A celebration

Last year on the 7th of May, I wrote about The Many Incarnations of God. Had my uncle and aunt been here with us, my uncle would have turned 80 and we would have had a grand celebration. There is not a single day that passes without my thinking about him. It could be a memory relating to a dish I made, about a person we were both close to, about a book, about something on TV... just about anything.

The 7th of May is also the day that I first met S. And we celebrated our "anniversary" last evening by going out for dinner to a highly recommended Italian restaurant in Gurgaon called Italiano.

The 7th of May has always been special and I am glad that as a couple, it is a special day for us as well. My biggest regret is that S never got to meet Bappa. I wish he had. This will always be one of those things that's outside our control. But I am forever thankful for whatever I have.

The Land of Five Rivers

Last minute plans are always the best, aren't they? S and I were planning to visit Ludhiana over the weekend. My close friend from my Hyderabad days was visiting home after completing her exec MBA from IIM-A and I wanted to met her family. Having only spoken to them over the phone in all the time that I'd known her, I was very keen to meet them and get to know them.

S had work in Chandigarh the day before we were to leave, so he asked me to join him. I didn't want to pass up the opportunity. So we drove down on Thursday night. It took us 4 hours to get of Delhi and we reached Chandigarh at 4 in the morning. Fortunately, S's office had taken care of the reservations at the hotel and we were able to turn in within half an hour.

As soon as S left for the site, I tried to catch up on a little sleep, but I didn't succeed. I kept looking out the window as the cleanliness and organization of the city wowed me entirely. My friend and her brother reached Chandigarh around lunchtime and we ate at Lyons in Sector 17. After that I insisted that we go see the Rock Garden. This is one of the city's claims to fame. The garden, designed by Nek Chand, is an example of how beauty can be created from waste. Some of the items were creative. But to see tens of thousands of the same... can get a little boring and repetitive. Also, the place was meant for children and they shouldn't have allowed adults in. The entry doors are about 4 feet in height, and extremely narrow. I hit my head at least 3 times. The place is also filthy and no one has bothered to clean the place. The city on the outside is so pretty, but inside, the picture is very different. Later that evening, we drove to Ludhiana.

My friend's family could easily qualify for the host of the year award of there ever was one. We were treated to sumptuous traditional Punjabi fare... nothing like the stuff you get in restaurants. All of us talked late into the night and my friend's niece kept us great company.

The next afternoon, we left for Amritsar. I had always wanted to see the Golden Temple and this was a great opportunity. To be able to visit it with my friend! The city of Amritsar reminded me of Agra. Filthy, crowded and polluted. But the temple complex is very beautiful. The restrooms provided are cleaner than most, if not all, airport restrooms that I have seen so far.

Nothing prepares you for the beauty that hits you when you enter the complex. Spotlessly clean, calm and serene, the complex complements the temple beautifully. I just kept staring and staring at the colourful work on the gold, the lovely marble inlay and the murals within the temple. This is not what's in the pictures, this is for real. I had to tell myself that. A meal of amritsari kulcha and chhole outside the temple comples prepared us for the drive back. And the next day S and I drove back to Gurgaon. From among the list of "Places to See", I had finally ticked one off.

Cast-a-Spell

The sweltering heat had me wondering what I would do at home on a holiday... inside the house with no AC or cooler. Varun must have heard my silent crib and he sent down some rains. The weather's lovely. The heat's come down considerably and I'm enjoying it. It's just that today had to be the day when I'm home and S is at work.

The perfect weather for chai and pakodas. Or a drive... or just about a million things.

Four and Twenty Blackbirds...

The heat in Delhi is killing. More so when I have just returned from Bangalore. Physically here (and enduring the heat), but mentally roaming in what is supposed to be my native state: Karnataka. S and I took a trip to Shirali with my parents and brother.

Shirali is a small nondescript coastal town in the Uttara Kannada district of Karnataka. Most people haven't even heard of it. I have a colleague whose last name is Shirali and even she had no idea where it was. Shirali or Srivalli is home to the Sri Chitrapur Math, the spiritual headquarters of the Chitrapur Saraswats. I'm one half Chitrapur Saraswat and when my cousin decided to have his son's thread ceremony at the Math, we decided to go. I could spend time with my parents and brother, show S the Math and meet my cousins, aunts, uncle, nephews and niece. The cherry on the cake was the ride in my brother's brand new Safari Dicor. (Incidentally, we got our cars delivered on the same day. And he drove my parents to the airport in the new car and we picked them up at Delhi in our new car.)

