Angel Deborah

Doesn’t life seem a little incomplete without an impossible dream? Ever since I was a little girl, I was fascinated with the women who modeled lingerie; the more daring and risqué the piece, the more powerful and confident the model looked. The internet introduced me to Victoria’s Secret and its Angels. 

These women looked nothing like other models who came across as nutrition deprived teenagers with a perpetually constipated look. Victoria’s Secret Angels were healthy, powerful, confident and happy! These women flaunted superhero abs and muscular thighs. These women looked strong.

I longed to join their ranks and even practiced Mirnada Kerr's signature slow blink in front of the mirror.

At 157 cms, I’m vertically challenged. And while I have the exact same measurements as some of the highest paid ramp scorchers, I look curvier due to my short height. But, I’m not just into impossible dreams; I’m also shamelessly determined about making them come true. 

So my resolution for 2016 is to get myself the body of an angel proportional to my height. If this means losing a few pounds I’ll do it the healthy way. I’ve been researching the workout regime of models like Giselle Bundchen, Miranda Kerr, Adriana Lima and Candice Swanpoel and I intend to follow in their footsteps this year. I won’t crash diet and I won’t lift weights. I will achieve my dream body with free-style workouts. I know many of these models workout for as long as four hours everyday. I’ll try to clock at least two hours a day. I’ve always been a careful eater, but I will try to divide my food intake into smaller and more frequent meals to increase my metabolism.

If all goes well, I will reward myself by getting my own Victoria’s Secret lingerie for Christmas. I’ll wear and walk down the entire length of my house with happy music playing and my cat cheering for me. Yup, I got big plans for 2016!

Resting Bitch Face

I came across the term Resting Bitch Face less than half an hour ago. It is what you call a woman's facial expression when she doesn't really have any expression on her face, and is therefore presumed to be angry, upset, mean or bitchy.

The term is usually used for women, because for some odd reason, it is a woman's sacred duty to smile. We are expected to smile, irrespective of whether we feel like it. I'm not against smiling. I smile when I'm happy. I smile when I want to. I smile when something good happens. A smile is an expression of happiness and peace. It shouldn't be a social obligation.

Men take it as a personal failure when your eyes don't light up at their sight. I've lost count of how many times my dates have asked me to smile. When I ask them what's funny, they wondered if they are making me feel uncomfortable. The only thing it tells me, is that these men suffer from low self esteem and need constant validation by way of a smile. Needless to say I've been labled a 'bitch' more times than I'd care to remember.

Ever since I was a little girl, I was asked to smile more. I was expected to smile at my neighbour when she prepared breakfast (our kitchen windows overlooked each other). I was expected to smile at friends of my parents. I was expected to smile at my friends' parents. Basically I was expected to smile all the time... for no reason.

As I grew older, my smile was 'corrected'. I was advised to not show my gums. I was forced to wear braces because I had 'ugly' teeth (basically, I just have an extra canine tooth). Even today when I smile for pictures, my mother chides me for not smiling 'properly'. A 'proper' smile being one where I look like I'm smelling fart while trying hard not to pee!

When I started working, well meaning colleagues often asked me why I looked disinterested. Some wondered if I was happy with my job. Some questioned my committment, simple because I didn't smile beatifically as I walked into my office every morning. Some thought I genuinely didn't care about things, while others advised me to purge negativity from my life. That was weird, because as any of my friends would tell you, I'm a happy person. I'm as happy as a bunny in a carrot garden! But that doesn't mean I have to look like I'm on an acid trip.

I've now mastered the Bitch Smile, a fake smile that surprisingly puts people at ease. I flash that smile when people talk about their babies, husband, dog or parents, their dreams, their travel plans, their car or their new clothes. It makes people think I care, when I genuinely don't give a shit. Here, take a look:

I don't know... you call that a smile, I think THAT'S a resting bitch face.

