Batwoman

So lately I have been hanging out at the cricket ground every weekend. The main reason was of course the T20 championship that Viv was playing, and T20 is the only kind of cricket I seem to have the patience for nowadays. However, knowing how restless I can get when I'm jobless and how much I hate being useless, I have found myself a multitude of things to do.

I'm a one-person cheering squad.

Cricket is not a very popular sport in Singapore and not a lot of people turn up to watch the matches. Often, it's just the players and if they're lucky, a member or two of their families. I have often found myself to be the only supporter in the pavillion when Viv's team is fielding. But that doesn't deter me. I sit with the mushtandas of the other team and clap and cheer for mine ignoring their "How dare you?" looks.

I help the scorer.

By now, I know almost all the players in Viv's team, even the 12th man. So when the scorer yells out "Bowler's name, please!" I am usually able to help, together with confirmation from the 12th man.


I help out in the training.

I can bowl at the speed of 65 miles per hour. Erm, using the bowling machine I mean. Yup, I can operate the bowling machine and even adjust the speed and what not. Ha! (By the way, that machine is one dangerous piece of shit.) So I have helped Viv train at the nets. Viv and I have also been having a ball with this shapeless ball he ordered from some Australian cricket website. Check it out, the ball bounces in the most unexpected ways and is used by wicket-keepers for practice. I also prefer it as it hurts my hands less than helping in the training with a regular cricket ball.

I take care of Viv's team's valuables.

These valuables can include anything from kits to kids. There was this time one of his teammates got his fancy digital SLR camera and tripod to the ground. Before going in to field, he put me in charge of the camera. And oh, his five-year-old son too. I'm proud to say that although I had a real blast with the zoom feature of the camera, and got a beautiful shot of every wicket taken and every 'wicket almost taken', I did not - I repeat - I did not lose the kid. *proud grin*

Then there was the time some random team was going to flick one of our team's bats which was lying there. This bat is black on one side and has a really cool logo. I've never seen a cricket bat look so cool. In fact, if Batman was indeed "Bat"man, he'd be carrying this bat. So this bloke was examining it and then asking around if they knew whose bat it was. Then he asked his teammate if there was space in his kit for the bat. I glared at him so hard he quietly put the bat down and left.

I am the official eavesdropper.

When Viv's team is fielding, I listen out for all the things that the opposition says and tell him everything during the break, including strategies, comments, gossip (of course guys gossip!) and what not.

I build relationships.

I am the official behen/bhabhi of his team. Recently one of the guys came up to me ask me, "Didi, aap mera ring rakhoge?" The best part was how he sought Viv's permission before he approached me with the job. :)) Then there was the guy who went and complained to Viv that "Yaar, bhabhi ne mujhe pehchana nahin!" the day I was so busy with the camera I had no time to wave to any of my devars!

***

It was probably because of my presence at the ground the last few weekends that caused a sudden spur in my interest in cricket. And it also brought a cool piece of news my way. Viv told me that I had got an invitation to join the Singapore women's cricket team. The jaw-dropping factor was not that Singapore has a women's cricket team - of course they do! I've often seen them train when I go to the ground on saturday mornings. The jaw-dropping factor was that they invited me of all girls to join the team.

"Hahahahahaha!" I finished the laughter bit first, before continuing. "That would be awesome. Do they know that I have no idea what the difference between a bye and leg bye is?" I asked Viv.

But then Viv said something really simple but really cool. He said I could learn all the things I don't know. Suddenly I felt all geared up. I could train hard and become really good. It would also be a way to stay really fit. I could travel with the team to other countries and represent Singapore. Even Viv's cheeky warning "You'll of course have to cut those long fingernails if you want to play cricket." did not deter me. (I'm a seasonal bimbo, not a perennial one.)

But then, like all sudden good things, this one came with a catch. Training and matches would take up entire weekends, and I'm not ready to sacrifice my book-writing.

Ah well.

Looks like it's true - one lifetime is not enough to do all the things you want to do.

Next life mein Batwoman chhudaayegi sabke chhakke!

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Kiddy concepts

They say that if your concepts are clear in your head when you're a child, you'll never forget them, and they will always make sense. Perhaps the biggest contradiction to this is the concept of Santa Claus. However, Santa is not very desi (unless you're talking about Santa of Santa aur Banta fame). Though I don't know what it is like now, but when I was growing up in India, Santa was insignificant. In fact, there was no Santa, only Fanta. Okay okay, bad joke. So I decided to make a list of desi concepts that seemed so sensible and logical back then, but seem like total nonsense now.

