Yeh Mera India!

I marvel at the wonder that is my nation. Each day, each moment, there's an Indian who makes it to the top of whatever he / she set out to accomplish. As proud as I am about the India which is ambitious yet grounded, progressive yet rustic, these little nothings bring a knowing smile to my face. A smile that reflects my love for India despite all her quirks!

Facial, manicure, pedicure, hair trim and Boob cut offered at Bobby's Parlour

All days open , Punchure shop

This is a Chennai special that everybody who's ever passed G.N. Chetty Road would have had a mighty ha ha about:

Nasity Boys cricket team

I'm always on the lookout for such quirky posts... does anybody know where I can find these laminated boards which have these goofy lines printed on them? The look of these boards is very retro, very funky!
And just before I forget, aren't you super duper happy to be Indian? :)

Sangria Sunsets...

When PJ asked me to come over for a Christmas afternoon / eve do at his place, i was a little skeptical about the eclectic mix of people he had invited. Adi, Anushya, Gayatri, Harini, Esha, Yours Truly - the common thread between us was just good ol' PJ. We met over lunch at Sukh Sagar where quite strangely, one has to eat dessert out of little bowls for they refuse to give you plates at the buffet counter! Having satiated our appetites, we headed to PJ's place to successfully depose his sister from the cosy comfort of her room. Apparently, it was HIS room before it was hers so she surrendered without a fight. PJ then chose to treat us with the finesse befitting young ladies and gentlemen coming into their own - Wine, champagne and tastefully mixed Sangrias. Truly PJ, London has taken you to new "heights". Every pun intended. As the hours passed we lost track of time and a few of us, our senses. Adi had a meeting to attend to and Anushya left us to partake in a bridge competition at IIT. As a few more hours passed, two lovely young ladies had us entertained with their giggle fits, outbursts of emotion and crazy jigs! Not to mention an insane number of hugs did the rounds with PJ being the designated photographer. The madness was taken out of PJ's home to Mocha at Khader Nawaj Khan Road. I must mention i LOVE the use of colour, texture and light at this place. The cycle rickshaw seats in the garden space is an ingenius idea. The sort of bent i love! As the mischief hookah was placed before us, the group had grown sober. Over puffs of orange and lime conversation flowed on intelligence, economy and the decadence of Indian youth. As the day wrapped up, I'd like to revisit the group's common thread - We were a bunch of intelligent individuals who indulged in a whole load of fun. In a time and place when I hunt high and low for such company, today was special. Thanks PJ. I owe you one.

Intelligentsia.

We like to think of ourselves as intelligent beings. That's an open secret. We dig recognition. That's not even a secret. When you're recognised for being intelligent, it gives you a kick. You want to throw your hands up in the hair, hold that head high and do a little jig.

All of this held true in a class where I made a suggestion that the professor loved and even recommended to his client. Yaaaay! The seemingly insignificant pleasures of life truly make it worth my while and yours.

Go on people, don't be afraid to raise that hand and blurt out the little thought. Who knows? It could be your big moment.

Curls and Cotton Candy

It's the irony of my life. I'm not too sure it merits a post but here goes... My hair was poker straight for nearly 6 months... was uhm, weirdly straight and curly for the next 3 odd and now my infamous curls have made a comeback. This is straight out of the Sunsilk ad for Curls, the twist in this ad script being, EVERYBODY loves the CURLS! :)

Lesson learnt. What's the point of changing something about you when it was only you who didn't see its beauty?

Girls Uniterrupted.

Belated Happy Budday Kiran! :)

Thanks to madhatter Kiran we had a blast at Hawaiin Shack. Good ol' music from the 80's, in English, I lay emphasis on the language as I'm sick as hell having to listen to Aap ki Kashish and the likes 24 / 7, the 'all girls' company -better still and long island iced teas... Heaven IS a place on earth, sometimes! :)

Worth the 'Weight'!

I weigh a good lot more since all I've been doing in the last few days is eating wholesome food at home or pigging out at my favourite restaurants. Some people call it Holiday Weight. I choose to rephrase. This is Home Weight and worth every inch in gold!

The Big Bad World of Blah.

An aspiring copywriter's food for thought:

"I have always believed that writing advertisements is the second most profitable form of writing. The first, of course, is ransom notes..." - Philip Dusenberry.

There's NO Place like Home.

