A little man, some woman, all me.

So I've been tagged by two people on the same tag. The very lovely Quicksilver! and the thoughtful Goofy Momma.

The tag is, basically, this.

I am to write down 10 things that people of my gender cannot do/should not do/have never done.

This is a tough one to tag me with because, as my regular readers (all five point three of you) will know the lines in my head that divide things are pretty blurry. My good and bad distinctions, my girl-boy differences and my too much-too little demarcations are pretty fuzzy. So I am going attempt this after having given it a full week of intermittent thought. You've been warned. Don't you judge me on this.

I also strongly believe (and this is something that's like breathing to me, not something I've learnt) that there are no clear gender roles. There is nothing a man can do (which is not biological or involves walking around bare-chested in public) which a woman can't or shouldn't do. That we refrain from doing certain things only points to our wisdom. So tolerate me if you think these are not typically 'male' things. This is just my classification of what I think are men's prerogatives, usually. 

Here's my list, then. 

1) I watch sport more than once in four years. At the risk of getting beaten up by my sisters, most women who have been tweeting, FBing and living football this last month, have been doing it only during the World Cup. If I have TV that's not been taken over by someone in the family, I watch sport that doesn't necessarily involve 20 nations. 

2) I know my cars. Really well. 

3) This might be complicated, so bear with me. Men, notice how you put a tee shirt on? Women, do the same thing. And if you have access to each other dressing or undressing, observe how they do it. See a difference? Yes. At least, for most of you. 

I don't wear tee shirts like a lot of women do. I don't put it over my head first, then poke one arm through, followed by the other. I pull it on to both arms first and then pull it down over my head. Same thing when I take it off. I tend to cross my arms in front of me and pull it off in one shot. 

Now that you know my dressing habits, may be I should tell you how I shave. 

4) I can shop for the most important things in life in half an hour flat. And I don't need to "see what's in Nalli's or hop over to Zara for one last look." Whether it's a wedding sari, precious jewellery or a toy for the kids, half an hour is a lot of time for me.

5) If I need something I'll buy it. I won't go back home to pick up a charger I left home or take a detour to office to pick my spare up if I am in a hurry or am travelling or something. I'll just stop somewhere and buy a third. 

6) I always shake hands when I meet someone new. 

7) I can catch really well. If something's thrown to me, at me, I can almost always catch it without dropping. With one hand, with two hands, stretching my hand way out, any way. 

8) I like a little of the feminine in my men. I don't now how that figures here. (I am not going to qualify this one till someone explicitly asks me to, okay? Okay.) 

9) I don't care about walking in the sun or getting my hair messed up in bed. 

10) I always offer to pay for a meal, first. Not just my share, but all of it. I have no issues with that. 

That took some effort. Quicksilver, Momma, you both will pay. I vow revenge. But meanwhile, here's someone breaking all kinds of stereotypes. He's cute, to boot. (Thanks, @LailaNasseri for the link.)

I men-t to do this post some time ago.

I've meant to do this post for a while, and no, I haven't I misspelt the title.

As you will doubtless know by now, I go through life with perennially failed brakes. I take very sharp turns and I almost always rely on my smile and my incredible good luck to keep me from becoming roadkill.

There's never been an instance where I've slowed down, parked and said, wait a minute -- look at the map, will you? Look and see if that's where you want to go. I've just put on shades, folded the top down, turned the music up and driven on without watching the fuel gauge or for signboards. And where has that landed me? With a lot of fun. A lot more trouble. A lot of serious heartbreak. If I were the only one, I'd have just sucked it up and gone looking for the next shiny thing that distracted me. But life's not a one-way road, right? More often than  not, things are a two-way street. On those, I crash into people, swerve wildly to avoid them or just run out of fuel, get off and say hello to whoever else is parked by.

Among those are the men in my life. I love men, as I've said before. And I think it would be safe to say they love me. As long as they don't live with me or know me too well.

But we won't talk about how they feel about me.

The first, most important and honestly the best man in my life has to be my father.
Before you think I have a huge Electra complex, let me make things clear. We fight. Big time. He speaks Greek in medium tones and I speak Mercurian very fast in a loud voice. And oh, he speaks turning to the wall and I speak loud in a vacuum. We just don't hear each other. Never.

But for all that, he's the best man I know. He's taken all that his circumstance gave him and turned it around to his best advantage. He has every value that I determinedly brush off as not valuable. Only, I know I do it because imbibing those values would mean a lot of very hard work. He has every virtue that makes me scoff but only because I know if I were to appreciate those virtues he possesses, I will never be able to look myself in the mirror and accept the person that I am now.

