THE LIPSTICK LECTURES AND COMPACT CHRONICLES

   March 8^th is celebrated worldwide as International Women’s Day. That means people will have a temporary ceasefire on the gender war that is going on silently between the sexes since time immemorial and felicitate the females for a day. Long passages and short text messages, picture messages and video messages will circulate throughout the day, most of which will say women are the best and how would men live if women weren’t around etc. Some of these, however, will be thinly veiled misogynist sarcasm. (e.g Have a happy  Women’s Day, ladies and for God’s sake do everyone a favour by not driving!) But yes, pretty much every message, e-mail or Facebook status today will have something to do with how wonderful women are!

   I too am sitting here writing an article about women (definitely related to women, at any rate) on the occasion of Women’s Day. It is not a real serious topic – like rape or female infanticide or human trafficking or dowry. I know those issues are staring us right in the face and enough has been written and said and discussed on blogs, forums, TV shows, newspapers and Facebook. But I do not want to present women as sufferers and victims. Enough of that is being done as we speak. This article has nothing to do with any burning social issue. It is on the, shall we say, more fun end of the spectrum.

That, however, is not to say it is completely frivolous.

My humble attempt at something on the lighter side may be considered serious, or not-serious depending on your perspective. Your perspective towards life and morals and behaviour.

If you are with me so far, thank you. Read on!

Women have long been censured and made fun of, by the media, by their husbands and boyfriends and by the society in general, for using a lot of products and taking a lot of time to beautify themselves. From Cleopatra to Claudia Schiffer, from Marilyn to me, women of all eras, all ages, all ethnicities are united by their love for looking good. And feeling good about it.

It doesn't matter what we women really look like or if we fit in with the classical definitions of beauty. Our faces may be launching a thousand pimples everyday instead of a thousand ships a la Helen of Troy. It doesn't matter if our complexions are milky or peachy or dusky or dark or fair or tanned or bronze or beige or sandy or caramel. Doesn't matter if we have a button nose or a Grecian nose or a cute li’l piggy nose. Doesn't matter if we are blondes, brunettes, redheads or any shade in between. Doesn't matter if we are 30A or 36C or 40EEE. Doesn’t matter if we make a lot of moolah or are perennially broke. (I could really go on and on about the things that don’t matter, but let’s get to the point now.)

Irrespective of where we come from, our race, our genetics, our culture, our beliefs - it is a fact universally acknowledged that women are notorious for the amount of time they take to look good and get ready!

Nobody, however, is frank and courageous enough to agree that in an increasingly destructive, harsh, big bad world where everything is getting uglier by the day; from the environment kids are growing up in to the very face of Mother Earth - there’s this group of special creatures out there known as “women”, which is putting some beauty back into the scene. 

(Oh come on! Admit it, already! You like looking at the face of a well groomed woman who takes care of herself)

Why do women (ranging from hardened corporate bosses to scientists to nubile college goers to homemakers) devote so much time to beautify themselves? Just for a handful of compliments from other people? Surely not. That is a thing of the past. Surely the 21^st century woman has come a long way from decking up just to please people. Why else would the single girl groom herself as much as the girl with a steady boyfriend or the lady married for ten years? No matter how back-breaking our daily schedules are, we will find some time to take care of ourselves. And not for a few compliments thrown our way.

But why has the 21^st century woman - after so many vigorous and rigorous women’s liberation campaigns that have asked us to go braless and not shave our underarms and wear unflattering attires and not put a speck of colour on our faces - not stopped investing quality time (and money) in beautifying herself?  If anything, the beauty industry is booming unlike ever before. Why are we still purchasing so many cleansers and moisturizers and foundations and lipsticks as our academic degrees and salaries are climbing higher and higher?

Well?

Is there a philosophy behind all the primping and pruning, we are silently trying to whisper to the world? What do our daily cosmetics and skin care products really tell us and the world...other than tall claims of making us picture perfect? If all those beautiful little jars and pots and bottles and compacts on a woman’s dressing table could talk; perhaps they would have spoken thus :

Cleanser- Don’t carry baggage! The day is gone, wash it off! Get rid of the negativity.

Exfoliator -  Sometimes you know something is harming you and yet you don’t want to let go of it. A bad memory, a bad relationship, a bad job. It takes some extra scrubbing...some harder work than usual to wash away that extra bit of dirt – from your face and from your life - but do it anyway, once in a while.

Toner- Tighten up your belts, pull up your socks, don’t be slack - tomorrow is going to be a brand new day!

Moisturizer – But remember to do whatever you do softly! Don’t hurt anyone, including yourself!

Sunscreen – You are responsible for your own safety. Protect yourself at all times. Protect that pretty face, protect that money purse, protect that kind heart and protect that beautiful mind. Everything is more fun when you know you are safe.

Primer – Make sure you smooth out a surface before you build on it. Be it anything - make-up, buildings, careers or relationships.

Foundation – A foundation is also called a “base”. Self-explanatory. Whether you are building a life with someone or gaining knowledge as a student or building a career of your dreams or simply doing artistry on your face with makeup brushes,make sure you have the right foundation - the right base. This alone will determine how long anything in your life - from your marriage to your make-up - will last.

Concealer – Made a mistake? Spotted a few red marks? Then stop and correct them right away! Do not ignore blemishes – on your skin or on your life – and continue to build upon a blotchy, uneven, imperfect base. It is okay. Nobody is perfect. But we can all definitely put some effort into trying to be perfect. What is life after all, if not an endless effort to attain perfection? Mother Nature does it through seasonal changes and evolution!

Powder – A great work of art is never complete without finishing touches. You do it when you cook, you do it when you sew, you do it when you take a bath...you add finishing touches to everything. Then why not to all things big and small in your life? Put some finishing touches on the business document you are working so hard on, and see how delighted you are with your own work (and your boss too, of course). Put some finishing touches to the decoration of your room and you’ll be pleasantly surprised when you walk into in again. Raw is good but finishing touches are exquisite!

Eye-Make up (eye shadows, mascara, eyeliners, kohl) – You always open the windows before you open the door. Keep them beautiful and attractive. Windows show you the world outside and for someone on the outside; they give a glimpse of what’s on the inside. You see the world through the windows, before you decide whether to open the door at all, and the world gets a glimpse of you – of your soul - through the windows. Keep the soul unstained and the windows beautiful. Always.

