No kidding

It was the scariest afternoon of all my years of relief-teaching.

I was taking a class of 4- to 5-year-olds, an age group that is usually a delight to teach. They are attentive, sufficiently scared of the teacher, lively and get involved in almost anything you teach them. So I was really looking forward to the class.

However, amongst the little ones was a certain kid (let's call him Danny) who actually freaked the living daylights out of me. At first I did not notice anything strange about him - he looked like a regular bespectacled Singaporean kid - but I realised after a while that he was unusually quiet. After the kids had matched the young of animals to the parents, I asked them if they wanted to colour the animals. All of them gleefully attacked the crayons.

Except this one.

"Danny, don't you want to colour the animals?" I asked.

"No."

"Why not?"

"No."

"Danny, teacher said - colour the animals." One of his classmates said.

"No."

"You say 'No' to everything."

"No."

By then, I was in another corner of the class, trying to explain to a kid why she couldn't colour a calf blue and the corresponding mother-cow purple. I could hear the banter between Danny and the other kid, but I thought it was one of the meaningless conversations that kids have when they have finished their work and are waiting for their classmates to stop colouring.

"Is your name Danny?" The other kid was laughing away, obviously having fun asking all these questions and getting negative responses to all of them.

"No." Danny said, still with a straight face.

I've seen kids play this game, but it's always accompanied by laughter. This time, it wasn't.

"Do you wear glasses?"

"No."

When I turned to them, I realised that Danny had moved about four chairs away from the other kid, and was looking at him with what could only be described as hatred. At the same time, he seemed to be kind of enjoying answering the questions in a masochistic kind of way, and waiting for the next one. The other kid, however, was getting tired of teasing Danny, and was also running out of questions.

"Danny, get back to your seat." I said.

"No." he glared at me.

A 5-year-old glared at me, and for a second I was afraid. I was afraid of a 5-year-old.

So I realised that the best thing to do was to move on to the next topic. As I explained something on the whiteboard, he kept staring into space with a very steely look in his eyes. And he still sat four seats away from the rest of the class. He was not one of those cheeky kids trying to be funny. I've come across plenty of those kinds, but this one was different. In a weird sort of way, in a way that would make you forget his age. And I knew it wasn't my imagination.

At the end of the lesson, I asked the kids to go to the computer room to watch a video on marine animals. All of them cheerfully ran to the computer room, but Danny stayed put.

"Danny, don't you want to watch the video?" I asked.

"No."

"Look, everyone else has gone. Shall we go too?"

"No."

"It's a very interesting video, Danny. I'm sure you'll like it. Come, let's go."

"No."

"Okay, if you won't go, I won't go either." I dragged a chair and sat next to him. He did not say a word or look at me.

A few minutes later, I noticed him looking at me every now and then.

"What is the matter, Danny? Is there something you want to tell me?"

"No."

"Are you angry, Danny?"

For a second it seemed like something returned to his steely eyes, but then he looked away again. I could not believe why he was behaving in such a grown up manner.

"Danny, are you angry at someone? You want to tell me?"

"No."

Perhaps I'd been reading too much about the Virginia Tech shooter, but the truth was - even though he was at most five years old, Danny was exactly the kind of kid I could see taking up a gun and shooting his classmates. It wasn't funny.

I started to wonder - are these the kind of kids that grow up into violent killers who believe they are merely taking revenge because they have been wronged? Or was I over-reacting? Should I have raised the alarm or was it too early and way of out line? When you are a relief teacher, along with limited responsibilities comes limited power. You're merely covering for a teacher who is ill. You're not responsible for anything beyond the basic lesson itself. You cannot get involved in the character-building of the kids you're teaching. You're probably never going to see the kid again in your life, and what you do, even if your intentions are good, may leave a mess behind for the regular teacher to clean up after you. So there I was, helpless, not knowing what to do, whether to raise the issue, whether to write a note to the parent or even to the regular teacher. She would probably toss it aside with the thought - what does the relief teacher know about the kids in my class? And I'd be blacklisted forever by the school as the paranoid relief teacher with the hyperactive imagination.

For all you know, they could be right. Perhaps I was indeed over-reacting? I'd probably read too much on the Virginia Tech shooter and other school shootings in the last few days. Perhaps the kid was just having a bad day. But then, do 5-year-olds have bad days? We grown-ups have bad days. I had one myself - I spilt milo on my white top before my job interview, the interview itself didn't go as well as I'd wanted it to, I dropped my favourite black jacket somewhere on the way to the school (and hence almost froze to death in the four hours I spent in the freezing classroom), encountered the naughtiest (and most annoying) little girl I'd ever taught, and ended up with a really bad headache. That was quite a bad day. But I wasn't angry. What can happen in the day of a 5-year-old to make him so angry?

And let's say this kid stayed angry all the way. Perhaps he had a lonely childhood, perhaps his parents did not have time for him, perhaps his classmates ridiculed him. Whatever it was, he had something on his mind, and he had not told anyone. Was it possible that he would do something drastic when he grew up and then blame it on his childhood? Whether it's completely true or not, most offenders do tend to blame their parents, their classmates or their upbringing for their crimes. In a world where psychiatrists would believe anything to create a theory, I guess it's easy to blame someone else to justify your actions. But aren't parents getting too much flak? If their kid turns crazy and kills 30 of his classmates and then himself, they live with the flak that they did not bring up their kid right. As if they really wanted their kid dead. And then, random teachers jump up after the deaths to claim that they saw 'signs' of a 'disturbed childhood' and what not in 'the killer'. But the kid is dead and so are many other innocent ones. Who's the one living with the heartbreak at the end? It's the parents again. Why are they always at the receiving end?

Is it really as easy as looking out for 'signs' in your kid? Is it not possible that due to hyper-vigilance by people around him (including his parents), a normal kid is somehow unnecessarily branded as 'odd' or 'angry' and 'someone who needs help' just because someone noticed something about him that was different from his peers? Is it not possible that the so called 'help' extended to the kid by society is the reason he gets so screwed up that he ends up pointing a gun at the people around him? Doesn't this mean that watching a kid too much may be just as responsible for a school shooting as not watching him?

