drunk on your poison

here i lie

right where you left me

in the hell of my own making

drunk on your poison

that you poured right onto me

enveloped in hands that promised love and comfort and the beyond

i knew only chaos tainted by love

i knew you only when your hands didn’t leave a mark on my skin

but all i needed was your insolent intoxication to feel normal again as i gave myself to you again

and again, because, i was so drunk in your embrace

i didn’t give a damn as long as i got to be with you at the end of the day

but now look at rotting in these bed of roses

just like the ones you lay out for me everytime a strike lasted longer than it should have

everytime you felt like showing me as evidence that you possessed a soul, that craved intimacy

i was the closest thing you could find to sanity, chaotic and beautifully tragic all at once

and you held onto me tightly for dear life, on some days, leaving a mark that

reminded me of the monster that ate away at your soul, the one i vowed to sit next to and recite golden poetry to

and just then,

right when the rational touches me

you poison me again with your sweet nothings that you whispered like the holiest of all prayers against my skin

and i’ m back to crumbling in the folds of your fantasy at the brink of euphoria

threatening to let out a joyful scream

and ready to forgive you and start over again

i thought i was growing stronger, but i was losing my defense by the minute every time i lay motionless and smiled

when what i really wanted was to let out a guttural scream and still love every inch of you like god intended

love you like you did not push me to the edge of insanity,

because, even when you did,

you always saved me from complete and total descent and, that was enough

for me to give up and love the one that kept their side of the bed warm and refused to let go off me, that was all that was enough

to give in every night and as i watched my admiration grow, my time dwindled and i let it and on the fated day,

you gave me your last gift, and i was drunk again and

and murmured nonsense, my last love letter addressed to your honour and pride,

wrapped in intoxicated vocabulary and hopelessness and,

eyes that gazed at you with all that could it muster, i waited patiently

for the kiss that never touched my skin and instead, watched out for the stupor that engulfed me into a blanket of comfort and still nothingness

and i stopped fighting, i gave in, again but my eyes never left the face that finally pushed me over and watched me descend

with a careful gaze, devoid of everything that bound us together

i remember praying so that your hands come to a stillness and let me go and yet, here I’m longing for you to hold me again

to bring me back to the world of living, the world of you and i, but all i saw are unrecognising eyes, broken glass shards, and a thick of smoke that

lulled me to a slumber, and here i lie waiting for your return as i

lie like an old secret amongst these bed of roses

waiting for your callback but you never came

and just as the bed of roses attempted to swallow me whole, leaving behind no trace of me

i saw you welcome her with a smile that looks like home and thousand impending hells all at once and i realise,

i cry and i shout, i wail and push the bed of roses, as they push me farther and farther into nothingness, i fight but

no one came and here i lie in

the old, tender company of those who came before me

drunk on your poison, in your bed of roses , for when the stupor lifts

i will come back for you, because, you and i, are meant to be together

drunk on our poison, together, in the thousand and one hells of our making

– lgl

To be interpreted to the best and worst of your imagination.

Little Did He Know.

On days when there ceases to exist a necessary evil to keep my mind engaged, I wonder if there was a solution, a simple solution, that would have stopped me from leaving. None comes to mind and the glory of goodbyes has died out like the spark of a depraved flame.

I left each with a letter. I know that a letter cannot take my place but I know that it was the least courtesy I could offer. After all, only I know the real reason why I left, I thought leaving would be easier, considering I refrained from memorable entanglements with any one of them, for fear of danger, as the damned fool lies blissfully unaware that by seeking me out and obsessing over me, he is inviting danger to our doorstep. I loved him too much to hand over his life to fate by surrendering to his affections, and my vehement denial and contradictory confirmation of the affections with my blatant care and loss of logic and reason when his name is uttered is proof, I will hide my pain and love from him, because I am burdened by the ills and lure of danger that is waiting for me and I would do this alone rather than lay him to sacrifice.

As long as he believes that I left him for the affections of another, he would despise me for abandonment. His very fear and his fear and his hate for the very mention of my name will save him. Save him from every danger bound to plague me, now or ‘morrow.

As long as he rests in happiness and smiles with the golden illuminating him, his pain of losing me will cease to exist and he will never realise or ever know the reasons of my departure, because if he did, he would try to save me, and saving is not what I need. If I had to save myself at the cost of risking him, I would gladly walk into the embers of danger.

Even on days when I am plagued by these necessary evils, I sit and wonder if he ever tried to understand my reasons for leaving. If he ever spared a second thought. And then I console myself to sleep knowing that he is safe, away from me and the hell I bring.

I cannot afford love and I will never be able to or I thought so, because why does he stay with me at every waking hour like an affliction that I have grown affectionate of?

If the danger could seek a glimpse of my nasty mind, it would try to seek him out and feast him on first because knowing that he bleeds is enough to bring me to my knees, knowing that he bled on my behalf would absolutely shatter me.

The guilt of being loved and the guilt they suffered in your name, at your cost, because they tried to negotiate your peace, because they fought for you, I would be damned before I let him fight my battles and I would keep him away from it even if his last memory of me is hate.

I can bear to lose myself but I cannot live with myself losing him. If only I loved him less, I would not have abandoned him during need. I would have stayed. But alas, sometimes when the love consumes you, you are forced to let go, because this fear of loss eats away at you.

I couldn’t be his peace, I couldn’t be solace, I am reduced to a once fond memory, a memory that he chases during sleepless nights, the memory over which he tosses and turns, in desperate evaluation of what went wrong.

And when he woke up, all he found was a letter. A letter. Announcing goodbyes. I could only hope and pray to seek his forgiveness.

I watched him conjure a memory of the past,

“Would you leave me?”

She smiled and leaned forward and was about to kiss him to promise a forever but she caught a glimpse of what lay ahead of them, destruction in wait.

She withdrew herself and greeted her previous composure and told him,

“When the times comes and when I ask for it, promise me you will let me go.”

He felt like a fool for pining for someone he couldn’t have, someone who would never love him like the way he did.

Little did he know, little did he know, sigh.

‘Friendly’ Neighbourhood Racism and Colourism.

As three-fourths of the world battle with the deadliest virus seen in a century, we have a dedicated section of the youth, celebrities, and popular icons come forth to ward off or to put it in better terms, fight off the systematic oppression and racist regime that the US has seen from time immemorial. This devastating racist culture that has been embedded in the American subculture is not a standalone special. It is the result of years of grooming and conditioning over the years from the times of the Transatlantic Slave Trade if you do not know what that is, proceeding to read the rest of the article could be a terrible, terrible mistake.

In this day and age, politics is the very essence of our being. Staying apolitical in these confusing and troubling times hurts both the victim and the system. It is impossible to escape politics because being politically incorrect is not an option anymore.

This definitely comes off as terrible news for those who relied on inappropriate slander and slang to make jokes, because they are not funny anymore and who wants to be with someone who cannot base humor off politically correct, vivid personal experiences?

My heart bleeds out for you, Daniel. Inappropriate humor was your thing, man. Turns out people laugh more at my jokes than they do at your poor grammar. Also you, Viv, get some better jokes. Laughing at poor fashion choices is so 2016. Jump on the wagon and make some politically correct humor.

Anyway, as protests color the streets of US and companies are confused to respond to a Pride Month ad or a Black Lives Matter or a confusing combination of the duo, let’s just review, like go back and review what some of our Indian brothers and sisters said on the issue and you already know who is going to be a part of this conversation, don’t you?

Look at that. Bollywood celebrities lined up fighting racism in countries they do not live in, where they have absolutely nothing to lose but refused to speak against the atrocities happening in our film industry as well amongst us. ❤

But as the attacks are piled up against some of our iconic hypocrites, I would like to take this moment to call out what I termed ‘friendly neighborhood racism and colourism’, the one we observe amongst our friends and family. The best one of its kind.

If I had a rupee for every time someone said something racist, I would be able to pay my rent for the next year FOR BOTH OF MY RESIDENCES. Racism in Indian culture is like that stereotypical friend of the hero who is supposed to be funny but isn’t. Nobody knows why he is even there in the whole film. He is just there and we are expected to laugh it off.

Let’s take a flashback trip to some colorism.

Colourism can be defined in simple terms as the prejudice carried out by people against those with a darker skin tone, typically of the same ethnic or racial group.

When I was in school, ‘wheatish’ students were often given priority when it comes to getting selected for dance competitions. The dark-skinned ones always had to put in that extra effort to deserve a second glance. One of my colleagues shared with me that in her school, a kid with a fair complexion was chosen to read the Quran over a dark-skinned kid who read it better and was actually, originally selected from hundreds of students. The reason? People like to see fair kids on stage.

I would love to reveal the name of the famous, prominent school in Bahrain, but I don’t want to get sued. I already have enough lawsuits for a lifetime. Just kidding. OR AM I?

