Sunday, June 9, 2013

Matrimonial Tamasha - the quest, tryst and conquest.

This is a story of the 'quintessential' Indian woman who 'unfortunately' is as ordinary as any other; mediocre in every sense, if that word is understood in its 'inoffensive' objective meaning. Then  what is  worth wasting the increasing dump-yard of cyberspace with this indifferent occurrence. Well then, the author wishes to highlight  the common yet unique ailment that is endured by this community. The ailment follows a universally accepted pattern, it is usually an inflicted one during adolescence and an infested one in the later years. Unique because, mediocrity not withstanding, this 'bharatiya naari' prototype ailment comes with certain embedded features - almost always she is expected to be 'sundar, sushil and sarva gunn sampanna', meaning she 'has' to be beautiful, well mannered and very talented. Most middle class Indian women suffer from this 'bride since birth' syndrome, where as she grows up gradually she has to sit through sermons, discourses and  examples about being a good wife, an obedient daughter in law, a doting mother and a responsible mother in law to some,  then unknown and  unidentified individuals.

In most cases, the idea of marriage changes from the 'forbidden fruit' to the 'desired delicacy'. Aah! Yes! Marriage is an essential and unanimously accepted ingredient for the 'girl - woman's' metamorphosis from girly to being all lady like. I call her a girl-woman because  she too, at times, is unaware about when it would be her turn.  Of course, the metamorphosis and the  marriage infection need her participation - willing or unwilling, and yes, necessarily confirming to the 'prototype'. But then hey! what happens when she does not and is unapologetic about it. Does she stand a chance too? Can she flout the norms and yet fit in!

This is the story of one such spunky woman and her self devised skewed approach of 'finding' love on a matrimonial portal, that too on her own terms. 

Sunday, January 8, 2012

Today is a Gift, that's why its called a Present!

On the New Year's eve, I'd wait eagerly for my 'present' like a child who waits impatiently to open his birthday gifts so much so that he's distracted and misses a bit of the party fun.  The gift, of course, was my motivation to capture every passing moment and some how en capsule it, preserve it, look back fondly at the treasure. Also, it was guilt free, there was no question of bothering to share. It simply belonged to me! 

Just that, year after year, I knew what the glittering wrapping paper contained. A simple diary that Dad gifted me without fail. The smell of those beautiful gold rimmed pages still haunt me sometimes. The diary brought me immense joy, like most small gifts do. It meant happiness for another year, for it was to contain many myriad dreams, amateur poems, thousands of lovely quotes,  routine details, doodles and tidbits, and gossip and remembrances. For this gift, among million others, I owe him a zillion smiles.

This year, this blog is going to be my diary, though it can never be as honest and detailed like a personal diary. Yet, it will contain a few thoughts that have occupied my subconscious mind for a considerable time. Hope it makes for an interesting read, that is worthy of your time.