Healthy Birthday, Ma

today she turned 70... and when i called early morning over a cup of steaming tea, her landline was busy. guess who called? my Dad's brother with whose family and another aunt (again my Dad's sister) she is going for her next holiday to the Andamans, end of the year.

she takes two holidays a year, mostly with a new-found group of friends... and this is what i have forced her to do. she had always been fond of travelling, but was married to someone who, leaving aside his Civil Service postings, did not derive any joy out of travel. so the latent desire to see places was always there inside. so this time, it is with her extended family, all from her late husband's family.

and this is what i find very intriguing. Ma was 21 when she got married in 1960. and i, the elder of her two children, came in seven years later. possibly because of that or possibly because of the fact that she always had one or the other of her brother(s)/sister(s) in law staying in with her, she has an indescribable closeness with them and this despite that Dad has passed away 11 years back. there is reciprocity, to begin with. all my uncles and aunts make the effort to keep connected with Ma, less now by dropping in, but regularly on phone. they do not miss her birthday, or to visit an ailing elder brother of their Boudi (Bengali for bhabi, or elder sister in law). they consult her on all their problems or make it point to share their joy with her, whether it is a child doing well or the arrival of a new grandchild.

on her part, Ma too calls them, is present on any occasions at their places and keeps up with their children's lives too. so when bro or i show unwillingness to participate with her in her "connection spree", she is visibly upset. and all this while she clearly knows that neither of us are really social in the way she is. we would rather be home, jabbering amongst ourselves along with our spouses. but she has her way in a uncanny way... since we still do not speak up to her, though we do show our reservations towards the gentle nudge that she keeps giving, suggesting a desired course of action.

and today when i said, "Healthy Birthday, Ma," she said, "Thank you and this is exactly what S (the uncle she was talking to) was saying just now... afterall, they are your folks, so you think alike." just her way of suggesting that it is about time i call them and talk...

this hint i will not take, Ma... i leave the connection bit to you...

Happy 14th Birthday

Dear R,


Today is your 14th birthday. I have been reliving this entire week in my mind... what i did, when, how, with whom, who said what, why, what were my reactions and so on... it is a long long list... and you were still inside me and every minute I was saying to you, "Do you hear that, little girl?"(no we had not tested to know the sex of our child, but I was convinced that you would be you, a girl).


To cut it short, have a healthy, satisfying and happy life ahead. Try to make others happy... that is not the priority for many of us, but you should keep that in mind because when others are happy, so are you. This is something I see very strongly in your Dad. He tries his best to make others happy... and deep down somewhere, there is a slight pain, since your Dadubhai (my Dad) had the same streak. Possibly, unconsciously we girls look out for something of our Dads in our partners... hopefully you will do the same when your day and time comes.


We have tried to give you a very simple life, without much frills. It has been a life of constant movement, across cities, countries, jobs, and in the process we have tried to attend to you, to the best of our abilities. Yes, we have left you with the baby-sitter when you were barely 9 months old. And that did send guilt pangs deep down inside me, but you possibly understood that I needed the job at that point and you stood beside us very well. In fact, had you not, I would have had to quit my job and take care of you. That was Mumbai. Down to Kolkata too, you had an adjusting phase with successive nannies, despite the fact that for a period, we did stay with your grand-parents. And adjust you did. Come Delhi and the same story continued. It was only beginning our stay at Muscat that you started staying alone while I was at work and it is only now that I do not feel daunted by your vacations any more, knowing well that you and I will manage together and manage well.


I do not know how you will turn out as an adult. The only thing I will ask of you is responsibility. You need to be able to take responsibility for your actions, your words and stand by what you feel and do. Never be afraid of taking a stand, even if it means you are against the others. If deep within, you feel you are right, you are. Go by that.


We have tried to give you some basic values, since we have lived by them. You have seen our lives, rather openly and know what we have stood for. Nothing high falutin, but values that should help you lead your life on a straight path. Ideally, we would want you to live by the values we have given you, but beyond a point, rest assured, we will not pry to check what you are doing, though if ever I see that you cannot look eye to eye with your Mummy, I would deduce that you have goofed up somewhere. Never allow that to happen.


We value privacy very highly. But privacy should always come with a sense of responsibility. Keep that in mind.


You do not have to be the first student of your grade. You just have to do your best, in whatever you do. Thus, even for your dance rehersals, I was being very particular about the timings. You need to realise the value of time and commitments that you make.


Even if I sould like having given a lecture, bear with me. These are things which I have to tell you while you are growing. They may become redundant once you are fully grown.


Yes, I need to tell you this too... I LOVE YOU A LOT.


Mummy

she does not have to be a dancer

is what i think, but not B of R and that was the provocation for the last fight that we had... nothing new, we keep having it every now and then, especially weekends.


of late, R has started taking interest in extra-curricular activites. when she was tiny, i did try to get her into music (which did not interest her) and later, into violin. she was not interested by this either... i quit thinking that she is another lazy lady like her mother, but when she actively took interest in public speaking, we enrolled her into Gavel's Club (the junior wing of Toastmasters)... i was not surpised by this. someone who reads and reads should be able to speak well as well.

what did surprise me was the latest interest -- dance. so in the latest Bengali Parishad function, she herself went and got her name in for the forthcoming dance recital, coming Friday. so for the past three weekends, life has revolved around dropping and picking her up from her dance rehersals. this week, it has and is going to be extra hectic because of in-between week practice sessions.


last weekend when we had dropped her and were leaving, the lady who is guiding the practice, came up to us and said, "your daughter is not able to pick up the steps well, despite my showing it to her. since this is an important function and will be telecast on Star Ananda, i will see how she does today and then decide whether she will participate or not," all this while i knew that the tailor had been called to take the costume measurements.


i told the lady, "she has never danced on stage. so if she is stiff, she has to put in more practice now... see how she is today..." while B maintained a stony silence and an equally stony face, with the jaws hardening. my heart broke and i kept remembering R's anxious face as she was dancing.


"Not enough said or protested, because she did not tell this to us earlier. on the penultimate day, how can she say this. i am going to pick her up right now and register my protest that this is an unprofessional way of doing things, that there should have been an audition and elimination," B stormed at me.


we left from there, went to pick up a gift for a birthday party that evening and were constantly arguing over why i did not tell the lady what B felt. in fact, B's colleague who saw us at the store said later, "K (his wife) and i did not call you because you were so engrossed in talking (read fighting)."


B kept calling R and she kept saying she is practising. then B mentioned, "the lady said you could be out if you do not do well, and you still want to do?" R replied, "yes, i will." we wre not sure whther she knew she could be dropped.


we went back to pick her up and on the way, i said, "dancing is no priority, if she is out, she is." "NO, there has to be a method and though we know R is not a trained dancer, it is her participation that counts. i will talk to the lady but you will not only be with me, you will say exactly what should be said," B was forceful and this was the parent in him talking, not my partner, i realised.


i followed him in (for a change) and saw the girls practising engrossed. B walked in straight and i told the lady, "in case you are dropping her, do that today, now. and imagine what will go on in the child's mind to know that she is being dropped now."


"she is doing much better than she was and with practice in front of the mirror, she will know exactly where to improve." she did not sound unprofessional in the least.


so little miss R is dancing all day in front of the mirror, but i keep having a nagging doubt in my mind: am i ok as a parent? or do i need to be more socially protective of her? with my poor social skills, possibly R misses out on these small things which will make her happier.... so here i am running around in the evenings, picking up and dropping children for unofficial practice sessions at my place and at others'... this has made me wonder how vulnerable are we as parents and how little things matter when it comes to the child.


