Dear kids (anyone younger than me qualifies), did you know when we were growing up, the only forwards we got on Diwali were Milton jugs and ca eroles? If we prayed hard enough, the set of six melamine...
It's that time of the "yaar" again when sweaty Bengalis converge under makeshift tents and try to clog their arteries with cholesterol from Moglai porotas, kobirajis, cutlets and bhaja bhuji fried in...
We Indians love noise as much as we love our cows and demonstrate our dogged devotion to both by driving others mad. Why, we are even ready to kill if someone refuses to share our fervour with the same passion.
Whether it's a bikini or a burkini, we continue to be reduced to mere objects who carry the burden of expectations on their shoulders. We don't dress for ourselves but for others and the reactions our clothing may evoke in them.
People often ask me where and how I got my sense of humour. Well, it's time to reveal it all. I developed it at a very young age as a defence tactic. I used it to counter hurt. When on a sunny lazy vacation afternoon an aunt told me that I'd get married only because I had beautiful feet, I told her I'd ask a burqa to adopt me and make sure the world wouldn't have to see the rest of me.
It is for a reason that Gurgaon was renamed as Gurugram. We are moonwalking back to our rural roots. Potholes are lovingly nurtured on streets so that they can turn into ponds during the monsoons. Roads have not been repaired for years so that they resemble the dirt tracks of in Guru Dronacharya's gram. Residents are often left fumbling in the dark, just like in olden times. If rumours are to be believed, the city will soon have Mercedes Bhains showrooms…
Every time my husband acts difficult, I show him my carefully curated list of enthusiastic lovers from Nicaragua, Kyrgyzstan, Burkina Faso and New York, serenading me with bad grammar and dishonourable intentions. "See, how many amazing options I have!" I scream at the husband.
If you are a parent of a teen who has just appeared for her board exams, you will know exactly what it feels like when the results are about to be declared. It's like waiting for your own results. Only this time, you are not a carefree teen but a worry-wart adult plagued by ifs and buts, and what will the world and its aunt think if your child scores an abysmal 85%? Even Mrs Chatterjee's useless son scored a 97%!
Like the elusive true love he has always dreamed of, his boxers are accommodating, always at his bidding, and accompany him wherever he wants without a murmur of protest. Their love is unconditional, regardless of his expanding girth, shrinking memory and cluelessness about "you-don't-love-me-anymore" outbursts. They definitely give him more space than his relationship. What's more, he can lovingly caress his posterior and scratch his interiors without hindrance.
The government understands it is difficult to keep yourself constantly updated to be a 100% certified patriot and has decided to address your concerns by introducing the BMJK app. Once you install this helpful app, you will keep getting notifications for every new anti-national activity. The app also has a reward feature. Swabbing your floor with gomutra, supporting Anupam Kher in whatever and whoever he's protesting against, abusing paid media online, beating up traitors as you scream BMKJ will earn you 500 reward points each.
For long, Gurgaon was chhori Gurgawan, a behenji who loved spending time with buffaloes and her Jat bhais. She didn't mind her uneventful life before fairy godfather DLF and various cronies set their sights on her and decided she was their future bright. Thus began her grooming, intense sessions at the gym and shopping for a hip wardrobe. Before she could say "<em>kay chal rahya se</em>", she had transformed into a glam diva with a BPO accent. She was now Ms Gurgaon...
Even though I was adamant I'd never get into this profession, I joined a school as a faculty member after my daughter was born. I'm not ashamed to admit that it was less for the love of teaching and more for the love of the work hours--because that allowed me to spend more time with her.
If you are tired of being a <em>like</em> enthusiast on Facebook or the "hahaha good one" Samaritan on Twitter, start sharing your beliefs on religion and politics. This is a foolproof method to awaken the dormant Arnab Goswami in your dearest online friends. Beliefs are like the softest, most worn-out T-shirt that you've held on to for years. Slipping into it is the closest we feel to our mother's womb. So, when an opinionated cretin's grating voice, such as yours, infiltrates their warm cocoon, their inner Arnab comes out.
Let's think of these 'reserved-for-men' shrines as the women's-only coach in the Delhi Metro. Now imagine a bunch of aggressive men demanding equal rights and to be let in! Surely we'll turn into female incarnates of the wrathful Lord Shani. And why not? The Metro coach is our sanctum sanctorum, where we can squat on the floor, do our makeup, doze on our neighbour's shoulder without the fear of body odour. I am sure male devotees share similar sentiments while resisting female presence in shrines like Shani Shingnapur.
Frankly, I don't blame men who can't differentiate cumin powder from coriander and don't know where the spoons are kept in the kitchen. I blame the women in their lives who insist on treating them like babies incapable of taking care of themselves. Why else would a wife who leaves for a month-long vacation at her parents' slog for weeks to cook and freeze meals for her dear husband?
Go to any mall or multiplex and you'll see a parade of jiggly bottoms and generous tyres spilling out of dresses two sizes too small. I'm always in a fix about how to react. While a part of me says a silent <em>yay</em> for women who dress for themselves and not others, the other part of me wonders if they have a mirror at home.