We Are Dog-Fearing People.

I am here to speak on behalf of the dog-fearing people. We are a neglected, oppressed, and suppressed lot. Nobody cares if we die of fang fright or go into permanent woof shock. There is no awareness and no concept of ‘dog-fear enabled’.

The truth is that you know us. We are the people you love to hate. You know the ones who request you to lock your dog up? Well technically speaking we are the Cynophobics, but let’s just call us the dog-fearing people.

But expecting some sympathy is futile. What is more likely is that the Doberman leashers will just laugh and set their dogs upon us. Go, go get those chicken Rambo. And so Rambo goes to get them. And we scramble above our fear soaked pants. And Rambo chases us. ‘Come to papa you tittering chicken’ he sniggers. And then you find yourself running, stumbling, but running at breakneck speed. Rambo is at your heels. You jump above the fence. You clamber around the buildings. You sail across the cars. You can feel Rambo’s breath on your neck. You are hurtling towards the tracks. There’s a train approaching. You don’t care. You’d rather be hit by the train than be kabab to Rambo. And then you slip. You are on your back. Rambo is upon you. You see his big black face wolf down to yours, his fangs drooling that disgusting sticky saliva. Now who’s the underdog? You are rambo’s kabab, you are. And you scream. Your scream sounds like a gargle. Then suddenly it’s all quiet.

You open your eyes, and realize it was just a dream.
A really bad one.
But dog-fearing people know that fear that disintegrates the very bones of your being.

When we are in such states, all else fades. We feel like we are in a hot humid jungle and standing before us is the nastiest wolf in the world. We can’t focus on anything else but the sound of the panting, that little growl. Our eyes are drawn to those fangs, those scary pre-historic fangs. And we can’t stop it - we will look into its eyes and it’s like standing at the brink of hell. Stone-cold fire boring into your very soul. He knows. He knows. HE KNOWS.

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There are some dogs I fear but I love. Like the Shepard variety or Labradors. But you know the dogs I love to hate and fear the most? Pomeranians. God, I am not a violent person, but I would happily shoot a bullet into a pom. Bloody arrogant little pricks. I must have been eight years old when I was chased by one. I didn’t do anything okay? I just looked at it and smiled and then it barked madly and leapt - and I just knew it. So I ran. I ran and I ran and I ran, faster than I ever had. And the pom ran after me. Bloody little arrogant prick. Woof-woofing like a catty bitch. Chasing me, trying to get it’s feline claws into me. Blood pounding, heart racing, mouth drooling. Oh I ran. Round and round the front yard, and the back yard, dizzying around the house. Then suddenly, a door opened and a cousin pulled me in. Finally I was safe. But I couldn’t believe that I was chased by something that was nothing more than a rabbit! A rabbit with nasty little fangs.

That same year, another white dude decided to go mental on me. Literally. It was my owner’s dog Rocky. I loved him so much. Rocky and I were great friends. I don’t know what breed he was, but he was huge, and white, and shaggy. His kennel was just under the stair-case to our first-floor apartment. Once, on my way up I saw Rocky sitting there. I looked at him, tilted my cute little head and gave him a sweet smile. “Rockyyy” I said. And suddenly he jumped up with a bark and chased me up the stairs. Somebody saved me yet again. We later discovered Rocky had gone dog mad and he died in a couple of months. But not before making my life hell. I couldn’t step through the gate until he was locked up. He simply hated the sight of me. I was quite sad too because I had lost a friend. At that point I had to believe one of two things. That dogs saw the devil in my face. Or there was the lesson to carry in life:

DO NOT SHOOT SWEET SMILES AT WHITE DOGS.

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But there are dogs that I don’t fear. Stray dogs. Oh my darling mongrels. They are so nice and friendly and as many of you know - only chase men. Good I think. My perverse revenge for all those years of eve-teasing that we have suffered. It’s really so much fun to watch the whole batch gunning after the fancy young men screaming like little girls and trying to save their heels from the doggies. Stray dogs chasing stray men. Poetic justice.

But oh beware of the “Beware of Dog” sign. Oh, dog-fearing people, you know the nightmare value that carries.