We were traveling, as a family, for the first time in a decade. The last time we went anywhere together was in the 90s. It was fun. I realized that even if I have grown up, am independent and all that, I will remain my parents' little girl. And my brother's baby sister. H, my brother, teased me all the way from the time he saw me in Bangalore till the time he dropped us off at the airport. All of us grow up, but the key is to not grow apart I think. For a while in between, I thought I'd lost my brother... to marriage,to life, to work. Different cities, different lives... and then the lesson, that all you have to do is reach out. I remember asking him as a child, "I'm your favorite sister, no?" and his response never changed, "I don't have a choice." For as long as I could remember, I wanted to be like him... to wear his clothes... to go to his school... to hang out with his friends... and suddenly, a few years later, I wanted to be nothing like him. Life!

This isn't just about my brother, but about my parents too. There was a time when I just didn't get along with them. Everything I did was just so wrong. I couldn't make the right decisions, about friends, about academics, about interests. Then, I left home. Under the pretext of getting my higher education.That was the turning point I guess. From then on, things changed rapidly. I became a lot closer to them. I could talk to them on a level that they didn't even know I could manage. Absence must have made the heart grow fonder. Maybe I grew up a little too. We don't fight as much these days. And I cherish every moment that I get to spend with them. There's so much to learn if I just listen, observe and watch. I have come a long way from my "know-it-all" days and realize that there is so much to learn. They're the cutest set of parents any child could ever have. The ones who saved so we could have a good life. The ones who, despite the huge age difference between us, didn't let a generation gap seep in. They rank among my closest friends and confidantes today.

When I'm home, I always look at them and remember this from the nursery rhyme:

The King was in his counting house, counting all his money
The Queen was in her parlour, eating bread and honey

Appa's always been the finance manager of the household. Many of my fixations about income and income tax, I inherited from him. I also inherited my diverse music tastes and reading habits from him. How did one man, in one lifetime, manage to gather so much knowledge... it is beyond me. My thirst for knowledge and new things comes from him. According to him, I'm the biggest spendthrift in this world and I have taken after my mother (and overtaken her as well).

Amma's lessons on life continue... even today. About how to make dal or how to make the perfect pulao... about men and bosses and mothers in law. About mothers and siblings and how I must be there for my brother come what may... because he is all I will have left in this world when they're gone. About enjoying life today because if you save up for later, you won't be left with the energy to enjoy it. She instilled the love for singing in me. And she's the best cook in the entire world. I have yet to come across someone who makes the yummiest of Saraswat food, the tastiest Iyengar dishes, pizza that is almost world famous, pasta... and cakes, pastries, and the most sinful cheesecake. When I'm going home, I call in advance and place my order... is it Chinese or Moghlai this time?

I miss my parents very much when they aren't with me and am thankful for the unconditional love that only parents can give. How do they manage that? As always, I realize that there will some things that will always remain beyond my understanding.

Quarter Career Crisis

It has been bothering me for months now. And I have no idea what to do about it. I think while most people face a mid-life crisis, I must be facing a quarter career crisis. An average career lasts about 33-35 years and I have been working for 8 now. I learn new things everyday, meet different people everyday, but it is the same routine. The excitement that I earlier felt in my career seems to have gone on a long vacation.

Suddenly, the creative person within me seems to be in a tearing hurry to come out. I want to do different things. I want to start a home furnishing store since I am doing so much needlework in any case. Could that not be a lucrative career?

A couple of weeks ago, I baked a batch of chocolate chip cookies. They turned out delicious. Sometime before that, I baked a batch of absolutely chewy brownies. Why don't I start a home bakery? Why don't I start classes? I have been baking since I was 10. Why did I ignore it in between?

Under the pretext of "preparing for my career", I quit learning music. I sang last night at a restaurant. The Abba song that truly has all it takes to be "my song": Thank you for the music. The high that I got when I got off the stage was like nothing I'd felt in ages. Why did I give it up?