Vidya kasam (Literal meaning: I swear by vidya = knowledge)
So if you wanted to convince someone that you were speaking the truth, you prefixed it with vidya kasam. The repercussions were severe - if you were lying, vidya would leave you, i.e. you would flunk in your exams. So strong was the belief that even though I was the class topper, I would never ever khao vidya kasam if there was even an iota of doubt in my head about the truth in the statement I was about to make.

Doodh-bhaat (Literal meaning: Milk-rice)
After the many many sessions of getting out for a duck, followed by severe bawling, the tall lanky bhaiyas of my colony decided to declare. Not declare the innings, but declare doodh-bhaat for me. This basically meant that no matter what happened, I could not be declared out. Of course, there was a cap of five times, which meant I could last just under one over before I'd be officially 'out'. Of course, as I grew older, the cap reduced in number, and one fine day, there was no doodh-bhaat for me anymore! Surprise surprise though! The concept has now made its way into grown people's cricket, and has been given a more mature sounding name than doodh-bhaat. It is called a free hit. :|

Gudiya ki shaadi (Literal meaning: Doll's wedding)
What I don't get is how someone could come up with the cruel idea of a wedding after which the bride and groom go back to their respective homes and never see each other ever again. There are new clothes, jewellery, a grand feast, sometimes even a pundit, but right after the wedding, Munni takes off with her bride-doll and heads home to do homework, and Bubbly goes off with her groom-doll. Shaadi khatam, sab log ghar jao! I was totally against it even as a kid. My only memory was that of my friend (I forget her name. Obviously.) having the audacity to suggest that one of my bimbotic Barbie dolls (I had 6 or 7 I think) get married to her ugly gudda (male doll) who incidentally was not only NOT Ken, but was also twice my Barbie's height and width. Ugh! Kahan kahan se chale aate hain muh uthaake...

Katti and mitthi (Literal meaning: Err... uhhh... let me think... hmmm... uhh... )
Well, if you wanted to stop speaking to your best friend, all you had to do was cross the index finger of your left hand with that of your right hand, and hey presto, you weren't friends anymore! No hard feelings either! And retraction of the gesture was just as simple, you just had to carry out the same action, only this time with both thumbs instead of fingers (there are other variations too), and things went back to normal like you'd never had a fight. Wish grown-up life was as simple, don't you?

Got any such 'concepts' to share?

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The kingly affair

So Sayesha Smitten Showbiz Kitten reads about the protests against the release of Jodhaa Akbar. She decides to investigate further and goes over straight to director Ashutosh Gowarikar's house. A large number of protesters are standing outside his house. The two in front are burning cut-outs of Gowarikar and Hrithik Roshan, while the rest are shouting slogans asking for the movie to be canned or banned.

Fortunately for her, there is a tree just outside the house. She makes herself comfortable on one of the low-hanging branches right next to the window of his living room, takes out her notebook and starts jotting down the proceedings.

Gowarikar steps out his house and is immediately pelted with eggs. Strangely, the eggs are not rotten, but are hard-boiled. One of the protesters - a teenager - starts collecting the thrown eggs and putting them in a basket.

Gowarikar - Please stop. Rukiye, please!

Protesters - Jodhaa Akbar band karo! Jodhaa Akbar band karo!

Gowarikar - Please listen...

Protesters - We will go to court. We will go to high court! We will go to supreme court! We will get this movie canned!

Gowarikar - Dekhiye... please suniye... Can we talk it out in peace?

Lead protester - Bhai log, ruko! He's ready to talk.

The protesters stamp on the burning cut-outs to extinguish the flames, while Gowarikar winces at the sight. Everyone goes inside. There aren't enough chairs in his living room, so the crowd sits down on the carpet, while the three leaders (rather creatively christened 'Protester 1', 'Protester 2' and 'Protester 3'), sit on the couch with Gowarikar.

There is an awkward silence for a while. Gowarikar decides to try small talk.

Gowarikar (to Protester 1 who is still holding the half-burnt cut-outs) - Toh bhaisaab, what do you do?

Protester 1 (glares) - What do you mean what do I do?

Gowarikar - I mean what do you do for a living?

Protester 1 (beams) - Oh! I make cardboard cut-outs of Bollywood stars in my basement. Some even call it the desi Madam Tussaud's.

Gowarikar - Oh... and what about you?

Portester 2 - I work in a matchbox factory.

Teeanger (clutching on to his basket with eggs) - I work at the bus stop. I sell boiled eggs for breakfast to office-goers.

Gowarikar - And you?

Protester 3 (yells out proudly) - I am a protestant!

