More on leaving and being left

But then, if I am on the "being left" side, and those on the "leaving" side are unheeding, or bound by necessity, another song, written by Shakeel Badayuni, will find its way to my lips-

jaane vaale tera khuda haafiz
aaj mera salaam leta ja
mere dil ka payaam leta ja
jaane vaale tera khuda haafiz ...

main teri khaak hoon mere raahi
mujhko bhi saath saath aane de
iltaja hai ki raah mein apni
aaj palken zara bichhaane de
mujhse itna to kaam leta ja
jaane vaale tera kuda haafiz ...

alvida jaan-e-aarazu tujhko
gam ke maare salaam kehte hain
ye lutey ghar, ye pyaar ki galiyaan
ye nazaare salaam kehte hain
yaadgaaren tamaam leta ja
jaane vaale tera khuda haafiz ...

saans jab tak hai mere seene mein
main tera intazaar kar luungi
khush rahe tu ye hai dua meri
main to gam se bhi pyaar kar luungi
pyaar ka tu bhi naam leta ja
jaane vaale tera khuda haafiz ...

My sincere apologies to those unfamiliar with hindi. Anyone who finds a translation, or is able to translate it, please let me know. I cannot trust myself to do this task.

On leaving and being left.

I have often wondered if people who keep leaving would stop doing so if they didn't have faith that those who they leave behind will still be around when they (are ready to) come back.

Songs about leaving have a special quality. I am thinking of songs like abhi na jao chhor kar, or na jao saiyaan chhura ke baiyaan, or aaj jaane ki zid na karo. There is such open admission and frankness about feeling like one's life's breath is being pulled away, if one's beloved leaves. There is a childlike quality to the request, and a feeling of someone laying themself bare before you when they ask that you stay a few more moments. It reveals a certain vulnerability, and in being able to reveal that vulnerability unabashedly, it also shows great strength of character.

na jao saiyaan chhura ke baiyyan, kasam tumhari main ro padoongi

machal raha hai suhaag mera, jo tu na ho to main kya karoongi?

Oh! the speechlessness of the moment if one were told so openly that their departure would bring tears to someone's eyes. What could you possibly say to someone who says to you - If you were to go away, I would be lost- ?

Or when someone says with a pleading smile, just when you're about to leave-

abhi na jao chhor kar, ki dil abhi bhara nahi

(Don't leave now, my heart's desire is yet to be quenched).

Sigh..

Who could possibly refuse these requests?

I know I couldn't.

Not without a certain part of me turning to stone the moment I left.

We have the last laugh.

Yesterday, I was in conversation with another woman about a lot of things- work related and unrelated. She admitted that sometimes she has thought very seriously that life isn't worth living. Like a reflex action, I waved my hand casually and said "Oh! Wonderful! Once you've reached that conclusion, its an indication that you have managed to size things up pretty accurately".

She laughed and I smiled. She probably thought I joking.

But I was quite serious actually.

To come to an awareness that life sucks is really a grand moment. Once this happens, you can either curse the creator, or you can feel pleased with yourself at having understood his* little game.

You see, he thinks he is rather smart, making and breaking us as and when he pleases, and doing so about a thousand times before he does it for the last and final time. And he waits, he waits for this moment when you realise that the palette of life has miserable colours as well. For since the moment he created you, he tries to lure you back into his realm of nothingness. He feels lonely after all, we established that with Camus' help a while ago. And he probably prides himself on the fact that it comes as a great shock to us, this misery and suffering, one by which we will be beaten and will submit.

But Newsflash dear creator! You're not that smart after all! You think those of us who are happy and manage to smile are oblivious to the truth about existence- that suffering is a part of it? Think again! We are fully aware of your little tricks and will indulge you. We like playing your little game. Because each time we say "Life sucks. But what the hell, its all I have", we think we have delivered a blow to you. In our knowledge and our acceptance of reality, lies your confusion. In our perseverance, your loss.

Every time we throw our heads back and laugh at the rather humorous pointlessness and misery of our life, its wipes that sly grin off your face a little.

