Chembelle

Kohl

chembelle — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 13:51:58 +0000

A slithering raven wave perched upon the eye,

ensconcing it in a spiral of sooty magnificence;

waltzing along its contours, set to her swing:

A flimsy line sketched daintily with a twirl in the tail

for the days bubbling with nostalgic childlike innocence,

a bold streak darting alike an endless winding road

on buzzing, frenzied days that could spill into the next,

a smoked, sensuous stroke doused with shimmer

for an impetuous night of pyrotechnic passion,

a sodden smudge resembling a gravely turgid rivulet

for a few moments of pure, unshackled vulnerability,

and, the remnants of a disheveled scribble of a tot

meant for languid sundays spent cuddling up to a book.

The kohl exudes no charm when bereft of an eye to enliven;

fated to be mercilessly outshone by its scarlet cousin;

yet serves as a loyal aide, seamlessly blending in

A wordless argument (Part 1)

chembelle — Mon, 12 Dec 2011 04:31:13 +0000

Dinner at the Iyers’ house was suffocatingly silent that night. The innocent rhythm of the grandfather clock and the mischievous clink of silverware attempted in vain, to initiate a conversation. Having finished laying out the food, Kausalya did her little stretching regimen before she got back to working on her article on south asian dance forms. Ram got down to business on the dinner table, enjoying his meal in silence, cursorily flipping through stuff on his iPad. It wasn’t until only a few dregs of the paruppusili, which he thought was divine, remained, did he sense that something was amiss. He glanced towards kausi, wanting to kiss her for her gastronomic prowess and, more importantly, how hot she looked in her glasses, but right then she looked as if she would shred to pieces, anything hindering her flow of thought. So, he got back to his gizmo, trying to nebulate the anticlimactic moment.

“Manushan….doesn’t even bother to initiate a conversation. I am done trying to engage him in one”, Kausi silently lamented as she corrected ‘who’ to ‘whom’ on her manuscript. It had been over an hour but she couldn’t come up with the perfect conclusion for her piece. With the firm resolve not to ask Ram for any guidance whatsoever, she traipsed to clear away the dishes and make preparations for the kids’ lunch the next day. Meanwhile, she turned on the mini TV in the kitchen to catch up on some bharatnatyam dance rehearsals of her students making their stage debut the coming week.

Ram found himself strangely uneasy that night. Perusing through the building designs for the final tender felt increasingly like trying to drive on a freeway looking into a straw. “Had the food not been so goddamn good, I wouldn’t ve have stuffed myself to the head with it! All I need is a brisk walk and the contract is mine” he felt disgusted by his own lame pep talk as he put on his sneakers, then annoyed that Kausi didn’t perform the key wifely duty of asking the hubby to zip it the one time it could’ve done him some good. He was about to leave when, “Oh look! It’s the rain now, that has passed the final verdict that a man cannot exercise his right to a brisk walk without a prior memo.”

Utterly disappointed, he slumped down on the couch and began thinking about what was really hankering on him amidst all the decoys. He knew that a 10 year old marriage ought not be the brilliant red it once was, but his was hurtling towards gray at an accelerating pace. It seemed like she had lost out on any reserve of interest she had in the relationship. She seemed cold and weary, qualities that were hitherto unattributable to her. Her seemingly infinite capacity to jabber, mentally exhausting though it was, kept the relationship from friction thus far. Her sudden switch-over to laconic ways left a large conversation vacuum, he had no idea how to fill. He had never been good at expressing himself, lest in colors and geometric shapes. He figured that years of marriage and two kids hence, he shouldn’t have to worry about expressions, but Kausi’s strange demeanor of late made him rethink his notions.

“Is she cross at me or plainly bored with the monotony of her life? How do I confront her? She’s sure to dismiss it if it was indeed something disturbing.”

And then, as if in a flash he recalled what his kids had mentioned in passing once, but that couldn’t have been true, could it?

Why women wanna vacuum and men couldn’t care less about their room….

chembelle — Sat, 05 Nov 2011 21:42:32 +0000

Imagine you chance upon one of those many online contests that promises an iPad if you correctly answer a question. You are wary about it first…..then rationalize that taking a look at the question requires no clicking, hence no malware headache (deep down you know it’s the chintzy pleasure you derive from taking potshots at the intellectually challenged questions notorious to such online forums). They show you a picture of a studio-like room that looks like a place a hobo would vehemently refuse to live in. The carpet is a spectrum of varying shades of black peppered with teensy specks of beige, reminding you how it all began. There are plates and bowls strewn across making a random pattern…..maybe the question is to figure the pattern out….you look more intently and notice that the plates are soiled with dried remnants of at least a two day old curry and bowls contain what looks like soggy disfigured cereal. Two wooden chairs, whose frail legs are the only parts visible, are brimming with a motley of papers, shopping bags with groceries peeping out and a wet sticky towel. Although ‘Yuck!’ is all you can fathom looking at the grotesque image, you are strangely interested in knowing what lies beyond. In the heat of curiosity, you don’t realize that you clicked on ‘continue’ to read the question:

The occupants of the room shown in the picture can be best described as ————— a) Boys or b) Girls

Not many of us would’ve taken more than a heartbeat to judge which gender is capable of this massacre, all the while probably chiding ourselves for being gullible yet again, but mildly comforted that the equilibrium of the iPad contest system remains unperturbed.

It is fascinating how we categorically associate the lack of scruples about cleanliness to the male gender, considering that we live in a time when men and women have reasonably similar reasons for their shoddiness, what with smothering work schedules that leave just enough time to unwind and socialize and not fret about which room to vacuum in the weekend. While it is true that traditionally, house-cleaning was entirely a feminine turf, we grew up in households where it was drilled into us that the ability to maintain a tidy room wasn’t a function of gender. Yet, when we break-free of the shackles of sweet home and start an independent life as students or employees, more often than not, pictures of mens’ apartments serve as prototypes for online contests. There could be two ways of looking at this, kinda like the chicken and egg approach-whether the historical license given to men to be dirty is the cause or the result of their relative lackadaisical outlook towards anything that begins with neat, unless it’s alcohol. Methinks that social conditioning has gone a long way in cajoling men into their lazy cocoons and yanking women out of theirs.The society doesn’t ‘expect’ men to fuss about tidying up, hence most of them choose not to. Given a choice, it is human tendency to pick the one involving the least amount of work. On the other hand, the concept of cleanliness has been indoctrinated into the female psyche so much so that even women use it as a criterion to judge the rest of their clan. They feel a passive pressure to maintain a standard of neatness or risk being a subject of ridicule. This doesn’t portend of course that men are callous about living in a clean environment. Most of them lend themselves to this noble cause, sometimes to an obsessive level, when they have a family of their own and finally realize that dirty dishes shall remain so, unless picked up and that gender stereotypes can salvage them only this far. So the next time you step into an impeccably clean room, you know that it’s the result more of social pressure then an innate love affair with cleanliness.

Raincheck

chembelle — Sat, 03 Sep 2011 01:10:25 +0000

The excuses for not updating the blog seeming increasingly inane by the moment, I finally resigned to brute force. I forced myself to squeeze out every bit of creativity from the crevices of my left hemisphere. I whisked off an old notebook, managed to find an unscribbled half a page (very encouraging!), and sat down to put my cello gripper to paper. I shut my eyes for a few seconds trying to focus my writing energy when the facilities in my brain burst out laughing. The creative thoughts department (T) chair was the first to interrupt the raucous outburst and speak up, as always-

“You silly girl! Haven’t I barked enough that this grand buildup of yours can never make you churn out as much as a word? I think you should dialogue with me, set some ‘thoughts’ (wink wink) in motion…..what say?”

I sighed “Thanks for the lamest pun ever…..but I don’t care to haggle with you now…..its the words department that is being a pain in the wrong place…..bunch of sloths….they never seem to get work done on time. Vwls i, e and o ar ff n a vacatn t th bahamas…th cnsnants can’t sm t functn aln….you get the point!”

The chair of the words (W) department was enraged “ Don’t you point a finger at my babies! Theirs is a high-stress job unlike department T here whose job is to daydream, or the thoughts-to-words (P) processing unit whose job is to fedex the thought….and by the way I haven’t received any shipment today, so stop breathing down my neck!”

“WHAT!” I shrieked “ What do you mean you haven’t received any packages…..Is Dept P down too?”

“Ma’m, the top ‘P eers’ have vowed to support the anti-corruption crusader Anna Hazare ! They are out on a rally for the noble cause! Wish I could join them too! Hail Shri Anna Hazare ji!”

I couldn’t believe this blithering idiot was part of my brain. Anna Hazare controlling the workings of my brain…..so much for democracy! Considering their allegiance, under the table incentives clearly wouldn’t work with the ‘P eers’ (as if the name wasn’t ridiculous enough). As it dawned upon me that my left brain had turned into this bureaucratic quagmire, I thought of-

“I told you so…..I told you so….U had to come back to me” pranced the chair of T, much to my annoyance

“Now for my classic sermon…..” Oh God! This was just what I needed “There’s no need to get worked up…you need to snip off the slack here and there and you will be able to write like a dream” that wasn’t so bad “but why do you care about blogging? Hardly two souls read it anyway….have you given singing a thought? I could use a song or two ….how about doing the cha cha cha?” Aaaaaaaah…enough!

