Faithless

This one is addressed to all the people like my noble friend here. This is to bring to your notice that atheists are not crazy people. This topic came up when I casually mentioned that my mom plays the Vishnu sahasranam and the Suprabhatam on the computer every morning. It was met with a strong "and you tolerate it?" question.

Yes, I do. I am an atheist, not a crazy person:

1. I don't unpray every night. I don't go to bed thinking thoughts like "God, you don't exist and here's me unpraying to you".

2. Just because you have an answer for everything as God, doesn't mean I need to have one too. I have not figured out how this universe works.

3. Don't expect me to talk about aliens building the pyramids or whales ruling the world.

4. I don't go upto priests in temples and tell them that they should stop misleading the poor people.

5. I don't throw away prasad offered to me, out of spite. I don't even refuse it. The difference lies in the fact that you revere it, I don't.

6. I know a lot about the Bhagwad Gita, Ramayan, Mahabharat. I know the Hanuman Chalisa by rote. I find Indian mythology one of the most fascinating that I have ever come across. "Mythology" - notice that?

7. I don't want to prove anyone wrong or myself right. I am very comfortable with your beliefs, just let me be with lack of mine.

8. There was no drastic event that made me think or not believe in this manner. My dog didn't die in front of my eyes, my grandparents weren't wronged by a Bishop and neither did I meet with an accident that changed my life. I have led a pretty much nondescript life.

9. When forced to go to a temple or attend a religious cenremony, I swallow my ego and pretend. I don't create a scene shouting "But what about Darwin's theory, hunh?". My peace of mind and of those around me holds high priority to me.

10. I don't go about telling people that I am an atheist. This is the only place where I have talked so much about it. Most of my friends happen to discover it. Some of them still don't know. Talking about it makes me uncomfortable, only because I know I'll be cornered with "oh so you think you know everything?" and descriptions of "miracles".

Before I wrap this up, let me just leave behind a few words that came to my mind when I was walking back home today, thanks to the roadblock caused by a temple near the area where I live-"I understand faith, I just don't understand religion".

The fine print

My dear friends, I have some shocking news. No, I have not been offered a reality show about underpaid-yet-grinning-like-they-have- it-all-confused-IT person (catchy title eh?). What I do have, is the contract that reality show producers offer their contractees or rather the participants of the show in question. For the benefit of all, I shall list them down here:

1. The participant shall, at no point during the show, be nice or say nice things to a fellow participant.

2. The participant should know at least five words of obscenity, preferably in the language that the show is in. If a participant is found lacking in this regard, he/she should hire a tutor prior to the shooting and get trained in swear/curse words as soon as possible.

3. The participant has to use the F word, irrespective of the fact that they may not mean what it means, at least once in five sentences. While mouthing it, the participant must make sure that they are facing the camera and the lips movement is vivid enough to be explanatory about the swear word's nature.

4. The participant must be capable of crying at the drop of a hat (or any other more suitable piece of clothing). If required, the show producers have to be informed in advance to help the participant in this regard, who will duly run the clips of puppies drowning, babies overdosing or any other helpful clip, on the teleprompter.

5. The participant must be fluent in fake accents. A knowledge of English is not necessary, but that of an English accent is. The show producers reserve the right to expel any participant who gives away a normal accent, accompanied by the customary terrible grammar.

6. The participant must have at least one poor/dying/disabled/terminally ill/ugly family member who will sign another contract allowing the cameramen to shoot them at tilted angles in sepia/black and white/negative mode.

7. The participant will not at any point during the show hide their ethnicity or balk at asking only certain sections of the country to vote for them. A sense of nationality is highly frowned upon and is most definitely not encouraged.

8. The participant will not refuse intervention by the make up artists to magically lighten the participant's skin colour.

9. The participant will wear anything and everything that is dug out by the stylists of the show, even if it includes carrying off silk/satin offshoulder/strapless gowns in the middle of summer.

10. The participant will submit, along with a few other documents mentioned in a separate letter, their dignity to the producers of this show.

There are many such clauses in the contract. Due to some special reasons, which include possible boredom on the part of the reader, I have reproduced here, only the ten important. Point to be noted: the contract may vary from one show to another but this format is largely followed by most shows that have young 18 to twenty somethings as the participants.