They say parenting is a joy. 'They' also say that bringing kids up is not easy. But why? Why is parenting so difficult anyway? If having kids is an ability most people are born with, shouldn't parenting be as easy as the rest of the abilities we are born with, such as eating and drinking? And if it's so hard, then how do you know whether you're going to do it right or not? If everything your kid does is a reflection of how you brought him/her up, isn't it too risky? How do you know what - or whether something - is 'wrong' with your kid? What if there are no 'signs'? How do you know which of your littlest actions are going to be blamed for playing a part in a bloodbath many years down the lane?

Whose fault is it really?

If a government has endangered lives by introducing guns into society, is it possible that you could end up endangering lives by introducing, without your own knowledge, a ticking time bomb - your so-called "badly brought up kid" - into the same society, to promptly pick up the gun so freely supplied to him/her?

What is more dangerous really - the gun or the kid?

Drawing the line

There are five reasons why playing pictionary with Viv is so entertaining.

1. He believes there is no time limit in pictionary. He thinks he can draw until the end of the world but it's okay as long as you can guess what he drew.

2. His drawing skills are... errr... uhhh... ummm... you know.

3. If I don't get what he's drawing, he'll start drawing something else, and he'll spend a LOT of time drawing it. And just when I guess that and go 'Yippee!' he will indicate that what I've got is only a clue that is gonna lead to another clue (which is a new thing he will draw) and THAT will then lead to the actual word I'm supposed to guess. Sheesh. :/

4. He uses lateral thinking skills in pictionary, especially in situations where you don't have to.

5. Some of his drawings are virtually undecipherable by anyone but me! :D

So yesterday ooparwala was meherban and he (Viv, not ooparwala) got home at an hour decent enough for us to have a game of pictionary after dinner. The theme was 'Personalities'.

First he drew this stick figure wearing an oversized nappy but before I could squeal and say "Baby Aish!" he'd drawn a bow tie.

"A guy with a large nappy and bow tie... hmmm..."

Seeing my dilemma, he drew a cape around the guy.

"It's a superhero?"

He nodded vigorously.

"Spiderman...? Batman...? Superman...?"

He nodded a "Yes" at 'Superman' and then indicated a 'No'. Sheesh! Did I mention he does that a lot?

"So it is Superman but it is not Superman?" I asked.

So he drew a guy next to Nappy-man and a sun above his head. Then he started drawing straight lines on the second guy's head, who also happened to have the longest stick figure neck ever.

"Fido Dido??" I asked.

He drew more straight lines. The lines seemed to be getting closer and closer to the sun.

"His hair is evaporating???"

He shook his head and started drawing more lines on the guy's head. V-shapes actually.

"Okay this guy has weird hair, or he really is evaporating..."

Viv made an impatient noise.

"Is that the sun or is that krypton or something? Krypton making Superman evaporate! Hahaha!"

Viv glared at me and proceeded to draw a circle with lines on it.

"Is that the earth?" I asked.

He shook his head and drew the same thing again. This time he partly shaded it.

"Yeh kya ho raha hai... hey bhagwan... is this the earth or not??"

He shook his head and drew an eye taking an aerial view of a third stick figure. Then he drew another circle and partly shaded it too.

"Errr... top view of head... partly shaded.... hmmm... is this supposed to be a bald guy or something?"

He nodded and sat back grinning like a child who has finished his homework before everyone else in the class itself.

"What the... ok let me put this together. Bald guy related to Superman? Is it Lex Luthor?"

He was smiling.

"Lex Luthor is correct???"

"Yes."

"Hey, wait a minute. So what the hell was the evaporating hair for??" I demanded.

"That was sunlight reflecting off his bald head." He smiled.

"What?? Sunlight reflecting off his bald head? So where were the arrows to show the reflection?"

No answer.

Ok fine. My turn.

So this is what I drew.
























"It's a beauty queen... Miss India?"

I nodded.

"And that's a cricketer. From India?"

I shook my head. There was a reason I'd drawn him outside the map.

Then I drew two strips on each of their heads (it's a code to indicate the word 'name').

"Their names?"

I nodded.

"They have the same name?"

I nodded.

"They have the same name????"

Duh. Yeah-ha!

"WHAT?"

I rolled my eyes and glared at him.

"There's a male cricketer called Aishwarya???" He asked.

"Hahahaha! No, but there's one who is close, he's called Jayasuriya!" I guffawed at my own bad joke.

"Sushmita?" He tried.

"What's wrong with you, Viv? A male cricketer called 'Sushmita'? Think, man think!"

So I figured there are way too many Miss Indias and I'd have to give him another clue. So I drew this.

"She became Miss World? Oh I know I know! Hayden! Diana Hayden! Matthew Hayden!"

He sat back, grinning.

"I said same name, not same surname yaar!" So I shook my head and drew an oval around the circle.

"Miss Universe?"

I nodded.

So he thought and thought and thought and finally said it.

"I know. It's Lara Dutta."

I nodded. Then he protested.

"But Lara is her first name, and his last name. So technically they don't have the same 'name', right?"

Gulp.

"Ermmm... Dude, it's your turn to draw." I quickly changed the subject.

So he drew this. It looked like a guy in a body cast who had been shot out of a melted cannon. Next to him was a guy who had covered his eyes with his hand, possibly because he could not bear to see the gruesome nature of the things he was witnessing. The Indian flag gloomily observed the proceedings.










"Viv, is that by any chance supposed to be India?" I pointed at the melted cannon.

He nodded.

"Ohh... some Indian politician... head of state... Jawaharlal Nehru?"

He shook his head.

"Is it an Indian Prime Minister or a President?"

He nodded.

"Someone from Gujarat?" I was looking at the big blue circle on the "India map".

He shook his head.

"Are you sure this is not Jawaharwlal Nehru?"

Glare.

"But he looks like Jawaharlal Nehru!" I insisted.

Another glare.

Actually if it looked like Jawaharlal Nehru, it had to be anyone but him. After all, Viv had drawn him. :P

So I started rattling off the names of all the Indian Prime Ministers and Presidents that I could think of. Finally I stopped at Gyani Zail Singh and then said, "I'm out. Draw something else."

So he drew this at the bottom.



















"It's a teacher scolding a boy who's whistling in class?"

Nope.

"Oh wait, that guy is playing a piano?"

Nod.

