Me-cut

As I came out of the salon, I was shocked. My stunning, silky shoulder brown length hair were all chopped off. And I was left with a ‘boy cut’ and some curly strands, which lingered over my forehead.

I had told the barber was just told to trim them, but he did this. And now when I look back, I realize how thankful I am to him.

From the next day, a new journey began. Many people, my close friends, some of my teachers and my parents loved the haircut. They said it made me look really smart.

But others had negative comments.

“Oh you look like a boy!”

“You looked so much better in your long hair!”

“They’ll grow back soon, right?”

“Poor girl, don’t worry, you’ll look pretty once they grow back!”

All these comments hit me harder than the positive ones. My confidence really went down initially. I couldn’t peacefully go for evening walks, or even to school. All those comments seemed cruel, and affected my confidence in myself.

But with time, it all changed.

I realized how important it is to believe in yourself.

It has been two years since I got this haircut, but I learn something new from it every single day. I never thought that something as simple as a haircut would teach me so much. The comments, the mocking used to really trouble me earlier, but with time my resilience has fought back. For me, it has never been a haircut. It’s a symbol to represent myself. And it’s a symbol for everything I stand for. Keeping this haircut for such a long time has taught me to fight. It gives me willpower to stand up for myself. Now, when I get those glares, those comments, I just smile. For I don’t care anymore. Infact, all those comments and mocks make me stronger. They give me the boost to stay the person I am, and keep believing in myself. The society wants me to be how they please, but I have learnt over time that its about you. Its about being the you who pleases you, and standing up and fighting for that You.

I am not a rebel, I am just another girl who wants to be herself.

I am not a girl with a ‘boy-cut’, for haircuts don’t have genders. I am just a girl with a ‘me-cut’.  I realize now that those tiny strands that linger over my forehead aren’t strands of hair. They are strands of every little ideal I stand for. They are strands of me. And nobody can grow or cut them. Except me.

Mystory

The clinking sound of footsteps on the iron staircase echoed in my ears, but the sound of my excitement persisted. Those eager murmurs on the first day of third grade made it even louder. A new class, new teacher, new friends, and most importantly, new subjects! Third grade was the first year we got to study History & Civics and Geography.

Before third grade, history had been all about watching TV shows about Jhansi ki Rani or Chandragupta Maurya, with the extravagant sets, sharp swords, powerful dialogues and glorious fights. And the whole idea of studying more about these legends made me very enthusiastic. I knew I wouldn’t just read about them, but my imagination would take me to them, sometimes clad in the same saree as Lakshmibai, other times as Queen Victoria perhaps.

Miss Kelkar walked into the class. Her jet black, long hair was tied elegantly into a lot plait. Her simple blue and purple salwar-kameez complemented her deep brown eyes and little black bindi perfectly. She came in, introduced herself, and told us to remove our history textbooks. I opened my textbook to the first chapter, and it was called ‘What is history?’. We learned basic terms like historian, archaeologist, inscriptions, emperors, etc. And then began a journey back in time, a journey to the past, which I live in the present.

I travelled to so many lands in that one year. Colonial India, Ashoka’s peaceful empire, Shah Jahan’s , stunning Taj Mahal site, all were covered in one year itself. 

Further, I came a veteran traveller to the lands of the past. I bathed in the Great Bath, sat in Tutankhamun’s court, traded along the Silk Route, and even saw the Code of Hammurabi right before my eyes. I attended a session in the diwan-e-aam, walked in the Dandi March with Gandhi, heard Nehru’s Tryst with destiny and even saw the bloody partition of my nation.

I have come a long way from words like historian, archaeologist, inscriptions and emperors. Words such as power, perspective, revolution and society have become a more significant part of history for me.

