Jerk!

This Friday is going to be very interesting for movie watchers. While the affable Ayushman Khurana will play Vicky, a young man who gets paid to jerk off... newest Bong bombshell to come out of the Bhatt arsenal, Palomi Dam, will lay bare the deep dark recesses of the mind of a woman seeking redemption (always an interesting area to explore). Wonder why the Bhadralok in Poshcim Bongo want to paint her bare back blue in the film's posters... Do they have some secret Smurf kink?

I know what will be my 'paisa vasool' moment... a shirtless John Abraham getting wet and wild in a song that I'm sure will make no contribution to the storyline of the film he is producing. But as the said film's tag-line goes... Every Drop Counts ;-)

Takes me back to lines immortalised by his ex-flame Bipasha (the original Bong Bombshell of the Bhatt camp) in Jism... "Barson se is banjar zameen par barsaat ki ek boond tak nahi giri... Aur ab yahaan toofan aayega..." (I wanna kiss the horny little devil who wrote that!)

Vicky Donor also took me back to the 'reckless abandonment' argument from Legally Blonde. Or the priceless "Tujhe Holi khelne ka bada shauk hai, par suna hai ki teri pichkaari mein dum nahi!" from The Dirty Picture. Man... I love this new breed of writers!

Ek Akeli Jawaan Ladki

It's tough being a single 29 year old in a city like Mumbai... Try finding a house (bigger than a 1BHK) on rent, saying you want it all to yourself, and everyone from the broker, to the home owner, to the neighbours would 'advise' you to share the apartment. Do they fail to understand the concept of personal space? Is it inconceivable to them that a young single woman would be willing and able to spend that kind of money? Or is it something more sinister... the presumption that a well paid single woman, who is unwilling to share her personal space... is a hooker? They will either refuse to give you the house saying they are looking for a family, or in the unlikelihood that they do rent out their house to you... notice how each watchman, liftman, newspaper boy, domestic help, neighbour and sundry auntyjis will keep a hawk's eye on your male visitors.

I live in a luxurious 2BHK in an upmarket neighbourhood. Given that my house is on a higher floor with a breath-taking view, and that the resident demographic appears to consist mainly of young, well educated, urban, rich couples with small or no kids, I thought they would be open minded. I have my own business and on most days, I work from home. I have clients, friends and other sundry visitors coming in throughout the day and most of them are men.

Given that I am newly single and have a healthy sex life, I also have male visitors after daylight hours. One of my male visitors, Mr. Hotness, who was a permanent fixture in my bedroom in my previous home, visited me for the first time in my new home this weekend. He was not only going to spend the night, but also drop in frequently and at all kinds of un-Godly hours. I had to prep the building security guys about this. So I decided to go down to greet him at the reception desk in the lobby.

"Aaj sign kar raha hai, aage se jab bhi aaye aane dena... Mera bhai hai," I lied with a straight face. Thank God, Mr. Hotness did not raise an eyebrow or do anything to blow his cover. After all, it was already well past 10pm. Two auntyjis shared the elevator with us on the ride up to my floor. I could almost hear their thoughts, "Shakal se toh bhai nahi lagta... Raat ke 10 baje ke baad, paraaya mard ghar aaya!" Luckily they did not ask me anything.

Once inside the house, Mr. Hotness burst into peals of laughter as he hastily took off his pants. "You think anybody would buy that I'm your brother? Honey, we look NOTHING like each other!", he said with a characteristic twinkle in his eye that never failed to melt my insides. I promptly shut him off with a bar of sinful dark chocolate and went about fixing his drink. I led him into my bedroom, where we spent the rest of the night in a whirlwind of sexual fantasies, dirty talk and alcohol. Exhausted we both fell into a dreamless sleep.

