The six yard wonder and me!

It happens every Friday morning. By the time the clock ticks to 9.30, my room looks like an island ravaged by a crazy dinosaur. The sight of blouses lying astray on the cot and sarees piled up in a corner gives my servant shivers as she enters to clean up my room. Even it doesn't spare me when I return back home in the evening, to a room that bore the brunt of my blouse hunt. 

Ahhh...the blouse hunt! Such a beautiful cliche'. Finding the blouse amidst the pile that was once your organised cupboard is no easy task. You have to wade through that olive green skirt, erst while snow white and now muddy snow brown turned antique inner wear, lehenga top, letters written by your friends two decades ago and your naphthalene scented bharatanatyam attire to reach the saree of the day. It always happens that your mind freezes on blue- this day you feel like having a blue coffee, wearing blue accessories, crave blue berry jam and even wish you could turn the entire household to electric blue. Only now luck has it that you can't spot that royal blue chanderi cotton you really want to flaunt that day.

You pull out the blue saree finally and along with it come down a meteor shower of blouses in varied colours and hues, except for the matching blue blouse. Now starts the treasure hunt. You look for clues. No, take deep breaths- inhale, exhale and stand before the mirror, trying to figure out when was the last time you wore it. Was it on second friday of the third month or third friday of the second month? You may even go the gym and be back alive, yet never repeat the same saree in six months time. So probably, the blouse must have been somewhere down under. Or rather did you send it to the dry cleaner and the fellow cheated you out of it? 

A cold sweat breaks up on your brow, as you rummage the cupboard, your hair dripping wet with water from the shower and the underarms wet with sweat. Did the thief steal your blouse? That four thousand rupees worth aari-work blouse with  beads and zari beckons you like a light house on a rainy day. As a tired sailor, you sail around your cupboard, still unable to trace it. By the time the third rack is emptied and its contents scattered on the floor, the blouse behaves and decides to stop the hide and seek, showing up under the heavy benares saree. You heave a sigh of relief...and then starts step 2 of Project Saree, pulling it around your torso.

Always remember- the blouse has a mind of its own. It is a free thinker, no less than Socrates and Aristotle. You can never tame it like a wild tiger. You have to whisper sweet nothings, coo softly and blend your body into it. You have to hold your breath to button it up and if you just blow your breath somewhere in between, poof...both the sides go out straight to your back. You have to call it again. It is the Leonopteryx that only the Na'vi can tame. If you are successful  in taming the widening blouse, you can very well be the Neytiri of Pandora! Once you complete the buttoning process, next is the toughest part- tying the saree.

The six yard wonder blinds you- literally with the bling. It can put Bappi Lahiri's chains to shame with the thousands of sequins attached to it. The higher the bling factor, the pricier it gets. Operation Four Folds starts now, trying to fold the pallu into four with equal distance and placing it on the shoulder, you have to do all the circus with your right hand and left hand placed together. It needs a bucketful of perspiration and half a dozen safety pins to hold the saree in place and by the time you are thinking you are ready, you find the top most fold too lose to your liking. The process starts again...Ufffff...the saree....But the moment you step out of the house, this is one dress that gives you poise, dignity and grace. All this struggle to look graceful and you rock, indeed!

Graceful...ain't it? :P

p.s.: I think I have been ignoring this page and I am truly deeply sorry for that, cloud nine

p.p.s.: I am loving Sushma Swaraj Ji. She is definitely one kind lady- anyone got visa applications or passport blacklisted, do appraise her. The lady has a heart of gold, I say!

p.p.p.s.:  AP Government has started levying taxes for street lights. What an idea Sirji! Keep going and tax those fellas for the oxygen they breathe :P

Moony's night duty slambook!

Holy Cows! How can they? Their working hours might annoy even nocturnal birds, but they stay healthy, calm and poised. Here i am feeling all fuzzy, kind of inebriated and hallucinating as i am writing this after a night shift. I have been pushed to the dark night world where the shrill whistle of trains, lousy humdrum of passengers and dull buzz of spooky night creatures abound. So, here is this moony's checklist of staying awake all night at work-

1. FOCUS

Try focusing! As minutes tick past midnight, your monitor definitely appears blurred, your keyboard resembles a cute love cushion and your swivel chair envelopes you in a close cuddle. Don't fall for that! Try to focus. Concentrate. Look at the nearest gentleman typing away like mad. You might even hallucinate his balding upper cranium a crystal ball. Try to read your future. Or better still, if you work in a passenger system like poor me, fun is on hand! Compare and contrast the specimens on view. Take your own sweet time, peer at the checked shirt, long uncut nails and bloodshot eyes. May be your distant forefathers appear on the vanishing checks on shirts. Who knows, you might even attain Nirvana fo-cussing(!) and cribbing on the gentlemen who rostered you for the night!

2. TAKE A BREAK

You are- after all, human. Nothing wrong in taking a break. Get up from the chair, walk to the loo, spend a few..ahem..precious moments half asleep inside and emerge from it in a brisk walk. Wander from one seat to the other. If it is an all women shift- Ladies, start your tongues wagging. And mind you, don't spare anyone, including the boss. As juice overflows from the grape vine, you may even feel intoxicated with all the "who's sleeping with who" stories. And by the time you feel you are satisfied with the well deserved break, you can take your next sojourn.