Dark-skinned kids always got selected for the ‘tribal’ dance, not the Mohinatyam dance or the Peacock dance. I mean, in retrospect, WHAT EVEN WAS PEACOCK DANCE? WHY WAS IT DONE EVERY FORKING YEAR?

The dark-skinned friend in the group was always addressed using the N-word. When people used to call it out, they would be like,

 

Yes, sure, Jason, your joke is funny. Get a life, Jason.

The dark-skinned friend always had to be extra funny to get noticed. The ‘wheatish’ atta friend is out here getting them girls and boys with his politically incorrect humor which I could sum up in this gif, right here:

Sir, you are not funny. You are just…stupid.

I have had people come up to me and say K-POP stars look ‘gay’. I find it very difficult to mildly entertain one community of people, this person is out here offending different minorities and communities in one breath.

In a country where you need fairness creams to pass exams and get a job or even get married, with ads like this (below) going around, growing up as a dark-skinned South Indian was a nightmare.

 

Source: The Hindu

When one side of the family is as white as cow’s milk ( I love cows, BeeJayPee spare me), it is difficult to attend a house warming party without people looking at you. I have had people come up to me and say that even though I am dark, I am still talented. So I am overcompensating my apparent ‘flaw’ that is being dark with being good at doing things? I mean. aunty, you can’t even choose the right foundation according to your skin colour.

Indians took a long time to figure out that we are supposed to choose a foundation that COMPLIMENTS our skin tone and not the most ‘wheatish-looking’ atta shade to be FAIR. No wonder all the dance makeup shit we were forced to endure, I ended up looking like I fell in a bucket of putty at a construction site, just like my dark-skinned comrades.

Get this, if you are a poor and dark-skinned woman in India who is out looking for an alliance (Why is alliance a thing? Relax, it’s a marriage, not MUN), your chances of getting married are far less than a woman who is still poor but FAIR.

Being fair or wheatish atta or Pillsbury doughboy’s sibling is a privilege. Don’t tell me you did not DIG the OG Pillsbury doughboy. A star. I know you slapped them sacks when you went grocery shopping. Who wouldn’t?

Also, let’s get this clear. This is not an attempt to make ‘wheatish’ people look like absolute villains. They just happened to be included in this colour palette circus. In fact, some of them feel that their colour is often used as one of their achievements, blurring the actual achievements they put their heart and mind to. Imagine being known as the Pillsbury doughboy’s sibling. It’s annoying.

It is disheartening to see many young girls and boys resort to fairness creams and whitening treatment to boost their self-esteem. As much as it pains me, I was a part of this circus too. This clownery of colourism and colourist practices perpetuated by people. I have seen people getting married to fair people to get fair, cute babies. I have seen people sit around and mock a person of darker skin tone. I have seen people tell others who are dark-skinned to not get married to a ‘wheatish’ person. Why? Because if the child happens to be dark-skinned, then the blame will fall upon the one who brought the genes into the first place.

I mean, what is up with THAT?

Apart from the regular body-shaming and colourism, we resort to, we still have fairly established racist practices in our own homes and surroundings.

Using derogatory terms against those belonging to the Mongoloid race, Dravidian race etc. just comes easy to us. Racism and colourism, even though it seems like two separate issues, it compliments each other and not in a good way.

Complimentary stuff are supposed to be good. Like the shampoo bottles, lotions etc.

There are different ethnically diverse races in India. It is so difficult to understand them in five minutes. I tried. So what is your best option?

Try, just try, not to be offensive. I am pretty sure you know more words than yelling,”CHINESEEEEEE” at a young girl who hails from Meghalaya. I think you know better than to tell my friend who hails from Andaman and Nicobar Islands, that she should not comment on Indian issues because Andaman is not a part of Indian territory. I think you know better to not term every single South-Indian you set eyes upon as ‘Madrasis’. I think you know better to not term every North-Indian as ‘Bengali’ or ‘Bihari’.

Instead of viewing stories and reading and being silent about the racism and colourism that happens in your house, as useless as the guest plates and glasses in the showcase, speak up and condemn when you see it happen in front of you.

For a culture that literally buys things to keep it in the showcase to ‘show’ people, we can certainly be better and ‘show’ one or two good things about us.

If your humor is dependent on offending more than one community and that one community being Jake Paul fans, it is not humor anymore. It is not even an opinion, it is hate speech. Don’t be an active participant in a culture that loves to shame its men and women for their colour, race, Instagram bio etc.

Okay, Instagram bios can be shamed. I mean, you had all the options in the world and you went with putting a bunch of flags in your bio? Your bio looks like the opening ceremony of the Olympics, my friend.

 

Slapped?!: You Won’t Believe This

Disclaimer: This blog also contains a film review or a post-mortem styled in a pure fashion that I follow, if you are into that kind of thing.

TRIGGER WARNING: Subtle mention of domestic violence, violence against women, harassment.

Trigger Warning Returns: Mention of ‘feminism’, ‘justified arguments’ and r*****al thinking.

Before we get started on this ‘monstrous’ topic, on a totally unrelated side note can we take a moment to talk about the difference this dude is making?

In the midst of televangelists spitting onscreen to solve an ongoing, critical viral outbreak the century has seen to prove that the virus has been ‘destroyed’ to leaders denying responisibility at various positions, with some even making speeches that would require the study of ancient Indian texts, media has gotten extremely confusing, John Oliver( picture above),  a stand-up comedian, host of Last Week Tonight, is my source of entertainment, laughs and truly disturbing horrendous facts. Even though, he denies the tag of an ‘investigative journalist’, he feels a lot more closer to the definition rather than mainstream media which surprisingly sucks in an all-encompassing, global manner.

John Oliver is one of my role models now and I just look upto him for delivering my daily quota of ‘getting through life without punching a wall’ juice.

Apart from the glaring pandemic, stoppage of life as we know it and a pretty hectic life ahead from now on, I thought it was time for us to do a little rebranding and actually reconsider the topics  that we talk about. So, right on schedule( are we?!), we are going to have a look at one of my favourite topics of interest.

Domestic Violence.

Yikes, yep this is where this conversation is headed. You have stayed long enough for me to earn a view so unless you feel domestic violence is an issue that should be addressed in the right way, you can leave and maybe check out my post on Shammi, a toxic mentally unstable man from Kumbalangi Nights.

Okay, let’s dive in.

According to the global database maintained by the forking United Nations, India has a 288% of physical and sexual violence committed by intimate partners in the age group of 15-49 throughout their lifetime.

There are a lot of problems with that one sentence.

The percentage increase, the age group involved includes WOMEN WHO HAVE BEEN MARRIED UNDERAGE and the data is around FOUR YEARS OLD.

You can obviously guess the difference this particular film alone must have actively contributed towards changing numbers.

Incoming fans in 3, 2, 1 !

So I went on a hunt to uncover more data and found the following:

1. There are no official data statistics that are available for the sexual violence committed against women by a non-intimate partner. NO DATA.
2.  Child marriage stands at 273%, let’s just keep this aside for a different episode.
3. India stands at Gender Inequality Index Rank at 125. At this point, I feel bad for UN because NOBODY CAN TRACK THIS NONSENSE because THE DATA IS JUST HUGE.

So, I began to take a look at the laws regarding this VERY ACTIVE PROBLEM. One, it has always been a problem, obviously just like gender based wage gap discrimination and other obvious, hard to ignore bullshit surrounding gender-based violence ( glares at ‘Bois Locker Room’) and additionally important, because IT HAS INCREASED DURING THE LOCKDOWN 1, 2, 3 AND 4. And who knows, the problem might get potentially worse during the well. the fifth one.

What, you thought we are done? These sequels are somewhat like the, Hangover series. At first, it was challenging and exciting and by the final one, we are just going with the flow and  not really blown away by THE CONFUSING TWIST OF EVENTS. We would just say an ‘okay’ and get back to screaming over the screen and still hear that one annoying co-worker go,” I can’t hear you, can you repeat the instructions?”

My house is a working from home nightmare. It feels like a call centre at this point with the laughs, howls, and screams.

So, back to the law.(Greenback Boogie plays)

The National Commission for Women began a WhatsApp hotline to report domestic violence and in the first week of Lockdown, it saw a 53% rise in cases.

Additionally, the following was found:

“There are several laws protecting a married woman from abuse from her husband or her husband’s relatives. Under Section 498A of the Indian Penal Code, harassment for dowry by the husband or his family is considered a crime. This harassment can be either mental or physical. Even though marital rape is not recognized as a crime in India, forced sex with one’s wife can be considered cruelty under this section. Section 498 A has a wide scope. It also covers any and all wilful conducts against a woman which drive the woman to commit suicide or grave injury or risk to life, limb or overall health. Again, health includes the mental and physical health of the woman.