Valentine's Day special

Valentine's Day is just around the corner. Personally, I don't believe in the whole concept and know it very well for what it is-one of the most clever and well thought of marketing strategies. Yet, I also believe in personal freedom. Don't worry, this isn't one of the countless tirades against the cowardly man(?) and his burden on this earth goons. What this is, is a prediction of the things to come:

Children's Day: Even though this day is celebrated as a tribute to the first Prime Minister of India, it is just a matter of time before they come up with a theory that since he was born in the times of the British, his birthday is a western concept. So any kids found roaming on the streets that day will be forced to join the closest school. It does not matter if the kids already attend one, and in any case if they are from a particular school, what were they doing outside, anyway? On second thoughts, this isn't a bad idea, if such a situation arises, tons of underprivileged kids might finally have that shot at education.

Mother's Day, Father's Day, Parents' Day: "Why do we need special days to appreciate our parents? This is against Indian culture!" Yes, who decides which day is to celebrated as parents' day? I mean, if you are so keen, go look up which day Shravana Kumar was born and we shall all celebrate it by carrying our parents on weighing balances! So any adults or kids found with a woman or man who is older than them will have to be forcefully adopted by the same. There is no other way to tackle this menace. If you are cheap enough to respect elders other than your parents, you deserve to be punished through adoption!

Teacher's Day: Again, as of now this day is celebrated in India as a remembrance to the first Vice President of India. But if you missed the logic in Children's Day, let me remind you, he was born during the British rule! To add to it, he (to quote Wiki) "he introduced Western idealism into Indian philosophy". Oh my God, people! Do you see what they are upto? They did this to us and we did not even realise it! Down with the Western idealism(whatever that is supposed to mean)! Any student found giving flowers, cards will have to pay for their actions by taking an impromptu test and any function felicitating teachers shall be broken entry into!

New Year's Day: January 1st is celebrated the world over as New Year's day. It is the first day of the Gregorian calendar. Who is this fellow Gregory? We don't know any Gregory! Why should he be the one who dictates when the new year begins? Unless it is some Giridhari who has taken on this Western name, we will not adhere to it! Despite the fact that every state in India has its own beliefs, rituals and its own version of the new year, we will not bow down to Western pressures and participate in harmless revelry! Mobs will be mobilised to crack down on all new year celebrations on Jan 1 and everyone will be made to change the dates on their mobiles phones, computers and any other device which bears the new year in their systems.

Happy Valentine's Day India.

Psychobabble

Have you seen Kaho Na Pyaar Hai? The scene where the heroine has a conversation with the dead hero's lookalike which reminds her of him. Or the scene where the duplicate interacts with the dead hero's kid brother and the kid is reminded of the real deal. Well, freakishly, these things are happening to me. OK, maybe not exactly. I don't "see dead people". It's just that some strangers inadverdently remind me of certain other people I know.

The most unnerving experience of them all had to be the one during my bus journey home. The bus is about to leave the depot and is at the gate when the moderator(?) asks the driver to stop and a girl gets in. No, violins don't play in the background, she isn't wearing a chiffon saree, the pallu of which blows in the wind and there is most definitely no perfect breeze blowing her hair. She's probably a regular looking girl. I say probably because that was the last thing on my mind, to check out a girl. As my luck would have it, she lands up in the seat next to me, much to my chagrin(I like to occupy a two seater by myself. Who doesn't?).

The bus starts moving again and she takes out her phone. The next few words of hers makes me freeze in my seat. Not only does she sound exactly like a friend but she uses the exact same words of greeting on the phone. Before you jump the gun, it isn't a plain "Hi" or "Hello". I have a mental argument with myself, contemplating if it's possible that it is indeed my friend sitting next to me. I steal glances of her face and of course, it is not her. Unaware of the battle that my logic is waging with my mind, she continues to speak on the phone. I swear I would have been so relieved had it been a prank played by a common friend or even by some lame television channel. But it wasn't to be.

This wasn't a one off case. There have been others. My team mate in my new team reminds me of a friend - but his isn't a case of exact replication. Just the mannerisms, maybe the way of talking. Just the overall vibes. Needless to say, I am most comfortable around him and started acting and talking freely to him when I was barely introduced to him!

Then there's the duplicate mom in aerobics class. This lady just warms my heart. Everytime I see her, I remember my mother. For the record, they don't resemble each other at all. And this isn't an old woman I am talking about. She may be 4 years older than me, at max. Yet, everytime I see her, I end up smiling out of a sense of familiarity. Maybe it's something in her eyes. She smiles back too, by the way, and seems to be a really nice woman.

