THE BALLE BALLE DANCE by the feminist

The Balle Balle Dance 

What would you need to throw a big party? At the very least, perhaps an exaggerated amount of dishes, gallons and gallons of alcohol, couple of days running around planning themes… in short, way too much tension and too little fun.

On the other hand, gather a couple of Sikhs around with no money, no food, no plan and it’s still going to be a pretty brilliant party by itself. I had heard plenty of ‘sardaar’ jokes while growing up and I won’t deny forwarding some of the funny ones to my entire phone contact lists. I had also been warned by some of my friends about their anger and advised to keep my lips stitched together or the possibility of me missing my front teeth would be very high.

But it was only a few months ago that I actually had the chance to make friends with some of them. Though cautious at first, I soon began to notice their friendly and good humored nature and started interacting with them more freely. They have the ability rarely seen in people – the ability to make fun of themselves and being carefree about it. If you asked me to do the same, I would probably turn redder than a beetroot in embarrassment and use my bag as a monkey cap to hide my face!

I was invited to one of my Sikh friend’s house for lunch one day. Out of curiosity to know more about their culture, I accepted. Oh scratch that, I’ll admit it, I went for free food! I met his family, exchanged a few words in greetings and we all sat down for lunch. Simple paranthaas, curd and lassi. All things fattening and delicious looking! As we begin, I noticed how casual and informal the whole arrangement was. Everybody gathered up on one single cot, playfully conversing with each other, betting over who could finish their glass of milk and lassi first. What a feeling! Even if you tried to block all those positive vibes with all your might, you couldn’t.

As I became close friends with some of them, I suggested maybe we could all go for a dance party or something. They looked at me like it was the craziest idea they had ever heard of. Dressing up and spending money just to get an entry in for a dance party? Kidding right? Two of them got an empty bucket, turned it upside down, drummed on it, another guy got some crackers, and there we all were in beggar street clothes dancing like maniacs. At first it really did feel like a monkey dance, but as we got into the rhythm I could tell that I was enjoying myself more than I ever had in all the dance parties and clubs combined.

The simplicity of it all blew me away and I realized that is why they are always happy, smiling and laughing and ever so content. Being simple is the key. No exaggerated plans, no show, no meaningless words. Just simple everyday things to keep them happy. They showed me the true meaning of being down to earth. Maybe I too can learn their art of simple living someday.

The Feminist

PATRIOTIC POPCORN by the chauvinist

The inner voice in me,unlike yours does not preach.Its simply programmed to tell me when i need to do my laundry or call home or maybe burn some calories.
When it tells me that i've been lazying around for a while,Id put on a shirt, denim and tighten my belt to such an extent that it wouldnt fall even if an annoying school kid decided to hang onto it.

Everything buckled,id head to the local train station to try and get onto a local train.This,i believe is the most effective workout of all,especially when the platform ticket is as low as Rs.2

If you are new in town,you'd probably assume that the people out here dont go to work and simply keep switching trains all day.The crowd on trains

usually reminds me of the holocaust scenes from Schindlers' List.

You might even force yourself into believing that the world is to end that evening.I did.

The crowd is funny too.Everytime a man with facial hair and a cap puts his bag on the overhead compartment,all the eyes on the train would be on him until he picks up the bag and gets off the train.

mumbaikars,for all you know,he might just have a couple of pairs of boxers he has'nt washed in a while.Now that is most unlikely to blow up.

Bombay,i believe is the only place where you cannot possibly find a bite without Pav(Bread).Vada Pav, Batata Bajia Pav,Kanda Bajia Pav,Samosa Pav,Maska Pav,Burji Pav,Misal Pav,Pav Pakoda,Pav Bhaji and the list just goes on.

Mumbaikars eat pav all day.Though i love my Puttu And Kadala curry back at home ,i'd be equally happy if you served me some cereal and orange juice or Puri Bhaji and Chai or even a cup of strong black coffee and two slices of bread along with a bullseye with or without the yolk in place.(That probably says how modest i am!)

Another issue here in Bombay is finding a place that serves Beef.

Even with a million animals in the world that serve no purpose to mankind whatsoever,us indians had to pick the cow to be our god.HOLY COW!You couldve easily picked a Tiger or a Horse or a even a Pug for that matter,but u had to pick something that's probably much more delicious that any of the above.

