Life As I Knew It- Part One

So,here I am,in Mohali,far far away from Hyderabad.We’re a part of a huge team working relentlessly to build a new Indian School of Business in Punjab.

Living in a city completely alien to you does different things to different people.Some take to the change like a fish takes to water,some hit a few road bumps and dawdle around and some,like me,arrive with enthusiasm bursting at the seams and as reality hits,sag into a sorry lump of humanity,hoping and praying for their senses to return from their extended vacation and help them enjoy the experience.

The first week of my stay at Chandigarh was spent staring at the hotel room ceiling.Occasionally,the window too.A fever had somehow found my address and had quite overstayed its welcome.The hotel we were put up at was one of the very best.Superb hospitality,fantastic cuisines and soft,warm beds,extremely inviting and cozily made up.The hotel stay taught me irony in a cruel fashion.All those succulent dishes to eat,but a massive stomach upset ensured I could only gulp hot soup with pepper and watch my colleagues devour one tasty dish after another.

The house hunt,which began in the middle of the week,soon sapped us of the last vestiges of energy left.The houses were either too small or too dark or way beyond our means.We almost decided to build one ourselves and use some exercise,but God intervened and saved us the trouble.We got a house.The interrogation we went through and the number of identification papers we had to produce was at par with international standards.Movie wise,I mean.

A huge,empty house welcomed us with wide open windows and doors,letting in all the sunlight,dust and friendly bacteria and viruses.Just to say hello to the new tenants.To buy a bed was the next thing on our checklist and off we went to a second hand furniture store.We haggled and pleaded with the dealer into selling two rickety beds and a couple of lumpy mattresses.Getting them all the way up to the second floor was a noteworthy achievement,given that the staircase was built to topple human beings.

I am scared of my bed.I’m afraid if I put just the tiniest bit of pressure more than what is currently being applied,it will give way.I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night to ensure that my bed is on four legs.The mattress will flatten before I do,and will soon merge with the wood of the bed before the end of the month,I’m sure of that.

New mathematics.A mug equals a bucket.How, you ask.Lacking a bucket,we each bought a huge mug and now stand in front of the tap,waiting for the mug to fill and then bathe.It’s a very stimulating exercise,one that gives a perspective on what’s important in life.

Food.We recall our hotel days with a fond nostalgia,with a lot of wistfulness thrown in.Sandwiches are a staple food item in our diet,as are Lays chips ( baked,not fried) and biscuits.Several hours of mind numbness later,we hit upon the idea of hiring a tiffin service for our dinners.Sometimes it’s rajma as a vegetable,sometimes it’s rajma as a dal.But it’s always there,glaring at you,challenging you to finish it till the last drop.

This is Week One of our settling in.More updates as the weeks go by.

Hope my bed lives to see the dawn of another day.

Networking Sights

Until a few years ago,the only networking I knew was when someone would ask me,”Net working?” and I’d reply in the affirmative or negative.It was only after entering the third and final year of college that a senior introduced me to Orkut and made me sign up.She was horrified to discover my utter lack of knowledge about the networking site and immediately began a series of tutorials,hoping to get me onto the networking bandwagon.Facebook followed soon after,along with Twitter,MySpace and LinkedIn.I felt immensely proud of myself every time I opened an account with a networking site.I was now a part of the networking junta,and could converse easily with the other “sited” people and assume an air of mild condescence when talking to a non-site person.”I got poked” “Fifty people just liked my comment” “My comment got RTed twenty times”.The poor blokes would stare at me with their mouths slightly open,and listen attentively to this new language emerging from my mouth.

Social networking sites boomed out of nowhere and became ingrained in our tech DNA.Not having a profile on a site automatically renders you to an alien category.”You don’t have a Facebook profile?Omg,are you like,even from this planet?” Two of my colleagues were engaged in an intense chatting session in office.It would’ve been a normal situation but for the fact that they were sitting right next to each other.

You do anything,you put in on your profile.Woke up at 6 am today and had noodles for breakfast?Got a new phone? Cried after watching Casablanca? Read Dostoevsky? Put it all on your profile.Watch the sea of comments emerge.Counter comment.Block offensive comments.Poke people back.Send them virtual gifts.Oh,also become a farmer online.Have your own crops,till the land,plant exotic vegetables and fruits.Or you can also open a cafe and see it flourish.If not feeling particularly up to it,let your neighbor’s crops wither and die.But be prepared for a mega poke from him.

