Mid-Life Crisis

I have these grand visions of my future. That I will be a well known writer by 50, will have  hugely successful children, will be surrounded by my family and friends, and will die at 70. By then I will have a decent number of wrinkles on my face, adequate fat on my already plump self , still be physically and financially independent and will have my mental faculties intact. 

By that yardstick then, mid life crisis should have hit me at the mid-point of 35 years. Instead , it hit me just about the time I turned 40. And continued for a good two years. The mid-life crisis took me completely by surprise. I thought mid life crisis was a joke.  When my husband turned 40, he got into fitness in a big way. This lazy man would get up in the mornings, lace up and go for a walk or run and actually joined a gym for weight training too. I used to tease him that he was trying to hang to a youth that was in a rush to leave him. 

When it hit me, I realised, to my great anguish and consternation,that mid life crisis is  very real. And can turn your life completely topsy turvy.  The good news was -  I was not alone in this misery -  it hits nearly everyone - in varying measures ofcourse. 

My midlife crisis began with my walking out on a job I loved. Disney was my dream company and I was doing extremely well there . I wanted to do something else - write something that added value to me, instead of creating preschooler books that are available by the dozens in the market. When I walked out my job, I walked out on a life. A life that was full of colleagues who added value to my life, friends who brightened up my work day, and a brand name that was critical  to my self-esteem. 

Life went downhill for me from then on. I had opened the doors to negativity because I was in such emotional turmoil. All that year, I struggled with finding my groove in terms of work ,and foolishly  took up an external assignment that was a disaster. My sister and I stopped talking because I was constantly taking off on her - on her life, her choices, her relationships, her job. I connected with some old friends, having quite forgotten that there was a reason I had deleted them from my life in the past. And that they would cause misery to me again. And they did. In ways worse than they had before. I questioned my life with my husband, and blamed him for all the choices I had made in my life. I would have walked out on him. I hated my house - it seemed to choke me. I partied hard. I am not too much of a drinker, but I drank a lot in those months. I took pills to help me sleep. I hated everything about my life at that point.

I consider myself a happy person. The thing I love the most about me is my smile. And yet, for almost two years, my heart refused to smile. It was so full of resentment. Of anger , of bitterness. I am not a negative person, and depression was an unknown entity up until this point. And I wondered how I would live the next few decades in this unhappiness. There was nothing to look forward to -except to see my kids study and settle down. And then what?

I fell sick. With a multiple liver abscess. I was hospitalised for two weeks  and then took another year to full recovery. It was almost as if I had so loaded myself with negativity that my body protested really hard. 

My illness became the starting point for my healing. It taught me. It taught me to value things that were important to me. It helped me analyze everything  with  a fresh perspective - relationships, work, what I truly wanted in my life.  It encouraged me to simplify my life, to let go of anything that caused negative energy for me.And it was not easy work. It was really tough infact. 

Why would I have a mid-life crisis I wondered? I was busy with work and home. I had loads of friends, I led an active social life and traveled plenty .I had a loving , indulgent spouse whose company I enjoyed.  I had everything one can ask for in life. 

I think these were the factors - 

• My 20s and 30s were spent taking care of kids and scheduling my day to meet the demands of my family. I selected times to exercise, to work , to socialize based on the schedules of my kids and husband. There were a million things to plan, organise and execute. I didn’t have breathing space. And then , as kids grew up, their demands on my time started to ease out. They did not need to be bathed, fed, their homework did not need to be supervised, they set up their playdates, and they wanted their own personal space. It opened up my time, and while that was exciting, there was a sense of my worthiness being reduced. As if I was not so wanted anymore. And when my younger one grew taller than me and I could not cuddle him anymore and fit his body into mine, my heart almost broke. I was not prepared for this. 

• There was a sense that I was losing time. I was already forty and had done none of the things I really wanted to. I wanted to write a book, go off on a holiday by my own and not be financially dependent on my husband. 

• I enjoyed (and still enjoy) the transition of my daughter into a young little girl. The way she dresses up, thinks, talks - I love it. And yet, there was a realisation that her youth was also paving the way for my growing older. The face that looked back in the mirror at me was not so young and fresh anymore . I could see wrinkles around my eyes. And my body refused to obey me. I was putting on weight, eating the same foods I always had. And even though I increased my exercise times and intensity, I was unable to lose weight. There was no defying gravity anymore. The physical changes horrified me.

• Life was going too smooth. So there had to be an upheaval!

I have seen the mid-life crisis manifest themselves in different ways for different people. Some quit high paying jobs to scratch an itch they have had for years. Yet others have full blown affairs with ex-flames or colleagues. Some take a long leave of absence from their families and go off on holidays on their own.Some divorce their spouses and seek a life for themselves. Others become obsessed with sex and porn. Yet others get tummy tucks and boob jobs to stem the relentless onslaught of age. Some drink more, some lose weight and yet others put on weight. 

And yet, these mid-life crisis years are not a lost cause. Since they throw you out of your comfort zone, they add to one’e personal (spiritual , emotional)  and professional growths. My crisis pushed me in the direction of what I wanted to do. To write. The more I hurt, the more angry I was ,the more I wrote. I wrote about things that hurt me, about things that mattered to me.  I wrote to ease the pain in my heart and the anguish of my soul. And writing was cathartic for me. It flushed out the bad, making space for the positive. And I ran - I had always wanted to run the Marathon and running became therapeutic for me. I did 4 half marathons in seven months. 

