Dard e Disco

I C 52

2011-09-26T22:47:00.002+05:30

I C -52
A number that is your identity for the last 8 years and poof- it will be gone in 4 days. Restart address proofs, guards, friends, children's friends- Your life revolves around it- its just 4 walls but it’s the home that gave you everything…2 children, peace and a lot of turbulence that helped you grow into what you are today. I want to see the future and know that it will be better but there is just nothing to stop the tears welling to my eyes repeatedly.
And then I understand why grandparents always had ridiculous attachments’ to houses- coz they were filled with memories. Each corner of the house is reminiscent of some emotion. Bathrooms – anger!! Hubby never got the leaking taps done on time and they were never clean enough. Bathrooms- accomplishment coz the day you washed them yourself they shone like a baby’s bum. Intense , painful joy of when and where your son took the first step and fear of the corner where your daughter got her forehead hurt. Comfort from the falsely derived security of having your cook, dhobhi, grocer all around. Cheerfulness – from the south facing balcony that allowed you to enjoy lazy and sunny winter days. Little joys of bringing in something new that looked just perfect on the wall. The tarmac which was the walking path for all- where I made and lost many friends. The lawn – wickedness where many gossip sessions were revelled in. Kitchen – where you grew as a person and hopefully, as a cook. Where motherhood is tested every day as my son appeals to me to make some blondies and pancakes. Potent frustration – you have lost count of the maids that you couldn’t retain. Family reunions – laughing and eating and all revelry. The Diwali melas of senseless and once a year socialising with neighbours.
And effort in all that has gone into making the house a home- the yellow kitchen and how much I wanted the red chilli handles and how I settled for the golden capsicums ( visit to Chandni Chowk included). The puja cupboard that Mom designed perfectly; where I have spent many intense moments praying for a child, a job, calmness and some sense into the hubby! My bedroom which seemed the only haven for my sanity when too many guests were around.The bedroom door that banged everytime the balcony door was left open- how many maids have been told the cost of repairing the crumbling wall. The balcony where I would spend hours in with my son so that he could have 3 mouthfulls of khichdi and the concentrated discussions with other moms- would he ever outgrow this all?And how the house grew bigger as the children came into our lives and then too tiny to accommodate us all. Where will the bats and the skates go? Don’t play football in the lobby…where will the kids sleep when guests are around? I need a shoe cupboard for my daughter and me .
Everything is comfortable and familiar and I will be shaken. Much more than I can fathom. I will cope and enjoy the gold walls in my stunning new house. I will have a larger and sunny kitchen and more bedrooms and more space. But ‘ I C baawan’ you are my first. And you are special.

Its a Woman's World...If you Insist

2010-09-24T15:37:00.002+05:30

My heels click ominously and I can feel the eyes boring down into my back..err backside. The corridor is decrepit and dingy, a red Zero watt bulb glowing at one end. I walk toward it wishing I hadn’t worn the snug pants today ( they did seem like a good investment). I enter the door, smile at the occupier of the office and probably one of the power centres of this country and gratefully sink into a sofa as he asks us to wait.
Its just another day at work and I dressed wrong for a visit to a government office. Reaching 37 is no solace, you should wear hanging clothes ( preferably gunny bags) when you visit the corridors. All those years of sitting on their backsides have equipped the endless peons with X ray vision. And the corridors are long…Anyway, the meeting starts and I enthusiastically propel forward and suddenly the man across the table winks! And I must give me credit, I continue without batting an eyelid but give him direct eye contact for another 30 seconds. And only women can empathise with this, your instinct tells you to get up and slap the jerk but you somehow miraculously finish making your point without losing your composure. So I then turn to the subordinate. He is a quintessential government servant, middle aged, paunchy and smug with bad English but continues to ramble on. And of course, he lives up to reputation. So he will not make eye contact..rather my chest seems to be the focal point. It’s a nice sensible cotton shirt and the saleswoman promised me that the buttonholes were slip proof so I steamroll. But you know, wishing that I could just quickly glance downward to see if ‘All is well’. I continue bravely despite a wink and a heave and the only relief is that it doesn’t rattle me anymore. (I later realized that the ‘gentleman’ in question was not staring at any ‘assets’ but just uncomfortable making eye contact with a woman!). We finish the meeting and I need a loo, I have a long drive ahead. It takes me 15 minutes to find one. It reminds me of my Granddad’s loo 30 years ago and I swear it had a chain!
I have never felt disadvantaged being a woman at work. First job had its sarkari overtones but I would charmingly smile my way with all the officers and even ensure that production orders were included after deadlines. I didn’t hesitate ever to use a smile..after all I could hardly back slap with the boss. And I refused to join them for a drink. I was teased about the inherent advantage but I would accept it as a strength. But I didn’t ever cross the line.
Fortunately 2 back to back pregnancies ensured that I was treated respectably and so it goes. It also helps to be a natural team player and ability to develop instant comfort with strangers. But last 3- 4 years have been an eye opener and the glass ceiling looms threateningly. The wrong heels, the tattoo showing and a genuine smile may suddenly interfere with you being perceived as competent. Suddenly, it seems sensible(and safer) to ask another woman where the toilet is and emotions at work are dangerous. You see when men can raise their voices they are only asserting themselves but women shouting or asserting is ‘Oh must be that time of the month again’.
It’s a constant dilemma and juggling of work and home life that we manage. And coupled with the fact that we live in an era of ‘lets make everything perfect’. I know that this is a hackneyed theme and feminist, been written about a countless number of times but the reality of it hits you only when you are in it. At the end of each day, I feel bone tired and wonder at the amount of pending items that I have closed but it still doesn’t seem enough. When will it be enough? Will the ‘Oh she is a woman’ tag always be a liability in the conference room? Or is it something that I must always work with and need to go the extra mile.
Parents brought us 2 sisters up never making us feel we were disadvantaged though Mom being Mom, would always sternly tell us to ‘sit properly’. As Mimi plays in the park without a care and I ask Mom to regularly courier bloomers ( they’re available only in small cities nowadays) so that she can be a free bird, it ‘s a daily dilemma I go through. What is the reality? Can she and I ever free ourselves of our gender and march onwards. Or is it a fine line? Or is it a myth?

And Running it shall be

2010-04-20T22:08:00.002+05:30

I consider myself a graceful woman. I may have a big err.. derriere but it has its advantages. I’m reasonably tall by Indian standards and mostly other women envy me for my height. And I can throw my head back and laugh, with ease …generally I’m cool. I’m not being arrogant. I can recall the countless times I have faded into oblivion at a party wishing that the earth would swallow me. Why did the Mom have to choose such ugly spectacle frames, doesn’t God realize how oily skin and big backsides can permanently mar a budding teenager’s confidence ( you gotta realize 20 years later that lack of confidence is a given!). You wish your Mom knew how to buy smart clothes for you, you wish your Dad had more money so that you could buy those ‘ Lose 5 kgs in 5 days’ pills ( so what if you passed out a couple of times), you wish that girls didn’t buzz to you coz you had good looking boy cousins and therefore demonstrated how exceptions make the rule..blah blah blah. But now I’m cool with who, what I am. Really..Ok my thighs can do with some urgent surgery which wont need to be too fine coz there is a lot of fat that can be hacked away by even a butcher, some bigger assets and some smaller ones will make the perfect picture. I wish I had a hubby who earned so much that I could get a liposuction without guilt. And some lazer and some princess cut solitaires. Ok ..I digress, lets get back to the point.
Obviously weight has been a ‘decising’ factor in my life.But being on an endless diet has somewhat achieved results. No matter what the magazines say, its diet and NOT a lifestyle change. I still could gobble half a dozen Snickers in one go, eat some cheesecake and gobble some buttered toast in a jiffy..no lifestyle change will let you do it. As recommended and as per fashion, I am a generally regular exerciser. Aerobics, gymming etc . But when you reach THIRTY SEVEN years of age , for some goddamn reason you want to challenge yourself. Which basically translated into endless nagging of the Lord to sign up for marathon running classes. So that I could tag along. And he, mind you, is quite content and smug about his growing paunch..how I envy him. But nevertheless, he cooperated.
So we embarked and I took off. At aerobics, I always got the rhythm..the mirror in the hall didn’t scare me. Cardio at the gym was flattering and running on the treadmill is a self controlled activity so its easy to press the ‘down’ button if the panting gets too much. But when you sign up for a running class with other accomplished people ( who in their right mind would ever run 100 km in one go???) you are painfully reminded of all awkward and ‘let dharti mata please eat me up’ moments in one go. Coz its easy to start off ..for precisely 150 m. Then the throat starts parching and the tongue drops out as ungracefully as it can. So you remember the tips on breathing and decide to inhale deeply. And that makes you further lose your breath and you give the patiently running hubby a dirty glare. I’ll figure out later why but its gotta be his fault, right? So he slows down so that you can walk and empathetically tells you to ‘do whatever feels comfortable’. So you stop midway ( grateful that he has goofed up yet again but for once at the right time) and in a ‘only for the hubby tone’ which is controlled and sharper than a butcher’s knife challenge him “ So you think I can’t do it? You Iyengars are so arrogant”. He fumbles and responds “ I just want you to be OK”. Me “ I would be OK if you could encourage and be a positive influence in my life”. He “ baby, Of course you can do it”. Me “Harrmmmffff”. Run off.
150 m later ( a marathon is 42000 m only), me “ Lord, I think my flat foot’s a problem” He, sighing gratefully, “ yes of course..thts it..else you would have finished by now”.
Walk for 50 m , then get embarrassed that I will not fit into my mind’s super woman, so I start running, actually jogging..no err doing the filmi run to your hero in slow motion kind of desperate movement. Arms flay around helplessly, feet drag ( Melvin the instructor has told me that I must land on the balls of my feet when I run). At this point I could tell him a thing or two about balls and how they can be crushed and give pain a new meaning. But nevertheless, my Mama told me that hard work pays off. So I drag feet further and I inhale and hence the lord gets even dirtier looks. He finally slinks away running as fast as his feet can carry him ensuring that I cant catch up. Harrmmmfff. Never mind, I shall not give you the pleasure by divorcing you. He will stay with me and be subjected to everyday torture just like I have to endure in this ridiculous running class.
And as you drag yourself to the finishing line and the others cheer you ( I’m a trainer..I know cheering is only for losers, you …losers) you smile and inhale. Oxygen precludes you and the head is pounding and the knees don’t hold you up and you collapse with your derriere et height. Grace is not happening. Running is not happening. The Lord is praying to Tirupati Balaji fervently.