It’s so true what they say about writer’s block!

Adios Harry Potter……or really?

chembelle — Sun, 17 Jul 2011 23:03:20 +0000

This post was originally constructed to serve as a dumping ground for all the putrid dregs I had to hurl about the happenings in my home city (Mumbai); but strangely, my better sense prevailed. With the leaders deftly soothing the masses with their strategically crafted army of words, I stood no chance of adding anything even in the realm of significance. Besides, such phenomena have a strange proclivity of repeating themselves…..surely i can write a bunch of lines then! But the finale of the Harry Potter series- the end of the saga…..now that’s a sure one-timer….something all of us dreamy-eyed potter fanatics had been waiting for, ever since we hungrily downed the contents of the last offering of the book! So here goes….

The movie is anything but a disappointment unlike the fifth and the sixth installments. It is well paced with the dialogues kept taut and at a need-to-know level, save a few attempts at humor. The dark and grim flavor of the book is maintained practically throughout the movie (the 3D glasses make it gloomier) avidly supported by breath-taking camera work and a riveting background score. A point worth mentioning here is that the special effects, fabulous as they were, supplanted rather than took away from the stream of the plot ( the scene inside Gringotts and the final showdown at Hogwarts are my favorites). In the acting department, Severus Snape’s character gets my prize for exuding just the right dose of surliness and for a very brief moment, kindness. Scraping a close second is the Dark lord himself for breathing pure evil. The heroic trio (Harry, Ron & Hermione) did a decent job as also some of the cameos including Mcgonagall, Molly Weasley, Aberfroth and Neville. There are some moments that take you several notches above the level of the movie – Snape’s death, the scene between the trio before Harry leaves for the ‘close’, but overall, the movie rarely slackens its grip on you. On the flipside, the final dance of death between Harry and Voldemort is a relative let-down. I guess a duel that involves shooting sparks from wands looks more like diwali-sparkler sparring than a mortal combat. Plus, the entire free fall episode shared by them was a tad over the top probably done to make up for what they lack in the actual duel.

In the grander scheme of things, the movie serves as a befitting homage to the classic that is Harry Potter with a fidelity score of 85% to the book. Also, I agree with Roger Ebert in that there is more than a room for a sequel considering how the movie ends. I am sure many HP fan-fic writers think so too!

Fashion through my Gucci shades…

chembelle — Sat, 14 May 2011 22:31:13 +0000

One of the perils of being a grad student is the ease with which one slips into a state of being ‘not in touch’ with the goings-on of the world…..unless of course Bin laden gets himself killed. So, I guess I can be excused for reading about the royal wedding a couple of days ago. As I skimmed through the wordy editorials, like the brain of any self-respecting girl, mine too efficiently filtered off the inconsequential, to focus on the bottom line-the bride’s outfit. Automatically, the bride’s person dissolved into oblivion and all I could picture was the delicately designed angelic-white gown frozen in space for viewers to appraise. A lot had been written about the cut, the fabric and the intricate embroidery on the outfit. Some flak about it being simplistic and ‘too safe‘ for a royal attire. The technicalities did not pique my interest as much as what the garment seemed to symbolize in the grand scheme of things. It was simple, no doubt, but not simplistic, mildly tempered with defiance, as though teasing the traditional and conservative pigeon hole associated with the royal family.

With this, my thoughts drifted off to the rotten pages of my secret book of outfit sketches I had earnestly designed in school, to the imaginary fashion labels that would’ve featured my creations to the world, to the look on my mom’s face when I announced my interest in fashion as a career-a look of pity reserved only for people who are mentally unstable, and then finally, to the jet airways flight that brought me here to the US of A to pursue my doctoral studies in pharmaceutical sciences. Although I do enjoy the problem solving stern rationality of the scientific field, I do occasionally feel the achingly familiar guilt of not giving fashion the benefit of my creativity.