My father is an intelligent man but he is also limited by his complete and utter respectability. His dignity is great and he's much fun when he's a little high. He absolutely loves to annoy a girl or two (me!) but he knows how to make me feel like a princess. He can cut me down, or into a million shreds, with his sarcasm (my wool is black these days, in the family) and his expression of complete resignation but he can also make me feel like a million planets with just one word of praise, a smile of approval. And at 30, I still crave it.

There's much I don't like about him but not as much as what he doesn't like about me. And he still loves me incomparably. So what does that say about him? We fight, we're rude to each other and we're very very unforgiving for a few moments in the day, on bad days. But he can reduce me to tears with his great great love. Just like I can him. If there's a softer heart I  haven't seen one.

The other day I was thinking about all this and it struck me that the only person I've never had a fight with is  my best friend. He's everything I could ask for -- patient, utterly non-judgmental (which is a good thing or I'd  be sentenced so many times, I am that bad) funny, undemanding, giving, and most of all loves me, inconsistencies and all.

I will leave my husband out of this list of the men in my life because I've written about him often enough. And will continue doing so. He, after all, is the husband.

I cringe every time a woman says, "Men are bastards." It's embarrassing because that woman has for sure met many men who aren't but she's choosing to focus on the few that are. It's funny because I imagine her saying to herself as she tries to look vicious, "Except my dad. And my brother. Oh, and my uncle. Oh yeah, my best friend too. Of course, my English teacher from school." It's just stupid because you can't make sweeping statements of judgement like that. And while I've my share of complete and utter excuses for men, I am thankful for these men in my life for helping me maintain a healthy attitude towards men. And so, my list won't be complete without two people who have contributed towards my constant and undying faith that we cannot, and should not, live without men.

My brother. We are very close in age. We grew up as partners in crime. Then we hated each other -- short of killing each other we gave each other every kind of beating. Then he grew up and became stronger -- and taller -- than me so I couldn't do as much damage. So we started being snarky and mean to each other. We went through tough times -- we didn't talk to each other for a bit, I threw him out of the house for some time, he messed up the folks with his 'reading' of who I was. And now he's easily older than me in his head, has a reached a place in life after much struggle, strength and thought where I can take his advice, criticism and suggestions seriously. I have never loved him as much as I love him today.

Here's why he reinforces my belief in the goodness of men.
1) When he hugs a girl, or puts his arm around her, he is extremely careful with his hands. Without being uncomfortable.
2) He has accepted my parents -- who I struggle with -- as they are and has managed to establish a beautiful, peaceful, trusting relationship with them.
3) He takes his wedding vows seriously. Very seriously. He says till then it was all excitement for him but when he vowed to do what he did, the whole impact of it became larger and reminds himself of it every so often.

Finally, the guy who decided to enter my life in the quietest way possible and stay there forever. No bang at the first meeting, no immediate connection. But I know for a fact that if I ever put my speed dial in use his number would be one of the ones. This friend would also be one of the five I would call if I found myself in trouble that I can't extricate myself from. If I were to sit down and define a friend, I'd just point people in his direction. He judges without hurting, calls a spade a spade and knows what I am thinking without my saying a word. There's no pretence, no what ifs, no "I wonder what he'll think of me if I tell him...". In one word, he's what free feels like.

Thinking about these men in my life led me to thinking about what I like in a man. I know this should be a post for Judy or Revs but what's wrong with a married girl talking about what she likes in a man? I am still a girl, red-blooded and fun at that. Just because I've eaten, should it mean I can't check out the menu? If nothing else, a poor sod asking "What do women want" may actually chance upon this piece and take back something that will leave him less mystified.

Here's my list.

1. I don't like a man who doesn't listen. If you're saying that's so typical of a woman because women talk a lot, then I think you're running away from reality. Men talk a lot. Like a whole lot and nothing flatters them than a woman who listens. I am a good listener because I am genuinely interested in people. And by that coin, I expect the same from anyone, not just a man. In a man, however, it is very special.

2. I like a man to remember little things about me. It could be that I don't drink aerated drinks or it could be that I love colours white, green and purple. It could be that I prefer sour orange juice over sweet. I've so far met only one who does that a lot.

3. I am not overly hung up over funny men. A man's got to have a sense of humour in the sense that he needs to be able to laugh -- at himself, at the world around him, at a joke from Readers' Digest. It doesn't matter if he doesn't have me rolling on the floor, catching my sides, laughing like it was going out of fashion.

4. I like a man who has a passion. Or two. Music, art, reading, riding, cars, cockroaches, forks, watches, mud, Sumo wrestlers. Anything. Just anything that gets him going. And moving.

5. Speaking of which, I like a man who's active -- who walks fast or plays a sport or something. I've known non-physical people and I know for a fact that their attitude in life could do with general improvement.

6. I like cheerful men. Not in that irritating blowing-sunshine-up-your-glutes kinda way but someone with a quick smile, on the ready. Someone who laughs at the small ironies of life.

