Welcome to DDLJ-land. It may sound a little, just a little, like La-la-land. (Yes, the la-la-land that Katrina lip syncs to in that awfully disturbing title song of Tees Maar Khan.) But this one is different. This one’s marginally more sane. Largely because yours truly has been living here since 1995. πŸ™‚

Here, you *have* to write lovey dovey poems in Hindi talking about Andekhe Anjaane guys.

Here, you believe that people must not name their kids Raj unless they are ‘Raj material’.

Here, you are supposed to hallucinate and show schizophrenic symptoms when you are in love.

Here, your hero should always take the mushkil raasta just because it is sahi and because his died-before-i-remember mom told him so.

Here, your dad is the villain in your life. Wait, lets strike that one off the list.

Here you are reminded at random times about how you should be a Hindustani and that your hero is infact a dhabba on a Hindustani. Oh and then, you have to wait for that moment when the hero makes a poor pigeon’s bullet wound septics by putting our desh ki powerful and magical mitti on the wound and hence prove his desi quotient.

Here, any act of supposed pervertedness on the part of your hero is to excused in the name of well, raj-ness.

However insane and lame this world is, I like it here. Nothing here is real. But I love looking for DDLJ-land in the not-that-smart Β ‘real’ world. And to people who think DDLJ is little too melodramatic and aisa-real-life-me-thode-hi-hota-hai, let love, or whatever they call it these days, happen to you. I can count on you acting weirder, stupider and funnier than Raj and Simran ever did.

Indu. πŸ™‚


Flowers For Him

This wasnt written to be posted on the blog. But then I got bored and posted it here. 😐

She glanced at her watch. It was 2 minutes to six. As she wrapped up her work for the day and walked to the station, her mind carelessly slipped away into the memories of that day – the day he had gifted her the watch and the ring that still shone on her left hand. The starlit night, the candles, the dinner at Taj, the wine and most of all, the smile of satisfaction of his face – everything came back in front of her hollow, hazel eyes.

The announcement of the 6 o’clock fast local to Churchgate snapped her back from the past. Hurriedly she got on to the train, took her usual seat by the window and gave a faint smile to the familiar faces she had been seeing everyday in the last one year.

Today, was a special day and she wanted him to know that. She had been planning for this day for the past month. Plans and ideas were thought of and thrown out everyday. And with some help from her friends, she finally decided on how she wanted to celebrate the day.

She gazed out of the window, taking in the post monsoon cool breeze of the city and playing out the evening in her mind over and over again. All the while, she had a silent wish in her mind. She never said it aloud, lest it fails to come true. Β In half an hour she had reached her station. She got down and started walking out to his place.

On the footpath, she saw a lady selling flowers. Remembering his love for yellow carnations, she instinctively went to her and bought a bouquet of his favourite flowers. ‘This would be a nice touch’, she thought. With the flowers in her arms, she continued her walk.

And then she reached the hospital. Her heart best faster as the elevator came closer to the 11th floor. All arrangements had been made. She got the same music and the same wine. She made sure that the menu was the same as it was a year back. All she wanted now, was a miracle. A miracle to bring her life back to what it was meant to be.

With all her surprises in place, she waited with bated breath on the terrace of the hospital as the attendant brought him to her on the wheelchair.

Today was 26th November 2009, exactly a year after he had proposed to her in front of the Gateway of India; exactly a year after he went into paralysis after a bullet injury on his spinal cord.



The Identity Crisis

Finally. Over a month after the last post, I am back!!!

Being, in someone on twitter’s Β (I seriously dont remember whose) words, a Fraud Mallu, it isnt exactly my dream to be ragged interact with seniors from my technical motherland.

Here again, I have my own weird logic. Its something like this: Its wrong to determine my mother tongue by simply going by where my parents were born. The reason being, if I was to go back into time with the same logic, it would imply that all Homo sapiens are Africans. Get it? No? Dont worry, its not you. Nobody ever gets it.