Fashion, to this day, evokes a feeling of boundless exhilaration and a child-like curiosity in me. I’ve always believed what one wears is one of the strongest non-verbal expressions of oneself. I imagine that each color, each pattern, each piece of clothing that co-ordinates and, also the one that doesn’t, speaks something about the person, his mood that day, the nature of his work, his personal image and, also the one he wishes to portray to the world. What is often subtly forgotten is that it is also the living image of the thought and the sweet smell of labor of the creative mind behind it. You might think that I am naively attempting to defend the works of a person who is probably swimming in the lavishness of the multi-million-if-not-billion dollar industry. That fashion occupies an enviable position in the commercial spectrum is an indisputable fact. What bothers me is that it ranks a shameful low in the art zeitgeist. Fashion as an art form still receives step-motherly treatment in common parlance. It has become convenient to either elevate it to a slippery dais of glamor-a superficial, incomprehensible, outlandish entity meant for a select-few or degrade it to a utility device meant to layer our skins. While it is true that the clothing and the accessories we wear today were originally, a designer’s brain-child, it is not the sole purpose of their creation. Coco Chanel brought the quintessential little black dress to the fashion circuit and then, to every wardrobe, to unfetter women from the tight-fitting corsets and bulky gowns of the early 1900s. However, for every Coco Chanel, there is an Alexander McQueen, who is notorious for his raw, even vulgar depiction of female sensuality in an attempt to empower them. His works have been described as dark, macabre, and sometimes having strong political undercurrents. Basically, his line of creations is the perfect example of what one would dismiss as ‘un-wearable’ and crazy. So be it. Maybe you can’t attend a business meeting wearing one of his faux-haired suits, or dance at a party wearing his animal-skeleton shoes. Should fashion always pander to our basic necessities for it to be taken seriously? Doesn’t it deserve the same deliberative evaluation that any other art form is subjected to? Modern art is a deeply discussed subject, although the purpose of the abstract painting is not the first thing that strikes you. Many great books would not have seen the light of the day, had they been written to achieve a definite goal. Could J.K. Rowling have afforded to worry that her work might get the ‘just another children’s book’ tag, while today, it is more than evident to us that some of life’s most sublime values have emerged from the greatness that is the Harry Potter series?

In all sincerity, a fashion designer is an artist too….his creations are a piece of him……an idea that weaves into a fabric, takes on the color of his imagination and the shape of his resolve to create and exhibit some of his innermost flows of thought for us to appreciate, cherish, or even reject, but most of all, to respect.

Boiling Point

chembelle — Sun, 08 May 2011 01:36:18 +0000

The corporal’s command was loud and clear

It shot like a missile to awaken the dormant molecules

The minuscule (s) sprang into action, cascading into frenzy

Sluggish though they were, such a jolt couldn’t be evaded

The mission ahead was as inevitable as daunting

The pressure of a million barriers to surmount; many self-doubts to answer

The eons of docile submissiveness pulsed through their veins like venom, as they darted on with vigor

They had to attack; the cloying persuasion of tolerance or the emotional blackmail of sensitivity didn’t stand a chance this time

Prudence and fear were to have their faces pummeled beyond recognition, if they try and impede

The tiny beings mutated into a stream of vicious creatures with pincers ready to plunge into the soul of any resistance

The velocity was head-spinning, the heat neck-strangling, the danger of self-destruction looming large

An opening was all that was needed now, to vent, to maim, to destruct everything that lurked outside

The stream of fury met the lips and burst forth, to erupt, to gush out the lava held within

Instead, it danced like the waves of the vast sea, like the flames of a raging fire…a dance of victory, of vindication, of joy, a feeling transcending all anger

…..And injustice for Mai!

chembelle — Wed, 27 Apr 2011 23:48:38 +0000

Many Islamic women throughout the world, who, by the erosive power of incessant brainwashing, or, by sheer use of brutal coercion blatantly perpetrated by the religion, have submitted themselves to a life of repression, all under the name of sharia. Some have taken it another step forward and convinced themselves that the veil is their sole shield against the lechery of men-folk around them. This post is not about them. Some women, however few in number, have chosen to deal with it differently. Their voices, though feeble, symbolize Islamic women’s liberation, however oxymoronic the concept sounds even today. Mukhtaran bibi (Mai) happens to be one among them. I have nothing but unalloyed respect for this woman for her relentless fight against a judicial system having the competence of a trash can. This article is not about the hope or the strength she has instilled in women worldwide. I do not wish any feelings of respect and pride to poison my blood-boiling rage upon hearing the acquittal of 13 of the 14 men who pounced on bibi as the village council watched the punishment being meted out.