Trade and Currency

In an unintentionally funny scene from Raaz 3, Bipasha Basu takes off her shirt to reveal her enviable décolletage… looks meaningfully at Emraan Hashmi and says, “Meri aankhon mein dekho”… I want to meet the guy who wrote that scene, but I’m not sure I’d want to shake his hand…

What I want to do instead, is understand the female perspective… What do women think about their girl parts and more importantly what would a girl do to make herself feel special (apart from bringing about a legislation banning biting and chewing nipples… I mean… those are real body parts, not gummy bears!)

Breasts, boobies, puppies… whatever you call them… girls like them as much as boys like their little brother Richard. If women fret over their sagging breasts, it is not because they won’t be able to please the mister any more… it is because it makes them feel less sexy and therefore less in control of their lives. Beauty is all about power. Sex is a powerful tool of subjugation and control. The bedroom is all about politics, even more than the boardroom, a newsroom or even the famous Situation Room! For men it is always about who 'does' whom… Women are comfortable letting men be the ‘doers’… At the end of the day, it is he who is making all the ‘effort’, while the woman can lay back and enjoy (literally)! It is this power that a woman craves. When she lets a man ‘take’ her… she is actually controlling him.

Beauty fades… quickly. Also men are constantly looking for newer, more exciting options. Anti-aging creams and push up bras will only take you so far… So what does a woman do to remain interesting? She takes the next step… crosses over from sexual to sensual… See it is the brain that tells the body to send more blood to the groin. A woman retains control by playing to a man’s fantasies. She caters to his deepest desires which are often hidden in his sub-conscious… She becomes the woman of his dreams… whether it is the Sex Goddess in black lacy lingerie, the legendary (and largely imaginary) Insatiable Whore or the hand cuff wielding, bottom spanking, cuss-word spewing Dominatrix in a body hugging cat-suit and killer talons!

Now don’t get me wrong. I don’t hate men, nor do I think that they are stupid. I only know that there are two kinds of currency, monetary and sexual. Men and women routinely trade in these currencies to retain control of their traditional fiefdoms. Ever since the time of cavemen… the men have been providers and the women have been lovers (for the lack of a better word). Am I stereotyping traditional gender roles? Truth is sadly a lot of ‘modern’, ‘liberal’, ‘educated’ people (both men and women) still relate to these stereotypes. Why is it that women still want to ‘settle down’ at the ‘right time’ with the ‘right guy’? And why do job ads for 'female candidates only' have requirements like ‘good looking’, ‘pleasing personality’, ‘adaptable’, ‘open minded’, ‘modern’ and ‘right attitude’?

It’s simple… Women think of men are glorified ATMs and men think of women as whores. Harsh, ugly, gross… but true.

Now what happens if there is a mismatch between demand and supply in this age old market with well established norms? What if a man is not interested in sex or a woman is not interested in money? What happens when people are un-purchasable? I’ve met two such people. The man in question lost his wife and child in an accident. He is still in love with his dead wife and hasn’t been with another woman since. The woman in question is criminally good looking and independently wealthy (not daddy’s money, but her own money earned through hard work and competence). They are both social outcasts, but don’t seem to miss anything. They are also the only two people in the world who have never asked me, why am I still single.

A man who doesn’t want to buy and a woman who can’t be bought are the game changers. They topple the established structure… they threaten the very economy… They can’t be allowed to survive, let alone thrive! Vicious campaigns are launched to discredit such people. While the man gets saddled with the predictable ‘gay’ tag, the woman is accused of having the wrong attitude. Every effort is made to destroy their reputations and take away their independence. Sadly, what the ‘destroyers’ don’t realize… is that ‘un-purchasable’ people trade in a third kind of currency. It is a rare, but high value currency that is leveraged by something stronger than gold. They deal in competence and it is leveraged by integrity.

Me… I’m in the market for all kinds of products (including catsuits, black lacy lingerie, hand cuffs and whips!) I like the idea of being able to buy things for a fair price... See... I'm a Capitalist… the only thing I offer for free... is sex!