"That's a piano? Hahahaha!"

Glare.

"Ok ok. This is an orchestra?"

Nod.

"So the guy with the stick is a conductor?"

Nod.

"Zubin Mehta?"

Viv made a face and I knew exactly what it meant.

"Oh, it's not exactly a conductor? A music director?"

Nod.

"A music director from South India?"

Nod.

"Illayaraja?"

He shook his head.

"Rahman?"

He shook his head.

So did I. With impatience.

So he drew this at the bottom of the page. It was a stick figure flying through the air in a projectile motion. What was with Viv and stick figures flying through the air like cannonballs?























The stick figure seemed kinda drunk and I seemed to be so too, since I could not stop laughing. He wrote the numbers '0' and '42'. I wanted to tell him numbers weren't allowed, but it was too entertaining, so I let him continue.

"This guy is a marathon runner?"

He nodded.

Where the hell is this going, I wondered. I did not know the name of a single famous marathon runner. Less so that of a marathon runner who went on to become the President of India. Or the other way round.

Then he drew another stick figure with a sad face.

"Sad guy?"

He nodded.

"I know I know. This guy could not finish the marathon so he is sad." I declared victoriously.

He shook his head vigorously.

"Oh, so he did finish the marathon?"

Nod.

"He finished but he's tired?"

Vigorous nodding.

"He's exhausted?"

More vigorous nodding, followed by a drawing of a face with an arrow coming out of his nose.

"He's blowing his nose? Yuck!"

Impatient shaking of the head, followed by vigorous pointing at all the guys involved in this weird marathon saga.

"Oh... he's breathing out."

Nodding, followed by maniacal pointing at the arrow.

"He's breathless?"

Big grin on Viv's face.

"Breathless... Shankar Mahadevan! Oh he's the music director you were trying to show! Phew I got it! Finally!"

Grin gets bigger.

"Hey... wait! Wasn't there supposed to be a President or something?"

Nod.

"Oh man... Nooo.... Surely you don't mean it's Shankar Dayal Sharma?"

Biggest grin.

Kumbh ka mela

Three incidents led to this post.

Incident #1
Sometime ago, I read somewhere that Charlie Chaplin once cheekily entered a 'Charlie Chaplin' look-alike contest. But this is not the funny part. The funny part is that he lost. Someone else made a better Charlie Chaplin than Charlie Chaplin himself!

Incident #2
Recently, I read that people are so angry at the Indian cricketers they're not even sparing the look-alikes. Neighbours of Yogendra Shah, Sehwag's look-alike, threw stones at him after India made an exit from the World Cup. Sheesh.

Incident #3
I saw a picture of Mithunda's son Mimoh.

So I decided, in a moment of absolute vellaness, that I will write a post about pairs of celebrities that have fooled me at one point in time or another by looking like each other.

Parveen Babi and Zeenat Aman











When I was a little kid, I actually thought for the longest time that these two iconic beauties from the 70s were the same person! Now I think Zeenie baby was the sexier of the two.


Kabir Bedi and Shekhar Kapoor















I guess facial hair makes a lot of people look like each other. I used to often get confused between these two till they started doing completely different things altogether.


Farheen and Shilpa Shirodkar













I'm not sure if a lot of people remember Farheen. She starred in over a dozen movies in the early 90s, but the only one I saw was 'Jaan tere naam'. And there was Shilpa Shirodkar, Miss India 1993 Namrata Shirodkar's not so well-known sibling. There was actually a movie with both Farheen and Shilpa, and Dad and I were watching it in bits and pieces. Both of us thought that there was only one heroine in the movie till the last few scenes where one of them died or something, and yet she was there, as if refusing to leave the sets. And it was then that both Dad and I realised that there were actually two heroines in the movie!


Jojo and Lindsay Lohan















When I first saw Jojo, I'd never heard of her and thought she was Lindsay. It does not help that both teen icons sing. Thankfully, now I can differentiate between the two. Jojo is way prettier than Lindsay.


Aishwarya Rai and Sneha Ullal










When I saw the trailer for 'Lucky', it was like watching 'Hum dil de chuke sanam' all over again. Rediff christened Sneha 'Aish Lite'. Although Aishwarya is a zillion times more beautiful than Sneha (honestly speaking, I don't even find Sneha beautiful at all) but the look they had given her in Lucky was totally reminiscent of the former Miss World's look in 'Hum dil de chuke sanam'. The fact that Sallu was eeriely lurking around both of them made them look all the more similar.


Matt Damon and Mark Wahlberg















I'd never seen Mark Wahlberg till I watched 'The Italian Job' a couple of years ago. I totally flipped for who I thought was Matt Damon. Now I can't stand Matt Damon (mainly for agreeing to act in a senseless movie like 'Stuck on you') but I still like Mark. And even though I can easily tell them apart now, I still think they have very similar smiles.


Suniel Shetty and Mimoh Chakraborty












Though Mimoh looks like a mix of Suniel Shetty and Ashmit Patel, the picture I found of him really reminds me of Suniel Shetty in some movie where he played this psycho who walked around in a black overcoat.


Hrithik Roshan and Atma Rao









Even though I know that almost every celebrity has tons of look-alikes, I've only used Hrithik's double Atma Rao (I found his picture while surfing for the rest on the post) in the post for a reason even though he is not a celebrity himself. Most "good" look-alikes are those of guys with facial hair as it's easy to duplicate the hair. But for a clean-shaven guy to look so much like a clean-shaven celebrity is really a wonder.

Any celebrity pairs who had you confused?

Shakira doli re

This week's 'Video of the week' is Shakira's Spanish song 'Ojos asi' with clips from the Hindi movie Devdas. I must have watched this video a gazillion times - I just cannot get over how beautiful and seamless the editing is. The perfect harmony of the audio and the video, even though they are from totally different and unrelated sources, is surreal.

Watch this - it's almost a work of art.



Video courtesy Atossa

Playing it by the year

I've never insulted my birthdays by referring to any of them as "yet another birthday". They've always been full of elation and excitement. I have always grinned from year to year. Strangely, this is the first time in my life that I am experiencing mixed feelings on my birthday. Random things are crossing my mind today:

• Today is Friday, the 13th.
  

