Desicritics Category: Culture: Valentine

Ishq-Mohabbat-Pyaar-Vyaar: A Tribute to Filmy Love

Seema Dhindaw — Sun, 8 Mar 2009 03:42:39 EDT

Now that the controversies surrounding Valentine’s Day are in the past, I thought it would be fun to have a glimpse at the strange, comic and unusual things that love compels us to do. Catchy toe-tapping Bollywood tunes, the occasional romantic comedy, and sometimes corny poetic expressions have encouraged many of us to perform otherwise unthinkable, highly embarrassing acts of love. We can look back and laugh at spectacles that love or the illusion of it has inspired. The influence of the film industry, particularly Bollywood, hasn’t made matters any easier for those who have been pierced by Cupid’s arrow. In fact, many a times it is the sole culprit for implanting those bizarre and unrealistic ideas about love during those vulnerable, young growing years.

I grew up listening to Hindi film songs and religiously watched one Hindi movie a week with my family. When we were too young to know the implications of romance or love, my brother and I would act out the parts of hero and heroine, using trees at the park to play hide and seek which was followed by a high speed chase. We would eventually find ourselves running towards each other only to end the charade in a playful sibling fight instead of breaking into a song. When we didn’t know lyrics we would make them up. If we didn’t know the steps to a dance, we would choreograph our own crazy moves and our parents would watch sometimes in shock and at other times in dismay.

At home, it often felt like our parents were either villains in our lives or the stars of an ongoing Hrishikesh Mukherji film about complex marriages. When mom got upset over something, dad would sing and dance in a comical attempt to cheer her up. My brother and I would laugh in amusement, squeal in embarrassment or even play along. On Saturday mornings, mom made delicious parathas while melodious tunes played on the weekly Indian radio program. We anxiously counted the minutes, our eyes on the clock for the parathas and for the eagerly awaited weekly Namaste America television program that aired with previews of latest Bollywood movies, top ten songs and sometimes a special treat: an interview with one of the stars. Every week, I had a new crush depending on who was being interviewed and my brother had a new fight scene or dance move to play out. When Prabhudeva came on the screen we lost quite a few porcelain items. One of my first crushes was Salman Khan. I had a shirtless poster of his on the wall of my bedroom. That poster made a long journey with me from a small back alley in Rourkee, India and lived through my teen years in L.A. I remember my cousins hollering at me then for picking Salman over Shah Rukh. Today, if I make it back to Rourkee, I know for sure I will bring back a Shah Rukh poster instead. Tastes have changed.

In my teens, thoughts of how I would meet my knight in shining armor and what he would be like were always at the back of my mind. When I looked at Bollywood films for answers, the romances and love stories were fun and exciting, full of song and dance sequences, offering me hope but none or little practical advice. Hollywood portrayed a completely different perspective. Issues surrounding religion, career, premarital sex and race were at the forefront. Titanic, Father of the Bride, Sliding Doors, Sleepless in Seattle and many of Woody Allen’s films made things either too simple, fairytale-like or way too complex for me to grasp. Movies like Silsila, Lamhe and Chandni gave me hope that even if my soul mate was much older, married, missing after an accident or suffering from a predictable bout of amnesia, somehow miraculously and by defying every righteous principle, moral value and perhaps by way of nothing short of a miracle, he would end up being with me.

After watching Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, the prospect that I could have a guy best friend who would suddenly start to develop feelings for me years later when I grew my hair out, lost some weight and played basketball in a saree was extremely exciting. After a few years of shooting hoops, it didn’t take me long to realize that wasn’t happening. You’ve Got Mail offered hope of a promising fairytale romance which began after meeting a faceless stranger in an internet chat room. Thereafter began my brief and dangerous love affair with virtual chat rooms. I had my share of terrible experiences and realized that in the online world everything wasn’t as perfect or safe as the movies portrayed. As an adult, when I watch my nieces online, I feel a protective urgency come over me.

I slowly began to lose hope of finding my Prince Charming when one day I watched Dil to Pagal Hai. It suddenly all became crystal clear to me. Learning how to dance would lead me to the love of my life. I had to become just like Madhuri Dixit. A famous Kathak teacher was coming to Southern California for two months and taking her class was my only hope. I begged and pleaded with my parents. My dad made a few ill-timed jokes about California being earthquake prone and my mother politely suggested alternate hobbies that did not require much grace or rhythm. But they finally gave in to my childish whims and soon I was practicing tapping my feet to “tha thayi thayi” and undulating hand movements.

I observed in dismay that the Kathak classes were going too slow and I wondered if all this foot-tapping would break into a full-fledged dance any time soon. I figured I would have to be dancing to a song and not just these random beats in order for the love story to proceed smoothly. Nothing of the sort happened of course and the lessons were aborted within six months. I was left dolefully massaging the blisters on my soles.

After watching Maine Pyar Kiya, I turned to my amused parents and asked them if we had family friends that I could visit for a vacation in India. They did! And they even had a son. But as luck would have it, before my flight even took off, their beloved son had announced that he was in love with the girl next door and by then I wasn’t into love triangles any more. So I spent my vacation falling in love….with India and its people.

