hair weave, superstar, things that amuse

Sivaji stills. Thankyouuuu thank youuuu.

What a style, i say! I still remember Chandramukhi's hilarious "Idhu yen sattai, yen dabbu, my kaas, my money! Naan kizhucchu poduven, thiruppi poduven!" Or something to that effect. Okok. It means "It's my shirt, my money. I'll tear it and wear it, or turn it inside-out and wear it!"

Vivek follows Rajni. I must take long dupatta to wipe my tears of laughter.
















Well, isn't she shocked. Whatever for. It isn't as if they wouldn't have told her he's coming in cargos. Actually, i liked it better when he came in the white pant, and white shoes, in a bullock cart. Wonder what this character travels in.














Paarvaya paren... How sweet, the bouncy hair even has a shadow. :)















Whistlewhistle CLAPCLAAAAAP!!!!

whose festival?

It's difficult to explain to why, suddenly, blue is so offensive, pink so loud-mouthed, yellow so coarse, and green... cool green, suddenly so shrill, so vulgar. When they come charging like that, without a second thought about whether I want a stranger to slap me with colour or not, how can colour be just that?

It's simple. I have never played Holi. They all shopped for white, I went along. They sat for hours discussing whose house we could play holi in, whose parents will "allow boys". I hugged a cushion and sat in. They fixed the time. I said I was free. But then on holi, I'd have fever. Or my "strict parents didn't give permission". After a while they caught on, and it became another thing that was me. Friends understand. They don’t drag me out of the vegetable shop and say "Aaj holi hai, rang tho daalna hi hoga". And then crazy me with all that disgusting colour.

Whose hand is this? Why is it on my clothes? In my clothes? Why must I like your festival? You're not my friend. This is not my celebration.

Every channel kept saying, "If you’re an Indian, you will love the pichkaari, you will like the shower of colour." All day. Even after one guy in every office shouted himself hoarse about it only being celebrated in "most of North India". He was labelled intolerant and parochial. He’s only just protecting his personal space. Why must the stationary shopkeeper in Bangalore be the one to first tell himself to learn Hindi? It's telling that the first thing new-comers to Karnataka learn is "Kannada gotthilla", and in Chennai, it's "Tamil theriyadhu". Well delivered with the appropriately dismissive wave. That way, there is no danger of them accidentally learning a few functional lines in the language. Oh the horror.

I'd join in the festivities if I'd like. But I don't fancy eggshells sliding down my hair and unknown nails scratching my arm. But I don't like being told I must celebrate because Punjab and Delhi is. Chennai and Bangalore don't celebrate Holi. Some north Indians in these cities do. Why must their celebration be shown big on TV if no one cared about people celebrating Pongal or Sankranti in Haryana? I've had the pulls and pushes of a Delhi-centric 'national' English news channel lectured to me by many a long-timer. But it still refuses to permeate my brain. I still am offended that news from the South must fall in a separate show, too strange to naturally flow into other national news. Except, of course, when "South Indian film actor Mohanlal" acts in a Bollywood movie or when "Kannads ask for ban on non-Kannad films in theatres".

But let that be. Anyone who can't take anymore can run away from it all one day, can switch off the television. But what about the group of guys who accost the already-cowering girl on the street. 'If you don't want to play, stay indoors'. Even the police will tell you you should've stayed at home for your own safety. Just like you must stop going by train if too many people grab your ass. It's my freedom. It's your fault you’re such a spoilsport. Your fault you don't like being part of the games and feeling up. Aaj tho holi hai. Rang tho daalna hi hoga.

Some people take their job too seriously.

counting sheep

So many thought-images just float by as my floppy pillow grows on either side of my head. It's like I'm burying my head in a cottony thought cloud. Sleep is far far away, because the horrible temple festival drum is beating nearer and nearer. (Do they really have to do it everyday? And isn't 2 a.m supposed to be the hour of demons?)

My flatmate, also awake, messages me from her room. "What do we have at home for homicide?"

*

Homicide. How easily, no? Amma felt sad about Rang De Basanti… nice jokes, she said. But "why did they show youth like that? I can't ever imagine that you'll have a bomb in your hand..." Was it depressing, ma? No, they're telling you there's no point. You're going to have to die for anything to change.

*

This lawyer and combed-over journo are talking. What am I doing standing here? I finished asking my questions, no? I pretend someone's calling me in the distance. I look away. For two seconds. I turn back around to see the lawyer's shifty eyes and his hand slipping into his pocket. The journo is nodding a thanks with a sick smirk. How much did he give him? Should I? Oh my wallet's in the car. Ways of the world, my dad used to say. You're young, you won't understand.

*

“You're too young to say 'I'm too busy to eat well'." The good doctor's office. Dettol smelling old nurse nods a "wait", walks away. The older nurse sits on the stairs leading nowhere. Grunts. Adjusts her thick spectacles. Dettol nurse wheezes and sits at the reception (Triple-god photo with... linear light, is it called?). "Where is that Jyoti? It's 8! Never does shift properly."

Old nurse: Why don't you leave?

Dettol: Young thing no... just married... night time, where she'll come?

Old: Didn't she have full morning? Leave it. Youngsters have no discipline.

Dettol: I had when I was in daawani (half-sari). No one to slap her into good behaviour, that's what.

Old: But that other girl Deepa comes correctly, pa! Didn't marry. Like us only.

Dettol: She will become a very good nurse.

*

"Aiyo I don't want one drunk fellow to hit me every night. My salary is for me only." But today she said, "I'm paying my brother's tuition fees that's why I work for you, ok?" Door slams. Usha akka. She laughs at us inside, I know. And shouts at me when I run for my crap leaving the milk on the stove. She doesn't like that I'm older than her by two years.

*

What a college thing to say. "Nothing goes with burger and fries like Coke". These children. But they get so tall these days. Maybe I should give up rice and take up buns and fried potatoes.

*

Potatoes are stinking in the kitchen. Only till the end of the month. I have to leave.

*

Oh, Saturday is my off. Will meet...

Ah. Sleep.