Sleeping with the boss are you?

Office affairs are fast becoming the rule today and you really can't "blame" anyone for it. People are being thrown together, stress levels are increasing and with more offices becoming non-smoking zone, sex is perhaps the only stress buster. Some fall for their colleagues, others have a drunken shag after an office party and of course we have the 'triangle' situation where two people like each other and someone else is jealous. What really brings a twist to an office affair is when the said affair is between the boss and another, say, you.

How do you maintain a balance at work when you are sleeping with the boss? Do you feel bad if the 'boss' pulls you up for a mistake -- in his professional capacity -- or do dynamics change when there's more to your relationship than professionalism? How do other colleagues react to it? What happens if the boss is already in another relationship or has no intentions of getting into with you: Are you happy being just a shag? What happens when you realise that the boss might be shagging other women too? And what if the boss wants to sleep with you and you aren't too sure if you should?

I mean what is stupider: A woman who sleeps with the boss and feels "used" or a woman who sleeps with the boss expecting exponential gains and then cries foul when there are no gains? Is it prudent to sleep with your boss if there are gains to be achieved, or conversely if you think someone else might take up the offer and you might lose out? I've always had a problem with the casting-couch starlets/neophytes in various industries who first sleep to get ahead and then when things don't really go their way, they start crying. If you have to climb the ladder of success lying down, isn't better to be smarter and ENSURE you get the gains? Hmmm?

Confessions over Coffee: Series
"Should I sleep with my boss?" asked the voice, making one gulp some piping hot coffee. As one waited for the tongue to stop stinging, Friend continued, "My appraisals are due; and from the feelers Boss has been sending my way, I am hoping for a mediocre raise." Re-finding one's voice and tongue, one asked how a mediocre raise translated into sleeping the Boss.

"No, no, you are not getting it. If I respond to those feelers, the raise will be Really Good," Friend explained, "Boss constantly asks me to join him for drinks, messages late at night and has even added me as a friend on Orkut…am his only Orkut-friend in office," she said. One wondered how Boss could manage to be on a social networking site and not be friends with the rest of the office.

"No, no, he created the profile just to be friends with me," Friend elucidated, "No one knows about it, he goes by the name of Hot4U-something… I thought it was flattering and added him on as well." One quickly sipped some more coffee to avoid saying anything at all.

"Are you trying to chicken out of giving me advice?" Friend asked, as her cell phone rang off in the background. Friend put one on hold and answered the call… in one's ear. "That was Boss," Friend announced, "He was asking me out for a movie." One carefully suggested that movies were alwyas nice...

"It's at his place, he has some DVDs," Friend replied, "He thinks I should see more of European movies to get a better understanding of cinema." On asking what European movie her Boss had suggested, Friend replied, "Caligula." One chose sipping and silence again. "So do you think I should sleep with him?" Friend asked. One asked if sleeping with the Boss would get her a 100 per cent raise and a better designation as well.

"Don't be silly," Friend reprimanded one for thinking smart. One was wondering why Friend had bothered to ask at all…
"You see, he is married, might lead to complications later…" Friend announced. Shocked, one asked if she was expecting Hot4Her Boss to fall for her.
"Don't be silly," Friend scolded again, "Just that if I have to be guilty about sleeping with a married man, it might as well be really worth it."

One asked what makes it really worth it? Friend replied, "The CEO, he is married too and sends me feelers as well; so I am thinking…"

(Published March 23, 2007)

Addicted to 'violent porn'

What would you say if you found your 12-year-old watching people being beheaded, mutilated bodies and human beings, either dead or suffering? Or if your 10-year-old daughter demanded a breast implant? Or would you prefer your 15-year-old were part of an online suicide cult?

The latest entrant into the list of child predators – along with pedophiles and teachers who dish out corporal punishment – is the World Wide Web. According to a 1999 report published by the US Senate Committee, “by age 18 a child will have seen 16,000 simulated murders and 200,000 acts of violence.” Through movies, television, video games, newspapers and the mother of all database, the Internet. Increasingly adults and children alike are getting addicted to violence and violent imagery on the Internet and the terminology being used for this addiction is 'violent-porn'.

How would you feel if one of your deceased relatives’ pictures suddenly popped up on a website that publishes real pictures of dead people, those in accidents, with mutilated limbs and suicide pictures taken from police files?

One such family wrote to a website claiming the site had put up a picture that showed the mangled body of their nephew, who had killed himself by getting in the path of a train. They requested the site to remove the picture. The website replied, “We ask that, in the future, this family conduct their suicides in a less public manner.” Sensitive, right?

Freedom of speech and expression are beautiful tenets of this modern world. But does it stop somewhere, should it? What is worrying – more than the presence of such sites – is the fact that it is the susceptible minds of children that are getting hooked.

Popular sites such as ‘Who Would You Kill’ and ‘New Grounds’ focus on killing off celebrities of your choice. The latter is the 12th most popular site for boys aged 11-12 years old. If it’s violence for the boys, it’s plastic surgery for the girls. The Daily Mail reported how a new Internet video game called ‘Bimbo’ has caught the fancy of young girls. Launched a month ago the game has nearly 200,000 British players, most aged 9-16 years.

What’s wrong with the game? Nothing if you see it as a spoof. But does a 9-year-old understand it’s a spoof when she orders breast implants for her ‘Bimbo’ or puts her ‘Bimbo’ on dieting pills? Is it all harmless fun or are we looking at a generation of young girls growing up thinking bigger breasts and a stick-thin figure are what they need and young boys learning to love violence and mutilation? Or are we all over-reacting?
Next Page >>> Who’s responsibility is it?

Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?

Ever wondered...
How if you think no one's watching and scratch your bum in public, somebody IS watching?

How you don’t realize how someone has snuggled into your daily routine till they go out of town and you suddenly don’t know what to do with your time? And you miss them sorely and everything you routinely do suddenly seems very weary?

How TV channels have ALL boring shows on weekends? One would think that with more people sitting home with time on their hands to watch the tele, they would put out better shows. But they don’t. Stupid channels.

How all "sexy" women are supposed to sound husky? And of course there's the breathlessness of Marilyn Monroe's voice.

How when you have a “sexy” song playing at a disc/pub, most women start doing a “sexy” dance? Like perfectly normal women – who have hitherto been dancing quite modestly – suddenly start gyrating and thrusting their butts out and making all those grrrrowl-I-will-bite-you-expressions the moment ‘Don’t you wish your girlfriend was hot like me’ (Pussycat Dolls) starts playing? Even to the faces of their own boyfriends?!

Or how every woman – even if she has a hip fracture – will start shaking her bum to Shakira’s Hips don’t lie? (Raises hand, have done it too. Bwahaha, if I were perfect, I'd be such a pain, no?)

How women will s-l-o-w-l-y bite and then proceed to lick their fingers doing the “saxy thang” and make "mmmm" noises when eating fleshy fruits and finger foods; particularly when there are good-looking men around?

How men will laugh at the stupidest thing a woman says if she is really beautiful or very hot? Or if said man wants to bed said woman?

How most women who run beauty salons – at least in India – are usually ghastly to look at? I mean Shahnaz Husain has a whole line of beauty products for crying out loud.

How people start using phrases that make no sense and that they have no clue about just because everyone else is using it? Like, “My bad” or the oft used, “That’s a bummer”. What, pray, is a bummer? A fart? Is there a non-bummer fart too?

