DayDreaming

A distant dream

Of peace and quiet

A field of flowers

Of bright blue skies

Of straw hat naps

Under the sunshine

Of picnic baskets

And frizzy drinks

Of laughter and conversations

And stolen kisses

A distant dream

Of peace and quiet

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Over the years, after meeting multitude of people I have come to realize that being a good listener is such an underrated skill. I think most of us have this incontrollable need to put across our point of view or experiences in every conversation. Many a times not considering the fact that some situations may not require us to get into sharing or problem-solving mode. As an introvert-pretending-to-be-an-extrovert, I really struggle to share my issues, problems and any mundane stuff with people, however close they might be. And it breaks my heart into a million pieces when they go into “Hey, the same thing happened to me…”, “Oh you know what you should do…” and the worse when they keep interrupting. Arrrghh. Just, Zip.It.Up.

 I am what you’d call a quarter of a Drama Queen. Whenever I am in some dilemma, trouble or any kind of minor inconvenience I like to make a huge hullabaloo out of it. I like to endlessly talk about it but mind you, I am not looking for any solutions or help. All I want to portray is how hard the situation is and make you a witness to how awesomely I am going to stride through it. On my own. Why is this so difficult to understand? Especially to people of the umm opposite sex. Sit your ass down darling prince, this damsel will take care of her own distress. Thank you very much.

 Now I know I have my flaws as a person but one thing I am really proud of is my ability to listen. Just listen. Make the other person comfortable and let them just vent out. You would not believe how good the other person feels when you simply just give them an attentive ear. What helps more is that I never forget anything. All useless trivia like your ex-boyfriend, the ice-crème flavour you ate 4 years back, the name of the guy who hit on you when you were in college, your latest bumble match, the name of your brother-in-law’s cousin you had a crush on, name of your neighbours’ pet, your favourite cousin, the name of your best friend growing up. This and a lot more. So, while the person is speaking, I keep dropping these titbits of information which further pleases the person that they have undivided attention (and interest) of their audience. Well, if I am being honest a few of them are a little freaked out as well, but impressed, nonetheless.

 I know this post has taken quite a comical turn but my original intent for it was to be a serious one. I mean the examples I have given are very tame compared to the monstrosity I have witnessed people commit. I would say it is still okay to butt in for minor day to day stuff, but people really need to be taught how to behave in sensitive situations. Situations like death and condolences. When you talk to a bereaved family or a person, you do not give examples of how the same or worse happened with you and how you cope up with it. You do not make it about yourself. Give them love, give them strength. If you cannot do that just shut your mouth and just be there. Trust me, people however doomed they maybe in grief remember who came, who called and who was silently just present. And for the love of God, don’t go about asking the age of the person who passed away. I mean how does that matter? A loss is a loss irrespective of the time, age or any other factors. Don’t go on being a jerk.

What baffles me the most is that people committing these faux pas aren’t some underaged kids but grown-ups. I have personally seen people decades older than me behaving like complete social misfits. Incidents like these solidify my belief that apart from algebra and organic chemistry, we need to be teaching empathy and values in school. And a refresher course of using social media. On how just because you sit behind a screen doesn’t give you a right to pass mean comments and judgements on people.

 Well, that’s all. My rant for the day is done. I hope my miniscule audience here reads, agrees and implements atleast a part of what I have written about.

Until next time.

Love:

Sepo

 

THUG – The Hate You Give

Ever thought about our time in this world. About what our real purpose here is. I mean are we just supposed to work, eat, sleep. Spend our weekdays waiting for weekends and then live it up for those two days until we are back to the grind. Of course, some of us love the work or the lives we lead but the majority I would say still have a very mundane existence. We have no idea how much time we have left in this world, or what kind of struggles we have in store for future. We still never make the most of our time. Never choose peace. Respect fellow humans. And to complicate things we also choose to throw out unnecessary hate out there. In the name of religion, politics, ideologies, sexual preferences and what not. We forget that the person next door or across borders is actually just a human being. Same as us. Limbs, bones, blood, veins, heart, brain – all same stuff. We are not manufactured based on religion. Like I don’t come up with a chip in my brain or a mark on my forehead that marks my allegiances to one particular community or religion.

I already come from a place that’s always been divided on the basis of religion. So much so that my family had to leave and settle elsewhere because of the communal unrest. The place considered to be heaven on earth is bullet and blast ridden for three decades now. There is a strong disconnect and discontent amongst people. Even though there is a strong cultural connect, mutual love for the land but somehow the hate is so strong, it negates everything else.