Gowarikar - I beg your pardon? You're a what?

Protester 3 - I am a fulltime protestant!

Protester 1 (smacks Protester 3 on the head) - Protester, you moron! Protester!

Protester 3 - Yes yes... protester. That's what I meant.

Gowarikar - But what do you mean - you're a fulltime protester?

Protester 3 - Well, I protest.

Gowarikar - For a living??

Protester 3 - Yup.

Gowarikar - Uhhh... And what do you protest against?

Protester 3 - Bollywood mostly. I protest against movies that are harmful for the impressionable junta of our nation.

Gowarikar (jumps in fury) So where the heck were you when they made Ram Gopal Varma ki Aag???? Huh huh huh???

Protester 3 - Uhhh...

Protester 1 - Gowarikar saab, us aag ko maaro goli, is aag ki baat karo! (points to half-burnt cut-out)

Gowarikar - Well, I just can't believe that of all movies, there would be protests against Jodhaa Akbar! Surely there is something deeper to it. I think it's a conspiracy. But I can't imagine who is conspiring against me and what reason he or she has to stop the movie.

Protester 2 - There is no conspiracy. There is no one person conspiring against you. It's the verdict of the junta to ban the movie.

Gowarikar - But why?? Tell me, what is the problem?

Protester 1 - The problem?? The problem is your movie!

Gowarikar - What did my movie do to you?

Protester 2 - Your movie distorts history.

Gowarikar - How??

Protester 1 - Jodhabai was not Akbar's wife. She was Salim's wife. So she was Akbar's daughter-in-law. (more here)

Gowarikar - Hainn?? And what about Anarkali?

Protester 2 - Well, there was no Anarkali.

Gowarikar - That's not what they showed in the movie Mughal-e-azam! And I think they showed Jodhabai as Akbar's wife in that movie too!

Protester 1 - Yeah, that movie distorted history too.

Gowarikar - Then why were no protests against it?

Teenager (takes an egg out and starts peeling it) - I wasn't born then na.... ha ha ha!

Gowarikar (glares at the teenager and then at the eggshell pieces on his carpet) - But you were born when Asoka released. Did you watch Asoka??

Teenager - Of course! I watch all Shah Rukh movies!

Gowarikar - Do you know that in history there was no scantily-clad princess Kaurwaki he was frolicking in the water with??

Teenager - Of course!

Gowarikar - Then why didn't you protest against Asoka??

Teenager (grin) - Well, Kareena looked hot...

Gowarikar - And Aishwarya doesn't?

Teenager - Nope. I've seen the promos. She's all covered up. Even the necklace she's wearing starts at her neck and ends at her waist. She could just wear only that jewellery and still look all covered up!

Protester 1 (smacks teenager on the head, the egg pops out of his hand and goes rolling under the couch) - Chup be! Bakwaas band kar! Gowarikar saab, aap matlab ki baat karo.

Gowarikar - You tell me na what the real problem is... I don't think it's just the distortion of history you're worried about. Is it a Hindu-Muslim thing?

Protester (looks horrified) - NO!

Gowarikar - Then??

Protester 2 - Well....

Protester 3 - Bol de bol de...

Protester 2 - Actually, you can continue with the movie as long as...

Gowarikar - As long as what???

Protester 3 - As long as that Roshan boy doesn't kiss Aishwarya in this movie like he did in Dhoom 2.

Gowarikar - Huh?? That's it?

Protester - Ermm... Yes. That's it. Do you know the Roshan boy wasn't invited to her wedding because of the kiss?

Gowarikar - Well, he didn't kiss himself. She was there too. Didn't she read the script before signing the movie?

Teenager - Haha! I used to be a spot boy. There is no script in hindi movies. The script is printed after the movie releases. Sometimes.

Protester 1 - Mark my words - that Roshan boy is trouble. I don't even know why you cast him as Akbar. He doesn't look like Akbar from any angle! From what I saw in my history books, Akbar was short and fat.

Gowarikar - So who do you think would have made a better Akbar?

Teenager - Someone like Emraan Hashmi maybe?

Gowarikar (sarcastically) - And according to you, Emraan Hashmi would have agreed to do a movie without a kissing scence?

Protester - Oh my! Never thought of that.

Gowarikar - Anyway, you'll be happy to know that they don't kiss in this movie!

Protester 1 - They don't??

Gowarikar - Nope.

Teenager - Damn! Why not??

Protester 2 - Because, you dhakkan, in the mughal era, they didn't kiss. Did you see any kisses in Mughal-e-Azam?

Teenager - No...