History evolves. Just like we all do. History also has a future. A future of the past, a future of the rich customs, traditions and culture of the past. We need to revive that past. We need to learn from it. We need to put it into current perspective to understand contemporary issues. The true essence of history isn’t the extravagant palaces or fancy costumes of the past. It is the rather lessons. Lessons from past mistakes, from the rich societies of the past, from how we have become who we are today. History teaches us why some are rich, some poor, some unequally treated and some specially treated. Once we understand the ‘why’, we need to look for the ‘how’ and identify solutions to solve such loopholes in the society. Not just the Indian society, but each and every society in the world faces some or the other social, political or economic issue. I want to study history as a solution, as a source which explains the root cause of the issue.

I want to read the story of the dead and derive morals for the living.

A Puneri Monsoon

The sound of pitter patter. Somehow, I am used to it now. The unending raindrops fall on the AC vent, and produce an irritating tap-tap-tap background music. I have no idea how I manage to sleep every night even with this not-so pleasing sound ringing in my ears. Ultimately, it does wake me up in the mornings.

All I have ever associated monsoons with is pakodas, Maggie and soup. The raindrops happen to remind me only of the Chak dhoom dhoom chak or the last scene in Wake Up Sid. Mumbai ka monsoon is so romanticised in movies that one considers it nothing short of a paradise. But the truth is, Maharashtra rains are nothing more than loud horns, unexpected lightning and chikhat. Ofcourse, there used to be a time these monsoons used to bring with them a beautiful green cover. But the virgin green ghats are now so popular that one sees more people than trees, and more butta waste than waterfalls.

I have never been a monsoon person. Except the mitti ki Khushboo, there’s literally nothing I cherish much about the season. I still remember back in school how we had to cancel our games periods or assemblies for the sake of monsoons. All sulky faces. Then that continuous rainfall. There was laziness and lethargy all around. Sometimes I was even too lazy to even remove the umbrella from my bag, so didn’t mind getting wet.

Those lovely childhood days are long gone when we used to dance in the rain, get our hair wet and then shake our heads to sprinkle that water on our friends. In this era of acid rains, we hardly see any kids creating those memories. Guess they’ll never know the pleasure of dancing on Barso re megha megha in full Aishwarya-Rai style with the incessant rains.

And now these college days. Walking 500m to the rickshaw stands with thick raindrops falling on my head. Just to find out that all the rickshwalas are either tucked away in their rajais at home or taking some other passenger. So I just wave my hand in the air like a dancer to catch a rickshaw. After some 5 minutes of the continuous action of staring at my watch and then staring again at the road, I get a rick. Then with that jhatak  scarf of mine wrapped around my tiny head, I venture on this hawadar  journey to college. I used to shiver or even try to wipe the water droplets around me earlier. But with time, I learnt to be so engrossed in my music that I’m not bothered by either the wind or the rain.

Then after reaching college, you are quite likely to see a girl squeezing her t-shirt or even her hair to drain out the water. Thank you two-wheelers, get your raincovers asap. Once this nichodna process is done, they just cover themselves up in a scarf or a jacket and somehow survive in the kadakti thand of the college hawa all day. We all somehow hibernate (with our eyes open) throughout the lectures, and then just wake up during the break to stuff our mouths with a huge variety of dishes. Most of the last lectures are bunked, to avoid the evening traffic.

And the return journey is the most entertaining part ever. After bargaining on the atrocious prices stated by the rickshwalas, I finally get one and go back. For a few minutes, the roads are all jolly and empty even despite all the rains. But after a bit, they get inspired by the Mutha river nearby and begin their water-clogging antics. So my rickshaw goes like some superb Fast and Furious car, splashing water on the faces of all the nearby 2-wheeler walas. Then I reach this signal which is infamous for the tremendous traffic. For the next 15 minutes or so, I just enjoy the symphony of raindrops, horns and beggars saying please didi. Mixing these with the miscellaneous songs played by the truck-walas, and Kuhad’s cold/mess, trust me the overall outcome is highly interesting.

At last, I reach home, wash my face and start thoosna. Then all the tensions of the whole wide day are all forgotten.

Honestly, this tension, these irritating drops aren’t that annoying anymore. I am quite used to them now, and am starting to like them really. I guess we are all plants at the end, taking in the different sized raindrops of situations and blooming with flowers at the end.