Virtual friends outnumber the flesh and blood ones.570 friends.700 friends.I even saw a profile with 10,000 friends.Chatting with ten people simultaneously is easy compared to having a heart-to-heart with a trusted buddy.Watching photos on a computer screen can never rival flipping through an album with friends all around you,laughing and sharing memories.I particuarly cringe when someone mentions e-readers.How can the glossy glass surface of an e-reader possibly match up to a real book,with real pages,smelling of old wood and print?

True,these sites have definitely connected billions of people.I’ve found and am in touch with almost all of my classmates since kindergarten.That’s an amazing feat of technology.To find people and information from any corner of the globe.True,I like it when someone “Likes” my comment or posts a compliment on my photos.True,I like it when I am able to chat with my old schoolmates and keep in touch with their lives.But also true is the fact that no networking site,no simulation program can ever replace real human emotions and real human touch.You might go online and dive into all the sites possible,but at the end of the day,you just want to turn the darn thing off and race home to a good meal,a warm hug,a meaningful conversation and a good night’s sleep.

***********************************************************************************************************

Heard the other day.

Two of my colleagues talking.One of them,not so tech savvy.

C1(into the phone):Are you online?

C2:(puzzled):Yes.

C1:But I can’t see your status here.

C2(more puzzled):What status?

C1(irritated):Uff..your status.Status online.

C2(angry now):Listen.I’m on the line.What are you talking about?What status?

C1:Wait a sec.Did you say on the line?

C2(really angry):Of course,you genius.How can I talk to you otherwise?I’m on this line.

C1(understanding):Oh.You’re offline,but on the line.I get it.

C2(putting the phone down and walking away,shaking her head)

Minding Your P’s and Queues

To a rank and uninformed outsider,India would seem to be a land of snakes,their charmers,rogue elephants,cattle herds running amok between traffic,BPOs,Bollywood,stench,paan spittle,uneven roads,sometimes no roads at all….The list goes on.But there’s something which every Indian is familiar with.And studiously ignores as well.

A queue.

Defined as “a line or sequence of people or vehicles awaiting their turn to be attended to or to proceed” by the Oxford English Dictionary,it simply means a waste of time for us.Why should we stand in a queue?A queue is for people who are too meek to get their way.Survival of the fittest,said Darwin.We took it literally.Pushing and shoving one another to get to the front of a line,if any,requires an amazingly fit body and an even fitter mind.In order to survive the surge of humanity bearing down upon you,you need all your mental faculties in place.

We recently went on a trip to Shirdi.To say that we survived the trip unscathed is a testimony of God’s presence.I became a believer.

A queue,did you say? Uff yaar,time waste.We’re extremely time conscious.For a 7 pm wedding reception,we’ll always be two hours late.Not more,mind you.Only two hours.Queues also mean having to wait till your turn arrives.Wait a minute.Wasn’t patience a virtue with all Indians?Then why this cribbing?Because though we have ample training in patience,we have also acquired a PhD in Me-First.How can another person get served before me?No way.And off you go,jumping queues like kangaroos in a hurry.

Queue cutters are looked upon with awe.They are masters of the jumping movement.You can easily spot them in a queue.They’re the ones with a gleam in their eyes,a twitch in their arms and constantly crane their necks to find that tiny gap in the queue.It only takes a second for these jumpers to make their move.The person in front of them will never know what hit him.He’ll stand gaping like a goldfish while the jumper merrily saunters ahead,wearing a smug expression on his face.No amount of protest will work with them.The high decibels emanating from their throats and the Hulk-like demeanor will subdue the poor protestor within minutes.

Many interesting characters are found in queues.The watch-checker,who sighs and shifts feet with every passing minute to indicate his importance;the gossip who delightfully recounts the events of the day before to anyone who shows a slight sliver of interest;the harried mother with an increasingly irritable toddler;the surly office worker who has sacrificed her lunch break to get the work done;anxious college going souls who have just managed to make the deadline for their exam form receipts.

A queue is something which has always been around and will never go away.Wouldn’t it be infinitely better if we started minding our pleases and thank-“queues”?

A Wedding Scene

Weddings are the only instances when I wish I were a guy.Getting up late and doing no work?Check.Getting away with wearing a jeans and a shirt?Check.Sneaking off in the middle of the ceremony to stuff yourself with food?Check.Ducking away every time relatives approach you for any matrimony related gyaan?Check.Don’t get me wrong.Women are lovely,nice people when not preparing for a wedding.When they do,it’s like  they undergo a transformation.They shriek,yell,holler and run hither and thither.You keep women and weddings separate,there’s harmony.When the two collide,it’s utter chaos.Here’s a scene from a real life wedding which I witnessed at close quarters.