Feeling Naked

A few weeks ago, when I stepped out to satiate my hunger for all things held in high regard by fellow intellectual snobs, I did something out of character. I wore a saree to a Shakespeare play. I was in a festive mood as going to the theater is nothing short of an evening at the opera for me. I had to turn heads and what better way to do it than follow in the footsteps of Aishwarya Rai and drape myself in six yards of the most feminine garment ever created. 


See, this is exactly where I lost the plot! I failed to realise that if you wear a saree, it changes everything about you... from your walk (I'm told I normally walk like Salman Khan from Bodyguard), to your posture (apni hi saree ki silwaton mein simti-lipti-sehmi si main) to your entire persona (I actually looked like a woman!) 


My arm candy for the evening, my Bedardi Baalam Harrish Iyer, couldn't stop teasing me. He has composed a "Debbie is a girl!" song and also choreographed a silly little dance to go with it. 


My other friend Mantra (who was playing one of the parts in the said play) was thankfully restrained and reserved any scathing comments about what could only be truthfully described as a sex change. His generosity perhaps stems from his being an actor and therefore knowing how demoralising any kind of negativity is, especially when one is doing something out of character. 


When the first appearance worked, I got bolder and did it again! I wore a saree the following day as well! This time my nearly three dozen teeth arranging themselves into a convincing smile that successfully belied the existence of half a million fluttering butterflies in my enviably flat stomach! I found the courage to upload my aurat-type pics on BBM and FB and the complements are still pouring in. 

A few years ago, I was out covering this story in a very crowded part of the city. I ended up getting pawed and molested by a mob. Being a borderline sociopath has its perks. I remained calm and focussed and made my way out of the sticky situation without losing my cool or even shedding a tear. As I was exiting the venue, I called up and told the woman on the assignment desk about my plight, hoping she would understand. She responded with, "Deborah ji aap tai kar lijiye ki aap aurat hain ya journalist! Morning bulletin mein story chalni hai, 4am tak edit kar ke bhej dijiye!" 


I disconnected the call, took one last look at the torn buttons of my shirt and the scratch marks on my chest, took a deep breath and placed another call, this time to a male colleague from a sister channel who already had necessary footage and sound-bites requesting him to share them with me. He was co-operative. I came back to the office to find my bureau chief editing a special investigative story. I told him what happened and requested no other female reporter be sent to cover the said story the next day. I also told him what the Assignment lady told me, to which he responded saying, "Theek hi toh kaha usne. Journalists should be tough. Yeh delicate darling ban-ne se kaam nahi chalega!" 


I made my decision that day. I stopped being a woman. I became a machine, devoid of all emotion. In my seven years as a journalist I have been lathi-charged, tear-gassed, nearly crushed in stampedes, been in car accidents, received death threats (people have actually tried to kill me on two occasions). 


I have three spinal injuries and have sustained multiple fractures to my wrists and ankles. I have a broken rib and a busted knee-cap. The list is long! I'm not complaining. I've earned a lot of respect. But I had to detach myself from the woman in me to achieve all this. 


Not any more... One evening at the theatre changed it all! Six yards of chiffon and two adorable friends have made me embrace my womanhood once again.

Leap of Faith

26 year old Madhuri Pandey is your quintessential girl next door. Her bubbly laughter and sing-song voice have made her a darling of millions of women who religiously follow desi soap operas. But Madhuri is far cry from the characters she has played over the last four years. She settles down for our interview in a pair of jeans and a black and white check shirt that is a polar opposite of her onscreen avatars. 

"I hate those 10 kg ghagras and the dangling earrings. My ears used to bleed and I once gave a take with my jhumka taped to my ears!" 

Madhuri is perfectly secure with her looks and had no qualms meeting us without make up. While she is opposed to cosmetic surgery, she is honest enough to admit that she doesn't quite like her nose, "Sometimes I think it is too big," she says, her eyes comically looking at her nose. That's when you wonder if this TV diva is actually nothing but a child-woman. 