How when you are nibbling a pizza carefully – or anything with a topping – to save the meatiest bit for the last, most satisfying bite… it falls down? (This one could be just me)

How when you want to look your best on a certain night, the girl who you hate looks better than you? (This could just be me, and no it’s not insecurity, I just want to look better than her, okay? No discussion. Grin)

Or when you are planning on wearing a really skin-hugging outfit and need your tummy to look flat… the shit thing bloats? (Maybe, just maybe I could be a fashion disaster)

How you will ALWAYS stain your whitest outfit/ shirt/ trousers no matter how hard you try not to? The harder you try to keep it clean, the tougher the stuff you will stain it with.

How almost ALL women when drunk HAVE to declare they are drunk? They will laugh loudly, do stupid things all the while crying out loud, “Oh I am so drunk.” Everyone can see it, why say it?

How ALL women forget to carry tampons/napkins etc when they are close to their period dates? And just when you ask around, no one else has it either?

How as you grow older, your hairstyle gets messier, sportier, sharper, crisper, more with-the-times… because you are either trying to hide thinning hair, a bald patch or want to feel young? (I go with the uncombed wild look. Dude, I am turning 30. THIRTY?!!! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…)

How you write random things because there is something else on your mind and you want to write it but you don’t want to write it at the same time? Sigh.

I want a massage, lying in the sun with the waves crashing near by and no stares.
I want to eat a really tasty meal. And be able to burp without getting self-conscious.
I want to dance and dance and dance… without bothering if someone is staring down my cleavage or who is laughing at me. Actually no, I want people to stare at my cleavage and have a hidden, camouflaged squirting gun device that tracks starers and squirts them with unwashable ink smack in their faces. Yeah.
I want to laugh with my head thrown back, where my stomach hurts and I have tears in my eyes and not bother if I look ugly or there’s too much teeth. Just laugh. The Partner says my smile lights him up, I have seen his eyes shine brighter too. But some words take time to rid from your subconscious. I will get there. I don’t have an "ugly pirate laugh".
I want to stop my friends from getting hurt. Just take the hurt away from all those I care about and find them love and happiness and satisfaction and no fear and security.
I wish I could stop people cheating on each other and have everyone fall in love and remain in love. I can be so stupid.
I want to be able to sing. At least one song. Perfectly.
I want to have REAL friends. It’s been so long, this changing, adapting, molding myself. Now I just wish I had more friends on my phone book than taxi drivers and help-lines.
Self-sufficiency has its price.

It’s easy to fall for fiction

VITAL STATS: Thankyou ALL for reading, Emancipation of Eve touched 50,000 page loads (currently the stat counter says 50,301). Last night, a total of 202 readers browsed through here. Sincerely, thankyou for your time...now if only you were to start sharing your thoughts, I promise not to repeat posts. :D

VOTE PLEASE: There's a new poll up on what looks best on Indian women, or what they look best without. I might write a corresponding post, I might not, but what the heck, it's fun. Do participate. And for those who have no idea what Indian women look like, type 'Bollywood' and click search on Google.

Talking to a friend the other day, we were discussing why a whole lot of Complete Package women – beautiful, intelligent, non-whiny, can make a man laugh, confident, knows her mind etc – end up falling for complete jerks. “WHY do we, who are supposedly intelligent, behave like gits when it comes to falling for the wrong men? We seem to choose them with alarming alacrity,” she said. I nodded fervently. “Are we stupid?” she demanded. I denied fervently. “Stop shaking your head at everything. How can an entire generation of intelligent women keep falling for the bad guys?” I perhaps knew the answer to that one… but decided to delve deeper into my psyche to understand better. The best way was to go through the fictional characters I have liked over the ages. Rather, the fictional characters I have FALLEN for. I REALLY liked those men. Naming non-fictional characters can get rather iffy no, what with my identity out and all?

My first book(s) were these Russian fairy tales that Dad got for me. Big books, hardbound covers, with sketches in ink on the cover and inside. All princes were unanimously called Ivan and I learnt pretty early on that beautiful women were supposed to have long, flowing hair, walk gracefully, talk softly and faint at the slightest provocation. I lacked in all spheres. But nonetheless, I have been in love with books and characters for as long as I can remember. However, I read stuff that will never have anyone calling me a voracious reader. :)

(Oh my god. I am watching /hearing Fashion TV as I type this and I just saw the nicest bum I have ever seen. Also, do notice, while the camera focuses on the crotch of female models in lingerie, particularly if its lace, they NEVER focus on a male crotch. No, I am not particularly interested, but dude, you cannot have gender bias when showcasing booty, ok?)

I wished I was a vampire so bad I nearly killed some people but the idea of drinking their blood put me off. Blood I don’t mind, it was my choice of victims. All because of vampire Lestat (no, I refused to see Tom Cruise in the role, he would have spoilt it for me) in Interview with the Vampire (Anne Rice). What I liked? His love for corrupting power and the honesty that he knew he could be corrupted.

I wished I was sporty. I was always more into academics than sport, except for carrom and badminton (was school champ in grade 9 and all, heh) Er, this is a bit embarrassing, but I really liked Joe Hardy… yes, the younger of the Hardy Boys’ brothers. He loved trouble and always got into trouble. This when I used to bunk school and sneak into the library. Nearly had an accident when I read the one in which the two are F1 drivers and I wanted to race my dad’s Maruti 800 on Sikkim roads. My date with danger ended when the driver complained to dad that I was threatening him.

Then there was Tom Sawyer (Mark Twain), he is/was soooo cute. I really wanted to run wild with him and Huck Finn and not study and go looking around at what others were up to. Sigh. That was about the time I developed my Math phobia. Anyway... And Tom didn’t leave Becky alone in the cave to die, did he now? Alas, can’t say that about the men of today. Hrmph.


Robotech - The Marcoss Saga had this character called Zor Prime. I remember vaguely but he had a definite evil streak. More than a streak. I flunked for the first time in any exam – it was early semester, Physics – because I was watching him, two back to back shows the previous evening.

I hated Stephanie Zimbalist. Because I loved Pierce Brosnan aka Remington Steele. Don’t remember much in terms of his qualities but dude, he was too tasty to look at. He had a quick mouth and quicker brain. (Btw, Miss Teen USA looks older than me. Ha.)






Wolverine. Oh Wolverine. And that’s completely due to Hugh Jackman. That brow, chin, chest, pecs… those arms. Ooooof. And the fact that you cannot tame him. Aaaand, dear Hugh majored in journalism in college. GRIN. Somehow I've never liked any of the Spiderman, Batman variety…just don’t like men in masks.


Jack Sparrow, TOTALLY due to Johhny Depp. Wouldn’t kiss him though. Or maybe I would. But would be a mad adventure with him for sure, life that is. And of course the fact that he has no conscience.


Somehow, all the fictional characters I liked - except perhaps Tom Sawyer - all either had shades of grey or were completely black. Why did I like them then, as a youngster and even as I grew up, even when I could see they were negative? Perhaps they resonated with me? Or because none of them were EVER guilty about who they were or what they did? Now that I'm thinking about it, all these men/boys/characters had a hidden 'good' in them too. The term I believe is anti-hero. Moral of the story? Women like bad boys hoping there's a good side and wishing that their bad boy will be good for them and yet retain the badness. Women don't like heroes or villains, it's the anti-heroes. Moral of the story 2: Am no different from a whole lot of silly women. Damn.