Protester 2 - There you go!

Teenager - But that could be because I didn't see Mughal-e-Azam...

Protester 1 smacks the boy on the head again.

Protestor 3 - So that Roshan boy doesn't kiss her?

Gowarikar - Nope.

Protester 2 - Okay then... we will take your leave now.

Gowarikar - Really? That's it? So I can release my movie? It was all about a kiss?

Protester 3 - Yes yes, we were very concerned about its effect on our moral values.

Gowarikar - So are you happy now?

Protester 2 - Wait... Do you promise not to introduce any last-minute kiss?

Gowarikar - I promise.

Protester 2 - Hmmm... Lagaan aur Swades ki kasam khao?

Gowarikar - Lagaan aur Swades ki kasam. I promise there will be no kiss. Are you happy now?

Protester 1 - Of course! Go ahead and release the movie. We will all watch it. What say, bhai log?

The crowd murmurs in agreement.

Everyone leaves. Gowarikar shuts the door with a puzzled expression on his face.

Protester 1 (to protestor 2) - Chal Bachchan saab ko phone laga aur bol kaam ho gaya.

.

Howzzat?

• There is nothing quite as exciting as going to watch Viv play a T20 match in the new season.
  
  
• There is nothing quite as surprising as finding 3 more mini-supporters (two aged 5 and one aged 10) whose dads were in Viv's team (also known as 'the good team' in a gesture of absolute immaturity on the part of the writer).
  
  
• There is nothing quite as pleasing as children speaking in perfect English minus the annoying Singlish accent.
  
  
• There is nothing quite as touching as a 5-year-old offering you the last piece of candy in his bag.
  
  
• There is nothing quite as scary as finding yourself sitting next to an aunty who says, "Oh you're supporting good team? I'm supporting evil team. My two boys are in it. So let's see who wins yeah?"
  
  
• There is nothing quite as annoying as not being able to clap for the good team because said aunty is sitting next to you.
  
  
• There is nothing quite as liberating as telling aunty, "I think I'll sit with the members of the good team (good team was batting first) and get some running commentary." and running off.
  
  
• There is nothing quite as random as a 5-year-old suddenly reappearing next to you and saying, "Oh no! My dad made zero again?!" (random because his father hadn't even gone in to bat yet!)
  
  
• There is nothing quite as fantastic as the good team making more runs in 20 overs than Australia made in 50 overs in the match against India.
  
  
• There is nothing quite as shocking as suddenly finding yourself surrounded by members of the evil team who are now sitting and watching their team bat and wondering who the heck you are. The kids, as most kids of that age are wont to do, had disappeared.
  
  
• There is nothing quite as weird as being looked at strangely by the evil team's members when you suddenly clap or yell out your support for the good team.
  
  
• There is nothing quite as cheeky as eavesdropping on the discussions of the evil team.
  
  
• There is nothing quite as awesome as hearing them praise the good team's wicket-keeper. :D
  
  
• There is nothing quite as cute as the other 5-year-old running off towards the boundary where his father was fielding, yelling "I am going to talk to my father!" during a particularly un-happening over.
  
  
• There is nothing quite as funny as how you only have either of two reactions in your head with each ball played, no matter which team is playing - it's either "SHOT!" or "SHIT!"
  
  
• There is nothing quite as intense as the look on the face of each player as he walks back after getting out. No matter how much applause there was, the look stayed the same - the 'cut-it-out-guys!' look. Goes on to prove that no matter what others say, the only goals that matter are the ones you set for yourself.
  
  
• There is nothing quite as mean as waving at above-mentioned aunty with a big smile after the good team wins.
  
  
• There is nothing quite as gross as going home in a car with 7 other people, 4 of whom are stinking cricketers who have decided to have a bath at home instead.
  
  
• There is nothing quite as fabulous as coming home and discovering that India kicked Aussie ass too.

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Making cents

I'd wanted to blog about this little incident that happened a couple of days ago with a dear friend of mine, but the last few days have been absolutely insane at work.

However, last night said dear friend sent me an sms asking me whether I ever intended to update my blog or not. So I thought - okay, here goes, and blogged it down before leaving for work. Uh oh, too late babe! You asked for it! :P

***

She - So what else is happening?

Me - Hey, did I tell you the first run of my book sold out? I'm so happy!

She - Congrats! So what kind of royalty will you get?

Me - I get 10% of book sales. The book is priced at $7.80, so I get 78 cents for each book sold.

She - That's great! I'll buy a copy.

I looked at her with absolute adoration. Her statement had warmed the core of my heart.

