Dear Sanjay Leela Bhansali,

From the trailers and the songs and perhaps from the moment I read about Ram-Leela a year ago, along with of course the SLB tag, it was up there on the list. Ram Leela was a movie to be looked forward to. Something that would almost save this year, which has been at least relatively less bombarded with good movies as compared to last year. We’ve had few gems, Yes. And we were hoping to wrap the year up with some cinematic brilliance in Ram Leela. Error on our part to expect, you say? Perhaps. 

But we came in to be awed. For your movies, an audience like us comes in ready to absorb anything, even over-the-top sequences which we will disregard as unacceptable otherwise. We know we will see rich red and brown silks, incessant warm  candle-lit hues and the two hours will be a sure-shot visual treat. We came in wanting to be overwhelmed, but left being grossly underwhelmed. 

From the moment the sand artist made the elegant necked swan to create the SLB logo, I settled in hoping for similar elegance in the movie. In the first fifteen minutes, after about a 100 gun shots, a scene with a kid un-imaginatively named Goli in this gun-extravangaza, pissing off a roof, Ranveer Singh appearing out of nowhere and breaking into a male item song in absolute garish clothes which he peeled off systematically to all the female hysteria, I started losing hope. It further didn’t help that there was a plethora of filthy ‘Dhoti-geeli kar li’ and likening the heroine’s bust size to 136 (Yes, 136 – this is not a typo) strewn generously throughout the movie. At a point I wondered, if I was watching a Grand Masti sequel by mistake. SLB, you are hallmark to beautiful cinema, please leave the rolling-in-the-mud kind of sleaze-fest to the insignificant others. 

Indeed, you made it clear it would be Goliyon ki Ras-leela, but I wish there was more of Ram-Leela. The pair is together for bits and pieces in the first half and out of each others’ sight in the second half. You talk about love despite distances maybe? But, nowhere in the first half, for me at least, were you able to establish this love. The two couldn’t keep their hands off each other for a scene, did they even find the time to fall in love? To think about each others’ souls and hearts and not vital stats and ‘size’? *facepalm*

Something I was craving to see till the very end was this love story. Romeo and Juliet fell in love at first sight, yes. But, wasn’t that followed up by pure romance? Physical intimacy was a small part of their love, not the only thing they seemed to do when alone! For a man who made Khamoshi, Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam and Devdas which were dripping romance and love, it is unbelievable why you would want to overlook something you are naturally and obviously good at – Capturing emotions of love and making people dream about this kind of consummate love for days afterward. 

Normal lovers exchange everything, I agree. Dirty messages, make sleazy advances at each other behind closed doors. But they also do so much more. They talk about their lives together; they look into each others’ eyes lovingly, without their hands simultaneously having to undress the other all the time. I’ll agree I love how Ram Leela are so real, but I feel there could have been so much more to them than we saw! I wish there was. 

Let us look at some high points of the movie. The music of Ram Leela is so haunting, it stays with you for days afterward. Mor Bani Thanghat sets the tone for the musical extravaganza from the opening credits and every few minutes, a new ride comes up and is an absolute pleasure to the ears. Laal Ishq reminds you of a peaceful yet inexistent state of love. Lahu Munh Lag gaya has the naughty, fun touch of love at first sight.

It is not as if there were no moments of brilliance in the movie. The scene where Dhankorba cuts Leela’s finger and Ram comes to her window at night and leaves that bloody mark from a broken finger on her door. It still gives me goosebumps. Couple of dialogues here and there – Beauty! “Ye toh aisa ho gaya na Ba, ki jaan nikaal bhi di aur zindaa chhod bhi diya”. Beautiful music, combined with absolutely beautifully shot sequences –A fantastic chasing sequences toward the end with the metal pot falling and rolling aimlessly, while Kesar Bhabhi runs for her honor and life alike; Deepika’s introduction scene, where she shoots in the sky, while there is an explosion of color and life with everyone playing Holi around. These little gems are there, individually shining, albeit shadowed and hidden away in the badly meshed chaos of the plot.

