Carpe Diem

The One

noreply@blogger.com (Smrutz) — Sun, 14 Jan 2018 19:03:00 +0000

It took me a long time to believe in "The One". Always thought it was a by product of American consumerism. I mean a culture which believes in 1 god instead of 33 million has a lot to imagine, right?

But then obviously there is something in a theory which has the entire world eating into it, despite the loopholes. The face, the body and sometimes the entity of one changes completely depending on the level of Old Monk in your blood stream. The One has as many manifestations as there are Hindu Gods.

So, how could poor hapless me not succumb to the rigmarole of being on the hunt for "The One". Trust me, it wasn't easy. There were a lot of contenders. From the absolute greek god winner of gladrags, to the bohemian long haired advertising one, to the lean mean fighting machine of the forces.

But with age comes wisdom and it took me all of my priorities to realise that I am as shallow as the girl next door and my "The One" will not have some revolutionary ideals.

My ‘The One’ will follow the standard movie criteria. He will be the one who completes my sentences. The one who understands what is going on inside my head. The one who knows what I like & dislike. The one who will always make time for me. The one who is happy with my satisfaction. The one who forgave me and took me back even after I cheated on him. The one who is so secure of his craft that he knows that I will always come back. And I did. And I am happier because of it.

The ultimate relationship of a girl is with her hair stylist and yes Shahbaz you are the one.

Trust me ladeez and lads, this is one prize catch and one shouldn't let him go for absolutely anything. I am more than happy to share him with the whole world. You can find him here Hairplay with Shahbaaz

Cherry Blossoms

noreply@blogger.com (Smrutz) — Wed, 01 Mar 2017 20:13:00 +0000

Every spring, something grips me…makes me smile lovingly at kids, even when they are crying, wearing those squeaky shoes and making a racket…makes me call my mum more than once in a fortnight, our established arrangement of interference…makes me reach out to all my friends and enquire about their life without reminding them of the geeky school days …makes me (horror of horrors!) say hello to the neighbor’s cat without showing it the finger.

It makes me resist my urge to throw a shoe at the fish vendor, howling at the top of his voice in the morning, right before breakfast when the constitution is frail. Or using my limited vocab of the official language expletives, at the garbage truck, idling loudly right below my bedroom window. It makes me use the plant spray bottle, my version of the air gun, go a little off the mark while shushing the stray dogs below the balcony.

Telemarketers are greeted politely and even jested with a playful touch, while cab and auto rickshaw drivers get a tip and perhaps a song squeaked hoarsely and tunelessly if alcohol runs my life at that time.

I plan vacations to various places, especially Tokyo with nary a care about the bank balance. I reach out to lovers’ future past with no regard to their current emotional state. It makes me remember the pranks carried out with detailed planning, destined to fail, at the lack of basic logic with no embarrassment at all.

It makes me forget the transgressions of silly social media uproars and the voices of both Pappu and NaMo …no Kejri and the AAPtards are still not included. It doesn’t make my blood boil to see people loosely using the word ‘Rape’ or being selective over the value of human life.

Every spring, I become a monster. Every spring, I wish the monster would stay forever. Beyond spring. Beyond reality.

In our country, in Mumbai where there are only two climates - Summer & Monsoon.

“I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.”- Pablo Neruda

Do Inorganic Orgasms Matter?

noreply@blogger.com (Smrutz) — Wed, 10 Aug 2016 10:13:00 +0000

During a much heated drunken argument with my friend-philosopher-guide aka my drinking buddy, we discovered that like web traffic metrics, our sex lives need some monitoring.

Image Courtesy: Google

Since the international female orgasm day was just 2 days ago on August 8, the focus of the conversation was centered largely around the lack of orgasms for the vast majority of Indian women including Jashodaben. Jashodaben who? The spouse of our much in news, PM Modi, with the famed 56-inch chest.

The 64-year-old woman who lives a very simple life in a remote village in her native Gujrat, must never ever had an orgasm. She was married off to Narendra Modi when she was 16 and stayed with her husband all of 3 months. Now it is theoretically possible to achieve at least 1 orgasm in these 3 months, given that both husband and wife were at the raging hormonal teen phase (she was 16 & he was 18), at the time of marriage. But both parties have refuted any physical contact with each other.

While the honorable PM found his g-spot in politics, the poor Jashodaben immersed herself in teaching young kids at a primary school. Till date, she has not been with any other man and has even given up eating rice for 40 years! How does giving up rice, help, is something I don’t want to get into. Meanwhile our PM is neither giving her a divorce nor an orgasm.

Like the majority of women who are reluctant to use self-help to get to the big O, Jashodaben wouldn’t have explored this inorganic way either.

If you plot a graph of orgasms achieved organically or inorganically, most data would lean towards inorganic just like the viral videos of today. There is a whole economy resting on supplying tools (literally) to aid this inorganic big O. When SMM experts go gaga over engagement and time spent, imagine the predicament of the female population trying to keep tabs on number of followers & likes while boosting its reach.

Image Courtesy: Google

Unfortunately, just like brands who insist on organic growth, our culture favors organic orgasms only. Which is why in almost all condom related surveys, “Just 48 per cent of us said that they usually orgasm” and “Globally, twice as many men (64 per cent) as women regularly have orgasms” don’t take into account all the big O’s achieved without a partner.

As the startup whiz kids find newer ways to give a collective hard on to college drop outs & IITians, the empowered women in India are leaning more to self-induced joys of ecstasy. It is to be seen if these methods sustain or the good ol’ organic way triumphs. Meanwhile, the hope that Jashodaben eats a bowl of rice, will continue to drive this author to track her agonies over her ecstasies.

