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Matters of Heart: Act 6

Author’s note: My Matters of Heart series is about Indian dating culture and my failsafe ways of dealing with it. This is the sixth part. To look for the rest, just search for Matters of Heart in the Search box.

India may be the land of many languages but regarding the matters of heart, it is pretty much the same–vague! At least, small town India in my teens was like that. You needed to learn Morse code to be able to receive a signal.

That could be because if a guy didn’t hit the mark with 100% accuracy at the correct time and in the correct place and correct company, he might spend the rest of the month in a hospital ward with both hands and legs, and skull in bandages–if he was lucky!

If he was unlucky, he might land up in jail for eve-teasing, harrassment and obscene behaviour in public, or even end up starting a full-scales riot spread across several Indian states–especially if it was a Hindu-Muslim union he was looking for.

As I had mentioned in one of my earlier posts, until the age of 20, I never got a proposal. But honestly, I probably never recognised an attempt to propose. Many of such incidents were due to the vague language signals, which relied solely on reading body language and breaking code words (such as, “I am going for a movie alone.” means “Do you want to come for a movie with me?”).

Considering that I am rather thick in that department, it took me several years of quiet contemplation to understand the full meaning of a lot of these conversations.

Thankfully, I wasn’t the only one. My friends were equally befuddled. Most being bookish-nerdy-artist variety girls, they all had similar unyielding conversations. Surprisingly enough, I was sometimes able to break the code for them (but never for myself). Unfortunately, my decoding style used to put their hackles up and they would start avoiding the guy making the moves.

So I had a close friend (let’s call her X). Once one of her close friends (let’s call him Y to rhyme with a “guy”) told her that he “liked” me. Now, in those days, “liking” in India was the code word for “kind of crazy about and wish to take on a date”. Note that I had met him only once for 15 minutes in an office setting. When X expressed her surprise, he added, “Yeah, there should be somebody to drive around on my new bike!” And then, when she offered to pass the message to me, he said, “No! No! Promise me you won’t tell her I said that.”

So obviously, X told me. It is the girl’s code to share everything that is expressly forbidden.

Technically, this was the first non-proposal I had received, or I should say the first time a guy had clearly shown any interest in me. It didn’t get me interested. It got me curious. I had to dissect this conversation to see where it came from and where it was going.

Because the three statements together did not make sense: while it is natural to “like” someone and want company on a new bike, you need to tell the concerned person to get that company. Why expressly forbid?

Also if I was a guy, I would never want someone like me just to drive around on a new bike. Men LOVE bikes. They are their equivalent of a lover. (I have a colleague who has the name of his bike tattooed on his arm.) So, if they want a girl for a new bike, that girl will have to be a new-bike equivalent: shiny and polished-to-hilt girl with red glossy lips, eyelashes that are thick enough to be braided, plucked eyebrows, manicured fingers and pedicured feet, and fitted in a dress that shows it all.

A girl who new knew make-up and is a walking ad for “Just Books” wouldn’t fit into the image of the “bike” girl. Besides, I owned a new scooter and would never ask a lift from anyone anyway. So, the statements were not making sense.

Naturally, I wanted to ask Y directly to save me the decoding effort. But X told me that it would look like a breach of confidence to him. And I would move mountains for X. So, I had to solve this mystery on my own, trying to join the dots but always coming back in circles.

What did Y mean by…

Could he seriously consider sharing his new bike with me? I mean, I could take it for a drive…not with him in the back though…

What if he didn’t mean it and was just saying for the sake of conversation…a very dangerous conversation with a potential of public beating?

And why would he bluff to X?

Then inspiration hit–Dil Toh Pagal Hai (One of Shahrukh Khan’s movie–the god of Romance in India)!

Y was testing waters. He was checking X’s reaction to see if she would be jealous, like Anjali in Dil Toh Pagal Hai when she saw her best friend show interest in another girl?

If he was actually meaning to ask her out, he would draw her attention to his intention of getting a girl (and to the fact he had acquired a new bike). Since she was a close friend, it would switch on her jealous-friend track and (considering she wore her heart on her sleeve) it would show on her face.