I've been writing for as long as I can remember. It fascinates me. From writing short stories to national level award winning essays, I've enjoyed the journey. Where did I lose touch? Why is it I don't write anymore?

These are the supposed "sacrifices" that I've made to be what I am professionally. I've had this single minded focus to make it big in my chosen profession. I started this journey wanting to be an immunologist. I landed up in management. No, not even in a biotech/pharma company. Ever so often I catch myself thinking of the "what if". My closest friends had chosen to remain in science. I envied them for being able to stick to their chosen lines. Things, today, are no different for them. I, along with my closest friends, am at the crossroads of life yet again.

What choices will we make? What will we be remembered for? What lies in store for us? We have enough to show for the 3 decades of existence on this planet. What about the remaining time? Will we have enough to show? Not to the world, but to ourselves. All I can wish for is that all of us lead fulfilling lives so that when it is time for us to go, we have no regrets.

Cross my Heart!

I was always fond of needlework, or so it seems. I remember hunting for small pieces of cloth to make handkerchiefs. Fortunately, my mom (and later I myself) had learnt tailoring from her sister (my aunt, who is no more) and did a lot of tailoring at home. So, I almost always found little bits of cloth. Also, when we were little, everyone in the neighbourhood was willing to teach us little things. I remember practising the running stitch at my neighbour's place and the lady of the house taught me how to hem. She also taught me some beadwork and I found all of it very fascinating.

My mother was usually making cushion covers and table cloths with beautiful designs. She has always been very good with colours and coordinating them. I would see her work her "magic" on matti cloth and would always wonder how she did it. I thought it was the most confusing stitch ever invented and could just never get it straight. My mom decided to get me started. Off we went to Handloom House in Madras to buy some wine red matti cloth. (The idea was to not let the messiness show.) She didn't allow me to practice with a straight line or anything... she put me on to a design directly. At that point, I must admit, I thought she really hated me. Why else would she traumatize me like that? I managed to get a hang of it and completed the entire cushion cover. This was when I was in Class 5. I gifted it to a friend (a much older friend) on her birthday and also went and asked for it back a few months later when we had to submit something for craft or SUPW (Socially Useful Productive Work) as we know it.

From that point on, I think I did a little bit every year. I took on complicated designs and took great pride in completing each one. From trying out new colour combinations to working my way on normal fabrics, each step was like an adventure into the unknown. You never know what awaits you at the end of the journey.

Whenever I made a mistake, I'd put the entire project away and not look at it for months, sometimes years. Then, cross stitch taught me one of life's important lessons. If you make a mistake, you can't let that bring life to a standstill. You have to go back, undo the wrongs and start over. If you do, what you get at the end of it is beautiful, truly a masterpiece. I took 9 years to complete work on a dress. A part of this is on the left here. The end result was so beautiful that I plan to cut off the embroidered portion and frame it.

I find this very therapeutic. I work at it when I am sad, when I'm angry, when I'm bored and when I am happy. I've gifted a lot of my work to friends and family. This is something that has truly touched my heart and my life and I felt compelled to blog about this. Thanks Amma, for being patient with me and teaching me a craft that will keep me company for all my life. I, too, hope to pass it on to someone in this lifetime.

A time to reminisce

I'm reminiscing about school after reading Pretty Woman's blog about childhood. I'm not in the mood to write much, but I'd like to put this email that I sent to my school's mailing group a couple of years ago.

In my 12 years at school, I always was part of something during each annual day. I sang every year as part of the group song team that would perform when the stage was being prepared for the next drama/event. I was in the primary school play in the 5th standard...I was to play Cinderella, and the teachers were unable to find a Prince who was taller than I was. So my classmate, Anju, took that role and I became a step sister. (This incident stands out in memory because today I'm not considered "tall" by any measure :-)))

I also played the role of Mahishi in a classical dance based drama "Markandeya". I remember going up on stage to receive the general proficiency prize with black paint on my face that year. But what I do remember most is the excitement and the preparation that went in each year. Reaching school at an early hour in the afternoon. Having Mrs. Lalitha put on make up for us. Then collecting snack coupons and attempting to eat biscuits and bananas without getting the lipstick off.

