Of cousins and holidays

I was watching Kabhi Kabhi on TV and happened to sms to my aunt in Delhi who reminds me of Neetu Singh. She used to dance just like the actress and I wanted to tell her that I was thinking of her. Turns out, she was watching the movie and was also thinking of me.

I miss that - when holidays were times that all cousins came together. The adults did not plan and structure our time. We were left to our devices, and pretty much made ourselves available only when it was a mealtime. We were not taken out shopping or even for a meal. In that structureless , busy day, we did possibly make time for our holiday homework too.

I have been trying to juggle my memory on what we did. At my Dadi’s , we would sleep out on the terrace and be up with the sun. There was a graveyard behind the house that we would cook up stories about. The railway line was close by so we would linger on the tracks and scamper away when a train came hurtling down. The hot afternoons would find us all lolling on the bed and playing cards or reading. We should shell peas, fold up the washing, make tea for each other and talk about nothing at all.

My mom’s family is a bunch of mad people so at Nani’s ,there was conversation, shopping, fighting and food all day. All my aunts and uncles would descend together so there was organised chaos and plans that would be made and shelved at the last minute. The day would begin with the sound of path and gurbani and the high points were the stories my Nana regaled us with about the army , partition and war. The lucky ones got to go vegetable shopping with him. Nights were spent trying out clothes, making crank calls to whoever was the fancy of the moment, picking out lice from someone’s hair and gossiping. Never a dull moment there.

My uncle was in the army and every year we got to visit the new location he had been posted to. In big houses with even bigger, impeccably kept gardens, we were waited on hand and foot by the numerous household staff. It was great fun the day Mama’s ration from the Army would arrive - milk, eggs, ham, sausage, bread, fruit, vegetables, tea , coffee - you name it! Evenings we would go swimming and then devour the lovely picnic hamper my aunt would have organised for us. Movies in the annexe, rides in the army tanks, picnics in ancient monuments, books from the army library - the memories are so many!

Today, the realities are so different for my kids. They have aunts and uncles that are spread around the globe and who they meet on Facebook (thank god for that, else they would recognise no one).All the kids dutifully send rakhis to each other every year with a short note. Even with my siblings in Mumbai, trying to get the kids to spend time together is such an uphill task - what with busy school schedules and post school activities.

Holidays are no more about going to the grandparents’ houses, but about planning experiences that they will grow up to (hopefully ) remember. Holidays that are a drain on the money and energy and we come back feeling exhausted instead of rejuvenated. And most of the holidays have no provision for any extended family. The last time my kids met up with the whole family was at my cousin’s wedding five years ago!

How will they create memories that will hold them all together I wonder? No matter where my siblings and cousins, we still bond well and know that we will be there for each other in our hours of need. We all share a relationship that goes beyond our grandparents and parents. And that makes my family SOOO BIG.

The informality of the extended family is the best thing we have in India, but I am fearful that we are slowly losing it - and our kids will be the biggest losers.

A national anthem I can sing

I love singing our National Anthem and about the only place we get to sing it these days is at the movies!

Sure, we are a nation with a rich music cultural heritage. But why does that have to extend to the national anthem?Why should it be sung with classical sur and taal by shrill female voices and high pitched male ones? And why should there be strange experimentation?

The one that plays at PVR currently makes me want to dissolve in tears. It is boring and monotonous.I have to constantly keep adjusting my voice and pitch to the classical singers and it has my kids in splits.The others watch me with barely disguised amusement. I sound like a croaking frog or a besura dhondhu.

Why can’t there be simplicity? Like a national anthem sung in regular human voices that everyone can sing with gusto. Like the one that the Rajneeti film cast sang? Or just an instrumental version that everyone can sing in their voices?

Methinks it would be better for national and patriotic pride.

Mutable Memories

My Dad was in a transferable job and as a result I changed many schools during my growing up years - 6 I think. And even today I remember them all - the class rooms, the corridors, the fields, library , the dining room and the food!
What I don’t remember are the people in those schools. At times it is very embarrassing especially in the days of the Facebook where people can reconnect with you. I keep trying to place the person and think up atleast one memory that I might share with that person. I have made major social gaffes - mistaken someone I hardly knew for a close friend and made conversation, thinking that the person was married to someone else I knew or calling the person by another name altogether.Sometimes I have even mistaken batchmates as my husband’s friends!
It is also very embarrassing when people remember details about me and I remember nothing.For instance my friends remember my parents, relatives and names of my siblings from decades ago. They even remember what movies we watched together or who we ragged or hit on.
At most of these times, my sister comes to my rescue. Amazingly, she remembers everything about my friends. I call her my Memory Keeper.
We think memories are for ever. But I am beginning to be aware that they are not and are terribly mutable.
Memories are strange things and as you grow older they behave even more strangely. Some memories sieve out through my brain and I have no recollection-of places, people, names and events. Some memories surface suddenly and surprise me coz I have not thought them forever. I did not even know that I knew those things - ever!
I am pretty sure I have edited and re-done many memories. May have also falsified some to make my self look better or to hide facts I don’t want to reveal.
There is the problem of corroborating those memories. Is my memory of an event correct or was there another story or angle to the story?Does anyone else also remember it? It hassles me when I remember something and I have no-one to cross-check that with.
This growing up is nasty business and lonely too. I fear the day when I won’t have anyone who shares my memories. And I won’t be able to corroborate my memories and know whether they are correct or incorrect. Or I might get afflicted with Alzheimer’s and lose all my memories.
I don’t want to be that lonely.

Of Friends

I find that as I am growing older it is becoming more difficult to make friends. Therefore, if any of my friendships break, change or wither away imperceptibly, it is extremely painful.Unlike my younger years, when I would brush off the break-ups with the arrogance of youth, I brood, sulk and potter unhappily if I feel rejected or ignored.
Paradoxically ,it is becoming easier to meet people at work or at social dos and chat and connect over inane matters. I am less inhibited,can network, enjoy my drink with friends of friends, have a great time, dance , air kiss and move on!
But making friends is another matter all together. A friend I can share stuff with - what drives me, bothers me or interests me. The friend I want to spend an afternoon with and one who I want to go on a holiday with. A friend I can bond with!It is becoming difficult to connect with someone at that intrinsic level when you automatically gel and are drawn into a deep friendship.
I am not sure why this is happening. Childhood (school , college and campus years) was easier to make friends in. The only principles that governed life were fun and studies. As long as the person satisfied one or both these principles he/she was good to have as a friend. We did not question status of families, designations of parents or compare houses, holidays and mundane things like money, bank balances and cars. (It helped that everyone had either a scooter, fiat or ambassador!).There were home friends, school friends, club friends, friends at granny’s and so on.
But today, when I have to ‘connect’ with someone, there are a hoard of issues. I can’t connect with kitty party types, social climbers, hangers-on or the celebrity types. I also can’t connect with women whose goals for their kids are different from mine; helicopter and tiger moms give me a headache.
At work, it is difficult to establish friendships. Too much is at stake - assignments, money, promotions. It is a dog-eat-dog world (or atleast a crabby one) where every one fights for survival or a better deal. I might be betrayed or I might betray someone.
Most of the guys I know now are married. Unlike in younger years, I can’t connect with a guy to the exclusion of his wife .Or his professional status. I am wary of guys who are overly friendly at the gym - there is a nagging suspicion that the sight of a voluptuous woman running desperately on the treadmill is too tempting an opportunity for them to pass up.
So I desperately hang on to whatever friends I still have. Those that go back 30 years or ones that I have met and become great pals with only recently. And it upsets me greatly if any of my relationships break or my friends drift apart. I find myself clinging on to those I love and who tolerate me enough!
And I really hope my friends will live longer than me!!

Can I let go?

Udai is out for almost four days on a compulsory school trip and I feel a part of my heart has walked out of my body and out of my front door.

The house seems so empty. There is no Udai in his room, playing cricket, listening to blaring music, watching tv or playing on his PSP and munching on food all the time. Nishna is not screaming because there is no Udai eavesdropping on her conversations with friends or chasing her with his Nerf gun. The desktop in my room is looking forlorn because Nishna does not want to facebook on it...where is the fun if there is no Udai to rag? Udai wants chicken at every meal and right now all of us are too desolate to care for it!

What is it about life? Having kids? Bringing them up...only to see them leave. And all this is gradual, yet when I look back it feels like only yesterday when Udai went to school. I remember being unable to move out of his classroom and looked down to see Udai clinging on to my legs...he did not want to be left alone.

I wish the kids would disturb me at night like they used to. Then I blasted them coz I am an insomniac and always found it difficult to go back to sleep after the disturbance.
I remember coming back from office to see both of them watching Teletubbies and eating chicken nuggets.