I have recently moved to a different country and imagine my surprise when after spending just 1 month here, I was rudely acquainted with the very disheartening news of communal tension. In a different country. Amidst people of different nationalities and ethnicities. With all the challenges that come with living in a different country as immigrants. The Hindu and Muslims, the Indians and Pakistanis had somehow managed to retrigger the inbuilt hatred and gone supremely public with it. I just couldn’t believe it that all these bullshits literally followed with across seas and oceans. One would imagine that being in a neutral country away from the communal tension, people would realize that behind the different religion and outlooks we are all just humans. People from different religion do not have horns on their heads. They look just like us. In fact, once you talk to them and get to know them better you realize they are not that different from us. Their culture, food, habits, day to day activities, nuances, family troubles are all the same as us.

As educated, sensible, open-minded, responsible adults I well it is our duty to broaden our mindset. Try and think beyond a cocoon that we have been fed and taught in. Respect each other for respective beliefs and at the same time be open to un-learn some of the toxic though process. Not get riled up by the political narratives. Think and think hard before joining a so-called protest in a temple or a mosque. And please do not be hesitant to be friends or at least civil with the people you think (or have been taught) to think as enemies.

Like I said before I have recently moved to a different country and met a lot of new people. People from different countries including people from across the border. In fact, I have now come to be very close friends with this one girl from a country that was born out of India. No, not the one you are thinking, the other one. And beyond our very apparent differences of religion, country and other stuff – I have come to realize that she, just like me is a girl underneath all that. A girl who loves to talk about silly things, shop, spend money on unnecessary things, eat out a lot, visit pretty cafes and just being an amazing independent smart girl. I have come to really admire her. Not that I was not prejudiced or did not have different biases in my head. But given a chance, I chose to unlearn and move forward (in every sense of the word).

In a world full of hatred, choose peace. For your own good more than anything else.
Make love not war (cliché, I know).

Stay happy people.

Love:
Sepo

The Curious Case of Kashmiri Naalmut

Once a friend of mine from Mumbai was talking about how she is going to visit her mother's house after a really long time. I told her that she would be getting a tight hug from her mother today. She looked at me like I had lost my marbles. We spent the next 15 minutes discussing about the standard code of greetings at everyone's respective homes. We also pulled in a friend from Kerala. Both Mumbai and Kerala friends were non hug-ers and scrunched up their noses at this too-close-for-my-comfort kind of greeting. I kept my kashmiri mouth shut but my mind wandered to this scene where my nani engulfed me in tight hugs multiple times a day, whenever I came out of my room. Moist kisses on hands and forehead as a bonus!

As a kashmiri, hugging is a standard code of conduct. No questions asked. No eyebrows raised. You meet an aunty/uncle for a first time? You hug them, if they are feeling generous - they will plant a kiss on your forehead, a myouth. You go visit someone - you hug them all, while coming and going. Or else they will feel you are aloof and non-loving. You are getting married? Well, best of luck. Sitting on the stage, you will be smothered in hugs and kisses while you sit pretty and pose. Now all was well with our kashmiri hugs or naalmout as we call it, but then covid happened.

Above two pictures are art pieces by a talented kashmiri artist (Instagram handle - @diyminiatures)

In a world where we shrink away from a handshake, good old naalmout is totally out of questions. But years of programing cannot be erased completely now is it? So some of the meetings post corona have been awkward for us kashmiri's, comical even. You meet, approach and take the embrace stance but then realization strikes and now you are in a weird pose of a bird about to take flight. This is now proceeded by uncomfortable tap tap on the shoulder or an even awkward single arm side hug. And then we take seat, all the time contemplating whether you were rude not to hug or inconsiderate to go so near and touch someone in the pandemic times. My naani however is not bothered, when I refuse to present my forehead she takes my hands instead and plants her bountiful kisses on them.     

Apart from this being funny another reason for me to write about this was the fact that deep deep deep down - I do love this whole naalmout deal. A tight hug is sometimes all we need to express how happy we are to meet each other. Longer the squeeze happier the heart. With so many of our rituals and practices slowly going extinct, I guess we should tightly hold onto whatever we can manage to and pass it on to the next generation. It is after-all all these nuances that keep the kashmiri in us irrespective of where we are.                                                  

Talking about myself - I love hugs. Period. Though never been a fan of the forced kisses but kinda missing those wet myouth's on the forehead. Here's to Covid free and full of hugs 2022. Please be kind (and mild!).

Lots of Love:

Sepo

Marvelous Mrs Maisel

I started watching this series when I was feeling particularly miserable about somethings happening in my life at that point. As I finished watching the first episode I knew I had made a marvelous decision. What I thought to be a comedy-centric show had so much more to offer. Breaking stereotypes, women breaking shackles and society's norms, courage to start over from scratch. All this and hilarious. No not just hilarious HaHa but hilarious laughing my ass off. Thinking and suddenly breaking out laughing hilarious. 