Anyway, coming back to what I was saying… The thing is I have always been a Hindi speaking non Malayali keralite who hates coconut and hence eats only Sambar and Rice in the Sadhya. Anyway the BITS guys managed to get me to compere in a Saree. Yes, in a Saree. And I also had the proper Sadya. Things college does to you.

So right now, I am beginning to doubt the Fraudness of my Mallu identity. And part of the reason is the awesome ‘True Mallu’ tee the guys have. I would do *anything* to get that tee. Anything, including introducing myself in Malayalam a thousand times over. Wait, haven’t I have done that already? πŸ˜›

Anyway, thats all I have for now. I’ll try to post again as soon as I can. I cant really promise though. I could make history out here – being the first 010 to flunk a subject. Or maybe two. Or maybe four.

Indu. :s

Yes, I am in college now. And I have found my place. I am getting to live the life I always wanted to – free of preconceptions, free of assholes nonsense-talking-brainless-sub-normal-creatures.

All through the last years of school, all old people told me to focus on studies only and not to pay attention to boyfriends and love and crushes. Apparently, they have the power to ruin your life. Its something like what Styrofoam did to Bolt. So now that I am finally in college, I am thinking about love. No no, freaky boys dont ask me to come on a jog with you in the morning. Thinking about love, as in philosophizing. Arm chair, good for nothing philosophizing which is more often than not a consequence of joblessness. So here are my conclusions:

1. Love, in its mushy form, usually leaves deaf, dumb, blind and brain dead.

2. Love is NOT the stupid ‘prize’ you get at the end of Treasure Hunt. So stop searching for love. Live, study, work hard. That way at least you have a good life even if you don’t have love.

3. Love makes you, and only you, blind. The rest of us unfortunately still have to see you behaving in the yuckiest way ever in public. This is one thing I support Bal T. You’ll know how weird it is when a 4 year old asks you ‘Didi, vo bhaiya aur did jhaadi ke peeche kya kar rahe hai?’.

I am not anti-love. Love is good. But what I hate is talking about love like its Roti, Kapda or Makaan. You can live without love in the form of a boyfriend/girlfriend. Thats it. Just live. Love will come when it has to.

*yawn* I am sleepy now. Will continue with the unrelated nonsense tomorrow. πŸ™‚


The Big Move

So finally I am here. CH4-306. Thats my address for the next four years. And I believe I wont have too many choices about things I could do, other than hanging around alone and blogging. So, I think I’ll blog more often.

Yes. The feeling of being a complete misfit is more overwhelming than any form of excitement about being here.

Let this not make you feel that the place is bad. It is awesome. The Director is pretty good. To get an idea of how good he is, you should know this – this was the first my dad didn’t sleep off in the middle of a program which has anything to do with my education. Its not like he is not interested. But very few things can hold his attention for more than an hour. So yes, the director is good. The faculty looks good. Most of them are pretty young. The food is good. Very good, in fact, for a college. The infrastructure is awesome. Like, totally awesome.

So basically, the place is good. I just need to find my place here.

Good night for now.


A New Beginning

The wait which began 45 days back finally came to an end today. On the 15th of May, after having Tea and Maska Bun at Lucky Tea Stall(and subsequently vomiting it out) and hitting my head real bad, I did manage to do test surprisingly well. The score was such a shock that I checked it some 5 times. πŸ™‚

And then from “Dad, dont you dare and try to brainwash me for Goa. I am going to Pilani no matter what.” to “Ok listen. I am going to Goa pakka. Dont fill up any other choices.”, it was quite a journey. Opinions from people – useful and useless, asked for or absolutely uncalled for, well formed and nonsensical – were thrust upon me.

And then the last few days when thoughts like ‘Nahi mila to?’ , ‘Achha hoga na’ and other anxious thoughts flooded the mind. Finally today, the first of July, its all over. I have some idea of how the next four years of my life will be.

Apprehensions are still there. Will what I thought of as a new phase of life, be that great? Will I finally find a place where I belong? Will I be able to get over my past? Will those bad dreams stop now or will there be worse? Answers for most of these questions will take at least another one month.

