View with a little green lawn being the “park” and am now in Green Glade apartments, and sure enough, there’s hardly any green and definitely no glade around. Shrug. But hey, don’t hate us for trying to earn some money… It’s a nation of a billion plus and survival is tough. Like it is perhaps in other parts of the world.
For instance, on another evening at the Australian embassy, there was friend and me talking to this real-estate agent in Oz. Someone who sells high-rises on the Gold Coast. “But is it not a really shitty area to be selling houses mate?” asked my friend. The broker – oily haired, ugly faced, bulging paunch – replied, “Of course it is, but I sell it to the Indians,” and he winked and drank his champagne. In another evening in this supposedly Irish-pub called Dublin (at ITC Maurya Sheraton), this same fucker ran his hands up and down my arm and tried his oily-best to cozy up to me despite knowing I was dating someone else. An Aussie trait or just that of a cheating, unethical bastard? But of course it’s only the Indians, no? And of course good little Indian girls will like every white guy because “white men are loaded and are your ticket outside.”
And of course the same fucking world – no less thanks to the media, both in India and the UK – make Shilpa Shetty, former item-number, hardcore pin-up girl, the very icon of Indian womanhood, the martyr of modern-day racism. Pray why? Because a dumb actress called her a “dog”. And yet funnily enough, Indians on every other red-light, or when jumping lanes or when denting each other’s cars can be heard calling each other “sale kutte”. Shrug. (bloody dog) So my friend jumps red lights and insists on driving on the left side of every passing car. When I scream that he cannot do that, he responds, "But your Mayawati does it too." Yeah sure. And the US has George Bush as its president and Australia had that Howard "leading" for 12 years. And that means what...?
So while one country is a nation where everyone is trying to cheat you, another rips off people because it’s business. While one country celebrates by drinking and decorating in yellow-and-green, another country belts out the same old Lata Mangeshkar songs at 7 am, in school compounds. And the monkey and the dog become the symbols of racism and intolerance…
It’s fucking confusing. Happy Republic Day. Happy Oz Day. Whatever.
PS: Point of this post being? Coming to terms, or what you will. And yet perhaps, there might be just be some sense... Like the fact that, "It’s fitting that one of the best test series in a long time is being played over the respective national days of the two opponents, India and Australia."
“You can buying many things in India and you still have many money. You can eat many foods in India – some very much spicy – and you still have many money, all this I learnt when I went here in Delhi two weeks back,” she said to me. The Indian hosts whose party it was and their guests roared with laughter at her description of India. Someone said, “I just LURVE her accent.” She was French. I swear the grammatical mistakes she made – or fucked up English she spoke – was EXACTLY the kind of English many Indians (or most) speak. Yet, no one loves an Indian’s accent. It’s funny but never sexy. And fuck the world, even most Indians get embarrassed when a fellow countryman speaks broken, faulty or bad English. Why? Shrug, I don’t know, it’s just one of those things.
So I was at this party and everyone was smiling and drinking when this tall Indian lady with hair down to her hips walked up to me and slapped by bum. It’s become cool I think, girls slapping each other’s bums to be hip. Even as I tried hard to not rub my posterior (it stings in the cold… and rubbing your bum in public draws attention), the Indian lady chimed with all her lower teeth flashing, “Happy Australia Day!” Of course, it was January 26th. I thanked her and wished her “Happy Republic Day” instead, January 26th being the Indian Republic Day as well. The day this country adopted its Constitution and decided to govern itself and became the world’s largest democracy (some would say we are still trying, I would agree). She was somewhat taken aback, then flashed the rest of her teeth and responded, “Oh yeah, I forgot, I surrendered my Indian citizenship last year and now am an Australian citizen.” She even had a little Australian flag – a washable tattoo – on her neck. Of course in India, it’s better not to have anything to do with the national tricolour and definitely not advisable to have it anywhere on your body. Unless you can walk around with a pole with the flag on it because that seems to be the only place the flag will not be disrespected.
Then I was reading what my blog-friend Plum (a Scotsman) writes about his harrowing trip to India. He says, “You can't do fast in India, it's impossible. I found a taxi driver who took me to Colaba (Mumbai). Unfortunately he charged me 500 rupees when it should only have been 50. Ripped off again. They could see me coming a mile away. I hadn't mastered the art of haggling yet. I was going to have to smarten up very quickly or I'd be skint in the first week. I ended up in a hotel called The Seaview, and I can assure you, there was not a fucking drop of sea to be viewed.” I completely empathise with him… I have lived in Qutub View apartments with no sign of the Qutub Minar, stayed in Park View with a little green lawn being the “park” and am now in Green Glade apartments, and sure enough, there’s hardly any green and definitely no glade around. Shrug. But hey, don’t hate us for trying to earn some money… It’s a nation of a billion plus and survival is tough. Like it is perhaps in other parts of the world.
For instance, on another evening at the Australian embassy, there was friend and me talking to this real-estate agent in Oz. Someone who sells high-rises on the Gold Coast. “But is it not a really shitty area to be selling houses mate?” asked my friend. The broker – oily haired, ugly faced, bulging paunch – replied, “Of course it is, but I sell it to the Indians,” and he winked and drank his champagne. In another evening in this supposedly Irish-pub called Dublin (at ITC Maurya Sheraton), this same fucker ran his hands up and down my arm and tried his oily-best to cozy up to me despite knowing I was dating someone else. An Aussie trait or just that of a cheating, unethical bastard? But of course it’s only the Indians, no? And of course good little Indian girls will like every white guy because “white men are loaded and are your ticket outside.”
And of course the same fucking world – no less thanks to the media, both in India and the UK – make Shilpa Shetty, former item-number, hardcore pin-up girl, the very icon of Indian womanhood, the martyr of modern-day racism. Pray why? Because a dumb actress called her a “dog”. And yet funnily enough, Indians on every other red-light, or when jumping lanes or when denting each other’s cars can be heard calling each other “sale kutte”. Shrug. (bloody dog) So my friend jumps red lights and insists on driving on the left side of every passing car. When I scream that he cannot do that, he responds, "But your Mayawati does it too." Yeah sure. And the US has George Bush as its president and Australia had that Howard "leading" for 12 years. And that means what...?
So while one country is a nation where everyone is trying to cheat you, another rips off people because it’s business. While one country celebrates by drinking and decorating in yellow-and-green, another country belts out the same old Lata Mangeshkar songs at 7 am, in school compounds. And the monkey and the dog become the symbols of racism and intolerance…
It’s fucking confusing. Happy Republic Day. Happy Oz Day. Whatever.
PS: Point of this post being? Coming to terms, or what you will. And yet perhaps, there might be just be some sense... Like the fact that, "It’s fitting that one of the best test series in a long time is being played over the respective national days of the two opponents, India and Australia."
January 25, 2008
Don't talk to sexy bloggers when...
OR... How to keep a relationship, in the Internet age
And this is completely a woman's perspective, me being a woman and all... (Though was told this morning that one "becomes" a woman only at 30... another year to go then! But then was also told that "girls aren't that bad either".)
1. Never encourage your man to blog. You'd suddenly find whole lot of women getting interested in him.
2. If at all he does start, dont let him put a picture up. You'd suddenly find whole lot of women getting interested in him.
3. If he also puts a picture up, quickly change your profile picture to the hottest you might have. It's always good for your hit counts and keeps him on his toes. Deny it vociferously if asked.
4. Never let your guy see who pokes you on facebook... Somehow the very day he sees it will always be all men.
5. Delete all former flirtatious messages from your inbox. Somehow harmless flirting will read far more sinister when your man reads them with you.
6. It's always hard explaining why exactly did you meet a blog-stranger, especially in today's day of on-road-molestations and psychos-lurking-everywhere.
7. It's even harder when a blog-stranger you met -- and tried to convince Partner was a "nice enough bloke" -- does turn out to be a psycho.
8. Never stick up for a male blog-commentor if he writes anything more than "nice job". Your man will instantly dislike him and get irritated with you for not blocking him.
9. If you say you are going to block someone, do it instantly. It's tough explaining how a "blocked" person suddenly appears on your chat screen two days later.
10. Never point to an interesting profile picture and say, "He looks good". If by any remote chance of fate --- fate plays those tricks -- that profile is strangely added to your friends' list, erm, it leads to questions.
11. Never add a stranger in your friends list if you don't know him (that's what stranger means stupid). When rightly asked, "What if he's a psycho?" by your man, it's always a tough one to answer. (And he "looks good" or "sounds smart" are the wrong answers)
12. Have reasons ready on why you wrote about "men you wont shag"... There are good chances you will be asked about the ones you might have shagged. Also tricky if your list has like 20 reasons...
13. Never start chatting with a good-looking blogger when lying in bed with your man.
14. Don't add "compare people" applications... Your being voted the "Most Desirable Person" in your friends' circle will lead to questions like, "You mean your bloody male pals want to sleep with you?"
15. Don't give nicknames to blog-pals of opposite sex, especially if your nicknames are anyting like "Serial Fucker".
16. Never tell your partner you can hack into emails -- if pushed into situations of course, you are not a criminal, are you now? -- especially if he a has an ex who simply wouldn't GO AWAY.
17. Don't attach too much importance to ex-es commenting, tagging, poking your man. Of course, always keep your eyes open and senses alert. And as mentioned earlier: If you get the chance, trip her on the stairs.
18. Don't answer quizzes about "what kind of man will fall for you" -- if the answer is drastically different from the man you have, it's an uh-oh situation.
19. Never answer quiz requests from male pals about "How good a kisser are you?", it will lead to funny questions about male pal and why he wants to know you kiss.
20. It's always going to be tough answering why certain men on your friends list want to "kiss you", "cuddle you" and generally want you to indulge in physically demonstrative applications.
PS: And of course, always insist a post like this one was in good fun. Bwahaha. Happy e-relationship maintaining!
1. Never encourage your man to blog. You'd suddenly find whole lot of women getting interested in him.
2. If at all he does start, dont let him put a picture up. You'd suddenly find whole lot of women getting interested in him.
3. If he also puts a picture up, quickly change your profile picture to the hottest you might have. It's always good for your hit counts and keeps him on his toes. Deny it vociferously if asked.
4. Never let your guy see who pokes you on facebook... Somehow the very day he sees it will always be all men.
5. Delete all former flirtatious messages from your inbox. Somehow harmless flirting will read far more sinister when your man reads them with you.
6. It's always hard explaining why exactly did you meet a blog-stranger, especially in today's day of on-road-molestations and psychos-lurking-everywhere.
7. It's even harder when a blog-stranger you met -- and tried to convince Partner was a "nice enough bloke" -- does turn out to be a psycho.
8. Never stick up for a male blog-commentor if he writes anything more than "nice job". Your man will instantly dislike him and get irritated with you for not blocking him.
9. If you say you are going to block someone, do it instantly. It's tough explaining how a "blocked" person suddenly appears on your chat screen two days later.
10. Never point to an interesting profile picture and say, "He looks good". If by any remote chance of fate --- fate plays those tricks -- that profile is strangely added to your friends' list, erm, it leads to questions.
11. Never add a stranger in your friends list if you don't know him (that's what stranger means stupid). When rightly asked, "What if he's a psycho?" by your man, it's always a tough one to answer. (And he "looks good" or "sounds smart" are the wrong answers)
12. Have reasons ready on why you wrote about "men you wont shag"... There are good chances you will be asked about the ones you might have shagged. Also tricky if your list has like 20 reasons...
13. Never start chatting with a good-looking blogger when lying in bed with your man.
14. Don't add "compare people" applications... Your being voted the "Most Desirable Person" in your friends' circle will lead to questions like, "You mean your bloody male pals want to sleep with you?"
15. Don't give nicknames to blog-pals of opposite sex, especially if your nicknames are anyting like "Serial Fucker".
16. Never tell your partner you can hack into emails -- if pushed into situations of course, you are not a criminal, are you now? -- especially if he a has an ex who simply wouldn't GO AWAY.
17. Don't attach too much importance to ex-es commenting, tagging, poking your man. Of course, always keep your eyes open and senses alert. And as mentioned earlier: If you get the chance, trip her on the stairs.
18. Don't answer quizzes about "what kind of man will fall for you" -- if the answer is drastically different from the man you have, it's an uh-oh situation.
19. Never answer quiz requests from male pals about "How good a kisser are you?", it will lead to funny questions about male pal and why he wants to know you kiss.
20. It's always going to be tough answering why certain men on your friends list want to "kiss you", "cuddle you" and generally want you to indulge in physically demonstrative applications.
PS: And of course, always insist a post like this one was in good fun. Bwahaha. Happy e-relationship maintaining!
January 24, 2008
It’s the simple things, stupid.
That can make you very happy or fucking pissed off. Like writing a post on ‘simple things’ because other planned-out posts need researching.
1. being able to write ‘fucking’ without putting asterisks on it.