Why Developed India is a fantasy

noreply@blogger.com (Smrutz) — Tue, 31 Mar 2015 06:37:00 +0000

I keep abreast of the happenings in my country through the humble newspaper and twitter (thanks to modern technology). I have been doing these for the last 20 years. And in all this time, I have never read any article that mentions any concrete steps or ideas for development. And I believe if some techie finds some time to write an algorithm that will take into account all the news articles of the last 20 years (even from a single publication) and finds stories which have ‘development’ in it and then do a qualitative filtering process of listing the actual ideas or steps, it won’t be more than 20 such articles. Out of these 20 ideas or announcements, 5-6 would have been scrapped for lack of funds or initiative. The remaining hopefully would be WIP.

The reason that I am throwing up such wild figures is frustration…frustration of seeing the same old stories on crime, corruption, infighting within political parties, some ban or the other. But in the same publications international section, one finds stories about how China is building a solar power station in space, or how Finland is scrapping traditional school subjects in favour of topics.

Why haven’t we moved to solar energy as the main consumer energy despite being a tropical country with an abundance of sunlight?

Why haven’t we developed water sports not only for recreation, tourism but as an Olympic strategy despite having one of the largest coastlines?

Why haven’t we increased employment in all public sectors but have encouraged ‘agent culture’?

Why are continuing to give drought relief and farmer subsidies for the last 15 years to the Vidharba region, instead of figuring out a source of water?

But instead our idea of development includes building a 300 crore statue of Shivaji in the Sea, having Aadhar and UID both.

All we hear about in the 5 year plans is ‘aim to reduce poverty, increase growth rate of agriculture, industries and services by 9%, etc. But how does it plan to do that?

We have planning commission, urban & rural development officers, many ministries to support all of these ideas but looks like somebody forgot to have a chief idea officer who can not only use available resources but look at the current crisis situations and provide solutions. Who is this person?

What’s your beef with my beef? : Open letter to the people in power

noreply@blogger.com (Smrutz) — Tue, 03 Mar 2015 06:21:00 +0000

Dear Mr. President Pranab Da,

http://indianexpress.com/article/india/india-others/beef-banned-in-maharashtra-5-yrs-jail-rs10000-fine-for-possession-or-sale/

I read in today’s papers that you gave your assent to the Maharashtra Animal Preservation (Amendment) Bill, 1995, nearly 19 years after the Maharashtra Assembly passed the Bill during the BJP-Shiv Sena rule in 1995.

Which means that apart from the slaughter of cows (previously banned), Buffaloes and bulls can’t be slaughtered as well. Only water buffaloes can be slaughtered now.

Our honourable Chief Minister Devendra Fadnavis in his eternal wisdom tweeted his thanks to you as well.

While I don’t have a beef with your political power games, I wonder what your issue with my palate is. Why don’t you want me to eat the food I want? Am I eating it out of your plate? Am I asking you to pay for it? Considering you all eat stuff at subsidized rates at the parliament canteen for Rs. 29 (read it in the same paper how our honourable Prime Minister descended to the canteen for a free photo op), I have to shell out atleast 100 bucks for a decent meal. I also have to earn my living and pay taxes unlike most of you who have amassed wealth disproportionate to your work experience.

Mr. Narendra Modi Sir, when you came into power, I maintained my faith in you to deliver, even discounting some of the ambitious ones. I have also taken the recent Delhi election debacle in stride. But I am beginning to doubt your effectiveness now.

While I am no expert in how to run a country, state or even a city, I did run a small department in my limited work life and I do realize that it’s not easy to please everyone and all calls have to be taken for the greater good of the project.

However, I fail to understand what greater good is there in banning slaughter of bulls and buffaloes (to the already banned slaughter of cows). I know that you are busy, but I would request you or someone from your team to address this issue.

I kept quiet when you showed your swag in a narcissistic striped suit, I kept my peace when you kept quiet amidst the communal violence in several states, I kept my faith when you gave verbal reassurance on the black money stashed abroad issue. I vented a bit when freedom of speech was abused when those sweet guys at AIB made a roast. I kept on trolling when lip service to Swachh Bharat happened without a proper roadmap. About the budget, I limited my ire to revamping the idiotic IRCTC website and priorities on development. On the issue of rape and women’s safety, I mostly kept calm as it is a deep seated gender issue. I know some issues will take generations to show even the slightest change.

But I fail to understand how my consumption of beef is going to ensure a safer, cleaner, higher GDP, democratic government?

If you could only share your reasons behind this, I would be much grateful and would convince my friends who all have been stocking up meat to accept this ban gracefully.

I should also point out that I am born to Hindu parents, had a catholic education (read convent school ;)), wear my hair short to match my short clothes, smoke cigarettes, consume alcohol out of my hard earned money, travel alone, not married even at the ripe age of 36, well read, have an interest in current affairs, troll the Congress, pay taxes diligently and have never considered living in any other country than India. But most importantly, I prefer logic over blind faith. And I love my beef chilli fry, mallu style.

With so many issues on my plate (ignore the pun, please), I don’t want my tipping point to be this beef ban. And I am sincerely hoping that I am convinced that this ban is for the greater good for the country and mankind.

Notice Period

noreply@blogger.com (Smrutz) — Wed, 01 Oct 2014 10:49:00 +0000

So it’s been quite some time since I submitted my notice period to the higher ups but I haven’t heard from them yet. I don’t even know if they have looked at it or even received it.

But while the top brass takes it own sweet time to decide my fate, what am I supposed to do? Twiddle my thumbs? Yes, like a true professional, I am trying my best to continue but my heart is really not into it. That’s the reason why I have put in my papers.

