In the Filmi Style..

It is the kind Bollywood rejoices, youth of our generation enjoys and everyone directly or indirectly related to the release of the book makes fortunes. The latest book by Chetan Bhagat – “0.5 Girlfriend” is soo much filmy and the book is nothing but a perfect script. A script you would hand it over to the casts (anticipated) of the movie and they wouldn’t think twice to sign up. It’s already a 300-cr (a crore/cr is  10mn) movie . Bollywood only talks in 100’s of crores these days, just check the revenue that movies these days report. I wonder even if I make a movie and cast people from my office, do marketing on ‘Kapil’s comedy show’ and release it over a long weekend, I would easily be able to make one.

It was a very (v.) easy read (obvious, ya) that one could easily finish it in 2 go’s of 2 hours each. As I was reading the book, my mind picturized where all would the shooting of the movie happen. 3 places primarily – St. Stephens’ Campus in New Delhi, Bihar (Patna and Dumraon mostly) and NYC (Central Park, Manhattan, 5th and 8th Avenue, all the popular bars there).

Let’s move to the plot and the main story now. First year at the very British like St. Stephens. A royal but poor guy from Bihar meets the very beautiful and rich Delhi girl. The poor guy reads Social sciences and the rich girl reads English literature. Both of them have pretty much no interest in studies. The rich girl’s aim in life is to work as a singer in a Bar in NYC. The poor guy is from the Sports quota and wants to go back to his State after graduation. Coffees, sms’es, tiffin sharing, basketball playing and some such things happen. As expected, the poor guy falls in love with the rich girl. His friends ‘suggest’ (wrong word! The right word is ‘force’) him to have ‘sex’ with the rich girl and ‘Make Bihar Proud’. If having sex meant making Bihar proud, it must have been one of “the most…” (please complete the sentence yourself). The royal guy in the midst of all the confusion utters something stupid to the girl that she leaves him.

Second year at Stephens starts. The girl is not speaking to the guy. He catches glimpses of her every now and then. Annual fest starts, the girl bags a lot of prizes, the guy badly wants to speak to the girl. He goes up to her and she behaves very casual and why should she not, she is up to something important. She takes him to his car and hands him her wedding card. She is getting married to the same rich guy he met on her birthday party, one who is settled in London and whom people lovingly address as ‘Ro’ (understand the pun here?). The poor yet royal guy is extremely upset and suddenly realizes that he needs to focus on studies. Job placements start in the 3rd year and he is given a job from HSBC for being bluntly and blatantly true in the interview. The royal guy of course refuses to take up the job and joins down with his mother in Dumraon to run her school.

The royal guy gets a royal treatment at home but is stunned at the kind of problems the school run by his mother is facing. The MP refuses to provide any funding to the school when one day Bill Gates plans to visit India, the backward and rural India and the MP needs help from a Stephanian to deliver a speech to Mr. Gates and highlight the poor, ugly, downtrodden India. He doesn’t know that this Stephanian is not so good at English. Mr. Royal’s mom re-iterates that Mr. Royal is ‘Royal’ and royal blood’s are supposed to take up challenges. Mr. Royal joins a ‘English speaking course’ in Patna where they spend a day teaching the right pronunciation of ‘How are you’ to the students.

Bill Gates’ secretary who is making arrangements of his visit to India invites Mr. Royal to a hotel in Patna to discuss the preparations his school is making. Mr. Royal catches a glimpse of his rich friend from Delhi but is unable to believe his eyes. He waits for the whole day in the Hotel to catch a glimpse of her again. They meet. Coffee sessions start again. Rich girl got a divorce from ‘Ro’ and is now working with a Multinational company in Patna, India. She lends him hand to prepare for his speech and he in turn helps him setup her house. I imagined Ranbir Kapoor and Konkona Sen from the movie ‘Wake Up Sid’. People in movies are always so lucky, they find such huge apartments to stay in cities like Mumbai.

Girl and the guy help each other. The girl visits Dumraon and meets the guy’s mother. Conversations happen, dinners too and the speech to Bill Gates is a big hit. Mr. Royal gets a huge funding from the Bill Gates Foundation but the rich girl vanishes. She writes a letter stating she is suffering from cancer. Mr. Royal rushes to her house in Patna but finds her nowhere. She has left everything as it is in the house and Mr. Royal is heartbroken once again. He goes into depression, comes out of it and rebuilds the school.