2. passing wind in bed silently – as opposed to the big bangs and prefer ‘passing-wind’ to farting because it’s more lady-like, ahem) and the Partner saying, “Ah, now that you did that, our relationship has moved to the next level.” (And secretly thanking that it didn’t stink, wonder how many levels does that make?) Yes, women pass wind too, and if yours doesn’t, she’s doing the silent, non-smelly ones.
3. putting up a post on Potty Survey and people actually answering and accepting they read shampoo labels when no reading material is around.
4. finding a blogger – award-winning type, also been on Blogs of Note – commenting on one of the posts and feeling VERY good about it.
5. old ‘blog friends’ complaining about ‘invasion of privacy’ because now there are more people reading you.
6. old blog friends meeting new people in your chat window and getting along with each other. J
7. bourbon biscuits dipped in hot, sweet coffee. Yum.
8. cold pasta-and-chicken-in-schezwan sauce (that you didn’t make) and that still tastes good particularly when you want to eat SOMETHING and cannot be bothered to cook. Even if it’s three days old. Hail technology hail refrigeration!
9. finding friends online who will make phone calls to grocery stores when your phone outgoing is barred.
10. good service at a little known restaurant followed by excellent food.
11. salesman who show you as many things as you want to see and still smile at you even if you didn’t buy anything.
12. bartenders who remember your drink even though you are not a ‘regular’.
13. local grocery store guy recognizing your voice when you call for stuff.
14. big, burly men getting scared of your dog – who you know does not bite anyone – and not daring to come anywhere near a locked gate. Hahaha, it’s a LOAD of fun when Golu scares people shitless.
15. an instant come-back line and a good one when you want to shut that bitch up.
16. jumping on to a soft spring mattress and into a goose-down quilt, which has already been warmed for you. And no, it’s not a heater.
17. cuddling next to a very warm body when your limbs are freezing cold and FEELING the transfer of heat even while the other squirms.
18. little kids waving back at you from inside cars or autos even in busy traffic. They just LOOK so interested in you.
19. being able to talk ‘kids’ with your partner without the other going into nervous spasms or reminding you that “it’s in the future.”
20. getting to a ‘know’ a blogger you read and realizing with delight that she is an awesome person as well.
21. calling up a celebrity – say big time Bollywood star – five years after you interviewed them and they remember the headline of your story.
22. and the reverse… When you panned a big-time movie – and were voted the Worst Online Reviewer (pssst, the movie was ‘Black’) and another big-time personality finds your number and calls and congratulates you on an excellent piece.
23. name-dropping like above two points without name-dropping. Hah.
24. being in your bed clothes even at 7 pm – with morning hair, which is now evening – and someone still thinks you are pretty.
25. being able to say “I love you” without thinking if the other will think you are being a pile on. The other being your female best friend.
26. being ill and borrowing a thermometer from the neighbours when they offer you a crocin and insist you eat it before them.
27. being the boss of your word count. It’s your blog after all.
1. being able to write ‘fucking’ without putting asterisks on it.
2. passing wind in bed silently – as opposed to the big bangs and prefer ‘passing-wind’ to farting because it’s more lady-like, ahem) and the Partner saying, “Ah, now that you did that, our relationship has moved to the next level.” (And secretly thanking that it didn’t stink, wonder how many levels does that make?) Yes, women pass wind too, and if yours doesn’t, she’s doing the silent, non-smelly ones.
3. putting up a post on Potty Survey and people actually answering and accepting they read shampoo labels when no reading material is around.
4. finding a blogger – award-winning type, also been on Blogs of Note – commenting on one of the posts and feeling VERY good about it.
5. old ‘blog friends’ complaining about ‘invasion of privacy’ because now there are more people reading you.
6. old blog friends meeting new people in your chat window and getting along with each other. J
7. bourbon biscuits dipped in hot, sweet coffee. Yum.
8. cold pasta-and-chicken-in-schezwan sauce (that you didn’t make) and that still tastes good particularly when you want to eat SOMETHING and cannot be bothered to cook. Even if it’s three days old. Hail technology hail refrigeration!
9. finding friends online who will make phone calls to grocery stores when your phone outgoing is barred.
10. good service at a little known restaurant followed by excellent food.
11. salesman who show you as many things as you want to see and still smile at you even if you didn’t buy anything.
12. bartenders who remember your drink even though you are not a ‘regular’.
13. local grocery store guy recognizing your voice when you call for stuff.
14. big, burly men getting scared of your dog – who you know does not bite anyone – and not daring to come anywhere near a locked gate. Hahaha, it’s a LOAD of fun when Golu scares people shitless.
15. an instant come-back line and a good one when you want to shut that bitch up.
16. jumping on to a soft spring mattress and into a goose-down quilt, which has already been warmed for you. And no, it’s not a heater.
17. cuddling next to a very warm body when your limbs are freezing cold and FEELING the transfer of heat even while the other squirms.
18. little kids waving back at you from inside cars or autos even in busy traffic. They just LOOK so interested in you.
19. being able to talk ‘kids’ with your partner without the other going into nervous spasms or reminding you that “it’s in the future.”
20. getting to a ‘know’ a blogger you read and realizing with delight that she is an awesome person as well.
21. calling up a celebrity – say big time Bollywood star – five years after you interviewed them and they remember the headline of your story.
22. and the reverse… When you panned a big-time movie – and were voted the Worst Online Reviewer (pssst, the movie was ‘Black’) and another big-time personality finds your number and calls and congratulates you on an excellent piece.
23. name-dropping like above two points without name-dropping. Hah.
24. being in your bed clothes even at 7 pm – with morning hair, which is now evening – and someone still thinks you are pretty.
25. being able to say “I love you” without thinking if the other will think you are being a pile on. The other being your female best friend.
26. being ill and borrowing a thermometer from the neighbours when they offer you a crocin and insist you eat it before them.
27. being the boss of your word count. It’s your blog after all.
Why real men only understand KY gel...
One of the greatest shocking moments of my life – and it is not easy to shock me – is when going through my dad’s shaving kit, I came upon a certain object.
Now my army officer dad has been every bit the epitome of what a ‘man’ is supposed to be: A good husband, a loving father, someone who dictates what everyone watches on TV irrespective of what serial episodes are missed, bans supporting a cricket team he does not like, frowns at clothes he thinks are inappropriate (which would be everything he hasn’t bought), dislikes all boys I might like or even look at and frequently reminds everyone (that would be bro and me) who makes the decisions in the family. Till I was 18, he had also banned discussing Hindi movies at home and any discussion on English movies started and ended with Guns of Navarone, Where Eagles Dare and if at all it had to be commercial, The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. He also believed in hiding editions of India Today that had any articles on sex in them.
He also considered going to the parlour a rather vain experience and one that young girls were supposed to avoid till they become young women, which was of course once you got married. All that directly resulted in me having to live with bushy, caterpillar eyebrows till I was 18. Dad also firmly believed that ageing was a natural process and frowned upon anyone who did anything to ‘undo’ the ageing process or camouflage it. Consequently him and mom had rather heated debates on why she needed to colour her four grey strands when he was all set to “age gracefully”, wrinkles and grey hair and all.
So after ALL that, when going through his shaving kit one morning – I was 24 by now and dad was posted in Ladakh – I came upon Certain Object, my shock knew no bounds. It was the ultimate deceit, the ultimate con and I could not believe that the man who had hitherto been so strict and forthright and so anti anything not natural was into… Anti-ageing creams. I was holding a green-and-cream jar of Synergy Anti-Ageing cream and even as I tried to understand what it was doing in my dad’s shaving kit, he walked in and stopped short on seeing me with the Offending Object. As we exchanged looks, papa grinned sheepishly and said, “That was the only one in the canteen and I needed a moisturizer.”
I think I have either fainted or shrieked out loud. Papa was using a moisturizer! He who didn’t use anything other than Old Spice, Keo Karpin hair oil and that horrible Clinic Plus shampoo (it causes hair loss but he wouldn’t listen and now it’s too late)! I was shocked and hurt, called him a pretender and asked him why he had suddenly decided to give up all his theories on real-men-don’t-use-beauty products. “I am in Ladakh goddammit, the wind cuts my face and your mother insisted that my face looks white. She threw a fit. That’s why.”
I forgave him because there was a logical explanation to WHY he was using moisturizer. And not just him, most men I have known have had an abhorrence for any sort of ‘beauty’ product. For a long time, a Park Avenue beard shampoo (apparently had beer in it) was the only ‘other’ beauty item I had seen for a man, apart from Aramusk soaps, shaving creams and after-shave lotions. Today though, it’s a whole new world out there for men. They even have face scrubs that are ONLY for men.
Sincerely, I do not understand this new breed of man: The body hair waxing, face-mask applying, blow drying hair variety of man. I appreciate my man to be sensitive, but the idea of my man discussing a zinc-oxide pedicure would make me queasy. At the same time, I wouldn’t want him to have corns on his feet too… And that’s where perhaps I do empathise with the guys.
On one hand, we have girly magazines declaring how women like their men being spruced up. On the other hand, a man with soft, manicured hands is ALSO supposed to be macho. Somehow soft, manicured hands and a bike handlebar just don’t go together with me. What’s a guy to do then?
As far as I am concerned, there are some simple things that differentiate a REAL man from a doubtful-about-him-being-real man:
1. Real men will moisturize their faces because a white-streaked, patchy face FEELS uncomfortable. However, he will pick a ‘moisturiser’ without getting into if-it-has-aloe or does things for his T-zone. I am quite happy my man NOT knowing what a T-zone is.
2. A real man will trim his nails and ensure nails don’t have stuff under them. I am uncomfortable with a man who goes for deluxe pedicures because they put things on his feet that make them glow.
3. A real man will apply after-shave because it soothes his skin after shaving instead of having eight different varieties of lotions to suit his mood.
4. A real man will trim hair that grows out from under his collar – or too long nose hair- unlike the others who get their pubic hair waxed.
5. A real man will know only two types of gel: Hair gel to keep it in place (and not in oodles) and KY jelly.
I could go on… but you’d better read the man’s point of view instead…
(It’s also bedtime and real men usually don’t like hitting bed with their women typing away to the world in general. Haha. So goodnight)
Now my army officer dad has been every bit the epitome of what a ‘man’ is supposed to be: A good husband, a loving father, someone who dictates what everyone watches on TV irrespective of what serial episodes are missed, bans supporting a cricket team he does not like, frowns at clothes he thinks are inappropriate (which would be everything he hasn’t bought), dislikes all boys I might like or even look at and frequently reminds everyone (that would be bro and me) who makes the decisions in the family. Till I was 18, he had also banned discussing Hindi movies at home and any discussion on English movies started and ended with Guns of Navarone, Where Eagles Dare and if at all it had to be commercial, The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. He also believed in hiding editions of India Today that had any articles on sex in them.
He also considered going to the parlour a rather vain experience and one that young girls were supposed to avoid till they become young women, which was of course once you got married. All that directly resulted in me having to live with bushy, caterpillar eyebrows till I was 18. Dad also firmly believed that ageing was a natural process and frowned upon anyone who did anything to ‘undo’ the ageing process or camouflage it. Consequently him and mom had rather heated debates on why she needed to colour her four grey strands when he was all set to “age gracefully”, wrinkles and grey hair and all.
So after ALL that, when going through his shaving kit one morning – I was 24 by now and dad was posted in Ladakh – I came upon Certain Object, my shock knew no bounds. It was the ultimate deceit, the ultimate con and I could not believe that the man who had hitherto been so strict and forthright and so anti anything not natural was into… Anti-ageing creams. I was holding a green-and-cream jar of Synergy Anti-Ageing cream and even as I tried to understand what it was doing in my dad’s shaving kit, he walked in and stopped short on seeing me with the Offending Object. As we exchanged looks, papa grinned sheepishly and said, “That was the only one in the canteen and I needed a moisturizer.”
I think I have either fainted or shrieked out loud. Papa was using a moisturizer! He who didn’t use anything other than Old Spice, Keo Karpin hair oil and that horrible Clinic Plus shampoo (it causes hair loss but he wouldn’t listen and now it’s too late)! I was shocked and hurt, called him a pretender and asked him why he had suddenly decided to give up all his theories on real-men-don’t-use-beauty products. “I am in Ladakh goddammit, the wind cuts my face and your mother insisted that my face looks white. She threw a fit. That’s why.”
I forgave him because there was a logical explanation to WHY he was using moisturizer. And not just him, most men I have known have had an abhorrence for any sort of ‘beauty’ product. For a long time, a Park Avenue beard shampoo (apparently had beer in it) was the only ‘other’ beauty item I had seen for a man, apart from Aramusk soaps, shaving creams and after-shave lotions. Today though, it’s a whole new world out there for men. They even have face scrubs that are ONLY for men.