I went away, deeply wanting more from the movie. I went away feeling sad, because I felt this could have been so much better. It was in my head at least before I saw it. To-die-for outfits, extremely gorgeous looking actors and fabulous music definitely can enhance a plot. But here, there was such minimal flesh to actually dress-up, it almost seems like a hollowed mannequin beautifully dolled up in a window. It may have been liberating for you to make something so easy-going and loose flowing, but I wish it had something to keep me more engrossed and tied down. I wish I felt Ram and Leela’s pain and less my own at having witnessed this utter mess. 

Lootera.. And how the story of a thief stole my heart..

I know a movie has touched my heart, when long gone after I've seen it, I find myself re-living those scenes in my head - It almost is as if I've brought home a piece of it back with me. It isn't too often that happens and it happened yesterday with Lootera. I stayed away from reading full reviews till I saw it for myself, since I wanted to be unbiased and form my own opinion. And what beauty it turned out to be - such poetry in motion. The first thing I did when I got home, was search for 'The Last Leaf'. I wanted to see what O'Henry wrote of in 1904 and how much inspiration Lootera drew from the story. When I discovered that the only part was the bit about the masterpiece being the leaf (a key part of the movie, not denying), it took me by surprise, that the rest of it was fairly original screenplay. Such subtlety in story-telling, such beautiful cinematography and such beautifully etched out characters as Varun and Pakhi are so rare in cinema nowadays, not to forget a movie that holds its ground without any garish item songs, crass love-making scenes, loud music, cuss words or over the top product placement - the things producers do to milk a movie. 

When I think of penning down my thoughts, I find so many of them running loose and fighting for attention, it almost frightens me if I'll ever get them all in words. 

The storyline for the first half is pretty plain. Boy meets girl, love at first sight. Boy thugs girl's father, he dies. She retreats into a set of lonely sorrowful days. The second half however is what lifts the movie and takes it a whole new level. We know of Bollywood having done some miserable last moments scenes, some woefully funny revenge scenes, but the beauty here is in how each character is treated as a real person with real emotions and not someone twisted and made to look awkward in the end to suit commercial audiences and stereotypical storylines. Pakhi's characteristics and nature till the end of the movie remain consistent with how she is in the first half. You see bits of the first half and picture her acting a certain way if she were real - and she does just that. Harbour a fugitive who she helped the police nab in the first place, yet try her best to keep him away from her when he tries to talk to her - so contradicting, but yet so in line with the person you imagine her to be - the person a broken-hearted, angry, yet in love Pakhi would be. 

There are some scenes in the movie, which completely steal your heart - some as the compelling pre-interval sequence, where you see fleeting scenes of the Kolkata bar with Varun and his mates, Pakhi dressing herself in royal finery, for her engagement with the love of her life, a lost and broken father with the sudden wrinkles of disbelief on his face. Ah, beauty. It almost shows you in an instant, how the very same moment is for three different people with inter-twined lives but has distinctly different emotions for each of them - Guilt, Heartbreak and Mistrust. 

When Varun first sets sight on Pakhi (after their little accident), there is no fancy music playing in the background, to suggest love at first sight, though from just the pace of the scene and the expressions on their faces, you know there was a spark. For cinema to bring that out, without a deliberate attempt to drive home that chemistry is absolutely wonderful. Their interactions, completely normal, slow, but fondness growing with each hour they spend teaching each other painting - is the kind I haven't seen before. They don't sing songs around trees, don't even touch each other till before the interval maybe and yet you feel for the two lovers. You feel their warm emotion in each scene, you feel their longingness to soak in that extra moment. Pakhhi's mischievous satisfaction of wearing his jacket and smoking his cigarette, just to grab that extra whiff of his scent, to almost feel him wrapped around her - what a beautiful kind of romance. 

You also cannot ignore how the sets, the clothes, the environment, the British cutlery, brass vessels, the jewellery, just the entire era has been re-created to lend that extra feel to each dialogue. The fireplace lit wooden floors of Dalhousie - a stark contrast against the hard snow outside - adds just that tinge of vintage romance. The music, apt - vintage string instruments and classical Indian music when talking of angst and pain and louder wind instruments when playing scenes showing the crime and escape of Varun. The music of Lootera has a journey of its own. You can listen to the album and the movie will replay in your head. 