The author is proud to report that she ran 3.2 km this morning stopping every 20 m. That is an improvement from last week’s ‘Stopping at every 10 m’. My Mama taught me perseverance.

Bouncing Back

2009-10-01T11:06:00.003+05:30

I think I'm ready to start again. Will gather up the time to do a post... soon.

IF

2009-06-13T17:29:00.003+05:30

U never know u leave memories and aspects of yoursef with people you've interacted with..till u get this ..even in tough times

IF
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!
--Rudyard Kipling

Blogomania

2009-06-04T10:40:00.002+05:30

Ahem,
After a year of being here, I am finally managing to get the hang of the blogging world. Takes me back to a basic principle of life that I learnt a looong time ago- The more you give, the more you get. So the thumb rule, we operate is on, dear girl ,is to visit other blogs AND leave a comment. And then the other one I learnt in corporate life : its not about performance alone, its about perception and image. U gotta tell your star stories sometimes. Its all about community, a brotherhood, a sisterhood, a peoplehood who are tied together for a common cause: to create a cacophony by ranting all they want. Only the cacophony is silent; punctuated and interrupted by some pertinent issues coming up, some strange inexplicable bonds and lyalties being formed. And I"M LOVING IT!!!
But Ahem, here are some hard facts that I am trying to grapple it. ( And I do work in an IT company but technophobe is the word for me). So please help, you much more arrived people.
1. How does one keep a blogroll? ( I am trying but cant figure out the link)
2. How does one monitor the hits ( I am trying but where is the 'button')
3. How does one efficiently manage one's time in the blogging space ( considering I can devote about 30-45 mins everyday) ( And I am obsessed about being planned for everything I do)
4. How does one change a banner to suit one's own purpose? ( there only seem to be standardized formats, layouts) hence my blog looks like how I start looking when I have piled on the kgs : desperately uncoordinated except that one has put one hazaar effort in getting the ensemble together. And the fat ALWAYS shows!!

Any other useful hint ( Mummy ke nuske would be mucho appreciated)

5. So please please some kind person, please offer some simple , simple suggestions. (Eg : First see the top panel of your screen, do u see something blue & white, OK. Do u see the word layout written there)...u get the drift?
This is a personal cry for help...

Btw- wanted to thank MadMommahttp://themadmomma.wordpress.com

Mindspacehttp://tarabhatt.blogspot.com

JottingnMusingshttp://jottingsnmusings.wordpress.com/

Of Facts and Fiction

2009-05-25T16:33:00.002+05:30

‘The Folk of the Faraway Tree’ by Enid Blyton, though read nearly 25 years ago , continues to be my favourite book. In this book, Enid Blyton has put together a wonderful motley of characters: The beaming Moonface, The surly SaucePan, the Dame Washalot (she washed clothes sitting on a tree and threw soap water down the bark!), the 4 children who visited this surreal, magical tree (which by-the –way is in an enchanted forest) which reached beyond the clouds where a ‘different land’ visited each week. Lemme see if I can remember the lands – The Land of Nursery Rhymes where Jack, Jill, Miss Muffet , etc all ACTUALLY lived, the Land of Happiness, the Land of Marvels, the Land of Know it all..etc etc. Enid Blyton of course wove in a story with some morals thrown in, but for me it always represented charm, desire and left me breathless with awe! I would spend hours fantasizing how I would react if I reached this fantastic tree. And you’re right, if I still remember it and have a precious copy still retained- it has shaped some of my ideals and principles in life.

Since I have partially successfully negotiated with Mimi and Ta to now sleep on a cozy mattress next to our bed, they rightfully demand a story every night. Personally, the regular fairy tales don’t find favour with me anymore – they stereotype so many roles in life- Snow White with her fairness, step mothers with their cruelness, physically unappealing men are ‘beasts’ , u get the drift..? So the Lord and I struggle every night, making up stories and hoping that they convey some ‘important lesson’ intertwined with wonder; lizards that threaten to eat up innocent joeys ( that’s baby kangaroos) and the odd gigantic joey who is orstracized by his peers because of his size but heroically saves the joeys from the menacing lizard and subsequently finds favour with all his friends. But here’s the thing ; I don’t know how much of fantasy is ‘allowed’ and what part must be fact?

While intently listening to Lord’s story the other night, I heard him correct Ta and Mimi’s understanding on animal habitat. I on the other hand, would have loved to build on their train of thought – let the tigers reach clouds and let the monkeys swim in the water. Let them imagine gardens of chocolates and Maggi noodles in the water. Let them think that you could run away and then learn to fly. While I am still old fashioned enough to insist that their respective girlfriends/ boyfriends must be of the OPPOSITE sex- I wonder whether the new age cartoon heroes like Ben-10 are inspiring enough? Are heroes characters that save the regular people from evil influences or so they attempt to break all conventional themes?

Its common knowledge that each new generation usually represents agile minds and far more confidence than its preceding one. As the Lord likes to point out, I swell with pride, when Ta (lemme reiterate – all of 4 years) will casually mention that Mangoes and Carrots have copious amounts of Vitamin A and Lemons are a good source of Vitamin C. But just the other day one of the society children-probably 6 years old, refused to get a particular cycle horn ( it has police, fire engine, ambulance sirens as options) since it would cause noise pollution. I was immediately impressed but then the nag happened.
I and many more of my generation would have loved to get such a horn. We would have played chor-police and chased the thieves all over the neighborhood. Mangoes were never ( and never will be ) a source of Vitamin A. They will always represent warm summers, juices trickling down them chins, mom stripping us down to bloomers and slips so that one of our 3 sets of clothes were not permanently scarred. Stories were usually learnt through books that had boring text printed all over but something enthralling lay beyond those black and white words. Society kids got together to become the local ‘Famous Five/ Secret Seven’ gangs who solved mysteries. Of course, we just ended packing up sandwiches ( jam & kheera NOT ham and cheese!) and Rasna and trekking up the local hillock that we defiantly named ‘The Black Mountain’ .

I hear and read about 2nd lives now. As to how you can ‘be’ anyone that you want to. How online games help you attain world supremacy and its good for books to have ‘large pictures’ elucidate the situation. But I wonder there is too much structure around? Are we focusing too much on facts and leaving out the fiction? Is the popularity of reality shows an indication of how deep rootedly ‘practical ‘ we are now becoming? Is Fact and experience becoming the same thing?

Now don’t get me wrong- I don’t worry about the kids or the new generation. I don’t lament about futures and past; each generation inherits legacies and possibilities and so the cycle goes …but can the magic of a Disney world only be experienced at an amusement park? Do we need to do more?

Mrs Mathew

2009-04-14T16:08:00.003+05:30

Tiger Tiger Burning bright,
In the forest of the night,
What fearful hand or eye,
created thy Fearful symmetry

I watched mesmerized, as Mrs. Mathew read out the verse. Her voice resonated, her intonation was somber and her expression grave. But her eyes seemed fiery, almost reflecting a zealous intensity. An English Literature period; that took place 21 years ago, but I have since recalled it many a time. Each time the memory is crystal clear and sharp as a razor. Just minutes before she had recited the poem, she had addressed the class in her inimitable sing song ( it wasn’t lilting..) but authoritative tone urging us to understand that the poem was not about the Tiger but its creator, its maker. She exalted William Blake’s probable reverence in writing such a powerful tribute to The Almighty. Like many of the girls in class, she had my full hearted attention for all her English literature classes. She had been teaching us for 2 years now and it was a honour to be taught Shakespeare and Panorama poems by her.

Mrs. Mathew, my school principal, of St Mary’s School, Pune ( SMS-School of Million Snobs, and we obviously proudly bore that title) was 5 ft 4 inches but like all authoritative figures who earns and commands respect, she seemed much taller; especially to a bunch of school going girls, who unknowingly sought a role model but refused to accept her as one. She ruled the school with an iron hand and the sight of her walking to her office from her on campus residence still makes me want to, first, disappear OR if there was no escape- stand ramrod straight. She caught me once- banging on the chapel piano and good girl Bhavna, faced, public humiliation for the first time in her life. I mean, what is worse than your name being announced in the School assembly, for BAD behaviour. The teachers were closely watched and each passing batch was meticulously primed for the ICSE exams. The school gained an unholy reputation of being very academic focused but still we had star players in some sport, elocution or debate competition. She expanded the school from a small prestigious British sister led academy into a large, high quality and reputable institution. She was feared by student and teacher alike, but the teenaged girls loved to hate her. Commenting furtively on her sarees, her lack of another life beyond St Mary’s, her obsession to keep us away from, ahem, boys. (You couldn’t doubt her administration, EVER)

It won’t surprise me if many others claim that their school principals were similar. But Mrs Mathew stood out because she loved teaching English Literature. Indoctrining her students to love and revere the power of expression, the power of words, the imagination of a writer, a poet. She stood out because she taught many of us the importance of discipline and hard work. She stood out because she would never accept less than the best. She was fanatic about it and disdained any people who were less than ordinary.

I met Mrs. Mathew 3 years ago, just before my 2nd child was born. She had been suffering from acute arthritis and had recently been diagnosed with cancer. It was an Old School Girls reunion. She had been associated with St Mary’s for more than 30 years now. It was her life, her passion, her everything. And in the large auditorium we chatted: some awkwardly trying to place each other and some whose friendship had withstood the passage of time, it wasn’t unusual to see a mother daughter, both ex students of St Mary’s. And then she entered.