PS: I enjoyed researching for this one, especially stumbling upon Robotech and Zor Prime as I had forgotten the name of the show. If you've got the time, check out the Wikipedia links, some interesting stuff there. And a sincere thanks to those who fill out the info on wiki, tis good.

The Farce and the furious

I wasn’t planning on writing on sex, in fact was considering writing on growing up. Is it any coincidence that sex and our perceptions of it change as we ‘grow up’? Of course there are those for whom sex at 36 is what it was at 18: The you-like-it-you-lay-it for men and you-like-it-so-you-let-him-lay-you for women. At 36 (or even approaching-30 for that matter), it becomes you-like-it but cannot lay it because she’s someone else’s girlfriend/ wife… or your girlfriend/wife will not appreciate it. Or because by now you know that there is nothing called no-strings-attached sex. Whether in cash or kind, you will pay. There is of course the bit about decreasing stamina with age and thinking about going to work the next day. Or the maid ringing the door bell at the wrong times...

Anyway, I got thinking about sex because of Sam deBerito’s blog, interestingly titled, All Men Are Liars. Men can be so disarmingly honest about being liars. Just the other night, another I-can-get-any-woman-I-want friend declared, “I am a bastard, but I am an honest bastard, the girls know it.” Of course once the girl has been warned and she still asks for it, then she really is asking for it, isn’t it? By confessing about being a lying, cheating bastard, you have absolved yourself of all responsibility for that girl’s feelings. May she rest in peace. Honesty, when applied to bastards, is the best policy. So Lying Sam asks on his blog: Why do people have sex?

Why indeed? People definitely don’t look good when having sex: You sweat, grunt, distort your face into expressions you wouldn’t wear in public, your body contorts in ways to show off whatever fat you might have (there’s no way of sucking your gut in and having sex), you pant with your mouth open, generally look as if you have been punched in the face and the after effect is messy. So having sex because it makes you look good is definitely out.

The other day another friend sighed from the depths of her heart and announced, “Oh I need to have sex, haven’t in a long while. You know, it is a biological need.” Hmm. But nowhere is it said that ‘biological needs’ cannot be self-addressed. When self-help can guarantee an orgasm – as compared to say taking chances with a random someone – why don’t we all simply shag and stay happy? Why that need for another person to have sex with? Because it’s a conquest: We feel good with the numbers we sleep with? Or because you are not supposed to with someone and it’s forbidden? Or is it because sex leads to tenderness, hugs, caresses, lying in bed together etc?

Or simply because after a while we really don’t know what to do with another person? I mean, put a man and a woman together and after a bit of talking, watching TV together, drinking and hanging out with friends and other activities -- unless you are a couple making documentaries on gorillas or something -- there’s not much to do but to have sex. Sex is a solution for boredom. And since any activity with any one person can get boring… We then look for sex with other people?
PS: Same-sex sex? Disparity in availability of equal number of men-women or resulting men-women not liking each other.

Guilty is when guilty's caught

All of us, at some or the other time have been guilty of giving in to that one temptation. It could be that dress you bought, the new phone you spent money on and did not need, an extra teaspoon of sugar in your morning coffee or doing something that you know you shouldn't be doing. And yet, one wonders, if given the chance and the assurance that no one - or at least not the ones who could get you into trouble - will find out, would we all give into temptation... without the guilt? Is guilt about doing something you aren't supposed to or being caught out?

"I don't feel guilty about cheating on my man," typed Fiesty Friend from another city. " I mean I love him and all that but I cannot help sleeping around. Do you think it's wrong? But I just don't feel guilty!" she continued.
Her dilemma (or trilemma as the case might be) was quite unique. She had a secure relationship with her boyfriend who lived out of town while she was happily sleeping around with three other men, separately. Trying to understand her guilt-free situation, one asked if she were unhappy with her current man.
"No," she replied, "poor thing is very dedicated to me." One asked if the poor thing was perhaps bad in bed.
"No," she replied, "He keeps me satisfied." Since those were the two reasons one usually associates with infidelity - unless both partners actively encourage each other, in which case it is swapping and not cheating - one asked if there was a third motivation to cheat on a poor, dedicated, satisfactory man?
"I felt like it. And I think I will dump the boyfriend, I cannot handle the guilt of not feeling guilty when I sleep with other men."

It was the second glass of cold coffee when the call came. "What would you say if a guy had the most mind blowing sex with you each time, amazing conversations too and yet refuses to hug unless it leads to sex?" asked Jerk-Attractor Friend. One politely asked if she were perhaps paying for the sex and therefore the no-hug clause...?
"Are you mad?" she shrieked, understandably, "He hugs and kisses when we are at it... it's afterwards that he refuses to hug or show any signs of tenderness." One suggested that perhaps it was to do with the tender state of the dude's junior...
"No, no. He says he cannot hug me because he feels guilty about his ex, who he is STILL not over. But I don't understand, he doesn't feel guilty sleeping with me but is all guilty hugging me... What kind of guilt is that?"

(was written in May 2007)

Holi Mess!

Hello hello…a very Happy Holi to all of you…even those who have no clue about ‘Holi’. This is our version of mud-wrestling, the Spanish tomato festival or simply put, getting down and dirty. Just that we do it with colours – preferably ones that leave you with pink or green or even purple ears for the next week or so – and plaster each other with all shades that stick.

My dad used to call Holi a ‘dirty’ festival because he reckoned that men used the fest as a way of feeling up women. Well, there’s no harm in that I say if it’s someone you really want to be felt up by. Grin.

Holi is also the festival where you can get everyone officially drunk on bhang (extract of Cannabis sativa, aka hemp). You can drink it in milk (called ‘thandai’, literally means cool), you can eat it in pakoras (veggies fried in a gram flour batter), you can kill yourself with laddoos (round, sweetmeats stuffed with bhang) and as some friends are planning, you can make a mozzarella pizza and use bhang instead of oregano for garnish. The result is the same: On mild amounts you crack up and laugh maniacally for hours, with slightly more you pass out and with shit loads in your system, you can get a paranoia attack.

It’s sensible to drinking/having sensible amounts and laughing your head off. Holi is also interesting as this is the festival to let all barriers of decorum fall. Shy housewives, mother in laws and even strict fathers to pretty girls usually let their guard down and let people mingle, get stoned or drunk and have some fun.

Yes, you can get very dirty. The best trick is to step out slathered with oil, so that whatever colour you get can easily be washed off. Also, as long as you don’t get the colour in your eyes or mouth, you’d be bloody fine. If someone is coming at you with colours or a water gun, it’s prudent to shut both your eyes and your mouth. And get them back! Wearing white is fashionable, but girls should be mindful of not wearing white that’s transparent. Unless that is what you’re planning.

Now I gotta go… wish you all a very happy holi... and it's bloody great that we can do this in India.. officially throw water balloons at people and not get sued for it. What a place to be. Sigh.
PS: The pic's from last year... what fuckin' fun!

Keel(ing) Haul: Why ‘foreign’ girls are easy (prey)

Advertising is a powerful tool. It can exhilarate, educate, strike a debate, titillate and definitely irritate. As far as irritation goes, the prize goes to the latest Vodafone ad – four generations in a family end up singing kabhi kabhi mere dil mein song – which puts my hair on edge. I hear it and my synapses short circuit themselves.