The practice of dowry itself is outlawed under the Dowry Prohibition Act, 1961. Despite this, if dowry has been given to and taken by anyone other than the woman, she is entitled to that money/property as the case may be under this Act.

Furthermore, the Protection of Women against Domestic Violence Act 2005 prohibits a wide range of abuse against women — physical, emotional, sexual and economical and all these are extensively defined under the Act. The scope of the Act covers women who are in a live-in relationship and are not married. A woman has the choice to be free from violence and has various options under this Act. She has a right to get an order of protection against her husband and his family, to continue living in the same house i.e. she cannot be thrown out of her matrimonial home even if she reports her abusers, to claim maintenance, to have custody to her children and to claim compensation. Under the DV Act and also under section 125 of the Indian Penal Code, a woman does not have to necessarily file for a divorce to have a right to receive maintenance from her husband. The nature of a married relationship is such that it makes it incumbent on the man to provide maintenance for his wife (in some cases if she is unable to provide for herself and in some cases even otherwise). A petition for maintenance is maintainable even in the absence of one for divorce.”

SOURCE:Ivde Click Cheyy

The problem? The practical enforcement of the law and the obvious painful journey the woman in question is subjected to. A noted cultural anthropologist, Sreeparna Chattopadhyay, who has closely studied the issue concluded that the very terms used in the legal discourse trivilises the act of the accused perpetrator through victim-blaming, using terms avoiding the heinous nature of the act itself as a whole and strategies that fail to highlight the responsibility of the perp.

It is not surprising to see that we handle domestic violence and other relevant issues just like how this bandana wearing coolest guy I have ever come across does it:

 

AVOID YAAA.

A Bollywood film titled ‘Thappad’ was released this year in February. Currently streaming on Amazon Prime( not an ad hehe), ‘Thappad’ is an excellent watch for many reasons. Most importantly, one reason.

1. IT’S AWESOME GO WATCH IT PLZ

That too, and also it addressed very ‘real’ issues and it is not an easy watch. It feels personal. It feels too close to heart. Partly, the reason for such conflicted feelings of agony and satisfaction could be due to the very nature the act can take form in or maybe, speaking as a woman, we all saw the slap incoming. We felt the exact moment at which he would do it, even before he actually committed it and it made us question:

Why does it feel familiar and so normal? We knew it is wrong, do not get me wrong, but it did take time for us to actually digest it. Digest the fact that in hindsight, we may have been blind as a bat.

The film addresses a number of issues related to feminism movement in India, but the bad word is not spoken out loud just like the hurt, fragile ego of some when they post ‘NOT ALL MEN’ as a response to literally anything.  Some things are subtle, loud enough to be observed.

Let us do a breakdown of the film and go over some scenes that really stuck with the audience who appreciated the film, some even calling the film a ‘response’ to the film mentioned earlier. Not ‘Main Hoon Na’, the other one. I am not sure if it is a response to just that one film or a SLAP in the face to wake us up from this patriarchal, archaic, ignorant system that saw many, many films disregard women. I wish we could expand this conversion to regard people who do not identify with ‘men’ or ‘women’ and prefer to stay in the shadows as per their choice and decision. Unfortunately, in between this long overdue conversation regarding men and women, it is painful to see an entire section of people not being talked about. To be honest, I do not know how to introduce them when some even question why women still fight for things like they got everything no?

You have job, car, fair husband and little bit empowerment. What more do you want?

This demands a conversation about intersectional feminism, which would be another line of investigation and commentary which would be followed up with in a later post.

Getting back to the film to really get in there with the pacifics.

Pacifics.

No.

Specifics.

This is the part where you leave if you haven’t watched the film. Also, I will try my best to retain some of the suspense and not go over through every tiny detail because some things are left to be shown on screen.

The film begins with the stories of five women and a look into their personal lives. There is Sandhya ji, the lead protagonist’s mother, Sunita’s relationship with her husband, Adv.Netra who is out with her special friend, instead of her husband, to spend some fun time, Shivani who is a widow is out with her teenage daughter and finally, we are introduced to the character played by Taapsee Pannu, Amrita. The film begins with each one of these characters except, Sandhya and Amrita, on the road.

The above features Sunita and her husband having just another, totally normal fight about how much he hits her for the silliest things. The take away is that this happens frequently throughout the film to an extent, where even Amrita who is aware does not seek out to actively do something about it. It is normalised and has been treated as such. It is realistic and raw.

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Next we move on to the tiny, cozy life of Amrita and Vikram. In the above slides, Amrita is portrayed as the almost too perfect wife who is literally at the wish and command of her husband. I am not being patronising, I love the way she treated him. Knowing him almost too well that she could easily  guess what he would need and when.

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Amrita who runs her home is good at what she does. She is not mistreated at all, nor can we observe any hints of prejudice or hatred towards her. She has a happy home. We also learn that Vikram is trying to impress his boss and get posted in London and the couple has been hoping that it would happen soon.

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This scene is an excellent example of the dismissive tone with which Vikram talked about his obviously deserving Shivani, who lives next door. It is an insight to two things:

1. Such comments are rooted in misogyny and it indicates that one is almost too uncomfortable with women being achievers that one has to think there has to be something just not right with the way it is earned.
2. It is a sign that this person’s internalised misogyny may be a hint of their fragile ego, conditioned idealogies etc. Even as a ‘joke’, such statement should be avoided because firstly, it is not funny , secondly, it is not funny and lastly, you will never be funny if you have to depend on casual sexist jokes and drives home the point that your delusion that you could be funny was ‘well received’.

Finally, Vikram gets the call that he got the offer to move to London and he throw a party. Everyone is happy and they start celebrating and dancing. In the middle of the party, Vikram gets a call saying he has been passed over and has been rejected the position and instead is offered a higher position but to be continued in India. He picks a fight with his superior who he feels double crossed him and Amrita, his loving wife, tries to pull him away from the brawl to avoid making a scene and despite his warnings, she kept trying because that’s what wives do and he took her anger of being rejected and being double crossed at her by slapping her. You won’t believe it. 

He took out his anger on her by slapping her.

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Amrita who was obviously physically and mentally hurt and embarassed goes into a shock-like state and these are the reactions of those around her. Her parents and Swati is extremely hurt. Shivani and her daughter too empathises with her and even Sunita knows that it is bad but Karan, Amrita’s brother and Swati’s boyfriend and Vikram’s mother and Amrita’s mother-in-law did not just get the point. Amrita did not have that much of a reason to be angry, right? Unreasonable reaction to a small, petty offense? I mean, Vikram was really angry, Rightfully so. I would break my fist if I had been passed over for a promotion I worked my ass of for. But would I hit people who love and care about me? Would I hit someone I respected and admired? Would I hit like anyone? Who gives me the right to hit my partner, then? You did not see Vikram breaking his mom’s nose or even his boss’ who stood right in front of him. He did not take it out on his friend and associate ( I forgot his name). So why Amrita?

Because he thought he had that right.

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Amrita is hurt at her mother-in-law still being concerned about her role as a wife and does not question or even admonish her son’s actions. Finally, after a lot of nonsense and amazing dialogues and a complete lack of apology, she leaves for her parents’ home.

The cinematography is just outstanding. Vikram tries to reason with her by saying everything to justify what he did and not apologise and we can actually see that it took a lot on Amrita to just decide if he was good for her and to question her self-worth. The scene that composes Amrita and Sunita in different backgrounds but more or less faces the same troubles is heart-wrenching. One may not be as financially privileged to even consider a legal separation. Sunita, unlike Amrita, has the toll of financial burden and lack of other resources. Two women, quite different but in the same shoes.

Amrita leaves the house and a whole hassle continues which leads to a nasty legal battle. Amrita’s case is taken by Adv.Netra, who is a brilliant at her job and would be even better if only her husband did not say stuff to demean, demotivate and trivilise the work she does. Vikram visits her to make her understand, even tells her to hit him but she doesn’t because unlike him, she was sane. Also, everybody say,”Thank you, Viku for marrying her despite the fact that she does not know how to cook. Arey waah. What an example you set by bringing it up as an excuse to defend your actions!”

Vikram and his legal counsel resorts to different morally questionable tactics and Amrita refuses to play using the ‘Domestic Violence’ card despite the insistence of her legal counsel.

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Finally, we learn Amrita is pregnant and it makes matters even worse. On a parallel track, Amrita’s father learns that Sandhya ji, his wife and her mother gave up her wishes to sing because as a married woman she was taught to prioritise her home over her desires without question. Amrita’s father feels sad for her and for himself for not even noticing the sacrifices she made because it was expected of her as a ‘good’ wife and a even better ‘mother’. Shivani is approached by Vikram to lie about what happened at the party so Amrita cannot pursue him for ‘Domestic Violence’.