Stupid pet dogs. I don’t know what they think of themselves. Spoilt brats. Remember I told you some time back that your kids are ugly? Well, now I am telling you – your DOGS are ugly. Misbehaved jackasses. Firstly, they think they are like some self-appointed bodyguards with Uzis for teeth and AK47s for paws. Not a second after you approach that dreadful gate, a tornado descends upon that compound. Leaves are in the air. The wind is howling. And there is that unmistakable sound of those hoofs thumping down. Oh, that’s enough to freeze the very breath in your lungs. And before you can even hit the defrost button, the thunderclaps burst through. BarkBarkBarkBarkBarkBark. If you are still outside the gate, well and good. But if you have crossed the border – Oh my God, my flory God! BarkBarkBarkBarkBarkBarkBarkBarkBarkBarkBarkBark. Your option is to either jump back over the gate, or to rush to the door and hammer upon it. Quick Quick open the door pleasseeee. The tears well up, the lipstick all melts, and the hair has electrocuted itself. And then they let you in.

Then you would think that they would take the dog away? But cheh, no. Oh, he’s so friendly and cute. Don’t worry about him. Paapa, look at him, he won’t harm you. So what – did you think I just always walk into people’s houses looking like the roadside crazy?? But apparently. Then that uzi dog will not leave you alone. And you won't leave you alone. You sit on the edge of that sofa constantly afraid it’s going to suddenly jump from behind or sneak through your legs from underneath. He may he may not. But of course he will definitely come and start sniffing at your feet. Stubbing his hot nose on your ankles. Drooling over your leather heels. Ants crawl on your ankles and your fatty calves quivers. And you just know that it can smell your fear. Relaxxx goes the aunty. Shut up aunty goes your head. Can you take your uzi brat away from here? But uzi brat has to stay to watch you eat. Every morsel. Every biscuit. Warning you. Don’t you dare finish it, let me have my piece or I’ll take one out of you. You accede to him. But brat is Satan amplified. He won’t let you leave in peace. When you get up, he starts jumping about without warning – barking like the king of rabids. Almost hitting the roof in excitement. Down Tiger. Down. But Tiger won’t have it. The leash can’t hold him down. Daddy can’t hold him down. Then he breaks free. Standing guard at the door.Ten people shield you from Tiger and herd you out. But Tiger will have the last word. Before you drive away, he will make sure he pees on your car to show you who’s the boss.

Sigh. You are Uzi Dog You are.

---

So, did you get that? Did you get what we have to go through when we visit you? And do you know how painful it is when 6 out of 10 people you know are dog owners? You love them. I know that. We are a pain. I know that. There’s too much drama. I know that too. But what to do. The heart fears what the heart fears. The heart leaps, and so does the man crossing your super-energized dog out for the evening walk. I have personally been almost-run down many times in an effort to avoid those leashed dogs straining against their owners to come say a nasty hello to me.

Many a girlfriend has been lost for the fear of a dog. Many a biryani missed for the fear of a dog. And many a man wimped for the fear of the dog.

We are dog-fearing people. We have rights too. Rights to live without fear. Rights to walk on the footpaths without fear. Rights to visit you without fear. Rights to voice our fear without fear of being ridiculed. I dream of the day I can walk about India, without having to change course because of pet dogs, and stray cattle, and jumpy chickens.

I dream of a day when I approach a gate and a dog loves me. Runs to me with his tail wagging, and smiles at me when I smile at him. A day I can turn to you beamingly and say: We are dog-loving people.

But alas my friends, we are dog-fearing people.

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Nude Awakening

Perhaps it is the apathy of people like me, who have the ability to speak out, that just makes it easier for idiots to randomly pronounce and proclaim so authoritatively about a community. And is it any wonder that over time, reiteration of skewed views by the media, slowly becomes the defacto opinion of the larger society?

The newspaper reported about Sila Sahin today. She’s a Turkish-German who posed nude for playboy. Good for her. But the report went on to state that she is “a glowing example of how a modern Muslim girl should behave in a multicultural society.”

I can’t even begin to list all the things that are wrong with that sentence. 

