Chocolate, Ice Cream And Kulfi Are Probably The Only Reasons God Hasn't Destroyed All Of Us Yet.

Changing Status of Women

This was a short piece I had to write in class (in about 10 minutes, so be patient please). The topic given was “The changing status of women” I’ve drawn inspiration from the stories of my grandmother’s childhood in a small village in Kerala, as she was one of the few women of her generation who was allowed an education, because of which she values it a lot more than my own generation. I hope this will show everyone how lucky they are to be educated. ________________________________________

Part One: As usual, I woke up unnaturally early, a couple of hours before the sun rose. Tiptoeing around my sleeping relatives, I quickly grabbed some clothes before running towards the pond nearby for a quick bath. Finishing the bath in record time (exactly 8 minutes) I got dressed and rushed back home, quickly finishing the rest of my chores before hurrying back out to begin the 8 kilometre trek to school. All before the rest of the family woke up.

I smiled sadly to myself, wondering, for the umpteenth time, if all this would be necessary if my relatives were not so against the idea of an educated woman. Why do I need to go to school feeling like a criminal? Just because I want to be educated?

Part Two: I watch in wonder, as my granddaughter throws yet another tantrum while my poor daughter tries to coax her out of bed to get ready in time for school. She’s complaining this much…. because of school? Does she not realise how lucky she is? Her parents actually support her education! Her grandparents like hearing about her school and her friends there! She never has to hear snide remarks about how she’s neglecting her duty as a woman by moving out of the kitchen! Does she really not understand how privileged she is?

Having been classmates in school with his son, I've seen him a couple of times at school. He never had any of the airs that you would normally associate with celebrities, and was really shy and quiet. He was incredibly talented and a great role model. May he Rest in Peace

In The Memory Of Irrfan Khan

On April 29th, 2020, the well-known actor Irrfan Khan passed away due to a colon inflammation. This was unexpected even when he disclosed his condition on Twitter in 2018. This is a sad occasion for everyone, so I thought instead of mourning his death, we should celebrate his contribution to the industry.

Long Story Short

Born in Rajasthan to a Muslim family, Irrfan Khan was from a generally low class family. Although he was talented in cricket, he had to opt out for acting instead because he didn’t have that much funds. He did his MA in Jaipur and joined the National School of Drama in 1984. After graduation, he was given minor roles in TV shows with little to no acknowledgement. Soon enough, he was given a slew of feature length films that gave him critical success and recognition, such as Rog, Maqbool, and Haasil. In 2008, he appeared in Slumdog Millionaire as the cop interrogating Jamal ruthlessly and he gained international recognition from there. After some more movies, he recieved a National Film Award for best actor for his role in Paan Singh Tomar. During this time, he recieved the fourth-highest civilian award, Padma Shri Award. He got a taste of commercial success with movies like The Lunchbox, Piku, and Hindi Medium, which eared him Filmfare Award for Best Actor. His career seemed to be going stable with movies like Karwaan and Angrezi Medium, but little did we know that the latter will be his last film appearance.

Notable Performances

Miyan Maqbool in Maqbool

Ranvijay Singh in Haasil

Ashoke Ganguly in The Namesake

The Police Inspector in Slumdog Millionaire

Paan Singh Tomar in Paan Singh Tomar 

“Pi” Molitor Patel (adult) in Life of Pi

Saajan Fernandes in The Lunchbox 

Rana Chaudhary in Piku 

Raj Batra in Hindi Medium

Champak Bansal in Angrezi Medium

Legacy

In his 35 years of acting, Irrfan has grown a cult following with very devoted fans. Coming from a low class family, his inspiring story to stardom is the best example of hard work and perseverance. He was a role model for an entire generation of film lovers and showed how far true dedication can get you. Truly a humble talent Bollywood didn’t deserve, his death has left a gaping hole in the industry. May he rest in peace and may his memory and legacy live on forever.

Quick Guide for Arts Students

Since students have to make a lot of important career and study related decisions in a few short years, I decided to make this overly sarcastic guide for Arts students. Hopefully this helps. Step One: First you must score less than 60% in your tenth exams, because in India, it is unacceptable to be a smart Arts student. It is always assumed that you are an Arts student because you couldn't get into Commerce or Science. Step Two: You must spend your entire time in the college canteen, even if it serves only substandard vada pav and soggy idlis. Arts students are supposed to be drop outs and/or "weird theatre types." Step Three: The syllabus will require you to memorise the birth dates of obscure scientists, because logic. This will kill all your creative genes. For the sake of extremely necessary degree, deal with it. Satisfy creativity by table graffiti. Step Four: You are an Arts student. Sanskaar dictates that you are not on the same level as Science and Commerce students (apparently), therefore 99% in exams is out of question. But you must still get 99% in your 12th exams. Of course, questions in Arts papers are very subjective and as a result it's almost impossible to get 99% in them, but meh. Technicalities. Step Five: Everyone, from ancient relatives to the woman cutting your hair, is going to ask you about your results in the 10th standard. Lie and say you got 50% so that you don't have to hear the standard argument of "Arrey?! Aapko 92% mila toh aapne Science kyu nahi liya???" (What?! Why didn't you take Science if you got 92%???) It's actually easier to bear the judgemental looks rather than try to explain that you might actually be interested in Arts and Humanities. Step Six: Become a teacher.