Wish R luck for her performance...

why are so many marriages going wrong?

this is something i wonder way too often... the number of dysfunctional families have just leap-frogged, marriages are going wrong left, right and centre.

over the years, in all of my working life, i have had friends who may have been colleagues to start with, but became really good friends, later on, either as we have moved out of the city, moved jobs or just moved on. and while B used to joke saying, "you have so many divorced friends", i never took it seriously, though i did have friends who were women and men, but a lot many were single, post marriage.


and let me tell you, almost none of my these single friends were very modern... the reason why i am saying this is: many a times, we tend to equate being forward in life comes with being modern. a couple of my friends, in fact, two to be precise, one man and the other a lady, came from very ordinary, middle-class homes. the lady went through a messy divorce in her 50s. was she dumb? no, she wasn't... she just thought things would get better, waited for the child to settle a little and moved out to eke out her own life at 45+. she now has a grandchild, ex-husband has re-married, but she is single, whether happily so, i do not know.
the other friend, the man, allowed his ex-wife to walk out on him, gave the divorce, was single for a time and has now settled into not-so-happy a marriage, but has become wiser as his words seem to suggest, "i have learnt to live with what i cannot change."



there have been others who have, i mean still have, not really great marriages, but have withstood the social pressures of making it work -- parents, children, this, that and the other -- and have just continued being as social entities, though hardly as partners. and i mean by partners, people who bond, who have opinions of their own, air those opinions but have learnt to respect each other (and the stands they take as individuals). that is the ideal situation which should prevail in this life-long relationship... in fact, we spend more time with our respective spouse than any other human being -- parents, siblings or children. each of these stay with us for a period and recedes to the background when another comes in...



what i have felt clearly over these years is: the crux to making a marriage tick is a fair dose of self respect and mutual respect. if these two are there, most partnerships last and happily so...



i feel sad for many people i know who are going through a messy life just because they have to... at the end of a harrowing experience, i have seen their faces change... they wear a weathered expression, with a smile that has lost the vibrancy. and it is then that i realise that many of us who have not the greatest marriage on Earth, but at least one which gives us enough air to breathe, have opinions, air them with little doubt and move on, without too much baggage, are indeed lucky.

letter from a daughter to her father...

May 2008 is when i had written the letter below and today when i received a similar letter from a friend to her father, i thought, i could share this with you... in that other letter, it is a similar tale of growing up, of growing away from where she began, the path she has traversed and how insecure she is without her dad... and this post is dedicated to that friend of mine...

Dear Dad,
Ten years on, rather six months less than ten years, I am writing again. Looking through those earlier writings, I decided it is time I wrote again, just to tell you how far I have been able to follow what you had told me way back in 1980… “be guided by your head, not heart.” What you did not tell me -- possibly left it unsaid for me to learn myself, was the tool I had to apply, the method I had to adopt, to get on with this business of living and life – detachment.
Today, at 42, I would not say, I know how perfectly to negotiate life. It seems too tall a claim. But I certainly can tell you that I have become more seasoned, more mature, and more confident, more focused, less clumsy, less emotional. I am able to decide with firmness. I rarely break down if at all. I rarely feel that lump inside the throat, or those burning eyes, trying to fight back tears when things go wrong.
And things do go wrong even now – at home, at work, with my child, sometimes with friends and even my spouse. But I have learnt to deal, tackle, manage and move on, putting those instances aside, not letting them interfere with the process of everyday life. Yes, what I do very often, and here again, in my mind, it is one image of yours that keeps popping up… your pacing up and down at home, with a heavy look on your face. What I do is also similar… nope, I do not pace up and down, with a heavy face, you know I am lazy… but while I am alone (and very often I am, while I drive back and forth the whole city for work, for running domestic errands or for dropping the child to her classes), I am in constant dialogue with myself… the mind races with those things that went wrong, going over and over again at the particular instance that is troubling me, trying to assess what was my responsibility in the whole affair. And, when the heaviness in the heart ceases, I know I have addressed the issue, dealt with it. Not a soul comes to know how, but I know I have and it gives a great feeling within that I have succeeded once again. Should I call it independence? I do not know but one thing I certainly know, I will tell my daughter how to try living from the day go. In fact, this is one thing I told you then too… that I would rear her well. She is grown now, does most of her things by herself – but I still have to tell her about the art of detachment. I will not leave her to discover it herself – while that discovery might give her an edge, it certainly will corrode the freshness of her face, the lilt in her smile and the look of her eyes.
Yes, all of these are no longer there in me…while I am more at ease with life in general, there is no freshness in the face, no lilt in my smile and no innocence in the eyes. I have come of age. And that I hope to fight in my child.
I can almost see you smile…and I know the reason. You are trying to ask me: How will so attached a mother teach her daughter detachment? But as I said, I am more prepared now… ten years back, I would have been stumped with this question, leaving you to laugh condescendingly at my inexperience… but not any more… I am armed with a logic now: I will at least tell her, it is up to her to understand, learn and practise it in life.
Let’s agree to differ if the logic does not appeal to you. But at least I have told you what it is that you did not tell me, while holding my hand and teaching me how to walk, you left unsaid that the road of life is so difficult, and more so, without a loving hand.
And here, I better be honest -- I still remain that child of yours who is, by now, struggling to fight back tears since it is only a Dad who would listen to so much of complaints after so many years.
***

teaching 'life' in 5 minutes flat

what a contradiction in terms... can anyone teach about life? or is it life that goes about, in its own inimitable way, teaching one and all?

both, i feel are true... yes, life is the best teacher, but i saw no harm in teaching a little wisdom to my little girl (actually not so little any more) when she came back from school in tears.

my first response was: are you ok?

she said, with a sulk, "yes i am ok and not ok."

me: why? what happened?

she: "the teachers have selected students for public speaking and as comperes fortheAnnual Day and they have selected all their pets."

Gosh, there are too many issues and i just have 5 flat minutes to address all of them, lest i be late for my post-lunch meeting.


almost thinking on my feet, i told her: "are you happy with what you have done, as in the speech that you had prepared for the audition?", half-knowing the answer that she would give me, since i had heard her rehearse and had suggested some changes in her delivery mode and expressions.


she said: "yes, Ma, i am happy with what i had prepared and had taken care to do all that you had told me. and i am sure that my speech was way better than the rest of the guys and gals. but they are the pets and i am not...", her throat wavered a little, in anger partly, in pain, partly at not being selected.

now the number of issues had not reduced though two minutes of my balance time had, but one thing i was sure of -- she was confident of herself.


i said: "if you are happy with what you have done, don't bother about the end result. that is not the result of your credit/discredit. there will be many such other instances in life when you will feel that you were better, but somebody else made it. the way out is to try to do even better, next time on. your feeling may be partly true; it could also be the result of a preconceived notion that you have about the selectors."


her face showed a couple of expressions, one after the other. first, she did not get my message about not bothering about the end result... and i do not blame her since she is not yet 14. but i purposely gave her this to mull over. second, that others may not be as good but will still make it... she partly got, must be through her tiny experience in life. she disagreed with the third, to do better next time on, saying, "there is no use in doing better next time... i would rather opt for dance where the selection is easier." this was a new issue hurled at me, that of changing track midway, giving up and not doing her best... but i decided to let go of it for the time being, though i will not let go of her in case she does not give me a convincing enough logic to opt for dance or mimicry (whatever it is), next time on. the fourth message, she partly got about preconceived notion, i could make out from her eyes...opinionated child, a genetic trait she has got...


my five minutes were up and i had to go, and when i left her, i heard sobs from her room... i dragged myself out, pretending not have heard the sobs, not because i was getting late, but because she has to learn to cope with life and such failures alone. time will come when we will not be around to hug and kiss her pain away...

let me be confident that she can, though i can hold her hand, if need be...

is there motivation tonic?

if there is, i need a tub of it... right now, here.

of late, i have just been feeling tired, for no rhyme or reason. when the alarm rings in the morning, i feel like sleeping... and i cannot, because R has to be sent to school... it is not as if B will not send her to school but he will not do it my way... i like to be around when she leaves home and we steal a stare, me at the door, she inside the lift. if the going is really good, she even throws in a kiss as the lift door closes... i cannot miss all this and be in bed, trying to sleep.

i am a very morning person. i like the mornings quiet and alone sipping my hot cup of tea, watching over R's paltry breakfast of a bowl of cereal, with BBC World for background music.

i try to retire early at night so that i get adequate rest, even if sleep eludes me... and i have my books for company. none of this seems to be working and the mornings are bad...

and for me, if the start is not good, the whole day seems a bit of a slow-down... if i sleep till late, i have to skip a bath and a little session of meditation in the morning, which means i am not fresh and that drags on the whole day...

i just need to pull myself to be out of this... i hate this lazy feeling, i hate to be slow...

