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marriage brand

by rakhee

It was a Saturday Girls meet at an exotic pub. I was sipping my Bacardi Breezer. After the usual introductions, one lady asked me,

“Are you a software engineer?”

“No, I am a CA.”

“You must be intelligent if you are a CA.”

“NO. If I can become a CA, then it definitely does not require intelligence.” Everyone laughed.

“What did you do on your First Anniversary? ” Lady in red lipstick and black gown asked me.

“Some European Destination?” Lady in the noodle strap top asked me.

“I cooked meal for both us.” I in black trouser and blue top mentioned.

“Just a home made meeeeaal? I went to a Spa resort on my First Anniversary last year” Behenji becoming Modern mentioned.

“Yeah, we were busy setting up the house and eating out daily. I thought, it would be a welcome change to cook for both of us with a candle lit dinner at home”. I, the protagonist defended.

“Did you get some Ready to Cook meal from Marks and Spencer or Tesco?”Behenji becoming Modern asked

“No. Grocery from Indian Store.” I said with a nervous smile.

“Ohhh!! How do you stand the crowd there!!!” One of them exclaimed.

“Did you buy a House (Bungalow)?”Lady in red lipstick and black gown asked me.

“No, an apartment in the building.”I

“An apartment? Ummmm. You will miss the garden!!!” Desi turning Modern added.

“Where did you do your house shopping from?” Lady in the noodle strap top asked me.

“Ikea, Harvey’s and BNQ” I

“Oh! Not from John Lewis or DFS. They have got unique designs. Ikea is too common.”

They did not dare to ask further questions. By now, they have tagged me as someone who is doing Okie in life Forgot to mention, someone who has a bad taste and a style and that is me

Rest of the conversation was about the summer garden furniture, latest fashion flings, the new car that one lady bought, how they don't like to shop from Indian or cheap grocery stores, how they hate the degrading of brands with Annual Discount Sales etc.

The facial expressions and remarks about my lifestyle did disturb me a lot then. I came home little hassled . My husband read my mind and asked me sarcastically, “how did your party go?” I explained to him the whole story and demanded in the breath of rage, “I want to shop from Marks and Spencer and not from some cheap grocery stores, buy a new car and our decision of buying a flat and not the house seem wrong.”

He said calmly, “Take a moment, forget about your friends and tell me, what is wrong with your life or the decisions that you have made so far.” I realized

I spent my first marriage anniversary at home cooking for both. It wasn't an exotic meal to tell the world about. It was a simple meal of daal, rice and sabji, that's what my hubby adored or probably I managed to cook considering hectic house set up work. I never thought that shopping from a particular mall acknowledges your financial status or cooking daily makes you boring. I haven't joined a gym yet as I am comfortable with my size and luckily my hectic schedule keeps me fit. Besides, I do not die for the perfect figure as I am not into the profession of modeling ;-) . I don't differentiate much between Reebok and Nike as long as the shoes are comfortable, look nice and suit my purse. My eyes roll with the price tag of Ralph Lauren. I do lot of window shopping and I settle for “Next” discount sale.

Ghosh!!! I may not have the best house, but I am extremely proud to have four walls around me which we have set up right from the scratch. According to me, it is the best place in the world as it makes me feel homely. I am glad that we have one small car that takes us around the places, I do not spend sleepless nights dreaming about BMW. I like to wear lovely clothes, but I was never a brand conscious person, still not, hence the thought of wearing a brand to kill for never occurred to me.

I did not think, I joined this social Indian gathering for showing of my wealth, if any. Bloating about my classy car, if I own one. Raving about my beautiful house, if at all I possess. Sharing the exotic recipe, if I know of. Or my education for that matter . Compliments make me uncomfortable.

I do shop till I drop, I do party occasionally, I travel extensively as a hobby. But, I don't need to highlight where I shop, party or travel to show my social stand. For me, these are means of relaxing from the routine or few passions to pursue. I might mention them casually to hold the conversation together or to share the information for the benefit of others and definitely these are not the means to boast my self esteem. Having said that, I do not look down upon people who show off their material possessions, they must have worked hard for it but when they do, they threaten my modesty. They did that on Saturday night hang out. Only for moments though!!!

I realized that, I am falling into the loop of becoming something that I am not for being socially acceptable by peers rather than doing something because I want to do it. I realized the emptiness in it and reckoned “I am ok if I am not accepted by peers but leave me away from brands and the public display till my pocket and most importantly “myself” find a comfort in them. Yeah! one day, I will have all/some/none of the brands in life but only if I choose to, not because some roopa or smita has it.”

Probably, if I have all/most of the materialistic commodities today, I would be tagged as a desi doing well abroad in the social circle. But, do I need a character certificate from others? No. I am doing extremely well in my definition, with unbranded/lesser known branded clothes, flat not a house (bungalow), rebook shoes not nike, small Peugeot car, and yes, HP laptop (not IBM) as I am into Marital Bliss as compared to the Material Bliss It is my treasure and hope to keep this expensive brand wearing forever .

I am dedicating this blog to my hubby on completing One Year of our Marriage Thanks for making me realize the worth of Marriage Brand and rediscovering the person that I am :o)

Posted in Love.

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By kaushik duttgupta – November 17, 2006


husbands best friend

by ixecoc

It made her uncomfortable:  the way he looked askance, at her, every now and then, especially when his colleagues and friends dropped by. The eyes, they seemed to gore into her very being. Was she imagining, she hoped she was. Yet, deep inside of her she felt edgy ' the looks were pretty 'loaded'. With questions, with queries. Was her husband getting ideas? Was he suspecting something was going on between her and his best friend? He was stupid to even entertain such thoughts. Yet, she felt herself squirming on the sofa as she sat with her husband and his pal, chatting, laughing and enjoying the weekend.

 

She had heard of overtly possessive types, spouses who suspected every move, attributed ulterior motives to every relationship ' doubted every male around was trying to make passes or advances towards their partners. Monitored every phone call and opened every letter ' wanted to know the content (or intent) of every e-mail or e-mailer. Chaperoning their wives even for routine vegetable market outings ' accompanying them for sari buying or to the blouse stitching tailor '

 

He wasn't like that, this guy: but, somewhere in the recent past, she had started to be made uncomfortable whenever his friend visited. He tried his best to send her away, get us coffee please ' oho, a little hotter please ' ouch ' not that hot ' ooh, too much sugar ' each time she had to return to the kitchen to undo or do damage control. Surely, it was now getting obvious to her ' her husband was suspecting her.

