Letting it Unravel

Unravel got launched this week...not with great pomp like a JK Rowling or  Ravi Subramaniam book. But it was BIG for me. To see the result of something that had consumed my mind go live on Amazon and other sites was , to say the least, overwhelming. 

When I held the first copy of Unravel in my hand, I was a bit stunned. I couldn’t believe I had written something that was over 200 pages long. I had always loved reading and tried to fathom how people wrote so much. I never thought I had it in me.

Perhaps, grief, anger, bitterness and other negative emotions have a way of worming themselves into one’s heart. As I learnt to cope with my own crises, I developed a greater sensitivity to what was happening around me. I realized that happy , calm faces hid great pain. Loads of money or success did not necessarily mean more happiness and peace. Couples that seemed to be so well put together, were actually putting up a facade, for the sake of their children, businesses or society. All that glitters was not gold and almost everyone was winging it. 

It is about love, and its absence or loss. Love for our children, spouses, families, friends ,lovers and work. We struggle with what we love, and who we fall in love with.  We place our loved ones on a pedestal and forgive them because of our love for them . We make sacrifices and sell our souls to make them happy.  We change to make ourselves lovable to them. We want them with us and we cling, hoping they will never leave . When they do go away, show their clay feet or betray us,  they carve out a piece of us...and in trying to repair that hole in the heart, we unravel. 

I figured - at some basic level, everyone unravels. Some hide it well or have better coping mechanisms. A few talk about it while others choke internally, trying to make method of their madness. Some take a higher moral ground and take no responsibility. Still others are angry enough to destroy themselves in order to destroy the person who betrayed them. Some get life threatening diseases because of what they are going through. 

Some unraveling has societal sanction, and others are worthy of disdain. And there are strange situations where everyone feels like a victim, and there is no way to put things right. At each point I wondered  - How did this person make it through? Is there a right or a wrong in anything? Can things be set right? Is forgiveness over-rated? Can you really judge anyone? Who are you finally answerable to? Is there Karma? Instant Karma?

I felt relief when I was done with Unravel. It is draining to tell a story that may or may not have a happy ending. 

Today though, I feel sad that the one person who would have been awfully proud of me, even though she could not read - my granny - did not live to see it. Unfortunately, her life ended at the point where Unravel begins....I so wish I had not begun the story like that.... 

Tomorrow I know, I will have a palate for another set of stories, but right now, the anxiety, bitterness, anger, pain, happiness and gratitude -  at all that made Unravel happen for me - makes it a very bittersweet end to this amazing journey. 

Preeti Singh or Pat Smith

When I moved to the US from Mumbai last year, I spent the first few months working on Unravel, a novel of linked short stories based in Mumbai. In NY, my writing workshop pals recommended that I explore the US market for the book, instead of focusing only on the Indian market. I thought it was worth a try. I took sessions to write an impressive query letter to reach out to literary agents. Based on the letter, the literary agents would decide if my book was worthy of representation! 

I got down to work - wrote a nice query letter , researched on what literary agents/agencies would be best suited for my book and sent it off to all of them. And sat down and waited. And waited. Not an email, not a word, for over three months, despite reminders in some cases.

Just for fun, one crazy day, I set up another email account - in the name of Pat Smith.Then I sent the same query letter, the blurb, the bio and the sample chapters of Unravel to the very same literary agents. I merely changed Preeti Singh to Pat Smith in the documents. 

What followed was amazing. Five of those literary agents responded within the space of 10 days. I was amused beyond belief!

 All things equal, what was so special about Pat Smith ? Why could Preeti Singh not elicit any response? 

I am still unraveling the mystery ofcourse, but here are some of the potential reasons I could come up with 

• Unravel by Preeti Singh is not an ‘immigrant’ story, therefore did not hold topical appeal. 
•  Unravel by Preeti Singh is not a story about persecuted Indian women - women burnt for dowry, women raped in broad daylight and so on. Things that happen to women in feudal societies. Who really wants to read about a of bunch of women on Pali Hill?
• Unravel by Pat Smith becomes exotic. Pat may be a Caucasian, a foreigner who was in India. She observed India closely, and wrote ‘insightfully‘ about Indian women.  She felt the pain of the common sisterhood of shared experiences between women across the world.
• Unravel by Pat Smith is a wonderful ‘commentary’ on ‘modern Indian women.’