• My last four birthdays were celebrated in the same office. I miss that.
  

• My last blog post was hijacked by commentators and transformed into a discussion about Adnan Sami's weight. And now people are wishing me there. High time I had a legitimate birthday post. :)
  

• Many people on Orkut, upon getting notification of your birthday, tend to wish you whenever they feel like it. Chirpy "Happy birthday, Sayesha!" messages on Orkut sent a week before my birthday really annoy the hell out of me. :/
  

• The older we grow, the more depressing birthdays get. Not because we're getting older, but because birthdays stop being a big deal.
  

• Generally I don't hint about what I want for my birthday, because whatever I want, I buy it for myself. But when you desperately want something like the Indian cricket team cap which you can't find in Singapore, you gotta hint. And how I hinted. Not just about what I want, but how what I want can be obtained. Sigh. Now I don't even want it anymore. :(
  

• Sometimes I feel that after a certain age, you don't age by years, you age by bands. Your age is expressed in terms like early twenties and late twenties, and that kinda age lasts a while, definitely a few years at least. Not sure if that's a good thing or a bad one.

• Viv gifts me a cool new mobile phone and goes off to work, while I - the manual-hater - struggle to use the unfamiliar UI to reply to the gazillions of 'Happy birthday' messages from people. Those who are wondering about the blank messages they've received from me need to wait till end of the day for me to figure this phone out. And oh, if you need receive a non-blank message from me and wondered why it was so emotionless, I'm still figuring out the emoticons on this phone. :)
  

• I like it when my friends find out about what I want, and get me that instead of random vouchers or money on my birthday. I guess I'm more of a gifts person. Unless the gifts turn out to be boring books, or ugly vases or photo frames or Ferrero Rocher chocolate (bleah)! But sometimes a little green note can make your day! Thanks to my Dad in law, I can afford that expensive dress I saw in Vivocity the other day. I was gonna gift it to myself, but I already gave myself a sexy pair of black shoes, in spite of promising myself that I'd buy shoes only after joining a new job. But now I feel less guilty cos he's buying me that dress. And I think that green note also has allowance for two more pairs of shoes too! :P
  

• Ever felt like you just wanna get away from everything and be by yourself on your birthday? Ever felt like you can't answer another "Happy birthday, so what's the plan for today?" telephone call?
  

• Viv's uncle calls and says, "Happy birthday, Bhai! Aaj kisi ko supari leke tapkaane ka nahin hai kya?" It's so great not to have to be a prim and proper bahu before my in-laws. I reply with a "Bhai ka budday hai, marne wale ko bhi discount milega!" Gosh he's so awesomely adorable! :)
  

• When I was a kid, Mom used to make chaawal ki kheer on my birthday. Early in the morning, I'd wake up to the smells of the birthday puja, which in spite of not being religious, I used to look forward to. I know the recipe to make chaawal ki kheer, but I won't make it. Cos Mom must have made it already. She does every year. But she doesn't let Dad have too much of it, because he has diabetes. :(
  

• What do you do when you see a 'Happy birthday' sms from an unknown number? Do you send them a generic thanks or insult the person who remembered your birthday by asking them who the hell they are?
  

• How do you react when a dear one puts you through emotional hell, tramples on your self-respect, and then gives you a very nice birthday gift? Is that supposed to be an apology?
  

• I don't know what is sadder - the fact that some people forget your birthday or the fact that it stops mattering whether they remember or not.
  

• I miss my friend and colleague Bananapen. She's the kind of person who can transform a drab birthday into a "special event". She'd plan everything so well, put so much effort into the surprise, the gift, the card, the cake. Ah the cake. As long as she was around, I knew there would be no mistake with the cake. She knew me so well. I'm not too fond of cakes, except for cheesecake, but then I have never seen a cheesecake being used as a birthday cake (wouldn't that be great?). But this awesomely yummy chocolate cake with a crunchy base used to feature in almost all of my birthdays in my old company, and I never got tired of it. Thanks, Bananapen! Cocoa exoctica, was it?
  ps: Freaky Friday! Just as I typed this paragraph out, she sent me a message saying she's dropping by, armed with a cheesecake! Yeay! :D
  pps: Yes, she was a victim of one of my 'blank replies' too. :P
  

• The last few weeks have been kinda depressing in a strange unexplainable kind of way. The only thing that cheers me up is when my sister and I switch on our webcams and I watch baby Aish do bharatnatyam on her keyboard. It's amazing how much joy an exclusive baby Aish wallpaper designed for your birthday by your blog buddies can bring you. Thanks, gal pals!
  

• When he called to wish me, my brother-in-law said, "Aish wishes you 'Dhatinda'!" Apparently, she can't say "Mummy" or "Daddy" but the only thing she says that sounds remotely close to a word is "Dhatinda". See, I wasn't kidding about the bharatnatyam bit.
  

• What do you say when your closest buddy poses a question like "So do you want a surprise for your birthday or you don't want it?" Where's a hockey stick when you really need it? :/

I think I need to make up for this rather weird birthday.

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me a year.

Every move I make

So yesterday I get a call from an India mobile.

"Kaisi hai bey?"
("How are you?" in a very informal style)

It took me a while to register who it was. And then I did.

"Oh my goodness! Tu hai!" I exclaimed.
("It's you!")

"Haan bey!"
("Yes, it's me!")

It was M from my school days. M was not really in my class, or even in my school for that matter, he was a friend of my friend A. But M had somehow decided to make himself my friend much to my disapproval. He hung around with A all the time, and whenever I went over to A's (A was my neighbour too) I'd find M there, and he'd be telling me things that would totally freak me out.

"Abbey sun, tu class mein us ladke D se itna baat mat kar, samjhi?"
("Listen, don't talk to that guy D in your class too much, understand?")

Appalled that this random friend of A's should dictate who I spoke to in class, and also offended at being addressed as "Abbey" all the time, I asked, "And why's that? Woh dost hai mera!"
("He's a friend of mine!")

"Dosti toh bahana hai. Woh line maar raha hai tujhe!"
("His friendship is just an excuse. He's hitting on you!")

"Hey bhagwaaaaan..." ("Oh gawwwwd...") I'd roll my eyes and ignore M, while A guffawed away.