As for now, Goa ahoy! πŸ™‚

*cue that stupid background song in Bachna Ae Haseeno which plays when Ranbir reaches Australia* πŸ˜›


PS: Is it just me or does somebody else also feel Ranbir Kapoor got a nose job done after Bachna Ae Haseeno?

PPS: Lucky Tea Stall is awesome. You don’t get to sip tea in front of an M F Hussain original anywhere else in the world. The Maska Bun is yummy – lots of butter with just a hint of strawberry jam. Perfect.


I intend to make this a non bitchy personal post. Forgive me if I do not stick to it.

The sorry in Β the title is for the neglect I have shown towards my dear blog. I do miss writing. That, inspite of the fact I am no great writer. I can’t write a simple one line my mother needed me to write Β just a couple of hours back. Coming back to my negligence, I think its got something to do with twitter and facebook making it easier to express those teeny weeny thoughts which otherwise could materialize into a longer blog post. And I was a 60 year old cranky woman who has a habit of passing judgements about anything and everything, I would attribute it to the ‘fast-life’ of the ‘present generation’ and then go on to give lectures to anybody who didnt pretend to be deaf. Ok there I go the bitchy route again. Correction time.

So on the personal front, whats new? Well, everything. I finished 12th standard. *dances around in a circle* I think I managed a couple of decent admissions. But more importantly, I earned my freedom. I am now free to do so many things including learning Persian and reading Premchand. These are things you can’t do if you are in India and you have taken Science and you aren’t sure of which way you want to go. I mean, at the beginning of 11th I could say I am going to study economics at DU. So no boring stuff for me. I will live my life. But that isnt how it works. Not for me at least.Β Its not like a slogged for 2 years or something. I watched TV almost everyday. I went for movies. And the night before JEE, I was at Akshardham watching the water+laser show, which by the way is awesome.

So essentially, I am back to being me. I am back to doing things I like.

I have lost all that extrovert thing I had developed in the last couple of years. I talk to people. But I dont really care to make any special efforts to socialize. But to my inner circle, I am still the same chirpy, albeit a little detached, Indu. πŸ™‚

And strangely, I am now at peace with everything around me. Not expecting much from people helped. Do your stuff and move on. Thats it.

A certain mannerless brat has been going about being rude on facebook. I would wonder why cant he shut up. And then, Bam! I realized that is what is his job. He is the villain in my story. What else could I expect him to be? I did end up blocking him. I have better things to do than to see his display of brainlessness.

Other than that, whats new? Nothing much. Random thoughts on random things. For instance, why should Warren Anderson be hung? The guy flew down to India against the advice of so many people just to express solidarity. He could have just stayed there in the US. Maybe we should value the fact that he did visit. If somebody is to be blamed, it is the Government. They were the custodians of public interest. They were supposed to see that safety of the people is not compromised. If the factory wasn’t operating with bare minimum safety standards, why was the factory allowed to operate in the first place. And the other issue I have with the Government is that why wasnt enough compensation given out to people? You cant expect a company with a public listing on New York Stock Exchange to give adequate compensation. Just because Union Carbide then and Dow Chemicals now are not paying you money doesn’t mean you cant help your own people. Why are you waiting for Dow to clean up the factory site? Shouldn’t you be doing it? And I am sure that the treasury has enough money for that.

The third issue I have is the fact that no lessons have been learnt from the Bhopal Tragedy. From where I see it, the airline industry is going exactly the same way. Tires of airplanes in India get punctured more often than my Dad’s bicycle’s tires do. If in every three days I dont see the news of an emergency landing at some airport, I feel something is not right. The committee set up after the Mangalore crash to review airline safety is full of IAS babus, whose closest association with airplanes are the free tickets they manage to get, and bosses of airline companies. I, personally, have refused to travel in any plane run by any Indian operator. Except maybe if I go to the Naxal hit areas. Being in the air is probably safer around there.

Thats it for today. I am sleepy now. *yawn*

Good Night folks. πŸ™‚