I think the worst condition to keep before starting a book would be to like it. For it is uncertain and unfair to judge your affinity towards it unless you have devoured it fully, until the last page. So keeping a condition as such before even parting the cover would be quite foolish.
I realized that when I grabbed Manju Kapur's Difficult Daughters off the bookshelf. My mother had warned me beforehand that it was not a great book and the assumption helped me preconceive the nature of my expression at its end.
Ironically, it was really not a great book at all. While the narrative is nice, the story has been stretched like an Ekta Kapoor serial and the ending has been so haste and unjustified. A similar experience had happened when I read Bali Rai's Unarranged Marriage. I don't know why Indian authors are so liberal with words when they begin and so short of them whilst they end.
Its like half the book goes by and you're still being introduced to characters and ten pages are left when the climax hasn't even come. Quite demoralizing for an avid reader, really.
The story traces back to the life of young, beautiful, vibrant and independent Viramati on whose shoulders depend her ten siblings. She grows up to fall in love with a married man much older to her and faces emotional and physical crisis in her loyalty to him. At the end of the book you're confused of what the author had really talked about.
Was it a story of a woman who loved, fought and won? For if it were her story, the reader is left wondering if it was a happy one or not. She gets married, lives as his second wife in his house, still ends up unhappy, unaccepted. And then finally the focus shifts to her daughter and we're left with a void. What the hell happened to this woman of whom we've been reading for hundreds of pages? And why in the world are we deviating from her in the end?
The novel leaves me startled and disturbed for there are no answers. Only futile questions. It is a constant struggle for the reader to shift between scenes of lovers parting and uniting and towards the last quarter - getting married. And finally having a child between all of which scenes of the partition are thrown in, which I must admit, I never read through. They were too detailed and boring for my liking.
The important lesson from the book would be not to hope you end up liking a book when you begin reading it. Consider yourself greatly priviledged if the last page leaves you satisfied that the hours spent were worth it. I am dying to feel that kind of satisfaction.. ugh!

...your favorite song's coming on the radio just when your mom's talking on the phone - and you point the remote at her and press 'mute'.

My friend told me this half-giggling and left me in splits with the short tale. A girl in her family recently got engaged and begun the ritual of talking on the phone. Personally, I think its funky talking to your arranged match trying to find out (and believe!) more about the andekha anjana in your life. Only, it is quite a tragedy that soon you realize there is not much in your life to discuss, talk about or even flaunt anymore. And then you shift from educational backgrounds and artistic interests to more petty matters.
So this engaged couple too reach this doomed stage and realize they really haven't got much to say.
So, our of sheer ingenuinety the girl asks -
"Which chocolate is your favorite?"
"Bar One", comes a feeble reply.
Silence.
"Which chocolate is your favorite?", reciprocates her fiance.
"I eat After Eight", she answers.
Long Pause.
"Whats wrong with eating before 8?"
"No, no, its the name of a chocolate"
"Oh".

The incident slithered its way into both families and led to quite a few laughing riots. And much teasing followed the poor guy around. Treat this as a fair warning - you never know what chocolate your fiance may like...

Bryan Adams hits Jawaharlal Nehru Stadium tonight sweeping people off their feet with some genuinely deserving hits. The immensly talented Canadian rocks till he drops and the passport to this heaven comes at an affordable Rs.750. The whole town on Delhi gets ready donning B.A. T-shirts and singing their favorite tunes which rightfully belong to their star.
So when he hits the guitar tonight and sings 'When you love someone...' as lovers hold hands and sway - I'll sit home and sulk.
Boy, am I jealous!

I almost pity those teachers paid miserly by the CBSE for going to various schools challenging the intellect of the students with an excuse called 'Practicals'. Perhaps the argument goes on that the entire education system should be practical knowledge and the need arises of kicking the theoritical aspect aside, but since change comes at a turtle's speed and the hare too is not in sight, we have far behind left our dreams as such.
So this guy - tall, smart and intelligent in his own stubborn way - questions relentlessly from 8 in the morning to 4 in the evening, nervous, damp faced students - on whose wishlist is only the exit door - soon.
Eventually, he looses his stature and realizes the futility of it all. Enters a guy around 1 in the afternoon, wrecked with his bold ideas of a disaster of a viva. The chubby, fair and authentically Elvis inspired guy sits across this gentleman and gives a feeble smile. Ten minutes later he comes out with a grin unmatched by any of Aishwarya Rai's artificial ones when she's being chased by the 'hero' under a tree.
Apparently, five hours of continuous questioning, and ten glasses of tea later, the poor chap who had come as an external examiner just asked him to sing an Adnan Sami song and take his leave.
It would be my modest wish to hold memories as such, singing in front of five top teachers of the school and being marked on it - and it having to do nothing with what the three fat books hold...