I learnt music for almost 10 years privately. But I learnt music for12 years from our music teacher too. If my music teacher at home taught me to sing with my open voice, Mrs. Lalitha taught me to use my "false" voice. At a recent get together, someone commented on my ability to sing in two voices. I think I spent so much more time singing at school that today I cannot sing in my real voice for very long. And that training in school got me on to the college choir and is now contributing to local Hyderabad entertainment at Planet M.

I think I feel pretty much the same way about art, craft, SUPW, CCA, Scouts and Guides, and sports. They're important...and we had the good fortune to learn all that in school. I still come across people who cannot thread a needle or change a light bulb, have never played a game, haven't gone to camp, haven't painted, sung, quizzed or debated, haven't read a book outside of their textbooks...and I cannot help but think...was it because they didn't go to our school?

The Road to Perdition?

One of my earlier posts, Inviting Trouble, talks about the traffic sense of people in India. I was shocked to see people ride with babies falling out of their scooters, and even more shocked to see them take babies in the front seats of their cars.

I've always wondered about how dangerous that could be. This morning, S and I were on our way to work when we got behind an Indica chugging along on the right most lane at about 25 kmph. S honked to get the car to move and we got ahead. Then the driver of the other came up, really close to us, and overtook us from the left. He cut in right in front of us and came to a complete halt. Then Mr. I-know-english-and-the-proof-lies-in-my-use-of-swear-words got out. He came over to our car and said to S, "You want to go fast, go in that lane." (That lane... was on the other side of the divider. Dude... we're still in India... physically, mentally and any which way you look at it) "Why don't you fly a plane if you want to drive so fast? What rash driving!" ( So fast? We were going at 40!) "My son almost got hurt because of you. Can I bash your car in return?" Whoa! He switched lanes without looking and had to apply his brakes as a result of which his child got hurt. Curiosity got the better of me and I looked into his car. The child was sitting on the lap of a lady (maybe its mother) in the front seat, while a maid sat in the back seat. Education is such a waste. (I use this line so often that S is tired of hearing it, but that's what comes across loud and clear, wherever I go.) S apologized for the fact that his son almost got hurt, but told him it was his fault.

It turned out that they were also headed to the same building where I work. When we reached the office, S got out of the car and went up to him and said, "Now I know how your son almost got hurt. Shouldn't you travel with your child in the back seat?" To which, Mr. Oh-I'm-so-ignorant responds with a "Who are you to tell me where my son should sit?"

Is there a God? Questions aside, I'd appeal to God to drive some sense into these idiots who drive on our roads. Teach them the rules before it is too late. If they were to learn from experience alone, it would prove way to costly.

Strange Encounters of the Arranged Kind - 3

I was truly impressed with this one, until...

When you're single, just about everyone is "looking out" for you. That they know next to nothing about you is a different thing. They only "mean well".

My cousin who is old enough to be my mother, had married off her two children and was focusing on getting me married. This incident dates back to about 2002-03. My cousin met a lady whom she knew quite well at a wedding. And the lady told her that she had an eligible bachelor son and she wasn't able to find a suitable bride for him. The "boy" in question was, indeed, most eligible. For a guy who was ranked among the top 10 in the IIT JEE exam that year had chosen to follow his heart and not the herd. That really impressed me.

He and I started exchanging some mails, started chatting, and soon he was in India and decided to come and meet me. A down to earth guy who did a lot of things on impulse, including making the decision to meet me. A post doc fellow in the US traveled in an unreserved compartment to Chennai simply because he didn't get a reservation on a weekend and he'd decided to meet me.

We met, talked, I even took him home to meet my parents, we spent an evening at the beach and he left for the station after dinner. We hit it off quite well. I was certain that despite the distance, if it had to work, it would. But there was no "love" or anything. After three months of regular correspondence (and by regular, I mean fortnightly), our man made a profound statement. "I am in the US and you are in India, I am not sure how we will work this marriage thing out." And I thought... if you didn't think I was the one for you, why couldn't you tell me directly? We knew right from the start that we were in different continents.