I’m not sure what I was expecting when she made her entry. I thought we would all revert to our put on masks, clap politely and then move on with our business. I still cant forgive myself for being so petty at that point of time.
I didn’t know that I would stand up and look at her. And be filled with grateful thanks. For having a great hand in making me the woman I am. And making me proud of what I stood for. And developing in me a sense of passion about everything I do. For inculcating a need to make a niche for myself wherever I went. For being able to do make that a reality. For being a role model Leader. For wanting to emulate her behaviours in all aspects of life. For being finely turned out. I suspect each woman in that room- be it a Dr, journalist, a veterinarian, a chef, a professional, a housewife, 60 year old or 20 years old ..stood just a little taller than the rest of the crowd anywhere. And I didn’t know that my palms would become sore because I couldn’t stop clapping…and I didn’t even know that I was a part of the reverberating applause. And that I wouldn’t ever have words to describe the adulation in the room. And that she would be overwhelmed but still meet each one of us. And while she couldn’t make conversation with each one of us , I know she recognized me when I went to meet her.

Mrs. Mathew passed away yesterday and I didnt know that I would shed tears for her. But today, each girl, now woman, of St Mary’s School Pune, will be just a little sadder. But our voices ring today in song for a school so fine and true. And more importantly for the woman who selflessly devoted herself to a calling in a way that many of us still aspire to be but cant. I do hope that St. Mary’s traditions’ continue the way they always did but it will NEVER be the same.

Come now girls, get up ....It has indeed been a privilege to be led and taught by her.

My Little Adult

2009-03-16T12:56:00.003+05:30

"The chemist salesperson looked at me strangely when I asked him for a small size diaper pack and home pregnancy test in the same breath." The hubby was teased mercilessly amongst his pals and I was quite a balloon, but there was no way out : yup, it was a miracle pregnancy barely 4 months after Avyukta was born. Since the 1st one was an IVF, one attributed the good news to God, Dr. Nalini Mahajan and hubby( and in that order.) Paradoxically, even after wanting the pregnancy- I almost resented the new life within me- for taking away the attention from my precious 1st born, for having to wean him early ( secretly I couldn’t have yelped louder with joy- I hated ‘breastfeed is the best feed’ prophesying that I heard everywhere.)
Softer movements in my tummy, an extremely uncomfortable pregnancy; I became gigantic and got used to being asked ‘Are you sure there not 2 in there?’ I would spend hours watching my tummy- was it different from the 1st time, even strangers were stopped to ask " Whaddya think- girl or boy?" My Dr and family waited anxiously outside the OT ready with fetters coz I had threatened to run away if it was another boy.

My little adult was made her angry appearance on 3rd Feb, 2005 exactly 1 year 1 month and 8 days after my 1st baby. Fiercely red, she fed , burped and slept with frightening proficiency. I had no guilt in offering her the bottle by the 2nd day ( albeit when the Dr was away). I mean it was OK, na? I had a small baby to look after as well. So as I was gratefully playing with baby Ta on the 5th day after popping out another one, my hubby who was tending to her came in rushing and gasping ‘ Look at her…’ I hurried into the room and there she was : HOLDING ON TO HER BOTTLE with firm hands and staring defiantly at me. While the others oohed and aahed about this ‘bahut tez hai hey ladki’ I stared back at her and that moment defined the future of our relationship.

I mean, I know, I am her mom. I have a C sec ( read ugly, fat and strech marked) tummy to show for that and all the necessary proofs but truthfully, I am still trying to figure her out. She doesn’t look like either of us ( this wasn’t an IVF baby so no room for error) but she is a lot like me. Only it took me about 30 odd years to show defiance, like myself, dance in front of the mirror and sulk manipulatively.
Talk about High Emotional Intelligence- there is not a person Mimi cant get along with. Her gleefulness and joy is infectious and she has her Dad wrapped around her little finger. I am usually at the fringes of their affection but she knows when Mama needs that special hug. As irascible as me, I am the only one who can calm her. For the record, Mimi doesn’t respond to baby stuff and talk and she skillfully palms off some chewing gum off me and chews it like any teenager would.

My Mimi detests wearing anything frilly but cant be called a tomboy. I anticipate she will never grow up to be a tomboy. She could successfully defend her elder brother in a fight with any other children but loves to wear my lipsticks and now eye shadow. ( I swear I bought my 1st one just 2 years ago). She cycles like a pro and carries off my high heels with equal ease. As I tease her about her growing bum ( the glorious inheritance of the Chopra khandaan) she stands in front of the mirror and critically examines it. She has a fantastic sense of humour and responds sportingly to Mama calling her ‘Padduraam ‘ or ‘Donkey’. In fact, whenever we spot a Donkey on the road, she is the 1st one to point out’ Look Mama, there is Mimi’.

Mimi (touchwood) has no fears. She can be locked alone in a lift without electricity and she walks out with nonchalance- why did you lock me up? She jumps from the highest point in the house with aplomb and doesn’t even wait for applause before trying another one. Her first stint at the beach- she was almost swept away with a large wave and when she emerged coughing from the water, I could see it- the thrill in her eyes of having experienced something exhilarating. If I try to stare her down or scold her , she shouts back and informs me that I shouldn’t be shouting at her. ( I have finally figured out that the best way to deal with her is to shout back and tell her that I don’t appreciate her treatment of me). It takes her all of 2 minutes to recover from pain and despite usual childhood sicknesses , she is remarkably healthy.

I think, secretly every woman yearns for a daughter. And while ostensibly all people claim ‘it would be so nice to dress up a girl’; I don’t think its about that. ( if your 2nd one is a girl, you would empathize- they’re always in boyish pants and T shirts). Girls have a way of giving a part of them to you। They hug just because they want to; they know that its time to buy a pink lipstick ( not brown again, Mama) ; they pick up your latest dupatta and admire it; they share a chaat with you ( even at 3); you can finally gnaw at a chicken bone without discomfiture ( for the new comers the Lord still stays vegetarian and the son inherits abhorrence for killing anything moving); Mimi will not accept a chicken piece without the bone and prefers the tougher meat morsels. And like any other woman, I want to bring up my daughter to be everything I wanted to do but couldn’t do .
As my hubby and I worry about the times ahead and wonder how many men is she going to drive crazy coz she is an exceptionally spunky girl, I sing softly to her 'राज कुंवर जी आयेंगे, मिमी को ले लायेंगे’ she looks at me and confirms 'U cry? When Mimi goes?' I look at her mistfully and tell her I will miss her terribly and she…looks back at me her special look ( reserved for Mama) and then jumps up in glee ‘ And I ‘m not gonna come back’.

Memories of a Museum

2009-01-12T19:51:00.003+05:30

Recession brings on strange justifications; a visit to the mall is a boring indulgence and cooking a stroganoff (y’all are invited) at home is far more worthwhile than a dinner at the fancy restaurant. Entertainment for the children acquires educational aspirations and we all packed off for a visit to the ‘Rail museum’ yesterday. We get off the car and rush to buy the entrance tickets but there is a horde of school girls in serpentine queues waiting. Dressed neatly in their uniforms, the queue threatens to disband itself with excitement. Ah the joy of licking ice lollies while waiting, the teachers capping the energy with their stern glances, some of us munching on obviously unhygienic bhel puri- others postponing impulsive pleasures- rationing money for a glorious end to an exhilarating day, the giggling among friends..

I enter and on a track that ends abruptly a grand decrepit train has been embalmed …awaits a second glance. My children run away fearing that the train will start and the lonely train is desolate.. its time has gone long ago. Its only fault is that it is mediocre, at one time it was a regular motley of engine and bogies, of passengers and officials, of economics and emotions, passion and boredom, commitment and joy all onward to their destinations – some to home and others to pastures that seemed greener. I move on ..but glance back, does it give me a wizened smile?

Centre stage, where stars jostle for space..There’s a grand saloon ; a dusty signage claims it was used by Prince of Wales (Edward VII) while he did his tour of India . Did Royalty get rickety or is it just a sleight? Did he sit on this white leather sofa drinking tea while commenting on the deplorable state of the triabalistic Indians or did he soak in the landscapes, the toiling white clad farmers and the cotton fields in the black soiled Deccan plateau? Did they come to revere him at the next station ? What about the Princess ? Where was she …charmed by their strange ways or was she home where her Ayah fanned her and allowed her lover the surreptitious visit. Was the lover as skilled? Or more?

There is a steam engine; have I become so old that my early childhood companion now stands in a museum? The excitement of a 2 night train journey, the visits to the grandparents, my mom’s joy at meeting her father and sister after a year, me reading all the grown up books of my grown up cousins, all of us going for a treat visit to the Rose Garden. My mother stealing away 2 more days by staying on with her father incurring my Daadi’s wrath. But we’ve barely started- Dad waves us goodbye. Water campers, a huge food basket laden with milk bound parathas and aloo mutter subzee, the dirty toilets , the strangers who become instant food offerers and bedfellas..I love the window, I can gaze out the whole day at the dirt, filth, naked bathers, wondering where Gabbar Singh was hiding in the Chambal mud dunes..the steam engine chugging away, whistling its presence, our arrival at New Delhi Railway station and our journey back in 2 months, blackened sooted faces, wondering who the new class teacher was going to be , Agra ka petha and hijras ( my college friend sliming away from giving them money by saying that ‘we are only students’, the dressed up hijra clapped and moved on- was it so simple? All those years of furtively handing them a 5 rupee note….) The Dhaund station where the train would turn back reneging on its promise to take us onward but miraculously reach us to the intended destinations. The hand pump at Dhaund, me scrubbing my face with the travelling soaps, the cool breeze of Pune welcoming us home.

There is the Fairy Queen..bringing its memories of Deccan Queen. The delectable mince cutlets, the office goers catching up on their sleep, the more ordinary bringing forth a foldable table, engrossing themselves in never ending rounds of playing cards, the familiar waiters, the fancy dining car, the Parsi kulfi still ticking the taste buds alive. Old world charm and contemporary fashion, intermingling to lend a unique snobbery to the DQ regulars.

The toy train. The kids want to take a joy ride and so do I. College trip , some 30 odd students make the best of last few days at freedom, from Kalka to Dharampur. Gola- stout and blue track suited new college star, the recipient of calls from all 4 IIMs, the cynosure feeling cocky, feeling exalted gets off the train striving for another accomplishment that will prove his superiority -promise to catch it running. We egging him on (GOLA GOLA..GOLA) and then Gola experiences failure staring at him. Chain pulling, the TT ticking us off, envious all of us getting our petty revenge, GOLA learns from failure ?. Chail and the first ever snowflakes on my eye lashes, the RD Burman songs which have become a soul companion, the purani jeans song playing again and again and again, silence and tears in the rooms, empty promises to be friends forever. The snow fight with the locals..