Lipstick – Your smile in the best thing about you. Your face and someone’s world light up when you smile. Somewhere in the world someone works hard and prays hard everyday, just so you keep smiling beautifully. That gentle curve of your lips is the shortest distance between two hearts. There is a reason why the “M” shaped double curve of our top lip is called Cupid’s Bow. Keep those lips smooth and ready-to-smile. Don’t purse them or show your cynicism and sarcasm by twitching them on one side...you might be breaking someone’s heart with a mere disapproving pursing of your lips. Those lips are also your very own spokesperson...the last checkpoint before you blurt out the words your tongue has formed. Beautiful lips are justified only when the words that come out of them are beautiful and meaningful.

Perfume – A life that doesn’t leave a lot of grace, a lot of good memories and remembrances behind is so tragic! Would it not be nice to have people remember you after you have left a place –be it a party or the world- with nice feelings you invoked in them? Like you remember your mother by the feelings of comfort and security and by the smell of home-cooked food? Like you remember a bright sunny day by the smell of freshly laundered clothes, and that remembrance fills you with delight? But how exactly you wish to be recalled unto people’s minds, is, to a large extent, in your own hands. What would you rather remind people of? Warmth of acceptance or fear of rejection? Flowers or thorns? Perfume or stench? Choose for yourself, and behave accordingly!

Those are few things that I have learned from my collection of cosmetics. Try listening to yours’ sometime! They speak!

It is not a bad thing to want to look groomed and sorted out. Every culture has thousands of years of history about the tradition of beauty rituals. But please do remember, behind that glowing skin and that worked out body and those beautifully arched eyebrows of the woman/women in your life, there is a heart that feels and a mind that thinks.

Cherish your special lady and rejoice in all her aspects! Everything comes together to make her the magnetic, attractive and mind-blowing person she is.

HAPPY WOMEN’S DAY, FOLKS! 

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P.S - Thank you for taking time from your busy schedule and reading my blog.

 If you are enjoying reading these articles, may I request you to please follow this blog by signing into Blogger with your Google ID and share the link to any article that you like the most here - on Facebook, Twitter, Google plus and any other social media you may be using...so your friends can visit too? :)
I am a new author and I would be grateful for any kind of encouragement from my readers. It is a tough world out there for new authors!
Thanks once again! Hope you love reading my articles as much as I loved writing them!

Love

Pallavi
Kent, OH, US
March 8th, 2014

THE WOMAN'S APOCALYPSE

"Some say the world will end in fire

 Some say in ice...."

Doesn't look like it will end either way. Fire and ice are too mild and tame for mankind's brutal strength.
21st December 2012 came and went and here we are...ruthless as ever, shameless as ever, drunk in our vulgar bravado...continuing with our wretched lives. There is no Apocalypse for us. Nothing can kill us. We will live on and on like cockroaches. The only way we shall go, perhaps, is when we finish each other off.

When I titled the last post with a smiley, saying I will be back soon, I wasn't aware that a 23 years old, bright young paramedic, a victim of prolonged gang-rape and brutalization, will lie dying in a Delhi hospital with gangrene spreading rapidly inside her body. Her uterus will probably never work anymore and almost all of her intestines are gone.

I wasn't ready for this.

I am, like my fellow countrymen, pretty roughened and weathered by all those bold headlines I see in newspapers every day. Murder, rape, molestation, child abuse,theft, robbery, scams and other assorted national pastimes. Like the average Indian, these things do not shock me out of my skin. They used to,but not anymore. Two days without one bad news and I start thinking the news people are a lazy bunch.I have read the worst. The very worst. Brothers killing brothers, mothers selling off daughters, young girls beating babies to death, fathers raping infant daughters, innocent animals being set on fire, women being stripped and paraded...what have you. I thought nothing could shock me anymore. I thought I knew it all.
But nothing I have ever read in my daily newspaper, which I peruse religiously every morning, could have prepared me (and I am sure any of you) for this. NOT FOR THIS!

There is this young girl I know who has just entered her teens. At school she is learning all about the various body systems in details. Respiratory system, nervous system, circulatory system et al. Sometimes she shows me the complicated biological diagrams she has to draw. Veins, organs, arteries. But a thousand times more complicated than any of her intricately accurate bio diagrams was one simple remark she made after hearing about the Delhi gang rape case.

"How can her intestine get ruptured through rape? Isn't the intestine a part of the digestive system? Isn't the digestive system way different from the reproductive system, which is the primary system involved in cases of rape?"

This one doubtful question from one teenaged girl (who dreams of becoming a doctor someday), underlines, highlights and focuses boldly the sheer brutality we harbour in our hearts for one another.

Drunk uneducated male rapists are the worst of the lot no doubt, but remember baby Falak? The infant who was thrashed by a teenaged girl? Fractured skull, broken arms, human bite marks, cheeks branded with hot iron, the baby left for a better world after battling with death for around 60 days at AIIMS. A charge of culpable homicide was slapped against the teenager who had thrashed and beaten and vented all her anger on the baby. She, this 14 years old murderess, herself, has been abused, assaulted, raped and made to have sex with at least seven men per day for as long as she can remember.

Given a chance, it seems to me, that each one of us - irrespective of our gender - will not bat an eyelid before tearing another human body to pieces. Reasons could be so many. But it all results in brutalization in one way or another.

Why are we so violent? So brutal? Why are we so angry? Where is all this angst coming from? How can we have fun tearing someone's uterus and intestines apart with an iron rod? Is it funny? Will it make us laugh? How can we have fun slapping, hitting, kicking, screaming, punching and struggling? The act of sex wasn't meant for this.Even if I cut out all the romance and affection we generally associate with sex, even if, for argument's sake, we see sex as only an animal method of procreation, violence and brutalization were never meant to play any part in it.

There was, there is and there will be no need for iron rods in sex. Or even rape.

