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own(ok - almost) , they study on their own, do their own homework and research and Cartoon Network and Disney have been replaced by VH1and Castle, White Collar and Friends.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.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Friday, September 23, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
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!
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!
Thursday, September 15, 2011
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!
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!
Monday, September 5, 2011
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
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
Thursday, September 1, 2011
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!
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!
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