A Woman Named Drown...

It was hot, as it always is in Mumbai, and we were all back at our hotel after watching No One Killed Jessica. I was in my room, everyone had gone back to theirs, getting ready for the evening. We were supposed to be at Munira's reception venue by 7pm and it was already 5pm. Anjali and I shared one room, Apeksha and Mandy were in the other room. I was sitting on one of the beds, and I could hear Anjali in the bathroom. I was done with my bath, and I should have been getting up and getting ready, we were already late, but I just sat there on the bed in my towel, listening to sound of running shower. Absorbing the sound, her presence. Just the fact that she was around. I felt good. I felt calm. I felt...safe, loved.

I am missing them all today, my people.

I wish I could fly. I wish I could go sit next to them, not talk, not do anything. Just sit next to them, absorb their energies, be around them, feel their presence. And once in a while, have them look up at me and smile. Just that. Not more. Just that.

Now You See, Now You Don't...

I was speaking to sister today and listening to how naughty the nephew's become, and I must admit I am looking forward to their visit in Diwali this year.


The first time I saw the nephew in real life, I had just come home that morning, he was on the living room floor, dressed in a yellow t-shirt(I think he looks the best in yellow) and diapers, playing with his yellow-red cars. And as I approached him, tentatively, scared that he might start crying, I said look who's here and extended my hand, smilingly, to touch his cheeks, and he looked up, smiled, placed his forefinger on my palm. And the fact that he's such a pricey baby and does not let anyone even close, made that gesture all the more precious.



That same afternoon, having put him to sleep, sister went out for some work. And just an hour later nephew woke up and of course, on finding himself alone in a new place, without his mother around, started howling. After 10 minutes of pacifying him, mother finally gave him to me, just play with him she said. And I, very reluctantly of course, picked him up, a crying baby (for the very first time in my life, I hate crying babies!) and he sat snuggly on my right arm, looked at me, placed his head on my shoulder, wrapped his tiny arms around my neck and slept with a whimper, tears still stuck to his long black eyelashes, much like morning dew on grass.



And with those two gestures he gave me the most precious thing a baby can give you, his trust. And with that, he made sure that his aunt will do anything, but never misplace it.



Every time I think of the newphew, I remember this one time I was trying to put him to sleep, and after twenty minutes I had exhausted the few precious lullabies I knew, and the nephew was still wide awake. So I finally started singing/humming Bollywood songs. No kidding, he slept in five minutes! :P Don't ask me which Bollywood songs now :)



Talking about sleeping, the sight of a sleeping baby must be one of those heart-achingly beautiful images that will never fade from your mind. His little hands placed side by side on the bed, his tiny pink fingers curled. His dark eyelashes making half moons on his pink puffed cheeks, his ruffled hair, his pink soft lips, his little chest rising gently, and you almost swell with pride, as a human, on seeing such a beautiful human infant.



But no, I still do not like kids.

Imperfect Is Perfect...

How does Raymonds manage it always? Stay relevant and true to their product, and also touch that part of you that commercial ads never manage to?


On a different note, a man who does not love his mother, will probably never love anyone else. 

How To Hunt For A Flat In A New City...

Warning: Disjointed incoherent post that's full of inane rants and cribs written under medication follows. If I were you, I'd skip.


Back home, I have been the queen of the castle from time to time. And every time dad-mum went away for extended periods of time, I'd plan a vacation myself too(What a queen eh? :P) And although it's a record that I never finish all the food on my plate, I do hate wasting food. And so every time I had to leave the house locked, I'd make sure I was not leaving any perishable food items behind. Fruits, snacks, fresh vegetables...I'd make sure the fridge would be empty before I left for my vacation.


I got up on the morning I was moving out and went into the kitchen to make tea, there was banana-chocolate cake on the table, ripe (glorious) red tomatoes, there was one whole packet of mushrooms in the fridge, ofcourse there was a mountain of leftover food, vegetables, fruits, I saw three lovely sweetcorns and for a minute I panicked. Wait a minute, I thought, all this food is going to rot? And that's when it sunk in, that I was not going for a vacation, that I was the one leaving...that I was not coming back.


It's funny, of all things, it should be food.


Though I still feel like I have come on a business trip, and that I will be going back "home" in 2 weeks time. And specially today, when am all ill, I so want to be back home :( And then I spoke to dad on the phone and then I cried (Oh whatever, you're just heartless). And then I spoke to my sister and she made me talk to my nephew who well can't talk yet, but says "maachi" and laughed(nautanki) for 10 minutes on the phone, and then I wanted to be there and play peek-a-boo with him and hear him laugh and not be all alone in this soulless hotel room! Growing up sucks! What the hell was wrong with me when I decided I wanted to be all independent and live by myself?? I suck at this "independent" thing! I am even looking forward to my never-met-before, fresh-out-of-college, backstreetboys-britneyspears-loving-girl-who-has-only-read-Chetan-bhagat, could-be-spoilt "dally" girl (that should actually scare me) roommate!