Sincerely, I do not understand this new breed of man: The body hair waxing, face-mask applying, blow drying hair variety of man. I appreciate my man to be sensitive, but the idea of my man discussing a zinc-oxide pedicure would make me queasy. At the same time, I wouldn’t want him to have corns on his feet too… And that’s where perhaps I do empathise with the guys.
On one hand, we have girly magazines declaring how women like their men being spruced up. On the other hand, a man with soft, manicured hands is ALSO supposed to be macho. Somehow soft, manicured hands and a bike handlebar just don’t go together with me. What’s a guy to do then?
As far as I am concerned, there are some simple things that differentiate a REAL man from a doubtful-about-him-being-real man:
1. Real men will moisturize their faces because a white-streaked, patchy face FEELS uncomfortable. However, he will pick a ‘moisturiser’ without getting into if-it-has-aloe or does things for his T-zone. I am quite happy my man NOT knowing what a T-zone is.
2. A real man will trim his nails and ensure nails don’t have stuff under them. I am uncomfortable with a man who goes for deluxe pedicures because they put things on his feet that make them glow.
3. A real man will apply after-shave because it soothes his skin after shaving instead of having eight different varieties of lotions to suit his mood.
4. A real man will trim hair that grows out from under his collar – or too long nose hair- unlike the others who get their pubic hair waxed.
5. A real man will know only two types of gel: Hair gel to keep it in place (and not in oodles) and KY jelly.
I could go on… but you’d better read the man’s point of view instead…
(It’s also bedtime and real men usually don’t like hitting bed with their women typing away to the world in general. Haha. So goodnight)
January 22, 2008
The Potty Survey
Please mention your age and sex while answering: It's absolutely imperative that everyone or as many respond on this one!!! No judgments will be made on your answers! :D
And wish you happy potty everyday.
1. When do you go for your daily potty?
a. the moment I get up, I run for the loo
b. only after my first cup of coffee/tea
c. only once I have read the morning news
d. I am on call, anytime, anywhere
2. How long is your potty-time?
a. As quickly as I can get it all out
b. About 20 minutes, I also pray inside
c. As long as it takes to read the newspaper, front to back
d. An hour or so, till I don’t finish two chapters of the book am reading
3. Do you read while you are doing potty?
a. What rot, no, it’s a toilet, not a reading room
b. No I cant, the stink kills me
c. Of course, cant move the shit till I don’t read some shit
d. Of course, I call it utilizing my time bettere.
e. Unfortunately not, reading on Indian-style toilets is tough
4. do you know people who read during their daily potty?
a. No please, I don’t notice others’ potty habits
b. Yes, all men I know read during potty
c. No, but I know people who meditate
d. Please, am a woman, women don’t read during potty
And wish you happy potty everyday.
1. When do you go for your daily potty?
a. the moment I get up, I run for the loo
b. only after my first cup of coffee/tea
c. only once I have read the morning news
d. I am on call, anytime, anywhere
2. How long is your potty-time?
a. As quickly as I can get it all out
b. About 20 minutes, I also pray inside
c. As long as it takes to read the newspaper, front to back
d. An hour or so, till I don’t finish two chapters of the book am reading
3. Do you read while you are doing potty?
a. What rot, no, it’s a toilet, not a reading room
b. No I cant, the stink kills me
c. Of course, cant move the shit till I don’t read some shit
d. Of course, I call it utilizing my time bettere.
e. Unfortunately not, reading on Indian-style toilets is tough
4. do you know people who read during their daily potty?
a. No please, I don’t notice others’ potty habits
b. Yes, all men I know read during potty
c. No, but I know people who meditate
d. Please, am a woman, women don’t read during potty
And she says f**k at 17!
My dad’s been my biggest critic when it comes to what I write and how. “For a journalist, your general knowledge is dismal,” being his biggest complaint with “DO something about your spellings” being a close second. His other big problems are my frequent use of ‘fuck’ and ‘sucks’. While usually I am very careful not to go fucking-around when speaking to dad, a slip of my tongue is followed by severe frowning of his brow. “Do you realize what you mean when you say ‘She sucks’?” he asked once and unfortunately, I guffawed at his expression and it lead to one of our regular-cant-escape one-hour-long debates. Sigh. No matter how ‘old’ I become, dad will always see me as 12-years-old. “You could be 70 and I will STILL be your Pop,” being his other favourite line.
However and darned be the day I tell him – because he will gloat no end – I understand what he means. My brother is five years younger to me (23) and while I was pretty self-sufficient at that age, I think he needs constant guidance. Of course he doesn’t agree. One fine day, when he was 15 and me 21, he had walked into my room as I was painting a horse or something and had casually announced, “By the way Di, your bro ain’t a virgin anymore,” cackled madly, ruffled my hair and walked out. I thought he was being bloody cheeky telling me that and when I had proceeded to talk to him about safe sex he had – quite cockily said – “You’re doing it wrong Di and there are ways other than condoms, you know.” I had run from the room, red-faced. Frankly, KIDS these days scare the daylights out of me… Rather the way they are in a hurry to grow up.
Just the other day, met this really bright 17-year-old beautiful girl, the daughter of this amazing 40-year-old couple we (partner and moi) know. Very well-behaved, knows her mind, knows her choices, is allowed occasional sips of wine from her mom’s glass and overall a good kid. We added each other on Facebook and knowing that I have my blog links up and use a lot of swear words, I asked her, “Does your mom read your Facebook?” She sent me a long string of “hahahas” and replied, “No she doesn’t and hey, I am 17, not THAT small.”
Then I saw her picture album and broke into a cold sweat. Young, pretty girls with fresh faces and yet there is a sort of ‘knowledge’ in their eyes and in their smiles. A kind of bone-chilling knowledge, the kind I wish they didn’t have. Some of her schoolmates’ pics gave me the shivers. Pouting pics, leggy pics, arm-in-arm with boys pics (someone warn them, oh!), sipping-what-looks-like-alcohol pics, wearing clothes that 17 should not be wearing pics… The first thought that ran through my head was “I wasn’t like THAT at 17!” And damn I say 17-years is bloody small and it gets bloody confusing… for us adults.
The other day someone close asked, “Would you be comfortable if your children read what you write?” I answered that question only after un-publishing some of the raunchier stuff that I had written. My comfort level with my (future) kids reading what I write would completely depend on what age they are. It’s not because what I write is wrong… But there are certain things I would rather my child not find out. Or find out in easier ways. Actually no, not find out at all. Definitely not if they read at 12, 14… or even 17.
Sheesh! No matter how liberated or cocky I was as an adolescent, I say 17-years is bloody small. And even a year later – re-reading what I had in August 2007 – the confusion and fear for the “young ones” still remains. I wish they’d stay young for far, far longer.
This is what was running through my head August 2007… Do read.
However and darned be the day I tell him – because he will gloat no end – I understand what he means. My brother is five years younger to me (23) and while I was pretty self-sufficient at that age, I think he needs constant guidance. Of course he doesn’t agree. One fine day, when he was 15 and me 21, he had walked into my room as I was painting a horse or something and had casually announced, “By the way Di, your bro ain’t a virgin anymore,” cackled madly, ruffled my hair and walked out. I thought he was being bloody cheeky telling me that and when I had proceeded to talk to him about safe sex he had – quite cockily said – “You’re doing it wrong Di and there are ways other than condoms, you know.” I had run from the room, red-faced. Frankly, KIDS these days scare the daylights out of me… Rather the way they are in a hurry to grow up.
Just the other day, met this really bright 17-year-old beautiful girl, the daughter of this amazing 40-year-old couple we (partner and moi) know. Very well-behaved, knows her mind, knows her choices, is allowed occasional sips of wine from her mom’s glass and overall a good kid. We added each other on Facebook and knowing that I have my blog links up and use a lot of swear words, I asked her, “Does your mom read your Facebook?” She sent me a long string of “hahahas” and replied, “No she doesn’t and hey, I am 17, not THAT small.”
Then I saw her picture album and broke into a cold sweat. Young, pretty girls with fresh faces and yet there is a sort of ‘knowledge’ in their eyes and in their smiles. A kind of bone-chilling knowledge, the kind I wish they didn’t have. Some of her schoolmates’ pics gave me the shivers. Pouting pics, leggy pics, arm-in-arm with boys pics (someone warn them, oh!), sipping-what-looks-like-alcohol pics, wearing clothes that 17 should not be wearing pics… The first thought that ran through my head was “I wasn’t like THAT at 17!” And damn I say 17-years is bloody small and it gets bloody confusing… for us adults.
The other day someone close asked, “Would you be comfortable if your children read what you write?” I answered that question only after un-publishing some of the raunchier stuff that I had written. My comfort level with my (future) kids reading what I write would completely depend on what age they are. It’s not because what I write is wrong… But there are certain things I would rather my child not find out. Or find out in easier ways. Actually no, not find out at all. Definitely not if they read at 12, 14… or even 17.
Sheesh! No matter how liberated or cocky I was as an adolescent, I say 17-years is bloody small. And even a year later – re-reading what I had in August 2007 – the confusion and fear for the “young ones” still remains. I wish they’d stay young for far, far longer.
This is what was running through my head August 2007… Do read.
----------------------------------------
That headline was to keep alive the tradition of this being a "sex-blog". And since it’s only a jackass who would believe that anyone fucking blogging so much is fucking at all; well, you can imagine how much THAT word is happening here. (The smarter/cockier ones would notice the random days of no-posting no doubt. But then, it could just mean, shaggin’, no?) Necessary sex-bit over; now the other headlines that could perhaps go with this post...
January 21, 2008
Commonwealth Games 2010: The SCAM
Since some of you are reading here and checking, you SHOULD know: this is what I do officially, some of the time at least. Rest of the times I write features, fiction and farce. PLEASE do read these stories and see the videos. It is VERY important.
And Sheila Dikshit does it again and again and again. By the time the Hon'ble Chief Minister of Delhi goes out of power, she would have raped the city of its water, its trees and every single thing that makes Life. At times, she is so much like a locust, sucking life out and destroying everything. Delhi had always been known for its greenery... But if this lady and her so-called development loving government are not stopped, there won't be much recognisable in the city that was once Indraprastha. For those NOT aware of Sheila's other development plans -- Yarra to Yamuna anyone? -- please follow these links. All for development. Who's, can someone tell us?
Commonwealth Games 2010: Real-estate scam, environmental disaster
1. Games village: Delhi's death trap
2. Games village: Flouting ALL environmental laws
3. Games village: Sitting duck for disaster
4. Games village: The real estate SCAM
5. INTERVIEW with Sheila Dikshit: 'Delhi should be second to none' (at what cost?)
Death of Delhi's trees
And Sheila Dikshit does it again and again and again. By the time the Hon'ble Chief Minister of Delhi goes out of power, she would have raped the city of its water, its trees and every single thing that makes Life. At times, she is so much like a locust, sucking life out and destroying everything. Delhi had always been known for its greenery... But if this lady and her so-called development loving government are not stopped, there won't be much recognisable in the city that was once Indraprastha. For those NOT aware of Sheila's other development plans -- Yarra to Yamuna anyone? -- please follow these links. All for development. Who's, can someone tell us?
Commonwealth Games 2010: Real-estate scam, environmental disaster
1. Games village: Delhi's death trap
2. Games village: Flouting ALL environmental laws
3. Games village: Sitting duck for disaster
4. Games village: The real estate SCAM
5. INTERVIEW with Sheila Dikshit: 'Delhi should be second to none' (at what cost?)
Death of Delhi's trees
A Smoker’s Diary: The first rush… to getting hooked
Or, so you think you want to quit smoking?
So I had announced in the ‘Do only bad girls smoke post?’ that I was meeting a doctor who’d help me quit smoking. I did go and spend two hours sitting and talking with her. The first thing I learnt? That I don’t have any oxygen in me and the carbon monoxide levels in me are 20 + ppm. For heavy smokers. Also, she asked me if there was any phlegm with my ‘smoker’s cough’. No, there isn’t, which apparently is really bad news because it means the ‘cilia’ in my lungs (little hair that work as filters) are either dead or defunct. Basically, of all the 500 poisons we intake each time we take a puff, ALL are in me.
“How will a doctor help?” someone had asked me, “Quitting smoking is about will power, if you don’t have it, no one can help you quit.” While it is true that the first and most important step in quitting cigarettes is a WILL to quit and the determination to back it… HOW do you quit? Some of us need help with WHAT to do when the urge hits and that’s where Dr Sajeela Maini, PhD in tobacco cessation, Sir Ganga Ram Hospital comes in… Soon enough I would be undergoing a four-day intensive programme with her to get my lungs back. Before that…
--------------------------------------------------------
I had my first cigarette on 24th June, 1999. I was standing in the kitchen, the exhaust was on, the windows open, there was no home, but I wasn’t taking the risk. It was a stick of Charms (formerly Charminar, a Hyderabad brand), one of my father’s.