The series in based in the 1950s in New York around this uber cool (and rich) Jewish family. Miriam "Midge" Maisel is a happily married woman with porcelain skin and an enviable wardrobe. She is in shape and perky in-spite of having 3 children.  A girl and a boy. Her life is perfection. However suddenly her stand up comedy enthusiast husband leaves her for a much younger secretary. What could have been devastating comes as a blessing in disguise. In an unsettling state Miriam decides to rant at the club they used to frequent as a couple, invariably giving her first stand up performance and catching the attention of the club manager, a certain Ms Susie Myerson (More about her later).

So, that sets the ball rolling. What follows is a joyous ride of 3 seasons. A lot of stand-up acts, sizzling chemistry, banters (especially the ones between Susie and Miriam) and bonds. The eccentricities for each character is what I liked best about the series. Miriam's parents are this typical rich Jewish family, who do not like to intermingle much. They have a good social presence and an impeccable style of living. Her in-laws on the other hand are loud, brash and money minded. The interactions between these two families create some mind-blowing scenes. But the understated star of the show is Ms Susie Myerson. I have fallen in love with this character. Her attitude, style, dressing sense, sass and demeanor is awe-inspiring and damn hilarious.

The dialogues and especially the dialogue delivery is amazingly executed. The stand-up bits are a riot. Punch lines delivered with a straight face and many a times hitting under the belt. The very idea of women in stand-up comedy is new even in today's time. Now think back to 50's, a woman, oh wait a divorced woman, Jewish, with 2 kids was something unheard off. Her topics which range from family, Jewish stereotypes,  marriage, sexual in tunes often land her and Susie in trouble. But that's the fun and frolic of their relationship. And both of them together make a strong case for feminism and women empowerment which has been subtly covered in the show.

The cinematography is lit, considering its a period drama - makers have ensured to capture the essence of old times. So you see a lot of vintage cars, outfits, decors and slang. The ever vibrant and romantic city of NY and jazz clubs have been beautifully captured. The series also touches upon important historic moments, so in the third season you have the girls performing for WW soldiers. The actors are all cast perfectly to their roles, doing utmost justice. Miriam (Rachel Brosnahan) is a fabulous actress and that pretty face with perfect outfits make her a delight to watch on screen. Joel Maisel (Michael Zegen) the on and off  husband plays the role of spineless husband perfectly having a good moments here and there. Parents though not central to the story or having many scenes are a hoot. But the kind of exposure this series has given to Alex Borstein (actor who plays Susie) is unmatched. You may remember her playing blink-and-you-will-miss roles previously but this series has literally  brought out the best in her. As you might have guessed by now - she is my absolute favorite.

After reading this review, if you are still not convinced to watch this series, then do me a favor please. Go to YouTube and search "Susie Myerson one liners". If that doesn't convince you nothing will! In fact its my go-to watch whenever I feel a little down and out. Watch and be transported back in time, a fabulous time where women are not just pretty little things, but have a voice, are independent and kick some ass when required.

Tits Up (you gotta watch to know this).

Love:

Sepo

Life behind the Veil

A country cries

Its people scream

A cry for help

Falling from the sky

Leaving everything behind

Men have fought for it

Won it, abused it

Bombed it and destroyed

It has tried to rebuilt itself 

Women have emerged

Against the force

To breathe

An unhindered kabul fragnance 

Of ripe pomegranates and juicy grapes

They have made peace with high heels

Nailpainted toes peeking out

Smiling without fear

Kneading dough for naan

While listening to music

A morning they wake up to a news

Which will change their lives again

For worst

Music is stopped

Heels are tucked away

Venturing alone is not allowed

The breaths are hindered again

Back to living behind the blue veil

Gridded vision and lost dreams.

A country cries

Its people scream

The House I Never Saw

There was once a house

Which stood tall on the street 

It was three storyed they say

In the beautiful valley

It had an attic

Which overlooked the entire street

The family loved sitting here in winters

Keeping an eye on the street

While relishing apples with walnuts

Three generations lived here

Aunts and uncles 

Sisters and brothers

Nephews and nieces

There was a sour cherry tree

In the courtyard

Dad climbed the tree and threw them down

My sister stretched her frock to catch them

A tangy chutney used to be made

Which could be eaten with just plain rice

That's what they say

If I close my eyes and concentrate

I can almost taste the tartness

In winters the home diety was revered 

A day specifically to feed the gods

Spicy fish and rice

Gods visit each home and protect it 

Unrest and destruction 

Had found its way into the valley

In the dark of the morning

Occupants of the house fled

Never to return again

My generation never got to see that house

Or catch and taste the sour cherries

We did not grow up with three generations 

But we keep feeding the gods

We carry a piece of valley with us

I have my own image of that house

The one I never saw

I wonder if it still stands tall on the street?