Why Cinderella is my all time favourite story

I watched the film adaptation of Cinderella yesterday. While watching Lucifer trying to catch Jaq and Gus and crashing into the chest of drawers under which the mice scurried, I got transported almost 20 years back, to the first time I had seen Disney's 1950 Cinderella.

I had been completely enthralled. Since then I have watched the first adaptation many times, more than I care to count. I have always loved stories and over time I grew to love animated movies as well, but Cinderella stayed my favourite.

Firstly, the story. The quintessential fairy tale where a girl reduced to a servant in her own home catches the eye and the love of the Prince of the Kingdom. While the Prince did not slay any dragons or break anything (or anyone) to rescue her, he presented her with the opportunity to prove her identity, through the famous glass shoe.

Secondly, the animation. For 1950, the animation was definitely one of the best, not to mention the grandeur of the sets at the palace, Cinderella's home, her dresses and the wonder of her night at the ball. The effects blended with the story beautifully and became more than just a medium - they became the only medium through which the magic of the story itself could be felt.

I have often tried to dismiss my (irrational) love for this fairy tale, which I will admit has some regressive overtones. I pride myself on being logical and am fiercely protective of my independence, so submitting to the charms of such a tale is hypocritical.

My counter argument to the claim of hypocrisy is that seeing it so many times did little to change my world view of my destiny and the role I can play in shaping it. I am definitely not Cinderella. I would not have just sat there, slogging my life out for ungrateful people and then singing in happiness because I was too pure to feel otherwise.

This brings me to the third and possibly the last reason - the beauty. I think Cinderella was my first real brush with beauty. If we were to notice everything around the central characters, we would see perfect proportions, understated elegance and royal colours. It was the seed of my belief that for one to create beauty, one had to first experience it. I can, therefore, understand the lure of Paris and Venice, high costs and stinking canals notwithstanding.

From today's perspective, the taste of the decor featured in 1950's Cinderella would be called 'traditional' but for a 9 year old girl who spent most of her time reading books and creating alternate universes in her head, Cinderella gave my imagination glorious wings to spread and fly.

Like the Fairy Godmother says: "Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo!"

The Sea Movie

I touched the damp material to my chest. It smelt mildly of saline and something else. Nostalgia. Barely four hours after I had had the time of my life. This is bordering on the perverse, I thought. I could be forgiven, though, because I had no other proof - no selfie with the diving equipment on, no facebook photo with a 300 likes and 164 comments with a pic of my being suspended in open water, watching fish of all shapes, sizes and colours dart past me, and no words to explain the feeling of being 50 feet under the sea, watching an alternate world at work.

I did not want the material to dry. I wanted it to retain some of the famous Andamans magic in it. Every time I touched it, I wanted to get transported back to those moments, those special moments when I knew beyond a doubt, that this was what made it all worth it. The splurge on a four day trip, for which I had paid the equivalent of almost ten, thanks to the flight tickets, an internationally certified course, and premium accommodation so that I could stay at the same place as the dive site. 

School of Bumphead Parrotfish

It had felt, alternately, like driving on a whole new road with new rules and new vehicles; like watching strangers going about their day through a one way looking glass; and like starring in a movie about the sea, a movie like Finding Nemo. Neither of these comes close to what it actually felt like. Maybe it was a combination of all three. But then again, the mind can only conjure what it already knows. Who knows what all colours were there in the fish that passed me when we dived near a ship wreck, looking all stately and purposeful? Who knows what the majestic Sea Horse was thinking when it popped out of the sea bed as we hovered a couple of metres above, almost like as if it was waiting for us to arrive? 

Black Sea Horse on the sea bed. The diving team said it was rare sight. 

It was surreal. And I was grateful, for being allowed to view the magic up close. To all the creatures of the sea, who made me feel at home in their home. To the schools of parrot fish that majestically wove their way through the water right above us. To the three black and yellow striped fish, swimming in decreasing size in front of me as I descended particularly choppy waters, tired after a hard won battle with waves and wind at the top. They fluttered along in front of me as I descended slowly, a mild ear block preventing me from moving any faster. I looked at them and moved closer, wanting to study their colour pattern and look into their eyes. A little further and then a little more further, till I reached the bottom. And then again in the last three minutes of the dive, during the safety stop. There they were again, fluttering along next to each other in decreasing size. Almost as if wanting to know how my dive was and whether I would see them again soon. 

The clown fish which zig zagged between the live coral, and Long Fin Banner fish, of Finding Nemo fame. Schools of different kinds of fish zipping in one direction and another, reminding me of a busy highway. 

