Dear Vogue

Dear Vogue,

Thank you for teaching me about the correlation between biology and geometry,

Thank you for teaching me that women come in all sizes, and shapes too apparently,

From triangle to inverted triangle to square to circle to oval,

You told me that women’s bodies can be compared to stationery and fruits,

From pear to apple to ruler to lollipop to hourglass.

Dear Vogue,

Thank you for teaching me that being sexy means your lingerie must be no less than a lacy push-up bra from Victoria’s Secret and your thongs must be from Agent Provocateur,

What if I want to wear my unappealing cotton Jockey?

Will I grow up to be crazy cat lady and die a virgin?

Dear Vogue,

Thank you for telling me that I have failed at life if I haven’t mastered the winged eyeliner yet,

Or that a “natural” make up look includes beginning with a Lancome primer followed by a Shiseido foundation and a M.A.C concealer and a Revlon highlighter and a Loreal compact and finally a Chambor nude lipstick.

Dear Vogue,

Thank you for teaching me that my personality is measured by the number of pimples on my face and the stretch marks on my thighs.

Thank you for teaching me the importance of a thigh gap and a flat stomach,

And for suggesting a million diets right from lemonade diet to Goop to Atkins,

You taught me that colourful macarons are only supposed to be ogled at, not eaten.

Dear Vogue,

Thank you for telling me that Taylor Swift is fabulous just because she has a cat named Meredith Grey and that Sonam Kapoor is absolutely iconic just because she can afford Dolce and Gabbana,

Because who needs anything else right?

Thank you for teaching me that I’m supposed to change my sartorial choices every month and throw my month-old clothes away because trends change, and my clothes are “so 2014.”

Dear Vogue,

Thank you for teaching me that women’s empowerment means flying hair, removing your bra on Youtube in slow motion and having sex outside of marriage.

I really wonder about the enlightening things you tell me,

And I’m really concerned, because,

Dear Vogue,

You really do have issues.

A Pack Of Biscuits

On a lazy Saturday morning, I was travelling by the local trains on my way to tuitions, fervently studying last minute for an Economics test ( thank you procrastination). As the train halted at a station, I just lifted my head off my textbook for a moment. A beggar girl got in, carrying an infant in her lap. Dressed in rags and barefoot, she was trying to pacify the crying baby. Her face, though specked with grime and dirt, held a peculiar smile. She stretched her hand out to feel the raindrops on her palms, occasionally spraying the water on the baby's face. He stopped crying and giggled along with her. She then went on with her usual business, begging for rupee or two from the passengers who flatly refused. But she was different from other beggars I've seen, and trust me, living in Mumbai, I've seen many. As she clinked the few coins in her shapeless bowl, she didn't cry or plead. Her smile didn't fade. I didn't give her money, but gave her a half empty packet of biscuits instead. Her face lit up like the sky on Diwali. She thanked me twice, and got down at the next station, dancing and giggling as she walked.

I closed my textbook. I couldn't study anymore.

Valar Morghulis - All Men Must Die

Once we were discussing the play Arms and the Man in English class. Before I get into this post, let me give you an overview of Arms and the Man. It’s a play written by George Bernard Shaw (my idol, after Groucho Marx of course) set during the Serbo-Bulgarian War in the 1800s. Now, Shaw was a satirist, so contrary to the glorified and romanticised image of war, he held that it was a farce, that it was futile. He ridiculed war and unveiled the fissure between romanticism and rationalism. So being a satire aficionado, I naturally got transfixed by Shaw’s candour.

Now coming to the discussion, we were scrutinising the practicality of war, which has always been a serious bone of contention. “What is the true purpose of war? Is it an exhibition of one’s patriotism?” My head was ruminating on these questions. After a bit of brooding about, I raised my hand and said, “When it comes to war, patriotism is just a euphemistic expression of fanaticism.” The silence it ushered from the class confused me as to what they inferred from my opinion. One boy clapped, but I surmise it carried a heavy tone of sarcasm, or maybe not. Whatever the case may be, my teacher found it too close to the bone and disagreed. She said “What about the Indian freedom struggle? Can you call trying to liberate one’s country as fanaticism?” I wasn't prepared to answer this since I didn't even think once before making my contentious statement.

I made my fleeting affirmation in the context of the likes of the World Wars. I have always opined that they were not wars between countries, but between power-hungry leaders who could go to any lengths to fulfill their imperialistic ambitions. Does love for one’s country demand hatred for the other? I have always been fascinated by Adolf Hitler’s ideas. A charismatic leader, a terrorising dictator, so driven by his demonic hunger for power that failure to achieve supremacy led him to believe that it held more importance than his own life. We are always so insecure, the fear of insurgency corrupting our minds. No matter what noble intentions a war is fought with, is the outcome as gratifying as expected? When blood is shed on both sides, the world is reduced to ashes and families torn apart, is there a winner after all? And if there is, is the victory satisfying? A war never ends. Ask the soldiers who wake up every night haunted by memories of the battlefield, trembling and sweating. When cannonballs explode, swords clash and you’re heaving through lungs filled with gunpowder, is it worth the pain? 

Mon Plaisir - A House Shrouded In Obscurity

I recently visited this hill station called Panchgani (which I have already mentioned in the last two posts). While I was out on a walk with my revered camera, I came across this old, dilapidated but awe-inspiring house.