Perhaps it’s just irresponsible journalism, but underlying it is the collective understanding of a society. Some of you see it. Some of you don’t. But here's what I think it suggests. Somehow ‘progressive’ and ‘modern’ are  directly proportionate to the amount of skin shown. So, people emerging from clothes-friendly societies are probably still on their way to ‘modernism’. And girls from such communities (particularly Muslim) could do well by laying themselves bare to millions of ogling men and set a 'glowing example' of how to adjust in multi-cultural societies. Men who have so far driven themselves crazy wondering what’s behind that veil. If not it’s likely that such girls just have to accept the random questions about the harems they have graced and the terrorists they are hiding underneath their burqas.

I often don’t bother commenting or reacting to such obvious ignorance and idiocy on part of the random public. Because well - it seems like pointless intellectual hullabaloo (like on news channels). But perhaps it is the apathy of people like me, who have the ability to speak out, that just makes it easier for the idiots to randomly pronounce and proclaim so authoritatively about a community. And is it any wonder that over time, reiteration of skewed views by the media, slowly becomes the defacto opinion of the larger society?

---

In a lighter vein, let’s backtrack a little. Ok let’s backtrack a lot. To when God dropped human beings on this earth or when they sprung from the water (whatever you believe). I understand that the point of clothing yourself was to protect yourself from the elements of the earth?

Except the melanin granted to equatorial people to prevent getting toasted, our creator chose to not give the humans any other form of protection. He probably said, dear sons and daughters of Adam, I am giving you brains, and I am giving you opposable thumbs. Now put them to good use. Let me see what you come up with. So sons and daughters of Adam, first came up with Tools, then they came up with ideas to use the tools to make themselves some clothes. Then they started realizing that tigersaurous skin looked prettier than rhinosaurus. And so man being man, he troubled Vanity to rear her head and give a glorious birth to Fashion.

But now I think Vanity wants Fashion back, so she’s released a nude nerve gas into this world. Going by the afore-recounted statement, in a few decades or centuries, as the ‘multi-cultural’ society ‘progresses’, clothes will be done away with altogether. If God-willing I live to see my great-grandchildren, like all grand-mothers I shall tell them tales of how in my times there existed something called ‘clothes’ and something called ‘fashion’.  And oh what glorious times they were. Fabrics, and colours, and cuts, and shapes, and embroideries, and prints, and sequins and crystals, and God-sent lycra and denim. Probably a decade earlier the garment industry would have collapsed, and I can recount those troubled times as well to them. The Great Garment Suppression.  The largest economic collapse the world had ever witnessed. Millions left jobless and hungry.  Or so I think :).

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Hey, I am not an anti-nudist per se. I have always believed in the adage of to each his own. As long as your actions don’t harm others they are your actions. I don’t have to believe or agree with them, but I respect your right to have them. And just as long as you don’t slink over and start impressing yourself upon my guy, I am fine with your nudity. But I can’t be the only one who is bothered by this obsessively retarded belief that many people in the world, and particularly in India seem to hold. Tighter, shorter, clothes make you ‘modern’.  So if a girl’s wardrobe largely comprises salwar-kameezes, by and large she’s a ‘behenji’. And until she happily dons a cocktail dress or shows off assets in corsets, she’s probably ‘old-fashioned’ and ‘conservative’. ‘Cool’, ‘hot’, ‘modern’ are not terms you will find associated with salwar-kameez girls. And really, does a salwar-kameez girl fit into your image of a ‘babe’? Kinda hard for a lot of you right? There are always exceptions, but I am talking about the rule here. An unfortunate rule. That’s just the way it goes and it’s not something I am going to damage my tonsils over.

---

But perhaps I should stretch my tonsils a little. If baring skin is a social response to repression and seen as a freedom of expression, then it should find its own podium. Trampling over someone else’s expressive right to cover themselves can’t be the way to liberation.

But isn’t that the tone of the world events? To liberate one, another is oppressed. Yet another form of dictatorship. Why is it that people think that for them to be right, someone else has to be wrong? It’s not always mutually exclusive. I wonder if anyone will dare report an Orthodox Jewish or Catholic girl on a playboy cover as a ‘glowing example of modern behavior’. Or for that matter any girl from any background. It simply appears that the words ‘muslim’ ‘naked’ and ‘girl’ just jumped out at the reporter and he reacted in glee. Such knee-jerk reactions are nothing new. I suppose any Muslim breaking away from a Muslim norm must be glorified as a hero because of course all the billions of Muslims are crazed fanatic idiots who don’t know nothing about living a progressive life. I am not exaggerating. Just read the raging discussions and debates on online articles related to Muslims and Muslim practices and you will see that's pretty much what the majority believes.