 

She made a decision, she'd keep off. She'd find work in the kitchen to keep her engaged ' and away ' maybe chat with her friends on phone, write, watch TV ' anything to avoid the icy looks and accusatory glances. She wasn't guilty of anything, neither had he ever voiced or hinted about anything. It was just the way he looked at her, that said it all. Was she imagining things? No, no, she was certain ' this was for real. Unsaid, understood.

 

She left the two friends to themselves from then on. She made them tea and called her hubby over to the kitchen to hand over the tray ' pretending to be too busy with cooking to leave the kitchen. The charade brought peace, peace of mind to her: she didn't have to withstand the constant 'being watched' sensation.

 

She was never that type: nor ever was. Again and again the questions on why rankled and agitated her mind. What was it that her husband had noticed or seen that made him feel this way. Could there be some basis, some other clue, as to why her loving spouse felt threatened? She watched the buddies.

 

She had gently shifted the curtain of the kitchen door and looked at the two men in animated conversation, debating the merits or otherwise of the third umpire's run-out decision. She saw his visiting colleague look up and past her husband's shoulder, right towards her standing and peeping from behind the half closed curtain. He caught her eye, and winked. Winked, not blinked.

 

She was too stunned: such brazenness -  such betrayal. She hated him ' to what she had done to her ' demeaned her status. His best friend's wife. Then rage built up. Infernal anger, at how, she, not the rogue was paying the penalty, under the scanner all day. How could that man, or this man treat her like this? Obviously her husband was too scared or nervous about his friend's overt advances ' perhaps he had seen signs, and his whole approach was not in telling that guy off, but in pushing her, the innocent one in purdah. Men, bah @*&#%$@&

 

The friend's secret wink had not gone unnoticed by her man ' slowly, he turned backwards, and saw her standing at the kitchen door, behind the curtain. All events were unfolding in a trice. Slow motion, rapid action. The wink, the swivel, her peep ' than something snapped in her ' no, this isn't fair, she who had such faith and trust in her husband was now in constrained to prove her loyalty everyday from the dock for no fault of hers '

 

Then in full view of the two men, she did something she never thought she could ' slowly and deliberately, she pushed the curtain wider, and winked ' at the visitor. It takes a palm to slap, and two to pummel - her calculated signal disconcerted and rattled the men. The firend was taken aback, how could this woman wink in full view of her man, even though I…. and her husband, he was nonplussed too - idid his wife wink at his friend, or him? He would never know - raher, he wouldnt want to find an answer to that question. It might be one he didnt want to hear.

 

In less than two minutes she sees her chastened husband escort an embarrassed colleague out of her home. No, he didn't dare ask her anything. She had taught both men a lesson, they'd remember for life. Corner a kitten and you turn it into a tigress. A man - eating tigress.

 

Posted in Relationship.

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By kaushik duttgupta – November 17, 2006


The Ideal Woman: Part I

by: ixedoc on May 12 2005 12:04PM

He was always with the best looking dames in the college. He courted and wooed the prettiest only, and they fell for his charms like ninepins. We, the less gifted, envied ' and cussed. He got mail, cards, smelling of anais anais, or bulky envelopes with lipstick marks. And he was forever on the phone, some female or other coochy - cooed with him, all day, all night. Every blessed day of the year. He was a decent chap, with his priorities well slotted. He was good in academics too. A deadly combination of looks and books.

What is your ideal woman? I asked him. Well, she must be smashing good looking, with raven hair, and flawless complexion. She must also be rich, and a sport, and an intelligent companion. She must be well read, and represent everything that's paragon in feminity. That's my ideal woman. Find her, I'll marry her!

Tall order that. I mused. But, if he had his way in life, he would land up with one just like that he desired.

I went my way. He went his. We did meet or write sporadically. Six years after we passed we met up again, some examination work took me for a few days to his city. He was doing okay. He picked me up on a scooter, riding me to his second floor apartment. A sparsely furnished house, no frills, nothing fancy. In a small carton in the porch had two small wriggling puppies. Mongrels. But he looked extremely cheerful. He laughed and cracked jokes. My wife, Shanthi is gone shopping, so we'll wait awhile, she can cook us something, at least she'll give us a good cuppa filter coffee.

We talked about old times, and guffawed loud. A knock on the door interrupted our hilarious conversation. He jumped up from the chair, and fair ran to the door. Hardly opening it, before he yelled out in glee, “Hey Shanthi, you must meet Kumar. Remember I told you about the fellow who was with me in college, who wore long hair, and closed the college for months this is that Kumar and he still has his hair long ha ha ha!

It was then that I saw Shanti. She was dark, squat, and very plain looking. In fact, she was a let down in eyes. Not for this chap. Not this one, she was so, well, er - ordinary.

She flashed a toothy smile, and quickly went up to the cardboard box that housed the two puppies I had seen earlier. She patted their backs, and uttered strange doggie sweet nothings to them as they snoozed. Then she said she'd make something for us, and disappeared into the kitchen. In half an hour, she was serving us hot crispy dosas, the kind you get in fancy restaurants. With divine chutney too. I ate four at one go. Then the steaming coffee, boy, nirvana.

She sat herself down on the table with us, and served her husband with reverence, another dosa, maybe half? They laughed and chatted like friends. I noticed she had a discernable squint too, as she looked at me and asked, some more coffee?

Two hours later, I was leaving. I thanked her for the nice evening. He said he'd drop me. We climbed down the stairs together. Gosh, I forgot the bike keys, he says, as we turn to go up again. He knocks the door, and she opens it, wide eyed and worried. Anything amiss looks. Just my bike keys, he says, going past her as she stands in the doorway. I notice she has red eyes. Crying? I was sure, she was sobbing. In fact I even saw a small part of a wiped out stream of tear. He was back, and we were off.

Just as he dropped me at my hotel lobby, I asked him. Why, why did he end up marrying her? What about his long held ideal woman. The type he was so graphic about.

