races in round fields, our breath chasing our feet, our arms moving hopelessly in the hope that maybe the right leg would hoist a bit higher, leap a bit farther. the end line, who knew, would disappear for someone chasing dreams and ideals and knowledge. 

no wonder private investigators sound so dark and mysterious when all they bring is truth to the table. if anything, they are the rama of kalyug, the krishna dancing outside the pages of Mahabharata. 

how does one admire someone they know in and out. is it possible to ignore that person's flaws and put them up on a pedestal all while ignoring mistakes they made. unless ofcourse youre losing your moral compass and that is indeed what you truly want to be, but who am i to judge. the school forms of assessment which asked you about your role model. did you write the name of your mother or father? 

did you too blindly ignore the losses of their souls. the hell in the haven they created. how does one find the absolute mentor. the real role model. the idol. the ideal. in myth? in fiction? in dreams? in cinema?  because when i turn my head in this world i cant seem to find any.

is it true that the people we truly respect, idolize and aspire to be like, are the ones we know not too well? 

because knowing someone too well is a hindrance to them being appreciated. maybe attraction to mystery is actually a silver lining. maybe optimism is nothing else but  oblivion. and how cynical it is to think that ignorance is really bliss. 

Deliverance (Sadgati) by Premchand

           (scene from Satyajit Ray's film Sadgati based on Premchand's story)

Munshi Premchand (1880-1936), one of the finest authors of Hindi as well as Urdu, presents the unobscured criticism of the caste system of India in his short story “Sadgati” or “Deliverance”. Premchand has written numerous short stories, essays, critiques along with a dozen novels and two plays. His works are imbued with realism and also reveal Premchand’s commitment to social causes such as the fight against Dalit discrimination. He is, however, often seen as merely sympathetic and not revolutionary enough for the liberation of Dalits and hence excluded from the catalogue of Dalit writers.


The Indian caste system is an ancient system of social order defined by Hindu scriptures such as the Manusmriti which divides the society into four hierarchical social categories based on birth, namely- Brahmanas, Kshatriyas, Vaishyas and Shudras. Not only does it define the duties of members of each caste, it also outlines what is not permissible. One such ‘rule’, which has met a lot of criticism over centuries, is untouchability. The ‘untouchables’ faced extreme forms of discrimination and were often associated with the notion of ‘pollution’. In many cases glancing at the shadow of an untouchable was considered polluting.

Indian Matchmaking (Opinions)

((Hereafter, I don’t know if I am being politically correct or not and if I say something problematic, please do correct me because we are all for growth and improvement.)) 

Why is Indian Matchmaking problematic? Why has EVERYONE taken to social media to express their rage -whether through soft sarcasm and memes or a more verbose approach? 

Try reading this with not the intention to contradict, judge and criticize but with a little ‘open mind’ and ‘flexible nature’. Yes these are my criteria. Oops did I just mock the show myself? Kind of. Well. Hear me out.

We all understand how our upbringing shapes our thoughts and ideals. We understand the result of a cause is an effect and for every effect too there is probably, even if yet undiscovered, a cause. Mathematically, we can say F: effect→ cause where F is an invertible function.

Basically, the show with all its judging and sweet discrimination, as disturbing as it might be, is a reflection of us as a society. BUT is that also not a stereotype? Because hey, so many of us or our parents would be okay with us not being married or us deciding who to marry or (oh no, Sima Auntie forbids) even a love marriage. Let’s step back and understand this now. Stereotypes are a widely held but fixed and oversimplified image or idea of a particular type of person or a thing.

So yes you/ your family might be super chill about marriages but that is probably not true about your neighbor or your relatives or even (woop; if we go into mental regression alongside an economic one) your kids!

Yes. It sucks to see ourselves being reduced to a “type”. An entire nation narrowed down. They suck. Generalizations always do when you don’t naturally fit into the generalized idea and are forced to ‘compromise’ and ‘adjust’ by others.

There is no doubt that we pride ourselves for our progressive, rational thinking and it bites to see us portrayed like that but we are all complicit in some way.