I have tracked their growth, yet am amazed at the speed at which both the kids have grown in the last two years. They are both taller than me and suddenly I am the family dwarf. They don’t want me to give them a bath, they eat on their own(ok - almost) , they study on their own, do their own homework and research and Cartoon Network and Disney have been replaced by VH1and Castle, White Collar and Friends.

They are embarrassed when I kiss and hug them in front of their friends and I have been given instructions to not scold them or act smart in front of their peer group. I can look into their facebook pages, but I cannot comment. If Nishna is going out with her friends, can I please not go to the same location and ‘stalk ‘ her?

And the very same kids who never went out for a night spend coz they wanted to sleep with us and who slept with my pillow when I was travelling, are today happy going off on school trips!
I know I have to let them go and I behave very brave about it.Truth be told, I have a hard time letting go of even redundant relationships. So how am I going to handle this? Have them grow up and leave my house. Of them creating their own lives and being independent.

But for now, when I close my eyes and snuggle close to them, in my mind vision, Nishna and Udai are my tiny toddlers. And I want to hold on...just that much longer.

What Do You Say?

I have a neighbour who lost her 30 year old son to cancer. I went up to her apartment after a day or so ; she was praying so I met her daughter and other relatives, said I would come back later to meet her and came home. I never went back to meet her again.
And when I meet her in the lift or in the car park now, I can only muster an embarrassed Hi.
Because I am so terribly ashamed of myself. Why did I not have the courage to go back to meet her? If something traumatic happened to me would I not appreciate my neighbours’ presence? How crass and ill-mannered I must come across as!
The truth is - I did not know what to do and still don’t know how to handle a situation like this. Anything I could have said would have sounded so insignificant. A ‘I am so sorry’ sounds so trite. It would not have been appropriate to ask her details of his final collapse. I did not know him at all, so I could not have shared any experiences and memories of him.
How does one console a mother who has lost her young son to death? She would have been questioning the justice of it all, reliving his last moments and would be haunted by his presence all around her. Nothing must have made sense to her broken heart. As a mother, I can’t even begin to understand the emptiness in her heart.
Would my words have helped? Or my presence would have been an impediment?
As we grow older,our own mortality and the mortality of the ones we love begins to loom large on the horizon. I wish I would go before my parents, my kids, Praneet, my siblings and their spouses and kids, my close pals and everyone else who makes my life so special.
I don’t want to be mature and worldly. I don’t want to learn the skill of offering condolences to those who lose a loved one - I can’t handle the horror of it all. Anything you can say to the bereaved person is so shallow. Death is final.

Ap Mein Rab Dikhta Hai

Ap Mein Rab Dikhta Hai

My earliest memory of Papa is on the night of the10th of May’72 when Rano was born.I was three and was getting ready to go meet my new sister at the hospital. The house was so eerily quiet that I thought Papa had forgotten me. I came to the living room and saw Papa standing quietly while my granny sat on her chair, complaining softly. She was unhappy because Rano was a girl!!Papa’s calm exterior could not contain his happiness at Rano’s birth.

When I think of where my Dad came from and what he has achieved, I am so proud and honoured to be his daughter. Papa is the only kid from a Kanpur family of 7 children who educated himself.When he got admission in ITBHU, the whole family was away on a wedding. Dad collected money from the shop his family ran and went off to be an engineer in Benaras. He joined SAIL and from then embarked on being the STEEL man.

Quiet and self-effacing, Papa is the gentlest teddy bear ever. He was not a big presence in my life when I was a little girl (none of our fathers were), but as I grew older, Papa became the quiet strength behind me. He came from an ultra-conservative family, but Papa had the greatest aspiration for Rano and me. He wanted his girls to study, have careers and be financially independent -infact he threatened me in my wayward young years that he would make me join a nunnery if I did not study!

He stood behind me when Mom was livid that I had opted for English Honours instead of Sciences in college. He watched in silence as I cried disconsolately when an intense relationship broke up.He would pace up and down the street if we were even a minute away from our curfew hour. He would be ready at 7.30 in the morning coz I always missed my GK U-special and had to be dropped to Nehru Stadium. He was the proudest Dad ever when I got the Ranbaxy job at Campus. And was intensely happy when he met Praneet and thought this was the guy for me.
I think life came together for him completely when Paras was born. And till today Paras is his dil ki dhadkan!

There is so much I could go on and on about Papa. How he always woke me up with a cup of tea in the morning. How his strong shoulders shuddered as he hugged me the last time I left home as an unmarried girl. How Mom made sure that I saw Papa before I was wheeled in to the labour room, because she thinks he is so God-like and would like all her grandchildren to be like him.

But most of all, Papa is truly inspiring because of the amazing human being he is. He is generous to a fault. He is without rancour or bitterness even though his brothers cut him off from their lives. He has always told us to live without expectations from any relationship but to help and assist where we may have the ability to do so. At 72, he is more active than anyone of us and is busier than ever at Nigeria ,with setting up and expanding the steel plant. He is humble to the core - and never will you find him arrogant, boastful or blowing his own trumpet. Honesty personified, Papa is so well respected by his peers and subordinates, and all his family because he is true to what he does.
And I hope my Dad will be this active for ever, will tie his hair in a pony tail and sip his whiskey at Las Vegas when Mom hits the machines. And will always remember how blessed Rano, Paras and I are to have him as our Dad!! And how much he is loved! And loved!

BOL

Saw the movie Bol. A heart-rending movie of a devout Muslim father, his daughters ,their subjugation and not being allowed to ‘live’. The storyline could have been tighter and production left much to be desired , but the issues it brought forth would strike a chord in the hearts of women and men who love their women.

This is not a Muslim phenomena - of subjugating daughters, crushing their aspirations, stopping their education and exposure to the outside world. These actions are implicitly supported by the wider society - on the pretext of social and religious exigencies. Neither is this limited to a specific class. I am constantly stumped that, in this modern India, in the most liberal of all its cities, in the strata of educated Indians,these atrocities are commonplace.

I know of women who are forced to sleep on the floor when they have their periods, of girls not allowed to work, of married women not allowed to wear the clothes they want to or are not allowed to have social lives and friends because the in-laws don’t like it. Of women who are forced to account for every penny given to them and who are abused because they left work to take care of the kids. Of men who beat their wives on the slightest pretext.Of wives being constantly harassed because of parents. Ofcourse , not to mention the innumerable men who don’t like their women connecting too much with their parents and siblings.

All these women suffer in silence. It is many years into their marriages that they finally muster the courage to share these horrific details with their close friends. The deep guilt that somehow all this is their fault and the fact that they don’t want to speak ill about their husband and families gags them.

These women hope for a better future for their daughters , pray that the daughters’ lot in life will be better and the daughters will find happiness. They resent the very people they are duty bound to serve and there is lingering anger that the husband is so weak , brainless and ‘kaan ka kaccha’. There is an overwhelming resignation that this life has been such a waste.

How do the perpetrators of these crimes, the men, the inlaws and parents, justify their actions? Most of them do it in the garb of ‘social’ mores, but really, there something called humanity. Of letting people live their lives to its fullest and discovering themselves. I have little respect for people who hide behind morality and societal pressures to create misery for women . And seem to get away scot-free.

As the mother of a son, and a Sikhni on that, I hope I will have better sense to not treat my daughter-in-law shabbily. To not judge her worth by the jewelry she brings, gifts her parents give her or the family she comes from.That I will have the generosity of heart to let her pursue her career, her dreams and not trample on them. I hope I will let her mingle freely with her folks and will take pride in her achievements. And the only measure I would use for her worth is the joy and happiness she will bring to Udai. But I don’t know how I will turn out!

And I agonise over the kind of guy Nishna will marry and the family she will go into. I hope the guy will be as good as Praneet and will let her be. I hope he will love and pamper her and watch her blossom with pride. And I hope her new family will indulge her and treat her as their own. Just as my parents’ karma worked in getting my sister and me a great guy and family, Praneet’s (definitely not mine) good deeds should benefit our kids!

Happy Teacher's Day

Teachers touch us for a period longer than the one they teach us for. In innumerable ways - by making you love the subject, pursue an idea, learn new skills or by helping you see life differently.

As a child, I changed many schools and was blessed to have access to amazing teachers in different environments. I have lost touch with so many yet I remember with clarity all that they meant to me. Some teachers I have been fortunate to connect with again, and by virtue of their being back in my life, they add happiness and value!

I hope my kids will have similar experiences with their teachers - teachers who are constantly learning and are not afraid to be corrected. Teachers who can recognise the potential in you and nurture your skills. Teachers who go beyond the call of duty and walk the extra mile to help you grow. Teachers who are not afraid to call your bluff and teach some harsh lessons. Teachers you yearn for, when you are all grown up and want to be pampered again!

I will never know if I could have been an engineer had my teachers been of a different calibre. If I had pathetic English teachers would I still have loved English? And would I been so outspoken if my teachers had not been indulgent with me! Who knows!