School ke din-2

SST, or the long Social Studies, was, for me, a class I looked forward to. But since half of our class was of engineers, and the other half of doctors, the whole class wasn’t particularly fond of this period. This was the period where our dearest Geeta ma’am would put in all she could to make the class interesting and interactive. We used to have all sorts of innovative activities and our andar ki teacher used to be introduced to our dear XC.  There is one activity in particular that I remember; it was on my favourite chapter, The Indian National movement. It was a complicated one, so to be brief, we had to pass around questions written on a sheet and had to write the answers in 1 minute. We were in teams. And my team just rocked. Even the SST haters turned into curious and active people, who gave many answers. The best part was Dibya and I fighting over a date, which had a difference of merely a year!

The next class was English, which was our stress buster. Amit sir used to be our “dream teacher.” A master storyteller, who transformed every cheerless Ali into a determined Patol Babu, and who used to treat the not-great-hunter Mrs Packletide as a person who was as brave as Julius Caesar. He was the perfect mentor for an aspiring writer like me, for he didn’t just teach us the school course, but taught us much beyond that. He always encouraged us to be unique and think outside the box. He taught us that even sky is not the limit. He was, is and will always be our coolest teacher. We have had our share of funny moments with him, but on serious note, he has truly changed the way we all look at our lives.

Next up, we used to have Hindi. Well, not everyone really likes Hindi. But I must say, Shraddha ma’am certainly tried her best to make it interesting. The most memorable Hindi lessons were the ones when we learnt the particular chapter- “Tattara-vameero katha”, which was essentially a typical Laila-majnu type love story. It was written with so much prem-bhav, that our class of science and maths geeks just couldn’t figure out where the logic in that was. It described how Tattara and Vameero just stood and looked at each other for one complete evening, without talking and fell in love. That’s really bizarre. Then the end, in which Tattara breaks the island into two distinct landforms, and Vameero goes berserk was just crazy. I mean, if Tattara had the power to cut the Earth into two pieces, couldn’t he just run away with his beloved Vameero? So this Tattara-vameero was the new Priya Varrier in our class. It was viral, and everyone was really interested in making fun of it, and making ‘verbal memes’ on it. Ketaki had made one which I remember now. She asked everyone which Bollywood song would play when Tattara would break the Earth. When nobody had the answer, she started singing the song ‘Dharti hilade’ from Ajab Prem ki Gajab Kahani.

Apart from all these lovely classes, a time I really miss a lot are our lunch breaks. The perfect way to describe all of us during this time was the song, “Chahe koi mujhe jungle kahe..”  Foodies and bhukkads like me used to roam around the country i.e. our class. Others used to go on international trips i.e. to other classes to search for even more interesting dishes. We used to not just eat, but also jump around and unleash our wild sides. We used to do really lame things, like playing badminton with chalks and newspapers, or calling random people and in their response to ‘Kya hua’, we used to reply,nothing. There used to be spontaneous Shinchan dances, with some terrible songs, which self-proclaimed singers used to sing. It used to be like our little party.

Once school was over, we used to proceed to our buses again. Now, this back-to-home journey is the part I miss the most. We used to cherish our day and talk about it to each other, and Srija had some or the other complication and confusion from the day and used to be frustrated, and we all used to make her smile. Sometimes, we used to eat, and especially Srija’s tiffin was pounced upon. When it had chicken biryani, it was difficult to distinguish the chicken from the rice as most of the chicken was eaten. Then ofcourse, there were the lame jokes and unique conversations. And well today, the only bus I sit in is my dear bus number 166, and the only tiffin I eat is mine, and the only thing I truly miss is well, my school. 

School ke din

A morning in the past. A morning to look forward to. A morning at school. Mornings I miss. The ones I miss a lot. I miss it all.

A typical day would start with an angdai and a sense of excitement. The awkward dreams from the night before would still linger in my quirky mind. Every morning, I’d be amazed at my absurd and weird thinking which resulted in my extraordinary dreams the night before.  A sense of excitement would be more about describing these dreams to my dear Srija, and wee bit less about going to school.

