The comedy is that it's serious.

When you do what I do for a living, life takes on quite a different flavor. Airports become hangout places and airport-staff become ‘buddies’ that you see regularly. The phrase ‘commute to work’ takes on a different meaning and involves boarding passes, immigration checks and X-ray machines. You start referring to your current hotel as ‘home’ and know all the staff on a first name basis (or the fact that they have a 2 month old baby or that they love ‘3 Doors down’). You get so comfortable in planes that you actually have a ‘favourite’ seat and develop a talent for making the mid-flight-mid-sleep toilet trip with your eyes closed. And yes, you get used to flight turbulence and learn to sleep through it like a baby.

And so when I say that I woke up mid-flight due to turbulence and even felt a little scared, take my word that it was indeed more than just a ‘tremble’. And I will admit (sheepishly) that for the first time ever I feared a little for my life.

Now it’s amazing the kind of perspective u can get from something as stupid as flight-turbulence. But there I was, with the plane (seemingly) completely out of control and I had one of those rare moments of clarity, with my whole life flashing before me (not just the past but what I had thought the rest of it to be like). And then suddenly somehow I reached a moment of panic, where I realized that if my time had indeed come, I would be leaving with a huge bag of regrets. I thought of all my plans-grand and otherwise. The world-travel, all the things I wanted to learn, the book I wanted to write, the experiences I wanted to have, my list of ‘100 things to do before I die’, all the weight I wanted to lose, the tattoo I wanted to get- Everything that I had put off for next year, when I would have ‘enough’ money and the time would be ‘right’. And right then, 30,000 ft above the earth, with the plane swinging wildly and a sinking feeling in my stomach, I realized that the money would never be enough and the time never right. Truly realized. And that was my ‘Eureka!’ moment.

Of course, the turbulence soon stopped, I went back to sleep and eventually landed safely. But something did indeed change in that moment. And just like that, I have a spring in my step, a purpose in my eyes, a grin on my face and a realization that my time here is finite and so I'd better make the most of it.

And so I am glad to report- the gyming is happening regularly, the healthy eating has become de-facto, all the travels are seriously being planned for and an inexplicable good cheer has come over me. Oh and the tattoo, happens in December. Talk about life-changing. Who needs ‘Deepak Chopra’ when you’ve got turbulence, right?

Currently listening- The boy is gone- Jason mraz, Unforgiven II- Metallica
Currently reading- Salmon fishing in Yemen- Paul Torday

80's Bollywood Hilarity!

Little did I know when I woke up today that my morning would be so entertaining. Flipping through the TV channels here in Kuwait, I came across an arabic version of Zee cinema that had all the writing and commentary in arabic but had bollywood movies playing. Turns out, the channel was showing the 1985 Amitabh starrer "Mard". And while in it's time, it may have made sense (though I find it difficult to imagine how), for me it was funnier than the funniest movie bollywood has ever come out with. The movie is full of macabre co-incidences, lost families and highly comical villians.

In true typical fashion of 80s bollywood movies, the film involves a poor but gallant and honest horse-cart rider living in a village settlement right outside a palatial colonial house (which is meant to be british looking but strangely has roman colums and domes). The house, as it turns out, is occupied by scruplous indians (the villains of the movie) who have sold themselves to the service of the british and are cruel and exploitative. They say dialogues like "Indians are the cockroaches in the dirty sewers", dress in wierdly gladiator type clothes and walk around with hunters, that they liberally use on the poor indian labourers. No surprises then that the horse cart driver who's name is raju, is the he-man of the movie and for some stange reason calls himself "Mard" (as if to remind himself constantly of which side he bats for). He regularly has face-offs with the villains in the platial house and also manages to win the heart of the villain's daughter. As the movie progresses we find, that the villains have also imprisoned the former-king of the land (Dara Singh) and force him day and night to push the grinidng wheel of a wheat mill, without food and water. Through a twist in the movie, raju finds out that his parents are not really his parents and he was picked up from an orphanage.

Then, in probably the wierdest leap of logic in the movie (and that is saying a lot given how illogical the movie anyways is), raju puts together a letter (asking his real birth-mother to meet him at the durga temple) with some other meaningful artifacts in a metal pot covered with cloth and sets it afloat on the ganges river with a plea to "Ganaga Ma" to take it to his mother, whoever and wherever she may be. Surprise Surprise, the metal pot not only reaches his real-mother (who is in the villians' prison camp and till this point has been dumb) but she also manages to escape out in time to go meet him in the durga temple, be happily re-united with her son and get the gift of speech. Praise be to the goddess! Soon knowing that his father (yes he turns out to be the king's son) has been imprisoned by the villians and that he is actually royalty, he goes to the villian camp astride on his faithful steed and proceeds to annihilate the villians and free the innocent indians. The movie ends happily with raju going to marry the villian's daughter seated atop dara singh's broad shoulders (don't ask).