He looked straight at me. Not, not angry, not him. We were too close for misunderstandings. Did you notice that when we returned for the key, she was wiping out tears.

Yes. I did.

Do you know why she was sobbing.

No.

Well, you see, tomorrow a friend of mine is taking away one of the two puppies you saw in the verandah. They are just crossbreeds. Worthless, belonging to a street-side mongrel. She was crying because they were going. She wept because she loved them. She cared. She, who can cry at the thought of being parted with a three week old unwanted street dog, is the ideal female I searched long and hard for, Kumar. She dotes on me, pampers my appetite, wipes my brow, and presses my tired legs. She stays awake when I'm unwell, she cooks for me, aches for me, yes, she is plump, and dark, and cock-eyed, and middle class. But she can shed real tears for the less privileged, man or dog. Not many women I know can.In her I found my ideal woman.

________________________________________________________________________________________

The Ideal Woman: Part II

by: ixedoc on May 14 2005 8:35AM in Personal / 1737 Views - Comments 6

It was years later that I heard the background of the story in the last blog. It would not have been needed for me to write about it, but in the light of the comments, some of which made me think deep, I decided, despite my reservations to put the scenario in its entirety. Some readers have read hidden meanings and non existent connections to gender equations. To put the record straight, I myself had know clue on how or why, this guy with 'looks and books' compromised on his own ideal, till some time later.

A car accident left a family devastated. Not only were the victim parents absolutely shaken, they additionally had to grieve for the young recently married daughter in law of theirs. Young, and innocent, what happens to her now? The lot of a widow in India is sad, and doubly so, if she belongs to orthodox communities.

They had come to dote on this large hearted girl, she was all they could wish for as a 'daughter'. Yet, with loss of their son, her future and fate seemed determined. Till, in a move that shook the staid society, the parents of the dead boy, talked matters over among themselves and well wishers first, then they broached the delicate subject with the young 'bangle & bindi-less' girl. Would she marry their second son, and stay back here?

With us, forever?

In a few weeks, a simple ceremony saw the new widow become a new bride, and become the wife of the accident victim's younger brother. The groom, despite a few initial hiccups, took the girl as his own. Today, more than three decades after these events, they stay together as a devoted and loving team. They have raised two children, both now strapping young men with professions of their own.

As I said in my last blog, she wasn't 'beautiful' in the definitive sense of that word ' but she had a divine aura of an eternal 'sumangali'. And aglow too in the reflected radiance, was my friend.

The father of these fine lads, was the very medical college mate of mine, who had once talked about his concepts of beauty, brains, money and erudition as his ideals for the woman he would marry. The girl he married through circumstance and machinations of kismet, was the young widowed wife of his elder brother. No, he did not marry her out of compassion: and certainly, not out of love. But in her, he found both, in ample measure. If she cared to shed a tear for a stray pup that had to be given away, she said she knew of few, who would stop a scooter, midstreet, to pick up two abandoned mongrel puppies and bring them home to be tended.

In these days, when news about bride burning, triple talaaq, and dowry deaths is common place, I felt the need to record the story of the extraordinary courage of the widow, her in laws and my friend, to have stood up together to face life's odds, when the social fabric in small town India was a bit more straight laced, and the mores that society lived by, were a bit more orthodox.

I, probably, am not too adept at presenting the essence and import of the real tale behind the words I write. But bear with me friends, I harbor no prejudice or reservations about women, their looks or their talents. I stand corrected if I have given room for tan

Posted in Relationship.

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By kaushik duttgupta – November 17, 2006


where there is a WILL there is a way

by anonymous

My dear niece Patricia,

I am sorry for not writing to you earlier, but was just busy settling down in this wonderful Platinum Years Senior Citizen Commune that you and your dear husband Richard, so thoughtfully admitted me into last year.

As my only relatives in this world, I knew you would always take the right decision for me and in retrospect, I would like to say that I am sorry for protesting the way I did at that time about this move. Now that I understand things better, I would also like to pay the bill for those stitches on Richard’s head.

Anyway my dear, did you know that till last year this place was called the Last Journey Old Age Home? Then some new Chairman came and renamed it Platinum Years Senior Citizen Commune and since then the membership has tripled. In fact, now I believe he is applying for the Marketing Idea of the Year Award in New Delhi.

Most of the wonderful people here are from a similar background like mine –having been steered to this home by their very loving and thoughtful children/ relatives who wanted them to have the best of life amongst their own peers, rather than be burdened with running the house they spent all their lives making.

I must start with this most efficient matron here oooops I mean the Relationship Manager. Her main job is to ensure that we never use the word ‘old’. We can say senior, silver, mature, experienced, golden, platinum, ageless but never old. Initially I found it odd to say things like ‘That lady there looks much more experienced than she’s willing to admit’ or that ‘I need to give away my silver and golden clothes to the sweeper’ (which created a lot of excitement amongst the domestic staff), but am learning.

Like you had told me, we have a 24-hour ambulance facility too. It’s really quite cheering to wake up almost every morning and hear the siren of the ambulance with some golden person being rushed to the hospital urgently. Makes me feel so secure, really.

Then the other day they had put up this lovely notice, saying that the management of this commune had managed to wrest a huge concession for us senior citizens, from the crematorium. We now have to pay just 50 percent of the usual rates. And if, by some good fortune, a husband and wife were to avail of the crematorium facilities together, the cost would be just 25%. The management especially thanked all of us for this concession, which they said wouldn’t have been possible without the fantastic business we had been giving them.

I also made lots of friends as soon as I came in. There is the 80-year-mature Mr. Nagpal who is very good at telling stories, over and over and over. 90 years ageless Mrs. Anthony is always smiling since she can’t hear a word you are saying. Of course there is also that pesky Mrs. Choudhary, who can only talk about her grandchildren and is forever reading out about them from her daughter’s letters. Just the other day she told me that her one-year-mature grandson said his first word. The whole day he had been going ‘Ma .ma ’ and then finally in the evening it came out ‘MacDonalds’!

But my dear you will never guess who else I met here — your husband’s former boss — the one who had so unfairly fired him on the flaky pretext of stationery pilferage, necessitating my giving him a job as the general manager of my company. Anyway I immediately took up your case and told him that he had been unfair to Richard. After all everyone took home some letterheads, envelopes, staple pins and what was that he added oh yes, fax machines. But he was quite unrepentant I could tell.

