deviousways

When I was in my middle to late 20s, I discovered what it is to be friends with women. Till then, you see, I couldn't really be comfortable with them. Don't know why, really. In my all-girls college, I was part of the usual girl gang -- we called ourselves SPLASH 17, no less (for some bizarre reason!). But most of my friends then were giddy headed girls who talked mostly about boys, going out with boys, getting roses from boys, meeting up with boys...well, you get my drift. I wasn't really like them, or so I thought. Deep down though, I was insecure, frightened -- would I ever meet my knight on a white charger? And then, I came to Bangalore. And made up for lost time. From a small-town girl to hanging out with the guys and going out on dates, it was a surprisingly easy transition for me. I think it was my way of reassuring myself that yes, I was attractive. That all those boys who didn't look at me when I was in college in my small town in Kerala, were actually pre...

Say you and I are complete strangers forced into each other's company for a couple of hours -- by an accident, or a quirk of fate, as it were. Would we still stay aloof? Or will we talk, become friends in those few hours? I think you and I have more of a chance of becoming friends, if there is darkness around us. No, it's true, though that might sound a little on the shady side. On Sunday, I was part of a bus-load of people stuck on, (well, it could have been the middle of nowhere) one of the narrow, forested roads that connect Ooty to Bangalore. At approximately 1 am, our bus came to a standstill just outside a little town called Gudalur -- a log-laden truck, further up the road, had overturned, thereby blocking both sides of the narrow road. Traffic backed up about a km on both sides -- and this is forest area I'm talking about. So, there we were, surrounded by lush greenery, swaying trees, an eerie breeze, a whippingly cold chill and a moonless sky. What is one to do? N...

I've always wondered why plainclothesmen look, well, so much like plainclothesmen. Perhaps it's that old adage, once a cop, always a cop. No matter what you're wearing. The other day, an Ambassador filled with burly plainclothes officers heaved it's way past us near the M G Road. And as usual, the men inside looked like they were sitting on a hot, tin roof, and about to jump out any minute -- you know what I mean, that shoulders-hunched-up, body-turned-towards -the-door, head swivelling-around posture that is the trademark of cops everywhere. Of course, if these were the FBI, they'd also be shouting "Let's Go! Let's Go!" into the sleek, robotic arms stuck in their ears and they wouldn't be caught dead in an Ambassador. But then thankfully, Indian cops still look more or less human. Anyway, the minute I saw those men, I knew they were cops. Which got me thinking? Do we look like our jobs? Politicians look like what they really are -- never min...

Have you ever noticed how traffic moves in Bangalore? Mornings, everyone's in a rush to get to work, so to hell with the signals or the rules -- cut in front of the santro here, zig around the swift there, zag round that cyclist, just miss that crazy biker, brake in front of the BMTC and swish... you're at work. Not that evenings are any better. People seem more dazed then, more zoned out, the traffic signals are just another 'to do' item on the list and the pesky pedestrians? To hell with them. The general consensus is: Let's speed up when they're trying to cross the road, let's chortle helplessly as they run to beat a traffic light that stays 'walk' for precisely five seconds. Who said life is fair? Yesterday, at the Cubbon Road-M G Road junction, there was the usual mad scramble. . Like a group of well-trained zombies, a group of us obediently scurried to the middle of the road, then we paused, like ballet dancers en pointe, like sprinters strai...

The other day, I got a call from a woman I'd interviewed for a story. She is quite a visible Bangalorean -- often seen in a daily paper's events section. Which is why I'd spoken with her in the first place! Anyways, she said she'd called to invite me to her son's first birthday, to be held at a five-star hotel in two days' time. Call me a stickler for propriety or a stick-in-the-mud, but I'm not the type to attend such bashes. I know many people call it networking, so essential for people in the 'media' especially now that reporters don't just report news, they often make the news themselves. But such events are totally not my scene. So surprised as I was at the invitation, I made my excuses as best as I could, thanked her nicely, wished her a great party and all that. Then she asked: "Don't you do parties?" Out came the reason for her invitation. I did wonder why we were suddenly playing friends and acquaintances and I'd comple...