Monthly Archives: November 2010

>Bullet proof

>

Too many things, too little time to tell them all. Here’s what’s been on my mind:

  • Anil and me

Some people find it bizarre that I’m in love with this hairy hero known as Anil Kapoor. But I am. Have been since I saw Mr India. And when I like someone, appearances become so secondary. Which is not to say he’s not oh-so-good-looking. It’s just that I know there may be better-looking men than him in filmdom, but I have eyes only for him. So what’s the point, I hear you ask. The point is I met AK last week. I’m definitely not star-struck or tongue-tied have met , but when it’s Anil Kapoor we’re talking about, both are admissible. So there I was at this starry wedding in town, with Amitabh Bachchan and Fardeen Khan and Dia Mirza for company, and I managed to catch hold of dapper Kapoor and get myself clicked with him. Oh, the joys of making a fool out of yourself in public!

  • The Big Switch

So I was watching this show on TV called ‘The Big Switch 2′, which is about parents switching their kids and kids switching their parents for two days and all the problems that arise thereof. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen it, but I realised they’d made a reality show out of most Indian girls’ lives. See, when we get married, we switch our families, begin living with a new set of parents whom we must consider our own and grapple with adjustment problems that come up and treat them like they’re part of life like everything else. Some people manage well, depending on the compatibility between the switched parents and kids, some people are sore losers. Sounds true to life? Well, here’s finally one reality show that actually resembles reality.

  • Fat vs Pregnant

In other news, I’m beginning to convince people with the way I look that I’m pregnant. Goddamit, it’s just a paunch. And those are just the extra kilos I’ve been piling on. So stop staring. And stop guessing. The other day, I went to a party where the hostess had the cheek to first ask me what’ll I have to drink and then add pointedly that there was Coke as well, you know, since I won’t have liquor. I swear I could have thrown that Coke right in her face. Other people are more sophisticated in asking why I’ve started looking so “voluptuous”. Oh yes, fat deposits everywhere and can increase your bust size much against your will! So there I am, trying to tell people through my high heels and the wine glass in my hand that no, I don’t have any ‘good news’ to share. Actually, I’m not trying to tell anyone anything at all. I’m just super irritated with this breed of women who concentrate all their energies in trying to guess whether I’m finally pregnant or not. If only there was an option on FB on your pregnant/non-pregnant status, these people would be thrilled to bits!

On the other hand, I’m so not enjoying the new weight. I hate it, because it makes me feel so uncomfortable in my own clothes. So I’m resorting to desperate measures. After trying very hard to not go on a diet, I have gone on a diet. Because I have no time to exercise, and frankly, no motivation either. So here I am, on Day 4 of the GM Diet, fighting every single temptation and hopefully coming out slimmer.

  • Slog and Blog

I know this discussion is long overdue, but I’ve been putting it off because I believe that if we spell out something that’s only a thought in our heads, it becomes true. But there’s only a point uptil which this works. Beyond that, you’ve got to call a spade a spade. So here’s the truth in black and white: I have no time to blog. And I miss it sorely. I slog at work and often work extends to beyond office hours, thanks to the Blackberry. Till now, no one was complaining. And even now, no one is complaining overtly. But I realise I owe a part of my life to people I spend it with, most importantly The Guy. So, I avoid bringing out my laptop at home and spending time surfing through blogs and posting on my own. And to make up for all that, I’ve started tweeting a whole lot more through my BB. But I also realise that staying away from my blog for long spells doesn’t bode well for me as a blogger. I’d like to be as regular as I used to be, but can’t.

I was hoping to give the blog a whole new name and look, in sync with how life is for me right now. Or where I am in life right now. But if I don’t post often enough, I wonder if it’s worth it. The other option is to give this up. I have 137 followers, and I add new ones with each post, but very few of them comment on my posts. I’m probably not here enough for them to make them come out of their readers and say something to me. And that makes me think if it is time to shut shop. Is it?

