Ode to Cat

I offended a friend’s Puddy Tat (Thanks to American slang, I can never say the word pussy cat without seeing a series of leering men being hyperactive in hyperlapse) and now I have to write 25 words praising said cat.

How can one offend a cat whose very nature is to be disdainful of everything?  Some might argue that they are cute and that the internet is flooded with adorable little kitties trying to do the most adorable thing of rolling on the couch or worse, purring.

These feline creatures have made giants out of a UGC platform called youtube. Misters Hurley, Chen & Karim should change its name to cattube or kittytube or err… pussytube. Great business idea that.

My rolling eye syndrome with a cat lover has dated back to those wonder years when PDA was frowned upon. And it’s not limited to only the feline species; it does extend to canines and Homo sapiens also. I just cannot wrap my head around the fact that if you love something/someone, why do you have to expect everyone else to adore it also? Are we looking at a majority vote to express ourselves?

And have you ever noticed a cat walk by? There is enough space to fill in the ever diminishing Gandhi family but the cat will leave the wide pathway and take a circuitous road to rub against your leg, as you sit sipping your coffee and thinking about how not to offend a cat these days. And then pretend that your leg was in its way! And what is with jumping at a laser light. How dumb can one be? It’s a ray of light, if you can catch it, you will be a GOD. And you ain’t, so stop making a fool of yourself.  And those constant lickings, ugh, get into the shower and stop leaving your saliva all over my things. Even if I wanted to pick you up, I would have to sanitize myself with industrial level substance.

And will you please stop eyeing my food….fish to be precise. I love my fish and I do not want to share it with anyone. So stop eyeing my food and go do something productive like forage for your own food instead of stealing mine.

Your quirkiness negates your basic hedonistic bias for a rhythmic stroking of your fur, to express affection. And pray, why should anyone do that when a fraction of that gesture results in much tail wagging and overall subservience from your much esteemed canine counterpart?

But being human (oh Sallu!) I shall make the bigger gesture and let you coexist in this world and pray that our paths never cross…for both our mutual benefits.

There is a cat somewhere saying “nooeow… lick lick lick… youeow… lick lick lick …wonteow”!

Jumping on the little yellow cloud

Every time the cloud touches me and melts against my skin, it leaves a tiny glittering film. And it feels so cool. Each drop of water is absorbed and thousand small glittering droplets rush in to fill the chasm.

And what is that loud thumping noise? And that whooshing sound? Where is that coming from? Need to investigate. But first, let me feel this cloud against my skin a bit longer. It’s not exactly like a snowflake, but so much lighter.  

I turn to look at you, see the joy in your eyes and nod. And I grip your hands a little harder. I can feel the blood rushing through your veins. It’s hot. And fast. The thumping noise is louder now.

The clouds below our feet have now completely melted away. We are dangling our feet over …nothing. Then the lumps of clouds on our sides also give away and we fall. Fly. Into nothingness.

I turn to look at you, into your eyes and see joy. Perhaps it mirrors mine. We land onto something soft. And immediately I feel the cool melting cloud on my skin. I look up and see a doughnut shaped cloud above us. The hole through which we fell so tiny, that I wonder how insignificant we are. I want to reach up and touch the tuft of cloud, feel it against my fingers. But I don’t want to let go of your hand. I don’t want you to fall away from me. I want us to fall together. I want to see the joy in your eyes as we fall. Fly. Into nothingness.

And that’s when you pull me towards you. So that we are facing each other. Looking at each other. Holding hands. The whooshing sound is now less but the thumping has settled into a steady pattern. I realize that it’s our heartbeats, complimenting one thump after the other. For some reason, it feels reassuring and I close my eyes. And instantly, I feel a myriad of sensations that is so powerful that I open my eyes as soon as I close them. The cool melting of clouds, the hot rush of the blood on your hands, the slow thump of our hearts all combine to give a heady rush no chemical can ever produce. Each cell of my body is tuned into yours. The mitochondria, nucleus and Golgi apparatus trying to spill out of the cell membrane and merge with yours. Never has biology been so sexed up.

I muster up the courage to close my eyes again. To feel the sensations that so overwhelm me. And they rush in as expected and I feel my hands losing their grip over yours. And I feel you slipping away. I don’t want to let you go. We were supposed to fall through the clouds together. But I can’t do anything. I can’t open my eyes. I am overpowered by these sensations. I want to open my eyes. I want to be overpowered by these sensations. I want to hold your hand. I want to feel the cloud melt against my bare hands. I want to feel the rush of your hot blood against my skin.