I had to let go of some brilliant scenes because it is getting long and I wanted to leave some behind just for your own personal reflection. For example: The conversation between Sandhya ji and Amrita’s father, Sunita hitting her husband towards the end (not justified obviously but highlights the desperation of a woman who has had enough), the conversation between Shivani and her daughter, Netra and her husband, whom she finally leaves and even Vikram’s parents who get back together.

Amrita goes to Vikram’s place for the puja and we can see almost the entire cast coming together for this heartwarming scene.

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Finally, they separate and Vikram apologises to her for his actions.

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Some aspects of the film that I liked are listed as follows:

1. The film had a lot of threads showing different shades and hues of internalised misogyny, disrespect, casual sexism, domestic violence explored through different narratives.
2. Not every man failed to see what was wrong. Netra’s friend respected her work and admired her more than her own husband. Sandhya ji’s husband tried to get to know his wife and her woes even better. Shivani was perfectly happy with her daughter and did not need to get remarried just because she couldn’t handle being a single mother. Even Karan (Amrita’s brother) apologised to Swati for chiding her. Vikram’s boss explained his shitty behaviour to him.

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3.Vikram’s growth as a person should be a standard for behaviour. He accepted his wrongdoing and apologised for it.

4.Even the women in the film thought Amrita’s reaction to the slap was unreasonable. Apart from Swati, even Netra her own legal counsel questioned it for a while. Realisation did hit them, ultimately.

5. Some things are broken and no matter the extent of apology, it cannot be put together.

The cinematography and screenplay of the film was what struck me the most. The deliberate placement of the characters onscreen, the use of blue shades and hues (Vikram’s favourite colour, not Amrita’s). The dialogues that are simple yet complex drives a lot of points and jibes at our own conscience.

I truly hope more such films grace the screens and not just because of the issues they address, but also due to its brilliance as a film. The film is not a typical Bollywood entertainer and is definitely not recommended if you are looking for something to laugh at for two full hours. If you are someone who strongly feel cinema as an excellent mode of communicating repressed thoughts and ideas about our society and its propagation of certain ideas, this one might be your favourite.

Please feel free to submit your own feedback and views on the film through my social media handles or even comment right here!

 

P.S.- Honestly, if you read all that, you are amazing and I thank you wholeheartedly.

 

 

 

 

 

Sunshine.

14th March 2020

We were sitting in the room when the possibility that our college would be shut for a period of fourteen days was announced. Tickets were being booked and panic settled into our hearts and minds. The question of our already uncertain future was now tainted by a compromised future. A threatened future. Not by the virus, but the fact that no expert in the world could tell which is the best decision to make even when we are already aware that a 100% well-made decision is a myth and nothing can pass the filter test of criticism.

16th March. 2020

My roommates had left for the safety of their homes. When I opened the door of my room, all I heard were the rolling of the wheels of the bags and hush and whispers and the panic has clearly spread. It was annoying to see the panic take over than the virus. I called up my mom. The data was not threatening enough. There were cheap flights. I was safe. There is no immediate threat. As the hours passed by, the loneliness began to set in.

17th March 2020

The precautions kept getting worse and burdening. The sunlight that kept making a guest appearance in my room felt getting dimmer and dimmer. The days were slow to begin and the nights kept getting longer. I began to stay indoors and stay engaged. I haven’t been out much and there was minimal to no human interaction. I lived in a PG, everyone I met was a potential carrier. It was getting difficult to draw the line between being cautious and having paranoia.

This was how everyone left the PG.

18th March 2020

Having someone to share the paranoia with would have been great. The orders were getting canceled and delayed with a good, probable cause. The characters on the tiny screen did not seem interesting enough anymore. I wanted to write but the thoughts were getting too intrusive and loud. I wanted to sleep so that I could silence them for a while. I had lost my creativity. I could not go home just yet. Travelling posed a risk for me as well those around me. I would happily or maybe, not so happily, choose pain over guilt. I just had to accept the consequences of my ‘well-thought’ out decision.

19th March 2020

I have not seen the Sun in 6 days or been out during the mornings because it used to be crowded. I know, bizarre. Why did we mess it up? Mom had told me about the virus in February and to undertake all the precautions. I told everyone around me. I was met with laughter and was told I was paranoid. Nobody took it seriously. Everyone just risked it. For what? Celebrations, gatherings, anything, and everything. I wanted to be home, but for the greater good, I was willing to endure all of it. For the greater good.

20th March 2020

I got a text from my sister at around 13:16 p.m. asking me to pack up. Only essentials. I was shocked. Turns out her hostel authorities had asked her to leave and my parents had decided it would be best if we are both together. Hostels were panicking faster than the doctors and asked the occupants to leave as soon as possible. Since no responsible family or guardian was offering to help us out, we were forced to travel. If we reached Kerala, we would have our place to crash at for a while. But we got the feeling that it is gonna be just a few hours before the airport starts closing. Plan A was to get to Bahrain, at my parents’ place, get out of the country. My country was not taking things seriously. Not with the precautions, or the testing. We were incredibly slow. The chances of reaching Bahrain were dim. Almost all the GCC countries had closed their airports. Plan B was to get to Kerala and turn our flat into a functioning unit with enough supplies to last. Outside help was minimal and the ostracisation of the community due to out of state travel was at large.

Plans were made. My sister would fly in from Vijayawada to Bangalore on 21st March in the morning and land at 9 a.m. Then another flight from Bangalore to Kochi. Then from Kochi to Kozhikode and then a direct flight to Bahrain. A few hours later, the flight to Kozhikode to Bahrain got canceled.

One option remained. A flight from Bangalore to Delhi and then to Bahrain. The airport at Delhi had a long screening duration that touched ten hours. Not to mention the risk of travel. But it was set.

21st March 2020

At 1:50 a.m., plans changed. We were set to fly to Kochi in the evening. And then on 22nd March at 4:30 a.m. take a flight to Dubai and then to Bahrain. Dubai was one of the riskiest places one could be in. It was the transit point for flights in and out of the European Union. A huge airport where people fly in and out of from different parts of the world. The trip just got riskier. Our precautions were underway. Hand sanitizers, masks, a plastic cover for our phones and worrying parents on the otherwise.

My sister arrived in the morning and we decided to stay in the PG until our next flight. The warden who wouldn’t le let her in due to fear of letting in outsiders during a pandemic didn’t think twice when it came to a crisp 500-rupee note. And that’s when it hit me, virus or not, money rules everything. And this virus had nothing to do with bat soup. But everything to do with capitalism.

We started our journey in the evening and as I stared out at the evening sun giving us a farewell, I thought of the morning sun that would greet me and what I would be doing then.

Our future was never promised to us, but now that my present seems to be waning out like the Moon, can I hold on to my past for one last look?

There was no screening at the airport in Bengaluru. There were a bunch of hand sanitizers in every nook and corner. And passengers with masks that stared at each other. Every mind had just one question: Why are they here?

We found out that every flight to Kochi except ours was canceled. My mind was tense. I was worried. About the travel, about the virus, about getting quarantined well everything. There was a group of youngsters who helped in lightening up the mood and in one of the most doubtful moments of humanity, laughter emerged from beneath the masks. Even with masks, we were never behind to display our diversity. We got into the airport bus and I saw a woman with a seal on her wrist. Is she traveling after fourteen days or is she skipping past the lack of checking at Bengaluru?

On reaching Kochi, our body temperature was taken twice. The so-called screening was much better at any other airport I had seen. Some people were getting quarantined on the spot, those who traveled from the high-risk countries. At one of the screening points,  the doctors asked a passenger behind me’

“Sir, where are you from?”

“Germany.”

I tensed up.

As my eyes wandered up to the charting, I realized that our flight was the second -last flight from Kochi, the last airport that remained opened in Kerala. The holy rituals of sanitizing, changing the masks were religiously observed and we got on the plane to Dubai. We had crossed the country in the nick of time.

We landed in Dubai and a delay left us with ten minutes to get on the next flight. What followed next was straight out of a movie. I mean, which part of this resembles real ordinary life anymore? We scanned our bags and ran through the security check and kept checking the chart to find the gate but whenever we turned to look at the board it had changed from English to Arabic. So we would wait for it to switch back to English. In the midst of all this, I saw two men apply the holy Amrit i.e. the hand sanitizer in twenty seconds with perfect syncing.

We ran through the airport with heavy laptops perched on our backs through a horde pf passengers traveling to the European Union. I even saw a passenger in a literal Hazmat suit. When we reached the gate, the ‘final call’ was glaring at us and we got on that damned flight.

We landed in Bahrain at 9 a.m. After a delay of thirty minutes and watching an airport official trying to hit on an air hostess repeatedly, I noticed that our flight had landed in the terminal where they land cargo flights. Something felt wrong. An airport bus picked us up and drove off to the middle of nowhere and as I watched the expressions of the passengers change from relief at reaching home to confusion, I had my own share of doubts springing up.