A friend of mine decided to make a movie, and even though she suffered from the angst of quitting a high paying job, she got her story and screenplay in order, and interned with one of the Bollywood directors to learn the ropes of the business - and is well on her way to her debut film. Yet another friend took to cooking - and has created a business of her own - creating delectable cakes and desserts. Another got a gastric bypass done to control her out-of-control weight gain and take charge of her life. A dear friend stepped out of the house after decades and got a job , that may not pay her much, but helps her maintain her sanity. Another friend trained hard and went to the Mount Everest base camp. 

When the mid life crisis blew over for me, there was immense gratitude that all was well in my world.  Almost all the people I know have had happy endings.  Even for the friend who walked out on her 15 year old marriage . If this phase made her realise that she could not carry on in a marriage that was without soul, then I think it was good for her. She has a chance to create another life for herself - one that will bring her happiness and hopefully love and companionship. 

The one thing that helped me get over this crazy phase is the incredible support I got from my girl friends. This was the bunch of women with whom I could  share what I was going through and who understood exactly how I felt. There was no judgement on my behavior, but counseling to make me feel better, to help me resolve issues. My girls did all they could to help me get out of my crisis. Some took me for chanting, others for coffee late at night, some ran with me, and those who were not in Mumbai were always a whatsapp or call away. I realised that there is great sisterhood among women. We all go through similar experiences at some point in our life so there is complete empathy. 

It may seem never ending but like all crises, the mid-life crisis passes over too. And when it does, we all need to do ourselves a big favor.  To not live in guilt because of whatever ‘wrongs’ we might have done. We are only human, and therefore have the right to make mistakes even at 40, have a right to question and seek a better life at 40. This phase screws our mind more than anyone else’s so we must reserve the right to forgive ourselves. 

I lived. My friends lived. And are in happier, more peaceful spaces today!!

Learning to Breathe

One of my oldest friends stopped by yesterday and remarked that I had not written a blog for months. And I told her that I had nothing to say. She looked at me strangely and commented,‘Really? I never thought I would see the day when you would have nothing to say!’

When did I become this? Since when did I have nothing to say? My kids call me a ‘social shut-in’  because I am not being social , not attending PTA meets or hooking up with other Moms to make friends in Scarsdale.  And my parents comment that I am working too hard at domestic chores and not attempting to get out there and get a job. And my best friend in Mumbai is terribly upset that I have become too distant - literally and figuratively. My friends worry that I am lonely, and/or the cold weather is getting me down.

I think  I am in a slow down mode. A sort of downtime really. I loved Mumbai - its energy, its pace . I went with the flow - and loved every moment of my stay in Mumbai. After all, in my whole life, I had never stayed in one place that long. Suddenly, I had around me an incredible number of great friends, colleagues and acquaintances. I had my siblings with me, and my kids were in the best school and doing fabulously.  I had a rocking life - great work, great friends, partying, socialising - everything you could want in a happy ,fulfilled life. 

I think the relentless pace got to me. Add to that the severe mid-life crisis that can hit anyone +/- 40 years and its accompanying insecurities and emotional upheavals. Looking back all the disasters hit me together - including the letting go of a dream job to chase another dream, the loss of a  dear friend, betrayal by some I considered my very own, and an illness in the family that rocked our very foundation .

The good thing about us humans is that when we are in a tough situation ,our energies are focussed on survival. Of getting through the day, of finishing a piece of work, of trying to bring some method to the madness. There is an unwillingness at that time to succumb to grief or let anxiety take you over. So when the phase is over, and life begins to brighten up, you suddenly think - OMG, that was the most horrible time of my life, and I survived!!

And now, so far away in Scarsdale, I feel I can finally breathe again. My family back home laughs everytime they Face Time with me and see me working , and my close pal calls me the Scarsdale Bai. But I enjoy it. The simple act of making tea, counting till 30 till my first flush tea brews to perfection. Of cooking a meal from scratch - cutting, chopping , frying and what not. Of doing the laundry and folding the clothes with ‘mindfulness’. Of dropping and picking up Praneet from the station. Of spending time with my kids, listening to their cultural experiences at the new school. 

For now - I am loving being alone. Going for long walks and discovering Scarsdale. Watching my favorite Game of Thrones with my breakfast. Writing. Reading. Sleeping early. Sleeping deep and long. I feel no pressure - of being well turned out, of having to make small talk, of being pulled in all directions, of my phone constantly pinging. No pressure to make friends, to keep in touch with anyone, to present a point of view or to get into a heated argument on any issue with anyone. 

Life has a way of giving you what you need. And I think this is what I had needed and not realised. A downtime to recharge myself ,my stretched patience and frazzled nerves. To slow down and pace myself out. To spend time with the people I love the most in the world. To finally be with myself. 

Knowing me , I possibly don’t have too much time in this phase . My hyperactive self will kick in soon enough. But for now I am content to be in this Slo Mo life. 

Happy Independence Day?

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As I read the various hoardings and pamphlets on ‘Freedom’ and ‘Independence’ , I am feeling a bit appalled this Independence Day. A sinking feeling that we are missing the boat completely. Wearing Indian colours , hoisting the national flag , singing the national anthem and eating tri-coloured mithai cannot be the symbols of a free India. 

I am constantly reminded of what Aatish Taseer wrote in the Stranger to History about Iran. While I don’t remember the exact words, an Iranian  told Aatish that they were naive in the 1970s. When they stood protesting against the Shah, they thought that was democracy - and never realised what they were losing. They lost their democracy, their freedom of protest and have lost themselves to the morality police and other regressive forces.

Thanks to the efforts of millions of us who want to cut corners and make a quick buck, or who want special privileges for being the educated class, we have unleashed havoc on our young democracy. We misuse the system through cronyism and only want to look after our, and our family’s interests - the rest of the world be damned. 

