Vampire-struck

Before I begin, I must admit that like most high school and college girls around the globe, I am completely and irrevocably in love with vampires. In fact, I often have a tough time deciding which among Edward Cullen, Stefan Salvatore and Damon Salvatore should be ranked higher on the hotness scale. Most of my guy friends have adopted a weird habit of cursing all the abovementioned characters. The grapevine says men around the globe are baffled and at a complete loss to fathom the bizarre attraction these undead lethal creatures hold to girls around. They have come up with various hilarious theories for the same including one suggesting that women love vampires because the vampires are perfect depictions of gay guys. Preposterous, right? Guess its time to get a girl's perspective.

The fact that most of these fictitious vampires are described as being nothing short of Greek Gods makes up only the tip of the iceberg. They are also described as having these superhero characteristics, the mind reading,  all the ultimate macho qualities, and top it all with extra dollops of sensitivity..and what do you get..its the perfect guy. Almost all high school movies have shown girls falling for the football team captains. The strong athletic vampires are no different from the typical high school jock who dates the prom queen and is every girl's dream hunk. With a difference, our new hero is empathetic and understanding, he listens, he shares, he even weeps. Be it as Edward or as one of the Salvatore brothers, he would go to any lengths to protect the love of his life, even if it involves putting himself in danger. Come on, which girl wouldn't fall for such a guy. His described lifestyle choice makes him shine out as a good guy, who makes a conscious decision not to be a monster, despite what nature has bestowed upon him, unlike most guys who use  I am a guy, nature made me so as an excuse to get out of any and every thing girls want to do. Of course, we are bedazzled by him. And honestly, which girl has ever come across a guy who would pull back from a girls embrace because he doesn't want to hurt her. Of course, we swoon at him. Add to that the classic allure of the ultimate forbidden romance, he becomes totally irresistible. If only he were real. Call me vampire-struck, you bet!

Two Choices

Ever wondered if human beings are intrinsically good or bad, rather would they, more often that not, think of their own gain as opposed to someone else's happiness. Paulo Coelho tried exploring this baffling question in his book, The Devil and Miss Prym. And most of us do assume that the answer to the above mentioned questions would be that human beings are rational, marginal thinkers who think of their gains before anything else. What comprises that gain is of course, debatable. Came across the following story and I believe it most certainly deserves to be shared:

What would you do?....you make the choice. Don't look for a punch line, there isn't one. Read it anyway. My question is: Would you have made the same choice?

At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves children with learning disabilities, the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he offered a question: 'When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does, is done with perfection. Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do. He cannot understand things as other children do. Where is the natural order of things in my son?'

The audience was stilled by the query.

The father continued. 'I believe that when a child like Shay, who was mentally and physically disabled comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes in the way other people treat that child.' Then he told the following story:

Shay and I had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked, 'Do you think they'll let me play?' I knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but as a father I also understood that if my son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps.

I approached one of the boys on the field and asked (not expecting much) if Shay could play. The boy looked around for guidance and said, 'We're losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning.'

Shay struggled over to the team's bench and, with a broad smile, put on a team shirt. I watched with a small tear in my eye and warmth in my heart. The boys saw my joy at my son being accepted. In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three. In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as I waved to him from the stands. In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team scored again. Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.

At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game?

Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible because Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball. However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher, recognizing that the other team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay's life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least make contact.

The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay. As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher. The game would now be over. The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game. Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the first baseman's head, out of reach of all team mates.

Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, 'Shay, run to first! Run to first!' Never in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base. He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.

Everyone yelled, 'Run to second, run to second!' Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to the base. By the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball . the smallest guy on their team who now had his first chance to be the hero for his team. He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher's intentions so he, too, intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman's head.

Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home. All were screaming, 'Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay'

Shay reached third base because the opposing shortstop ran to help him by turning him in the direction of third base, and shouted, 'Run to third! Shay, run to third!' As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams, and the spectators, were on their feet screaming, 'Shay, run home! Run home!' Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the grand slam and won the game for his team. 'That day', said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, 'the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world'.

Shay didn't make it to another summer. He died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making me so happy, and coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day!