Now for some self psychoanalysis: I think I have started to generalize and categorize people. I judge them, that is a fact which is known to all. But now, my brain has started putting all the people I know in separate little mind containers, with each having its set of characteristics and mannerisms, broadly. So the first time I meet someone, to put me at ease, I sub consciously put that person in one of the existing containers. It saves me the trouble of creating new ones, saves me the anxiety of reacting to "new" people and most definitely saves me the time to familiarise with them. In the process though, it is messing with my mind. I don't like it.

Bucket List

Everyone seems to be making one. What is a bucket list? Well, it's a list of things that you want to do before you kick the bucket. My bucket list here is different. Here's a list of impossible things that I want to achieve before the grim reaper claims this grin reaper:

1. Develop a thick, genuine British accent: How is it impossible? You seem to have missed out the word "genuine". Sure, you can easily develop a thick accent if you practice hard enough and maybe even hire a tutor for it. But it will only make you sound like Shoaib Akhtar. He cannot tell the difference between "balls to" and "balls of" but his accent will be thicker than a gentleman from Yorkshire. That is not what I desire. If an English accent isn't possible, give me a Scottish one. Maybe Sean Connery and I can hit if off then. Along with Mike Myers, of course.

2. Be a hot, Latino chiquita: My general knowledge isn't legendary per se but even I know that just like we don't have elephants, maharajas, snake charmers and the Taj Mahal at every nook and corner of India, each Latino woman is not inherently hot. But I would like to be. I would like to have that pout, with full lips and that brilliant sway which would weaken the stomach of many a strong man. Yes, I would like to be the stereotype. Not to forget, the layered full length dress which would obviously, make me an excellent dancer too. One two cha cha cha

3. Have a successful solo singing performance: I usually tell people that my passion is dancing. It's true to an extent but it is also so because I know I don't suck at it. That guarantees me against snide remarks like "for someone who seems to love dancing so much, you aren't so good at it". Secretly, I worship singers. They come second only to the music composers. I just don't get it, how the hell does one compose a tune, forget a full length song! Back to the point, the third wish in my bucket list is to one day be a part of a concert, where people buy exorbitantly priced tickets to listen to me sing and actually clap at the end of it. I wouldn't mind an "encore" or standing ovation too.

4. Be a geek: This might confuse you and I wouldn't blame you. Who, in their right mind, would want to be a geek? Me. By a geek, I don't mean someone who doesn't have a life and is stuck to their system 24x7. That is the most common yet most stereotyped definition of geeks, with respect to software engineers or people related to this industry. My definition of geek is slightly different. A geek to me is one who knows the technicalities of whatever he/she dabbles in, in and out. You ask one single question, and she comes up with various possible explanations. I can never be like that. I get bored very fast and any process that goes on for too long in my life, bores me to death. So I find it remarkable that people can actually stick to a field and become renowned experts in it. Someday, I would like people to hold me in similar awe.

5. Be a child prodigy: While I am totally against the exploitation of children by parents, I am ready to make an exception, if it were to be me. Right from Michael Jackson to even our now bald, now dancing Britney Spears to the very talented-who-now-sings-only-irritating-songs Sunidhi Chauhan, child prodigies are way too cool. Of course, nowadays you cannot tell an authentic one to a fabricated one, thanks to the plethora of reality shows now on air. A little digression from the topic for a special note to the makers of these shows-shoving a script down a child's throat for cheap entertainment is so not done. Back to the point, I wouldn't mind if someone were to go back in time, perform a miracle and turn me into one. Sure, I wouldn't have too many friends and would probably not finish my studies properly, but hey, I would have some talent!

Summing up my short but impossible list, I would like to be a Latino child with thick British accent who sings exceptionally well. If it's OK with everyone, can I slip in "the first woman to go out into space" too?

Dye me black

For starters, I still haven't spotted my first gray hair as yet. It's a little surprising, given the fact that almost every one I know has had at least one, for sometime now. I am not referring to people above thirty, I am talking about people my age. The reasons might be plenty - pollution, bad diet, genes, and most importantly, stress. So I think that's where I score over the others.

How does it feel when you spot you first gray hair? Do you go ballistic, crying out in agony "Why me God, why meeeeeeeeeeeeee"? Or do you just perform a quick mental calculation, taking into account the cost of hair dye into your monthly expenditure?