We have created an India we should be ashamed of handing over to our kids.

Even now, when the fruits of our labour are becoming evident - in the rapidly declining economy, in increased violence on the streets and against our women and children, the only way we are protesting is through Facebook or other social media. We continue to support corrupt political parties and politicians - shaking our heads and mumbling that things are out of our control. We continue to allow ourselves to get outraged over religion and caste - so it is little wonder that politicians use it to maximum potential. 

Even when we can stand up and help this country, we don’t. The latest case in point - the Uttarkhand disaster. The state is struggling in the aftermath of the natural disaster - but really, how many of us have contributed money or materials to start rehabilitation. The only chorus I hear is - the system is too corrupt and the money will not reach the victims - so there is no point. The truth is -all of us have all our limbs intact, and if our hearts were in the right place - we would have gone to Uttarkhand to provide support.

It is a piece of gossip how much money Robert Vadra has garnered, or how the politicians are twisting the system , but none of us are serious about bringing about change.

We claim pride in being Indians, but are silent spectators when the political parties come together to grant themselves more privileges, or take themselves out of the RTI. We remain silent when well meaning social activists are killed in broad daylight. We  know that the politicians control all land deals and big businesses through their set of family and friends , but none of us want to risk their wrath by taking out PILs. We all know the games being played out as the General Elections come up next year.

I think it is the Indian Middle Class, the hugely aspirational ,ambitious and upwardly mobile mass, that has let India down. As the educated class, it was our responsibility to bring change into the country - to be a strong voice that would drive policy and that would elect the right representatives for India. It was our responsibility to ensure that bureaucrats would run the administration. We let the country down.

Luckily for us, we still have a bunch of honest people who do their jobs well - without expectation of bribes and compensation. They withstand political pressure and arm twisting to do what is right - and those are the people who need to be saluted. And recognised. And applauded. 

If only we would join them, then singing the National Anthem would hold meaning. Then celebrating Independence Day would make sense. Then we may yet leave behind an India  our kids will thank us for. 

A Late Blessing

Little AbRam comes home to SRK and his family, and I am reminded of the time my baby brother  Paras was born. He is sixteen years younger than me, and I was absolutely delighted. Many years later, my school friends mentioned they were embarrassed for me – to have a baby brother when I was all grown up – but truly the thought never crossed my mind. Maybe because I was away at the hostel all those months !

I was fascinated – however. And totally in love with the little bundle that made strange noises and faces. And who brought much happiness and some irritation in my life too. He was the stepney who accompanied me everywhere – to the GK market , to the doctor, even to a date . He would not let me study, till I scared him with ghost stories and let him whimper on the side. He would lie down till I tickled him pink and he would come every morning, tuck his cold feet between mine and go off to sleep. And he loved listening to my stories. When I was looking at innumerable boys for marriage, he had only one yardstick- ‘can you do lip-to-lip kiss with him?’ And when Rano and I got married, he opened his heart unconditionally for his jijus and shares a fabulous rapport with them.

A late born child is a huge blessing. Paras came at the right time for my parents – when the empty nest was fast becoming a reality. He eased my parents’ pain of Rano and me leaving home to study, to work and to get married. While my parents missed us a lot, there were constantly busy with his school and college schedule. He kept my parents on their toes and kept them young.  I don’t think my parents ever got a breather to think about life and do things that people their age do. My parents are up-to-date on everything the younger generation favours – from music to movies , from cars to technology, from friendships and new definitions of relationships.

Paras makes my parents look at life through new eyes. At 60, my Mom wore her sneakers and took Paras on a two week tour of Europe - and had the time of her life by letting Paras take the lead. She loved Barcelona in the way Paras experienced it and enjoyed sitting at roadside cafes watching the world go by. My Dad dreamt of me becoming an IAS officer  and  settled for an MBA when he realized I did not have the drive or brains for that. But now, he exhorts Paras to explore life differently – and do things that he is truly passionate about.

Paras is the bridge between us and our children. His one niece and three nephews dote on him and he is their go-to guy everytime they want us to understand something juvenile. When Nishna is confused about a dress she has to wear, she asks Paras. And trusts his judgement, because I am too old and unclassy! And ofcourse, life has come a full circle – now Paras is constantly on his toes, because his tech savvy nephews manage to find things he does not want us to know!

Late born or not, Paras is the best brother ever…and the age difference does not stop us three from sharing our innermost thoughts and concerns with each other – in a manner that only siblings can.

I can only imagine how much happier SRK’s house just got! 

Of Mills and Boon and TDHs!

I picked a Mills and Boon off the shelf today -out of curiosity to see what had become of the books that fired my imagination when I was a young girl. 

Nishna was horrified - that her mother, who reads (sort of ) good books - would read something on a bought bride, whose new man wants her mind , body and soul - all willing and pliant!!!! I think she was ready to disown me!!!

But the M& B bought back old forgotten memories...of dusty circulating libraries in the GK M Block market  that were packed with these books. Of authors like Penny Jordan, Charlotte Lamb, Anne Mather , Carole Mortimer and Emma Darcy.  Of titles like ‘The Billionaire takes a Bride’, ‘ Bought Bride’, ‘Dark Dominion’, ‘Forbidden Fire’ and ‘Cruel Legacy’. 

Of TDH -Tall Dark Handsome men, generally super rich, with set jaws, unsmiling eyes, a rough manner with the heroine and sarcasm laden sentences .These TDHs were the ones most of us fantasised about...we wanted to be swept off our feet by dishy , brooding, men of less words such as these! Thankfully the fantasies were not disturbed yet by adulthood..when the TDH was replaced by a gentle loving person who would take care of us and demonstrate his love too!!!

