Splinters Of Your Soul

My favorite self analysis exercise over several years now has been to ask myself two questions at least once every day.
The first one is, “Who was the first person I thought of when I woke up this morning, and what does that mean?’ More than anything else, what this exercise achieves is that it unclutters my brain. It tells me exactly that in the ever widening sea of people I get to know, who are the ones I retain and why.

The second question is, “What would I rather be doing at this point of time?” Every time the answer is “This”, I am satisfied. But every time the answer is something else, I know I am not doing what I ought to be doing, or what I would rather be doing. That means, it’s time for change. It’s time for self evaluation, it’s time to go ahead and take steps to ensure that sooner than later I end up doing what I want to do. It helps set my priorities right.

The place where I ask this particular question to myself every nine seconds or so is a dance floor. Tell me to address a crowd, I will. Tell me to eat something that most people would think twice about, I will. Tell me to spend a night in an unknown, dark, big house, I will. But tell me to dance, and I will freeze. Not that I am this conscious on every dance floor. There are gradations of course. A close friend’s house, and I will be okay. Primarily because most of my close friends are not the dancing-gyrating types. Secondly, because at such houses, I will always have the option of glaring. Thirdly, even if I am forced to shake a leg, and I do end up doing so, they would find it in themselves to forgive me for that horrifying visual splendor and I will still be embraced with the same indulgence and love as before. But a dance floor that has strangers, or people I barely know makes me cringe and ask myself the question, “Where would I rather be at this point of time?” literally, as I said, every nine seconds. And the answer varies. It could range from the incredible “With Indiana Jones at the Temple of Doom”, to the peaceful “Inside the University of Idaho library”, to the exciting “Packing my bags to go to someplace new”, to the challenging “Debating over coffee about literature, religion, history, politics with some of the finest minds I know in Moscow”, to the excruciating “Writing a new story”, to the fun “Walking in Dilli Haat” , or the simple “Having a single, meaningful conversation that strikes a chord somewhere to become an indelible memory”.

Ask yourself these questions today, and I am assuming that you can share the answer of the second question at least, if not the first. Because I do want to know what you would rather be doing at this moment, instead of staring into your desktop/laptop, and answering a vague question on someone’s (equally vague?) blogpost.

I am waiting.

Crocodile Tears

So Shilpa Shetty gets paid an obscene amount of money for appearing in a foreign reality tv show and immediately her stock rises. Suddenly Indians in India and the rest of the world sit up and take notice of someone, who in all fairness hasn’t really been the most successful or commercially viable actress Bollywood has ever had. And what’s the game show all about? Nothing much really… just a bunch of B grade British celebrities that no one has ever heard about, or cared about, living together under one roof. I confess that my interest too was piqued, I wanted to see what all the hype was about, what was it that she was going to do, was she going to be in the game or get voted out, and like millions of my brethren I also said, “Yeah baby! Let’s have you win!”

So every day like a nice, loyal Indian I logged on to youtube to check her status. Fast forward a few episodes, and what do we have? Shilpa sheds a few tears, and the disgusting r word slips out from behind closed doors. “Britain is racist and so are the Brits” we cry foul, and Indians in India and in Britain rise up in arms. There are protest marches, there is campaigning and slogan-eering, the biggest sponsor of the show backs out, the issue is debated in the British Parliament, Shilpa cries some more tears and we scream, screech and protest in anger, indignation, hatred because she has been discriminated against thanks to her color. But coolly she soon drops all charges and there is much fanfare and hugging. Everyone is back to being happy because the show gets the kind of publicity it could have only hoped for.