Recently, Hollywood, after years of criticizing the blatant escapism showcased by the Hindi film industry, finally caved and embraced the rags-to-riches, love story of Slumdog Millionaire. While controversies over the depiction of poverty in Slumdog continue, as an American, I was more taken by the moving story which spans several years and brings us a saga where tragedy, separation, loss and hardship, are all conquered by the one relentless pursuit of love. In India, love trumps all and I felt like this film captured that spirit.

I find consolation in knowing that I wasn’t alone in my filmi craze. Cousins, friends and siblings were also influenced by the love stories in the popular movies of the time. Unrealistic expectations and dreamy romantic ideas had infiltrated their minds as well. They too have sung in the shower, practiced pick up lines in front of a mirror and danced around the room in a towel like Kajol. I remember watching as my cousins practiced the famous pose of Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic, standing on the edge of a balcony above a sea of busy city traffic amidst the beautiful symphony of random honks. Much to my delight, on one trip to India, I helped a cousin plan many a secret rendezvous with her lover. Objections of their being together by their parents didn’t stop them from eventually eloping. The rage and tragic aftermath they faced from their families caused them much grief but their ambitious first steps together set off a trend in the family. Five other elopements followed in quick succesion within the next three years. Inter-cultural, inter-religious and inter-racial marriages were becoming more common. Old barriers fell away over the years. Thanks to inspiration from the popular films of the time, stale prejudices began to dissolve, bringing together soul mates across these divisive lines.

So all in all, these filmi influences have had the power to unite, bring positive change and offer hope to all of us who wait patiently to find that one true love. In addition to the cute, comic and sometimes foolish things that films have inspired all of us to do without their influence, life, both in love and looking for love, would not be as much fun.

Celebrating Love - The Desicritics Valentine's Day Contest Winners

Temple Stark — Thu, 19 Feb 2009 11:41:51 EST

Twenty-one entries discussing, attacking, welcoming love and Valentine's Day. The Desicritics Valentine's Day Contest was also a celebration of diverse writing.

What I found most surprising was this strong animosity toward Valentine's Day written about or felt by the authors.

My focus is quality writing and a good story told; whether that's fiction, opinion or news (AJ's Free Hugs: The Triumph of Love and Peace. As one of the judges, tasked with reading them all - most of them to read again - there were a few who stood out immediately.

Top 5

5. Happy Valentine's Day by Hardik Ruparel --- For deft use of sarcasm in asking, WTF to making people marry to protest India's "adoption" of Valentine's Day.

4. Valentine's Day 2006 --- Deep tension, slightly broken by those who knew she was married but still, a behind-the-curtain peek into what happened to cross the cultural divide - through her fiancé's parents.

3. Poornamadah Poornamidam - You Can't Give Love Away by Meenaksh / Blokesablogin --- Putting the St. Back into St. Valentine's. Ok, not quite, more the author puts a heavy dose of tradition about love and those infamous and famous as a result of how they handled and discussed love themselves. Extremely well written!

2. Valentine, Schmalentine by Deepa Krishnan --- This piece laid out in a very gentle way the discussion surrounding Valentine's Day and its role in India and Desi culture. We fall in the middle of a family conversation and the picture at the end, clearly shows, if we needed any evidence, that love exists without Valentine's Day.

1. My Funny Valentine - Sweet Comic Valentine by Aditi Nadkarni --- A pondering rumination through the river of great stories from her life, everything from a farting dad to, well a farting Valentine's Day card and friends staying up late unknowingly mourning fictional characters. Ms. Nadkarni wrote a piece of friends occupying the love space not yet filled by one person, with a great riff on Platonic Love.

And that was before I saw all the comments, which pulled off the rarest of rare feats; comments numbering above 10 without one being negative. Turns out we all have friends.

Note: Given Aditi's status as an editor, the first and second prizes will be awarded to Deepa Krishnan and Meenakshi/Blokesablogin. Thanks Aditi, we owe you six cents:)

Honorable mentions:

Joseph Thomas (Jo) for a song - yes a song!!! (Valentine Day's Song - Let Them Sleep - that he arranged and sung himself. Top effort. It's not quite my speed of music but inspiration clearly hit him right between the ventricles.

Deepti Lamba, for her volume of posts and for touching on so many different angles - humor, familial love, eternal, dark - of the unfathomable but irresistible.

All the entries for the Valentine's Day contest can be found here. Winners will be mailed their coupons. Congratulations and thanks for expressing your views.

Free Hugs: The Triumph of Love and Peace

AJ — Sun, 15 Feb 2009 06:52:36 EST

One of the highlights of the past few weeks have been the Mangalore pub beating incident by the Shree Ram Sene activists. For those hiding under a rock, a bunch of goons physically assaulted girls who were simply enjoying themselves in a pub in Mangalore. All in the name of maintaining Indian culture and preventing the proliferation of Western Culture.