We entered a facility in a desert. There were tents that were set up and I immediately recognized it from Instagram. It was the tests were high-risk passengers were being quarantined as well as the spot where the positive patients were being isolated.

 

We were guided through a tent and masks and gloves were distributed to us. We were asked to fill a form and wait as figures in Hazmat suits moved around us. Everyone was confused. Chairs were put at a distance of 6 feet. A doctor was the supervisor of Corona Screening Tent 1 as I learned later from my token at the camp.

At the camp, I witnessed people scrambling around for chairs and forgetting the distancing protocol. Some waited at the entrance to the next room and arguing as if there was free biriyani being served in the next room.

At first, I thought we wouldn’t get tested because we aren’t traveling from ‘those ten countries. She asked me a few questions and ultimately that one question.

“Are you married or engaged?”

Well, she put that plastic thing point up my nose anyway until I DON’T KNOW I STARTED CONVULSING LIKE THAT KID IN VERONICA.

Bahrain is testing every passenger for free. Each of these tests costs 80 USD and some countries still don’t follow random testing procedures. And yes, after the swab tests, we returned to the bus back to the airport terminal at 13:30 p.m. And finally, at around 14:20, my dad arrived with all the gear and then took us out of the airport and when the sunlight hit my face, it was noon, it was scorching hot and I felt like an omelet but for the first time, I didn’t feel like complaining.

I was tired but grateful. A lot grateful.

I was finally home. True, I packed up my belongings, leaving behind half of my books, make-up including lip balm and eyeliner, ornaments, etc. and I was to be quarantined for 14 days in Bahrain and going per current rules, for 28 days on return. I hold an Indian passport. I am an Indian citizen. But the warmth that I felt upon landing the airport when the smell of the dry desert hit me is home enough for me.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank my close friends for keeping a check on me throughout my travel. Your support meant a milestone.

Update: My results came back as negative. But there remains a 15% chance of being tested positive during the remainder of the quarantine period and hence, we are being closely monitored till April 5th.

Also, this trip reminded me of a bunch of stupid people who did this throughout February and March.

 

I am stupid people.

Well, now that we know better, try not to be stupid a moron. Try.

Also, start looking at your soap and alcohol-based sanitizers like this:

They are our saviors right now.

If you see someone not wash their hands before eating,

1. Judge them
2. Scold them
3. Get ready for this

This guy setting an example since 2002.

 

Also, try not to panic. I know the statistics are crazy out there, but if this entire journey was possible, it was because of everyone around us who kept the calm and peace. There were a million reasons to panic and get frustrated, but somehow we managed to keep our cool and it worked. Following all the precautions and protocols is only possible when you let logic take over.

So, stay safe y’all. Will see you on the other side. I mean, after this shit over, we hugging it out. But with consent ofc.

It is amazing that India took action later on asking hostels not to send students back home because some of us ended up being stranded. And if followed properly, the 21-day lockdown could be effective.

My sister and I are on government recommended quarantine until April 5th, which means if either of us gets out before this period, we would serve jail time or worse, end up paying a hefty sum.

We are safe and sound.

I usually do not resort to praising God openly on the Internet, but I know He was with us that day.

As per the current rules, we have access to one bedroom and a bathroom and cannot be anywhere else right now. Yes, I am in my flat but the food is brought to us by my parents so it sorta feels like we are kidnapped. But legally. It is maddening not being able to wander around at least in your own flat. I mean, I would do anything to stand in front of my fridge without the cops showing up.

That’s an exaggeration. Also, is it an exaggeration if I tell y’all we went on camels from the airport to our flat? My dad brought three of ours. Rahim, Hassan, and Laila, my favorite three.

Now, that’s what you call an exaggeration because we sold Rahim to an Armenian couple two years ago and bought Musafir.

In the next blog, we would be discussing privileged people like you and me who have access to all this jugaad and those who genuinely do not.

Until then, wash your hands and follow WHO and CDC guidelines and look out for each other during this quarantine period.

The present is not a promise. It is a gift from the past.

 

Love,

Little Grey Lady

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shammi Hero Aano ?

After my famous critical analysis on Uyare (ahem), I have decided to conduct a post-mortem on my next subject, the character ‘Shammi’ played by Fahadh Faasil is the critically acclaimed Malayalam film, ‘Kumbalangi Nights’ that was released earlier this year.

After repeated suggestions and appreciation for the film, I finally set down to watch it and I can’t believe that I let this gem pass my eye for the better part of 2019, honestly. Before we set down to analyze and appreciate this gem, I would like to pass on a disclaimer.

DISCLAIMER

If you haven’t watched the film, I humbly request you to WATCH the film before reading this post or any other post related to the film BECAUSE IT’S THAT GOOD. I study film so I think I kinda know what I am talking about.

Ok, maybe not really. But the degree is real, I swear. But this goes without saying, you don’t need a degree to know what you are talking about. And yes, my course is very cool I know but let’s see who’s gonna cry in the job market. Yep, that’s me.

And now, before I digress further, let’s cut through ‘Shammi’.

Before Shammi is introduced to us, the group of kids that used to play football usually discusses him at length. Simi, one of their neighbours had gotten married to the new character in town, Shammi. He is understood as a strict disciplinarian who can’t apparently tolerate their football flying into his house and thus they are pondering if they should just play chess over football so as to not irritate Shammi. The audience is already informed that Shammi is definitely not good news. This trope of creating an aura around a character before he even appears on screen is a commonly used technique.

This is one of the beginning shots from the Introduction To Shammi scene.

 

Shammi is automatically perceived as a man who is LITERALLY OBSESSED with his notion of masculinity. His notions of masculinity happens to align with social construct; a part of which could be toxic to the individual and to those around him.

In the above scene, he removes a ‘bindi’ off the mirror and washes it down the sink. What does this mean ? A shove of femininity?  Or is he too bothered that his literal image in the mirror is obstructed by this simple idea of femininity ? Does this just apply to this literal image in the mirror or also his self image ?

He goes on to say “Raymond-The Complete Man”, so as to emphasise his stance and what he thinks of himself and what he wants ‘us’, the audience to think of him. In this scene, the audience is intruding his personal space. The scene is shot in a bathroom; the most private place one can be at. By inviting the audience to partake in this ‘glorious’, introductory moment of Shammi, we see a side of him that is revealed to us. More like we are legit spying on him.

 

It’s like those films where the villain tells us what he’s gonna do and the hero has no idea, and we are yelling at the screen and throwing popcorn and nutella asking the hero to not trust this weird guy in the group.

The next scene is of Shammi where he gets ready to go to work and he is having a private conversation with his wife when the damned ball (guys seriously look at the GUY) flies through at the time.

 

We see a shift in the mood almost instantly. A moment of marital bliss and obvious awkwardness is blurred and almost shoved aside by this football and we see tints of frustration and anger on Shammi.

It’s almost as if Shammi is trying to stay calm and not magically transform into a monster and eat up that kid for kicking the ball because he might scare Simi away.

But with his comment at hitting fours and his revving of the motorbike, we are completely sure that he is definitely irritated. But then the next question pops up: When is Simi gonna realise that maybe, just maybe Shammi needs help?

The famous ‘Beef Vindaloo’ scene is indicative that Shammi always isolates him from even being mildy associated with ‘someone who cooks’. Maybe it sounds all too…..anyone ?

Feminine to him?

How did this toxic masculinity get ingrained in him anyway ? How does it get ingrained in most of us ?

Upbringing?  Exposure to films, books etc that promoted the same ?

Does the same stand for femininity?

The next scene that comes to my mind is when Saji comes to ask Shammi about Bobby’s proposal for Baby. Out of confusion and general awkwardness, Bobby ends up looking like a customer at Shammi’s barber shop. And when Bobby fearfully settles down in the chair, Shammi approaches him with his hairdressing tools.

Now, hairdressing tools might look weird and all, but the fact that this scene induced legit goosebumps is REMARKABLE. With the suspenseful music, and the sudden absence of music and the inconsistent cuts and angles makes it unpredictable.

It as if we do not know what is Shammi’s next move ? Slit Bobby’s throat ?

As Shammi’s sidekick and his brother insult Saji and Bobby with snide remarks, one may commonly mistake this antagonist just like any other.

Another scene is when Baby tries to convince Simi of Bobby, Shammi pops in out of nowhere donning the smile of Cheshire cat and we too are ambushed along with the duo.

Inspite of repeated persuasion, Simi and Baby stand their ground and not tell Shammi what’s going on. And he backs off. Thankfully.

After Saji and Bobby pull up their act together, Saji approaches Shammi again but is rebuffed, this time by Baby’s mother. Again, we all know she could’ve wanted something else but Shammi has already established himself as the culturally, traditionally accepted ‘head’ of the family which is clear with the scene where he pulls the chair toward one end of the table and makes his mother-in-law sit to his left side.