The joke, darling, is on YOU after all.

(*if any feminists are reading this, please hold on and don't jump out of your chairs in protest. I will explain, probably in another post, why for me, the creator is best conceptualised in masculine gender. For now, bear with me)

A drive to remember.

Driving to work this morning, I was reveling in the wonder of a moment when one's inner state, the weather, and the song one is listening to are in perfect harmony. The music was on shuffle, it was raining and driving to work the following song, written by Khusro and rendered by Shafqat Ali Khan starts to fill me, finding its way through my ears. Just reading the words will take away from the 'feel' of the song, but it is all I can offer.

"Abr mi barad-o man mi shavm-e az yar-e judaa

Choon kunam dil becheneen roz e zedildar judaa.

Abr baraan wa man-o yar satadah be-widaa'

Man judaa girya kunaan, abr judaa, yaar judaa

sabz anokhez o hava khurrm bostan sar sabz

bulbule roo- e- se -a mandeze gulzar judaa

ay mar a dardahe har moyez-e ulfat bandi

cheekunin band zebandam hamiy yaar judaa

husn e tu deeri na payadi chooz e khusro rafti

gulbasi deeri na bashad choo shud az- khar judaa"

(Translation)*
How can I leave my beloved?

In this enchanting rain , how do I wrench this heart away?

Heavens pour as I leave my love. Each weeps in loneliness, its own way.
Meadows green, the blooming orchards sway,

but in separation the dark nightingale laments far away.
Entangled I am in your locks, and yet in one stroke

you have severed my being, from the beloved away.
Beauty will not last not, if kept away from 'Khusro'.

Without the thorn, a flower wilts soon enough, if plucked away

The poignancy of the song was amazing, for in that moment there was nothing I could have wanted more than to be able to enjoy the monsoon, the cool breeze, and the captivating green freshness of the world, with the beloved. To just walk, nowhere in particular, oblivious to time or place. What else is there to life, I thought, than to live an infinite number of moments when you are happy?

They can't have been my friends, I thought, the song and the weather; for they ignited in me a longing and reminded me of what I missed.

Then again, who else, but for the closest friends, would know what we want the most, and remind us of the same from time to time lest we forget it.

So I smiled, and the three of us had a nice drive together.

(* Not mine. I also apologise to those who read, speak, and write Persian for the many spelling mistakes that I am sure I have made, in trying to remain close to the pronunciation.)

The Albert Camus series - Part 3

(This is an excerpt from "God's dialogue with his soul". It is magnificent.)

"G: In the end, I'm bored. Because, in point of fact, for thousands of years I have been alone. And it is useless for writers to tell me solitude makes for grandeur; I am not a writer, myself. And I cannot even lie to myself, seeing that I'm at the centre of all thought. Me, I am not an idealist. And I don't have the expedience of believing myself damned. The truth is I am bored. Omniscience, omnipotence, it's always a bit the same thing.

S: Beware, boredom breeds doubt.

G: Say, that's new. You amuse me. That would be quite a farce wouldn't it? God doubting God. In fact, if I were not sure of being God, the fabulous number of names by which men have called me could one day be lost. Time and Space have arranged to identify me in good ways and attribute me with some horrors I doubtless never committed : Zeus...Batara or hunter centre, Jupiter, Zeus...or...Huitzilopochtli or...Ahura Mazda, Indra, and even - What a farce! - Buddha, Ra, Anu or Marduk, Allah, Jehovah, and so many others. Then, as if things weren't complicated enough already, they advised me to split myself into three. And that makes me think. In all that, which is the real name? As long as it's not Huitzilopochtli. If I could choose, I'd prefer something with a good ring to it.

S: (aside) What a talker!

G: Can't you say something, you? Yes, I know, you're telling yourself I'm getting old. And, that too, makes me uneasy. Suppose this eternity were a lie. Since I can do anything, I can very well have lied. And if I think about it, there are lot of things about me that might make me doubt. So I know perfectly well that to vanquish me, it is enough for a man to be equipped with a good deal of pity. Listen, soul. I am afraid. I feel doubt insinuating its way into me.