Soon after that, with the imminence of Valentine's Day and to gain more political mileage out of their actions, the group declared that they would "Marry Off" any couple found enjoying themselves.

This declaration probably had the exact opposite affect of their aim. The attack coupled with this declaration resulted in the kind of backlash, from the political to the student to the working people to even the autowallahs pledging support for the Valentine's day revelers.

Not just that, multiple groups sprung up overnight to protest against Shri Ram Sene, it's leader Pramod Muthalik and the moral police. The Pink Chaddi campaign, The Pub Bharo aandolan, the Walk for Love and the Hug Karo, Pub Bharo aandolan all decided to exercise their freedom and civil rights and protest against those who threaten it.

I got a chance to participate in the Hug Karo, Pub Bharo aandolan. It was organized mainly by the Blogaloreans (Bangalore Bloggers group). While there was no Pub Bharo, there was a lot of Hugging in the aandolan.

About 4 of us assembled initially at the corner of Brigade Road-MG Road at about 3 PM of Valentine's Day with posts saying:

- Free Hug
- Happy Valentine's Day
- Dear Daughter, Wish you a fear free society (Get well soon Mamu)

and similar messages.

As we stood there, in one of the busiest streets in Bangalore, people passed us by looking at us curiously but not venturing to show their support by giving or receiving a free hug.

A lot of the younger generation (read MY generation) eventually understood our purpose and came to us either to encourage us or to hug us.

(The initial Hug Karo group)

(The final group when more people had joined us out of enthusiasm)

Though we did not keep a steady count, I'm quite certain that our group gave out at least 50-70 hugs which considering the small group was a pretty good number. However, the entire time, all of us felt that people were hesitant to come for a hug, that they were skeptical of our motives and were simply embarrassed. But a lot of them also showed support, giving us thumbs up, coming and giving us tight hugs or general words of encouragement and praise. That kept us heartened and energised to go at it for close to 2-1/2 hours.

However, what was most important was that we touched so many people, put our point across to the so called moral police and all this in a peaceful process.

We also received media coverage from Deccan Chronicle, TV 9 and other independent journalists and photographers.

Some More pics (courtesy Sanjukta):

Finally, a group has collated various videos of of the protests in Bangalore for Valentine's day and against the Moral police. Visit their youtube channel to view the videos

Love

Maiji — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 10:48:59 EST

Love is eternal, love is universal, love is God, love is also selflessness.

The story 'Gift of the Magi' by O. Henry, is an ideal example for this. I am sure everyone must have read this story. For those who have not, here is a short summary. A young couple, very much in love, but very poor, got married and were happy together. For their first Christmas, they each wanted to give the other what he or she wanted most, or wished to have. The girl's pride and joy was her long and beautiful hair. She had often seen a hair clip in a shop display, and wished she could buy it. The young man had a pocket watch given to him by his father which he valued very much, and hoped to buy a chain for it some day when he could afford it. Each one wanted to fulfil the other's wish. So the girl had her long hair cut, sold it to the wigmaker, and with that money she bought the watch chain for her husband, had it packed and ready for him. The young man sold his watch and bought the hair clip his wife had been admiring. And when each saw the other's gift they were so moved at the depth of love that had prompted such great sacrifices.

This kind of love is so selfless, caring and wanting to fulfil only the loved one's need. .

There are different kinds of love - the love a mother feels for her child, which is different from the love a father feels for the child. They both want to give and do the best they can afford. They are both ready to sacrifice everything and anything for the child's sake - the mother taking care of the child's present needs and at times fanciful wishes, whereas the father sacrifices his luxuries to give his children a good education and a happy worry -less future. The bonding between brothers and sisters is also a certain kind of love, ready to help one another in any situation, even at risk to oneself.

The love between man and woman started with Adam and Eve, and will go on for ever, as long as there are Adams and Eves. This is a passionate love, wanting to be in each other's company all the time, not willing to share or include anyone else. A saying in Thamizh goes, which translated means 'Desire lasts for 60 days and infatuation for 30 days" (Aasai 60 naal, moham muppathu naal' ). Love goes beyond all this. This kind of love which is from the heart lasts for ever. There is a Chinese saying, "Love marriage is like a kettle full of boiling water. With time this will become tepid, whereas an arranged marriage is a kettle full of cold fire set on a slow fire, to get to boiling point. This means the love will go on forever. In the bygone days there were child marriages with the couple growing up together in all phases of life. And when they reach old age, their love for each other is evident in all their spoken words and caring actions. My own parents stayed married for 70 years. I know how much they cared and respected each other's feelings and thoughts. This did not mean they had no verbal fights or disagreements. Their love for each other was above all this.

Another couple, who were our friends, was the Warriers. Theirs was a love marriage in the 1940s. I have never seen a couple like them, so soft-spoken with each other, always caring for each other's needs, and thye stayed married till the end. An ideal love story.

Love for animals is another kind of love. Children who love pets are willing to go to any lengths to safeguard them. I remember how my granddaughters Parvati and Swati grieved when their father decided to give away Simba, one of their dogs, Simba, because he was a half-breed. They both, just young children, cried so much, that he had to drop the idea.