Think of a choice. A wealthy man vs a man you have been dating from a lower caste + economically unstable. Say your parents prefer the first choice. So then there is no family hassle with the first choice, plus the added advantage of money -which let’s be real is important in life no matter how much you deny it on paper. Especially when you think of having children etc etc (they do be little monsters gobbling all of your money). And it is not easy to earn money man. When it boils down to it really think hard. What would you go for?

The soft persuasion, societal pressure, obligation to parents, social setup, your own blurred-by-listening-watching-others ideals, all of it guide your choices. In India our parents do so much for us. Maybe you feel indebted to return it in some way. To please them. So you make the choice they want. It is a sacrifice in a way. Bravery if one may say. And so you adopt their same old ideas, look through their lens.

It is this passing on of casteism- like genes-except it is done externally. Or of racism. So subtle. So scary.

How many friends do you have from a different economic background?

We all call out people so easily. But looking within is just as important. And it will be troubling, trust me, but if it isn’t troubling is it really progress?

If I have to think of it, I have zero friends from a very different economic status. I have no plans to get married at all but if I do I would prefer an Indian. Similar culture does make things easier. There is a basic level of commonality. Distantly shared experiences. Additionally, even if my parents are not engaged to the other family it would be nice to have both sides be amicable and comfortable.

I am not an expert to talk about sexism or racism. More so because I am afraid I might reduce myself to a hypocrite. I am not woke. I am just trying to be something I don’t know.

They want a slim, trim, tall, fair girl. Is that a horrible choice? Don’t think so. At first I thought isn’t that just choice? A matter of opinion? Slowly, I saw the pattern as the show progressed and realized that even if it is a so-called “choice” it is derived from the notions of beauty we hold. The ones we collectively believe.

If you are short you’re a stool,  dark skin is damn uncool. Big nostrils make you look like a chimp, hairy arms do so too. Because it doesn’t matter if evolution impacted your brain, at least it made your body new.

What’s funny is- I am a tall person (compared to avg Indian height) but I have been told to ‘stop growing’ because ‘ladka nahi milega’. Sometimes I’m just confused what the society wants from us? Probably something we are not capable of being. Can’t shrink yo. Sorry.

The entire process is superficial, surely. But who am I to judge how people pick their life partners? If both parties believe in the bio-data scheme and destiny it is their choice. There is nothing wrong with a person believing in astrology. Or face-reading. I don’t know if it works but we also don’t know if a lot of other things do, but we believe in them. We find humour in it for the backwardness we associate with it. That is okay too. We don't believe in it maybe because we aren’t that hopeful or, maybe we are completely hopeless. Or maybe because we don’t have so much confidence and strength in ourselves that we can share it with a gemstone or a pandit.

One more thing, I read somewhere that you can't just send someone to a life coach? I don't get that. It is okay to go to a life coach even if there are no clear cut issues 'in you' (which lets be real, of course nahi hai dear. You are perfect.)

I am not endorsed by Netflix to say this (lol why do I even need to say that) but to me it seems to be the mere portrayal of things as it is. The show includes a variety of people and thereby different mindsets. Ankita, who is an entrepreneur and “ahead of her times” (but really. Aur kitna aage jaana padhega to have men women be equals). Vyasar, a school teacher with not a visible hint of misogyny. Pradhyuman, rich rich rich. Also your face on your door handle is a little cringey dude. Akshay, who has no brains of his own and claims no responsibility for his own children. Etc etc etc.

We can always question where the line is between the portrayals of reality v/s the promotion of it. For me this wasn’t the latter. It didn’t feel like the directors set out on that path. If I may go even further and say that they wanted to go the other way. It makes you move from your place. It addresses the uncomfortable bits. This was not a show which was created to be presented. It was harsh and real. Pickup a newspaper and open matrimonial. You'll know this exists in our very "modern" lives. It makes you realize how long the journey is from where we stand.

I did find certain parts very cringey and was in shock when people described their likes and preferences for living breathing human beings like they were filtering content while shopping online.

