Wednesday, 19 November 2008


The title may suggest a cheesy, perhaps intimate confession of my personal life…something like an outburst from me declaring an undying love for some guy. If that was your aim--that of finding intimate details of my personal life--for reading this post (or my blog for that matter) you will find yourselves disappointed. In this post, I’m merely observing & analyzing the stereotypical wants & desires many of us have, or atleast, literature & movies (read: popular culture) says we have.

When I talk about the popular culture, I talk about the current popular culture. That of the “urban India”. And strictly not about anything from the Bronte sisters’ league.

Over an off-hand discussion over friends, I realized that a lot of assumptions are made about what a standard person wants and desires in the opposite sex. Which is funny, because, many at times, these assumptions work (Yeah, like why else do you think books & movies with absolutely no story sell?). Maybe these are internalization by the mass from the popular culture…a clever ploy set by those in the business of making money out of literally thin air. Or maybe its just, a plain, simple truth.

Once Hugzy was diligently reading a book review in the newspaper, while Squirrel & I chose to sip cold coffee. Hugzy, rather happily, told about a certain book where the dream guy (it was a chick-lit) played the guitar.
Why is every dream a guy a guitar strumming hillie-billie?” I scoffed.
Hugzy pondered over it and said, “Its supposed to be cool. Guitar strumming hille-billie & a soccer player.”
“No, but what does happen if there is a cute guy in real life who happens to play the drums & cricket?” I wanted to know. “Do they not have a right to be loved because no girl wants to have them read in a book or seen in a movie?”
Squirrel laughed at my heightened emotions. Hugzy & I joined in.

But I’m serious. I have absolutely nothing against any guitar strumming hillie-billie. They are very nice people with their hearts in the right places. And the guitar happens to be a very nice instrument. Nor do I hold any grudge against soccer or have any favorable bias towards cricket (indeed, I don’t even understand cricket). But seriously! Everyone cannot just happen to a) find a cute guy (read: chocolate boy) who is always there for you, with these amazing eyes (always!!) and this funny way of pulling your leg & b) find that same guy to be a not just a guitarist, but a good guitarist!

And for the guys. Ah. The Bimbo. Always the Bimbo. Very pretty. Very sexy. Very popular. Always surrounded by friends. Very lonely. Very nice deep down inside. However, despite all these virtues, she is mad enough to fall for the loser of a protagonist who isn’t good-looking, has no charming personality, does not indulge in any co-curricular activities & off-late, isn’t even good at studies.
Only, the catch is, in real life, Bimbos aren’t that stupid nor do even the most pretty girls just happen to find a guitar strumming hillie-billie who is cute.


Wednesday, 12 November 2008

Logic...Or The Lack Of It?

I know these are not among the things I should be noticing when the countdown to CAT is nearing an end (4 days to go!!). But me being me, I did. And found it beyond stupid.

This is what my logic book said:
In Logic, we deal with statements that are essentially sentences in English. But, in Logic, we are not interested in or worried about the factual correctness of that sentence. So, it can be "The sun rises in the west...".

Logic does not deal with the logic of the statement! Logical indeed! =)

Tuesday, 4 November 2008

The Perfect Guy

I just did what I thought of doing two days back. I was sitting with Hugzy at Mithas, eating the ever famous grilled cheese sandwich, and we, for some odd reason, were discussing “love”. Love as in Love love. We ended up talking about the ever gallant Knight In Shining Armour (God save the poor bloke!) and the respective Damsel In Distress.

“You know the Perfect Guy, Anya, is different for every person,” Hugzy said with a aura of profound wisdom.
I nodded, munching chips.
“Like you obviously think that your Perfect Guy would be someone who’s,” Hugzy told me, “a gentleman.”
“Mr. Darcy,” I summed it up in two words.
“Yes, but Anya,” Hugzy, not quite liking Mr. Darcy as much as I do (being an ardent admirer of Rhett Butler), said, “but you just say that because you have not met any like Mr. Darcy. What if you do find the gentleman and he is just the way Darcy is and you don’t like him.”
“He’ll be exactly like Darcy?” I asked. “Even in looks?”
Hugzy nodded.
“Then I will like him,” I prophesised.
Hugzy looked at me the way she always does when I go about with my stubbornness.
“But you know what?” Hugzy said, swallowing a mouthful of sandwich, “The guy would jut be an ordinary guy.”
“NO!” I cried. How can Mr. Darcy be ordinary??
Arrey, listen na,” Hugzy said, “he would. Not to you. But to others he would.”
Hugzy really does start on in Russian at times.
“Like you might be someone’s Perfect Girl,” she said.
“Yeah, sure,” I said, the ever optimistic one.
“You are intelligent,” Hugzy enlightened me.
“No, I’m not,” said The Modest Anya.
“Yes you are,” Hugzy said. “Shut up. Yes, so you’re intelligent--”
“And even if I am,” I interrupted her, “that so doesn’t help, my friend. Men like Bimbos. They are allergic to intelligent women.”
“I said there could be one exception na!” Hugzy cried. “That’s what I’m saying. Listen. There could be this one guy who likes intelligent girls, who are, you know, bookish--”
“I’m not a nerd.”
“No,” Hugzy waved her hand, not even listening to me. “Bookish, and you know, witty and great sense of humour--”
“Do you have a crush on me?” I joked.
“Some men like that. But that’s my point. You wouldn’t know. Cause you don’t see yourself as perfect. But you could be someone else’s perfect.”

So today, I did what I thought I would do to my story when Hugzy was playing the Wise One. My character, Nicole has been in love with the Delhi based Lawyer, Malcolm for a while. And he is her perfect. The gentleman. But now she’s going through a rough time. She has started seeing cracks in her highly Romanticised love for Malcolm.

The Perfect Guy she had in mind turns out to be a very nice guy. Way beyond her league. But not her Perfect Guy. He has always been Divine in her eyes, with no flaws. The Divine. But does she go out with someone that Divine?

Nicole, the poor girl, realizes that she’s happier with a little less perfect guy. The one with flaws. I said flaws, not major defects!! She is a very confused 27 year old tonight. Help her.