But to come to the main point now — last Sunday we went to a picnic at a farmhouse and guess where it was — right next to our own three-acre farm that you told me had been bought in my name after selling the bungalow, when it was decided that I should shift to the commune. Well, I went up to the house there and imagine my shock when I found some other family living there. They even had the audacity to say that I had nothing to do with the farm and showed me the agreement that had some Anderson’s name on it instead of mine. They said he had sold this property to them. My dear, you both seem to have been taken for a ride. Anyway don’t worry, with the help of Mr. Singhal, a retired lawyer, who also stays at this commune, I have registered a criminal case against this Mr. Anderson (strange, that’s your surname too, isn’t it?). Just letting you know so that you are not alarmed when the police comes home, to carry out their routine investigations.

In fact dear, Mr. Singhal is such a blessing — he’s been constantly advising me on all matters — and that too without any charges. I tried to buy him a set of after-shave lotions as a token of thanks, but he preferred a gift pack of the latest kneecaps instead. But again I am digressing. The other important point I wanted to write to you about is that when Mr. Singhal learnt that, just before coming here, on your kind suggestion, I had made a will naming you as the inheritor to all my property, he was shocked. He immediately made me realize how unfair I had been to you both, as you could now be an open target for thieves, kidnappers and even God forbid, murderers. Knowing fully well how unmindful you both are of your own safety when it comes to my work, I went with him to our good lawyer and revoked the will so not a single paisa is in your name now. Gave me such good sleep that night to take you out of this danger, my dear that I had inadvertently put you into.

And see such is the hand of God, that making a new will became so unnecessary just the next day. For Mr. Singhal with whom I had interacted a lot all these days I don’t know how to say this seemed to develop feelings for me and (oh dear, I am blushing) actually proposed. It happened the day the commode in my bathroom got choked. As usual I complained to Mr. Singhal and as the plumber wasn’t available, he came right across himself (he’s quite a handyman too). In minutes he had fixed the problem and whoooosh, the pot was working perfectly. And while we were in these intimate surroundings, he popped the question. He swore he was totally potty about me and I have to admit I too had experienced a flush of love at that moment. (I guess the lawyer still has lots of appeal left in him!) So I said yes and my dear, yesterday in the commune itself, we got married.

Now Mr Singhal was staying here only because he disliked living alone (he’s a widower my dear with both children settled in the US — and both very busy like you and Richard) in his huge mansion in Florida. But now that I am with him, as his legally wedded wife, and what is mine is his and what is his is mine, we are both flying off today to the US and will live there together.

But my dear Patricia, I really want to thank you and Richard for all you have done, especially for sending me to this commune. Had you let me stay on in my home I may have died long back due to loneliness, but here you granted me a new lease of life. (Can I see tears of happiness in your eyes, my dear?)

But love, don’t think I am not giving you anything in return. I am leaving you my most prized possession — my Diamonds — 70 kilos worth. I hope this little gift will make you very happy in the years to come.

With heartfelt love,
Aunt Janie

P.S. Oh yes, to get Diamonds you will have to go to the house of our dhobi Ramu as he had been safeguarding this possession for me till now, but has become too old to take care of such things anymore. Diamonds is four years old, can carry lots of load like he did for dear Ramu all these years. Only he is a trifle bad tempered and liable to kick the owner’s backside with his heels at such times — so do be careful (because by now, I am sure you know the sensation, dear).

I am especially happy about giving you this gift, my dears, because just as you thought that in my old age I should live with my peers and brethren, I have thought the same for you in giving you Diamonds. Love again.

Posted in great stories.

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By kaushik duttgupta – November 17, 2006


Al Ain

hi everyone
had a great weekend after a long long time, on thursday, was feeling very low , so met my room mate & school friend , we were pondering wether it will be some discotheque or beer from ajman, but i had stopped drinking for the moment because of a promise made to my someone special, we kept on pondering.. finally we decided on watching a movie, so it was vivah, it was tolerable, wanted to watch boom 2 , but was not released, my friend got so senti  watching vivah, but i could make that he was on the verge of crying, whereas i was testing my patience with sitting for such a movie, finally we had nice dinner.
the next day we planned for al ain vivit, around 140 kms from dubai, the weather out there was amazing, such that i never experienced in dubai or sharjah, great, we switched off the ac, & opened the windows fully. the feel was absolutely relaxing.then we went to the mountains, the way it was artificially lit, truly breath taking, i had almost forgotten what nature looks like, i have a feeling whenever i am close with nature, that i am close with the almighty.

very pleasant weekend after a long time,
now the countdown is down to 21 days before i get married, mixed feelings for going into it.
c ya later

Posted in dil se.

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By kaushik duttgupta – November 12, 2006


live in relationship —- a view point only …not by me

 
by lion bikash

The recent enactment of law against domestic violence has opened up one debate of Live-in Relationship. Today let me ponder on the subject.

Firstly let me make my position clear. Personally I believe that Live-in relationship is an act of escapism from responsibility. The marriage calls for some responsibility from both the partners. I am sorry to say that the present generation has less sense of responsibility and the live-in relationship is one of the manifestations of that lack of sense of responsibility. Again let me make it clear that it is my personal opinion.

There are n nos. of arguments regarding the difficulties of a failed marriage. How people are forced to endure failed marriages due to non-availability of alternatives, social stigma etc. etc. Some of the proponents of live-in relationship give this example to uphold the usefulness of live-in relationship.

Let us take the issues one by one.

The extension of the above said act to the live-in relationship itself is an acceptance of the fact that the live-in relationship does not help anyone from the abuse by a partner. Rather it counters the basic premises of the live-in relationship. It is a matter of serious review how the live-in relationship can be affected by domestic violence. Because we generally presume that this course of life is chosen by individuals with stronger mental set up. It is a matter of debate how they cannot get away from the relationship. Anyway let's not argue on that, as looks like, it is a fact that this relationship also is subject to domestic violence.

The second argument is that the Live-in relationship can be used as a pre-parital arrangement to find out the compatibility of the partners. Which is a fallacy. The very essence of marriage is understanding and adjustment, which cannot be expected from the Live-in relationship. By accepting to a live-in relationship the couple agrees that they are not in favor of any adjustments and understandings.