His victorious smile as all the members of his family occupy the side seats as if he conquered and marked his territory literally and metaphorically cannot be missed.

Then comes the final climax scene. Shammi after being persuaded by Simi decides to question Baby’s position on the matter and his repeated questioning irritates Baby (obviously) and she doesn’t hold back like she did all the while. Baby did have a similar comment about Shammi’s uncalled behaviour earlier but this time, my GIRL IS ALL READY TO NAIL THIS GUY’S COFFIN.

Shammi does respond back, calm at first.

But then he loses his cool, in spite of being in front of Simi and to put an end to their scuffle, Simi breaks the mosquito killing bat ? What do you guys call it ? Asking for a friend.

 

Simi defends Baby and warns her husband against belittling Baby to which this GUY GOES TO A CORNER AND HIDES HIS FACE in the nook of his palms, facing the wall.

What does this say ?

Facing the wall is a commonly used punishment since school days. Mostly, children behave in such a manner.

So why is this grown man acting childishly?

Simi and Baby panics and dials his USELESS BROTHER who advises them to stay calm and not do anything. With the false sense of assurance, they walk out only to be met by a Shammi with his hands on his hips, nailing that iconic Cheshire cat smile ready to pounce on his newfound victims.

On the other side, Bobby who is anxious about Baby goes with his brothers to her house aka WHERE SHAMMI DWELLS to find out WHAT’S GOING ON.

Bobby enters first and Shammi welcomes him happily and closes the door. A few seconds later, he comes our of the house and tosses Bobby’s footwear, after looking around and making sure no one saw.

But Bobby’s brothers sees this from their boat and decides to barge in and thus ensues the ACTION SCENE WE HAVE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR.

From throughout the scene, we can observe that Shammi did hurt his wife, her sister and, mother-in-law, and planned this entire oncoming fight. Shammi acted with complete awareness and there is definite planning on his end to injure or maybe even kill to get his means.

 

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What do we understand from all this?

Shammi has always been alone. Even when it comes to his physical space or his place in other’s life, he isn’t tied to  them other than his alliance with Simi. It was as if Shammi was in other’s life out of compulsion; not as a first choice.

In most of the scenes, we see Shammi try to carve out this separate space for himself. Maybe he was an only child. Or maybe he wasn’t included or made a part of anything. Maybe he wasn’t part of anything that required a certain sense of rationality and maturity which is why he could be striving to mark his territory and his skills. It is almost as if he has an obsessive need to mark himself as an Alpha; again a characteristic trait of toxic masculinity.

And again his need to be a part of Baby and Simi’s conversation.

And he is great stickler for rules. His no football rule (again marking his territory), his plate, his decisions etc. He doesn’t compromise.

And what caused such violence on his end?

He voluntarily hurt his loved ones. Is it an example of tough, toxic love where one hurts to protect? Is that how Shammi grew up ?

And did he react violently because they invaded his space ? Why is he so steadfast about his territory?

Maybe one is allowed to respond when his/her/their house invaded but not with the extent of violence he went to. Hammer, guys, hammer.

But in an earlier scene, Shammi spies on his guest and upon finding out that she spent the night with a guy, who happens to be Bobby’s brother, he kicks her out citing his morality code and when questioned by Baby, he provea himself with the established code of conduct of their home stay. So is it okay for hom to violate others’ privacy ? Or did he watch them creepily because they were in his property?

Does Shammi already assume that the world hates him and is ready to knock him out the minute he lays down his defenses and plays nice?

Again, his famous dialogue.

‘Hero’ is a misguided word. It highlights only the positives and focuses on the white area. By asserting he is a ‘hero’, is he trying to justify what he did and what he is about to ? As in all for the moral good ?

The film does portray a good message regarding mental health and I am actually happy that it showed two sides of it.

Saji, receives help without judgement and improves his life and Shammi goes unnoticed. Or maybe noticed, but ignored.

Some critics argue that Shammi shows common symptoms of personality disorders while some others just classify him as a deliberate villain.

Which side do you stick to ?

Maybe Shammi is representative of the primitive in us. Maybe the one that loves anarchy and feeds on strife and chaos.

Whatever Shammi is, I can definitely say that he is not ‘abnormal’ or a ‘psycho’. He could be a victim and his actions look more like a cry for help than hate on the audience’s end.

 

P.S.- I am THAT person that talks during the film. If you see me taking notes in the dark, please feel free to ignore. I promise I am fun, though.

What do you think of this Shammi-specific review ?

Let me know !

 

 

 

Love,

Little Grey Lady and Shammi 🙂

Thiruvonam Sadhya.

DISCLAIMER: This is a blog post dedicated for Onam. So if any Malayalam words pop up, I have tried my best to follow it up with its translation. If I have failed at my job, look I am not perfect okay ?

 

Now alright, scroll down.

 

Every one of you who has been to a sadhya, especially my Malayali fam knows this scene BY HEART.

Now, this scene is from a kalyanasadhya ( wedding sadhya). We are here to talk about ONASADHYA and everything that goes in and around Onam and well, the simble life of a Malayali! This blog is from the perspective of a ‘GELF MALAYALI’.

Even though, I was raised and brought up abroad, I grew up as naadan as one can be. Yes, thengakola is my favourite word and it should be added to the Oxford Dictionary because the literal translation which is coconut branch just doesn’t give the FEELS.

So, I am gonna give you an NRI version of Onam celebrations and a version from Bangalore, a small Kerala where you can find more Malayalis than pubs and all those cool places you saw in Bangalore Days. Yeah, Anjali Menon lied to us. Those cool places are only meant for you if you have your veedinte aadharam= title deed of your house.

One thing I learnt from my long life of 19 years is that where there are 2 Malayalis, there is a Malayali association. And if there is a Malayali association, there is an ONAGHOSHAM. That’s just how life works. If there is a branch of Lulu too, you are set for life. But we do miss the coconut trees, so we simbly adjust with date palm trees.

Let us take a walk through how a typical Onaghosham takes place.

THE PRE-ONAM PHASE

1. Every Malayali association forms an ‘ONAGHOSHAM COMMITTEE’ two months before the festival because of the effort, time and money that goes into the whole celebration. I have seen and felt the effort to some extent. My grandmom is beaming with pride right now, I can feel it.
2. Now, the work is divided between the members. Like subcategories sorts. So, one dude and his friend would be in charge of the traditional vaazha illa( banana leaf), one guy to organize the games (if you haven’t played vadamvali/tug of war during Onam and faceplanted yourself into sand, you haven’t LIIIIVED), another dude to find the venue for all the festivities etc.
3. Onam is traditionally a ten-day celebration, I mean, just look at all the mainstream Malayalam channels that start special programs for Onam like days before Thiruvonam, the main day. So, middle-class associations opt for a three-day celebration- Shingarimelam, Onam Games and the grand Sadhya. Those who get better sponsors for their Onam celebrations might add in more events and occupy like 75% of your Facebook feed or worse, the Malayalam newspaper’s events page.
4. The Games

• Vadamvali

Things used to get really heated during the games phase because everyone took that shit seriously. Family, friendships and relationships were forgotten. I remember my own mother making fun of me for losing vadamvali. Her team won and I sat on the ground groaning about my muscle cramps. Full cheating only. Only real vadamvali fans embrace the pain of one’s palms post-game. That shit hurt but it’s one of my favourite pastimes.

• Pookalamalsaram( HOW DO I TRANSLATE THIS HELP)

So, we used to get divided into teams before participating in this competition. Again, no friendship or love. Emotions is one way to lose, trust me, I am talking from experience. Helping the other team with a few petals isn’t gonna help you win her over, Amal.

• Payasamalsaram( Payasam Making Competition)

I only went to taste free payasam, no joke. Even if my family participated, I was just a media partner. My mother wouldn’t let me meddle with her competition. I mean, if you wanna win, you gotta go all Monica over it.

• Uriyadi

I am short so I don’t wanna talk about this

5. The day before Onam is the best. It is the official time to go chop, chop, chop! All the ladies and gentlemen bring their absolute best to the table. Again, I remained a media partner. First of all, you had to be really good with knives and chopping. I mean, I watched Hannibal and all that, but if they had inserted an episode of Dr.Lecter cutting vegetables, I would have made frontline.

6. How could I not talk about Thiruvathirakali ? One of the best dance forms to have ever existed. The girls who participated in the dance acted as if they were in a sorority. Sisterhood and all that shiz.

THE BIG DAY

Now it’s time for the sadhya. If you are lucky enough, the dude who was in charge of the vaazha illa gets the authentic leaves. If you are stuck with SAS paper vaazha illa, you are cursed.

Based on my observations I have come up with 4 important characters you observe at every sadhya.

1. The Pappadam Guy

Everyone loves Raymond, heard of that show? Well, if Raymond was born in Kerala, he would have been the Pappadam guy. This guy walks in and everyone goes gaga. And one isn’t simply enough.