Picture this, two eager beavers sticking to the windows of an aircraft, their hearts thumping with joy as Chennai's little buildings grew in size. That was Ren(my roomie) and me, the Sunday last. Yes, Yes... I'm in the land where the roads are cleaner(it's all relative), the routes are familiar(i'm direction challenged), the sambhar is spicy(I'm loving it) and the feeling of belonging is more than apparent. There's so much to do, people to see, places to go. This city is a part of me. period. I don't want this to end. Ever.

Happily Ever After.

No, this is no magical love tale but just a day of trials and tribulations in a court martial conducted by one of our professors. Post the horrors of the morning which included late starts, messed up presentations, a million unnecessary interruptions and the likes... the conclusion was purrfect! Justice had been done to 20 odd from the 60 who endured a seemingly never ending day. We met at Rakshit Doshi's place and had the time of our lives. High spirits flowed and became one with conversations. We never seem to do away with truth or dare but I must add a few daring souls like Mel, Suri and Shuchika brought some much needed life to the silly game. Conversations further blended mellifluously with the hummable tunes we all love. Post this; Pankit entertained the bunch with his Shayaari sessions, which would have had some dead poets stirring in their grave. :) Yours truly fell asleep at this point as I had barely slept the night before. The rest is all hearsay. Apparently Saket and Shuchika shook a leg and how! There were a few others who almost fell off the wagon, courtesy the after effects of you know what. Strangely enough, Rakshit Bahadur was found sleeping in the balcony. Its only at such crazy dos that you meet a paan eating Chinese guy who can levitate - Van, Rakshit's buddy. Such events of the night could have only been matched by a wonderful lunch at Shiv Sagars followed by my very first Gola session at Juhu beach. I like the pace of it all. I'm starting to give Mumbai a lot more thought but hey, I'm going home on Sunday... and no one can take that away from me! Tra la la!

See More. Hear More. Know More.

The Sunday that passed by held quite a few surprises. The journalism students from XIC were hosting an evening bash for the rest of us. Train halts and twists in routes notwithstanding, I managed to make it to the campus an hour late. No worries there. The party had just about begun. I wish the students had shown more enthusiasm by showing up for starters. Apart from a smattering of students from ADMA, only the journo crowd hung around. Clannish bums that we are, we further chose to segregate ourselves into comfort zones comprising familiar faces. The bash was just about fun for the music didn't measure up, yet, the highlights of the evening were Saket and Devang's dance moves, Rakshit and Saket(there he goes again!) role playing and the stage performance by Shammy, Melroy, Austin, Yours Truly and another couple of people from journalism. Heck, I don't even know their names so one can imagine how much intermingling did take place! Post the party a few of us headed to Mocha to simply while away some more time.

This trip was different, truly speaking. First up, the crowd composed of people who didn't hang out with each other, who just about said their hi's in college. Socializing with variegated groups does refresh your perspective. The singing bug refused to let us go, so we ended up serenading all of Mocha with 'Nothing's Gonna Change My Love', 'You're Still The One' and a few more Hindi numbers. A few hit the notes, a few others didn't. Big Shmuck! Kudos to us for we even managed to drown out the music playing. Post a few courteous nods of appreciation from the on lookers, we settled into a game of truth or dare. Yes, yes. We managed to get past the customary 'Whom do you dig' phase to some meaningful insights. We unearthed our opinions about each other, which I have attempted to sum up:

Devang - King of Good Times who desperately needs a haircut.

Rakshit - Able Leader of the brat pack.

Dipti - Beauty with Brains. If only we could hear more from her!

Austin - Twisted! If you're wondering... it's a wonderful thing to never think along a set path.

Pulak - Respect comes naturally when you're as sensible as him!

Shuchika - Being blunt has never been as much fun. :)

Chitra - Anything can be set right with a smile.

Saket - ?!?! There's not a talent this man does NOT possess. The nice guy on the block.

Divya(moi) - Loudmouth who has fans for she speaks sense. Gufffaawww! If only my folks read this.... :D

Poulomi - Mistress of Tact. She personifies enigma.

I hope I've done justice to the conversation we had. Thanks fellas... that was a night to remember.

My Few Minutes of Fame.

Alrightie people... Kya Baat Hai, the show I described in detail in one of my previous posts airs this Friday at 17:30 p.m IST. The repeats are at 13:00 p.m on Monday and 22:30 p.m the Thursday after. Do tune in, if you have the time!