Dear Bablu Dadu*1,

i write this letter as i sob, silently, alone, knowing fully well that this will not reach you. but i also know you will understand perfectly why i am still writing this to you when you are no more.

i got the news of your death two days back and since then i have been sad, really sad. now of course, i have learnt to deal with this strange phenomenon called death. i do no longer crumble on the outside, though there is a deep agony inside. but this will pass and i will get back to being my boisterous self, once again. i can see you giggle, with that characteristic twinkle in your eye and that naughty wave passing all over you.

you were not strictly even related to me or my family. you were Mashi's*2 father-in-law's cousin. it is strange that we got to know you... but had Mesho*3 not passed away, we would not have...

i can distinctly recall the first day i met you at the Kasba house where Mashi was staying with her daughters, sometime in 1983-84 and you had come to take us for a recital of Rabindrasangeet by Sumitra Sen. it was raining cats and dogs. the second meeting, same place, this time it was Jaws II.

thereafter you started coming home, often, but not regularly, mostly in the evenings, after work. you spoke little, sipped a cuppa, had a snack if offered and left silently. Dad liked you and often teased you to get married. and sure enough you did... around 1988-89. Ma and i had gone for your wedding reception. you looked happy, so did your bride.

years passed, i got married but you stayed in touch with my natal home... you kept visiting and each time, i visited, we would meet... you would make the effort to come and meet us, sometimes even late in the evenings. you had a son, he had an accident, at a marriage party, recovered... got into school, grew up, passed his 10th boards...

i kept up with your life as you did... you soothed my pain after Dad's demise, you constantly kept coming home, now my home. B liked you and understood the friendship we had. we shared a lot of time talking and in that, i was pained to learn that your wife and son did not really love you... i am busy with the lump in my throat now... and you are again smiling, i can see that...

you had retired from your job by now, but took up another... not so much for money but to get out of home every morning and as an excuse to return late at night, grab a bite and fall off to sleep. i recall your pain when i told you that i was deeply addicted to sleeping pills. you even threatened to blow the whistle and let B know if i did not stop...

i am out of my addiction. i am happy once again, having gone through a rough patch... and we met again this time when i went on vacation... you seemed ok, i could not prod you beyond the apparent, since everyone was around. you did promise to come back on the last day, but called to say you could not and said, "i am not feeling well."

how would i gauge that i had to blow the whistle to your wife? how would i know that your time was up?

on second thoughts, i have done some soul searching and come up with a logic for not calling in your wife... you had lost all will to live...

as a friend, i understood that, in my sub-conscious mind... and have accepted the fact that i did what i did, by design.

i again can see that grin of yours... a loving one this time, for your friend and sister, as you called me... and now the tears will not allow me to carry on.

S, the name you knew me in...

*1 Bablu -- a common name in our part of India; Dadu -- grandfather.
*2 Mashi -- Ma's sister
*3 Mesho -- Mashi's husband.

the place of the significant other...

... in our lives, depends a lot on attitude, in fact whole of it.

have seen couples who portray a total lack of balance when it comes to their spouses, because the lady decides willingly to be a doormat. the man is clearly more equal than the woman and the woman either does not know what she has traded away (identity), or does not want to have one. that's one way.

then there are others where the lady wears the pants, because the man is docile and takes the passive role. here, the man has less of an identity. that's another option. the straight ones, both these, i call them.

the third way is made by couples who have, knowingly, shunned both the above and want a decent space for each of them(selves)... and that is the trick, since even if they are clear, on how much they will yield to each other and constantly think hard of how well to finetune it, people around who have seen an either/or scenario, do not know what is going on in these homes... i happen to fall in this third bracket.

B and i met 25 years back, as college students, in the same class. we have courted for 6+ years, and have been married for the past 18+ years. so the question of inequality really did not arise, to begin with.

so after marriage, while we both were clear in our minds, people around were not. my folks knew better... that to comment would be inviting problems and they steered clear. his folks stumbled a little in the beginning and have let it be.

running the home is my responsibility. he earns, i manage. i decide what is to be bought, what is to be cooked, what is to be washed and ironed, what is to be junked. and i love doing it. where i cannot, i seek paid help, in cooking for instance.

i manage R too... keeping my schedules as closely linked to hers, her studies, her classes, the works... where i cannot, B pitches in willingly.

we use each other as sounding boards for our doubts in life, in general.

we have kept one aspect separate -- money. i manage mine; he manages his, though we do know what the other is doing and not doing. we are more mature here and do not question. possibly, we have developed a certain respect in each other's judgement.

rather a plain arrangement, it struck me yesterday when, at a get-together of B's colleagues, one wife from Category 1, commented that she had the liberty of spending $4200 on a diamond bangle and mind you, she does not work for a living. this bangle was just to complete a set with a diamond necklace that her husband had got for her earlier in the year.

the mention has not saddened me or surprised me, it has just made me more conscious of one fact -- i come really cheap... only hope B realises it.

why can't i be a martyr

this is clear why she does not like martyrs. i am with her on all she says -- that does not call for a post, though. what calls for a post is to state why i just cannot tolerate them and why i find it difficult to be one.

martyrs are irritating, period. enough said, no more emphasis needed.

they lack self-respect, thus they crib and only crib.

they bitch because they lack the courage to speak up in front of people, they have objections on.

and they whine, because that is the only thing they can do. they are sufficient for only that.

i have a Mt. Everest-ish ego. and i have tonnes of self-respect. i do not crib because it hurts my sense of privacy; i bitch, yes, but i also tell most people on their faces what i think on issues, i rarely comment on people and i hate to whine since i do not want sympathy or advice... my problem is mine and i can tackle it, if at all. i prefer not to have half-baked ideas as advice.

and most important, i can stand up for myself, which is one thing i keep drilling into R. let's see how she turns out to be, anything is fine, as long as she is not a martyr.

of kebabs and koftas

i am no cook... yes, i do cook, but that is only now, in the past 9 months, the longest stint in my cooking calendar.
but when i made the lamb kebab today, after R's contant reminder that i had promised to make some for her, and served them hot-from-the-
oven to her, she smiled a smile that she has never...
and that is what pushes me to cook these days -- the look on her face which shines with an unexplained happiness tinged with a dash of pride.
and guess whom she befriended to share this little message with me... my Ma, who is (or is it was??) the best cook i have met and known...
R told her, on being served consecutive meals made by her grandmom this summer, that she wished her mom too would cook the same dishes -- malpoa, lau, shukto... peppered with her own kebab, kofta and pudding...
and honestly, i have made all the three on R's wishlist...
children have their own way of getting things done, and i do believe, R told Ma, not to get the things she wants, but trusts the impact of something that Ma will tell me to do...
some things go beyond explanation... and the bond that R shares with both her grandmoms is unique... with one, it is still like a child, with pranks, jokes and laughter; with the other, she acts like a full-blown adult, keeping her reserve and limit. and both these, she plays with equal ease, poise and a lot of confidence.
i relished watching both of these role-plays last vacation home... it was R's first visit as a teenager, and i was sceptical that she might show her ugly self there... the mother in me would be hurt then... but blood ties brought out the best in her and she behaved herself to the T, and needed no prompting whatsoever... it was as if, she never lived without our folks.

living with two MEs

a strange feeling, sometimes a little weird, sometimes funny because of the complete opposites that get thrown up, at times outright boring because of the sheer repititiveness, other times a simply enjoyable pastime, and i am sure, this is no unique sitiuation, that i am not alone in this, that there are countless other loners who go through this and it is because they enjoy this dialogue, the two MEs grow, they are nourished, fed, bathed, clothed and let to live, only in the mind...

i call them my Big Me and my Small Me... the two guys who live inside me, relentlessly talking, talking in long soliloquies, or mono-sentences, as the mood is...

let's me recount one dialogue that has been happening for quite sometime now...



Big Me (BM): why blog?

Small Me (SM): why not? it feels good to let go of words and feelings that lie inside.

BM: words yes, feelings no. can i be open with feelings here?

SM: oh, you and open with feelings???? not possible, buddy... that is the because of your Spastic Colon, am i correct?

BM: behave yourself and i am not your buddy, understand... why talk irrelevant things? i was just raising a question and you have come out with an unrelated problem...

SM: i thought it was related... you are constipated in mind and body (the latter has resulted in the colon disorder)...ok, ok sorry, be less touchy...

BM: why blog?

SM: you are back to where you started... but as i said, i am all for telling what i feel, and care not for what others think about me...

BM: that is the reason why you and me are different, though we live in the same mind. that is the reason why your mental age does not increase and mine has never decreased, though we keep talking to each other.