And if this heinous crime which has rocked us was an act of venting out anger, then we go back to my first question again...why are we so angry? Why are we so angry with women, babies and men who try to defend them? Why do we always want to teach women a lesson? What is wrong with us? Who is messing our brains up? Or were we like this since the beginning? Is civilization only a veneer as thin as a virgin's hymen? If not then why does it give away at the slightest of excuses and expose our bloody ugly faces?
If a woman cannot stop herself from being dragged and raped can she please please please beg not to be ruptured, torn and infected in every possible manner? Can rapists please be content with focusing on sexual intercourse and not harm heads, ears, noses, stomachs, hands, legs and every thing inside them? What is the next level, after iron rods? Nails and hammers? Road levellers? Crushers and shredders? Chainsaws? Mixers and grinders? A whole range of industrial machinery to assist with brutalization after rape?

Why are we hurtling so rapidly back to the dark ages?

People come up with loads of papers and articles on the psychology behind rape. How a rapist's mind works. How it is not about sexual pleasure but about a demonstration of dominance. How some men are angry at the mind boggling progress women have made over the last few decades and being unable to compete with the girls on an intellectual plane, they want to "teach them a lesson" physically.

But brutalization? How do you explain that? Let me talk in crude, vulgar, downright shameful words and make you cringe a little. Let me spell out in clear, sharp words what we all know of this case and will not lucidly state.
How do you explain the sadistic need of inserting a rusty iron rod inside a woman's vagina and jabbing it into her with so much anger and force that it goes past the cervix, bores a hole through the uterus and embeds itself into the small intestine, after you are done raping her with your biological organ?

I will tell you why those monsters did not feel for one second that the person lying naked and bleeding under them was a person at all. Because women are a different species altogether. Women are not what is scientifically called Homo sapien (Linnaeus, 1758). Only men make up Homo sapiens. Women are just two things - a pair of breasts and one vagina. THAT IS ALL.

We women are not human.

That is why the same friends and relatives who will innocently play with a female infant cannot stop ogling at her breasts once she reaches puberty. Women are not human. We are not living creatures, in fact.
We can't think, we don't feel pain, we don't feel hunger or thirst, we don't laugh, we don't cry, we can't learn, we can't love, we can't hate. we can't decide...and the best is, if you cut us open we won't bleed, like you will. We can't walk, run, sit or stand. Oh come on! A pair of breasts and a vagina cannot cry, laugh or feel. Even to feel pain they have to be connected to a brain via some nerves. But we do not have that as well. We are just two functional breasts and one functional vagina connected somehow by a rubber or wooden structure. Rubber and wood don't bleed or hurt, do they?

And therefore, what is so wrong and strange in abusing us, cutting us open, humiliating us, raping us, burning us, slitting our throats, rupturing our organs (again, all rubber), tying us up, parading us, killing us?

Sometimes, just some times, when you are in a better mood, or when some woman has allowed your sperms to mingle with her ovum and handed the resultant product over to you, you may be benevolent enough to call us goddesses, put us on a pedestal, write poems and songs, call us THE MOTHER, make films and stir up storms over coffee tables about our greatness.

And then, it is back to abusing, cutting, humiliating, raping, burning.

I am sorry I was born a girl. And then dared to grow up into a woman. I apologize. I will try not to be a female next time.
But this time I don't want to spend the rest of my life doubting every male I know. I don't want to love and live half hearted, with a quiet fear in the back of my mind that I can be brutalized the moment I need to be "taught a lesson".
I don't want to close the door on every unknown person's face, who comes asking for a glass of water. I don't want to travel around with an arsenal of weaponry like Swiss knives and pepper sprays to hurt people around me. I want to meet new people and make new friends. I don't want to spend all my time clutching my bag to my chest so I can avoid being groped there. I want to travel without bags and scarves sometimes at least. Sometimes I want to just look ahead towards the road I am walking and not keep engaging my side vision. I don't want to be on the lookout for people who may hurt me all the time.
I don't want to indiscriminately hate an entire gender. Don't make me. Please.

I have just one more question. Is there a "God for women" too? Do women count on God's list as living things? Or is the "God for women" dead? If not, then why hasn't He (or She) equipped us with any natural form of defence against the atrocities the "God for men" has designed for us. Almost every other female animal is equipped to protect herself from violation - a lioness, a tigress, a she-elephant, a leopardess, a cat, a bitch - speed, strength, teeth, claws - they all have some means of protection or the other. The only population left defenceless and helpless is the human female.

I don't know if the Mayans knew anything about the end of human life and I don't know if they were really entirely wrong, even though 21st December is gone without any noticeable change on the face of Earth. Because if you feel enough, you will know that for women it is the end of humanity as we knew it. The prediction was correct.

The "women's" apocalypse just went by.

:)

RELOADING ....RELOADING....RELOADING....AND COMING SOON!

The Ice Cream Seller's Song

Do you have a similar memory from the days of your childhood? Could be anyone...someone who sold candy floss in tiny packets, or candy, or mint or tiny black sweet and sour balls made of tamarind and other unknown things, or may be a tea shop you visited often, or a seller of sweets you couldn't do without...someone? Something?
Did you come back from school, throw your bag somewhere and rush out to play with your group of friends (as opposed to going for endless tuitions or whiling away time playing computer games)? Do you miss those days?


(By the way, the ice cream seller did not sing...that's a poetic licence I have allowed myself to take.)

I do not know if this poem has much of what seasoned poets would call poetic brilliance. The language is simple to the extent of being plain and there is no intricate or complicated wordplay.
It will also be of no use to you in increasing your vocabulary. Still, it is close to my heart. Very close. Don't know why.
Perhaps somethings are best expressed when they are expressed in the simplest possible manner.

THE ICE CREAM SELLER'S SONG

I

Jingle! Jingle! The bells ring out

And all of us, we run

The Ice Cream Seller! Here he comes!

Oh dear, what fun!

Quickly the box opens up

We crowd to see his wares

Our mothers shout "You greedy kids!"

We let them shout, who cares?

For every noon when the sun is up

And we are down in dumps

With jingling bells and ready smile

The Ice Cream Seller comes

Little hands inside little pockets go

One pice and two and three

"I'll have butterscotch", "Vanilla here!"

"May I have one for free?"

Orange bars and Mango lollies

And lots and lots of cream

Frozen ice to melt in your mouth

Its like your sweetest dream.

My lovely days of childhood

The touch of my Mother's hand

The group of friends, the Ice Cream man

It was a fairy land!