The scene towards the end, where Pakhi tells Varun how his life is in danger and yet at the end has only one question - only one single question, which kept her alive all this while, irrespective of the fact that this is the man who cost her a loving father's embrace. This is the man, who drove her to this state of loneliness and illness, leaving her literally counting her days. She innocently just wants to know if he ever loved her. At that moment, nothing else mattered, but knowing if he ever felt the same. You can't help but shed a tear for the woman, who hated this man for years, yet kept that piece of her heart soft and loving for him - because What if? What if she wasn't a fool, what if she was as loved as she did love. It would be some balm for her bruised soul, a ray of hope for her otherwise graying horizon.

I love movies that treat you as an intelligent audience, that do not spoon feed and tell you in as many words - This is how it ends. Lootera does just that. In the climax, when Pakhi walks out and sees the painted leaf tied to the branch and lets out that laughter - no words, no dialogues, just happiness and release. Memories of how she told Varun she can't  ever paint leaves and how he promised he'd paint a masterpiece someday. Here she was, looking at it - a symbol of hope and of his love for her. A symbol of the  masterpiece she would never forget. I do not know if she lived or died afterward, but what is important is that the leaf brought back a smile which you don't see since half-time of the movie and hope to wake up another day - leaf or not. Varun meets his end and accepts it wide arms - his purpose in life seems to be fulfilled with Pakhi less miserable. 

A lot of people who saw the movie found it slow and boring. I for my part, found it fine paced. It reminded me of reading of such romance in books. There is beauty in each line, in each page. The movie makes you believe in the kind of love you forget in a world like the one we live in. Fast-paced, gadget-ridden, mortgages, office chores, household chores. Where does anyone have the time for romance nowadays? People fire-fight, more than they bring a warm smile to someone's eyes. In an era like this, movies such as Lootera offer an escape - to a more beautiful world, of a more beautiful love, of a better yesterday in a certain sense. 

I can't stop thinking about her

I don't know who she was, how she looked or how she spoke,
Where she studied, or where she lived,
Who her friends were, or who were her folk
I know nothing, except that, she hadn't survived.

But I can't stop thinking about her.

She must have been a regular girl,
With a Facebook page and friends galore,
Innocently made plans for a Sunday evening,
Not knowing, she'd only survive only one Sunday more.

How did she feel when she left that mall,
Did she think of the tiger after she saw The Life of Pi,
She would soon be left to lead a broken climax of her own,
In minutes she would be left stranded, exploited, left to die.

I can't stop thinking about her.

The million thoughts in her head when she entered that bus,
College tomorrow? Let me ask him where to take the next auto from?
Innocent and unassuming, clutching her bag close maybe,
Till the air would smell foul and her heart knew something was wrong.

She survived that nightmare, to find herself in a hospital bed,
Held together by machines and pipes, breathing slowly but not dead.
She spoke at times, at times wrote messages on paper,
How did she find the courage, as her body and soul quietly bled.

I can't stop thinking about her.

They held marches, protested with all their might,
Urging people to join in, they felt so betrayed,
I didn't know if I could change much,
But I did what I could, I silently prayed.

She's gone now, with so many different names they remember her,
The girl, who showed them how their system needed repair,
The girl, who warned us of the daggers lurking at every corner,
The girl, who fought beyond thought, in distraught despair.

I can't stop thinking about her.

She will heal no patient, nor know another touch,
She won't ever watch another movie, or see an ice-cream melt,
She won't tell apart a bus from a medical airlifting chopper,
She's gone and she'll never tell anyone how she really felt.

Or how those 13 days were spent,
Not knowing sunrise from sunset, night from day,
I can't stop thinking about her,
Or how she still said she wanted to live, in this society in decay.

Of Harmandir Sahib, Jalianwala Bagh, Lassi, Kesar da dhaba and Juttis!

Growing up down south, Amritsar has always stood for one thing. From the images in the school textbooks, to the imposing structure in the background of every Guru Nanak calendar I must have seen at people's houses, the Golden Temple has always been intriguing, beautiful and inviting, all at once. Fortunate to have been able to pay a visit this winter, it's a sight I will never forget.

The weather in Amritsar has a certain nip in the air, from the moment you get out of the train and head towards your shelter. We made it in early in the day at about 6 am and had a couple of hours to catch, to freshen up and stuff ourselves with some out-of-the-world Parathas.