With a lazy body language, the tired blue toothbrush would be taken closer to the white Meswak toothpaste, and then the boring process of scrubbing my teeth would begin.  Following this would be the unproductive task of bathing, during which I’d be partially asleep, and partially mesmerized by the beautiful fragrance of the mint soap. Then I’d put on the various layers of clothes and head to the dining table for my favourite part of this monotonous morning routine- breakfast! While munching on delicious food, I’d put on my so-called ‘accessories’ namely tie, belt, ID card, socks and shoes. Then I’d head downstairs and wait for the lovely yellow vehicle which is little a makeshift for us musafir-like students.

After this yellow vehicle would enter the society gate, I’d excitedly walk towards, totally ready to rock this new day, and to have a fun-filled little journey with my crazy but super-fun bus squad. I would run-walk towards the end of the bus and sit on mostly the second last seat with my one and only Srija, who is like my mother at school, and controls the absurd and weird thinking and keeps me tolerable. That’s what’s earned her the name Mataji. Apart from Mataji, there’s also Yash, who is a huge Dhinchak Pooja fan, and is called Lakshmi by all. His Vishnu is Nikhilesh, better known as Bella, who an aspiring Doctor cum padhaku baccha . Then of course we have our juniors- Parth and Divya, who add tad bits of lameness to our talks, and are also there to remind us that we are the eldest ones in the bus, and need to act that way.  The journey is characterized by Srija talking about how she slept pretty late last night, and still couldn’t complete the chapter, and hence hasn’t studied for the test. I pitch in and help her to complete the chapter and summarize it, but am never successful with Yash’s continuous chatter, which imply Srija’s irritated expression and invite Bella’s morning dose of his favourite dialogue- “Fight, fight, fight, fight!”

After this daily dose of noise pollution, the yellow vehicle finally turned into a carriage of some sort, and entered its palace- Our dear red and white school building!  We fought like the horses on the carriage to get off the bus. After this animal rights struggle, we used walk a decent stretch and reach our classes with ease. As members of the cabinet, Srija and I used to head back downstairs to perform the duty of traffic police at school. We used to handle the incoming morning traffic.

After the tiring yet routine morning drama, we’d head to our classes and finally meet our dear friends. I’d usually meet Shruti,(lovingly called unicorn), Tina (Doc from Back to the Future), Tanu and Dibya, who were my jigri dost since 4 years. And my morning was incomplete without scaring Mr Himawari aka Aarya. Then ofcourse, there was Anjil to greet me each morning. But the morning is incomplete without meeting my cuddly bear- Sid.

The first period would start. It was usually maths, and Bhagyashree ma’am, who was also our class teacher would enter the class. We had a couple of math wizards in our class, and I was certainly not among them. I don’t know whether those guys had calculators instead of cerebrums in their heads, or it was just their talent, but they solved the sums even before I could finish writing the formula. So maths class was basically about ma’am giving us some sums, and these guys finishing them in just 15 minutes and the rest of us lamenting the fact that we had cerebrums, not calculators in our brains.

The second period was mostly Biology or Chemistry, which were both taught be Deepa ma’am. I must say that if it wasn’t for ma’am, I’d just be a person who would never understand why HCl doesn’t react with H2SO4 or how why my hair is brown. The best part about these classes was the arguments between ma’am and Sujay which were mostly fruitless and confused me to a great extent. But the icing on the cake were Ketaki’s comments. Ma’am used to be the only teacher who used the ICT regularly. She used to explain everything in depth, which would make me, a student with an IQ of -100 in science, a super attentive spectator of the interesting scientific phenomenon.

This was followed by the short break, which evaporated even before the ingestion process for my first bite of poha could take place. I distinctly remember that Deepa ma’am used to be so engrossed in the concept, that the break bell was never heard. And when our next period, SST would begin, we would just be opening our tiffin boxes.