One fine day again, somebody gives a call to Mr. Royal that the journals of Ms. Rich are found and he can take them if interested. Mr. Royal seeks help from CB. CB does his bit of research and comes up with 6 journal entries for Mr. Royal to read. Mr. Royal reads them which make up a complete story. They explain Ms. Rich’s difficult childhood, her life after marriage and why she went for a divorce and wait for the climax – ‘That she is still alive. Cancer was a lie to go away from Mr. Royal. Mr. Royal’s mom had refused of their relationship and she had to take this step’.

Mr. Royal rushes to NYC because he remembers Ms. Rich’s goal in life. He goes to NYC with a 3-month internship from the Gates’ Foundation and searches each and every bar in the city. He stays with his old friend from Stephens and his live-in partner. Just before the end of his 3-month stay, he meets Ms. Rich. A few years later, Ms. Rich, Mr. Royal and their son are found to be living in Dumraon. This brings us to the end of the ‘happily ever after’ story.

After this, we should wait for Vigil idiot’s column on Mumbai boss.

PS: All the opinions in this article are my own. They are a result of reading the novel. The opinions could be believed or argued, in both the cases it is perfectly fine.

We wish to be loved

This is the long story said short. This is the rule of rules. This is the beginning of everything and the end too. This is the mantra of life – We all like to be loved. We want to hear about ourselves in someone else’s writing, speech, thoughts, etc. Why is this so important I wonder? Is there a crisis that people lounge for it so much?

I think people in general are emotional. And most of them can’t express or define their emotions so correctly. That’s where the problem is. But the problem doesn’t end there. The bigger problem is that if the reciprocation happens after you ask for it, it doesn’t feel that it should have felt in the first place.

Love is like that compulsory cereal we have every morning. It is like that necessary sleeping pill for a peaceful 7-hour sleep. Why do you think some people like living with Dogs? Because they are infinitely loyal creatures and love you so much. You are not just their masters, you are their world. You come home from a bad day and they are waiting for you with eyes wide open. They are ready to hug you. They don’t have food when you leave them for 2 days at a neighbour’s house. You definitely don’t want them to starve (that’s not the slightest intention). But the fact that someone is doing that, makes you go mesmerized. The irony of life is that, ‘no matter how large the world is, you want to be felt like that world for a few people’. With love, most of the problems in life are solved.

Another strange thing about love is that it is to be felt. It never works on the basic of assumptions or hypothesis. As one of my friend states, ‘If it is love, it is to be seen in actions’. Thinking or wondering that the other person loves you doesn’t last long. It invariably, in a sad state or if lucky happy comes to an end.

But the best thing about love is that it comes in many different forms. It is from a simple line as ‘Are you feeling okay?’ to taking out that small photograph from one’s wallet and showing that it is you (well, if you take out someone else’s, you have made a disaster there).

When my sister says, ‘Didaaaa, we are meeting soon’, my heart races and the RBC’s multiply (Someday one should check my counts before and after the happenings of such events). It feels inhaling the oxygenated air that is filling up my lungs enough to live for an additional 2 weeks of life.

What do you think people who serve the needy and the poor do? Most of them are not rich. They are neither the strongest or the most powerful. They essentially spread love. This word, however cheesy it may sound in some contexts but is “the” elixir of life.

You see that some people in life are more attractive than others and when you take a step closer to understand them, you see that they look to be so ordinary in all the aspects of life. The only differentiator is how they interact with people. Their words are polite and kind (that doesn’t mean they are always agreeing to your points) and if not helpful, they are trying to be helpful.

Happiness is an outcome of love. I have observed that there are people who might not be very well to do but are extremely happy. The cook who comes to help me every morning is one of the cheerful souls I have met. She lives in one 100 sqft. room and cooks under the sky. But I’m sure she derives that love from somewhere and is not shy to spread it around. And that’s the ideal thing to do. Spread it. Love, very strangely multiplies and comes back.