You see, this book is not a cutesy fancy storybook that anyone would buy. It's hard core curriculum stuff. It's a book on challenging questions based on the Singapore primary science syllabus. It's the kind of stuff that excruciating classwork and homework are made of. In fact, it's a book that would make my target audience - 9-year-old kids - throw their (empty) lunchboxes at me in disgust if they found out I wrote it.

No wonder I looked at her with a fond "Awwww! You will buy my book?" expression.

She - Of course.

Me - Wow, thanks!

She - Or... I could just give you 78 cents. That would work out cheaper for me.

Me - :/

Sayesha thunks her head against hypothetical brick wall in slow, repeated motions.


.

Hum do(st)

Happy first anniversary, buddy.

May the madness never stop. :D

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Aap ki Kkapoooorrr

The word had reached Himesh. His new movie Karzzzz was short on funds. Some of the producers, after seeing his moronic behaviour on TV during Zee Saregamapa, had decided to pull back. Himesh decided to take matters into his own hands. He got his secretary to send letters to all movie producers to ask if they would be interested in funding his movie. Interested parties were to meet him in his office the next day.

Sayesha Smitten showbiz kitten sniffed out this piece of news, and as usual perched atop a tree outside the office, furiously taking notes.

Himesh (to his assistant) - Ankooorrrr...

Assistant (pleadingly) - Sir, it's Ankur.

Himesh - Haan, wohi toh! See if any of the producers are outside?


Ankur steps out and is back in a few minutes.


Himesh - So? Anyone out there?

Ankur - Sir... woh... ladies...

Himesh - Ladies? There are ladies out there? My fans?

Ankur - Nahin sir... Not fans... woh TV wali ladies...

Himesh - TV wali ladies? You mean TV reporters?

Ankur - Nahin sir...

Himesh - What nonsense are you saying Ankooorrr? How many ladies are there??

Ankur - Only one, sir.

Himesh - Huh? Only one? Toh 'ladies' kyun bola? Pehle bus conductor tha kya??

Ankur - Jee, sir.

Himesh - Theek hai theek hai, send her in.


Ankur escorts the "ladies" into Himesh's room.


Himesh - Hi, have we met before?

"Ladies" - I doubt it. I have heard about you though... I mean I have heard you.

Himesh - Oh... thanks. But are you a producer?

"Ladies" (smiles) - Yes, I am.

Himesh - Oh okay, but I can't quite remember sending you the letter. How did you get it?

"Ladies" (coyly looks at her nails) - Oh I have my sources.

Himesh - Hmmm... okay. So are you interested in funding my movie Karzzzz?

"Ladies" - Very much so!

Himesh - But why?

"Ladies" (coyly looks at her nails) - Well, I am Ekta Kapoor. I'll fund anything that starts with a 'K'.

Himesh - Oh, you're Ekta Kapoor! THE Ekta Kapoor? Woh TV wali?

Ekta (blushes) - Oh thanks! Yeah, that's me.

Himesh - I am so flattered that you agreed to fund my second movie! Did you like my first movie 'Aap ka surroor'?

Ekta - Oh I loved it!

Himesh - You did? Thank you. What did you like the most about the movie?

Ekta - The fact that the word 'surroor' in the title had three Rs.

Himesh - Huh? Errr... okay. But what did you like in the movie?

Ekta - Oh I'm sorry. I didn't watch the movie.

Himesh - You didn't? You didn't watch my first movie but you're ready to fund my second?

Ekta - Well, I am Ekta Kapoor. I'll fund anything that starts with...

Himesh - Ok ok I get it. You'll fund anything that starts with a 'K'.

Ekta (grins) - Correct!


Himesh (scratches his cap and whispers to Ankur) - Dekh toh Ankooorr, baahar aur koi hai kya?

Ankur is back in a second.

Ankur - Nahin sir, bas yehi ladies aayi hai.

Himesh - Hmmm... Theek hai.


Ekta - So tell me about the movie.

Himesh - Well, it's a remake of the old movie Karz. It's about a boy who is in love with a girl and then he gets killed and...

Ekta - Oh no I don't need to know the story... I have never cared for the story even in my own TV serials!

Himesh (slightly annoyed) - Then what do you want to know about the movie?

Ekta - Important details... like how many Zs are there in the title.

Himesh - How many... what the... uh... okay.

Ekta - So?

Himesh - Four maybe?

Ekta (looks horrified)- Four maybe?? Let me call my astrologer, this is an important decision.

Ekta exchanges a few hurried words with her astrologer on the phone.

Himesh - What did he say?