Then there was this time I was standing at the bus-stop waiting for the school bus when this random guy approached me and said, "I want to be friends with you."

"Sorry I'm not interested." I said, and forgot about the incident.

That evening, M says, "So that guy who tried to talk to you at the bus-stop this morning..."

"Oh my goodness, how do you even know about that???"

"Chup bey. Humko sab pata rehta hai. Usko pitwa dein?" He said.
("Shut up. I always know everything. Should I send someone to beat him up?")

"KYA?! Paagal ho gaye ho? Pitwa dein it seems!"
("WHAT? Are you crazy?? Send someone to beat him up it seems.")

"Theek hai theek hai. Par tumko phir se pareshaan karey toh batana. Khair nahin uski."
("Ok ok, but if he bothers you again, tell me. I won't spare him.")

"Hum kya bateyenge, tum toh pehle hi pata laga logey..." I said dryly, as he guffawed.
("What will I tell you, you'll probably find out before I do.")

The strangest thing is - though he seemed to know everything about me, I did not know much about him, except the fact that he liked this punjabi girl in the neighbourhood who did not daalo him any ghaas. This was revealed by A's younger brother to me in one of the "Let's sabotage M" sessions. But M would never tell us anything about the girl. He'd abruptly change the topic every time we mentioned her. But he did point her out to me once from a distance.

Once I asked A, "Yeh jo tumhara friend hai M, yeh school-wool jata hai?"
("This friend of yours, M, does he go to school?")

"He goes to the local college."

"Hmm... thoda ajeeb sa nahin hai? Bina soche samjhe kahin bhi kuchh bhi bol deta hai!"
("Hmm... isn't he a bit weird? He doesn't think before he says anything, anywhere!")

"Hahaha!" A would laugh. "Thoda nautanki hai, lekin utna bura nahin hai. His intentions are good... thoda protective hai... apni doston ko lafungon se bachana chahta hai."
("He likes drama, but he's not a bad guy. He's a bit protective, he just wants to protect his female friends from 'the bad guys'.")

With time, I came to appreciate the kind of person M was, and also get over the freaky way in which he kept an eye on me. And oh, I also learnt to freely use the word "abbey".

This was way back in 1997.

So yesterday when I got a call from him, I was really surprised. Even though I have him on my Orkut list, and occasionally send him some gaali-galauj (abuses), we rarely speak on the phone.

"Abbe Sayesha, us ladke ne kya likha hai tere scrapbook par?"
("Sayesha, what did that guy write on your scrapbook?")

"Huh? Kisne? Kya likha?"
("Huh? Who wrote what?")

"Teri smile ki badi taareef kar raha tha? Dazzling smile and all? Kaun hai bey?"
("He was praising your smile a lot. Dazzling smile and all? Who's that?")

Sheesh. It was just one of my friends trying to be funny. His scrap said, "I couldn't help but notice your dazzling smile. So what else do you do apart from dazzling people with your smile?"

"Ufff... Woh dost hai mera, aise hi nautanki kar raha hai."
("He's a friend of mine. Just upto some drama.")

"Ohhh! Tum jaanti ho usko? Humko laga koi line maar raha hai!"
("Ohhh! You know him? I thought someone's hitting on you!")

"M! Itne saal baad bhi tumko yehi chinta hai? Tuney isliye phone kiya?? Dhakkan!"
("M, you're still concerned about that after all these years? Is that why you called? Moron!")

"Nahin bey, aise hi baat karne ke liye. Waise Orkut par tumhara naya profile picture bahut achha hai. Kya be, shaadi ke baad tum toh sundar ho gayi ho bey!"
("No, just to talk to you. By the way, your new Orkut profile picture is very nice. You've become pretty after getting married!")

"What the hell! Kehna kya chahte ho? Pehle badsoorat they?"
("What the hell! What are you trying to say? That I was ugly before?")

"Nahin, matlab school mein toh aise hi thi, normal-types, gunda-gardi karti thi isliye pata nahin chalta tha ki dikhti kaisi ho... ab toh maal ho gayi ho bey! Tabhi tumko sab dazzling smile wala scrap karte hain, haan?"
("No, in school you were the normal-types. Because of your gunda-gardi one couldn't tell how you looked, but now you've become a babe! No wonder people send you scraps about your dazzling smile!")

"Tumko kaam-dhanda nahin hai, mere scraps padhte rehte ho? Dus saal ho gaye, abhi tak tumko chinta hai ki humko koi line na maar de?"
("You are so jobless that you read my scraps? It's been ten years and you're still worried that someone will hit on me?")

"Hehehe... Achha ek baat aur suno..."
("Ok listen...")

"Kya?"
("What?")

"Tum jab humko scrap karti ho na, toh gaali waali mat diya karo. Sab humpar hans rahe hain ki saari ladkiyan tujhe gaali hi deti hain."
("When you scrap me, don't send abuses. Everyone laughs at me that girls only send me abuses.")

I occasionally sent him "Abbe gadhe, kaise ho?" ("How are you, you donkey?") or "Kya haal hai, Dhakkan?" ("What's up, moron?") messages.

"Ufff... theek hai, nahin bhejenge. Abse likhenge, "M tum kitne handsome ho!" Theek hai?"
("Okay, I won't send such scraps. I'll write "M, you're so handsome!" Okay?")

"Achha tumne dekha? Mera Orkut album? Hum kitne smart lag rahe hain na?" He sounded really happy.
("Oh you saw? My Orkut album? I've become very smart, isn't it?")

"Bahuuuut smart lag rahe ho. Khush?"
("You look verrrrry smart. Happy now?")

"Kya re... mazaak udaati rehti ho... Maal ho gayi lekin gunda-gardi abhi tak chalu hai... sabko kya dhamki wala scrap karti hai..."
("You're still making fun of me... You've become a babe but your gunda-gardi continues... I've seen you send threatening scraps to everyone...")

"Okay M, stop reading my scraps and my friends' too, okay? Good thing I delete all scraps every now and then."

"Arre toh tumhara khabar kaise rakhenge??"
("Then how will I know what's happening with you??")

Sheesh.

We spoke for a little longer and then he hung up. It felt really good to talk to him. He reminded me of the friendships of the school days. The innocence, the sincerity, the emotions, the jealousy, the frankness, the brutal honesty, the watchful eye, the looking out for one another. And of course, the total craziness.

