The transition from an observant muse decoder to a male bashing juke box of frowns happened when an important person in my life contemplated divorce. The ‘he doesn’t call required number of times’, ‘would rather be at the club than home’ pace of living turned this cow like clam friend into a crying mess and then a jaded aloof. While indulgence brought about peace to some level, almost any visual stimulation would get us both connecting it to the recluse nature of men. My remembrances also added attributes to this and soon we decided to collectively hate men.
That’s when Life in a Metro gave us some perspective- not necessarily the required one. Life in a Metro is not our current reality check, which is a far cry from the dream of owning an island resort, but a movie of recent time. A confused state of quick but sometimes dreadfully dragging, anxiously anticipating god-knows-what, manic-depressive bi-polar mood swings, encounters and interactions with borderline retards, a progressive potential for the same or higher degree of retardation, momentary peace in an almost stable mad rush, a disbelief at something pleasant, a constant buzz intertwined with the afore mentioned anxious anticipation, a presently lapse of reason and logic, an open armed acceptance of the weird and above all an unsuccessful race against speeding time is what I would call my Life in a Metro. The happy ending, which lasted for 30 seconds, comprised 0.8% of the movie. But what remained with us is the content rambled along the movie’s length. The ease with which adultery slides into ordinary middle-class life. The ease with which it is accepted, as we accept a clumsy butter fingered coffee spiller at a table. Furthermore, one striking feature that makes me repeat ‘ease’ is reason for adultery, or rather the lack of it. The movie feels no need to harp on a reason for adultery, which other movies sell as a justifying point. Failed career, an injury, a feeling of neglect, a passing passion finding its vent, a desire to experiment, to avenge, to break free, to assert or to submit maybe reasons explored to depths in movies to justify adultery. This movie didn’t make a pick from the list. Though a combination of some of the above maybe traced. But it did raise one question.
Which of the two is worse? Casual sex adultery or falling in love adultery. And right enough my companion and I had a difference in opinion. And divorce the solution? While the movie advocated no such claims, it did make me give my friend a deadline. A month’s time, like a resignation notice one gives. Though there is nothing but insecurity I threaten her with. So while the movie has the greater bliss of wrapping up decade long sagas in a couple of hours, my dear friend has to undertake a life changing decision in a month’s time. Should she endure this hardship or should she break free? Is it ok to be in this mad rush without a husband and a marriage or it is only easier? Will the city care or is it too busy making or watching movies about life in a city?
With this making me a little more confused and disoriented than I already was, I could only think of one thing to say that I heard as a sound technician of a play – Life can be more like a movie than most movies.

Remember you loved the times spent in the smoky haze?
Do you smile about the day you flaunted the Acquisition?
Notice how you could never be satisfied with any amount of time,
But was actually content with the smallest of Acknowledgements?

Did it overwhelm you to write a story?
And read it out to others?
And now, you barely remember it, but know exactly how it goes?
Can you write it all over again, if the colors came back?

What about waiting endlessly?
Remember how eager you were on colorful days?
And was the whole season like one big day?
Or was it like it took forever for a minute to go by?

And remember you were a sensitive bud?
Or were you an angry ant?
That could bite anything that came its way?
Or were you like a lonely guitar waiting to be picked up, but happy to be left alone?

Were you a young girl then?
Or a young boy?
And were you always blamed for things you didn’t even do?
Did you even have a clue?

Were you worried, but didn’t exactly know what the worry was?

Was love the greatest beat ever?
Or was it popularity?
Or looking good?
Or was it being in love with a popular good looker?

Did you look good? But you cared anyway, didn’t you?

Did these colors come to you?
Was it time that you really waited for?
Did music matter to you?
Did the words in the song mean more to you then?

Do you remember feeling these colors?
All of them? Or some?
Will you keep it to yourself?
Like the secrets you had.
Or will you color my world?