I want to fall through the clouds. That little yellow cloud. With you. 

Wanderlust

Why do people travel? To see a new place, to know a new culture, to experience new feelings? Who invented travelling? Why is it a multi-billion dollar industry?

I don't know.

I do however know why I travel...not to get away from the rigmarole of life. Nor to see new things. I see new things, places almost every other day. I travel to discover my self. And I travel solo.

I have discovered that I am caring and considerate unlike the gruff image that I usually portray. I am also genuinely interested in knowing people unlike my city face which doesn't have time to smile at strangers. I also shake a leg or two which would put horrified expressions on people who claim to know me. But the most important discovery about self has been the ability to know what makes me happy....and that is everything!

I am just stuck up in my mind....but away from the hard nosed career woman, all I want is to be a little girl who is awestruck at anything and everything....to be a dog who hangs out his tongue if in a car...to be a proud tiger who is scared of humans....to be a sheep in the big city...to be innocent.

I travel to discover the real me. I travel to find the one who is lost amongst deadlines and social protocols. I travel to be free of expectations. And I travel solo. 

Daily experiences faced by an Indian in India

We have read and agreed to both versions of Jane Von Rabenau (loves India) and Michaela Cross (traumatized by India). We have discussed the incidents described by both till death, defending experiences and incidents.

While Jane takes a very logical approach of not generalizing situations and incidents, Michaela does have a very personal view of things that happened to her.

But are their experiences unique only to their white skin?

Being an Indian in India is not without its pitfalls. Yes, groping in busy places happen. Yes, men do stare, uncomfortably. Yes, rapes are increasing. Yes, people are warm and open when you travel away from busy metros. Yes, Indian weddings are fun events. What do you do in such situations? You ignore most cases, and show your outrage in others. One cannot generalize, one doesn’t have a right answer, nor does one take sides.

But being brown skinned in a country obsessed with white skinned people sees me waiting for more than 20 minutes everyday for a cab. I stay in an area where a fair amount of expats have also made their home. And every cab or auto wala chooses them over me. This happens everyday.

If a ‘Gora’ presents an idea at work, it has to be way superior to what a brown skinned brain can conjure up. If a meeting is scheduled for international partners of the seriously cutthroat corporate job you have, then you have to be in time and have to dress sharp. If it’s just a meeting with regular Indian working class then the meeting get re-scheduled, sometimes cancelled.

Being brown skinned in a bustling metropolis like Mumbai means that if you want better service at top notch restaurants, arrive with a white skinned phoren and tables magically appear.

If you haven’t partied with atleast 1 foreigner then you have a lot of catching up on the way to becoming cool.

Comfortable clothes that you like are made for sizes suitable to a western body, desi food is customized to a western palate, and queues are magically cut for the poor foreigner. While this does show the hospitability of us Indians, it also adds that 2% more competition on to the plate. Didn’t I elbow out competing classmates, colleagues, cabbies to be there first, should I have to try again coz the best spot has now been offered to a ‘guest’?

Jane Von Rabenau   

http://indiatoday.intoday.in/story/india-and-a-blonde-tourist-an-alternate-account/1/305095.html

Michaela Cross

http://ireport.cnn.com/docs/DOC-1023053

That Girl

Labels. Everyone loves them. It’s like giving a giant label maker to a child who goes around stamping everything. Why?

image courtesy - google

We as Indians generalize everything and quickly jump to conclusions and toss the subject aside and move on to more labeling. Maybe the British, Germans, Americans and every goddamn civilization also do this. I wouldn't know, I am Indian. We do it and don’t give it a second thought.

I want to be ‘That Girl’ who has all the labels…yeah, that should be the aim of my life…collect all kinds of labels. Then I can compare them with the others.

Why is it difficult to have an amalgamation of habits, opinions, ideas, perspective in one person? Why should a person be this Hollywood and Bollywood? Why can’t I equally hate both Congress and BJP? Why can’t I lust at Brad Pitt and John Abraham at the same time? Why shouldn't I be a woman and man at work and relationships?

way or that? Why cant one like sweet and sour, rum and whisky (beer should always be out), hot and cold, FB and twitter,

We get so lost in conforming and non-confirming that we tend to lose ourselves. I am a workaholic so I cannot spend my Sundays without checking my mail. Or I am young so have to party. I internalize too much. I am an extrovert. I am too shy. I am like that only. We keep on saying these things and slowly start accepting them as the truth and without knowing we have only added one more label to ourselves.

Have I just labeled myself? Oh I am ‘that label girl’, right.