One more point I would like to stress upon is that; it is also a kind of mental insecurity of the persons involved. Some of them may try it, as it is the in-thing to do, some of them to show their independence and some of them are just to follow a hep lifestyle followed by who and who of the society.

But I believe that if a couple decides to have a live-in relationship instead of marriage for the convenience, it should be fine. In today's life some people have different meaning of life. A carefree life where personal comfort and career is more important than relationship. Some people may find it more comfortable to have a relationship without the sanctity of marriage. Sometime back it was reported in one of the magazines, that a substantial no. of urban populace are reluctant to take up the hassle of children. I may find it selfish but there is nothing wrong in that. Once the premises of the relationship are drawn out, any relationship would be good enough when both the parties agree to that. But let's agree to that, instead of giving some other excuses like failed marriages etc. etc.

 

Here I would also like to talk about love marriage and arranged marriage. Here again it is statistically proved that love marriages are much more fragile than arranged marriages, which itself counters the argument that premarital relationship helps in finding compatible partners. The reason put forward are; in arranged marriages the individual normally do not like to break the marriage, due to social pressure and forced to endure the trauma. Which I find generally not to be true. Yes there are incidences, but if you analyze, the percentage should be very low. I feel the arranged marriages are much more strong because they have a wider support structure. There arises occasions when the couple find themselves incompatible, but with little nudge and support from the elders, they find ways of adjusting thus saving the marriage.

 

I have another small problem, which may not be directly related to the issue. The obsession of a section of people of declaring their sexual preferences in public. I don't have problem of gay and lesbians for their choice of sexual behavior, but I have problem with their announcements. Why cannot they keep their sexual preference inside their bedroom or for that matter whatever room they choose, as long they are inside four walls. (I don't have any problem of Shane Warne using hotel broom room for one of his sexual escapades, or was it another sportsperson?)

 

The matter of premarital and preparital sex is another case of debate.

I will recount an incident I witnessed long time back. I visited one place called Kop para near Dhalbhumgarh, now in Jharkhand on the West Bengal-jharkhand-Orissa border. I attended one village fair of the tribals on the occasion of Makar Sankranti. The setting was something like this; there was a banyan tree in the middle of a market. From late afternoon young girls and boys started assembling wearing their best dresses. When darkness of the evening fell upon the area the girls started dancing around the banyan tree. The boys, fully attired including bow and arrow, some even with country made rifles on their shoulders, were the onlookers. I found some of he boys carrying lanterns, petromaxes. I was a bit surprised that none of them bothered to hang the lights for providing permanent lighting; rather they were carrying individual lights for their own purpose. I was a small boy of 17/18. As the night progressed I noticed that the crowd was getting thinner but did not bother to find out the reason. As I was too tired, walked more than 10/15 kms to reach the spot, I was tired and did not realize when I slept. When I woke up I found myself under the banyan tree no one around. The early morning darkness was still there. As I proceeded towards my host's house I found couples in the act anywhere and everywhere behind bushes, fields.

Afterward I was told that the fair is used for marriage. Boys and girls assemble there, choose their partners, live there for 3 days and at the end, if find themselves compatible, take the bride home. If not, both of them go back to their respective homes and wait for the next year.

(Since long, every year, I plan to go there once more to find out if the custom is followed till now, but somehow not able to find time).

Here we find the people having preparital sex. But if we look closely we find that you cannot call it a preparital sex. It is a matter of only three days. Rather I will call it an extended version of the marriage, only here the sex comes before marriage, and one can term it as a honeymoon before marriage.

I would like to advice my young friends against premarital sex not for any moral reasons; rather for the simple reason that it robs the marriage of two of its vital ingredients; expectation and anticipation.

Posted in Relationships.

4 comments

By kaushik duttgupta – November 9, 2006


stereotypes


by the great think blog

Today is the first day in my new job. I completed all joining formalities and got seated in a place ear-marked for me. Just then the phone started ringing.

I picked it up and there was this very sweet voice. It announced that I have a call and connected me to the incoming call. The call was from my father. Since it was my first job, he was bit concerned, if I had been able to reach the place in time and settle down well. There was not much to do on the first day, except for reading some books.

***

Our lunch was served in the canteen. I clutched my token and was waiting in the queue for my turn. And I saw this girl coming back after getting her plate filled up. She was very fair, had big eyes, a sharp nose and a very red lips.

In short, she was really pretty and cute. Her attire was much more attractive. She was wearing a ‘blouse’, that dived deep down, while boasting its dizzying heights. I started imagining if it is all real stuff or cotton stuff. She was wearing a skirt that showed her beautiful legs and a bit of her slender thighs.

I had never seen a girl like her. As she crossed me, the fragrance just took out my breath. I asked the next guy in queue, who she was. He said “Our receptionist”.

**

At the outset, u would see me as a ‘goody-goody’ guy. But my hormones make themselves felt, on seeing our receptionist. And every time I see her, they marked their presence.

It is as if, she had decided to show one part of her body a day. One day if it is the dangerously low cut blouse, highlighting the cleavages, another day it would be her cute belly button, shining in the vast expanse of her flat stomach. Yet another day will be the gap between her short tops and her body, as it precariously hangs over her breasts. Yet another day it would be fluttering mini, inviting a dozen eyes to a thriller of what happens next.

This hell of a guy, Mr. Solomon, our HR manager, prescribes dress code for all males, clothing us all over body and does not allow us to even reveal our toes. Shoes are mandatory. But it seems there is no dress code for females in this place.

Anyway, good that he did not. Our receptionist was the most interesting, livening thing in an otherwise dull office of ours.

At the outset most people here are goody-goody guys. They won’t talk what they think. Very much like me. When talking amongst ourselves, our receptionist was most often the subject of discussion. Her anatomy was discussed and various parts were described in detail. She was visually and verbally raped during our discussions.

Sometimes even stories of her sexual exploits would surface, but I could sense they were all the figment of imagination of the frustrated male junta.

Most people were clear in their minds, that our receptionist is almost a whore. But they gave her all respect and talked to her very sweetly and friendly in front of her. I am sure she does not know, what people think of her, judging by the friendly way she moved with these people.