Fellow Indians,if Cow is your god, I EAT YOUR GOD!

But if i was to believe in a superpower,id probably worship my dabbawala(lunch box delivery man).He is probably the superman in the neighbourhood.The person works all throughout the year and serves even if you call up an hour prior to your lunch time.This seems quite impossible to me.I keep telling people that i wouldve stayed in school if i had to work 6 days a week and 8 hours a day and heres' a bloke who doesn't take a break.I have my doubts as to whether he has 15 wives,but i consider it ill mannered to enquire.

Bombay is full of surprises.If you step into a Bar and decide to enjoy a smoke along with your drink,that huge bartender with a dragon tattoo on his right hand and a scar on his left cheek would show up to tell you that you aren't supposed to.This is something that i dont understand.A bar is not a place where an old woman with a heart condition is likely to show up dyingly to catch her breath.One does not go into a bar for yoga or meditation either.People drink in a bar and consumption of alcohol is injuries to health anyways.So,you wouldnt die because the bloke at the table right across lights a cigarrette.

So,its a sunday and you decide to catch your favourite movie,well,Bombay doesnt fall short of surprises there too.This is infact the lamest stunt of them all.Right when you have settled down on that soft seat with a stupendous pack of popcorn,tattling with your friend about the chic in front,a very fmiliar song  would start playing and all the folks would jump onto their feet.You all confused over the act would have the whole glass of coke all over your pants while getting up,identifying the song to be the national anthem.

A close friend and I have been called a wide variety of names because we simply remain seated while the others show respect to the country by standing up for the national anthem with spicy samosas in hand.

Strangely,despite all the mess here,people absolutely love the place.I wonder why.I'd probably understand once' i leave this place,go back home,put on some weight and decide to hit the gym.

Cheers! :)

The Chauvinist

MY ANGEL by the feminist

Have you ever once thought about how many hours a girl spends doing her eye makeup? Or

deciding what clothed to wear and what shade of lip gloss would go with the dress? And you

would think she is crazy and this is a waste of time. I think it is an unproductive activity as well.

But needless to say, I am a girl and play the role of a crazy fashion maniac sometimes too!

So on the day of a very important event happening in my college, I was all dressed up.

Complete with pretty jewelry and straightened hair. Now you see, even though I had done all

this to boost up my own confidence and feel good, compliments are always welcomed. So the

moment I stepped out of my room, all the other girls threw in compliments about how the new

style suits me and makes me look like a princess.

But I didn’t get any compliments from any of the guys I knew. Maybe one of the fifty guys said

something along the lines of how I looked a little ‘different’ but that just frustrated me even

further. As obvious as a new shade as a new shade of nail polish may seem to a girl, if you ask a

boy to spot the same, he would rather go fix a complicated electric appliance. . It’s not like I’m

miss popular and fish for self appraises but come on! One simple compliment of you look nice

from a boy would have sufficed me.

At the end of the day, when I failed to gather any extol, I was so frustrated that I wanted to pull

out the very first ever hair that grew on my scalp. But then came my angel, oh how I loved him

at that moment. He took one look at me and told me how pretty I was. This one little note of

observance made me fly in the air.

Maybe his intention was not to make me as happy as I was, but sometimes even the most

simple compliments can make a difference in somebody’s day.

The Feminist.

SHE FELL FOR MY COOKING by the chauvnist.

I have a friend who cooks pretty well. Though i enjoy her food, i've never  actually complimented her skills just so i dont hurt the male chauvinist in me.

Even with my least appreciative attitude,she'd call me over whenever she  found time to cook something that she tore out of a weekly or something.

The dishes would mostly be exotic.Now,exotic means two things to me-it  would have a name that I wouldnt be able to pronounce even if I took french  classes for over a 100 years & the quantum of food on the plate wouldnt be  enough to fill the tiniest of cats even after the third serving.The latter is what  bothers me the most as Im used to people who call me over when they  probably get a crate of beer and tonnes of junk food.

The dinner would mostly start with wine and end with a dessert as against  the beer and marlboro tradition im used to with my folks.

She,being the Connoisseur would sip the wine and let her taste buds tell her  the history of the wine while i'd be trying hard to recall the google search I  did a couple of hours back on holding the spoon and fork correctly.I'd wait  for her to pick up hers and follow suit so that i dont end up confusing her  as well.As the main course progresses she'd fill me in on the  history of the dish and i'd be contemplating on whether a third serving  would fill me.