I have nothing much against the council as they are a bunch of ignorant idiots who believe that women need to be butchered to communicate ill-feelings amongst social factions. But, what about the shameful breakdown of the entire judicial system of the country? The anti-terrorist court (ATC) ruling that convicted 6 out of 14 men was reversed by the Lahore high-court on the basis of ‘insufficient’ evidence. It beats me what more evidence could one possibly scrounge up when there is a gang-rape under the supervision of the panchayat, followed by the victim walking naked in front of 300 people! The path to this farce in the name of a judgement was every bit as excruciating as the incident itself, as the Pakistani government tried everything in its power to fasten the lid on this case. Bibi was put on the exit control list (the assailants were not included in the list) by Parvez Musharraf, who feared that she might tarnish the global image of Pakistan. We still wonder which aspect of the country’s image or the lack of one he wished to safeguard. A nation where a political leader could dismiss this case as one of those money-making scandals or a cheap ploy to emigrate, cannot really hope to project an image of progression anyway. One rape victim rehabilitated for hundred such cases of swindling is still worth the effort of treating every such case with equal conviction.

The extremely protracted, unnecessary wait of 9 years wasn’t worth the wait. An ATC, the high-court, the supreme court and not to mention the parallel sharia law could do nothing….absolutely nothing about such a heinous act that happened right under their noses. This planted an amusing thought in my head that the village panchayat did what the formal judiciary took slightly less than a decade to do!

I couldn’t but feel helpless about the whole issue, it being the worst living feeling one could ever have. As defeatist as it may sound, it is in our power, only to help provide a forum for their voice and comfort for their life and continue waiting for such derelict judicial systems to come of age.

Long time no C!

chembelle — Fri, 25 Feb 2011 17:48:22 +0000

It seems like i am meeting chembelle after a bitter break-up. After all, my long sabbatical has all the spices of a break-up. The tiff , or, in this case, the constant introspection and doubt that sealed the fate of my written word. The long period of ignoring its existence under the pretext of ridiculous reasons like learning how to drive a car or preparing for a competitive exam ( I failed the driving test and haven’t finished a single chapter for the test). And of course, the seething, belly-aching guilt; the guilt of knowing very well that i was just being a waste of protoplasm under the guise of being ultra busy; the guilt of not giving it the commitment i promised i would; the guilt of not trying enough!

“So, here i am swallowing my pride” (to the tunes of Taylor Swift’s new number) to reconcile with chembelle and give the relationship a breath of fresh air. For the few people who still think we make a cute couple, watch this space

The French burqa ban wasn’t necessary because…………

chembelle — Wed, 21 Jul 2010 04:24:04 +0000

(I hereby declare that I do not mean offense to whomsoever concerned and that my respect for people is solely based on the individual.)

The hijab, niqab or burqa, though mere pieces of clothing, represent more than that, to many of us (I believe)-women enslavement, their almost ‘non-person’ status and, of course, the rapidly fulminating violence associated with the religion. More than half the times, guilt has stopped me from admitting this convenient transition from a sartorial style to bloodshed, even to myself! However, this feeling of crippling fear is not completely unwarranted, considering the ‘deeds’ of some of them upholding their religion are multiplying at rates higher than that of the H1N1 bug! With all due respect, it’s a delicate path to tread even with the closest of friends who are followers of the Islamic faith. The French are not wrong in being intimidated by the not-so-subtle display of this religion, which, by the virtue of being relatively young, is in the highly dangerous ‘proliferative’ phase. All said and done, this still did not have to spell the banishment of something as personal as clothing. Here’s why I think so:

It infringes on one of the most basic human rights- the freedom of expression. I understand that the state has the right to choose the ‘lesser evil’ and seize this right in light of a threat to personal life or the society. A similar law was passed in Turkey as they had documented evidence of amounting violence in the country. The French republic did not have any such alarming statistic to pull the trigger on the burqa just as yet.

The French government has cited the reason for such a ban to be more of a means of unshackling muslim women from years of suppression. Let me make it clear, I find the idea of a veil to shut the woman off from all the Na mehrams to be abominable, to say the least. Nevertheless, the government need not have to investigate the woman’s level of willingness to wear one, unless she petitions or we have a ‘lesser evil’ situation cited above. However, I would like to add at this point, that the fine for coercion to wear a burqa is still workable as it might serve as a deterrent to the perpetrators.

I now come to the most important issue of security. We walk on a tightrope here, as today’s level of security enforcement entails a deluge of procedures that require patience and compliance from both parties, which would be a lot more inconvenient in case of veiled women. Instead of the ban, this issue could have been dealt on the clear-cut condition- comply or get prosecuted. I acknowledge the difficulties in implementing this policy (There is wide-spread non-compliance in India), but it would have been worth a try.

One might argue that, in a democracy, the government’s decision reflects the opinions of the majority of its people in one way or the other and, thus the ban is welcome by most of them. However, I believe that we have no right to impose upon others, irrespective of their number, something that the majority seems to think, is right.

I believe that this ban is a paranoid response by the French government to the impending perils of muslim fundamentalism. It need not have pushed the panic button for the outwardly malignant yet, just an innocent garment.