She says acting happened to her by chance. Madhuri comes from a family of doctors and academics from North India and was studying for a degree in Software Engineering in Delhi when she and her sister Anjali started modelling, just for the lark. But destiny had other things in store for Madhuri. The stylish sisters moved to Mumbai when Anjali won a talent hunt. 

Madhuri decided to pursue a career in music and started performing with other singers and artists. That's when she got noticed by casting directors and offers for TV shows started pouring in. Always eager to take up new adventures, Madhuri decided to give it a shot. She soon became a darling of the viewers for her roles in Bhabhi, Dahej, Ladli and many other shows. But there was something missing. 

“Music is my passion. I did not come to Mumbai to become an actor. I came here to follow my dreams." That was when Madhuri decided to quit TV at the peak of her career and plunged headlong into music. She is quite active on the events and live music scene. She is also seen performing stand-up comedy. "It hasn't been easy. There is a lot of competition. There is also pressure from my family who would like to see me settle down. This is my make or break year", she states matter-of-factly. 

We quizzed her about Mr. Right and Maduri says she is looking for an uncomplicated man who would understand and respect the demands of her profession. "I'm a self made woman who is open to taking risks. I have been independent so far and don't like being controlled or caged. My line of work involves odd hours. My man has to accept that." 

She accepts that it is probably her straight forward-ness and fierce independence that keeps most men away. "While some get intimidated by my success, others find it unacceptable that I like taking my own decisions and live on my own terms. But my independence is not-negotiable", she asserts. "I find it hilarious that so many men expect me to be docile and covered from head to toe like my onscreen characters. Off camera I have a mind of my own and I wear what I please. If I can respect women who like wearing sarees, why can't they respect a woman who wears cocktail dresses. I have a certain lifestyle, I do party a lot with my friends. I carry myself with a lot of dignity." 

Well, we will certainly vouch for Madhuri's style quotient as the girl hardly ever has a fashion faux pas. "I know what works for me and dress accordingly. I love my pastel one piece dresses, I love my LBDs, I like single statement pieces when it comes to jewellery rather than cluttering up my look with too many unsightly accessories." Madhuri also swears by plunging necklines, but warns "Wear it only if you have the confidence to carry it off, otherwise it comes across as cheap." 

Madhuri is currently taking life a day at a time, enjoying her transition from actor to full-time singer. She claims this is the best time to get a break in her chosen field. Her years in similar industries have helped and she is taken seriously. "Being an extrovert helps. I'm not shy and I always speak my mind, but I'm also conscious of the fact that my every move is being watched closely." She says she is very image conscious and works hard to appear composed even in the most emotionally turbulent situations. “This is a price driven industry and people love to discourage you, find the smallest fault, just so they can force you to reduce your price. It is important to act professional and stay focused in such situations, lest you get branded as a cry baby or a whiner." 


Well, we like that she is grounded, goal oriented and honest. Here's to young women like Madhuri Pandey who are not afraid of taking a huge career risk to fulfil their dreams.

Safedi ki Chamkaar

While Julia Roberts is busy winning well deserved accolades for her evil queen act in Mirror Mirror, I'm left wondering when (in the name of the Lord!) will we, Bharatiya Naaris, stop setting such a huge store by "Who is the fairest of them all?"

A recent advertisement, offering women a fairness creme for their privates, made me almost throw up in revulsion! It appeared to say that pati dev will not love you unless you are white... down under too! Then of course there are those 'sunscreen' ads that promise to 'correct' dark spots and tanning. Er... since when does Hindustani chamdi get dark spots??? Unless you are Kareena's twin, you will not break out into freckles or 'suffer' any other 'harmful effect' of Sun exposure as long as you keep your system well hydrated! And what does tanning do exactly... make you a little browner? We have more melanin in our skin than the vilaayatees. Melanin is a pigment, the quantity of which determines the shade of your skin. Fair skinned people have less melanin, darker skinned people have more. It's not some evil curse... it's just a freakin' pigment! That's why we are brown... and brown isn't ugly!!!