The stories were predictable. The book would be a max of 196 pages. The first chapter would introduce the heroine, her sorry financial predicament , her beautiful eyes and lovely mouth , but there would be something of the plain Jane in her. By the second chapter you met the TDH - a business tycoon, with an arrogant manner, without the conventional good looks but an animal aura about him. The drama would continue till chapter 9 -  the heroine would feel all flustered around the TDH, the TDH may have had another girl, usually a glam doll, the heroine would feel that all was lost to her, coz she had the hots (oops, they called it love then) for the TDH who paid her scant attention, or hated her or felt nothing for her at all. Sometimes, there would be TDH’s mother too, who hated/loved the heroine. And then, when the heroine decided to walk away from it all, in Chapter 10, the TDH would confess his love for her, sweep her into his arms, run his fingers through her lustrous hair and kiss her with all his passion ....ask her to be his....and they would be together - after all!!

This predictability made the books so appealing!!! During exam times, I would be a frequent visitor to the circulating library. I would get atleast four books everyday. And in between the breaks I took, I would curl into bed with a M&B. I did not have to pay attention to the story, I could skip pages, go off to sleep, and come to the end of the book in 45 minutes flat. The book would clean up the clutter in my mind and refresh me for another marathon session of studying!! The best palate cleanser!!!

I am not ashamed to confess that  I loved my M&Bs. They were my first introduction to the world of romance, of intense feelings described in words, of men that you could dream about, of the way my own romance could potentially play out! It was a world so removed from my reality - of school/college , books, exams and the lack of interesting boys/men that I could dream of!!

The influence of M&Bs stayed on in my subconscious...So when I had to co-write a YA romantic novel with one of India’s leading novelists, I divided my story into plot, chapters,  crisis and denouement in the manner of the M&B novels! I wanted my young readers to feel the same feelings I had when I read M&Bs!!

And one day - I intend to write my own M&B!!! With my own TDH dude! 

The April Project

A six week break for 13 year olds coming into grade 8 at DAIS,  an enthu mother who thinks up a plan to occupy them , an even more enthu drama teacher who agrees to guide them and a bunch of hard working mothers - and you had the April Project that culminated into amazing drama performances yesterday.

A disclaimer - I was not one of the enthu moms - even though one of my darling friends saved  a front row seat for me!!

What seemed madness and daunting in the initial days had a method to it. Kids divided into groups and some of them took charge of writing the scripts. Some went out getting permissions for staging the play in a theatre and came up against inane bureaucratic red tapism; a bunch designed the look and feel and translated it into merchandise including flyers, invites, tickets, cupcakes, book marks, notebooks, magnets, key chains and t-shirts. Then there were production managers, directors and the cast. The crew that comprised of backstage people, on cue assistants, lighting and sound guys!! The final performance was the hard work put in by all the children. 

And the plays themselves were quite a revelation - on what thirteen year olds think about. So there was one play on finding clues to get to the killer, one that discussed church vs science, one that portrayed the blend of medicine and superstition in treating disease in Africa, another that was coming of age for both the father and son who had divergent professional views and a clever take off  on the School itself. 

The scripts were brilliantly written - there was clarity on what needed to be revealed, excellent usage of vocabulary, engaging arguments and tightness in the story. What amazed me was the thought that went into the plays - these were not frivolous plays - there was meaning at many levels. Kids pick up nuances of behaviour and interaction that we think they are not capable of! And I know for sure that the kids took no adult help for this - that made it so awesome. 

I wonder how the kids  had thought up these things! Science vs religion? At 13, I had not even begun to think of these things - I was only happy going to the gurudwara or mandir for prasad and thought JC was cool. The arguments supporting both - the church and science-  were logical. I learnt the difference between atheism and agnosticism yesterday!!

Playing on superstition to drive medicine?  The play on Africa and treatment of diseases was interesting -how well meaning doctors and medical professionals can use superstition and local rituals to actually make people adopt medicine! 

Ofcourse, my son wrote the play on the conflict between the father and son on the career the son wants to take. The son leaves home and i

s successful, the father is distraught and eventually commits suicide. I think the hidden message there for us was that we must agree to what Udai wants, else, we will lose him and our lives!!!

The take off on the School was outstanding. And the way it played out was brilliant....it was done tongue in cheek, blatantly, but in such a manner that you could not hold them to ransom!!!! This was one play totally for the audience that comprised of parents and other school kids, and there was laughter all around. 

At the end of the show, when all the kids came to take a bow, I was really awed....these are 13 year olds who had done such a brilliant job! And while we think this generation is not hard working and spoilt, the fact is that they are intensely competitive, argumentative and know where they want to go!  They are well read and aware, and sensitive to what ails the world. They dream of making a difference to the lives of others. The Cool, It factor is not about good looks, but includes intelligence, spunk and humor!!! 

Like my friend says -if i was 13 again, I would crush on all these kids!!! 

Happy Birthday!

‘You want a big party or a big gift?,’ asked Praneet  and a small part of me said ,‘Both’.

Seriously, I don’t get people when they say they don’t like to celebrate their birthday. Excuses range from - ‘I am too old for this’, ‘It’s just another day’ , ‘I am getting old, what’s the fun in that’ to ‘It’s my kids time to celebrate their birthdays’. And the biggest cliche, ‘I have everything I could ask for , so I don’t want gifts’! 

No matter what my age, and the fact that I grow older every year, I love my birthday. I still feel the excitement that I felt as a young girl. Being woken up at 12  to a cake and flowers by the family, hugs and kisses from all of them. Phone calls , messages and emails from people who remember my birthday, meeting family and friends for dinner or a party, and of course receiving all the gifts! And yes, wearing something new. 

