The human circus

I have come to realise something, of course about myself, so have no clue if it'll interest you in the least or not but thats beside the point.  I am passionate about writing and photography, probably why I want to be a war correspondent someday (all of us are allowed to pamper our dreams and think of the impossible).  Herein lies the irony - while I photograph people horribly, am most inspired to be my usual self while writing about people.  Well, since writing is the order of the day right now, here's a toast to all the interesting creatures ambling across the hallway at the departure gate.

The chic-chick - I am a guy, a chick has to be the first living thing I will notice, so spare me the judgmental shake of the head.  Book in hand, with a bookmark almost midway, clearly thoughtfully placed there to give the impression she has been poring over the rather gripping issues of the novel for quite some time now and is totally entranced by the author's style and delivery.  Sporadic mobile checks in case the phone magically went into silent mode and she missed a call or a message, even more irregular is the frequency with which she opens the book at the bookmarked page and completely unbelievable the way she flips a page in the time by which it is humanly possible to be have read only 2 sentences!  I don't blame her in any way for putting up a front, don't we all.  Am not a saint myself with earphones in my ears pretending to be listening to some heavy metal when what's really playing is Gravity by John Mayer. ;)

The wannabe-chic-chick - These variety come in a close second to the above category, much like the cheap Nike knock-offs you can easily get hold of at the Customs Good shops.   There are a few elementary mistakes these amateurs make in trying to be a part of the "elite gang".  Firstly, unlike the chic girls, who make sure their book seems ribbed at the edge and used, these girls carry around a brand new book without bothering to give it a look of ownership, a dead giveaway to even the most ignorant of observers.  Second, they buy themselves coffee at the Lipton outlet - blasphemy, as a chic-chick you are allowed to only be sipping at coffee that has a brand clearly showing on the outside of the cup and the least you can settle for is CCD, no offence to the brand intended.  The list goes on but one significant piece of information they miss out on is the shoes - chic-chicks don't need to flaunt good shoes - its all about comfort.  They know guys look at only the face and well elsewhere, so might as well be comfy with the feet and give them their well-deserved rest.  The wannabes fail to understand that and want to present themselves as the complete package in the process losing out as they look more clumsy than raunchy trying to stabilise themselves on the heels.

The banungi-main-Miss-India - I do not know where the innocence we used to associate with childhood went, but it just feels like my generation missed out on what the new gen-X or gen-Y whatever they call themselves, now considers as "hip'n'happening".  I have right opposite me a young girl of not more than 12 years of age wearing what would be deemed as censorable by Ms. Asha Parekh if she ever got into moral policing of the society.  It is an age of Westernisation, agreed.  We have gone beyond our reservations against women's liberties, agreed.  But there is that very fine line between liberation and outright disobedience.  Grace and shyness is what makes our women and girls ever so fragile and effervescent in their essence.  Am not an orthodox believer in women's suppression, but I am one of those who still thinks that the sexiest garment ever to adorn the female form remains the saree.  I am one of those who believes that 12 is too young an age to let your daughter flaunt almost half her belly to on-looking middle-aged men, more interested in that exposed skin than the innocence that sprinkles around as she playfully plays throwball with her younger brother.  There is a time when she would want to glamourise and accessorise, but this is not the age.  Hell 12 is not even allowable age to enter the beauty pageant.  People must have some sense of cognisance to have placed that rule into effect! ;)

The arranged-marriage couple - Being at the turn of my life when am being pushed into the whirlpool of arranged marriages more and more vehemently by my mom and dad, I probably seek out couples I can judge and measure for myself the feasibility of getting into such a predicament.  The husband, sitting cross-legged, usually the left over the right, newspaper in hand, flipped over to the business page, no longer is sports the mainstay of the paper, deeply engrossed at a weird angle as if with invisible specs on the tip of his nose.  The wife, sitting in a slouched position, usually to his right, and preferably at the corner seat or an empty seat between her and the next passenger, bored out of her wits, looking at her nails if from a city or mostly at her feet if from a smaller town.  Hardly any words are exchanged between the two, except for when the wife tries to make a vain attempt at small talk quoting a mildly objectionable remark from one of the relatives they had visited over the weekend or a common friend who was getting involved with something dicey.  The husband lets go of the paper only when the final boarding call comes through, leaving the wife to lead the way and trailing behind close to her almost stepping on her flat sandals, over-protective as if every guy with spiked up hair and a laptop listening to music and typing away frantically is a stalker out there to molest his wife!

Final boarding call for the Jet Airways flight to Mumbai .. the rest will come once am in Mumbai .. taking notes till then! ;)