Singara Chennai

...and there are some days when all you want to do is find your suitcase, throw a few clothes in and run home, if you have to! For those of you whose heart just skipped a beat, I have no such plans. I FLY home on the 23rd of October. Oh....If only time flew!

I thought of ending my post on that note, but I do want to make a mention of all that brought about this bout of homesickness. I was engaged in a conversation with some of my classmates when I stumbled upon some of their opinions on South Indians, read Madrasis. Terrible looking, lungi wearing, boring, jaya amma worshipping bunch that we are. None of these opinions are adulterated by my flair for drama. It's unfortunate that people seem to shut their eyes tight to reality. They would much rather believe what the movies tell them. Chennai has its flaws in abundance. The rigidity of language, the oppressive heat, the bookworm mentality... all of that I accept readily, yet, if only people would learn to embrace differences. Wishful thinking, that!

Kya Baat Hai!

The Show: Kya Baat Hai

The Topic: Cricket and its Future in India.

The Panellists: Mr. Raj Singh Dungapur, Mr. Ratnakar Shetty, Mr. Ayaz Memon

This afternoon I was at the MTV Studios as a participant on their talk show, Kya Baat Hai. Given the topic of discussion, it's no surprise that I had a lot to say. We discussed playing cricket vs playing politics, the zonal selection policies, the inefficiency of the BCCI, the seemingly inane innovations made by the ICC and India's preparations for World Cup 2007. Quite some talking to do in a span of just one hour. At this point, I must veer from the cricket to gush about the host. Cyrus Broacha is one helluva talented man. He refuses to work with a script and all of his jokes, corny nevertheless, are his own. What amazes me most - the humility of the man. He sipped his chai and cracked his PJ's amidst a throng of camera and lights personnel. In a city that breathes and breeds Page 3 Culture, such a sight is like a much awaited blast of cool air at the end of a grimy day. Before I forget, I want to marry a man like him. Enough said about Mr. Broacha. Since this is an interactive show, the Mumbai audience holds a video conference with the Delhi and Bangalore crowd. All I remember from those two sections was the presence of a Mr. Rahul Mehra, advocate who filed a petition against match fixing, who has a mouth that refuses to shut. His final one 'word' was the longest I've heard in my 21 years of being. I must add, he had valid points to make especially about the BCCI's lack of accountability and transparency in operations. I spoke about the Ganguly vs Chappell controversy, as did everyone else and was commended by Cyrus as a 'woman who was passionate about her cricket'. *Grin* I also had several other opinions, but I shall leave that to you guys to witness on MTV, this coming Friday at 5: 30 p.m. I haven't the foggiest clue about later re runs but I shall put up a post soon enough.

Hanging on for Dear Life!

P.S: To any Mumbaikar reading this, pardon my rant... you guys have been there, done that.

This is a day that redefines all other red-letter days. This morning, as I attempted to board the Churchgate Fast Local Train, I was forced to hang out of the train. The train travelled at a frenzied pace and the wind was in my hair. If any of this sounds pretty, it's the next best thing to crossing a Mumbai road blindfolded. How awfully lucky! People in Mumbai must be used to seeing their lives flash before them at such frightening moments. To me what was most frightening was the ease with which I hung on for dear life, it was as if I possessed a latent 'hang out of a train' talent. Ironically, these are the first signs of me finding a foothold in Mumbai. Until the next memorable moment...

Konkona Chandramouli?

Disclaimer: This is a vain-as-hell post. Read at your own risk!

"Madame, you know Konkona Sen?...You know, you look just like her!"

That was just a smooth talking linking rd. shop keeper trying to sell me another pair of shoes but that isn't the first time people have spoken of the similarity between me and Konkona Sen. I can never quite tell if I resemble a celebrity or anybody else for that matter but this is one association I'm quite proud of. The reason being, I respect Konkona Sen as a performer and I'm truly glad she hasn't succumbed to Bollywood's sleazy charms, just yet. She has chosen challenging roles and essayed them with fluid ease. She's proven that you don't have to be drop dead gorgeous to create a telling impact on your audience. You simply need to act. Something that most other Bollywood actresses have long forgotten. Keep it coming, Mrs.Iyer...In your honour, I bought the green pair too! :)

Another One Bites the Dust.