(Dozens of bejeweled women sitting on the floor,surrounded by boxes of wedding-y stuff.A couple of men scattered around the room,quietly trying to watch TV)

Woman#1: These sarees go in this box.The ones which we have to give to the boy’s family go in this suitcase.Hey! no jumping on the bed.The invitations are still lying there.Why doesn’t anyone do anything around here?Am I the only one who has to keep track of all these things? I really—-”

Woman#3:I just came back from the parlor.I went at around 11:30 and they took forever to do my facial.I tell you,these parlors nowadays have become so high and mighty.And look at my hair,the color’s still not right.I didn’t pay them the full amount. And you know—-”

Woman#2: Why do we have to give this nice sari to (so and so relative)? I mean,has she ever invited us to any of the functions in her family?I’m not going to give her this one.(Rummages for another less expensive saree).There.This is much better.What does she think of herself—-”

(One of the men gingerly shifts his position to view the TV better and drops the remote in the process)

Woman#5:Oof.So clumsy.Cannot even take care of the remote.You can help us,instead of watching this stupid match.Why do you even watch the match?What fun is there in watching a dozen men run after a small ball?Oh God,kids,watch those invitations,do not step on them.Will you listen—-”

Man#1:(inaudible)

Woman#10:What?I can’t hear what you’re saying.

Man#1:How can I help?

Woman#7:You can start by sorting these into three categories.One,for the boy’s side,two for the ones we’ll be giving to the bride and three…(to Woman#4) which is the last category?

Woman#4:I’m not sure.Let me recall what grandmother told us to do.(Starts the recall).Oh yes.The third category is extra.

Man#2:(blankly):Extra?

Woman#5:Ya,you know,if more people turn up than what was expected,we need to have extra gifts in hand to give them.We cannot fall short of anything.

Man#1:If we have distributed a certain number of invitations,why will there be extra people?

Woman#1(exasperated):Arree,what if some friends of the people decide to join them?We cannot say no to more people.After all,it’s a wedding.The more,the merrier.

Woman#8:How will we leave for the venue tomorrow?There are three cars and twenty-five of us,plus a house full of gifts.I was thinking,we should hire a truck to transport the gifts and other stuff earlier in the day and then we can all go there.

(A discussion about the transport logistics begins.Three women support one idea,four are on the other side and the others are busy packing the wedding stuff inside boxes.The bride-to-be arrives)

B2B:Where’s all my jewelry?I want to see each piece again and color coordinate it with my dresses.I want to match all my accessories now.I won’t have time afterwards.

Woman#9:But we’re just packing it all up.

B2B:No no no no no no pleeease.Open it up again.

(Color coordination begins and never ends.Both men have left the room by now and are in the adjoining room,watching the match.

Man#1:Busy day tomorrow,eh?

Man#2:Yeah.

Tried,Tested and Examined

Ever wonder how many exams each one of us,on an average,goes through? Right from the innocent first grade to the cutthroat jungle of later years,all of us have gone through the rigmarole,some more than the others.Begin with childhood.A three year old kid is whisked off to a chic playschool by his eager parents.Even before the mite can understand,he or she is carefully taught nursery rhymes,the alphabet and numeric exercises,all this to please and impress the school authorities.Getting one’s kid admitted into a posh preschool is a matter of extreme importance in this era.There.The kid is packed off to class along with other carefully screened three year olds,all of them dutifully spouting lines of verse in a language building class and putting together playing blocks in an intellectual activity class. Innocence be damned,we want our kids to grow up into polished and suave adults.

Next come the primary school years.Starting from grade one to grade five or six,these years are marked by a continual and consistent series of exams which arrive with unfailing regularity.Given the fine examination structure of our country,where the mind is always put to the test with questions warranting insight,like “define so-and-so” and “describe the structure of this” and “draw a neatly labelled diagram of this insect”,it’s no wonder that our kids develop fine questioning,analytical and reasoning skills by the time they reach middle and high school,where another set of unique exams await them.We have the mid-term,first term,second term exams,with the ubiquitous unit tests popping up in between,before the finals present themselves.The final exams,most importantly,those for the tenth and twelfth grade kids,are your basic Litmus tests.Most of the times,kids turn blue after losing all oxygen to the rigorous exam prep whereupon their parents see red.Even purple.The outcome of these exams seal the kid’s future forever.The percentage scored on the exams is a status symbol for the parents.That’s my 98.5568% daughter there.Accepted into IIT Delhi.Next step?Of course IIM-A.What does she want?Um…never asked.Oh you’re a 90% percent parent?That’s the line for you,over there.Go on.