And what's making it worse is that I don't have a kitchen to myself. I am already missing home cooked food. I ordered ginger tea today, since I was badly craving it, and good lord, these stupid hotel people can't even make decent adrak walli chai? And I am not even in China for pete's sake!


I remember when I was in China, I used to travel by the tube trains there and one night, I was coming back to the hotel and I stumbled and fell down on the bridge, and people stopped, looked and started walking again as if nothing happened. I came home and cried in the hotel room cause there was no one to pick me up, I am sure Indian men would have been nicer :) It was a silly thing to cry over. I mean, I fall all the time, not a big thing, I never expect anyone to pick me up in India here, in fact I get embarrassed if anyone comes rushing to help. But in a new country...my aloneness was so amplified I realise I could cry even if I saw an Indian ad. I need a lot of "me" time, but I have realised I can't stay away from my people (whoever they are and however they are) and be happy. At home, I hardly spoke to parents, or spent time with them, I'd be always locked up in my room, doing my things, which is what I am doing here, locked up in my hotel room, with internet access, TV and books and food, but even if I was locked up in my room at home, I could always open the door and hear my mom speak to her friends on the phone or hear her cook in the kitchen or hear the blaring sound of TV and know that dad was watching news. I miss those sounds. Those were sounds of safety and family.




And what it making it more worse is this hot freaking weather. I am 100% sure I must have sweat atleast 3 buckets of sweat in the last 3 days. No kidding. I am surprised people even wear clothes here.




And the cherry on the cake? I move in and I all the people I know here have either left the city for good, or are away till god-knows-when. It's like I am cursed or something. Why god why? The only solace in my life right now is my (good-looking) broker, who's is in love with me, and who does his best to make me feel less lonely (Stop laughing Apeksha). But unfortunately, he found out that I am also talking to other brokers (Eh well, I am new to the broker-relationship thing), and he was quite heart-broken. So he calls me up at 10 in the night and after a lot of throat-clearing says,"madam, don't feel bad, but please don't talk to other brokers, I am putting so much heart and effort in looking for a flat for you, why do you need to talk to other brokers? I am there no, I'll find every available flat for you!"


(And he said it which such sincerity that I almost felt ashamed for a minute.)

And I feel loved.

And shame on you if you judged me just now, sitting there in your cozy homes with home cooked meals and cuddly doggies drooling at your feet and furry cats meowing at you.


But being the sweet soul that I am, I could forgive you if you come visit me and bring some hot potato-leek soup along (beer would also do).


And so here I am, supposedly my second day at the new workplace and I am instead sitting all wrapped up in the hotel room, talking to myself, and oh, ofcourse, waiting for my broker to call. What? He promised he'll call in an hour!


P.S: G, darling, I would eternally hate you now if you now ditched me.

P.P.S: I don't know anything about how to hunt for a place in a new city and you clearly didn't read the warning, your fault! 

We Are Here For A Reason...And It's Not Fun...

Having the nephew for 1 whole month has been quite a revelation, to put it mildly. Now that that one month is coming to an end, I can pretty much boast of being semi-qualified as a mother.

For the one whole month sister was here, she was on vacation (meaning she got to sleep for 5 hours at a stretch, poor thing), so it was all left to Dad and me to take care of the nephew. Nephew didn't take to mum a lot, so he pretty much stuck to dad's side or then mine.


So my repertoire includes bathing an one year old, feeding him, clothing him, changing his diapers, keeping him entertained for hours and though it still requires monumental effort to control my shrieks every time I feel something warm running down my legs, I am now also okay with things like baby pee and baby poop without puking. What else? I can even sing lullabies and put a kid to bed. Nice? Eh? And all this without having ever touched or even looked at a kid before. Would it be bragging if I said I was awesome?

No, right? I know, honestly, I deserve a medal!

(Which was duly gifted by sister in the form of payals. And I love them! I almost want to grab the first guy I see on the street and show him how beautiful and feminine my feet look with those colourful anklets and then feel all happy)


Moving on, I am also fully qualified as a hostess. I must have entertained atleast 5 dozen guests in the last one month whilst taking care of the nephew(Clearly, we are not a very sociable family). How awesome can I get? They should like make a new award for women like me!


But I hated every minute of it. Like really, now I know why women want to marry only rich men. Cause rich men can employ two dozen servants at home for all this entertaining business. All the hostess has to do is dress up and sit nicely and smile prettily at the guests and say, "ramu, memsaheb ke liye woh sherbet lana, aur baby ke liye woh lichee ice cream lana", and afterwards, when the party is over, all she has to do is remove the heavy jewellery and remove the pins from her hair and sigh wearily at her husband, who's rich remember?, and tell him how tiring all of it was and Mrs. Snooty-ass definitely wore a prettier diamond necklace. Like really, there's no cooking and washing plates in her life. I want to be a memsaheb too!


