Tinderbox!

“You can’t swipe right, unless you swipe right on yourself”

There is a Hollywood movie called 'Deception'. This movie was not a box office success, but is engaging enough to keep you glued till the end. In the movie, the protagonist is a typical workaholic who is lured into a whole new world of friendships (read 'free sex') by the antagonist where the parties who make up the sex ring are very normal people who work for a living. They could be musicians, waiters, corporate honchos, businessmen....just about anyone. The whole ring operates on the basis of 'calling party pays' - the person who is part of the ring and who calls the other party for the (night's) adventure, pays for it. No names asked, no details exchanged. So, assuming you are part of this ring, you could call and if the other party says yes, you could be in bed with an actor one day and the best looking corporate man / woman the next. It is just a matter of 'slam, bam, thank you, ma'm (or 'mister' , depending on who calls) and people move on. The protagonist is shocked and pleasantly surprised (obviously) that such a world exists at just a phone call away. The rule is, of course, you maintain anonymity. So he finds that he is in bed one day with the chief of a big corporation and another day with the pretty young lady who works in the same office complex as he. None of them even acknowledge him later when they are face to face, even in elevators and other public places. That's the rule, isn't it? Pure unadulterated fun at the click of a few buttons.

Click to today, and boy, don't we have this world here with us? Yes. At the swipe of your smartphone. I am talking of apps like 'tinder'. Now,did you know that tinder is so popular in India that the company has opened its only second office in India? What essentially is this app and why is this so popular? I remember, during the early days of internet, there used to be chat sites where unknown people would log in and chat. Most of these people would use only fake names and details and the chats were just a source of cheap titillation. This has morphed to the smartphone through apps, the most popular of which today is tinder. Essentially, tinder advertises itself as a 'dating' site. Once you log in, there are photographs of people who are in your neighbourhood, who have registered on tinder. There are no forms to be filled up - it just uses your Facebook profile. You swipe left to ignore the person and right to show interest. Apparently, the average tinder user logs in 11 times a day and spends around 10 minutes each session swiping left or right.

Today, unlike other sites, tinder is the most popular simply because it makes no pretensions. It preys on the primary instinct of man. It lets you to connect and make your own assumptions. It goes without saying that the conventional good looking man or woman would draw in most right swipes.

Studies from the internet show that tinder is essentially used as the ring in the movie I talked about in the first para of this article. While it may help nurture a serious relationship, it is primarily about one night stands. The very fact that a right swipe indicates a like and a left indicates a no is very indicative of a superficial imprint by which people rate each other - just by looks. I am sure that none of us are such amazing mind readers that we can get signals just by looking at the photo of a person. So it just boils down to looks and....well, you know what. Sometimes, the looks of people may be worth words, but their actual words may be worth nothing.

No denying that it could lead to really serious relationships, but, from various studies, surveys and the like on the net, it forms a miniscule percentage. Before writing this piece, to be fair, I downloaded and tested the app. I feel that the average tinder user does not give out signals of that sort. It is how people represent themselves. I am no judge of morals and do not believe there is a right and a wrong - it is up to you - but I can safely conclude that the average tinderboy or tindergirl is not looking for a serious relationship, while there is no denying that it could metamorphosise into one. And yes, there are people who pay twenty dollars for an account on Tinder plus too! Maybe they are as confused as the others are.

The answer to “Does Tinder work?” would depend on what you are looking for. Like Whatsapp, for example. It is a social messaging tool. If you want to connect with people, pass on information instantaneously, then it works.

Though I have only tested it to write and article and do not plan to use it, the advantage of Tinder an app for social networking is that it perhaps makes connecting easier than what is originally thought of. It is just at the swipe of a finger and it can’t get easier than that.

That brings us to the question to your question? “What are you looking for?” You need to answer this question yourself to your satisfaction rather than make an app answer that. It also depends on how you want to use an app and for what purpose. The purpose of Tinder can be for anything - just to connect with people, one night stands, casual relationships to really serious ones. I guess this would depend on your ability to connect and your needs, which are never constant and vary from time to time.

So, answer that question and this question would become clear to you!

Pissed off!

 

I drink a lot of water. I keep on sipping water every now and then. So, one of the early morning flights to Bombay from Madras was when I did the usual, dumping in a couple of glasses of water. The taxi ride was smooth till a km or so to the airport. Then it took close to ten-twelve minutes to cover the remaining distance to the airport.

My bladder was full, due to the water pumped inside in the morning. It was dying to be pumped out. I thought that I could do it in once inside the airport. That's when one of my greatest ordeals of recent times began. A long queue was waiting to get in. It appeared like everyone was leaving Madras that day. And yes, the woefully inadequately staffed CISF personnel took their own sweet time to admit us inside the airport premises. When my turn came, the security person checked my ID card.