S: .... (and with good reason, God no longer believed in his soul)

G: The evil, the doubt that tortures me. Ah! If there were someone above me that I could adore, in whom I could believe. What gets me is not being able to give myself. There is nothing before me but love. How can I give myself to something that is so inferior to me. Someone above me! For pete's sake! So I can give myself! Alas, I am God. I know very well that there is nothing above me. And I cannot even raise my eyes. Ah! What terrible odors mixed with the smell of grilled flesh. Happy ye who can believe. Happy ye who can give yourselves, can pray, sob, suffer usefully. My suffering can only be useless. Unless I am something else. Perhaps I am not God, am a man like others. Ah! I feel my pride, which hurts at the thought. What to do? What to believe? There is nothing. Ah! I am going to tell men that. I want to see them suffer too. There is nothing. You should no longer believe. You should no longer hope. I hurl at you the uncertainty of nothingness. Receive it, make a robe of it, and let the folds fall artfully. And march forward, happy to be the first ones.....

.....Overwhelmed, God murmured: My God, I have only one hope. The natives of Tierra del Fuego, at the far end of Patagonia, adore me as a great black man who prohibits evildoing and the killing of little ducklings. If they are right, I am delivered from my misery. The little ducklings will bring me peace."

The Albert Camus series - Part 2

(Albert Camus on Jehan Rictus' "Soliloques du Pauvre". The poetry in italics is from a translation of Rictus' work, that Camus elaborates on)

"The poor among the poor..he doesn't dream of money. He dreams of love. But he dreams of a love more maternal than sensual, of a love warm and protective, a soft shelter in which to rest his aching, weary limbs, and the limbs of a wandering creature of wretchedness. He dreams of a woman, white and beautiful, a dream poignant in its naive purity -

who is she? I don't know but she is beautiful,

rising in me like a summer moon,

she is posted like a sentinel,

like a torch, like a gleaming light.

who is she? I don't know she's so far away,

so pale is she as the night falls

one would swear she was emerging from her tomb,

where we could marry one another with no one looking on

Now the poor man is deep in his golden dream, a pure dream in which he joyously rediscovers the precious lost soul of his childhood. He lives his dream. He forgets his fate, his condition, his hunger. "Perhaps I'll pass out when we kiss," he thinks. If he returns then to reality, to misery, a touching cry of stubborn illumination will issue forth spontaneously:

Well, my word, if there's no way

That won't keep me from loving her.

Come on, at it again, back to lazy ways,

Let's keep on dreaming, it doesn't cost a thing.

A moving cry, like that of a child who doesn't want to believe his toy is broken! Ah! To meet this dream woman. She would welcome him and, caressing him, take him to bed. And he would sleep, a sleep tender and naive, the sleep of a guiltless child:

Yes! To sleep, never to open

My bleeding eyes on life again

And from then on to know nothing any more

Of hope or of despair,

Whether it is night or morning,

Whether my destiny looks less dark,

To sleep for a long time... to sleep...to sleep.

He too would like to love; He, too, would know how to speak of stars and flowers. No, it is not a complicated love he needs, but a love that will be content with bunches of violets at forty cents each."

The Albert Camus series - Part 1

I love Albert Camus. I will be presenting three excerpts from his "Youthful Writings". All of them have stayed with me, because in them I find reflections of myself, as well as some people who are very dear to me. And of course, because they are brilliant, give you the freedom to be free, and contain goodness and simplicity.

"Losing a loved one, uncertainty about what we are, these are the deprivations that give rise to our worst suffering. We may be idealists, but we need what is tangible. It is by the presence of persons and things that we believe we recognise certainty. And though we may not like it, at least we live with this necessity. But the astonishing or unfortunate thing is that these deprivations bring us the cure at the same time they give rise to pain. Once we have accepted the fact of loss, we understand that the loved one obstructed a whole corner of the possible, pure now as a sky washed by rain. Freedom emerges from weariness. To be happy is to stop. We are not here in order to stop. Free, we seek anew, enriched by pain. And the perpetual impulse forward always falls back again to gather new strength. The fall is brutal, but we set out again.