I was interning at a newspaper office and there were many women who smoked there. Two were girls from my college, my seniors by a year. I was curious: What did people like about cigarettes? Since I had seen umpteen movies where people coughed after their first drag and looked like imbeciles, I had decided that my first attempt would be in the privacy of my home. I’ve never been one for making a fool of me in public (unless it’s eyebrows on a TV show!) The cigarette was blackened as I had simply held it between my lips and put a match to it, not knowing that one needed to ‘pull’ in to light a cig properly… It was not a candle.
I thought I was a natural since I didn’t cough. It was only the next day – armed with my first self-bought cigarette – that I learnt that I hadn’t coughed because I was smoking it wrong. All I was doing was taking in the smoke and blowing it right out. There had been no taste and I had wondered, people surely didn’t indulge in it just to exercise just to blow smoke at each other’s faces. Wasn’t there more?
The next day one of the senior girls – as I sat amidst them all ears while they discussed the editor – pointed out that I was smoking ‘wrong’. She taught me how to pull the smoke in, then inhale with my teeth slightly parted. I watched her carefully and emulated. I didn’t cough… My head felt funny, slightly dizzy. Like I had just gotten off a fast spinning merry-go-round. I used as many words to describe what I felt when the senior asked me, “So what do you think?” As I finished my recounting she laughed and said, “Stupid, that’s called a rush.” Her name was Chitra.
I have never felt that rush again, no matter how many cigarettes I smoke in a day. They say the first cigarette after a day’s break from smoking will give you that rush. It’s a blatant lie. Once you get hooked to the habit, you don’t get that rush because habitual smokers will always ensure they never run out of cigarettes, not for a couple of hours and a day’s abstinence will give most smokers palpitations. And that’s the funny thing, I had never expected to get hooked, had never stopped to think I would become an addict.
“No smoker starts out thinking s/he will become addicted,” says Dr Maini. It’s the same pattern for everyone: you start out as a ‘social smoker’, or as an only-lunchtime smoker, or someone who only ‘smokes with alcohol’ or even a ‘weekend smoker’ and sooner or later – unless you stop altogether – you will get hooked. “You are either a smoker or a non-smoker, there are no grey areas, nothing called an occasional smoker,” says Dr Maini, “Even reduced-smoking is a myth.” By ‘reduced smoking’ she refers to people who ‘cut down’ on their cigarettes and think they are doing a brilliant job by going from 20 to two a day. However – and let no one fool you – they are still smokers and they will go back to an increased intake.
That was the first shock for me… I was hoping – like many a chicken-shit quitter – that I would do the gradual reduction. “You cannot reduce and quit, reduction is self-pacifying. Something or the other will get you back to smoking full time. The ONLY way to quit is going cold turkey,” says Dr Maini. And very honestly, it is a bloody scary idea. Not the trying, but the thought of not being able to. What if I fail?
Even as Dr Maini looked me in the eye to gauge the seriousness of my intentions, stories of those who have quit ran through my head. My father, two of his coursemates (one a Major General now) and one of our family friends. All of them quit in a day, they simply threw out the cigarette packets. “The first step is deciding to quit and knowing that you want to stop. I can show you the ways, but the determination is all yours.”
I could not assure her immediately as I started coughing, dry, lung-racking, body-shaking coughs that hurt my larynx. Earlier, my smoker’s cough would hurt my tonsils – right under my jaw – and I would comfortably blame it on season change. Now the pain has shifted and my entire throat, particularly the larynx and chest hurt. It scares me. What if I have… Hmm.
Pictures of lung cancer patients and those who wear a voice-box (cancer of the larynx basically removes the vocal chords and it’s replaced by a mechanical device) suddenly seem far more personal to me…
PS: Tuesday is when I visit the doc and start the programme. Nervous. And yet sickeningly enough, it’s Sunday night and I am smoking as I type this out…
So I had announced in the ‘Do only bad girls smoke post?’ that I was meeting a doctor who’d help me quit smoking. I did go and spend two hours sitting and talking with her. The first thing I learnt? That I don’t have any oxygen in me and the carbon monoxide levels in me are 20 + ppm. For heavy smokers. Also, she asked me if there was any phlegm with my ‘smoker’s cough’. No, there isn’t, which apparently is really bad news because it means the ‘cilia’ in my lungs (little hair that work as filters) are either dead or defunct. Basically, of all the 500 poisons we intake each time we take a puff, ALL are in me.
“How will a doctor help?” someone had asked me, “Quitting smoking is about will power, if you don’t have it, no one can help you quit.” While it is true that the first and most important step in quitting cigarettes is a WILL to quit and the determination to back it… HOW do you quit? Some of us need help with WHAT to do when the urge hits and that’s where Dr Sajeela Maini, PhD in tobacco cessation, Sir Ganga Ram Hospital comes in… Soon enough I would be undergoing a four-day intensive programme with her to get my lungs back. Before that…
--------------------------------------------------------
I had my first cigarette on 24th June, 1999. I was standing in the kitchen, the exhaust was on, the windows open, there was no home, but I wasn’t taking the risk. It was a stick of Charms (formerly Charminar, a Hyderabad brand), one of my father’s.
I was interning at a newspaper office and there were many women who smoked there. Two were girls from my college, my seniors by a year. I was curious: What did people like about cigarettes? Since I had seen umpteen movies where people coughed after their first drag and looked like imbeciles, I had decided that my first attempt would be in the privacy of my home. I’ve never been one for making a fool of me in public (unless it’s eyebrows on a TV show!) The cigarette was blackened as I had simply held it between my lips and put a match to it, not knowing that one needed to ‘pull’ in to light a cig properly… It was not a candle.
I thought I was a natural since I didn’t cough. It was only the next day – armed with my first self-bought cigarette – that I learnt that I hadn’t coughed because I was smoking it wrong. All I was doing was taking in the smoke and blowing it right out. There had been no taste and I had wondered, people surely didn’t indulge in it just to exercise just to blow smoke at each other’s faces. Wasn’t there more?
The next day one of the senior girls – as I sat amidst them all ears while they discussed the editor – pointed out that I was smoking ‘wrong’. She taught me how to pull the smoke in, then inhale with my teeth slightly parted. I watched her carefully and emulated. I didn’t cough… My head felt funny, slightly dizzy. Like I had just gotten off a fast spinning merry-go-round. I used as many words to describe what I felt when the senior asked me, “So what do you think?” As I finished my recounting she laughed and said, “Stupid, that’s called a rush.” Her name was Chitra.
I have never felt that rush again, no matter how many cigarettes I smoke in a day. They say the first cigarette after a day’s break from smoking will give you that rush. It’s a blatant lie. Once you get hooked to the habit, you don’t get that rush because habitual smokers will always ensure they never run out of cigarettes, not for a couple of hours and a day’s abstinence will give most smokers palpitations. And that’s the funny thing, I had never expected to get hooked, had never stopped to think I would become an addict.
“No smoker starts out thinking s/he will become addicted,” says Dr Maini. It’s the same pattern for everyone: you start out as a ‘social smoker’, or as an only-lunchtime smoker, or someone who only ‘smokes with alcohol’ or even a ‘weekend smoker’ and sooner or later – unless you stop altogether – you will get hooked. “You are either a smoker or a non-smoker, there are no grey areas, nothing called an occasional smoker,” says Dr Maini, “Even reduced-smoking is a myth.” By ‘reduced smoking’ she refers to people who ‘cut down’ on their cigarettes and think they are doing a brilliant job by going from 20 to two a day. However – and let no one fool you – they are still smokers and they will go back to an increased intake.
That was the first shock for me… I was hoping – like many a chicken-shit quitter – that I would do the gradual reduction. “You cannot reduce and quit, reduction is self-pacifying. Something or the other will get you back to smoking full time. The ONLY way to quit is going cold turkey,” says Dr Maini. And very honestly, it is a bloody scary idea. Not the trying, but the thought of not being able to. What if I fail?
Even as Dr Maini looked me in the eye to gauge the seriousness of my intentions, stories of those who have quit ran through my head. My father, two of his coursemates (one a Major General now) and one of our family friends. All of them quit in a day, they simply threw out the cigarette packets. “The first step is deciding to quit and knowing that you want to stop. I can show you the ways, but the determination is all yours.”
I could not assure her immediately as I started coughing, dry, lung-racking, body-shaking coughs that hurt my larynx. Earlier, my smoker’s cough would hurt my tonsils – right under my jaw – and I would comfortably blame it on season change. Now the pain has shifted and my entire throat, particularly the larynx and chest hurt. It scares me. What if I have… Hmm.
Pictures of lung cancer patients and those who wear a voice-box (cancer of the larynx basically removes the vocal chords and it’s replaced by a mechanical device) suddenly seem far more personal to me…
PS: Tuesday is when I visit the doc and start the programme. Nervous. And yet sickeningly enough, it’s Sunday night and I am smoking as I type this out…
January 19, 2008
Random realizations on a random Saturday morning...
1. Having someone else make your morning cup of coffee is a luxury… Unless the coffee isn’t how you want it! And then you appreciate that someone does it for you nonetheless.
2. If you keep things strewn around on the floor, you WILL kick your foot against something or the other. And it will always hurt. Ugh.
3. No matter how sexy it looks in movies and soap operas, walking around in high heels in the kitchen will only make you spill things more. I don’t know how spilling things and heels correlate, but they bloody do!
4. Never send print outs of your writings to your father without re-proof reading them. Dad will ALWAYS find spelling mistakes that no one else had spotted.
5. It’s a good idea to keep your mouth shut when the husband of a woman you like decides to provoke you by talking about what you write.
6. It’s always a good idea to look into your partner’s eyes – and feel reassured – when others are giving you the shits.
7. If you let your partner’s ex- bother you… s/he will bother you.
8. Your being bothered about your partner’s ex has NOTHING to do with your partner – who loves you all the same – it’s because of the demons in your head.
9. Having said that, you will always KNOW when your partner loves you and when s/he is taking you for a ride. IF it’s the latter, ensure that you are a better rider!
10. If you don’t keep keys in their right place the previous night, keys will have a mysterious tendency to disappear just when you need them. Usually when you’re getting late to get somewhere.
11. If your mom calls and says she “just wanted to speak to you for no reason”, it means she is missing you and feeling lonely. Sigh.
12. The first born is ALWAYS closer to a mother’s heart, even if she loves her other children to bits. (I am the first born! Yea!)
13. It should always be appreciated when ANY mother announces, “My child is my life.” No one else but the mother will understand exactly what she means.
14. If you are close to motherhood-age and you see pics of your friends having babies, DON’T get nervous. You will get your chance, sooner or later… (erm, hopefully)
15. Of course, once you have kids, it’s a lifetime occupation. So you better bloody be prepared!
16. You should always appreciate your partner when s/he first complains about dog piss on the floor… and then proceeds to clean it every morning without asking you to. And train the bloody dogs. Sigh.
17. Not everyone has the taste for yeast.
18. Sometimes, people are scared of funny things, like beetroot. All inconsequential fears are to be respected. But if you can feed them beetroot in another form and they don’t realize, don’t tell them! Haha.
19. Men don’t forget to check cricket scores or sports at any given time…even when cuddling. Bloody Ponting!
20. Sometimes, inspiration is sitting on your left side… or right! Just turn your head and you’d see a smile that warms your heart. If there’s no one, put a bloody picture up! J
21. If you suck at quizzes, ensure you never get involved in one publicly. Never show them your weak points, or as far as you can avoid it.
22. If you have an expressive face in real life, tone down the eyebrow movement on TV, you’d look like an idiot. K
23. Men ALWAYS look good with morning hair and stubble and sleep eyes. Sigh, not us women though. Instantly comb your hair when you wake up, else you look like one of the witches of Hamlet. Grr.
24. some posts can ramble, know when to stop.
Ha!
PS: Bad oil gives you pimples and constipation
2. If you keep things strewn around on the floor, you WILL kick your foot against something or the other. And it will always hurt. Ugh.
3. No matter how sexy it looks in movies and soap operas, walking around in high heels in the kitchen will only make you spill things more. I don’t know how spilling things and heels correlate, but they bloody do!
4. Never send print outs of your writings to your father without re-proof reading them. Dad will ALWAYS find spelling mistakes that no one else had spotted.
5. It’s a good idea to keep your mouth shut when the husband of a woman you like decides to provoke you by talking about what you write.
6. It’s always a good idea to look into your partner’s eyes – and feel reassured – when others are giving you the shits.
7. If you let your partner’s ex- bother you… s/he will bother you.
8. Your being bothered about your partner’s ex has NOTHING to do with your partner – who loves you all the same – it’s because of the demons in your head.
9. Having said that, you will always KNOW when your partner loves you and when s/he is taking you for a ride. IF it’s the latter, ensure that you are a better rider!
10. If you don’t keep keys in their right place the previous night, keys will have a mysterious tendency to disappear just when you need them. Usually when you’re getting late to get somewhere.