Or maybe it has something to do with Vodafone: I have been suspicious of the company ever since they took over Hutch and put that cute pug in a kennel. While the Hutch ad touched many hearts – what with the little dog following the little boy, stumbling over steps, sleeping in his bed and all – the Vodafone version gave me nightmares. So here was the faithful little pup looking for its master, searching, seeking, hopelessly lost…

And what happens next? His master deserts him and he ends up in a kennel. Chop, chop, finito. Downright despairing and should have warned us of what to expect from Vodafone: Bad connectivity, bad customer service, bill goof-ups and fraud and too many calls from too many people on all bad times. Anyway.

As much as I love good ads and will watch them without changing channels –compulsive-channel-changing is anyway a man-disease, they just LOVE pushing buttons me thinks – bad ads seriously put me off. Like the stupid ads on sanitary napkins that show women having this sudden urge to perform furious acrobatic feats just when they are having their period. Dude, it does not happen, even if said napkin is more comfortable than your girlfriend’s bosom, there is something called period cramps. Had even written a post on stinky pad ads (pun unintended) three years back – called the Period Piece – you can read it here.

Ads are powerful because they have the ability to influence thinking. Whether you buy a product or not, ads leave behind an impression. Or create and propagate one.

So it’s somewhat disturbing when driving down the road you see a billboard with an Indian guy posing with two semi-nude women, both ‘white’ chicks. Turn a magazine page and you will have another ad with a woman suggestively licking an ice cream, again a ‘white’ chick. An advertisement for a deodorant where miraculously the guy gets many girls after he sprays himself (er, with the deodorant that is); the girls are all skimpily clad and white.

Or for that matter event invites on Facebook. ‘Come to the expat night’ at so-and-so place and the invite-image is that of a white girl’s torso, lots of thigh and cleavage. Or profile pictures and party pictures where most DJs will be seen posing with ‘expat’ girls; most of them white, drunk and showing skin. Or the photographer who pastes his ‘work’ on the Funwall: “My job is to click beautiful women” his message reads. All pictures are those of anorexic, suspect-age (under 17) ‘models’, all white and barely clad. The venerable Amitabh Bachchan does a music video (Eer, Beer, fatteh anyone?) and shimmies with white girls. Akshay Kumar’s videos from his fun movies have ALL ‘foreign’ chicks in negligees and negligent clothing. WHY just the white girls? I have white girls as friends and most come from families that could have been mine. I also know Indian girls who do things that would put a whole lot of ‘coloured’ (and I mean other colours than brown) to shame. So while certain Indian ads and movies promote the ‘white girls are easy’ image, our glorified item-girl Shilpa Shetty becomes the epitome of Indian womanhood. Ah what grace, what beauty, what culture.

Even as I am writing this piece, there’s a news flash on my computer: Three Indian Army officers detained in Kinshasa, South Africa for the rape of a woman. Meanwhile the investigation into the Goa murder of 15-year-old Briton, Scarlette Keeling continues… Apparently she was into drugs, sex and a ‘fast’ life: Recipes for asking for rape and murder if you ask certain Indian authorities.

(News update: The army officers have been cleared of charges. News report here.)

CNN-IBN’s prime time show, Face The Nation, posed the question: ‘Are foreign tourists victims of an image trap’? The survey result: 94 per cent said yes, and 6 per cent said no. Meanwhile officials and ministers say that foreign tourists coming into India, especially women, should be more careful. “There are women lying naked on the beaches”, says one minister. Since Goa does not have nude beaches perhaps that is pushing the limit. What about bikinis and beachwear? Won’t saris in the sea/ocean cause more drowning? What about the women who are molested even when they are NOT in beachwear?

What ‘image trap’ are we talking about? Is it against white women? Skimpily clad women? JUST women? Is it the advertisers and movie industry that are promoting this? Or does it have to do with the fact that you can do anything to any woman and it will become prime time news and nothing beyond that… because we always end up blaming the victim? She ASKED for it? It’s not just India or Indian ads and movies. Check this ad (now withdrawn) by Dolce & Gabbana. Women, kids and dogs sell products. Apparently even gang rape does.

100 per cent trust is bullshit.

“I miss your hugs, your kisses, the way you held me… I still miss you.”

Seema* (name changed) read and re-read the email open on the monitor before her. The words had been written to her boyfriend of a year-and-a-half, Rajiv*. Since the day the two of them started dating, Seema had been looking for proof, signs that Rajiv might be cheating on her. Now she believed, she finally had it.

Short of hiring a private detective, Seema has done everything possible to keep an eye on Rajiv. She constantly tracks his Facebook ‘wall’ and Orkut ‘scrapbook’: For the uninitiated in social networking etiquette, the wall and scrapbook are your personal message boards that unless specified, can generally be viewed by the public. If Rajiv added a new ‘friend’, Seema would check out the profile to see who it was; if it were a girl, Seema would spend sleepless nights wondering if Rajiv was having an affair.

When she could not find anything amiss on Facebook/ Orkut, Seema would take whatever possible chance to snoop on Rajiv’s mobile phone messages. Each time he left his phone unattended, Seema would quickly go through his message inbox, sent messages, drafts, call logs and recorded pictures to see who had called him, who he was text-ing and if there was anything suspicious in his mobile.

With a very bad relationship behind her – she had been dating a man who had cheated on her repeatedly – Seema was convinced that all men were cheats and that either Rajiv too was cheating on her or would soon do so… The more she did not find any proof, the more Seema was convinced that Rajiv was very good at hiding things from her.

Her hunt for proof intensified till one day she managed to hack into his email account and found the email mentioned above. Seema’s world crashed. She did not give Rajiv any chance to explain himself and despite his pleas that he had nothing to do with his ex-girlfriend sending him that message, Seema walked out on Rajiv.

Vimal and Piya had the perfect relationship: They looked good together, had good jobs, a large group of common friends and seemed to complement each other well, Vimal being silent and reserved while Piya was bubbly and gregarious. Initially, friends christened them the ‘Perfect Pair’ but gradually started noticing that things weren’t all fine with the twosome…

Vimal had a problem if Piya spoke to another man. He would often blame her for “making eyes” at other men whenever they went out together. If they were at a party, Vimal would constantly keep an eye on Piya trying to see if she was looking at another man. He didn’t like her association with her college male friends and he went ballistic if he ever ‘caught’ Piya talking to another man. Slowly, Vimal started having problems with Piya hanging out with her girlfriends as well because he was never sure if she was really with the girls or someone else…

Vimal too had a very bad experience in a former relationship. Based on his past, Vimal could not trust Piya and began blaming her of being a flirt. He felt that by constantly keeping Piya under surveillance, he would ensure their relationship would not suffer the same fate as his previous one. However, the Vimal-Piya relationship grew more and more strained by the day.

Before you read further, tell us what you think:
Did Seema do the right thing by dumping Rajiv?
Is it good to be constantly suspicious of your partner and snoop on them?
Can trust, once broken, be mended again?
If your partner constantly doubts you, how will you deal with it?
Read further: Trust once dead cannot be revived?

No blow, no show...

"Happy Women's Day," announced Friend as she walked in jauntily. Her mood belied her early morning mysterious message: 'Meet me, I have realized the Truth About Me.' One has always been intrigued by Truths that people discover after 28-or-so years of walking around thinking something else.

So far, all one has discovered is that hair loss, crow's feet and papery skin are truths no one can escape and that it irritates more when you see the Partner looking at your well-concealed bald patch. And here was Friend, who was at least four years younger than me; discovering truths.