Weeks before my birthday at the hostel, there would be anxiety on who would accompany me on distributing candy. (That candy is ofcourse no longer available. It was Parle’s multi-coloured , hard boiled candy and my fav used to be the purple one). It used to be difficult to decide on which special friend to choose because the others would feel cut up. And you could tell who was friendly with you at that time - friends would dig into the bag and take a handful (or many handfuls) while the current foes would either turn away or take one! It was a day the teachers would smile a lot more at me and I would get out of trouble with less stress. Later, back home , it became a day when my friends and I would go to Nirula’s for pizza and chocolate milkshakes or ice-cream and a dinner with my big extended family.

Birthdays are something to be cherished. This is my only life as Preeti Bakshi Singh and I love every bit of it. If every day has to be a celebration, then this is the Bada-Din. The day I was born to touch people’s lives (for better or for worse) and to experience life in the manner I am supposed to. 

And every year, I thank the year gone by - because even the worst years brought something good and valuable to me. And when I look back, no year has been particularly horrendous even if I thought it was at that time. Last year was my apocalyptic year of sorts -my sister was diagnosed with cancer and there was turmoil all around. But the year was brilliant too - it strengthened my relationships with my family , I rediscovered my best friend in my sister, enjoyed the onset of teenage years of my kids and I wrote and wrote!! I found more friends than I lost and I found my peace. 

More importantly, my birthday is the one that makes me feel alive, happy, special ,loved , wanted and above all - blessed - that I have been given so much in my life. It helps me get a perspective on what I still want to do and what I need to do to achieve it. Above all, this is all I know - I want to live a life that is happy, healthy and fulfilling, surrounded by people who love me and who I love. 

So that when I am older, with a happy wrinkled face, I can look back on all these years with fondness and say - I LIVED! 

The Five People You Meet in Heaven

Ever since I read this book by Mitch Albom, my brain was in a tizzy. I wondered who my five people would be ? 

I thought I would do this exercise for fun, but what seemed simple turned out to be a very difficult task. You might think it is easy to identify the five people you will meet in heaven, but try it....it is an uphill task. 

I made a list of people I thought should be on my list. My list comprised of  family, friends, colleagues , enemies, and random people even. And I wrote against each name what they had done to impact my life.I set myself a simple benchmark as I tackled the list- did this person do anything that changed me as a human being , or make me take decisions that have shaped  the person I am today? 

An important bewildering lesson - I realised that the people who have influenced my life the most, are not necessarily the ones who have impacted it. 

For instance-my parents. They have shaped and moulded me - and given me the tools to go out into the world and be independent and do my own thing. But have they changed my life? No. Parents shape our lives and make us what we are - there is no point in thinking what we might have been if we had another set of parents!! Or a different set of circumstances - because these are givens. 

Likewise for Praneet - my life changed when I married him - but has he changed my life? Not necessarily. Even Linda Goodman - we all grew up reading what she had to say about sun-signs and relationships - and like all young girls I also swore by her. But there was no change in my life because of that influence!! 

Ofcourse there are small changes that happen to us because of social interaction. Friends influence us and we take on some of their characteristics . We behave differently with various groups of friends. Family members also influence behaviours and we mould ourselves to make them happy. For instance, my mom-in-law likes me in suits - so I will please her by dressing up in indian attire when I meet her . But those are not life changing events. 

The names I finally ended up with on my list shocked me initially! I had not thought of some of these people in years  - but yet, when I did the exercise, the whole experience came in sharp focus for me. And I realised that they had impacted me the most in my journey till now!

I wrote letters to each one of them - telling them how my interaction with them had been life changing for me. It connected my dots for me....

Fortunately for me, my journey has been a happy one. So when my boss, whose blue eyed girl I was, refused to take me back after my child, he set the course for change for me. I was angry and determined that I would not go back to work in a chauvinistic environment. That led to my indulgence in content , writing and education and I have not looked back since. When I screwed up an assignment and made my company lose a prestigious client, I was terribly ashamed of my laxity. That has given me huge insecurity about my work.Even today, I constantly ask my self -Is this good enough? Or can I do more? What can I add to make this worth the while? So when I take on any task today, I know I push myself till I am sure that I have done the best.

While including family members in the list sounded terribly cliched, one person has impacted my life and changed it. That has to be my first born - and I have learnt to be patient and less selfish, learnt to be politically correct and to befriend the devil and tried to become a better human being so she could look upto me! 

I also realised that all the stories are interconnected. And there are many people who touch our lives - whether we are aware of them or not. All these people bring richness to the experience and help you perform the tasks you are meant to perform on earth.

I would recommend that everyone try doing this exercise. It has huge positives. This  has been the most cathartic thing I have ever done and it helped me make meaning of my mad life. 

It set into perspective all the random experiences I have had till date and how there was meaning in all of them. It  taught me how I stupidly whine and stress about inane things, and it helped me sift the wheat from the chaff. I have learnt that there are no mistakes in life and there are no experiences that are not worth having. There should be no regret - because life was meant to be such for me!

It taught me gratitude -that my life has been one full of blessings, happiness and love. 

Ofcourse, in my list of more than a hundred people, I found only four people who have impacted me enough to change my life...I still wait for the fifth one to reveal him/herself!!

Being Indian

At the Club Mahindra property in Goa over this week, we were a noisy bunch. Like any group of 60 men, women and children will be. We asked for a separate enclosure for ourselves so we would not disturb other people at meals. And we were given a separate enclosure. None of us noticed an elderly couple sitting here, until the lady walked up to us to tell us we were ill-mannered and needed to behave. 