My reaction to the whole thing was WHOA. We have some audacity to accuse another country and another people of racism when by far, we are the most racist people that the earth has probably ever seen. You know where I have faced the maximum number of racist comments? Not in a foreign country but in India itself. In the various cities where I haven’t really "belonged". I am always the passionate Delhi-ite, and have always been, but how do I discount the number of times it’s been assumed that of course I cannot have a home in Delhi because I am a Bengali. So Calcutta is where I belong, or where I should belong. Does that mean I feel perfectly at home in Calcutta? No, simply because my accent gives away the fact that I haven’t had as much practice with Bangla as maybe I should have had. Or the assumption that I am not going to be able to eat fish with finesse because I am from the north. I am a Delhiite, how would I know which bone to pluck from where? Balls. Or say my initial months in Chandigarh, when understanding Punjabi was still a bit of a problem. Did the head of our department with seventy odd people under her, think that she was being politically incorrect every time she broke into Punjabi, which was often enough? No. Did friends and other colleagues think for an instant before lapsing in to Punjabi with each other as to how would Sayantani understand? No. The assumption was that now that you are here, if you want to survive baby, and be one of us, learn our language. Or go and suck an egg. As are the horror stories I hear from other people…those that have lived in one part of the country all their life and shifted to another, and have suddenly had to reconcile themselves to the fact that they are going to be friendless for a while simply because they do not know the majority’s language. Do we leave our language related prejudices behind when we leave the country and come to foreign shores? You would think!

Why the hell are we bothered about a person who by all standards is completely unaware of what it means to represent your country in a foreign land. First of all, wasn’t she supposed to go with at least some understanding of who she is and where she is from. And not with half baked theories that think that Feng Shui is “a Hindu thing”? Yes, I saw this one episode wherein Shetty asks one of the women to give up her bed so that she can sleep there with her feet facing a particular direction because it’s “a Feng Shui …a Hindu thing”. Does she even know where Feng Shui originated? And that there is really no way that Feng Shui can be “a Hindu thing”?

As if this kind of public display of intelligence was not enough, she needed to go a step further. So there was one episode wherein she sat bleaching her skin ostensibly to become fairer, and when asked what she was doing, she went about telling her housemates that fair skin is considered desirable in India. Yes, so it is. By stupid prejudiced people who assume that color has something to do with your worth as a human being. But you have a choice in this matter, you don’t have to give in to every kind of stupidity just because you are in the public eye. Or even if you have to, maybe you can refrain from it for a few days considering that you are in a “white” house where your attempt to become fair will appear to them “Look, what a wannabe! She is desperate to become White, she wants to be one of us. Why shouldn’t I make fun of someone who is not proud of who she is? And instead wants to become one of us?”

Wouldn’t YOU make fun of someone like that?
I know I would. I would make it a nightmare, a complete living hell.

Happy Birthday KI!

Happy birthday baby!
You are one-year-old today, and I am excited.
Let’s party!

As promised I will adhere to all the suggestions made about the birthday post. Right from
Manasi’s which said that I should write about her and how my life has changed after meeting her, to D who wants me to acknowledge the person who made me shift from yahoo 360 and come to Blogger, to Minerva who asked me to list my favorite posts, to Komal who wants me to tell the world about my most favorite and least favorite posts, to Dan who wants me to write about my supercool friends (meaning him and only him) to Chitrangada who wants me to talk about my favorite blogging partner, to Shweta who wants me to dedicate a few lines to my readers. Those that I am working towards finding a resolution for are ideas by Burf (that I should provide return gifts to every visitor), Richa (that I should change the template) and Rohit (that I should throw a rum and beer party for all the readers). The request that is impossible to keep is Subhadip’s. He wants me to sing a song, record it, and then host it here. (No KirrinIsland, baby, I can’t do that to you. I write with a passion, yes, but I cannot force my singing on your tender one-year-old shoulders, and then expect visitors to sit through that torture. Noh! Not at all. Let’s forgive Subhadip, shall we? Just because he sings like dream, doesn’t mean the rest of us who croak can be expected to karaoke along!)

So here goes, all the manageable requests, one after the other:

Manasi’s request
About Manasi: She is the same age as me, with very definite ideas of what she likes and does not like, makes excellent shrimps, studies fish reproduction for her PhD, her students love her, and I am the one she has entrusted with the task of taking photographs when she and Shardul get married.

How My Life Has Changed After Meeting Manasi: Swearing is ok at home; “bitch” can be a form of address; apparently I am never ever to use words such as timid and shy when describing myself; the awareness that if, as and when I have children they would need a fairly disciplined Dad because I am incapable of teaching anything but mischief, reading habits, fairly neat handwriting, and a sense of humor (and none of these things really count!); that we cannot and shall not talk about the people she does not like in our house…so much for democracy!