Baarish, not monsoon

Monsoon is here. The gushing wind trickles the trees and they sway with perfection in an attempt to escape the fierce yet gentle brush of the wind.  The grey clouds gather around the bright morning sun to guard it from the boisterous little drops which will soon arrive to quench the thirst of the barren land. And when they arrive, they are like tiny pearls which go and fall on the dry and hungry land and form a pretty necklace of green and glee. These little pearls also graze against our glass windows. The slimy green frogs and the crawly earthworms embrace the little drops of water like a blessing and a gift from the sky above.  The atmosphere is dark, but each drop brings with it a fragment of hope.

That essentially summarizes what monsoon is in the poetic sense. But it isn’t what an Indian monsoon is all about.

Monsoon for us is a time for our cherished rain dance, and not for getting our old umbrellas out. We get inspired by our iconic Bollywood songs, be it Chak dhoom dhoom chak or ek ladki bheegi bhaagi si, each song and each star is remembered in times like these. We love to jump into the dirty puddles for they splash happiness on our faces. The little paper boats float in almost each little ‘stream’ which forms in monsoons. An Indian monsoon is incomplete without a plate of pakodas. The crunchy little pakodas are like a blessing in the rainy season. Onion, paneer, mirchi, aloo, bread, each and every item available at home is dipped in the pale yellow besan and fried to perfection in loads of tel and love. Maggie is another saathi for the monsoon. Sitting with a bowl of piping hot Maggie and a cup of chai or coffee, looking out of the window at the lovely raindrops sounds like the perfect monsoon. Cozying up in bed with your favourite book, or sitting on the couch all day with your favourite video game or movie is also amazing. An Indian monsoon is unique and there is perhaps no country where monsoon is as exciting as it is here.  We don’t have monsoon in India, we have only baarish.

Sooraj nahi hua maddham

Finally, I let my creative juices flow to give this article. This article isn’t one of my best ones, but I’ve tried something different and hopefully humorous:

9.00 a.m.: I feel something wet around me. I wake up with a start. Half of the bed is wet. I’m way past the phase of peeing on the bed, but is this the return of the pee monster? Thankfully, no. I’ve just drowned in my pool of sweat. I am a cute little bacchi who sweats like a big fat piggy.

10.00 a.m. : I check my phone and my dear friend Thalia (pet name) tells me that the temperature today is 40 degrees! I do a ‘haww’ and type ‘Hey Ram!’ to show my exclamation. She tells me to use some other exclamation and I come up with ‘Hayo rabba!’. She asks me why I am so obsessed with these God-related exclamations and all I tell her is that they are pretty much automatic. Besides it’d be really weird if I start exclaiming using my favourite celebrity names. Just imagine Haye Dhoni or Haye Sindhu!

11.30 a.m.: I look outside and the song that plays in my mind is – sooraj hua maddham, chand jalne laga. Aasman ye haye kyu pighalne laga. I don’t really know about the aasman, but I’m sure that I’ll melt if this stupid garmi doesn’t stop.

12.30 p.m.: Our internet package is over. Thanks to Fawad Khan. My family has been obsessed with the Pakistani shows Humsafar and Zindagi Gulzar Hai and watching them till 12 in the night is seriously violating my sleep-by-10 policy. But then Fawad Khan just looks too good to be missed. So before calling me a desh drohi, check out his picture.

2.00 p.m.: After a delicious lunch of my favourite bhindi chawal, I decide to finally start doing some constructive stuff during my vacation. So I decide to walk it up till Phoenix mall and get some books from Crossword. But I’ll do so  after just one episode of Zindagi Gulzar Hai……

4.00 p.m.: Where did all the time go? Its 4! That whole one episode paitra works neither in movies, nor in real life. I’m late. Baba offers to drop me till Phoenix, as the sooraj is not maddham and walking in this heat might lead to atmahatya.

4.30 p.m.: I reach Phoenix. On my way to Crossword, I bump into my dearest friend Malia (pet name again). She’s shopping with her maa and asks me if I have some time to spare so that we can do some time  pass. I tell her that currently I’m the most jobless person on Earth, so I have all the time.