(the words in the apostrophes were used by the literary agents.)

What could I have done better I thought? I could have changed the name to ‘Caged Bird’, ‘The Burnt Bride’, ‘Chained since Birth’ or some such name to show an ‘Indian’ woman’s trauma. Or I  could have written a terrible tale where the family and husband conspire to burn a  young bride to death; or a slum girl achieves her dreams despite being forced into prostitution.

Better still, I could have written about my immigrant experience in the US. Painted a sad picture subtle and outright racist behavior, how I lost my self esteem, and how I discovered myself through all the painful experiences!

Would that have worked I wonder? Is that what is expected when an ethnic sounding ‘Preeti Singh’ sends a query letter and sample chapters?

I don’t have an explanation  for this bizarre episode, but atleast I know this - my query letter was a well-crafted one,  and  Unravel is a good story. 

And ofcourse my work has increased. I have to wear two hats now. As Preeti Singh I have to figure what stories to write that will get accepted in the US. Or think as Pat Smith and create another Indian/exotic  experience! 

First things first though - I have to send this blog to those literary agents!!

What would you do?

The friday gone by, (18th July) , my 90 year old grandmother's health took a turn for the worse, and we were informed by the doctors that she would not last the weekend. My passport has been with BLS / Cox and Kings for the last three weeks for a simple booklet addition.On Friday, I called them - there was no one to take my call, and no one called back despite the innumerable voice mails I  left. I then rushed to the consulate in Manhattan, to try and figure if I could get my passport back, or some document that would enable me to leave for India that evening. 

And what transpired was a nightmare. 

The Consulate working hours at Manhattan are till 5.30 pm Monday through Friday, and I reached there to find the office shut from 3 to 4pm.  There was no one to explain what the reason was, and no officer available who I could speak with. Till 4.30 pm, no one came to the passport window where many people apart from me were also cooling their heels. 

Finally, I managed to catch someone’s attention and explained the nature of the problem and the emergency. With a sour puss expression, the ‘gentleman’  told me that there was nothing that he could do. When I asked to speak to someone in the embassy, he told me I could go to anyone and they would not help. I asked to speak to the Consular or some official  and he said they could not be bothered. I asked him if he understood the urgency. His response was that it was night time in India, and there was no emergency. I told him I would lose my granny over the weekend, and was he telling me he could not help me get to India? He snapped at me and told me to not be rude and  scampered away. No other official appeared .  At 5, we were told the consulate was shut for the day.

My granny passed away on Monday morning, and the reason I had wanted to come to India did not exist anymore. It  angered me first, and then saddened me that I am an Indian citizen, with a valid passport and visa, and yet I was denied the opportunity to meet my grandmother one last time. 

I tried to process what had just happened!  I figured there was a failure on two counts.

1. A systemic process failure - It is actually bizarre that  a mere booklet addition should take more than 3 weeks. It is even scarier that the Ministry of External Affairs has  not planned for serious emergencies. There should have been some process that enabled me to get temporary documentation to travel back home. I asked the ‘gentleman’ who had deigned to talk to me if I could receive a one way document, and my husband would take the passport and courier it  to India  in the following week. To which I received a brusque no.

1. Incompetent and callous behavior - Perhaps what galled me even more was that there was no one to listen and help.Why is it that I could not access any of the officials who are supposed to be representing me in another country?  I can understand if they could not help, but the arrogance of officials in refusing to meet is unacceptable. An embassy conducts business on behalf of its country, but it is also responsible for the welfare of its citizens in a foreign land.  Or am I missing a point here?

So here is my contention - Why is it that we choose to send such arrogant people to represent our country abroad? Is it because the great bureaucratic machinery is so secure in itself that it chooses to be badly behaved? India is full of amazingly hard working , considerate people and we can’t recruit them?  In a country where the system fails us all the time, it is our people who rise up time and again to help and lend a shoulder. Surely our bureaucracy, and the people who are selected to represent us need to be of a higher calibre. And those people can make contingency plans that assist citizens far away from home. 

In the US, if I faced discrimination from US citizens, I would take it in my stride. After all, this is not my country, and these are not my people. I am here for a brief period and don’t really care for its citizenship because I love India and being Indian. But when, in an alien land,  my own country representatives choose to be callous and unhelpful, who can I turn to blame? Is it any wonder that Indians do not get the respect due to them in foreign countries? It is because we have no respect or regard for our own…and we have the audacity to want better from the rest of the world? 

