Kinky

There I am, sitting in the balcony and working out my study plan for the day with Paati when we hear a scream from the apartment block next to ours. A sliding door crashes open and Kinkyni and her mom appear on one of their balconies grappling with each other. ‘You stay away from me! I hate you! Who asked you to come here anyway! You have no right to tell me what to do! I’m going to jump right now! Stay away or I’ll jump!’ 

‘There they go again,’ I mutter. 

‘Call the watchman! Call the fire brigade! Suicide helpline!’ Paati gasps. 

‘Oh chill Paati! Nothing’s gonna happen!’ I try to calm her. ‘They really are cool with each other. This show is for our benefit…like reality TV.’ Can’t say I blame poor Paati for giving me a disbelieving look. I remember how scared I was when I first saw this crap. It took me till episode 15 to settle down and just watch.

Kinkyni lives alone—in the sense that the flat is all hers. On most nights she’s got friends going in and out of there like cockroaches. Some look more thuggish, like bandicoots. Some of them stay on for days like they live there, and make a lot of noise and play loud music and scream and shout loud enough to bring a hundred Grand Canyons down.

Once in a while her mom or dad come visiting and the roaches and coots disappear and we’re randomly switched to another entertainment channel. Funny, but things used to be real quiet when they all lived together. Then her dad got transferred to Mumbai and her mom and little sister went off to be with him while she stayed back to finish college. And apparently they all got interested in drama around the same time.

This thing between Kinky and her mom starts with some idiotic quarrel and then the two of them take turns threatening to dive from assorted balconies, hanging over the railings like stick mops. The first few times I freaked and thought someone would really jump. But then a little later you see the two of them going out, hands clasped and  heads close together, smiling away to glory while the rest of us sit around nursing our shattered nerves. Once, when it was all new, a whole horde of aunties went and rang their bell in a big panic after one of these you’ll-kill-me-I’ll-kill-you sessions. Mom-lady opens the door with a big wide smile and says that they were only having a ‘small fight’ and everything is alright. And Kinky flashed them a 100 watt-er for good measure. I think everyone kind of left them alone after that. I’m, like, dude, I’m glad we don’t get to see the ‘big fights’. 

Paati keeps letting out short shrill shrieks every time one of them leans over and I finally ask her to go inside and pray or something and she and looks relieved and starts singing one of her god songs even as she exits to the right. Five minutes later the wrestling match is called off and everything is quiet and in a bit Kinky’s talking to her dad on the phone in pouty tones asking him to send her money and double her allowance.

Then Mom-lady calls out from inside. ‘You study for one or two hours. I’ll call the taxi and we’ll go shopping after lunch, ok?’ 

‘Cool! Thanks so much Mama, I loooove you!’ Kinky sing songs and makes kissy kissy noises. 

Paati peeps out cautiously and I say, ‘What did I tell you? It’s ok. They’re not going to 

jump today. See? They’re going shopping instead.’ 

Father

Education

Dog

That Blasted Piece of Silvered Glass

Mirrors were invented to delay you. To stand there placid, and somehow convince you that you’re not looking right. It’s the reason you have to change five tops till you’ve found perfection. It then proceeds to inform you that the jeans however, are the wrong shade of blue. Too pale for that white tee, it seems to suggest. So you try the black ones and take another peek. Your mirror glares at you reproachfully. “Really now, why don’t you toss in a bowtie and walk out looking like a waiter.” You give it the finger and plunge back into the cupboard.

Something radically different, perhaps. A dress. You shimmy into an emerald green shirt-dress and marvel at the beautiful fall for the millionth time. Tentatively, you step in front of the mirror. Your heart longs for approval. “Woohoo. Nice.” Oh yeah. According to that sheet of glass you’re looking like a hell of a chick. Just wait till the hair and makeup’s done.

The mirror gives you the thumbs up the whole time you’re braiding your hair, smiles proudly as you dust on funky green eye shadow and roll on heaps of gloss. And then you and your reflection exchange satisfied pouts as you slide in a pair of bead earrings. You go girl.

