Monday, February 14, 2011

The day of love. The day of ultimate Hollywood trash.

Is it like, you underperform under pressure?
Did you get to work on say the 14th of January?
Did you write the script, whatever that is, while you were sleeping, changing nappies?
Did you and your five friends get drunk and write 5 different scripts? And let your dog pick one?
Did the ensemble star cast work for free?
Did you work for free?
Do you hate your job?
Or does love make you sick? Like really sick.

Last year it was Valentine's Day. This time it's No Strings Attached. Horrible movies. And that's when I am a sucker for mush.

So here's my take...
Julia Roberts isn't God. Neither is Jessica Biel. Ashton kutcher in the buff does not make up for shoddy acting. Natalie Portman in the buff, kind of makes up for shoddy acting. Please, please have a story to tell. Mills & Boon is a great source too. You could explore that. Read about thirty of them. And you are bound to come up with lovely things. If you can't come up with an amazing story on love. Then don't. Give us something on say shoes or the perfect stole maybe? People in love often bond over such things. So, don't you worry about us having a tough time dragging our men to watch such films. Give it a thought. I also have a title in mind – Jimmy loves Choo or Heels That Hurt The Heart. Like?

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Men. Amen.

What could I possibly say that hasn't been said already? Turns out, surprise, surprise, I have quite a lot to say. A blog lot.
If I were talented, if I had the money, or if I had really rich producer friends I could maybe, make a movie out of it, chronicling the lives of three women, separated by a few years, and their journeys into and out of the hearts of their men. So, since I do not have any of the mentioned things, I would settle for a post. And look at the sky above, and say a silent prayer – directors of movies like Turning 30, Delhi Heights, Dus kahaniaaa, chance upon my blog, get totally gobsmacked, and offer me hell lot of money for the movie rights. I act tough. They don't want to let go of this brilliant little post. They absolutely want it. So they double the offer. And give me distribution rights of the film as well. And ask me to begin work on its sequel. You with me?
Okay, so, this post is about men. Men I haven't met or intend to meet or don't know much about. But these men are a very important part of the lives of a few women, who I call friends. And that makes them worthy of my blog.
The last few weeks have largely been about solving men related problems. Oh no I am no authority. Neither I have proof of being good at it. But then that's not how we operate. Situations like these call for any advice. Just about any. Preferably from a woman. This is a dangerous and delicate territory with certain rules. The most important one being to never hold the one in distress responsible for the misery. NEVER. Because it's not the done thing. And during the course of the conversation, the advisor becoming the advisee, or the nagger turning the naggee [Thesaurus make note] is per usual. So while one moment is about how her man fails to call her at the promised time, next could be about mine not believing in surprising me, or making an effort to find the right gift. See? When we get talking, the lines blur. Topics merge. It's no longer someone else's problem. It's mine as much as it's hers. I listen. So does she. She weeps. So do I.
Problems discussed in the past few weeks – not enough calls, more than enough silences; caring too little, working too much; too little we-time, too much boys-time; too few vacations, too many business trips; gifts versus oh-shit-gifts, oh-shift-gifts versus no gifts; no sweet nothings, words that mean nothing; and then they get a little murkier.
So what do we do after we've discussed the troubles of the heart? well, nothing much. See we aren't doers. No we are not. Neither do we press each other for acting on anything. We just listen. And when we are done listening. We talk. And they listen. It's simple. And it works. Every. Single. Time. And we often end our conversations with - “no we did not sign up for this.”

nb. Such sessions go well with a pefect cup of tea and chocolate biscuits to dunk.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

What's wonderfully indulging yet has zero calories?

As indulging as a slice of cheesecake. Sans the 350 calories of course. It's also extremely liberating and also makes you feel in control. And as Joey Tribbiani would have said, what's not to like? Indulgence, goooood. Liberation, goooood. In control, goooood.

Advising. At 400 precious words per minute. Is an indulgence unlike any. It frees your spirit. Or some crap like that. Basically what it does is, it makes you feel good. In a purely do-gooder kind of way. And everybody can use such a feeling once in a while, right? But Of course like all things sinful, practicing restrain is of great importance here. Never over do. While cheesecake could leave you with unlovely love handles at worst, this comes down much harsher. Losing friends, losing partner [business or otherwise], being made fun of till your last day on earth, and not being invited to anywhere, are some of the problems you might face.

So, there's this lady in my gym, she will be in her early fifties. She is a banker. And she spends seventy per cent of her gym time advising the trainers. No not on mutual funds or investment plans. But guess what? On fitness. Yes, she does. She walks on the treadmill at a speed of 3kmph and goes on and on about the fitness regime the trainers need to follow. And the diet they should try. Obviously the poor lady is now quite a joke. And on those rare moments when she does concentrate on HER fitness regime, the trainers snigger and go up to her ask her with help-us-miss-fonda eagerness. Yep, you and I live in a very cruel world.

Then there's this sad case of a bored receptionist. On a day when the number of calls are low, and visitors are too few, this lady brings out her inner momma/grandma and does, what she does best. Advise. Right from the movies one should watch, to the take-away joints one should try to the right month when one should conceive. Receptionist lady covers it all. She means well, all of us know that. What can I say, this isn't the ideal world and she mostly eats her lunch alone.

And now, it's my moment under the sun, or some such phrase like that. While I understand nobody needs advices, I won't pass this opportunity. No way. I am no silly village girl. So, because I am a non-silly urban woman, here goes -
A. Know your priorities.
B. Pick your battles.
And that's all you need to have a happy life.

Quid pro quo, Clarice.