SM: keep to the basics... mental age is a factor of the mind... i do not have one... but jokes aside, why aren't you writing? why are you not giving vent to what is inside you?

BM: call it a writer's block, a thinker's block, but there is some sort of a block and so many questions...

SM: like?

BM: i asked you one: why blog? rather how should one blog, since you have already answered my earlier question?

SM: what do you mean?

BM: how honest can one be? how honest should one be?

SM: for me, both are same... what i can do, i should do; what i can say, i should say...

BM: that is the reason why you are S and i am B... for me there is a yawning gap between should and can...i cannot do all that i should be doing; i should not do all that i can do...

SM: for once, keep your rhetorics aside and go write. just get off all the blocks and communicate with yourself loud. it's fine, it does not really matter that others might read your blog and read into your mind... all who come here to write, write with a view to getting a free mind... that is the idea.

BM: for starters, i will publish this dialogue... Yipee!!!

40 years back...

when i was roughly 2...
Umm, this emotion is universal, i guess...
i don't know whether the man here held another child or not; i guess he had...
but the care is so palpable... something that will never ever happen, and something i will miss perpetually...

and now the real answers... and how i now reside in Pluto

honestly, i was crest fallen with the earlier post... i hit a depression, cried and cried to friends (something that is really really difficult) and decided to speak to her... she said the earlier answers were JOKES and could i take them seriously??? i said, "Ok. then send me the correct, serious answers by mail. but no buttering." she instantly said, "i do not butter people, and in this i am like you and Pa."

and here are the real answers...

What is something I always say to you?
To be independent
** how well she has read me**

What makes me happy?
When im happy…so r u

What makes me sad?
When im sad…..so r u

** can i gloat a little over these two??**

How do I make you laugh?
Actually….im the funny one

Like?
Ummm….im not very funny….but I laugh at my own jokes…and some of yours too.

What do you think I was like as a child?
Honour student!!! Proud one at that

** Ma, r u hearing this??**

How old am I?
Ur a baby!!!!!! =)

How tall am I?
A bit shorter than me

**this is true**

What is my favourite thing to do?
Read….sleep….talk to me

What do I do when you’re not around?
Think of me??? Hahahahah….i don’t know….read?

If I become famous, what will it be for?
Writing a book…..you better get started

**i am hitting the rooftop, better tell the world that i do not fit here any more :))**

What am I really good at?
At giving pep talks

Really?
yes

What am I not really good at?
Your pretty much good at everything….mabye maths??

**my new address is Crater No. 10, Jupiter :)))))**

What is my job?
Journalist…mother…wife…daughter

** she is mistaken on the order... it is Journalist, Mother, Daughter, then Wife, but i will let that be, for her and her Pa's sake**

What is my favourite food?
Dal and rice

** she knows i am a proletariat with simple living, high thinking**

What makes you proud of me?
that you’re…..ummmm….independent

**folks, i am on Hillock No 581, Pluto**

What makes me proud of you?
Duh…that im ATRAYEE MUKHERJEE….that should make you proud enough!!

**it DOES, for sure**

What do you and I do together?
I explain to you about hannah montanna

How are we the same?
Looks wise

How are you and I different?
We have very different opinions…tastes

How do you know that I love you?
Because I just know

**Muaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah**

What is one thing you wish you could change about me?
Make you thinner

**we have the same wishlist :)) which will not materialise**

Now tell me what you feel about this... me and my fragile maternal ego will feel better...

read it, nonetheless

one book, after a long time, that i had to make an effort to get going. but i did not give up and it took exactly six weeks to be done with it. since i made the effort, i thought, i will write about it too.
this 194-page book is one continuous read, no breaks, no chapters, no segregation... the biggest drawback for a reader like me who reads a couple of chapters of a book on a day... and without this break, it was a little drudgery to go on.

but first a little background. if you have seen the link, it's clear why, though, being considered a foremost writer of the 2oth century, Woolf is a difficult read. One, the time is quite far back -- 84 years to be precise, published as it was in 1925. that however is little reason for its being difficult since the thought process is very contemporary. it is the use of language itself which is most important reason behind it being quite a toll on the reader.


i will quote a sample:

"For the great revolution of Mr. Willet's summer time had taken Peter Walsh's last visit to England. the prolonged evening was new to him. It was inspiring, rather. For as the young people went by with their despatch-boxes, awfully glad to be free, proud too, dunbly, of stepping this famous pavement, joy of a kind, cheap, tinselly, if you like, but all the same rapture, flushed their faces. They dressed well too; pink stockings; pretty shoes. They would now have two hours at the pictures. It sharpened, it refined them, the yellow-blue evening light; and on the leaves in the square shone lurid, livid -- they looked as if dipped in sea water -- the foliage of a submered city. He was astonished by the beauty; it was encouraging too, for where the returned Anglo-Indian sat by rights (he knew crowds of them) in the Oriental Club biliously summing up the ruin of the world, here was he, as young as ever; envying young people their summer time and the rest of it, and more than suspecting from the words of a girl, from a housemaid's laughter -- intangible things you couldn't lay your hands on -- that shift in the whole pyramidal accumulation which in his youth had seemed immovable..."




all the above, within quotes, is one half of a para, spanning one and a half pages. that is on the negative since today, we are more comfortable with this, the 140-character magic.


on the positive, look at the myraid streams of thought that Woolf captures, all of it in one mind -- Peter Walsh, Mrs Dalloway's ex-boyfriend, who has come for the party that she throws at her London mansion. And the 194-page novella just talks about this one day, the day of the party, from morning till night, with about 2% printed space given to dialogues.

if you are patient, read it. if you want to unravel layers of thought in a mind at any point in time, read it. if London fascinates you, read it.

the difficult teen? or the overweening Mom?

The tag is from here and only for her sake have i gone ahead and published this. BTW, i sent the questions by mail and she replied...



What is something I always say to you?
“if u get gud marks mi bank balance wont increase”


What makes me happy?
Ummmmm….gud marks??


What makes me sad?
Bad marks??


How do I make you laugh?
Ur not funny at all


Like?
Whts dat supposed to mean?


What do you think I was like as a child?
Bukworm??


How old am I?
43…in other words really old!!


How tall am I?
Shorter dan me


What is my favourite thing to do?
Sleep??


What do I do when you’re not around?
Sleep??


If I become famous, what will it be for?
Being hitler’s incarnation….


What am I really good at?
Bossing people


Really?
Yup!!


What am I not really good at?
Ummm….evrything xcept bossing people


What is my job?
Irritating people…nd bossing them


What is my favourite food?
Mango?


What makes you proud of me?
Nuthin!!


What makes me proud of you?
Gud marks?


What do you and I do together?
U irritate me…I shout at u!!


How are we the same?
Onli luks wise


How are you and I different?
Evry other way


How do you know that I love you?
I don read minds!!


What is one thing you wish you could change about me?
Ummm…nuthin!!!



... now you know why i was sure a e-mail would work and a face-to-face would not?

12 years back

R at 1 yr 7 mths...
the father looks younger too!

i am looking forward to a long break...

... and all i want is great food, home-cooked and planned by Ma, late mornings when i can not only wake up late, but also brush for 10 minutes, have a hot cuppa of nicely brewed Darjeeing tea, glaze over the headlines of The Statesman, The Telegraph and The Times of India, in exactly the same order, have breakfast at leisure with Ma and R, and listen to all that Ma has to say, tell her my points of view and slip into bed for a small rest...

... to be broken by umpteen reminders for a bath... followed by yum food, a short siesta, tea again, then the trio, spread across three generations goes socialising or have guests drop over, or bro, sis-in-law and nephew join in for a loud get-together where more time goes in giggling and trying to stop the children fight than reach any conclusion in what we are trying to discusss, followed by dinner and late night chit-chats, catching up of old gossip, and slipping off to slumber amidst all the side-pillows...

but such days, i know for sure, will be few and far between, they will be peppered with more work, mindless socialising and phone calls, though i have tried to tell Ma that this time on, i am not going to make any phone calls, not go visiting anyone...

she has mastered the art of diplomacy quite well, so says, "don't worry, I am not even going to suggest such things to you", but i know the ease with which she will mention people whom she wants me to call/visit and leave the decision to me... and i will do what she wants... when she sees, i am not yielding, she will drop a hint, "you will know how i am feeling when once R comes visiting and she does not call on anyone, like B (bro), for instance." and she will have the better of me... this has been the story for the past 18 years... and we seem to just carry on being the same...

