We'll be frands foraver

It is friendship day, yet another slotted day given to us to celebrate that which doesn't need a day to be celebrated. Having said that, I'm still in favour of setting aside a day to celebrate things like love, friendship, fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers - those which we would never end up celebrating as much if we didn't have a special day dedicated.

So I fondly reminisce the days when we wore uniforms and met each other with typical school-girl fervour to glorify our own interpretations of friendship. The day had an extra dash of colour, possibly symbolic of what (we thought) the friendships brought into our life.

I recall the more talented and the more dedicated of us persevering for days before, making pretty little hand accessories, more famously known as the Friendship Bands. The rest of us either attempted shoddier versions or settled for the store-bought versions of our loyalty to friends. They served as more than just testimony of our long-standing friendship. For some of us, it was an opportunity to befriend another. (Possibly someone of the opposite sex that you've been eying for some time.) And for some it was a fine time to make amends with a person you've been warring with since last year.

If we didn't have a shortage of bands we'd give them to almost anyone whom we'd usually have as much as a casual conversation with. The real friends were yet to be filtered out by then. You have to have some troubled and testing times to identify the diamonds, don't you? And so it was. It took years to see the real ones shining through. And not surprisingly, they were the ones I'd known the longest. We grew in a similar environment, and that probably fashioned our compatibility the way 'compatible' must be. As we grew, I came across a few more gems, but they weren't as easy to come by anymore. I feel it had less to do with the world outside, than it had with the time we now allow another person to size up as a friend.

At the risk of sounding old and unable to keep up with the times, I say that friendship isn't what is used to be. And then to show that I can keep up with the times, I say friendship is still around, its just different. There are some people you can count on, but it no longer needs a band - thank the stars for that. For an adult, it is an implicit understanding. An unspoken dictum. If you're still around after all that, you're in. And oh, I hope you can laugh.

I did not want to end this with corny notes, and so I will end it with one that sounds ridiculous yet rings vaguely true: (source unknown)

Friends are like Bacon bits in the Salad Bowl of life.

:)

Stray and I will Spray!

Amidst all types of obsessive-compulsive disorders we can be diagnosed with in this day and age, where every blip in personality traits can be diagnosed to a personality disorder, I present to you something about me.

I hate walking on crowded streets. I hate being in crowded buses.

Now, don't write this off just yet, I'm not done. Let me explain. I, just like all of womankind, feel disgusted with men 'brushing' past oneself. Ah, now you know where this is headed.

I don't know how often, but I acknowledge that some/much of the time, the brush is accidental. There is really no place to walk on the streets. But just because there is a percentage of cases that are beyond doubt deliberate, I cannot breathe easy when I am out on the streets.

I trust no male I don't know. In a paranoid sort of way. If you see me walking on Brigade Road anytime, (before I see you see me) you would find me walking with my arms forming a barrier of sorts. I don't care. I'm paranoid about men just looking, even though I know that in a crowded street, the eyes eventually must fall on someone, unless you walk looking down, in which case you would definitely (accidentally or not) crash into someone. Of course, I digress, but you know the look I'm talking about, especially if you're a woman. Even then, the 'look' is nothing in comparison to the brush.

I've seen that many female friends are not really bothered by this stuff, they've learnt to dismiss, or be unaffected. I ignore, but I am not unaffected. And I'm sure there are many like me.

In the days when I traveled to college by bus, I spent 3-4 hours a day in the buses. Every woman would agree with me on the trauma that is the junction where the sections of the men and women meet, especially when the bus is crowded. I really didn't know, but it felt like the men were trying everything from the Subtle yet Disgusting Men's Handbook.
I'll give you a picture of the scene. When the bus is really crowded, there is not much place to breathe, let alone move an inch here and there. The rest you can imagine.

There was the time when I was riding my two-wheeler (my Kinetic Honda) home and a guy on a motorbike starting riding alongside. This was no crowded area where he could go nowhere else - he was deliberately doing it - and I still don't know what he saw in my jacketed and helmetted self or in my rather old Kinetic Honda. He was alongside for almost 3-4 kms. I picked up speed and so did he, but then I took a sharp turn at a road without losing much speed (and without indicating) and I'd lost him. Thankfully, he didn't put any more effort into that. I was terrified till I got inside my colony.
I remember another incident as I was returning from college one day. I used to park my two-wheeler somewhere near the Shivajinagar bus stand - so it was a short walk from where I got off the bus, to my vehicle. Short but on a relatively empty road. This man began walking alongside me. I slowed my pace, and he did too. I quickened up and then he would too. I decided to just walk as fast as possible to get to my vehicle and some form of civilization. I was terrified. I wondered if he had a knife. He then called out and said in an overly wannabe anglicized voice, Hey, hi, how are you? to I like your haircut. In that situation, these lines, which I would later laugh at, provided no relief. I just ignored him and moved as quickly as I could. Thankfully, once I zoomed off, I saw no trace of him.