At that point I found myself thinking that it's a good thing that it didn't work out. No, it's not a question of sour grapes or anything, it is just that it feels good to get a sign beforehand. Imagine if we had gone ahead and if later on I'd come to know that he cannot confront a problem or talk about it. To think that with all that education, no one teaches us life skills. To the world, he was the title of Vikram Seth's novel. To me, he was another one who left an impression strong enough for me to blog about him 4 years later.

Strange Encounters of the Arranged Kind - 2

In the series of incidents around my journey along the arranged marriage highway, my second gem:

Mr. I-have-chalked-out-your-life-for-you: This one is almost too good to be true. I definitely remember how and when I met this guy. In fact, thanks to the person who had arranged this, my entire family and family's family also knew about this guy. His family credentials had been checked and while I was all of 25 (over the hill for most Indian women, right?) my cousin's uncle even pulled me aside at a family function and said to me, "Why don't you just say yes to this guy and put an end to your parents' misery?" I was angry... and as the Martian in Looney Tunes would say to Bugs Bunny, I wanted to say, "You have made me very angry... very angry indeed." But then "good upbringing" always seems to prevail. One is taught not to talk back and all that.

Finally, the 'boy' and his mother came to meet us. (I find it amusing that even when they cross 50, men are always referred to as boys when they are looking for a bride.) And everyone went to the dining area to have coffee, leaving the two of us to talk and 'get to know each other'. I have never understood how people decide, in an hour, or much less, who they will wake up with for the rest of their lives!

I was preparing to take the GMAT and I told him as much. He said, "So, you're a career minded woman. That's OK." (Oops... last heard that wasn't a crime. But will you,oh will you forgive me?) You can work for the next 3 years. After that we will have our first child. And after that I won't entertain any requests from you to go back to work again... ever! We had moved to the balcony by then and I almost fell from the 3rd floor to the children's play area below. I was so utterly shocked. I told him, "You haven't asked me to marry you. I haven't said yes. You haven't asked me if I want to have children at all. You have assumed that I'll give up my job when I have the baby. And, finally, you've taken it that my career decisions will rest in your hands. Isn't that a little too much?"

He said, "My mother always stayed home when we were kids. So my sister and I decided that a mother should always stay home. My sister also worked for 3 years after her marriage and had her first child then. And she's ket her part of the agreement and not gone back to work after that." (I love the logic. Can't beat this, can you?) I argued with him a bit and at the end he said, "Look, if you have 10 points for, I will have 10 points against, but this is not about who wins the argument. This is how I have planed my life and yours. That's it!"

Needless to say, when the cups of coffee were empty... pleasant goodbyes were exchanged and we never heard from them again!

Family’s day out!

We were out all day on Sunday. We left home early and spent the morning at the Mughal Gardens. This was my second trip to the gardens and my third to the President’s Estate. The Mughal Gardens are open only for a month or so between February and March and going there is almost like a ritual for most people here.

I enjoyed the walk in the gardens. It was a visual treat. Being able to see so many flowers in such different colours, made the long wait in the queue worthwhile. I also liked the fact that arrangements had been made for rest rooms and drinking water. What I didn’t like was the indiscipline of my fellow country beings. And people would take a plastic cup, fill it Bisleri, and wash their faces with it. Where a path had been blocked by flower pots, people thought they were at the Olympics and jumped over. What can one security guard do when there are 20 people unwilling to listen? When there were clear instructions to not step on the lawn, despite the fact that a security guard kept telling people otherwise, a whole bunch of people walked across a patch of brahmi. Shame on us!

We also went to meet a family friend who took us to Akshardham. It is a huge temple complex and I am amazed at the amount of money that has gone into building and maintaining this place. The carvings on marble are beautiful. Each pillar, each door, each ceiling is a piece of art in itself. And when they are all put together, the end result is simply out of this world. I was told this temple was built in record time in this day and age. I couldn’t help comparing this to the temples of Palitana, Gujarat. I have been there twice already and they continue to fascinate me. 1000 temples or so, built somewhere in the 11th century, on a hill. It took me almost 2 hours just to ascend… imagine what it would have taken for the people who built it. I, at least, didn’t have to carry rocks or tools, and I definitely didn’t have to build the steps to get there.