When some interest in our life crumbles beneath our feet, we transfer the interest we had accorded it to another possibility, and from this another, and again, without cease. An incessant need to believe, a perpetual projection ahead - such is the necessary comedy, and we shall enact it for a long time. Certain persons even play this pitiable game at the decisive moment. They review their whole life in order to persuade themselves of its nobility. A faint hope animates them.

Yes, there are deprivations, there are deprivations that give rise to our worst sorrows. But what does it truly matter what we lack when what we have is not used up. So many things are susceptible of being loved that surely no discouragement can be final. To know how to suffer, to know how to love, and, when everything collapses, to take everything up once more, simply, the richer from suffering, almost happy from the awareness of our misery."

"They're sick of the war. There's 'war fatigue' in America. It's affecting us psychologically. I understand that."

- George W. Bush,

In response to the house of representatives voting in favour of the removal of American troops from Iraq by april 2008.

And of course, he can't speak a word without that impish grin on his face.
And don't miss the inappropriate winking. with the queen, as well as Merkel during the G-8.

Sigh. Oh George. When will you stop thinking everything is a big fat joke?

STOP !!!

Even if you keep aside the issue of morality and basic human conscience, the sheer stupidity of man is amazing.

Why are people having so many children? Everyone is talking about how population growth is one of the main concerns facing nearly every country today. Including those who are having those babies! Then why is it still happening? Are people in denial? Can they not see the hundreds of children forced into trafficking every year? Are they blind to the fact that there are so many children without families, waiting to be adopted? Or do they really think the construction of new schools will suffice to tackle the issue of there being absolutely no place to accommodate and educate the kids??

Sometimes I feel like taking a big red "STOP!!" sign and smashing it on the heads of the people who keep reproducing and having five or six children. Serious steps need to be taken to stop this madness.

I don’t think people realize just what is being talked about here. Its not just something to talk about at parties to pretend to sound intelligent you know. If you’re that smart, your actions should prove it.

Our planet is not going to get any bigger. If you keep having children like that, where are they going to go? Where will we put them? Doesn’t anyone realise that there is no room!?

Will the couples please understand that no one has a personal vendetta against them when they are asked to engage in a little family planning. Something needs to be done to make them understand this. Especially in the rural areas. Just telling people to do something isn't right. You have to explain to them. Make them see the reason behind it.

I also think that half the couples that have children do so without thought. It’s the automatic next step after marriage. Also, the idea of having children is so romantic and magical, I don’t think couples realize that having children isn’t like going on a vacation if you’re bored. Once they’re here, they’re yours to take care of for the next 18 years at least. You are responsible for them. You are responsible for their well being, the people they become. So do humanity a favour and don’t have children unless you really really want to be parents. There is nothing more cruel than having a child and then abandoning it- either metaphorically, or literally.

No one wants to steal your biological right to procreate.

We just care about the planet, ourselves, and most of all, the children- born and unborn.

Human conscience is rotting away day by day.

I don’t understand how some people can do the things they do and still have the strength to wake up every morning, and face themselves in the mirror…. or face the God they claim to believe in and pray to so religiously.

Too many things seem to have become more important than the plain and simple act of not causing harm to another, or protecting another from harm.

I really do want to know. Have the people who cause pain to another, or don’t do whatever it is they can do to prevent the pain and trauma of another, alienated themselves from their actions to an extent that it is possible for them to go on living, day after day, with the same body, mind, heart and spirit that were, not too long ago, responsible for causing that pain?

Aiso anokho chatur khiladi, rang diyo sansar....

Dedicated to someone with whom the sky seems to flirt rather lovingly, and whose photos are breathtakingly beautiful. You and your sky photos are an inspiration. I try to keep up, but I remain a step or two behind you.

Breaking news: PM condemns act of terror!!