Long Fin Banner Fish

Sea Urchins, Scorpion Fish, Lion Fish and the lone Banded Sea Krait. And many, many more whose names I did not know. So many colours and so many shapes. I could have spent the whole day there, just watching them. Each one of them so beautiful, so graceful, so perfect.

Banded Sea Krait. We saw one hiding in one of the many caves created by dead coral. Its venom is one of the most toxic in the world, but it is very shy and non-aggressive.

Back in the room after a scrumptious lunch (diving is rigorous and I was always left with a healthy appetite after), I wondered what to do. We started the day early, going out on the boat by 7am, and we were back by 1pm, after two dives. So the whole day stretched before me, languid. I could read, write, go to the beach for a swim, walk to the market. Eventually I settled for sitting on my bed, looking through the little holes in the mosquito net tied to the poster above, to the painted pattern on the sloping cloth roof and reliving those moments underwater. When I awoke, it was past five. Ah, the perfect time for a walk on the beach to watch the sunset. And to say goodbye to my new marine friends. 

A bientot. 

P.S. All the pictures are from the internet. 

The Longest Walk of My Life

I must admit to thinking that the title sounded very ‘Chetan Bhagat’, if you get my drift. His books are the a-b-c of what to do to make people turn the cover to the read the first page and not put it down till the last. No mean feat, as anyone who tried to write a book could tell you. If you don’t know any such person, the millions of copies that each of his books sold should be enough to convince. 

Nevertheless, I would persevere in calling this the Longest Walk of My Life in my recent past, because I have a short memory when it comes to forgettable experiences, and most of them are well, forgettable. So, the question here was not about what I was looking forward to, but of what I was willing to risk to get to what I was looking forward to. 

Ten minutes, the friendly person at the Reception had said. Only four minutes had passed. The longest four minutes of my life (not counting the one minute I had to swim in 20 feet deep sea without my mask, but more on that later) and I had six more to go. Six and a completely dark and lonely stretch of road ahead. With possible redemption at the other end. 

Behind me, the Greats beckoned. Gold End, Havelock Favourite, Symphony Palms, Holiday Inn. The here and now, looking good. Did I dare? Did I dare venture into the unknown; did I want it badly enough to take an immeasurable risk to my safety? I stood in front of El Dorado, indeterminate. To the right stretched adventure, dark and mysterious. To the left, the familiar, brightly lit and warmly welcoming. 

I remembered Santhosh, the receptionist’s expression when I asked him, Is it safe for me to walk? Is it safe for a woman to walk, all alone on the road after dark? His answering smirk spoke volumes. Of course, what kind of a question is that? I am disappointed. I had rather hoped that you would ask what I would recommend you eat. Pah! Go away now, allow me to get back to my game of Solitaire on the computer. 

Switching on the flashlight on my phone, I turned right and started walking. A lone tube light shone a few metres away, banishing the dark. I walked faster, my eyes on it, unwavering. The sound of a motorbike behind me, every thud of the engine sounding like my heartbeat magnified a 100 times. I swallowed and concentrated harder on the tube light. Then capitulated and turned. Just in case. Looking for escape routes. A narrow lane turned into a few houses, bunched at right angles to each other. A child played in the lane, its buttocks bare. 

The motorcycle vroomed past, the two travellers too engrossed in their conversation to look hither or thither. The tube light illuminated the grubby interiors of a small room of around 30 square feet with a low wall facing the road and an entrance of about three feet in width at one end. Red plastic chairs caught my eye, as did the dark shape of a man in a nondescript shirt and lungi, his pot belly creating a gentle curve in the in the lower half of his torso. I looked ahead and saw more tube lights. I looked back to see the incredible feat I had accomplished, the proverbial walk on fire. It seemed irrelevant now that I had crossed it; ordinary even. All that courage and nothing to show for it except a sweat soaked shirt. I licked my lips and tasted Odomos. 

The phone glowed two minutes past the ten minutes it was supposed to take me to reach the best place in Havelock to have dinner (I supposed non vegetarians may venture to have their own opinion on this matter considering that it was an island on the Andaman Sea, but vegetarians had to be content with what was handed on from previous travel accounts of like minded individuals) I continued walking, the tube lights and the stray motorist passing me. I noticed the words “COCO” painted in blue on a red board, the nearest tube light putting the part above this line in the dark. I walked faster, unconsciously, my eyes riveted on ‘COCO’. The dark parted to reveal ‘Anju’ painted in the same faded blue paint. More lights, this time within an enclosure in which a few blonde heads bobbed.

Twenty minutes later, I scooped a spoonful of Paneer Makhani into my mouth and tasted sweet, sweet victory.

Forgiveness

We all do some things right, and some things wrong. Sometimes they happen so fast that it is all over before we know it, and sometimes it stretches like much chewed gum, on and on, getting thinner and more fragile by the second. But the one thing that binds both right things and wrong things is - they pass. They begin, they end and life moves on. 