But this job is risky because if this happens, everyone will hate you and you would be mocked at for the rest of your life.

2. That Overachiever

You thought overachievers only existed in classrooms? This dude is my favourite because he makes the rest of us feel like shit for not licking the leaf clean. Whenever I spot this dude in the hall, all I gotta say is this,

“Ah illa baaki vekko aavo?”( Is the leaf gonna remain in one piece?)

He tries and finishes all the items. EVERY SINGLE ITEM. LIKE HOW?

3.Glasses and spoons

This is the most annoying person in the entire hall. This person is me. Traditionally, the payasam would be poured into the crook of your palm and that’s how you drink it. But I was trained to drink Payasam using a glass and a freaking spoon. So, things never really worked out between me and the Payasam guy.

Payasam Guy: Mole, payasam veno?

Me: Glass ille?

Payasam Guy: Uhm…..tharaam.

Me: Spoon-o?

Payasam Guy:…..

4.That One Kid

Now, I love kids to an extent. They are cute and great for your Instagram stories and all that. But tell me, why would you give a vaazha illa laden with like 28 food items to a 3-year-old child who flicks Palakkadan Matta at me?

This child is a huge risk to all those women and girls decked up in expensive Onam attire which we, by the way, struggled to pack in all the way from Kerala during the summer holidays, going way above the luggage limit.

If a kid ever pours Adapradhaman( a type of payasam) on my saree, he/she won’t ever get to eat a pappadam in the entire freaking sadhya.

Onam celebrations in Bangalore, at least in my college, is non-existent. It is celebrated in college hostels primarily and since I am a brat, my parents knew beforehand that I would drive everyone else crazy, they were advised to drop me off at a PG. A PG WHO FORGOT TO TAKE DOWN THE INDEPENDENCE DAY BALLOONS AND SOMEONE BURST ALL THE ORANGE BALLOONS AND I HAVE BEEN CRACKING ABOUT IT EVER SINCE BECAUSE WE HAVE GREEN AND WHITE NOW AND YOU KNOW OUR FRIEND HAPPENS TO HAVE THE SAME COLOURS IN THEIR NATIONAL FLAG.

But all the same, Onam isn’t just about the different mundu patterns or styles that emerge every year with movies or the sarees that keep getting expensive. It is a feeling. A festival that doesn’t discriminate. A festival where there is no age. Everyone is a child at heart and even though I have never celebrated Onam in my native place, I am glad I grew up between Gelf Malayalis and ofc, a lot of thengakolas.

This blog post is just a minuscule of what actually goes on during Onam and I may not have the rich, authentic experience of a Malayali brought up in Kerala but as always I don’t give a thengakola.

Just kidding, I am thinking of releasing sequels every Onam from now on.

P.S.- Can I just say that everyone looks 10x times more attractive when they deck up in the official Onam attire? I wish my Instagram feed was Chavara Matrimony. I am not even kidding at this point.

 

 

On the floor, baby

Hit it hard, baby

Rock the party, baby

Pattulekil podi!

HAPPY THIRUVONAM Y’ALL.

Ellavarkum Thiruvonashamsakal. Ee paavam thrissurkarikke ithrokke pattu !

 

 

 

Condolences to all those who had to use SAS paper vaazha illa. 😦

 

LOVE,

Renjiny 🙂

 

Delhi.

It’s pretty long but I promise you there is a message (I think) at the end of this saga. But then again it’s me and as I always end up weaving stories within stories, STAY FOCUSED.

There is this story about Delhi that I haven’t really told anyone because it was too special for me.

Special? No, it was embarrassing for me. I was crippled with the fear of being judged by everyone because the decisions I made didn’t turn out the way I expected it to and I somehow let this fear grow on me.

But now, it’s time to let go and embrace it. As they say, every cloud has its silver lining and maybe this one has too. This post is dedicated to pretty much everyone. Each one of us has been stuck at a point in life where we are given the choice between the ‘beaten down road’ and the ‘road not taken too often’.

When I was around 16, I had a dream just like many others. I had set my heart on a college. Just one college. In the heart of Delhi.

A dear friend and family, who’s no longer with me, was a proud alumnus of this college. He only wanted the best for me. He wanted me to be happy in whatever I do in life. He was a person who went around spreading joy in everyone’s life. He taught everyone to live and laugh in his presence but forgot to teach us how to do the same without him. He was my emotional reason to study in the only college I ever dreamed of day and night.
This particular college was my desktop wallpaper. A few of my friends didn’t understand my passion or how crazy I am about this college. The honour and the brand name it carried had a ring to it. I could only hope to cross its cut-offs. I used to google pictures of this college and stare at it. Call me crazy, but I really thought this college would be a stepping stone for my dreams. A great beginning. My best friends wanted the best for me. When I told them that I may go to Delhi, they were upset. But they knew me better than myself and decided to happy for me. They made a difficult choice but they did try to be happy for me and even prayed for me to go after what I want. They were keen about my future than me.

Seeing the wallpaper and getting back to studies became my favourite pastime. The picture just motivated me to go on and on. And I did or I believed I did.

And then finally the day of the XIIth board results came soon. I remember my mom patting my back and shouting my percentage to a sleepy me. I pretended that I was asleep and smiled when I heard my scores. But this wasn’t enough. I had to cross the cut-offs. It was a long shot.

The day of the cut-offs came. I sat staring at my computer screen for hours. Why haven’t they uploaded yet? Why is it taking so long ? Why-
The link popped up.

Oh Holy-
I pressed the link and ran away. I shouted out to my parents that I am too chicken to check it for myself. I was anxious and scared to ask out the guy I had been crushing for months. I had to fetch Nutella to calm down my nerves because I always forget what I want to say when I hear his voice and end up yelling at him or insulting him or making a snarky remark that makes you wanna throw a brick at me. If that was nervewracking, this was definitely 10x worse.

I was literally shaking and telling myself that it would be okay if I didn’t get in. I kept looking at my mom’s face as she would give me the look of reassurance. And then I heard my dad look up from my laptop and say the words,

“She got in. SHE GOT IN !”

I was like, “Wait, wha-”

I just stood there and stared for a very long time.
Tears began streaming down my cheeks and I went to check it for myself but obviously, I couldn’t see anything because tears were flooding.

I did get in, woah shocker. I sat down and had a full blown happy crying session.

I finally got the chance to go for Level 2 of my dream college. I had cleared the eligibility for the test and interview. I kept typing in my name in the college portal to just see my name pop up over and over again. I wasn’t just happy. I WAS ELATED THAT I FELT LIKE GOING FOR BUNGEE JUMPING OR SHOUT OUT LOUD FROM MY ROOF.

I thought it was my turn to be happy.
I really did.
I flew to Delhi in a week.

I had finally reached the place where I would realize my dreams after all. This is going to be a lesson in my making. This is a step towards personal growth. This place may or may not be my home. The acceptance rate was always a bone-crushing percentage to me. I hated it.

I went to the hotel I was supposed to stay at. You know, they say nasty things about Delhi, concerning its safety. So I was alert the entire time and ran filter tests each time I met someone.

The day of the test and interview soon arrived. I took a cab to the college. I set my foot inside the very college I had been having dreams. I felt like I was doing this for my friend. This would make him happy. If only he was there on the most important day of my life…

I walked through their gates and corridors. It was like going to Disneyland. I felt my nerves all jump about in nervous excitement.

I had to attend a test first and then get my documents verified. The test went smoothly and I proceeded to verification.

The guy who checked my documents had his shirt covered in dust. I was wondering what he was doing when he took the copies of my documents to dust himself.

WHAT THE-

I was very annoyed and frustrated and wanted to claw his face with my friend Brian’s nails. Make him bleed. It was disrespectful especially when the candidate is standing right in front of you.

Anyways, I got called in first for the INTERVIEW. I faced a panel of about 5 people. And they started judging me for the next 10 minutes.

What happened in there is a secret between us.

It wasn’t that bad. But I knew things didn’t go exactly as well as I planned out in my head. Things rarely go as I planned out in my head.

I waited for the results the next day. I found out I was on the waiting list. I kinda knew it would happen. And I stayed on the waiting list. Better than a complete rejection, I suppose.

Things became worse when it really hit me that I might not actually get in. I felt that the excitement prior to this was a state of denial. You know what I always say.

Do not live in denial. Deny it once, maybe even more than that, but not forever.

I cried and cried. I felt like my dreams were crushed down into nothing. I felt embarrassed. I couldn’t bear to look at myself. I felt like I did the greatest dishonour to him. I felt he was ashamed too. How could I do this to myself?

I decided to try for the college my best friend was studying at. It had the course I wanted from the beginning which was not available in Delhi. I thought she would be happy when I announced my coming.