Later in the morning, her husband, an elegant looking gentleman, walked up to three of us to have a chat. As soon as he came over, we apologised to him for the noise we had created. Very soon, the gentleman told us what he thought of us Indians. That he had traveled the world and never seen such rowdy behaviour. We told him politely that everywhere in the world, where there are large groups there will be noise and that’s the reason we were sitting in a separate enclosure. 

Ofcourse, he promptly let us know that he knew the Family and that’s why he got an upgraded suite at the hotel, and special service from the hotel staff. And that our enclosure had been ‘his‘ special enclosure for breakfast. 

So far so good.

And then the gentleman told us that he had very less faith in Indians and in their ability to take care of themselves. That we destroyed everything. That we respected nothing. That there was no hope for Indians or the country!

This - from an Indian gentleman, whose name might mean something in the Banking circles coz he had once headed the Standard Chartered Bank. 

And the three of us he had accosted said nothing to him. I looked at him, with diminished respect.

We are Indians and respect our elders -that is the reason we entertained him in the first place. None other in the world would have heard him out. He is possibly my Dad's age so I did not want to be rude to him. The other two women with me also kept quiet for the very same reason. 

He is clearly an Indian who has made it big. That’s why he pulls favours (or is Jugadu as we would say) to get the best suite in the hotel,  gets special service and is fawned upon. Where else in the world would he have gotten such impeccable service? 

I felt no anger at him - the feeling was one of sadness. 

 At 72, when you are so resentful of the country that helped you become big, of the people in that country who gave you respect, and who indulge you still - what can I say? If, after heading up an International Bank, you feel that your Indian brethren are so incapable of handling themselves and need a white man to do it - what can I say?If you continue to milk the country dry by currying favour because your social status allows you that access, and yet are critical of all other Indians -what can I say?

I did not lead his journey, so I cannot say why he hates his country men so. But I only felt terrible that someone so senior, who many Indians must have looked up to, is so uncomfortable in his skin.And I hope my journey will not be like his....that I will continue to be a proud Indian - whether I live in India or abroad. That I will continue to have faith, that despite corruption and inspite of people who abuse power for personal gains, this country will pull through.That being Indian means being resourceful, gracious, large hearted and forgiving.

Thats the reason we all chose to keep quiet- when we were all seething with anger. 

Is There A God?

As a kid, I did what I believed in God -  I prayed to Him , recited my prayers and went to the Gurudwara. When I wanted good grades, wanted to get out of trouble or wanted things badly , I prayed vigorously . I bribed, I made offerings, I promised a zillion things. I don’t really remember if God listened to me, because I don’t recollect doing any of the things I had promised. 

I know what everyone says about keeping the faith - that when things fall apart, things go wrong - then pray, believe that God is there for you. And I have tried to keep the faith. But it does not make sense to me. I mean where is He when  you need Him? When you are in trouble? When you are sick? When you desire something intensely? 

He is not there.

And we explain his absence by saying God is doing this to make you stronger. Or that He is giving you only that much suffering as you can bear. Or that He is there - his Hand is on you. Or that there are better things in store for you and He is merely testing you.Or that you are part of His bigger plan. 

Bullshit I say. 

There is no-one except for you. You make choices - you reap their benefits or repercussions. You are the one who learns to handle the problems, to handle your pain. You are the one who seeks and finds a solution. You work towards improving your life, getting your self esteem back, learn to fight your demons. You are the one who makes peace with all that bothers you. You are the one who is eventually in-charge of your Karma. 

Then why place your faith on someone who is not there? Who, in my mind, does not exist. If there is a God, and you His child, would He not try to ease your journey ? Why would He be avengeful? And frankly why would He try and make you learn ‘lessons’? 

The only entity I need to have faith in is Me. Because only I have the strength to deal with all that I go through. When I have cried, felt pain , been helpless, I have found the strength within me to become strong again.When I felt I could not go on any longer, I have turned the corner on my sheer will power.  My journey may not have been what I wanted it to be, but I made it by myself. 

There has been no God, except in my prayers when I have been most distraught. And there was no God to give me strength when I needed it most. He was not there when I needed answers and He was not there to make me better when I could have done with TLC. So for me, God does not exist. I have given up the ritual of going to the Gurudwara to offer prayers to a non-existent thing. 

The Guru Granth Sahib makes sense to me, because it contains simple tools for living. 

But God - NO. 

For me, there is no power bigger than what is within me. So I choose to Keep the Faith in Me. 

Rude Kids

‘Maji Satak Li’, ‘Panga Mat Lena’....these hoardings greet me everywhere in Mumbai these days. They are for a new reality show (is that what these are called?) to find India’s Dramabaaz kids. 

And these hoardings anger me. As if we Indians are not rude enough, we want to now also showcase how obnoxious our kids can be.I have never quite understood how parents don’t control their kids on flights, and look on indulgently as the child talks loudly, messes around, kicks the seat in front all the time. Or when kids run around restaurants, call the stewards again and again with innumerable demands or when kids push and shove for a turn at the swings. Or when parents are amused that the kid talks like an adult with all the expressions and drama! I can’t stand kids who act too big for their boots, and their parents horrify me even more. 

And much as we are mistaking our right to expression in the democracy, I think we are missing the boat on allowing kids the freedom of expression too. The right to express yourself does not mean being rude, being precocious and unmindful of people’s feelings. It does however mean letting people know how you feel, in a manner that is age-appropriate and in a language that is civil . It means being mindful of how others might receive it. And being prepared for the repercussions if someone is offended. 