7. A man needs to like alcohol. Really. The ones who don't, I am very suspicious about.

Men, is that a tall order? And the lovely women who come here, what's your list?

A photo post...

I love pictures. Mine, others', taken by me, taken by others. All kinds. My favourite way to spend time on some days is to go through photographs that capture the heart and soul of some thing, place, person.

This picture is of one of my windchimes. At last count I had 10 -- bamboo, terracota, ceramic, some strange alloy, plastic, now this. Yes I collect them. This one is my favourite

I also happen to love light. I bought this string of chinese lanterns earlier this year. We are still looking for a place to hang it up. I'd love to put it up on a dresser mirror or any other mirror but it also looks good in a doorway corner. Any other suggestions?

This is how I spent part of my salary. I absolutely adore this compact. It's all mineral so no preservatives and it glides on like silk, feels like it too. And it gives you just the perfect glow. I say buy. The lipstick, I feel, could have been another colour -- basically a nude, shiny shimmer that I already have six of, from various brands. I just cannot experiment with lipsticks.

This is Her Madness Shyama and her psycho Devil In Disguise singing doggy. She loves him with a ferocity that stuns me. Must be his shaggy ears. Shyama came very close to being called Kalindi, which is what I wanted for her. It was also the synonym to Yamuna which was my beloved grandmother's name. (One of her names in any case). I conceived Shyama the month we lost my ammamma. But for reasons only close friends know, Kalindi had to be dropped. So I went through many many days of wondering before she came up with a list that had Shyama in it. It also mean the dark one, which is what Yamuna means. And so was born Shyama. Eternally grateful, Abhipraya.

 

 

And, finally, this is my marshamallow. He turns 6 months on Valentine's Day and I love him more with every day.Utkarsh was a surprise to all of us. Call me whatever, but I didn't know till I was four months on that I was going to be a mother again so soon. Shyama was only 8 months when I found out about Utkarsh. It was not a happy time for me. But I see him now and realise that my life would have been incomplete without him, his ready smiles and his beautiful dimples, had I been early enough to detect my pregnancy and decided against having him. I am just being honest.

 Whatever It Is That Looks After Us, I thank It with all my self for this little gift.

30 and counting

What do I like about having turned 30?

I like that I have mellowed in all the right places. I am still impulsive and I still am careless about who I make friends with. But I am also careful about judging someone. I am slower to judge, but not as slow as I'd like to be.

Increased libido and opening up of sexual worlds. It helps that there's a husband on the scene to oblige.
You still look like you are in your mid or early 20s -- if you are south indian, that is. If you are a washed-out, cranky, whiney north indian then you lost the looking young battle when you were 21. Yes, I am bigot. So people look at you and say whoa! 30, you don't look it. (What the hell is 30 supposed to look like anyway?)

Add to that two kids and a reasonably well-kept exterior, I am always surprising people. :)

I am taken seriously at work even though I wear dresses that end above my knee and moderately plunging necklines because, come on she's 30 right? She should know what she's doing. Muahahahah yeah, right!

I can legitimately go for facials and not pretend that my skin is nature's gift because I washed delinquent doggies last birth, free of charge. It's a whole different thing that the very two kids who make me look good also come in the way of my trip to the salon.
 
I like saying thirty.

Soul searching

I felt like putting labels to myself. In about five weeks, I'll be cringing with embarrassment but now I just want to look good to myself.

I'd like to think with me what you see is what you get. Like most human beings I love life, only I suppose I love it lustily, joyously and in a very involved way.
I like to think I have sense of humour even though I might not be the funniest girl about. I get over things pretty easily.
These days nothing seems impossible for me. I am a decent enough writer, a good human being, an honest friend, a feisty woman, a colourful child and a rather intelligent creature on the whole. I also make tons of mistakes, I can barely tell right from wrong because I can justify both, almost always. My smile starts from my heart and I am constantly looking, searching - inside, outside, in between - for myself.
I have a thousand stories to tell. And thousand more words. The connect between the two, however, hasn't shown itself to me yet. Waiting.
I am super sensitive. But it'll take you years to figure that one out. Last year was the most defining year of all my 27 years.
I was born under a star that sparkled, crackled, was filled with music and light and spun like crazy while emitting rainbow coloured showers. It was labelled "Super Blessed".
I believe JK Rowling didn't make Harry Potter up.
I love Calvin's dad. He rocks.
I like or feel indifferent towards people immediately. And everytime I have gone against my instinct, I've learnt not to do it. Till the next time.
I hated pink for most my life. I love it these days.
I make a mean coffee. Give a mean massage. Love myself. And look forward to life.
In short, I am that spunky, happy, content-with-life girl that I sometimes doubted I'd be.
Enough?