Somehow, these elements seem to be missing from our grown-up friendships.

Immediately after the phone call, I got an sms from him.

"Hope you still remember this old friend once in a while. And if so, what is the first word that comes to your mind when you think of me?"

I could see that he was getting a bit sentimental. So I decided to send a sensitive reply - something appropriate for the occasion.

"Kameena." I sent.
("Scoundrel.")

"Thank you." He replied. "You haven't changed at all. I like it."

Neither have you, M. And I like it too. :)

Dragging Mira's name(sake) thru the mud

During my pre-movie research of 'The Namesake', I found out to my absolute horror that initially Mira Nair had wanted Rani Mukherjee and Abhishek Bachchan to play the parts of Tabu and Kal Penn respectively. However, it was only after watching it that I could totally see how brutally our friendly neighbourhood Bunty and Babli would have murdered the movie.

So here is Sayesha Smitten showbiz kitten, taking you back in time to an afternoon in the living room of Mira Nair, while she is in discussion with Rani Mukherjee and Abhishek Bachchan about her upcoming movie 'The Namesake'.

Mira - Thank you for coming over to hear the script, Rani and Abhishek.

Rani - Thanks, Mira. It's a great honour to finally meet you. We were wondering why you considered us for your movie, since you never cast mainstream Bollywood actors.

Abhishek - Oh yeah, is it because we’re over-rated, incompetent idiots who can’t get out of the lame and dreamy world of Bollywood and do some real acting?

Mira – Errr… let’s start off with the basic plot of the movie. It's about this man Ashoke Ganguli who marries a girl called Ashima and they migrate to the US. They have a son whom they name Gogol Ganguli. It's about the journeys of three people - of Ashok who's trying to set up home and hearth in the US, of Ashima who's trying to know and love the stranger that she got married to, and of Gogol who's trying to live a normal life with an abnormal name. Here, take a look at the script.

Rani and Abhishek flip through the script.

Rani - So tell me, what are the songs like?

Mira - Oh yeah, we have a couple of nice slow numbers, mostly lullaby-types in Bengali with minimum accompaniments.

Rani - Oh no, not that. That is toh the background score. I'm talking about real songs.

Mira - Real songs?? What do you mean?

Abhishek - Arre Rani, Mira's not familiar with how Bollywood movies work yaar!

Rani - Oh sorry! Mira, I meant the dhikchik dhikchik songs.

Mira - Huh??

Rani - And you should totally get Aish for the item number! She did the Kajrare number in Bunty aur Babli, and it was such a hit! And you know what's the best part?

Mira - What?

Rani (winks at Abhishek) - She'll give you a discount! Hubby-to-be's in the movie, you see.

Abhishek (smiles at Rani) - Awww you! But I need to ask Mom and Dad first.

Rani - Yeay! Do it now, do it now!

Mira - Uhh...

Abhishek calls Amitabh and Jaya Bachchan, and talks to them in hushed tones.

Abhishek - Okay, I spoke to them. Done. They agreed. Of course we will discuss the fee later. Dad will call you about that. But you have to film the item number before 20th April.

Rani - Why's that?

Abhishek - Oh, because Mom and Dad wouldn't allow Aish to wear item song clothes after the wedding na...

Rani - Oh yeah, I totally understand.

Mira – Guys! Guys! Listen to me! There isn’t going to be an item number!

Rani & Abhishek - WHAT?! A movie without an item number? Does that happen? What did you call us for?

Mira - Well, I wanted a Bengali actress to play the part of Ashima. And I thought Abhishek would fit the role of Gogol.

Rani - Wait a minute now, I'm Ashima and Abhi is Gogol?

Mira - Yeah, why?

Rani - I play Abhi's MOTHER in the movie???

Abhishek (under his breath) - Oh boy.

Mira - Errr... yeah.

Rani - And who plays my husband?

Mira - Irfan Khan.

Rani - Who the hell is that?

Mira - Errr... here. (Shows Irfan's portolio)

Rani - This guy??? This guy plays my husband??? I cannot believe this! Mira, you're getting this dorky fella to play MY husband??

Abhishek - Errr.. Rani, calm down. Give him a chance yaar. You remember who played your husband in 'Raja ki aayegi baaraat'?

Rani - That was when I wasn't a star! And you shut up, Abhi, you're not being asked to play a 45-year-old woman!

Mira - So are you saying you wouldn't consider the part?

Rani - Would you consider kicking out this Irfan guy and getting Hrithik?

Mira - No way. No one but Irfan is playing Ashoke.

Rani - Well, if that's the case, I think I'll go for Karan's 'Kabhi Alwida Na Kehna' instead. The storyline sucks but I get to wear Manish Malhotra's costumes. Oh wait, are you by any chance getting Manish Malhotra to design the costumes in your movie?

Mira - Err.. no, I don't think so.

Rani - Well, that's settled. Good bye then.

Mira - Uh... bye?

Abhishek - Hmmm... well? Let's move on to my role?

Mira - Okay, but before we discuss further, I must tell you there's some nudity in one of your scenes. Do you want to call Aishwarya's family and ask them if they're okay?

Abhishek - Naah, I can do anything. It's only Aish who can't have such things after our wedding. Indian tradition, you see.

Mira (dryly) - Sure... I see...

Abhishek - So who's going to replace Rani then?

Mira - Errr... I'll have to ask Konkona or Tabu then.

Abhishek - Hmmm... any other options? Someone more glamorous?

Mira - Like?

Abhishek - I dunno... Mallika? Then I can run and run and run!

Mira - I don't think so.

Abhishek - By the way, are you serious about the whole 'no item number' thing?

Mira - Of course I'm serious, Abhishek!!!

Abhishek - Ok ok calm down. Just checking baba. So there's no item number... In that case, you think you can give Aish the role of Maxine?

Mira (looks aghast) - What?! Maxine's role to Aishwarya?? No, I can't!

Abhishek - Why not??

Mira - Because... geez... because Maxine is an American girl, Abhishek!

Abhishek (looks at his nails and sulks) - Oh, but Aish is considered pretty international, you know.

Mira (holds head in hands) - No, Abhi, no. Aish can't play Maxine.