There are also cases of animals loving their masters so much that they are willing to die for them, and with them. I remember reading in the newspapers how an elephant sensing his mahout was dead, stood by his side day and night without food and water, till he too dropped dead. An Arab went on a mission on his horse. While returning, far from home, he head a heart attack and died. The horse brought the dead Arab home, not by carrying him on his back, but by holding his master by the belt with his teeth. Once he reached home, the horse too fell dead. A horse can go for miles with people riding him, but cannot carry anyone with his teeth.
How much the horse must have loved his master.

Love for one's homeland is another aspect in this wide word - LOVE. You must have heard of the small Dutch boy who kept his country from being flooded by plugging the hole in the dyke with his finger for a whole night, till help came in the morning.

Love is Bhakthi - devotion to God, where the person forgets every need, and lives only to worship and serve God. There are many examples - to name a few, Kabir, Surdas, Tulsidas, Meera, Thyagaraja and Andal. All of them served god by singing His praises.

Love is all-embracing, ever forgiving, ever remembering, ever thinking of doing good to the loved ones, ever omnipotent, and that is God.

Love is God.

Valentine, Schmalentine

Deepa Krishnan — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 05:59:15 EST

At breakfast yesterday, my daughter put down the newspaper in irritation.

"What's all this fuss about saving 'Indian culture', anyway?", she said. "Shouldn't we be more worried about poverty and hunger?"

She was referring to the ongoing brouhaha over Valentine's Day. The press is full of it - there are those who say festivals like these are foreign transplants, which destroy Indian culture. There are those who stoutly defend the right of people to adopt whatever culture they like, whether it is Western or otherwise.

It's not just Valentine's Day, but also other Western influences that irk many Indians. Many of us are bewildered by Bollywood videos of near-naked women gyrating to 'disco' songs. Where did these come from, we wonder, these images that are almost soft porn? While the lyrics are Hindi, the setting is undoubtedly Western. The actors toss down tequila shots, the music has strong Western influences, and there's not a salwar kameez in sight.

Parents and teachers are also coping with the spread of McDonalds, the increasing absorption with skinny bodies, the new mall culture, the alienation of children from their traditions, the growing incidence of divorce, the popularity of chat sites...somehow, all of these are perceived to be the results of the increasing influence of the West (read America) on the world.

My husband looked up from the sports section that he was reading.

"I can see why they want to stop this Westernisation", he smiled. "I half want to stop it myself!" (this from a very liberal man who loves jazz and the blues and thinks no party is complete without scotch whisky!)

"Ah?" I said, vastly amused. "And why is that?"

"Cultural exchange is great", he said. "But this is all so one-way! How come so little of Indian culture gets exported in the other direction?"

I thought it was a very interesting perspective. If the West celebrated Indian festivals the way we celebrate theirs, perhaps people wouldn't feel so threatened? Perhaps if Holi became a popular world festival, we'd learn to take Valentine's Day in our stride!

Anyway, this whole conversation went on and on, the three of us argued the merits of preserving and documenting culture, the rate at which cultural change happens today, historical trends, and all sorts of other interesting things. Finally, we all agreed, like the sensible family we are, that change is inevitable, and we must change with the times; adopting some changes and ignoring some.

Last night, my husband boarded a flight for Chennai, where he is spending this weekend with his parents. Today is Valentine's Day. I haven't wished him, and he hasn't wished me. Looks like I'm not changing my ways on this and neither is he.

No Valentine-Schmalentine for THIS couple!

Poessay: Rosary 25 - pink flamingos, yellow roses, dark clouds

temporal — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 01:15:32 EST

credit CSM

yeh din bhee achcha din hay

aankh khhuli tou dekha oosko

woh jaan leva muskurahat

labouN per khil ga’aee

gulabi jaRa, pink winter nahin

indian summer ka din

her din say mukhtalif

her sheh, pyar maiN ghar’q

***

in the once lush vale, the clouds

carry hate to the desert

of expectations

cowering children play

with expectant dogs and cats

it is a world of animals and

runny-nosed children, their parents

breathing, but long since dead/departed

in search of made to order gods

that can fight their demons

***

chandni chalakhty hay

m’gar in badliouN main

thandak nahiN, aag hay

ik ameer des maiN bani

aag, teesri duniya kay

baasiouN kay liyaye

(moonlight cascades

through the fiery clouds

the benevolent fury

made in the first world

for the third)