II

As we grew, the times changed

I saw my friends less

School and books and marks and grades

And subjects, all a mess

When in the noon, with books closed 

I'd pretend to snatch a nap

My eyes gazed at the lane below 

From the narrow window crack

No rushed footfalls, no endless chats

Just the Sun and the sultry noon

We had more important things to do

We were growing up too soon.

III

Two decades went by (time never stops)

Our childhood group now scattered

Some dreams of mine had come true

But, all child-like fancies shattered

My big old house, the faces known

The thoughts of a carefree mind

Adulthood, money and success, made

Me leave them all behind

I got in touch with old friends

We spoke of long ago

What became of the ice cream man

We never came to know

But we knew we had grown up

On his tasty treats and songs

For those simple treats that made our day

The child in my heart still longs

Years have passed and we all are now

Important, rich and strong

But as long we live, we shan't forget

The Ice Cream seller's song!

Pallavi  

(Composed in  2005...or 2004, 

don't really remember), Pune

I know, I know! This poem is pretty crude. The build up, the language, the flow of thoughts. I am open to admitting that. My apologies for this childish, simple verse. But that ain't the point!

The point is, what have we achieved and what have we left behind in order to achieve that? Was the barter truly, honestly worth it? How have you really changed the world for better after you bade your own world, your own people, farewell? Why can't we have it all? Family, childhood friends, people we know, people who make us feel comfortable and our career - all in one place? 

But I guess,when the time comes, birds must fly away from the nest. 

That is the point. 

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P.S - Thank you for taking time out from your busy schedule and reading my blog.

 If you are enjoying reading these articles, may I request you to please follow this blog by signing into Blogger with your Google ID and share the link to any article that you like the most here - on Facebook, Twitter, Google plus and any other social media you may be using...so your friends can visit too? :)
I am a new author and I would be grateful for any kind of encouragement from my readers. It is a tough world out there for new authors!
Thanks once again! Hope you love reading my articles as much as I loved writing them!

Pallavi

The "normal" Indian woman and the D word

No no no. Stop before you think too much...it ain't 36 DD or any other D of the same genre I am referring to. But now that I have your attention, what the heck!

And my definition of "normal" Indian woman is -

Not a model (and with no aspirations to be one)
Not a movie star (and no such aspirations either)
Educated
Working (aspirations don't matter...bloodsucker of a job!)
Living in a metropolitan or one of the new "pretend" metropolitans (e.g Bangalore, Hyderabad, Pune etc)
Life rapidly progressing from active huff-puff of a university student to the sedentary sighs and yawns of a person with a sitting job (like sitting 10 hours a day)
Earns well (relatively)
Spends better (absolutely)
Unmarried, single, zero relationships (don't know if that is due to lack of interesting people to meet or lack of time, a constant state of burn out and no enthusiasm for anything other than crashing on the bed and snoring away as soon as she gets home)

Can you now begin to guess what the D word is? Yes? Clever you! No? Let me continue the foreplay for some more time in that case.

Living the stressful, sedentary, unproductive life our "normal" woman lives, she soon finds herself on the...let's say, out of decency....voluptuous side of the spectrum. (Nah...the metabolism isn't really what it used to be at 18. Really, office formals can be so deceiving. )

She immediately joins the poshest health club in town.It claims to have an Olympic sized pool (which is "under construction"/"closed indefinitely for cleaning"/"closed indefinitely for inspection by the health officers"/any other reason). It claims to have an organic juice bar ("but that's open between 5:30 am in the morning to7 am"...our heroine goes in at 7:30 am.), a steam and sauna facility (come on, this one works...you cannot already be thinking nothing works in posh Indian health clubs!), plus many other latest gizmos, amenities and magical secrets to give you a body Claudia Schiffer can kill for.

The first thing our "normal" woman notices on her first day (for which she has virtually bought an entire Reebok shop. Or is Puma more in fashion these days?) is that the people who come to that health club are lycra and spanx clad lassies and hunky, beefy, muscular lads - who do not seem to be in any need of the services a health club offers.

Our lady reasons out her observations in the following manner:

a. What the %$@#. Life is unfair.
b. Ah! This is what I too will look like within six months of my rigorous training schedule.
c. Wow! Inspiration. (not only for exercising, also for latest trends in gymwear)
d. If not anything else, at least I am starting my morning in a holistic environment with gorgeous people around me.
e. What if I meet someone really interesting?
f. What the %$@#. Life is unfair.

                **********************************************************

A month later.

Voluptuousness - pretty much the same
Tired - like a washerman's donkey (wasn't exercise supposed to make her feel energetic? Oddly enough, it doesn't)
Set of gym clothes - around 5 (sweaty, stinky, wash repeatedly)
Number of days she went to the health club - 15
Number of days she skipped going - 15 (those 4/5 days of the month, early meeting at office, late night meeting at office, don't feel like going, working on important assignment from home, don't feel like going,body full of aches and pains, getting late for office, it's raining, it's too sunny, it's too cold, it's too pleasant, don't feel like going, friends at home for a weekend....and well, just don't feel like going. Not going to become a model anyway....what's the....YAWN....point?)

So what next? Clubbing and gyming clearly weren't our lady's cup of tea. Or decaf coffee...no sugar, no cream.

NEXT ON THE AGENDA IS THE D WORD.

DIETING.

Defined by Wikipedia as - "the practice of eating food in a regulated fashion to achieve or maintain a controlled weight."

LIARS!

Controlled weight???? CONTROLLED WEIGHT??? The very need for dieting comes from the fact that the weight is OUT OF CONTROL!

Having chirpy and eager girlfriends fed on a steady diet of glossy women's magazines helps our lady to zone in on what's latest in the D world, across the world.

Atkins Diet. Pritikin Diet. South Beach Diet. Jenny Craig Diet. Weight Watchers Diet. Sea Weed Diet. Raw Diet. Starve-yourself-to-death diet (OK I made that one up) Negative calorie diet. Zero Calorie diet. GI diet. Detox diet. Mediterranean Diet. Ornish diet. Zone Diet. Gluten free diet. Rosemary Conley's Hip and Thigh diet (now I am laughing myself silly...but no I haven't made this one up).