The morning after is always tricky... We had to maintain a distance in front of the domestic help and this was going to be tough as we both woke up only when she rang the door bell. There was no time to set up a sleeping arrangement in the living room to make it look like Mr. Hotness had spent the night on the couch in the living room. Plus he is usually a little lost and disoriented in the morning, so he just stood in my bedroom, blissfully pant-less, scratching his head and stretching his limbs in all his glory in full view of my maid who I quickly led first into the kitchen under the pretext of first washing the utensils. She usually first sweeps and cleans the entire house. I quickly poked my head into the bedroom and hissed menacingly at Mr. Hotness asking him to wear his pants! I popped back quickly into the kitchen and guided my domestic help to the washing area insisting that she wash the clothes first. As she got to work with her back towards me, Mr. Hotness and I quickly transferred a mattress, a bedsheet and a pillow into the living room. He then parked himself in the balcony with a cup of coffee while I went about fixing his hair to make it look a little less like he had fallen out of bed. He wanted to go out and ring the doorbell and enter the house officially, but I knew that the maid had seen his nangi-pungi angdaai!

The maid finally 'officially' saw him when I asked her to leave without sweeping or cleaning, saying I was expecting some students who would anyway dirty the apartment. She gave Mr. Hotness one last questioning look and left without a word. We then promptly went back to the bedroom and stayed there for most part of the day, except when he followed me into the kitchen and looked lovingly at me while I cooked his breakfast. (What can I say, woh mere andar ki aurat ko jaga deta hai!)

There was no dearth of verbal and non verbal communication. He is quite an intellectual and can hold his own in controversial debates. We talked a lot that day... about how sex should be about pleasure, about why even hookers deserve respect, about how we looked great together... almost like a husband and wife... We even talked about having children!

I finally forced him into the shower and went about fixing his lunch. We ate quietly, with the measured serenity of two people who have spent a lifetime together. I urged him to spend another night with me... there was so much more we could do together... But he left saying he had a family waiting for him at home. He promised to return soon.

As I look at his still wet towel hanging nonchalantly from the arm of a wrought iron garden chair in my balcony, I can't but help myself from picking up the phone, calling him and telling him, "Harrish Iyer... Kabhi toh cheezein sahi jagah par rakh diya kar!"

Yup, my 'after dark male visitor' was none other than BEDARDI BAALAM (a.k.a Harrish Iyer), an Equal Rights Activist who is best known for his quirky campaigns for the rights of Homosexuals. He has also campaigned for the rights of Children, Animals, Homeless People and even Hetrosexuals! The visit was to ideate on and build the website for his campaign for Women's rights. Watch this space for more. What can I say... I'm happy, and he's gay!

And today, April 16th, is his Birthday... Big kiss!

Mardon wali Baat!

One of my favourite writers of all time, Ravindranath Tagore, had the unique ability to delve deep into the heart and mind of women and was therefore able to give us complex, multi-layered, strong yet vulnerable, determined yet confused female characters like Binodini, Chitrangoda, Sucharitra, Mrinal, Kalyani... and many more.
This inspired me to try and get into the male mind, think like a man, challenge my long held belief that men cannot feel romantic love the way women do, that they only care about two things sex and ego... So long as she is good in bed and adds value as a head-turning arm candy... But there have been some men in my life who have challenged this notion, forced me to accept that men too are capable of love, sacrifice, tenderness and devotion.
The following poem is an experiment. I have, for the first time, attempted to write about a man's love for a woman from the point of view of a man. I would welcome feedback from all my male readers:

Kuchh der tumhare seene par sar rakh kar sona chaahta tha,
"Baalon mein ungliyaan mat phero, irritating lagta hai!"... Yeh kehna chaahta tha...
Suti saadi ki silwaton mein reshmi badan ki narmi ko chhoonaa chaahta tha...
Par yeh ho na saka...

Roti banate waqt, gori kalaaiyon ki rangeen choodiyon ki chhan-chhan sun-na chaahta tha,
Balcony mein kapde sukhaate waqt koi dhun gungunaati tum, woh dhun sun-na chaahta tha...
Shaam ko kahin bahar jaane se pehle tumhe singaar karte dekhna chaahta tha...
Par yeh ho na saka...

Sardi ki dhoop mein Maa ke saath chhat par papad sukhate hue tumhari tasveer kheenchna chaahta tha,
Phir chori chhupe, jab woh naa dekh rahi hon, gaal hi par sahi tumhe ek baar choomna chaahta tha...
Pyaar karta hoon tumse, bas ek baar tumhe yeh kehna chaahta tha...
Par yeh ho na saka...

