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!
Friday, August 26, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
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!
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!
Thursday, August 18, 2011
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!
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!
Monday, August 15, 2011
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!
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!
Friday, August 12, 2011
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!
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!
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
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!
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!
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