What The Future Holds

Only half an hour to go and I have made my list of resolutions. It’s fairly simple: stop complaining; chase your dreams no matter what; be more assertive and decisive; stop depending on others; write, write and write; do whatever the hell you want and just be happy.

I don’t remember what I wanted last year, so I am not sure if 2013 panned out like I wanted it to but what I can say with 100 per cent certainty is that at this moment, I am quite happy. It’s not because of the pizza I ordered or the fact that Romedy Now is playing my all-time favourite movie (still thankful to God that Airtel finally listened to my pleas and started the channel) or that I have found another show to be obsessed about. Cosy on my bed, I’m sipping my coke and watching television without any care in the world and I’m positively content.

Before I bid adieu to this year, I want to record one memory from the year gone by, lest I forget it. My first article got published this year and that feeling that I’m on the top of the world; that rush of seeing my name in a magazine for the first time was indescribable. Will I get this emotional every time my by-line appears? I know not, but for those few minutes (hours and days), I was incredibly proud of the work I had done. While I was basking in its glory, I realised it was just mine. No one had any inclination how that one article steered the course of my life and in all honesty, I couldn’t tell anyone. For as long as I could remember, I had wanted this, more than anything in the world. My triumph, my success, my moment of glory. Mine, all mine. I don’t want to share it with anyone for the fear that they won’t get it and it just might take something away from me. Besides, it’s just one pearl in my string of accomplishments.

This year was definitely different. Different than every other year and that’s how it’s supposed to be. I’ve spent an eternity looking back at days gone back – things that happened, things that didn’t happen, things that I wish had happened. Moving on, I will keep my eyes ahead. History does matter, but not as much as the present and the future. I look forward to turning over a new leaf. So good riddance 2013, and cheers to a fresh new beginning! Bring it on, 2014!

Hope and Hopelessness

I was 13 when I read the article about Jessica Lal in The Times of India. What caught my eye were the words “No One Killed Jessica”. My mum explained to me briefly what happened but an online search left me appalled. 300 witnesses and no one came forward. 20 people turned hostile. It was bizarre, outright stupid that the accused were still at large. That was the first time I realized that our Indian judiciary system was inept; justice a mere two syllable word in our dictionaries.

Cutting clips of the articles that were published in TOI after that, I kept a close eye on unending case trials and soon, I lost faith. Years later when the accused were actually convicted, I felt nothing. It didn’t matter now - it was too little, too late. One of them had actually murdered another man while the case dragged on. 

I was 20 when Keenan and Reuben died. Arnab Goswami demanded justice. People protested and supporters organized candle marches. I fervently hoped that their sacrifice would be inspirational to others, that their lives and death would mean something to the apathetic spectators, that justice will prevail this time. It still hasn’t. Reading the account of the girl they saved that night, I was reminded of Jessica Lal and the feelings it had stirred inside me. I won’t be surprised if this case would go on for years and finally the perpetrators would be freed due to “lack of evidence” or given life sentence because it wasn’t “rarest of rare” enough for death penalty. 10 years down the line, Keenan and Reuben would be two young men who lost their lives because of “some women” and should have known better than to go out at night for dinner. The girls would be called shameless for hanging out with boys and life as we know it will go on. But what will never change is the hope Keenan and Reuben gave me. No, it doesn’t mean that I go on the street expecting someone will save me from prospective rapists but I know for sure that someone somewhere is fighting for what’s right, that not everyone in this world is a coward. And no, not all men are cut from the same cloth.

Keenan and Reuben

We need more Keenan and Reuben to save the likes of Keenan and Reuben. Had those 50 spectators jumped in to help, the headlines would have been different: “52 against 17, aam aadmi saves the day!” “Men protect honour of women” “More saviours than rapists”. But they were immovable and unmoved as onlookers always are.

Jessica Lal deserved more; Keenan and Reuben deserved more and in a better world, they would have survived, heroes that they were. They didn’t and we have to live with it. We did this.