4.45 p.m.:  We are roaming around the mall, drinking Masala Lemonade, calling random people, talking about other people and cracking super lame jokes. We step into H&M and start looking around but turn around once we look at the prices of the  outfits, cause even if we buy a hairband here, we’d go into some major loss. Our dhai sau rupaye can’t even buy us one of those stupid bunny hairbands that one gets here. We now start praising our desi MG Road street shopping.

5.00 p.m.: I’m walking towards Sephora, where we are supposed to meet Malia’s mother, when I hear someone calling “Aastha didi!”. Everyone except my sagi behen calls me that, so I turn around to see Papita and Bookworm (pet names!) who are two sweet little sisters aged 5 and 9, and are the scrappy sister’s chaddi buddies. They have been our neighbours for 10 years now and unfortunately, are shifting. They are with their grandparents. I say hi and talk to Miss Bookworm, the shareef one, while Papita, the gundi stares at me in awe and asks where my parents are. I say that I’m alone. I get a shocked expression.

5.05 p.m.: After the accidental meeting, Malia and I proceed towards Sephora to help her mom with some lipstick shopping. Neither of us is fond of makeup, so we tell Aunty that we won’t really be able to help. So while aunty tries out new lipsticks, we roam around the place and our nazar goes towards an eye shadow. Malia exclaims that even she has eye shadow, but under her eyes *points towards her dark circles*. I let out a sarcastic laugh.

5.30 a.m.: After a lot of debate, the lipstick shade is finalized. Maa calls. She says we are going out and tells me to reach home soon. I bid a teary farewell to Malia and head home.

7.30 a.m.: We reach a faraway mall for dinner and start looking for a good place to eat. We find a place with a lovely ambiance and outdoor seating. It’s pretty breezy here, so I start feeling afraid about my hair and dress flying away.

8.30 a.m.: Thankfully, nothing flies off and we have a decent dinner. Now we need to visit the washroom, thanks to the 3 glasses of water and 2 glasses of cold drink. We reach the washroom and realize that there is a daughter-mother pair inside the washroom already, having a conversation which is pretty lame:

Mother: Beta, are you done?

Daughter: Haan mamma, ho gaya.

Mother : But you’ve hardly done anything. Try doing a bit more.

Daughter: Par mamma, nahi aa rahi.

Mother: Theek hai, turn your face now, mamma will also pee.

(I guess the daughter turns)

Daughter: But how does mamma pee?

Mother: Just the way my baccha pees.

The daughter starts asking the mother whether she can touch the things the washroom and the mother refuses.

Daughter: Mamma can I turn now?

Mother: Two minutes, beta. Arre, don’t touch that its dirty!

I hear a loud sound, I think someone falls! After two more minutes, this iconic drama pair comes out and the condition of the mother is totally shabby.

I guess this heat has just made everyone mad. Hey Ram, don’t give such an ‘adventurous’ day to anyone in the future please. And this is just April, I wonder what kaarnamas May has in store.

Kahani coffee ki

The velvety and smooth texture of the Coffee Walnut ice cream touched my palate. I experienced ‘love at first sight’ for the first time and fell in love with a flavor so rich and powerful, that it stays in the mouth for a while. I was introduced to Coffee when I first ate this lovely ice cream. I am a huge fan on walnut and since the ice cream had some crunchy walnuts in it, I decided to give it a try. Little did I know that it’d introduce me to a slightly unconventional flavor which would have its name on top on my list of favourite flavours.

I had a faint idea about Coffee. The memory of maa beating her own coffee was perhaps my first experience with it. The aroma of piping-hot coffee was as soothing to me as a walk on the seashore is. The most vibrant memory of coffee would perhaps be the daily dip-dip rendezvous. The dipping or dunking of the  Parle-G biscuits in my parents’ coffee was perhaps the best way to experience how delicious coffee can make even the bland Parle-G biscuit. Sometimes, the biscuit used to get so wet that it used to fall inside the coffee.