The posters and flyers over the town report that the sex ratio is now 845:1000. The question that follows in bold red lettering is 'Where will you find daughter-in-laws?'
In a country of 1 billion people it implies that for every girl, there is an option to choose between 1.18 guys on an average. So, lets assume if out of every 845, 45 don't wish to marry, or do not marry, there remain 800 girls. Out of which 50 get divorced and 100 die. There remain 650.
Out of which, 75 marry abroad and 75 illegaly marry. There remain 500. So for every girl, there is a choice between at least two guys.
So if you find your girlfriend flirting with another guy, remember - she's just making good of her options...

I don't love you
because you send me flowers,
or make me blush
with your subtle poetry.

I don't love you
for the stars in your eyes,
or the pink cards,
you smuggle under my pillow.

I don't love you
for the glistening wine
or the candle-lit dinner
in an expensive ambience.

I don't love you
for heart-shaped chocolates,
or radio dedications
with romantic songs.

I just love you,
because you love me,
and that makes each day
the forteenth day of february.

The pink day has finally arrived. While Archie's outlets are saturated with giggling boys stuck to their cellphones trying to figure out which one of the three-fifty-bucks teddy will catch their ladylove's fancy, the female population can be seen in trial rooms forcing revealing clothes down their sloppy figure.
My short trip to Model Town yesterday only confirmed my faith in commercialization and materialism. Its indispensable. A man's love can only be weighed by the number of roses in a bouquet or the country from where chocolates have been imported. It can also be valued further by the age of Champagne or the bill amount of the restaurant. Apparently, love is only directly proportional to money spent. The more you lighten your pocket, the more you love.
Do not confuse the term love with a sentiment or an emotion. Or Valentine's as a celebration of that term. It is only a portrayal of your ownership of your partner as you show him/her off around the town as a medal hanging in your neck.
And so we, the citizens of this cultured country - pledge to celebrate Valentine's Day in its true sense - chocolates, strawberries, champage and all...!
And then of course, tell everyone about it tomorrow...

An interesting take from mom this morning.
While the discussion was on regarding bad women drivers, traffic on Delhi roads, driving with a short height and big fancy cars, she narrated a true and truly surprising incident.
A relative, a woman with a big car was reversing it up. But of course, when you're not so tall and you have the kind of car with a long and high back, you won't really realize whats behind, until a thud reaches your diamond-studded ears.
Unfortunately, her little son was behind the car while she was reversing. The car hit him and knocked him down on his back. The car reversed all the way, without her realizing, and he popped back on his feet once it was over him.
Fortunately, God does realize the sheer irony of women driving.

Startling enough, I am rendered speechless as the twelfth of march beckons towards me. With less than three weeks left for the ultimate test of my mugging capacity, it is only relieving to know that I share the feeling with more than six lakh candidates nationwide.
Blogging is now limited to grumbling incredible nothings in my nightmares and graphics are suffering a major setback. Watching movies however is still not a forgotten love - did manage to catch a part of my all time favorite flick last night - Andaaz Apna Apna - and was kind of still glad my humor remains with me.
Sandeep Chowta's Khoobsurat Hai Tu rings in my head all day, while I battle balance sheets and capital accounts. For some strange reason, the hypnotic situation that I've gotten used to now gives pleasure to me via trance music. Anything that remotely doesn't make sense but repeats itself like a stuck record is my music of the moment.
It is now that I miss the giggles and cheer the middle of february brought me. The fragrant red rose still hangs upside down in a dark corner waiting to become a dry flower like I read on the internet. The darkening petals only remind my of my own gray cells.
This post is indicative enough of my sheer barren imagination and suppressed thoughts. And if you feel like I just expressed what lies in your mind and heart - which seem to be rushing in opposite directions, like magnets with the same charge - welcome to the club buddy.