One says stuff up on proteins, another says stuff up on fats only when you think you are dying, yet another encourages you to gobble everything up raw (consuming an ample load of microbes and pesticides seems to be a part of this diet), another wants to shock your body into starvation and yet another says starvation leads to fat storage. One says eat whatever you want and then gives you a list of food items even your dog won't sniff . One wants to change the ph in your body to alkaline and the other claims an acidic body resists infections. One wants you to go Italiano (though you live in Maharashtra or Andhra Pradesh in India) and the other would like you to weed out the sea floor and gulp down the muck.

But our "normal" Indian lady being eagerly committed to her plans of dieting is not deterred. Something can be surely worked out from this labyrinth of ideas.Visits to the poshest dietitian in the city, flipping through glossies and talking to girlfriends result in one common plan.

Salads.
Whole grains and seeds.
Lean protein.
Boiled Vegetables
Low fat skimmed milk in some form or the other, except butter and cheese.And Ice cream. And cream. And rich, full fat yogurt. (wonder what that some form or the other is?)
Fruits (except bananas)

NO COLA. NO PIZZA. NO PASTA. NO BURGER. NO FRENCH FRIES. NO CHOCOLATES. NO SWEETS.NO ALU PARATHA DRIPPING WITH DESI GHEE. NO BIRYANI. NO KORMA. NO KEBABS. NO WHITE RICE. NO PRAWNS. NO LOBSTERS.NO SEA FISH. NO LAMB. NO CRAB. NO POTATOES. NO BEETROOTS. NO OKRAS. NO WAFERS. NO BAKERY PRODUCTS.

AND NO CHEATING!!

BASICALLY NOTHING.

But this gutsy girl is still determined and has to plan precisely to avoid falling into the common trap "I ran out of veggies and had instant noodles. Just once."

So she logs in to the net and writes out her list of diet food to buy.

Later at the local vegetable market, reading out her list she sounds like someone who's shouting out exotic swear words to the irritated vegetable vendor.

Lollo Rosso lettuce? No? Iceberg lettuce? No? Romaine Lettuce? No? Radicchio? No? Red Oak Lettuce? No? Lollo Biondi lettuce? NO NO NOT ROSSO...THAT WAS THE FIRST ONE ON THE LIST. BIONDI? No. Lollo verde? OK I GET IT, NO LOLLOS. Batavia lettuce? No?

Watercress? No it's not a lettuce. It's simply watercress. No?

Let's try chinese. How about Pak choy and galangal? No I do not want spinach and ginger. See, the list says Pak Choy and Galangal. No?

Shallots? (I DO NOT MEAN ONIONS. KYLIE KWONG KEEPS CALLING THEM SHALLOTS ALL THE TIME ON THE TRAVEL CHANNEL.) No?

Ok. Let's try tomatoes. Cherry tomatoes? Not cherry the fruit. No? Grape tomatoes? No. Plum tomatoes? NO NO  NO...I KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN CHERRIES AND PLUMS AND GRAPES AND TOMATOES.

To cut a very long shopping spree short, all our lady brings home that day is cucumber. Plain, simple, normal cucumber.

And a cup of double cream caramel coffee at the local coffee shop. Come on, who doesn't get tired after veggie shopping?

Cucumbers are good. Nice and juicy and cool and watery. Lots and lots of cucumbers.Crunchy. Ummm. Crunch. Munch.

Well.

After having nothing but a plate full of cucumbers for lunch, for three days in a row our lady reasons out that it really won't be too bad to have a real thick, smooth chocolate mousse.And anyway she is on a strict diet. And one is human after all. Why would have God created the cocoa beans of the cacao plant if chocolate was that bad? Come on, who can question God's creation?

After the raw food detox is over, our heroine is supposed to eat boiled, blanched and steamed veggies. Or ever so slightly sauteed in olive oil. Do you have any idea how much good quality virgin olive oil costs in India? Well, a lot. It's a delicacy, to be tossed on ornate, colorful salads when friends come over. Not something to cook your meals in. We have Sundrop Sunflower Oil for that. Thank you very much!

And boiled, blanched or steamed veggies? They taste like hot glue. Boiled socks. Old jute sack. (please do not ask me how I know what hot glue, boiled socks and old jute sacks taste like.)

Boiled lean undressed chicken tastes like a wad of leather.

Low fat yogurt is neither here nor there. It's non existent. It is nothing. (what is yogurt if it cannot make you swoon with its rich creaminess?)

And what the hell do they mean by low fat cheese? That's the biggest oxymoron ever. The hugest double standard. Cheese...low fat. Those two do not go together. IT IS A CRIME.

Our lady's lady friends at office inform her enthusiastically that a new salad bar is up and coming in the office cafeteria.

When it finally does come up, all it serves is raw vegetables (cabbage, broccoli, bell pepper, tomatoes, cucumbers and the like) choking to death in a gloop of low quality (not low calorie) mayonnaise and blue cheese dressing. Oh! the salad bar also serves fruit juice. Packaged. Artificially sweetened. With preservatives galore in every sip. Yummy!

Her perusals through endless issues of Cosmopolitans and Prevention mags tell her that sea weed soup and quinoa seeds are the latest in thing. They are bound to work.

Though she knows she is going to be disappointed, the first trip is again to the local veggie shop.

"Bhaiyya, samundar ke neeche jo ghaas patte ugte hain, woh milega?" our girl asks.

(lemme translate that for you. "Do you stock the grasses and leaves that grow under the sea?")

This time he doesn't even bother to reply. He is more comfortable selling potatoes, onions and pumpkins to the benign looking normal people.

"Normal" woman asks around at office. Where do you think I can buy sea weed? What for? People shoot back. Bio fuel research?

Funny! Yes. It is a part of my diet. Bio fuel indeed!

Others tell her that sea weeds are used for industrial production of agar (that jelly like thingy microbiologists grow bacterial colonies on) and other similar horrible smelling things.

A friend suggests the Godrej Nature's Basket store (in one remote corner of the city) and specifically their "World Food" section.

Ummm....world food! Sounds so cool and fancy that this will surely work. I mean how can something that sounds as classy as world food not work!

It works. They have sea weed. For human consumption. Just that the price is printed in Euros.That one packet will set our girl back by around 2000 bucks in Indian rupees.

And it will last her for three seaweed soups.