Funny thing is that nothing has changed. A year after Keenan and Reuben’s tragic ending, a guy harassed a woman at that exact same spot where the duo were attacked as two policemen gawked mutely. Keenan’s father intervened and the cops threatened him instead. Not really funny, is it? I didn’t think so either. 

Read their stories here:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Murder_of_Jessica_Lal

http://www.ndtv.com/article/cities/keenan-s-girlfriend-describes-how-he-was-killed-146488

http://www.punemirror.in/article/3/2013021120130211171521938a18f0719/Cops-abuse-Keenan-Santos%E2%80%99s-father-for-confronting-pervert.html

What I’ve learnt about PR so far

In my first year of college, I had a class on Public Relations where my teacher announced PR is Pyaar (love). A few months later, we studied what PR actually was and I never truly understood it until I was neck in deep in the industry. Now I know PR is not remotely related to love. It isn’t, it isn’t. So here’s a list of what I have learnt so far about the industry in the past one year.

Pros

1.      It’s good money. I wouldn’t get paid as much in a newspaper or a magazine.  

2.      You get a chance to learn, a lot! That’s the thing about reading newspapers every day and meeting journalists and clients. As my boss tells me, you should know something about everything so you can have conversations with intellectuals, be at par with them, which brings me to my third point.

3.      You get to meet really interesting, intelligent and brilliant people. These include businessmen, journalists, artists and innovators. Some could really inspire you.

4.      Then there are those occasional parties, celebrity events and the fun part. You won’t find any BFFs in celebrities but there’s glamour in PR too. Not really a party hopper but who doesn’t want to meet SRK?  

5.       You have to be a jack of all trades whether it is designing invites, managing digital media, making strategies or marketing plans, among other things.

Cons

1.      Journalists hate you, they will never respect you. They will dodge your calls, refuse to come out of their offices to meet you and pretend you don’t exist. Why? Because they can.

2.      There’s no ‘I’ in PR. You will never get credit for anything you do. Deal with it!

3.      Your client will never be happy because they have unrealistic expectations and don’t understand how media works. Get his quotes on the front page and he will still complain that his photo didn’t appear.

4.      Try as you may, you can’t explain to your family what you do.

5.      Submissive. Subservient.  You are expected to bow every time, regardless to who it is on the other side – journalist, client or your boss.

PR is not something you can learn in a class, I know now. There’s only so much a teacher can teach. Of course, writing and communication skills are important but when you have to think on your feet, that’s something you grasp when you sink your teeth into it.

Is PR for me? Well, I’m still trying to figure it out sitting by the fences. 

My Blank Paper

There’s nothing to lose and there’s nothing to prove, I’ll be dancing with myself!

I am in a very Glee mood. I was staring at the blank paper (MS Word) and it suddenly hit me – Mera Jeewan Kora Kaagaz, Kora Hi Reh Gaya. One thing led to another and I here I was typing ‘Dancing With Myself’ on Youtube and scrolling the mouse over the first few results that appeared. Then I found it – GLEE!  

It’s like an itch, you just have to scratch it or you won’t be able to sleep at night. Well, I have been sleepless for quite a few nights but no more. Tonight, I will dance with myself.

For all there is wrong with my writing, one thing is right – it gives me peace; it makes me happy. I have been tiring myself out thinking what I can do to fix my technique and in the process, I stopped. I stopped doing what I love the most; I kept my mind occupied with things that are secondary and my blank paper stayed as is. Until tonight. Tonight I did the first sensible thing all week – I strayed in search of an inspiration and before I knew it, I was humming Mera Jeewan Kora Kagaaz.

Watching Jaya Bachchan pretending to read a book called, ‘Principles of Literary Criticism’ with a sad song playing in the background may have been the highlight of my day. Now, I don’t know why she is so sad and the context of the song but what I do realize is that my paper will be inked after all. I am writing, am I not?

