What I write and what it says

I had a very interesting conversation yesterday and read something she had written about accountability in your work. Work being writing, films, pictures, art, etc. About thinking of the consequences, the perceptions, the responses to a particular piece of work.

With the Delhi gang rape case, the shooting in the Connecticut school, the protest against the Cow Slaughter Act, I looked at accountability and owning every piece of what happens in terms of photographs, advertisements, film and television, but never in writing (not news, but leisure) and never in what I've written. I spent the better half of last night going over what I've written, whether its fiction, fan fiction or my own diary and I was a bit unhappy with the results.

To think about what you're writing, about whom and what people's perceptions about it and reactions to it is a massive undertaking, but if I am to call myself a writer, amateur or professional, I should think about it. These thoughts should be in the forefront of my mind and not an after thought. Not a reactive response to someone commenting on my writing.

It did make me ashamed that I had never thought about it, about what my unassuming stereotyping of a person may actually mean to that person, what the consequences of it may be. While I definitely am not as bad as some of the stuff out there, I can't say I'm squeaky clean and what jars me more is that I stand up against stereotyping quite passionately. As a tall, thin girl in a society where the norm is shorter and curvy, I stand out like a palm tree in a paddy field. And I have ranted against people commenting on my size, my diction, my English, my upbringing and the fact that I do get excited about things and don't hide what I feel. And I have stood up for myself and for my friends, not realising that I am doing the exact same thing.

For example, while writing about Emily Prentiss (a character on Criminal Minds), I write about how she likes jazz music because she was brought up in a "rich, cultured home" and is a wealthy, white woman. I don't know why I don't write about her listening to rap music or Carrie Underwood or going to a club for some DnB. It is so automatic for me to write about ballet or the opera for her. That is just a small part. I describe women the way I would like to be described, not realising that maybe it could be offensive to another person, or that people may make assumptions, that in India, that is what women are like, just because I am Indian.

It didn't occur to me that I personally, could influence opinions in a few words. Words that flow naturally to me, but could be alien and maybe even offensive to other people. While I know that I cannot please everyone, and maybe the objective of a piece of writing is to offend a school of thought, but I want to be able to say that it is a conscious decision and not something I think about later, like what I'm doing now.

Being accountable and taking ownership for your words and actually thinking about the consequences before putting it out there is not something that comes easily to me. I'm impulsive and almost rash in my writing. I don't usually let other people look at it before publishing, but now, I will think a little, think about how my characters are shaped, about how people other than me will perceive them. I will be accountable in my work, try to not stereotype and be less judgemental.

There are a lot of excuses I can make, find a million reasons to tell you why I am the way I am, but then again, I can find a zillion reasons to change.

They say, if you want to see change in the world, start from within, well, I'm appalled to say I live in a society that destroys women, has rivers of blood and kills children on whims.

I promise to think, pause, consider and then do. And I also ask you to do the same.

Thank you.

The Cacti Killers

When you normally come across the word, or thought, "serial killers" you think of Ted Bundy, or Jack the Ripper or some other heinous person who did those horrible things. It is usually met with disgust, and a slight fascination of the morbid.

Today, I'd like to introduce a mother-daughter duo, who have plagued Bangalore's cacti population. They call themselves The Cacti Killers. The duo target their victims in a garden called Lalbagh, the biggest garden in Bangalore. A target rich environment, the duo watch and observe their potential victims carefully before choosing them. The study of behavior, aided by the plentiful information available through the groundskeepers and various pamphlets, is undertaken very seriously and then, the victims are chosen.

The victims have no idea that they are so close to their deaths, as they are picked up and physically examined. The greener they are, the more chances are that they will be taken. Bought even. They are chosen for their ability to survive even in the harshest of conditions, to pull through and live. If they can live in the dark, then they are definitely on the victim list.

Once they are bought, they are taken to the lair of the duo, where they are fooled into believing that they were "adopted" into a home. They are transferred into pretty pots, given sunlight and some very tasty natural fertilizers. The psychological and physical torture that the duo are known to inflict on the poor unsuspecting victims is started.

The victims first believe that they will be left alone to enjoy the dryness, reminding them of where they came from, the desert. Alas, that thought barely lasts an hour, when the duo water them. Every time, the pot is dry, it is watered. They are fed fertilizer till they feel like puking. The duo adopted the "I love too much" technique. Within a week, they are finished.

This process goes on for a while, victim after unsuspecting victim, till the duo decide to change their tactics. Once again, the chosen victims are brought home, and are completely neglected. The mother goes out of town for extended periods, and the daughter simply forgets. The green cacti slowly begin to become brown and then they join their peers of killed cacti.

