The exasperated Tambrahm bride

I am stupefied. Numb. Dumb. Passive and other allied adjectives.

People should organise classes for this pre-arrange-marriage process... for both the parties, coz if you are not prepared, each conversation is like a maths final exam where the questions were prepared by your art and craft teacher, seriously.

When I borrowed Kausalya Saptarishi's 'The Tambrahm Bride' from a senior of mine at workplace, i didnt realize that I would, at one point of time, start identifying with the main protagonist. 

Some months back, I only fought with my parents, who were clueless as what was it in that book that made me so repulsive of marriages. I though it was the toughest on the bride's family.

I have always been a free soul. My parents were reasonable in their rules and regulations. Often, I have been thankful to them for imposing certain restrictions. Though, I would like them to believe that their eldest daughter is a rebel who cannot be reined. I know I will be like my father with my kids!!!

So, when I was 23 and my mom, whom I argue is a drama queen, muttered that it was time that she started looking for an alliance etc etc etc...I did protest, knowing fully well that I was a lazy coward when it came to marrying by independent choice. I mean, I was having this cool job, no studies, great frnz circle, carefree... I was leading this life that many women, in their greyer years, would call paradise. Who the hell wants to get committed, yaar???

In a strange turn of events, I decided to humour my mom and let her intensify the search for a "boy" (in my part of the world, any eligible man will be a boy...age varies between 24- even 33 ... unconstitutional). You don't even want to know her criterion for this "boy" cos some years later, if by some momentary lapse of judgement, I let that "boy" read this post...he will be disillusioned with the institution of marriage. (P.S- By the time I decided to publish this draft that I had composed somewhere around November 2010, I got married and left the country for a non-descript location in the Middle East).

(Again in a flashback)

What angers me? Parents!!! If your son is not mentally prepared for accommodating a wife in his life, you accept that fact. And it does not mean that he is gay (accept it more if he is). He just needs more time. Don't introduce him as a potential groom into the circle of families who are looking for one because he makes TOTALLY ANNOYING CONVERSATIONS AND PISSES ME OFF.

People, get this clear. It is not easy for a woman to be mentally prepared for getting married to a stranger. 

But I did agree to see your pyaara beta. Didnt I? So, what is the conclusion? The conclusion is that I had to prepare myself a thousand times over that if this is the poor man ends up getting a faint idea that I am the queen of his dreams, there is a chance that my life may turn upside down.

I am prepared to accommodate this change because my adorable drama queen mother has citied several reasons seeking to justify as why I should let this random kid take over my life and let him believe that he is doing the right thing. It could even end up like letting A Raja taking over the Home Ministry...get what I mean???

So, you have any remote idea as what went into making this conversation with the apple of you eye? And don't give me that customary 'in-our-times-we-also' nonsense... Stop it right there...right now... I don't believe in what you are saying. You could not have been born this old.

Emotional private writing is so very therapeutic, by the way.

So, coming back to the point, if your kid is not prepared for a marriage, don't force him. If he is a psycho, let him be a bachelor. Don't expect traumatized girl to change that jerk for you. She can't. He is a jerk and will remain so all his life. That is so not funny and people have a right to happiness.

At least four men (and I insist on using this term) have spoken to me, in a bid to find out if I was their Miss Right after their profile went through several stages of filter process held by my folks. While some turned out to be okay, ( hey, I was unprepared but conveyed it so) others turned out be, well, remarkable in their own way. (Last I counted, it was four.)

Some of my most memorable chapters in this arrange marriage process can contribute to several posts in this blog. This may include just watching profiles, chats, conversations, or even meetings...

Sample this. Boy: OMG, It is such a big house that you have got. It is tough to find something like this in the area where I live. How much is a plot worth in this area? (Helllooo???) BTW, his mother claimed before coming to my house: "Now, I know u will like my son. Nobody can reject him." (breathe in, breathe out)

Another family came to see me on a festival day. (I deliberately omit some nightmarish experiences here too) They get me two apples and six pieces of sweet. The mother is honest. She categorically states that these were part of a festive gift that her son got from the company. (Numb!!!)

Another guy who wasn't really sure if he wanted to take a call on getting marriage after talking to me for sometime... "You know your parents should have a little more maturity to understand that we have to know each other well" (@$$#()!* Slap!!!)