I don’t think kids can process all that at an early age. They don’t have shades of grey like adults do - for them things are pretty much in  black and white. So when we indulge their rudeness in our love, they don’t understand that the same behavior can appall someone else too - and they may become outcasts or clowns in their peer group. Over time, most children learn to modify their behavior in peer groups or with superiors but it is not a happy situation. And it  does not ever leave them - rude behavior rears its head in crisis situations. 

Rude kids make rude adults. And really parents are responsible for this - not the media, not the extended family and not the peer group. 

I allow my kids to express themselves - often I am told that I am way too indulgent with them and talk about too many things with them. But I would be appalled if they were rude to me or to anyone else. That is not part of my liberalness. 

For me polite behavior is not about saying ‘Sat Sri Akal’ or touching someone’s feet (though that is nice too). But politeness is about not deliberating hurting someone, of having the courage to apologise if something inappropriate has been said or done, and about not showing off what you possess. It is also about keeping quiet in situations that will not benefit from your input. It is being nice to people who are not as privileged as you or whose needs are greater than yours. 

Good manners are not about being fake. They determine the sense of wrong and right in all human beings. They are one’s way of making the world a better place.

So if a kid ever tells me ‘Maja Satak Li’ and the parents coo with delight  -trust me, my brain will also go for a toss, and I will pinch the kid hard when the parents are not looking. 

Cancer Etiquette

Rano’s weekly chemotherapy schedule was to change to a fortnightly one and she was quite relieved about it. 12 weeks of constant in and out of the hospital, and feeling sick all week is quite exhausting and she was looking forward to not feeling so sick. 

And I walked into her house one evening and told her about a friend who could not get out of bed for 10 days post her fortnightly chemo coz it made her so sick. Little did I know the impact it would have on my sister. She was stressed all night and inconsolable. And I got the dressing down of my life from my Mom and bro-in-law. 

I am not alone in putting my foot in my mouth (atleast in this case for sure)!

Cancer brings out the best in most people. Strangers help each other and try to make life easier for the cancer patient. They step out of line to let a cancer patient go ahead, they will pay money if the person runs short while buying medicines and will commiserate.

And one way of commiserating is to tell stories of other cancer patients. Sharing their stories becomes one way of trying to reduce a cancer patient’s fear. So when someone narrates the story of how an aunt had cancer, and only lost a breast,  or that a relative developed a lesion in another part of the body, or that a neighbour died because the cancer came suddenly , it is meant to allay the patient’s fear. It is a way of making the patient understand that they are blessed and that others have had it worse.

But it comes out all wrong. The moment a person realises they have cancer, it creates an unimaginable fear. The dreaded C is something to be combatted and the treatment is almost as bad as the disease. Ask cancer patients, and they will tell you that they have nightmares about their mortality. They worry about themselves, about their kids and their loved ones. And then to hear stories - and most of these end badly- trips them big time. 

So what do we do? Clearly we care...and want to show the patient that we are there for them. So here is what works (atleast in my experience).

• Telling someone ‘you have the good cancer’ is not funny. Cancer is cancer...and scary in any form for the patient. 
• If you don’t have the courage to visit them or are not in the same city, it is fine. But let them know you are there. Rano’s friends would call her, sms to her and put stuff on her FB or BB to let her know that they were there for her and were thinking of her.’Not knowing what to say’ is not an excuse. 
• If the patient is looking really sick, there is no need to tell her she looks fabulous. Tell her that you can see she is feeling awful and ask if can you do something for her? Maybe cook up a favorite dish or read something funny or watch a stupid movie together so the beast is forgotten for sometime. 
• Give the patient an opportunity (if he wants) to talk about how he is feeling. So when you ask ‘How are you feeling?’, be prepared for the patient to detail to you exactly that. They need to vent, they also need validation and support. 
• Most of the patients feel more depressed when they lose their hair - be gentle, not patronising. They look different, not bad or weird. And tell the patient that. And don’t wear the ‘pity’ eyes. They are fighters and survivors and need no pity. 
• Don’t get offended if the patient takes off on you or says something nasty. Their bodies are full of chemicals that play havoc with their emotions. They go through too much turmoil and therefore get angry and hysterical. They may not respond to your messages or take your calls. They need energy to get well - it is not their time to make you feel special. 
• Above all, don’t give gyaan. They don’t need it. They don’t need to be told what diets are good, what treatments work, why they are feeling sick and so on. Remember, they are processing all that information from their doctors - so refrain from imparting your knowledge. 

A smile that tells them that you care about them, a deep felt hug and your genuineness are all they want. 

My Maruti and I

I don’t have a thing for cars. I couldn’t care less if I sat in a Skoda, Mercedes, Lamborghini or Rolls. The other day, my kids were discussing cars  they want Praneet to buy, and one of them said ,‘the car I hate the most is the Maruti 800.’

And I thought to myself - Little do they know! What the original Maruti 800 meant to a whole generation of middle-class Indians.

When we were growing up, Dads had scooters, and as they moved up the corporate ladder, a company or self owned car. The world then was divided between people who drove Fiats and those who drove Ambassadors. And both of them considered themselves superior. We were Aamby drivers and scornful of  the Fiat owners. They looked cooped up inside those matchbox cars and the steering wheel seemed to move a lot more than it steered the car! The Fiat was slower than the slowest cycle on the road and god forbid if you got stuck behind one. For us, it was always the fuddy-duddies who drove the Fiat. The Aamby was the King of the Road - strong and solid with loads of leg space. Ofcourse, many a morning (esp in the winters)  the street would be full of cars that owners were trying to start up desperately. And it was common, and fun , to push cars to help them start.