What I remember most distinctly are my English teachers and the ways in which they influenced my reading and writing. At Mussoorie, the young Ms Roma Narian who gifted me ‘The Jungle Book’ and Ms Pathania who made me love Desire and Napoleon and taught me that letters don’t have to start with a Dear and Hi. The lovely Sharmila Purkayastha at IP who made Wuthering Heights even more hauntingly beautiful and had me fantasising about Heathcliff, and Preeti Singh who I adored enough to become Preeti Singh myself!

My principals - Waryam Singh at Mussoorie who introduced me to public speaking and taught me that I did not have to bang the lectern for effect, but the cadences in my voice would do my work for me. H S Singha in Delhi who appreciated my spunk and told me to never ever lose my courage or voice!

Mr Manchanda, who thought I was cut out for an MBA school but despaired at my Math skills and got me to tutor a sixth grader to get my fundas right!

Prof Govindrajan, who killed us by knowing our names and roll numbers on Day 1 of the MBA program. He was the closest we had to a good looking droolworthy dude and many chai evenings were peppered with gossip on him. Both the Damodarans, who were soft and suave, who I adored and whose subjects I understood nothing about!

And ofcourse, there were the other unmentionables - Mr Kakar who ruined Maths forever for me , Mr Ghuman who got whacked on his hands coz he dared to hold my collar to check the chain on my neck and the doddering Kamala Mathur who refused to change the exam schedule because my finance and HR papers were at the same time.

Happy Teacher’s Day

This Ganpati

I am not a religious person and have often gotten into trouble with my devout Sikh parents, because I play the devil's advocate at everything. Most rituals associated with any religion make no sense to me. But this year the Ganpati festival has touched a chord in my life.

I find myself praying and asking for peace and calm.For strength to tide over what is turning out to be the worst possible year of my life. Is it mid-life crisis? Or some other insanity?

The year has been one of questioning. I have questioned every part of my life, every decision I ever took, every important relationship and anything and everything I stand for. It has been a time for going mad, driving people around me ballistic and killing myself with insane tears,insecurity and sorrow.

A year when a dumb illness debilitated my health and threw everything out of gear. Suddenly I cannot go out, eat, enjoy a drink or a tequila shot. When low resistance means that even training for a half marathon is becoming an uphill task.

It has been a time when well meaning advice has touched no chord and any kind of existential gyaan has galled me. The year when I realised that in your deepest thoughts, you are alone and without excuses.

I have bowed down to every Ganpati I have visited and prayed for sanity, for help. Knowing fully well that this is clutching at external straws. That an idol in front of me will not give me deliverance, but I will have to find it from some hidden internal reserves.

At this Ganpati however, I feel a certain sense of optimism. That the darkness I am chasing is beginning to lighten up. That good times and wisdom are within my reach now. That the obstacle of this phase is almost over .That I will look back on this year and feel grateful that I made it through - a happier, wiser and more content human being.

And that such a period will not visit me again - ever!

Facing Rejection

Is rejection good? It hurts lowers your self esteem and makes you question the worth of everything you have ever known, loved or wanted.All of us have faced rejection at some point in our lives ,but connecting the dots back in my life, I can appreciate today, that rejection helped me, made me grow, made me happy , made me successful - as acceptance never would have.

There are 5 definite rejections in my life and each helped shape me and my future.

Rejection #1- I was sent to a boarding school at the tender age of 9 and I was miserable. Miserable, because I loved my Mom to distraction and wanted to be with her. At the end of every weekend, when she would drop me, she would hug me close and shower my face with kisses. I wanted to hold on to my Mom’s smell - and would therefore, not wash my face or take a bath for the next few days. This led to a lot of bullying and I was troubled massively. Nobody would talk to me or be friends with me either. I hated the place, hated the people and everything the Ranchi hostel stood for.

Good thing! By the time I went to my second hostel, I had become a fighter. I was no longer the docile Preeti Bakshi, and though I still quavered with fear inside, there was no way I would get bullied again. I was fearless and outspoken and went on to represent my school in debates, dramatics, sports - you name it!

Rejection #2 - I always wanted to be a journalist and loved English Literature. Much against my Mom’s wishes, I took up English in college, took German and journalism lessons, reported about the Mandal Commission protests in the Delhi University and was all set to become a journalist. I took my Mass Comm exam for Jamia Milia and cleared it. Confident that I would get it, I went in for my interview and was unceremoniously thrown out of the office (in 15 seconds flat) because the interviewer decided I was not good enough!

Good thing! My parents pushed me to take my MBA exams - I worked in fabulous companies and with amazing people. Today, I have gone back to what I loved the most - writing - but I have a keen intuitive sense on if something will work or not! And that comes with a business perspective too, though I still despise numbers.

Rejection #3- When the guy I thought I loved, dumped me. I was shattered, but what a heaven sent opportunity that was.

Thank God! I would have never met Praneet who loves me unconditionally. Non-interfering in my life, Praneet has let me be and supported and helped me explore myself, my capabilities and test new waters. He is the best father I could have wished for my kids and has spoilt me too much for any other man!Touch wood - I must have accumulated some really good karma (in my previous birth)!

Rejection #4 - When I had Nishna and wanted to go back to work - my boss -who had been my lifeline and whose blue eyed girl I was, flatly refused to take me back at Ranbaxy. I hated him for years, especially since he insisted on piling me with gyaan not asked for.

Good thing! Because I had no job, I travelled the world with Praneet and my kids. Travel opened up my mind and my perspective.I learned new languages, tasted new foods, met people of different nationalities and made excellent friends. I spent valuable time with my kids, and today I realise how blessed I was. What job in the world could have compared to the joy of being there when Nishna sucked her thumb for the first time, tasted cerelac for the first time or being kissed sloppily by Udai all the time .For my kids I was the only person in the world - absolutely indispensable!

Rejection#5 - When I quit Disney and they refused to take me back after a while. I was so heartbroken - I loved the Company and they did not want me. Sob Sob!

Thank God! I learned to look at different things and ventured out to try new stuff, that was outside my comfort zone. I started writing, editing, curated the Kalaghoda festival, met publishers and slowly but surely, found my groove. I figured what I am really good at and got opportunities to hone my skills there.

Today, when I look back at my life, I would not have it any other way. I am grateful for all those rejections, because they helped me build a better life. They made me human, because I felt the pain, but I learnt to forgive, forget and move on - to a happier and a more fulfilling, successful and deserving future!

Har Ek Dost Zaroori Hota hai

The new Airtel ad ‘Har ek dost zaroori hota hai’ set me thinking on how true that is! Especially at this stage in my life when I have hit my 40s, when I don’t have free access to my peer group as I did in school and college and when my identity is defined as Nishna and Udai’s mother and as Praneet’s wife.

Now I value more than ever all the friends I have. Those, that are mine alone - because of work, college or school; those that are mine because their kids are friends with my kids and those who are friends with both my husband and me.

Some of these tug at my heart, some agitate my nerves, some make me want to disappear but they are all important and serve a definite purpose in my life!
And when I die, I hope all these friends of mine are still around and will get drunk on my funeral!

And no, like most good dedicated Bhartiya Naaris, my husband is NOT my best friend. He is not my friend either. He is my anchor, the wind beneath my wings, the needle that bursts my happiness balloon , the Cancerian water that puts out my Arien fire . He is my life - but friend - no chance! (he will sponsor the drinks on my funeral though)!

Some are my sounding boards and who I can share all my secrets with.These friends are non-judgemental about me, simply because they have either known me long enough or because they understand and love me tons.

My gossip girls and boys. I can use them to pass on messages to people that are not very pleasant. These friends will ofcourse also gossip about me at the first opportunity.

The critical friend -for whom nothing I can ever do is right and will criticize everything I do. The critic’s approval is one I seek and this helps me re-invent myself time and again.

The Jugadu friend who I can depend on - to get me a new assignment or job, a maid or anything mundane as well. This resourceful person is terribly well networked and seeks nothing in return.

The I-me-myself friend who can only talk about herself and her life. I truly relax in her presence coz I can shut my mind and enter into a meditative state, reflecting on things that are important to me.

My needy friend makes me feel special because I can make him/her feel better by talking them through the problem. I play different roles-of the bitch, the mother, the confidant and the planner with them.

The gyaani friend who is not much older than me but is a know all and helps me find answers to problems.

The young enthu cutlet friend who makes me feel like I am re-living my youth all over again. I enjoy the experiences of this friend and live vicariously through them.

The supercool friend whom nothing ever fazes and who does not shy away from rejection in order to achieve the goal.

The dedicated mom type who comes to my rescue when my kids and I are clueless about holiday, exam and homework schedules.