Call it an epiphany - the lightning struck in my head and it all makes sense now. I need to write for myself. My theory is that you are a confident dancer in your bedroom, strangely melodious in your bathroom so why can’t I be a creative writer on my blank page, a page I’m sure no one would read? I’m complicating things again. Here it goes in simple words – stop thinking about who will read it and how they will react to it. Amish Tripathi (yes, I know him – interviewed him for a magazine and can’t stop bragging about it even though it was just over the phone) said the same thing to me – don’t dwell upon what your readers will think, you will never be able to write if you do. He was right because it happened to me. I haven’t been able to write a single word since someone called my writing flat. I was too hung up on the fact that whatever I write next will be flat too, I embedded it in my mind that my prose has no curves, no twists and turns, no life. Then Glee gave me the answer. 

Well if it’s flat, I’ll try to improve it. That can’t happen if I drop the pen and surrender.

My newly found common sense: “No hands up! Get back to your laptop and type away. If it sucks (which it doesn’t), you can only improve by writing. Let people critique your work. Take it personally and do better next time.”

I love writing. Always have, always will. I will just have to deal with the criticism that comes with the territory. I should think of it this way – it’s highly unlikely that my bestselling novel (and I will write one) will be loved by all. I will get frequent hate mails when I kill my characters in my books. And what about the critics who would hate the adaptation of my novel? There is always, always going to be “Oh, I don’t like it” and “It isn’t really good” but my paper can’t stay blank.

And it won’t.

P.S. Cory, you are a star :)

Why I Hate Airtel

I am one of those people who can’t live without internet. It’s not just social media websites or WhatsApp; my work, my life depends on it and Airtel has been driving me crazy with their antics. I have loved Airtel for years – whenever I had a problem, they would show up in a few hours and fix it. But this was ages ago when they were still sensible. Now they are all bunch of blood sucking vampires who can’t tell me what is wrong and fix it.

About a year ago, I started experiencing frequent disconnection problem with my internet. It happened once in a blue moon so I felt no need to lodge a complaint. Six months ago, it escalated to a point that every 5 second, my internet gets disconnected and I get the message “No Internet Access”. Initially, Airtel was responsive and sent teams to rectify the issue. It would work for two days and again go bad.

The engineers asked me to get a new modem – I did (spent 2K but what the hell). The engineer asked to get the wires fixed – Airtel did. The engineers also asked me to get the DP (?) changed and Airtel did that too. Result? I’m still crying foul because even after replacing every freaking thing, I’m still complaining, infuriated that Airtel isn’t even righteous enough to tell me it can’t be done. The connection is a lost cause.

Every time I ask them to discontinue my connection, they plead me to give them 24 hours, 48 hours, a week to diagnose the problem and treat it. May be it’s not treatable; maybe there is no cure. Just let me get rid of it and we will all be peaceful. No, they really want me as a customer because I look so cute when I’m angry? I don’t see any other reason why they just can’t cut it once and for all and tell me, “We are sorry but we don’t know what the problem is. You should get another connection because that is what is best for you and our company.”

I’m so tired of making calls, writing mails and tweeting #AirtelSucks. Where does this end?

Lingering Effect of the Mussorie Trip

It’s hard not to look back. Even after two days, I’m still in the reminiscence mode; scrolling through the pictures; listening to the songs we played in the car; trying to soak it all in, lest I forget. I’m stuck in the time warp and I don’t want to get out of it.

For different reasons, the trip to Dehradun and Mussorie will be a cherished memory. Apart from the fact that it was the first time I went somewhere, it was a dream come true to meet Ruskin Bond. Last month when I interviewed Amish Tripathi, I thought it couldn’t get any better but it did. This time I met an author I admire, talked to him and got him to sign my book. And to think I was about to cancel the trip! It would have been the biggest mistake of my life.

Oh, the hills! It’s one thing to see a place in movies or pictures, even dreams but up, close and personal, it is something unexplainable. I was at a loss of word then and I’m at a loss of words now. I was awestruck, jumping with joy and bewildered that no one else was as excited as I was (they all had been there, done that). They were all slightly amused to see me act like I kid who just got a bag full of candies.