I have judged the show thoroughly and shared my scattered opinions, if you think differently or even resonate with me, let me know. If you wish to watch, it is mildly entertaining as a show, go ahead.

PS. I did find Sima Taparia problematic but that was only because I watched a film she featured in. It’s called ‘A Suitable Girl’. She marries off her daughter in this one. Watch it. You’ll get a real look at how marriages are ‘made in heaven’- a heaven brides don’t always want to be in. 

PPS. read this to get a background to understand indian marriages https://scroll.in/article/968151/what-makes-a-show-like-indian-matchmaking-possible-this-book-examines-marriage-in-india

Back in time ?

It is Sunday but you have no clue.
Crumpled bedsheets,
Hair strands on the floor
Ruined and detached
like the ramblings in your head from the entire world.
You have been here before.
No matter how many times they tell you
It is a cemetery
You don’t visit one that late
Not illegal yet forbidden
Like sex before marriage
Often though, they misperceive
Abstinence is not celibacy

Djinn Patrol On The Purple Line by Deepa Anappara

"What is a whole life? If you die when you're still a child, is your life whole or half or zero?"

I sit in my comfortable, abundant heaven devouring the contents of the book and bowls realizing the glaring extremities of the two. The worlds are so so small of the people who live so largely. And yet the lack of the large realization of the large lives we live, lounging in largeness, seems largely enlarging.
This one's a fairly simple and quick read, which is 1.5 weeks for a slumpy reader like me. It reminds me of the outside and the lives we made before the pandemic hit us. Of metro stations, sweet potato with chat masala, gloomy days, my imagination of slums because I have never been to one, parachute coconut oil, my house help, Delhi riots of December 2019, an old thought on Delhi and how open windows are for fresh noises and not fresh air, crunched noses when passing a 'nala' and my dooming privilege.

All-in-all this book is an ingenious insight into the everyday vulnerabilities of the people who are compelled to spend their lives like Jai and the people of his basti. The utter veracity of the book and my disbelief for it despite knowing otherwise; maybe that's why I position my bum snugly on the bed and lie down as I read the book with furrows only so deep. Well at least, only half of me remains a mystery. The other half is but a weakling. 

'Where all their future's painted with a fog'- a line from a poem I was reminded of- Elementary School Classroom in a Slum by Stephen Spender. The lines from this 12th class poem fit as snugly as my bum on the indented spot on 'my bed' where I sit to fabricate a fable or two.

 For me, Imagine Dragons sing 'pain, you make me a disbeliever', because really it is possible for us to take the easy way out and just not believe in the harsh realities. It is just a story. I tell myself. It is just a story.

 I wonder with narratives like these

if  'guilt-free' is a word made for ghosts and djinns, 

because being a human itself, 

on quite a few days, feels like a sin.

Belonging

I have this feeling of detachment
As if nothing is mine
I am of multiple things
Like the person of the sun
Of movement
Of the song
Of rhythm
I belong
But nothing belongs to me
I am of those who hold me
I am no longer holding on to anybody

Butterflies

I think all of us are lonely. Somewhere. On some days. When our pinball like lives can't fill the holes like our hollow souls, on those days.
When we go for a lay up but leave the ball too early in the air and end up with a rebounded ball between our palms, dribbling between ' is my timing bad' or 'the court seems to get longer the closer I get' . Is it really our fault that we have this emptiness in the pit of our stomachs where even the butterflies dare to enter?
The funny thing is that the more I socialize the emptier I get, as though each person takes away a fraction of me but leaves as little as nothing for me to remember them with. Maybe they don't want to be remembered or maybe they too are so lonely, they feel that no one wants to remember them.
People are like paper and you want to put in your creativity to create something beautiful together but all they end up doing is give you paper cuts.
So on all the days I am alone amidst the crowds, or I don't seem to fit in, I don't choose to talk or interact, I just go under the basket and instead of a lay up, stand and shoot my ball from right below.

I file away sheets of paper bruising my body. I draw butterflies on the skin of my empty stomach and pick out some clay to work with because some days, you need to sculpt your own friend.