We all have thousands of opportunities every single day to help realize the 'natural order of things.' So many seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us with a choice: Do we pass along a little spark of love and humanity or do we pass up those opportunities and leave the world a little bit colder in the process?

I remember back in the eighth or ninth grade, Club HP used to air a much loved advertisement about how a simple smile from one of their petrol bunk attendants was transferred from person to person, leaving each one a little happier, no matter how sticky a situation they may be in. Be it Munnabhai's jadoo ki jhappi or Eloise's Christmas joys, we all root for the angelic do-gooders who do nothing superhuman except spreading warmth around them. Then why is it that we choose not to try and incorporate a little of that in our own lives. Have we, in all our progress and development and advancement, forgotten what it was like to be human after all?

Ek Duje Ke Vaaste: Why Good Girls and Nice Guys Are Never Together

Came across the following piece:

 Nice girls who will always remain 'a good friend'. Nice girls who are 'just one of the guys'. Nice girls who get punched on the arm (because they're just one of the guys), but never get kissed on the cheek. Or anywhere else.
This is for the women who talk of women's lib but are secretly too shy to actually ask a guy out. And who must haplessly watch him being asked out by a girl, who's I.Q. is about as high as her neckline (which, in case you missed the point, usually isn't too high). This is also for those girls who can never summon up the courage to tell a guy, that they think he's the best thing since sliced bread. And who will continue to think that while the guy in question flirts shamelessly with them in a half-assed attempt at making a completely different girl jealous. This is in honour of girls who give roses on Rose Day, but never get one back in return. The ones who have to resort to dropping hints in order to get asked out but, (since men are men and wouldn't take a hint unless it showed up naked on their doorstep bearing apple pie) who never get asked out anyway. This is in salutation to the girls who prefer playing hard to get, and who wonder why all the nice guys are dating women who play not-hard-to-get-at-all. This one is for the girls who've been repeatedly told that they're smart and cute and desirable – just not by the guys they actually care for. This is a voice for women who appreciate that under the macho-man-randy-savage testosterone drive, most guys are not too bad, as friends or as anything else, and who don't honestly want to be put on a pedestal and be worshipped for thinking so.
This is a tribute to girls who never have doors held out for them, never have chairs pulled for them, and never complain about it. This is for women who'd happily split the bill with a friend, boyfriend, husband if only they'd had one. And if only he'd let them. This is in defence of women who give tentative hugs out of the fear that they might send the 'wrong signals', who never drink too much at parties so they'd never have to be 'cared for' and who never, ever misbehave. And this is also for the girls who still stay friends with girls who openly flirt with their boyfriends, but who'd never dream of stealing their best friend's boyfriend, even if he's their intellectual soulmate. Because they're nice girls and nice girls don't do that sort of thing.
What nice girls do is get stood up, ditched and taken for granted. Nice girls get to be the friendly ear, someone to crib about ex-girlfriends, present girlfriends and women in general. Nice girls get to be doormats, someone whose house you can use to throw a surprise party for your girlfriend, and who's left to clean up after you go to drop your girlfriend home. Nice girls get to be someone you kiss when you're too drunk to notice and someone who'll accept your profuse apologies the next morning. Nice girls get to grow up believing the Cinderella story, the Ugly Duckling story and all the stories their boyfriends tell them about why they're getting calls from ex-girlfriends in the middle of the night.
This, dear nice girls, is for every time a guy told you that "any guy would be lucky to have you" and you wished he's stop saying that considering he wasn't doing the having bit himself. This is also for all the times you've watched your crush ogle at women whose idea of socializing involves high-pitched giggles and cleavage-baring antics. This is for all the hours of knock-knock jokes, breast jokes, beer jokes, women jokes, feminist jokes and dead baby jokes, of being a 'sport', being a 'pal', being the only one in the group not salivating over the Playmate of the Month, or not having any kind of Mortal Kombat score to discuss. This is for every time you wanted to but couldn't stop being sensible, for every fun thing you didn't do because it seemed 'inappropriate', every guy you pined for because he was, in some odd way or other, "off limits". This is for every time you wondered what the hell was wrong with you, if you set off an allergic reaction in men and if that wasn't the case then why all the men in the world have to have such a lousy taste in women.
The worst part of this story, girls, is that eventually most men look out for someone they can take home to mommy. Oh they'll shake their heads and laugh it off if you ever suggest it, but deep down that's what they really want. Eventually. While they're secretly fantasizing about lingerie models, the only one they'll really consider marriage material is the girl-next-door variety. Someone who needn't exactly be a chef extraordinaire, Salma Hayek's twin or winner of the Nobel Prize for Astrophysics. But also someone who won't embarrass the shite out of them by quaffing beer, flirting with their cousins at family get-togethers or insisting on dirty dancing with them in public. In other words, a 'nice' girl. And till men in general are hit by the proverbial bolt of lightning that, by god, she's the one I've always been looking for, your destiny is to live down the injustice, the humiliation, the heartache and the suffering. Go ahead, just do what you do best. Be nice.