And then the phone rings. Your mum walks in in a salwar kameez (not sari) and that’s when you get a faint inkling that the mirror has misled you. She hands you the phone. It’s from your BFF.

“Dude, what are you wearing? The whole basketball team’s going to stick with jeans, and I’m thinking I will too. After all, it’s their party … you also wear, no? Don’t bother with anything too nice.”

Your world collapses around you. Ripping the dress off, you dive into the cupboard, desperately searching for a top. Every few seconds you run to the mirror. It coolly dismisses a printed shirt as too flowery, a black spaghetti as too Goth, a pink V-neck as too Barbie... your mom walks in every five minutes and says you’re running late. You feel like you’re going to cry.

“Give me two minutes!” you bawl as the mirror ruthlessly rejects a lacy yellow halter. Flinging the delicate fabric at the glass, you burrow in the depths of the closet, half hoping the parents will forget about you and leave. Then suddenly, your eyes fall on the white top you couldn’t find jeans for. You yank it on, shove your legs into a pair of jeggings, give the mirror a disgusted sneer and storm out of the room.

You swear you’ll pull a bedsheet over that blasted piece of glass. But of course, you know you don’t have the heart to do that. Mirror, mirror on the wall…

Barbiephobia

The Return of the Native—dude, the next time do us all a favour and just stay in Paris

So once upon a time, there was a bitch. Not Scarlett ‘O’Hara. The original bitch. Thomas Hardy’s Eustacia Vye. This feisty city girl gets bored in the depressing English countryside, so for entertainment she flirts with the only eligible man in the village—Damon Wildeve. Now Vye’s pretty damn gorgeous, so Wildeve is all like “Dude, life rocks”. But then for some inexplicable reason, he ditches the most darkly beautiful woman ever to walk the earth for this other female Thomasin Yeobright. Thomasin and Wildeve decide to get married, but the wedding doesn’t happen and T and her aunt Mrs. Yeobright are pissed. Wildeve’s like “Oops” and Mrs Yeobright’s like “Oh go screw yourself” and Thomasin’s like “He sucks, but it would be kinda nice to marry him anyway, na?” Disapproving Aunt is like “Whatevs kiddo, you’re fucking up your own life.”

So in the meanwhile Eustacia decides she wants Wildeve back so he goes trotting off to her place to assure her he’s still crazy about her but wants to marry Thomasin. Bitch is like “Freaking make up your freaking mind, yo!” and he’s like “Jeez, babe, chill.”

In a bit Eustacia hears that there’s this total Hottie coming to town and she’s all like “Oh man, he’s so mine. Who gives a shit about Wildeve anyway?” So she does crazy-ass things to get Hottie to notice her, and starts hanging out with him. Clym Yeobright is from Paris, rich but boring. Eustacia’s all like “Ooh France here I come... let’s get the hell out of here, Clym, baby.” But Clym’s like “Hey, sweetheart, actually I’m gonna marry you but stay here and educate poor little village children cos who wants to be rich and living in Paris.” Eustacia’s like “WTF dude!” as is his mom. Mrs Yeobright doesn’t get why the kid would throw away a fancy life for the local vamp and a village school so she’s all like “Leave, leave and do not return so long as you disobey my orders.” And Clym’s like “Sure thing, mom,” and he vacates his home space.

So by now Thomasin is married to Wildeve, Eustacia is married to Yeobright and they’ve all figured life kinda sucks. Wildeve likes Eustacia, Yeobright reads so much that he goes blind, and Eustacia figures she ain’t never going to Paris. Thomasin’s just plain bored.

Eventually, everybody gets sufficiently pissed to start with the dramatic tragic climax. Mrs Yeobright says ’nuff of life, Eustacia and Wildeve plan an elopement but fall into a river, Clym jumps in right after them, a couple of people die, one becomes a sucky preacher, another one marries a guy who sells red dye and they all—finally—live happily ever after.