I never drank coffee until 8^th grade. I was afraid that it’d be too bitter and dark for my taste. I was accustomed to bitterness though, for I loved the strong flavours of mint, tulsi and elaichi. Once, I took a sip from maa’s coffee and found it too bitter. It’s really ironical, since what I drink now is the purest form of coffee without any sugar or milk- Espresso.

Baba (Marathi for father) is a very frequent traveller. I don’t know where he got introduced to Espresso. What I do remember is that he used to try it at almost every restaurant we went. It used to be this really tiny cup, which had a dark and almost jet-black liquid in it. I used to be scared by the sight of it.

Westin is a hotel in Pune, and we used to visit it quite frequently when we had its membership. We used to visit it on at least one weekend per month for breakfast. The scrappy sister and I used to munch on yummy grilled sandwiches and hot chocolate, and baba used to have his Espresso, which was perhaps the best one he found at that time. I guess my introduction to Espresso happened here.

The first time I drank Espresso was at a place named Olive Bistro. Baba had ordered some and by now my curiosity for this dark yet interesting drink had risen to infinity. So I demanded to try it. I bought it close to my mouth, and at first I actually got scared to try it out. I succeeded in the second attempt. When the Espresso touched my lips, my bitter taste buds got to work and the most bitter, weird and unknown flavor touched my palate. I almost felt like spitting the thing out. I tried drinking water, but this eerie taste remained prominent. We paid the bill and walked to the car. The taste in my mouth was gradually changing. It was unknown and new, but it was one I strongly admired. That was how I was introduced to Coffee.

My love for Espresso only increased after that. The weird and unknown flavor had now become the most familiar and lovely flavor. I try Espresso at almost every restaurant I visit now. I can’t have even a pinch of sugar in my coffee, because I find it too sweet.

But somehow, there was one coffee with milk and sugar that I liked immensely. It’s named filter coffee. I’ve had filter coffee only thrice, even though I yearn for more. There’s a food joint in Phoenix Marketcity by the name UpSouth which had heavenly filter coffee. My parents used to always love this joint, even though I didn’t find anything great about it. Recently, when I had gone with baba to watch The Mummy, we were waiting for the movie, so meanwhile he took me downstairs to try out this extraordinary cup of coffee. It lived up to its expectations. It was truly phenomenal! The first cup was a wee bit too sweet for my taste so I had another one, which was stronger and yummier.

People say that coffee takes away sleep. Well, I drink the strongest form of coffee and still sleep for 10 hours straight! Most people are deewanas of chocolate. I was a fan of chocolate and used to love eating chocolate ice cream but now I have merely 4 flavours which I absolutely love (and eat ice creams of)- mint, coconut, coffee (ofcourse!) and our very own paan.

I realize how much I love my Espresso each time I visit Le Flamington in Kalyani Nagar. The first sip ignites a smile. The dark, bitter and always better teeny-weeny cup of coffee makes my mind race a million miles per hour and switched on my ‘happy mode’. So, kudos to coffee!

Oh, I completely forgot, a very happy new year to all!

Gazab ka hai din

6.00 a.m.: I wake up after a sleepless night. I have not been able to sleep last night because today is a day that I have been waiting for since the last 4 years. It’s the Teacher’s Day celebration at school! At our school, on every teacher’s day, the students of grade 10 dress up as teachers and enact their roles. I wanted to be a Social Studies teacher since I joined school, but today I have got an even better opportunity- I am going to be the principal of our school! I was overjoyed when I got the news and am now looking forward to going to school and having a gala time.

6.30 a.m.: I was all excited about Teacher’s Day. But now my excitement has died down. I completely forgot the fact that I am supposed to wear a saree today! I am one of those girls who lives more than half of her life in a pair of shorts and a loose t-shirt. I can’t wear a skirt properly, how will I wear a saree? Apart from that, what if the saree falls? And what if I need to use the loo? How will I? How will I walk? What shoes will I wear? How will I eat? There are all these questions in my mind. But then optimism is the key to a happy life. So, wearing a saree isn’t that difficult also.