But then such people perhaps don’t notice what really excites them about a Muslim girl gone nude. It’s the fact that suddenly she becomes one of them. The fact that beneath all those clothes you and I. We are all the same. Sons and daughters of Adam or cellular organisms of the waterworld (whatever you believe).

Perhaps that - should be the nude awakening of a multi-cultural society.

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Kya ba so ba – Learning to speak south-indian urdu

Kya ba so ba. Ji. Ji. There. You mastered our language.

:).

I’d like to enlighten all the ill-enlightened Bangaloreans that the urdu you think is the urdu we speak is not the urdu we speak. The urdu you speak thinking it’s the urdu we speak is the urdu I like to call the “autowala urdu”. When we respond to you the same way you speak to us (like confident tannery road goondas), it’s because we are indulging you and having a laugh at your expense. Not because that’s the way we really speak.

It’s not what you say. You have got the gist of it. You just don’t know how to construct your sentences. It’s actually the accent you speak in that’s really funny. For instance you will say “hamme jakko vahn tairya Ta”.

Sorry. It should be “Mai jaako vhan thairya tha.” That is if you are speaking middle grade.
Sophisticated grade would be “Mai jaako vhan khadko tha.”
Crass grade would be “Mai jaako vhan japleko tha.”

And what we speak is not even urdu as much as it is what is loosely called “Dakhni”. Yes, it’s a dialect spoken in “Deccan” India. Snigger if you want – but it has its own grades of sophistication, variations, intonations, and accents. Like the rest of the world, we will judge you on your usages, pronunciations, and sentence constructions. And when Dakhni speakers say something – most often you can place them immediately - based on all the parameters listed above. I can tell you if you are from Bidar, Cuttack, Chennai, Virajpet, Bangalore, Bangalore – Shivajinagar, Bangalore – Jaynagar, Bangalore – Kalasipalya, Bangalore – Cantonment, or Bangalore – confused identity. The way you can place a North Kannadiga by their Kannada? That way only. And oh – what they speak in Hyderabad is ‘Hyderabadi’. It’s not Dakhni. Very distinct. Like Bihari is to Hindi, so is Hyderabadi to Dakhni. Real urdu with its “takalluf” and the “muaf” for the Dakhnis is like Victorian “thee” and “thou”. So it really frustrates me to have to select “Urdu” when filling forms.

If you are a hindi speaker – a good thumb rule to speaking dakhni is merging two words to make one. We are kinda lazy that way. So “Aa kar” becomes “Aako” “Aati hoon” becomes “Aatiyun” and “Ja raha hoon” becomes “Jaroon”

So now that you are sufficiently educated. Let’s get to the fun part! Don’t get so stuck with the so so and ba ba. I’ll teach you some really fun words. At the end of this, you will be able to learn a really fun sentence you can use on your dakhni-speaking friends.

Pissed with someone?

• Masti – Masti for the dakhnis does not mean fun as it does in Hindi. It’s actually used to refer to someone with too much attitude. Equal to the Kannada “kobbu”. Use it like “unku khoob masti” for your seniors or “usey khoob masti” for your peers.
• Maatimilla  (male) Maatimilli (female) – Literally translated means the one who has merged with the mud/one who is worth rubbing his face in the mud.
• Diwani Bala (female) – What your amma will call you when you piss her off. It translates to the mad woman who embodies an evil spirit.
• Diwani Rand (female) – What your amma will call you when you piss her off beyond redemption. It translates to mad erm. Let’s keep it clean. You know what it means.
• Khadmoot(male)  – Literally translated it means 'the man who pees standing'. But it's an insulting word because in our community standing and peeing is considered uncultured and disgusting. So, a 'khadmoot' is an uncouth who indulges in his own pleasures.

 

Want to get descriptive?