But the plan backfired because X was truly disinterested. She offered to pass on the message, leaving him scared that I might walk in with my brother and he would have to be admitted in a hospital for broken bones (if he was lucky!).

I offered this explanation to X, telling her that she had a secret admirer who was wondering if he should ask her out. But she was as thick as me, “Naah, if that’s the case, he could have simply asked me.”

Yeah, right!

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The Diva

My daughter has done it again. She has surprised me and given me chance to showcase her creativity ๐Ÿ˜Š. Sometimes I wonder if I am taking advantage of her creativity…that doesn’t stop me though ๐Ÿ˜.

This time it is a doll dress๐Ÿ‘—. Lately my daughter has acquired three new dolls ๐ŸŽŽ and is facing a sudden dearth of dresses. She has recruited both me and her new aunt for dress designing and got 10 new dresses ๐Ÿ’ƒ๐Ÿ‘˜๐Ÿ‘— from her father but you know how a woman can never have too many clothes?!

And we have 6 dolls ๐Ÿ’ƒ๐Ÿ’ƒ๐Ÿ’ƒ๐Ÿ’ƒ๐Ÿ’ƒ๐Ÿ’ƒhere.

So, she has started helping herself. She created this one out of a shiny plastic balloon–the kind that doesn’t stretch–and cello tape. Can you believe it?

I love how she has created the complete diva look by sticking three pieces together. It would have taken me hours to create a body hugging dress. Add to it the accessories her father has got her!

I wonder if I should retire and let her take up dress designing for dolls๐Ÿฅฐ

Posted in My life

A bone to pick with Leonardo

I have a bone to pick with Leonardo da Vinci–why did he chose to present Monalisa in such a way: all black, pulled back hair, receding hairline, black veil?

Every time I see that portrait in a photo (I don’t have the money to go to France to see the painting in person.), I think of a new widow. The mysterious smile makes me wonder if she murdered her husband ๐Ÿ”ช and got away with it. The roaming eyes ๐Ÿ‘€ just add to the story, like she is watching everyone wondering when someone ๐Ÿ•ต๏ธโ€โ™‚๏ธwill figure it out.

Why couldn’t he have made her laughing like a real person. And he could have given her more hair! He knew enough art to pull that off without causing offence! My little maestro managed to create it in 5 seconds!

Of you wondering about mistaken identity, my daughter has assured me the this is The Monalisa (see hands). ๐Ÿ˜‚

This painting is currently hanging in the bathroom of her newest little doll house, this time made of paper. Why bathroom? Because that was the only room with enough wall space. The little paper doll looks extremely comfortable showing us around all the rooms.

The house is 3D with a door ๐Ÿšชthat opens into the curtained room, with the bedroom on the other side. The doll can get inside the bed๐Ÿ›Œ, and the two-door almirah opens to show various dresses ๐Ÿ‘—๐Ÿ‘˜๐Ÿ’ƒwhich the doll can wear (my contribution is the kimono she is wearing).

The doll can slide inside the bath tub ๐Ÿ›€ and toilet ๐Ÿšฝ has a door for privacy ๐Ÿ˜The dining room fridge is stacked with cakes ๐ŸŽ‚ and icecreams ๐Ÿฆand the wall cabinets ๐Ÿ—„๏ธcan be opened to put in stuff (I don’t think the doll has learnt cooking yet, so they are still empty.). She eats at the dining table after sliding comfortably in the chair๐Ÿช‘. She has also created a supermarket but it is not sufficiently stacked so retraining from sharing. So far, a satisfactory arrangement for a two-inch doll.

What do you think?

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How to make a cake

I found this torn cake recipe in the storeroom with my 8-year-old daughter’s stuff. Ever since she started “baking” cakes ๐ŸŽ‚in her “oven” with paper ingredients , I have been wondering if she knew the actual recipe. ๐Ÿ˜ Because I don’t!

Now I know that she does–in essence the recipe is correct, even if the quantities are rising by each element. ๐Ÿ˜

I love the pictorial reference to each element, making the recipe universal. You don’t need to know English to read it. If you can decode it, you would know how to make a cake too…sort of… ๐Ÿ˜

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Ingrate | Lantern

Ingrate–

never knew

what I had

until I had to…

…pack it.