These are just some of the (lighter) ends of the spectrum, where some guy was just trying to chat me up or maybe even asking for hairstyling tips, and I will also acquaint you with an incident on another end.

I lived for a short time in a hostel with 3 other roommates. This is an incident that happened with one of them. She was much older to me at that time, and was just engaged to be married. She was with her fiance somewhere in the Majestic Bus Stand area. A man brushed past her and touched her where he shouldn't have. She was enraged. She was one of those women who would speak her mind boldly and fight for what was right without fear. She screamed out loud at the man and he began running. She asked her fiance to catch him, I don't recall what his reaction was, but he definitely did not run. She then ran after the man in her heels, full of rage, but lost him somewhere along the way. At the end of the day, she felt violated, and not less, diasappointed with the reaction of her fiance and other men around.

This is a one-off case, and I have seen men in the same situation to run after and beat up the violator and bring justice. But is that the solution? To have a man around and have him ready to bring you justice each time?

Before I present what I have presented on this blog already, ie, my favourite Pepper Spray, let me tell you one final incident. I was in a bus, which was not really crowded this time. I had a seat and there was this man standing a little ahead. I noticed he was falling ahead rather unusually each time the bus braked, but I paid no further notice. I think I was reading when suddenly I heard a really loud noise. Like Thhapppp!! The entire bus looked up. It was a large lady slapping this man. Turned out he was drunk and falling deliberately on either her or someone near her. She was hurling abuses in Kannada and slapping him again and again. His eyes were blood red and he was trying to look aggressively defensive, angry that she could suggest he had done anything of the sort, but he was too intoxicated to pull that off. The conductor caught hold of him and made him get off the bus. He was drunk at 11 am in the morning.

That day for me, was like a big Hurrah! for all of womankind. I knew I didn't have the courage to pull off what that lady did, but I admired her for it, and hoped to atleast be able to stand up for myself.

Nonetheless, the first two incidents did inspire me to order the Pepper Spray and keep one by my side at all times. You can take a look at the available products here and order it here. Be extremely careful with it and use it responsibly. It is only permissible under law as self-defense. Read these FAQs before you order or use it.

And I hope the title makes sense now :)

Dance-e-shahenshah

I joined this dance workout class recently. Despite the tragedy of waking up at 6 am (read that as 6.30 am - that would include hitting the snooze alarm thrice - consistently) every single weekday, I find myself enjoying it quite a bit.

Mostly he plays hiphoppy kind of music and then we do aerobiccy kind of moves, since of course this is a workout class. Oh btw, there is a poster at the class that says this about hiphop - that it stands for His/Her Infinite Power Helping Oppressed People. And I believe that piece of information actually traces its roots back to some (but, naturally) hip hop song. Politically correct, nonetheless, pliss to note.

But then on some days he plays Bollywood music, which I very much luurve, especially for a dance session. But then one day came a song that was a bit over the top, even for someone like me who allows for a lot. Remember Jodha Akbar and its songs? Most are ok, but picture moving, working out, if you may, to the trumpet that announces the arrival of the emperor. And then we go -

Azeem-O-Shaan Shahenshah
Mar-ha-BBa.

Ja-LA-llu-Din Ak-Bar.

All the time we're merrily practising Jazz moves or doing hip-hop (to Akbar's Infinite Power) or some jazz like that. I feel like we've all been taken over by aliens and are being hypnotised into doing this stuff, because, believe it or not, nobody minds! No one has a problem with the ridiculousness of it all. We all rather enjoy what might be role-playing as the emperor's subjects, hailing him and all the glory that he's brought us.

And then we promptly switch to celebrating the Race that life is. A race of our breaths, a race of desires, and of heartbeats. Ah, intoxication.