The first hint came a few years ago, but I suppressed it. Nothing good ever comes out of such thoughts. I had a good gig running here, why give it all up for some strange notion which I don’t even understand. There were many more hints and nudges but I calmly ignored them as flights of fancy. I mean…really to give up working which not only made me decent money but also gave me satisfaction? One must be really dumb to give up such things.

The next few times, I attributed to boredom and searched for external pleasures and pursuits which kept me gainfully occupied till the next time. But the frequencies of these nudges have increased since then.

I have since then taken up various pursuits and drilled it into myself that real happiness comes from being in the thick of things and not without. I have become a workaholic, picked up hobbies like classical dancing, travelled, mellowed down my outlook, rationalized my behavior, actually found happiness in loving my niece, been nice to family & friends but the restlessness continues.

These are all distractions to keep me from questioning the higher ups for their lack of acknowledgement of my notice. And the distractions can only help so much. At the end of the day, I know that they are distractions.

Nothing works for me anymore… it’s not just cynicism, but I do catch myself asking ‘What’s the point?’ more often than one should. Yes, there are thousands of books still waiting to be read, lots of movies that I haven’t even heard of, places that need to be experienced, food that needed to be had, sex that needed to linger and people that needed to be understood. But do I care?

So now what… should I take matters into my own hand? Should I wait for them to revert?

Ode to Cat

noreply@blogger.com (Smrutz) — Wed, 03 Sep 2014 09:26:00 +0000

I offended a friend’s Puddy Tat (Thanks to American slang, I can never say the word pussy cat without seeing a series of leering men being hyperactive in hyperlapse) and now I have to write 25 words praising said cat.

How can one offend a cat whose very nature is to be disdainful of everything? Some might argue that they are cute and that the internet is flooded with adorable little kitties trying to do the most adorable thing of rolling on the couch or worse, purring.

These feline creatures have made giants out of a UGC platform called youtube. Misters Hurley, Chen & Karim should change its name to cattube or kittytube or err… pussytube. Great business idea that.

My rolling eye syndrome with a cat lover has dated back to those wonder years when PDA was frowned upon. And it’s not limited to only the feline species; it does extend to canines and Homo sapiens also. I just cannot wrap my head around the fact that if you love something/someone, why do you have to expect everyone else to adore it also? Are we looking at a majority vote to express ourselves?

And have you ever noticed a cat walk by? There is enough space to fill in the ever diminishing Gandhi family but the cat will leave the wide pathway and take a circuitous road to rub against your leg, as you sit sipping your coffee and thinking about how not to offend a cat these days. And then pretend that your leg was in its way! And what is with jumping at a laser light. How dumb can one be? It’s a ray of light, if you can catch it, you will be a GOD. And you ain’t, so stop making a fool of yourself. And those constant lickings, ugh, get into the shower and stop leaving your saliva all over my things. Even if I wanted to pick you up, I would have to sanitize myself with industrial level substance.

And will you please stop eyeing my food….fish to be precise. I love my fish and I do not want to share it with anyone. So stop eyeing my food and go do something productive like forage for your own food instead of stealing mine.

Your quirkiness negates your basic hedonistic bias for a rhythmic stroking of your fur, to express affection. And pray, why should anyone do that when a fraction of that gesture results in much tail wagging and overall subservience from your much esteemed canine counterpart?

But being human (oh Sallu!) I shall make the bigger gesture and let you coexist in this world and pray that our paths never cross…for both our mutual benefits.

There is a cat somewhere saying “nooeow… lick lick lick… youeow… lick lick lick …wonteow”!

Jumping on the little yellow cloud

noreply@blogger.com (Smrutz) — Sat, 16 Aug 2014 18:14:00 +0000

Every time the cloud touches me and melts against my skin, it leaves a tiny glittering film. And it feels so cool. Each drop of water is absorbed and thousand small glittering droplets rush in to fill the chasm.

And what is that loud thumping noise? And that whooshing sound? Where is that coming from? Need to investigate. But first, let me feel this cloud against my skin a bit longer. It’s not exactly like a snowflake, but so much lighter.

I turn to look at you, see the joy in your eyes and nod. And I grip your hands a little harder. I can feel the blood rushing through your veins. It’s hot. And fast. The thumping noise is louder now.

The clouds below our feet have now completely melted away. We are dangling our feet over …nothing. Then the lumps of clouds on our sides also give away and we fall. Fly. Into nothingness.

I turn to look at you, into your eyes and see joy. Perhaps it mirrors mine. We land onto something soft. And immediately I feel the cool melting cloud on my skin. I look up and see a doughnut shaped cloud above us. The hole through which we fell so tiny, that I wonder how insignificant we are. I want to reach up and touch the tuft of cloud, feel it against my fingers. But I don’t want to let go of your hand. I don’t want you to fall away from me. I want us to fall together. I want to see the joy in your eyes as we fall. Fly. Into nothingness.

And that’s when you pull me towards you. So that we are facing each other. Looking at each other. Holding hands. The whooshing sound is now less but the thumping has settled into a steady pattern. I realize that it’s our heartbeats, complimenting one thump after the other. For some reason, it feels reassuring and I close my eyes. And instantly, I feel a myriad of sensations that is so powerful that I open my eyes as soon as I close them. The cool melting of clouds, the hot rush of the blood on your hands, the slow thump of our hearts all combine to give a heady rush no chemical can ever produce. Each cell of my body is tuned into yours. The mitochondria, nucleus and Golgi apparatus trying to spill out of the cell membrane and merge with yours. Never has biology been so sexed up.

I muster up the courage to close my eyes again. To feel the sensations that so overwhelm me. And they rush in as expected and I feel my hands losing their grip over yours. And I feel you slipping away. I don’t want to let you go. We were supposed to fall through the clouds together. But I can’t do anything. I can’t open my eyes. I am overpowered by these sensations. I want to open my eyes. I want to be overpowered by these sensations. I want to hold your hand. I want to feel the cloud melt against my bare hands. I want to feel the rush of your hot blood against my skin.