The chipku friend- who does not know where to draw the line, how to take no for an answer and who does not understand personal space and property. Bugging, but one I can always count on being there for me.

The celebrity friend whose name I can drop and get free access to privileges.

My naughty friend who has the courage to live life on her terms and experience it in the manner that defies societal logic. I admire her spunk and courage, while I worry about her too.

The troubled friend who makes me thank God ever single day for giving me a good life.

The rich socialite friend who makes me realise that I look like a misfit in a LV bag and Jimmy Choo shoes and that I am grateful to my parents who pushed me to study and work.

The loudmouth who likes being the centre of attraction wherever we go. I cringe in embarrassment but we get the best table at a restaurant or the best bargains because of this friend.

The Kanjoos friend whose wallet never surfaces after a meal together and the generous friend who is always ready to pay for everyone.

The Selfish friend who surfaces when there is something required from me. Blatant , but atleast I know where I stand!

The Facebook friends who I seldom meet but who add cheer to my life every single day.

The male friend who makes me feel young, happy and wanted by just harmlessly flirting with me.

The gym friends who praise my weight loss and stamina and make me feel good.

The book club friends with whom I can share what reading means to me, without anyone rolling up their eyes!

The bro-in-law who is the best gift my sister gave me by getting him into the family.

And the siblings I have who are my bestest friends forever!

Of Extended Families

I don’t like going to Delhi anymore .Since Mom Dad shifted to Nigeria, Delhi seems very empty. There is no Mom there to fuss over me and their house in Sarita Vihar is locked up.
This time when I went to Delhi on work, I decided not to stay with my friends, but to go to my Granny’s in Greater Kailash. And re-learnt all that a great Indian Family stands for.
The GK home is the one we stayed in when my parents moved back from Syria and I came back from the hostel. All my remaining school and college years happened in that house. Many years later when I moved out of Delhi and my parents moved their residence to Sarita Vihar, the GK house would have unexpected guests who were my long lost friends. All my hostel friends remembered was that my grandparents’ surname was Rekhi and that the house was behind the M Block market.
The house was always full -what with the multitude of cousins growing up there and a constant influx of guests.
This time, the house felt so empty. All the kids have grown up and flown the coop. They have moved to other cities and countries to create their own lives there. My Mama was so delighted that he came home early to make sure he was around when I came. My Mami spent her afternoon cooking up my favourite dishes and my loving Nani waited!
I walked into memories that evening. Of my aunt, 4 years my senior, making my life miserable because I had called her a bitch. In her logic, if I called her a bitch, it meant I called my Nani a kutiya and my Nana a dog and she threatened to tell them all. I was so petrified that I did not call or write to them even once from Syria that winter.
Of my young cousin Pooja, who sat in my lap all the way to Kashmir, merrily pissing on me when she wanted to. Of her falling in school and breaking her teeth and suffering miserably because of them for many years.
Of my cousin Chandan, who I adored and who called himself Tandan Lekhi. Of him getting ready the moment he would realise my granddad was ready to go shopping.
Of the 1984 riots, when Lotty Mama disappeared for hours and people were frantic because Sikhs were being brutally murdered. And of the time when everyone thought that the mob had reached our house because Chandan zipped up his private parts and all the women went hysterical.
Of my Nani and Nana - diametrically opposite, but so tuned to each other. Of my Nana making his favourite eggs for me when I was all alone, studying for my exams. Of Lotty Mama and Tina Mami getting me food late night while I studied and they were out partying. Of Paras being born there and falling and breaking his teeth and ingesting poison.
Oh! There were memories and memories and I slept among them all that night.
And realised that growing up meant that all that was precious to me at one time is now present only in my memories. That we forget that it is not only our parents and siblings who make up our whole world. It is also the extended family that loves you dearly and is there with you every single step of your journey.
All their love was expressed to me in that evening I spent with them, reminiscing about old times, sharing gossip and in the tears that sprung in their eyes and their tight hugs when they had to let me go the next day.
I have another house in Delhi that I can call my own, even when Mom and Dad are not there. And feel so blessed because of that!

Crazy Indian Democracy

I love India and her crazy sense of democracy. And I am amazed that we are still a nation! This hodge podge nation of diverse peoples still survives. That we still have some sort of a functioning democracy!

It is so easy to criticize India for what she has not achieved, but look at the assets we have:

- for a country with different religions, communities and castes, we are pretty cool. There could have been more riots over differences, but by and large, we co-exist peacefully. That does not mean we don’t bitch about other religions -sure, as a Sikh I am appalled by the number of gods and rituals and superstitious beliefs my Hindu friends seem to have but I love them and their festivals in equal measure.
- The ease with which you can stay in any part of India, to conduct business or pursue education. In China I was told that people who come into Beijing to work are considered immigrants and do not enjoy rights like the Beijingers do. In India, we may crib about north and south divide - how Panjus are belligerent and Tamilians supercilious, but we have the freedom to go and settle down where we like. Therefore, when MNS and Shiv Sena talk about Maharashtra for Marathi Manoos, we can all scream and shout and revile them.
- The freedom of speech - perhaps this is what we Indians love the best about our country. The Print media may be bought out, TV bribed to say the right things about the government, but now there is the active social media network where you can say what you like.Nobody can haul me to jail for criticising my government.
- So what if we have not learnt the art of giving to NGOs and strangers....each of us does try to improve the living standard of the people who work for us. And if the kids of my maids and driver grow up to choose other professions and make more money than their parents, I would think we have given something small back to the society.
- Yes, we have little civic sense. We spit and piss everywhere and throw fruits and paper even out of BMWs. We think a line is meant to be broken and rules are meant to be bent or broken. But in moments of crisis, when the official system fails us, it is the very same ‘uncivic’ people who rise to the occasion to help.
- Yes, In India nothing works if you don’t have contacts. But you don’t have to be rich to have those connections. Good relationships and networking at any social strata gets you that benefit. And there is some merit in that too, when everything is not driven by the rule of the book.It helps in emergencies when you need a doctor, a loan or even vegetables delivered late night to your home.

Sure we have a long way to go...we will learn in due course how to create a civic society that cares about its people! We will have more accountable bureaucrats and politicians and there really will be ‘equality’ for all.

Till then, lets be grateful for what we have!

Rakhi Brothers??

As a young girl, the only time I missed a brother was when it was Rakhi time....and sisters got gifts from their brothers!
I never quite understood the concept of making a rakhi brother. Boys were classified in three categories for me - the first were the ones I liked/crushed on and definitely had no sisterly feelings towards them. The second set of boys were my bum chums - people I liked to hang out with. I felt affection but no lust or sisterly love for them. And the third group was the one I was totally indifferent towards....ones I felt absolutely nothing for!
I hated it when our conservative school wanted us to tie a rakhi on the boys of our school and that was the first big conflict I had with my teachers.
Back then, it was so difficult to make them understand that I did not want to make the boys my brothers.I was considered very impudent and ‘fast’!
Ofcourse, I gave in to the pressure one year and went to tie ‘rakhi’ to my friend’s younger brother in the boy’s school .That was only because I was crushing on another boy and this would have been an opportunity to see him and chat with him.
I have watched with amusement when my male friends have made ‘sisters’ of the hottest girls in our batch .No way would the hot chick have noticed my poor friends, but by becoming ‘rakhi’ brothers, they could now cosy up to the girl of their dreams, hug her and share her confidence! Perfect relationship!
I am constantly on Nishna’s case to not make a ‘rakhi’ brother and warn Udai to not get a ‘rakhi’ sister.It is blasphemous coz no-one, and I mean no-one compares or matches up to your own sibling. Years later, when Paras came into our lives, I was 16 and Rano was 13. And we knew the sheer joy of a brother. He was way too young, but still utterly protective and indulgent with us. And I bet I could not have loved anyone the way I love my own brother and everything he stands for! He is my parent’s gift to us and the house I will always consider my own.
And the only one I can kiss, hug tight and give my life for!