And this one too:

Ode to the Nice Guys
This rant was written for the Wharton Undergraduate Journal

This is a tribute to the nice guys. The nice guys that finish last, that never become more than friends, that endure hours of whining and bitching about what assholes guys are, while disproving the very point. This is dedicated to those guys who always provide a shoulder to lean on but restrain themselves to tentative hugs, those guys who hold open doors and give reassuring pats on the back and sit patiently outside the changing room at department stores. This is in honor of the guys that obligingly reiterate how cute/beautiful/smart/funny/sexy their female friends are at the appropriate moment, because they know most girls need that litany of support. This is in honor of the guys with open minds, with laid-back attitudes, with honest concern. This is in honor of the guys who respect a girl’s every facet, from her privacy to her theology to her clothing style.
This is for the guys who escort their drunk, bewildered female friends back from parties and never take advantage once they’re at her door, for the guys who accompany girls to bars as buffers against the rest of the creepy male population, for the guys who know a girl is fishing for compliments but give them out anyway, for the guys who always play by the rules in a game where the rules favor cheaters, for the guys who are accredited as boyfriend material but somehow don’t end up being boyfriends, for all the nice guys who are overlooked, underestimated, and unappreciated, for all the nice guys who are manipulated, misled, and unjustly abandoned, this is for you.

This is for that time she left 40 urgent messages on your cell phone, and when you called her back, she spent three hours painstakingly dissecting two sentences her boyfriend said to her over dinner. And even though you thought her boyfriend was a chump and a jerk, you assured her that it was all ok and she shouldn’t worry about it. This is for that time she interrupted the best killing spree you’d ever orchestrated in GTA3 to rant about a rumor that romantically linked her and the guy she thinks is the most repulsive person in the world. And even though you thought it was immature and you had nothing against the guy, you paused the game for two hours and helped her concoct a counter-rumor to spread around the floor. This is also for that time she didn’t have a date, so after numerous vows that there was nothing “serious” between the two of you, she dragged you to a party where you knew nobody, the beer was awful, and she flirted shamelessly with you, justifying each fit of reckless teasing by announcing to everyone: “oh, but we’re just friends!” And even though you were invited purely as a symbolic warm body for her ego, you went anyways. Because you’re nice like that.

The nice guys don’t often get credit where credit is due. And perhaps more disturbing, the nice guys don’t seem to get laid as often as they should. And I wish I could logically explain this trend, but I can’t. From what I have observed on campus and what I have learned from talking to friends at other schools and in the workplace, the only conclusion I can form is that many girls are just illogical, manipulative bitches. Many of them claim they just want to date a nice guy, but when presented with such a specimen, they say irrational, confusing things such as “oh, he’s too nice to date” or “he would be a good boyfriend but he’s not for me” or “he already puts up with so much from me, I couldn’t possibly ask him out!” or the most frustrating of all: “no, it would ruin our friendship.” Yet, they continue to lament the lack of datable men in the world, and they expect their too-nice-to-date male friends to sympathize and apologize for the men that are jerks. Sorry, guys, girls like that are beyond my ability to fathom. I can’t figure out why the connection breaks down between what they say (I want a nice guy!) and what they do (I’m going to sleep with this complete ass now!). But one thing I can do, is say that the nice-guy-finishes-last phenomenon doesn’t last forever. There are definitely many girls who grow out of that train of thought and realize they should be dating the nice guys, not taking them for granted. The tricky part is finding those girls, and even trickier, finding the ones that are single.