What music does…

…To me. It’s the greatest medicine ever made on Earth, the best thing that ever existed, will exist, etc. There are moods and there is variety of music to suit them, compliment them, sometimes to make them even better. I don’t care about my existence, the why’s and how’s of the world when it comes to Music, it flows smoothly through my veins and directly into my heart and within a few seconds everything feels alright.

I’m lucky to have figured out that something in life gives me so much happiness. People think of me as one of those stupid souls who are not fit for the world. ‘She lives in her own worlds’ they say. And why not, my activities make them feel so. Not that I would acknowledge myself as one such but to the eyes of an average man, maybe I’m that lost-good for nothing-careless-unbothered creature.

There is a flask, it falls one day from the table, breaks into pieces. I stare at the pieces and say nothing, just pick them up and move on with life. I know it is a rich vase (by money’s standpoint). People expect me to shout and talk. They expect me to be angry. Only because someone else has broken it, someone lower in the economic strata of mankind. My thought process is simple – I myself could have broken it, why make a fuss. I know it was a nice looking one but not more than the self-respect of a human being.

I take out bags from my wardrobe to gift it to my family. They rummage the insides and find out small items inside the same. They prove that I’m careless. I don’t have a problem people forming opinions, I have a problem with them making judgments. I had kept the small items inside the bags to surprise myself at different points of time, that is whenever I opened them.

People describe some of them as good and others bad. If you join the hurdle and start believing their definition of good and bad, you will be appreciated and included in the group. Else you are called a fool. What they fail to understand from here is that this is the ideal person to share your thoughts because he/she will never talk bad about you to others. But no, you are the ‘bad man’.

As my sister puts it,

‘Simple things in life are the most extraordinary. Only the wise can see them’.

And I really don’t care what the non-important ones think of me. I have music for life

And we are from a different Planet

In a world where every sentence that you blurt out is heard with a suspicion, people don’t take time to classify it either as sexist or racist. But then how do you explain the obvious differences that you see and feel. In this internet world where everything is so hyped that people sometimes don’t get the gist of what is being said and instead either blow it up or drill it down. So, let me tell you beforehand. The idea behind this post is not to be sexist,  maybe feminist. Primarily it is about certain things which Men and women do too differently. Again, there are outliers, the so called “exception classes”.

Men aren’t emotional. Even if some are, they don’t express it the way we do. Two women talking to each other, friends for ages now, discussing the world on a cup of coffee. A third one joins, the women speak to each other from the language of their eyes and they change to a common topic. They also feel a bit irritated. There is an inherent possessiveness in their friendship. The entry of the third one makes them uncomfortable. They make sure that after the third one leaves, some time is spent with each other to finish the conversation they were in the middle of.

Similar example, but this time it is two men discussing the world on a cup of coffee. A third person joins. Nothing changes for the two men. They continue to discuss, the third person adds his opinions. There is no sense of irritation, forget possessiveness. The problem occurs when a Man and woman are talking and the third one joins. Each one behaves in a very different way than other. The woman jumps topic but the man stays too casual and this ‘being casual’ is definitely understood by the woman.

I don’t understand if men are not concerned or they don’t show concerns. When women talk, they always acknowledge others, in a funny manner or in a good note and their idea behind that is feeling related/connected to the person they are talking about. Men will not shy away to receive services like an all time food & beverages supply to housekeeping to taking care of the children at home. They will chat with the guests at home but I haven’t seen them acknowledging the efforts nor have I seen them inviting women to their conversations. They think that everything is understood. No, a ‘thank you’ helps. It makes one happy. That’s a reward for the services delivered.

How many men say a ‘thank you’ to their wives or partners on a dinner table. If they did in India, it will be a cultural shock to me. Generations have not done it and in the current age where so much has changed but a few things have not. How many lend that helping hand to their partners at work outside office?

Women like discussing the past but Men don’t. Men read minds but women read hearts. Many things are not as before, they are changing for the good but some are not moving at all. No wonder people are willing to stay single than be part of the non-reciprocated, un-loved environment. We women are soft at heart and we deserve love and fun. More of it. Sex cannot compensate for anything. That word and act, both are simply too overrated.  My Grandfather used to say, ‘Women are like flowers. You care for them and they will brighten up your place. You ignore them and they will die’. To all the Men – Don’t let that woman die. Cheer her up, make her happy. You will be amazed at what she will give back to you.