We then headed out, to visit the Golden Temple at what we thought was an hour where there would be a lesser rush. Boy, were we mistaken. Anyways, from the parking lot to the temple is probably a 500m-700m walk through streets laced rich with Amritsari Papad, punjabi juttis, tikki stalls and what not. The burst of color is overwhelming and representative of the culture and the nature of the people around. A smile everywhere, cycle-rickshaws cajoling you to hire them for a few feet you may decide not to walk, for 'panji rupiya' (five rupees). You smile and weave your way through the crowd, trying hard not to get hit by one of them.

As you approach the temple complex, be prepared to cover your head with a scarf or dupatta. You are greeted by a large white gate, with a  clock on top. Seems to be British influence, but I couldn't help but notice how several buildings in Amritsar had antique clocks on the top of the structure, be it the Railway station or the temple entrance. A little walk inside and a climb up some steps and you see the first sight of the Golden Temple. And, it left me awe-struck. More than the rich architecture surrounding or the clear water around and the faith with which people were strewn around the place, reading the 'Gurubani', what struck me most, was the peace which the place brings to you in an instant. There is no sense of urgency, commotion, chaos around the place. Everyone knows where to go, what to do and go about silently in prayer doing that, while the loudspeaker behind broadcasts around the world, the holy readings from the Guru Granth Sahib.

Photography is forbidden in the temple, but allowed in the periphery and adjoining complex. The artifical small tank of water surrounding the temple has fishes swimming with frenzy in the direction you throw some food into. Walking around the place, you see a lot of people taking a dip in the water. According to myth, a person inflicted with skin diseases took a dip in the water, saving one finger and every part of his body immersed in the water was healed. The water you'd assume may be dirty from these frequent dips, but is very well maintained and kept clean at all times.

There is a section on the side, where you can get free water in a bowl, given to you by the sevaks. It's interesting to see them clean the bowls afterward. We were told that they don't use any kind of soap or detergent, but use ash to clean the bowls instead.

Then moving on, we see on a side, the Akal Takht - the highest political and governing body of the Sikhs. It is said that the body is so powerful, that the even royalty - Maharaja Ranjit Singh accepted the punishment decreed by them for his sins, which involved seven whiplashes at the main gate of the temple. The Akal Takht building was the primary one destroyed in the Operation Bluestar seige. The destruction for some inexplicable reason, lives on even after the 28 years of the attack.

To enter the main temple, there is a bridge like construction, with people standing patiently in a queue to enter. We made it in, thanks to some contacts and were in the ground floor of the temple, in the blink of an eye. The insides are truly breathtaking. The sheer gold work on the inside, richly complement the intricate pietra dura inlay work on the outsides. There are three storeys with each housing a copy of the Guru Granth Sahib. Beautifully designed interiors with plush, red carpets end to end. It is said the Guru Granth Sahib on the top floor is the handwritten copy and is so housed on the highest platform, so that noone can set foot above it and it remains supreme. As you make your way out, after climbing down the long, winding white marble stairway, there is a point at which you can take a sip of some holy water and exit or choose to sit on the sides, while people around and busy in their reading of the holy book.

Just before you leave, there is a museum (photography forbidden again), where room after room leads you a little bit more into the lives of the community that is the Sikhs. There are paintings of atrocities committed by Shahjahan during his threats of forced conversions. Ample images of how he ordered that their children be chopped off and they be made to wear garlands of these pieces, if they refuse to convert to Islam. An artefact here and there, antique poles used to hold up the walls, some portraits of Maharaja Ranjit Singh (who ordered the temple be adorned with gold) and then you are again led to a room full of extremely graphic images of Sikh fighters who were killed brutally and how they were when they died. So you see a neck slit, a head injury, a bloody eye and I couldn't stop to see any further. The museum to me, could have actually done without this gory imagery, lest the very purpose of the visit is to acquaint you more with the tortures the community has endured and less to do with appreciating and learning more about their ways of life.