Still, what has to be done has to be done. These are marginal costs. And she really earns well and spends better.
She buys it, comes home and cooks good ol' home style soup. Ah! The very sight of soup simmering away in a pot in the kitchen is so comforting.

The taste however,is a different story altogether. Have you ever imagined eating slimy, slippery, gooey algae which is an evil shade of green in color?
(Now, I know normal, mentally sound people do not imagine such things. But still, try imagining once?)
Yeah. That's right. Yes...that's exactly what it's like.

The next day it is the best friend's birthday and really, cribbing about food at someone else's party is not the done thing. It's horrible manners. So a large piece of the richest chocolate cake, mac and cheese, a big glass of the fizziest cola, butter garlic prawns and deep fried chicken nuggets is all she has. Later some ice cream.

It's ok. It is absolutely fine. God knows it was the best friend's birthday. And anyway, one is on a diet.

The dietitian goes ballistic listening to our lady's one time fling with non diet food.

"Do you know how much motivation this requires? How do you think all the actresses stick to their diets?"

The culprit who is the victim of her own crime hangs her head in shameful silence. But that's just out of politeness. She has the answer ready inside her head.

"If I was offered a million bucks, a foreign location shoot with the best looking actor, endless red carpet walks and unending attention in return for giving up food and living on grass and fresh air I too would be highly motivated."

                                ********************************************

And over the next few months our girl continues shelling out insane amounts of money and energy in pursuit of insane tasting food. Diet food.

Just that, she now feels sleepy in office most of the time. And when she is taking calls from home and sitting in front of the laptop typing away furiously until 3 am, coffee is the only lifesaver, no matter what the diet chart says about coffee. It lies. Coffee is good. It keeps your eyes open even when you want to die.

She starts to avoid going out with friends for the fear of being forced to consume non diet normal people food. Such accidents have happened in the past and she doesn't want to repeat the same mistake. So best is not going anywhere near the source of temptation.
The peachy glow on her face is gone and the bright sparkle in her eyes is dull almost beyond recognition. She looks unintelligent and always in a state of unrest. She looks stupid.

The clothes have started hanging slightly loose, though.

With the last remaining vestiges of motivation and spirit, our educated, working, juggling-ten-things-at-a-time, "normal" Indian woman who is still single, goes to the next level.

Quinoa seeds. Read Keen-Wah (psst...it is the latest buzzword. All the B-town beauties are hogging quinoa like there is no tomorrow).
It's a psuedo cereal, it's actually a seed, the friend who is doing her PhD in botany informs our girl. But it's supposedly very good.

Good? Good, my foot! One, it's hardly available. Even in the superstores. Two, it looks like Styrofoam granules.

And three....soak it for sometime and cook it....and ta da! you have something that has a 99.78% resemblance to frog spawn sitting in front of you, waiting to be consumed.

Ok...well...to be very fair, it doesn't taste as bad. It's kind of nutty and creamy and fluffy and everything. But it is nothing to a bowl of sugar frosted, chocolate coated, artificially sweetened, breakfast cereal!

(NB - THIS ARTICLE DOESN'T END HERE....DO CARRY ON READING AFTER THE LITTLE HUMOROUS BREAK.)

                     
                                  ************************************************

Six months pass by.

Our lady hasn't had one fizzy drink. One tiny piece of macaroni. One thin slice of cake.

But she has understood this.

Dieting is like widowhood. You are so numbed by the pain of loss that nothing matters anymore. What you are putting inside your mouth, what you are chewing, what you are swallowing is of little consequence. Because the one thing you loved, you truly dearly loved is gone forever. Life will never be the same again. You will never be able to go back to those days of happiness.

Your relationship with food is over. The aromas, the colours, the fragrances mean nothing to you.

Your mind is dull to pain.

Your taste buds are now useless. Mutated. Vestigial organs.

You are brain dead. Almost.

Our heroine is, at any rate.

That is until, one bright Saturday morning, while out to hunt for more sea weed, more quinoa, more raw veggies and lean chicken, she makes the wonderful decision of stopping by the local magazine stand.

Loudly, boldly, in the most vivid eye catching colors, the latest edition of the glossy that had been feeding diet tips to our girl for so many months, shouts out in the boldest possible print

"THIN IS OUT. CURVY IS IN"
"REAL MEN WANT REAL WOMEN"
"SHOW US THOSE CURVES, LADY"
"LOVE THAT CURVE"

Damn it!

%$#@$! &*^%! %$&#!

For lunch today - Prawns tenderly simmered in a spicy coconut cream gravy with fragrant white Basmati rice.
You are invited!

*******************************************************************************

P.S - Thank you for taking time out from your busy schedule and reading my blog.

 If you are enjoying reading these articles, may I request you to please follow this blog by signing into Blogger with your Google ID and share the link to any article that you like the most here - on Facebook, Twitter, Google plus and any other social media you may be using...so your friends can visit too? :)
I am a new author and I would be grateful for any kind of encouragement from my readers. It is a tough world out there for new authors!
Thanks once again! Hope you love reading my articles as much as I loved writing them!

THE GHOST IN MY HOUSE!

.....is a thief of the first grade!!

For a very long time I have wondered where my numerous pens, pencils, erasers, handkerchiefs, hair bands, clips, bits of paper on which I scribble phone numbers and countless such knick knacks of supreme importance vanish off. I mean, whenever I buy a set of six hankies, by default within the next five days (or even less) one is gone.
My pens disappear from my table very silently and discreetly.
I have no idea where all those hair scrunchies and fancy hair clips which I started accumulating at the beginning of the year, have gone.
I do not use pencils and erasers much ever since I left college and don't have to draw intricate biological diagrams, but come on, once in six months I do give in to my artistic cravings and pretend to sketch in my rather school girlish sketch book! But then, hey hey, where are my pencils? And erasers?

Strangely enough, when I have absolutely no necessity of these small things, I can clearly see them lying in abandon on my table - pens, pencils, erasers, hair clips, hankies and what have you. But the moment I need anything direly, you can bet your salary, it is gone. It's abso-freaking-lutely gone. Which is so humorously frustrating! (though not all that humorous when I have to note down this urgent number and I can't locate either pen or paper)

And I know who is behind this disappearing act.

It is the ghost. First rate thief ghost....sorry, ghost thief I mean. Whatever.