 I was told by locals that I wasn't permitted to go anywhere near it. There was a Kali Mandir outside with a board which said "vetala", which in Sanskrit means an evil spirit taking demonic possession of a corpse, according to folklore. Being the avid photographer that I am, I wanted to get closer to capture the mystique of the house. However, I had to abide by the locals. A certain community had built the temple and had performed several rituals to keep the spirit out. When I asked them about the story behind the house, they told me this : years ago, a family of four who lived in the house set themselves on fire under uncanny circumstances and died. Since then the house had been out of bounds and subject to several protective enchantments and rituals. There was another house named Mon Plaisir nearby, which was abandoned as well because it probably belonged to the same family or was considered just as ominous. It was the quintessential "Bhoot Bangla". I just dismissed it as an old wives tale. It was undeniably just a source of entertainment for the people in a small, uneventful town.

The Actual Haunted House

I don't believe in paranormal, unearthly and supernatural elements and occults. So instead of being haunted by the extramundane story I had just heard, I tried to find a rational reason for their death. The most probable and pragmatic answer that struck me was that the family may have been facing unresolvable financial problems, and so resorted to death. Isn't that possible? Why can't we think logically? Just because we can't find an answer, why blame it on supernatural elements?

 

Mon Plaisir

P.S. - Sorry for the overload. This is the last post on Panchgani promise :p

The Best Meal of My Life

Where did you have the best meal of your life? Which was your most distinct gourmet experience? A lavish all-you-can-eat buffet with a spread that was a pure gastronomical delight at the Taj? That's what you mostly hear. Well I had the best meal of my life cooked by a farmer in the middle of a rural road.

I was on my way back home after a memorable road trip with family when we stopped over for lunch in the middle of a road, at a shack selling sugarcane juice. Initially, I had reservations about having a rustic Maharashtrian meal. But once the modest steel plate was handed to me, I gorged on it. It was the most ambrosial, delectable meal my taste buds have ever experienced. The dish is traditionally eaten by farmers in Maharashtra and called pitla bhakari. It consists of a gravy made from gram flour and flat bread made from bajra (pearl millet). It was served with an appetising chutney made from garlic and chillies. We ended the meal with several glasses of sugarcane juice which trust me, is nothing short of elixir. It was one of the best moments of my life.

Turned out the farmer and his family had that everyday. So simple yet so delicious. Now coming to the philosophical side (sorry not sorry), why did those villagers look more content than us city dwellers? Is it that possessions are directly proportional to discontent? The more we own, the more dissatisfied we are. How could the farmer and his family be happy living in a house in the middle of a rural road, making their living from selling sugarcane juice and farming? Is it that possessions are directly proportional to discontent?

The Sugarcane Juice Shack

The Stable

The Farmer and his Wife quite readily posed for the camera

My dog slurping up sugarcane juice

P.S. - Being the glutton that I am I couldn't get a picture of the meal since I was too engrossed hogging it up.

The Miss Perfect Dilemma

Okay so this article appeared in Hindustan Times on Tuesday, 18th June but it was shortened so...

One evening, as I was trying to kill boredom through a popular social networking site, I was looking at pictures of a schoolmate’s birthday party that I wasn’t invited to. Looking at how thin, pretty and popular she was made me go green with envy. I cursed myself because I wasn’t perfect. I cursed myself because I didn’t “fit in”.

Social networking sites and teenagers are inseparable. We feel a constant urge to post about everything going on in our lives to update our followers. And teenaged girls thrive on Internet fame. Everyone loves getting attention, their few seconds in the online limelight. Due to this teenaged girls feel the need to always look their best and stay on top of trends.

We always want to give an impression that our life’s a party. Our online identities are what we want to be, rather than what we actually are. I have realized that people are more unknowable than they were before the Internet. It’s all about getting maximum attention. The main reason why sites like Facebook and Twitter are popular is because even a person who is shy and unpopular in reality can have hundreds of online friends and followers. Teenagers get easily pulled into this abyss of narcissism. They want to get maximum likes, comments or retweets. Social networking is a charade where everyone wants to impress. This throws up strange conundrums in the minds of teenaged girls. They feel self-conscious and pressured to post lots of pictures of them engaging in fun activities or just random photos taken from a webcam, and look good in all of them. Photo editing apps are like oxygen for them. And it does not end at just posting photos. They want to get an inspirational caption, even if it has nothing to do with the picture, and then they crave for likes and comments. They reply to every comment, whether good or bad. We also constantly stalk popular people online, and end up comparing ourselves with them. Everyone gets bitten by the green-eyed monster. We check photos of them partying and holidaying in exotic locations, revealing our worst fault – not being able to be happy for others. This also gives rise to a feeling called “Facebook Envy”.

The pressure to constantly look good has proved very harmful. There has been a rise in cases of depression, attempted suicides, substance abuse, self-harm and eating disorders like anorexia nervosa and bulimia. 

Social networking has done more harm than good in some cases. We have forgotten that each person is unique and get depressed instead when we see other people getting what we don’t have. It has been a colossal time waster. So the solution is to limit our time online and instead focus on reality. Online is NOT real time. Most of the content is fake and so are people’s identities. So learn to live IRL (In Real Life) and not make online your life.

Mumbai Runs Through My Veins - Part I