"So you are working for the government? Are you also security?"

'Securities And Exchange Board of India,' cried my ID card. I cannot explain at that moment what I did actually.

"Yes," I said.

"Where do you work?"

"Bombay? Oh..Mumbai? You got a good posting."

OK thank you, but can I go now, please? It's bursting at the seams! Inside the airport, I searched for the nearest toilet. I found one around fifty - hundred meters away. Walking those 50-100 metres was like walking a mile. Salute you, all you pregnant women! Just imagine my luck to see the board outside  the men's restroom 'cleaning in progress'. Ah! Still I tried to get in, when the cleaning staff said, 'Hey can't you see the board?'

Yes Bro, my eyes can, but my bladder can't. Why don't you clean the loo while I clean my... No luck. 'OK, let me get the self check in done and use the ones inside the waiting area,' I thought as I only had hand baggage. I went to the self check-in counter. The computer screen was blank. What now? 'Sir we are experiencing connectivity problems. Can you join the normal queue please?' I am also experiencing connectivity problems, dude, but of another kind!

Wait. In the queue, an elderly man behind me asked me, "To which place are you going?" Yes sir, I really don't know where I will. Be going if I don't get access to an urinal in the next few minutes. "What a pleasant morning!" he said. I looked at him. His face looked as if he wouldn't need the loo for the next few hours. Mine was the typical constipated look (pun intended! )

Hold it! Have I started judging people by their faces and when they need to piss next? After ten loooong minutes in Queue, my boarding pass got  issued. While issuing it, the pretty girl at the counter asked me, "Sir the seat is at the emergency exit, would that be fine for you?"

Well I had good inclination of telling her, I am indeed in such a state of emergency now, but... I managed to fake a smile at her... it was more 'yes, yes.. I am tolerating it' grimace than a smile.

Then the great Indian airport security check. It was like getting selected for a job - written test, group discussion, and the final hurdle - the interview! As I said, everyone was trying to get out of Madras that the security check queue resembled a refugee camp. The queue was inching. Slowly. Like a goods train. My turn came and the security check got over (with the usual uhmm...pat down check) after what seemed like eons.

Once over, I rushed to you-know-where. That was when another obstacle appeared. There are rest rooms to your left and right, around 20 odd metres on either side. I chose the one on the right. When I reached there, there was a sofa blocking the entrance. What now? Don't tell me that this was also out of order!!! Just then some attender came and said "Sir, the water supply is an issue here. Please use the other rest room."

Seriously? Why me God? Forty miles, sorry, metres away? OK, I can do this I thought. I didn't have an option. I trundled along as a brisk walk could do damage. My worst fears came true. Since one rest room had to service all the 'loo goers', there was a queue. Yes. Wait. Wait. Wait. There is no better way to learn patience. Once at the urinal, I let my fly open. 

That is when it happened! What? My bladder went shy. Yes! Ah. Come, come, come out! No? Come on? What sort of obstacles can a man go through on a Monday morning? No. It didn't happen. OK. I had to necessarily use the closed toilet. OK. Wait again. I became an instant candidate for nirvana selection for the patience I had to remonstrate on that Monday morning. A full five minutes later, of what seemed an eternity, I got access and.... came out.... relieved, obviously.

Once in Bombay and in the taxi, I peered outside. Do you know the first ad hoarding that I saw? One for adult diapers!!! Talk about rubbing it in!!

Blazing a trail....well done; Attagirl!

The path to success is not a road you find but a trail you blaze.

- Robert Brault

A nation waited with bated breath just before midnight to see a little lass perform at a sport which no Indian thought his country will be competing at the global stage. Many a time, when I have seen Romanian and Russian gymnasts compete, I would always come back thinking that elasticity is somewhere embedded into their rubberized bodies. Rice-sambar and roti-dal can never make our bodies elastic, I thought. But, here she was, at an inch short of five feet, running in and performing a stunt in the flash of an eye.

I switched on the television after a long time to take home a gift, along with millions, for the I-day the next day. She was in the third position till the American came along. From the moment the American ran in, it was over. She did it the typical American way, fast and furious. I could not relate to her movement, not rhythmic the way the others demonstrated, but she was too fast and did catch the eye, most importantly, of the scorers.

An aside - The way the Russians and Romanians go about their gymnastic routine makes you feel that they are made for the stage. (In this case, the third position was won by a Swiss miss). It is poetic - the run up, the vault and the landing; it is almost like how birds of prey do it ...eagles and falcons perhaps? A falcon dives in at a speed around 300 km per hour to snatch its prey, but the way it goes about it is a sight to behold!  

