I Am.....

You are an awesome..... awesome..... beautiful.....brave.....woman.

You are a stupid.....stupid.....irritating.....unfashionable.....fat.....possessive.....unattractive.....conservative.....brain-less.....blundering idiot.

Me, Myself and I :)

Why

Why didn’t I leave when I could have and should have?
Why do I get dreams of people long-gone from my life?
Why do I watch old Hindi movies?
Why does a woman have to bear more than her fair share?
Why don’t we stay in touch with childhood friends?
Why don’t I create any time for writing more blog posts?
Why can I never replicate my mother’s food?
Why did the Teacher dump the Twitty-bird?
Why have I not developed a taste for Western music?
Why am I still in Brisbane?
Why are my memories worth more than their weight in gold?
Why do people get angry for no good reason?
Why did I marry?
Why do I sound like a demented soul?
Why is it simple to be happy, but difficult to be simple?
Why are some so hard-to-please?
Why do people have a problem with me being a vegetarian teetotaller?
Why do men expect all women to look like Angelina, even if they're no Brad?
Why do you lie?
Why can’t I build a Time-machine?
Why can’t I remember organic chemistry equations and calculus?
Why can’t the voices in my head just Shut the F**K Up?
Why do I compare myself to others?
Why can't people understand grey - not black-and-white?
Why do I find it harder to remember finer details of the past as I get older?
Why do some people have unquestionable faith in me and some- none at all?
Why am I a graceful dancer, yet have poor hand-eye coordination?
Why is sarcasm hurtful?
Why is it so hard to just be, just live?
Why can’t we survive without mobile phones like we used to?
Why do you demand explanations for everything, yet admit nothing?
Why do I like Pink and the Nissan Micra?
Why does one think one has the right to have expectations of others?
Why do I crave Dilli chaat?
Why can’t things just clean themselves up and bills get paid on their own?
Why don’t I just get up, get out and travel?
Why are my weight-loss attempts futile?
Why do people think they are being nice when they offer unwarranted advice?
Why do I love gentleness and patience?
Why do I hate hypocritical, rude and pretentious behaviour?
Why am I scared of birds of all shapes, sizes and colours?
Why am I not 17 anymore?
Why are you so far away, yet so near?
Why is it difficult to figure out when enough is enough?
Why is change an irreversible process?
Why do some things never change?
Why is the spirit eternal?
Why is the world getting smaller, but the universe expanding?
Why does a glance speak more than a thousand words?
Why do I prefer the chaos of my land to the solitude of the one I inhabit?
Why is one in control, or not in control, of their destiny?
Why am I just fed-up?
Why do I not have answers to everything I want to know?
Why do I care?
Why do I not care?
Why do I hate?
Why do I love?
Why did the chicken cross the road?

Gazpacho

He was a strong, well-built man of 31. He was busy these days organizing his wedding and keeping his future bride sane in the midst of guest lists, stage decorations and menu plans. He worked nearby in one of the Big Four accounting firms. Not as an accountant though. That was too staid a line for the likes of him. He was particularly adept at solving cryptic crosswords on the train back from work. Something about the periodic sound of metal-on-metal. Kept his mind ticking. He had this bad habit of cracking his left index knuckle when he felt nervous. He had been to a skiing trip last year where he had experienced snow for the first time. His brother had given him a Swiss knife when he was 10 which he still carried around in his briefcase. He felt it would come in handy, and sometimes it actually did. His favourite brand of aftershave was not sold in the market anymore, so he was desperately trying to find something to replace the old. No luck so far. His dry-cleaners had rung up to say his suit was ready to be collected. He liked having his soup cold. Never hot. That’s why he liked the Spanish Gazpacho. One day he might even go to Spain, he planned. Lots to see there.

But of course, she wouldn’t know of any of this, would she? She stared at him in the middle of the road, blood gushing out of his body, innards spilling outwards, eyes wide open in an expression of horror and fear. No pulse. No hope. No time. Hit and run. Hit… and Run….

Life Imitates Art...

Oscar Wilde once said that life imitates art, more than art imitates life.

During a seven-hour flight trip when I resolutely ignored the yawn-inducing movies in an attempt to stay awake, I tried to find examples for each case to come to a conclusion on which phrase is more apt.

Does Life imitate Art, or does Art imitate Life?

My quest turned out to be quite interesting as I was unable to identify which case was stronger. I used instances from both my own life, and from the general world around us.

One would think that it is very easy to describe how art imitates life. Ask any author, film-maker, singer, dancer, painter – they all admit to often creating their art based on life experiences – personal or otherwise. Think of films as diverse as Woh Lamhe, Jodhaa Akbar, Silsila, The English Patient, Pearl Harbour, The Pursuit of Happyness and of course…. Slumdog Millionaire (Fyi – this post is NOT about my views on this film –it deserves its own blogpost – watch this space!). The common thread that links these on celluloid is the fact that they are based on or inspired by true-to-life accounts. There are WAY too many to list here, but you get the gist!

Think of books like Ernest Hemingway’s ‘A Farewell to Arms’, Mitch Albom’s ‘Tuesdays with Morrie’, Louisa May Alcott’s ‘Little Women’, Jean Sasson’s ‘Princess’, Shashi Tharoor’s ‘The Great Indian Novel’. Raja Ravi Verma’s renowned paintings of the sari-clad lady.

The converse – that Life Imitates Art – is a concept that is fairly difficult to imagine for some. Can your art predict what happens in your life? Oscar Wilde’s ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ is a case in point. For more tangible examples, think of times when the media has spawned trends in your everyday life. Fashion – what you see actors or models wear onscreen influences what you decide to buy. JK Rowling’s tales of that ridiculous bespectacled adolescent has made names like Hermione, hitherto only recalled as the ancient Greek heroine, into a favourite ‘new’ name for baby girls in the UK.

And who can forget quotes from movies/TV which are now part of everyday vocabulary, like Homer Simpson’s ‘Doh’ or ‘Show me the money’ from Tom Cruise’s Jerry Maguire, or that other classic ‘Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn’ by Clark Gable in Gone With the Wind.

To add a rather spooky dimension to this discussion – have you ever had dreams while asleep, that turned into reality in the future? Have you ever spoken or written about something, that then actually happened to you a few days later? Have you ever thought of someone, and then they suddenly call you or turn up at your doorstep? Have you ever considered these as mere coincidences, or could your life actually be imitating your art?!