By the time the credits in the movie started rolling, my sides were aching from all the laughing I had been doing! Inspired of course by the wierd clothes in the movie (togas, wierd cut-off clothes adorned with chains and spikes), the hackneyed cliched dialogues ("Mein tera khoon pee jaoonga"), the illogically devout belief in gods and godesses (with Raju singing a full-on devotional song, temple bells clanging and women waving oil lamps) and the archaic torture methods (through out the movie one of the villains kept drawing out labourer-indian blood and storing it in bottles for british soldiers, go figure!).

But the movie got me thinking about the mind-set of the people who watched and enjoyed the movie in 1985. And more importantly how much things have changed since then. The religious fervor, the kind of beliefs in the society, the scorn of everything foreign and british, the expectations from women, and the singularly good character of the hero without any shades of grey. It has been a long journey from 'Mard' to 'Dil Chahta hai'! And I give thanks for every bit of that change.

But now the channel informs me I am up for even more hilarity. They are showing "Roti, Kapda Aur Makan" next. What fun!!

Currently Listening: Like a stone- Audioslave, Beggin- Madcon
Currently Reading: Q&A- Vikas Swaroop

PS- On another note, a prince and future-king named 'Raju'? Not that I am generalizing (and with apologies to all rajus around the world), but the seems more be-fitting of a Tea boy than a king. No?

Everything that I wish I wasn't saying

There are times when there are a million things in your head and you need to express them all, but you have no idea how. And then, just like that, along comes a song that says it all. Just the way you would. Even Better.

This is that song: For the things that I need to say to you, but I wish I wasn't. I have no idea if you will come by here and see this. But I hope you do.

The cat has some wise words

"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"
"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat.
"I don’t much care where--" said Alice.
"Then it doesn’t matter which way you go," said the Cat.
"--so long as I get SOMEWHERE," Alice added as an explanation.
"Oh, you’re sure to do that," said the Cat, "if you only walk long enough."
(From Alice's Adventures in Wonderland)

I love that book. And I love how it makes the most poignant of points in the most unassuming and usually-crazy ways.

We're listening to the winds of change

I've been thinking a lot about 'change' lately. About the things I want to change. About me, in my life, around me. And mostly it's a feeling of disorientation. A mixture of being fascinated, excited awed and petrified. Yeah, that's right. Change confuses me and how. I spend too much time evaluating scenarios. Contemplating change. Thinking about the different places I could land up in. And no matter how good an idea it seems, there's always that nagging worry that change might just make things worse. Fuck a good (or even an ok) thing up.

But it wasn't always like this. I can remember a time not too long back when change was something exciting and something I didn't think too much about. Moving to another city? Sure, new friends, new places. Changing schools? Yeah new quirky teachers. Moving out of home? Bring it on! Think of all the trouble I can get into.

It's one of those things that has come with growing older. Right up there with worrying about money, the opposite sex and PMS. I simply notice change more than I used to. And I feel wary of it. Not because I find the unknown any less exciting, but simply because I am painfully aware that the known is valuable too. I'm sure it also has a lot to do with me taking myself more seriously now than I did as a kid (And stupidly so). With thinking, that for some reason the choices I make right now are somehow more life-changing than the choices I made as a kid (Play now or Homework now?)

Change is hard. And I wish it wasn't so. Coz there is so much that I want to, I need to change. For starters, I wish I could go back to India. It's where my heart is. It's the place that comes closest to feeling like home. And I'm running out of reasons for staying away from it. I know, after a soft-cushioned Singapore life, India will be a different ball game- The traffic, the lack of safety, the lack of convenience. But everyone else manages? And I am made of the stuff everyone there is made of, right? Then of course there is the family factor. I miss having my parents close and I have been a long time away.

But What I would be giving up? Loads! Much as I crib about it, Singapore has been home for the last 5 years. This is the place where I found myself, grew into the person I am today. And I feel comfortable here- In the life I have for myself, the people, the places. More the people than anything else. But this is the city I feel I know the best and at times, it feels like the city knows me too. But besides that, this is the place where I feel truly free. I am answerable to no one. No one cares about where and when I am going or coming and who I am meeting or what I am doing. And somehow that is liberating. This is the city where I have my space. My privacy. Where I am the master of my own life and I make all my own decisions. Going back to India, could (would) mean giving up on all of this, simply because it would mean a move back home, to living with parents. And then it's never the same. Questions always get asked (Where? When? What? Who?), Restrictions always get placed (Don't come home late, Don't go there) and decisions eventually get made (for you). Gradually there will be a loss of control, till I won't be able to call my life my own. Living in Singapore, I have become a fiercely independent person who likes spending time with herself and making her own decisions. And I cannot imagine a life where I wouldn't be able to do all that.

See what I mean? Change is hard!