"You Delhi girls are very modern also know" (Yeah dude, I am pubbing every night and marry me, I will rescue from the miserable existence of a life that you are bearing)"

Dont worry, I will support you if you want to study further (Er... Sweet... But, why should I get married then. Focus!!!)

And may I say, these were just the samples among others. There were some really annoying experiences where civic sense was thrown out of the window. Some even more harrowing conversation where I felt these were the atonements for my sins...or when people were, in general, communication challenged. Dude, You are not the only one with a family. I have one and it is way more better than what you have got, Period.

Even as I write, I am losing my cool. My family makes me meet one of these again, I will throw my politeness out of the window and unleash my wrath on them. Families, dont make me undergo terrible, jittery conversations with your stupid kids if they are just unsure of getting married. Don't be a homophobic. It is okay if they are gay. Don't waste my time.

A potential drama queen in me thinks the government should levy a charge on all kinds of conversations that take place between a "boy" and a girl (no quotes here). People will be serious about other's time. prepare themselves to not talk nonsense and not pass on anything in the name of "starting trouble".

Again, emotional private writing is so very therapeutic. I will do this again. Don't follow me if you don't like it.

P.S. Here is something I recently stumbled upon. Wanted to fit it somewhere in my blog. Watch it.

  

10 things about me that I write when I have nothing else to do

1. I don't like watching Hollywood films. I don't understand English.
2. I can't make up my mind on whether I like my blog being read by others.
3. I am jolly well insensitive
4. I mean what I say, most of the times.
5. Shah Rukh Khan is my favourite actor

6. I love my job (phewww, that felt good)
7. I am a dilliwala. I would never want to move out of Delhi
8. All my best friends are outrightly stupid. I love them.
9. I am a believer.
10. Sub-editing agency news copies has murdered the writer in me. (Just may continue...)

The usual rant on growing up and growing old

Peeping out sheepishly from the window into the rain-drenched, tar-shined Sardar Patel Marg that lead me home, I was getting rather nostalgic when the bus halted at Dhaula Kuan. Just near the south campus that groups a number of colleges, including mine (sigh!!!), this place connects everyone to every where. Infested by nervous freshers, hurrying scholars, job karne wali aunties, perpetually hyper businessmen, kohl eyed kids, lanky hawkers, impoverished families and all kinds of travellers. Couldnt stop thinking of the umpteen number of times I tried boarding the right bus (Window seat, DTC) to home from here while my friends made faces and bid adieu as if I was about to leave the country forever.

A sense of Déjà vu as I heard a PYT group bidding sentimental farewell to each other and the otherwise ‘khaali’ bus was jam packed with the ‘college ka crowd’. A series of conversations and the usual reaction followed…

Then I wondered if I am too old for my age or a misfit in my generation or may be both.

Ever wondered if education is strictly limited to degrees or whether it means liberating people. Has the tired government and the education board really revised about the need of the hour?

Obeying to your parents/grandparent/both doesn’t necessary make you a ‘paragon of virtues. Not that I am against family bonding and ‘Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham’ sentiments yet a concerned advice to a friend that doing a Ph.D would be bad because her parents would have a tough time trying to find a groom for her is a DEVASTATING advice and not even remotely constructive.

A friend was telling me the other day that I was too laidback when it came to dressing sense and that I should go for what she called a ‘makeover’. It was supposed to boost my confidence and morale. And I was under the impression that I look reasonably civilized in my existing garb and that’s the only purpose clothes are to achieve. We still haven't come out of those tall-fair-slim-convent educated stereotypes, have we?

Gandhi Jayanti went by and all you heard was people foul mouthing the Mahatma for uttering satanic curses, black magic and ruining the state of affairs in the country. We all forgot what he stood for and what he hoped his countrymen would live for. What ever happened to the common man’s faith, hope, goals, grit, determination and a vision for his/her country?

There is a difference between a leader and a politician that we all need to understand. For me Mohan Das Karamchand Gandhi was a leader and a man who was (ill) fated to influence the destiny of a nation and not individuals. What are the ideas that we are living for to build this country that has already been cleaned out by inequitable distribution of wealth, lack of awareness, greedy yet powerful decision makers, redundant policies, inability to make informed choice and the poor assortment of representatives in the Parliament.