Author’s note: I have just moved house last week and am still wondering how two and half people can have 11 huge bags and cartons full of daily stuff hidden inside a single room, apart from all the furniture, almirahs, blankets, pillows and electronic items. I am not even counting the stuff my mom in-law moved here–she was responsible for three other rooms and the kitchen! No wonder our family needed a bigger house. ๐Ÿ™‚ And we had always talked about needing more stuff that we couldn’t buy due to lack of space until now!

“Aagah apni maut se koi bashar nahi. Samaan sau baras ka hai pal ki kahabar nahi.”

– by Hairat Ilahabadi

(Death gives no notice of its arrival. Weighed down are we with possessions fit for a century, unsure if we live to see the next second.)

Posted in My life

The Rings of Power

In India, ring is not a symbol of engagement. I mean, people can give it to each other if they like since exchanging rings is in fashion, but it is not a mandate. In fact a lot of people get engaged while they aren’t face-to-face, aided by their families who fix the marriage. I guess we don’t need a symbol since once someone gets engaged, everyone in the whole world is invited to attend the ceremony so that everyone knows and none of the parties think of backing out.

So, most of us wear rings simply as a symbol of affluence or for stone therapy (related to star-charts, lucky stones and all that). But for some reason, I wear them for protection.

Ever since I started my job, I started wearing gold rings in both my hands. They are nothing fancy–just two thin and simple pieces that my parents bought for me when I started college. Once I left home, these pieces were a reminder of my parents’ love but also an emergency fund, in case I lose my cash…my wallet…or lose my way…

Not sure where these insecurities came from. Maybe because I had been sheltered for the first 28 years of my life by my parents before I stepped out to create a life on my own…

When I had first moved to Bangalore, my parents had simply handed me over to my brother to ensure my safety. So, three months later, when I decided to move to an all-girls PG room with a female colleague, it was a monumental moment of my life. Moving out of family’s protection circle scared me senseless. And that was when I made the decision to wear these two rings plus two gold earrings to ensure financial safety in case of crisis.

My logic: I can always sell them or give them away in return for help.

It sounds insane even to me and I never had to actually sell anything, thank goodness for that!

Even after I started working from home, the habit of wearing these rings all the time has persisted, so much so that I feel exposed without them. Now my two fingers have ring-marks around them. And if I wear fancier rings for any occasion, I simply wear it on the top of these two.

Weird…isn’t it?

Posted in My life, Published, Random Thoughts

Not A Lore | Short Stories Collection | Published

As most of you would know, lately I had been working on my second short stories collection, Not a Lore: The Imperfect Tales. It is now published and available on Amazon as an eBook and a paperback (I recommend eBook since it is ecofriendly).

The cover page is designed by Manpreet Kaur who is a professional artist (@ammpryt on Instagram). Nishant Agrawal, Instructional Designer and short-stories aficionado like me, is the editor.

Not a Lore contains twelve quirky stories about curses that kill (or worse, make you to fall in love), monsters who aren’t all that bad and damsels that are better left alone with their distress. A mix of fresh tales and retelling, the compilation is all magic. Written from the point of view of one of the central characters, it is a celebration of my skewed perspective regarding all things magical and mundane.

Here is a short description of the stories in the collection.