It was difficult for me to digest this at first. To talk about her anatomy a second before and act with all courtesy a second later in front of her.

***

Over a period I became friendly with our receptionist. Her name was manju. Initially every time I talk to her, I could not control my eyes grazing over her openings. I found it difficult to talk to her decently. Soon, I got adjusted. Sometimes I would look at her eyes, sometimes I would throw a glance at the odd opening and move away my sight, look at a distant object and talk to her.

Very soon, we became very friendly and we started having debates on various issues. One day I chose the topic of dress code at work place. I told her how I have been confined into a stupid dress code that was primarily designed for western environment, but mindlessly copied by Indians for this tropical environment and culture.

Manju agreed with me. I asked about her views on the dress code. She told me “Attire is something that is best left to a person to decide. I am against moral policing of any kind. Probably vulgar displays can be prohibited”.

I said “See Manju.. In my view what u wear is bordering on vulgarity. But a city-bred guy may see it as sensuous and attractive. It is all in the perspective. But why do u show-out one thing every day. ?”

Manju was silent for a long time. I thought I have offended her. I said “Manju, I thought u know me.. U know, I say things very frankly. I thought I am in good friendship with u, that I can talk my mind openly to u. I am sorry, if I have hurt u.”

“B.. ” she said “I understand u grew up in a different environment. But I think for my job, I need to look good. This way I dress-up, make me feel good. I think it gives me a beauty. I don't care what u think of it. This is the way I want to be.”

“May be I am asking something silly.. Pardon me, it is because of my background. Will not people mistake you? Are u not afraid of people mistaking you? In my place, only call girls dress up like that, because they want to attract their customers” - I said.

“That is their problem, not mine” - Manju said.

I did not want to lengthen the debate. I smiled at manju and closed the discussion.

***

One evening, our office got closed early due to some local issue. Manju offered to come with me to see the place where I am staying. I took her to the place I was staying. It was my friend’s house. Since I was new to the city, I was staying in my friend’s house, until I find a suitable accommodation.

I tried to call up my friend’s house to inform them that I am coming with my office colleague. But the phone kept ringing. No one picked up. I was in doubt, if people are there in the house. Anyway we wanted to spend some time together, chit-chatting. Hence we proceeded to my friend’s house.

We reached the house. The entry gate was open. But it seemed that the main door was closed or at least bolted. Generally they keep the main door of the house open always. I was confused.

As I pushed the gate and entered, there was a person standing and watering the plants. He was wearing a dhoti, which was lifted and folded revealing his underwear. He had winded up a turban on his head and was standing there, bare-footed on the soil.

I was standing perplexed. “Probably they have engaged a gardener to water the plants” - Manju said. “Most people here do that. They should have gone out somewhere. I will ask this gardener in our native tongue”

So she went up to the gardener and asked him about srinivas’s family. The gardener let the hose down, removed the turban and unfolded his dhoti. He was none other than srinivas himself.

Manju was amazed to find that the gardener was srinivas himself. We all had a hearty laugh.

***

In the next few days, I saw a change in manju’s dress. She was no longer throwing up those odd openings. I could not control myself. I asked her.

She said “yes.. I have changed”.

“But why..” - I asked.

“See.. that day when I saw srinivas, I thought he is a gardner, because most gardeners dress up like that.. His attire led us to believe that he should be the gardener. He turned out to be srinivas. When I thought of it, it is natural for people to think that I am a call-girl type. When I can get stereo-typed in my thoughts, others also can.. Am I right..” - she said.

“Why r u worried about other people’s opinion” - I asked.

“Probably because I have crossed one more year today.”- she said. “I thought about it. We all have stereo-typed images of people, conditioned in our minds. It struck me that I would not get respect from them, if they stereo-type me as a call girl or atleast a cheap girl. In front of me, they may be friendly.” - she said.

“But u dress up in a way that u look beautiful to urself. Why worry about others at all. When I asked u previously about it, U told me, it is their problem. ” - I asked.

“I did not realize the power of stereo-typing till yesterday.  If this is limited to only office colleagues, I would not have bothered. Almost everyone in the society, sometimes my own parents, may have a particular notion on me. They may not tell me in my face. There is no way I can wish away this stereo-typing. I don’t want to be haunted by it. After all, the old adage “Be a roman in rome” appeared correct to me” - She said.

“Happy Birthday” - I said. “New year, New thoughts, New beginning. Wish u all the very best in ur life”.

-TBT

Posted in genuine thoughts.

2 comments

By kaushik duttgupta – November 7, 2006


Untitled

anonymous

Father : I want you to marry a girl of my choice
Son : “I will choose my own bride!”

Father: “But the girl is Bill Gates’s daughter.”
Son : “Well, in that case…ok”

Next Father approaches Bill Gates.

Father: “I have a husband for your daughter.”
Bill Gates: “But my daughter is too young to marry!”

Father: “But this young man is a vice-president of the World Bank.”
Bill Gates: “Ah, in that case…ok”

Finally Father goes to see the president of the World Bank.

Father: “I have a young man to be recommended as a vice-president.”
President: “But I already have more vice- presidents than I need!”

Father: “But this young man is Bill Gates’s son-in-law.”
President: “Ah, in that case…ok”

Posted in sense of humor.

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By kaushik duttgupta – November 7, 2006


infatuation is it? or is it love?

by the great think blog

Muks entered the hotel room. It was all decked up. It is his permanent suite in the hotel. Every saturday evening he stays here and enjoys the company of girl(s). For a rich business guy like him, who runs a big company, affordability is not the issue. Issue is availability. Availability of time and companionship. He is married and has kids, but his obese wife cant give him anything he wants.

Last time he spent time with the hottest model in town. U can see her in many ad’s. This time the agent told him, that it was a good family girl, very expensive. But Muks was not convinced. Muks has very little time and he has to spend it beautifully. He should not spend his time with family girls, who do not have the looks or shape. But safety was important for him. The agent knew Muks taste and hence he kept quite for this selection.

Very soon the door opened and in came a girl. She was fair, big-eyed and well structured. On seeing her, Muks blood rushed to his head. Yes this is a girl. Muks always wants that feeling of desire on seeing a girl. Then only his mate is made. He dimmed the light and went near to the girl.