The above poem is the registered intellectual property of Deborah Grey and will soon be published. I strongly discourage any attempt at plagiarising/churaoing my work. Also boys... agar ladki patani ho toh original maal use karo!

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...

Bachche ki Maa!

I'm not particularly maternal, though many who have seen me in the company of infants, children, sundry young people, would vouch for my ability to become one of them and yet retain a slender but strong element of control. They know they can have fun with me, but they also know that it's always on my terms... Infact, it is this quality that has helped me in both, the newsroom (with interns) and in the classroom (with my Journalism students).

I'm quiet skilled at changing diapers and many pre-teens have benefited from my relationship advice (eg: If he can't deal with your pimples, he doesn't deserve the dimples!). I have always felt protective about young people... They are so vulnerable, one emotional scar is all it takes to turn them into conniving, evil adults! Even at 30 (OK... OK... 29!), many would agree when I say that I have retained my innocence. It is this innocence that makes me look for innocence or its remnants in everyone... cops who ask me to pull over, hoping to make a quick buck from a lady driver, faces hidden behind a thick veneer of make-up in the bylanes of Kamathipura, the sweet-talking political party spokesman, the journalist who once tried to steal my story... I believe... If you dig deep, somewhere we have all retained a part of our innocence, our hearts are horcruxes and our innocence is the last vestige of our fast fading soul...

But one often forgets that it is this innocence that nourishes the depleting soul, it is what keeps us young... it keeps us alive... One innocent remark, a twinkle in the toddler next door's eye, the toothless smile of the old lady selling Oranges on the train... They all have a therapeutic quality... Much like love! Yes... When I'm vulnerable, I allow myself to become... just for a fleeting instant... a helpless romantic!

And on one such occasion, I was caught off-guard by the most romantic question in the world...

"Deborah... Will you bear my child?", he asked me with an unabashed and earnest sincerity...

"Why darling?", I asked... fighting back mutinous tears that stained my cheeks with kohl...

"Deb, you know I can't adopt a girl child as it is against the law for a single man to do so in this country", replied Harrish. "... and I wanna be a father!", he continued in a heartbreakingly measured, calm voice...

"I can hire a surrogate... and I was checking out this website where everything is perfectly legal. Married women from economically backward families are artificially inseminated after getting their approval and also the approval of their families. They are then looked after and given nutritious food during the course of their pregnancy and paid for their services once they deliver the baby. They give a written undertaking relinquishing their right to the child and since I will be the biological father, the baby is legally mine...", he said... hope brimming from the corner of his mouth contorted in the most beautiful mix of pain, hope, fear, happiness and love...

Excited at getting my full attention, he continued... "But Deb, then I thought... why can't I have a baby with you?"

"Hmmm... Let's see Harrish... with your dimples and my wit, we do have a world beating combination... If you father my kids, I can rest assured that they will be sexy little devils, and you can breathe easy as they will be blessed with my linguistic skills!", I said.

We both relished the delicious idea for the one beautiful moment before reality slammed it to bits...

"Harry bunny," I said, "I have two spinal injuries... so bearing babies is a bad idea... But you know what... I'll sign whatever documents required to become the legal mother of your children!"

The optimistic little muffin that Harrish is, this instantly perked him up and he was back to his quirky self, "Matlab... Tu sach me mere bachche ki Maa banegi?"

"Haan... Harrish Iyer... Main tere bachche ki Maa ban-ne ko taiyyar hoon!"

And just like that... we sealed a deal held most sacred in all religions across the world...