Coming back, our little lass lost, by some points and, let's admit, to superior competition and thankfully not on contentious ruling. (Gymnastics has always been a sport where rulings are difficult to give. If I am right, the first and last time a perfect ten was achieved was in the 1976 Montreal Olympics when Romanian Nadia Comanenci created magic. The scoring system then changed to disallow perfect tens - when there is no perfection in life, a perfect score in sport would be subjective indeed.)

But Dipa, from Agartala, Tripura, has blazed a trail. She like some Indians, has managed to create interest in a sport hitherto looked upon as very un-Indian. She has age on her side and will not certainly return empty handed the next time. Here's hoping that the great Indian sports official does not play spoilsport.

Let us stand and applaud the little lass and take some inspiration from her. There are unexplored territories in life, which we can go, if only we think we can!

Bravo!

I believe in pink - III

(contd)

I could not get sleep and took my Kindle out to read. The light was on in the hall as my Kindle does not have integrated light. After around twenty minutes, I looked up to see her coming out of the bedroom.

“What are you doing?” she asked, sleepily.

“Reading. Trying to read, in fact.”

“I do not want to sleep alone. I do that all the time.”

So saying, she lay down near me on the floor, placing her head on my lap. I started caressing her head with my hand. In a few minutes, she was asleep again.

Nuggets from her life where I was part of, started replaying in my head. I met her while taking a lecture for Chartered Accountancy students, around 8-9 years back. She was the most beautiful and intelligent of the lot. There was a charm about her. Normally, many lectures are motions which the lecturer and the lecturee are unwilling to undergo, but they do out of compulsions. They jointly push the hour, minute and seconds hands on the clock. But this one was engaging, as was palpable from her questions and logical posers. During lunch, she came to me and we had a chat. We parted but she kept in touch. There was never the slightest inkling of events to unfold – she giving up her CA before the final exams and becoming one of the top actresses of South India. We were in touch on and off and it was after a long time that we got to meet. I had chanced upon her at a couple of airports, but that was it.

Here she was, one of the most talented and beautiful actors of her time, lying on my lap trying to sleep her worries away. Strange is life, with its twists and turns. You don’t know how many inflection points it has.

An hour would have passed when she started tossing and turning around, presumably because of the height of my lap from the floor as compared to a small pillow. I gently persuaded her to wake up and hit the sack in the bedroom. She hugged me close and dozed off on my chest. After some time, began my forty winks.

Saturday, July 23, 2016.

I woke up. I had switched off my 4:30 am alarm as I had gone to bed only close to that time. It was just over 6. I found her in the kitchen, making coffee and toast.

“Where did you keep the toaster? I thought of making a sandwich, but could only see this pan,” she said, pointing to the induction stove. I brushed and had coffee with her. It was a long time since I had coffee with someone in such a warm setting. But, unfortunately, good times have been passing clouds in my life.

“11.00 a.m. is my flight to Chennai.” She was wearing a blue embroidered top with white leggings. She looked much better in the morning. As we were about to leave the house, it was her turn to extend her arms and hug me.

“Thank you,” she said. “I feel better, really better.”

“Shall I make you feel even better? This is a small para from one of the pieces that I am writing. I feel it is appropriate for you. The population on this world is like a football. The most beautiful people are like the small hole in the football. 75% of them are beautiful. 24.99% of them are gorgeous. The remaining 0.01% are ethereal, not of this world. They are a sight for the Gods, not only because they look so, but because they are such wonderful people at heart.

She smiled, more of a blush, I guess. She placed a peck on my cheek.

In the car, she was conversing animatedly on her favourite movies, cartoon characters, books, cuisine and the like. Her eyes were so bright and her smile so natural and wide, when she spoke about them. It reinforced a thought that I have been having all along – there is a child in all of us adults; but the little girl in a woman is omnipresent. She always wants to be a little girl, frolicking around in gay abandon. Small, little things interest her and make her happy, when she adorns that avatar. I believe women are their truest self when they are such.

“Why don’t you complete your C.A.?” I asked her when we were nearing the airport. “What? C.A.? Now?” “Why not? Take an apartment, settle in Thane for a year and lets go for a CA Final together”. I said even as she started laughing. “Let me think about it,” she said.

At the airport, she hugged me and I kissed her forehead.

