Rafi Vs. Rihanna

 It’s a grey and lazy Sunday morning.  The right side of the room plays ‘Khoya Khoya Chand’ in Mohd. Rafi’s ever melodious and nostalgic voice and the left side of the room plays the same Khoya Khoya Chand in an unknown young female voice with trippy beats. Let’s call it the Rafi room and the trippy room.  The Rafi room folks still listen to ‘cassettes’ (yes they still exist) on a 1988 Sansui player which has a separate A side and a B side. The trippy room person listens to it on a laptop and facebooks on another window. The Rafi room folks sing along with Rafi, while the trippy room person surfs for the lyrics. The Rafi room folks discuss the next investment plan over a cup of tea or jot down their expenses, while the trippy roomer is looking at the next big smart phone over a cup of cappuccino. Mommy dearest is lost in transition and tries hard to grasp a few words from the Rihanna number. Gives up and goes back to the right side of the room, her side. An hour later, she switches on Sun TV, where the VO guys or hosts sound like they can jump out of the TV any moment and gobble us up and the actors look they’ve been carved straight out of charcoal.  The trippy roomer meanwhile downloads ‘Cowboys and Aliens’ even before the film hits the movie screens or buffers a movie on youtube. But the trippy roomer does relish mom’s south Indian delicacies because they’re too lazy to cook for themselves. Their lives are sorted because the ‘Rafi-ans’ had once discussed the trippy roomer’s savings over the same Rafi songs even before Rihanna started singing. So, this is an endless debate.  The trippy roomer does get swayed away sometimes by Rafi’s high notes, the submerged and grainy feel of the 60’s music; however still comes back to Tiesto and Rihanna. Man, the Rafi-ans have 10 more such cassettes to go while the Rihanna playlist is almost over. So, the trippy roomer quietly shuts her door with a smile and comes back to her ‘Rehab’ while Rafi continues to sing ‘Ek Rasta, Do Rahi’ (For those who don't know this song, click on http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tQBZsY7SJP4  or go to the Rafian side of the room ;-))

6 days before 25.

It’s only when I took a second look at the Pond’s Age Miracle ad on T.V. that I realized and accepted the fact that 25 is not just a whole number. Honestly, so long I’ve never felt it was a big deal to turn 25. Being in advertising, most of the briefs are written for the 18-25 olds. That hit hard. I do not belong the ‘cool’ generation anymore.  You can hide as many of your friends’ marriage posts on facebook, but you can’t escape the fact that you’re just about to enter the danger zone too. The weekend topics start with ‘when do you plan to settle down in life?’ and end with ‘so, when do you plan to settle down in life?’ The marriage proposals happen to be that of Shyamala aunty’s neighbour’s sister in laws’ younger son’s son.  For god’s sake, I cannot think of settling down in life in the next 144 hours. Friends of your age face similar problems too and that’s the topic of discussion over a cup of coffee these days, which seem to have moved from ‘ex boyfriends’ or ‘whom they spent the night with’.  Life Insurance Policies, real estate investments, easy car loan options seem to interest you.  Birthday parties are about quietly enjoying a few drinks and not dancing to head banging music in a disc. Oh yes, you might have graduated to scotch from vodka (mostly in case of men) by now too. If you’re single at 25, it sucks even more. It’s almost like a board that reads ‘DEAD END’. In my case, I’ve to imagine getting married to a healthy, dark, lungi clad, rice gobbler.  You’re supposed to call the plumber or electrician now, while your dad appears engrossed in the newspaper and gives a wry smile as if to say, “It’s your turn now”.  And if you don’t do it, there will be a voice behind you which would say ‘You’re 25. Till when are we supposed to manage things for you?’ You’re supposed to talk about international politics like a student asked to give extempore speech on a podium in front of a huge audience. Move on from T-shirts and torn jeans to something more 25ish. Social functions are a must to attend. Everyone must know how you look, how much you’ve grown, how much you earn, do you even earn, where you work and the priceless look of ‘you’re in advertising because you couldn’t do anything better’ and why their sons or daughters are engineers or doctors drawing this much salary. So, here I am, standing on the edge of 24,scared to bid goodbye to my naïve –ness, my fantasies, my language, my ‘irresponsibilities’ and put an end to the ‘first cut’ of life.