I want to fall through the clouds. That little yellow cloud. With you.

Wanderlust

noreply@blogger.com (Smrutz) — Tue, 15 Apr 2014 15:27:00 +0000

Why do people travel? To see a new place, to know a new culture, to experience new feelings? Who invented travelling? Why is it a multi-billion dollar industry?

I don't know.

I do however know why I travel...not to get away from the rigmarole of life. Nor to see new things. I see new things, places almost every other day. I travel to discover my self. And I travel solo.

I have discovered that I am caring and considerate unlike the gruff image that I usually portray. I am also genuinely interested in knowing people unlike my city face which doesn't have time to smile at strangers. I also shake a leg or two which would put horrified expressions on people who claim to know me. But the most important discovery about self has been the ability to know what makes me happy....and that is everything!

I am just stuck up in my mind....but away from the hard nosed career woman, all I want is to be a little girl who is awestruck at anything and everything....to be a dog who hangs out his tongue if in a car...to be a proud tiger who is scared of humans....to be a sheep in the big city...to be innocent.

I travel to discover the real me. I travel to find the one who is lost amongst deadlines and social protocols. I travel to be free of expectations. And I travel solo.

Daily experiences faced by an Indian in India

noreply@blogger.com (Smrutz) — Sat, 07 Sep 2013 12:00:00 +0000

We have read and agreed to both versions of Jane Von Rabenau (loves India) and Michaela Cross (traumatized by India). We have discussed the incidents described by both till death, defending experiences and incidents.

While Jane takes a very logical approach of not generalizing situations and incidents, Michaela does have a very personal view of things that happened to her.

But are their experiences unique only to their white skin?

Being an Indian in India is not without its pitfalls. Yes, groping in busy places happen. Yes, men do stare, uncomfortably. Yes, rapes are increasing. Yes, people are warm and open when you travel away from busy metros. Yes, Indian weddings are fun events. What do you do in such situations? You ignore most cases, and show your outrage in others. One cannot generalize, one doesn’t have a right answer, nor does one take sides.

But being brown skinned in a country obsessed with white skinned people sees me waiting for more than 20 minutes everyday for a cab. I stay in an area where a fair amount of expats have also made their home. And every cab or auto wala chooses them over me. This happens everyday.

If a ‘Gora’ presents an idea at work, it has to be way superior to what a brown skinned brain can conjure up. If a meeting is scheduled for international partners of the seriously cutthroat corporate job you have, then you have to be in time and have to dress sharp. If it’s just a meeting with regular Indian working class then the meeting get re-scheduled, sometimes cancelled.

Being brown skinned in a bustling metropolis like Mumbai means that if you want better service at top notch restaurants, arrive with a white skinned phoren and tables magically appear.

If you haven’t partied with atleast 1 foreigner then you have a lot of catching up on the way to becoming cool.

Comfortable clothes that you like are made for sizes suitable to a western body, desi food is customized to a western palate, and queues are magically cut for the poor foreigner. While this does show the hospitability of us Indians, it also adds that 2% more competition on to the plate. Didn’t I elbow out competing classmates, colleagues, cabbies to be there first, should I have to try again coz the best spot has now been offered to a ‘guest’?

Jane Von Rabenau

http://indiatoday.intoday.in/story/india-and-a-blonde-tourist-an-alternate-account/1/305095.html

Michaela Cross

http://ireport.cnn.com/docs/DOC-1023053

That Girl

noreply@blogger.com (Smrutz) — Sat, 07 Sep 2013 11:20:00 +0000

Labels. Everyone loves them. It’s like giving a giant label maker to a child who goes around stamping everything. Why?

image courtesy - google

We as Indians generalize everything and quickly jump to conclusions and toss the subject aside and move on to more labeling. Maybe the British, Germans, Americans and every goddamn civilization also do this. I wouldn't know, I am Indian. We do it and don’t give it a second thought.

I want to be ‘That Girl’ who has all the labels…yeah, that should be the aim of my life…collect all kinds of labels. Then I can compare them with the others.

Why is it difficult to have an amalgamation of habits, opinions, ideas, perspective in one person? Why should a person be this Hollywood and Bollywood? Why can’t I equally hate both Congress and BJP? Why can’t I lust at Brad Pitt and John Abraham at the same time? Why shouldn't I be a woman and man at work and relationships?

way or that? Why cant one like sweet and sour, rum and whisky (beer should always be out), hot and cold, FB and twitter,

We get so lost in conforming and non-confirming that we tend to lose ourselves. I am a workaholic so I cannot spend my Sundays without checking my mail. Or I am young so have to party. I internalize too much. I am an extrovert. I am too shy. I am like that only. We keep on saying these things and slowly start accepting them as the truth and without knowing we have only added one more label to ourselves.

Have I just labeled myself? Oh I am ‘that label girl’, right.

Silence

noreply@blogger.com (Smrutz) — Sun, 28 Apr 2013 07:29:00 +0000

What do you make of scenes where somebody screams 'silence' and there is a background track playing to ‘highlight’ silence? At the same time, that scene from Babel where Rinko Kikuchi enters a club and the music drops but the energy is still maintained is one of those brilliant scenes that remain forever in my mind.

Can we ever be really silent? Is the tiger absolutely silent while stalking his prey…does our own heartbeat become noise that shatters this silence. Is nature ever really silent?

Even today, sometimes I hold my breath to listen to the sounds around me, to experience complete silence and never really find that… it’s not noise but it’s not really silent.