>Wanted: A working homemaker

>It’s been more than 8 years of non-stop work for me, and I still don’t know how a teenager who wanted to grow up to do nothing turned into semi-workaholic me. My biggest high in life, for now, is work. And the three years when I was still working but had it easier, I fretted over how I was frittering away my time when I could do so much more. I put a lot of my other life on hold to carry on with work, but it gives me joy.

Having said that, I sometimes grudge the fact that my absence from home for most part of the day makes me less part of the family than the domestic helpers who spend the entire day at my place. I often have the feeling that they’re part of the family life I’m missing out on because I’m at work. For those who don’t know, I live in a joint family, with my in-laws. And I worry, lesser now than I used to in the initial years of my marriage, that by being away from home for such long hours I am making myself totally dispensable to the ‘family’. Everything can happen without me, ‘can’ being the keyword here. It doesn’t necessarily mean that it does.

I know a lot of full time working women – women who don’t just have jobs but careers. And I know they also have this underlying insecurity, like I do. More so if they are mothers. So I know I’m not the odd one out. But I guess it is one of those things I have to make my peace with. And to a great extent I already have. It’s the remainder that still bothers me occasionally.

It’s sad that whenever a woman chooses to step out of the house to work, she’s leaving behind a part of her life she would like to take along with her. What is it – our conditioning or our emotional constitution – that makes us want to inhabit two worlds at the same time? Sometimes I wonder if it really wouldn’t have been better if women had continued to play the role of dedicated homemakers, living to every stereotype of wife, mum, daughter, whatever instead of straddling two worlds and spending their lives trying to bridge the divide between the two. I know I would be a more relaxed person if I didn’t have in my head the idea of working. Or if I did, it would be better if I didn’t also have the idea of being a homemaker while away at work. Then I could just put my head and heart into one thing. Where did this idea of ‘woman of substance’ come from, of this woman who can manage both the worlds efficiently? What kind of superwomen set such high-stress precedents for the rest to follow?

At no point am I suggesting that I’d like to retire from my work and take up the stay-at-home role, simply because I cannot. It’s not me. I do wish though I could get rid of compunctions to be a ‘complete’ woman. Is there such a thing as a complete woman, as the Raymond ad would like to sell to us the idea of a complete man?

>Budhi ghodi, lal lagam

>…Or dressing up your age.

I’m all for doing what the heart tells you to, living the way you want to. But somewhere in me, I admit, is ingrained my convent education telling me that some things need to be done the way they need to be done. There’s a time and place for everything, and 50 is not the time to dress up like you’re 25.

I am guilty of being judgemental there. There may be under that garish outfit a very good heart. But can I just blame my fashion sensibilities on my convent education again? Because I do find something distasteful about a person dressing up to look at least 20 years younger. Isn’t aging gracefully all about accepting that you need to let the new order take over without fighting with all your bling and bright colours to stay where you are no longer fit to be? And perhaps what’s distasteful to me is not the appearance – as unflattering as it might be – as much as the desperation to look younger.

At 30, I should be wary of making such statements, or writing such posts. For, of all my fears, my biggest is not being able to accept that I’m growing old. How much longer before I am too old to be sporting fashion that college-goers do? I mean, I already am that old. Love as much as I do the college trends, I am careful of not emulating them because a). I’m not in college and b). I’m not 18. But I still wear clothes and colours I love. Because dressing up well needn’t be about dressing up like your kids. I love yummy mummies, oh yes, I do. But a mother (or a MIL) who’s competing with two generations her junior? Not my cup of tea.

I’m not a fashion critic (how I’d love to be!), but I do know that while some people can own a look irrespective of their age and carry it off with elan, others just come out of it looking like an aging Elvis competing with the Beatles. And Elvis lost his fans because he wanted so badly to be like the Beatles! Is it too much to ask for fashion restraint when you’re growing older?