6.35 a.m.: Maa has invited one of our neighbors to help me wear a saree. Its just dadi who wears a saree regularly at my house, but she isn’t a pro at it. I have just had a head-bath and I was wearing a blue blouse and blue petticoat. But I was feeling cold, so I put on my grey gharelu jacket. So, I am looking like an orangutan with tangled hair, a bear with grey fur and a whale with a bright blue tail.  I am chomping on my yummy cream cheese sandwich when neighbor aunty enters. I look like an idiot.

6.40 a.m.: We start the most dreaded part of the day- the saree draping. Neighbor aunty drapes it and removes it so that there is no risk of the thing falling. I stand like a still yet talkative khamba and let out a few ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’. 

I am told to change my earrings and put on some make up but I blatantly refuse to do so. I just put on some Vaseline.

6.55 a.m.: We finally finish draping the saree. The Noble Prize in saree draping should be given to Neighbour Aunty and the one for patience to me.

7.00 a.m.: We are sitting in the car. I am clicking some selfies to record this achievement of my life. The scrappy sister’s comments don’t stop. I told baba to drop me today because I can’t go in the bus with this fiddly thing. The kids would start calling me ‘ma’am’.

7.30 a.m.: I enter school. Luckily, I have Divya and Riya by my side who are (like me) trying to adjust to this sadma. We go to our class and find all our dear friends dressed in sarees (girls) and shirt-pants (boys) who look unrecognizable. We basically tell everyone about how ‘different’ they look. Later, we go down for the function.

The Function:

8.00 a.m.: Whoa, this is nerve-wracking. We are all sitting on chairs, and there is pin-drop silence. The term pin-drop silence sounds like some fictional state, but this is the first time we have actually experienced it.

8.05 a.m.: The Function starts. We have a lovely ramp walk with the teacher whose role we are playing today. The fact that I am going to have the first ramp walk of my life, and the fact that it’s going to be with Principal ma’am just makes a shiver go down my spine. But my name is called out. I walk like an inexperienced saree-bearer, struggling with the six-yard fabric, trying to walk without stepping on the long skirt-like saree. After a struggle as grand as the Sepoy Mutiny, I finally reach the podium, and have my first and perhaps last ramp walk with Principal ma’am. I have a broad smile on my face, but my heart has mixed feelings of fear, nervousness, excitement and happiness.

9.00 a.m.: We finish off all ramp walks. The most hysterical one was Bella’s (who is a guy, not a girl as perceived from the name which is a mere pet name). Basically, Bella is this Biology wizard and is mad about Science. He wanted to be a science teacher but ended up being an English teacher. To show his disapproval of the same, he didn’t smile during the ramp walk (smiles rarely in general too, is expressionless). The funny part is that even the teacher didn’t smile. So there they were, sad and depressed mirror images of each other.

9.30 a.m.: The function ends after speeches by Ishika and I.  I am told by my real class teacher (not her student doppelganger) to address the students cum teachers. So I address them and give them some instructions and they just move out to their respective classes after a proper chai and biscuit breakfast.

10.00 a.m.: Aditi (who is acting as the Vice Principal) and I go to different classes to see whether everything is functioning well. We come back with Teacher’s Day cards. I actually have to run (in my saree which almost fell) from some of the classes to escape the children.

11.00 am.: My set of coordinators and I are sitting in Principal ma’am’s cabin. Ma’am teaches me about how the school functions and how the records are kept in the school. She also tells me how all the coordinators work in synchronization to regulate the functioning of the school. We have a small meeting and then we are given lovely donuts to eat. With each bite of the donut, I swallow all the things that I have learnt today and cherish all the memories that I will have from the best day of my life!

11.30 a.m.: Srija and I are sitting in the bus discussing about how wonderful our day was. I tell her about how awesome my day was even though I was scared the whole time about my saree falling. I had experiences that I will cherish throughout my life. I had the best time ever! All the experiences were unique, and the ones that I would never have in my life again.

12.00 a.m.: I reach home and send the saree to heaven (the cupboard). Its going to Rest in Peace. But the memories associated with it will keep floating in my mind forever.