Why are we so ready to forget the right things, and so slow to forget the wrong? Do we ever wonder why we spend so much time going over and over the argument from the previous day, or the hurtful messages, or someone’s expressions, when there were probably many more smaller but positive things that happened at the same time? 

I have held anger and hate inside me for a long time. Even when the fire soothed itself into glowing embers, I fanned it with thoughts of the past - sad, unfair thoughts of the past - and got it burning again. Only to go to bed completely exhausted at the end of it all. 

Retribution. I dreamed of it. To all the people who had let me down; treated me unfairly. Sometimes I pulled strangers who were, in my estimation, irresponsible or wrong into the same huddle. One day I would get back, I vowed to myself. Show them how wrong they were. 

It never came. The opportunity, the time to do it or even practically speaking, the resources like money. Instead, days and years passed, and I felt like I had not moved when the rest of the world raced ahead. 

In flashes of sudden enlightenment, I realised how some people were just fundamentally happy. Sure, they had problems; they had ups and downs just like the rest of us. But that did not stop them from smiling everyday, or just enjoying the moment. 

I was fundamentally unhappy. The only wall that stood between me and happiness was, well, me. The fires that burned inside took everything. They were fair that way. There was nothing left when it was all done. 

At the end of it all, when we go to sleep at night, or when we come home after a long day, we have ourselves for company. I asked myself - would I go away somewhere with myself? I did not even like myself at that point. When we are not comfortable with who we are, taking refuge in the company of others is the easy thing to do. Living with ourselves, our thoughts, our idiosyncrasies is difficult. 

Now I think about it more often - spending time with myself, going away, just enjoying my company. There will be some good, some bad, but I know that it’s what I make of it. I can live inside my head. And I know that so long as I am around, everything will be okay. 

To all the people who have wronged me - I forgive you. But you know the most important thing? I forgive myself. 

My Search for Satisfaction

You know this feeling when you are sitting in a group and someone says something significant and you chose that exact moment to get lost in reverie? By the time you are back to the World the information is dated and the moment has passed. But the lingering feeling that you have missed something does not. 

I feel this way all the time. It's like as if everyone has struck a deal with their conscience to forget its duty for a while, so that they can push, claw and do whatever else it takes to clear their way to the top. If that is indeed the top (The Ladder of Mediocrity tells you more). I forgot to do it, and now it is too late. No one listens to me now, let alone my conscience. 

The human trait of perennial dissatisfaction has been termed as one of the major differences between us and other species in this world, and has also been attributed as the reason for mankind's progress today. This dissatisfaction has also manifested itself in the Attitude towards others. Acquiescence and compromise are the new words for backwardness. It's the New Age Theory-of-Relativity. Why bother with the universal definition of good when being better than bad is enough? But the single thought that my dull brain is unable to wrap around itself is: everyone is ok with it. There is smugness, superciliousness and maybe even a hint of resignation, but no one is asking why. Everyone is only talking about the what. 

To be honest, I was one among the madly rushing horde till recently. When it hit me that the Ladder everyone is scrambling to climb is actually an Illusion, I lost all interest. Phat. Just like that. Because I knew that this was not going to give me Satisfaction. But then, is there anything else on offer?

I don't have an answer to this question. I have just started the search, and I don't expect it to end well. But I cannot be without trying. If there is one emotion that I do not want to have in my life, it is Regret. 

Till we meet again. 

The Reflection

She stared at the warped reflection of herself, incredulous. She had heard so much about it all her corporate life, but had believed in the triumph of human spirit to belie its existence. After all, there are exceptions to every rule. Why cannot she be one? 

Meera, Vice President, Global marketing sat at her expansive and elegantly furnished cabin and stared at the Glass Ceiling. After 25 years of climbing the corporate ladder, she had more than enough to show for it. She had joined Mercury Candies & Confectionary as a marketing trainee exactly 25 years ago. At that time it was the largest seller of candies, ranging from chewies to condensed milk. It was also a male bastion, with the only female employees being four secretaries and the cleaning staff. Mercury hired her because they were looking for “fresh” ideas that would help rekindle the interest in the candies segment, which was rapidly losing market share to imported brands like Nestle and Cadbury’s. Mercury was a completely Indian brand, a product of the soil, so to speak. She had graduated with honours from the top management institute of the country and was hungry to prove herself. 

The next 25 years was not extraordinary, by any corporate employee’s estimation. The marketing campaign that she had conceptualized resulted in a market share increase of 5% in the candies segment, which is no mean achievement in this highly fragmented category. She also spearheaded the launch of two new product categories in an already crowded market, spurring another market share increase, not to mention the incremental sale from being the first in the category. Along the way, she married her classmate from college and was blessed with two children – Rhea 19, and Nishant, 15. 