The girl on looking at him got stunned. Muks planted his palms on her shoulders and pulled her near to him. “Hey u are really exciting. I had sex with so many girls. I have been searching for a girl like u for long..- Muks said and tried to embrace the girl..

“Muks.. “- The girls said..”I am Geets..”

***

Muks was leaning on the door, blocking the way. At a feet away was Geets, with her big beautiful eyes further widened, swallowing muks with her eyes. She did not talk. Neither Muks. They were standing there and talking telepathy, flying together, in unknown lands, lifted by their hot blood and expanded nerves.

“Mom is coming” - Younger sis Chits said and came running in. Both of them landed.

“So when can I see you next “- asked Geets.

“I am always with u.” - Muks moved forward and touched Geets at her chest. “Here..” - he said. The softness felt in his finger tips, raced his blood further and he pressed his hands further, giving a slight press to her right breast. Geets felt a hyper-sensation, but was quick enough to push his hands off.

“Naughty.. I am going” - Geets moved back, turned around and disappeared into her room, leaving Muks to stand alone. Geets Mom entered and warmly welcomed Muk’s. She enquired about Muks stay in Indore, his well-being, food, accomodation everything.

“Bye Aunty” - Muks said very loudly.  As he was about to take a step back, Geets Mom asked “Muks any idea of marriage..?”

“Why Aunty..? U r asking suddenly..” - Muks asked

“No.. I have some good alliances.. That’s why..” - Geet’s Mom said.

“No Aunty.. Not right now..” - Saying this Muks went out of the house.. The next day Muks got back to Indore, where he is working in a big company that manufactures Televisions. In fact he joined this company two years back and from day one, he is in the good books of its Managing Director. Muks intelligence, simplicity and objective oriented nature endeared him to MD and he has been personally promoting Muks every six months, which no-one else has got.

*******

That was a lavish party, by Muks standards. Muks is a small town guy. The garden before the bungalow itself was huge with a swimming pool in-between. The garden was full of plants, bushes, trees and green everywhere.. And the entire garden has been lit up. Paritcularly the swimming pool section was completely lit, while there was patch of darkness elsewhere in the garden and complete darkness on the back of bungalow.

It was his MD’s party. MD invites only very senior people of his company to such parties. Mostly board members and president/vice-president types. He had invited Muks as a distinguished employee.

There was liquor flowing all along. Muks is a tee-totaller. He remained so. He took a glass of orange juice and moved around. Most men were all very senior to him, old, bald and not his colleagues. He made some customary enquiries and moved ahead. Everybody had known about Muks.

There were also lot of womenfolk in colourful dresses. Women were in groups. Men were in groups, singles, twos and in all forms. As Muks settled down in a corner, he could see a girl approaching him.

She was wearing a dress that Muk’s could not recognize, but was blue in color. It draped around the girl beautifully. She was fair, sharp featured and very beautfiul. Her attire was revealing the size of her breasts, the curvature of her hips, flatness of her stomach, slenderness of her thighs. Yet it was covering her from top to bottom.

Muks thought she is going somewhere. To his surprise, she approached Muks and asked permission to sit down next to him. Muks obviously said yes.

“I am Ramya. ” - She extended her hands. Muks wiped off his palm and extended his hands. They shook their hands. “I am Muks”

“I Know” - She said..”The distinguished employee of our company” - She said.

“How do u know” - Muks was pleasantly surprised.

“I am daughter of ur MD”- Ramya said. Muks was surprised. After that they started talking for hours. Ramya had lime juices one after another, while Muks had orange. Muks found Ramya beautiful, interesting, sweet and friendly.

“Muks..” - Ramya said - “After talking to u, I think my life has changed. I think I am in love with u”.

Muks could not believe himself. Here there is a girl, the most beautiful that he can ever imagine, rich and saying she loves him. He remembered Geets. Compared to Ramya Geets is average, middle class girl. Muks relationship with Geets started when he was in first year of his college and Geets was doing school.

Muks was silent. “Muks.. B frank.. Do u find me sexciting” - Ramya asked. Muks did not expect such a question from her. “Ramya.. U r damn beautiful.. Just ur nearness makes me go mad and I get into lot of vaccilating thoughts..” - Muks said.

“What thoughts” - Ramya asked.. She paused for a while..”We can make atleast some of it true now..”-

Muks was completely bowled over. He stood up along with Ramya and started walking together. Soon they came to a patch of darkness that hid them from others.

Muks neared Ramya, held her shoulders in his hands and planted a kiss on her forehead. It was a wet kiss. It scintillated Ramya. Ramya embraced Muks, pressed her breasts against Muks chest and laid her head on his shoulders. Muks kissed her head.

Muks lifted her head and started kissing her eyes, nose and then the lips. He sucked the lower lips for some time and then the upper lips. Ramya let her tounge out and felt the warmth in Muks. Meanwhile Muks hands held her hips in a clutch and lifted her slightly. He got liplocked with her for few years.

“There is a comfortable place at the back..let;s go there ” - said Ramya..At the back of the bungalow, Ramya  and Muks continued with their passion.

“Ramya.. Actually I do not know the exact thing..”- Muks said.. Ramya looked at him and smiled. She took his things in her arms, felt the toughness. “I will guide u” - She said.

As they were about to enter, there was a lot of commotion. Ramya could not control herself. “We will worry about the commotion later.. Enter now” - She said. But it was hard for Muks. Ramya is a virgin. First two attempts, caused pain, but Ramya wanted more. The commotion grew higher and became totally unbearable. They separated without doing it.

When they reached the party, it was over. Ramya’s father had a heart-attack. They searched for Ramya and then taken him to a hospital.

****

After a brief period of illness, Ramya’s father recovered. Ramya told him about Muks. He was only too happy to get her married to his pet-boy. He got Muk’s parents address and talked to them. Eventhough caste and creed were different, the richness of Ramya make Muk;s parents to Okay it immediately.

Ramya and Muks married. Muks never went to his home-town again. He never met Geets after that. He justified himself his affair with Geets as infatuation and his affair with Ramya as true-love. “Have I ever felt raised-up, when I talked to Geets.. But with Ramya, I want to do it.. Real love means, on seeing a girl, we should feel having sex..”.- He convinced himself.