First up, apologies to everybody. I've just dusted the virtual cobwebs off my blog, courtesy the "no time, no internet" phase in Mumbai. I've taken a vow to spend more time connecting with myself and people I love, so like it or not... you're stuck in my head again!

Last Sunday, a few friends from XIC and I were part of the studio audience for a talkshow under CNN's "Eye on India" series. This was a discussion on the Indo-Pak peace dialogue and the panel included eminent guests like Shabana Azmi, Imran Khan, Humayun Khan(?), Nusli Wadia, Praful Patel and a Pakistani industrialist whose name i cannot remember.

At the outset, one hour is much too little time to hope for the debate to be constructive leave alone conclusive. Just when the passions seemed to simmer, the curtains were drawn. I'm leaving out the details of the show because it was nothing you haven't heard before. The 'K' word was oft repeated, no surprises there. Shabana Azmi couldn't stop gushing on Veer Zaara and future collaborative film productions paving the path to peace. Imran Khan looked supremely uncomfortable on those little bar stoolesque chairs and he would have been more entertaining if he was throwing darts at a picture of the president. Mr. Mush that is! If any of you are thinking, why did you brave the grime of Lower Parel and make your way to studios on a lazy Sunday evening, it beat watching the other Emran in Aashiq Banaya Aapne on a pirated cable channel.

At this juncture, I'd like to proudly note that my interaction with several Pakistanis in the virtual world has been far more fulfilling than a rehearsed discussion of contentious issues where the distinction between right and wrong has long been blurred.

Welcome to Adulthood.

I turn 21 today. It's like any other birthday, several people calling in around the time the clock strikes 12. Yet, there is one significant difference. It's the one birthday when mum won't make avial for me. It's the one birthday where I don't have "plans" - everybody i love is far away, in another city. Wait a minute, I'm not being the crib machine yet again. I have learnt far more in these two hours than I have from any other birthday. Like they say, distance truly, makes the heart grow fonder.

On a tangential thought, it's ironic, for I have waited for this day since what seems like forever. Being the baby of the bunch was never really much fun. So, with immense pleasure i announce my arrival into Adulthood. I'll end with a somber warning a friend gave me, "From here on, you would wish the years came by in negative..." I'll ponder on that in 2006...

Some place you call Home.

A month back, today would be just another one of those days where you laze around, stuff your face, flip a page or two and stare at the tele for endless hours. Little did I know that in less than ten days, my life would spin at a pace that would definitely beat the pants off Narain. I now find myself spending my last week in Chennai for come Monday and I will be a Xavierite, a Mumbaikar. While I am excited at the prospect of building a great launch pad for my career in Mumbai, I am equally apprehensive about flying the nest.

Chennai has borne my presence for the last twenty years. Every first happened here. My first day at school where I threw a fit (enter the drama queen). My first examination (probably the only one I studied for). My first academic award (those dried up as fast as they came). My first silly fight with a best friend (come on, we all have loads of those). My first crush (while everybody was obsessed over the Khans I chose the specy sporting geek). My first movie with friends (honestly, these outings were first signs of freedom to choose your way of life). My first badge (class leader, enough said). My first defeat (you live and learn that at times, in losing you win). My first kiss (!!). My first responsibility ( loved each moment of being in charge). My first heartbreak (as hard as it seems, you do get rid of emotional baggage). My first job (no matter what place, what work, the experience is invaluable).

I’m sure there are several firsts that I have forgotten to mention. These were the few that tumbled out in an instant. As I gear up to make the first big move of my life, I hope my firsts in Mumbai are just as memorable.

Koovum Kalling.

I don't believe I'm actually doing any of this. Firstly, I wake up at the ungodly hour of half past five, just a little after Mr. Sun has greeted my part of the world. After which, I head out to rowing camp! Yes, I can see a few people fall out of their chairs already... but this is for REAL. Rowing has been tremendous fun and strenuous exercise... The only drawback being, well, you guessed right.. I row in the friggin' Koovum. I could actually walk up to a lot of people in the city and claim "I know what you had for dinner last night". But, I will spare myself the agony of going into graphic details. Why the hell have we been unable to find an effective solution to clean the Koovum up? The city corporation has failed to address this issue for over a decade. It's a shame really, that the Koovum is a landmark for all the wrong reasons.

P.S: Apparently, they dunk the summer campers in on the last day, so everybody in Adyar or thereabouts gets a hug from me! :)

My rant rap.

cling. clang. clutter. flutter. mess. stress.

oh how i wish time would find itself a concord!