Experience said that women usually discovered truths about themselves when they were either about to dump a guy or had recently discovered their guy was having an affair elsewhere. As one wondered if this self-discovery had anything to do with the new man Friend had recently started dating -- to get over another man -- and perhaps if she had finally found true love...

"I finally know what I want in my man," declared Friend, carefully sipping her Irish coffee, rattling off her list. "He has to earn more than me and be willing to spend it on me. He should make me laugh but not repeat the same jokes. He should take me shopping and let me shop for him as well. He should be a family man but should have his family living far away. He should be able to control me but let me wrap him around my little finger. He should be great in bed but should not insist on blow…" At that point one blew into one's creamy, cold latte and nearly choked on the cherry as well.

As one wondered if it wasn't rather selfish, wanting good-in-bed and no-blow in the same man, Friend interrupted, "Oh, I am also dumping Recent Boyfriend." One calculated that Recent Boyfriend had only been a month-recent and from memory, he was "as close to perfect" according to a then-in-love Friend. One also pointed out that from her list of what-I-want-in-a-man, Recent Boyfriend seemed to score in every way. As one repeated the list, Friend's face fell.
One wondered if the reason for breakup was perhaps the blow hot/cold issue…

"That's not it," said Friend, "Recent Boyfriend is almost everything I want, but…There is SOMETHING missing," replied Friend. One rattled off her entire list again and insisted there was nothing on the list that read 'Something'. Friend, now with a distant dreamy look in her eyes, said, "I know what I want in a man… it's that Something…"
And pray, what was that 'Something', one insisted.
"I don't know," replied Friend.
PS: We seek what we cannot get, and we get what we do not seek?

A lay in time saves the swine

Confessions over Coffee
And you always wondered HOW men find it SO easy to get over broken hearts (yours) and relationships?

I kept waiting for him to make up his mind... to dump me!" wailed Distraught Friend, recently broken up and wallowing in Lonely On Valentine's Day blues. With a force that threatened to break the cup, she beat the sugar and coffee into a frothy frenzy, "While I can't get him out of my mind, he's busy screwing around," she said, sobbing into the cup. As one wondered if the tears-adulterated-caffeine would still taste the same, Distraught Friend asked, "How is it that men can get-over someone easily while women take longer or can't?"

Indeed, one couldn't help but agree: All the how-could-he-do-this-to-me calls, why-did-it-have-to-end-like-this emails and I-can't-think-of-another-person situations involved women friends. Most male friends usually forget to update on their relationship status – recently started or recently dumped – till about a month later or so. Unless of course the relationship is either with something that comes on wheels or runs on electricity or can be kept in their pockets.

While pondering this man-woman difference in enthusiasm levels vis-a-vis relationships, one suggested ways to enable Friend to un-distraught herself. But the entire Find A New Direction exercise was proving futile: Scrabble was cruel, Solitaire was too literal, she didn't have a Need for Speed and salsa of course needed a dancing partner. After much cajoling-convincing, Friend finally agreed to the last suggestion: A blind date on Valentine's Evening.

One hoped things would turn out well... till Friend called, hours before the said date, clearly more distraught. "What should I wear? Should I dress-up or dress down? What if we don't have anything to talk about? What if he does not like where we go? What if he does not find me cute? What if I can't handle the idea of being interested in another man? What if he tries to kiss me and I start crying or something?" she rallied. The last question was particularly worrisome. Whether a blind date or otherwise, anything goes on the first date – even sex – but not crying! Anyone will tell you that most men are more scared of constant tears than instant commitment.

As one wondered anew on what makes it SO tough for women to get over relationships, Player Pal called to casually inform he had broken up yet again and was well on the road to recovery. Apparently he had found the perfect way to get over girlfriend(s) and it had nothing to do with emotional attachment, being patient or with waiting for love, etc. Player Pal scoffed at all that and said, "Why wait around when you can fuck around?" His mantra for getting over breakups? "Screw the brains out of other women to get a particular woman out of your brain."

PS: Sorry girls, if you have recently broken up or still getting over and wondering if He will be screwing around with other chicks, the answer is Yes, he will. The longer you think about it, the worse you will feel. And no, hiding indoors and taking yourself out of the social circuit will only be detrimental to your health. Get out, hit out, find your lay(s) and move on with life. Of course you COULD get lucky in love again; but are you willing to take that risk? There's no guarantee of returns you know...

The virgin or the whore?

Confessions Over Coffee: Series (republished and then some...)

If you ever want to loosen someone's tongue, don't give them alcohol; give them caffeine. Conversations over cups of coffee can be amazingly candid: Last night's orgasms, this morning's fight with the cabbie/autorickshaw driver, the mandatory discussion about the dead social scene, the usual ruing of no time for play and the caffeinated confessions.

As he sipped her steaming black filter coffee Friend declared, "Every man's fantasy is to have either the virgin or the whore. A man wants a virgin, who doesn't know much or anything, so he can bring her up the way he wants to… and a whore because she would know all the moves."

Friend was currently single and one wondered if his solo status was (perhaps) caused by the lack of virgins or the whores. One also wondered if the male fascination with virgins — and the emphasis on "doesn't know much or anything" — meant that men preferred younger women. The straight-out-of-college (or in college!) type. Friend didn't agree and insisted that all virgins are not necessarily young.

So what have you? A 30-year-old virginal woman, who by the definition of the word is also supposedly naïve. A tad preposterous, no? "Absolutely not," averred Friend and declared virginity was not a psychological problem. Some women (even) chose to remain virgins for "good reasons", like wanting to wait till marriage or waiting for the right man. Ah, so by that logic any woman — or women — who chooses to lose her virginity, is doing so for "bad reasons" and is therefore a whore?

"That's taking it too literally," complained Friend, "a whore is a woman who…"
"Knows all the moves?"
"Yes, but she's also someone who has had a number of men," he replied."
Maybe that's how she knows how to please a man, all the moves?" one volunteered.
"Exactly! She's been with too many men and will usually compare!" replied Friend, with his best I-rest-my-case look.

And any comparison with another man is a delicate issue where most men are concerned.

Hmmm. So basically, a woman's virginity is a sign she does not have Benchmarks of Performance for her man. And the entire thing of "saving yourself" for someone special is really a futile exercise in preventing performance anxiety in men (or a man, in the virginal scenario). Ah.

Just as one was beginning to gloat over this revelation, Friend interrupted…"And then of course, whether they fantasise about a whore or not; a man will never marry a whore. Maybe the virgin, but never the whore."Ah.

And to think that every whore was a virgin once…

(Taken from an older blog, which has now been un-published. Wrote the coffee-confessions as a column for a paper; before I started receiving let's-go-for-drinks emails from a head honcho in the company, which I couldn't attend and was suddenly asked to stop writing. Suits me fine, shall keep my legs and my mind closed to such people. And will remember. Every bitch has her day, I shall have mine too. Sooner than later.)

Fear.

Loss of control is a feeling that can threaten most. It's worse when you seem to be losing control of your own life. When words and people and sentiments and situations you take for granted -- or hope they are your 'own' -- begin to change. Sometimes, there is no single thing that tells you that a situation/person is changing except perhaps for vibes and a sickening, sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. When you notice nuances changing, when you notice the way things are said are changing, when slowly but surely you feel the control over your own Destiny slipping you by...