Mom-to-Mom tag

Umm tagged me and here's my take on mommy-ing and why it is sooooo difficult.

1. The challenges change every day. One day's peace does not guarantee the next day's; one day's challenge met, does not make the next day's easier.

2. There are no recipe's for easy success.

3. Forgiving is no effort, but it gets a little difficult when one has to continuously go on doing it.

4. When outsiders praise the child for her discipline, for her controlled reactions, for the way she carries herself, my constant reaction is, "If you can the same things about her 10 years on, I'll know that it is a job well done." But inside, deep inside the chest swells. Ms Pride at work! but is thumped instantly.

5. Parenting has a nice, little prefix: TACT, all caps, bold, in shining colour and the tact is seen through very easily by the child, so one goes on racking the brain constantly.

I could go on, but since 5 is the number, I stop.

BTW, just read this lady's blog in case you guys feel like...

my heart breaks to do this...

... i have to.

i have to sell it, since there is going to be no future use of it... the flat that i pined for, the one that i eventually bought, after much searching, after much planning, after much of calculations, after checking out many others, after really scrounging for every penny that i had saved out of my own salary, my own labour, my own thinking, my own brains...

... and each article, from the curtains to the cushions, from the knick-knacks to the wall paint, from the furniture in each room to the mug in the washrooms, from the lights and the fans (no there is no AC in the flat), i had been involved in, i had decided, i had paid for... and we have lived there on and off, but i do not see myself going back there...

now 11 years after i had bought it, i am thinking of selling it off... for one, this is a fourth floor lift-less flat, so no way i see myself in old age, trudging all of 78 steps to reach my little nest... and B has bought another one for us, and constantly keeps referring to that flat as "your home"... that is the closest he can get to telling me, "my gift for you"... earlier, i used to rebuff him and say "that flat i am not paying for, so it is not mine." but since he hasn't heeded to my message, i decided to heed to his... and i now refer to his flat as mine and the bugger inside has already started planning the colour of the wall paints, the lights that could be used to increase the impact of space, the kitchen cabinets, the cupboards that will have to be made, the colour of the curtains... and sometimes, very very rarely, i try to take R into confidence when she comes up with her own vision of her room...

but let me tell you one sure fact, that though i have an unearned home, a home that my husband of 18+ years has "gifted" me, the decision to sell "my own, my very own flat", is a painful decision to have arrived at... and that is one reason that i have kept postponing the ensuing vacation, i have waited 19 months from the last time i have gone just to make sure that i will finally pass it off to some other dreamer...

what is this space for?

big question mark...

but no one single answer since different individuals, different reasons for being here, different ways of looking at things, differing reactions to a similar thing, virtual dialogue... endless reasons, endless possibilities, and endless virtual kicks (positive and negative).

most people, including your truly, are here just to write their minds out... they are open with just about everything, from sex to love for their spouses/partners, their children, their hurt with someone/something, some experience that they have had, which could have instigated a thought process in their minds, and the readers giving their viewpoints in the comments which, many a times, could take on a tangent from where it all started.

here we can cry a little (without the inner me, Ms Ego telling booing us), laugh aloud, resort to virtual shoulders for a little support, get a little cushion, complain and yet not offend someone, complain and offend someone, and move on... this is just like the personal diary of yore, but one that is virtual and open to others, one in which we welcome opinions, give our own, whether asked or not, agree, agree to disagree since there is no such thing as the courtesy of consensus.
to me, this place is to just vent, though sometimes one does feel constrained since some of you even know me in person... :)))

till date, however, i really have not come across one topic -- openness about an extra-marital affair, though i myself and many others i read have written about a crush here, a nice feeling there, a harmless flirt somewhere else. even in the virtual world, this is something we do not want to risk talking about... some sanctity somewhere? or plain cowardice? not made my mind up.

what i miss most... and am making peace with...

...the touch

...the feel

...the smell

...the baby-saliva laced kisses

...the tug at my nightdress

...the chained feeling while on bed when one can't move even if one has to

...the hugs

...the demands on my time

...the baby cries

...the sound of baby feet

...the rooms with toys strewn around

...the bed jostled

...the madness of wakeful nights

...the pining for my time

...the queer look in one pair of eyes if i decked up

...the smile when i came home, almost running, after work

...the tiny hands that could pull me out of every low feeling

...the silence of the house when she slept

...the joy in her small steps, first words, first call, first solid food...

...yet, i know this is what i wanted, FREEDOM... to be my own self, to be mistress of my time, to be able to read and read without interruption, to be able to sleep peacefully, and at one go, to be able to go shopping without having to stop since someone was hungry.

this is possibly what human nature is all about. it is all about missing what one no longer has but pine for something else when one has it, without realising that the empty feeling is more difficult to deal with than a 24-hour day when someone else calls the shots...

tragically, i feel my ribs crushing when she comes home and goes into her room without making eye contact... clearly an indication of telling me "leave me alone", of a silent way of asking for more space, of the silence she does not want to break, of the embargo on hugs, of, at times, angry moods, of limited periods of loud laughter, of slipping into a book which, i know, she is not concentrating on, of slouching in front of the tele without telling me how her day has been, of so many other small nuances, which only affects me since possibly i know her the best (or do i?)...

these are not really problems, these are not really issues, considering that many other kids give a tougher time to their parents, but these are things which, when one has to live through 24x7, 365 days, one gets sentimental about, and expecially a problem for someone like me, who tries to be reasonable and rational most of the times, cutting out emotions, trying to find reasons which explain a particular behaviour, alter the instigator (if i am the cause), make peace with what comes, if not the first time around, at least slowly... and it is this "slowly" that is causing so much of a problem since the phase of creating a distance is just not ending... what began as one-off has really become a pattern, with the one-off being the very occasional thawing of the ice that solidifies as soon as it has melted...

it is lovely to be able to spend a whole evening with books, but quite painful if one has to do it because there are just vacant spaces everywhere to deal with...

what the Grand Old Man had said...

... i get to know after 18+ years...

The man in question is my paternal grandpa who was a doctor, had nine children through his two wives (my father being the eldest of his children and I am his first born)... this man was the only man whom i have seen my father love and love unconditionally. he was the man whom my father told everything; even things my Mom did not know, this man knew... so when my wedding with B was fixed, my Dad told B, "I have one request to make and that is, you will need to meet my parents."

i had never heard my Dad refer to his step-mother so. He always called her endearingly, "Ma-go" (which literally means nothing, but means 'My Mom', and meant a lot to LM, my step-grandmother).

now, i was not particularly fond of Dr M because he was extremely patriarchal, a quality i detest and detested from birth. another reason i did not quite like was the fact that despite having three sons (my father and his two younger brothers), he remarried when my grandmother, SM, died of child-birth of placenta previa, something i had after R was born and i had never seen two men, B and Dad, as worried...

al these are not the point of this post, but what the Grand Old Man told B when he went meeting them is. and how did i get to know this and when is what this post is about...

i was cooking a while back... and B comes to the kitchen and says, "Minus SM -- your grandmother's -- attitude, you are quite a good wife." This is not B, i thought... Has chicken pox infected his brain?

I turned back at him and asked, a little stunned, "Have you met SM?" He was in no mood to answer but i would not buy his silence. after much cajoling, he said, "your grandfather had told me when i met him before our wedding, 'You are marrying someone who is the apple of my eye. My eldest grandchild, she is a lady of strong likes and dislikes, very much like her Grandmother, my first wife, the lady who shared my life for six short years, sired three sons but who taught me what value honesty holds in life. She was a lady of attitude and this lady you are marrying, has inherited this trait in full measure. Take good care of her...'"

i was stunned since in 18+ years, B has never told me what went on behind the closed door meeting that he had with Dr M...

many thought have passed my mind since then...

1. have i correctly juged my own Grandfather? or was i harsh on him in my mind?

2. does B know SM better than i do? I had never heard anything about her from Dad who never mentioned her. whenever he talked, he talked about his Ma-go, never about his Ma... though the three brothers were wholly reared by my Dad's maternal grandparents, SM's parents. and the closest i got to seeing her was in the lone photo of hers in Dr M's bedroom, a photo which still hangs there in loneliness...

3. what more did Dr M tell B? I did not want to ask any more questions... my heart was already heavy with what i heard...