Instead of making fun of ideas, I think we need propaganda to make people at least identify what they want to stand for and change. What kind of future they want their children and far generations to have? Instead of being ashamed of what they feel, shouldn’t they understand that there are millions who support their idea but are located else where? Stand up against menace like female foeticide, illiteracy, corruption, poor civic sense, sexual oppression, suppression of whistle blowers, fanatics, Raj Thackrey, poor community co-ordination, immobilized youth power in the country and so many.

Wonder if I am a menace now. It is not easy to walk straight through a crowd of dopies

Love in the time of heat stroke

After a frustating day at workplace
Foreword
The forthcoming poem is strictly out of impulse and has been compiled without an iota of rationality (quite habitual with the author). Subsequently, it is not meant to appeal to anyone's rational faculty or interpretation. RL-77 is the bus that the author uses to reach her asylum everyday (sometimes night).
So what is love?
Love is like an empty RL-77 on a monday morning,
while you assumed that auto was the only option left
Love is like a plate of good and fresh food from a canteen
that you thought was infested by rats and rodents
A spell of rain in May
while you were thinking of your last will in heat stroke
Love is an unexpected apology from your boss
Whom you thought was brain dead
To Conclude, love is unbelievable untill you get one.

I got my first job

I must admit. I have a neat work profile. Rushing in early in the morning, reading scores of news, editing stories, running for what we know as “impact”, the crisis, and all that comes across as a part of any trainee’s workload.

But probably, I am not really sure about loving a certain aspect of that humdrum…Newspapers. I don’t know how silly I sound, but you know, I am one of those with a terrible attention span and I haven't got used to those cliched tirades.

My day starts at 5:30. I leave by 6:30 to reach office a little before 8. Hail Delhi Metro. I love early mornings in Delhi - fresh, warm and clean. The metro journey from Uttam Nagar to Central Secretariat is less dreadful, especially with my mobile phone playing good music to my ears (through the earpiece, of course. You don't think I would be using one of those chinese makes and playing my dhinchak-dhinchak delights set to volume levels that can send the fear of God into fellow travellers. ). People are a delight to travel too.

But once I reach office, it’s a different world altogether. I force myself to get involved in that world…World where people die in bomb blasts while trying to help others, new-borns getting orphaned in accidents, war heroes denied their share of recognition, 12 year olds rescued from brothels, religious wars, the blasphemy of whistle blowing and so much.

Two worlds co-exist together, a world where people like me are suffering for no fault of theirs and a world where people like me are thoughtless to the suffering and absorbed in living as if nothing would ever happen to our jealously-protected luxuries. And the most obvious part is, nobody can do anything. God, religion, law, life, prayers and everything else fails together.

As a kid, I always did hate newspapers. This is fate. And I will get used to it soon. And become just like others around me.

Life and Editing Articles...

Panorama 08 is finally out and after much GooseChase, I got hold of a copy. You know, There are somethings in life that are too subtle to explain. Looking fondly at ur own name or ur own article in a magazine is one such...Anyway, without getting too melodramatic, I'll come to the point...I dedicate this post to the day when i got to edit my first magazine. Not the complete magazine with ultimate authority but hey, thats okay...So here's one about UDAYACHAL..The Annual magazine of my graduating college.

I remember how years ago when I was a young girl, one of my favorite outings were those occasional visits to a Family Friend’s office where the latter worked as an editor to a monthly magazine. One of my fantasies was to sit on all her huge king sized chairs and work amidst all those bright office stationeries. The way she went over the write ups reminded me of my teacher minus severity .The powerful A/C posed as another temptation. Little I realized that the grass on the other side is always green. And that One learns his or her lessons only after going through experiences. And believe me… I did learn mine in due course of time.

Some ten years later when I was in the third year of my graduation my teachers proposed the idea of selecting a team of student editors for the college magazine. And I was on Cloud Nine when I was selected in the team. We gladly put up notices all across the campus, inviting students to come forward with their original articles and write ups. And as articles came pouring in…I convinced myself that Dreams and fantasies do come true.