Time, sometimes we waste it, sometimes we curse because there is too much of it and we dont know what to do with it. And sometimes, you know time is running out and with that time, perhaps a dream. Your fulfillment, your happiness. And you know that no matter how hard you run, scream or pay, it will be gone.

Promises. What are they but words? Some given in jest, some that swear they are earnest, some that uplift you, some that make you dream, hope, smile, believe. And then one fine day you realise those are but words. Nothing happens to those who break promises except leaving behind those who are broken by an unkept promise.

Believe. Why do we believe in things, anything, people, any person? Are we fools? Don't we have any sense of preservation?

Change. It comes, you might not want it, but it comes. It's worse when the change comes over people... And you watch helplessly. You ask for reassurances but you know change has already claimed them. Or perhaps something else has.

Luck. You will always run out of it when you most need it. And with luck goes time, promises made and just so much more.

And then you wonder: Will I be able to stand straight again? Or will this finally break me? Perhaps it will...

PS: Self-shot pic, best way to deal with boredom, loneliness and dejection is to click yourself in the thick of it.

Eight, mate or ate?

This is a tag from Point Blank. As this could get rather wordy, other than the ‘passion’ section, keeping the other bits short.

Spinning, laughing, dancing to
Her favorite song
A little girl with nothing wrong
Is all alone

Eight things I am passionate about:
1. Words: Reading them, writing them and getting people to react to them. If it weren’t for words, there would be no me. Started reading at one-and-a-half-years and was writing gobbledeegook by age 4. First ever diary entry was at age 11, first published words at 17.

2. Winning: Realised long time back that I have something called the competitive spirit and that usually I like having my way. No, I dont always win but I bloody well insist on losing as little as possible

3. Ego: Considered calling this one ‘self-esteem’, but let’s be honest here, it’s not always that. I do have a big ego (for better or worse) and I usually like to keep it intact. Means I can get defensive, offensive or pensive when my ego suffers in any way.

4. Flattery: I don’t do it and I simply cannot stand it. People/women who have a need to instantly start flattering when they meet another person/woman they meet, instantly piss me off. My cardinal rule for knowing/ analyzing/understanding people in the first instant: If they flatter you instantly, watch your back. Then there are compliments: Have always had a hard time believing them. Perhaps because 90 % of the time I can tell when they’re fake.

5. My home: Is my sanctuary where I can roam around naked. Or not bathe for two days. Love changing room settings and redoing interiors on whims. Protect it zealously and preserve it as if my life depended on it. And it does too… Not the sort to constantly have people over, perhaps because I find it tough to really make friends. Or maybe because others find it tougher befriending me. Shrug. Would say my space defines me.

6. Vengeance: I cannot forget and I don’t forgive, took me time to realize that about myself. With passing years I am learning how to wait. Am not very good at ‘plotting’ revenge etc; perhaps because I lack the patience, or the brains or both. But am good at recognizing opportunity: If I have been fucked-over and I get the chance to get back, I will. Strangely, life seems to place the opportunities on a platter for me. Might take 10 years but then I do have a sordid memory.

7. Family: And those adopted into it. Don’t touch them, don’t criticize them, don’t even think of harming them. Refer to point no. 6 of what happens if… As I am aware of my fallacies, so am aware of the fallacies of the ones who love me as well. But I love them. Tenderly, fiercely.

8. Honesty: Prefer to take a harsh truth on the face than be stabbed in the back or lied to. The downside? Inability to keep my mouth shut in some situations and the complete lack of ‘social skills’ like talking to people I don’t like. If I don’t like, it shows. Also translates into a complete apathy for anything fake, particular those who ‘pretend’ to be friends. Not a good way to live, the world is made of social networking after all. Hmm.

Eight things I want to do before I die:
1. Bungee jump: to combat fear of heights. Once I do that, perhaps sky diving too.
2. Own a personalized Chopper, my size, my height, evil wheels and power to kill.
3. Have a baby: No confusion there. I know I want to be a mother and despite the fears, think I will make a helluva mom.
4. Go on a global backpacking trip: To places unknown, where I live with the people, get to know their ways of life, click pictures…
5. Open a restaurant or a café or something to do with food: Could have been on the ‘passions’ list, love to cook and the more to feed, the more I enjoy it.
6. Work for myself: And stop taking orders, create something, make it a success and of course make money from it. Probably something to do with food…
7. Marry… and make it work and not have doubts and be loved without reasons or clauses or me changing myself or me wanting to change the other. Marry and not feel the threat or the fear that I will die lonely…
8. Do something that will make my parents truly happy: Perhaps I have let them down, lord knows I am not the model daughter. They aren’t the traveling sort else would have sent them on a world trip… perhaps will figure out finally what can make them happy. I still don’t know and sometimes feel that perhaps I don’t make them happy or happy enough. (Lose that doubt too)

Eight things I say often:
1. Fuckin’ a!
2. Are you getting what I am saying?
3. Get them by the balls and their hearts and minds will follow.
4. You shithead.
5. Fuck off.
6. “Right. My arse.”
7. I swear if I have to…
8. Bloody hell

Eight books I’ve read recently:
1. Sun Tzu Was A Sissy (Stanley Bing)
2. A Dog’s Life (Peter Mayle)
3. Hotel Pastis (Peter Mayle)
4. Non-Fiction (Chuck Palahniuk)
5. The Unwaba Revelations (Samit Basu)
6. The Ice Man: Confessions of a Contract Killer (reading, Philip Carlo)
7. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (re-read, JK Rowling)
8. The Vampire Lestat (re-rehoad, Anne Rice)

Eight songs I could listen to, over and over:
1. Pal, pal dil ke paas tum rahti ho: Kishore Kumar
2. With a little help from friends: Joe Cocker
3. Isn’t it ironic: Alanis Morisette
4. Ali: Midival Punditz
5. Na tum humein jaano: Hemant Kumar
6. I’m Your Man: Leonard Cohen
7. Man who sold the world: Nirvana
8. Seven Years: Norah Jones

Eight things that attracts me to my best friends:
1. They don’t get embarrassed by who I am or the things I keep doing and don't mince words telling me when I am behaving like a shit-head.
2. They are all highly intelligent and know it (know how to use it too)... and ambitious.
3. They understand my need to be vicious at times and understand/enjoy a good dose of sarcasm.
4. They laugh at my sarcasm but can put me in my place when I get too nasty; and usually have a mean sense of humour themselves.
5. They let me cry in peace and don’t do the you-poor-thing thing; they aren't shy of tears.
6. They know when I need to be held when I am crying; and usually believe in physical demonstrations of affection.
7. They leave me alone when I am angry. They know I’ll come back. Most of them are patient though
8. They REALLY do love me and know I will never betray them.

Eight people I think should do this tag (some might not be bloggers):
1. DJ*
2. Maxine
3. Serendipity
4. Pirate of the Arabian
5. Crimson Feet
6. Espera
7. The Unapologetic Bloke
8. Lopa*

Non-veg Americans are bad for Indian health?

From: Help. My son is in love with a non-veg American

“Didi, when you cook chicken or mutton, please send some over as well… we love meat, but our grandmother does not allow it in the house,” piped in the children of a family one knows as we discussed favourite foods. Having lived around strict vegetarians – especially those who are vegetarians due to religious reasons – one knew that it could be a huge thing if the grandmother ever found out.