4. why did B keep this to himself? had he promised so?

one comment... but so very heavy...

wonder recipe

honey-laced cornflakes dipped in condensed milk... super duper taste...

if i could...

1. i would become a carefree girl again
2. i would get wet in the rain
3. i would eat roadside food and fall sick
4. i would think about the man i would love
5. i would not write any exams
6. i would visit each of the houses i have stayed in as a child and see if they are the same as i left them
7. i would sleep late every day
8. i would throw my mobile without a care in the world
8. i would own a library and just spend my days reading
9. i would stand on Mt Everest and look at the world
10. i would become a space tourist and not come back to Earth
11. i would reverse the clock exactly 11 years back and not let go of my Dad...
12. i would have a baby again and i would just go on cuddling her/him
13. i would be on perpetual leave, but go on getting the salary
14. i would stand in snow
15. i would get drunk and remain that way without drinking
16. i would think and it would get written
17. i would be on a perpetual holiday
18. i would swim the English Channel
19. i would live in Paris
20. i would have all the upmarket perfumes
21. i would wish a dress and it would be mine, with accessories
22. i would love without any expectations
23. i would have young parents
24. i would go home for lunch everyday to Mom's shukto, dhoka, chitol macher muitha, gokul pitha, pati sapta
25. i would watch all the soaps and not find them ridiculous
26. i would be less critical of people
27. i would weigh my ideal weight
28. i would run on Corniche every day, without fail, for half an hour
29. i would meet all my childhood friends and chat away
30. i would make international calls for free
...may be continued

trying to play the perfect woman

... is not my cup of tea... i am more un-feminine than feminine... i speak my mind loud and clear, i do not really love cooking, i do not "show" care (if i do care for someone, s/he knows it), i am very independent, i am strong, i rarely break-down and even if i do, it is very very private... in a word, i do not seem to show emotions at all, except my anger...

but some situations in life are such when one has to switch shoes and become a lady... (i know i sound funny)... and here i am, cooking all meals, cleaning, washing, tending to the dreamer, keeping a bored R company, and all this, while i am working from home...

believe me, it is difficult to see the person whom one has known for the entire adult life (more than half of my life really!) suffer, suffer silently and not complain, trying to be as independent as possible, giving me as much cushion as he can...

it is difficult... not because i need to be doing all this alone, not because energy levels are low (i am a born fighter so when circumstances are difficult, i am perfect), but because i cannot concentrate on the three books that i am reading, i cannot do all that i love doing... foremost among them, think, look at the sky and get lost, drive around the city, sit at my work-station in office, sip wine, laze around... in a word, being MYSELF...

and guess what, my Mom made out that something was wrong with me when she called to check how we were, since i had missed calling her... and though i flatly denied that something was wrong, she hung up, saying, "my gut feel tells me that something is wrong, but if you do not want to say, i respect that as well."
didn't i say, Moms are Moms...

PS: one major source of support have been our colleagues... mine have sent across food, called umpteen times to check how we are faring... as they say, in an alein land, it is a new family that one gets...

fascinating tale, told well

The Mahabharat is no mean tale... it captures every single emotion of life and what strikes is its applicability to this day and time... it also has the Bhagavat Gita within its womb...
Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni is a master story teller... she weaves her logic, her viewpoint and her world view into this novel... that, of course, is the storyteller's perspective, but what one loves about this tale is its interpretation...
this is the Mahabharat from Draupadi's perspective, in her first person... and what a tale she tells... nothing is new, we have heard about the story, the various phases of her life and death... but every page is gripping and one really lays down the book after one is through...
i am not a lover of mythical tales... i would rather stay away from these... but this one was an exception.
two things struck me the most: one, Draupadi's first and unfulfilled love, Karna (and the interpretation in my mind till i read this, thanks to Nathbati Anathbath so long was that Draupadi was in love with Arjun); two and more important, that Draupadi from birth was a lady in her own right (she did not believe that women deserved any less in life)... whether the latter is a matter of Divakaruni's view, I cannot say, but i loved the novel more for that... read it, sure!

unlike any other

it takes deep deep maturity to churn out something like Mister Pip... the first confession i have to make is that, this novel is totally unlike any other i have read... it is a different writing genre altogether... it talks of a different geography, it talks of different types of people, it talks of a different lifestyle... but that is hardly what sets it apart...

Matilda, the narrator, could have been any girl, anywhere... her love for language, her love for Charles Dickens and her respect for her teacher, Mr Watts... all of this is global, perfectly identifiable... in fact, her whole relationship with her mentor could have reflections in our own lives... touching is what the description is, but nowhere mushy, nowhere gone overboard...

storytelling is an art and all do not have it... that Lloyd Jones has it in abundant measure is just the tip of the iceberg... in Matilda, he has captured a timeless individual who is not trapped by geography to appeal to anyone who loves the printed word...

my tribute to Mister Jones is that I am already on Chapter 3 of Great Expectations, the first time after I read it in school... and i can see Matilda all over... i am also retreiving so many fragments, so many bits of the story i read long back...

how i escaped a fight

... with B, who else?

had been to the exchange to send some money, somewhat a fixed routine at the end of the month. and most of the times, B is there with me...

this time around, since he did not need to send, i went alone... and B was not aware. i walk in to the scheduled counter and it was empty... "I save 15 minutes from my set time," i thought to myself and as i was taking the last transaction paper, for the man at the counter, to get my account details, he said, "Yes, Mrs A...".

i was surprised, nay stunned. how the hell did the non-descript man, doing a boring job, remember my name, amongst the all such people who come here much more regularly?

he looks too routine to muster up the courage to flirt... and certainly not with me... i went on with the transaction, with a look of not having noticed that he mentioned my name, a matter-of-fact expression...

but for once I was happy that B had not accompanied me, though i sometimes do mention that there have been times when i have handled things alone and routinely do... for once, i thanked his almost-12-hour job, five days a week...

had he been there, i know his instant reaction would be a hardening of the jaws, followed by the cool jibes later...

can there be silent tears?

yes, very much... and today, i experienced this...
and it is she who brought in the tears... of joy (at having met a rare human being), of connection (with a woman of substance) and of pride (that i had spotted her while having gone for an innocuous Press Conference, one more of them that i keep attending regularly), .

She is a Robotics Professor, at Carnegie Mellon University, Pittsburg and was here on a special mission, though she does run a Lab here in the Doha campus... that is her profession, something she felt impelled to do right from childhood...

what touched me was two things: her pride (possibly because i have it in liberal doses myself) and she did say, "I do not like being told what I am not good at... so when men at the University told me women are no good at Science, I had to do it simply because I had to prove them wrong."
her love and passion for doing good to humanity at large (here, i have a firm belief, if one is not innately good oneself, the doing good feeling will never ever strike)... as a Robotics Prof, she could just have stuck herself at the Lab (s) and been a great professor, there are umpteen such profs... but the fact remains, she has moved beyond that and has been involved in helping blind students across less developed countries, to name one of her projects... and she is not ashamed to "beg" (her own words) for getting funds...

that she has done these is because her mission was in her marrows... her Mum told her six children, "I want you all to change the world"... so she is oath bound to her Mum...