Ekta - He thinks there should be five Zs.

Himesh - Five? But the promo posters are out, and I think they have four.

Ekta - You *think*??



Himesh - Ankooorrrr, madam ko poster dikhao.

Ankur (holds up the poster) - Dekho madam. 4 hain na? Hilela effect hai na, aasani se pata nahin chalta kitne Zs hain.

Ekta - Theek hai, hilela hai toh thoda aur hilne do. Ek aur Z laga do.

Himesh - But... critics are already slamming the movie because of the ZZZZ. Some are even saying that the review of the movie is already in the title!

Ekta - Sorry Himesh, I'm a stickler for correct spelling. I can only fund this if it has 5 Zs.

Himesh (resigned look) - Theek hai theek hai. Ankooorrr, poster redesign karwa do.

Ankur - Jee sir.

Ekta - I notice you have removed your cap in this one.

Himesh - Yes, I have.

Ekta (mutters under her breath) - Pehle topi pehenkar audience ko topi pehnaya... aur ab...

Himesh - Do you like it?

Ekta - Love the new look! Achha, who's the heroine?

Himesh - It's a new girl Shweta.

Ekta - Photo dikhao?

Himesh (shows her the photo) - Pretty, huh?

Ekta - She's okay-okay. We'll need to change the heroine.

Himesh - Change the heroine?? But we've already shot some scenes!

Ekta - So? Minor changes in the storyline will do the trick. We'll just kill her off, and then reveal that she wasn't dead. Plastic surgery and poof! We have a new heroine!

Himesh - Minor change... but it's not the girl who's supposed to die... it's me.

Ekta - Don't worry. Instead of killing you off, we will give you amnesia. So you won't even realise the girl has changed.

Himesh - But...

Ekta - Any objections?

Himesh - No, I guess...

Ekta - Good. So are you composing the songs as well?

Himesh - Of course! That's the whole point, right? I'm an actor-cum-singer-cum-composer.

Ekta (mutters under her breathe) - Well, I think you're a moron-cum-moron-cum-moron.

Himesh - In fact, I just composed the title track for the movie in my head!

Ekta - Really? That's great. Can I hear it?

Himesh - Sure! (picks up a magazine from the coffee table, rolls it up and holds it in his trademark upside down microphone style) - Huzooooooorrrrrrrrrrrrr........

Ekta (jumps) - Uhhh? Isn't this an old song of yours? Are you recycling??

Himesh - Patience, Ekta, patience. May I continue?

Ekta - Uhh... sure... sure.

Himesh - Huzooooorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr....

Ekta looks at her watch.

Himesh - Huzooooorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr....

Ekta (clicks impatiently) - Himesh, I'm kinda getting late...

Himesh - No worries, here comes the punchline after the last huzoor.

Ekta - Go ahead.

Himesh - Huzooooorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.... Ekta Kapooooooorrrrrrrr!

Ekta (looks up startled, but ecstatic nevertheless) - Oh. OH! I'm in the title track?

Himesh (grins) - Didn't I tell you I just composed it in my head? Do you like it?

Ekta - Oh I LOVE IT. Especially the punchline. It's like music to my ears!

Himesh (glares angrily) - It is music.

Ekta (bites her tongue and then quickly recovers) - Of course! Of course! What I meant was... it's a very... erm... musical... uhh... piece of music!

Himesh - Thank you, Ekta!

Ekta - Okay then, I'm off. Will give you a buzz later.

Himesh - Oh no no no. Give me a buzzzzz! (winks)

Ekta (turns to deliver a fake laugh) - Ha. Ha. Ha. Himesh, you are so funny. Sure sure. I'll give you a buzzzzz. (rolls eyes and walks out)

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Give and take

When you're a six-year-old who's half as tall as her elder sister, you have no choice. You gotta wear the hand-me-downs. Not that the hand-me-downs are dirty or old or ragged or torn. They're fine, they look like new, they're just too small for your sister and that's why you're getting them. But you, in all your six-year-old's sense of dignity, feel offended at being expected to wear a hand-me-down. I hated it. Even though whenever Mom and Dad bought my sister new clothes, they’d buy new ones for me too, I’d look at whatever they got her and think, “Cheh! Next year I’ll be wearing that!”

Mom used to stitch dresses too. Every once in a while, she’d stitch a really nice one. I remember this frilly dress she made for my sister. It was white with blue and lavender flowers. I envied it so much I asked my Mom to stitch me the exact same dress. Well, she did, but in my envy and stupidity, I forgot that I would be wearing my dress first, but as soon as I grew out of it, I’d be donning my sister's version. So for the longest time, I had the same damn dress!