I had missed her a lot during these two years that I was willing to go there. She told me,
“Please do not come here. You are supposed to be in Delhi, not here. You belong there. It’s your dream college.”
“I can wait here-”

“Please do.”

“What if I don’t get in from the waiting list ?”

“I am praying for you.”

“I can’t choose between you and waiting for this college. Don’t make me do it.”

“Choose Delhi. Follow your dreams, Renj. I’ll be here for you, always. You know that.”

I called Amma and asked her,” What if they call me after I join in this college in Bengaluru? Or maybe, even from Chennai? I have people in Chennai too. I might not know anyone in Delhi and my only friend lives an hour away from me.”

“You should stay in Bengaluru even then. Believe me, you need a really strong reason to leave her and go somewhere else. I trust her with you.”

“Relax mom, we are not getting married.”

“She is your true friend. She supports your dreams even if it means not seeing you for the next few years. She knows she has a chance to be with you.”

“Either she really hates me or she is so precious that I feel blessed and honoured right now.”

So the ending wasn’t what I hoped for or even dreamt of but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The point is sometimes you don’t get the things you wish for but then again the things that you think are good for you may not supposedly be good for you. Looking back. I don’t remember my scores on any test I have ever written and surprisingly, I remember the ones where I hit the lowest of lows because I chose to sit and laugh with my friends.

Obviously, the marks helped me get a good scholarship but I really, really wish I had spent more time with the people I loved and cared about instead of choosing to be a Jack who did focus on studies and career most of the time.

Sure, getting into my dream college would have been good but not getting in isn’t so bad. Things were easier for me down here in Bengaluru because my best friend was there so I don’t have much to complain about. Who wouldn’t want to study and chill with their pal of many years?

Although the city and its noise and extreme pollution makes me choke and develop allergies after allergies, the city DOES have its benefits.

No, this is not a promotional post. Not yet.

So yeah, this is something I have always wanted to post and it’s been in my drafts for a pretty long time. I don’t feel embarassed anymore. Rather, I feel proud. Proud to have had the guts to chase a dream and still continue even after it shattered to pieces.

This goes out for each one of you who might feel hopeless after not being able to reach where you want to or people who have not even tried yet because they simply don’t have the courage to look at failure in the eye. But if you don’t roll past the opening credits and watch how the film rolls out, you’ll never know how it really ends.

Try hard. Really hard. Try hard in the right direction. Make sure you have a solid, working plan that places you in a favourable position against your odds. Have multiple dreams or brain babies so that if one doesn’t work out, you have something else to fall back on. Don’t go chasing THE MOON. There are many moons out there in space and I think you should go for more than one. Invest your time and energy into each of your dreams. Half-assed work isn’t accepted anywhere, that’s how the world spins.

Again, don’t forget to have fun. Remember, life is short and your health should take precedence over everything else.

 

Cheers,

LGL

The Motorcycle Man.

Recently, a good friend of mine asked me a very special question that I have heard a million times before.

Friend: Do you ever write stuff on romantic love?

Me: You know, that’s not my style, right?

Friend: Answer the question. Do you write or not?

Me: Uhm, yes I do. I just don’t publish them.

 

This was because the above was my prayer in Church every single Friday, for like 7 years, I guess? Let’s just say that after seeing my afflicted friends, I got inspired to write a piece for all those who love love, hate love, etc.

Love is in giving, not receiving. And sometimes your idea of a happy ending remains what it is- an idea. Do not hate love. Do not misuse love. Failed relationships/marriages does not mean that love has gone to shit. Maybe love never existed in the first place, because from what I have known, love makes you stronger. It reminds you that maybe, just maybe, your soul does have a spark.

This little something is for those who got trapped but refused rescue anyway.

 

 

What do you call

That shiver, yet fuzzy, warm feeling

When two souls find each other

In the little game of twisters

That their dainty fingers play?

Do you think when the paper and the pen 

Meet for the first time, they expected to depart?

Or do they wait like us in hopes of meeting again?

Do you think the ground greets

The fallen leaves because it has to 

Or because it prayed for the sweet touch

Of the leaves long enough?

Do you think our lips promise each other

Of meeting again every time they draw apart from each other?

Do you think that our hearts beat faster when we see the person we want to

Because they are trying to sync with each other?

Do you think I really wanted to leave

Even when I said I wanted to?

Do you remember asking me

“What does it mean to hold infinity in your hand

And eternity in an hour?”

I didn’t know the meaning then

But now I do 

Holding your hand is like

Holding infinity and its entirety

And eternity?

Every hour spent lost in the brown pools of your eyes

And sweet laughter that forms cute wrinkles

Under your awestruck eyes

Is eternity enough for me,

Blame me not, for falling for you

Falling is luck, but staying is a choice

But how could I not stay when you 

Were the one I did not wait for

And yet you chose to cross my path again?

How could I not stay?

 

Do you think our dreams die the minute we wake up?

Mine do not, because I still think you are a figment

Of a midsummer night’s dream that I do not want to wake up from.

Do you think that you’ll die a mortal’s death?

Be afraid not; I ensured your echoes through my writing the minute 

I laid eyes on your soul;

Because a writer’s lover has no permanent death,

And so you’ll live on

Even after time ravages us,

And I’ll still be found waiting 

Praying, on my knees

Reliving the day you passed past me

And I felt a harmonious discord

In the deep recesses of my heart

Which I didn’t know I had

Until then, until then.

 

Friend: So you-

Me: Nope.

A kid emerges from the depths of hell and walks into my room and spots a motorcycle man on a motorcycle( duh, obviously) and picks it up.

Kid: Nice toy.

Me: It’s not a toy, kid.

Kid: Can I play with it?

Me: No, it’s valuable. It’s a gift.

Kid shrugs and walks away and I place the motorcycle man in its rightful place. Some gifts are too precious to be left lying around, especially when it’s all that you have of a time that was even better than any scenario ever imagined.

 

 

 

 

Cheers,

LGL

 

 

 

Hospital Lights.

Hospital lights

Blinding but a relief

I was finally awake

I heard cries and looked over

To my left

And found my mom

Who watched over me

Like a guardian angel until her

Dear one was awake

I asked her with a weak voice,

“Mom, who’s crying ?”

She pointed towards a man

Who wailed and wept in pain

And tried to detach the painful tubes and wires

That choked him to death

I winced as he cried out loudly

For the next 20 hours

Every time I fell asleep

I woke up to his cries for

All gods, known and unknown

To take his pain away

And I saw for the first time

What it is like to be gasping for your

Own life and praying

To gods, known and unknown.

 

“You never know the value of what you have till you lose it.”- Said by several famous people and reframed by several other Instagrammers.

A few days ago, I was admitted to the hospital due to food poisoning. I don’t remember the details at the time of admission because my blood pressure had hit the lowest of lows and could just hear voices. I remember hearing my family’s worried voices as they stared at the blood pressure monitor. A few hours later, I found myself attached to the catheter connected to a bag of fluid that hung on a pole.I remember crying for hours until my pain finally faded away.

I was upset when I found out that the doctors wanted to admit me because I think I never really realized what it is like to be trapped between helpless cries due to known and unknown pain I found many kind faces staring down at me. I just wanted to go home and sleep in my bed peacefully.

I was there for just a day but I learnt so many things in those 36 hours of my life. I heard and saw people around me in pain who couldn’t even lift a finger or groan. I was placed under low to moderate fall risk next to a woman who was placed under high risk. The strange but monotonous beeps that continued throughout the rest of the night still rings in my ears. I couldn’t stop thinking about that woman that lay unable to even take a step.

The morning after was the worst. I woke up to the sunlight that managed to sneak its way to the ward. Family wasn’t allowed to stay the night so I woke up alone and waited for the docs and nurses to show up and deliver the verdict. One more week or do I get to home? I did a lot of thinking during my stay there. I had stopped writing for a while because I was tending to some other issues and let’s just say, writer’s block took over me. But those 36 hours was all that I needed to get back on track with writing. All I wanted was to just go home and start writing.

Sometimes, life gives little reminders. We notice some, we skim past the rest. Sometimes, it keeps knocking until you finally pay attention and sometimes the knocking just stops all of a sudden. It could be about being grateful for what you have or a warning that you are doing something wrong in your life. I was lucky enough to get multiple reminders about various aspects.

Do you think you are missing out on any such knocking? It could be a wrong choice or a decision, a person, an idea anything really. Are you doing something about it? Are you going to do something about it?

Chances are you are running out of time. We are not that blessed to get a second chance at everything that goes wrong in our life. We fail to appreciate what we have when we have it. More often than not, we realize a lot after we lose something or someone. It could be your health, like me, or it could be someone who you thought would be with you even if the odds are stacked against you.

If you are in an able position to read this, it is safe to assume you still have time. Better late than never, amirite? Don’t miss out to appreciate what you have or seek out while there’s still time.

 

 

Cheers,

LGL