Syria in 1982

In 1982, my sister and I were surrounded by hundreds of young Syrian soldiers who serenaded us with Shammi Kapoor songs! Even today,while I don’t remember anything much of my times then, that crisp, cold Feb morning when we escaped from Hama is vividly etched in my mind!
Dad was posted at Hama, Syria from 1979 to 1985. There were few Indians and no Sardars in Hama and we would be mobbed in the market because the locals thought my Dad was a Maharaja and would chase us all around.
Like today, even then Hama was the hotbed of politics. Muslim Brotherhood was the party opposed to President Assad and every now and then, there would be minor flare-ups. (At one place Dad was going to be shot because his beard made the police suspect that he belonged to the rebel Muslim Brotherhood party - fortunately a man from his factory bailed him out).
We knew family times were ahead when at night there would be gun shots. Dad would not go to work next day, we would have leisurely meals, watch Junglee and Disco Dancer on TV and play cards all day long. The fighting would last a day or two and then the humdrum of life would take over again.
One February’82 evening we went to the market to pick up weekly supplies, but there was a Hindi movie playing in the local theatre. (Syrians were in love with Junglee Shammi Kapoor and Raj Kapoor). We watched the movie, ate dinner and came back without any shopping.
That night, there was a lot of gun fire exchange. And this did not let up for the next few days. We did not dare to go out into our terrace because everywhere you looked, there were tanks and smoke and fire. Hama was burning. At the end of the 7th day, there was no food left. For the past few days, Mom had stopped waking us up in the morning because it meant she could cut out one meal from the meagre supplies we had. By the end of the week even the powdered milk and mashed potatoes were over.
That was when Dad decided that we were going to leave Hama. Mom packed up our passports, dollars and some change of clothes. She wore a bright pink saree and used her red lipstick to make a HUGE bindi on her forehead. A young Jordanian neighbour who attended college in Hama asked my Dad if he could accompany us.
So the 5 of us piled into the car and left our colony. The roads were deserted, many houses had been shelled and there was debris all around. The moment we hit the City Centre, about a 1000 soldiers descended upon us and surrounded the car. My Dad spoke fluent Arabic but pretended to know none, while Mom kept up the litany of ‘Hindi, Hindi’. In some time the commander of the army walked up to our car. He asked my Dad to leave the car and come with him for questioning.He asked the Jordanian boy to step outside too - that was the last we ever saw or heard of him.
Mom decided to go with Dad and asked my sister and me to lock up the car and sit. I was all of 13 and Rano was 10 and what followed was the most bizarre experience of our lives. Hundreds of young soldiers stood around our car singing ‘Ayyaya Suku Suku ‘ from Junglee and ‘Tere man ki Ganga aur mere man ki jamuna ka, bol radha bol sangam hoga ki nahin’. Then someone would start chanting ‘ Indira Gandhi, Shammi Kaboor’ (they could not pronounce p) and all of the rest would join in!
On the left of our car was a school building and scores of young men and boys were standing shirtless in the cold Feb day. Some 10-15 of them would be hustled into the school building and there would be gun shots. Then after sometime, another lot would be pushed into the school.
I have no idea how long all this lasted - Rano and I did not know whether to laugh, cry or to be scared without our parents!
Eventually Mom and Dad came back alive to the car.Just as we were about to leave, gun fire exchange broke out in the next street and our car also packed up. It was a surreal experience - tanks and soldiers on the move and my Dad standing with the bonnet open in the middle of it all! Eventually some soldiers gave the car a push, the commander gave us an escort and my Dad drove top speed out of Hama.
Rano and I came back to India for school without going back to Hama that year. Many years later when I re-read the history of Syria, I realised that the Feb82 crackdown was the most brutal one ever that crushed out the Muslim Brotherhood. Seeing Hama burn again hurts and it is upsetting to think how many more young men and boys will lose their lives this time round.

At 13

As I see Nishna enter her teens, I am struck by the difference in her growing up years and mine.

I had 2 pairs of bell bottoms and some other random clothes that I wore in turns and perhaps wore school or Gola shoes; Nishna has a cupboard full of all kinds of clothes - dresses - tube, spaghetti, short, long, shorts of all sizes, t-shirts in all hues and shapes, shoes - platforms, wedges, heels, flats, open toed..the list is endless

Holidays meant travelling in the train in a coupe with an icebox full of ice and drinks, a surahi of cool water, puri aloo for meals and going off for a month to Nani or Dadi’s house. There, the house would be full of cousins of all ages and we were left to our own devices. Now, holidays mean planning for an international trip, something that will expose kids to global trends and help them become comfortable in the shrinking world. The holidays are choc a block with activities that are all duly recorded in photos and videos - to be shared with all.

Post school time was for sleeping, reading, studying, probably quickly hopping across to the GK market to eat papri chaat. There was one family phone that operated on the blessings of the MTNL guys and the usage was strictly regulated. Games we played were pithu, lagdi tang, chor police and hide and seek.Now post school activities are centred around bonding with friends on bbm, facebook, gmail and personal phones and watching TV! Games are played on the PSP, Wii, X-Box and other devices.

Birthday parties meant that I could take my close friends (usually 2) to Nirulas for a pizza, ice-cream and drink. Now, parties are about dresses, music and dance. Girls skype each other before each party to show off their clothes and shoes.

I was in a hostel and at 13 was getting introduced to English music that the American Khalsas brought into the school. Nishna knows all the latest music and pays for nothing - downloading all on her iPod and other devices.

Studying meant learning by rote and practice all that my ICSE and CBSE books taught me - never mind if I understood anything or not. Now, research happens on the net and Nishna is being trained to ask questions!

Parents were someone I was scared of. I could not have used bad language in front of them, spoken about naughty stuff - Now kids think of nothing before saying it all in front of us.

Having a boyfriend was taboo. Even a male friend! Now Nishna tells me to be nice to the mothers of her close ‘male’ friends, whether I like them or not!

Yet, some things remain the same - peer pressure, study stress ,body image problems, hormonal changes , temper tantrums and the feeling that parents are strict and don't understand anything. That everyone else's teen years are better than one's own!

What would I not give to be 13 again!

Aarakshan/Reservation

I was delighted when I turned 18, because that very year, 1989, the Indian government decided to lower the voting age from 21 years to 18. I could now cast my vote and decide who my leaders were going to be. I went proudly with my Dad to the polling booth at Greater Kailash, was thrilled to get the black ink on my finger, went behind the screen and cast my secret ballot!

I voted for VP Singh who was an upright politician with tremendous goodwill.I loved him till he got bitten by the Reservation bug and wanted to implement the Mandal Commission recommendations. In college, we were flummoxed by the decision. We had studied hard and fought tooth and nail for admission into coveted courses and colleges in the Delhi University.And now, on the basis of the heinous Hindu legacy of caste, India was ready to write off a number of seats in colleges and government organisations to those who belonged to the backward classes? Where was the walking into, nay striding into the 21st century, building on India’s competencies?

But we were young, full of enthusiasm, confident in our belief that we would protest and the government would change its mind. We made stickers on ‘Anti-Mandal’, ‘No reservation’ and distributed these on the major traffic junctions. We wore Anti Mandal t-shirts and participated in demonstrations against the same. Rajiv Goswami tried to immolate himself and there was distress and a huge uproar. That year, DU exams got postponed because of the protests and weeks that the colleges shut down.But this was a political decision - one aimed at garnering a larger vote bank, much like the slums in our cities do. There was no pulling back.

In these 20 odd years, it would be worth a study to see how much the OBCs have progressed because of the Reservation wand - one that made eunuchs of regular people like us. Today, many of those seats go empty while the truly deserving ones have to struggle hard, getting above 95% to get into any college of repute.

My disenchantment with my voting rights, my inability to make a difference to my own life because I am in the minority hit me big time. The disillusionment with the politicians who deliberately ruined it for us was intense. It also angered me that I had equal voting rights as the others who contribute nothing to the system, live off it like parasites and who my tax money is supposed to support.

Perhaps I was wrong in never going back to vote. And I have watched with growing horror how there are few educated leaders and all corrupt politicians and bureaucrats who run the show. How this democracy has become a sham and is now moving towards and oligarchy, with the power vested with a few.

And yet I am not sure that my vote will change anything. Ever.

Who bombed Mumbai?

Ashwin Sanghi’s book ‘Chanakya’s Chants’ ruined whatever idealism I thought there might have been in politics.

So I have become cynical about many things. For instance, is Kasab (in custody) the real terrorist who was unleashed in Mumbai that fateful July night? Is it not eerie that the only terrorist who was caught on the cctv cameras was the one finally arrested, and is the only one who survived? Could it be true that there is no Kasab and that ‘details’ of his trial are released periodically to showcase how mean the terrorist is and how ethical we are in giving him a fair trial?

So who bombed Mumbai?

The Pakistanis - Maybe! They have enough troubles at home and a terrorist attack on India is a good diversionary tactic. Besides, they can’t really take off on the US, can they, for coming into Pakistan to ‘eliminate’ Osama? (btw, is it only good timing that the US found Osama now? When Obama was having problems at home? Now people are all praises for his leadership!)

The BJP/Shiv Sena/RSS - Maybe! To bring to fore the inability of the Congress to protect its citizens. None of their moves have borne any fruit - Ramdev has been discredited and even Ayodhya is not attracting enough attention to create fire. A series of bomb blasts in Mumbai is awesome fodder.

The Congress - Maybe. The party is under tremendous fire for inaction and its inability to rise out of corruption and other scandals. Citizens and civil society groups are asking too many questions ; the tv channels also do not give them breathing space. So a ‘terrorist’ attack on Mumbai is a quickie to deflect attention. Sure, the Congress has come under fire because of its inability to protect Mumbaikars, but their lament that Pakistan is out to destabilise India has many sympathisers. Ofcourse we Indians hate Pakis for the way they terrorise us!So, Congress loses a battle, but wins a political war!