A good laugh and a smile is what I can take at almost anytime of any day. And being around for a little less the dinosaurs themselves, ok, well at least the gramophone, I know perfectly well where exactly I can get my dose of laughter, to help me carry on till the next rage becomes extinct, say for instance, the internet. So much so that almost anything can be put down on a word doc. laughed at and then a detailed obsessive pondering of many self acclaimed genius minds can give it a serious approval for it to become the next subject matter to go under the microscope for an “understanding of the human mind”. And then as the vicious circle of life would have it, it would soon graduate to a dinner table rib tickler your fat uncle tells you with his face stuffed with grinding food. I curious observe how something or the other is always funny, if not the matter, the way it is said at least.
Coming back to the first time these behaviors occur, I would like to jump at saying that I’ve seen it all. The really funny, the forced funny, the unassuming funny, the partly funny, the wholly funny, the sluty, friendly, flirty, childish, the stupid and the wise funny, the terribly and the unbearable funny, the not-so-funny-funny, the hilarious funny and the infamous contextual funny. And easily while I invested midnight work hours on the deconstruction of each of these a number of behavior, first hand and reported, surfaced. For example I heard of a doctor who wondered at how the word doc, knew he was a doc. Or a small time legend awaited by a mad rush fan following, making facial expressions while explaining the desired flavor of a sweet delicacy, tuned to the tone of the word “mango”. Or a sleepy genius who tried to fool a tree of monkeys that he was one among them, by eating and offering leaves. Or the insane reference to life when drunk or stoned by self and others that invariably begin with “life is like a….. But one held my long term attention. The “you should have been there when it happened” funny. Clearly every brave heart that ever tried explaining a funny incident uses this bullet when he knows he has lost his audience.
And once again, the classy typical example of things human, that I am, I will venture into this sort of a reporting, with not just the above disclaimer in disguise, but almost a brief history of almost everything, well at least laughter, ok, at least of almost everything pertaining to laughter “that I’ve seen”.
So, there were two people settling in for the night, with another in the next room unable to do the same. And like it has always been an understanding with people who live together, the single knocked on the double’s door for a book, he claimed to have left there. But what happened was an over reaction on the part of the two who opened the door in a hassled mess. The single walks in and act like a stranger in his own house, which he was sweet enough to share with clumsy and utterly clumsy. An uncomfortable begin of laughter at this over reaction which included quick orders for the light, correction to the wrongly buttoned clothes, a quick stern request for water and a rush to set the bed right, soon graduated to a last laugh tone. Where all laughed at the sudden formality that the situation called, when only half an hour ago they were fighting for the last swig of beer.
After a tempered talk on India and people, the single one walked towards the door in an attempt to close it to keep the uninvited mosquitoes away. But the man in the couple assumed he was once again leaving without the book he initially came for. When a round of laughter made its Mexican wave bout, it wasn’t going to be the last time we knew. But I tried explaining that to another and ended up saying “you should’ve been there when it happened” and got stared at blankly.
Anyway, no rule that all stories are meant to be told. Similarly some funnies are meant to be lived. Actually, all funnies are meant to be lived, except the one that involves a genius sharing a tree branch with a baby monkey. Or when my father promptly declared how proud he was of our mango tree while my mother complained to him about my skimpy clothes. Or the time my brother thought it appropriate to lend himself as a canvas for my haircut rehearsals. Or the time my father, when was a newly wed sat on a fat woman mistaking her for a chair in a dark movie theatre. Or when a alterned genius explained a morbid story of a dog and two bright bulbs called each other and laughed on the phone for a reported half hour. And a million other times end of which i could proably use the next best disclaimer for all purposes - I told you so..

Being a recovering stress-related-diabetic-manifest, it didn’t take a grand deal for my mother to get annoyed. Her doctor promptly warned her about mood swings, irritability and hot flushes, this mid-life age and her acquired state of health was going to bring her. She took no time to accept this and declared to herself and us, that anything that annoyed her, would be dealt with in a mature, non-menopausal method. And she really did.

Because when my brothers and his cousins got caught by the really annoying trend of wearing the pants way below their waists, she proved herself yet again with the way she dealt with it. She told them repeatedly about body shape, the disgusting, not to mention indifferent image it brought about, the unaesthetic look about it and everything else to persuade them to wear their jeans around the area of the anatomy it is meant for. But as most teenagers have it, the boys ignored the comments like fine print and this was a sure recipe for my mothers rise in blood pressure and a fall in tolerance levels. Yet she didn’t create a dramatic scene.

She went and googled the idea of boys wearing their jeans at the end of their behinds and soon found out how and why it originated. Her minor research undertaking revealed that destitute of certain cold regions of the world had to live off clothes at the mercy of others and they seldom found pants that fit them right. They were forced to wear pants lower then their waists so as to keep their ankles from freezing. This image made its way to the runway and very soon misfits managed a perfect spot on the fashion scene. This news she brought home and felt accomplished about having dealt with the situation in a mature way, without having to stage her drama queen acts.

My worthy cousins and blessed brother heard this with keen critical observation and then while my mother hoped for them to consider wearing pants at their waists and not their knees, one of them did it for her. His exclamation of how he thought the destitute had a great sense of fashion and his belief that they will one day rule the runway made my mother want to give up advising to teenagers. My cousins wants to look at more homeless for fashion tips.

You know you are a traveler when…

1. There is a tug at your heart every time the phone rings because you are so used to be being charged for incoming calls.

2. When looking for small change, you find a lot of coins, just not in the required currency.

3. You have seen Chinese spelt in every possible way. You have forgotten the spelling of Chinese and the appearance of the letters ‘c’ ‘h’ and ‘s’ is the only qualification required to spell Chinese.
4. For a distance of 4 kms you have paid all denominations between Rs.20/- and Rs.200/- for a rickshaw ride.

5. There is a toothbrush in your laptop bag.

6. You are on a bed and can’t fall asleep because it doesn’t feel like on a bus.

7. You sense of direction has suddenly improved several folds.

8. When on most nights, your lonely planet is your pillow.