Six to seven girls (and one odd boy - i don't know where he comes from - he's a different one almost every time!) dancing to the shahenshah's tunes. We wake up early every day, arrive bright eyed and do the jig when are minds are most impressionable. Sounds like its part of some big-brother-ish conspiracy.

See this is why we're all urged to work out early in the morning - take in the fresh air - and experience some different other-worldly experiences :)

Back is Me.

Dear Blog(-diary-friend-ish),

Well, Hello. I've been a little hesitant to write of late. Not quite sure why.

Meanwhile. Its been a tough few weeks. Some choices that evaded me at first. And then some choices laid before me. Some difficult decisions I've had to make, and some other decisions that I've had to deal with. Sigh .. At times I wish this was an anonymous blog. Believe me, I'd have a lot more to say then! Come to think of it, maybe I will start one now that I have thought of it. But then I have also thought of the fact that I am becoming more and more cynical by the day, so, yeah, Tough Luck there, potential-anonymous-blog!

And in other news..
I joined (new) work on the 26th of this month. Closer, bigger. Better? Don't know yet. Haven't really gotten into it. I'll miss old workplace and all its niceness. And all my friends. Sniff. And all the people I didn't get along with. Them too.

I went on a Scrubs-watching marathon recently. Two seasons. There's something addictive about the series. You just can't stop watching it. And in between switching episodes comes for a while a surreal feeling. You almost believe you can dole out snappy, witty lines - nay, whole paragraphs - and - as if that weren't enough - even snappy, witty comebacks that are material enough for an entire play. Of course, I say this in retrospect, because when I'm under the spell of Scrubs - I am in a daze - I almost wish I could address people like that - 'Hey Barbie' and 'Hey (girl-name)' - guys, ie. Too bad if you haven't seen it. See it. :)

I finally finished Sense and Sensibility. Frankly, while I'm in love with Jane Austen's language, I found this book a tad strange. Ah, but you get lost in the words. Now I'm reading (or attempting to read) only about 4 books in parallel. One of which is another Jane Austen, but with more promise, Emma.

In today's news..
When I voiced concern over an autorickshaw's incredibly paced meter, he had this to say:
"Chalte chalte theek ho jaayega"
In effect, as it keeps running, it self-corrects. Some kind of feedback system unfairly biased to the people who have to go the farthest distance.
And then about 60 seconds later, where he might have otherwise stopped if he wanted to stop, his wire cut ho gaya and he stops. This is not the first time an autorickshaw driver has pulled the wire-cut on me, but sadly, there's nothing I can do about it. I got off, refused to pay him more than what I thought should be the fare. Thankfully, he caved sooner than would have fallen my act of a determined and courageous stand (to not pay more). And then no other auto took me either.

Saw the new Indiana Jones movie today. Masala, timepass, far-fetched, funny, fun.

That would be it for now, blog.
Just to let you know I'm alive. Still around.

Love.
Moi.

Enlightenment #4: Rach can't say Goodbye

Varry Hard, I tell you.
Either I find it hard to actually say the bubbyes or I can't let go.

Saying goodbye is odd. I stay stone-faced, afraid to let the emotion show. Which is odd as it is. You'd think courtesy calls for a little emotion on the face. I'm sad that you're going away. No, really. Of course I feel something. Not exactly tragedy befallen, but I get it! So I become uncomfortable, and then begin asking meaningless questions like 'how are you going to manage there' and 'spoke to the others'? And I forget the important stuff like contact information. Which i'd debate the importance of, considering I don't really make the effort to keep in touch. My keeping in touch with old friends on chat is limited to

they: Hey what's going on?
me: Nothing much. What about you?
they: {replace text with relevant story}. How's work and all?
me: Good, going on.
they: Anything interesting happening lately? How're the others {names of Common Friends here}?
me: Haven't spoken to them much lately. but yeah, guess everyone's doing fine.
{more uninformative answers here from yours truly}

(bleah.) See how interesting a chatter I can be??
And thus i try ending the goodbye process as soon as possible. Keep in touch, Take care.

And then there are the tragedy befallen goodbyes. Here I just refuse to let go. No no no. Sigh. Opposite ends of the spectrum. Clinging on to old memories Rach. What is it about old times that makes them always seem so good? At what point do all the painful memories get wiped out from the thing we call nostalgia?
Howzabout I say ok, this was good till now, now I have a chance to hit Refresh, and jump to the next stage without obsessing over the previous. A chance to do something different.

We live, we learn.