• Kangi-choti-haa-hoo – Literally translates to “Comb-plait-ooh-aah”. But what it really means is that you got all dressed up for nothing.
• Martingdi (female) Martingda (male) – Describes a very emaciated person
• Potta (male) Potti (female) – A manner in which to refer to young people. It implies that they are prone to the unruly ways and attitudes and temptations of youth. It can be used both scornfully and playfully. And often used collectively as potta-pottiyan.
• Diwane shah - Literally translated means 'The Mad Duke'. Often also used as "crack shah". So you might just want to call out to someone "Aji, O diwane shah, idhar aao".
• Khadi – Means upright. Typically used to prefix laat which means kick.
• Dum latka le ko – Doing something with your tail dangling. Often shortened to “Latka le ko”

 

Want to get emotive?

• Kheench ko – Describes the way you would cause harm to someone – slap, kick, etc. Alternatively you can use “Thaid kar ko”. But you have to say it with a lot of stress on the vowels. So phonetically it will sound “KHEEEEENCH ko” or “ThAAAIIIDDD karko”. Kheench ko actually translates to pull hard. So your sentence would go something like this “Kheench ko ek laat martiyun”. Which means that I am going to pull hard and give you one kick.
• Chittad – Means Ass. Of the hindquarters kind. So ‘I am going to pull hard and kick his ass’ translates to “Mai use kheench ko chittad po ek laat martiyun”
• Speaking of chittad. There is a fun something we say to ask someone to get lost in a very colourful way. “Bhains ki chittad, kheench ko kattar”. Translates to “Pull the buffalo’s ass hard and bite it”. There is a way of saying it. Imagine you are saying this to a jungle drumbeat. In the ta-ka-takara-takarataka hoo haa hoo haa rhythm.Bhains-ki-chittadkheench-ko-kattar. Bhains-ki-chittadkheench-ko-kattar.

 

So this is how you put it in a sentence

If you are going to speak to a guy say:

“Kya re martingde maatimille. Khoob masti ki tujhe. Ab aako tere chittad po kheeeench ko ek khadi laat detun dekh. Phir pottiyan ke saka ‘kangi-choti-haa-hoo’ karko roleko baithinga” Translates – What you emaciated mud mixer. You got too much attitude is it? Just wait and watch, I am going to come and pull hard, and give you one upright kick on your arse. Then you will sit like a young errant girl crying comb-plait-ha-hoo.

If you are targetting a girl say:

“Kya ge maatimilli. Woh khadmoot potte se baatan karleko ko thi so? Kheench ko ek khadi laat chittad pe maroongi. Ja ab bhains ki chittad, kheench ko kattar. Aur hamna bhi zari lako de.” Translates – What you mud mixer, were you talking to that errant boy who pees standing? I am going to pull hard and give you one standing kick on your arse. Go, go pull the buffalo’s arse and chomp on it. And give us some too!”

If you are truly interested in Dakhni as a language check check this out. And if you want to formulate more colourful sentences, you may contact me directly :).

THE END.

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Bald Men with Full Beards and Hairy Men with Goaties

Bald men with full beards. That's something I never understood. My first response is – uncle you are trying too hard. My second - gravity has lost direction. My third - dear lord in heaven, you are too ironic!

So why would you want to do that? To prove that you are still capable of producing hair?? Dude. We know it. Because I don't know if you guys have noticed - but naturally bald men seem to have unnatural hairy arms. It's not like I go stare at men's arms okay? It's just one of those things that you notice. You notice because it’s really such a cruel thing. Bald man with a moustache - I'll grant you that. Bald man with a razor-edged beard - I'll grant you that too – in fact that’s kinda cool. But a hairy face with a bald head - uncle, it just doesn't work...!

While we are on the subject, let me mention that I have always wanted to see a bearded man eat cotton candy. That would be fascinating! :P

Hey, I like the bald look okay? And it's not like I have beard phobia. A well-trimmed beard can be very attractive. But oh - not the goatie please!! Oh that dreadful very prussian cat fur goatie. I don't know why the human male species thinks hairy goaties are attractive. I don't know if they do it to draw attention to their lips or what! Aiyoh. No offense. But just ask a lady friend what she thinks of your frenchie and you won't dismiss what I am saying that easily. I know many guys honestly believe it looks great and a lot have it in their heads that it gives them a 'serious' and ‘respectable’ air. How many men do you know who became managers, put on a suit, and suddenly grew goaties? Lot's I bet.