Bittersweet.

Over the last few days, a strange lady has paid me a few visits. Honestly, it doesn't get stranger than fate. Her modus operandi can truly create a tsunami in the most prepared minds. After all, how can you prepare to bump into someone you cared for immensely, but haven't spoken to in the last two years? How can you prevent a smile from appearing at the corner of your lips when you rewind into the crazy moments you've shared with that special someone? How can you stop the tear from rolling down when you feel the pain, as if the knife never did become blunt?

How can you bring yourself to perform a kind deed for a person you have no regard for, just because there was a person asking you to who cared as immensely for her, as you did for someone else?

How do you stop a chance virtual rendezvous from happening? One that brought with it a flash of the adolescent years, full of insignificant trials and tribulations? The years that seem full of embarrassing stories that you laugh off in the years that follow.

How do you stop life from being bittersweet?

One of those days.

Have you ever had one of those days? Days where moments swing to and fro, along with the needle of a mood pendulum. Highs blend with lows in a mish mash collage. Days where you're mentally exhausted at the end, but no amount of resharpening your focus brings details to the fore. As i put this down, I'm having yet another one of those days.

There are moments of elation when your work is appreciated and you heave a sigh of satisfaction. One of those defining moments in the life of a young professional. One of those moments where you stand up and declare to the world ' Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is what I was born to do.' The world is actually, smiling back at you.

Then again, there are moments when people you trust the most, let you down. In one fell swoop. Moments, when you want to break free from an invisible bond. One of those moments when you're left questioning the motives of all and sundry. It's like the plot of an awful Ekta Kapoor serial, where you cannot afford to trust your dog with a little something special about you.

My day was lost between a flurry of these incongruous moments. Is it just me, I wonder?

Sunday Splurge!

A perfect lazy Sunday afternoon to follow a perfectly lazy Sunday morning. It's been a while since mum, Bharat(bro) and I have bonded, so this was the perfect setting. There goes that word again. We headed out to Spencer’s to burn some happy holes in dad's pocket.
I don't quite know when my brother grew up. As if him shaving for the first time wasn't a sign enough, he now picks out absurd clothing. T-shirts that read 'Cool'. Even as brothers, boys will just be boys! As we passed by the women's section, i gazed fondly at the myriad colours on display. Mums never miss these dramatic moments, they only get more animated picking out their favourite colours. It never strikes them that we are the ones who have to wear the outfits! I'm blessed to have a mum with impeccable taste, but for the less fortunate folks, I quite understand. I refuse to be a pretentious intellectual snob who abhors shopping. Hot pink and zesty aqua do bring magic to your life. Your sense of style is yours and yours alone. There are no two crazy beads sporting Divya Chandramoulis.

Lunch was the highlight of my day. Nothing like jostling amidst a Sunday crowd to lay your hands on that plate of pani puri. The food didn't leave much room for conversation, but this was just like the old times! Perfect, I say!

Remembering the first.

Now, long after time has lost its patience, I discover that first loves cannot be forgotten. You only think you've let go, till reasoning blows up in your face like a cruel joke. The state- irony. The effort - futile. The feeling - forever.

My Favourite Things.

On a lazy Wednesday morning, I sit back and think of everything that makes life worth the while. Here goes, in absolute random order:

1. Indian advertising : everything from desi to urban chic. It makes t.v viewing that much more fun!

2. Fudge greeting me each time, at the door. I yell at times, for he never tires... but if it stopped, I would miss it like crazy!

3. Never ending telephone conversations where you're discussing everything under the sun, and the world starts to make sense.

4. Good writing. Hail! The good books keep piling up!

5. My folks. Despite every idiosyncrasy in the world.

6. Shopping sprees...yoo hoo! Junk and more junk, here I come!

7. A nail biting, close cricket encounter. Nothing quite like it!

8. Hearing J's voice, fighting sleep, even at 2 in the afternoon. The voice that makes my day.

9. Friends. Need I say more?

10. My brother, who was whiny just yesterday but seems all grown up today. Strange, are the ways of boys!

11. The World Wide Web : It's a crazy world out there, and I can't seem to get enough of it!

12. India. Maa Tujhe Salaam. Thai Manne Vanakkam.

13. A lilting melody. A pacy drum roll. Music, is the food for my soul.

who says lists need to end on even numbers?!?