I am happy to have spent 35 minutes with her and thank my job for giving me the chance to come in contact with great human beings and indulge in their company, journo that I am...

a new path

of late, i have been going through a phase of soul searching...

soul searching on: do i have more things than i require? is it becasue of a lack of respect for what i have? do i buy stuff just because i fancy them at that point and then rethink the decision of buying and never use the stuff i have bought? have i become a hoarder?

while i could not agree with the idea that i do not have respect for what i buy, i agreed with the fact that i have done impulse buying... and also the fact that i have not used my stuff rationally... i have just stored things i know i will not use...

but i have stored them because i did not know what to do with them... clothes that i will not wear, or clothes that i have grown tired of wearing, utensils that are just lying around in dark corners of the kitchen cupboards, shoes that i do not like anymore or am uncomfortable wearing, clothes that R has grown out of, things she does not like wearing, or shoes she bought thinking that she liked them, but actually did not...

while i have told myself, "whet before you buy", i have told R, "we will buy you things only when you need them..."

because she is still young and has listened to what i told her, without questions about whether i am doing it myself, i know pretty well that i should practise what i teach her...

and i have found an answer of what to do with the stuff... GIVE THEM OUT, without remorse...

i have given out four boxes of clothes, one bag of toys and some of R's shoes... and let me tell you, I FEEL LIGHTER, I FEEL HAPPIER...

while that is true of my Doha home, in my next visit to India, i need to just give away stuff there... one cupboard of sarees, to top the list...

only then will i feel completely LIGHT. and this time, i mean business.

a little piece of history

while fishing for my certificates yesterday evening I laid my hand on this letter...
it lay on my workstation when i resumed after my maternity leave in March 1996...
Great men come out in the style in which they appreciate... this was the best appreciation i ever got in my professional life and I hold it very dear.

bringing up Mommy

in the midst of a meeting, i suddenly see my mobile ring and guess who was calling: Mom. she now has a roaming mobile and the call was to tell me that she had reached Nainital where she has gone with her friends for a vacation... she'll also be visiting Almora and Ranikheth...
i ran out of the meeting, took her call and spoke briefly...
as the call ended and i was headed back to the meeting room, my mind raced back to those days... those days of gloom... those days when suddenly i became responsible for Mom, without any warning, without any foretelling, without any sign of things to come...
and the "those" days were when Dad passed away... R was two year five months, i had a very demanding job with a 10-hour day, B was awaiting his transfer from Mumbai to Kolkata, while i had already taken the transfer...
to top it all, Mom was now alone in a two-storey house, not knowing how to fill her days and nights, not knowing where to sign on a cheque to withdraw cash, not knowing what and how much to cook for herself, not knowing why her husband had left her alone, with a busy daughter and a son who had to get back to his place of posting...

i literally stretched the days, day after day, to pack in more... my job had to be attended to with a lot of details since the financial institution i worked for was raising public money and i was looking after that in Kolkata, R needed me, Mom was helpless without me ( i called four times an hour to keep her occupied) and i was staying with B's family at that stage, which had its own set of demands, though not tall...

my day began early, at 5.30.
6-7 was driving class.
7-7.30 -- with Mom over morning tea
7.30-8 -- pack R to school
8-8.30 -- get ready for work
8.30-9.15 -- commute to work
9.15-6 -- work
6-7 -- commute back from work
7-7.30 -- with Mom over evening tea
7.30-9 -- R time
9-9.30 -- dinner with R
9.30-10 -- put R to bed and doze off

and in all the calls i kept making, i was trying to address the fact that she had to continue her life, she had to be able to manage herself, she had to make a new structure for her day, she had to stop depending on anyone (even me, though i did not have the heart to tell her that)...

it was almost like having two daughters all at once, one young in age and needing care and one older, needing compassion...

i started taking her to the banks to get her money in place, got her pension sorted and started, make an Excel sheet of her investments, got her started on a Library membership so that she could spend her time reading...

three years passed exactly in the routine above, only change, we had our first owned home and shifted in... B got an offer in Delhi and was not sure whether i could leave Mom alone and come with him. i assured him i would... i wanted Mom to grow up, be independent and live her life...

i left for Delhi, she saw me off with a blank look... but i knew in my heart of hearts that she would carry on...

and she has...

could have been better

this is Hisham Matar's first novel... written well, but could have been better, considering the fact that it had been shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize.
living in an Arab country and working with Arabs gives a distinct edge while reading Arab authors since it makes the task of understanding the way they use language and clears a lot of cloud on their thinking process... this thought stayed with me as i turned page after page of Matar's book...
the story is one of Suleiman, a nine-year-old boy who, as the protagonist is trying to make sense of the adult world around him... his parents' world, where the mother gives in to secret drinking binges, when the father is away 'on business'...
this is woven in and around with Slooma (Suleiman's nick name) friends, Kareem, the son of Ustath Rashid, who is publicly executed, for opposing the regime in power in Libya in 1979. the execution forces Slooma's mother to go and beg with a neighbour to help release her husband who is also part of the same political group...
till this story segment, the narration is detailed...
when Slooma is sent off to Cairo by his parents to help him carve out a life of better possibilities, it seemed that Matar is in a hurry to end the book... the detailed narration becomes sketchy... and somehow ends, with a touching reunion between mother and son in Cairo...
the imagery if powerful, the story is good, but narration falls short at the end...

a smooth glide

one of the best contemporary Indian writers in English, Jhumpa Lahiri's Unaccustomed Earth is very powerful in the images that she draws for her audience...
in this, she almost weilds a magic paintbrush and paints vividly, with a deft combination of thick and thin strokes, choosing appropriate colours as she goes on finetuning the imagery. Each of the characters, whether present in her stories or not -- Romi, for instance in the first story, from which the book derives its name, is not really present in the canvas, but is there in the readers' mind -- is most likey to remain with them for a long time.
there is a certain subtelty in Lahiri's prose, a certain hold that she establishes almost from the start over the reader which, while giving them the freedom to get inside the book and exploring the minds of each of the characters, does not let go of her/him until the book is over.
each story in this collection is on the lives of Bengali immigrants in the US. the rootlessness is stark in the second generation and is brought out by Lahiri so very clearly... here, possibly because she herself is a second generation immigrant, Lahiri can empathise so well with Kaushik and Hema (in Hema And Kaushik, a short novella, within the collection, written in a unique format) or Sudha and Rahul (the brother-sister duo in Only Goodness).
For me, the last mentioned was the best story in this collection... it brought back so many autobiographical similarities to the fore which i thought, i had simply forgotten...

Chaitra sale and a crucial decision i made early on

this month in our calendar is called Chaitra... the last month before the New Year (Nababarsha), which falls either on 14th or 15th of April each year...
and every year at this time, there is a clearance sale of garments... from shops to footpath stalls (i would not know about malls that have sprung up now), every shop that sells clothes, offers a sale...
shops are choc-a-bloc with buyers since customers suddenly become more trusting when it comes to goods offered on sale, mostly women, who buy for an entire household... there is (was, to be more apt since i am talking about 18 years back, when i left Kolkata, interspersed with two brief stays in between) a custom of gifts to youngsters and people who come helping at home on Nababarsha...
whether goods really become cheaper on sale, i have no idea... what i am convinced about is that the quality of goods genuinely suffer...
if one can go on the first few days, one lands up buying quality stuff at bargain prices, made more attractive with saree clad Bong housewives who, gloat over their bargaining skills with the shopkeepers, in mid-day scorching sun...

as i write this, i re-experience the numerous occasions when i accompanied Mom in her exploits, shopping for Nababarsha... money was limited, she made a long list, edited it to delete items which she thought would not make it through Dad who would not look at the list, but would allocate the funds for them...
if the going was good, she would be allocated all that she asked for... if not, she would have to be happy with what Dad thought was appropriate...

i vividly remember the little victory she scored when the amount was okayed... or the little hurt on her face when it was not... and it is the latter that had convinced me the need to be independent financially so that i could go impulse shopping, if i needed to...

i saw the same victory on her face when she was here with us last year and i was out with her, she next to me on my modest car, bought with my own modest means... but there again, it was laced with a thin film of tears in her large eyes (my large eyes are from her) on two counts... of joy that her daughter has done what she could not; of sorrow that her husband did not live to see what she has...

i don't know which of the emotions was primary, though...

our parenting, their parenting 2

the new academic year is about to start, so evenings are spent in covering exercise books... thankfully, books have been given with a lamination... so no sweat over them...
despite being shown how to do it, R has not yet mastered covering books... she will do a ramshackle job and stuff the books in, if pushed to do it...
while it is no rocket science and there is no genuine skill involved in covering books, we (bro and me) were thrown into doing things beyond a certain age... i cannot recollect when exactly i started doing these things on my own, but i remember vaguely that it must have been when i was in 4th/5th, not later... and R is in 8th now...
i cannot sulk at home... B does not like it...
so here i am, tapping out at the keyboard, but in my heart of hearts, i know the reason why R is not yet into things i used to... my over-protectiveness... i can see the smirk on many of your faces... and i know i need to work on this...
let's see how well i manage that...

our parenting, their parenting

today was the end of one more year from R school... she's now in 8th... has done reasonably ok, can do better. but that is not what i want to talk about...

she was with me when i was applying for her TC and i could feel the quiver of her lips... the quiver became stronger as we moved towards the parking lot and she made a silent refusal to sit next to me, choosing to sit behind... i let her and as i started off, she looked behind at her school -- where she studied two plus years, years that have seen her grow from an unsure preteen to a surer teen, years that gave her new friends (not all of whom were correct, but some good ones too), years that have dotted our relationship with small and bigger disagreements... and i could see the tears rolling down her cheeks...

i had to concentrate on the car, but my eyes burned... i can't cry any more, and have severe dry eyes... but seeing her cry made me want to... i bought her Krispy Kreme donuts, hugged her and while leaving for work again, she broke down in my arms... i held her tight while she sobbed and unconsciously i said, "You are a big girl now, you need to be strong in the face of separations," and lo, my mind went back to 1974...