Recently on a trip to a tiger safari, the guide asked us to be silent so that the tiger can step out of the tall grass and give us a glimpse… while talking ceased, people continued to shuffle, scratch cough and sniff. Why? Is it because we are so uncomfortable on our own that we have to make some signs of sound to prove that we are alive…are we so dead inside that we cant hear the crackle of the leaves, the buzz of the wind or the heartbeat of excitement happening within our own bosom?

A little known anecdote on American composer John Cage's 4 min 33 sec experiment is that when he was testing it out in Harvard, there was a slight hum that was heard despite it being a sound proof room. Investigating it further, he found that it was the hum of nervous system, heartbeat over which we do not have any control. Watch his experiment here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zY7UK-6aaNA

#bench #ratlamstation #earlymorning #traintravel #instagram #silence

Being a student of communication and a chatterbox I understand the need to talk, to express, to communicate….but isn’t ‘listening’ the hallmark of a good communicator (not the mobile phone dummy). Why are we so afraid of our own selves? Why do we have to indulge in small talk? Why are there awkward silences?

In school we had a sports/PT teacher who demonstrated the meaning of pin drop silence by dropping a pin and making us listen for the drop sound. Till then we used to whisper while having ‘finger on the lips’ silence.

As I type this post out, apart from the tap of my fingers on the keyboard, I can hear the following

Whizz of an autorickshaw as it goes by in the lane outside
Whirring of the fan
Tapping of the foot (it’s a quirky habit I have when I am writing or excited)
Somebody watering the plants outside (Cant see the person, guess its the weekend gardener)
Drip of water from the kadai that I soaked for my Sunday cleaning
Tapping of the Pipili lampshade wire against the set top box as it sways in the breeze

Next Post – Why I don’t consciously listen to ‘Music’

Social Experiments - Inhibitions

noreply@blogger.com (Smrutz) — Sun, 07 Apr 2013 18:33:00 +0000

What is so special about superhero movies? Isn’t it about some guy who wears his chaddies on top of his tights! As much as we would like to spoof them, the reason these superhero movies do well is not just special effects and fancy gadgets, it is the underlying fact that the underdog sheds his inhibitions and goes on to save the world, become popular and get a little romance along the way.

Don’t we wish there was a magic wand or a spider or some kryptonite that could make us say, behave, do all the things that we wanted to and without any fear of being ridiculed or judgment?

When one has to describe self in 3 words, one is always inhibited and says the politically correct words like kind, generous, compassionate. The more adventurous go the self depreciating way and throw in a lazy or experimental. But would you like to come out and say what you are to a bunch of strangers? Don’t you want to impress everybody here and say things which are accepted worldwide in beauty pageants…like kind, generous and compassionate?

Image Courtesy: Deviantart

Why is having a mask on and not sharing your real feelings to random people seen in a bad light?

But then don’t some of us put on a mask just to fit in, be polite, accepted so that we do not stick out like a sore thumb amongst a bunch of conformists.

Sometimes one has to be a bit inhibited to maintain the balance between outrage and comfortable. Most other times one tends to be inhibited for fear of revealing too much. It is for security, it is for acceptance, it is to blend in.

Isn’t that why Jim Carrey in ‘The Mask’ leave a mark? Then why does the world worship the superhero?

The Social Experiment

noreply@blogger.com (Smrutz) — Sun, 17 Mar 2013 19:55:00 +0000

Image Courtesy: Google

What happens when you put a bunch of men together with some alcohol? They talk shop, they discuss cars, and they flash their business cards around. They go back home feeling the other is better off and that they need to up their game.

What happens when you put a bunch of women together with some alcohol? They chatter on food, they connect on similar life events and they check out each other. Then they go back home feeling the other is better off and that they need to up their game.

Now what if you put this same bunch of Men & Women together with some alcohol, throw in a bit of bowling or dancing or sailing?

You would imagine that this would be a whole new kind of environment with lots of exciting, fun, intense conversation. There would be some sort of electric atmosphere where these men & women would rise above the mundane & put their best foot forward. That everyone goes back home confident in the knowledge that there is someone who has had a similar experience or anecdote to narrate.

You can’t be further from the truth.

When you have a bunch of well-educated, financially independent and well-traveled, smartly attired, coiffed, pedicured, manicured and well-heeled group of people the nucleus doesn’t remain at a stationary point. It goes through a rapid fission & breaks up the group into many small ones. Most of the groups resemble either of the two main groups. The first group is the one which talks shop, discusses cars & flashes their business cards around while the other group chatter on food, connect on life events & check each other out.

Why does this happen? Is it that the former group is too into themselves or that the later too intimidating? Is it because there is a no connect, no common point between these two groups? What will happen if you introduce a nucleus into the smaller groups? Will the protons & electrons get drawn to the nucleus? Will the protons & electrons cross each other’s path in this process?

Well, that is for part 2 of the experiment. Watch for this space!

Excuses People Make

noreply@blogger.com (Smrutz) — Thu, 14 Mar 2013 18:26:00 +0000

You have seen ‘Shit people Say’ and it’s many variations on youtube. You also know that this shit people say is actually shit. But here is some shit that you hear everyday.

I will be late today, water problems

Image Courtesy: Google

Stuck in traffic jam, be there in 10

Oh that report, I must have missed it

What mail? I didn’t get any mail

I had done the PPT, somebody deleted it

Sorry can’t make it, have other plans

I am really tired, can't make it

Oh that’s a nice scarf

Give me 2 minutes and I’ll send that mail

I’ll take a quick break and be back
I have an early morning flight

Oh I saw your sms now

I really want to be with you

We know each other for donkey's years
I loved you in that movie/show/society dance competition

What they really mean?