***

over morning brew

she brought with that smile

we read about pink flamingos

and undies

political ploys and plays

and move to sports

while listening

for the traffic report

Earlier:
Poessay: Rosary 1 - Pink Sand Beach
Poessay: Rosary 2 - Fishing
Poessay: Rosary 3 - Adam and Eve Limited - I
Poessay: Rosary 4 - Adam and Eve Limited - II
Poessay: Rosary 5 - Descending
Poessay: Rosary 6 - Dinner In The Park
Poessay: Rosary 7 - Under the Jamun Tree
Poessay: Rosary 8 - Voices In The Air
Poessay: Rosary 9 - Life Rosary I
Poessay: Rosary 10 - Life Rosary II
Poessay: Rosary 11 - Creating In Isolation
Poessay: Rosary 12 - Kohled Eyes
Poessay: Rosary 13 - By the Lake
Poessay: Rosary 14 - Snow Flakes
Poessay: Rosary 15 - The Drop
Poessay: Rosary 16 - Ageless Quest - tishnagi
Poessay: Rosary 17 - Hemashree
Poessay: Rosary 18 - burning blazing fire rages
Poessay: Rosary 19 - Word Whirlpool - BhaNwur LafzouN Ka
Poessay: Rosary 20 - Thanksgiving I

Poessay: Rosary 21 - KhamOshi - Wordless

Poessay: Rosary 22 - A Simple Poem

Poessay: Rosary 23 - Musings
Poessay: Rosary 24 - Monologue

My Funny Valentine - Sweet Comic Valentine

Aditi Nadkarni — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 00:22:52 EST

There is something to be said about friends. I mean, they give us their all without expectation. At least mine do. I have friends who will listen to me yap about everything from completely transitory issues such as missing periods or acne to permanent problems that I suddenly have become aware of such as world peace and intolerance. They will never tell me that I am boring them and will loyally stifle yawns. None of them expect rings or a gift, much less a flower bouquet.

They will be completely fine if I don't call them for Valentine's Day or might even be slightly embarrassed if I do. I can just imagine my friend whisper a quick "Hmm, wish you the same but are you trying to murder my love life?" when I scream "Happy Valentine's Day!" through telephone lines while he is trying to chat up a cute girl who having heard my loud Valentine's Day wishes walked away quickly excusing herself.

Now, don't get me wrong, I love them dearly but my family can drive me nuts because, lets face it, that is their job. A year before turning thirty, I have come to accept that as a woman I will forever disappoint my mother. That's it. I feel better just having made that admission. Let me elaborate. My dad once told me of a doctor in his locality who they later discovered was somewhat of a quack. No matter what ailment one brought to Dr.Kamat, he would immediately ask them to stop drinking tea.

"But doctor I don't drink tea" the patient would sometimes respond.

"Ok so don't drink coffee" Dr.Kamat would tell him distractedly, filling out a generic prescription that everybody received unless they were having a heart attack in which case, Dr.Kamat's drunk compounder quickly shoved them into a taxi and sent them to the nearest hospital.

"Umm I don't drink coffee either doctor" the patient would tell him, hoping this information would give Dr.Kamat some brilliant insight into what was causing his affliction.

"You must drink something no....juice, cola, something. Stop drinking that" Dr.Kamat would snap at the confused patient. The poor man would nod and walk away with his prescription wondering why drinking his wife's nimbu sharbat had resulted in such a terrible case of butt-acne.

My mother is like Dr. Kamat.

"Are you drinking enough water?" she will ask without occasion

"Yes mom, I am drinking water all the friggin time" I respond in my high-pitched whiny "talkin-to-mom" voice

"Maybe you shouldn't drink too much water. You should drink a bit less. Too much water is also probably not good" she'll say.

"What's with your skin? Are you going out too much in the sun?" she'll comment, putting on her glasses, her keen stare making me squirm

"I rarely go out. I am always in the office or in lab. What are you talking about?" I answer with a shrug, rubbing my cheeks and forehead as if hoping for the tan to come off.

"Maybe that's what it is. If you stay cooped up at home, you don't get enough sun. You need some sunlight." And so on.

So basically no matter what I say, I'm screwed.

My dad is mostly neutral. But sometimes his neutrality is like that of Aishwarya Rai's where you just want to scream "Dude, say something!"

He once read my short story and I sat waiting in front of him, with baited breath to hear some feedback. He finished reading, took his glasses off and got up. I thought maybe he would walk over to me and pat my back. No such thing happened. I followed him inside until he walked into the bathroom. I stood outside only to hear him fart. That was my feedback.

Lets not even talk about extended family. They care so much for you that they have decidedly compartmentalized your life and now have inquiry committees set up for each section. Reproductivity, weight and marital status make up the three big departments and by the end of this concerned scrutiny, you are half the person you once were.

So that leaves us with friends. And it leaves our friends with this beaten down version of us, to deal with our woes, to lift our trampled self-esteem, to assuage our tested patience and soothe our hurt feelings.

Last year, I had to have surgery and just before they wheeled me into the OR, my friend's face loomed over my bed. She held a cell phone in her hand and was taking a picture.

"OMG, what are you doing?" I asked her, nervous in the anticipation of my first surgery ever, my face pink in embarrassment.

"Smile" she said loudly, as doctors and nurses looked on wondering whether or not to tell her that this was not allowed.

"Come on...just one picture, you look hot in that surgery robe and the blue cap" she told me as I smiled into the cell phone feeling like a complete moron.

