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?

piners and whiners

all of our lives are like this lady's... with multiple choices laid out in all segments... but many do not know which road to take and always pine "if only i had taken the other road..." -- these are one kind of people, the piners, i call them but what i like about them is the thought of exploring "the other road".
and there are many such piners since it takes all kinds to make this world, but that really is rationalising and i certainly am in no mood to rationalise the varied kinds of people...
i would love to only meet and interact with people who have made clear choices, personal or professional, but that seems a tall wish list, since i constantly keep meeting those who, having taken a call, are not able to handle it, and whine on the way, a sure sign of having taken a decision, not having mulled it in the mind and coming out confused during the journey and after it.

i have known women and men who are diehard professionals, who literally stayed in office (mark that I have not used the word "work") for 12-14 hours a day, travelled 15 days a month, politicked hard to battle all the possible contenders and sat plum on company boards, enjoyed fat salaries and strategised to make their benefits fatter around the coming appraisal. but they seemed happy with the choice they had made -- they had children and families, but they had clearly chosen between professional success and personal happiness and the logic was -- professional success is more important. so all they did was to attain that professional success, held onto it and bettered their control over their own lives and those around them and lo, they came out in flying colours. in a word, they knew what they were doing. so i like them.

what i have never liked and still don't are the confused in-betweens, the quarter-baked professionals... who want all the professional control that the likes i described above have, who also stay in office longer than most, but whine after that on the things they are not able to do otherwise... how do you rationalise these kinds? who will tell them that if you choose one, the other will have to be given up?
afterall success comes for a price and if one is willing to pay that price, success is theirs.

there is always the other road... a little bit of professional success and loads of perceived personal happiness, and the price is "Little Bit of Professional Success"...

do i need to tell you which one i have chosen?

stray scenes from the grocery

Inro:
endless crowd, being Friday evening... entire Doha was at FFC (Family Food Centre), the weekly ritual that every family has in getting there with as long a list as possible, shop till one drops and get home.
parking is a nighmare, so are all the counters, of stacked foodstuff to the vegeatble and fish section and the bakery... all of this crowd negotiation, is neatly punctuated by some odd acquaintance, with some equally odd querry about exams, the next vacation, the currency rate, et al...

Scene 1:
husband-wife combo (presumably)... for a change the husband has the list and the wife is tagging along aimlessly... i started looking out for B who was singing to himself and lolling behind me, and i had the list in hand (a small one, since most of last week was food called from the next door restaurant).

Scene 2:
while shopping for fruits, i plunged myself into the orange section... it had 5-6 varieties and instantly moved away from the orange that came from Pakistan. ditto for basmati, with Indian basmati the staple at home.

Scene 3:
at the billing counter, while waiting for our turn to come, i started to observe people around... some has dressed for a party but had hit the grocery; some carried themselves really well, despite the bulges; some slouched and made themselves look most awkward; some couples were in love and showed it off; some had just grown used to their spouses and did not even talk to each other (quite like us both); some had to make the most urgent call at the top of their voices; children made the most of the wait and stuffed small goodies which the parents would not allow; some looked bored; others quite enjoyed this weekly do; the only expressionless faces were those manning the counters... i came away pitying their legs.

Jibanda* and Tapatidi**

I usually use the first letter as an acronym for the people i write about. But today's post is an exception since i feel it would be demeaning these two guys... they are one of the first mentors both B and I had when we started our life in Mumbai.
A common acquaintance (who still is the Finance Minister of our home state) had given us a scribbled sheet on which Jibanda's telephone number was written. So on reaching Mumbai on January 14, 1991, we went visiting them on January 17, the first Sunday, in an alien city...
Both of them welcomed us as if they had known us for decades... the warmth was palpable, the affection grew later and still continues...
Jibanda was an Economist with the Tatas and Tapatidi was a Lecturer in Geography at Siddharth College...
their only son Sunny was in the fifth standard at that time...
Thus began our tryst with the Mukhopadhyays (incidentally, we also share a common surname)... every weekend was spent with them, over dinner... for me and us both, they became a source of great comfort...
Jibanda came with us when we went to visit a Professor of Political Science at Bombay University, in the hope that i would pursue a career in research... his logic was simple: an academic has intellectual freedom with more control over time (what he implied then, I did not understand... that was his way of telling us that it would be easier when we decided to go the family way, but that was far from our minds at that time)...
It was Tapatidi who spotted the vacancy for a Junior Research Officer at one Danida-funded project with the Indian Council of Medical Research and asked me if I was interested...
and when i did bag that assignment, she said, "You will be engaged in good work, but the pay is less at Rs 2300 a month"... not that I cared, it was my first job and though it was quite a travel from Borivli to Mahalakshmi, i did complete the project and moved on...
Both of them were shocked, when I changed gears and took on a journalistic assignmnet with Business India and then onto ICICI, but did not interfere since they knew the limits pretty well...
When R was on her way, Tapatidi would cook and bring it over home so that she could feed me with things i crazed for... in the menatime, they had befriended both of our families back at Kolkata and were requested by both our parents to look after me...
When R came home, both showered their affections...
We moved cities, our touch with them continued, but became less and less frequent...
but we knew the bare outlines of their lives and they knew what we were up to...
Sunny is doing very well as a Medical Researcher in the CMU, Jibanda is now an academic with a premier business school and Tapatidi has retired formally from her job, but continues post graduate teaching, in addition to her political activities (she was all through a Member of the CPIM and Jibanda was all through an avowed supporter of the Right)...

It might strike you, why am i writing all this? Just to tell you about two excellent people who have shown us, by the way they have lived life, that it is possible to have simple dreams and attain them, with a large dose of mutual difference, but larger dose of mutual respect...

They are alone now, that Sunny is in the US, and on the last call, last weekend we made, we both felt Jibanda, after having lived through 65 summers (in his own words) is still as inspiring as ever, even if he is (and always was) a little sarcastic...

*da means elder brother; di elder sister

synthetic patroitism?

we meet him outside the Chettinad joint on a windy Thursday evening. he is a friend's friend. we get talking and all he can think of is the food waiting inside the restaurant. R and i were ready to jump into the car because of the wind... but could not...
loud mouth, tall talker and an utter bore are my opinions of the baldy...
suddenly he switches gear and pops the question at B, "how long have you been in the ME," and without waiting for an answer says of himself, "I am in the region for 32 years but have never thought about migration to the West, like many Indians do. I love my India," with a big boastful smile.
pat came the reply from B, "that is the reason why India lags behind, every patriot is outside the country." he managed that without a twitch... and i felt like running away from there...
our man suddenly felt the chill and went in with a faint grin...