10 step jugaad to ROADIES!

*Warning- Venture only if you know a decent amount of Hindi*

Kya????? You don’t know Roadies??
Ok how about this guy.

 Hawwww! Did you just say he’s bald?

Arey looks pe mat jaao! Although he doesn't have too many stud like qualities, let me assure you, this guy holds the kismet of a good many thousand nawjavaan who are dying to be Akshara’s sisters and Ammaji’s daughters in hamaar Indian soap operas.

The show he hosts is for these really ‘kewl’ kinda people where ‘intellectual’ *that’s what people outside of our fraternity think of us* blog readers like you and me would never ever make the cut. Plainly cos we would be too scared to do our band bajaana in a way that our parents would probably disown us from their jaaydaad forever and ever!

The show by itself however is a complete entertainer. It honestly gives me a kick to watch self professed rock stars come in and do their izzat ka falooda. If you may have noticed, there is always a huuuge mob outside of the auditions with people yelling and screaming and most, even short of begging with ‘Puhleeeeeez mujhe le loooooooo! I AM DIFFERENT!’

Now if there is a problem, it must be addressed, and since nobody is taking the initiative I figured it’s my absolute kartavya to coach the odd one off person dropping into this space on the same. I may not be equipped to face the heat *cos of exams, nothing else baba*, but I have seen nearly 4 seasons so that must count for some sort of value addition right?

Ok ok without wasting any further time, cut to some serious gyaan in the shaanpatti department!

1- Get a bunch of funky tattoos that read deep stuff like ‘Karma’, ‘Attitude’ or ‘Peace’. I mean.... C’mon! What are a few needles stuck into your arm as opposed to a lifelong tryst with fame through Videocon commercials?

2- Fake an accent. Contrary to what they say, if you show the remotest qualities of the REAL YOU, chances are they will kick you out from the word go. So be a cool dude with a ‘Center Shock’ type hairstyle and waak and taak like you own the world. Relax! It makes you masala material.

3- If you got some self- respect then leave it at home cos DarrLinggg this ain’t no place to showcase it. Possibly even add stuff like you tried to commit suicide and they will go all ‘Wowwieeee!’

4- Scream and shout for absolutely no reason. That way they will think you are this really passionate person. If you’re a guy beat your heart out to show how much the show means to you. If you’re a girl then, emm well just do a Mamata Banerjee *know what I mean?* ;)

5- Hype your relationships like you have been a casanova ever since you grew old enough to tell red from yellow. Make Emran Hashmi look like an amateur in front of you. Mind you, current status though must shriek ‘Single’ and an additional ‘I respect women’ is a mandatory. This to them is read as gentle, sweet and great potential for likely link ups.

6- Learn a few kya-adaa-kya-jalwe-tere-Shakira dance moves from an academy and say you just made it up. Cos music is in your veins, yaar!

7- Say you’re fame crazy and manipulative. They’ll say ‘Awwww! How genuine!!’

8- Stage a few tears and tell them how the 5 minute interview on their show has made you a better person by putting your whole life into perspective. The ‘different you’ has suddenly become even more ‘differently different’. Yes, they REALLY buy this kind of stuff.

9- Get a sound coaching in swear words and use them at your liberal best. It makes you sound grounded and earthy. Duh!!

10- If none of the above work just keep showing up at the auditions year after year after year. They will go fida on your dedication, give you a clean chit and say ‘Isme humko wo keeda dikhaai deta hai’.

Yes, yes you can thank me on Live National TV sweeto.....Much Louuve! :-)

The taste of water

About four months ago, my mom *who is a teacher* took me to her school for a day as she was in the middle of some really hectic ‘Annual Day’ preparations. So in the hope that her students didn’t go berserk with delight in her absence, she put me in place to keep them occupied for a bit.

Now one thing you must know is, I had never played the whole ‘teacher- teacher’ role before and this being my first time, it was hugely important that I make an absolute OMG!-she-is-the-bestestt-teacher-in-the-whole-wide-world impression before the little kiddies *yeah I know, they are just kids...but it’s reallyyy important to me!*. That’s totally as opposed to my stern no nonsense mom who wouldn’t worry about any of these silly things.

Well so anyway, I tried to look my best, most cheerful self, smiled a whole lot in class, gave all the little girls compliments and in every way tried a one hundred and ten percent to be my extreme ‘awesomestttt’!

The good thing is, almost everyone responded well. We played games, interacted a lot, had fun and barely studied anything.
All in all, I absolutely fell in love with my one day job.
So far, so good.

Reality check!

At the end of the day, when my mom got back all tired and weary, she asked her little angels what they thought of the new teacher. Everyone was all chirpy and had sweet things to say, showering affection on me like confetti and I, needless to say felt a mystical halo appear on my head.