When I woke up several hours later and suddenly threw up she was already holding the vomit-pan as if waiting for the puke to fly.

"Oh yeah baby!" she said victoriously as if she had caught a frisbee in the pan, "the doctor said you'd be nauseous from the anesthesia" she told me when I looked up confused wondering how she had managed to just be ready for such an unwarranted bout.

Men make amazing friends. They believe that disagreements or fights end when the phone call comes to an end. Can you imagine? One day we have a heated argument and so during the next conversation I try acting all aloof hoping he'll get the hint and apologize. He just chuckles and chortles while telling me about this colleague who was caught looking at some weird porn at work. A few minutes later, I sheepishly realize that he has completely forgotten about any fight whatsoever and even wonder if I had imagined the whole heated argument we'd had two days ago. Now I am starting to get the hang of it. This attitude keeps the friendship child-like and therefore stress-free.

A few years ago I received a V's Day card from a friend. I was surprised. He hated mushy V's day crap and had told me so, many times. I opened the e-card at work and a big blue cloud turned into a pink heart and floated around. And just as I wondered what the hell had happened to my perfectly wry friend, the large pink-heart balloon turned into a humongous, burly, pink, dimpled ass and whats more, it loudly farted. This time I turned pink and wanted to float away as colleagues looked on when the audible offensive rip came from the general direction of my desk area.

In his personalized note he wrote: "Had to show you this hilarious card. I knew you'd laugh". I did.

My roommate and I are the best of friends. I am a Harry Potter fan. She is not. One night, I read late into the night and wept when at roughly 3 am, I found out that Professor Dumbledore had died. That poor, poor, dear old man with his soft beard, I thought, crying into my pillow. I can get weird like that. I will have pent up sorrow that will suddenly be unleashed by stray occurrences, ranging from watching tragic films to hearing Talat Mehmood's ghazals. Anyways, so my roommate heard me weep and came over worried, her sleepy eyes trying to focus on my face in the dark.

"Whats the matter, why are you crying?" she asked me, blinking rapidly, her voice hoarse and heavy with sleep.

"Professor Dumbledore died" I told her mumbling. I don't know what she heard but she immediately put her arms around me

"Aww, how did he die....I'm so sorry to hear that" she cooed

"I don't know" I wept. I probably had been repressing some weird grief that Dumbledore's death had now released.

"Was it an accident? How did the professor die?" she asked her face a picture of concern

"No, that asshole murdered him" I told her as she brought me tissues and wiped my face.

"with his wand" I added, my lip still quivering and she frowned.

"Murder! With his wand? Wait, did you say wand? Wand?!" she stammered, her eyebrows knitted in confusion

"Yeah you know he used this curse and..."

"Which professor is this again? This isn't the professor who taught you Maths who you adored?" she asked, rubbing her eyes, her lips pursed, now fully awake and suddenly having spotted the Harry Potter book on my bed.

When she found out that she had been helping me mourn the death of a character, from a Harry Potter book, she could have fumed, rolled her eyes and walked away, back to bed.

"You are such a drama queen!" she could have told me and dismissed me. I expected her to do that.

Instead she sighed and sat down beside me.

"Don't worry. It's not the last book. He'll come back in the next one...just watch" she told me, with a grave philosophical expression, tucking me in and giving me hope. Professor Dumbledore's death had most likely just been a trigger for some other anguish I had suppressed and even though it found vent in the most odd fashion, she was still there for me.

Two of my very best friends are guys. I have known them since I was a tomboyish teenager. They are quintessential men who love sports, cars and beer. But for my sake, they spent a whole day at Butterfly World in Florida just because it made me happy and I had been feeling low. They had probably wanted to go the beach and watch beautiful, tanned bikini-clad beauties. Instead, they stood patiently in Butterfly World, their hands in their pockets, with tight, uncomfortable smiles, while I clicked pictures and annoying little kids ran around everywhere screaming. They tried very hard to not swat the pretty butterflies that settled down sometimes on their shoulders and hair and even gave me enthusiastic nods and a thumbs-up when I fed two parakeets on my palm.

"Please do not show these pictures to other people" they told me quietly, as we left Butterfly World and headed straight to a sports bar where macho-ism can be painlessly revived.

When I finish a good book, I call them. When I am depressed, I call them and I later find out that they had walked out of a movie theater to talk me out of my blues. When I see a great movie, I talk them into watching it and argue with them when they tell me they hated it. St.Valentine has blessed the celebration of love with his name. Similarly, Plato has blessed friendships between the genders with his name but nobody seems too keen on celebrating Plato's Day. Maybe my post will start a new wave for Plato's Day and annoy those angry Senas even more.