Image Courtesy: Google

I will be late today, water problems – I just got up

Stuck in traffic jam, be there in 10 – I just got up

Oh that report, I must have missed it – I was facebooking

What mail? I didn’t get any mail – I was facebooking

I had done the PPT, somebody deleted it – I don’t know what PPT this is

I am really tired, can't make it – I rather meet my boyfriend

Oh that’s a nice scarf – I don’t have to mention the hideous shirt

Give me 2 minutes and I’ll send that mail – What mail, what mail?

I’ll take a quick break and be back – wait for me
I have an early morning flight - my morning starts at 11 am

Oh I saw your sms now – I was facebooking

I really want to be with you – but only on SMS

We know each other for donkey's years - can't remember your name
I loved you in that movie/show/society dance competition – I haven’t seen it actually

Like – can’t ignore this

My reaction to this shit? Rolling eyes, angry expression, fuming flaring nostrils? Ah, never mind.

Voices In My Head

noreply@blogger.com (Smrutz) — Wed, 13 Mar 2013 18:44:00 +0000

I like people. Sometimes. Other times, I really do not care. But I care about voicing my thoughts about them. Call me judgmental. I don’t care.

I don’t really voice my thoughts to them verbally, I try to express through my blank expression. That must say a million things to them.

Dalhi dude with dole shole, tight V-necked T-shirt - "Nice cleavage"

Uncleji who just won’t stop talking to his family back in gujjuland – “kem cho?”

The guy who insists on walking at the same pace as me – “I got pepper spray!”

The corporate dude – “At least changes your shoes, don’t want to damage your Oliver Sweeney’s do you?”

The corporate dudette – “Talking work on your phone wont burn the fat”

To the group of Auntyjis walking in a single file – “There are benches, really, you can sit & chat”

To the bunch of college kids – “Keep. To. The. Left”

Couple making out – “ “

MNS guy – “malla marathi maithnahi” (I know he is MNS guy, as he keeps on referring to some Mansa Meeting on the phone”

Page 3 Auntyji in tight track pants & t-shit stretched over extra special love handles – ‘oops, camel feet!”

The grandpa who runs – “how do you do it?”

Obese teen 1– “My grandma walks faster than you”

Obese teen 2 – “you are never going to lose any fat just by doing half a round”

Dad with Kid running amok – “control your kid, I almost tripped over it”

Dude with loud music - 'Can you really hear it when your heart rate is 170 and the blood is pumping in your ears"

Animal lover feeding strays – ‘get some friends’

The stray – ‘bite him, please’

The showoff on the fire poi – ‘ever heard of Entertainment Ke Liye Kuch Bhi Karega?”

The color-coordinated earring, head band, wrist band & hot shots struggling actor – ‘yeah, casting happens on the jogging track!”

The health freak with the bottle of Gatorade – ‘Uff, too much!”

Guy expat with girl expat – “recession, huh?”

Kid on skates – ‘Wonder if I can still do that”

Hot girl jiggling away on the jogging track – “Wear a dark colored t-shirt. And a sports bra”

Maybe I should just whisper these to them. Or write a chit and throw it at them while passing by. Maybe I should change my timing or route. Or just tune out these voices in my head and focus.

Leaving Mumbai

noreply@blogger.com (Smrutz) — Sat, 26 Jan 2013 07:12:00 +0000

I always thought it was easy to leave or enter a city. One doesn't need a visa! Starting a life or a new beginning should not be dependent on a geographical location.

I have been living in Mumbai for the past 10 years and although it's not a lot of time to have discovered or familiarized with every nook and corner of the this metropolis, I did manage to find zones where I liked to hang out or identify with. I did make few friends with whom to share my moments with. Although the primary reason of living in Mumbai was not any great love for the culture of the city or the thrill of living in one of the fastest growing cities in India, it was merely the job opportunities.

When I wanted to leave this city which had been my home for the last decade, I realized it wasn't as easy to say bye as it was easy to arrive with dreams in ones eyes and a heart full of optimisim. Over the years I had grown roots in the form of doctors whose replacement had to be found, banks which needed letters of transfers, insurance which needed insane amount of paperwork than the time of purchasing, disposal of furniture, packing of knick-knacks that had been accumulated over the years.

How had a city become such an important part of my routine? The ease of commuting, the local watering hole which welcomed me like a long lost friend, the traffic jams which let me catch up with friends on the phone while waiting for the signal to turn green, the convenience of home delivery of a variety of things, to the impromptu UNO matches to the late night movie fests.

Are these activities exclusive to Mumbai only? can they not be done anywhere else? I guess this is what both the city and me have to discover. Will Mumbai retain its charm over me or will I find a new beginning?

Tips to Prevent Rapes: Government

noreply@blogger.com (Smrutz) — Thu, 20 Dec 2012 12:58:00 +0000

For Men

Don’t put drugs in women’s drinks
When you see a woman walking by herself, leave her alone
If you decide to help a woman in distress remember not to rape her
Never creep into a woman’s house through an unlocked door/window or sneak up behind her or rape her
If you are unable to stop yourself, ask a friend to always be around you and to alert the cops if needed
Don’t have sex with anyone who is asleep or unconscious – if it is not consensual its rape
If a woman looks at you, get out of her sight. It is not an invitation. You might be tempted later to rape her.
Drop all kinky ideas. You can’t justify rape as surprise sex.
Find innovative new ways to keep yourselves occupied like reading or community service.
Don’t ever eat Chowmein, especially before a date

For Women

Don’t step out of the house after dark
Actually don’t step out of the house at all
Don’t go to parties at locations further than 1 km from your house
If you do, then make sure that no men are present in the party or in within 1 km radius of the party destination
Don’t ask the cops, watchman, step father, brother, etc for help. They might just rape you instead.
Don’t eat Chowmein. Ever
Don’t show any skin, even the Burkha’s shouldn’t have eye holes
Get married before you attain puberty
Actually get married the minute you are born. We don’t acknowledge marital rape as an offense.
Don’t get born as a woman

(With inputs from Ayush Mishra)

Do Rapists really Exist?

noreply@blogger.com (Smrutz) — Tue, 18 Dec 2012 08:01:00 +0000

For Representational purpose only, NOT profiling this person as a typical rapist. Image picked up from google.