Initially, I was apprehensive of the whole trip, the 6 hour journey (which took more time than we imagined), the change in weather, altitude and everything from food to hotels to trolley and waterfall. For someone who has never been anywhere, the fear of the unknown was gripping but better sense prevailed and here I am, writing about how I could never forget this trip. May be it was because my friends were too thoughtful or because I had watched Ranbir Kapoor do much more in YJHD just a night prior to the trip or because I really did want it. Now I know that I will always want it. Sure I got sick, sure it was too taxing, but it was all worth it. Those two minutes with Ruskin Bond, that view from the Gunhill Point, climbing the rocks at Kempty Falls and everything in between.

It may seem silly that a small trip could affect someone this much. It’s not a big deal, obviously. It’s a matter of few hours, not like I have been to space. But for me, it’s so much more and the funny thing is that I can’t explain it, not even to myself. I just remembered one thing while I was climbing rocks at Kempty Falls: Main chalna chahta hoon, Naina. Udna chahta hoon. Bas rukna nahi chahta. This is something I have been telling myself for a few months now.

A Wing And A Prayer

I read a rather disturbing book last year - We Need To Talk About Kevin. It wasn’t written poorly, but the story was horrifying. Not getting into the details of it, there’s one thing I particularly liked in it – the name of a travel company, A Wing and A Prayer. Initially, I had no clue what it meant but even then, I was fascinated with it. It was the only positive, hopeful thing in the entire book and I’m glad I Googled it up.

Here goes the story: during the World War 2, a plane is shot. It has lost one of its wings. The captain asks a clerk if he knows what happened to that plane and the clerk affirms that he does: it was shot and it is coming on a wing and a prayer.  

I can’t pinpoint what exactly I find so enthralling about this poem that was written about the incident. It’s just one of those things that are hard to explain. Normally, I’m not a big fan of poems because I believe I fail to grasp the poetic meaning, that deep emotional stuff that you literally need to decode like the teachers taught you in high school. I was never good at it. This poem, though, it’s pretty straightforward. It talks about struggles, hard ship, perseverance and faith. With one motor gone, we can still carry on.

It’s self-explanatory, thank God!

One of our planes was missing

Two hours overdue

One of our planes was missing

With all its gallant crew

The radio sets were humming

We waited for a word

Then a noise broke

Through the humming and this is what we heard

Comin' in on a wing and a prayer

Comin' in on a wing and a prayer

Though there's one motor gone

We can still carry on

Comin' in on a wing and a prayer

What a show, what a fight, boys

We really hit our target for tonight

How we sing as we limp through the air

Look below, there's our field over there

With just one motor gone

We can still carry on

Comin' in on a wing and a prayer

-        - Harold Adamson and Jimmie McHugh

Nailed It!

It never seemed a problem before. I thought I had it under control until I realized that I don’t. I can’t stopbiting my nails and it’s just sad because I’d like to grow them like any other sane girl. Clearly, sanity is not a virtue that I possess. So the long and short of it is I have no restraint and zero willpower.

It’s just another reminder of my indiscipline and lack of authority. When it comes to the matter of my nails, I’m most completely and absurdly neurotic, much like my untidiness, laziness, blabbering and eating patterns. On my way to perfection, these are the few obstacles that I need to overcome and then I’ll be good to go. If only I could be masochistic and apply some bitter tasting nail polish or worse, chilly on my nails. You know what? These are not the habits that you can overpower when you are as old as I am. This is the childhood stuff, which is now making me think that I missed a few steps back there. Did I?

So how did it start? Hmm… My brother used to do it, I must have picked up the habit from him. Did my family try to stop me? Well, yeah but I never listened to them or I wouldn't be writing this post, would I? So what can I do now? Live with it.

That’s settled. I bite my nails, it’s a blip, I hate it but what can we do, eh? I can’t stop myself so I’ll just carry on until I catch an infection and die of whatever it is that nail biting causes. Cancer?

Only problem is that I want to quit, I really do. I just don’t know how. A lot of people have advised me on the subject and honestly, I have tried those things. It doesn't work. Either my subconscious doesn't want me to quit or I’m too far gone. I’ll just wait to hit my rock bottom and then I’ll rise above like a shining angel. Guess now I know what an addiction is like!