I. Me. Myself.

Am I an open book, allowing people to ruffle my pages a tad too fast?
Am I a shallow pond, where thoughts stay afloat, without deeper meaning?
Am I the touch-me-not, shrivelling and unaccepting, always on guard?

Life takes you through meandering roads, where every halt leads to introspection. In each wrong, there emerges a right. Sometimes, all it takes is for you to step out of yourself and view the world anew. Questions find answers, somehow, somewhere.

Woeful Men in Blue

Waking up at 4: 30 this morning meant that my body was aching for an afternoon siesta. Post lunch, Pakistan had notched up their 303 in fifty overs leaving the Indians to chase successfully to draw the series. At this point in time, I felt that the Indian team had done pretty well to contain Pakistan to 300 odd. With another blazing start, at the fifteen over mark with a whopping run rate touching seven almost, they looked set to cruise to 350. Yet, tight bowling in the middle overs and smart captaining from Dravid pulled them back to 303. On the Indian prospect, Srikkanth and Amarnath echo my sentiments... "haan ji, yeh to fighting total hai ji, agar top order click ho jaye to india ke paas baating strength hai is total ko chase karne ke liye..."

The first two overs fly past, not without a skirmish or two as Sehwag gets caught off a no ball from Rana. I'm fighting a losing battle to stay awake and i give in. A few zzzzz's later, I turned on the television, Lo and Behold... to see Srikkanth and Amarnath AGAIN! Eh? I rub my eyes. IF you thought you had seen the worst of blue woes, think again. We have successfully folded up. Once again, without the semblance of a fight. Blame it on a slower pitch, blame it on external pressure, blame it on a non performing captain who was conveniently banned... even the most die hard Indian fans ( yours truly ) have begun doubting the team's effort to remain consistent.

My mind rushes back to one of my favourite Amul hoardings of all time , 'Tendu. Ten don't.' Sure. That equation has changed. It's now 'Veeru or Ve're Gone.' India's cricketing fortunes were never predictable but just as we seemed to be forcing ourselves out of the 'one man dependency' trap, PLONK, we've fallen back into it. I'm a fool and so be it. I will still wake up at odd hours to perhaps see the men in blue crumble for under 120, but I sense there are certain others who have lost their patience. Team India owes their next performance to those who still believe.

p.s: PRAY, what was Roshni Chopra wearing?!?!?!

Little to Laugh About

Mansi* is a young woman, whose attitude towards life is quite simply, bindaas. This thirty something jewellery designer moulds any girl’s best friend in intricate designs that reflect a refreshingly creative mind. The dancing bug caught her early and she has been dancing for as long as she can remember. The several photographs of stage performances pinned on her soft board stand testimony to her dancing ability. Mansi’s joie de vivre influences all and sundry who chance upon interacting with her…

There seems to be little wrong with this description. Wait a minute, did I say little, for that precisely is the problem. Mansi suffers from Achondroplasia, a genetic disorder that stunts growth. Yes, Mansi is what we commonly refer to as a ‘dwarf’. Achondroplasia is caused by defective matching of genes that leads to distorted body proportions. In most cases, the upper torso is developed whereas the upper and lower limbs remain largely under developed. Achondroplasics have a shorter life span of about forty years as the lack of space restricts the functioning of the heart and the lungs. In certain cases, speech might be slurred or screechy. According to endocrinologists, the available treatments are painful and most patients can ill afford them. Doctors world over are devising methods by which Achondroplasics can avail a feasible, affordable medical solution.

Yet, anybody who suffers from this dreaded disorder will tell you that the physical battle is far less painful than the social battle. Courtesy a documentary exercise in college, I had the opportunity to get a glimpse into the lives of people affected by Achondroplasia.

Manikandan* is employed as a mascot by an amusement park in Chennai, Tamilnadu. Like most other fathers, his two-year-old daughter is the apple of his eye. His professional life begins each afternoon, when he dons a costume to amuse several other tiny tots. While the rest of us fuss over the sweltering heat, Mani seems immune. It’s just another day where the mask is all that matters. After all, day after day, his grimaces go unnoticed. The children at the park greet the masked Mani with a mixed bag of emotions. While some scream with glee, some others seem hesitant to shake his hand. The parents seem far more eager, shoving their children’s palms into the mascot’s. After several cameras click away, the audience watches as Mani and his friends take to the stage. Judging by the cheers, this seems to be everybody’s favourite part of the show. As I speak to Michael, the event coordinator, he seems completely in favour of Achondroplasics working as mascots. In the lower rung of society, it’s their best shot of earning an income, he claims.