Sadly, in case of Platonic friendships, sometimes I feel like I am on this long wait until the guy's wife comes into his life one day and refuses to see how this friendship of his could be "proper". I spend my days fearing that one day, my best friend will turn into somebody's husband, that one day his wife will claim that him and I are just too close for her comfort. It scares me that this one whim might decide the future of a friendship that I have cherished since I was a teenager. These people are the only witnesses who knew the original me. They knew the person before the cynicism of age and experience set in and they heard the laughter that grew inhibited with every passing year. I once told one of them about this recurring nightmare where he and his wife meet me at the mall years later and he refuses to acknowledge me because she might get offended. At the end of my narration, I waited for his reaction. I waited for him to tell me that I was panicking for no reason and this it was a thoroughly stupid paranoia. And instead he giggled.

"Was she hot...my wife in your nightmare?" he asked me cackling at his own joke as I groaned and protested his ill-timed humor. I was secretly glad that he had made light of the situation; how else could I have ever laughed in the face of such credible fear.

Come to think of it, it is even harder for two girls to stay friends through all the numerous life changes. Two women who are such good friends that they are more than sisters, in the United States, are either pronounced gay or are Gayle...and Oprah.

Marriages, romance, children, jobs, geography and in the face of all the chaos, change and exhaustion is the steady, scaffold, the pillar of a good strong friendship that keeps us all going. So I have decided that I won't wait for Friendship Day to come along and pass by unnoticed. This Valentine's Day, I raise a toast and a cupcake with pink frosting to the ones that keep me sane through all the insanity and yet manage to bring in ample craziness when things get more serious than they should. This Valentine's Day I celebrate this one love that hardly ever gets celebrated and the deep affection we have for the unsung heroes of our busy lives.

Here's to you, my friend, my funny, crazy Valentine.

Happy Valentine's Day

Hardik Ruparel — Fri, 13 Feb 2009 11:47:30 EST

Happy Valentine's Day INDIA !

This year, as young couples gear up to spend the day which is supposed to be a holy day for lovers, as they express their love to each other by giving each other Valentines, which are usually heart shaped cut out cards, or cakes, biscuits etc.

Now which part of this did the moral police feel "not in tune with Indian culture". As some reports suggest, in some states, couples that are caught hanging out together will be forced to get married off to each other!

Wow! I'm so proud to be Indian right now. I love this moment so much I wish I could marry it and spend the rest of my life with it ! (Thanks Dr. Cox)

I really feel for these moral policemen. When cute young couples get caught, you know what they should do? No not give him the finger !! He doesn't understand that! They should give him one tight hug. So he feels loved. Because it's nothing but insecurity leading these policemen on such paths in life. Forcing people to confess that they're lovers. It's all because they lack love in life. So just hug them and make them feel loved. Only then they shall understand the true meaning of V-Day.

And Mr. Muthalik really needs a big teddy bear. I have half a mind to send him a big huge teddy with a heart in the middle. I don't care what he does with it. Let him treat it as an effigy and burn it. Who gives a damn. That's just his way of showing love. We should remember that everyone is expressive in their own ways.

So next time you're with your boyfriend/girlfriend and get caught, do as I said. Or just tell him you're siblings. And it would take him to call you a very bad word to get you caught. And if he asks for proof, you're lucky if your lover has a surname same as you, or just look for the nearest exit !

So please feel for these moral policemen. They don't have anyone to celebrate V-Day with. Let "LOVE UNCONDITIONALLY" be the motto for this V-DAY, and celebrate the spirit of St. Valentine

In the Pink on Valentine's Day

Sonal Panse — Fri, 13 Feb 2009 05:42:46 EST

Happy Valentine's Day everybody!!!

This has probably been the best build up to Valentine's Day in recent times. The usual 'break shops, bash up couples' routine was getting so predictable. We needed something new. Something muthalikally new.

And then we got it.

I've been following The Pink Chaddi Campaign and the reactions to it with unreserved delight.

I'm happy with the amount of support pouring in. It was high time.

I'm not surprised with the amount of scorn and abuse pouring in. Nor ruffled by it. Freedom of expression after all works both ways. Besides as some one once said, nobody kicks a dead dog.

But I must say, if you had to give points for creativity here, the Pink gals and guys win hands down.

All the detractors have done is regurgitated the usual spiel - 'unDignified', 'unIndian' and 'unCultured'. Or they have turned copycats and started a campaign on pink condoms. In short, low on creativity, high on inspiration. Very Indian, that. Or rather very Bollywood. Or to be very precise, very some people in Bollywood (because I don't want to take due appreciation away from creative and talented Bollywood people like Farhan Akhtar and Zoya Akhtar, whose 'Luck By Chance' was such a wonderfully entertaining film).

I support the Pink Chaddi Campaign. Not because, as Sagarika Ghosh of the Hindustan Times implies, I want to be like the "characters from Sex In The City". I don't. And neither do I, as she suggests everyone ought to, want to "emulate Sarojini Naidu and Jawaharlal Nehru".

I'm happy being MY OWN PERSON, and I will like to continue being so without any interference from any "cultural custodians".

If I want to wear noodle straps and jeans, it's because I want to. Not because of some dumb TV show.

If I want to wear a sari, it's because I want to. Not because of some Nehruvian ideal.

If I don't drink or go to a pub, it's because I don't like the taste of alcohol and I don't like this form of socializing. Not because of any regard for 'Indian Culture'.