No surprise then, I have just postponed marriage by another 5 years and don't plan to have a kid. Unless someone pays me a few hundred lakhs to have a kid (which ain't happening).

Err, yes.

I cried the first day the nephew was here. Now, I am a very private person. I need my "me" time. I need loads of alone time. Which was like zero when the nephew was here. Usually, frustration comes out in two forms: loud, peppered with swear words yelling or then muffled sobs. Since the loud yelling would have woken up the nephew, I had to settle with the sobs. The first day I had to deal with a kid, it freaked me. I am, even now, after one month, can-pee-in-my-pants scared.

Motherhood is not easy.

Let me say it again, motherhood, is not easy. 

I said semi-qualified, cause motherhood is more than bathing and feeding a kid. It requires a whole different sort of sacrifice. A whole lot of patience. All women with kids are not mothers, some are just child bearers. It takes something much more to be a mother. You need true whole genuine love in your heart to be a good mother. Every woman should be scared of being a mother, cause it's a tough job. No demand is exaggerated, no sacrifice too big. Motherhood is not all toys and rainbows. At times you'll want to hate your own kid, but you can not. You can not disown your kid, or give him away one day you're tired and frustrated and under-slept and underfed and on saline cause you're so weak or even dying the very next day. You have to count to10, take a deep breath and paste a smile on your face and tell your kid something funny.


Married couples, please please spend atleast minimum two years with each other. Do not, really, do not rush to have kids. Your whole life, as you know it, will change once you have a kid. It will never be the same again, ever. Even after they, your kids, graduate from high school.


Enjoy your precious independent days. Stop hankering after marriage, those who are single. You know how you plan your day without a single thought for anyone else? That? That is gold. That freedom. Treasure it. Love it. Respect it. You'll miss it so much once you have a kid, but it'll never come back no matter how many times you say you miss your single days.


Having a kid means timing your loo breaks, means forgetting the idea of a full meal, means thinking atleast 10 times before going downstairs even, means thanking your stars if you get to sleep for 3 hours at stretch one fine day, means celebrating with canned juice if your kid sleeps without crying for one whole hour first, having a kid means no time for exercise, no time for looking good, being cut from the entire world, means no alone time ever with your spouse, and definitely, forget anything about sex once you have a kid. For one, your bodies, women, will be your worst nightmare. But you'll accept it anyway, cause every time you want to curse having a kid, you'll look at your baby looking at you with eyes full of hope and innocence and then she'll/he'll flash you her/his best smile and you'll say, its okay, I don't mind it, it gave me you. But yes, any man who sleeps with you post baby, tie him to your bed and never let him go, ever. And two, if you ever get any time, even like 20 mins alone, sleep! You can never bet when you'll get 20 whole uninterrupted minutes to sleep again.

Sex? Forget it.

Alrighty, I am off to make some watermelon juice for the nephew then. 

Mango And A Jackfruit...

What do you say of a girl whose worst fear is that she would turn out to be like her mother?

Like A Drug...

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

This lovely article reminded me of my younger "library" days :)

I had just finished my 12th grade exams and had plenty of time to read. And I read. I had a membership at a local library, which was conveniently at a 5-min walking distance. The owner of the library was an old man, who sat there in the evening, surrounded by oldies, they'd all sit outside on the veranda and chat and laugh about things. He knew me ofcourse, I came there every day of those summer holidays. Three girls worked there. I doubt they ever read the books in the library, but at times I envied their jobs and wondered if I should instead become a librarian. I remember mom once had a huge fight with me in those summer vacations. I had not got out of my room for two days except to eat and go to the loo, so she came storming into my room, snatched the book and threw, literally flung my copy of The Fountainhead on the floor, like it was a porcelain vase. I cried. Its pages torn. I didn't speak to her for days.


Both Dad and Mom read. Mom's a voracious reader even today. Dad gets no time now, but he tells me he had read all literature tomes of his time at quite an early age. So clearly love for books runs in the family. Though sister has never read more than one book. I once made her read a book and she couldn't get past the 3rd page. Nothing's happening she told me, it's all so boring. Well, you can't expect action right from the first page. You can't love a book unless you have read the first 200 pages atleast and only then you get hooked. You need patience to read and love a book. She gave up.


I continued reading even after I started with my engineering. So I was supposed to be studying, but I read instead. Dad furious, threatened at first. I never paid any heed to his threats. So one day he stopped my pocket money. No money, no library membership. I was ofcourse devastated. How could he, who loved reading himself, do this to me? I cried and pleaded, nothing happened.