Wah! I love this politics business, where everyone is suspect and everyone has an ulterior motive! And anyone could have bombed Mumbai!

Actually anyone - the real estate sharks, the migrant population, the kids who don’t like school, people who wanted a holiday the next day, Ram Gopal Verma who wanted candid shots on his new movie on Maria Susiaraj and 26/11! Anyone could have bombed Mumbai !

The only sad bit - Mumbai has zero infrastructure development and its once impeccable police is corrupt and dances on the tunes of politicians. And yet, Mumbaikars go about their business, not because of their resilient spirit, but because it is an expensive city and people have to work and earn a living.

And I don't think there is a Chanakya in any of the parties who is strategising all this for India's benefit. Atleast the Chanakya of the 3rd BC had ethics!

Food in China

When we planned our trip to China, we received warnings from many well wishers on the food there. A Gujju friend told me how even her hardcore Panju friends had a problem with food in China, rice that is yuck and sticky, the smells and the taste. She was insistent on sending me home made theplas and pickles to help me tide over the China trip.
But China opened up my taste buds in another way! There was no Chicken Manchurian and American Chopsuey that we Indians so love, but the food was simply fantastic. All restaurants have picture menus, so you can see what your dish looks like and then order. We learnt to eat with chopsticks, but towards the end of all our meals would use the soup spoons to eat off all the food (else we would sit there forever)!
We hardly even ate chicken or fish, because beef and pork was always on the menu and never failed to satisfy. (OK, once maybe!). Wild China, the tour company that organised our guide and food has the philosophy of taking clients to places that serve wholesome, authentic, regional Chinese food. So we were warned that while the loo facilities in these places might not be the best, the food would be outstanding. We ate Beef and Pork in all their variations - with whole red or green chillies,with fresh garlic shoots and bamboo, fried crisp, with vegetables, or in curry and other sauces.There were soups with weird leaves in them, though they tasted lovely. And green tea aways accompanied the meal to clean up the palate and to help digest food.
The best hamburger was the Chinese one we ate in Xian - crisp bun with pork in a nice sauce. That was also the only place that served raw garlic with noodles, because the region eats it like that.
The Dumpling restaurant in Xian was another great experience. This four storeyed, massive place is packed by 6 in the evening. We were served a variety of salads with jellyfish and other sea animals before the dumpling service began. There were 18 different kinds of dumplings, in different shapes too! Fried, steamed, sweet and savoury, we had dumplings with chicken, pork, beef, fish, rabbit, walnuts, coconut, even a few vegetarian ones.( I believe that is where I started putting on weight and started looking like a dumpling-again)!
Our adventurousness stopped with exotic meats like donkey and bull frog! While husband and son enjoyed the donkey meat, I ate it only because I did not want to look squeamish!
But the food I hated the most and would not recommend to anyone was the Beijing/Peking Duck. They serve it in style. The Duck, looking lovely with a beautiful brown glaze is artfully carved at one’s table. The crispy skin on one plate, skin with meat on another one and just the meat in another plate. You are supposed to wrap it in the thin pancake, top it with some veggies, add sugar and other sauces provided and bite into the duck! I could throw up because all that glitters (glistens) is not gold, and the skin was ugh!
The Muslim quarters in most Chinese cities is quite a fun place. Food, all kinds of skewered meats, breads like khubbus and pita bread, dried fruits like dates and walnuts in big baskets, desserts made of tofu and other unrecognisable things are all in display there, but don’t eat there if you don’t want a Delhi Belly.
And everywhere Chinese glug green tea as if there is no tomorrow. They put green tea leaves in their bottles and refill the bottles all day long.The drinks carts have all kinds of green tea drinks. We bought tea from Dragon’s Well at Hang Zouh - apparently known as Emperor’s Tea, but I bet the emperor never paid so much money for those measly tea leaves!
The fruit is lovely. There was a mini mango that had a thin skin and a tiny seed and was delectable. Everywhere, skewered pieces of melon were being sold and were so refreshing in the heat.
The traditional stores and the wet markets were great fun to go through as well, though not after a meal coz the smells and sights could make you throw up. There is a Chinese saying - we eat everything that flies (except the airplane), everything on land (except the cars) and everything in sea (except the boat)! And that is totally true.
We did not see any snakes or fried locusts on display, but there were whole chickens and ducks, skinned and displayed with an artistic tilt to their heads. Offals stuffed into various kinds of sausages, eels, turtles and other unrecognisable sea animals and meats of all kinds of animals. Sea cucumbers selling at RMB 9000 for half a kg and worms at RMB 6000 for half a kg are believed to cure arthiritis and other old age problems.Chinese traditional medicine is still big business and the shops are stocked with all kinds of weird looking things.
So, if you plan your holiday to China, don’t be nervous! Unless you are vegetarian ofcourse (even eggplant is served with pork!), though there are Buddhist restaurants that serve pure veg food. Or you can pig out on KFC, MCD and Haagen Daaz.

Indian Kids - globally competitive??

I am amused when I see fantastic statistics on how well Indian students are doing internationally and predictions that Indian and Chinese students will overtake the world.
Chinese kids I don’t know much about, but Indian kids have a really long way to go -
- Untrained Teachers - India needs to invest a lot more in educating teachers today. Most teachers were educated like us-in schools that focussed on rote and paid little attention to creativity. And because teachers don’t have the correct skill set, they are unable to help children think out of the box too. At a recent science fair submission, a couple of kids decided to do a project on the sub-conscious and conscious mind with some interesting hypotheses...the teacher shot it down saying it was too boring!
- Poor Infrastructure - How many schools have good labs and good teachers who can demonstrate concepts? Good museums that help children assimilate classroom learnings are just not there. Not all kids can go to apno London to see the Natural History Museum or the Science Museum to understand how things work. A visit to the heritage sites is a lesson on good storytelling gone bad. Nishna came back terribly disappointed from a trip to Lothal, an Indus Valley site - they were shown a boring audio visual presentation and the guide who accompanied them was not clued on.
- Connecting the real and book worlds - Have you ever noticed how boring the Civics lessons in Indian school text books are? Civics might be the most important subject for our kids and us, because it tells us how our country is governed and what the roles and responsibilities of the government are? So if schools can organise a trip to a biscuit factory, they can also connect with the local panchayat or gram parishad and take children for a trip there. How about a trip to the Police Station? Or a government hospital? How else can we make learning valuable for our kids?
- Pursuit of perfection - we just don’t have it. Indians do chalu , chalta hai type jobs and no one has patience to learn something really well. I have to stifle a guffaw when kids get their black belts in martial arts or top honours in piano and ballet, because they don’t have the right reference points. One viewing of Jaden Smith’s Karate Kid was enough to make me aware how sorely lacking we are in the pursuit of perfection.
Lost opportunities - Brought on, for instance, by over zealous parents who out-source simple school projects that the child presents as his own. Or bolstering the letter of intent in college applications by waxing eloquent about great deeds done in Community Action Service. Kids bask in the glory of work that is not their own - these are opportunities lost as the child has not worked towards acquiring a skill set. And sooner or later all these things will come back to haunt us - And we will be the world’s most populous country with a poor skill set and no way out!

Woman Power

Kanimozhi is quite a delight to watch! She is a corrupt politician who has built wealth on her father’s gains but is also a WOMAN.
I love the way Kanimozhi does what most of us women do when confronted with disaster. We weep copious tears, look appropriately pathetic and whine that we are mothers and need to get back home to our kids. Kanimozhi ofcourse has bigger issues .She does not want to spend time in the jail because like every working woman she leads a tough life - she works during the day, she has to run errands, cook dinner for the family and put her kids to bed after singing them a lullaby.
Now is she to blame? Ofcourse not! She is only doing what most of us women excel at. Bad mood - blame it on PMS; depressed after a baby - post partum blues ;putting on weight - it's the hormones; feeling low and fatigued - mid life crisis; angry at husband - well, a woman’s life is a bitch!
When we get caught skipping a red light, each one of us can act demure and coy in front of the traffic guy and while bargaining hard,a little flirtatious behaviour with the seller never hurt anyone .But when we are caught out at something, our moral indignation is very high - I am a woman, why would I do something like that?I am a wife, a mother. I am an honourable woman - how dare you cast aspersions on my milky white character?I am not that type of a woman!
Only we women know what nasty bitches we can be. We are as good as men when it comes to lying, cheating, siphoning money off, gossiping, deceiving and other vices! But if we are the weaker sex, why should we not shed tears, resort to hysteria and use all womanly wiles to ease out of a situation? Way to go Kanimozhi - you are on the right track woman!