Anyone who watched Mr. Shivraj Patil address a bunch of press-walas after the bomb blasts at a mosque in Hyderabad on the 18th of May this year will understand what I am talking about.
There he was, appearing on national television to make a statement about an act of terrorism that killed a dozen people and wounded over 40, reading words off a bunch of sheets stapled together. He didn’t trust himself to say something extempore at a time like this. There was no emotion. No anger. Not a trace of genuine, heartfelt sorrow, regret or outrage- in intonation or content of speech. He spoke slowly, but not out of a desire for clarity. The pauses seemed like they were necessary- because he seemed confused about a few words that were written, and even fumbled a bit. I felt ashamed and sick.

“PM condemns act of terror”. I am sick of hearing this. It doesn’t help at all. Not only does it not help, it actually makes me angry to see the same words spewing forth from the mouths of the leaders of the country every time lives are lost to brutality and merciless murder of innocent persons. Rather than bursting forth as a powerful reaction to events that ought to shake the deepest hollows of one’s being because they chip away at the backbone of humanity and of the nation, they seem…obligatory.

Do I want to see Manmohan Singh and the rest of them pick up guns and burning torches marching the streets shouting anti terrorist slogans and swearing on their family members that they will find the culprits and shoot them at sight? Probably not. Probably not.

All I ask for is a genuine show of emotion, some indication that despite the fact that is has become a daily occurrence, we haven’t got used to it. They haven’t just got used to it. I understand that approaching crisis in a dispassionate manner that allows one to think objectively without getting drawn into the emotionality of it all is usually good. But only when there is some indication to suggest that its importance has been registered, and that one is choosing to appear unperturbed and in control.

Or maybe not. Maybe I do want to see a minister going red in the face with anger and grief over senseless violence and lost lives for once. Maybe even watch him struggle to hold back tears. He’ll come out looking stronger in my eyes than if he sits there and, his voice becoming a monotonous drawl, says things like- “The Government of India condemns acts of this kind.”

It makes me wonder if I would prefer that the ministers just shut up and don’t give a statement. At least one could then interpret it any way one wanted- Maybe they’re too shocked to say anything. Maybe they can’t find the words to communicate how they really feel.

Don’t journalists who go to their homes and offices looking for “statements” get tired of hearing the same thing? I won’t be surprised if they don’t even bother anymore and just call the PM’s PA and ask “Statement dena hai. Wo hi wala daal den kya phir se?”

At a time when the country looks to its leaders to offer some solace and comfort, the nation waits with bated breath for what the man has to say, we hear:

“PM condemns act of terror”.

Well, thank you very much for allaying our doubts. The country had actually expected otherwise.

Aankhon mein neend aa kar, kyun dur ja rahi hai?

"Betaab ho raha hai, ye dil machal machal ke
Shaayad ye raat beete, karvat badal badal ke..."

This is what happens when a million wishes are ignited in one's heart after it has fallen for someone but it knows not who that someone is; or isn't prepared to admit it to itself.

This is also what happens when you have a cold and sore throat. The discomfort experienced is the same- the mind, heart and body are restless, sleep evades you, and the night is spent tossing and turning.

A word of thanks for the "enlightened one" who had something to do with my name, as well as that of my blog.
And who always makes me laugh :)

Venus came to rescue the moon from his solitude

These photos were taken on consecutive nights. This is their story:

The moon was alone one dark night, and Venus came to rescue him from his solitude. They were together and seemed to offer companionship to each other for a short while. Thereafter, he started to drift away from Venus. "Why don't you let me try and make your solitude disappear?" she asked him. He replied, "I have nothing to offer. This light you see shining off me, isn't mine. And isn't really there. It is an illusion that has blinded you."

She then smiled, and said

"It is only by being close to you that I can, in this darkness, find my place ,
It is only because of this moonlight that, like a star, I can twinkle,
And it is only with this light that I can find myself.
For without it, I wouldn't even be able to see my own face."