One wondered if the family considered the grandmother’s beliefs to be archaic… Perhaps they read one’s expressions because the kids’ mother piped in, “My husband and kids eat meat because they enjoy it, my mother-in-law completely believes it’s a sin. I am opposed to the idea of killing a creature and so I’m a vegetarian by choice. As for my children, we wanted them to make their own choice. My mother-in-law believes in ‘untouchability’ too, which is also part of her religious beliefs… Do I allow my children to follow that?”

That’s just one instance of age-old beliefs clashing with current-day choices. Recently a friend, who’s in love with a ‘white’ man, sent a panicked email, “He is meeting my parents… How should he address them? You know, they don’t call everyone uncle-aunty, they call people by their first names. If he addresses my father by his name, Papa won’t give him another chance; it will be over. What do I do?” she wrote. Her panic was justified.

Addressing elders by their first name has always been seen as a sign of disrespect in India. If we ‘Sir-ed’ seniors at work, we’ve had a name for every other relationship, be it mausi, maama, bhaiya, didi, uncle or aunty. And when confused about the right nomenclature, there is the ‘ji’ suffix to a person’s name. However, times are slowly changing and at least in corporate work environments, first names are the norm. My friend’s crisis was solved with her boyfriend sticking to addressing her father with ‘Sir’; the solution in other cases though, might not be as simple…

For those who’ve been following, the discussion has intensified on the issue of eloping and if that’s the only solution when faced with parental opposition. There have been myriad reactions from readers ranging from agreeing to our protagonists', Amit and Nisha's decision to those that say they'd rather wait a lifetime than elope with the one they love or marry someone else... The solution is as convoluted as the dilemma.

Recently a distressed, 55-year-old father wrote in from the United States. His son is in love with an American girl. The father doesn’t know what to do and writes thus: “Help me please. What if the boy (say Akash) lived with his Indian Gujarati Jain somewhat conservative parents in the U.S. and instead of Nisha the girl was Nancy, a white American? I am Akash's 55-year-old father living in a joint family with my parents. My traditional Gujarati Jain wife and I are okay with Akash marrying any vegetarian Indian girl. If that didn't happen, we would reluctantly agree to him marrying any vegetarian girl. But Nancy is not even vegetarian -- and does not even want to be...” (Continued here)
Next page >>> I'd rather he marry an Indian non-veg Muslim...

Hari Puttar and the Deadly Fellows

Our story is the final chapter in the long-running battle for supremacy between good and evil and is based in the clandestine media school, The School of Plagiarism and Bitchcraft. Our protagonists are final year media students there and are forever embroiled in a war to either become a Jhola Journalist (those who supposedly uphold truth) or a Suspect Stinger (those who uphold everything but the truth).

Starring:
Bumble Bore: Is the Head Of Department and a committed bachelor who is only too ready to commit if he could find a lady to marry. He upholds honest journalism and has done One Brilliant breaking story in his career - that no one has in fact read - and ever since, has only spoken about That Big Story that he did.

Hari Puttar: Our hero, an orphan who lost his parents rather tragically, who is basically honest but has a talent for lying that often forces him to misquote people in his stories and 'break' false news... for the greater good. He also has a glad eye for ladies and a very dark, secret...He also has a weird birthmark, a huge, bright, red bump (aloo) on his right temple.

Raman Wadhwani: Hari's best friend and sidekick. He too has a glad eye for the ladies... but they are always way older than him.

Harmanpreet 'Harmi' Kaur: She is a girl and is a friend to Hari and Raman. She is very intelligent, but unfortunately, her intelligence is only restricted to understanding gossip about celebrities.

Mini Wadhwani: Raman's sister and Harmanpreet's nemesis. Mini is an aspiring model and thinks that looking good in a situation is the most important thing.

Val Thockeray: Our villain, the ultimate media magnate who wants to create the ultimate TV channel that will relay whatever he wants to relay. He has no ethics (of course!) and believes, "Either get the story by hook or crook, or create the story by hook or crook." He is personally responsible for slandering many Important People and spoiling their lives by printing lies about them. Now he wants to recruit all top students from SPB and use the Power of the Press to change things to his ways.

Seriously Black or Bhoot Uncle: He is Hari's long-dead godfather and often appears to him as the friendly ghost who advises him on all things sundry. When he was alive, he was an ace crime reporter, till he was framed in some false sting operations and had since been named, 'Seriously Black' by the press...

Read the expose...: Fight between good, bad and the stupid

I have a bum, I will blow you sky high

Bum = bomb (in hindi)
“I swear to drunk I am not God.” – alcohol-loving friend’s instant messenger (IM) handle
“A pat on the back is two inches away from a kick on the ass.” – Boss’s handle
“Deja-brew: The feeling that you’ve had this coffee before.” – Over-worked colleague’s handle
“I have a bum, I will blow you sky high.” – Mine, because I am bored.

Aiiya. SOMETHING is irritating me, cant put a finger on it and it’s irritating me further. Ever get that feeling? Read somewhere, long time back, that only god can ‘want’, human beings should ‘wish’. Hrmph. Why? Ever had a coughing fit with a fruit facemask plastered on? And the mask has settled in a way that doesn’t allow you to move your face? Weird experience.

Think the salon/ parlour girl tried to kill me today. First she burned my thigh with scalding wax. Then she stuffed my nostrils with massage cream and I couldn’t move my mouth because I had a facemask on. Bitch. Noticed how after a trim your hair always looks shorter than you intended it to be? And one eyebrow looks thinner than the other?

(Just got the first reaction to the I-got-a-bum handle. Friend wrote in saying, “Explain.”)

Ok, advice needed. Say you got a bed that had Kamasutra figurines etched on the headpost. Will you show it to your parents?

And WHY do women who SCREAM during waxing try and get a bikini wax? This woman came out crying, with a red face and snot flowing out. Gross. If I were her husband/boyfriend and had seen her in that state, would put me off forever. Shave woman, shave. But didn’t say it, somehow didn’t think she’d appreciate advice. Between, do any of you sneeze when getting your upper lip done? (Boys please avoid answering this, I am still getting used to men tweezing.)

Sometimes, no matter how much you want to jump someone because they are looking simply TASTY sitting on a beanbag, you can’t. Sometimes because the dog either gets in the way and thinks you want to play and sometimes because you are irritated and don’t know why. So irritating.

Sometimes it’s really nice when you know you are lazy, the other knows you are lazy too, but no one calls you lazy and the other does all the work. Like reading online forms and applications for various things. I HATE reading online forms and applications.

Noticed how when you are trying to grow nails and all five on one hand are about to reach optimal length, one fucking nail breaks? Despite you drinking at least half a litre of milk everyday. What rot. I like saying “What rot.” Picked it off a friend. What rot what rot what rot…
Tududoo. That’s another one.

My dad hates the fact that I am very, er, “demonstrative” when speaking. I also give sound effects. Shrug. Do you?

I like writing posts with no sense to them.

Ever had sex with the feeling that something is watching you? Then turned on the light to find it’s a life-size teddy bear? Laughed with relief, turned your head and found the dog staring in through the window? Looking depressed?

Head-banging! THAT’s what I need for sure. A good session of wham-bam music and a neck pain the day later, lots of sweating. Haven’t been to a good gig in ages. But that’s not what’s irritating me. AAAARGH. (And no, that is not sex standing on your head, too much blood rush)

And I look VERY bad in passport pictures. VERY. I also have five pimples, all on the same side of the face. Not fair. The hair looks nice though.