AIEEE,IIT,EAMCET,PMT,AIPMT.Acronyms that instill nameless dread amongst the student population.Studying for the tests instantly transforms one into a wandering,bleary eyed ghost.For what purpose,you ask?Nobody knows.Just as nobody has any clue as to why India produces so many engineers and doctors on a yearly basis.

Words I understand perfectly:Engineering,medicine,accountancy,commerce,management.

Dictionary,please:Sociology,psychology,library science.

Alien dictionary,please:Museology,fresco painting,monument repairing,manuscript restoring.

The graduate who emerges from the country’s college has another set of exams awaiting him.CAT,MAT,GMAT,GRE,NET,SLET,JRF.Now,these exams are not the wondrous pieces of intellectual exercises as were practised in school.They are direct,brutal and fundamental to the core.So,our highly engineered and suave graduate has to go back to his roots to have a go at them.Academics do not have it easy either.You’ve got a pre PhD,a JRF,an SRF,a candidacy paper,the PhD and also the Post Doctoral Fellow degree.

We are examined at every step of our lives.We are like guinea pigs in God’s experiments,constantly running from one exam to the other,fulfilling criteria,posting forms,collecting hall tickets,dreading the results.Is God more Pavlovian or Skinnerian?You pick.

Learning never ceases.Apparently,neither do exams.

>’Bus’y Body

>Why is it that when you want to board a bus,the entire populace at the bus stop also harbors similar thoughts and jumps in with you? Traveling in a RTC bus is nothing short of heroic and everybody who makes it to their destination in one piece is a hero in my book.You arrive at the bus stop,wearing your best work dress,with a carefree smile on your lips,a song or two perhaps in your heart.You look around the milieu,people milling all around the various scattered bus stops.There is a general din of chatter,the blaring honking sounds make you wish you were deaf and you try to fight off a most determined fly hell bent upon making its home on top of your nose,when all of a sudden,the bus looms in the corner.The big blue and red bus charges its way towards your stop and you begin to feel energized.But as it slowly trudges up to you,about a hundred people materialize out of nowhere.You blink in surprise.Are these magic people?Your surprise gives way to a slowly but steadily rising panic as you realize that the magic people will take over the bus and there won’t be any spot left for you.At first,you politely stand in the queue and let you humanness shine.”What a fellow” and “Such a genial species of the human race” are the remarks you hear in your head when you see the queue quickly dissolve into a mass of humanity,all intent upon squeezing inside the bus.You abandon all thoughts of humanness and savagely enter the bus only to be knocked aside,jerked hither and thither by one of the magic people who does not possess a dictionary and therefore doesn’t know what the word “diet” means.
There you are.All squashed up against a metal pole which eats into your ribs every time the bus jerks forward.People all around you are hanging onto the metal bars for dear life.Some find space on the floor of the bus and take their positions with a firm resolve.You cannot feel your limbs,they have been detached from your body and will reassemble when your stop comes.Somehow you manage to extricate money to pay for the ticket and in the process,lose your change.You grope around in the sea of people,inviting glares and curses from the bus populace.When you come up,exhausted with your exertions,you find to your dismay that all the oxygen from the bus has been sucked up.As the level of carbondioxide dangerously increase inside,you wish you had access to a jet plane or were one of the characters in the Harry Potter books.Nice time they must be having,those wizard blokes,flying around on their broomsticks and smirking at the bus people below.
Everybody seems to love this bus.Nobody wants to get down and more people keep entering.The bus is almost a hundred years old and keeps thinking of retiring.It protests in its own small ways;grunting while running,stopping entirely in the middle of a traffic jam and making strange noises each time the gear is changed.
Some people get off.You heave a sigh of relief.Oxygen,which had leapt out of the bus in a frenzy,now decides to return.You breathe in the air,and feel a contented smile creeping up from the depths of your soul.You sit tight on your seat,determined to enjoy the ride,when a family of five climbs up in the bus.After stamping on your toes and crushing your dress,the head of the family squishes one of the kids onto your lap.You don’t have a choice but to make sure that the bawling kid does not jump out of the window next to you.Kids,as a general rule,should not be allowed on public buses.And kids less than five years of age should be fined for doing so.They squirm,yowl,punch,scream and think that the bus is owned by their father.You manage a polite smile and wait for the harried mother to get a seat.As soon as she gets one,you happily plonk the kid onto her lap and a major weight is lifted off your chest.
By now,some more people get off and you start feeling brotherly towards them again.Humanity appeals to you as do lofty ideals and notions.There is more of oxygen now and you wave a cheery goodbye to carbondioxide,who slinks off,to find another bus.Your stop approaches and you stagger off the bus.You enter the bus feeling on top of the world and you get off it praising the Lord for keeping you alive.