I still remain a proud Indian. Except that I am ashamed that Incredible India chooses such shoddy representatives for itself.

That Friday evening, totally disconsolate and inconsolable, all  I could tell  my NRI, ABCD and American friends in NYC was this -  The Consulate is  NOT representative India. This is not what India is. This is not what Indian people are. Don’t think negatively about my India because of a wretched few souls. Mera Bharat is Mahan, and the Indian Consulate people are not true Indians. 

I never got to meet my granny, and could only 'see' her on Skype. But I hope that this does not happen to other proud , tax paying Indians, who  may not be there for their parents, children or loved ones,all because  Indian External Affairs failed them miserably. 

My Rockstar

I never thought it was the last time I was seeing her. Had I known that, I would have gathered her frail, small body in a hug and breathed her in one last time.   I would have held on to her - tight. I would have told her how much I loved her.

Instead, the last memory I have of my granny is her clutching on to the warm socks I had taken for her, as her chair was lifted to take her down the stairs.  

If it is difficult to see your strong parents grow old and become frail with age, it is even more distressing to see loved grandparents slide into old age,become sick , dependent and helpless.  Nani was full of boundless energy (Praneet often jokes that my restlessness comes from her) and yet, in the last few years, even if her mind and heart were willing, the body was not. When Rano was detected with  cancer, at the frail age of 88, Nani made the trip to Mumbai. She had to be with Rano, but the trip tired her out, and she was unwell most of the time. She stopped going out with my aunt on kitty parties because her body could not handle it. She was unhappy that we were moving to the US because it was so far away. Surrounded as she was by a family that loved and respected her, did she feel lonely, with few of her peers alive anymore? I often wondered what went on in my Nani’s mind. Did she think often of my grand-dad who passed away 25 years ago? Did she think of her family and her childhood? Did she miss her siblings? What did she think, when she tuned out of all conversation?

There is precious little I regret in my life - all my bad choices make for interesting stories. But the one thing I deeply regret is not spending enough time with Nani. In the last 10 years when I was in Mumbai, I made only fleeting visits to meet Nani in Delhi. I called her at irregular intervals. I did not go for her birthday last year...for the life of me , I can’t remember what was so important that I did not attend it!

I regret that I did not find the right pair of slip-ons for her in time. She loved my pair and wanted a similar one. But her foot was a baby sized one, and by the time I finally found her a pair, her toes had become too gnarled to wear them. I regret the fact that I did not spend enough time with her at the wedding last year. I watched her, felt horrible at seeing her so frail but did not ‘talk’ too much to her. I drew her attention to her earrings that Mom had passed on to me. She nodded and told me to not sell them, or use them to make another piece of jewelry because my grand-dad had given them to her. I kissed and hugged her and told her they were my precious memory of her and I would keep them forever. I had wanted to record her experience of partition, but she was so fragile that I decided against it. Even though she was mentally alert, Nani did not have the energy for conversations anymore. 

I regret that such a piece of my family history is lost to me. That I will never know ever, what she felt when my Grandfather went missing or when she lost her young daughter. I will never learn the secret of her amazing mutton curry and pickles. 

I regret that my passport had gone for additional leaflets, and I could not travel back to India to see her one last time. It was a weekend, and there was no way to get the passport from the horrid Indian Consulate.I fought hard but to no avail. All I could do was watch her on FT and Skype...and not be able to reach out my hand to touch her one last time.

I will never see her in that room of hers ever again. Or smell her unique fragrance laced with Surbex-T and Pears . I will never hear her voice call out,‘Ninoo, tu aa gayee?‘ and asking my aunt to cut fruits for us. Her hands will not press money into my hands again for ‘mithyayi’ as she called mithai. Her wiry hands will never touch my face in affection again. I will never hear the word ‘cutles’ for cutlets ever.  I will never be able to make fun of her watching TV serials and punctuating the unfolding drama with a ‘Hai’. I will never see her eyes light up with pleasure at any gift I took for her, and her fingers gently caressing the gift. No one will call me Moiyeah again! And ‘Lara Lappa’ will never sound the same. 