11. If your mom calls and says she “just wanted to speak to you for no reason”, it means she is missing you and feeling lonely. Sigh.
12. The first born is ALWAYS closer to a mother’s heart, even if she loves her other children to bits. (I am the first born! Yea!)
13. It should always be appreciated when ANY mother announces, “My child is my life.” No one else but the mother will understand exactly what she means.
14. If you are close to motherhood-age and you see pics of your friends having babies, DON’T get nervous. You will get your chance, sooner or later… (erm, hopefully)
15. Of course, once you have kids, it’s a lifetime occupation. So you better bloody be prepared!
16. You should always appreciate your partner when s/he first complains about dog piss on the floor… and then proceeds to clean it every morning without asking you to. And train the bloody dogs. Sigh.
17. Not everyone has the taste for yeast.
18. Sometimes, people are scared of funny things, like beetroot. All inconsequential fears are to be respected. But if you can feed them beetroot in another form and they don’t realize, don’t tell them! Haha.
19. Men don’t forget to check cricket scores or sports at any given time…even when cuddling. Bloody Ponting!
20. Sometimes, inspiration is sitting on your left side… or right! Just turn your head and you’d see a smile that warms your heart. If there’s no one, put a bloody picture up! J
21. If you suck at quizzes, ensure you never get involved in one publicly. Never show them your weak points, or as far as you can avoid it.
22. If you have an expressive face in real life, tone down the eyebrow movement on TV, you’d look like an idiot. K
23. Men ALWAYS look good with morning hair and stubble and sleep eyes. Sigh, not us women though. Instantly comb your hair when you wake up, else you look like one of the witches of Hamlet. Grr.
24. some posts can ramble, know when to stop.
Ha!
PS: Bad oil gives you pimples and constipation
We The People: Video link
Hello
Some of you asked for the video link and here it goes.
We the People: Should blogs be regulated?
Each to her/his own!
Happy watching!
rgds
Eve* aka JB
Some of you asked for the video link and here it goes.
We the People: Should blogs be regulated?
Each to her/his own!
Happy watching!
rgds
Eve* aka JB
January 18, 2008
Do only bad girls smoke?
Any woman traveling in autos in Delhi will tell you that men around will stare at her, whether they are in cars, on bikes or sitting on a cycle rickshaw. Now if any woman were to light up a cigarette in an auto, it might as well create a traffic jam.
Cigarettes are a serious health issue, but the moment it is a woman smoking, it becomes more than just a health issue. It becomes a yardstick to judge her character, her morality and even a question on her motherhood capabilities. It is of course assumed that every woman will make a mother and every woman wants to.
For long Hindi movies – since one has seen more of those than movies in other regional Indian languages – have shown only bad girls smoking on screen. The gangster’s moll (Manisha Koirala in Company), the vamp (Nadira, Shree 420), hookers (Sonam, Mittu Aur Sona) and ‘non-Indian’ mothers, meaning mothers who wore Western clothes and were against the norm of a good Indian wife or a good Indian mother (Lilette Dubey, Monsoon Wedding). The association has always been clear: Fallen and bad women smoke, good girls don’t.
While nicotine harms both men and women – women more because our systems, thanks to the uterus and the estrogen, are more sensitive than a man’s – the ISSUE of women and smoking is NEVER just about health. And it’s neither recent nor just relegated to India.
Smart marketing gave cigarettes an image overhaul from being cancer sticks to being ‘torches of freedom’: public relations guru Edward Bernays, dreamed up a campaign where he persuaded a dozen debutantes to light up cigarettes while marching in the Easter Parade on Fifth Avenue in 1929 where the attractive young women called their cigarettes “torches of freedom” (courtesy Wall Street Journal, Jan 2008).
Even today many women hold their cigarettes as a symbol of defiance: If a man can, why can’t I? Then there is the entire bit about how cigarettes “help” you retain your figure or get slim. Nicotine kills appetite and many a young thing picks up the habit because she wants to be thin, look good. Do we blame the girls for wanting to look good? Ad after ad, actress after actress and role-model after role-model perpetuates thin-is-beautiful. And sincerely, no matter how many articles say announce that meat-is-back in fashion, NO woman will buy that.
Then there is the bit about fitting-in. With more women heading out in the corporate world – where a large number of men smoke, particularly in India – women join in the smoking-clan as well. Call it peer pressure, call it looking cool, call it wanting to be fit… Cigarettes are being marketed as much more than another habit to pick up and it’s sad.
I have been a smoker and I am trying desperately to kick the habit. My skin has lost its sheen, my hair structure has changed and more than anything else, I confess, I am paranoid that I will put on weight. I know what it feels to be “fat” (political correctness be damned). Yesterday, I wrote ‘smoking is injurious to your character’, do read it. Today, as you read this, I am going to meet a doctor who claims to be able to make me QUIT IN FOUR DAYS. But I know the honest truth – as a friend of mine pointed out – I have to be ready to give it up. I am. Will share the pointers with you by evening…
But more than anything else, let’s please look at cigarettes for what they are: A suicidal bad habit that lasts a lifetime… Whatever life is left after we get hooked to it and let’s try and kick it together. My inspiration is my father, who quit after 32 years of smoking. He didn’t want to… till his nose started bleeding of an internal haemorrhage. Now I am going to get ready to meet the doc, see you later.
_____________________________________________________________________
COURTESY: WALL STREET JOURNAL, JAN 7, 2008 (mailed by Vasundhara on facebook, tks!)
When Worse Than A Woman Who Voted
Was One Who Smoked
January 7, 2008; Page B1
Mrs. William P. Orr was riding in a car on Fifth Avenue in New York City in 1904 when she lit up a cigarette. A policeman on a bicycle ordered her to put it out. "You can't do that on Fifth Avenue while I'm patrolling here," he told her.
Until the late 1920s, a woman who smoked in public was not only considered vulgar, she risked a warning from the police. In 1922, a New York alderman, Peter McGuinness, proposed a city ordinance that would prohibit women from smoking in hotels, restaurants or other public places.
"Young fellows go into our restaurants to find women folks sucking cigarettes," the alderman argued. "What happens? The young fellows lose all respect for the women, and the next thing you know the young fellows, vampired by these smoking women, desert their homes, their wives and children, rob their employers and even commit murder so that they can get money to lavish on these smoking women."
A Washington Post editorial in 1914 declared, "A man may take out a woman who smokes for a good time, but he won't marry her, and if he does, he won't stay married."
There had been famous high-profile female smokers, of course. In the late 18th century, Rachel Jackson, wife of the seventh president, sometimes handed her pipe to a dinner guest, saying, "Honey, won't you take a smoke?" In the mid-19th century, the French novelist George Sand openly smoked cigars. But before the 1930s, most women smoked only in the privacy of their own homes.
"To smoke in public is always bad taste in a woman," Alexandre Duval, a Parisian restaurateur, said in 1921: "In private she may be pardoned if she does it with sufficient elegance."
World War I drew many women out of their homes to jobs where their co-workers smoked. Americans who traveled abroad, or who entertained foreign guests, saw aristocratic women smoking, often with elegant holders, at dinner parties. The suffrage movement, culminating in the 19th Amendment in 1920, drew attention to other gender inequalities. Smoking became a visible symbol of defiance and feminism.
Working women in New York in the 1920s would sometimes jump into a cab at lunchtime for a private smoke. Upper-class female smokers in Charleston, S.C., at around the same time ordered their cigarettes by mail so the local tobacconist wouldn't know their dirty secret.
But the old ways died hard. In 1920, Hugh S. Cumming, surgeon general of the U.S., warned that "the cigarette habit indulged by women tends to cause nervousness and insomnia and ruins the complexion. This is one of the most evil influences in American life today."
The manager of a Manhattan hotel told a New York Times reporter, "I hate to see women smoking. Apart from the moral reason, they really don't know how to smoke. One woman smoking one cigarette at a dinner table will stir up more smoke than a whole tableful of men smoking cigars. They don't seem to know what to do with the smoke. Neither do they know how to hold their cigarettes properly. They make a mess of the whole performance."
Several women's colleges banned smoking. At Smith College, students seen smoking, even off campus, received a demerit. Three demerits meant expulsion. Bryn Mawr students were prohibited from smoking within 25 miles of the college except in private homes.
In 1921, U.S. Rep. Paul Johnson of Mississippi proposed a bill to make it illegal for "female persons" to smoke in "any public place where two or more persons are gathered together" in the capital. "Regulating smoking by women comes under police power and, as is well known, police powers are practically without limit," he said. (The bill never came to a vote.)
In 1928, the executive board of the Cleveland Boy Scouts recommended that scouts use their influence to discourage women from smoking, saying it "coarsens" women and "detracts from the ideal of fine motherhood." Sioux Falls, S.D., barred billboards picturing women smoking, and Lynn, Mass., banned the showing of films in which women smoked.
Capitalism came to the rescue. Philip Morris brought out a cigarette for women with the slogan "Mild as May." The American Tobacco Co. suggested smoking could make you thin, proclaiming "You can't hide fat, clumsy ankles. When tempted to overindulge, reach for a Lucky."
Finally, a public-relations genius, Edward Bernays, dreamed up a campaign that echoed across the country. He persuaded a dozen debutantes to light up cigarettes while marching in the Easter Parade on Fifth Avenue in 1929. The attractive young women called their cigarettes "torches of freedom."
According to a U.S. government estimate, the number of women between 18 and 20 years old who began smoking cigarettes tripled between 1911 and 1925 and more than tripled again by 1939.
Some men who disapproved of women smoking thought it might be the lesser of two evils. "If it were a question between their smoking and their voting, and they would promise to stay at home and smoke," Sen. Joseph Bailey of Texas said in 1918, "I would say let them smoke."
Cigarettes are a serious health issue, but the moment it is a woman smoking, it becomes more than just a health issue. It becomes a yardstick to judge her character, her morality and even a question on her motherhood capabilities. It is of course assumed that every woman will make a mother and every woman wants to.
For long Hindi movies – since one has seen more of those than movies in other regional Indian languages – have shown only bad girls smoking on screen. The gangster’s moll (Manisha Koirala in Company), the vamp (Nadira, Shree 420), hookers (Sonam, Mittu Aur Sona) and ‘non-Indian’ mothers, meaning mothers who wore Western clothes and were against the norm of a good Indian wife or a good Indian mother (Lilette Dubey, Monsoon Wedding). The association has always been clear: Fallen and bad women smoke, good girls don’t.
While nicotine harms both men and women – women more because our systems, thanks to the uterus and the estrogen, are more sensitive than a man’s – the ISSUE of women and smoking is NEVER just about health. And it’s neither recent nor just relegated to India.
Smart marketing gave cigarettes an image overhaul from being cancer sticks to being ‘torches of freedom’: public relations guru Edward Bernays, dreamed up a campaign where he persuaded a dozen debutantes to light up cigarettes while marching in the Easter Parade on Fifth Avenue in 1929 where the attractive young women called their cigarettes “torches of freedom” (courtesy Wall Street Journal, Jan 2008).
Even today many women hold their cigarettes as a symbol of defiance: If a man can, why can’t I? Then there is the entire bit about how cigarettes “help” you retain your figure or get slim. Nicotine kills appetite and many a young thing picks up the habit because she wants to be thin, look good. Do we blame the girls for wanting to look good? Ad after ad, actress after actress and role-model after role-model perpetuates thin-is-beautiful. And sincerely, no matter how many articles say announce that meat-is-back in fashion, NO woman will buy that.
Then there is the bit about fitting-in. With more women heading out in the corporate world – where a large number of men smoke, particularly in India – women join in the smoking-clan as well. Call it peer pressure, call it looking cool, call it wanting to be fit… Cigarettes are being marketed as much more than another habit to pick up and it’s sad.
I have been a smoker and I am trying desperately to kick the habit. My skin has lost its sheen, my hair structure has changed and more than anything else, I confess, I am paranoid that I will put on weight. I know what it feels to be “fat” (political correctness be damned). Yesterday, I wrote ‘smoking is injurious to your character’, do read it. Today, as you read this, I am going to meet a doctor who claims to be able to make me QUIT IN FOUR DAYS. But I know the honest truth – as a friend of mine pointed out – I have to be ready to give it up. I am. Will share the pointers with you by evening…
But more than anything else, let’s please look at cigarettes for what they are: A suicidal bad habit that lasts a lifetime… Whatever life is left after we get hooked to it and let’s try and kick it together. My inspiration is my father, who quit after 32 years of smoking. He didn’t want to… till his nose started bleeding of an internal haemorrhage. Now I am going to get ready to meet the doc, see you later.
_____________________________________________________________________
COURTESY: WALL STREET JOURNAL, JAN 7, 2008 (mailed by Vasundhara on facebook, tks!)