Seinfeld

This is one of my favourite things to watch on television. A special fondness for it arises from the fact that many of my conversations over "chai", or in the metro with friends, mirror the Seinfeld script. Conversations about nothing, and everything.
In the middle of all the randomness, and the pointlessness, if you watch closely, you can catch something profound and meaningful.
In an episode I saw earlier today, Jerry decides to make a change for the better in his life and declares: "It would be nice to really care about someone".

Yeah. It would.

It is.

The point of sympathy

The thing about sympathy is that its whole point lies in my experiencing it. In that sense it is kind of like tears. Its entire being begins and ends there. So for me, it isn't pointless because its very presence is its point.

If it has a positive effect on the person for whom I feel sympathy then it is a bonus that sympathy affords me by going beyond its requirements and stretching its boundaries.

Varsha in Vrindavan

My last visit to Vrindavan was at least ten years ago. At the time, I had gone with a large number of people from my father’s side of the family. My memories of Vrindavan from that trip: A very narrow and very crowded street (the width cant have been more than 5 feet); a very crowded and very unclean temple (I don’t go to temples for purpose of worship, and in my mind if it is supposed to be a sacred place, then you better pull out all the stops to keep it clean) that I didn't want to be in; and a delicious meal of khasta kachoris, very spicy aloo sabzi, and … sigh!…jalebis for breakfast (Yes. In that part of the world, this is the most popular breakfast).

Work took me to vrindavan again last weekend. I was excited and looking forward to the trip. I knew I wouldn’t go to any of the temples though.

To mark the occasion, the rain gods started to created a big fuss causing a downpour so heavy, it was hard to see 50 mts. in front of you through the grey fuzzy sheet of water. There were heavy winds, clouds of the darkest grey against which white buildings look whiter than ever, and palm trees (which, btw, I did not expect to find in vrindavan) swaying happily in the blessed rain. I was ecstatic. I wanted to get drenched in the rain, but a colleague warned me against it because I wouldn’t be able to change out of the wet clothes for about six hours after that. I pretended to understand, but found an excuse to step out of the dry and boring indoors. I was soaked to the bones in about twenty seconds flat. But this is about vrindavan, not my actions which were guided by an overpowerful Id, that took advantage of an Ego that was fast asleep while it was supposed to be working.

Vrindavan is beautiful.

As soon as you arrive you know who the hero of the place is. All shops, small or big, have to do with him- Kanha mithai, Nand Kishore, Kishan Kanhaiyya etc.
As we drove through the narrow, winding streets I kept trying to take in the sights and sounds (the latter was muffled because window was up to keep rain out). Every second building, without exaggeration, is a temple (obviously dedicated to the charmingly mischievous and cunningly wise Lord Krishna). Most of the doors are brightly coloured, with a very ancient feel to them. And since they were open, I couldn’t help but sneak a peek at the God’s within. Some opened into a large courtyard at the centre of which was a peepal tree providing shade to the entire courtyard. And where there are temples, there are sadhus. There they were, walking barefoot in the wet mud, mixed with dirt and who knows what else- looking content and happy. Some had an umbrella, to protect themselves from the rain, but no shoes.

I lost track of the streets. At one point the man who was functioning as the navigator said, “Idhar mudhna hai” (We have to turn here), I struggled to find the street he was pointing to, and asked with undisguised surprise “Kidhar??" (with extra emphasis). Then when he pointed it out : “Yahan?? ISme?”

There was so much water collected in the streets that it looked like a flood. I actually had to wade through water for about six steps, with my salwar hitched up to my knees, laughing while feeling absolutely disgusted.

But the reality for the people of vrindavan and mathura isn’t funny. The roads were blocked, there were open manholes lurking within the deep water collected in the road. It was really hard to get in or out of the city. Where the houses were really close to the road, water from the street was making its way into their porches. The man who was with us was a local, and said that often, men fall into the manholes and emerge in god knows what place in what city or state. We tried about four different routes and each time, were sent back because of the roads being water logged.