Hair dye. Of all the funny inventions that man can be accused of coming up with, this one sits right up there on top. Who thought of it? What was the thought process that was going on? "Hmm..if I just paint my hair, no one will notice how old I am!"? Personally, I feel hair dying is justified when you look your age, or rather, when you can carry it off. So that would be your 30's and perhaps even 40's, if you are watching what you eat and are blessed with a youthful look.

But let's face it, once you hit the 50's and your kids are through college and possibly working, what is that bottle of black hair dye still doing in your bathroom closet? You expect people to look at you and go "oh poor thing, he/she has black hair but terribly wrinkled skin. Must be an affliction which affects the terribly young"?

Before you ask me, let me tell you myself, my parents also belong to this category. Much to my chagrin, they paint their hair religiously every time the grays make an appearance. I have tried my best to convince my mother to try the Indira Gandhi look, if not the Nafisa Ali look and my father to go for the Richard Gere look, if not the S M Krishna one. I am not a kid anymore and I don't expect my parents to look like a kid's parents, either. But of course, they don't listen to me so I have given up. The only thing I can do is to resolve that when it's my turn, I'll go natural.

Aerobics!

Here is the much anticipated, much awaited blog on my current pastime-passion-obsession(?). Aerobics!

Let me address the myths and the actual truths behind them:

Myth: Aerobics instructors are lean, mean, fighting machines, not to mention - hot!
Truth: Let me tell you about my instructor. A lady(first disappointment) of around *beep* years, where *beep* is most definitely not less than 28. Lean? No. Mean? Oh yes, more on that later. Fighting machine? Hmm..depends on your definition but I wouldn't like to be involved in a fight with her, for sure. She isn't fat per se, but when she wears those tight track pants, you wish she would do something about her tyres first, or at least go for the more flattering, loose pairs.

Myth: The class consists of good looking people, wearing tight, shiny spandex costumes.
Truth: You've got to be stupid if you believe this. Why would people join such a torturesome form of exercise if they were happy with the way they look? And coming to the costumes, well, they sometimes are just that. This message is to all those women who wear short tops that stopped fitting them five years ago - looking at your bulge spilling out unceremoniously makes me sick. Please think about the others in your class, the ones who are not in love with you, as opposed to you. More often than not, it's the I-know-I-am-hot crowd who cannot get used to the fact that age is taking it's toll, slowly but surely. Gravity sucks, get used to it. Nothing about the handful of men who are there because they dress appropriately. They realise it's a form of exercise and not a fashion show.

Myth: Adrenaline makes you feel happier or at least gives you a good rush
Truth: OK, I am not going to refute this established fact. Though, one look/meeting with my instructor and you wonder if adrenaline is an evil hormone, which makes you, well, evil! Her method of correcting anyone who commits the horrendous mistake of having the wrong posture/stance while exercising - a tight whack. No, I am not kidding and neither do I attend a course for toddlers. I am talking about a class of grown ups, minimum age 21 and a small-ish woman who is stricter than Hitler's mother(I have no clue how strict she was, but with a son like that, she must have been?). Thank heavens for small mercies that she never uses props like dumbells/exercise balls or the water canister to "mend our ways". Her hand is good enough. A whack, on that part which is in the wrong position - foot, arm, leg, hand, back, shoulder, anything. So in addition to concentrating on not falling, we have to keep an eye out for the bolt from blue.

Myth: Aerobics is easy-schmeasy.
Truth: Come to my class. You do it, while I stand back and laugh. One wrong step and you can bid goodbye to walking for the next few days at least. There are plenty of opportunities to screw up, very limited to get it right. Since it's a group activity, your success also depends on your neighbour's. You go too fast, you collide into them, with a result that varies from a slight bump to a broken nose. You go too slow, well, they collide with you, with similar results ! So what's the middle path? You try to surround yourself with the veterans. Otherwise, you have four noobs around you(front, back, left, right), with each apparently conspiring to send you to the closest hospital. Oh and never go near the burly men. No offence to them, or you, if you are one of them, but those guys sweat buckets! Since no one has the time to stop and wipe it off, it falls on the smooth floor and guess what, it's you who steps on it and slips all the time.

Well then, this is it. There are more details to it like the common corridor between the men's and women's changing room, which has only the non good looking men in only towels walking around and the weirdo who attends the class, who does not leave any opportunity to "help" the other men while stretching. But if I go on about them, this post will never end. So I end it by answering a question which I am pretty sure is on your mind - If I hate it so much, why do I go? Ans: Who said I hate it? I love each moment of it! :D