Maharaja of Mysore ’s saloon..capable of running on broad and meter gauge. Only Maharajas could afford a battery of slaves who would physically lift the bogey to shift it, THE Indian Railways is the world’s largest employer- still! The coal loaders, the coolies, the black suited grim ever greedy TTs, the attendants all saluting, guaranteeing a seat for a few bucks, the guard with his signals, still the final authority ..how many people ?
The delightful Rail museum has the skull of an elephant, the poor thing was on its way in its own territory when it caused a train to derail. The skull, along with an untidy collection of crockery, the cutlery, the clocks , the lamps, the metal passes, all testimony to 150 years of history.
The mono rail, the Maharaja of Patiala, the toy model trains, the throng of people jostling for space, the romance of train journeys, the serenity of passing landscapes’, the Indian cacophony at its best on platforms, the instant bonding or dislike, the fierce attachments to ‘my space’, complete nonchalance for respect for others, our lack of basic hygiene, the blankness in the eyes with few aspirations for tomorrow , the reliance on karma, .. where is it more typified than at this pulsating entity.. where reflections whirl past, where freedom struggles love stories have borne fruit… I chug ahead, hoping my children someday experience this romance.

Mama's Boys

2008-12-16T21:40:00.004+05:30

‘Ah he cant let go of his mom’s pallu- the umbilical chord wasn’t ever cut’

As the years progress and the mind blurs out details, no woman ever hazes out the memory of that irritant somewhere along their whole wedding process- where the mom in law showed you who IS the boss and directly challenged you ,the greatest War in mankind history gets launched once again!. For example, mine took place pretty upfront- 2 days after meeting –‘Aunty’, when the Lord & I exchanged rings. A sultry Delhi evening, a cramped, badly ventilated DDA flat and the meeting of 2 completely different cultures. My relatives- all Punju, mostly Delhiites, many businessmen- unhappy that true camaraderie would not happen since Damaadjee did not eat kukkad shukkad, his all Maddu ( ok ..Tamilian Iyengar Brahmins, if you please..) a little taken aback by the characteristic Punju loudness and the brashness. So our man 'rings' me as the Pandit asks him to and then proceeds to turn his back completely on me. Me in that ghastly ‘rani pink’ saree ( why the hell do they call us North Indians loud?), sweat streaming down and feeling completely out of control with mostly strangers- desperate for his confidence inspiring warmth, his tingling hug and those eyes which still ..sigh, DIDN’T GET ANY. The Lord needed to impress his and my relatives ( he continues to hold the trophy for 'Model Dammad' in the Chopra/ Kapoor khandaan) and then Amma decided it was time to go home and so off we got into the hired taxi waving a bye to everyone except of course me – I stood there gaping and seething. NOTHING? NOTHING! NOTHING …F@#$ing NOTHING.
I have never professed to be a low maintenance person- (high performers always take a lot of energy) and The Lord understands that very well NOW. But obviously the rosiness of the dating had not prepared him for the harshness of Real life. The downside of a completely ebullient personality is that the intensity of anger can be pretty vicious. As he dutifully dropped in the next day- he experienced temper for the first time in his life. (The Rangarajan family is like all the noble gases put together but the Lord is NEON, though mom professes I have, with my tantrums- managed to make him reactive). Honestly I wasn’t even interested in scaring him- I WANTED OUT...my parents begged me not to call it off (Eng, IIMC, good looking, small family, educated, .et al) but I was on a roll. So as he stared dumbfounded at me – first trying to figure out why he was still his Mama’s boy and then trying to quickly remedy it- how he could become his fiancée’s. Obviously, no clear instructions were offered ( Falling in love is always life's early lesson in learning to deal with ambiguity) and all frantic attempts felt flat. A precarious peace treaty ensued – rocked by the occasional erupts of violence usually triggered when the visits happened ( Have you noticed that they NEVER pick up the dinner plates when their Moms are around?) .

And then Ta happened- conceived on my 31st birthday in a fertility hospital in a petri dish- the fusion of a purrfect egg & sperm, he changed my life forever. The first 6 months were the adjustment period- I resented him- for making me fat, for changing my body forever, for making me feel like a milk machine, me sitting there every night awake and eyes burning- waiting for him to stop that annoying, shrill wailing so that I could pop him out of the balcony..My first baby is beautiful. He is kind, generous and understands me like no man ever did. Protects me physically as well as emotionally– doesn’t like me wearing anything short and skimpy –‘Meri mama ka shame shame kisi ko nahin dekhna chahiye’ , if tears swell in my eyes- he just sits with me and holds my hand till I feel better. His genes reflect my sense of empathy and his Dad’s sense of logic- many a time his rationale helps me to get a control over my anger or sadness. He is super protective about his sisters and loves to dance with me. He hugs me tight in the blanket these days- coz his Mom can freeze even in a mild winter. Just the suggestion of a ‘new mom' who will feed him chocolates everyday and not scold him- angers him. My eyes flaring up in irritation are sufficient to indicate looming danger ( The Lord still does not learn), he is ever be mindful of pleasing me. He amazes me with his agility to tune into emotions and his immense respect for anything living.

Now comes the crucial question that I have been contemplating for the last 2 years- will any woman ever be able to befriend him, to make his hurt better, to kiss him when he needs it, to smother him with love, to know what he likes to eat, to sing to him like I do, to tell him its OK to attack once in a while-especially when he is attacked, to change his sadness into happiness in a jiffy, to make him feel like the greatest gift to mankind- like I do?? Lord o Lord (no pun intended) –that is an impossible feat. My little baby who turns 4 in a few days has really become the handsomest boy in the whole world. As I urge him to stuff himself with another paratha coz his ‘bumpy’ is too small for him to attract any girlfriend and he dutifully tries but argues with me that it doesnt matter since he is going to marry me – I am so grateful for the invisible umbilical chord that will always exist. Coz he can never be anyone’s but his MAMA’s boy.

So Miss ‘Oh I know just exactly how to handle him’ wherever in the world you are right now – Ta’s Mama KNOWS BEST. The bugles are sounded -This is a warning issued with sufficient notice period.

Lost For Words..

2008-12-04T19:56:00.006+05:30

I was spending my time in the doldrums
I was caught in the cauldron of hate
I felt persecuted and paralyzed
I thought that everything else would just wait
While you are wasting your time on your enemies
Engulfed in a fever of spite
Beyond your tunnel vision reality fades
Like shadows into the night

To martyr yourself to caution
Is not going to help at all
Because there'll be no safety in numbers
When the Right One walks out of the door

Can you see your days blighted by darkness?
Is it true you beat your fists on the floor?
Stuck in a world of isolation
While ivy grows over the door

So I open my door to my enemies
And I ask could we wipe the slate clean
But they tell me to please go fuck myself
You know you just can't win

(Pink Floyd- The Division Bell)

Gurgaon Condominium living is convenient and from what I gather, pretty aspirational too. ( It’s most liberating to be holed into 1000 sq ft houses, amidst a complete concrete jungle?) Basic necessities are taken care of, you can isolate yourself or choose to participate in all the insignificant social activities that take place. If you’re as lucky as I am, you may actually find a genuine friend. But for most – you could take me to court for this- its secure, mind free, sterile though a trifle expensive. However, for the last 7 months- the jungle has taken slightly more realistic dimensions- there are 5 monkeys that have taken over the complex.

TAKEN OVER. Scrounge for food in each of the 400+ flats’ kitchens, have learnt to slide open the doors from the outside, learnt to ignore the poisonous food laid out in an effort to trap them and lately after having declared to the world their own state of well being- have even reproduced, their snarling has acquired a completely new menacing message. So I waited for ‘them’ to do something- ( THEM… you know- them, the system, the people in authority, the President). Mr. Gupta, the president, is a geriatric man with babu ancestry and took action by sending a circular: ‘People are requested not to make eye contact with the monkeys, please keep a toy snake in your house and use it to scare monkeys when they come into your house’. So I timidly tried to explain to my 3 year old that she could not ‘make eye contact’- trying not to make her permanently scarred/scared of monkeys. ( This new age parenting - balancing approach is tricky & testing. )

So I took matters in my hand (occupational hazard) and one Saturday-marched to the tiny Condominium Association Office. I can assure you I let Guptajee have it- I have journalist friends I threatened, we will not pay maintenance- I said, you are all incompetent fools- I said, mere chote bachhe hain-kaat liya to- I said, will you repay me for the vase that they broke on their last visit-I said, Dad pulled his back while shooing away a monkey- I said. ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. I said. Pretty Good , would you say? I had personal interest and also the conscience to know that I needed to help the old man, who feared the wrath of Maneka Gandhi. I took away the numbers of the relevant contact people in Wildlife Ministry , Forest Officials and marched home. Over a good drink with some friends that night, I narrated the incident. Will you support me – I asked? Yes Of Course. Damn Good-Bhavna they said. We admire you- they said, you have chosen not to comment from the sidelines. Good Work they said . We will shoo these monkeys out together. Its our safety. BTW- It gave me a huge sense of purpose, more meaning ( don’t laugh- I swear, it did-I am really anticipating that they will attack my children next). Monday morning- I misplaced the number. Work was damn busy that week. Then the economic meltdown happened. Monkey mania can take a back seat, my job is under threat here. Did I say ‘sense of purpose’?

ENOUGH IS ENOUGH- we say. Security we say. Fire the Damn politicians – we say. Light candles we say. United in love we say. Bomb the neighbors – we say. Carry out genocide – we say. Wipe them out – we say. The icons of India- we say. The incompetent should be fired- we say. Heads should roll we say. Held Hostages in our own country- we say. Hand over the guilty- we say. Politicians should be accountable- we say. Dont vote- we say. Don’t pay taxes – we say. We need a man of action – we say. Get Modi – we say. Some of the innocent will go with the perpetrators – we say. So WHAT – we say….