It never haunts or scares us.Neither does it cackle in spectral laughter in the middle of the night nor does it drape itself in a white chiffon sari and hold a candle in its hands to stroll around the entire house singing songs full of pain and longing in the distinct voice of Lata Mangeshkar. It is not even a handsome ruby-lips-diamante-skin vampire a la Robert Pattinson.

In fact, I have no idea what it looks like.

IT'S SIMPLY A BLOODY THIEF!!

Though I know how it came into our lives - well, my life to be precise.

Long long ago when your's truly was a toddler in pastel lace frocks, knickers and bibs, mommy dearest absolutely detested if any benevolent relative handed me a chocolate or a bag of potato wafers. Mum believed in Mother Nature and healthy home treats more than she did in Cadbury's or Lay's. So out the goodies went through the window...or in they went to the trash bin. And all I got to hear from her was "Boo Boo ate the choco." And the idiot that I was, I fell for it every single time.

And now, Boo Boo has grown into a full blown Frankenstein's monster.

Boo Boo now steals pens, pencils, erasers, bits of paper, hair bands, clips etc.

Of course, now when my mother asks me about my many missing things I do not blame the ghost. The one time I did, she looked at me as if I were a retard. Nobody will really believe that my knick knacks go missing because Boo Boo steals them.

Sometimes, though, I think the ghost is only trying to help me, you know. By giving me the perennial excuse for buying shiny, new, nice smelling things. Come on, how is a girl supposed to write if she can't find her pen? Or her five pens? Or seven? What can she do under such circumstances but go and buy herself a shiny new one!
And what about handkerchiefs? Am I not a well groomed lady of fine manners who carries dainty floral hankies with herself wherever she goes? Also, I happen to have some kind of collector's mania for handkerchiefs - the lighter, the whiter, the daintier the better. So when these cloth beauties are nicked by our ghost-in-residence, I need to replace them by...yes...purchasing more!!

I also think that the ghost is trying to make me aware of the many technical wonders of my mobile phone (apart from calling and texting) - so I can give up scribbling numbers on random bits of paper and can save them in the phonebook of my cell at the first go!

And anyway, somebody somewhere probably doesn't want me to ring up all those numbers I lost on random bits of paper.Divine conspiracy....or spectral...uh oh..don't know which.

                ************************************************************

My life with Boo Boo wasn't very bad you know, it was quite tolerable. Till Boo Boo crossed a line!

(pssst....I know it would have been better in terms of composition had I written the entire first part which you read above in past tense....but some how I didn't feel like using past tense.)

It so happened that we were told at the office to submit photocopies of our academic certificates and mark sheets starting from those of 10th standard. Therefore, one Saturday morning, at around 11 am, I hunted all my old certificates and score cards out, got sentimental looking at them and then walked off to the local shop that would make the desired number of photocopies and walked back home at around 12:30 pm.

LUNCH TIME!

I quickly dumped slash threw all my original mark sheets, certificates and their copies on my table and sat down at the table to hog. Weekend lunch....yummm....

Later in the afternoon, I caught a Weekend Special movie on a random TV channel and snoozed for about 45 minutes. After downing a plate of fruits around 5 pm, I put on my fancy Nike shoes and fancy clothes and went for my routine evening walk/jog/run (depends).

I came home at 7:30 pm (having stopped on the way to treat myself to an ice lolly), hit the shower and then prayed for a while. It is mandatory for everybody in our family to attend the evening prayer. I basically spend this time in begging the Almighty for a lot of things that I am not sure I deserve...or need. (I mean I have never worked hard enough to own a Mercedes. And nor do I have that kind of parking space.)

Then I pretended to help Mom in the kitchen for a while, stuffing random eatables into my mouth, before declaring that I was starving!

Dinner! Then some TV.

By 10 pm, when I finally retired to my den, I noticed my certificates and score cards (records of my merit, diligence and hard work and...well, a lot other sentimental things) lying in wild abandon on my study table. I felt bad for them. Poor certificates.

As I bunched them up, separated the photocopies that I had to submit the coming Monday and was about to tuck them safely back into the top drawer, I froze in terror!

The top most certificate on the pile of certificates, my class XIIth mark sheet, my ORIGINAL class XIIth marksheet was missing.

I look around like a fool for sometime and try to recall if I may have left it at the copier's store.

ummmmm......

ummmm......

No. I haven't. I am sure I haven't.

THAT WAS THE LAST STRAW! Clearly the ghost in our house had exceeded its limits. Pens and clips are fine. But important make or break mark sheets with nice marks? NOT FINE!

              ************************************************************

The next day, Sunday, when the domestic help arrives, Mom orders me to push my study table aside from its years old position and asks her to clean behind and under the table.

HORRORS!

I assure mom again and again that I will accomplish this very task the next weekend myself. Without anyone's help. (I am not really sure I want my table to be removed in front of my mom and the domestic help....I should have kept cleaning under and behind it at more regular intervals than.....well....than....well....once a year)

But she will have none of it. She wants it done right here, right now. My mistake. May be I shouldn't have let it out in the morning that I cannot find my XII Boards mark sheet.
And so, with a great deal of energy and all sorts of sounds, I push my heavily laden study table from its old position.

The next few seconds pass in slow motion as three pairs of eyes collectively gaze down at the unraveled scene.

THERE IS POTENTIAL FOR THE GROWTH OF A WHOLE NEW CIVILIZATION DOWN HERE!

Over the next two rather long hours, I watch our resident ghost being exorcised slowly yet thoroughly.

Five pens long considered lost, seven handkerchiefs covered with layers of time (read dust), four hair clips and an equal number of hair bands, two permanent markers, one old CD (with a crack), three pencils, one eraser, one pencil sharpener, two combs and an old key ring. Along with random bits of papers with phone numbers and messages scribbled ("going to movie.back by 5", "keys in top drawer" etc), which have blown off or slipped from my table and gone under it...........and the most prominent item of them all, the mark sheet of my XIIth standard board exams. (It must have blown in the wind and slipped and fallen under the table yesterday, when I had dumped all the certificates on my table and gone ahead with the rest of the evening)

In short, I get to see all my things, treasures, knick knacks and stuff the ghost in our house had stolen over the course of the last year.

While dusting the dust out, the maid is repeatedly questioning me about what is to be kept and what is to be discarded.