So, until those girls are found, I propose a toast to all the nice guys. You know who you are, and I know you’re sick of hearing yourself described as ubiquitously nice. But the truth of the matter is, the world needs your patience in the department store, your holding open of doors, your party escorting services, your propensity to be a sucker for a pretty smile. For all the crazy, inane, absurd things you tolerate, for all the situations where you are the faceless, nameless hero, my accolades, my acknowledgement, and my gratitude go out to you. You do have credibility in this society, and your well deserved vindication is coming.

Makes one wonder which one is true ;). And if they both are. the dude in the picture above is definitely not doing his job well :P.

Good to be Bad???

Was having this discussion with my mom and she alleged that our generation has a problem of equating being "bad" to being cool. So arrogance is sexy, drinking and smoking is hep, its fetch to be unemotional and cold, being manipulative is admired, infidelity is studness. Then came across the following lines scribbled on the back of a notebook which made me wonder if she was right after all :

You think you know
But you never can
Nothing is ever what it seems
Masks are the latest fashion
Deceit runs through as the deepest passion

Adieu to the Maharani

I was in my seventh grade, if I remember correctly, when I came across the name Maharani Gayatri Devi for the first time. It was on this show Rendevouz with Simi Garewal, Amitabh Bachhan was asked to name who, in his opinion, was the most beautiful woman in the world, and he answered, Maharani Gayatri Devi. I asked my mom, she told me about the Princess of Cooch Behar who went on to become the beloved Maharani of Jaipur, smashing several stereotypes along the way. Coincidentally, the India Today edition of that week carried a piece on her and I saw the above picture for the first time. There was something about her mannerisms, the air of sheer dignified grace about her that made me wish I could hold myself like that. I later learnt of how she was different despite being royalty, how she didn't stick to prescribed norms. I also remember this coffee table book, her memoirs, A Princess Remembers, at an Uncle's place and I distinctly recall a conversation which explained why it was so daring of her to play polo wearing riding breeches. I have talked about how rare such grace is today in one of my previous posts. She was an extraordinary woman who lived an extraordinary life. Here's my personal farewell to the Maharani.

Bhai Dooj Tales Recounted

The festival of Raksha Bandhan is approaching. While this festival celebrates a brother's eternal vow to protect his sister and safeguard her honour, there exists a variant that extols a sister's commitment of protecting her brother. Called Bhai Dooj, it is observed a couple of days after Diwali. In my family there has been a tradition of telling stories where a sister had saved her brother's life. Given the fact that this entire exercise happens at the Puja Mandap, it is extremely hard not to laugh or smirk. You would know why:
Once upon a time, long long ago, there was a brother-sister pair. The brother was married to an evil woman who was having an affair with, wait for it, a snake. The brother, his sister, his wife and her lover the snake would henceforth be referred to as bhai, behen, bhabhi and saanp respectively during the course of this narration. This is to help you understand better what it was like hearing the story at the Puja for each Diwali of my last 16-17 years of recallable existence.
Now the bhabhi wanted to kill the bhai so that she could be with the saanp. So she plots with the saanp and asks him to bite the bhai when he goes to the fields at dawn because its dark. The lucky bhai escapes because he sees the saanp. Again the lovers plot and decide that the saanp should hide in the turban as the bhai doesnt shake the turban before wearing. Lucky bhai (un)fortunately shakes the turban and escapes again. Then the saanp decides to hide in the shoe and this time the bhai gets suspicious and kills the saanp. He brings the body to bhabhi tells her how the saanp had been trying to kill him. Bhabhi pretends to be relieved that bhai is fine but then goes and cries infinitely when alone.
Now bhabhi cuts the saanp into 7 pieces and hides one each under the bedposts, one in her cupboard, one in her earthern lamp (diya) and one in her sindoor daan. She then says to bhai, "I have a riddle. If you can solve you throw me into the fire else I throw you into the fire". Bhai is astounded but she insists and he has to reluctanly agree. Here's the riddle:

