We are all liberal here …..

I am engaged to a so-called ‘liberal’. He is a really nice guy, but that’s about it. While he is in no doubt head over heels devoted to me, at times it makes me feel completely smothered. I want to go out and do things. I want to be somebody. He just wants ‘me to be with him’. He showers me with love, and my love life seems like a flawless masterpiece that dropped jaws. Anyway, I am a journalist with a top media house, and it’s my job to be in the business community, glad handing with people in after hours functions. I could not get enough of it. I am new to the community, and I am invited to everything under the sun. I am given community titles, and responsibilities. He too has a fairly decent job (a boring recruitment agency) but fails to understand the way media works.

Since the beginning, I have sensed a string of discomfort when we spoke about my job and other media personals. The threads strained further when I had to go to Delhi (my head office) to meet my team and have a close interaction with my editor. I saw it as a good opportunity to not just interact with my team but also a good time to have a break from work and meet clients in Delhi. I expressed these thoughts to him but he some how did not seem to be convinced with the whole idea of me going out of the city (alone). We had endless arguments for almost a week before is left and I, also tried to cancel my trip. However, it was too late and I could not back out.

Then the next instance happened a few days back. When I had to attend an official even and also cover it for the coming issue. I had asked him to join me but he was not interested and turned down my invitation. In the beginning all sounded good, but as the night set its first foot towards midnight my phone was set to fire with frantic calls from him. We had along SMS conversations, which were not too pleasant to share but evident on my face. My whole team realized that I was feeling embarrassed and something unpleasant had happened.

After this incident, I do not know how to react. The so-called liberal thinking has vanished in thin air and all I can see is a person who just claims to be one. I sometimes wonder is he the same person I shared a drink with or bumped a few fags from? Well that’s a different story that I don’t do the same now (although I wish I could) but never mind as I know it’s for my good if I don’t indulge in such bad habits. However, the point here is the level of compatibility and openness I miss that.

He is my only friend and I talk my heart out but off late these incidents remind me of the invisible wall between us and I prefer to keep my mouth shut. I have always been an outspoken person, at times I have spoken things that might not be pleasant but true. However, now I feel I must not do it, be it anyone, I must keep my feelings to myself. As the liberal society I live in does not accept it. They think I am an alien from Mars and live in a different world (I wish I were…) and so does he.

Well I think it’s just the beginning and probably the first side effect of getting married. There’s a lot to come my way and I hope I successfully transform myself into a super – tolerant women like most women are in this liberal society I live in.

Chortle

Life in a Mumbai is so much like living in a river. Its constantly keeps flowing, at times it slow, at times it gushes down the stream, its deep for some while the new entrants find it too shallow to swim. No matter what happens it constantly keeps moving and waits for none, but it is amazing to see how it manages to accommodate everyone in spite of the space crunches we keep complaining about. Trying to survive in this river small fishes like me, barley manage to make a living. The only thing that keeps me going here is the sense of humor people have in this city. They crib they cry they complain but at the end of the day they all chortle with glee.

love .....

Last night before I went to bed,

Thoughts of you filled my head,

I have not cried this way in many of years,

Onto my pillow fell six silent tears.


The first was for your smile that I miss,

And your tender lips I long to kiss,

The second was for your gentle face,

And thoughts of your loving embrace.


The third came as no surprise,

As I thought of your beautiful eyes,

The fourth came rolling down my face,

Instead of my pillow, it should be you in it’s place.


The fifth came for one reason alone,

I felt my love for you wasn’t fully shown,

I really love and miss you my dear,

And there just fell ….. the sixth silent tear…..

*********

Appellation

I feel honored by yet undeserving of the appellation "feminist." I am a sanguine, a cabinetmaker of texts and occasionally, I hope a witness to our times. I write for revenge against reality but unfortunately, it hardly makes a difference. Lately I received a remark on my blog and this ‘tag’ was assigned to me in one of the comments. I don’t know him but still he seems to know me; so well, that he has already given me this title.
The article posted on the blog was based on a true story I witnessed during my visits to ‘Kamatipura’ – a city in itself, a place where every man has visited of wishes to go in his lifetime. My visits were short but it taught me how cruel life can be. For life is a bitch cause if it would have been a slut it would be easier. I have nothing against men but the mere idea of sleeping with him just for a penny to feed another man sitting at home disgusts me. I feel pitiful for those women who cannot stand up for their rights and self respect. I do not think these women out there have no strength to say NO, but do they have any choice? Many have grown there, the ceilings of those barrows are their limits, and this can’t think of life beyond them.
My stands on this issue may sound feminist but its true that we are still living in a male dominated society and these pictures that we see in places like “kamatipura’ just portrays it in a better way.

Why? Why? Why?

I was in high spirits, when I set foot in my house at 1.30 am when the news of Bob Woolmer's death delivered by Gotu changed it all. The joy of spending quality time with Sonu, getting a smart new T shirt, three audio/video CDs lost to an unfounded grief.Tears accompanied the shock as CNN IBN, Times Now and other channels beamed the blot from the blue. They were perhaps the same which resurfaced when Hansie Cronje died.But why? Woolmer was not my friend, nor a relative, nor was he an influence. Why was I morose? The mysterious death of "one of the finest coaches" in world cricket, of course, brought disappointment and shock. But my eyes sniveled past their expected quota.Was it mere shock? Or was it something else? Someone, I knew, passed away on hearing about Woolmer’s demise. A little someone who lived, slept and ate cricket in his childhood days, who jumped with joy on every Indian victory and sobbed when the country lost, one who dreamt of becoming a cricketer all through his school and college life- he could never fulfill it though.The cricket fan in me finally succumbed. The fan was ailing and had been on a life support system ever since the betting scam first came into life scalping Hansie Cronje. Why watch and herald a sport that can consume lives? I announce my retirement as a cricket fan. Sad…sure I am... but I guess retirement is better than being dubbed a murderer.India and Pakistan lose to small sides. Who are chiefly blamed for the defeat…an aussie and a brit. People burn their effigies, vandalise players’ homes. A sight not uncommon in the subcontinent. Is this sport or are we at war. Is the team playing the ‘War’ Cup? I no longer aspire to be called a ‘die hard’ cricket fan. Ab Tumhare Havale Cricket Sathiyon.Woolmer: You will be missed.