Mom had to leave me alone to attend to her ailing mother... the reason i could not be taken was: my final exams for 3rd. so i stayed on in a friend's home (very near ours), attended school, shed silent tears at night and kept waiting for Dad to come back after dropping Mom and bro. On a Friday, as i came back from school, our driver came and asked my friend's Mom to let me come with him, since Dad was back. she refused saying, "let her have a little food and then she'll come." i insisted that i wasn't hungry but she would have none of it... so i gobbled the food and ran downhill, home bound... while running, i could see Dad waiting for me, the sun setting behind him... and i straight landed between his legs... as he picked me up, i broke down, sobbing just like R did today. Dad held me tight in his chest which sucked all my pain out... and he told me, "You are a big girl now, you need to be strong in the face of separations."

certain things don't change... certain things we can't unlearn... certain things die only with us... but one thing remains constant: the love for one's child and the fear that the child will not be able to face the world alone.

when the husband has no time for the home...

... is it a sign of a deeper malady?

Warning: this post may seem very one-sided...

wives are routine complainers (i do not know whether this term really exists)... but many husbands look at their wives as people who are never happy, as people who would want a mile if given an inch... and so on...

such wives (yes, they are a different club, altogether and i am not a part of this wives' club, so i am calling them "such wives"), would not mind monthly purchases of gold and diamonds, go shopping to the silk store on getting an SMS that new stocks have arrived, make hot food every meal, rear real nice kids who dote on the mother, who find no time to groom themselves, have tomes to talk about (and all negatives) about the husband's family (as if their own have descended straight from God's kitchen), prefer being called Mrs A-Z (depending on the husband's initials), who do not drive (because they want their husbands to chaffeur them to the cloak, if possible)... but also want their husbands back home pronto at 4 pm, not wondering where the money to buy gold, diamonds and silks will come from.

i met one such wife yesterday and in 15 minutes, she not only shopped around like crazy -- four similar looking tops and one pair of Jeans was all she could gorge on (time was limited, you see), she publicly showed that she had a raging fight with the husband since he does not have time for her and her son, though she did not mind asking her husband for his debit card when the payment was due.

she basks in the glory of two international holidays that the husband affords for the family every year, three annual visits to Doha (the family is in the process of migrating to the UK, so she and her son live in London), a sprawling home each in two cities, but the complain was -- "M does not have time for us... and back in London my friends feel, he does not give me priority over work."

i felt like screaming: how will he, if he has to afford all that he has to???

i struggled to swallowed one small suggestion i have: look at yourself inside and out and be honest when you answer the question: does my husband find me interesting enough? as someone who can engage in some sane issue-based discussion, apart from shopping?
afterall, the appeal of hot food and great sex gets levelled over time... what sticks on is the ability of striking up a conversation in the dead of night, within a tight hug...

what price success?

i do not know why the hell i am so worked up... it is someone else's life, someone else's career, someone else's choice, someone else's exclusion... so why am i fretting and fuming?

a lady i know is the country manager of one global PR firm here...exquisite looking, driving a BMW, her life could have been the fancy of any female...
she was happily single when i first met her, two years back. she got engaged, married and is pregnant with her first kid...

soon after i congratulated her on her pregnancy, and asked where she planned to have the baby, she said, "i am going to my Mum and will come back in three months without the baby, leaving her with my Mum."

My face must have ashened... so she consoled me and said, "it is a short-term arrangement... will get her back here as soon as i am able to handle both work and her..."

my unasked question was: how the hell will you know that you can handle both, if she is not here?

do you have answers? i don't...

R's 7th school

she started in 1998, with a play school called Stepping Stone, on February 2, 1998, in Kolkata.
Next was Pratt Memorial School, from April 2000 to September 2001, Kolkata.Next came Ramjas School, October 2001 to March 2003, New Delhi.
Auxilium Convent School, April 2003 to March 2005, Kolkata.
Indian School Muscat, April 2005 to October 2006.
Ideal Indian School, November 2006 to March 2009, Doha.
DPS, Doha, April 2009 onwards.
all other school changes were a result of our city/country movements... so she had no choice...
this is the only time she has chosen... and we did not feel like saying no... hope she has made the correct choice...

the time of the day i like most

weekdays, between 6.55 am and 7.30 am, when i am alone in the office. it's an early start to the day, with the alarm going off at 5 am (and to be honest, i hate it). but that sets the tone of the day ahead. have a quick shower, a hasty breakfast and we (R and me) are off to school... it is not only negotiating traffic, but also having a peek at her, next to me, when only i get to see her and none else... and the thing i yearn most, is to be seated on my desk at work, set the routine of the day, start ticking off the tasks that have been completed and do a little planning ahead...

weekends, when there is a long weekend, which is two times a month... on a Saturday, morning, 8.45 am to 11 am... when i am home alone... R is off to her Maths classes and B to a weekly meeting with the corporate bosses. i generally check mails, reply to important ones, start cooking, have a long bath... and write on this space... generally contented and not asking for too much is the mood of this time...

both of the times, i am alone... and i really don't know, if this is normal or not, but i feel happiest when i am alone... and i never ever feel lonely.

i am sorry, R

this is escapism, i know... but i have to get it out of myself... and once i am home, i will say sorry to you, my child...
i shouldn't have screamed at you when you wanted a Coke, after coming back from school today.
i was rushing for my next assignment and had to be there by 1 pm. it was past 12.30, when you suddenly realised that you wanted a Coke...
i was restrained initially, but when the nearby shop, even after a phone call, did not deliver the can, i burst out... then to make up for the lapse, ran and got the can myself... left for the assignment, had a very nice interview, came back to work...
and when i called you from work, your tone was normal... despite being screamed at, despite being told that you were harassing me, you kept your cool...
and that is when i started feeling more rotten...
i really am sorry... and will try not to repeat this ever... and i love you veeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy much, muaah...

dinner smelt of Raju tai

as i cooked the green moong curry, i could sense a familiar aroma, but knew after a while that it was part of an embedded memory from long time back... with memory cells ageing, i could not place the smell...
i shoved the thought and carried on, kneading the flour for methi paratha...
i actually have started liking my cooking sojourns... i plan ahead, and quite like myself in the kitchen, like an adept cook... for one, over the more than two months, i have forced myself into this habit, but would not have dared to venture, if i was not sure with and of myself...
so when the moong was almost cooked, i asked R to taste... to see if the salt was ok, if it needed more water, etc. she tasted and instantly said, "salt needed... but where have i taken this before?"
my doubt was sealed... it was after R came along and before we left Mumbai...
and bang, the image of Raju tai flashed on the mind's eye, the extremely efficient lady who could have been a corporate boss had life willed it that way, with a big red bindi on her forehead, a warm smile, armed with an umbrella and strutting in her starched cottons from home to home, spreading comfort for 18 hours a day to run her own family...
she was one blessing that i had in my last leg of Mumbai stay, when we moved next door to R's creche so that she need not have been carted in an auto in the monsoon (those who are familiar with Mumbai will realise the ferocity of the city's monsoons)... Mrs Nadkarni, R's Mamma (that was what all the creche mates called her) was next door... she ran the creche and looked after at least 20 kids of various ages... from three months to 10 years...
she offered Raju tai when she saw me struggling with R's food...
and there was no looking back... Raju tai would come early in the morning to cook R and B's lunch (menu decided by her), take R's daily bag to the creche. she would come back again whenever she had the time and we had given her the keys to the flat...
so many evenings when i came home from work and got back R in my tired limbs, i found dinner cooked and left on the dining table, ready to be eaten...
Raju tai was also my interpreter for all the Marathi that R picked up at the creche... so she told me what R meant when she said, "mandi paar" (come to my lap) or "Mamma la sangu kai mi?" (should i tell Mamma what you have done?)...
and it is Raju tai who cooked green moong with methi paratha...
where are you Raju tai?