While at Akshardham, I asked my mother if the money that went into building this temple could have been put to better use. She felt that spending in the name of religion is not necessarily wasteful. A religion could die if its followers did little. There are so many things that we do which others would find wasteful, so I couldn’t say much. We talked about Palitana and about how Akshardham was made in the 21st century with so many tools, with motorized vehicles to transport materials. How did they manage it back then? Why did people build temples then? Why was it important? Was it because of their interest in the arts or their appreciation for all things beautiful? I figured that it was probably one way to leave their legacies… one way for the world to remember them, long after they left the world.

Both these places did not charge us for admission. So, it didn’t matter that we were Indians and the gentleman with us was German. But I’ve always wondered about this dual pricing in India. When you visit France, even if you traveled across the seven seas to see the Eiffel Tower, you pay the same amount to get to the top of the tower as you would if you lived right down the road from there. I wonder how I might have reacted if I had to pay 260 francs to see the Louvre instead of the 26 francs that I actually paid. I am sure that is how all foreigners would feel in India, when they find they have to pay ten times of what locals pay to see a monument.

A fun weekend in all, but one from which I emerged confused about my country. I am proud of my country, but I wish I could say the same about my fellow citizens.

Strange Encounters of the Arranged Kind - 1

Oru paattu paadu maa (Please sing a song)

A lot of people have said that to me, but I am fortunate that I didn’t have to go through this routine when it came to meeting prospective grooms. An earlier post talks of my single life and presents a mixed bag of my experiences. A woman’s life is not complete in this land until she has tied the knot… until she becomes the wife of someone. (Something tells me this completion exercise won’t stop here either… she has to be the means to let the family name go on… then get her children married… endless)

Over the years, I’ve had my share of fun with the arranged marriage set up. I must admit that I was never really against the idea, nor do I feel that one type of marriage is better than the other. And when I met these guys, I was not wasting anyone’s time… definitely not my own. But despite being practical and reasonably serious in my approach, I met every kind of man.

Mr. I’m-so-rich-I-can’t-help-it: I forget how I met this guy. Through a mutual friend I think. He asked to be introduced to me and we met. From the time we met till we said good-bye, he kept bragging about his income. About how he makes so much money that a middle class family can comfortably live on the amount he pays as tax. He asked me what perfume I was wearing. I told him it was Chanel No. 5. He brought out a package containing Davidoff Cool Water and said, “This is perfume. Not some stupid thing which you are using. At the start of the conversation, he told me about how he would be fully supportive of his wife’s career and all that. Then, towards the end of the conversation, he said, “I’d love for my wife to greet me with a cup of steaming hot coffee when I get back after a hectic day at work.” Innocent me looked at him and said, “What about her hectic day at work?” to which he replied, “That’s why I want you to stay at home… I make enough for the two of us put together.” I promptly gifted the Cool Water to a colleague the next day. I never quite liked it. Now, I’m not sure if that was only because of who gave it to me and how he said Chanel, my precious Chanel No. 5, was not perfume.

To be continued...

The Race Against Time

The alarm goes off at 6.45; my hand reaches out to the snooze button (a wonderful addition to any alarm). I rush through the morning routine so that I can enjoy breakfast with S, and leave for work with him. Yup… leaving for work together is somehow so important.

Once we’re out of the house, it hits us in the face: the aggression in this part of the world. My parents expected me to excel at what I did… academics, dance, music, art. They taught me that it was important to do well. But there was no pressure. They definitely didn’t teach me that it was OK to get ahead at the cost of other people. That stepping on others doesn’t matter as long as I get what I want.

Whenever we get out on to the roads, I can hear a song playing in my head. It’s like a modification of Ralph McTell’s song which goes like this:

Let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of Gurgaon
I'll show you something to make you change your mind

A pretty woman wrote in her blog about how people just say whatever comes to their minds. Out here, people don’t just say, they say and do exactly as they please. Nobody has bothered to learn the rules of traffic. If there is a roundabout, rather than go around it, they prefer cutting across. Standing in line or waiting in a queue is akin to murder! At a traffic signal, when there is nowhere to go and the signal shows red, it is not unusual to hear non-stop honking.