When Worse Than A Woman Who Voted
Was One Who Smoked
January 7, 2008; Page B1
Mrs. William P. Orr was riding in a car on Fifth Avenue in New York City in 1904 when she lit up a cigarette. A policeman on a bicycle ordered her to put it out. "You can't do that on Fifth Avenue while I'm patrolling here," he told her.
Until the late 1920s, a woman who smoked in public was not only considered vulgar, she risked a warning from the police. In 1922, a New York alderman, Peter McGuinness, proposed a city ordinance that would prohibit women from smoking in hotels, restaurants or other public places.
"Young fellows go into our restaurants to find women folks sucking cigarettes," the alderman argued. "What happens? The young fellows lose all respect for the women, and the next thing you know the young fellows, vampired by these smoking women, desert their homes, their wives and children, rob their employers and even commit murder so that they can get money to lavish on these smoking women."
A Washington Post editorial in 1914 declared, "A man may take out a woman who smokes for a good time, but he won't marry her, and if he does, he won't stay married."
There had been famous high-profile female smokers, of course. In the late 18th century, Rachel Jackson, wife of the seventh president, sometimes handed her pipe to a dinner guest, saying, "Honey, won't you take a smoke?" In the mid-19th century, the French novelist George Sand openly smoked cigars. But before the 1930s, most women smoked only in the privacy of their own homes.
"To smoke in public is always bad taste in a woman," Alexandre Duval, a Parisian restaurateur, said in 1921: "In private she may be pardoned if she does it with sufficient elegance."
World War I drew many women out of their homes to jobs where their co-workers smoked. Americans who traveled abroad, or who entertained foreign guests, saw aristocratic women smoking, often with elegant holders, at dinner parties. The suffrage movement, culminating in the 19th Amendment in 1920, drew attention to other gender inequalities. Smoking became a visible symbol of defiance and feminism.
Working women in New York in the 1920s would sometimes jump into a cab at lunchtime for a private smoke. Upper-class female smokers in Charleston, S.C., at around the same time ordered their cigarettes by mail so the local tobacconist wouldn't know their dirty secret.
But the old ways died hard. In 1920, Hugh S. Cumming, surgeon general of the U.S., warned that "the cigarette habit indulged by women tends to cause nervousness and insomnia and ruins the complexion. This is one of the most evil influences in American life today."
The manager of a Manhattan hotel told a New York Times reporter, "I hate to see women smoking. Apart from the moral reason, they really don't know how to smoke. One woman smoking one cigarette at a dinner table will stir up more smoke than a whole tableful of men smoking cigars. They don't seem to know what to do with the smoke. Neither do they know how to hold their cigarettes properly. They make a mess of the whole performance."
Several women's colleges banned smoking. At Smith College, students seen smoking, even off campus, received a demerit. Three demerits meant expulsion. Bryn Mawr students were prohibited from smoking within 25 miles of the college except in private homes.
In 1921, U.S. Rep. Paul Johnson of Mississippi proposed a bill to make it illegal for "female persons" to smoke in "any public place where two or more persons are gathered together" in the capital. "Regulating smoking by women comes under police power and, as is well known, police powers are practically without limit," he said. (The bill never came to a vote.)
In 1928, the executive board of the Cleveland Boy Scouts recommended that scouts use their influence to discourage women from smoking, saying it "coarsens" women and "detracts from the ideal of fine motherhood." Sioux Falls, S.D., barred billboards picturing women smoking, and Lynn, Mass., banned the showing of films in which women smoked.
Capitalism came to the rescue. Philip Morris brought out a cigarette for women with the slogan "Mild as May." The American Tobacco Co. suggested smoking could make you thin, proclaiming "You can't hide fat, clumsy ankles. When tempted to overindulge, reach for a Lucky."
Finally, a public-relations genius, Edward Bernays, dreamed up a campaign that echoed across the country. He persuaded a dozen debutantes to light up cigarettes while marching in the Easter Parade on Fifth Avenue in 1929. The attractive young women called their cigarettes "torches of freedom."
According to a U.S. government estimate, the number of women between 18 and 20 years old who began smoking cigarettes tripled between 1911 and 1925 and more than tripled again by 1939.
Some men who disapproved of women smoking thought it might be the lesser of two evils. "If it were a question between their smoking and their voting, and they would promise to stay at home and smoke," Sen. Joseph Bailey of Texas said in 1918, "I would say let them smoke."
January 17, 2008
Introducing... Eve's Ears
Hello Everyone,
A new format had been promised on Eve* and this would be the first in the series. The thought-exchanging will continue but hopefully, we will see, hear and read more of other Eves here. Or Sita, Radha, Mary Magdalene, or whoever or whatever you want to call Her.
I was still thinking about what to name this series when ‘Eve’s Lungs’ popped up in the pic-map tool. Not this Eve*’s lungs – since those are all smoke now – but another Eve in Kolkata. It sealed the nomenclature for this series, thank-you for the inspiration.
Meet… Eve’s Ears. I met her first at work… Rather was ‘introduced’ by the other girls. They were standing beside her chair, gesturing and saying funny/ nasty things about her, right behind her back. I was puzzled: How can you bitch about someone standing inches behind them? That’s when one of the girls said, “Don’t worry, she can’t hear a thing, don’t you see the hearing aid she wears?” Eve was born with a serious hearing impairment and today plugs in a hearing aid to listen properly. She still can’t and often people in office will be screaming out her name, rolling their eyes when she does not respond instantly and then get bitchy RIGHT BEHIND her ears… or hearing aids.
Eve also does not speak very good English, but that does not daunt her. She does not have too many friends as, “People don’t have the maturity to understand,” but that does not daunt her. She knows people laugh at her, but that does not daunt her. Instead she is one of the most pleasant people to work with, never says no to extra work, respects personal space, does not make judgments AND does not take crap from anyone.
We had a little Q& A session and I am writing Eve’s interview out as a first-person account. In days when I get nervous by the acidic comments that come my way and when people call me ‘different’ and different names, I look up from my desk and there she is… happily sitting and finishing her work.
Meet one of the strongest women I know…
I come from a Hindu-Punjabi family, originally from Gurdaspur (Punjab), but I was born and brought up in Delhi. I studied in the same school from nursery to class 12 and it was one of the best schools of Delhi. I was born with a serious hearing problem and by the time I was 2-years-old, my parents were struggling to find a good speech therapy school for me and am very glad they didn't put me in any ‘special school’ and did not insist that I learn ‘sign language’…
You know, the moment you learn ‘sign language’ it sort of ‘categorises’ you as special and different and I am grateful that my parents thought about it. So I grew up learning to ‘talk’ and hear as ‘normal’ people. School was fun but there were never many friends. No, I don’t blame them… We were all kids and kids as you know, are immature, so it’s okay that I didn’t have too many friends. Two of my closest friends though – I have one from college – are friends I made in school and they have stuck for life, so it really does not matter.
Apart from the hearing problem, I am pretty normal, I would say! I love cooking, painting, dancing and aerobics… In fact I was the Vice President of the Aerobics Association at my college, Lady Shri Ram College for Women. Oh yes, I also love shopping and usually blow my money on clothes, shoes and bags. Beyond that, it does not take much to make me happy; some sweet words from people can make my day. I love traveling too, whether with my parents or with office people. Where would I go if I got a fully-paid trip? London of course, simply because that city is beautiful and scenic and there are many Indians there (apne log hain).
Life is about working hard for me because my father always told me that it’s important to be independent. He never ‘hid’ me or stopped me from venturing out alone. My family gave me confidence. The happiest day in my life was when I got this job as a designer – February 20, 2006 – my father was so proud of me and said, “Now my daughter can stand on her own two feet.” It inspires me to keep working hard and not be cowed by anything anyone says or does.
My parents and my boss keep me going and someday I hope I will be like my boss: Someone who knows her job well and yet is humane enough to think about the welfare of her workers. You know, a boss is like a parent in office, s/he guides you, teaches you things, makes you capable of facing the world and looks out for you. That’s the kind of boss I would like to be someday. Maybe a creative manager in some company…
Till then, I will keep my head down and simply work, even if it’s extra work. After all, extra work will only make me better at my job, no? And that’s very important for me, because for me and every other girl out there, I think it’s necessary that we be independent that we be able to look after ourselves. How does it matter what other people say? If you have been sent here by God, it is our duty to ensure that we can face ourselves in the mirror, that we know what our own worth is. And I know my worth.
When dealing with people: Always be polite, it always works. If you are impolite, it will only make you feel bitter at the end of the day.
A new format had been promised on Eve* and this would be the first in the series. The thought-exchanging will continue but hopefully, we will see, hear and read more of other Eves here. Or Sita, Radha, Mary Magdalene, or whoever or whatever you want to call Her.
I was still thinking about what to name this series when ‘Eve’s Lungs’ popped up in the pic-map tool. Not this Eve*’s lungs – since those are all smoke now – but another Eve in Kolkata. It sealed the nomenclature for this series, thank-you for the inspiration.
Meet… Eve’s Ears. I met her first at work… Rather was ‘introduced’ by the other girls. They were standing beside her chair, gesturing and saying funny/ nasty things about her, right behind her back. I was puzzled: How can you bitch about someone standing inches behind them? That’s when one of the girls said, “Don’t worry, she can’t hear a thing, don’t you see the hearing aid she wears?” Eve was born with a serious hearing impairment and today plugs in a hearing aid to listen properly. She still can’t and often people in office will be screaming out her name, rolling their eyes when she does not respond instantly and then get bitchy RIGHT BEHIND her ears… or hearing aids.
Eve also does not speak very good English, but that does not daunt her. She does not have too many friends as, “People don’t have the maturity to understand,” but that does not daunt her. She knows people laugh at her, but that does not daunt her. Instead she is one of the most pleasant people to work with, never says no to extra work, respects personal space, does not make judgments AND does not take crap from anyone.
We had a little Q& A session and I am writing Eve’s interview out as a first-person account. In days when I get nervous by the acidic comments that come my way and when people call me ‘different’ and different names, I look up from my desk and there she is… happily sitting and finishing her work.
Meet one of the strongest women I know…
Eve’s Ears: Shubh-shubh bolo
I come from a Hindu-Punjabi family, originally from Gurdaspur (Punjab), but I was born and brought up in Delhi. I studied in the same school from nursery to class 12 and it was one of the best schools of Delhi. I was born with a serious hearing problem and by the time I was 2-years-old, my parents were struggling to find a good speech therapy school for me and am very glad they didn't put me in any ‘special school’ and did not insist that I learn ‘sign language’…
You know, the moment you learn ‘sign language’ it sort of ‘categorises’ you as special and different and I am grateful that my parents thought about it. So I grew up learning to ‘talk’ and hear as ‘normal’ people. School was fun but there were never many friends. No, I don’t blame them… We were all kids and kids as you know, are immature, so it’s okay that I didn’t have too many friends. Two of my closest friends though – I have one from college – are friends I made in school and they have stuck for life, so it really does not matter.
Apart from the hearing problem, I am pretty normal, I would say! I love cooking, painting, dancing and aerobics… In fact I was the Vice President of the Aerobics Association at my college, Lady Shri Ram College for Women. Oh yes, I also love shopping and usually blow my money on clothes, shoes and bags. Beyond that, it does not take much to make me happy; some sweet words from people can make my day. I love traveling too, whether with my parents or with office people. Where would I go if I got a fully-paid trip? London of course, simply because that city is beautiful and scenic and there are many Indians there (apne log hain).
Life is about working hard for me because my father always told me that it’s important to be independent. He never ‘hid’ me or stopped me from venturing out alone. My family gave me confidence. The happiest day in my life was when I got this job as a designer – February 20, 2006 – my father was so proud of me and said, “Now my daughter can stand on her own two feet.” It inspires me to keep working hard and not be cowed by anything anyone says or does.
My parents and my boss keep me going and someday I hope I will be like my boss: Someone who knows her job well and yet is humane enough to think about the welfare of her workers. You know, a boss is like a parent in office, s/he guides you, teaches you things, makes you capable of facing the world and looks out for you. That’s the kind of boss I would like to be someday. Maybe a creative manager in some company…
Till then, I will keep my head down and simply work, even if it’s extra work. After all, extra work will only make me better at my job, no? And that’s very important for me, because for me and every other girl out there, I think it’s necessary that we be independent that we be able to look after ourselves. How does it matter what other people say? If you have been sent here by God, it is our duty to ensure that we can face ourselves in the mirror, that we know what our own worth is. And I know my worth.
When dealing with people: Always be polite, it always works. If you are impolite, it will only make you feel bitter at the end of the day.
Smoking is injurious to your character
Statutory Warning: Cigarette smoking IS injurious to your health, irrespective of whether you are man, woman or child. This article does NOT promote smoking, but it will not shy away from talking about what a “cigarette” signifies in the Indian context.