  1. Not a Lore:ย A handsome prince sets upon a journey with his Squire to kiss a sleeping princess awake. But how will he get past the dragon? And would it be better to become dragon fodder instead?
  2. Ugly:ย A prince stuck as a toad forces a princess to help him lift the curse, but she would rather fry him alive. His only hope is a maid who doesn’t shriek at his sight.
  3. Captivated:ย A girl stuck on the top of the tower meets a handsome prince. He brings a fresh perspective while she persuades him that there is no need to run from the ‘witch’.
  4. The Doors:ย When a Fighter tooth fairy goes to explore the worlds behind the mysterious doors, her Spellman partner of 93 years decides to find her somehow.
  5. Barred:ย When the severed bullโ€™s head guarding the door of a famous potion-bar stops a loveโ€‘struck wizard from entering and staring at the barmaid, they discuss the issue with surgical accuracy.
  6. Vivid:ย While restoring a cursed bracelet at a museum, the museum assistant shares the awe, love and agony of the first owner, as she finally realises why the bracelet was cursed.
  7. Muddled:ย A man wakes up in his bed groggy and confused and finds that someone else is now also living in his house. He is searching his memory as he walks down the steps.
  8. Late:ย On a full moon night, a young man stumbles upon a horrible secret in a dark alley and runs for his life. Unsure if it is a hallucination, he would rather not stop and confirm.
  9. Broken:ย A hunter recounts the tale of when he goes looking for a trophy head of a tiger and ends up falling in love completely beyond repair.
  10. The Far Door:ย A single woman moves into a new building to leave her past behind. Therein, she finds a door without a lock that she is forbidden to open. The story captures her fascination and fear wrapped around the unknown entity in the room behind the far door.
  11. A Matter of Chance: A new-age non-witch cooks a dumb cake on All-Hallows eve to see her future husband in the mirror. But now, she must wait for him to find her. If only he would acknowledge that she exists!
  12. The Scoop:ย When a famous news anchor decides to cover Cinderellaโ€™s โ€˜fairy connectionsโ€™ with vengeance on mind, Cinderella didnโ€™t stand a chance.

The e-book is now available on Amazon. To preview:

  1. Select this link: Not a Lore: The Imperfect Tales
  2. Select the Read Sample button.
  3. Scroll down to read the sample.

If you wish to buy the ebook, know that Amazon Kindle app can be installed on any device and not just Kindle Readers. (I had it on my Android phone. But my daughter forced me to delete it because it is addictive!)

Wish me luck. I will need loads of it. I have two requests.

  • If you think it is worth it, please share the link with others as well.
  • If you choose to buy, please leave reviews, good or bad. I am happy to learn from you.
  • Let me know what you think of the sample in the comments and if it needs improvement.

Thanks a lot! Looking forward to hearing from you all.

Posted in My life

Slaying Our Personal Dragons

We have just faced the worst fear of parents–children stepping out of their control zone! Our daughter has finally joined school. For 5 hours, she is out of our sight and very much on our minds. I can only wonder how parents send their children to hostels or marry them off. We can’t breath properly if until we see her again. It is like a part of us leaves with her. The house is too quiet and weird without her chatter.

And then, there is the fear for her well being–we know she is in safe hands. (My husband visited the school multiple times to ensure that.) But still the days and nights before the first day at school were filled with instructions.

  • Never keep hands on door threshold or some one might close the door and crush it. (Sure!)
  • Never close the classroom door. (Sure!)
  • Never let others close the classroom door. (Sure!)

Note that there are no doors in the classes of this school to ensure children don’t shut them, but still our daughter indulged us.

  • Never jump from benches. (I never do!)
  • Never run on stairs. (I never do!)
  • Clutch the railing tightly when going up and down the stairs. (I always do!)
  • Don’t stay alone in a classroom. (What if I am the first child in the class?)
  • Don’t leave your classroom unless accompanied by a teacher. (What if I have to use loo?)
  • Don’t play outside classroom. Someone might push. (Okay!)
  • Don’t play inside classroom. You can get hurt with all the benches. (Where will I play then?).
  • Don’t enter a class that is not yours. (Why would I do that?)
  • Don’t leave the school until Papa arrives. (Okay!)
  • Don’t stay alone inside school until Papa arrives. (Where will go then, if I am the last one?)
  • Don’t talk to strangers. (Papa will drop me and pick me up! When will I get a chance?)