Earlier that morning we, my fellow director and I, spent time interviewing Mani’s family and neighbours. His wife does not suffer from the same disorder and she remains a few inches taller than Mani. This drew my attention to a few almost unknown facts. Achondroplasics do get married. They are also capable of producing perfectly healthy children. Interestingly, Mani also supports his aging mother who sings praises of her son’s benevolence, disillusioned by the attitude of her other ‘successful’ children, who couldn’t be bothered.

Mani’s neighbours seem nonchalant about his physical state. Having said that, we did hear the odd teasing phrase or two (courtesy the fuss made over the camera); but by and large things seemed to be at ease in this little colony of concrete shacks. The people around him vouched for Mani’s pleasant demeanour and the women were more than happy to have an in house entertainer for the children. As Mani’s wife rustled up the afternoon meal, he looked animated for the first time in the day. His eyes light up as he narrates his acting experiences for a few Kollywood films and few other television serials. Just as the afternoon sun got merciless, Mani shared with us his one ambition – to secure a government job and earn a secure income.

There might be marked differences in the quality of life that Mansi and Mani lead but it’s support and security they both seek the most. While Mansi has parents who gave her strength to discover the world, Mani has the love of his family. Mansi’s parents and sister are her best friends who see her through thick and thin. Not for a minute was she ostracized from family gatherings. It’s this progressive thinking extended by the family that has helped Mansi overcome all inhibitions and design her own dreams. Mani might not have been the beneficiary of progressive thinking but he has still managed to make something of his life. He is a doting husband and a proud father who wants to give his child a world, much better than his.

Mani and his Achondroplasic friends have taken fate in their stride as they set out to make the world laugh. You see them everywhere – an amusement park, a circus, a PR event for a children’s clothing store. Yet, none of us see through the masks. In an effort to make themselves heard, the Achondroplasics who work within the Tamil entertainment industry have formed an association. This is the first step in the right direction to fight exploitation of any kind. They seem determined to make foray into different fields where their skills can be put to use.

At the other end of the spectrum, I was shocked to discover that it’s so called elite society that wears prejudices on its sleeve. In certain cases, Achondroplasic children born to affluent parents are shunned and kept away from the glare of society. A sense of shame seems palpable, so much so that a successful doctor who happens to suffer from Achondroplasia refused us an interview. This only made me realise that even success does bring off this mask that repeated rejection has forced them to wear.

These people are far above our pity. Just like any of us, they are individuals who need love, support and encouragement to blossom forth. It’s time we, the world around, turned more sensitive to the needs of those whose lives cannot be taken for granted. After all, this is no laughing matter.


* Names have been altered to protect the individual’s privacy.

Double Scoop Sundays

It happened one fine day, like most other things. An erudite bunch of twenty somethings, fired by the passion to make a difference, all set to make the most of a rare opportunity. An opportunity presented by the judicial authorities of Chennai, Tamilnadu that welcomed voluntary organizations, to help with proceedings at the State Juvenile Justice Homes. My lot was asked to help out with the Girl’s home, which housed an orphanage for underprivileged children.

After a thorough interrogation, which summed up the attitude of the staff towards ‘outsiders’, the perplexed watchman let us walk through the gates. I watched as the activities came to a stand still and all eyes assessed the ‘Akkas’ (tamil for elder sister) and ‘Annas’ (tamil for elder brother) who had trespassed into their world. There were some hushed speculations as to what our motive might be. Undeterred, we kept pace with our guide who led us to a sprightly group of thirty girls. Clean skirts, clipped nails, two plaits that dangled forth- it was obvious that they had taken some effort to make an impression upon us. Impress us, they did. Be it with their cheeky repartees to questions that undermined their intelligence or their attention to detail that reflected in dance impersonations of Kollywood’s biggest stars. Quite simply, these young girls were made of sterner stuff than the dilapidated buildings, which was their home.