In my seven years as a journalist covering crime and politics, I've spent weeks on stake-outs... Boom mic in hand, my video-journalist and I would stand outside police stations, courthouses, jails, hospitals, government offices, political party offices etc. for hours together... waiting for the crook/news-maker of the day (or his lawyer/spokesperson) to step out and give us the all important sound-bite that would be played in a loop across various television news networks. As a result, my skin has come to resemble an Apcolyte shade card (mera wala Brown!). 


My ex was a 'Safedi ki Chamkaar' (jo andhere mein bhi saaf nazar aaye!!!) and once asked me if I could lend him some sunscreen as it was way too sunny to step out without 'adequate protection'. I looked at him lovingly, slowly undressed myself till there wasn't a thread on me and asked, "Baby... What part of me looks like I'm familiar with the concept of Sunscreen?!" Before you ask... yes we spent the remainder of the day indoors ;-) And yes, my privates are as brown as the rest of me!

Jawaani ki Nishaani

A few days ago... as I waited along the thickly canopied rocky road that runs through the forest I live in, hoping to hijack an unsuspecting rickshaw that may have accidentally lost its way, I saw another young woman doing the exact same thing. Our eyes met and we exchanged smiles like old co-conspirators. She too had missed the hourly bus that connects the woods to the city and neither of us was driving anytime soon. My car was in the garage for servicing and her dad had taken their's earlier in the day.

Suddenly there was a faint hum... a mechanical hum that grew louder and then a little black and yellow three wheeled metal chariot of joy appeared. My co-conspirator and I were thrilled to find that there were no passengers in it and the driver was thrilled to find passengers in the middle of a forest. We hopped in excitedly and asked to be taken to the railway station. She said, she would get off mid-way. We exchanged names, floor and appartment numbers and then she said something that gave me a minor coronary...

"Kaunse college mein padhti hain aap?", she asked me with a genuine look of curiosity in her eyes.

"Main college mein padhti nahi, padhaati hoon", I replied... thorughly relishing my Santoor Sabun moment.

"What?", she asked genuinely shocked.

"Haan. I teach Journalism in four different colleges, plus I have my own PR business. But I must say... you made my day!" I thanked her.

"Really?", she asked again looking genuinely incredulous.

"Yes dear... I'm almost 30... I finished college more than 10 years ago!", I said wondering what made her think I was still in college. As if she read my mind, she replied, "Aap kafi slim ho. Plus jeans, T-shirt, cap aur back-pack wala get up dekh ke laga college ja rahe ho..."

I thanked my high protien, zero carb, roughage rich diet for my 26 inch waistline and told her that I was actually going to college to hold a lecture on conflict journalism. Her eyes narrowed the way it happens with people when they try to place where they have seen someone. I pointed to my cap that gave the name of a TV channel I used to work for and proudly stated I was one of its founder members. The sense of recognition seemed to grow in her eyes. I showed her an old picture on my cell phone and quipped, "Bina make up pehchaan-na mushqil hai!"

"Make up ke saath aurat lagte ho... aise hi raho... young lagte ho, college girl type" with those words she got off the rickshaw, paid her share of the fare and left.

I proceeded to college where everyone from the gatekeeper to the watchman to the peon to other professors kept asking me for my ID and lecture room number. "Child, why are you loitering in the corridore?", asked Prof. Bannerji from the English Department. She gasped when I told her that at 30, I could hardly be called a child. When I went to sign in the attendance register, the office boys asked me, "Idhar faculty section mein kya lene aaya?"

Everyone did a double take when I said, "Teacher hoon... Journalism padhaati hoon!" Luckily a student spotted me and came to my rescue... "Ma'am aaj lecture ground floor pe hai. Please come with me!"

Moral of the story, everything is perception. People always judge you by how you dress. If wearing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt makes me look 10 years younger... then I'm glad I discovered my jawaani ki nishaani!

PS: I don't hate my zit marks any more. They add to my youthful look ;-)

Don't believe me... take a look at this pic...