I cant face myself in the mirror anymore- the happy , cheery me is replaced by this incompetent, persecuted, paralysed , guilty, fearful, insecure, scared and angry person- but mostly full of derision & contempt. I shed tears some of sadness for the tragedy that this nation has witnessed- but mostly for me…for being the worst kind of citizen that this country has produced. For having the lowest self esteem that I have had for years. For not bothering to get my voter card made. For having a driving license without undergoing the test. For thinking that I contribute by working in a cushy job. For feeling that I cant make a difference. For telling my children that its better to become a Doctor rather than a soldier. For asking for accountability rather than being accountable. For never having taken an interest in the way that the political system runs in this country coz it wasn’t worth it. For thinking I am doing my bit by lighting the candle or contributing some miserly amount. For never having worked for social causes coz I was too busy wrapped up in my comfort zone. For still wondering how I can make a difference.

ENOUGH IS ENOUGH

Didi-kaun hai?

2008-11-19T19:59:00.004+05:30

O man- I am the quintessential Taurean Bull ( no guy ever wooed me with Linda Goodman charm, no wonder I cant boast of a string of men)- practical, dependable, strong and ..the broad strong shoulders.

I am NOT a woman meant for all the crappy , sentimental lines that people seem to be using everywhere. I hated reading Mills & Boons even as a hormonal teenager (never missed one though, coz you never knew which one would describe the most delicious kiss ever..some were steamy enough to move further), while Erich Segal, Danielle Steele are mucho recognized authors – I secretly love to scorn at their readers. Meanwhile, due to life’s constant pace, I do miss out reading the everyday newspaper – so many times, while people are having intelligent conversations about current affairs, sports, or whatever- I’m usually yelping away like a little puppy-‘Hello- I have no clue about Nuclear deals, IPL/ICL – can we change the topic please’. But in this new avatar of ‘devoting time to me’ (French manicures are my latest passion), I do read the Delhi Times (especially daily horoscope) and the Front Page of the TOI.

Apart from some depressing news about the Finance Minister finally warning everyone about the impending recession, today’s newspaper carried an almost half page advert of some bank that had a few lines about ‘Didi’ and how she saved ‘choti behan’ a seat and all that other emotional jazz. ‘What has that got to do with choosing a bank?’-I scorned at the ad and scooped out more yellow from the perfectly done sunny side up and indulged in a little Amul butter- after all – this is life, na?

I’ve gone about my usual work life today but the flashes don’t stop. Of her and me in 2 pigtails. Of me being the perennially good girl and she being the more popular one. Of she being small & delicate, of me being overgrown and awkward. Of her having a host of friends- I immersed in my story books. Of her proudly announcing how she was 3rd from the bottom in class ( like a state rank holder), I ,ashamed to tell my parents that I hadn’t made it to the top 3. Of me lugging her tiffin box to school ( coz ‘behan to choti hai’, na) and she completely carefree. Of me desperately changing the bedsheets when she wet her bed and not letting mom know, of her squealing in an instant- Didi ne pinch kiya. Of my Dad’s silly supplier who visited our house and proclaimed seeing her that ‘yeh ladki aapke liye bahut lucky hai’ and me looking on from the corner, distraughtly wanting to be the one that my Dad would favour. Of me finding my own hubby and then making sure that I found her one too.( that’s one of the few smart decisions of my life)
Somewhere along the way-I grudgingly accepted Neha as a good friend. Confiding in one another about boyfriends, first kisses and the frustrations of teenaged life. She learnt how to drive a car before me, managed to charm all my in laws at my marriage and indulged me with her first salary. Always a phone call away- she was a good vent for all my frustrations.

Today, Neha lives a few kilometers away from me. Like any mom, I live with the insecurity of who would look after my children, if ever anything happened to me- Neha hai na. When I am overwhelmed, she just completely takes over- I don’t think I can ever do that for her. She is a bundle of energy and can be irritatingly obliging. She marches me into a cosmetics corner and buys me the lipstick that I always wanted but thought it was just too expensive. She has dared me to find my own life- one that is not just about my husband & children, encouraged me to stop feeling weighed down by the responsibility of being the eldest child, she forces me to take the Friday evening off just to be on my own- she gave my hubby & me our 2nd honeymoon, by adopting the children completely for 10 days….oh the list goes own.
No – I don’t get senti- most of the days I just get irritated and boss over her, we bang down the phone on one another- atleast once in a week…do I love her? Yes- like any big sister should, but somewhere along the way she has turned into a wonderful friend, a great human being, a fantastic person- I am so proud of her.

Union Bank of India- here I come…

Of Overgrown children and Little adults

2008-09-20T20:10:00.003+05:30

Update
Hello…Update on where have I been ( not that too many people have asked) ---Its been such a long time , I wrote- please blame it on the maid saga. My brother in law has nicknamed me ‘PKD’ – Pyaar Ke Dushman and of course a natural corollary to that is – Asha is GONE. I have once again started a new chapter in my life. Rest of my time – had been pushing the Superwoman act too far, it finally caught up with my ‘Maslow’s Needs Hierachy- level 4, that I seemed to have reached’ – life is all maya. But no maid, Ta’s impending school admissions, Boss giving me improvement feedback everyday, sulking team members… it was bound to tell. And to cope with it all- what better way than feel completely guilty for being hopelessly inadequate & to compromise on your own needs- my need to vent, tell, preach – my blog suffered silently. But I created it, na- its got to have ALL my qualities. So it went silent, sulked but it decides to bounce back.
Here is one of my latest experiences..

Of Overgrown Children and Little adults

In this country where people pay Municipal Commissioner offices few thousand rupees to postpone date of birth dates so that they can therefore push retirement age by one WHOLE year and somehow add on to their children’s pension money ( ha- who said Indians don’t plan) , Lord and I stand guilty of making a huge parenting mistake right at the start. Avyukta made the mistake of being conceived in April ( don’t you smirk), so therefore is Dec born and therefore is eligible for school admissions only this year- he will be 4 years 3 months when he goes to school, a little older than most other children in his class. Yes- that’s another sin added to ‘My Book of Guilts- sins that I must atone for’, but we were suitably focused in knowing what’s best for our child and therefore applied to only one school. How clever is that? In hindsight, a smart – money saving action- but till 4 days before- I was ready to divorce my husband because he just didn’t care whether our child got schooling or no. Kaise baap ho? (If it was upto him, Ta would go to an only sports facility, where he would play football, basketball, hockey, tennis- the whole day long). My son thankfully, definitely shows more inclination towards academics and is truly his Mama’s boy.

Heritage School at Gurgaon is a unique one- it is the only school that I have heard of which truly practices its philosophy of ‘Each child is equal but unique’. So they have progressive learning methodology but admission is completely based on lottery. We went, all suited booted et child, got ushered into a meditation centre- after we removed our shoes outside, there were comfortable carpets laid out, where we could squat in as dignified a manner and we needed to send our child back home- coz he was not needed. I felt suitably foolish but sat down to participate in one of the most informative 2 hrs of my life. The process : the school reps educated us on the school philosophy and then asked another 3 year old to draw out lots- names of children who were through!
Highlights :
All Children learn differently- some through singing, others through reading, even others through drama. ( I have been thinking that is principle of Adult Learning)
It is not easy to sing ‘baarish aayee cham cham cham’ in front of 40 others parents, especially when you enthusiastically volunteer to do something and feel like a complete idiot pretending to hold a chaata.
The little 3 year olds are the most mature people around – ask completely relevant questions and once they get satisfactory answers turn around and start playing/ colouring/ dancing- whatever they feel like doing.
Most of the 30 + people that you see sitting around you- long way to go before they reach basic levels of maturity- for example
School rep: We believe in project based learning and no exams till class 4th, we believe children learn better when given a context. Ours is a different system, not perfect but evolving- if you believe in it- stay with us, else don’t apply

30+ year old 1 : What – no exams, don’t you think that they will never learn to cope with stress in life?
30+ year old 2 : How will they prepare for CAT / IIT admission in this scenario?
30+ year old 3 : How will they learn to write?
30+ year old 4 : Will they ever learn to read?

School Principal: Only stress I know of is in Quantum physics, CAT exams do not require writing, they test conceptual clarity, and that too the student is expected to circle the correct answers, …….and so on. (Parents , as you can imagine, thought he was a little mad, disconnected from the real world- especially when he spoke of a vision of developing future citizens who were driven by passion, logical reasoning, conviction and not just rote learning)

Most of these parents got through, paid up the fees, quickly blocked up someone else’s seat ( at the expense of people who really wanted to send their child here) and left after clarifying that they only stood to lose 45k if they wanted to withdraw admission. While I can understand that in this land of limited quality supply and a relentlessly increasing demand for meaningful education- I cant understand why we have this constant pressure & need to ‘prove oneself’.
The parents were all sitting on high alert- waiting for the next question from their peers and enthusiastically volunteering to answer it on behalf of school authorities.
Many of them were well prepared and had the next 20 years planned out in detail, on their child’s behalf. ( another one of the sins for which I may need to atone for- when asked what I want for my child , I give Miss Universe pageant answers ‘ A responsible human being, at peace, capable of making his own decisions and so on…).
I am a relieved person and my son is a happy boy- coz he is looking forward to playing with the ducks in the school pond. Hubby is so happy- Heritage has a football league. I don’t know whether this is the best school ..but I do know that life is only as good as one makes it to be.
Paul Theroux in one of his travelogues about his train journeys through Asia, starts his chapter on India with ‘ The problem with India is that there are too many Indians’ touché!! To be fair to us – this best school need, the need to predict and make the future happen…what to do- we have a long way to go before we move beyond maslow’s first 3 levels of needs..there are too many Indians

The Maid...saga

2008-08-12T14:35:00.002+05:30

( this one is really on popular demand)

‘yeh to sab ke jindagi ki problem hai, you gotta face it, there have to be awards instituted for this, mine is driving me crazy, I’ve finally got one in place so my life is in order…’ yep- its maid management this time. I really thought it was so banal but no…all women and most men perk up in hope of any guidance. (I assume wife’s current satisfaction with the house help is directly proportional to how much of the male physiological needs are met).