Dad had gifted me eight sets of crystal glasses in different designs and shapes. Now only one set is left, crystal wine glasses. I broke one out of that as well. Only five left. I am a disaster with glassware.

I need adventure. Maybe need to travel. See a new place, somewhere other than Delhi. Need to meet people I like immediately. Participate in some sport and WIN. Have to win. Don’t like losing, I don’t have anything against losing, just that am a bad loser. I make a better winner. Haha.

Ok bas. Enough. Irritated, remember?

PS: People have Monday morning blues…I seem to have Saturday ones… most Saturday posts end up being random.

A real-life love story

After having written the feature on inter-caste marriages – ‘Inter-caste marriages: Is love wrong or parents right?’ – one realized it was not going to be an easy choice. Readers also got into a heated debate in the comments section of ibnlive.com .On one hand are the parents/family who have cared and loved you since birth and on the other hand is the future with the person you love and want to create a family with. Is it selfish to give up one family to make another? Are you letting your parents down?
With as little literary liberty as possible, this story is a real-life story, with names changed to protect identities. However, this feature does not promote or suggest that you do the same. Every situation and every family is different. Base your decisions and judgments on the facts at hand and be prepared for the repercussions. You might get a new family and you might never speak to your parents or current family again…

The Story
He (let’s call him Amit) had first seen Her (Nisha) in college, or they had seen each other, the details over the last 10 years have grown fuzzy. Amit remembers though that Nisha was wearing a salwar-kameez, nothing spectacular, except that she stood very straight and carried herself with a poise that usually befits someone older, not a 19-year-old. Neither of them was your textbook idea of good looking, yet both had an innate confidence. They were in the same class.

Their first conversation was in the college canteen, or so Amit recalls. Nisha says it was when he asked for her notes. Conversations were never tough as they could argue on almost any subject since their thoughts differed on every subject. Three years of college flew by and Amit got his first job in another city. Nisha decided to pursue a specialized course in graphic designing.

Another two years went by with emails, phone conversations and twice a year meeting when possible. It took a toll on both of them, but Amit and Nisha knew that their initial separation was nothing compared to the life of togetherness they hoped lay ahead for them. Both decided to talk to their respective parents. Amit’s parents had no problems with the marriage.

Nisha’s parents though… Amit spoke to her father and requested for her hand in marriage… and was summarily refused. Amit was a Punjabi, Nisha was a Jain. It was impossible. For a year they kept trying to talk to Nisha’s parents with no result. Then things went from bad to worse pretty quickly. Even as she was barred from meeting Amit, Nisha’s father started looking for a match. They found a pilot – good looking, earning well and from their caste – while Amit was just starting out in business in Mumbai; Nisha lived in a nearby city.

It was then that Amit decided to speak to the Pilot who had been ‘found’ for Nisha. The two men met at a coffee shop and Amit requested the Pilot to reject the proposal, narrating how he loved the girl and how Nisha reciprocated as well. The Pilot heard the story and then made his decision...
Read further: They did the unthinkable...

In defense of the cleavage and why women flaunt it

Cleav-age: (noun) The area between a woman's breasts, especially when revealed by a low-cut neckline.
Which of the following comes to your mind when you see a woman walking down the road wearing a clinging shirt and showing her cleavage:

1. Wonder where did she buy that shirt?
2. I wished I/ my partner looked like her
3. Wow, what a perfect set
4. Such women are a shame to female species/ Indian women
5. God, she is so desperate for attention
6. Now that’s an icon of woman power

While you think about the questions and (try and) give an honest answer, I bet No. 6 will get the least votes. Despite the fact that every woman – irrespective of her breast size – has a cleavage and apparently now even men want one, showing off a cleavage usually has negative connotations. Quite sad, given that cleavage has a number of uses.

For one, it provides employment opportunities to many women. If it were not for their cleavage, Mallika Sherawat, Rakhi Sawant and Malaika Arora (or Pamela Anderson, Angelina Jolie and Carmen Electra) would be out of jobs. Furthermore, cleavage specialists Wonderbra – and other lingerie brands – would go out of business and all lad-mags (Maxim, Playboy, Hustler) would go bust as well.

Looking beyond commercial cleavage, even cricket, the unofficial Indian national sport has benefited from cleavage. Despite the Indian women’s cricket team debuting in 1976 (first test against West Indies), it was the on-air innings by Mandira Bedi’s cleavage that truly married women and cricket. The curious can check the channel TRPs to satisfy themselves.

Cleavage also changed the reading habits of the Indian women – and some say even men – forever. From the days when the leading magazine used to be the beaten-housewife-special Savvy or something with 20 recipes for tiffin-boxes, the 21st century is all about the fun, fearless female. If Cosmopolitan – unimaginable without a cleavage cover – taught the women to flaunt it and get the men by the (eye)balls, Sex and the City caused another revolution. It made cleavage, Cary and confidence, synonyms of each other.

Yet when a woman shows cleavage in office, it’s her women colleagues – while the men meekly peek over their computers – who will dish out the most rabid, caustic comments. If a woman showing her cleavage is a sign of empowerment and her being “comfortable with her body”, why does it get such reactions?
Read further: Umm, an innocent cleavage?

Why ugly men get to shag pretty women...

Has anyone noticed how weddings and common cold are similar? Both are contagious and seem to be affected by weather change. Nothing else explains how suddenly most people one knows are either sniffling or sending out wedding invites. Perhaps it's the biological clock.

The first announcement was sitting in my inbox with the subject line jubilantly declaring, “I am getting married people!” A week back the same friend was single and mingling. Before one could react to that news, another friend called and declared she had a marriage proposal and was “seriously thinking” about it. Again, in a week from having no suitors she was suddenly thinking matrimony.

In the course of describing how their sudden decision to tie the knot had come about, both friends declared, “I am very happy. But the guy is not very good looking,” and then somewhat defensively, “but he’s a sweetheart.” Congratulations later and having seen their to-be spouse’s pictures, one realized that both girls – despite being downright stunning to look at – were marrying men who were rather plain. It reminded one of an old adage, “Langoor ke moonh mein angoor.” (not literal, but hints at the monkey eating the caviar!)

Now a recent study by Columbia University suggested that good-looking people prefer to date equally good-looking people, at times even people who are better looking than themselves. Yet here were two of my very good-looking friends settling for rather plain men.
It’s not just my friends either. Many celeb couples too seem to follow the norm of pretty-woman-average-bloke: Ajay Devgan-Kajol, Azharuddin-Sangeeta Bijlani, Priyanka Gandhi-Robert Vadra, SRK-Gauri Khan (he wasn’t a superstar then!), Juhi Chawla-Jai Mehta, or for that matter Dennis Rodman-Madonna (those two would have hideous kids)… Since these were all love marriages one could perhaps say love perhaps is blind. Both my friends however are going in for arranged marriages and love is nowhere in the picture.

Jog your memories dear readers and tell me, how many times have you heard someone comment, “She is not pretty at all, how did she manage such a hot husband?” Or the other way round, “Look at him, he’s not good looking at all, how did he get himself such a beautiful wife?”
Several conversations and some research later one found that indeed the popularly held belief was: Ugly (or not-so-good-looking) men bag the prettiest girls. But is it really true?

Before you read further, tell me what you think:
1. How important are looks when it comes to finding a suitable partner?
2. Do good-looking people have better chances of finding love or a spouse?
3. ‘Plain’ people have good-looking partners: Myth or reality?
read further: What's he got that I ain't got?