Piyu more khatiya, Piyu more machiya
Piyu ka tel jale saari ratiya
Piyu sindoore lal

Stumped as he was, bhai admits defeat and requests bhabhi to allow him to visit behen one last time, especially since it was Bhai Dooj the next day. He meets her, behen does puja and all but she senses something amiss and insists on accompanying bhai back to his place. They are tired during the journey and rest under a tree where bhai falls asleep. Now this wasn't an ordinary tree, it was the meeting place of household earthern lamps or diyas. Of all the diyas assembled, there was one that was smelling a lot. On being asked by the other diyas he mentioned that his mistress kept a piece of her lover, the saanp, in him and he was smelly therefore. He also recounts everything bhabhi had tried doing to bhai, including the riddle and the ensuing punishment. For some reason (I never asked my grandmother what), behen realizes its her bhai-bhabhi being discussed. She wakes bhai and lands up at his house and says that she wants to take the riddle bhai couldn't decipher with the condition that if she fails bhabhi can kill both. Bhabhi agrees, behen pulls all 7 pieces out from their hiding places and assembles the saanp and then kills bhabhi and hence saves bhai's life.
You felt like pulling your hair at one reading, I have had several years of maintaining a straight face while the same thing was being narrated. By the way, I could really benefit if any of you knew another story for Bhai Dooj. Please.. Cant bear another Diwali with this one.

The Girl Effect

Came across a fabulous pitch. Called the Girl Effect, it re-highlights the adage of improving the life of a nation by improving the life of the girl child. Tries to get the message across pretty effectively. Must Watch.

Ayan Sarkar: 7 Things I Wish I knew 10 Years Back

As I mentioned in my previous post, the E4SI workshop was mind-blowing. At the risk of infringing intellectual property, I would like to iterate the most valuable lessons from a talk by Ayan Sarkar (Associate at McKinsey's NY Business Technology office) at the workshop, which incidentally were not about social enterprise models and change making in particular but about living life in general.

1. Life is not a Sprint, its a Marathon
2. Life is 80: 20, only 20 per cent of things are actually important and worth worrying about.
3. Make Mistakes, dont be afraid.
4. Have Fences, clear notions of whats wrong and you absolutely cannot and will not do.
5. Stand Up
6. Question the Known
7. Do Well, Do Good

Resilience

How much of enough is ENOUGH? This is a question that has been receiving a fair share of mileage in rallies, the media as well as personal conversations. The Indian Civilization, inspite of being among the oldest in the world, is one that has never been an aggressor. Of course, we have been invaded, plundered and colonized by several parties, ranging from Qutb-ud-Din Aibak to Babur to the British. We have socially evolved in a way to appear unfazed by everything. We have been a society that has, always, been able to, what is usually called, "move on". Floods and earthquakes ravage us, but we still find the courage to pick up the threads and start over. Serial blasts rip through the city, we still take the same metros, on the same routes,, the very next day. To a point, its a boon. We are a society that tries to take everything in its stride. It is probably what gives us the strength to fight and bounce back. But beyond a level, this resilience becomes a weakness. VJ Luke Kenney, as a panelist on NDTV's We The People, said that he was 13 when he encountered his first riots, he took the train the next day after the blasts, he too, like countless others, thought, "hota hai". And that, he believes, was his mistake. If we ourselves are fine with the terror atrocities being inflicted upon us and do not protest, why in the name of Christ would anyone else care. We are covered by a thicker skin as compared to many, but that does not mean that driving knives through it is acceptable. Our so-called resilience should not be mistaken for indifference or weakness. We must make it very clear that it's "not ok" this time. We shall make conscious efforts not to move on, to ensure that such incidents do not become the order of the day. As one Mumbai based entrepreneur correctly remarked, "Its high time we went from being resiliently defensive to resolutely offensive".