Jivo Jivo Pakistan

Jivo Jivo Pakistan

At the Wagah Border between India and Pakistan, during the fancy change-of-guard ceremony every evening, the Pakistani crowd lustily chants ‘Jivo Jivo Pakistan’.
Boy am I glad India got partitioned in 1947. The problems that Pakistan faces are horrendous and I shudder to think that those problems could have been ours too. Sometimes, just sometimes I feel sorry for them..the tribals are difficult to handle, the Taliban is a nuisance and there are terrorist attacks all across Pakistan.They have killed their leaders for reasons ranging from gender to religion.They attack visiting cricket teams and their poor cricketers are trying to make a fast buck out of match fixing. They are Don Quixotic - suing Twitter for one million dollars and blaming India for almost everything.
Most of their problems are their own doing. When religion takes precedence over governance, and religious leaders become more powerful, the fabric of the society is bound to change.And when there is less regard for its citizens there is a free for all.
And what a shame to have the US carry out attacks in Pakistan to flush out a terrorist! I would have been mortified and angered if the Americans did it in my country!
Most of us, especially from North India have this romantic notion of Pakistan and a hidden yearning that Pakistan should still belong to India. My grandparents grew up there, married there and then escaped to India to save their lives. They would tell us of the lush countryside and the local folklore of Rawalpindi and Sukho. As a Sardarni I would love the freedom to visit Nankana Sahib, the birthplace of Guru Nanak. There was so much shared culture in literature, food, clothing and rituals. Then ofcourse the lovely Mohenjo-daro and Harappa are also in Pakistan.
But there is nothing romantic in the notion of Pakistan. Anyone who has any money is leaving the country to never go back. Who would want to bring up their kids in a country where everything is so bizarre! Where my friend says you would not want to go to a beauty parlour for fear of a bomb attack.A country that is always bleating about its good intentions that everyone doubts anyways!
I am glad Pakistan is a buffer for India (never mind if it focuses its negativity on us!)And I am glad it got formed and hope it remains a country forever.
Jivo Jivo Pakistan.

The Power of 40

At 40, there is plenty of anxiety! Most of us are well on our way to the top rungs of the Corporate hierarchy and are making good money! And may buy a BMW and feel pleased as punch when a young wannabe looks our way (but frankly, she would like to see a younger dude).
We may joke and say that 40 is the new 30, but hello, deep down all of us are not so very happy about it! Menopause is looming large on the horizon and the bloody weight does not shift an inch no matter how much u exercise. Kids are growing up and the empty nest will become a reality only a few years from now. And wrinkles are supposed to showcase the events in our lives, but it is not a pleasant sight to see them and neither are the grey hair!Many job opportunities don’t look for someone in their 40s!

I read this piece some days ago and am looking for a way to rejoice being 40! And here it is - for all my friends who are 40 or going to be there in a while!

In mystic thought, 40 symbolizes the ascent from one level to a higher one and spiritual awakening.
When we mourn, we mourn for 40 days.
When a baby is born,it takes him 40 days to get ready to start life on earth.
When we are in love, we need to wait for 40 days to be sure of our feelings.
The Flood of Noah lasted 40 days and while the waters destroyed life, they also washed away all the impurities and enabled human beings to make a fresh, new start.
In Islamic mysticism there are 40 degrees between man and God.
There are 4 basic stages of consciousness and ten degrees in each, making 40 levels in all.
Jesus went into wilderness for 40 days and nights.
Muhammad was 40 years old when he received the call to become a prophet.
Buddha meditated under the linden tree for 40 days!

So apparently, you receive a new mission at 40, a new lease of life. And supposedly, there are no wrinkles or gray hair strong enough to defy the power of 40!

So go discover your mission, while I try and figure out mine!!!

A Lazy Parent

I am one worrried parent today. Surrounded as I am by committed, zealous mothers and their super achiever kids, I feel I am failing in my maternal duty towards my kids. The only classes my kids attend are the ones in school, they have gadgets of all kinds, they watch loads of TV, they play on the computer all the time, they have not been deprived of any toy/clothing/object they have ever wanted, they eat junk and drink coke when they want and go for fancy holidays all the time.

Am I the lazy one here? I don’t know what they chat about with their friends on bbm or gmail or facebook. I don’t get up in the mornings and churn out goodies for their snack boxes. When their clothes become tight I realise they need new innerwear. And why am I a softie where they are concerned? Why can’t I force my will on them and get them to be excited about ‘something’,nay ‘anything’ in life? They have not found their groove yet and seem to be in no hurry to do so. They are nonchalant about comparison to other kids. They are not the top graders at school and are not competitive to want it either!

When I hear of kids who are committed to an activity or task, I start to get a headache. When I hear of kids who get up early morning and train for a game, even on weekends, I get palpitations. The Singh family seldom gets up before 11 and laze the day through.

And to excuse my laziness, I tell myself I am in a good space. My parents did not hover like helicopters over my head all the time. I had to do my own homework. Post school I was only in unstructured play. My best lazy summer days were spent in the company of a good book, a pack of crax and a bottle of campa-cola! Praneet’s favourite play was to fight a battle with the ants on his wall with his little water gun. My parents did not know of all my secrets with my friends and did not snoop on me. I did not go for any tuitions and did not learn to play any instrument.

And we turned out just fine. We did what was required and knew the limits of the freedom that we had been given to us. Finally, the responsibility of what we did was our own and no-one was to blame.

And the lazy me is going to give her kids just that childhood and hope that good things come off it. Will Udai become a computer whizkid? Will Nishna publish her first book as a teenager? Will they turn out to be good human beings and will they do well?Will they earn good money and find good life partners?

Who knows the answers to all this? All I know is that they will do everything they are destined to do! And in the meantime, we can all be happy and safe in our hugs, kisses, laughter, little secrets and lots of love!

The Five Important Men in My Life!

Think about it... Most of our lives we are defined by the men in our families. I am Bakshi’s daughter, Praneet’s wife and Udai’s mother! Apart from these three men, there are other men who help me run my life and are critical to my mental, physical and emotional health.So here are the other 5 important men in my life

1. My bro-in-law - My bum-chum - the guy who boosts my ego the most! He thinks I am a great person and praises me at the drop of a hat. He always takes my calls! He is partial to me in any conflict and supports me through thick and thin! I can flirt endlessly with him without being misunderstood!

2. My driver - He is my Man Friday. He knows my schedule, knows what quantities of veggies and fruits to pick up and the music I like in the car. He selects and gets the bouquets made for all my friends for their birthdays. (Infact, hubby darling also gets him to get a bouquet for my birthday and anniversary!)The guy knows when to strike and ask for a raise or a holiday!

3. My trainer - He is relentless in trying to match my pursuit for losing weight. He also lends an ear to the inane conversation I make just to get through the training session. He knows how not to speak the truth and tell me that I have put on weight! He juggles his schedule for me and is always available.

4. The guy pals - A diverse bunch I value deeply! The strictly platonic friends who are there to see me through any minor or major crisis. Non judgemental and fond of me, these guys give me gyan and perspective on male and female behaviour! These are people I might share a hobby with and/or the friend I can match drink for drink and trust to be driven back home safe!

5. Males in the maid’s family - In order to keep peace at home, this group needs careful handling. So a cake on the son’s birthday or an advance when the husband asks for it is to be done asap. And these are the men I turn to when there is a conflict with the maid. I can trust them to make sure that my home runs smoothly at all times!

Tarabai Shinde's Stripurushtulna

I chanced upon this while researching history. Powerful words from Tarabai Shinde's Stripurushtulna (A comparison of women and men)

Once a woman's husband has died...

Isin't a woman's life as dear to her as yours is to you? It's as if women are meant to be made from something different from men altogether, made from dust of earth or rock or rusted iron whereas you and your lives are made from the purest gold...

you are asking me what I mean. I mean once a woman's husband has died...what's in store for her? The barber comes to shave all the curls and hair off her head, just to cool your eyes. ..She is shut out from going to weddings, receptions and other auspicious occasions that married women go to.