On some days, I take the elevator up. And that is an experience in itself. There is nothing called a queue. At times, I feel there is more order at a suburban train station in Bombay when the 8.23 fast to Churchgate rolls in. On several occasions I allowed those who came after me to get in first… even if that meant that I had to wait for the next one. When I think, “In Rome, do as the Romans do”, I also think, “If I behave the same way as these guys, what’s the difference between them and me?”

Chivalry is pretty much dead. I know that it is dying in other parts, but this is supposed to be the land of the chivalrous people. Chivalrous, my foot! If chivalry weren’t already dead in this part of the country, the people here would have stabbed it to death anyway. Forget holding a door open for you, men here will bang it shut right in your face. Come on… who has the time for this? We’re in a hurry.

Just last evening, we were at Big Bazaar finishing some grocery shopping. We had two cartloads of stuff and we’d just finished placing the last of the items on the counter. There were a couple of guys behind us in the “queue”. Big Bazaar’s billing system is such that it takes a little time to calculate the discounts after all the items have been entered. (It’s fun to watch the bill amount go down every second! Oops, I digress!) I was talking to S and my parents when I felt something very rough brush against my hand. I turned and found that Mr. In-a-hurry behind me had pushed his box of purchases all the way across because he decided he’d waited enough.

What is with the people here? Time is just as precious to me as it is to the next person. But did no one ever teach people in the north to be considerate? Or that it is not that important to get ahead in the race of life, especially if you’re doing it at the cost of others? I am not asking folks here to stop and smell the flowers, I’m only requesting that a little courtesy be extended to fellow beings.

Key learnings from the weekend

The weekend went by… and we didn’t do much. But I experienced my very first hailstorm. Fun at first, scary after a bit, but on the whole, a very unique experience.

Rains in January and February… something unheard of in this part of the country. I’d not seen rain even in the rainy season when I lived here earlier, so the sight of lightning a week ago did take me by surprise. The heavy rains over the weekend, including the hailstorm, were unexpected.

The guy in the Cadbury’s Bytes ad says, “I’ve learnt tow things today”. In quite the same way, I have learnt two things as well.

1. We don’t have umbrellas or raincoats and as a result, we are totally unprepared for a shower.


2. Gurgaon doesn’t have a drainage system. Maybe the town planners didn't expect rains at all... ever!

The Single Life

I have been meaning to blog about this for quite some time now. Someone else came out with a book.

I read about Radhika Jha’s “Chasing The Good Life: On Being Single” this morning. I came away from that article with mixed emotions. Am I to feel happy that I am not alone (or rather was not alone) or am I to feel sad that the plight of single Indian women in India has not changed one bit?

I lived alone for most part of my adult life. It was the life I wanted to lead. Not that I worried about being answerable to anyone. I’ve found that I can do that when I have to. But I’m very picky when it comes to whom I’m answerable to. My parent: yes. Someone who is considering me as a tenant for his apartment: no.

The initial years away from home were spent at a hostel. The kind with rules. I doubt I ever broke them, but I know I bent them on more than one occasion. Not without reason of course. I was pursuing two post graduate programs and picking up two foreign languages side by side. There was no way I could return to the hostel before 9 p.m. My name was entered into the late comers’ register almost everyday and Prof would bail me out. I never got into trouble, just never meant to and never did.

My house hunt as a single working woman was a different experience altogether. Nobody wanted me. Not in their apartments at least. Why? Because an opinion of me had been formed. A negative one at that. I finally found a place. Very close to my work place but not the most liveable of abodes. It may not have been what I wanted, but it definitely served my purpose. There was the usual set of rules. No boys can stay over, no loud music, no this no that. Who cared? I wasn’t the type to break such rules, so it didn’t matter. I wanted to be able to cook my own food. And this place allowed me that luxury. I hit it off very well with my landlord and landlady and they treated me like their own daughter. Sent food up at times, nursed me when I was unwell, allowed my parents to call me on their phone… trivialities you might say. But step into the shoes of a 23 year old, living 2000 miles away from home and your perception is bound to change.