“This is for you,” I said, giving her a little stuffed teddy bear which she always said she liked. “So thoughtful,” she said. “I have many, but this is one I will indeed treasure. I love you so much”. Another hug followed. As she was getting out of the car, “One minute,” and came out to the driver’s side. “This is for you,” she said. “Read it after I leave.” It was a small card in an envelope. Even when I was looking at it, she hugged my head and placed a deep wet kiss on my cheek. “Bye,” she said. The traffic policeman was motioning me to leave. I drove for a few meters out of the airport and on to the main express highway. I parked my car to the side of the road and opened the little card she had given me. She had addressed it to me.

“Beyond the forest,

Over the mountains,

beyond the streams

Was a black rock

On it was written, you are indeed a good boy!......”

Written in her beautiful handwriting with a heart symbol, a smiley and her signature. The rain started pounding harder when I resumed my journey to Thane. Outside the car, the wiper blades started fighting the drops of rain. Inside, my eye lids started blinking, ostensibly to fight the drops of tears.

(concluded) 

I believe in pink - II

(contd)

“It is relative. You know, it changes from day to day; it’s so uncertain. The pitfalls of my profession are too well known. You are as good as your last release. It is a male dominated industry. Whatever they want, they do. The scenes, dialogues, camera angles – there is chauvinism in every single aspect. We are just objects. ‘Walking porn’, as an IPL cheerleader famously said.”

I was listening intently, nibbling at another portion of my bar of chocolate.

“When I enter a hotel room, you know, the first thing I do, is scan for cameras. In the room and in the bathroom. And yes, in my vanity van, too. Once, an AD brings his phone, with a topless picture of mine, shot when I was changing...”

“’AD’?” I interrupted.

“Assistant Director!"

“Oh...”

“You know what he wants next. He threatens me to expose it if I did not oblige. I did not know what overcame me but I snatched the phone from him and smashed it on the floor. I then took the memory card from the floor. He was too shocked to react to the turn of events as he did not expect them to happen that way. I kicked him out. That was more than a year back. A couple of days back, he meets me in Chennai at an awards function and, requests politely, in front of his producer, as if nothing had happened between us, ‘Madam, can we have discussions on my first directorial project?’ Ah, the cheek! Just because my last two films were big hits then. Can hypocrisy be more pronounced than that?”

“That’s terrible. Very sad,” I said. I felt an instant later that I could have expressed my disappointment better. I am generally bad at words; when in a spot in particular. It is always hindsight that tells me that I could have reacted better. The damage is done by that time.

Suddenly, she went to a different plane. “Why are men like this Pradeep? Are you all like that? It is so disgusting...”

“No,” I interrupted, “I don’t think so. I am not..” I did not know where they came from. I should not have tried to defend, especially when I know that many men I know were saints only because of one thing – lack of opportunity. Defending the indefensible, apparent when it is, is a pretty wrong thing to do and it offends the person trying to make a point.

She flew into a mild rage. “Don’t defend, Pradeep! Don’t defend. Don’t act as if you people are saints!," she said, with genuine disappointment, sadness and anger all taking over at the same time. “You do not represent the entire manhood! If I wasn’t comfortable and trusting you, I would not be sitting here at this hour! I know you people! I have had three failed relationships and one almost marriage to know you! And yes, I meet you sharks daily!”

The ‘you’ in her dialogue was a bit harsh to hear as I was part of that group that was being pointed fingers against. And boy, wasn’t she right? More than right.

She was cross with me as it looked apparent that I was trying to support the male bastion as such, when I was not. I stood up, went to the kitchen and brought two packs of Paper Boat pomegranate juice and thrust one in her hand. “It is not cold, but the weather does not require a cold drink.”

I opened the pack for her. After initial refusal, more arising due to disappointment from a perceived lack of support than anything else, she took a sip of the juice.

“Do you think this will cool me down?”

“May be. I don’t know. I hope it does.”

I could sense that her eyes were beginning to get moist. A tear ran down her right cheek.

“And that bloody hero....” she began again. I got up from my chair and went up to her.

“Get up. Come here.”

“What are you.....”

“Shh. Come here”

She stood up. I gently tugged at her left hand and opened my arms and took her in. It was an action, a gesture that arose in spontaneity, perhaps also because I knew I had no solution. No words assuage your feelings, particularly when you are genuinely facing problems that have no answers. Sometimes, the other person may just compound the disappointment by trying to speak.

She held me tight. I could feel her sobbing, at time uncontrollably, through the embrace. The longest embrace that I have been part of. The left shoulder portion of my T-shirt was becoming wetter by the second. At times, her hug became tighter, with fear and pain reeking all through. The hug, rather than words, seemed most appropriate. It is different. Sometimes, all you need is a shoulder to cry upon, just a hug to comfort you. It is not going to alleviate the trouble, make the obstacles disappear. But it gives you strength to fight the battle. It makes you feel better as it takes the heaviness off your chest. There is a semblance of lightness, a feeling of relief, albeit momentarily. But it has its effect in as much that it reassures the other person that there is someone for them.

