Pain that glitters.

Sometimes in life, we come across situations when we suffer immense pain, which cannot be shared with anyone. Helplessness, vulnerability and trauma can weaken the strongest of people. This is a story from two months ago and no, I dint give birth.

I stepped into a popular state-of-the-art hospital that could give stiff competition to star hotels in the region. Apparently it is meant to be visited by people who have plenty of money to spare and have chronic diseases like sneezing and dandruff. They treat your acne problem and give you a facelift that can give Sridevi a run for her money, but if you have a cardiac arrest and go there on emergency you may die. My purpose of visit suited the hospital profile. The marble floors were immaculately clean and I am sure even those 0.01% germs that escaped Dettol were handled. We walked to the reception contaminating the hospital with the germs we carried involuntarily.

‘Ear piercing’ I mumbled.

 ‘Have you been here before?’ asked the receptionist who looked like Kareena Kapoor. Obviously not, young lady. People like me can come here only once in a lifetime. 

‘No’ I said.

She started a procedure that required me to provide details as though she was issuing me a new passport. When she finished her tedious yet systematic process, I received a card that looked like it was laminated and gold-plated, along with a bill huge enough to pay for the renovation of the ground floor. I was paying them to put a hole in my ears. It was not like I was asking for a heart transplant. I paid the bill (through my nose) and waited outside the specialist’s office.

There were magazines on the table, neatly stacked size wise. I dint want to contaminate them with my germ laden hands. My son who accompanied me had no questions so far but as we waited, he remotely sensed that this could be a Doctor’s office. ‘Amma I don’t have any pain anywhere! Let’s go from here! Now Now NOWWW’ !! How can children be so unreasonable? After paying a bill like that even a fire alarm couldn’t move me.

Few moments later, I was called. It was like entering an office from Grey’s Anatomy. The Doctor stared at her computer as we sat on the pristine white revolving chairs.
She then looked at me and politely said ‘Yes?’

‘Doctor, I need to get ears pierced’. I said.

She looked at my son inquisitively. Her look sent chills down his body. He in turn, gave me a death stare.

I corrected her in a split-second ‘It is for me’.

The correction was immediately made; otherwise a meltdown with ‘Why did you bring me here-I told you I have no fever -what is this- I want to see Appa NOW’ would have echoed through the hospital which always maintains pin-drop silence.

The Doctor then checked my ear which already had two piercings. She was amused. This was not as amusing to me as the cashier already put a hole in my purse. The procedure lasted hardly three minutes and two months of excruciating pain whenever my ear touched the pillow- which means I slept like a statue facing the ceiling for two months, and suffered sleepless nights whenever I twisted or turned in my sleep. Then there were nights I woke up and cried why oh why do we have ears on both sides !?

Now it is like an achievement I should include in my bio data and Facebook profile. I also made sure that my hair does not cover it at any time because hard work, pain, patience and persistence is for everyone to see. I literally burned the midnight oil for a worthy cause! I couldn't complain about this pain to ANYONE, not even parents or friends, as I did not want to willfully invite irritating responses like ‘Did I ask you to pierce your ears?’

 ‘What kind of emergency made you pierce a third time?’

‘It was your decision, suffer on your own’

People who get the opportunity to say the above dialogues enjoy sadistic pleasure which I personally do not intend to give them. So I suffered in silence the outcome of my own decisions.

Whenever it hurts and I have no one to say it to, I look at my reflection on the mirror, how cute my bejeweled ears look. It heals all kinds of pain. Trust me.

Marching through March.

March is usually the month I scream from the rooftop that I completed another year as a blogger and then fill up an entire post about stuff about which no one cares about. However a post is a post is a post. Then I bask in the glory of one, having completed another year and two, having posted something at all.



Image courtesy: Here

I have been rather busy last month. My son started first grade, which means he now has to wear uniform for the rest of the best part of his life, which means I don’t have to invest on other clothes for him in general which means more clothes for me. I am that evil mother who calculates how much more shopping she can do when her son actually crossed an important milestone. I am actually supposed to be happy and crying tears of joy at the church. Well I am drinking wine and planning where to go this weekend to shop.

Another important development is that one of my tooth from the farthest corner of my mouth fell off as I was eating grapes. Apparently my mouth was pretty shocked by the fact that I was eating a fruit for the first time in ages. The shock was so bad that the tooth just collapsed. Nowadays teeth are equally as dramatic as us. Thankfully I dint swallow it, but yeah the dent has given me that look that I am only a broom and black cloak short of being an authentic witch.  As my son has lost a couple teeth as well and is rejoicing when new ones are sprouting from his cute pink jaws, I can only look at the mirror and sigh aloud. Obviously my jaws are way past menopause and are unlikely to produce teeth again.

However highlight of the month was not that. I made a traffic offence while taking a left from a lane which goes straight only. Which actually means the lane which goes left was waiting at the red. I smartly crossed the red. Few cars recorded their protest by honking in unison as part of their ‘holier than thou’ campaign. I realized my mistake but it was too late and kept going. I came home and cried into the pillow, the only thing that understands my pain in the house. I was so lost that I dint notice the camera flash as well. However, till date it has not been updated as an offence on the website, which means I will not be swatting mosquitoes in jail.  My son was pretty excited by the idea of me going to jail, as he wanted to tell his friends how cool his mom is compared to their boring law abiding moms.

On a serious note, I will be in India coming week, to be with my parents as one of them needs a medical procedure and has to be admitted in the hospital. They were both against the idea of me going there for this and were sternly voicing their objection which I ignored, the same way they ignored my pleas when I wanted to go for excursion in my college days. This is payback time.