OK – Asha is a pretty Nepalese 17 year old- you know the kind of pretty to whom you gave your kurta to , coz it made you look like a dowdy, fat, middle aged woman ( look at your birth certificate woman) but on her –WOW!. She manages to look even prettier and carries it off with aplomb. So mom in law nudges me disapprovingly ( this was gift that MY dear sister gave , I am not wasting your son’s hard earned money..)
Anyways- let me get to the point. Asha came to me 4 months ago- all delicate and charming. The kids loved her, my bedspreads were always perfectly spread. ( like a 5 star hotel , as I flatteringly told her), she is pleasant and can be dragged along anywhere you go – no social embarrassments, she feeds the kids far better than I can , she makes wonderful chai.. at kids birthday parties she always managed to get the choicest gifts out of the khoyee bags …therefore, was willingly forgiven for all the breakages, the pilfering of the cream biscuits, audacity that she constantly shows to me ( ahem..the maalkin of the house).

Around 2 weeks ago, as we hit the bed, with the weariness of knowing that time remorselessly ticks on, our son conspiratorially told my hubby that there was a secret to be told , however, mama could not be privy to it else Didi would stop talking to him. (Like all kids of his generation- Ta knows that Didis are his lifeline) With all innocence he went on to introduce ‘Molu’ –Didi’s boyfriend and related some over the balcony love exchanges as well. I listened, seething with rage- trying not to intervene and investigate aka Agatha Christie but letting the LORD do his Watson bit by asking some completely irrelevant questions. ‘Bachcha – you were in the balcony, what were you eating at that time? (Huhhhhh??) When I confronted her the next morning- the perfectly plausible explanation was ‘mera gaon wala hai’. I was overjoyed and overwhelmed- no matter to still hit the panic button ( Dhuuhhhhh ?????)

So I chose to believe the bullshit she was feeding me. Till the Security Guard Head, called me up just a few days ago and updated me on the love affair. Visits to one another’s house ( my house is mine only while I am in the midst of changing maids or when they are on leave) , lets go drink pepsi together ( I think that’s so sweet) , make STD calls, bitch about Didi and her hysterics-they attained perfect rapport moving their little indiscretion ahead to perhaps some sleazy end or perhaps who knows- …

Desperate as I was to retrieve the situation and yet retain her and still give vent to all the anger that was simmering. I outdid my dramatic self this week. Picture this scene ..Didi, choti didi ( sisters are always there ) and Asha in the kitchen – all of us squatting. (This is a synopsis of the 6 hour discussion)

Me: Asha, kya baat hai, tu to achi ladki hai. Ladki ki izzat kaanch jaise hai, once broken- not mendable. Tumhari maa sunegi to kya kahegi. Aadmi jaat bahut kharab hai. Main bhi aurat hoon, mujhe pata hai ..( Kader Khan probably has more finesse.)

Sister: zyaada gadbad ki to police mein pahuncha denge. Woh ladka bad boy hai. ( Me looks at her imploringly –just listen to your older sister, don’t TALK)

The protagonist : I will see , I am old enough to decide what to do. Kaam mein to koi problem nahin hain ?
Coz she is so right, we retire sheepishly and I end up eating crow as usual.

Somehow Lord showed his utility and got Monu (not Molu) chased out of the condominium. As per the Lord he is handsome, smart, chikna ( at B school - this is the term that most ‘hardcore’ Engineering grads used for friendlier DU boys and usually implies that the ‘chikna’ is far more savvy at getting the woman of his choice). Asha is back to her efficient self, just a little melancholy (that pulls at my heart strings each time) and what a relief.., is once again freely helping herself to the imported chocolates.
Me ??? I wake up just a little earlier these days, nudge Asha gently up from her 9 hour sleep, clear the house before I leave for work, then compliment her on how the house is looking as pretty as she is and stand in front of Krishnaji, Ramji, Vishnuji, Devi mata ji, guru ji, - and pray fervently –

Our Father
Who art in Heaven and like my mom told me- always ready to help.
Please let Asha be there when I come back from work,
Please make her happy and pleased,
Please let the children love her even more,
Please give me some more physical energy to help her,
Please give me any other suggestion that will make her life more bearable,
Please God- forgive me for any wrong I have done unto her
Please God- help her in getting over this unbearable pain.
Please god please…let her be there when I get back from work.

Any suggestions, prayers, sympathies, advice, are welcome. I could collate all and send it out as a ‘101 tips to retain your maid’ …

India wins first Olympic Gold

2008-08-11T16:54:00.002+05:30

For a nation, which seemingly, isnt involved in sports development - it is just amazing to see how people are feeling a sense of pride that Abhinav Bindra has given to all Indians today. I have just heard the news of India winning its first Individual category gold ever>...and people are congratulating one another. Its a good way to start a new week- one that celebrates our 61st independence day too.
Abhinav Bindra- till today, i had vaguely heard your name mentioned here and there- but congratulations, you are going to be etched in history and in a lot of our minds and hearts.

DISAPPOINTEMENT

2008-08-07T10:02:00.001+05:30

I can never get the spelling of disappointment right- NEVER. I always have to rely on spell check or hope that the other person reading is not finicky. I wonder if that’s some sort of indication of my nature as well ? I rarely get disappointed for long; I have a way working myself out of it. Every damn time, I see some stupid silver lining, cling onto that wispy trail and unfailing climb out of any potentially depressing situation. Then I get ridiculously flippant and banish my sadness away with my Mama’s favourite line ‘ Its all for the better, beta, God is Very kind and has a better plan’ ( mostly a couple of Snickers bars , beer and a good pedicure work better than God’s plan ).

Well people, God and neither you are very kind. Now I can accept and understand that God apparently doesn’t know his way through the complexities of the blogging world but all you educated , well meaning people – is it so difficult to leave a comment on the damn blog? The instructions are written in simple, easy to understand English and I do know (from all the email comments that I receive) that the intentions are there too. So if the performance matrix - combination of commitment- competence, (trainer funda finds it way …) is in place, what is the problem? Let me give you a sample of some:

· Hubby dear – I want to write something serious and not frivolous, I promise I shall soon. . he hasn’t read my blog for the last 15 days, he is treading on VERRRY dangerous ground( he therefore is not on my current ‘People I like’ list, he falls out of that list pretty often)
· Old batch mates – O I love reading your blog, especially the Dard E disco part, you are so honest … will comment soon (I have atleast managed to prove a point to them, don’t ask me what? I am still figuring it out)
· Little sister – Come on ya, your last few blogs have been so serious, so boring.. ( coercion of the ‘I am your older sister’ and you better love/respect me kind – has resulted in a few comments) Behna-I hope u are happier with this one.
· Society best * friend – Which one do you want me to comment on? ( wail , bahhh … o please- ANY actually each one will do..)
· New colleagues (especially team mates)- Bhavna, you write so well, ( I ask- so what do you think about Policies- they stare back blankly at me )
· Old friends – arre what nonsense you write about- why don’t you write something more intelligent like Leadership training ( Why do you think that I took up Leadership training in the first place- its no rocket science and is completely apt for a stupid fool like me )

Every day- I open my blog site, DARD E DISCO, with great hope (an old found friend has been telling me quite vehemently these days ‘expectations create complications and disappointments’ yes I AGREE.. ) and face disapointment (damn the spelling) EVERYDAY. The begging with friends has led to those ikka dukka comments, but I stand where I was… Apparently the average, random blogger still does not find my writings amusing /interesting/thought provoking or has still not discovered me or my entertaining writing. ( If I had an anonymous blog maybe I could have posted a ‘daring ’ picture of one of these adult movie stars under ‘Profile’- cant post mine, people would be run away).
But…. All my friends, fellow bloggers, colleagues, new friends, people I hardly know but I mark this email to … I know you’all love me or my writing – I believe it makes you laugh, some of the women say that I could become a some woman lib person, some of the other people say- that some things I write are quite sensible ( the boss does a fantastic job of constantly motivating me) , others say that I can pen my thoughts quite well and I have good flow (J) .. most of the times the blog atleast entertain them. Also- 2 of my best friends* ( *we women have a lot of best friends- they fit into different categories) who are writers have dependably given me strong support, encouragement ( Apparently I have the neurotic thinking of a writer.. THAT’S a COMPLIMENT, as she painstakingly explained to me )
So despite the dispointment (damn!) I have found a silver lining as usual- I have rediscovered a new me after I have started writing- what a fantastic way of communicating, connecting and reaching out to many people .., So because I know that most of you like my ranting – please find yourself honored to receive my email blogs ( there must be some appropriate term coined for this) once again.

I will not let my only independent creation die down

Cheers!!
I have no clue as to how to handle Dard e Disco , advice is solicited or time will tell..SRK yeh hasina, yeh neelampari …Haaye Dil Mein Bechainiya Hai Bhari, what advice do u have, I can be available in person for any words that you may utter…

The Queue

2008-07-30T16:04:00.001+05:30

Travel on a flight? especially the all so no nonsense Jet Airways with its ‘Business traveler’ with their ubiquitous lap tops and their all so busy lives that they cant even spare eye contact for the next person despite the fact that they can smell their neighbour’s expensive deodorant, hear them taking in those raspy breaths and guessing just what kind of food do they prefer? And because I have been treated many a time the same way- I now have learnt to give the world err the Jet traveller back his ( the ‘hers’ are different) due. But as I noticed , on a recent flight- we can all be just as common as the man who openly scratches his b…ls while waiting for his next overcrowded bluen line bus ,( apparently it – the scratching must be the most effective use of time coz one sees a whole lot of them doing that, I cannot profess to having experienced the satisfaction of using time so effectively..)

Seat belt lights were off- and with as much dignity as one could muster, I walked to the loo at the end of the aisle. (Alas –its still economy) . the queue had built up-I was 7th in the line and I stood, juust a little carefully. Feet away from one another so that I could maintain balance ( After all that damn dieting- I still have heavy bones () and since there was no dashing dude nearby, had to be doubly careful). The line had the ingredients of a potboiler – a 17 year old pretty nubile thing, a young handsome man, a 50 yearish man with a weird hairy wart near his eyebrow and… you get the flow. So after I had waited a whole 2 minutes ( that’s a tick tock of 120 secs and man, when you gotta go- you gotta go!) , the door still hadn’t opened for a change of guard – the girl, like many of her generation- voiced rather shreekily: ‘ What are they doing in there?’ I was a little taken aback – like many of MY generation, I have been reared with a mind set of ‘anticipate and accept’ - so the question hadn’t even arisen in my mind but her shrill, petulant declaration ( since she was 1st in the line, I assume it must have been a far longer tick tock for her!) did set of a trail of thoughts’ “I hope there is something interesting happening there.. like 2 lovers who cant keep their hands off one another, or is someone just so depressed that they cant even muster up the energy to get their backsides up & about, or has someone discovered this rather annoying zit on their face that they must examine rather closely after having suitably got the right facial stretch in place, ...”