>Life In Retro

>For quite sometime now,I have been living in the past with regards to TV shows.As a couch potato of the highest order,it is my prime duty to watch TV with a religious fervour.And I do not disappoint.Getting bored of the routine storyless soaps and endless punar janams of my usual channels,I switched on to Times Now.”Total Recall”,which is aired on the weekends is such a refreshing breath of TV show air.Every week,they showcase the life and times of a famous personality of the yesteryears or sometimes they discuss the changing trends in cinema.
I had the most enjoyable experience watching the Total Recall of Shammi Kapoor,Shankar Jaikishan,Naushad and Guru Dutt.Really,one does gets transported back to the days of yore,when these legends walked on the earth and mesmerised us with their work.No wonder the years between 1940 and 1960 were called the golden years of Hindi cinema.
Shammi Kapoor,the eternal entertainer.Watching him jump with a wild Yahoo!!,serenade actresses with that slight mischievous smile and unruly hair and emote effortlessly is a sheer visual treat.He had none of today’s six or eight pack abs to boast of,only oodles and oodles of unmatchable energy and talent.
The music of Shankar Jaikishan and Naushad has been a benchmark for others to follow and no doubt,many reams of paper have been exhausted in singing their peans.But the truth remains:listening to those gems,those wonderfully composed lyrical masterpieces,one cannot help but marvel at three of God’s children who came,saw,conquered and etched their mark in our hearts forever.
Guru Dutt.A synonym for maverick cinema.His movies,gloomy and depressing,yet encompassing true slices of life were filled with insights into behavior of every kind.It is really sad that he passed away at a young age.There is no telling how much more he could have accomplished if he had lived.His characters were flesh and blood,with flaws and blemishes,whom we could connect with.The haunting,gripping and soulful music was a notch above everything;the tunes completely captured the mood of the film.
I was in seventh heaven of delight when I discovered this quaint little one hour show.Revisiting those old times and learning more about the legends gone by is a good use of an hour.One thing though-even if all of these wonderful gifted people have passed on to the kingdom of heaven,their creations are here to stay.They will remain etched onto the hearts and minds of people,for generations to come.

>My Hyderabad Experience:Part One

>I’ve decided to call this first part “The General Panorama”.I’ve been in Hyderabad for a year and a half and I think it’s time I wrote about it.So,here goes.It may turn out to be a venting,raving and ranting session,so those precious few who read my blog and get bored are welcome to say so.

1.Weather:Nice,noncommital topic to begin with.The weather over here is almost always deliciously balmy and calm.Not too hot,never too cold but in between humid.Rains have a special affinity towards this city and it keeps on pouring at regular intervals.

2.Water:Since I was a kid,my mom used to drill in my still forming brain the virtues of the water of Hyderabad.”The water and air of this city are like nowhere else” was her constant mantra whenever the heat and dust of my beloved Ahmedabad got too much for her.I never believed her till now.The water is indeed magical,coz it miraculously cured my pimple and pimple-scar ridden face into something people can recognize as a face.

3.Roads:Sorry,did I say roads?Must’ve been outta my mind.Finding a proper cemented depotholed road is akin to having an alien from Andromeda saying good morning to you in pure Hindi.

4.People:I seriously believe people here are from another time,planet and space.Merely wearing a simple pair of jeans and a tee is enough to garner more attention than say,India winning the World Cup.

5.Language:Ha,my favorite part.Hyderabadi hindi is something that has to be experienced.It’s a weirdly endearing sound.”Nakko bhai,hum nahi khaata” (No thanks,I do not eat this);”Hum aata,to tum kyun jaata” (Why do you leave when I come?);”Movie bout accha hai kathe” (it seems the movie is very nice).The first time I heard these dialouges,I couldn’t stop laughing at the person’s face.Now I laugh in my room.

