Life of Pi

Saw 'Life of Pi' today. Beautifully made and very well acted, although nowhere close to the book (read three years ago). Nonetheless, I'm sad that a larger part of the world now knows about such a wonderful story, like my own secret treasure has been revealed to the world.

(As I wrote this, I realized that it would be bad for the author if his work was not popular, and also that I am ridiculously possessive. *sigh*) 

The Jeans Resurrected

My mother wore Jeans today. She was so cute >_<

This is the only pair of jeans she owns. Belonging to a generation that is more comfortable in salwar suits than saris (which belong to an even older generation) or denims (more for my generation), my mother bought this pair six years ago, before our trip to the West. The unlucky pair of denims saw the lights, streets and sights of Paris for a day before being relegated permanently to the bottom of the suitcase and then, the trunk at home. 

By some unknown miracle of God, the Jeans have been resurrected tonight. All doubts ('I look so fat', 'People will laugh at me') were banished as my mother bravely put on the Jeans with a simple kurti and dupatta. All wishful ('I wish I could wear such simple clothes. Rimi looks so comfortable.') and envious ('She's my age but carries those Jeans so well') thoughts were cast aside as mum took a bold step into a new world (or so I hope...).

Curse of the Great White Flake

The Great White Flake is the moment you discover that you have a problem, that black clothing has become your enemy, that your hair is about to start abandoning you and that your monthly expense on basic necessities is about to rise three-fold. The discovery of the Great White Flake may occur as you comb your hair, as a friend or family member oils it for you, as your stylist is about to cut it or simply when you wake up one morning with an itchy scalp. Yes, those stricken with this curse will have recognised what I am talking about. For they would have remembered their own difficult struggle, a life-long battle for many, with dandruff.

For as long as I can remember, my family has been plagued with the curse. Grandparents, cousins, aunts and the father all subscribe to it. Many of my friends too show signs of the white flake. It seems almost natural for this writer to suffer from the curse too. It would almost be strange if she didn't. 

Many remedies have been tried and many cures been tested. Yet, the white flakes come and go as they please. Anti-dandruff shampoos only cause further hair loss, homeopaths rob us of our money while dermatologists consider the white flakes the easy solution to (in my opinion) allergic reactions. Even combing the hair regularly only increases the quantity of the flakes. Not combing it is out of the question: a shaggy, long-haired ghost is not my ideal me. Home remedies such as applying some curd or lemon juice have failed, leaving the (how I wish lustrous) mane dry or smelly or even more itchy. Oiling the hair before a wash provides only temporary relief. A hair spa regularly every month from one particular L'oreal outlet on Camac Street worked  wonders but was quickly abandoned as being too expensive for this unemployed law student and too time-consuming.

However, those cursed with the flake need not despair! Even if all remedies fail and it seems as though the war as been lost, you WILL emerge victorious in the end. If you live long enough, your hair will all fall off with age and those accursed white flakes, with no home to go to will fall away with it. My grandfather's experience is testimony to this fact. After four decades of battling the curse, he Won. Unfortunately, as a woman, I cannot place much hope on this last resort, but male readers must keep the faith. Live and you will have won.   

All said and done, one should always look for the silver lining. Perhaps the cursee can turn the curse to his/her advantage by viewing it in a different light. Want to test if someone is a true friend? Check if they come close in spite of the curse. Want to cause harm to your greatest enemy? Send the curse flying in their direction (studies estimate that people are concerned not about the condition but the low confidence levels dandruff brings; they also estimate that dandruff isn't contagious, but one can always hope). You can hog the pillow at a sleep-over (with people that arn't your true friends as concluded above) or use it as an ice-breaker at boring parties ("Oh my! Is that dandruff I see...").

While we wait for the great minds of this world to stop scratching their heads and design a cure for the great white flake, this writer only has one message for those under the curse: You are not alone. 50% of the world's population suffers from the curse at least once in their lives. Be proud of your endurance and do not be cowed down by those clean, shiny, free-of-the-white-flake manes that TV models possess. May the force be with you!

 Note: The author is a very credible authority on the subject. She has been battling this curse since her recovery from the Pox for some reason associated with chickens, 11 years i.e. exactly half her life ago. 

Thought for the day #1

Could it be that some men are afraid of homosexuality or other gay men because they (the ones who are afraid) know how a guy's mind works, and know just how dirty their thoughts can get? This makes me think that the ones women should be wary of, are the aforementioned scared men. After all, arn't they the ones with minds so perverted that they run at the very thought of someone else eyeing them in the same way they eye women?

The Cat Named T

There was once a cat I loved very much. For the purposes of this blogpost, lets call her 'T'. 

T came to us on a rainy night in Bombay, curled up over an identical sibling and shivering on our porch, seeking shelter from the ruthless rain and strong winds. I don't recall why I opened the door of our ground-floor apartment that night, but I thank God for letting it be me that did. We gave them some milk and a dry cloth to sleep on and next morning, found that only one had remained on the porch that night. I've always wondered why the other left.

T was a beautiful light grey, with darker lines running horizontally and hesitatingly across her upper body. On the underside, she was soft and a dazzling white. Strong and nimble from her wild life in the city jungle, yet reflecting the peculiar grace that only those animals who have been loved and cared for, possess, T was a picture of elegance.

T took over my nine year old self from the day we first met. As the years went by, my family and I grew  increasingly attached to our Queen -- we fed her, vaccinated her, washed her, played with her, gave her shelter when she had her litter and over time, fell in love with her. T had free reign over the house and unlimited access to food. My memories of T are wonderful -- sleeping next to me on the bean bag while I read a book, chasing after the rope while I ran as fast as I could, lording over my lap while I watched TV, being yelled at by mother because she (T) had peed in the house ("pitegi mere se!"), giving birth to her kittens (named Erie and Mints) and then cleaning them thoroughly with her tongue. I cringe when I remember the day we dabbed the stinging ointment for tics. She yowled and mewled and scratched and fought with all her feral might.

However, T was never once 'our' cat. Owing to certain circumstances, we cannot keep pets at home and therefore, T remained a stray. She came and went as she pleased, often disappearing for days at a time, but always coming back to her territory--our house and the area outside. We were her playmates and the providers of shelter, and sometimes, food. Eventually, when we changed houses two or three years later, we chose to leave her behind because T was not 'ours', we were merely the human occupants in her territory. 

I only hope that T lived a happy and safe life. Were you alright after we left? Did you miss us? Did you resent us for leaving you behind? I wish as strongly now as I did then, that we could have taken you with us. I am reminded of you every diwali-- my strong, brave, wonderful grey-white cat, cowering in fear from the light and sound of the fireworks. Did the coming years bring you any more love?

Perhaps you will be brought to me again in this life, now that I am older and finally in a position to take care of you. Know that you will be loved, always.

---X---

"I meant," said Ipslore bitterly, "what is there in this world that truly makes living worthwhile?"

Death thought about it. "CATS", he said eventually. "CATS ARE NICE.”

-- Terry Pratchett, Sourcery