Unfortunately, the girl didn’t get any immediate response but the ‘liners’ did relax just a little bit- shift in body weight from one foot to the other, loosen the shoulder blades, and finally smile- there is nothing more unifying than the understanding that Maslow needs hierarchy does make sense – atleast at a base level. While we waited rather patiently- we got talking and linked up as an ordinary Indian , having been brought up on diets of ‘its good to know people’, does. Politics was the hot thing, the trust vote was holding the entire nation in abeyance, and Singh must have been biting his nails to still become King. Indian Cricket – like a spoilt child who knows how to throw a tantrum and get attention, had once again made its way to everyone attention, the weather – travelers from Delhi to Bengaluru seem to get a perverse pleasure in knowing that they leave behind some humid, warm sticky weather- the Delhi citizen while he cannot live without his Pandara Road butter chicken is probably the loudest. I smiled and bonded with everyone around and the pressures of the ….waiting and the flight seemed more bearable.

I have travelled in so many modes of transport – 2nd class train, blue line, white line, pre paid autos and taxis and had become habituated to the perpetual queues that exist for everything in our over crowded nation. How many emotions did I experience there- despair for just missing an empty bus, anxiety coz an seemingly decent middle aged uncle was getting too close and a complete sense of accomplishment for stamping quite effectively on his toes, anger when someone would barge into a line, overwhelming joy when the temperamental Dilli auto wallah agreed to take me at my price, ….. Sometimes the queue forced us to bond, sometimes it was about proving and asserting one’s authority, many a other time it was testing your own endurance and patience... At the end of the day the discussions would border around the very same topics that occupy most Indian mindspace…politics, weather, cricket, prices, …only the spice levels would be different.

The efficient and bearably pleasant hostess realized that there was a problem and knocked rather assertively on the door and we sheepishly acknowledged that the loo had been vacant all that time. It was back to business as usual.

Why Dard E disco?

2008-07-22T12:42:00.000+05:30

After the last blog, a friend emailed me and asked me : Why name your blog Dard E Disco??
Strange no one else asked me. Anyways , I shall tell this story coz its...waiting to be told.
Did you see our SRK thrusting away in that song? Wasnt he something ? I am no big fan of his, but was totally blown away by how he reinvented himself in that song. A 40 year old man-with the 6 pack, all chiseled perfectly- as much as the camera must have worked on him, I am sure that he must have worked like a maniac to get that body- succesfully at that. In my opinion, it takes a lot of balls to do that- he made a statement like "There is no one like me, I am good , (wo)man & I know it'

What about me- well after a long long time in my life - probably felt it last when I was a baby, I finally feel that I dont need to constantly prove myself to people around me. I finally feel confident about WHATEVER I do, I finally feel that my house is OK, my life is OK, my looks are OK ( actually more than that), my hubby is OK, my kids are THE BEST, my parents, sister all are OK, my maid is OK ( thats a big one) , my job is OK etc etc- and whats more I feel like standing on the roof of my 15 floor building and shouting- Hey guys , I have had this epiphany- I AM OK. Like Really OK. ' So I started writing this silly blog - rant and rave whatever. I really dont need to put a personna any more- I can bare it all- still figuratively though and tell the world : 'This is me people' happy, sad, anxious, disappointed, whatever- I am OK.

Dont you want to toast to that ?

The Truth is greater than the facts – AAM AADMI

2008-07-18T10:23:00.000+05:30

Dr. Rajesh Talwar’s release from jail has given a lot of people some work to do. There is Barkha Dutt, who once again, can prove on National Television how she has can influence ‘aam aadmi’s life’ (she has incidentally been voted as the 8th-9th most powerful woman in the world, on some AXN TV show) as she makes an emphatic point on ‘Do we agree that the media has played a wrong role in this case’. Her brethren , frankly for want of anything better to do, ( who are constantly jostling for mind space with us so called intellectuals, consequently hoping for positive increase in advertising revenues) passionately join in the circus, …then there is this ‘aam aadmi’ as a part of the same exhibition. He ( or she- for the politically sensitive) sits there and self righteously argues on the Noida police, UP police or some other body that needed to do a better job in the first place. ‘Talwar should sue for defamation- these ineffective police fellows deserve it.’ As you would have guessed, in my current cynical phase in life, this Aam aadmi is going to be the object or damn it, subject of my blog.

Don’t you just love this aam aadmi? He behaves all virtuous, has a justification – all externalized, for almost everything that happens or doesn’t happen in his life. It could be any case in point- be it his child’s education, the state of the roads, how this country is not being run well, the state of cricket & those ugghh –mercenary cricketers playing for IPL ( imagine – its corrupting minds & spoiling the gentleman’s game) , the Nuclear deal, the Ambani feud & god help us – Dr. Rajesh Talwar’s case. To me AAM AADMI is perfection- He has perfected the art of manipulation, deceit & worse still- now lives in a complete delusionary world.

Lets look at the Talwar case & its inappropriate handling by the Noida police. I am not going into the details here- essentially a middle class person with a long established dental practice, wife & 14 year old daughter, was accused of murdering his daughter ( Aarushi) - to who incidentally , just the night before, he had just gifted a video camera for her forthcoming birthday.. Based on prima facie , ridiculously concoted stories & evidence, Talwar was arrested by the Noida police. He was released after spending 50 days in jail after the CBI had duly investigated and found some other fellas to blame.

My favorite AAm Aadmi quickly jumped at this chance to articulate everyone else’s opinion but his own. There were all sorts of opinions “what has the world come to? Talwar had an affair with his long time family friend, his daughter was upset & he killed her" Or some other bull shit like this. I watched aghast at their reactions, interacted and ineffectively argued with a lot of my colleagues who all had opinions on the case and were dying to find out what kind of a heinous man this Talwar was ..'This is true kalyuga’ Meanwhile, nowhere did the media actually say that Talwar had or not had committed the crime. They did their job- presented facts for both the sides- yeah with a little drama thrown in. On the other hand, I think the media had a huge hand to play in the escalation of the case to CBI

Come on , people- get real with me. Are you choosing to deliberately ignore some obvious facts STARING at you right there in the face or have you just become too lazy to even bother? Cant you make your own judgements any more? Look at the facts- Talwar was arrested by the Noida police- the same agency who had made a complete mess of the Nithari murders, they didn’t find the body of Talwar’s servant for 3 whole days- all the time the body was lying on the terrace, the law & order situation at Noida ( or rather, the lack of it) is apparent for everyone to see but still- you chose to go with THEIR INTERPRETATION of the story. I cried myself hoarse- at the lunch cafeteria, dining table, friends- how can a father kill his daughter in these circumstances. Its not making sense- for those who listened to his wife’s interview of NDTV- there were still a few people who didn’t lack conviction- He couldn’t have done it. But most of us- waited, like a hyena- waiting for the lion to have its fill- waited on the fringes , waiting to fill themselves with the leftovers- in this case, whatever is the emerging reality- whatever is presented to them on a platter.

Being a quintessential aam aadmi myself , I mostly like to keep myself aloof from such moments of truth, However, it disturbs & pains me that while we indignantly go on with our lives, we conveniently ignore the inconvenient facts that confront us and then lament , mourn the entire world for our own misfortunes . Then at an opportune time, make our pathetic presence known by rallying around some newly realized truth- that incidentally was ALWAYS there for all to see. We sign up for teach india campaigns , we blog, we hold sabhas, discussions – all to justify our own foolishness in the first place.

O Aam aadmi- help me out here, help me understand- what is the legacy we are leaving behind for our children- what are we teaching to them? Why are we forgetting our conscience, why do we forget that I still can influence my own life, why do I forget that I don’t necessarily need to sign up for campaigns or participate in rallies to deal with our own bewilderement.. as Talwar begs & asks to be left alone to belatedly mourn his young daughter’s death, ….Talwar was not defamed by the incompetent governing authorities- it’s the AAm AAdmi in you & me, who must take the responsibility of defaming him and in the process., ourselves..

2008-07-09T17:42:00.000+05:30

For Mimi & Ta :

After a hot ( whew!) date on Friday night , nursing a bad hangover the whole of Saturday, I woke unto a beautiful June Sunday morning. A light shower, people out in their balconies, staring wistfully outside (?), the atmosphere was just right to settle in for the proverbial garam chai & pakodas. Considering that I pay top dollar (this is MBA jargon for ’Ouch, that payment hurts’) to be told by my very sweet dietician all the stuff I must not eat as I try valiantly to hide my age, pakodas were ruled out!. As I nuzzled my cup of chai, the 2 concrete manifestations of my contributions to the world- arre baba - my children ( I have become more cocky about my writing skills , therefore I am constantly looking for how to make the simple more complicated) were scampering around. This was a golden opportunity to spend quality time with them and operate guilt free for the rest of the week. I am the eternal optimist & will seize any such opportunity…So Mimi (2 yrs 3 mths), Ta ( 3 yrs, 5 months) –wearing raincoats & Mama ( I don’t like to remind myself) – wearing attitude, stepped down to get wet in the rain. Hubby dearest, despite ALL temptations, would rather prefer his Sunday morning newspaper!.

And we ran, got drenched, splashed in the muddy puddles, intently observed the earthworms struggling , removed chappals & stamped in the sticky lawn & We SANG. We sang aloud- all songs that we could possibly- Raindrops on Roses, Singin in the Rain, Gulzar’s Mera Kuch Saaman ( you remember that line- Ek Akeli Chatri mein jo aadhe aadhe bheeg rahe the?- What could possibly be more romantic than that?). We sang, we laughed, we shouted- people in their balconies were now worriedly concerned about something that is no business of theirs anyway- what consequences would this have on my children’s health? Though, some of them looked at us indulgently- sharing our joy & our pure ability to live in the moment!. Yes, my children did end up with runny noses & red eyes. Yes- they are still not completely recovered physically. But let a light shower happen- they get excited & shout- chalo mama, chalo! And they have had a happy week.