Soon, the duo advance and this is not enough for the them. They crave some excitement in their lives. To keep at least one of their victims alive, for longer than two weeks. The mother goes on shorter trips, the daughter suddenly remembers. The unsuspecting victims are tortured by the unsuspecting killers. The once brown, neglected cacti become green with the love, then brown again, then green. The duo are confused and cannot choose between excessive love and tough love. The victims then give up and just die on the duo.

One day, the duo, looking at the empty pots realize that it is not in them to continue on their killing spree. Remorse hits them like a truck carrying a ton of bricks. They put the pots away.

There endeth the tale of The Cacti Killers.

This is the story of my mother and I, and how we desperately tried to find our green thumb, but failed miserably. If there is a hell, I imagine that mine will be full of Cacti waiting.... 

Tall AND thin? Oh no!

The other day, I put up a status on Facebook about how I wished I weren't as tall as I was. Then, today, my friend Supriya, posted a blog post about being skinny and I was inspired (if you will) to write down this little bit of, um, literature.

It starts off with completely not fitting not the Indian body-shape norm, which to me, after 25 years, is short and fat. Or should I be politically correct and say "curvy"? The comments one gets is completely fascinating. I've always had an issue of how it is okay for people to comment, rudely and crudely, about how skinny I am, but I'm not allowed to say anything about people jowls or tires. Seriously. I get these horrified looks when, on the rare occasion, I snap.

Some of my favorite comments about my size are, "Oh my God, if I blow, you'll fly away!" or if it is windy, I've gotten a "Hold my hand, I don't want you to fly away!". Here is a news flash. You are not funny. You're just testing my self control. And no, I will NOT fly away.

Another popular one is when I was compared to a crane or a "Kokkare" in Kannada, because in the 7th grade, there was one godforsaken story in my Kannada textbook about how a crane has only one leg. Oh so funny, Romy is just like a crane in the story. Her TWO legs is like one "normal" leg. Another fantastic nickname is "Kaakadi" which means Cucumber in some Indian language. And how much fun it is to shout it out in the middle of the road while I walk no? Its even funnier when I shout back "Tarbooz"(Watermelon) and the WHOLE road laughs!

Another one of them is "Oh, one of me is like two of you!", stated in a tone full of fascination, like some big discovery. And the ever so popular questions of "Do you know how thin you are?", especially said when the person lifts my wrist and shakes my hand in front of my face as if to show me, like I'll get some kind of epiphany! Yes, you fool. I am well aware of what I look like and how I'm not obese like you. Another rude question is "How much do you weigh?" And when you answer with a smile, hoping you can just skip this part of the so called conversations, they continue to pursue the conversation with a "I know, you must be only 20 kilos no?" or some other ridiculous number. Sometimes, I just smile and say "Oh, definitely half of what you weigh from the looks of it. How much is that again?" and the conversation goes dead and I can escape.

Then comes the concerned extended family one meets at weddings. "Why are you so thin? Don't you eat at all?" to which my reply (said only once though) is "Because you're so fat. The universe needs balance and all that." Or worse, especially now that I'm in my mid twenties, I've gotten a "If you don't put on weight, you won't get married! How will you have children?", albeit that has not come from my family. That was from a very concerned "adult". I dunno, if Posh Spice can do it, so can I.

And in this country, its not enough that I'm thin. Being tall also just seems to leave people open mouthed and speechless! Good lord! Both thin AND tall? And they look at me very sympathetically. I don't know, apart from the physical accidents that a person can have because one is tall, I have no complaints!

Being so tall gets me some fascinating nicknames like "Coconut Tree" "Giraffe" and "Leaning Tower of Pisa", though that was quite a mouthful, so it just became "Pisa". The standard "Skeleton" and "Barbie" also applied, though I don't see the Barbie thing because she is quite curvy. And I don't/didn't mind that either.

Some of the funny questions are "How are you so tall?" and "Why are you so tall?" Yes, because I can control my height. Like I could have just woken up one morning and said, "Hey, 5'5" is good enough. Now stop growing body!" and just like that, magically I would have stopped!

Another popular thing is for people to say "My God, I'll just put a nail in your head and you'll stop growing!" I don't even have any comebacks for that, it is so ridiculous! Another one is for people to ask me "You've grown taller no?" Yes, at TWENTY-FIVE, I'm still growing. Don't you know, my aim is to hit the 7 feet mark!

Oh and it gives people so much joy to keep pointing out that I'm tall and thin! Really, I had no idea. I just thought I was short, but somehow transported to lilliput land! Seriously guys, I'm aware of this!

Also, it is the best when you're told "Put on more mass" or a friend of mine is told to "Wear padded clothes on stage from next time". Like what does that even mean? I wonder if people know what metabolism is. Ours not only exists, it fast!

And yes, it is my DREAM to be compared to Olive Oyl. I mean, oh golly, I get to have a sailor with an obsession with spinach as the love of my life! Gee, how lucky can I get! Oh oh, or in college, to be told "You can be the wicket for the cricket match!" So funny no? Real stand up comedian you are!