Random daily happenings

So my brother decided to show off his artistic talents today. He made a caricature and proudly displayed it to my mother and I, asking us to guess who it was. I told him confidently that it was his classmate Jash. My mother, equally confident, said that it must be Shirdi Sai Baba.

The hapless chap turned out to be Ronaldinho.

…

To Think I Actually Wanted To Grow Up…

My childhood ended like this: My father came home from work one day, took off his shoes, asked me to bring him some tea (his obsession with tea is terrifying) and casually asked me when college admissions begin. Naturally, I was not caught off guard and intelligently replied, “Admission who?”

The next day I was rudely woken up (early, might I add) by my brother singing, “Wake up, Quackess! Time to tear your hair out, beat yourself with an axe, and run into the wall head-first!!!”

Did I mention my brother does not sing well?

Noticing my less-than-subtle, bleary-eyed glare, he added, “Mumbai University Registration.”

I gave him my usual What-Did-You-Drink-This-Time look. I have used it so often, it’s become second nature. Grudgingly, I dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom. Three seconds after I came out, I found myself thrown in front of the computer with my brother grumbling under his breath. I managed to catch “can’t even register without me” and “stupid Quackess” and “don’t like Amma’s cooking.” I avoid giving myself a headache by not trying to figure him out.

I went on Google and searched for the Mumbai University website. I clicked on the link that appeared and proudly thought, ‘Oh yeah! Now all I got to do is find this form and fill it!’ I gleefully beamed at the computer screen until Akshay said, “Wrong website.”

What?! But it said “Mumbai University” right there!

When I voiced these objections, he glanced up from Modern Combat 4 (a game, for those who don’t know) and brightly said, “There are two Mumbai University websites. They wouldn’t be able to live with themselves if they made things easy!” And then he went back to ambushing “Bunnnnny” in the multiplayer mode.

So I went to the previous page and located the correct website. Then I had to open a Power Point Presentation that Akshay had downloaded to figure out how to fill in this registration form. Which meant going through 52 slides one by one. And of course, you can’t just minimize it. No, you have to exit it every time you want to complete any step, which means that after you’re done with that step you have to open it and go through each slide again until you reach where you were before.

So, obviously, after two hours I had a headache, my brother was in a bad mood and my mother was crying because “education isn’t what it used to be when I studied.” And I also realized that whoever had made that PPT and designed the website spoke “The Inglis” (English).

When I got to the point where I had to upload my picture and signature, Akshay gleefully assured me that this step would take only six hours, while rubbing his hands with anticipation. Until I reminded him that he had to help me with it. His face fell faster than I did when I tried skateboarding.

Surprisingly, the picture was uploaded without much cursing, at which point Akshay started screaming about how the system was biased. After that, the rest of the process went smoothly (or as smoothly as Mumbai University Registration can go) and within 24 hours I was done. Victory! The hardest part of the process done! Yeah!

Then they told me junior college admissions don’t require registration with Mumbai University.

……

Kirtana P. Menon

tw violence

please don't ignore this. students are beaten up at Jawaharlal Nehru University in india and police is not protecting students. instead they're helping the goons. nobody is helping the students. a lot of students are badly injured.

signal boost

Pearls of Wisdom

I was in Bangalore for a vacation when I met my newest cousin for the first time. He didn't impress me much, just a little prune-like tot who flailed his arms around and gurgled randomly. Since he was less than a month old, there was little I could do except peep in while he slept and then beat a hasty retreat when I inevitably woke him up and caused him to warm up his deceptively deadly lungs, thus effectively kicking the rest of the family out of their sweet dreams.

Schoolwork kept me from going back to Bangalore for the next couple of years, and the memory of Cousin Ajay faded into a corner of my mind for the most part. Hence, the next time I went there, I was greeted by the shy and energetic toddler that the prune had grown into.