However, here’s a conversation of how one girl reacted-

Nuraan: Teacher, is that teacher your daughter?
Mom: Yes. Do you like her Nuraan?
Nuraan: Yes, your daughter is very nice.
*After about 2 seconds*
But I feel you are more beautiful.

Yep, those are the exact words she said. *no exaggeration or editing*
Andddd I was standing right there, just about two spaces away.

You see, I have met a few dozen people who have told me I look like the ‘caaaarbon copy’ of my mom! Still another score of them who say we look like sisters *and I always cringe. I mean how can my mom look like my sis? That’s just dumb!*
The essential point being, we look much the same.

But this was new.
The genuinity in her clear-cut statement touched me.

It’s like everyone walks past....some judge you at face value while others don’t really care. And then one day a pair of unsuspecting eyes comes around and looks past your smile, your acquired charm, breaks past all veils of pretence and as plain as white from black, can tell unblemished purity of a loving heart apart.
The real beauty of a person.
Not cute. Not pretty. Not hot. Not stunning.
No.
Beautiful.
It’s just so hurtfully simple!

**********THE END**********

Credits

Dove- Coincidentally that actually is the shampoo I use *aapki kasam*. Used to be Ultra Doux lemon too, but then I once hurt myself with the dhakkan and my finger started bleeding so now I've decided ki Dove hi best hai!

Yahoo! - The Messenger with the bestesttt emoticons!! And the frown smiley is sooo cute that it makes you want to go awwww and just pull the yellow guy's golu molu cheeks :-) 

Zeal uncut!

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 20; the twentieth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.


He stepped out of the lift and walked through the plush doorway, nearing his destination towards a door that read in small printed letters, “Miss Zuhaina Ali”.
His newest catch. If only his soaking wet shirt didn’t cling onto him, he may have made a better first impression, he thought.

Snip snip snip.
The best sound in the world.
Everything had to be just right. Ever since she had known a thing about anything, her drive for perfection had annoyed the living daylights of all around. They thought she was crazy, compulsive and cranky and took every opportunity to beat down her spirit into believing she was nothing but a piece of unattractive junk.
Like she cared!

They didn’t matter because there always would be a set of people who adored her; who wanted everything to do with her. Every word she said to them was devoured. Her clients. Her benefactors. Her angels.

Zuhaina never had to struggle for a stature. Everyone knew her to be an ace. If she took it up, there was no scope for the slightest error. They trusted her. Even if they weren’t aware of her credentials to begin with, the passion her eyes exuded was impossible to elude.
Oh yes, her passion- Hair.
No.
Perfect hair!

It was what drove her out of her dreams to a coveted reality. A confront to create a master piece every day. Everyone who came to her was but a slipshod work in progress. A diamond that awaited its eventual chisel. A withered disfigured skeleton that had been starved and needed nourishment.
She would feed it. The life breath back in, so its soul would beam and gleam of a new life.

She had trained herself to do it all. Her hands clucked at a pace that held others in awe. Fringes and curls, little flicks, shaft after shaft, it snipped little ringlets lightly over the floor, until what remained was perfect symmetry.

But that was not all. It was still a mop of hair.
The ordinary hadn’t yet evolved to be the brilliant.

It had to be tamed.... to match her tunes. To face the heat. To dance to her beat. And she led each little strand by its soft tips to be blown over her way. Up, around and about on her expert lean fingers.
What stayed was the one perfect look. Soft, smooth and easy. No wreath imbalanced. What the slightest breeze could bring swirling undone and leave a heap of gleaming volume.
If it was a mess, it was still beautiful.

And at the end, each time she held the mirror for her muse to see her work, she felt asphyxiated. Like her throat was closing in and the slightest drooping facial movement from their end would choke her.
But the smiles on their faces never disappeared. If anything, they grew broader. Or maybe she imagined it.
She finally breathed easy.
Yes, she was the best!

He watched as the little immature girl, absorbed in a trance, snipped the blonde hair of her little doll with what looked like utmost reverence.

The rain lashed on her window pane but she remained engrossed in her reverie, unaware of how the world broke down, sobbed and sniffed.
Nothing mattered.
His shirt was quite the last thing.

On the bedside table rested a neat array of dolls with pretty clipped hair.
Another queer schizophrenic at his clinic.
Ah, talented at that!
Talent....The stuff you praise out loud, the stuff you envy in your head. The stuff that makes life unfair.
Almost.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Credits

Image - Window Rain Drops by Eric Alder
Courtesy - http://www.deviantart.com/ via http://www.blogaton.in/