I don’t mean to sound so dramatic about it but when I’m older (if I survive till then), I’d look back to these days and think to myself while biting my nails, “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger!”

Because Reality Is Not Fiction

When a character invokes feelings in you, he has touched your heart. You want him to win every fight; you root for him and you are by his side even if he doesn’t know it. Of course he is just a character; you know it’s all fictitious; nothing that is happening on screen affects anyone in real. But you still switch on the television every night to see him and encourage him to bang the heads of all his archenemies. It’s not just a show once you start loving or hating someone, it becomes so much more.

For someone who gets bored of things very easily, I have watched my fair share of television series. Family dramas have always been a favorite with occasional detour to comedy and thriller. If given a choice, I’d still probably choose Brothers and Sisters over Modern Family. The story seemed so real (until it got batshit crazy) and each character had something to offer, even those who were dead contributed to the story. I have always believed that whenever a writer writes a story, he gives a part of himself to his characters – the good, the bad, the ugly, it all comes from the one who is trying to say something about himself. Gradually, he molds his representatives in a way that the audience wants to see him and sometimes, he does something bizarre and takes everyone by surprise. That’s the beauty of it – the twists and turns and the “OH NO!” moments.

Inspiration comes from within, as much as people around us. If I want to write something, I’d probably write about a girl (or desserts). I’d kill a lot of bad men in my story and I’m positive the girl will be the hero of my story, taking antagonists down singlehandedly, running them over and celebrating their deaths without any remorse. Good over evil, right? Even in fiction, I want to say something about my life, which I feel everyone does. Subconsciously, we leave traces of our story, dots that connect and on some level, we want people to see it, to find the clues and may be feel empowered. All we have to do is think of a story that keeps people on the edge of their seats with their nails in their mouth and thumping hearts. When you make that happen, then you can call yourself successful as a writer. I have seen one incredible woman who has done it and so beautifully, if I may add. Shonda Rhimes is one hell of a genius. Creator of Grey’s Anatomy and Private Practice, she has moved people, literally. She made us laugh, she made us cry, she made us love her and hate her but we are still hooked to her story – we want to know what happens next, even if it is so bad that it will kill us!

This is something I’d like to hear when I write. Love me, hate me, just read my story and tell me you were gripped. I love clichés as much as I enjoy unpredictable twists in a plot. It’s the balancing act that I need to concentrate on, rest will come on its own. Or so I’m hoping.

One Tree Hill churned my wheels and reminded me why I find these shows so enchanting. Go, Lucas! Nathan is going down and so is his father!

Prisoners of the War of the Sexes

God made man first, Adam. Then He thought the man needed a companion so Eve was sent to Earth to keep him company. Repeatedly, God warned Adam never to eat the forbidden fruit, that it was out of bounds – everything was his save for that one thing but Eve broke that rule and they were subjected to a life’s worth of punishment. The burden of that punishment, they say, we are carrying till today because Eve ruined it for the rest of humanity. Not that I have ever cared.

I have always seen women as victims. She is the one subjugated in the society; she is dominated; she is oppressed, harassed, tormented, thumbed under. Then someone reminded me that it was foolish to think they were not victimized by the society, that they were probably better off. I am under no misconception, I know 1 out of 2 women face domestic violence; almost all women are subjected to harassment and assault at some point in their life; many face irreparable damage to their mind, body and souls. But does it really justify the way I look at men? I consider them all vultures, waiting to prey on poor girls. Every guy is a prospective rapist, wife beater or molester – I see monster in each of them. May be many of us do.

Recently, I read a fairly long blog post of a man describing what it was like for him to stay in a country where girls thought he was a threat, where he couldn’t even look at a girl without everyone thinking he was assaulting her. A man asked a random girl out and spent hours in jail. His crime was simply asking someone out who was not interested and possibly not in the right frame of mind. She complained to someone, called the cops, her husband and father beat the alleged monster up and he was behind bars before he could say anything in his defense. I will be the last person to defend a guy, being a sexist myself, but this even shocked me.