6.Houses:The houses in Hyderabad are the quaintest feature of this city.While on one hand you have your typical high rises,posh localities and trying-to-be-posh localities,it’s the other hand that interests me the most.Most areas still have those little delectable looking bungalows with their courtyards,a well in the backyard,rows and rows of flower pots overlooking the verandah and a little red postbox attached to the five feet high metal gate.I’m so glad I’m living in one of these houses.That’s not to say I do not like my home in Vickynagar(Jhims,our colony in the best in the world!!).

Okay,this post ends here.This was just an overview of what Hyderabad felt like.
To me,that is.The next in the series is my university experience.Till then,tata and birla.

>Random Ramblings

>Now this is going to be truly random post.I don’t know why I am even writing this.

*We,in the masters’ level class,are being taught how to change the font color and size in the “Advanced Computer Class”.I am searching for a terrace to jump out of.

*One of our vernacular profs says that all of us are good “uman beeeings”.And that some trees are really “hugh”.Did you know,”inforrrrmation” is really “impotant” nowadays?Yes,I am still throwing up.

*Despite my writing vehemently on my Orkut profile that I will not entertain fraaandsips requests from strangers,I still get them.Poor people,did not learn the alphabet,I guess.

*Grey’s Anatomy is a far far superior medical series than the joke that’s called Dill Mil Gaye.Why don’t they call it Dimaag Hil Gaye?I am dying to see the day when the six foolish interns finally decide to dig their brains from Alaska and use them.

*Thankfully,I have a nice PC to work on in the lab:-))

*Smriti Irani as Maniben is far more endearing and real than Tulsi mata.And yes,the morons from Dill Mil Gaye should have been given the case study of Baa(no reference to Baa Baa Black Sheep) to determine what makes her a medical marvel.

*I thoroughly love the concept of reincarnation and plastic surgery as used mercilessly in our soaps.It is downright hilarious.No Chandler can match up to it.

*It is only in our Hindi film industry that you can have parents and children who do not even remotely resemble one another.

*Is there still space left in Mumbai?

*India is an old woman now.Sixty two years old and still developing.

*I think I’ll stop now.Thanks for reading this pure crap.

P:S-I am still wondering about the space left in Mumbai.

>A Sari State Of Affairs

>What would you say terrifies you the most?A spider,crawling towards you creepily with its deceptively sleepy eyes.Or,a snarling lion which has missed its morning snack.Maybe you live in constant fear that your bedroom ceiling fan might fall on your head any minute.I too have my own set of rational and irrational fears.Public speaking and drowning share the top honors,there is another seemingly commonplace entity which makes my sympathetic nervous system spring into action.
The sari.
Don’t get me wrong.I absolutely love the pretty yards of fabric swaying away in the wind,I am enthralled by the intricate patterns and painstaking designs made on them by countless workers toiling away night and day and the multitude of color combinations gladdens my heart.Its only when that contraption is to be worn that my bravado starts fading and degenerating like the ozone layer.
Wearing of the sari starts off with a very loud,very comprehensive and heated discussion on which color and type it should be.The occasion for which it is being considered to be worn is next balanced on another area of the reasoning section of the brain.After you live through this,you begin hunting for a blouse to suit the sari exactly.Its imperative for you to have maintained your original figure as when the blouse was given for stitching.If,for some reason,you have bloated or shrunk in the intermediate period,your case is lost.If you have shrunk,the situation is not so bad but if the alternative is true,you might end up wheezing and gasping for breath.
Now,the actual business of putting the troublesome sari begins.You silently submit to the various operations performed on your body,you squirm and wiggle about till it is wrapped around you.You plead to have the sari secured with at least a hundred pins and yet worry all the time about the likelihood of its unraveling.Finally.The deed is done.While others sit back and pat themselves on their backs for having accomplished the task,you pray to all the Gods you know to let the sari stay where it is supposed to stay.
At last,at long last,its time to change back into your normal attire.With lightening speed,you pull off all the embellishments,you gleefully remove the never ending sari and oh,how many pins are sticking in you?After you say your prayers and are just about to hit the sack,you gingerly review your tryst with the sari.An hour’s work of dressing up for a twenty minute photoshoot and ten minute discard process.You look at the elegant sari with a mixture of simple joy at having heroically worn it and kept it glued to your body for the entire length of the evening and relief that nothing untoward happened.
Sari sir,I’m not going to wear a sari.