And then came the Maruti. I remember the pride on my Dad’s face that we were the first few hundreds to receive our Maruti in Oct’83.People would stare at the red car with envy and admiration as it hit the road. 

Our red Maruti was a dream! It was fitted with an original engine and had all imported parts . The car was so silent that Dad would check it at the traffic light to ensure the engine was still running. It had great mileage compared to both the Aamby and the Fiat and it came in funky colours too. My parents had lived abroad so we were used to various cars, but all of us loved our little red Maruti. 

Marutis changed the way young Indians drove their cars. It spawned a whole generation of cool dudes. It was the done thing to roll down all the windows, put blaring music and cruise through the GK 1 market, and pretend you did not know people were watching you. At night, loads of Maruti cars at the ice-cream carts at India Gate had the hatchback open with people sitting in the boot, feeling important! 

I used to be delighted when I was given permission to drive the car to college. It was thrilling to overtake every car on the road and zip up and down the flyovers in Delhi. The whole day we would drive around CP and other favourite haunts.And like all good ‘Indian’ things, we ‘please adjusted’ in the tiny Maruti car too. My bunch of pals used to fit into the car, without a complaint, and tumble out when we reached our destination. 

When I think back on my college days, it was the Maruti car that gave me a sense of safety. I was super confident that the car would never stall. That its tiny-ness and pick-up would help me escape any unsavory event. The Maruti car liberated me - it enabled me to travel anywhere , at anytime of the day. My cousins and I would sneak away regularly to grab a quick bite at those dirty chinese vans, do a recce of the current crushes’ houses and pick up stuff we did not want parents to know!

Ofcourse, we all moved on to other cars - bigger, better, more expensive ones! But today if I could hunt out the Maruti we owned, I would buy it back and preserve it forever!! 

That was the only car I truly loved!! 

Rude Indians

A note in the papers stated that Indians are getting ruder. And that parents are to blame for it. There is some truth in the statement, and is reflective of the rapidly changing India and  behaviors that are undergoing a sea change too. Indians are in a rush to become an economic power and aspire to lifestyles of the west - but there is little civic sense , dignity of labour or genuine respect for human beings. What we have is an abundance of false pride, arrogance and superciliousness. 

New money

Most of us earn more than our parents, and the markets are flooded with things that were objects of desire for us when we were kids. Simple things like Toblerone chocolates, Barbie dolls or Hi-Street shops for clothes. We want it all. We want everything our money can buy - and for the rest, there are credit cards. So fancy cars, big homes, great clothes, great toys - we have them all. And once we have these things, we earn the right to be rude. I demand the better parking, a better table at the restaurant, better service in the airline - and if I don’t get it - well I will throw a tantrum. I will not stand in a line - I am filled with my own self-importance! 

Look around you and you will see that rude behavior is the highest in people with new money. And in their kids. I have heard school teachers complain that some parents look down on them because they must earn less!  And are therefore inferior on the social scale!! 

In this whole game of one-upmanship and assessing people based on their cars, houses and jewelry, we are missing a critical detail.  All that we have earned is through sheer hard work. We grew up in a competitive environment with a scarcity mentality and were determined to succeed. Our kids will have to work doubly hard to support these current lifestyles.  Instead, we are bringing up kids who have none of that hunger we had, and have killer attitudes and arrogance. That is not going to help them. 

Rudeness with the staff 

The class divide is the strongest in our houses and teaches our kids a thing or two about rude behavior. Most of us grew up in households where there was help , but we were compelled to make our own beds, lay down the table and help Moms with chores. New money has brought with it the independence to hire more staff at home. And none of us want to lift a finger to do stuff anymore. We are callous to our staff and tick them off at the slightest infarctions. It is OK to be rude to help of all kinds or to not treat them as equals. Most kids I see are extremely rude to their maids and drivers - whether in hitting them, making jibes at them, or in simple things like asking them to wait outside while they have fun with their friends in the room. 

And they learn similar lessons when they see our behaviors with stewards on airlines or in hotels, with banking staff, with vegetable vendors - anyone who provides us with a service. And this undoes any lessons they are taught in equality. 

New fangled ideas on parenting

Most of us grew up in strict middle class households. We were taught to greet visitors and relatives with a Namaste or Sat Sri Akal. We were not encouraged to indulge ourselves when we went out with parents. I remember my mom’s nails digging into my wrist whenever the host asked me if I wanted a Coke - and I had to (disappointedly) say no. We were seen, not heard. And got the occasional spanking too. 

So when we became parents ourselves, we decided to correct the wrongs. We decided that our kids would lead fulfilling lives and have the confidence to tell us what they wanted. They would have the authority to take their own decisions.That we would be ‘friends’ to our kids. 

 I fail to understand parents who let young  kids decide what they want to eat , who they want to play with and whether they want to go somewhere or not! Or parents who are helpless that their kids drink or smoke under peer pressure! Or parents who say their kids don’t listen to them. Or parents who smile indulgently when there kids are downright cheeky and rude -all in the name of being witty!

You give kids authority when they don’t have the emotional bandwidth to decide right from wrong - then don’t complain when they refuse to listen to you and throw tantrums. 

Really - we need not fool ourselves. We are not our children’s best friends. We are their parents.And it is our moral duty to guide them, bully them in order to help them separate the wheat from chaff. 

The class divide only gets stronger, and  there are pressures that the have-nots have too. They aspire to better lifestyles and our behavior tells them that we are privileged and more important than them. Our arrogance sets them on the edge too and therefore, at the slightest provocation, there is a flare-up - on both sides. These flare-ups then get reflected in crimes against women, older people , road rage and a host of other acts. 

All of us need to learn - to make India a better place.