So I had my own pot of money which I used up for the library membership. I didn't shop. I saved. And now instead of hiding the books in my bag, or under my clothes when walking from the door to my room, I openly flaunted them. Which angered Dad ofcourse. Instead of covering the gap under the door with three dark-coloured dupattas to fool dad, who would wake up at 2am to check if I was still reading, I now let him know I read at 3 am even. I would make coffee or tea and read in the living room. So he then went to the library and told the owner not to allow me within the premises. I was barred from entering the little library. I obviously didn't know my Dad had done this. So I went the next day, and what do you know, the girls, looking sheepishly at me, told me my account had be closed by my Dad.


I was angry. I was furious. I went to the gym with my then best friend SB, a book lover herself and cursed him. For days I didn't have money to open another account. Taking pity on me, SB offered me some books from her own collection. I saved enough to open another account that month. And now I had a new account, under my own name, no one could close it without my permission, no. 537. This I think got Dad extremely mad. How dare I? Well, I was his daughter after all. So I said, in your face Dad, and happily went on reading. So next what he did was this: He stole my book and hid it. Yessir. He STOLE it. Unless I returned the loaned book, I couldn't take out another. I could say that I had lost it, pay 150/- and borrow another. But ofcourse I didn't have 150 rupees, remember no pocket money? So I scoured the entire house and on the 3rd day, I found the book. It was like a match, each gloating after a victory. That evening when Dad came home he found the otherwise glum looking me humming merrily. He asked mom, who scared, told him I had found the book. He gave up after that :)

No one stopped me after that but I started hiding my books under my pillow or under the mattress after that(Sometimes even locking them). As soon as I started working, I started buying books. He never complained after that, except occasionally warn me that if I continue sleeping so late, my skin was going to be fucked up. I am those types who needs her full 8-hour beauty sleep, otherwise bad things happen to my skin and he never failed to point it out to me.

In retrospect, I realise I was wrong. He was right in wanting me to concentrate on studies. Guess he knew I was getting lost in the world of books and being a reader himself, he knew how difficult it is to get out of that world and live in the real world. Which for me, still, takes some effort. I guess he was just doing what a good father should have. I did, what I always do.


And I still have an open account with the same library :)

Jungle Book...

So the nephew's coming over to India for a vacation and I can't wait to buy all those colourful children's books and read stories to him :)

A Pink Rose Bud...

I hope when we become parents, I hope we don't forget that we don't own our kids. We might have given them birth and raised them, but I hope we don't make the same mistake our parents did of deciding their life and dreams for them. I hope the men realise the difference between being the head of the house and a tyrant when they become fathers. I hope they remember that there is no place for ego in a family. I hope the mothers remember to speak up for what's right, even if it means going against the husband. I hope we believe in our kids dreams, and let them have their wings. I hope we don't clip their wings saying we know better. I hope we remember to let them make their own mistakes. And still accept them when they come home defeated and hurt from the battles.

I hope we don't expect our kids to repay with their dreams for the life we gave them. 

*****

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,

which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them,

but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children

as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,

and He bends you with His might

that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;

For even as He loves the arrow that flies,

so He loves also the bow that is stable.

- Khalil Gibran

An Ode...

You might not be with me now, but I am not without you. I am always carrying you all with me. I am made up of all those I loved and all those who loved me-friends. The part of me that thinks twice before speaking now, that part belongs to you. The part of me that reminds me to try harder every time I hit a low, that belongs to you. The one that makes me yearn for love, ever-lasting happy love, that belongs to you. The part that makes me feel good about myself, that belongs to you. The part of me that's strong and confident, that belongs to you. The part of me that reminds me to be silly, that belongs to you. The one that makes me want to be my best, that belongs to you. The part of me that loves, that too, belongs to you. The part of me that's fun, that belong to you. The part of me that has learned to compromise, sacrifice, be unselfish, that belongs to you.


I am made up of all these you's, people who have come into my life, loved me and given me something I will always cherish:Friendship.They've become a part of me. And the best parts of me, they belong to them-Friends.

The Indian Memory Project

My grandparents, paternal ones, died when I was just a baby, and so other than an old photo and the stories dad told us a few times when we were kids, I don't know much about them. And not having grandparents was something I always felt bad about. I always wanted to have a big house with lots of cousins and lots of aunts and uncles and grandparents. I wanted to sit by their feet on a summer afternoon, sip aam-panna, and listen to their stories; stories from their younger days and stories about the pre-Independence India. 

Though that can never happen now, they are long dead, this wonderful website, managed to give me a precious peek into the lives of many such grandparents and their stories. A treasure trove for history enthusiasts. Do have a look.  

The Luckiest Daughter...

The luckiest daughter...to have the parents I have.