Abhishek - Hmm... well, I may have trouble accepting the role then... cos I have to find work for Aish na... you know how it is... in Bollywood no one wants to cast married actresses.. so I told her that she wouldn't have to look for work after the wedding. I'd get her roles in my movies. Also, I can keep an eye on her, you know. I mean with Salman out of jail and all that...

Mira - Sigh... Would Aishwarya want to play Moushumi instead?

Abhi - Sure, why not! Oh wait! (Looks at script). Naah, nude scene. We go back to Maxine's part for her?

Mira - No no no! And NO!

There is an awkward silence in the room, followed by the sound of Abhi keying in Rani's number on his mobile phone.

Rani - Oh hi, Abhi! So are you taking up the weird movie?

Abhi - Hey, do you think you can get me a role in that movie of Karan's you're doing?

Rani - Of course! You know Karan. He'll kick anyone out to cast a friend. No problem, I'll tell him.

Abhi - Thanks a ton, Rani! You're such a good friend!

Mira is sitting on the couch, still holding her head in her hands.

Mira - So?

Abhishek - Mira, don't mind ok? I think I'll give it a pass. Catch you later. Byee!

Mira (slowly waves at him without looking up, and then mutters under her breath) - Sigh... And they ask me why I don't hire mainstream Bollywood actors for my movies.

Will, you go to Khandala?

Considering the insane amounts of time I spend on Youtube, I've decided to do a weekly feature on my blog, of some of the best videos I discover. To start off the eve of this long weekend, the 'Video of the week' is Will Smith singing 'Aati kya khandala' on Indian Idol. I found it especially captivating because of the earnestness with which he tries to sing the words correctly. At the same time, you can see he's totally enjoying himself.



Video courtesy mannu530

And as I ooh'ed and ah'ed over how adorable Will Smith is in this video, I had a thought - why is it that when an Indian sings like an American, he's "aping the west", but when an American sings like an Indian, he is "CHO CHWEET" and "HOW CUUUUTE"? Is it that all we have are apes but nothing ape-worthy? (Errrm, no offense to the Indian cricket team.)

Well, maybe it will happen. Maybe one day in the future, American parents would be complaining, "Damn globalisation! Damn TV! The kids of today are so Indianised! They eat at home, do well in exams, respect their parents, and have like 'culture' and 'values' and stuff. Sheesh. All this aping of the east... what will happen to the future of this Zee TV generation??"

Amen.

Underwater world

Splash! Splash! Splash!

"Hmmm....."

"What hmmmm..?"

"I wonder if I'll drown if I try to stand in the deep end."

"You won't drown. Go ahead and stand. It's a good start to get over that fear."

"Naah, it looks too deep, I'll drown."

"You won't drown, you moron! "The deep end is 1.6 m. That's 160 cm. You're 165 cm tall. You do the math."

"Naah, I think I'm too short for this pool."

"Gosh, no one is 'too short for a pool'!"

"Oh yeah? Then explain why models wear high heels with their swimsuits, huh huh huh?"

"Sheesh!"

Yupp, this was me, having a conversation with myself in the swimming pool a couple of hours ago, while the kids playing badminton near the pool wondered why 'that aunty in the black and pink swimsuit was swimming like a dog'.

They say that children often attribute their phobias to something bad that happened in their childhood. I wonder if my phobia of water - specifically that of putting my head under water - has anything to do with the long pink dress I wore at my school play in 1985.

So as I mentioned, it was 1985, I was 5 and getting ready for my school play. It was a musical and I was one of the girls in the long frilly pink dresses being woo'ed by the little guys in black suits and bowties. I even remember bits of the song, "I'll give you a bouquet of roses. Will you marry, will you marry, will you marry me?" We girls had to act all coy and sing "I won't marry, I won't marry, I won't marry you!" Finally when the boys got down on their knees with "diamonds" and sang "I'll give you a diamond ring. Will you marry, will you marry, will you marry me?" we had to sing, "I will marry, I will marry, I will marry you." The problem was that I hated my partner (let's call him Chintu). Chintu would pull my hair, and hide my pencils and chase me around the classroom with a bug. And so, the teachers had a tough time when incidentally Chintu was paired with me.

So Chintu would put forth the diamond and I'd shriek, "I won't marry, I won't marry, I won't marry you!"

"No Sayesha, you have to say "I will marry, I will marry, I will marry you." my teachers would plead.

"I won't marry, I won't marry, I won't marry you!"

It was a nightmare. For my teachers too, but more so for me. I hated the sight of Chintu. But there was a silver lining, and that was my dress. It was a long pink frilly gown kind of a dress that the teachers had commissioned for all of us, and I loved it to bits. I think it was what got me through the final performance. To tell the truth, looking at him, down on his knees, pleadingly holding the diamond, I had half a mind to deliver a nice kick but it didn't go with my dress so I abandoned the idea and very indignantly said, "I will marry, I will marry, I will marry you."

And my teachers, hidden in the wings, finally breathed.

The best part was - the dresses had been individually stitched for us, so we got to keep them! I was ecstatic. I told my mom that I wanted to wear it on a really nice occasion. So when I took it out for a family picnic to some lake, my mom was aghast.

"It's too fancy for this picnic, my dear. You should wear something more comfortable."

"No no no no no I wanna wear this I wanna wear this I wanna wear this!" You could see that the rhythm of my school dance had not left me yet.

I cried so hard that Mom had to let me wear it. My evil cousin Sid kept tugging the bows and frills on the way - he was totally amused. Considering that he was 4, I did not punch him.

So here we were, boating on this lake, and I was sitting on the edge enjoying the view. At the end of the trip, when the boat reached the bank, it didn't do so quite smoothly. The boat kinda collided with the steps at the bank and... SPLASH! next thing I know I'm in the water.

It was totally scary - the only thing that would come close was my recent bungy-jump stunt. The water was not as shallow as one would think. I went totally underwater at first, and then somehow struggled back up. My dress not only weighed me down, it also got entangled in some aquatic plants. Somehow I managed to free it, upon which it proceeded to form a balloon-like structure around me, which I believed was instrumental in saving my life. Anyway, many hands were extended and I was pulled up, soaking wet, and really really freaked out.