And why all the restrictions? Because her husband has died. She is unlucky:ill fate is written on her forehead. Her face is not to be seen, it's a bad omen

Measure for Success

I was super ambitious when I was in school; fuelled by doing well in studies, sports and extra-curriculars and feted and peted by my principals and teachers, I believed I could conquer the world. My parents were focussed on giving me an education that would help me build a great career -and I dreamt of money, heading a business and taking my natural place in the Corporate order.I loved my first job and had a great time travelling across the country, even to places like Asansol, Patna and Dhanbad.
Then marriage and kids happened. And suddenly, much as I wanted to be a career woman, I could not bear to leave Nishna behind. Her little fingers tugged at my heart and I wanted to be with her. My mom kept nagging me to go back to work, but I could not. Praneet was on a roll and to be together meant that I had to give up work.
Those were good years, of sorts. I traveled the world, had another kid, but through it all, I itched to get back to work.
Going back to work after many years was a pleasure - getting up in the morning, getting ready, meeting people with whom you could share a coffee and gossip - and do interesting work.
It was not easy. My batchmates had moved way ahead of me and were heading divisions and/or companies, while I was no where near any of that. The years I had spent was an entreprenuer and the experiences I had gained because of that did not really count for anything. And ofcourse, I must be getting paid lesser than the MBA fresher.
All this does not really do good things for one’s ego.
My Mother always tells me to measure what I have gained against what my losses might be. I was lucky that I did not need to work for money, got to spend time with my kids and it is rewarding to see them grow into secure, confident, intelligent young adults.
It has not been pleasant to not have my own personal wealth (though truth be told, that did not stop me from spending Praneet’s money!).It makes me feel happy to see my friends so successful but it hurts coz I know I was as good, if not better.
After years I have eventually come back to what I love most - books. In my new freelancer capacity I write, read, edit and recommend good manuscripts. I get to curate the Kalaghoda festival and have made many friendships and business relationships because of that.
And today, I am at the crossroad of yet another decision - to stay at home for this year and write and nurture myself; or to join a fabulous company that is doing pathbreaking work in education.
The dilemma is intense, because for once I don’t think I have the energy to manage so much anymore. It is bothering me that I am possibly letting go of the best corporate job that has come my way.
But something a friend told me yesterday rings true for once. That this is possibly the only time I have, to create something that will impact kids’ lives. That I should measure my success against that, not against the amount of money I earn. That my success will be eventually reflected in the lives that my children carve out for themselves.
In the final analysis, I don’t know if I will win or lose!

Being a Mother

My ex-boss used to say that every woman who becomes a mother becomes a gyaani. She thinks she knows it all. Ofcourse, he was a single Panju ladla son of his mother, so he could not have known any better.
The fact is, nothing prepares us for motherhood. Even though, from the very beginning we are told that women are natural mothers, the reality, atleast for me was quite different.
Motherhood came with discomfort for me. I did not feel any particular pleasure when I conceived and carried Nishna in me. The overwhelming thought was that I was losing my figure and getting stretch marks. And when I held Nishna in my arms, I did not fall in love with her. I was merely amazed that I had been carrying her in me.
Falling in love with her happened a little later, but I lost my sleep. I would wake up at night and constantly check on her - putting my fingers under her nose to feel her breath or my palms on her stomach to check the gentle breathing in and out.
I lost my sleep and gained anxiety and fear. What if something went wrong? What if someone took her away? What if I lost her?
Her growing up has not lessened my anxiety, if anything I am more worried today. At 13, Nishna is discovering her self as a young woman; friends are an integral part of her life and she is learning to tell me partial truths.
And I worry and worry and worry. What if she goes astray? What if she gets into trouble and hides it from me? How will I handle her gentle heart being broken - by friends, boyfriends, school results and so forth? What if she is stalked and troubled?
Oh!the list is endless and I realise that I am so ill-equipped to handle this new phase of motherhood. Should I try being a friend to her? Or being a Mommy? Or look for a mid path where she will confide in me? How do I control my anxiety and the anger that spills forth because of it? What mistakes am I committing?What if my approach is not the right one?
I know she has to gain her own experiences and be richer because of them. But if there was a way, I would gather her in my arms and shield and protect her from all the hurt and trouble.
Really- I would be protecting myself because Motherhood hurts.

RIP Uncle Pai

How come Uncle Pai was never bestowed the honour of a Padma Shri or Bharat Ratna when his achievements far surpass that of some of the fools in that list ?
Uncle Pai was the founder of Amar Chitra Katha - the comics that introduced generations of Indian kids to Indian history and mythology. One of the animators I once met had this to share - that it is so difficult to re-create Ram and Sita and other characters because all our perceptions were framed by Uncle Pai’s delineation of the same. The hour glass figured village belles with the sheer dupattas and the dusky handsome men in the stories - those are difficult images to compete with!
Uncle Pai was passionate about history and worked hard to realise his dream.He quit working with the Times of India after he saw a quiz program that deeply disturbed him...the Indian kids knew Greek mythology but had no clue who Ram’s mother was. He decided to bring Indian history in all its glory to kids. The first Amar Chitra Katha ‘Krishna’ was launched in 1969.In 1969, Anant Pai founded Rang Rekha Features, India's first comic and cartoon syndicate, which lasted till 1998.
Uncle Pai also started ‘Tinkle’, a children's monthly magazine in 1981. He decided to call the magazine so, because everytime they held a meeting to decide on a name for the magazine, the phone would ‘tinkle’! Kalia the crow is based on the crow that came to his window sill at home, in Mumbai's Prabhadevi.
Anant Pai conceptualized all the ACKs, wrote the scenarios for most of them and worked closely with the artists on the development. There were times when the comics would be ready, but there was no money to print it. So he would wait till he could finance the print run. Because of budgetary constraints, the original printings of ACKs were not in full colour. The panels were printed using yellow, blue and green. The later issues were in full colour. All ACKs stuck to a 30 page format.
Uncle Pai was full of stories about how he took the ACKs to different towns and cities and the loving reception he received everywhere. The ACKs came at a time when the shift from villages to towns had resulted in the break up of the joint family system. In an urban nuclear family set-up, the ACKs filled in a void created by the absence of grandparents and other elderly folk that would tell epic tales and stories from India’s rich cultural heritage.
Though ACKs were later translated into many languages, Uncle Pai decided to introduce them in English in order to reach out to the English medium schools and kids that aspired to learn English.
Today, Amar Chitra Katha, sells about three million comic books a year, in English and more than 20 Indian languages, and has sold about 100 million copies since it inception in 1967 by Anant Pai. Many schools use strips of Amar Chitra Kathas to teach kids history.
Uncle Pai has been honoured with many awards, the latest being the the Lifetime Achievement Award this February at India’s first ever Comic Convention held in New Delhi.
Even though Uncle Pai sold the business to ACK-Media in 2007, he continued to come to office every single day. He was working on a massive project that would reflect the Glimpses of Indian Glory through the ages. He was meticulous in his research and passionate about his work till the very end.
And no National honour for this great visionary? Shame Indeed.

Falling sick ain’t sooo bad

Sometimes it is good to fall sick. It forces you to take a break, re-examine your life and its priorities, makes you aware of the people and relationships that are really important. It helps sift the wheat from the chaff and gives a golden chance to re-claim your life.

That’s what happened to me. In the intial days of intense pain and trauma, I kept trying to understand why I was suffering so much. I am a strong believer in Karma. I make my mistakes, but by and large I try not to hurt people because I truly believe that my actions will hit me harder on the rebound. I could not figure out who it was that I had hurt so badly to be punished like this. Slowly I realised that the person I had hurt the most in the past year, the person I had betrayed and lied too and thrown negative energy at was ME. I had not treated myself well. I had walked out on a Company and a job I loved .And when a relationship breaks it results in loss of confidence and self esteem and that is what happened to me.Therefore I spent the better part of the year trying to prove to myself that I was excellent and that I could do it all. Looking back, I should have allowed myself sufficient time to grieve and move on. Instead, as I did better and better at work, I collected tons of negative energy in my heart.And this hit me big time!

In juggling marriage, kids and work I had drifted apart from many of my close relationships. And the illness re-connected me with all of them again .My mother flew nonstop for 24 hrs from Nigeria to reach me asap and nursed me 24/7. Praneet never left my bedside and played the roles of a father, husband, friend and even mother at various times. He was tuned in to every agony of mine and did what he could to alleviate it. My kids were angels , demanded nothing and stayed home alone when there was no one with them for 2 weeks through the day.My sister stood by me and cleaned up after me all the time.My strong unexpressive Dad was like playdoh and would cry on the phone everytime he called from Nigeria.And my brother dropped everything to come and visit me. My sister in law who was my emotional anchor and stayed with me to get the diagnosis right. What can I say, except that I am blessed.

I felt humbled by the number of people who were so concerned about me. And I can sift the wheat from the chaff now. My friends who asked after me, organised prayer meetings and flew in from Delhi to visit me .Those who made it a point to come to the hospital everyday just chat with Praneet in the hospital lobby to give him emotional support. The ex boss I had a misunderstanding with , the ex-colleague I was nasty to, all the Kalaghoda members and publishers -I did not know so many people cared about me.

I don’t believe I am a very nice person, but the love and concern made me feel special indeed. And while I could see nothing positive in those weeks of intense pain and suffering, today I believe that I had it good. It could have been worse.The wake up call was well timed and it has made me stop to smell the roses. And to love and appreciate what I have. And to thank the divine power for this beautiful life.