And then there was more serious stuff about good touch-bad touch and self-defense heirarchy with increasing severity. If someone corners you or you don’t like their touch:

  1. Say No. Tell them to leave you alone. (What if they don’t?)
  2. Shout (What if they cover my mouth?)
  3. Bite and run (What if I can’t bite?)
  4. Kick (Not tall enough!)
  5. Fingers in the eyes, nose and throat, and run (My fingers are not strong enough!)
  6. Pencil in the eyes, nose and throat, and run (What if I don’t have pencil?)
  7. Anything in the eyes, nose and throat, and run (Fine, I’ll try.)
  8. Never use self defense against children. (What if a big boy at school hurts me?)
  9. Complain to a teacher. (What if there is no teacher?)
  10. Shout…

And so we go again…

In the end I was afraid that I had converted my daughter into a walking landmine, ready to explode at the touch, and I had to calm her down, reminding her that most people are nice and generous. They don’t hurt people and usually take care of children. I am wondering whether I have done a good job.

Even after all these preparations, on the first day, after walking her to school, my husband went back there to check on her after an hour and would have gone again if it wasn’t against the rules. He reached the school half an hour early to bring her back home.

All these years, we had waited for the day to come when our daughter would go to school and we would have some quiet time. Now, all we can do is look at the clock slowly ticking away the time until she returns home and fills our day again with her constant chatter.

Posted in My life

Fond Memories

I ran across

the empty school

to reach the bus stand

before the bus left for home

without me.

I was late.

I was eight

and scared

and too far from home.

I didn’t know the way back

or simply, how to go.

My heart ran faster than me.

My feet were jelly

as I wondered if I’d have to

spend the night at school.

I heard your voice

as you called my name

from the second floor corridor

where you were searching me.

All of a sudden,

the world righted itself on its axis.

You ran down, scared for me.

I don’t remember what you said,

just that I hugged you

and you hugged me.

I wasn’t scared anymore.

You were here–

my eleven-year-old hero.

Neither of us are much of huggers

but it has been too long

since you hugged me, big brother.

I miss you

and I hope you miss me too.

Posted in My life

Matters of Heart: Act 5

I was supposed to have grown up a long time back. But somehow my brain had frozen at 12 in the same way as my height. I was still unable to understand the cryptic language used by wannabe lovers.

It was a hot and humid day and I was getting my scooter from the parking lot at the Law College. A couple of guys approached me smiling benignly like they were serving me a Happy Meal at McDonald’s.

One of them introduced himself, “Hi. I’m…” (I don’t remember the name.)

“Hi. How can I help you?” I was absolutely sure that my sideway-parked scooter was blocking the path to his Bullet and he was waiting for me to move it and lecture me on the merits of good parking manners.

“I want to become friends with you.”

I waited for the joke to be over. Who was he anyway? I’d never seen him before. He was a Greek god with pink glowing skin, chiselled features and towering height, probably a basketball player. I was slightly jealous–being a Marwari dull-brown and 5’2″, I felt like a muddy blotch on the landscape in front of him. He probably worked for a reality show where they made practical jokes on people. I waited for someone with a camera to jump out from behind the scooters and shout, “Gotcha!”

Also, I couldn’t fathom a reason why anybody would need to approach someone like that to be a friend. All my friends were made generically by sitting in the same class, throwing chalks at the same teacher…

Who made friends by approaching someone in the parking lot?

“Thanks, but I already have too many friends and I can’t find enough time for them.” I started my scooter and left.

On the way home, I racked my brain for some information on this guy. Nothing.

The next day, I was again in the parking lot and saw him looking expectantly at me. I didn’t understand that look. It isn’t a look I give to anyone I want to be friends with. Honestly, this whole seeking-a-person-to-be-a-friend baffled me. I didn’t like being baffled. It wasn’t my natural mode. I was usually a know-all of Hermione level, what with my love for books. I asked my travelling companion if he was a senior. She told me he was our classmate in the boy’s section. Our classes sat together often on days when there were less students.

Seriously? He could have simply spoken with us during classes. I shrugged and started the scooter. “Boys can be so stupid,” I decided.

Next day, I found a paper slip with phone number stuck on my scooter’s handle. I decided to keep it in case I have to report the weirdo to police in future. As I turned my scooter out of the parking, he was looking at me extremely happy that I had accepted his number.

I’m afraid, he might have spent the next few days waiting for the phone call, wondering why it never came.

I wish people did not speak in code. Sigh!