We made our way out, to the langar area. The scale of this 'langar' or community dining, is truly unique. A symbol of the openness of the Sikh community, every visitor treated alike, seated in the common area, is fed unlimited helpings of a wholesome vegetarian meal. The fare comprises of rotis, a black dal, some salad, kheer and generally some sabzi, depending on your luck. The day we visited, it was kadhi pakoda. Though, I do hear, paneer makes it to the plates too. The food is apparently cooked by a select group of people, allowed to enter the kitched with a valid ID card and tastes absolutely delectable. Sevaks organize themselves in an assembly line arrangement outside, handing out plates, spoons, a bowl for water, following some inside who take care of serving. Giant kitchen, which uses on an estimate of a news article '1,700 pounds of onions and 132 pounds of garlic, sprinkled with 330 pounds of fiery red chilies', has an 'automatic roti machine which can produce 25,000 rotis/hour' and has in recent times, got the go-ahead to migrate to a solar-powered kitchen, given the scale at which it operates.

After the Golden Temple, we sauntered out to Jalianwala Bagh, the place where hundreds of Indians were killed in the shooting ordered by General Dyer, suspecting a terror assembly, threatening the peace of the English crown. The place has an 'Amar Jyoti', the eternal flame, maintained by Indian Oil and a memorial for the victims. There are also signs all over to show where the shooting happened, the well into which many people jumped in and drowned to their death, feeling they had a chance of survival there rather than trying to run.

Later in the afternoon, we headed out to one of my favorite and very looked forward to parts of the trip - Shopping! I made sure we stopped by for some colorful, bright juttis. Back home, it is tougher finding something in a material that lasts more than 4-5 wears and also, my giant feet ensure I have little luck finding what I want. In Amritsar, there is something for everyone in a jutti shop. As expected, with a budget of two, I managed to squeeze in three in one purchase. From what our local help in Amritsar told us, a trip to the market is incomplete without Gyan Singh's Lassi. It is quite a sight indeed. Elaborate processes through a lassi making machine, finished off with a generous dollop of cream. The Dairy food market DOES thrive here!

The evening was well-spent at Wagah, to end the day with some interesting fare from Kesar da Dhaba. Finding our way down the small winding 'gallis' of the market in Amritsar, a short 'panji rupaya' ride down the alley, through store after store dishing out fresh, hot, delicious mouth-watering gulab jamuns in giant 'kadais', it is a foodie's delight. I of course gave in and dug into some melt-in-mouth jamuns, as I stood by the road watching how the parcelling section at Kesar, threw their half-done ingredients together, in almost mechanical precision, as hordes of people packed some wonderful dinner. The place is absolute value for money, will definitely make you smile as much, with every bite as it will when you open your wallet to pay the bill!

There it was. A day filled with a visit to a beautiful temple, an Indian freedom movement memorial, the Indian border, some shopping and lots of good food! A day well-spent in Amritsar.

Wah Wagah!

In our growing years, we learnt extensively about India's struggle for independence the Indo-Pak tension ensuing, the LoC, the breaches, the well-guarded borders. But seeing, is believing. Wagah Border is one experience you will find no place else. The sheer excitement in the chill November air, the sun setting against the dust kicked up by charged up guards during their rehearsed march, the screams, the national colors, it's a place you forget from which state you came and remember the only fact uniting you with everyone on this side of the gate, the Indian in you.

The gate shut, to be opened with aplomb at sunset

Located about an hour's drive away from Amritsar, at Attari, is where the only road border crossing between Pakistan and India is based. Wagah itself is a village, through which the partition line dividing two nations was drawn in 1947. It is more known for the elaborate pre-sunset daily ceremony at the border, where the gate opens for a couple of minutes, with both sides putting up quite a show.

Maddening excitement at the Indian section

The drive to Wagah, comes to an end with gates guarded with heavy security, people turned out in the tricolor, plastic flags in their hands, screaming, some excited with their cameras all ready to snap up what they might be lucky to see. It is best to try to arrange a VIP entry from any contact one may have, which makes getting in a lot easier. Else, there is much heavier checking and of course a lot of furlongs extra, to tread. We made it in through the VIP entry, though even that well attested letter was checked by atleast four different sets of personnel at various points. No bags allowed inside, though a money purse and a camera are allowed. After the checking, we were made to sit at pre-designated seats flanking the main gate of the ceremony.