Happy Dussehra/Navratri/Durga Puja

It is that time of the year when I feel emotional. People from the East of India believe that Durga Ma comes to her father’s house and stays with them for the 9 days. I have seen and heard people crying on the day when Ma supposedly departs from Earth and goes back to heaven. I tell this myself once every while, ‘Ma, I wouldn’t have perhaps thought about you 4 times in a day if you were physically alive but today I do so every day’.

The first Puja ever was what I attended with my mother. She was scared that I would get lost in the crowd and hence she lifted me up wherever we went. I remember she had bought me a pair of Maroon coloured high heeled shoes then. I was asleep that night when we returned from the Pandals and my Parents had not checked my feet. One of the shoe must have fell somewhere and they realized that I didn’t have one only when they returned home. I got up next morning and the first thing I did was look for my newly bought shoes. I cried for sometime finding that one of the shoes has been lost. She sat along with me and cried too. Seeing her cry, I jolted and stopped crying in a second.

I remember I had finished my Class IV’s annual exams and we had gone to my hometown (Sardarshahr, let’s call it SDSR from now on) in Rajasthan for our annual trip. The months of May and June are the hottest in Rajasthan and we used to go there in May. She was going out with other aunts and uncles to visit some Monks. Like every time, she asked me if I needed anything. I asked if she could come back on time and if she would find some bangle shops on the way. When she returned, she found me waiting for her in the open balcony alongside Grandmom. She smiled and handed me a bag. It had atleast 7 types of bangles. Upon her conversations with people (people in my place inquire a lot about everything), I realized that she had spent quite an amount of money on them. She used to apply boroline after we went to bed. As her routine task, she had come down to the room where Grandmom and I used to sleep. As she touched my feet, I got up and asked if I needed those many bangles. She told me that I deserved the world and the bangles were nothing.

It was the February of 2009 and Buls’ (my younger sister) Class XII results were out. The marks were sort of history in the small town we stayed (they are the highest till date) and it had sort of become obvious that she would get a Medical seat in one of the best colleges of the country. Our Physics teacher’s wife had come running to congratulate my sister. But before she congratulated her, she hugged my mother and said that she was a victory mom. “What have you really done to your children?” was her remark. There were times she just smiled. She did the same in this case too and thanked her in return. My father added something to the conversation that day. He said that she has not travelled to a single place in the last 3 years. The percentages and ranks have got more to do with her dedication than with my sister’s intellect. The teacher’s wife nodded saying, ‘Yes, definitely’.

Mom had come to meet me in Pilani and we had planned to go back together to SDSR. We had our breakfast together in the Hostel mess and from there, I dropped her to my room and informed her that I would finish some jobs in the campus and come back during the lunch time. When I returned, I saw that my room was spic clean (not that I kept it bad but she made it beautiful) and the unwashed clothes were drying. She was standing and looking at the trees from the room. I looked at things and hugged her, both of us saying nothing. We left next morning and reached SDSR within about 3 hours by bus. Father asked her what did she do yesterday. She told him about the places she and I went together. She didn’t say anything about the hours she spent cleaning my room and clothes.

I go to Kovilpatti (CVP where I grew up and studied till Class 12) once in a while because my father still stays there and one time I visited, the house helper tells me, ‘It was so easy talking and asking anything from your Mom. She used to give it to us without creating a buzz. She gave me Xx money before she left, you know’. I just nodded to what she said and felt a deep pride inside.

I like to visit the places you wanted to go, I want to remember the names of all the Presidents and Prime ministers and what-not-in-a-name like you did, If I ever become a Mother (looks like no chances this birth) I want to be at least 50% you, I want to be as Cheerful and jolly as you, I too want to help others without realizing having done it so. I wouldn’t say you are the best in the world because I haven’t met others. But what I can definitely say is, ‘You were by far the best in the world I have seen and nobody has loved me enough to be comparable to you. You were very extremely cute, Ma’. You would be loved till I live. I will talk about you to Buls, father and Superpartner whenever we find time.