An overdose of red and pink - Valentine's Day!

It all started with a soft beep last night.

My cell had just received a message.

Nothing extraordinary about it – I receive a fair share of messages everyday.

Except that this one came from a person who I had not been in touch with for ages.

A saccharine-sweet, threatening-to-give-diabetes-to-me message unfolded right in front of my eyes, much to my surprise.

And then it dawned upon me - the clock had just chimed twelve…

And it was Valentine’s Day. The day Cupid works for all year round, but gets credit for only today...

I was just wondering the other day why this day whips up so many otherwise sane people in a frenzy. Sample the following:

For some people, preparations start right in earnest as long back as a fortnight or even a month before the actual day.

- Premier tickets to the pulling-at-your-heart-strings, achingly sweet movies - TICK
- Couple sessions to the his and hers spa - TICK
- Romantic horoscope books (zodiac-wise) - TICK
- Aromatherapy candles in every possible fragrance - TICK
- Pay budding guitarist friend to serenede object of affection with his / her fave song - Uhmm, yeah TICK

A field month for card and gift makers, flower-sellers, jewelry manufacturers, spa and resort owners, even gadget giants – who go grinning like Cheshire cats, all the way to the bank. Oh did I mention the (cheesy) matching ‘couple’ watches?

Shades of red (and pink) which I had never known existed, seem to be shouting off the rooftops in the form of abundant soft, furry toys that make me

a) Grimace
b) Break out in a cold sweat
c) Both the above

An up market coffee place has even come out with “innovative” Valentine shakes, complete with one straw (how exceedingly orally-hygienic. Ahem.) for the oh-so-much-in-love couples…

Promises to be quite a mentally-progressive sight.

The D-Day has come. Complete with all the fanfare you can imagine.

Couples, dressed all in their finery (read more shades of crimson), walk all lovey-dovey, hand-in-hand, casting deep looks of adoration at each other.

Oblivious to those around them, they proceed to their chosen venue – a restaurant, a hotel, a tapri, a park, McDonald’s (depending on how deep their pockets are).

Some of the men cast furtive looks around - hoping, wishing, praying that they are not spotted by anyone who will snitch on them to the boss. After all, all that bulldozing by the lady love had made them call up at work with the lame, 'I-don't-feel-well-enough-to-come-to-office ruse...As if a day's earning not reaching their pockets was not enough, they have to also make peace with endless rounds of the swanky mall, and (sob) paying for obnoxiously expensive items...

Ohhh, and can I forget, they are armed with bouquets – blushing flowers (again of the red-hued variety), carrying them like war-trophies. Some hands are also laden with chocolates (in heart shapes, no less), cushions (again of the heart-shaped variety), CDS of the mushiest-possible numbers - and other such 'heart-y' paraphernalia.

(The flowers have been purchased at triple their actual costs, making many flower-sellers break out into merry jigs).

Quite a few cliched 'proposals' do the rounds on this day...The 'L'-word is spluttered out, causing immense merriment for friends the next day, who leave no stone unturned in tormenting the poor souls who uttered the dreadful word...

With looks that speak a thousand words, the couples then start the customary gift-giving (procured from beaming merchants). Ooooohs and aaahs follow in quick succession. Furtive pecks, kisses, caresses, you name it - do the rounds.
And that’s what Valentine’s Day has come to…For quite a few folks…


Though the next morning many of these selfsame couples may go back to their quibbling selves, for one 'glorious" day, love is definitely in the air.

And how!

Sailing through Sales

There is another four letter word that has people working up a sweat: S-A-L-E.

Palpably excited, short on patience people make their way pell-mell to the nearest mall – lured no doubt by the colourful advertisements that stare up at them from newspapers, glossies, web pages. Heck – even mobile phones are not spared, what with announcements of discounts appearing regularly on them.

Gaily decorated shops eagerly stretch their welcoming arms.

And considering the multitude who throng the shops, mighty alluring those arms are.

So with a song in your heart, you merrily hop into the store that has a huge ‘50% OFF’ in scarlet red emblazoned all over the entrance – the same entrance you’ve kept your eyes peeled on, all throughout those cold, winter days. Inside, your smile freezes when you find that only the shoddiest article is on half-price, everything else at only a measly 10-15% discount. Too bad you didn’t pay that yearly trip to the ophthalmologist – which explains why you missed the tiny asterisk right after the 50% sign. Sigh!

Gritting your teeth, you mutter an unmentionable term, making your way to the next store which also has ‘SALE’ screaming at you in bold lettering. A lil warily now, you step inside. A cheerily-dressed executive comes to attend upon you, piping in how the day was a lucky one for you, since they had a buy-one-get-one-free scheme running. You nod, mumble a polite thank you, try to look reasonably excited at her sales pitch, and then start looking around.