I think it was my body revolting at this revolting system when it decided to grow as tall as my sister’s, and over the years slightly taller too so I’d never have to wear her clothes again. And then something rather strange happened. She moved away. First hostel, and then she got married and moved to the US. And I started craving the hand-me-downs. Guess it was partly because I missed having her around. And so, whenever she’d send me stuff, I’d lap it up. I’d even ask her for things. And I still do. I ask for things. No, actually I demand things the way I used to when she was in a hostel and she'd buy me stuff with her hostel allowance (I didn't get any, my parents never believed in pocket money for kids who stay at home, and boy am I glad they didn’t!)

And perhaps it kind of surprises her that I happily grab the stuff she gives me, because I am no longer the tiny tot who used to ask her elder sister for her things. I have a job and money of my own to spend, but I still make demands, and I like to. The strangest thing is - back then it used to really bug me - having to wear her hand-me-downs. But now I don't mind. In fact, I love it. When people give her brightly-coloured stuff (she doesn't wear bright colours), she sends them along apprehensively and I, in a grand gesture of shamelessness, grab it. In fact, Mom complains that I almost always reject clothes she picks for me, but I lap up anything my sister sends, including stuff rejected by her.

We being polar opposites, my sister is obviously as out of Bollywood as I am into it. It is therefore, highly amusing to get her reaction to my highly filmi statements.

Sis (before Mom leaves the US) - What do you want me to send for you through Mom?
Me - Kya bataoon bahinnn... aapka diya hua sab kuchh hai maai baap, aur kya chahiye?
Sis - (I can sense her rolling her eyes) Hey bhagwaaaaan!
Me – Kuchh bhi bhej do bahinn… main toh tab bhi tumhara rejected maal pehenti thi, aaj bhi tumhara rejected maal pehenti hoon.
Sis – I am hanging up.

Sis calls while I'm trying on a dress she sent through Mom, and munching on chocolates (also sent by her).
Sis - So what are you doing now?
Me - Kya bataaon bahinnn... tumhare diya hua pehenkar tumhara diya hua kha rahi hoon...
Sis (rolls eyes again) - God! This girl!

Anyway, she sent a whole load of clothes and accessories through Mom, thus helping me stick to my new year's resolution of spending less on these things. Too bad all of the stuff she sent is new. I don’t know, somehow I like the sound of the statement “Oh, this is my sister’s!” It has such a nice ring to it. I can literally feel the affection. I may buy a lot of fancy shoes and clothes, but there's nothing quite like what she sends for me – be it clothes, shoes, belts, jewellery, make-up and what not. Especially if it was used/rejected by her.

Despite half a world’s distance between us, it kind of keeps a part of our childhood alive. And I love it.

I guess our sisterhood is based on give and take.

She gives. I take. :D

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Independence Day

Those of you who're already shaking their heads thinking that I'm one of those NRIs who can't keep their Independence Day and Republic Day straight, and is hence blogging about Independence Day about a week before Republic Day, here's a *thwack* off my hypothetical rolled-up newspaper. This post is not about India's independence, but mother India's independence. I mean my mother's independence.

So I took Mom for a walk to the beach today. What Viv and I brag to everyone as 'just a short walk' turned out to be not so short when Mom was concerned. And for the first time, I understood what Viv feels like when he walks with me, what with me furiously trying to keep up with his giant strides. So on the way back, Mom was really really tired from the walk and I smartly decided this was the best opportunity to get her to become independent.

Mom is terrified of taking the bus by herself. So I suggested that she take the bus back while I walk it as I did not have any value in my bus card. Of course there were a thousand ways to get home, such as taking a cab, or me taking the bus with her and paying by coins instead of the bus card. But the point was to get her to take the bus by herself, and since it was a very short ride, I figured it was the best time to let her try travelling by herself. Just this morning, my chhoti mausi had suggested the same thing - that I let her take a short bus ride by herself and see how she does. She even delivered a mini-scolding to Mom about her lack of independence. "You should be able to get around by yourself by now! This is what, your third visit to Singapore?" Mausi had said to her. She had a point. Besides, Mom was also inspired by my mom-in-law who's very savvy when it comes to travelling by herself.

So she agreed to do it.

I showed Mom to the bus stop. There was only one other guy sitting there. I asked her if she knew which buses she could take.

"10, 12 or 14." She said confidently.

"Great! Okay, I'm going to start walking now. You know how to flag the bus?"

"Yes."

"Okay, and remember to tap your bus card at entry and exit."

"Yes."

