Where are you this New Year's Eve?

It was one of that usual lunch time banter. Since the day was 31st December, the conversation revolved around "So what are you doing tonight?"

The answers to that ubiquitous question one asks, either to make conversation or just out of curiosity, especially on this particular day were:

1. I'm having a house-party with close friends coming over.

2. I'm going to a close friend's house-party.

3. I'm at home... gonna catch up on some sleep.

4. I'll be attending the New Year's mass at Church.

5. I'm going to spend the evening with my parents and siblings at home.

My mind went back to a similar conversation a couple of years ago. My lunch mates -- similar in their lifestyle and backgrounds. But the answers were:

1. Oh I'm heading out of Mumbai for that Bollywood Party in Pune.

2. I'm going to JW Marriott for the New Year party.

3. I'm going to party-hop between a friend's house party, then on to a party at the Renaissance and from then on to a farm-party on the outskirts on Mumbai.

4. Oh I'm going to this farm-house party with a friend, and her friends (I still can't figure that one out)...

5. I'm going for a dinner at my cousin's place (That was me... feeling a little out of place with all the party animals around me)

So what's different this time around. Is the world suddenly turning into a home-body like me? Or is this a new trend?

I saw the futility of New Year parties after attending one (which was quite a few years ago). Here's what I concluded after going to that do:

1. Half the time you don't know the people and therefore conversation is almost always stilted.

2. The food, almost always, is BAD. It is cold, congealed and yes, there's hardly anything for the vegetarian.

3. You see strangers, high on the free booze, making a complete ass of themselves all around you. While that may be highly entertaining in the beginning, it gets a tad monotonous after sometime.

4. It's so crowded that you most often tend to get kissed by the wrong person when midnight strikes, and in many cases that's deliberate.

5. The prospects of ringing in the new year in your car as you try to outmaneuver your neighboring vehicle in the mother of all traffic jams is very real.

6. Unless it is 31st December 2010, the next day is a week-day which means going to work bleary eyed and beginning your New Year with endless cups of coffee / tea to just keep yourself awake.

My list could go on. But let me stop here, before I'm labelled the party pooper. Like me, this year, a lot more people have seen the light and are preferring to stay home. At least that's what I gather from my little survey.

But well, for those of you who are heading out, looks like there's going to be less traffic jams this year and your parties are going to be a little less claustrophobic. So you might as well drink up to that !!!!

Here's wishing everyone a very happy 2011.

Remembering Dadu

We were expecting it for a long time. But when the news came, they still felt completely unexpected. Reaching Pune, I saw her -- her face serene as I always remembered it. I wanted to shake her, like I did when I was a kid and she would play dead just to get to me. But I knew this time there would be no waking up with a smile, while I pouted. There would be no movement. She was lost to me -- forever.
Strangely, my mind went back to those long nights in the hospital room about 6 years ago when I had written about how I wanted her to stay on for just a little bit more. How I wanted God to give that frail body, which held a great spirit just some more time, just a few more years. I guess He was looking over my shoulder when I wrote that note. For not only did she hold on, but recovered from an illness, even if it was for some years.
My mind wandered to the times we had together as I kept vigil through the night. To the shared pastry I hid and got for her in hospital to celebrate her Birthday. To the smile that lit up her countenance every time I would come home -- making it feel like a homecoming in the true sense. It wandered to my days as a child, an adolescent and an adult where she had been a constant presence in my life. To the times when she would sit with me to watch the Grammies -- just to see her favourites -- MJ and Tina Turner perform.
My mind went back to the times she would think I'm fast asleep and would touch my eyes, my face just to feel her precious granddaughter breathing next to her.
It went back to the times when she made a face when I placed a plate of pasta in front of her, only to fall in love with the dish once she tasted it.
I thought of the two of us making smart comments whenever Mum and Dad had an argument. I went back to the time we went for a drive in the car we'd just bought -- just the two of us.
Now looking at that body that had lost my dadu's, I felt it would be tough not to miss her. For Dadu had always told me that you can't miss a person who's always in your thoughts, your memories -- they live on there forever and ever.
And yet, I'll miss my dadu and I'll never get over missing that special homecoming smile reserved just for me.
May you rest in peace dadu. I'll love you today and forever.

Cynical... all over again

Despite all those good intentions, I haven't been blogging for almost a year. Bad girl that I may have been, I realize that the commitment fundas I had written about in my previous blog stand true even today. For the record -- gymming stopped within three months, I piled on the kilos again and well I'm back to being just me.
Without really dwelling over the past months, let me now fast forward to the present -- and to what's bothering me enough to write a blog on it.
One of my first blogs was on how many senior journalists are so cynical. Well, that is possibly what someone half my age would call me today if they were to hear me speaking on the industry.
So rather than becoming one of the cynics, I thought it best to find a form of journalism that let's me stay close to my love for writing meaningful stuff and yet not get drawn into the whole deadline-for-story-so-I'll-quote-the-first-guy-who-picks-up-the-phone syndrome.
Nine years is a long time in journalism and I've seen the industry changing.
You could call me a product of the middle-school of journalism.
Let me explain: You have old-school journalism where ideals, rights and pen is mightier than the sword hold sway. Then there's the new school, where everything is driven by marketing, by ad revenues, clients, social media, advertising and oh by-the-way-journalism, that becomes a mere tool to achieve those ends.
And then, there's the middle school: While people belonging to this type of thinking do understand and appreciate the role of marketing and ad revenues in the whole scheme of things that's journalism, they have still not forgotten some of the old-school rules.
People like me, and I know of many who left this field because of the sheer disgust at what the industry is becoming, still feel that something like editorial sanctity exists.
But then, we are cynics...