With my only knowledge on the topic of food being eating,i'd have pretty  much nothing to say on such occasions and would continue doing what i  know best.

Things were pretty fine until the day she decided to ask me about my  favourite dishes.I wasn't sure as to whether she was expecting to hear  Kerala Paratha and Beef fry,but i certainly wouldnt change my tastes for a  woman that i wouldnt even try to flirt with.

The incident sort of hurt my ego and i decided to follow cookery shows on  Tv.Im used to listening cluelessly to guys swearing at each other over some  Real MAD  beating some ARSE a nail everytime i step out for coffee or  a smoke!Now that i watch tv,I started to tell them how Jennie and Sussy got eliminated  after they overspiced their Thai Chicken Soup and failed to please the judges.They'd give me a look,stare at each other and take a step away from me.

With hours of Tv shows,i totally forgot the sole purpose of watching them  and was getting emotionally involved with the participants.

However,i figured a way to tackle the problem.I'd call her up earlier and cunningly enquire as to what she was going to be cooking for dinner,

I'd google the dish and find out the details so that i would have something  to open my mouth for other than eating at the table.Alas!it worked! But the second time it didnt go well as i ended up memorizing details for an  entirely different dish as this particular dish spelled totally different from the  pronounciation as it was French or Braile or something.

With my wrong pronounciation of the dishes and elaborate  explanation,she was impressed and  thats exactly when i wished for the  ground to crack and take me right to hell as she now wanted me to cook it  for her!

The next morning,she asked me to jot down all the ingredients that i would need to cook.I sat down with a Pen and Paper,it was just like that day in school when the teacher decides to give u an undeclared test when you dont even remember her name or what subject she teaches.(They used to call it a 'Surprise' test in my school,i still havent figured out why,because for me a surprise is always a pleasent one!Unlike finidng a dead body in your car trunk or your boxers in the oven.)

There was no getting away,i had to cook.I was certain that i wouldn't be able to pull off the dish when i couldnt even pronounce it right!

So,I decided to tag along with her for shopping.

The Greengrocery section is particulary something i hate.Women would be all over the place.If you decide to be a gentleman and give the poor old lady behindyou  a chance to pick out the tomatoes from the box,you'd be standing there the whole day waiting and finally when you do get your turn you'd be left with an  empty box apart from the rotten tomatoes,while the neighborhood enjoys warm tomato soup.

I had all the vegetables that looked pleasing to the eye,the attendant warned me about a carrot being bad,but i ignored,it looked brilliant to me,the color tone was just perfect,he probably had to get his eyes checked.

My vegetables made absolute sense.Atleast to me.

Once we got back,I poured myself a drink and decided to put on the apron. I started off chopping vegetables while the meat defroze.

I put in some art into this task as well,there was absolute symmetry in every chop.You could create a million brilliant patterns with them,look at it and hallucinate.I was feeling like an actual chef.For a second i even considered switching my profession.

Soon she appeared in the kitchen after having changed  and sat on the platform sipping on the single malt whisky.This was making the chef in me very uncomfortable for i knew she could tell that i couldnt cook for shit.

So I somehow convinced her to go watch Tv.

Without her in the kitchen,i was getting back onto feeling like a chef again.

After having cooked the meat and vegetables with whatever ingredients i could lay my eyes on,i was able to get a good looking gravy.

It was'nt tasting bad,not good either.But after all,its an exotic dish,its just gotta have a weird name and has to be served in such a manner that you would have to wash just half the plate after finishing.

After the artistic plating i called her in.She came in and looked at it.She put on a smile and decided to put it on the table while i prepared the salad.While i turned around to my chopped vegetables to get started i heard something shatter.I rushed to the Dining hall.She had fallen for my cooking!she was flat on the floor along with the shattered plates and my art.I stood still.At that point,though an atheist i actually believed there is God and i thanked him for avoiding the bigger disaster that was to come.I picked up all thats on the floor and dropped it into the garbage except her.I dont know if she had intentionally dropped the plates and simply laid down on the floor,if so,u just saved yourself from a lot of medication my friend.

Cheers! :)

The Chauvinist