It was true, the numbers spoke for themselves. But apparently that was not enough. She was lucky to have a good boss, a man who believed in her capability and gave her the freedom to follow her beliefs. Not one to let an opportunity go by, she made full use of the freedom and recorded the most rapid promotion in the company ever since its inception. Now her boss was retired and she was reporting to the Chairman, a jovial 75 year old who founded the company. 

He had met her 2 days ago. To tell her that in his cheerful inimitable style that there was just no more promotion they could give her! “You have been such an asset to us dear. Many of our key successes over the past 2 decades are credited to you. Normally, the next step for a VP is to make them a member of the board. But we do not have any women on the board, neither do we intend to. Company policy, you know? We will be very happy for you to continue as VP, of course and I am ready to give you a 40% bonus in salary in the coming year.”

She had listened in stoic silence, punctured by nods at the appropriate moments. She had smiled at the Chairman, saying that his offer was very generous and that she would think about it and get back in a week’s time. 

She closed her eyes and thought of the years gone by. The travel, the staying away from the kids, phone calls across continents. Late nights powered by the light of the laptop. The familiar ping and vibration of her Blackberry, which she always kept under her pillow. Missed fancy dress competitions, exam revisions and horse riding classes. Her kids had been wonderful. And her husband of course. She could not have made it without them. Every time she faced opposition to her ideas, or another block in her promotion her family stood by her and egged her on, confident that she will always come out a winner. 

Rhea will be completing college in a few months. She was planning to apply to engineering courses in the US. In 3 months, her daughter will leave for a foreign land and she will see even less of her. They were very close and the relationship they shared was very dear to her. Did she regret all the moments she had missed in her kids’ childhood? Sure she did. But her job was a part of her identity, it defined one aspect of her, like being a mother defined another aspect. All these identities came together to create Meera, the woman. 

There may be limitations in people’s minds, but there was no limit to her will and determination. No Glass Ceiling was going to stop her from being who she was. She fingered the document in front of her. It was the Rules & Regulations of the running of the company. A friend at Legal had obliged her with it. In the document was a clause that enabled any employee who had served for more than 10 years in the company to petition for a change in any of the clauses. Including the one about not having any women on the board. This route would be a one-way street though. If she filed a petition and lost she will have to exit the company. Staying on will be awkward. 

When had any of her choices been easy? Over the years she had learnt to follow her heart. Her heart never lied to her. 

She pulled out the copy of the petition letter and started filling it.

The Good Book

I recently got gifted an Amazon Kindle Fire HD. Needless to say I was thrilled to bits. The Kindle Fire was exactly what I wanted - a one stop shop to access and to read all books. I love reading, and over the years I have had a tendency to read multiple books at a time.

This presented a unique problem when I started working. Whenever I would travel on work I found that not only could I not take all the books I was reading along with me (as this would mean that the size of my suitcase will almost double), I could only carry one book, and that too the one which would fit into my laptop bag. Not for me was the bulky backpack! I carried a sleek laptop bag in orange with brown borders. While this ensured I was up to my teeth in "style" quotient, I was nowhere near there in the "ample reading material for the travel" quotient. If I felt like reading that business book on the flight when all I had carried along was the fiction book, well, too bad.

So you see, the Amazon Kindle Fire is Perfect for me. Absolutely Perfect. It is sleek and light. I can carry in it hundreds of books at a time, if I want. When I close a book after I am done reading for the day it automatically bookmarks the page so that the next time I open it, the book opens in the same page. I can also copy extracts of the book and make notes while reading. Yesterday while reading my first ebook in it I realised that I can also highlight words from the text and consult the dictionary. And all this is just the tip of a super long list of features that it claims to sport. What a beautiful gadget!

Just as swiftly as I reveled in the advantages of the Kindle, I realised what I would now be missing, possibly forever: the weight of the tome in my hand, the crackle of the page when I turned it, the feel of the paper under my hands - slightly coarse but abundantly promising of the fascinating journey it was to take me through the course of the book. More than anything else, I would miss the intoxicating smell of paper whenever a new book was opened. I would inhale it deeply and the smell would stir in me restlessness, a longing to plunge into its depths right away and discover its secrets.

The Amazon Kindle Fire HD does not smell of anything, and it is extremely smooth to touch. It needs to be charged every now and then when the battery goes low, and sometimes when the ebook is loading it makes a faint whirring sound, like a fan.

The Good Book had character; it had a personality which was part of its charm. Goodbye for now. Till we meet again.