Ajay, I quickly discovered, was pretty smart for a two year old. He had limitless curiosity and an incredible ability to memorise everything he heard and reproduce it when it was most irrelevant. Most conversations with him went like this: (Warning: High levels of cringe detected)

Fawning Auntie: So how old are you my poochy-coo? 

Ajay: Mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell. 

...

A few weeks after our arrival, my uncle and aunt announced that they'd planned a trip to Coorg. So we somehow packed in three adults, two senior citizens, one preteen, one teen and a toddler into a four person car and began the long journey to Coorg. The only thing we knew was that we had to keep to a particular road, and then follow it until we reached a place called Manchanabele. Coorg was supposed to be a little further from there. 

The trip was uneventful for the most part. Simply consisting of old people talk and Grandpa complaining every few minutes about the lack of clean bathrooms in the country. Ajay clearly agreed with him, since he decided that it would be a better idea to relieve himself on my aunt instead of brave those nasty bathrooms or squat in the grass like a peasant.

My aunt somehow ignored the fragrant stain on her thigh for the rest of the journey and I too managed with minimal gagging. Soon, my aunt spotted the elusive signpost saying "Manchanabele 1 Kilometre" and read it aloud for my uncle to hear. Ajay, hearing a new sentence, quietly repeated "Manchanabele 1 Kilometre?" "Yes Ajay." "Okay. Manchanabele 1 Kilometre."

That weekend passed in a blur. We visited a waterfall, spent one day on a safari, and I vaguely remember tiptoeing around on the lookout for leeches with all the paranoia of a highly strung war veteran. All too soon however, we bid adieu to Coorg and made our way back to Bangalore.

It was on our first night back in Bangalore that I realised I had made a critical error. In the week or so that Ajay and I had known each other, I had been so busy panicking about not being able to handle toddlers, that I had completely forgotten to introduce myself to him. The poor boy had been playing with me all week without even knowing my name. 

It was when we were playing Bus and Train (wherein Ajay is the driver of a magical vehicle that changes into a bus or train randomly, while my other cousin and I were passengers) that he decided to rectify this issue. So with all the innocence of a two year old, he asked me, "What is your name?"

Glad to get a not-awkward opening to introduce myself, I replied. "Kirtana."

He clearly had difficulty pronouncing it. So he repeated the question once more. And once more I replied, carefully enunciating each syllable: "Kir-ta-na."

Now he seemed to have understood, since he was nodding proudly. Having got what he wanted, he turned around to start another game, but not before uttering this pearl of wisdom:

"Kirtana. Okay. Manchanabele 1 Kilometre."

Re-reading the Kane chronicles. Am I the only one who just noticed this?

i searched on hathras and dalits, and there’s not much posts here now. i made posts about it, and even they are not there now. is this tumblr’s standard operating procedure for all social movements and rape cases?

also people have already started to forget this case. let me remind you people are blaming the girl’s family as we speak for doing this to extort money from the accused. already violence against dalits is breaking out again. the upper caste monsters are threatening media, people and other political parties from entering hathras otherwise they will be killed.

don’t let this issue die. it represents everything wrong with my rotten country. please it’s a request.

and tumblr - tumblr up.

Comfort Food and Khichdi

Food.

The very word inspires you with warm and fuzzy feelings, feelings of satisfaction, of happiness, of life at its very best. Whether we like the same food or not is irrelevant, because food, at its core, is one of the few things that makes everyone happy. Everyone.

Comfort food: This is the one type of food that gives emotional satisfaction to the one eating it. The eater experiences a genuine feeling of happiness while eating, usually associated with pleasant childhood memories. So comfort food is basically food that makes you really happy. That being said, allow me to proceed to my rant of the day.

I have come across an unpleasant number of people who claim that khichdi is their comfort food. The most tasteless, boring food ever to cross my path, is considered comfort food. How? Why? The only memories I have associated with khichdi are ones of the overwhelming taste of pepper on my tongue, of squishy rice and broken promises of pizza for dinner. So where does the “happy childhood memories” bit come in?

Maybe it’s just me. Because my comfort foods are Pav Bhaji and Kulfi, while my mom firmly states hers is Kerala Fish Curry with brown rice. And these are infinitely more interesting than blooming khichdi (don’t even try to argue with that). So I probably am the only one who does not understand how non-tasty food can be comforting.

In my house, khichdi is something that is made when the only other option is starvation. The pros and cons of each option are lengthily discussed, and then sometimes, we make khichdi. We have a very clear understanding of what we consider appropriate food. Khichdi is not food. Food implies everything discussed in the first paragraph. Khichdi is simply an Edible Item. I will not insult Food by clubbing it with the likes of khichdi.

And yes, I am ranting because my mom has prepared khichdi for dinner. Starvation didn’t put up a good enough argument this time.