After about half an hour of crying - most of which was because the damn dress wouldn't dry - Sid got me an ice-cream. I remember because it was the nicest thing he'd done for me. Ever.

I wonder if that boating incident was what made me scared of water. Come to think of it, I'm not scared of water per se, I can snorkel comfortably and all that, but if my face goes underwater without any artificial breathing mechanism, I panic. Which is a real pity because swimming (correctly) is such a good whole body workout. Much as I love my weekly badminton session, there's nothing as refreshing and relaxing as swimming - working out without working a sweat.

And so for the exercise value, I continue to go to the pool three times a week. Except for the conversations I have with myself, I think I'm doing okay. I have mastered my own versions of swimming freestyle and breaststroke without having to put my head under water.

Hell, I have even come up with my own cool 'strokes' that can be performed with ease if you suffer from the same weird underwater phobia as me.

Crocodile stroke, anyone?

A lesson learnt

So I was chilling at home on Friday night when I received an sms from the enrichment centre where I used to teach kids like a million years ago. They wanted to know if I was free to take two classes on saturday as their regular teacher was ill. I'm on their replacement teachers' list because as an editor of school textbooks, I know the Singapore syllabus inside out. I love teaching kids at that centre, I get to carry out a lot of activities, the class sizes are beautifully small so I get enough time to focus on each kid, and of course, the icing on the cake - the kids make me laugh. Not just 'laugh' laugh, but sometimes ROFL-laugh. Of course I do the ROFL-ing bit only in my head, cos I'm their teacher. Dignity and all that.

My first lesson on saturday was early in the morning with a bunch of four six-year-olds, and the topic was 'animal body coverings'. Not wanting to suddenly throw an abstract concept like that at the tiny tots, I decided to warm up by talking about their pets so I could go on to ask if they had observed the body coverings of their pets.

So I asked the class, "So do any of you have pets?" All hands shot up.

The first one refused to answer. Thankfully, the second one did.

"I have a dog." He said.

"And is it a big dog?" I asked.

"No."

"Oh okay, a small one?"

"No, medium-sized."

After the laughter in my head subsided, I continued to the next one who was literally jumping up and down with her hand raised.

"I have fishes."

"Oh wow. How many?"

"Many."

"Errrm ok. What colour are they?"

"Colourful."

"Hmmm."

So I moved on to the third one.

"I don't have any pets, but my aunt has four dogs and her maid stole two of the dogs and ran away and she also stole my aunt's purse and ran away you know with the two dogs and the purse."

Finally the kid paused for breath. Listening to this kid kinda reminded me of the "kuchh log kam bolte hain, kuchh zyada" Hutch ad.

Anyway, I continued with the lesson, which went through smoothly and moved on to maths.

"Any questions?" I asked after solving a problem on the whiteboard.

"Miss Sayesha, why is Miss S not here today?"

"Miss S is ill."

"What happened to her?"

"I don't know."

"Does she have fever?"

"I don't know."

"Then what happened to her?"

"I don't... have you finished question 4?" I asked sternly.

Phew.

The class ended at 11 am, and I moved to another classroom for my next lesson which was with primary 4 kids.

The topic was 'Water pollution and water conservation' and I was going to demonstrate to them how soil washed into the rivers affects photosynthesis in aquatic plants. I was gonna draw a green plant on a paper plate, place a glass of water on it and ask the kids if they could see the plant through the glass. Next, I was going to add some soil to the glass of water and then ask them the same question. The activity was to teach them that soil in the water can block sunlight from reaching the aquatic plants and kill them.

I decided to ask one of the kids to draw the plant instead of drawing it myself. Sometimes it's more fun to let the kids do parts of the activity. It involves them more. Besides, it's no fun if teacher does everything.

"Okay, I want someone to draw a small green plant in the centre of this plate."

A boy volunteered.

"What kind of a plant?"

"An aquatic plant. A hydrilla maybe?"

"You want a leaf or a plant?"

"I want a plant."

"How many leaves?"

"Upto you. How many do you want?"

So he took the green marker and drew what looked exactly like a grasshopper. The other kids started giggling uncontrollably. So I decided to add a fifth leaf on the top to make it look more like a plant. The rest of the activity went off peacefully.

We moved on to another one where I showed the kids how oil spills in the sea can affect marine birds. I had two glasses - one with water and one with a layer of oil on water. I dipped a feather into each, and then placed them on blotting paper. The kids had to observe how the water dried off the feather but the oil did not, and infer that the oil clumps the birds' feathers together, making them unable to fly.

"So tell me kids, how do oil spills affect marine birds?" I asked at the end of the activity.

One hand shot up.

"The stink!" He said excitedly.

"Hmmm... I'm sure the stink bothers the birds, but they face a much more immediate problem. What is that?"

"The bird sticks to the oil and can't fly!" Another one said.

"No! The bird doesn't stick to the oil! The oil sticks to the bird!" said a girl, sending the class into a hysterical fit of laughter.

Sheesh.

"Okay okay." I somehow managed to calm the class down, wondering who were crazier - six-year-olds or ten-year-olds.

After science, we moved on to maths. After introducing it, I wrote the word 'trapezium' on the whiteboard so that they would not misspell it when they wrote it in their worksheets.

One hand shot up.

"Miss, what is that after 't'?"

"What do you think it is?"

"An 'r'?"

"Yeah, that's an 'r'."

"Why does it look so funny?"

"Funny?"

"Yeah, it looks so funny."

"Well, you can read it, can't you?"

"Yes, but why is your 'r' so funny?"

The 'r' may have been funny, but the situation so wasn't. All the kids had stopped writing and were gaping at me, waiting for me to explain why my 'r' was so funny. I have no idea how I got out of that one.

Finally, at 1.45 pm, I wrapped the lesson. The kids went home, waving crazily, "Bye, Miss! Bye, Miss! See you, Miss!"

And as I saw them leave, I wondered what the deal was with teaching and me. Do I love it? Do I hate it? I've done it on and off for many many years now, but I can never imagine myself being a fulltime teacher. At many points in my life, I have paused to wonder if teaching is my true calling. And the lesson learnt at the end of the day was always the same - no.

In some ways, teaching these kids reminds me of engineering.

I may be qualified to do it, but I just can't see myself doing it every day of the week.