Let me not go into what I heard from my mother as these things were in the process of retrieval. Its not really the proudest moment of my life.
The only hint is that words like "careless", "lazy", "useless" featured largely in her impassioned speech.

                   *******************************************************

Now I keep all my things sorted and do not dump anything and everything on the table. I make ample use of its three spacious drawers and I check under and behind the table regularly for small things that may slip off and fall. I also keep a track of how many pens and hankies and clips and stuff I am purchasing and how many I actually have in my possession. I do not lose things anymore.

And with that the ghost in our house is gone forever. It is dead if ghosts can die.

Just that, it wasn't the thief I always thought it to be.

********************************************************************************

P.S - Thank you for taking time from your busy schedule and reading my blog.

 If you are enjoying reading these articles, may I request you to please follow this blog by signing into Blogger with your Google ID and share the link to any article that you like the most here - on Facebook, Twitter, Google plus and any other social media you may be using...so your friends can visit too? :)
I am a new author and I would be grateful for any kind of encouragement from my readers. It is a tough world out there for new authors!
Thanks once again! Hope you love reading my articles as much as I loved writing them!

The Rainbow in My Heart - an ode to unrequited love

The other day I was talking to a close friend of mine about broken relationships and broken hearts. I heard some very romantically heart-wrenching real life incidents during that conversation. Things about people moving on and never looking back at the devastation they caused. Stories of people living in the present clinging on to the memories of their past. Of people who are never able to move on. Of people who move on in the blink of an eyelid. Of relations that were meant to materialize and didn't -causing immense suffering to all involved. Of relations that weren't meant to materialize and did - again causing immense suffering to all involved.

I am not unromantic myself. I feel too deeply. I care too much. Though I reasoned out with my friend using cold logic and said that I do not advocate people wasting their entire lives for the sake of unrequited love...in my heart I can understand how it feels to be discarded, rejected and left behind...to be made a partner for some vividly colored warm days and then, to be left alone forever...to face the cold, grey days of loneliness. 

I haven't tasted it yet,but I know its bitter. I haven't touched such loneliness, yet I know it is cold. I haven't seen such devastation with my own eyes, but I know it's shade is a morbid, dirty grey.

Here's a poem. Dedicated to all those who have loved from the depth of their beings, from their core, from the deepest reaches of their heart...to those who know that irrespective of whether lovers meet or not...life and time aren't powerful enough to wipe all the remembrances away. Once touched by the rainbow hues of romantic love, a part of your soul will forever be vividly colored...no matter how grey the cold days of loneliness. A part of your being, somewhere deep inside, will be a tiny rainbow, as long as you live.

(pssst....this is the first non rhyming poem I have composed. I didn't have much regard for non rhyming poems till late. But I am opening up now!)

The Rainbow in My Heart

I

I still remember

Those days of old

When you and I

Walked hand in hand

Along sea shores

Collecting shells

Milky white and Chocolate brown

And oyster shells

No pearls inside

All cream and beige

And then we found 

One rainbow hued

Those days of old

When you and I

Walked hand in hand

Through green fields

Collecting flowers

Red and white

Purple, blue

Yellow and pink

With pollen dust

and fragrant dew

And then we found

One rainbow hued

When the days were young

And so were we

And hand in hand

We walked along

Through winding lanes

Treading gently

On fallen leaves

"rustle" "rustle"

Yellow, Orange

Autumnal shades

And then we found 

One rainbow hued

Borne along

In the cool breeze

Of virgin nights

You and I

Walked along

Hand in hand

Counting stars,

Little lamps

On ink blue sky

And those that fell

On Earth's breast

And then we found

One rainbow hued

On lazy, cozy winter noons

Wrapped in fluffy

Cashmere wool

You and I 

Walked along

Hand in hand

Watching birds

And counting them

Robins and sparrows

Parrots and koels

Flamingos too

And then we found 

One rainbow hued

On evenings drenched 

In the silver light

Of a full moon bright

You and I 

Walked along

Hand in hand

Picking pebbles

On railway tracks

Black ,white, grey

Shiny, round

And cool and smooth

And then we found

One rainbow hued

I can still feel

The first rainfall

That drenched us both

You and me

Our hands entwined

Loving the sight

Of raindrops weaving

Myriad patterns

On spider webs

Countless drops

Diamond flecks

And then we found 

One rainbow hued

In the warm circle

Of your arms

I first felt

Whatever it feels

When heart and mind

Lose partnership

When across distances

Meet two pairs 

Of restless eyes

That moment divine

Coloured my life

With vivid tints

All rainbow hued

II

Nothing lasts

Forever, I know

The brightest rainbows

Fade with time

And leave behind

Moments covered

With layers of dust 

The dust of time

Can't wipe this dust

It gets in the eyes

And tears fall

Salty droplets

Just a few

And amongst them one

Is rainbow hued

The shells collected

From the sands of time

The flowers - Red, White

Yellow, Blue

Fallen leaves and broken stars

And birds that have now flown away

The pebbles remain 

With me, still

But the raindrops 

On the spider's web?

I cannot find!

My arms outstretched

And your's withdrawn

I am a stranger now

To those restless eyes

But I am coloured

From head to toe

Violet, Indigo

Blue and Green

Yellow, Orange

And passionate Red

All rainbow colours

I stole from you

Oh! Owner of

My heart and soul

Just tell me once

You need not speak

A nod will do

Is a part of you

Still rainbow hued?

- Pallavi, 24th June 2012, Pune

Do you have such a personal rainbow somewhere in your heart too? Do you know someone who has?

No matter what the nature of your love story is, I hope you rate forgiveness and kindness towards the object of your affection, the highest on the list of virtues. Love that doesn't mold us into superior, better, more forgiving, kinder persons; cannot be love in its truest form. 

****************************************************

P.S - Thank you for taking time out from your busy schedule and reading my blog.

 If you are enjoying reading these articles, may I request you to please follow this blog by signing into Blogger with your Google ID and share the link to any article that you like the most here - on Facebook, Twitter, Google plus and any other social media you may be using...so your friends can visit too? :)
I am a new author and I would be grateful for any kind of encouragement from my readers. It is a tough world out there for new authors!
Thanks once again! Hope you love reading my articles as much as I loved writing them!

Cheers!