Style statement 

One look around and you just can't help but feel the excitement in the air. Across the gate at the Pakistan section, white and green, their flag flying high, the half moon perched up and a little beyond, the guards in black pathani suits. The Pakistani section was divided into two, for men and women and seemed to be less filled as compared to ours. We turned out as though it were a India-Pak match. The normal stalls were filled in minutes and the speakers blared patriotic music, much to peoples' delight, who went mad with frenzy, waving the tricolor and joining in. While waiting, a lot of us walked up to the main security at the gate and requested a click. He agreed with much ease, as it seemed to be a request he had been hearing every day.

The main guard at the gate

Minutes into the ceremony, the guards in pairs, walk up to the border, with much aplomb, salute their peers and take their position on the sides. The same drill is followed on the other side. The various marches are interspersed with the microphone beaming Bharat Mata ki Jai and Vande Mataram on ours, while Pakistan Zindabad and Jeeve Jeeve Pakistan on their side. The gate is then pushed open, the rope is drawn aside and the guards face each other with the most stern look for a few seconds, after which the flags are crossed and hoisted. It is quite a sight to watch, two flags of nations at constant war, hoisted at the same point by men separated by a few inches.

The gates are then shut and people disperse. The VIP exit path takes you across through a corner, a section, where the Pakistani VIPs also must walk past and for those few seconds, you can't help but wonder, how you are standing at an arm's distance from a neighboring country. A series of waves and smiles exchanged across that one single rope and you are politely asked to keep moving by the security forces.

The walk back then begins to resemble a typical Indian mela, with food stalls, people running helter skelter. As you reach the exit, you see how every available guard is approaced by kids and is posing away for photos. Makes you for a moment realise, how human they too are and how tolerant they must be, to be a camera's muse every single evening.

Less than an hour of a ceremony, but absolute celebration in every step. A sight not to be missed.

Where are we heading?

As our communication networks are growing, our worlds are shrinking and possibly so are our patience levels. We just don't know how to wait for anything anymore and inevitably, this has got to be crawling its way into our personal lives as well.


So let's see. When was the last time I 'BOUGHT' a music cd or watched a video on television and tried hard to find out when the music release was, make a beeline to the local music store and pay for that cd, bring it home and plug it in? I do not remember. All I remember now, is free music downloads the day the music releases and I have not paid a dime since at least five years. There used to be some pleasures attached to buying music, borrowing friends' cds, making a personal playlist for a loved one, painstakingly cleaning the cd case and treasuring it. Neither have I used a cd nor bought one in a really long time. Sometimes, I do pick up my case to clean the dust off it and I find someone's gift, a note on top and I still do smile, but this is a pleasure the generation after me will not ever know of.


Then, in the past years, I find myself often shopping and even as ludicrous as it sounds 'window-shopping' on my computer. When I know someone's birthday is coming up, or I need some stationery, or some books, I instinctively know I need to look up flipkart.com or ebay. I do not remember having bought a book, written on the first page inside and giving it to someone in a long long time. The convenience scares me. There used to be a time I used to marvel at jokes I heard on sitcoms about Americans collecting coupons for discounts and going shopping on those days to those places, however far off. I'm heading there, except now I know of promo codes and dicount codes to get the best deals on sites, at a mouse-click's distance. And I'm recommending them out there like a pro. Apparel, footwear even, wherein it would be absolutely impossible to buy a pair without slipping it on, is now a click away and maybe that's good, maybe bad. It's just a whole lot different from what shopping used to mean to me when I was younger.


Social Networking. Yes, I do get to connect with a lot of old friends. I get to see what they're doing in their lives. But I find myself talking less and less to people. It's like I know many of them, but I don't know more about them anymore. We're less connected and a lot more wired nowadays I suppose. When I look at their lives, their updates, their photos, I feel good that I'm well informed, but it beats me if they ever intended that information for me. I mean, do you remember how it felt to wait for your best friend's birthday snaps to get processed and wait to get to school the next day and look at them over the snack break. But I doubt, my children will ever have those little pleasures. They'd perhaps have the pictures uploaded on their pages before they got home and a million likes to go AND it might not even be my smart phone they've used, but their own funky ones.


Our language! I cringe at the sight of words like lv,lf.frndzz,v,wt4me. Where did our English just vanish and what are we putting on our resumes if we can't spell words like friends, life, wait normally on a keyboard we can conveniently chat at speeds stenos boast of. We've created a new language and heavens alone save the examinations such people's children will take and the scores they will make.