I wondered how hard it could be to build good roads in small cities. It is sad when life comes to a near standstill in one place, because of water logged roads and open drains, and in another, like the VIP areas of New Delhi, the already painted pavement is re painted every two weeks and the intact road divider is broken, just to be re-made in the exact same way.

I am reminded of a joke - A man walked past another man who seemed to be looking for something next to a street lamp late at night. He asked, "what are you looking for?".
The man replied, "My watch. I lost it about an hour ago."
"Did it fall somewhere here?"
"No. It fell about 100 mts. from here. But I am looking here because this is where the lamp is"

Chand tanha

"Chand tanha hai, aasmaan tanha
Dil mila hai kahan kahan tanha..."

A game you can't lose

"Khusro baazi prem ki, main kheloon pi ke sang,
jeet gayi to piya morey, jo haari...pi ke sang"

THE BEAUTIFUL BULGE

There is a show that is telecasted every Sunday night on NDTV called "We the people". Hosted by Ms. Barkha Dutt, its a show where a bunch of people gather to talk about stuff. Stuff that is important, of course, to the people who are talking about it. But the reason it is being talked about on NDTV rather than in smaller groups over a large number of coffee, tea, lunch, breakfast or dinner tables spread out across the nation is that the importance of the subject matter extends beyond the studio- to the nation, to the world, to humanity and so on. And so the discussions and the conclusions reached (though one must admit, the issues taken up are such that we begin with a grey and traversing through the black and white, end up at the grey again) have national, international, personal, cultural, social, religious....implications.

I watch the show when I can. I like to hear what people have to say. Listening to people gives you a good idea about where you, as a nation, are at.
The topic under discussion this week was "Fit or Fat". It grows out of an awareness that more and more Indians are trying to lose weight. Shows like "Biggest loser jitega" and the fact that air hostesses of Indian Airlines are not being allowed to fly because they are a few kgs. over the prescribed weight, add fuel to the fitness/fatness fire.
So we have an overweight Pooja Bhatt sitting next to a slim and pretty model and beating her chest about how she likes being "Big", and overdoes it by suggesting, more than once, that thin people have "withered brains and withered souls" (!). Ms. Bhatt also spoke the most, and interrupted others and basically wanted to have the last word every single time. The model was poised and was of the opinion that you don't look for an air hostess wearing dungarees, you want someone who looks good- "That's important in the hospitality industry".

Anyway, I won't get into the nitty gritty of who said what and then contradicted themselves by saying what.

NDTV put together a collection of what Barkha Dutt called "Big Women who are considered beautiful by a large number of people". The intention, as far as I could tell, was to suggest that one need not be slim to be considered beautiful by the public at large.
Have you started thinking about who might have been part of the slideshow? Write it down. Because you will probably not believe the list when I disclose it in a few moments.

It included - Shakira, Beyonce Knowles, Madhuri Dixit (not as her figure was in the last few films she acted in, but the sexy MD in her "Choli ke peeche" days), Helen, Priety Zinta, Rekha. I have left out a few, and I cannot remember who they are (I was in a state of shock you see) but I think, I THINK, I also caught a glimpse of Sharmila Tagore making her first appearance (and was it also the last?) in a swimming costume.

Barkha even went so far as to call them "The beautiful bulge".

Now in my opinion, none of these women are fat, and most of them have bodies that many women would give an eye and tooth for. Shakira and Beyonce Knowles are known more for their abs and a-- respectively, than their singing. I think all the women in the list are just examples of women who happen to have a figure- bust, waist and hips - that is identifiable (as opposed to the cylinders we see walking the ramp these days).

I think NDTV should have chosen their examples more sensibly if they wanted to make a point.

After this, they cry about girls wanting to be "twiggy". Well, what do they expect? If I had a body like Madhuri Dixit (Yeah yeah, IF is the operative word!) and they started honouring me with the title of "the beautiful bulge", no one should blame me for wanting to shed a few more kilos.
It also put the entire discussion in perspective for me. When NDTV said FAT, I wasn't thinking Shakira.

Salaam Aleikum. Peace be upon you.
I like this greeting.