Sex and Politics

It's Election Day and all I can think of... is sex! Two of my dear friends are debating if the LGBT Community should start a political party or field independent candidates, who will openly speak up about and address concerns of the community. It is an interesting back and forth on Facebook. I am also a part of the marathon argument (which is technically not an argument, coz we're all saying the same thing!)
Well first, LGBT Community sounds like something from outer space. I thought we were all Mast people! (Remember the slogan at this year's Gay Pride Parade... "I'm Gay! Main Mast Hoon!"). If you want to become a part of the mainstream, shed your 'special interest group' identity.
Next, if you are serious about politics, understand that you have to work for everyone and care about the concerns of hetros too... Personally, I think both, hetros and Mast people have the same concerns. Mumbai potholes don't spare Mast spines and Mast people aren't the only victims of crime and disease.
As far as sex is concerned, it all boils down to the Right To Scr@w (RTS, if you will ;-)) Some people have it, some people don't. Do Mast people think hetros have it easy? Dig deeper into the lives of pados ke Sharma ji, Chaddha sahab, Varma aunty, Kavita Bhabhi... Do you think all is hunky-dory in our great Indian arranged marriages? All your life you are taught not to talk to strangers, then you are expected to sleep with one?! Most Pati-Patnis 'do-the-due' under family/societal pressure, just so that there's someone to carry forward the family name. Almost all pregnancies are unplanned, most kids are the by-products of failed contraception! And that is precisely why we as a society are terrified about talking about sex... coz most people don't enjoy it... It's a chore... a formality... Raat ko attendence lagaani hai!
People don't understand love, passion, pleasure... Romance ki toh waat lagi hai! We are hardwired to believe that we should live to make others happy. Low self esteem is a virtue in out collectivist society. When will people understand, ki hum ek baar jeete hain, ek baar marte hain, aur pyaar bhi sirf ek baar hota hai! When you live double lives you die everyday and you keep falling in and out of something that sure as hell ain't love! Sachchaa pyaar kabhi kurbaaniyaan nahi maangta... maangta hai toh sirf ki tum jiyo... jee bharke!
In short, straight people need to be liberated as much as Mast people! And if we need to take a political stand to sort out our sex lives, I'm all for it!

Dear Maa

A few days ago I lost the woman who could have one day become my Mother-in-Law. She had been sick for many years and lived as quietly as she died. In the two years that I had known and grown to love her son, I had never once seen her. My man always said that he would introduce us at the right time. She was bed-ridden and never ventured out of the 10x12 bedroom, that was a virtual prison. I always imagined what my first meeting with Maa would be like. Today I'm writing to a woman I would never be able to talk to...
Dear Maa,
I'm your son's girlfriend. Yes the same short haired girl Papa told you he spotted in your son's bedroom as he walked past the door. The same girl he often catches a glimpse of when I sneak in and out of your house at all kinds of un-Godly hours. I have told your son that I hate this hide and seek business. We have been together for almost two years. It's time he introduced me to you.
I often wondered what that 'meet the parents' would have been like. The very first Saas-Bahu encounter is always a scary experience for both women involved. What would I have worn, a feminine pink salwar-kameez or my everyday jeans and T-shirt (wouldn't wanna come across as trying too hard). Would I have let my hair loose (the way your son likes it) or tied them up in a neat pony-tail (it's easier to manage). What would we do about the 'bahu ke haath ki chai'? Would you have asked me to make some in your kitchen, as our first meeting would have taken place at your home...
What would you have asked me?
Beta can you cook?
What are your future plans?
Why did you quit journalism, beta?
Is PR a good business to be in?
What do your parents do?
Do you like children?
Would you inspect and observe? Would you ask me to sing, smile, walk...? Ask me why I wear no jewellery? I'm not as strikingly good looking as your son. Would you wonder if I'd look good next to him? Would you wonder if I could give you good looking grand children? Would you ask me if I loved your son? Really loved him... How much? How would I answer that?
I have so many questions for you...
Did your son tell you that I performed a special pooja for your recovery during the Ganpati Festival and then sent you prasad through him?
Did he give you the Durga Pooja bhog I specially sent for you? I know Papa doesn't believe in God, because if there was one, you, the love of Papa's life, wouldn't have sufferred so much and for so long. But now you are with God and I'm with all these questions... Questions I will never find answers to...
I wanted to meet you Maa... but I couldn't... you son wouldn't let me... and I didn't insist... But I must say, your son is one tough young man. He was a picture of calm at your funeral... so was Papa... Even didi was strong... But I couldn't hold back my tears.
I'm sorry Maa... I love you Maa... and yes I love your son...
Goodbye Maa.