However as I started editing those articles, I realized that I have a personality disorder. The little girl who got fascinated by Bright stationeries must have descended from a U.F.O. Dreams can be taxing too. Coming to the point, well, I got ludicrousness personified as some of the articles by “prospective writers”. Not to forget the forwarded mails from their e mail inboxes that occasionally landed up as “an original article” on my desk (trust me, I took great pains to cross check them).

Yes, even though there were several original articles but there were also articles which made me realize that editing articles and write ups is not exactly the most lucrative job on the planet. For example: One of the articles held many a thought provoking statements like…


We, the People of India say that we are Indians but that is not true. We are cut into pieces in various kinds of form like Hindu, Sikh, Jains etc…

More…

The youth of India is the biggest youth in quantity in the world of any country…

Further…

Uncountable ventures and implementation of constantly approved alternatives are being cautiously framed to generate a bit warmth to the lives whose charms fail to accept the social legislations but aims to call for a passionate approach (Do not ask me for the meaning…I am still trying to decipher this code.)

Even More…

Drug Addictions occur mainly due to denials from girlfriend’s side (WOW! Cheers Girl power.)

(There was another article that came to me and the person who wrote it informed me quite comfortingly that I need not take any pains to read and edit this article since it was found posted on the internet by someone so it must be correct)

If not all at least some of the articles that fell in the above mentioned category did make me conclude that the job of editing requires a person to do a lot of homework before getting started with the write ups and articles. And what would the homework be? Well I am sure it would at least include activities like prolonged sessions with the best psychological counselor in the city, lots of yoga, meditation, and laughter therapies...And you know what...Wherever you go editing, such articles follow you.

MY BLOG MY BLOG MY BLOG

Internships and Big bro

There is this one feeling that has been haunting me ever since I began my internship. I can’t help it. I am trying overcome this strange notion that ……..I am a part of a poorly scripted Big brother/Big boss series, the reality show.

Don’t scoff…Listen to me first.

I lost my sleep and appetite to get into a good place for my internship(read the BB house). Finally after much drama with my faculty, I got in here. As I blog it down quite flaccidly, here I have no telephones, no messenger, no email, no friends, no books, no music, no junk. I sit all day, some times having work and sometimes not.

I never liked reading newspapers even when I was doing my masters in mass communication for the simple reason that I found all the newspapers, even those which had glorified themselves as the paragon of News dailies, bought me nothing but depression because of their sensationalizing of tragedies and other contents…I know it sounds stupid but hey, its my blog. And for the first time in my entire life span two decades and a year, I read 5 financial dailies…That’s right 5 financial dailies + 5 more newspapers a day and finding out the beat journalist of whatever-whatever beats. My teacher would be so happy.

Chalo, not an issue but sitting with a computer with a poor dialup connection that doesn’t even allow me to access google (That’s right, the search engine) whenever I want to is excruciating…terribly excruciating.

Thankfully, no Jade Goody or any other inmate to traumatize or create politics…But I must be thought to be a real bimbette considering the manner in which I finish my assignments(another similarity with the reality TV participants).

Waiting to go back to college and get my schedule and more importantly my broadband connection back. Would love to be in touch with old buddies from Post grad and grad(The selected few only plz).

God save me from those e mails

When Ray Tomlinson gave the world one of the greatest communication tools of time, named e-mail (way back in 1971),
He would have never imagined as how his super concept could be instrumental in giving panic attacks to one of us.

Ever since I got an e-mail account and gave it to the other species of the Internet Browsers community, every mail checking session would be leaving me in a fearful state, courtesy-all those blessings/good luck/saviour-is-here messages which force me to think about the state of mind of the creator of those messages & as whether these messages are really not meant to freak me out.

The contents of these articles won’t be any really substantial. They would be mostly like a bunch of old proverbs served in colourful PowerPoint presentations or weird pictures which are god-knows-what or even those paper ‘n’ pen games which you might have played in your school along with your friends. While you would scroll down as fast as you can so that these already acknowledged facts may end and you could read the next mail, behold, here comes the anti-climax:

This message has been sent for your good luck (really!!!)…………………………It has gone around the world 10 times (!!!!)………………It is a Chinese proverb /Charm that had originated in Netherlands (????). ……An unemployed man who sent this message to 30 people became a millionaire within a fortnight & his rich friend who discarded this became a pauper (No I am not exaggerating even a bit, this is what they exactly say)……………………………Send this to 20 people within 5 minutes else be prepared to face DOOM. (And at last the very innocent) All the Best.