I guess, the only thing is to suck it up, and remember the comments so that I have more to blog about!

Thank you for reading my little rant :D

When I touched the sky!

If you know me, you'd know that "late bloomer" is a bit of an understatement for me. I seem to have stayed a tree climbing, dog chasing wild child much longer than I ought to have, therefore missing on the "experiences" that growing-up has to offer. Not that I've ever regretted it. Infact I'm more grateful.

Anyway, this experience I'm talking about is wearing heels. I don't really know when most people start, probably at 15 or 16, I think? I know Suri Cruise started when she was 3, but then again she is being raised by, in my opinion, a nut job. So yeah.

I wore my first pair of heels on July 24th, 2012, at the ripe old age of 25. Now, I've tried on heels before, but never actually worn them outside. Anyway, it was freshers night at uni and it was my last freshers ever, so my entire gang had decided to dress up for the party. I wore a black and white strapless dress, and if I wore flats, I may as well have worn a t-shirt with pajamas because I looked that hideous. So, heels were required.

I, of course, panicked. How would I carry them off???? First, I would be freaking 6 feet tall in them. Second, would I look like a reed of grass because I was that skinny and THAT tall? Third, I'm not known for my balance. How would I manage walking on freaking stilts (for me, they were!) when I always fall in flats? And lastly, the pain!!!!!! I have heard horror stories of people in heels.

So, to answer all these questions, said heels were worn the night before for a test run. I could barely walk in them, I strutted like a chicken and I almost hit my head on the doorways. And the pain!! Ten minutes and I was ready to give up. I started considering a change of dress, but I loved the dress so much, so it wasn't really an option. I practiced for some more time and then gave up. I made a wish at 11:11 to somehow get me through the day.

The next day, the day of the party, I bought bandaids. Lots of them. I needed padding on my toes. I wrapped three toes on each foot and then wore the heels. It was much, much more comfortable compared to the previous night and they showed off my hard earned calf muscles beautifully! And in that dress, I actually had an ass! :P

I made sure I had a non-drinkers pass, the last thing is me being tipsy in heels. I practiced climbing up and down stairs. I was pretty much as prepared as I would be. I was also super, super glad that my friend Supriya would be wearing heels also and would be as tall as me! I would not be that weird, tall skinny girl as I had feared. She is also equally skinny so yay! Misery loves company or rather in this case, awkward loves company.

The night was a surprising delight! I wore them, danced in them, jumped in them, climbed stairs and walked in them! They were perfectly behaved, until I got back to the hostel and when we got off the bus, I couldn't even walk. My feet pretty much gave way! We got hot chocolate, then proceeded to my friends' room to dance some more, without heels and to English music and not Bollywood stuff. Without the heels, my feet were fine!

I was so sure that the next morning would be the most painful after party morning ever. But, boy was I surprised!!! I felt no pain! I even went for my morning run!!! I think I'm the luckiest girl in the world!!!

Below is a picture of me and the girls!

Wearing heels wasn't as bad as I had expected it to be. I know I will definitely wear them again. I also now feel that I am fully a woman. I have worn heels. HA! 

This rain thing!

Over the years, I’ve met many, many people who love this thing called the rain! It makes them ecstatic, something about the smell and all that. I’ve always ben curious about this feeling, this love for this rain. I can’t stand it.

I’ve never seen or felt the magic that supposedly happens when it rains. To me, it is grey, cold and wet. All that happens is that you get wet, you feel cold and then you may even fall ill. The clouds are grey, there is no brightness, if it rains heavily, the city comes to a standstill. It’s like life has ended.

I hate feeling cold. The whole turning blue and pale, and if I look into a mirror, I see exactly what I’d look like as a corpse. All shrunken and lifeless. It’s so depressing. There is literally nothing that makes me smile when it rains.

Now, the sun? It is my one true love. An unending source of comfort, it makes me want to go out and enjoy it. It’s like a warm, comforting blanket that wraps itself around you, and tells you that you’re safe! When it’s sunny, the birds are chirping, the monkeys are jumping about and the cows are either glaring at me, chasing me or chewing their cud. It’s almost a perfect world. I can’t not smile.

When it is sunny, I can’t wait to get outside, start my day and live it happily.  When it is raining and cold, all I want to do is stay in my bed, watch TV and huddle with some hot chocolate or some soup! I guess rainy days are fine on Sundays, but, when you live in Bangalore, where it rains continuously for a solid three months of the year, you get tired of feeling low and depressed, just because the weather is dull and grey.

I need someone to teach me to love this rain. It is an uphill battle, I will warn you. I really don’t want to feel miserable for three months out of the year over something I can’t change. If I could, I’d make it never rain and always be sunny!!!

Anyway, who’s up for the task?