“No pictures of me smoking please,” announced the actress as she lit up her Marlboro Lights. She was known to be rather forthright about everything from virginity to single motherhood to how she upgraded the diamonds she wore each time she upgraded her man. She continued pulling on the nicotine when her mother entered the room. If the presence of her mother didn’t stop her smoking – a whole lot of Indians don’t smoke “before elders” – why did she have objections to being clicked smoking? Maybe because she was not Shah Rukh Khan? Or because she was a woman?
On another occasion, a celebrity blogger announces on national TV that she has quit smoking. Five minutes before the show was to be recorded, the girl was taking a “few drags” off an acquaintance’s cigarette. She blogs about smoking, she smoked before the recording of the show, why did she conceal the fact on TV then? Her parents were watching, or because the nation was watching?
Another instance, a couple sitting in the smoking section of a restaurant were enjoying what looked like a scrumptious meal. After the meal, both of them lit their respective cigarettes. Three boys sitting on the table adjacent to them nudged each other, one whispered, “Dekh, dekh, cigarette pee rahi hai,” and proceeded to nonchalantly check out the girl. It didn’t matter there was a man with her. (Look, she’s smoking a cigarette) The smoking girl did not look up from her empty plate after that and crushed her cigarette midway. Why?
Read complete story: Do only bad girls smoke?
“No pictures of me smoking please,” announced the actress as she lit up her Marlboro Lights. She was known to be rather forthright about everything from virginity to single motherhood to how she upgraded the diamonds she wore each time she upgraded her man. She continued pulling on the nicotine when her mother entered the room. If the presence of her mother didn’t stop her smoking – a whole lot of Indians don’t smoke “before elders” – why did she have objections to being clicked smoking? Maybe because she was not Shah Rukh Khan? Or because she was a woman?
On another occasion, a celebrity blogger announces on national TV that she has quit smoking. Five minutes before the show was to be recorded, the girl was taking a “few drags” off an acquaintance’s cigarette. She blogs about smoking, she smoked before the recording of the show, why did she conceal the fact on TV then? Her parents were watching, or because the nation was watching?
Another instance, a couple sitting in the smoking section of a restaurant were enjoying what looked like a scrumptious meal. After the meal, both of them lit their respective cigarettes. Three boys sitting on the table adjacent to them nudged each other, one whispered, “Dekh, dekh, cigarette pee rahi hai,” and proceeded to nonchalantly check out the girl. It didn’t matter there was a man with her. (Look, she’s smoking a cigarette) The smoking girl did not look up from her empty plate after that and crushed her cigarette midway. Why?
Read complete story: Do only bad girls smoke?
January 16, 2008
Hey, you STILL cannot rape the press....
...feel free with the others though.
Hadn't planned out this post. In fact was planning a 'happy post' - after being inspired by Ageless Bonding's Blue Ribbon post -- but then, somethings don't change.
Those who have been following Eve* are familiar with my inability to write positive things or my propensity to dwell on the negative. I swear it wasn't me this time, it's the Rapists. They are everywhere. Was doing my before-bed-time news headline reading on ibnlive.com when I came across the story: Rape is the fastest growing crime in India.
Congratulations People! The way things are going, soon we all will know at least three women who have been raped. I am not counting the 2-month-old babies because they usually die after they have been raped. Like the two-and-a-half-years old INFANT who had her throat slit by her neighbour, of course after he raped her. Wonder what hurt more.
It could be you who's reading this, your girlfriend, sister, mother, even grandmother (72-year-old women are raped as well). Going by the rising figures, we would have kitty parties for raped women or maybe Raped Ladies' Nights at pubs. After all, with so many women being raped, sooner or later some marketing company will see the benefit in making money out of it.
And why fucking not, rape is becoming a national hobby, a close second to molesting women. Oh, did I just use "fucking" AFTER coming on national TV? Oh damn, now I am really scared. Perhaps someone reading this blog will think that just because I use 'fucking' liberally, perhaps I would enjoy being raped? Some of you have wished me rape, have you not? And what was that popular 'joke': If you are being raped, might as well lie back and enjoy it, eh? Maybe that's the reason we don't have as many women reporting molestation or rape cases... Perhaps they were "enjoying" it?And oooh, the National Bureau for Crime is bothered that India cannot provide a safe place for foreign tourists. Shit. What a sad state of affairs for tourism.
Now Renuka Chaudhary, the Women & Child Development minister feels there should be a "quicker response system" and the ministry in collusion with legal bodies is looking at "Harsher punishments for repeat offenders." Right. So we wait for someone to FIRST rape, then repeat and THEN we look at harsher punishments. Interestingly, the case one has mentioned earlier -- of the two-and-half-year-old being raped and murdered -- the rapist HAD been convicted for a MERE two years earlier for raping another 12-year-old. So he comes out and then does in an infant.
This is something that had been written in June. Good news for me, with Rape Reports rising (600 % increase since 1971), I can keep re-posting my article. Saves writing. Don't think it will save me being raped. Or you. To answer Barkha Dutt's question on one-good-thing-about-blogging: It keeps me indoors and helps avoid rape. Then again, I live alone. For women living with families, the rapist often is a close friend/ family member.
______________________________________________________
But you cannot rape the press!
So, we have yet another Rape Report, and this time, the purported felon is a designer fellow by the name of Anand Jon. He is a man Newsweek magazine had declared one had to "watch out for" in 2007. Sure. Counting as of today, Jon has pleaded not guilty to 13 of 46 counts - involving 18 victims, between the ages of 14 and 27 - of sexual misconduct towards women... and kids.
I don't know what is going to happen to Jon: He is out on bail and there are allegations that some of the charges might be cases of disgruntled, aspiring models getting back at him. However, what I do know; is that I am sick of reading Rape Report after Rape Report. And it really doesn't matter if it's a Jon, 'Jahnny', Janardhan and whether it's New York or New Delhi. Despite being an almost-30, tax-paying and apparently independent citizen living in the capital city of a country that is supposedly democratic and supposedly has a legal and judiciary system too... I don't know where to look, run, ask for help, or hide.
When I had read about the girl raped at knifepoint behind a medical college in broad daylight, I decided never to walk alone in any alleyway and definitely not behind medical colleges. Then I read that a Swiss diplomat had been raped inside her own car in the Siri Fort auditorium parking lot. It was scary because two hours before she had been raped, I had left the same auditorium after watching two films. I was alone. I have never been to Siri Fort since.
For those living alone, food is either self-prepared, care-of-fast-food or courtesy the area dhaba. But since the day I read about the girl picked up near a dhaba by men in a car; I'd rather go hungry or have instant noodles every night. So perhaps I can avoid the Mobile Rapist -men in cars who kidnap women and rape them - by not going to a dhaba. But how do I avoid traveling alone? Autorickshaws are the most common mode of transportation - buses mean crotches pressing into your bottom - for many a car-less single woman in the city. And yet, autos are open from both sides... and the Mobile Rapists have been known to pull out women from autos. I come to Noida everyday, in an auto. The other day a dead body of a woman was found in her car, on the Expressway.
The other day at a red light, a motorcycle stopped next to my auto and the man riding it, winks and blows me a kiss. It was a policeman in civilian clothes; his number plate said Delhi Police. I got out and asked him what did he think he was doing and if he had ANY shame being a policeman and all... He got off the bike, stood his full height - about five feet eight, I am five feet small - and said, "Stay quiet, as a woman you should know when to speak. And do what you have to do about it, let me see." Before I could call 100, he zooms off, threatening to BEAT me if I opened my mouth. Right. Yes, I did not take down the number or was too slow to do it: Many of you commented earlier saying that being a journalist, the LEAST I could do was take down the number. Point being: When a trained journalist forgets the basic in a given situation -- dont fight, first take number -- how many women will really do that? Usually, you are just too scared.
I narrated my angst to Mishraji, my rather apathetic, water-stealing, neighbour. He said, "Madam, you are getting unnecessarily bothered, you are not model, so you will not get raped; and that apart, you have press card, just flash it and tell them they cannot rape the press." And they will stop?
Original on What Goes My Father: But you cannot rape the press.
Hadn't planned out this post. In fact was planning a 'happy post' - after being inspired by Ageless Bonding's Blue Ribbon post -- but then, somethings don't change.
Those who have been following Eve* are familiar with my inability to write positive things or my propensity to dwell on the negative. I swear it wasn't me this time, it's the Rapists. They are everywhere. Was doing my before-bed-time news headline reading on ibnlive.com when I came across the story: Rape is the fastest growing crime in India.
Congratulations People! The way things are going, soon we all will know at least three women who have been raped. I am not counting the 2-month-old babies because they usually die after they have been raped. Like the two-and-a-half-years old INFANT who had her throat slit by her neighbour, of course after he raped her. Wonder what hurt more.
It could be you who's reading this, your girlfriend, sister, mother, even grandmother (72-year-old women are raped as well). Going by the rising figures, we would have kitty parties for raped women or maybe Raped Ladies' Nights at pubs. After all, with so many women being raped, sooner or later some marketing company will see the benefit in making money out of it.
And why fucking not, rape is becoming a national hobby, a close second to molesting women. Oh, did I just use "fucking" AFTER coming on national TV? Oh damn, now I am really scared. Perhaps someone reading this blog will think that just because I use 'fucking' liberally, perhaps I would enjoy being raped? Some of you have wished me rape, have you not? And what was that popular 'joke': If you are being raped, might as well lie back and enjoy it, eh? Maybe that's the reason we don't have as many women reporting molestation or rape cases... Perhaps they were "enjoying" it?And oooh, the National Bureau for Crime is bothered that India cannot provide a safe place for foreign tourists. Shit. What a sad state of affairs for tourism.
Now Renuka Chaudhary, the Women & Child Development minister feels there should be a "quicker response system" and the ministry in collusion with legal bodies is looking at "Harsher punishments for repeat offenders." Right. So we wait for someone to FIRST rape, then repeat and THEN we look at harsher punishments. Interestingly, the case one has mentioned earlier -- of the two-and-half-year-old being raped and murdered -- the rapist HAD been convicted for a MERE two years earlier for raping another 12-year-old. So he comes out and then does in an infant.
This is something that had been written in June. Good news for me, with Rape Reports rising (600 % increase since 1971), I can keep re-posting my article. Saves writing. Don't think it will save me being raped. Or you. To answer Barkha Dutt's question on one-good-thing-about-blogging: It keeps me indoors and helps avoid rape. Then again, I live alone. For women living with families, the rapist often is a close friend/ family member.
______________________________________________________
But you cannot rape the press!
So, we have yet another Rape Report, and this time, the purported felon is a designer fellow by the name of Anand Jon. He is a man Newsweek magazine had declared one had to "watch out for" in 2007. Sure. Counting as of today, Jon has pleaded not guilty to 13 of 46 counts - involving 18 victims, between the ages of 14 and 27 - of sexual misconduct towards women... and kids.
I don't know what is going to happen to Jon: He is out on bail and there are allegations that some of the charges might be cases of disgruntled, aspiring models getting back at him. However, what I do know; is that I am sick of reading Rape Report after Rape Report. And it really doesn't matter if it's a Jon, 'Jahnny', Janardhan and whether it's New York or New Delhi. Despite being an almost-30, tax-paying and apparently independent citizen living in the capital city of a country that is supposedly democratic and supposedly has a legal and judiciary system too... I don't know where to look, run, ask for help, or hide.
When I had read about the girl raped at knifepoint behind a medical college in broad daylight, I decided never to walk alone in any alleyway and definitely not behind medical colleges. Then I read that a Swiss diplomat had been raped inside her own car in the Siri Fort auditorium parking lot. It was scary because two hours before she had been raped, I had left the same auditorium after watching two films. I was alone. I have never been to Siri Fort since.
For those living alone, food is either self-prepared, care-of-fast-food or courtesy the area dhaba. But since the day I read about the girl picked up near a dhaba by men in a car; I'd rather go hungry or have instant noodles every night. So perhaps I can avoid the Mobile Rapist -men in cars who kidnap women and rape them - by not going to a dhaba. But how do I avoid traveling alone? Autorickshaws are the most common mode of transportation - buses mean crotches pressing into your bottom - for many a car-less single woman in the city. And yet, autos are open from both sides... and the Mobile Rapists have been known to pull out women from autos. I come to Noida everyday, in an auto. The other day a dead body of a woman was found in her car, on the Expressway.
The other day at a red light, a motorcycle stopped next to my auto and the man riding it, winks and blows me a kiss. It was a policeman in civilian clothes; his number plate said Delhi Police. I got out and asked him what did he think he was doing and if he had ANY shame being a policeman and all... He got off the bike, stood his full height - about five feet eight, I am five feet small - and said, "Stay quiet, as a woman you should know when to speak. And do what you have to do about it, let me see." Before I could call 100, he zooms off, threatening to BEAT me if I opened my mouth. Right. Yes, I did not take down the number or was too slow to do it: Many of you commented earlier saying that being a journalist, the LEAST I could do was take down the number. Point being: When a trained journalist forgets the basic in a given situation -- dont fight, first take number -- how many women will really do that? Usually, you are just too scared.