Becoming a parent is the most difficult transition I have had to make in my life- the responsibility of turning out a healthy baby, the responsibility of ensuring that they get a good education & turn out to be good, solid human beings, responsibility of not ingraining any permanently damaging complexes, the list goes on. So what is that I want them to grow up with – Good education, good morals, good values, good lifestyles? Sure- yes. But I am more concerned about my children’s health & their well being than most of the balconiewallas thought. I want them to grow up with a sense of freedom, of being able to make choices that will make them happy, of being able to seize a moment & enjoy it to the fullest, of creating happy NOWs, that will hold them in good stead whenever they face the problems, sadness & disappointments that they will necessarily face as life goes on.

Becoming a parent is also about realizing that we needn’t chase goals, better houses, better jobs et al to be happy. In fact, its about knowing that time moves on & we can seize it by being child like & experience the exhilarating joy that only children are capable of.
So Jagjit Singh –of the Who Kagaz ki Kashti, woh baarish ka paani, mujhe lauta do woh bachpan ke din, fame- I do understand what you mean, but I have decided to get my bachpan back- I am making a choice.

I hope you make yours too.

Love

Bhavna

Where did my Sanity go?

2008-07-09T13:50:00.000+05:30

A policy is a deliberate plan of action to guide decisions and achieve rational outcome(s). While law can compel or prohibit behaviors (e.g. a law requiring the payment of taxes on income) policy merely guides actions toward those that are most likely to achieve a desired outcome.

I’m running- faster & faster, along with my husband, each of us furiously clutching one child. Trying to escape from the devil – he grins beckoningly but I am just overwhelmed by the feeling that I MUST escape. I woke up – instinctively reaching out for the children. They were sleeping soundly; hubby darling had his hand protectively around both of them. (Just to let you know what an epitome of motherhood I am - I take a whole blanket for myself & he shares his with BOTH the kids). My heartbeat slowly settled down but I was unable to get back to sleep immediately. As I lay there ruminating as to what the nightmare meant, I thought of a couple of unrelated incidents that had impacted me in the last few days.

Last week Times of India carried a news article about a tribal man (Ram Singh Munda) in Orissa, who has been arrested a few days ago. Ram Singh with all innocence had befriended a sloth bear more than a year ago. He fed it & treated the bear like a child. Obviously by now, the bear had become an extension of the family. After the authorities discovered the crime (?) they promptly took the ‘right’ action- action that the law of the land demands. The man was arrested, the bear is in captivity in a zoo, the man’s motherless 6 year old daughter is with some relatives. Consequences : The bear is refusing to eat , because , as per experts, it is pining for the family. The man is probably confused as to where did he go wrong & the daughter- god knows how the staying with relatives would turn out?? Is anyone happy? Have we achieved the desired outcome ?

Let me get closer home. My domestic part timer help declared her 1st pregnancy 8 weeks ago. Promptly started bunking work too. So on a Saturday, ( that’s when I make contact with all my personal supply chain ) , after I had perfunctorily congratulated her, I asked her how long would she be able to offer her ‘whole hearted commitment’. Few weeks later, as I was preparing to replace her I heard that she had miscarried. As tears streamed out, when I offered her my condolences on last Saturday, I thought of whether I could have saved her this grief- by ensuring that in the earlier days of pregnancy her diet was sufficient. But being a rationale human being I did question myself for questioning myself- was I really wrong? I was only following a policy that is so the norm these days - ‘never extend yourself for the good of the domestic helpers, their loyalties are less than of a …..’ Was either of us happy? What was the desired outcome of the policy?

I passionately train ‘new managers’ to be ‘leaders’ & tell them that Leadership is sometimes about taking unpleasant decisions , more so if the decision is in favour of the customer/organization vis a vis the employee- company policy is the norm!. The newer managers question me outraged, the more experienced ones smile cynically- I get away with ‘ Lets not forget that we work for an organization- where policies have been drafted for a reason- Ah no- the correct terminology is rationale.

In my profession, I interact with a wide variety of people who have high IQ, are capable of earning good money for themselves & organizations, but are incapable of taking an informed decision based on facts combined with common sense. They would rather refer to some outdated policy drafted in with a different context, relevant for a different need. So what if the decision based on the policy is unpleasant for all? So what if the policy itself needs questioning? So what if team members leave the company because of indiscriminate implementation of policies?

Have we become so indoctrinated into a world of rules that we no longer feel the need to apply our own judgment at situations? Or is it that we have forgotten how to? Is it becoming such a challenge to start seeing each situation specifically & applying our own common sense to arrive at a course of action? Or must we follow the rules/ policies simply because they exist? Is anyone happy? Are we achieving the desired outcomes?
I don’t have any readymade answers but I do know that the more that I see of the world, the more I realize I also know that the devil is snapping at our heels & will catch up with us soon if we are not able to catch up with using our common sense.

Frazzled frau

2008-06-12T10:55:00.000+05:30

The last week has been one hectic one. We were all hosting a dinner, you see. Not that it had much to do with me, but S's husband’s Brit colleague & a few friends were visiting. Now that’s not a big deal for most of us with our arrived husbands, except that one of the couple in question are : No KIDS, still going to Bali/ Hawai/ or some obscene place for their wedding anniversary’s & can you believe it, have WHITE sofas & little gurgling fountains in their drawing room. This is completely based on heresay but such are stories that I will not reject. ( I am staring forlornly at my own green colored sofa, which when we bought- we were sure, would be able to withstand the children’s attacks. But no such luck- its now an even uglier shade of brown & green).

So as you can now anticipate, the attack must be carefully planned out- we cannot afford to lose this one- coz then it would mean, doom!! If we lost, we would have to get our broken record out- O life with the kids is just so F@#$%….fulfilling- we don’t get the time to do anything else, you must have one, - or why don’t you try mine for a while? Please – I insist. ( This is my current favorite fantasy, promise you it has all the beginnings of the most gratifying ….) But to be fair to her, she was suffering from another of the maladies that we seem to have no cure for – the maid was being so insouciant & had decided to take off (on D Day) to a better paying household. & The husband decided to invite the brit to be a houseguest. As you get the jist, life was a bitch…But as one of my old time, err, friends told me – then go ahead, screw it. ( that is another story that will be told, I promise)

So we did screw- life of course, ( with the kids in our bed, we don’t have the bed space to do ….) all of us rallied around her, bunking office, fish fry coming out of the black haired damsel’s kitchen & me cooking to the best of my limited abilities, going to do a last minute all over, to also see if she was looking good enough to…get admiring looks, then we would all have our revenge on the damn husband’s last minute imposition AND his all so male, insensitivities. As it turns out, the dinner was a hit. S was at her most charming, the bake was just not burnt, the fish fry & the creator of it was more than adequately oohed & aahed over. & we had our revenge, coz, you see white sofa man- more than fondly, remembered our black, wavy haired, large doe eyed friend , in front of the wife –‘darling, pout pout, can we please go to Timbuktoo this year’ . So as she grew first as red as her saloon coloured red hair & then as green as my sofa - S had her moment!

On Sat evening, as we sat rewarding ourselves for a job well done, with pizzas & beer- & replayed the dinner, along with pre & post activity, all over, we had our sweet (& somewhat high calorie) revenge. Coz it’s our children that forced us to start the beginnings of a long & rewarding friendship - One in which there is sharing of pain, happiness, envy & pride & whatever else.. So root along, girls- get the women over. Coz, as per another woman to woman discussions with a grilfriend- just recently- Alcohol & friends are the only certainty in life, & they definitely make life more, hic, meaningful.

Initiation into a New world!

2008-06-05T11:45:00.000+05:30

The whole blogging game….

So I turned 35 recently, now that for some may seem to be a great place to be at ( especially the all so arrived, single male bachelors around, please God- if I promise to be good- can I borrow one for a short while..) but alas for me! A mother of 2, constantly struggling with weight battles, aerobics, toilet training, healthy eating habits of children, managing the in laws, parents, team members & the boss, new property acquisition & the endless EMIs, all in one breath ( did I mention a husband..coz I do recall seeing him in the periphery)..life at 35 didn’t promise to be attractive. But surprisingly, despite, moving into a new category of womanhood- where menopause becomes a distinct reality, I experienced a new sense of freedom. A freedom that came from …understanding who I was, it was OK not to be in agreement with the mom all the time, I need never fall in love again, you could finally get drunk again without an ounce of guilt, grin obscenely whenever the young men at the local hang out joint checked me out…life was getting good.

Of course, I was ready to explore the newer aspects of where the world has turned too.. apparently, while I was in hibernation – minding & rearing my kids, blogging has become the new mantra around. Everyone, I imagine, is now a reasonably good writer- Microsoft’s thesaurus & all other sources help all the budding writers ( ‘please visit my blog’ & me ..suitably impressed ‘O wow, how lovely, you write..’. ) & the recent so called spat between the acclaimed actors of this country – prompted me to think that – I better discover the benefits of it.
The boss promised me that ‘his now famous, once notorious ‘Fursat Friday’ blog helped him deal with stress.. Besides, in my own quest of ‘social reconnecting’ – after all, you do need someone to get drunk with- all my friends were an integral part of the whole blogging circuit. So as I sheepishly listen to their blogging travails, & feel hopelessly inadequate when I tell them that the only social site I am part of is ‘Linkedin’ & I am not so good at uploading photos on the net ( No please, don’t die- I am learning), I suddenly realize that the freedom & the self esteem of 35 will become a thing of the past if I DON’T.
But didn’t I need to know the right things to say? Or was it actually say the right things or was it – say the wrong things so that I get noticed. What about my so called arrived ‘writing friends’ –R, S, promise me , no feedback please. But as they say : Hakuna Matata…

So I sat down to pen oops type down my thoughts.. & as I write, my kids smile back at me..,I remember the neighbour’s compliments on my great new found confidence, my ability to finally accept the in laws for what they are, my friends who will reach out to me, my hubby’s admiring glances & a family to die for.. all whiz past me & I realize- there is a lot that I can do with this.
So for all of you, Welcome to Bhavna’s blog.

Btw- the boss is always right!