i don't want to share my chocolates

Just saw "Bob and Carol, Ted and Alice" (Paul Mazursky, 1969). What does free love really mean, and when it comes down to it, can one really take part in an orgy, have intercourse with a friend, swap wives and husbands? "It's all love, it's all beautiful, let it all hang out"- the film takes the 60's creed to it's most bizarre, funniest limits.

But can we really let all be love, without jealousy? I know I couldn't. Ever since my sister was born when I was two, I have been consumed by jealousy, and to date, I haven't really learnt to share, not deep down inside, whatever politeness, and social norms may demand. And whatever I may teach my kid. Being an only child, she's more secure and giving than me however, so I don't get put to the test that often.

I love the sixties hippie look though, the girls look like little dolls, everyone is so well dressed. You hardly see that in Hollywood movies anymore, people dressed up glamorously, unless it's a Bond film or period. Was fast forwarding through "Rear Window", and drooling over Grace Kelly's dresses.

brats

The little monster we met at three, has become a "little big monster" in its adolescent years. Earlier, it used to stomp, scream and wail. Now, it grunts, growls and snaps. It's parents smile helplessly as if to say, " We didn't know how this happened". I smile back, politely and lie, "Yes, couldn't see that coming."

Though Newton's law of action and reaction was first published in 1687, and the general principle of it has concerned religions and philosophies down the ages, it is strange that parents continue to think that little brats will transform into angels as they grow up without any interference or attempt to discipline them on the parents' part.

I must be old-fashioned, but I think it's important for a parent to be a parent first, and then even pretend to be a friend.

microfinance and me

It seems that the word "micro finance" was playing the trick. In meeting after meeting with women's NGOs across Mumbai, Bhopal and Delhi, morning, afternoon, or evening, the word "micro finance" would send my brain a signal it could not resist.

Don't get me wrong. I have enormous faith in micro finance. I've seen the wonders it has worked with the women in Latur after the earthquake, transforming illiterate women who had never stepped out of their homes into small entrepreneurs. And didn't Prof. Mohammed Yunus from Bangladesh win a Nobel prize for it?

And yet, the moment the magic word was mentioned, my eyes would glaze over, my neck would start lolling, and I'd be off to sleep in a way I couldn't seem to control. K, my colleague, would get more animated in a desperate attempt to make our interviewee feel less insulted by my dozing. I'd wake up with a snap when another magic word "tea" was mentioned, and smile foolishly. Later K and I would go off into hysteric laughter.

In my defense I can only say, I was overworked, sleepy and a little ill. Yet, the next day, I thought it only fair that I should not leave the burden of "micro finance" and other related aspects of women's struggle in India, on K's shoulder. So, from the beginning I hogged the conversation, talking about myself, what I thought, what I felt, what I saw, to evade all possibility of any mention of the word "micro finance". I did get some strange looks from the people who we interviewed that day, wondering why we had come there in the first place, since we did not ask them any questions, only spoke about ourselves.

foliage

The paint companies have enticing names for their shades. not that i need to be enticed. I can go berserk with colors.

The painters said gujaratis go for whites, creams, bohri muslims like darker, more gaudy colors. Of course, they did not know I was a bohri muslim.

Teja, amused, listened to these comments 3-4 times. The 5th time, I said, well, he is a gujarati and I am a bohri muslim, so what color do you suggest we paint our bedroom? They were suitably embarrassed. though they are not sure whether we are teasing them.

I don't look like a bohri muslim to them. anyway, in defiance, I decide to get our bedroom painted an emerald green. Berger paints calls it "foliage". After the first coat, we are all reeling, frankly. I wonder if I should accept defeat.

The next morning, Teja says, let's go ahead. otherwise, we'll wonder all our lives whether or not we could have lived with the green. We can always change after six months.

The painters come back the next morning, sure that we'll have changed our minds. But they politely agree when we say, we'll stick to our decision.

So, any of you who do land up home, in the near future, please be sure to admire the "foliage".

Stories at the Coffee Table

Edited by Peter Griffin, Manisha Lakhe and Annie Zaidi
With a foreword by Nilanjana S Roy
Design and cover photograph by Hemant Suthar
A Caferati Publication

A wonderful effort, and I'm so proud to have one of my stories published here.

about hair and friendship

Saw Milos Forman's "Hair" the other day on Sony Pix. Late night. Well, for me 10 pm is late night. Usually, when the opening credits are coming on, I decide I can't take it right now, and slink off to my bed with a book. But maybe because I was too tired to even get off the beanbag that night, I stayed on.

For the first few minutes, I wondered where the film was going to go. The music was full on, there were troupes and groups dancing in and out, everyone was singing, dancing at the same time, women were flying by on horses - of course, the chaos was wonderful, and I love chaos, but when something starts at that high a pitch, it is a formidable task to move it ahead.

But the film continues to surprise, leading you on from one crazy event to another, the sincere-looking out-of-towner, suddenly catching a runaway horse, and proving to be a cowboy, the hippies crashing a very posh debutante party, the midnight nude dip into the river, and of course, going off to war, and the hippy boy's grave in the soldier's memorial, dead for something he did not believe in.

The film is anti-war of course, based around the hippie protestors of the Vietnam war in the US, but more than that it is one of the most brilliant expositions of friendship, the unpredictability of why and how people become friends, (specially young people), why and how they fight, argue and make up, and how they stick together for no apparent reason. The thing is, that the organic nature of friendship is mimiced in the film, with an apparent lack of interference from the director, and that is the most wonderful thing about the film for me.

I tried to do that, specially in one scene in "Lilkee" and I know how tough it was for me to convince everyone around me, that the girls become friends again for no apparent reason, and in a non-dramatic way.

I'm not sure I succeeded in putting across that elusive quality of friendship, and so of course, I was floored by what Milos Forman has done in "Hair".

At home, I am surrounded by 15 odd men, banging, breaking, scouring, scraping, raising up a dust storm. I take refuge in my bedroom, which will be battered soon enough, and Sudoku. At the cyber cafe, I am surrounded by 15 odd young people, talking as they do projects, make resumes, take phone calls as they work. No wonder I haven't been blogging!