D’s request
So who made me shift to Blogger?
Deepak did. He made me shift from Yahoo 360 to Blogger. And I must say that it was a smart move. The number of readers grew exponentially, I met some of my most loyal readers here, who eventually became friends, and it’s been a wonderful ride. Thank you D.

Minerva’s request
My Favorite Posts (Month-wise)
February 2006
Chandigarhhh: Travelogue cum reminisces about my life there, and my friends.
When Love and Hate Collide: About my bro.

March 2006
What If: If you haven’t played this game yet, either online on my blog, or in real life with a friend, you need to take a serious look at yourself.

April 2006
Why Cows Don’t Kiss: Explanatory enough
Kasauling and Simlaing: Travelogue
Never Say Never: On Orkut

May 2006
10e’s 10: The things that my mind was obsessed with in May. And how some of those points can still make me smile.
The Jalebi Lover’s Story: About my dad.
Real Gold: The story of my grandparents’ romance.

June 2006
Now Lucknow: Travelogue

July 2006
48 Hours of Fun: About some of my closest friends in Delhi.
OG: About one of the bestest bosses ever.

August 2006
Fifty Observations: My first observations about America

September 2006
We: About us, the students of the University of Idaho

October 2006
Ramlal: My dearest shelled friend in America

November 2006
With An Apology to Every American I Love: With 40 comments in all, this was the blogpost that was read the most.
Love Letter: Written to my mother.

December 2006
Scribbles: Points on cross country America travel.

Komal’s request
My Most Favorite Post is Love Letter. In my letter to my mother, I gave the most of myself.
The One I Wish I Hadn’t Written:None

Dan’s request
My Supercool Friends: Dan only wants his reference here. So…all those of you in India, please get him a girlfriend. He is particularly keen to have an Indian girlfriend at this point of time. And Moscow has very limited opportunities in that respect. The man’s selling points are his amazing sense of humor, his height (he can touch the ceiling), and his wonderful rendition of the Piggy Piggy song (that’s what he thought the Bheegi Bheegi song from Gangster was all about!).

Chitrangada’s request
My favorite blogging partner is my cousin Butterfly, although she is a baby in our world. She is my favorite because I see the real power of a blog in her work, in her love for it, in the way she waits breathlessly through the whole week, just so she can blog on Friday. That kind of one minded devotion and discipline towards anything is exemplary. I admire the spirit with which she blogs, and earnestly pray that this will stay with her for ever.

Shweta’s request
Lines To My Readers (I hope this part doesn’t come out sounding hypocritical, or arrogant or presumptuous)
I value every reader here. I know there are quite a few who read every post but never leave any comments. Some do so because they couldn’t care less, others because they were feeling lazy, and yet others because they feel shy about commenting openly and therefore write me emails instead. What do I want from my readers? Opinions for one. Or at least a record of the fact that you visited. I am not writing with the idea of getting comments for sure, but I am not just writing to tell my story. I am writing because to me my blog is a platform of exchange. A place where we meet and talk.
Monologues are for dictators, conversations are for the rest of us.

The First Milestone

KirrinIsland will turn one on January 18.
It's been a good friendship, one that I hope will continue.
It's been my private studio, it's been the only place in the world where I have been my most honest self every single time, and the one where I have laughed, loved, confessed, critiqued, hated, celebrated, de-stressed and also run away. It's been me.

Any suggestions on how to celebrate the birthday?
Or rather what the birthday post should be about?

I will keep all suggestions I promise. After all, we have loved having you here, every time that you stopped by to read, argue, comment. Whether you came here once, or became a permanent fixture...a sincere thank you...from both of us.

It's a party!

My friend Brittney Carman decided to throw a party for her daughter Stella today, for Stella turned four. Stella couldn't wait to tear open her gifts, she couldn't stop telling all of us, "I turned four!" and she couldn't stop hugging whoever she felt gave her the best gift.

Moving towards my sixth month of residence in USA, and now having lived in both big city and small town America, I can safely say that Moscow, Idaho, is a wonderful community to live in. I confess I am still homesick often enough, yet I also know that I will cry buckets when it will be time for me to leave everyone here and return to Delhi. Friends make your existence wherever you go, and I have made some truly special ones in Moscow. Happy birthday, Stella. Yes, you did turn four today!