The only sound apart from the fan, and her sobbing was the rain pounding outside. I motioned her to sleep and showed her the bed I had made for her. She lay down and appeared to be dozing off.

(to be contd.)

Part III contd at http://e-kirukkalgal.blogspot.in/2016/08/i-believe-in-pink-iii.html

I believe in pink - I

I believe in pink. I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner. I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles.

 - Audrey Hepburn

Friday, July 22, 2016.

11:15 pm.

“Late!” I said to her as she rang the bell to my home.

“Sorry! Got held up. There were discussions with agents for a commercial.” She said, with an unassuming smile. Without waiting for another reaction, she continued, “Very happy to see you after such a long time!”

A short hug and later, I said, “It’s good because a lot of people in this complex would have gone to bed. You would have attracted attention. Did you come inside the complex in the cab?”

“No, I got down outside and came in. There was only one security person and he was getting ready to doze off!”

Looking unmistakably bright in a red salwar kameez, she sat down comfortably on the frugal piece of furniture that I have at my home.

“So how are you doing?”

“Why don’t we eat and then talk?” I posed, “I have been waiting!”

I went inside the kitchen to bring the dishes I made – just plain sambar rice and curd rice, as she wanted. The side dish was a curry dish made of beans. And yes, roasted papad. Actors are notoriously fickle eaters and I was apprehensive of whether she would toe the same line. I was pleasantly surprised when she took second helpings of the food. In between her last mouthfuls, she certified, “Mmm.....you do cook well, sir! Your guests should really want to return!”

“You are only my second guest!” I said, leaving her in a tinge of bewilderment.

Food done, she insisted that she wash her plate herself and ended up washing mine too. I had to forcibly prevent her from washing the other vessels. The sight of one of the most beautiful actors of my time, washing utensils at my home was fascinating and unnerving at the same time. This showed how grounded she was.

“Enough,” I said, gently pulling her away from the kitchen sink. “I don’t have aprons and you are going to spoil that pretty dress of yours.”

“Do you have ice cream?” she enquired.

“Sorry! I do not have a fridge. But I have got chocolate for you,” I said, handing over a bar of one. She made a face, smacking of fake disappointment, taking the bar nevertheless. Her smile was so natural, not that of a model or an actor. Half an hour of speaking about myself and then the yawning started.

“You should hit the sack,” I said.

“No, I am tired, but not sleepy. Don’t you have a car?”

“Yes, I do. A Hyundai Eon”

“Whatever. Can we go for a drive?”

“At this hour?” The watch was showing 12:30 am.

She nodded, her eyes demonstrating the enthusiasm of a child.

Five minutes later, we were zipping on the near empty streets of Thane, with her incessantly chirping about her projects. I drove for sometime on Ghodbunder Road and some other arterial roads which I had never driven before myself. Empty roads just make you press the accelerator. I then found my way to the backwaters.

“I need a selfie here. Come inside the frame.” She said. She shot one with me. She wanted to shoot at different spots, she said, when I cut her short.

“I will shoot you. I don’t like being in photos, actually”

“Ah, not a fan, I suppose,” she faked a sulk.

“I am a friend, not a fanboy. I do like you on screen, but I haven’t seen much. And yes, I don’t have a TV.”

Still sulking, she handed over her phone, the latest Apple iphone. Five minutes later, the heavens opened up with a slight drizzle. “Let’s go,” I said. Reluctantly she obliged. Seeing the tinge of disappointment on her face, I offered, “Do you want to continue the drive or go home? You have a flight to catch tomorrow. It’s close to one already.”

“My flight is at 10. Drive, Drive...” she said, with a semblance of child-like glee on her face. After further driving, we were home a tad short of 2 am, with the sleepy security guard cursing me as he opened the gate at that unearthly hour.

“I still don’t feel sleepy, Pradeep,” she said. “Can we continue to chat for sometime?”

I smiled. “By all means! I don’t know when you are going to come next!” She smiled.

“Do you like your job?”

“Indeed. It is real white collar, makes me use my brain, satisfies me, supports my family and.....and....yes, help me lead this upper middle class life.”

“Oh..”

“You? Do you enjoy your work?”

(contd)

Part II contd at http://e-kirukkalgal.blogspot.in/2016/08/i-believe-in-pink-ii.html