And our South-Indian Shankar Mahadevans. Why ya, why are you feeding the chubby South-Indian guy with curly/rough/spiky hair stereotype? (you know the curly techie and spiky sales dude?). Why ya? We should have let the Northies continue with the "Aiyo Rama, ab maiy jaako idli sambar kaatha" mocks. Why you had to reveal the truth to them? I have to tell you -the day my brother shaved off his goatie, I was the happiest person. Now people don't look at our photos and ask me if the guy next to me was Shankar Mahadevan gone the Michael Jackson way!* And I also suddenly realized I had forgotten what his lips looked like! And I know for a fact that he had trouble at immigration! See what all the goatie can do to you?

The only goatie that works on a guy and actually looks kinda cool is the Leonardo DiCaprio and Johnny Depp one. If you can match that - well and good. Else please kindly let the baldies have those goaties.

Now that brings me to the next one. Balding men with goaties. Nothing so unattractive about it. I mean paapa, you should at least grant the balding guy that much no? But man - is that a stereotype from the Guinness book of stereotypes or what? The young-pushing-thirty balding business manager or the middle-aged paunchy company Director? A bald man with a sharp goatie is verrry nice. But a bald- ing guy. Hmmmm. Nothing much to say. Except that, that image reminds me of the totem coconut heads!

My apologies friends, uncles, brothers, cousins, and other male relations. But this the best way for me to tell you that while you can't do much about the hair on your head, please take care while carving that coconut!

* MJ cos he's on the fairer side.

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The Loo-ey Earthquake

I could just imagine the news. I could just imagine the embarrassment I would feel in the grave - recalling those dead moments when a rescue worker found my body in the loo - with my pants down!!

Indonesia is hit by earthquakes on a regular basis. I knew that. I also knew that Singapore rests quite away from fault lines - unlikely to be ever hit by one. Sometimes you feel tremors from Indonesian earthquakes. If you are in and around the Central Business District area the tremors can be felt quite strong.

My first experience was about five years ago. I was having one of those days at work where I wished I could just go back home and snuggle under the comforter. Well, somehow I managed to get through the first half of the day. We had a hot summery lunch hour, and then I was back in my cubicle trying to make sense of the text on screen, but try as I might I just couldn't move my eyes or brain anymore. So I decided to take a break and go to the office-goer's sanctuary. That one place that is totally legit. Nobody can raise questions on why you are not at your desk and there. And your boss can't ever give you the "you could be making better use of your time" look. And so I went to the loo. After I was done, I was feeling so lethargic, I just didn't want to get up. I took a deep sigh. Hung my head. Trying to motivate myself to get up. Because that meant the end of the loo break. But I just sat there and sat there ... and sat there .... and my eyes turned all hazy ... my mind was all foggy and I felt myself falling backwards ... a heavy pull on my head ... my body gravitating to the ground ... a beautiful heavy pull ...

OMG I almost fell asleep on the pot!

But only not! Because I couldn't really straighten my world! Because the next moment I suddenly felt a THAD-THAD-THAD-THAD. Something was shaking the damn pot. Violently. And only then it hit me that this was an earthquake. OMG,a bloody EARTHQUAKE and I was on the pot!! God God God, I prayed. I tried to hurriedly get up and make myself decent and just get out of the damn loo. Because I sure as hell didn't want to die in there. Every movement and every moment seemed like an aeon. My hands fumbling with my clothes. Damn that lycra! THAD-THAD-THAD-THAD. Goddd, somebody help me open the damn door! My hands fumbled. I couldn't get that latch to open. God God God, If I have to die. It's fine. But please don't let me die in here, please don't let me die in here. I could just imagine the news. I could just imagine the embarrassment I would feel in the grave recalling those dead moments when a rescue worker found my body in the loo - with my pants down!! Please don't let me die in here Allah. Pleaseeee, it's THE LOO Allah! Why you want to kill me in the loo??? What did I ever do to deserve a death in the toilet??!

Ok so he answered my prayers. I didn't die in the loo. When I came out. All was calm. The afternoon was sultry as ever. I was expecting chaos. I was expecting helter-skelter. But nothing.

I went inside. My cubicle partner was sitting there normally. "Parijat" I called out. But he had his huge noise cancellation speakers on. (Which I mostly think he got to cancel out my uninvited chatter). "Parijat!" I knocked at his desk and waved my hand before him. He finally looked up, slid his headphones down, peered through his spectacles with a "yeah" and a silent unsaid "don't you know better than to disturb a techie busy coding?"