1. The constitution doesn’t acknowledge them… as there have hardly been any convictions, so they don’t legally exist in our country.

2. They come in all sizes and shapes – nobody knows how they look like. How will you warn her/anyone against them?

3. They can manifest themselves as friends, family and your friendly neighborhood watchman too … people you are supposed to trust. Just becomes too difficult to explain, right?

4. You cannot provide any do’s and don’ts for your daughter – if you wear only sacks, don’t step out of the house ever, don’t talk to anyone, etc doesn’t hold.

5. There will be no mass movement against rapists in this country… its just not a election worthy issue or more than 2 days media worthy news.

6. There will be no harsh punishment for rapists… as it’s never the fault of the rapist. You must have been ‘asking for it’.

7. As a woman, you are just a statistic while a Rapist is a protected species (by the law/government)

Last Note:

noreply@blogger.com (Smrutz) — Sun, 26 Aug 2012 11:09:00 +0000

Do I even want to say something before I leave? Why should I? Nobody wanted to hear me when I wanted to talk… now I don’t care if somebody hears or not…yet I write. Maybe some silly romantic notion that some day someone will want to know why I chose to move on.

Although wont it be better to offer no explanation? Let those buggers figure out what drove a seemingly harmless 33 year old to such extreme measures. 33, the magical age where the most talented, departed from the worldly pleasures to an unknown place. Is it the age … has to be…as it definitely can’t be talent…not the ones that you have been used to, don’t want Jesus, Alexander to turn in their graves hearing my whining. The most obvious reason that they would come up with is stress… some gyan giving know it all will say “she couldn’t take it, the stress got to her”. Old friends will say “she should have atleast called us”…really do you guys ever called me? Well, honestly some of you did share stories about your life, your kids, spouses, work and it bored the hell out of me.

Most people who decide to end it all, are termed cowards, there is even a law terming suicide illegal. Many think it’s an escape from a sad life. There are medical terms like clinical depression and shit which always precedes conversation around the same. But can’t it be plain boredom? Yes there is a certain amount of sadness somewhere, but it’s no bigger than most people. Hey, there are people who slog their asses over 40 rupees just to spend it all on local hooch and sleep on the pavement. Can it be sadder than their life? Yeah yeah, it’s sad and very touching…but do I really care… do I have empathy, no…do I have the brains of a Zuckerberg…no, do I have the grit of a Phelps…no, do I have the gumption of a Kardashian…hell no!

If I share this with anyone, I will get a few pep talks, some attention for a few days, my social life will improve for a couple of days…hell I might even get a vacation without my bosses raising an eyebrow…but then it will all be back to the same old story. Then in a few months more, if I do this again, I will be referred to some doctor or new age holistic healer.

In the meanwhile I will desperately wait for some stupid made up sign, trying to figure out some pattern between a loved one and the most terrible phase of self loathing to draw some connection of hope, of a reason to endure on, of a meaning to this extremely mundane thing called life. A point will reach when even these little mind games with self wont matter. The phase of filling up the void with material things, religion, sex, philosophy, new experiences are long gone.

The thought of drawing inspiration from other people, events just seems so flaky… why can’t anyone accept that the shelf life is over...in this supermarket… I have no problems in moving to a new market… a new space… a new environment.

It is like this cruel game of UNO where there are just 2 players who have swapped their cards so that each of them knows the others hand but the game still doesn’t end. But by some irrational code of conduct, you just can’t fling your cards and move on to a new set or even a new game. You have to play till the end. Why?

Well, if you really want to you can… who is stopping you? Maybe you are greedy…maybe you want to have a last laugh… maybe you want some sadistic pleasure in seeing the person who finds it unable to react in the ‘appropriate way’. There is no appropriate way I guess…what would I do if I get this kind of a note… I don’t know… maybe I will rush to the person… and promise to be there throughout and slowly forget it and get caught up in my own life.

Because, the nature of this life is selfishness… you enjoy all the great things and worst things alone. Each person has a purpose to be here, exist, go through some fixed notions and then move on. Why is moving on such a big deal then? Why can’t I move on? What is holding me back? Haven’t I served my purpose… what was it anyways? If I can’t remember, it can’t be that important and if the purpose hasn’t been fulfilled yet, then sorry it won’t be ever.

No do not argue, that the purpose will be revealed once you are ready and till then one must have patience… one must have maturity… blah blah…exactly. I do not give two hoots to your goddamn purpose or patience or maturity… I will take matters into my own hands now. I will force your hand now… do your best… as from now onwards I will do my worse.

The Dark Passenger

noreply@blogger.com (Smrutz) — Mon, 28 May 2012 17:24:00 +0000

It lies passive, waiting for opportunities when none existed...to rear its head not unlike a baby sparrow. If only it was cute like the sparrow. The exact residential place is not known... nor is its destination. It is fascinating to observe the speed at which it grows though. Like all things resilient it strikes when you least expect it. Unlike all striking things it aim is directed at itself, somehow it musters this great rage but somehow gets too engrossed within itself and self destructs.

The more you try and control it, the more you distract it, the more you ignore it, the stronger it grows. What does it feed on? Why does it exist? What does it want?

Give it that small ray of light and the tendrils uncurl and multiply and uncurl and multiply and uncurl and multiply and you lose track of which was the offending one. Somehow it has also grown stronger with thicker roots and stems which cut deeply and leave a scar.