That week I will be away from the baby for the first time since 2011. Now this is a serious matter, because I’d be leaving him with a bigger child who also needs adult supervision. My child may also experience the bitter taste of hunger because whenever I leave him with his dad at meal time, the food is eaten by the one who was supposed to monitor the child. I am leaving him for a few days, knowing that it will be the worst days of his life, and hoping that he will appreciate me more when I am back.

It has been eight years of blogging, and March was the birthday month of my blog. Thanks everyone who read, appreciated and criticized me. Special thanks to those who found me irritating but still refrained from sending goons to my house. Love you all!

The thin line.

How do we know when we have crossed a line? Or about to cross it? Or almost crossed it? Crossed it and left it far behind? There are ways to know. When someone ignores your texts long enough, when the speed radar flashes, when the teacher sends you to the Principal’s room, when your Dad sits you down to talk, when the spouse actually notices your outfit, when your kid says 'Mama leave me alooooonne', you know it. You have crossed the line. 

Image Courtesy: Here

There are thin lines between elegance and vulgarity, a friendly conversation and flirting, love and friendship, discipline and abuse, donkey and mule. If you don’t see these lines, it is considered to be felonious. 

  

Take for instance my help who doesn’t know when to stop talking. She talks too much and soon enough it goes to the next level, which is free advice. I cannot stand my own mom giving me opinions about things I dint ask an opinion for.  This is one of those situations when you cannot survive without the help, but cannot stand her unsolicited views about marriage and children, but nod along anyway . How great would it have been, if she knew that there is a line and the exact geographical location of that line. In the case of my help, the line I have set for her is not a thin line. It is bold and highlighted in fluorescent yellow, topped with night glow; so you can see it even in the dark. Sigh. Still she doesn’t see it. Like the dust under the bed or the cobweb behind the door. She just ignores it.

There is a thin line between the freedom enjoyed by a man and a woman. I have started going alone to watch movies at night. Previously this was a facility enjoyed only by the man of the house. I enjoy it when some women walking accurately on the shadows of their husbands look at me as if I was Geeta Phogat. Anyone here afraid to go out at night should try it, only for those looks you get from other women. Who knows you may as well be inspiring them to be independent! You get plenty of looks from men as well ;-). This is a personal line I crossed; it is never really a line for a lot of women. For others, it is not just a line; it is one of the Ten Commandments.

The playground where all kinds of lines are crossed is Facebook . It is a sinful, tempting place for people to break rules. It is the place religious people propagate their views, obsessed people write paragraphs about their one-in-a-million child who won a first prize in God-knows-what at age 4, ignorant people circulate chain messages and press-like-to-save-a-child nonsense. Finding a post worthy of a like on the Facebook timeline is as hard as trying to find a logical person in a crowd. 

Image Courtesy: Here

It is International Women’s day. All the women here - empower yourselves and do what you want to do, and go where you want to go. Noone is coming to empower you. Break your own personal barriers. There are no lines where you think there are. Try it. Free yourself from the shadows of others. Stop living for others. Have fun. There is only one life, stop living the life of another person.

There is a nonsensical dare in Facebook about publishing your age on Women's Day. Is that even a dare? If you want to dare anyone just be you, and do what you want to do. Start saying NO when you want to say it. Stop pleasing others. 

That, my friend, is the dare. 

Happy Women's Day !

A fangirl's review of Raees.

January 2017 is already behind us, and most of us have failed miserably in our New Year resolutions. The crowd at the gym has been diminishing slowly but consistently, and this space did not see regular updates like I expected. Resolutions give us motives to improve, but they are also secret backstabbers. Just because they exist and we fall short of meeting them, they make us feel like complete losers.

It has been a hellish month with fevers, coughs, home sickness and having to actually enter the kitchen to cook. The month after  vacationing with parents, and gradually slipping into the BTR (back-to-reality) complex  is painfully frustrating. At Mom’s place, everything is taken care of and oh the sweet bliss of sleeping till 9 am without a care in the world! Once I wake up, I could just walk into the dining room and hot breakfast would be in the casserole. Once back, I become the hot breakfast if I don’t cook up something for the hungry boys.

It is amazing how long it takes to settle down from a vacation, when the month of January silently fast forwarded itself in the background. It takes a lot of effort to step down from the clouds and feel the ground.

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Two weeks after its release, I watched ‘Raees’.

If there was a forum where I could post movie reviews and be rated by experts, mine would be categorized as ‘Not Applicable’ for SRK movies. Being a die-hard fan-girl I should not review his movies because every word would be conveniently prejudiced. How can I focus on a movie and study the details when I am continuously distracted by the hotness that is being exuded by this human called SRK?

After the freak show that was ‘Ae Dil Hai Mushkil’ and a very forgettable ‘Dear Zindagi’, the SRK starrer ‘Raees’ did deliver a solid punch. Nawazuddin as the police officer, who takes personal interest in bringing down liquor dealer Raees, rises to stardom equivalent to SRK and this was very refreshing to watch. The script defies cliches by sharing spotlight of the megastar with the earnest police officer, who took the opportunity and did full justice. Action and punch dialogues are thrown in aplenty. Songs and romance appropriately took a backseat. Mahira Khan did not have anything to do but to look pretty, and that she did. Mohammed Zeeshan Ayub as SRK’s confidante did a good job, as he shared screen space almost throughout the film.

Raees is a good watch, whether you are a SRK fan or not. If you are a female SRK fan, then there is the added advantage that you get to see the dimpled smile peeping out of that hot beard and drool. Male SRK fans can watch the movie for the action and fearlessness of this alpha male that is Raees and get goosebumps. If you are not a SRK fan you can still enjoy the movie because it is one of a kind from the usual stuff that is going on the Bollywood now, which is biopics on sports legends, stupid family dramas or useless romantic shit in  general.

Watch Raees. Not for SRK, but to be reassured that Bollywood is not dead.