If I don't celebrate Valentine's Day, it's because I'm not a sentimental person. Again, not because of any regard for 'Indian Culture'. And neither from any horror of the 'commercial aspect' of V-Day. I'm an extremely commercial-minded person, actually. And I love it when people spend on cards and stuff. Spells riches and riches for designers like me.

Anyway.

Indian Culture or any other culture does not need to be guarded or preserved. It needs to BREATHE. It needs to lighten up, develop some SENSE OF HUMOR.

Otherwise it just turns into a ritual-riddled, shackled fossil. And as another wit said, beware of sacred cows that can't MOO (laugh).

Being undignified is better than being a humbug, toeing the line on dated principles from ancient texts. Never mind the ancient sages and the ancient times. That over-flogged bleat about being a cultured lot centuries and centuries ago doesn't give anyone the license to skip being cultured in the present age.

Being cultured = Being tolerant, being broad-minded, being more concerned with improving oneself rather than imposing on other people, being intelligent enough to understand that respecting national property is more praiseworthy than going over the bend about national symbols.

The whole point is PERSONAL FREEDOM.

Now my personal freedom ends where your nose begins.

Not when your "sentiments" starts hurting.

Valentine's Day 2006

smallsquirrel — Thu, 12 Feb 2009 15:49:35 EST

I knew it wasn't going to be easy. In fact, I was terrified in a way that I had never felt before. I was all dressed up in my brand new salwaar suit, hair neatly pulled back into a clip, with barely a shred of makeup on my face. My fiance was recounting the plot of some Bollywood film he'd seen years ago just so he could keep himself from thinking. I was staring out the window looking at the shops with my thoughts flying past and then coming to a dead halt. This could be the beginning of my new life, or it could be a colossal disaster.

We were in a taxi on the way to his parents' home. We were hoping to get their blessings for our marriage. A firang and the good baby son of every-day, working, middle-class Kannadigas. Who would have thought? Well, certainly not his parents when he told them less than a month before my arrival. They bargained, they argued, they ignored. They persuaded, they cried, they stonewalled. But the day had arrived. I was real, and I was coming for tea at 3 PM sharp.

Everyone knew it wasn't really a friendly kind of visit. There would be no friendly banter, no cheerful "getting to know you" banter. It was an audition. It was a chess game. Both sides felt they had a lot to lose, and no one knew exactly what to expect.

The taxi arrived at the compound gate. I wiped the sweat from my upper lip, got out of the car and adjusted my dupatta. I saw heads pop out from terraces all down the block, and I felt the humid air grow still. The door opened and we were invited inside. I stepped over some faded rangoli and entered a darkened hallway.

I wanted to look around, take in the childhood home of the man I was in love with. I had pictured this place in my mind so often, and it was nothing like I had imagined. There were pictures in the showcase, and I wanted to see them desperately, but this was not the time to get up and explore. My fiance spoke in Kannada asking his mom to come out from the kitchen. His father sat at the table with perfect posture in his shirt and dhoti. He looked kind enough, but he was not smiling. I sat in a small but comfortable chair, and my fiance sat in an identical one. We were separated by an end table that held two old phones and a bronze Nataraja.

The mother came out with tea, and she would not meet my eyes. We all held our metal tumblers and sipped in silence. I was almost overcome with a desire to run right out the door, past the small but neatly kept garden and back out to the main road where I could surely find an auto.

Finally the father spoke, and the interrogation began. He asked about divorce in my family, and my education. He asked about my views on marriage, how I argue, my religion, my flexibility with change, my work history. He asked about my ability to cook and my views on non-veg food in the home. He never once moved from his position at the table except to cross and uncross his legs, and his expression never changed.

He asked about our plans for children, so my fiance and I spoke about how we planned to raise children while honoring both cultures. I explained that I was already from a multi-cultural background, and so while there were certainly things to take into consideration, it was not impossible. The mother remained silent, and looked out the window, the pallu of her sari folded neatly around her like a shield. She asked me nothing, and seemed to not even be paying attention. Then the father asked "How do you think this will work?"

"I am going to move here." I said resolutely. This was solution that clearly neither parent had considered. There was a very heavy pause. The mother seemed to hold her breath while the father breathed a long sigh, stood up and held out both hands with his palms turned upward.

"OK then!" he said, smiling. "You seem to have thought this through. Anything you need, you let us know. We will help to pay for the wedding if you require it." The mother's eyes darted at him in disbelief. I could tell that she had not counted on this turn of events. And now it was done, he had given his blessings. It could not be undone. He said namaskara, and excused himself. It was time for pooja. There was nothing more to discuss.

The mother walked us to the door. I thanked her for her hospitality, and told her I would see her soon. She said something to her mystified son as I walked into the garden, head spinning. I watched the people on the terraces lean back out to watch us go. The maid, who had been silently listening from the back of the house, ran off through the gate to go spread the amazing news.

It was done. I was getting married. I looked up at the hazy Bangalore sky and smirked a quick thank you at God.