I bitterly regret that my book ‘Unravel’ begins where Nani’s journey ended...as a much loved matriarch in coma. 

The one time I hate saying RIP...you lived a full full life, but we were not prepared to lose you Mummyjee . You have taken a part of me with you . 

Letting It Go

It was an absolutely strange feeling to wake up one morning and feel a vacuum. I felt light and at peace. It took me sometime to figure what was different that morning.  I had finally let go. Let go of anger, hurt and bitterness that had been part of my life for some time. I am fundamentally an optimistic person, so these emotions were uncomfortably alien to me. I felt  relieved because I had wanted so much to not harbour negative feelings.  It was ironic because just when I had accepted that these feelings would stay with me for a lifetime, they quietly exited from my life -  without even saying goodbye! After staying rent-free in my head, you would think they would at least give me a fair warning of their departure!

I learnt this. 

• That healing takes its own time. You can’t rush it. You can’t stop the voices in your head or the anger flaring up at the slightest provocation. You can practice chanting, praying, offloading on friends,  black magic, pranic healing  - anything, but it won’ t work. Forgiveness will feel like an overrated virtue. So don’t try too hard to forgive/forget/move on....

• You can counsel people on their lives and experiences, but all objectivity is lost when it is your own life. And the more invested you are emotionally, the more unreasonable you become. It is the ego and the feeling that you let yourself down that rankle the most. You can hold long endless conversations with yourself on the whys of the world and not come to any resolution. 

• It is exhausting to be angry and bitter. For me it had benefits - I worked my anger  on two books - but the pain was brutally physical. I had headaches and somedays, a gloom that refused to lift.The bitterness left a sour taste in my mouth, and acid on my tongue. 

 I didn’t let go though -  the negativity finally disengaged itself from me. In extricating itself from me, the negativity  filled me with a lightness of being. I stopped questioning  the motives of other people or why they had behaved such with me. I no longer looked for an apology - infact I realised there was no need for an apology- people have their own journey that I may not understand but it was no longer of any consequence . I was filled with gratitude for all I had received, and surprisingly retained nothing negative about my experience. I felt only compassion and affection for those I had been angry with and truly wished them well - with no malice. 

If I have any words of advice from my own experience, it is this - trust the universe to make it right for you. Till then, accept the feelings. Be in tune with yourself and don’t be too harsh on your inability to cope, or regressing sometimes or being mean!  

As Mandela said,’ It always seems impossible until it’s done’. Till then - Keep the Faith. 

Of Bonds and Belonging

This August , it will be an year since we moved to the US. The move happened so quick and the events went by at such an alarming pace, that I did not get time to breathe. Among other things, it was a time of farewell parties...and thoughtful gifts that my lovely friends gave me. 

As I moved into my new home in Scarsdale this weekend,  I re-discovered some of the gifts I had received, and that were lost in the infinite number of bags  we got from India. Among them - a set of cushion covers by a famous artist, a ‘happiness’ jar, a poster of things people said about me, a quiz on ‘Knowing Preeti’ , CDs of all my favorite Bollywood numbers, a sequined stole and a saree that belonged to my friend’s granny that she passed on to me .And a lovely scroll by my bestie in Mumbai...that detailed all the B words that reminded her of me. Bitch, Bhel Puri, Beer, Bawling, Baubles, Building, Bully among others. Each word had a memory behind it. 

And it teared me up. Completely. 

This move to the US is a wonderful opportunity for the family. I feel blessed that my life has, at regular intervals, changed its course and taken me to entirely new places. It is always a great learning experience to move to a new place, and observe and understand how people live, what drives them and what their core values are. It is wonderful to roam the country as little more than a tourist in transit and really appreciate its beauty and the underbelly. To cook as the locals do, to enjoy the sports they enjoy, and to part of a multi-cultural global community - it can’t get any better!

And yet, I miss what I have left behind. I miss Mumbai- its incredible spirit and the amazing people that drive it. I miss the network I had created, not because I have awesome social skills, but purely on the strength of growing up, studying and working in India. To try and establish credibility in a new country is such an uphill task. And a little de-humanising as well, because of the sense of entitlement that comes from ‘belonging’ to a place or people. Clearly, there are some things I have to unlearn first.