I narrated my angst to Mishraji, my rather apathetic, water-stealing, neighbour. He said, "Madam, you are getting unnecessarily bothered, you are not model, so you will not get raped; and that apart, you have press card, just flash it and tell them they cannot rape the press." And they will stop?
Original on What Goes My Father: But you cannot rape the press.
January 15, 2008
Mishraji says sex is against the Indian culture...
It was a perfect January morning till the madly chiming doorbell woke one up. After no interaction with one's elderly neighbour Mishraji for a fair bit, there he was, standing at my door, in his pyjama-kurta and looking very angry. One opened the door and waited.
For a minute Mishraji just stood glaring, then pointing a finger at one's nose said, "You lied. You are NOT a journalist, I know WHAT you are." Having just woken up - that too rudely - one mumbled something about showing him the appointment letter and immediately wished one had kept shut.
"I don't care what your appointment letter says madame. How is that you work for a TV company and I have never seen you on TV?" Mishraji demanded. One pointed out that one worked for the Internet company owned by the TV channel and not...
"STOP lying madame!" Mishraji growled, clearly in no mood for even logical interruptions. "I know exactly WHAT you write on the Internet." That statement removed all vestiges of sleep and one was wide awake....
Read further 'What Goes My Father?': Sex is against the Indian culture
Read earlier parts to the Mishra Family Drama:
Chapter 1: But I love Sam, Papaji!
Chapter 2: Meet love's Enemy No. 1
Chapter 3: Have you enjoyed sex?
Chapter 4: Meri Christmas ya teri...?
Chapter 5: Catrina K's secret and Salma Hayek
For a minute Mishraji just stood glaring, then pointing a finger at one's nose said, "You lied. You are NOT a journalist, I know WHAT you are." Having just woken up - that too rudely - one mumbled something about showing him the appointment letter and immediately wished one had kept shut.
"I don't care what your appointment letter says madame. How is that you work for a TV company and I have never seen you on TV?" Mishraji demanded. One pointed out that one worked for the Internet company owned by the TV channel and not...
"STOP lying madame!" Mishraji growled, clearly in no mood for even logical interruptions. "I know exactly WHAT you write on the Internet." That statement removed all vestiges of sleep and one was wide awake....
Read further 'What Goes My Father?': Sex is against the Indian culture
Read earlier parts to the Mishra Family Drama:
Chapter 1: But I love Sam, Papaji!
Chapter 2: Meet love's Enemy No. 1
Chapter 3: Have you enjoyed sex?
Chapter 4: Meri Christmas ya teri...?
Chapter 5: Catrina K's secret and Salma Hayek
January 14, 2008
We, The People... Don't fornicate?
So hello everyone.
Eve* (aka Clit Chatting) will soon be growing up or developing from what she has been so far (a "well written angst blog" as an ashamed-to-say-he-knows-me author once called it) and other ruder names (it's not 'chicklit' darlings, this is CLIT lit).
Had always wanted this blog to be stories about women... The tagline says, "From the big O to the big E". It has taken time and so far have mostly written about the Big O (which ALL of you noticed) and sporadically about some of the E (emotion, which most of you chose to ignore). But now, me thinks, am ready to take Clit Chatting further, to talk emancipation with ALL the Eve's out there. And perhaps some Adams too. How? What? When? You will all see shortly.
This blog has experiences and learnings from my life and from those of others. We shall continue to see more of that. But lesser about me. (Not interested anymore? Click the cross on the top right of the page)
Those who have stuck around on Eve* from the days this blog started to the suddenly-curious who-the-hell-is-she and are now logging on; thankyou. Even to those who are blaming me for a TV channel having the supposedly-crappiest episode of their talk-show... Please call NDTV and blast them for the bloggers they chose for their show. I neither know Barkha Dutt personally nor have promised sexual favours (to her or else!) to get on that show.
Oh yeah, the show. For those who read this blog from across the globe and are going what-show?: There's this TV channel called NDTV and this famous journalist called Barkha Dutt who does this show called "We The People" and debates about issues/ topics concerning India. The topic for Sunday night (Jan 13th) was "Brave world of blogs" and yours truly was one of the eight panelists on the show and one of the LEAST known bloggers of them all (haha, most of the bloggers present hadn't heard of Eve*, grin).
There was one marketing blog, three personal blogs (including this), another blog on people, a lawyer (to answer: what if blogs defame people?), a journalist (who surprisingly was supposed to give her views when she didn't even read blogs) and a shrink (think the channel wanted the bloggers to look like attention-deficit creatures). Overall, a great experience because Eve* decided that the only way to not get nervous before cameras was to make them nervous. (I think I also looked like a jack-in-the-box, everyone was sitting very gracefully while I kept sort of, fidgeting, hmmm, don't think am cut out to do an Oprah anytime soon!)
So anyway. Changes in the offing, new format, MORE people, more talk of everything that concerns human beings and yes, sex too (unless you are either not human or dont have sex). Thankyou for sticking around and please do stop sending nasty comments anonymously, at least put a name to it. Try fabricating one.
As for those suggesting I should have sex and call me 'Ice Princess'. Thankyou for your concern, am having sex, it's quite nice and 'Ice Princess' is Aishwarya Rai. Again, for those who have a problem with how I write, what and why: Please DON'T read. Hit counts have not mattered so far and will not in the future either. For those who suggest that I should kill myself for writing what I do: How about you dying? Promise I won't miss you!!
On that note... Let's have some fun this year. Yeah baby!
PS: I got lazy writing the Dirty Night series; if you see the regularity of updates on this blog, am very lazy. But got some fun posts, just let me get myself to write those.
Eve* (aka Clit Chatting) will soon be growing up or developing from what she has been so far (a "well written angst blog" as an ashamed-to-say-he-knows-me author once called it) and other ruder names (it's not 'chicklit' darlings, this is CLIT lit).
Had always wanted this blog to be stories about women... The tagline says, "From the big O to the big E". It has taken time and so far have mostly written about the Big O (which ALL of you noticed) and sporadically about some of the E (emotion, which most of you chose to ignore). But now, me thinks, am ready to take Clit Chatting further, to talk emancipation with ALL the Eve's out there. And perhaps some Adams too. How? What? When? You will all see shortly.
This blog has experiences and learnings from my life and from those of others. We shall continue to see more of that. But lesser about me. (Not interested anymore? Click the cross on the top right of the page)
Those who have stuck around on Eve* from the days this blog started to the suddenly-curious who-the-hell-is-she and are now logging on; thankyou. Even to those who are blaming me for a TV channel having the supposedly-crappiest episode of their talk-show... Please call NDTV and blast them for the bloggers they chose for their show. I neither know Barkha Dutt personally nor have promised sexual favours (to her or else!) to get on that show.
Oh yeah, the show. For those who read this blog from across the globe and are going what-show?: There's this TV channel called NDTV and this famous journalist called Barkha Dutt who does this show called "We The People" and debates about issues/ topics concerning India. The topic for Sunday night (Jan 13th) was "Brave world of blogs" and yours truly was one of the eight panelists on the show and one of the LEAST known bloggers of them all (haha, most of the bloggers present hadn't heard of Eve*, grin).
There was one marketing blog, three personal blogs (including this), another blog on people, a lawyer (to answer: what if blogs defame people?), a journalist (who surprisingly was supposed to give her views when she didn't even read blogs) and a shrink (think the channel wanted the bloggers to look like attention-deficit creatures). Overall, a great experience because Eve* decided that the only way to not get nervous before cameras was to make them nervous. (I think I also looked like a jack-in-the-box, everyone was sitting very gracefully while I kept sort of, fidgeting, hmmm, don't think am cut out to do an Oprah anytime soon!)
So anyway. Changes in the offing, new format, MORE people, more talk of everything that concerns human beings and yes, sex too (unless you are either not human or dont have sex). Thankyou for sticking around and please do stop sending nasty comments anonymously, at least put a name to it. Try fabricating one.
As for those suggesting I should have sex and call me 'Ice Princess'. Thankyou for your concern, am having sex, it's quite nice and 'Ice Princess' is Aishwarya Rai. Again, for those who have a problem with how I write, what and why: Please DON'T read. Hit counts have not mattered so far and will not in the future either. For those who suggest that I should kill myself for writing what I do: How about you dying? Promise I won't miss you!!
On that note... Let's have some fun this year. Yeah baby!
PS: I got lazy writing the Dirty Night series; if you see the regularity of updates on this blog, am very lazy. But got some fun posts, just let me get myself to write those.
January 1, 2008
Sexual suggestions and realisations 2008!
There are little things and big things that make for great sex and all of it does not necessarily have to do with penis size. Most of it just practical advise – you may or may not find yourself in a similar situation – and some of it just observations. Read on and if there’s something you want to add to the list, please feel free.1. Toilet paper is must have to any sexual encounter. In your excitement, you could kick a coffee mug or a glass of wine, or squish the tube of lubricant, or spray on the wall… Keep toilet paper handy to quickly mop up. It soaks up semen best.
2. The man never has a condom when you need it most: Read that, remember that, it’s a rule. If it’s a regular partner, you don’t want a baby and you are not on the pill, YOU carry a condom, no matter who says it’s the man job. If you are into randomly picking up people, you are an IDIOT for not carrying condoms.
3. The most unfortunate thing to happen is for you to dry up when things are heating up. Instead if coughing up spit to get things on a smoother track, please invest in a tube of lubricant. It saves precious time during foreplay, helps get a quickie off quickly (!) prevents erectile tissue from going flaccid and you, from getting sore.
4. Keep a bottle of water near especially if you are a smoker and if you like to go at it for long. A parched throat distracts, doesn’t let you breathe easy thereby move easy and saps energy. There is no scientific research behind that statement, but experience says drinking water keeps you going stronger and longer.
5. Mouth-freshener whether it’s wake-up sex, after-party sex or just any other time you think your mouth’s not smelling fresh… No matter how much you don’t mind kissing his morning mouth, a fresh mouth makes for much more pleasant kissing etc.
6. Sex can be tiring and hunger-creating. If you want to avoid stepping into the kitchen in the heat/cold or waiting for the delivery boy, always keep munchies and chocolates by your bedside. Empty-stomach sex is really not that much fun.
7. It’s always good to have frequent quickies, helps you improve your technique, you never know when you’d need a quickie.
8. Learn the right way to deep breathe… it does wonders for your stamina.
9. Always keep a morning-after pill with you, condoms are only 97 % safe and even guys with great practice in pulling-out can sometimes miss the signal.
10. If there’s another person in the house NEVER assume they cannot hear you even though you might be screaming into a pillow, DON'T scream. The third in the house ALWAYS hears things.
11. If you have to scream, try not to scream out technical details like “put it here” or “harder baby”.
12. Till you really don’t know your girlfriend’s threshold-for-violence, never encourage her to slap your balls playfully. Or for him to bite you hard.
13. Frantic grinding after two glasses of water will always give you a stitch in the stomach. Ditto for any aerated drink.
14. If you are in a situation where you can be caught, ALWAYS put your undies in the pocket of your jeans/jacket/whatever. In emergency escape scenarios, the undies/ socks always go missing.
15. Never be the third when a recently-dating couple hang out. You will end up looking like an idiot while they grope and suck face.
16. Never point out to your partner (girlfriend or boyfriend) the person/people you have slept with in a party. If they ask about someone and are right, never deny.
17. When you are in a relationship, you will seem far more attractive to everyone else. Don’t think it makes you a siren, it just makes you a challenge, that’s it.
18. If a guy is drunk and has brilliant sex with you; it’s not you, it’s the alcohol.
19. If a guy is drunk and can’t get it up or can’t come, it’s not you, it’s the alcohol.
20. If a drunk woman starts crying after you’ve had sex with her; it’s not you, it was the ex-boyfriend.
21. Never trust a guy who only wants to meet you when his girlfriend leaves the city. He will always discuss you with his friends.
22. If it’s stinking, don’t take it in your mouth.
23. The girl who compliments the most girls in a party is always the biggest bitch.
24. If he says he has never been in a long relationship and is scared of commitment, TRUST him and don’t set out to test his words.
25. If a woman says she’s your friend and then feels up your boyfriend or flirts with him ‘innocently’, watch the bitch.
26. You can get away with calling a woman fat but you can never get away with criticizing her boobs.
27. If you are insecure about your sex life and discuss it with people, they will only make you feel worse about it.
28. If a woman constantly talks about a man to you (and you’re a chick) – and you two aren’t the best of friends – she isn’t being communicative; she thinks you are either hitting on the man or are a threat to her.
29. Women who are the loudest in declaring their relationship status to people – particularly when their boyfriends/husbands are not around – are usually the ones who would cheat on their men.
30. A possessive person needs a possessive person as his/her partner, any other situation cannot survive.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