I say it permeates our day to day lives in tangible ways as above but in a lot of unseen, intangible ways as well. I feel we've become more impatient because almost everything in life has become convenient nowadays. Yes, we have more time to do a lot of other things, but what are we really heading towards? A life of isolation where we all have our computers and will get strokes if the internet is down for a bit? We send someone a message and we expect a reply that very moment, because we're sure he got it. There's no way in this age or day, my message or email wouldn't be delivered. If he didn't reply, he didn't see it. Paranoia. How can he be ignoring me? How can he not respond? 


Rewind to not so many, but maybe 10 years ago. You were lucky if you had an internet connection with a PC and even luckier if it worked. But do you remember noting down email addresses of people carefully, typing out long emails to them and not receiving replies for hours, days? It seemed alright. They'd look at it when they could and reply and you'd look at it when you could make a connection. And that worked. 


When you sent someone an SMS, you checked the delivery report to see if it said 'Pending' or 'Delivered', check the time of delivery and then mentally sigh with relief because your message made it. Today, you know that you've sent it, he's received it. Even if he's on a call, he got it. And that makes us so impatient because we know it's possible. It's possible to acknowledge receipt, to respond, fight, solve, argue all in an instant. And that's what's going wrong. 


We've become more sensitive than our touch-screens, our brains have begun to work faster than our processors for sometimes the very wrong reasons. We've become more impatient in conversation, in our relationships, in our marriages and we've forgotten how to give somebody that space they truly deserve. To think, to ponder, to gather their thoughts and react. We're forcing the quieter ones to crawl deeper into their shells, the sober ones to find outlets for madness and the already loud ones to cause cacophony. We are heading towards a louder, more clamorous tomorrow, very different from the yesterday we lived  and if we play it wrong, a tomorrow distinctly unhappier than the one we saw yesterday. 

Introverted? Extroverted? Somewhere in the middle?

Can't help but think about which one I am. Introverted or extroverted.

So, I came across two links. One video on the The Power of introverts - Susan Cain and one article in the Times of India - Agony of introverts in a loud nation (By Anand Soondas - 24 June 2012) Both speak about how 30% of the world is introverted. In other words, one out of three people are introverted. So, what about the other two? Are they these loud, clammering extroverted people? Is one of them somewhere in the middle?

I talk a lot and incessantly at that, am loud, full of energy and have a million thoughts, sometimes irrelevant and unconnected to each other in my mind, several straying out in unconnected lines of speech at times, but does that mean I am extroverted? I am married to a man who hates talking, even making restaurant bookings, talking to pharmacists, to the landlord, the house-help; Not that he cannot, he doesn't like to unless forced to. So, is talking less introverted-ness? And just because I do without much trouble, does that make me an extrovert?

I can imagine several people out there who are like me and can talk, but would be extremely out of place and not so at ease when in a room full of twenty-five people you don't know. We are nervous before interviews, skeptical of entering a new bar and not looking cool while placing an order, can get caught off guard by a very well-spoken doctor, prefer to send an email to the facilities guys in the office to fix the printer and can just be the same old shy people we imagine introverts to be. But we can also be the people who start the conversation on a group chat, who make plans to watch movies with friends, pick up the phone and call our support groups, ensure to crack that joke and make asses out of ourselves just to make that friend feel better, can still make presentations to clients with practiced ease.

What's different then? I would imagine the fact that we are completely comfortable in our very own small circles. We are extroverted to our circle of friends. There is this select group of people who see the true and real madness in us and to them we are the most outgoing, loud people they know. But to the people we travel with in the bus, the people who see us alone in cafetarias, the people who see us buy groceries alone and do our laundry by ourselves, we are perhaps quiet and introverted.

We're stuck in between and personally, it's not a bad place to be. It's nice to have my own shell, my own boundaries and to make it better, not be alone within. To know how far to be able to go to peel off the guarded self of my personality and yet know that I'll be still not be the obvious and predictable person to the world.

Point being, it makes me now want to look around for research on a new breed called ambiverts and that's the new word, I'll remember to use in the 'Describe Yourself' section on a form the next time.