After a gruelling ten minutes, when you finally pounce upon the exact shade, size, and fabric of the shirt you had been meaning to purchase, and head towards the ‘free’ articles, you can barely keep from gasping...in shock, that is.

The saddest scarves that even a three year old would wince if forced to wear, look up at you glumly. You tear your eyes away, and blink rapidly when you espy the belt that would make the neighbour’s terrier’s weathered collar look bright in comparison. There is more – a watch that would look best when smashed into smithereens, a crumbled-up, fading towel you would only give to your enemy to wipe his ermmm, or perhaps to that crater-faced girl at work you abhor; socks that had clearly seen better days before the dog got them in its mouth; satchels that would look good only on a derelict scarecrow in the sugarcane fields, plastic sunglasses that would make you look right out of a D grade Bollywood hip-thrusting movie; T-shirts that would look best when poured kerosene upon and thrown with a brandish into your annual bonfire part – you do get the drift, don’t you…

You tut-tut your way out (after gingerly picking up the scarf that looks the best of the worst).

State of mind – foul, to say the least!

Then you have those bargain schemes that announce spectacular savings. You look closely, and the deal does look the real thing. So, you skip you way to the sales counter, and with a smug at-last-I’m-lucky smile, place all the items you have diligently chosen over the better part of the last one hour. The barely-out-of-his-teens cashier carelessly tosses your articles into smart paper bags (plastics are banned now, you see), while you calmly listen to him punching some numbers. Before he can finish his question of ‘how would you like to pay? Cash or card,’ you whip-out that gold card that arrived last week, and which you were itching to use. Smiling, the guy tears a roll of paper which bears testimony to the heavy-duty shopping you had just actively participated in.

Except that a dull headache begins to make itself felt, and that disagreeable frown makes an appearance on your otherwise sunny face. The reason – the buggers had not deducted the promised discount. Apparently the items you’d picked gleefully weren’t from the 70% off slot – but the 10% discounted lot!

You are on the verge of screaming bloody murder. You scowl and snap at the cashier. You cast baleful looks at all the store attendants. You are tempted to do full justice to the ‘abuses like a fisherman’ tag you were once given in college, but decide against it. You grumble. You look ready to throw a fit. Except that the cash memo is ready. Add to that the impatient queue tut-tutting behind you with annoyance, and you have no other option left but to pay up.

Promising yourself that you would think twice before stepping into one of these so-called ‘genuine’ sales, you fling the door open, head held high, nose turned up in disdain, and stomp out in sheer disgust, much to the surprise of the door man who has been employed for the sole purpose of opening doors for shoppers.

You stop dead in your tracks outside though. There is the magic word again on the shop opposite, luring you with a seductively painted, sequinned placard. While your brain and wallet both groan, your wilful feet decide to step in anyway.

And the rigmarole starts from scratch…yet again.

Some people never do learn, do they?

Who is to blame anyway?

Un)smart shoppers (are you nodding?) who step into stores, lured no doubt by fancy hoardings that shriek 'SALE?'

Or the store management that tempts all and sundry by misleading adverts?

Che it isn't so

What is one of the most enduring images that you associate with T-shirts?

Or even with posters for that matter?

Chances are that 4 out of 5 people would say Che Guevara, the Argentine guerrilla leader, who under Fidel Castro’s leadership, led revolutionaries to a Cuban invasion.

Synonymous with rebellion, adventure, and independence, Guevara strikes a chord with quite a few.

However, strangely enough, even though there are many who wear bright T-shirts with Che’s image emblazoned on them, they are oblivious to who he really was.

Or what he really stood for.

And no, we do not mean global commercialism of his pictures that peep at us from every corner.

Sample some real answers to what some people have to say about his identity:

- 'He was Nirvana’s lead singer.'
Kurt Cobain must be tossing in his grave)

- 'He was a Spanish revolutionary leader.'
(I'm guessing, Franco wouldn't have been amused one bit)

- 'He was the father of Punk.'
(Iggy Punk is probably stamping and screaming in blind rage on some stage)

- 'He is an ace biker who went round the world.'
(Agreed his Motorcycle Diaries was a New York bestseller, but who created this hocus-pocus about his world trip? And nope, he ain't alive no more)

But, this one absolutely takes the cake.

‘He was a saint who stood against militancy and Marxism.’

Sigh.

God bless these poor souls who are steeped in historical ignorance.

Amen.