It isn’t as if they lacked the intelligence. It isn’t as if they are denied a basic education. Yet, their minimal interaction with the world outside left them vulnerable to strangers with ulterior motives. The need of the hour was interaction with different individuals that would change their behavioural patterns. In less fancy terms, we were their first taste of the world outside. Through origami, painting and English lessons we had broken past more than just ice. This was more than an arts and crafts class. Children who have the love and support of a family and a secure place to call home would only take back the paints, paper and brushes from these sessions. These girls were learning to colour the bigger picture. These girls were learning to recognize the beautiful mornings even as we taught them the English greeting. Roopa, the artist, Lakshmi the danseuse, Priya, the teacher… this was a start, marked by newfound confidence. Fostering an interaction between the group, teaching them to share and reach out, it’s amazing how wiping the slates clean can bring about such significance. As the pink and purple excitement continued, you couldn’t help but wonder if people would give them a chance to discover themselves? To just be children?

Two fun Sundays later, we were confronted with a strange problem. The girls, who were starved of any male attention and constantly fed on imaginative filmi plots, staked their claim on the Annas, who were their tickets to an escape route. It came as a surprise, because we thought they were responding well to our sessions. Little did we anticipate that this turn would unearth certain ghastly truths.

These girls are only aware of two kinds of men – the men in their families who remained helplessly stricken by poverty, reducing them to the state of orphans and men who took advantage of their naiveté. The few good men who did exist were from the movies. The girls would bare their body and soul, only to be loved by a man. You feel immense pity for a young prostitute, forced into the flesh trade by malicious forces but what you feel for these girls is indescribable. After years of rigid suppression, their hormones eventually get the better of them. It’s almost as if they were left with no choice, but to fall for sleazy innuendos. Since the authorities do everything in their might to keep the men at bay, their sexual frustrations boil over. Lesbianism is rampant amongst the older girls in the orphanage. The situation stands at a stagnant lose-lose. If you rope in the men, you have teenage pregnancies. If you don’t, the girls resort to sexual exploration amongst themselves.

How then could you reach out to make the girls aware of the diverse relationships that a man and woman share? As father and daughter, as teacher and student, as colleagues at any workplace or as best friends? Unfortunately, not much has been done to break these barriers as an empathizing Superintendent delivered the ultimatum- she understood the circumstances better than any of us, but she wasn’t prepared to be harassed by the system. The group could stay if the men opted out.

This was a learning process, indeed. It isn’t always easy to watch your liberal ideas being squashed under rubber chappals. While penning these thoughts down, my attention drifts towards the system itself. While a commendable effort was being made to make operations more transparent, a great deal still remained flawed. The wardens of the homes still continue to employ these girls as free manual labour to clean their quarters in exchange for a tastier meal. Exploitation notwithstanding, I don’t blame any of the girls who grab hold of this opportunity for the meals served at the home gets monotonous. The hugest challenge that the Superintendent faces is the indifference that the girls show towards their staff. If the staff fails to understand their requirements, the consequences range from ripping apart furniture to slashing wrists. This relationship seems to be jostled by desperation at both ends. It should be noted that the staff consider this as a routine government job and remain oblivious to methods of change.

Despite several events that came to light, we persisted, sans the men. As the Sunday trouper’s visits grew more frequent, we earned the grudging cooperation of the hitherto sniggering wardens. Maybe the girls would listen to us, after all. Maybe this was the way to keep them from staging a rebellion. The wardens seemed more willing to let the girls attend our Sunday sessions and at times we were even greeted with a smile.

It’s been over a year now, since we embarked upon this mission. Alright, scratch that. We didn’t change lives overnight. Yet, with time, the equations did change. The constant bickering amongst the girls has lessened. It seems less of an issue now if one group had more sheets of paper to paint on or a few more beads to string together. The tell tale stories of woe didn’t vanish altogether but they make fewer appearances. These small changes accounted for bigger changes in the group’s attitude towards their own lives.

None of this happened because ours is a gifted group. We walked in as just another bunch trying to bridge a divide. There has been more than one occasion where we have yelled at the top of our voices to get a point across or refused to fulfill certain unreasonable demands. It only goes to show that a group such as this will break down the walls, if you are willing to lend them your ears. Is there a point to all of this? There is. I’m sure there are many other groups making an effort to reach out. If you have the time and the will, put your hand up. At the risk of sounding preachy, I shall tell you that this has been one of my better life experiences. If for nothing else, you’ll start to view your life a little differently.

here goes something.

finally, after days of toying with the idea of doing just this, i have created a blog. yes, people. you now have access to things stuck in my head.