Now, how many of us can really send this to 20 people and be sure that those who will receive this message will read them without getting mad at us? Not many us I am sure. I have sincerely failed to understand as how could one e-mail bring me all that luck that I need in my life. Would it even work if I refuse to fulfil my duties and responsibilities or even when I refuse to work, which is the only way to success? Do you really believe that people are really made paupers and billionaires by just a sinister message? If it were true don’t you think our law lords would have made it compulsory for all internet users in our country to forward at least one such e-mail per day to as many people as the can so that our countrymen can become really lucky and we can become the most developed country in the world by just forwarding such e-mails. So all of you out there who want to serve the society by doing a noble cause, begin with deleting such emails that may pour into the inbox of your e-mail account instead of forwarding them. It will certainly make a difference in the lives of people like me who’ll feel relieved by the absence of such emails from our inbox(s). So believe me Together we can & together we will fight against this new form of terrorism.

The great fall

Tagore once famously said:

Blessed is he whose fame doesn't outshine his truth

And I'm sure if he had witnessed the contemporary state of media, he would have been truly amused and and would have presented another liner for them:

Blessed is he whose truth doesn't outshine his fame

Without trying to be unnecessarily superfluous, let me come straight to the point. It does amuses me to note the superfluous attention showered by the media on any subject while ignoring other issues of equal or say even greater importance.
.
.
.
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Change scene:
Come 2006-One five year old falls into a 52 feet deep pit,stays therefore 50 hrs...And the news channels show their fraternity by allotting an excessively prolonged coverage to that issue; to harass both the "issue" and the viewers Camera kept an account of what the boy ate, drank and even how he cried(I'm not kiddin).The boy was finally rescued in the evening and after a tearful reunion, the boy and the family lived happily ever after...It was jus like those K-serials where the protagonist dies and comes back from the graves and the cameraman focuses on everybody's reaction and this doesn't end before three episodes...I mean com'mon
guyz can sumone tell me how this news is more important than all the world news put together...The boy wasn't unconscious or badly injured...they cud have provided the one line updates of the news but nooooooo....united we stand, divided we fall......If the current ethics of Indian Media justify sensationalism instead of reporting then people I think Balaji Telefilms and AAJ TAK are one and the same...

Cheers!!!

Jayasri

Hmmmmm....lets see!!!!

Before u start imagining dat Iam goin to scrible long honorary speeches about how good, kind, charitable, kind, smart, nice iam..............breathe easy and get disappointed.I am already fed up of filling out profile details in orkut and hi5. so dis place is goin to be about what I think and feel bout issues, things and people.and not bout me..

Lets see..In case thou art wondering why such a gr8 address for my blog dats da one statement dat is da only thing which is about me dat iam mentioning on dis page.I can write most inspiringly only during evenings and night...no early morning studies for me....and so i dedicate da title to my inspiration..Night


Now Vacations are bugging me lyk anything....I've been at home since last week of April and Iam eagerly waitin for da college to reopen....Its only 4 days to go and Iam impatient......ugh

August is here and its kitetime in Delhi.......Till 15th aug. Delhi's skyline is going to be painted rainbows....


In case you are wondering why iam blogging with dese kind of issues I think even u got to wait till my vacations get over... Till then enjoy this poem which I composed a few days back.Trust me I have been very autobiographical in it....

I a statue

It’s a storeroom of statues
Near the extention of Aravallies,
A little room of twenty nine statues

The little store keeper is restless
He sits on his chair
Then stands up.

He keeps his specs and dusting brush
And attempts to liven up the statues
To make them viceless humans
(Vice less humans ?...ha! ha! ha! ha!)

Again he waves his hands,
The statues are statues
No movements...

Let me tell you a secret,
The statues would come to life
Only when the keeper would leave

He mutters something now
Counts the statues
Leaves…

The statues brighten up now,
The cheer, the laugh,the shout
It’s an interesting show

The door opens now,
Enter another statue…
In the storeroom,
My Classroom…I a statue

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