Will it bind its vines so deep that escape is impossible, will one have to find ingenious ways to channel it, will anyone be bothered enough to pull out its roots?

Dexter Morgan, thanks for giving the name, at least one doesnt have to call it by some clinical name.

Special Superhero!

noreply@blogger.com (Smrutz) — Sun, 26 Feb 2012 16:40:00 +0000

I always knew I was special… God must have made me special… what other reason was there for me to exist if I wasn’t God’s favorite child.

I can’t fly airplanes or invent things that need inventing, even though I can doodle I really cant paint or write, create fancy online applications which earn me millions, be a sports star and win medals for the country while endorsing various products, sing or even dance without jabbing my elbow into someone…. How am I helping this world? I guess there is a secret plan by the cosmos (not the magazine dodos but the supreme one with halo and lightning as a weapon) and I am like a sleeper agent who will be activated when the time is ripe.

Of course, half of my life is over waiting for this super secret plan to work out…maybe its so super secret that I am doing it without realizing it…like the other day when I crossed a traffic signal and almost made that speeding car crush me ….saved that driver from being penalized by the traffic cops!

I continue to hone my skills while I wait for my cue to save the world…unlike the other established superheroes I don’t have a revenge drama to take care of while waiting to save the world…nor do I have to win over somebody’s love or sew my own tights… I have to continue with my everyday existence in the same mundane way without letting anyone know that I am a superhero… a special superhero for that matter.

Why am I special? Coz I actually do not have any superpowers…so I guess I have to be!

When Enough is Enough!

noreply@blogger.com (Smrutz) — Sun, 12 Feb 2012 18:34:00 +0000

Overloaded bag, that last piece of curly fries, that ample swig of rum, the over adequate sounds of pity, the myriad questions, the copious amounts of tobacco, the abundance of nonsense...when is it ever enough?

How do you know its enough?

How many times will you scream your guts out that its the last time but go back to the same thing again and again, like some unstoppable force was pulling you... like you were on auto mode, a helpless puppet of your own desires, insecurities, fears, the reservations about your self, reaching that pinnacle from where there is no return... longing for a finality that should come, has to come, but somehow always gets delayed, gets ripped in one single corner, tucked far away from consciousness. A part which hardly matters at the moment but exists for all purposes to remind you that, a little sliver of it has seeped back to where it was... where it always will be...a memory of that initial theorem.

The basis of choice, made in haste, frustration, despair but always weaker than that eternal damnation...'Hope'. How does it manage to sneak back in is beyond comprehension but once in, it grows like cancer, becoming bigger and bigger until you scream out again "Enough is Enough" hoping that this time its the last.

Deep down, I know the answer is 'Never' but still the heart hopes. Sigh!

Fake Smruti :Fake Speech : Free Thought

noreply@blogger.com (Smrutz) — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 08:14:00 +0000

I have no ideas...I have no passion... I have no inspiration....otherwise how do you explain my cyber silence? Is social media eating into my expressions? Am I slowly losing my voice by voicing my thoughts in 140 characters?

I would like to believe that I am so hard pressed for time what with work, old monk, the occasional socializing that I have no energy to scribble something here... but the real story is much more disturbing.

I have become a 'pleaser' from a 'dont care'er and I am always trying to please somebody or the other...so if I write about the romantic illusions of somebody I know I realize that the person is going to get offended or if I write about a book on a nice Wednesday afternoon, another friendly soul

would not take it lightly...so how would I please anyone?

Maybe I could use an alias and draw parallels that are so complicated that nobody gets it....but then what is the point if nobody gets it? Why is free speech so difficult? Isnt it supposed to be freely available?

Not in Mr Rushdie's world....and neither in mine. Sigh.

Maybe I will be tweet under a different handle "fakesmruti" and say what I really want to say...but there is another problem there...will 'fakesmruti' be like the real Smruti? Then she should have the same issues? so 'fakesmruti' will have to create another handle 'fakefakesmruti' ...but then the problem would get compounded... imagine a world of fakesmruti's!! As if one Smruti wasnt enough....maybe its easier to bottle up all the thoughts and pass them through some thoughtcast to a universe its stored for eternity. Where can I find such an universe? Is it google/youtube?

State of Mind

noreply@blogger.com (Smrutz) — Sun, 02 Oct 2011 23:42:00 +0000

Irritated. Tired. Cranky. Sad. Empty. Dead. Charged Up. Rebellious. Wish there was a gun to shoot everyone. Wish I was all alone. Wish I was far from civilization. Wish Mom was here. Need a hug. Hungry. Thirsty. Thirsty for rum. Especially Old Monk. Miss Totos. Miss friends. Want no human interaction. Want a home. Need to pack. Have to shift. Have to find a house. Have to make a home. Tired eyes. Up for 20 hours straight. Need more energy. Why is there a mosquito buzzing around? Craving Blueberry Cheesecake. Havent baked for a long time. Cooking is therapeutic. Sleep deprived. Fondly remember the glow in the dark starry bedsheets. Unstable. Meditation. Superpower. Force. John Abraham. Lust. Bicep. Exercise. Boot Camp. Old age. Retirement. Bucket List. Paragliding. Macchu Picchu. Road not taken. Nostalgia. Books. Prized possessions. Alternate world. Escape reality. Reality TV. Bigg Boss. Work. Edit. Crunch. Walls. House. Brokers. Communication. Writing. Blog. Book. Characters. Sabina. Unbearable lightness of being. Coincidences. Bigger Picture. Future. Long wait. Tough. Filmy Dialogues. Kishore Kumar. Music. Silence. Calmness. White. Peace. Words. Life. Death. The End