In fact he wrote a letter to Geets, stating that their relationship is infatuation only and he should have had a feeling of desire on seeing Geets, if it is love. Since he did not get the feeling of desire, when he looks at Geets, it is a case of infatuation. He advised Geets to find a similary mate for her, based on her desires and not waste time in contacting him.

**

Ramya and Muks had kids. Ramya bloated, become obese and on her father’s demise, made muks to run the company. After some time Muks lost interest in Ramya. He wanted to do different things, but Ramya was straight forward and also obese.  That is when he started having company with different women,as he could afford them.

**

Muks letter devastated Geets and her family. Her fate took her to multiple places before he became a modern family call-gil. And here Muks is, standing in front of Geets, all raised up !!!

Posted in Love.

2 comments

By kaushik duttgupta – November 7, 2006


just one fine day

 by anonymous 

I got down from my Safari. I could see the vast market from the point, where my vehicle is parked. About 60% of the shops in this market belongs to me. The rest belongs to people whom I have financed.


Even before the concept of Venture Capitalism took wings in the west, our forefathers have run Venture Capital as a business. My model of Venture Capital gives me people power as well as a means to convert all my black money into white money. Since we have enough muscle power, I don’t bother about security of my investments.

“Last year there were many good ‘gudiyas’ here..” - I said to my friends. My body guards standing at a distance giggled. They giggle for every silly thing I do.

“There..” - shouted my friend Vishal. While my father graduated to politics as a business, Vishal’s father is still running dada-giri as business in the neighboring district. Hence I consider him junior to me. “That girl.. red dupatta..” - He pointed at a girl, walking at quite a distance.

Today there was this big fair in the market. This fair is very famous all across the northern belt, eventhough it happens in a small town in Haryana. It attracts lot of people. Hence there was quite a crowd.

As I was trying to identify, my sight got locked on to her. Yes, vishal was right. She looked absolutely exquisite from a distance. I started walking towards her.

**

As I neared her, I could see that she was really a gorgeous, beautiful female. She was chatting and laughing with a ‘boy’. Maybe her lover. But definitely a boy.

As I was moving towards her, she suddenly turned and directly bumped into me. Her fragrance and soft touch made me go mad. I was just standing dumb. She became very angry. Before I could realise, she had slapped me.

She had slapped me in front of that crowd. In front of so many people in the market. In my market.. It incensed me like anything. I have grown up 25 years, doing so many things that nobody dares, just to get slapped by a silly young girl..?

Who will respect me in this place..? I caught hold of her arms, bent it and pushed her towards me.

She did not expect it. Her ‘boy’ did not expect it either. He gave a hard knock on my stomach.


Even the slap of the girl, I could understand. This little boy, who is standing in my market, punches on my stomach.? I was totally enraged. What has happened to the fear and respect, that I get from the crowd..? How come this world dares me to touch..? I became an infuriated lot.

I took out my pistol, with the twist of my thumb loaded it and shot him. At point blank. The poor bastard dropped dead.

**


The girl was totally scared. She just ran off. She didn’t even look back at her lover. The sound of gunfire should have shaken the market. People started running helter-skelter.

This is where my experience works. If it is a novice, he would have bungled here. But I am intelligent and experienced.

That second I shot the guy, I know he would be dead. Next second, I told my bodyguards to pack the boy in my vehicle. We left the market in our vehicle.

I called my Dad. Briefly told him, how I was enraged by a boy and in a fit of temper shot him. He told me that our usual Criminal lawyer would be of no use in this case. Our regular lawyer would always look for scapegoats and would get us out only on that basis.

 


He was clear that in this case, scapegoats wouldn’t work. His aeons of his experience in such things was making him think faster than me. He directed me to Ravi Venkatachari, who is a renowned criminal lawyer. He asked me to go with the body directly to Ravi’s house and talk to him. Meanwhile he called Ravi Venkatachari and apprised him.

**

If u have been an english media buff, you would have seen Ravi Venkatachari often. He is famous for getting many convicts released. He has appeared on behalf of so many criminal bosses and got them released. He calls himself as a crusader of personal freedom. He would voice his opinions on so many civil, criminal and political issues.


I met Ravi at home. I briefly explained what happened. To the best of my knowledge. My side of the truth. Getting suddenly punched in the stomach by a boyish guy, simply infuriated me. And I used my pistol, which has been given to me for self defense. I am very clear that I used it only in self-defense. I was supposed to use the pistol in such cases. Hence I used it. There is nothing wrong in it.

Ravi thought about it for a while. He asked about the antecdents of the boy and the girl. I told him, that I knew neither the girl nor the boy. I explained to him that many people watched shooting the boy. I am sure not many of them would testify against me. After all, it is my market.

Ravi gave me an idea. He asked if there is anyway of disposing the body quietly without a fuss. Our brick kiln came to my mind. I told him about that. He suggested that I dispose of the body in the brick kiln and ensure nothing is left off it. He also asked me to burn this body along with some cattle. May be goats, pigs or cows.

After that, he asked me to go home and forget it. If there is any query from anywhere, he would answer that. Currently there is nothing to do but this.
 
I liked Ravi’s idea. He is really a criminal and liar rolled in one. That is why he is a criminal lawyer.

I asked him about his fees. He smiled. He has enough of money. He told me that he would talk to my father on his fees. From the way he hinted, I think he is aiming at some political position. May be he wants to become a MP or get some post in some place, with which he would further his political ambitions in life.

I came out of Ravi’s house with my friends.

***

I entered the vehicle and searched the body thoroughly. Except for a wallet, the boy did not have anything. We drove directly to our brick kiln, which was situated 25 Kms away.


While the bodyguards were proceeding to get some animals to burn along with the body, I started searching the wallet. I found a credit card bearing the name of “Srikanth.R”.

I also found one ID card. It was from IIT Delhi. I read the details. Boy’s name was mentioned as ‘R. Srikanth’. Father’s name was mentioned as “Ravi Venkatachari”. I got chilled for sometime. Which Ravi is it..? I shook the wallet. A stamp-sized photograph of Ravi Venkatachari, the famous criminal lawyer dropped down.

I decided to personally drop the wallet and its contents into the brick-kiln oven.

Posted in great stories.

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By kaushik duttgupta – November 7, 2006