प्यार hua

Six years of togetherness and there is still more love to be shared...<3

Girlie things

1. Taking pleasure in having your nails painted stark pink or bright red.
2. Loving the way your skirt twirls like swirling dervishes.
3. Smiling at the eye-popping makeup on your face.
4. Enjoying the gossip full on.
Gosh!the world of women, I love it.

Father figure

My daddy is an extraordinary man. His life represents the middle class superlative that is India. His journey began from the heart of small town India, that wretched place we call Patna. My father had a very simple upbringing with none of the pretenses of an English Convent school upbringing. He studied in a Hindi medium government school and by sheer dint of hard work and individual merit, completed his engineering from Patna Engineering College (now rechristened as National Institute of Technology). By chance, he sat for the CAT exams and managed to get a scholarship to study management in IAM, Kolkata. From then on, this young Bengali man from Bihar joined the corporate bandwagon and secured his future. My father's journey acts as a strong reminder for me. His road to success is the story of middle class India finding a place for itself in the sun.

Normal Office Mornings

Today, doesn't have to be a perfect, it just has to be normal and familiar. The alarm is set for 7.30 am but i drag myself out of bed at 7.45 am sharp. A minute's delay can hamper the entire day's schedule, so i take no such risks. I brush my hair and teeth, clean my face and have my breakfast. The dining table is ready with lemon juice, two slices of bread with sugar sprinkled on it, a hot cup of tea so i can dip my bread in it and an egg sunny side up. I have a nice morning conversation with my mommie and then rush to have my bath. Fresh from my wash, i get dressed, check the time and put my lunch box in the bag. Satisfied, i leave home ready to face the brave new world.

8.25 am I leave home to catch the 8.35 Metro from Jatin Das Park. On the road, while trying to dodge my way through morning traffic, i pass the butcher's shop and feel sickened by the smell of rotting meat, hear the chickens' cry from being carried upside down on a cycle,watch the para puppies sleep blissfully on the sand. I buy the day's ticket from the man with a bad haircut, listen to latest Bengali songs on IncodaTV and stand at my choosen spot where the metro door opens at my feet. I get in and smile at the regulars and try to balance myself in the speeding metro without the help of the hand support. As the metro approaches my destination, i.e, Park Street Metro Station at 8.50 am i get ready to jump out of the cabin. As the metro stops and the doors open, i get out as quickly as i can leaving behind the hordes of individuals commuting with me.

As i walk along Park Street, i hear the drummable beats of the cobbler's brush, attracting the attention of fast-paced officer goers, i see the beggar woman with her little baby, the well-fed dogs of Karnani mansion basking themselves in the sun, the cleaners carrying the dump of Park Street in their thela garis, the pavements dug up for yet another plumbing or electrical job and garbage strewn carelessly on the street.

On approaching Wellesly road, lungi clad men are busy having their bath in public or kick-starting their day by drinking Chattu, urchin boys are fast sleep on the pavement and the local bazaar is buzzing with frantic activity. Close to my workplace, i walk past dazed rag-pickers doing heroin or crack cocaine and avoid eye-contact. I quickly walk inside my office building and ask whether my boss has arrived. At the reception area, i enter the time 9.00am in my attendance card. Now, it's time to work.

I know i'm fat but i will take offense if you tell me i'm fat. That privilege is reserved for the very few, so ZIP it!

the question is WHY?

Why the hell is it so difficult for me to express what i really feel, to do what i really want to do??
I need to be the mistress of my own will.
Duniya bhaar mei jao.