"Did you feel the earthquake?"

"Earthquake, what earthquake?"

"The one that just happened....?"

"No..." he shrugged casually and shook his head. Giving me a "was there really one or did you just imagine it?" smile.

"Ok...." I said and sat down. Then I felt so foolish about the loo drama, I had to hide my embarrassment from my own self. But there was an earthquake. But only in Indonesia, and only average tremors were felt in Singapore. And since most people were so used to it, they would barely feel the low-intensity ones.

But I did. That too in the DAMN LOO.

I moved into a new apartment on the 8th floor a few days after that. I was still squatting on the spare mattress in the living room. One day, I woke up to a swaying building, also realizing that I was late to work! I didn't panic this time. Just didn't know what I was supposed to do. Okay, okay, truth is I ran out. Barefoot. In my nightclothes - a bizarre combination of an Indian salwar bottom and a spaghetti top (imagine that in the newspapers!). Then I ran back. I thought I should get my handbag and passport. Then I looked out the window. Everybody and everything was calm. Just the taller buildings were swaying like tipsy coconut trees. I called my friend and now roomie Neha. And she went "Oh don't worry, it's just a light earthquake - there has been no evacuation so far. Go back to sleep". Turns out that the buildings are designed to sway so that they can dispel the tension. Else they'll crash. Well that was good to know.

I got used to the tremors over time. There was another one a couple of days later. But this time, I loved it. I felt like I was on the sea. Oh so nice and gentle and swayy .... rock-a-by-babie.... Mmmm it felt like a waterbed actually - cos I was still sleeping. At 8.30 AM. On a wednesday! EIGHT THIRTY?? Late again. Oops!

I tend to think that every time I was slack with office - God sent an earthquake. Since then, I have either been super nerdy about my job or fervently prayed to God when I was lazy. Of course I have added this one line to my permanent list of prayers. "Allah, please pleeeeassee don't let me die with my pants down!!"

And I never - never spend more time in the loo than required!

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Your baby is ugly

Your baby is ugly. It's true.

I know you hate me already. Go on - hate me some more because I am going to say again. YOUR BABY IS UGLY.

This is coming from me - the "Children are God's gift" and "I'll happily become the nanny" lady. Me who will wipe your baby's poo poo butt cheerily and shower kisses on her snotty cheeks. I am saying - Your Baby is Ugly.

She's not ugly-looking. She's ugly because you have made her ugly. Because God knows there's not a single baby that is born ugly. But God also knows there are some babies made just plain ugly by their parents.

I'll tell you why.

Your baby is ugly when you put makeup on her. Not once or twice for fun. But for every occasion as soon as she starts looking more like a girl than an ambiguous genderless baby 'it'. Then as soon as she's able to wobble on her feet - you put her in heels. You think it looks cute? No it does not. And especially not when she crosses the 4 year mark and then you start letting her use foundation and gyrating to the dirtiest songs just the way the item girl did. Some kids do it cute - just flaying the arms about with some sweet thumkas. But there are some that their parents train to look soo grown up. Put them on stage. Give them the spotlight at weddings, picnics, parties. Pardon me, but it's disturbing enough to make me think that you are 'parading' her with the intention of pawning her off.

Your baby is ugly when you let him scream his head off for every little thing. Don't get me wrong. I'll be the first one to run to a crying child and do whatever I can to help relieve that baby's distress. But GODD, I can't stand a child screaming that unmistakable "Aaaannnnnhhhhhh" to get what he wants. He goes "Aaaaannnnnnnnhhhh" and you give him that second scoop of ice-cream. He goes "Aaaannnnnnhhhhhh" and you give him that mobile phone that you are holding. He goes "AAAAANNNNNHHHHHHH" and you stop yourself from scolding him for throwing that mobile against the wall. If you are giving in to his demands out of fear of what people might think - I'll tell you something. I'd rather sit and listen to a parent yelling at his child than to a child yelling at his parent. Because THAT makes him ugly.