Most of all, I miss my friends.Nothing quite fills up the gap that I feel because of the physical absence of my beloved friends. I say physical, because all of them are utterly gracious -  keeping me in the loop on what  happens in their lives, making me part of whatsapp groups for events, and facetiming or calling me when they are together to tell me I am being thought of and being missed. 

I have re-connected with old friends in the US, and am enjoying re-discovering them. I have met new lovely people as well. And I am possessive of my time with my family now. 

Yet, I miss the ease and simplicity of my relationships in Mumbai. Friendships that were defined by a mutual love of some sort- for food, books, movies, gossip, music, work , kids or bondings because of school, college or work. Of bonds created and strengthened over endless cups of tea, a Bollywood dance club, vodka shots, training for marathon, learning to cook  a new cuisine, plays, pedicures and manicures, arguments over books and movies, samosas and popcorn and walking on Pali Hill or Bandra together. Most of us were working, and yet always found time to meet, lend a shoulder, offer advice, or merely hang out together  for the sheer joy of being friends. 

When people tell me that I will end up staying for more than five years in the US, my heart cringes. When they tell me that this is the best place in the world, I don’t argue with them. They have not walked in my steps to know where my heart lies. And what I consider the best place in my life...

Forgetting Friends

Praneet found a CD full of pictures of my birthday in 2008. Most were horrendous pictures really- of a plumper me with a shorter haircut ( killer ones that no blackmailer should ever get his/her hands on) .As I flipped through the pictures I saw many faces - of friends, and not friends anymore. There were a handful of people who, six years hence, are not in my life . Some that I threw out of my life by choice, some that chose to not be my close pals anymore .I looked at both of these groups and shrugged. I had gotten over the anger and mourned the loss in both these cases. What brought a strange feeling was another set of people. There were those in the pictures who are no longer part of my life...and I didn’t even realise when they had exited. They ceased to exist for me, and I didn’t even notice?

Just as the capacity of a human mind to not forget is great, so is the capacity to not remember. Else how do I explain how I forgot those friends? Forgot them so completely that it took a moment to register who they are. I mean - they were important enough for me once upon a time - that’s why they merited an invite to the party.We must have shared a few laughs, had a few drinks together, hung out for a while. And I have no clue, or rather, no memory of when we stopped being part of each other’s lives. Did we drift apart over a period of time? Or was there a moment when something went wrong? Did we move away because we befriended other people, or was it that our work schedules did not match anymore? Did we fight or not clear up a misunderstanding? For the life of me, I don’t know anymore. All I know is that if there was any pain , bitterness or anger  - I don’t remember it. I do remember some snatches of the good times I had with them - like walking in Jogger’s Park, ordering chinese and biryani from little known joints and some gossipy morning calls and ginger tea. It felt nice to see them again, but there was no urge to re-connect once more. 

The truth is - life moves on. And people come into our lives for a reason or a season. And then they leave. Some go in a blaze of anger or bitterness, and some ease off gently - so gently that one does not even realize it! You don’t miss them. You don’t think about them. It’s like they were never a part of your life. 

What was heart warming for me however was this - the very same friends who I considered my soul mates, my parachutes, my safety nets then - are still in my life. While there may have been conflicts between us and huge fights because we did not agree with choices that the other made, we have stuck together. They are still the ones I  call late night, hound on whatsapp  and whose inboxes I flood with emails. They are the ones I can get sozzled with, share all my intimate secrets with - and they will protect me much as my mother would! They have stood beside me through my worst crises,have lent me their shoulders to weep, and slapped me on my face to help me get a grip. We have the courage to say what needs to be said, with utmost confidence in the strong bond we share.  And even though we don’t stay in the same city anymore, and don’t talk on a daily basis, we are together.  I hope my best friends will outlive me, and party at  the Bollywood bash that Praneet will throw in gratitude of my earlier departure!

Now with this momentous cross continent shift, and the fact that I can’t hide anymore behind the pretext that I was busy settling us in and writing,  it is time to make more new friends. Will these be Indians? Or people from other races/nationalities as well? Will these be parents of my kids’ friends? Or people I will meet in the course of work? I don’t know!

Yet, in a few years,  I will get another reality check. On who will still be in my life, and who would have moved on. Except that now I know what to expect - and so will make sure that I master the art of posing for photo shoots so I look slim, sexy, beautiful….;-))