The question I was left thinking was - what is happening to us? He didn’t touch her. He didn’t say anything remotely offensive. Hell, he didn’t even ask her the reason why she turned him down. He saw her, he asked her out for coffee, she refused and he left without a word (that’s the story I know and I believe him). We need to protect women in our country but what about the men? Who will protect them from such incidents? Someone has to take responsibility and that someone has to be you, me and us!

Be assertive, eloquent and levelheaded; stand up for yourself; break bones of the man who touches you; speak up when you should but draw a line somewhere. The line between assault and mere expression of speech is not that blurred – you can clearly see the difference. It is time to take accountability for our actions. There is too much power in our hands so we need to use it well. I have encountered girls who would ask a middle-age to relinquish his seat for them just because it is their right on that seat. I have witnessed incidents where women have been domineering and outright indecent. Just because you have power, don’t abuse it. And yes, you do have power – it is power that sent that man to jail, it is power that police didn’t even hear what he had to say, it is power that can ruin someone’s life and career.

As it was said to Harry Potter, use it well.

Not 'Just' A Girl

I dream of an India where mothers don’t teach daughters that they are responsible for maintaining their homes. I dream of an India where a girl gets to decide whether or not a she wishes to marry; where she can have an opinion; where she has the right to dream. I dream of an India where man is not the beast; where I can walk without fear; where I am not scared; where I can be myself without inviting acid attacks, rapes and reproach from the society.  

But it doesn’t exist. This does.

Mohan Bhagwat, RSS Chief: “Crimes against women happen in India and not in Bharat."

"Theory of contract, theory of social contract, a husband and wife are bound by a contract which says 'you (woman) look after the household chores and satisfy me, I (man) will take care of your needs and will protect you', and until she delivers her duties without fail, he keeps her on the contract and if she fails to honour the contract, he disowns her and if it is the same with the husband who is not honouring the contract, she can also abandon him and go for a new contract then."

Vijaywargiya, Minister, Madhya Pradesh: "Only when Sitaji crossed the Lakshman rekha, she was kidnapped by Ravan...If Sitaji (woman) crosses the Lakshman rekha, then 'Sitaharan' (crime against them) is bound to take place as Ravans are out there."

Abhijeet Mukherjee, Pranab Mukherjee’s son and MP: “I can see many beautiful women among them - highly dented-painted - they're giving interviews on TV, they've brought their children to show them the scenes. I have grave doubts whether they're students, because women of that age are generally not students."

Mulayam Singh Yadav, Former CM: "Only girls and women from affluent class can go forward. Remember this, you (rural women) will not get a chance. Our rural women did not have that much attraction."

Om Prakash Chautala, Former CM: “The Mughal sultanate in this country used to misbehave with women... to prevent that, people started getting their young girls married early so that no one did anything wrong to them… currently a similar situation is arising in the state.”

Dharamvir Goyat, Haryana Pradesh Congress committee (HPCC) member: "If we go into the details of rape cases and abductions, it is found that victims and accused in 90% of cases are runaway couples. So the cases are consensual."

Sheila Dixit, CM, Delhi: "All by herself till 3 am at night in a city where people believe...you know...you should not be so adventurous.''

Shushil Kumar Shinde, Home Minister (to Jaya Bachchan): "This is a serious matter. This is not the subject of a film."

Sharad Yadav, Janata Dal United: "Only certain women who lived in cities like Delhi and Lucknow would benefit who are nothing but "par kati auraten'' (women with short hair)."

Sanjay Nirupam, MP (to Smriti Irani): “Till recently you were shaking your hips on TV for money, and now suddenly you have become a political analyst.”

Muqtar Abbas Naqvi, Vice President, BJP: “Some women wearing lipstick and powder have taken to the streets in Mumbai and are abusing politicians and spreading dissatisfaction against democracy. This is what terrorists are doing in Jammu and Kashmir.”

Mamata Banerjee, CM, Kolkata: "Earlier if men and women would hold hands, they would get caught by parents and reprimanded but now everything is so open. It's like an open market with open options."

Sushma Swaraj, BJP: “Rape victims are living dead.”