3. GINGER CHAAI

Have a cup of ginger chaai at 2 am! The hot and spicy chaai can work wonders to keep you awake. Take a small walk to the nearest tea kiosk, even if that means trampling on a sleeping army of tyrants who refuse to budge a millimetre in their sleep. And oh, be careful in not slipping on the banana peels and kids' piddle that threaten to drown the entire station! Revel and rejoice at the coocoo sounds, the erratic and annoying shrill whistles of engines, watch fist-fighting families and just relax!

4. PICK A FIGHT

Still feeling dull and sleepy? Why worry? You can always pick a fight with the passenger. Ask for change.  Never pick one with the 'i know all, you know nothing' types. Your prey will land straight at your counter with a 500 rupee note asking for a platform ticket. Thank Heavens! You can spend the next fifteen minutes asking him for a three rupee, ten rupee, fifty rupee or even a hundred rupee. He is definitely not going to have any. Watch him hunt for the non existent change in his pant pockets, shirt pockets, wallet, 'secret' pocket. Send him scurrying for change. He will be back after ten minutes having gulped down a glass of typical 'railway' special watery coffee or tea that might give him a happy gala time in the morning loo! Still unsuccessful? Always try to issue ticket to the second lady in the queue, wearing that angelic smile of yours, when the first lady hunts for a change. A full fledged cat fight- guaranteed!!!

Catfight- Vintage!

Night shifts at railway stations can be extremely stressful, if there are trains all night and if we end up with a CM who refuses to reduce bus fares and a PM who refuses to increase rail fares. No one can ever know how refreshing it is to see your relieving clerk arriving, in the backdrop of early morning sun-rays that filter through the window panes. Ha...there arrives the next slave;)

P.S.- Gods must be crazy and i must be extremely bitchy while writing this post:P

P.P.S.- I wish i had leprosy, i hate it every time a bugger rubs hands when handing over money! Or can anyone suggest a hand mask resembling a leper's hand? 

P.P.P.S.- Dedicated to the counter clerk Mr Sound Gopal who seldom gives tickets but keeps rambling on and on and on. Next night shift, i might hack you to death, MIND IT!!! RASCALA!!!

Hairy Tales!

The audience in the hall erupts with volcanic laughter and i stand transfixed. The song plays on, evoking no response from me. Mother looks at me aghast and rushes to my rescue, as always. I stand rooted to the spot, with my false hair ( sauri) snaking between my trembling hands. My cutely bobbed hair bounces, as i jump down the stage. Whistles deafen my ear as tears start to swell in my eyes. Blurry eyed, i hang onto Mother as she ties the sick thing again to my bob and i enter the stage for my performance. The song starts from the beginning- " Maha Ganapathi..." The soothing voice of Jesudoss fails to catch my attention and i sway like a zombie. This is not my first honeymoon with false hair, i have been donning one, right from my early barathanatyam days. Barathanatyam needs elaborate hair decorations- starting from nethi chutti, rakkodi, jata set, suryaprabha, chandraprabha...Where would all these ornaments go if there is no false hair???

The Nethichutti, suryaprabha and chandraprabha

I adored my grandmother in my school days for the long plaited hair that danced till her hips. One Sunday morning, there was an eeny-wheeny malfunction for poor grandmother and she called me to rectify it. I entered her bedroom where she was drying her hair after her bath, armed with a comb and a fleeting smile. I was elated that i could touch and feel her silky locks that i drooled over. And what did i see? Grandmother was sure fan- drying her hair, which glistened with moisture. " What are you doing here?", she demanded. " My hair is in the other room. GO AND COMB IT". Excuse me? I stood like Arnold Schwarzenegger of Terminator fame, holding onto my dear comb, devoid of any expression. She was here and her hair in the next room??? Only then did she pull her raven black locks to the front and what did i see? Limp, curly hair till the nape drying in the air. I tried to control my laughter, but as usual, failed dismally. Granny gave me a look that i would never forget! I rushed outside the room, roaring in laughter...not at her short hair, but at my naivety. All that glitters is not own hair!!!

So, how did the bobbed hair girl continue her dancing? Simple, by tying the sauri with the rope of her ottiyanam ( hip chain)! Double fastening, i say! Every bride hangs onto her false hair on her wedding day, more than the groom nearby! Furtive glances and shaking fingers are not for the darling husband, but for the false hair! Lest it fall in the agni kund and burn...Oh my...what a disaster it would be. I do wish false hair makers invent something innovative- see our dear Shane Warne...Does it ever look like his gorgeous blonde waves are false? We better beg our Shane to provide us with the secret recipe for the adhesive he uses- both on his hair and on Liz Hurley!

There is the false hair, with raakodi ( jura pin) and kunjam at the tail end!

And a small request to the guys out there- PLEASE STOP CALLING GIRLS WITH SHORT HAIRS AS "MOTTAI"...It has been gravely insulting all these years to be called Mottai ( tonsured head!) everywhere...If the tresses fail to grow like Rapunzels, it is not our fault! And Rapunzel had a Prince climb the tower holding her tresses...without fear. How many of our Romeos can climb more than the third floor without panting, hissing and cursing??? And imagine the shampoo and conditioner expense you will have to shell out for your loved one's hair...As austerity measure, we prefer having hair short, cattle class, you may call it. So next time you drool over that raven tresses that flow below the waist line, beware, guys-  all that would have been (h)airlifted straight from Tirupati! Govinda! Govinda!!!