You are probably thinking "what does she know, she's never birthed a baby." Sure, but I have helped raise enough and more to know what it takes or doesn't take to discipline a child. Children are far smarter than how most people treat them. And they will learn what you teach them. Verbally or non-verbally. Worse yet is when you make us - the people around you and your child to give in to the child's demands. I am sorry I cannot do that. I cannot hand over my rather fragile iPhone or my 200 dollar perfume bottle to shut your child up. Cos you know what's going to come next. He's going to either go "Aaannhhhhhhh" and throw away the perfume when I try to take it back from him or plain just hit me. His baby punch knocking the specs of my nose and scratching the skin off my cheek.

I don't like it when your child hits me and you don't do anything about it. If you don't chide him, I will. You - sure as your baby's 9 AM poop - wouldn't like that. Or worse yet, you might laugh at him and encourage him to hit me some more. UGLY. VERY UGLY.

And I have to mention one other thing that makes your child ugly. YOU. Your child will imitate you. It starts showing as soon as he starts speaking. You make your child ugly by smoking around him. You make him ugly by yelling around him and using profanity around him. You make him ugly by encouraging him to imitate you or your wife/husband. You think it's funny that he's imitating how your husband shouts? Wait till he starts shouting at you. And how about laughing your head off when he says unkind things to the other little ones around him? Wait till he starts picking on you the same way.

God made every child beautiful, but there are some idiots who make them ugly, and for that reason I am not afraid to say - Your Baby is Ugly.

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Aching Green

When I started GreeNiche, it took many people by surprise. Plants?? Gardening?? Really?? It was not an entirely unexpected response. Plants hold no fashion quotient in today’s world. And gardening has become such an archaic concept - relegated to mummies and grandpas.

Growing up in a house with a sprawling courtyard was the best experience of my life. We had so many trees and plants – always singing, always calling me out to play with them. And I did. I spent my free time grooming them, caressing them with motherly affection, watering them like they were my thirsty little babies. And it was always a very soothing experience. When I was wrought with angst, I would dig my hands through the mud, weeding out the pestering stones, creating pathways and aalas to give them a better bed in which to sleep. When I was troubled, I would scrape my hands on the rough barks of the coconut or champa tree. Feeling each grain against my palms. Seeking answers. Imploring upon their wisdom. Many a Rabia they had seen grow up. Many a Rabia had they soothed and breathed new life into. And there are those moments when it all wells up in you but refuses to find its way out. All it takes is a slight caress from a rain-wet leaf, and it turns into those big fleshy soft arms that hold you until the storm has passed by.

Wet green. That’s my happy place. That always helps me calm down until I can find my way out. From wherever that may be. When I find someone with a broken or disturbed heart, I always suggest a getaway to a really green place. Green has the power to heal. Spiritually. Oceans are too turbulent. They are like lovers. They will take you to peaks of sparkling thrill and canyons of sadness within a few heartbeats. But greens … they are like your mother-figures - forgiving, and nourishing.

* * *

If you haven’t experienced the power of green – you are missing out on something special. Try it.

You don’t have to get all sappy about it. Just try it. Try walking into a green alcove anywhere near you. If you have a garden - try walking in it. Touch the plants. Run your fingers through the leaves. Ruffle the ones you can. Smile at the flowers. They will smile back. They can see you. You don’t have to talk to them. But know that it’s another world, that exists around you. A world you are mostly oblivious to, but it exists and breathes and sighs and laughs and cries just like yours. And it’s there for you when you can’t find anything else to accompany you in your quiet times. The oceans are too far away, the clubs are too crowded, but the greens are always there.

And if it has rained – don’t stay in. You really just have to walk out and breathe in the happiness of the trees around you. Laugh with them. Gaze at them. Feel their wet skin on your face. Shake your head and let them tickle you. And if you wait for a bit, they will shower a flower upon you in blessing.

If you live near a lake, don't ignore it. Walk down to it. Find a spot where the trees are leaning down into the still water. Reflecting their affection. Smiling with the lake the way long-together couples do. Meditate upon that green. Liquid or otherwise. Focus on the fresh scent. The slight coolness you will feel without fail. And if you try hard enough you will hear the whispers. If music stirs you then just plug in your ipod. Absorb all the greenness you can, close your eyes, and lose yourself in it all.

It’s that easy to go on a vacation.

It's that easy to heal.

You can always go back to your cynicism later.

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