The Girl Who Played with Fire

The Mary Kom trailer released this week, and guess what, it features a close friend from my undergrad days! So yes, now I can proudly say that I know a celebrity, but this post is more than just my claim to fame, vicarious as it is.

While we went to the same college, lived in the same hostel, finished numerous packets of Maggie and junk food, strolled around Marine Drive, watched movies, gossiped for hours and whenever time permitted, studied a bit, I wouldn’t say we were exactly best friends. In all honesty, we lost touch after graduation, and while I settled for the conventional path to making a living in the corporate world, she was brave enough to follow her dreams. As I rotted within the 2 Km radius in Hiranandani, she traveled the world, dividing her time between Mumbai and New York, trying her luck in modeling, theatre and now, mainstream Bollywood.

So here is a bit of background and I am sure you will soon read an extremely exaggerated version in Bombay Times, but remember, you read it here first!

My college was known for its diversity and attracted girls from across the country as well as a few international students, a bit of a rarity for a degree college, but unlike the homogenous crowd in my MBA institute (where everyone was academically inclined and wanted to be in the corporate world), the crowd here was really a pot pourri of talented individuals with a variety of interests. Also the fact that we were still in our teens and living away from family for the first time, made us a more confused and vulnerable lot. Now this girl hailed from Manipur, and the first thing that struck me about her was her height. At 5’10, she towered over most of us, especially me and whenever we posed for photos together, the photographer had to resort to all sorts of tricks just to get us in the same frame! While she was quite striking even at that age, she spent a lot of time hyperventilating about her weight, going on crash diets or intense exercise routines. One day, while we all pigged out on cheap and greasy Chinese take away, I couldn’t help asking her why she deprived herself so much. And then came the statement, I would never forget: “Because I can’t study like you do. I choose to be in this field, and therefore I will do what it takes to be successful here.” For a 19-year old, it was pretty deep, especially since the rest of us were still figuring out what to do with our lives. Over the years, she groomed herself as a model and an individual, featuring on the Kingfisher Calendar and other assignments which made her quite a popular figure in the industry (with 11,000 followers on FB). For someone from the north-east, who knew nobody in Mumbai or the entertainment/fashion arena, it’s an achievement of epic proportions.

In a few months, we would all see her on the big screen, and I would be proud of her and think about the days when I knew her as just another college kid: gangly, awkward and annoying.

She is the girl who played with fire, and emerged unscathed…

Confessions of a Closet Nerd

This blog has seen multiple posts where I have mocked humoured the quintessential nerd male engineer. However, truth be told, I am somewhat of a nerd as well, notwithstanding my pink clothes or matching shoes/hairbands/accessories. So the time has come, to, behold, unleash the nerd in Nefertiti:

I enjoy writing competitive exams. Ever since I was a child, I have been brought up in a typical Indian middle class household, where we look at competitive exams as a panacea to all problems. Want to go for that exotic vacation? First clear the JEE. Want to marry the pretty girl next door? Write CAT. Want to find the dream job? Don’t even dream about it till you have taken GRE/GMAT, however irrelevant it is. Bored on a Saturday evening? Take IQ tests online. So, yes, I secretly like solving useless Math problems or sentence corrections. In fact, it’s such an integral part of my life that I find grammatical errors in emails sent by senior management, who probably didn’t even write the mail in the first place.

I wear thick glasses. While I wouldn’t be caught dead in my spectacles, the truth is that I have been wearing specs ever since I was 11. If you manage to catch me in a compromising situation (with glasses and a heavy book), rest assured that it’s not an accident. I am NOT as cool as I pretend to be.

I identify with Sheldon. Believe it or not, there are traits in me which are distinctly Sheldonic. Not only am I socially awkward and prefer the electronic mode of communication to personal interaction, I don’t even feel the need for human companionship and would much rather spend my time in pursuit of knowledge wasteful self gratification (Scrabble anyone? I shall beat you hollow).

I use words like “agnostic”, “hypothesis”, “exponential” or “sample space” as part of a conversation if I am not careful. I also play word games on my phone when I am bored or in a party with too many people.

I like being organized to an abnormal extent. Even though I rarely order for home delivery, I maintain a folder with menu cards from all restaurants, arranged in alphabetical order. I have done it ever since I started living on my own five years back, and I am extremely proud of my collection.

I read history because I WANT to. And I find it fashionable to badmouth popular literature.

Oh, and most importantly, I hate the iphone and I am proud of it.

It's time to come out of the closet and embrace the nerd in me...

Monsoon Wedding

Remember those Bollywood movies which go on for hours on two of its favourite topics: weddings and rains. Throw in a few heroines clad in a white sari, some Punjabi dance music and some last minute melodrama, and you have got yourself a Rs. 100 crore blockbuster. Then, a few years back, some smart cookie decided to combine the two and we were gifted a very well-made diaspora movie in the name of “Monsoon Wedding”.

But it’s a different story altogether when you try to enact the reel into real. Of course, the bride and the groom would take great pleasure in the years to come to tell their friends and family about a wonderfully romantic wedding in the rainy monsoons in suburban West Bengal, but for a reality check, ask the poor cousins, who worked non-stop behind the scenes to make the dream come true.

Now, not for one minute, am I suggesting that I was one those poor cousins. If anything, I did everything to avoid doing any work, which would have only resulted in more work. But once in a while, some watchful uncle/aunt would find me loitering aimlessly and put me up to some non-value-adding activity (when did weddings become like office?). But as for the others, they toiled day in and day out as they drove round the clock to receive the guests from the station or the bus stop, looked after the decorations/arrangements/lighting/catering at the venue or painstakingly coordinated the rituals while I looked on, part bemused and part puzzled. It was hard for me to believe that at this day and age, we still go to such elaborate lengths and put so many people at such discomfort, just to make sure certain traditions are not flouted. You have got to give it to tradition: you may not agree with some of it, but it does leave a legacy! The persistent rains did not make all of it any easier, but it did make it all the more memorable.

For a few days, it made you forget all the practicalities that marriage brings, simply because you are so caught up in the wedding…

For a few days, it made you forget all the past grudges and the fights, simply because you were meeting so many people after such a long time…

For a few days, it made you forget the initial awkwardness of meeting new people with whom you had nothing in common, simply because all of you were busy with the same functions…

For a few days, it made you forget about your discomfort in trudging through the muddy roads in heels and sarees, simply because all of you were colour-coordinated outfits…

For a few days, it made you forget about the few mean relatives/neighbours, simply because you had so much fun with the rest of the gang…

For a few days, it made you forget that you were missing all the action in World Cup and Wimbledon, simply because, your kid brothers would sneak you back in the house in time for the match and the three of you would watch it while a hundred people called you incessantly asking you to get some work done…

For a few days, it made you forget that it didn’t matter how strongly you opposed the idea of an elaborate wedding, simply because it brought you closer to the people who mattered the most…

For a few days, you just sat back, looked on and resigned yourself to the Monsoon Wedding simply because, it made you more alive...