"Do you know which stop to get off at?"

She looked a bit uncertain.

"It's two stops from here. Press the bell after the next stop, and get off at the one after that. Okay?"

"Okay. I'm just worried whether I can unlock the main door."

"Of course you can. You have done it so many times."

But I knew what she was talking about. Though she had unlocked the door several times, it was always 'in my supervision'. She has taken the bus several times as well, but again 'in my supervision.' And that was exactly what I wanted to avoid. I wanted her to be able to do these things by herself.

So I started walking, and walked rather fast so I wouldn't take too long to reach after she did.

I'd been walking for almost 10 minutes, and there was no sign of any bus overtaking me. There were 3 buses she could take. A little fear crept inside me. Would she panic because no bus was coming by? Had I been too demanding? Maybe I shouldn't have left her by herself? But there was another guy at the bus stop. But then what if the guy at the bus stop was a crook? What if he robbed her of her purse? Singapore is safe and all that, but you never know. What if when the bus came by, she fell asleep because she was so tired and woke up only at the last stop near Changi airport or something? What if she couldn't spot the bus stop she had to get off at because it was too dark?

On the way, I decided to pop by the ATM near our house. Since there was no sign of any bus behind me, I knew she wouldn't reach before I did. Besides, she had the keys. And that's when it struck me - she didn't have the keys, I did! Holy cow! But there was still no sign of the bus. Had it passed by without my knowledge? Was she home and wondering where I was? To add to my annoyance, there was this idiot in the queue before me who, instead of depositing all the cash he had at one go, made three thin stacks of notes first and manually counted them. Then he placed them in the cash deposit machine, one stack at a time. He even paused midway to answer his phone. Sheesh! I wanted to kick his ass and say, "Dude! If you can trust a machine to count three thin stacks of your money, surely you can trust it to count just one??"

All this while, I was panicking more. What if she thought she had the keys and that she had lost them? Would she walk back to the bus stop to see if she had dropped them? What if she went home and rang the bell thinking I'd be there, and I wasn't? Would she wait outside the house? What if I went back and did not find her outside the house? Where would I look? I cursed myself for my so-called smart act. What was the urgent need for her to be so independent anyway? Maybe she wasn't ready for it yet.

Gosh, had I just abandoned my mother at a deserted bus stop at night in a country foreign to her? What the heck was wrong with me??

But then maybe I was just being silly. Paranoid. But what if I wasn't?

After I was done at the ATM, I ran home like mad.

There she was, sitting besides the swimming pool, waiting for me.

Smiling, no less.

Phew.

*breathe, Sayesha, breathe*

*breathe in*

*breathe out*

*breathe in*

*breathe out*

How the heck my parents brought my sis and me up without going mad with worry is seriously beyond me.

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Bless you, my child

So Mom told me of all the things she's taught baby Aish to say. I was eager to test her. So when my sister called, I asked her to pass the phone to Aish.

Sis - No no... She will just hang up on you.

My thought bubble - What the...?!

My speech bubble - But I want to talk to her! I want to test what Mom taught her.

Sis - Okay, I'll put the speaker phone on.

Me - Hello, Aish! AAAA-CHHOOO!

Aish - *silence*

Me - Aish, AAAA-CHHOOO! AAAA-CHHOOO!

Aish - *silence*

Me - Sis, why isn't she saying what she's supposed to say?

Sis (to Aish) - Aish, Mausi is sneezing!

Me - AAAA-CHHOOO! AAAA-CHHOOO!

Aish - Blechyu!

Me - OH. MY. GOD. I can't believe this! Did she really say "Bless you?"?? Even we don't say "Bless you" when someone sneezes!

Mom (beaming proudly) - Of course! I taught her to say that whenever someone sneezes.

Me - But she's not even 2! And she said "Bless you!"

Sis - Yeah, she repeats whatever you teach her.

Me - This is unbelievable. I have to hear it again. Aish, AAAA-CHHOOO!

Aish - *silence*

Me - Aish, AAAA-CHHOOO! AAAA-CHHOOO! AAAA-CHHOOO!

Aish - *silence*

Me - Sis, tell her I'm sneezing!

Sis - Aish, Mausi is sneezing! What do you say when Mausi sneezes?

Me - AAAA-CHHOOO! AAAA-CHHOOO! AAAA-CHHOOO! AAAA-CHHOOO! AAAA-CHHOOO!

Aish - Babblebabblebabblebabble!!!

Me - Huh? What was that??

Sis - No idea...

Aish's thought bubble - I said "Go see a doctor, you crazy woman!"

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