Later on, I was forced to find a different place to stay. I moved 6 times in a span of 16 months. I was chased out because a good family was willing to pay more for my apartment. And at times, I ran. There was this one apartment that I took up. It was neat and compact. It even had a few appliances, but half the things just didn’t work. There was a telephone as well. And I was told that I’d have to pay whatever the bill showed. The owner lived abroad and had a caretaker for the place. My parents were visiting and I took them on a weekend trip. I just decided to get extra protection and bought a nice Godrej Navtal for the main door. When we returned from the trip, I found the metal door open and the main door was unlocked… except for my Navtal! Someone had tried to enter the apartment. The caretaker was promptly at my door the next morning asking why I had added an extra lock. I told him that that was none of his business. I also made use of the opportunity to show him what was not working. The next night, well after 11 p.m., Mr. Caretaker was at my door, completely drunk. And he claimed he wanted to know if the appliances had been fixed. He kept trying to force his way in and I shut the door in his face and locked it. The next morning, I vacated the place.

After a few months, I moved back to the city where my parents lived and just moved back in with them. My problems from that point were on were far from over and just took a different turn. (Don’t get me wrong, I had absolutely no adjustment problems as all my friends thought I would.) Everyone I came across would ask me why I was single at 24, why I was not saying yes to the many guys whose proposals for alliance my father received, why I was wasting my life.

Indians are experts at asking personal questions. Where do you work? What does your father do? How much money do you make? How old are you? I have learnt that this is just part of who we are. At a friends wedding, there was this lady sitting next to me at lunch. She asked me, “Nee Vidyakku friend a? Kalyanam aayidutha? Aathula thedarala illaya?” (Are you Vidya’s friend? Are you married? Are your folks hunting for a groom or not?). When I replied, she almost choked on her food. “Ille mami. Aathula peche edukka maattengara. Neenga venumna thedi kudukkarela?” (No Aunty, my folks aren’t even broaching the subject. Why don’t you find me one? )

I also wanted to buy an apartment. A classmate suggested that I invest in property. I always wanted to have a place that I could call my own. So, I booked an apartment and went to a home loan fair. Everything was hunky-dory. My turn came and a gentleman called out my name. I went to his desk with all my documents. He looked up at me and said, “Where’s your husband?” I said, “I don’t have one.” He looked up at me and said, “Sorry, no loan for you.” I told him I’d take him to court for making such statements. I did finally get my loan sanctioned but not before I got lectured on how single women run away with a housing loan and the house. (How? How on earth?)

On the whole, I do know that my 9 years away from home, as an independent single woman have been eventful. I've made some wonderful friends... most of them being single women. I’ve intimidated a lot of single men… some married ones too. (I've even come across an army that thinks single means available.) I know I made a lot of women uncomfortable. Most people felt threatened by my existence. Why they felt that way, I will never know. It is probably because single is different. According to them, single is dangerous… single and successful is more dangerous, but the most dangerous of them all is the single, independent and successful.

January Blessings

Suddenly, there seems to be a lot happening.

• We surprised my parents at the airport by going there to receive them in the new car.
• We celebrated my dad's birthday by eating out at a fantastic Italian restaurant after shopping during the day.
• We went on a really long drive with my parents. All the way to Jaipur and back.
• I sang a popular English number at last night's Karaoke show. I also sang a not so popular song: An Abba number that I used in one of my earlier blogs.
• One of my closest friends delivered a baby boy about an hour ago. I'm thrilled and I can't wait to go meet both of them.

When luxury becomes necessity…

I’ve always wanted a car of my own. But each time I weighed the pros and cons of owning a car, I always ended up deciding against it. The public transport systems in most cities that I have lived in have been more than decent. Gurgaon is, probably, the only exception.

This is the only place I have lived in where the only means of public transport is the cycle rickshaw. A lot has changed here. I lived in this place in the late 90s. Life was tough in many ways back then. I had to travel to Delhi for any kind of shopping or entertainment. Now people from Delhi travel to Gurgaon to spend weekends at what has come to be known as the “Mall Mile”. But in more ways than one, this town or village (call it what you will) has remained unchanged. Some parts of Gurgaon feel like Singapore. No kidding! But some parts retain their rustic touch just so you don’t forget that you’re in Haryana. Its like a town that’s got one foot in modern India, but whose other foot just refuses to budge. I have digressed.

What are my options in a town like this? I can travel by cycle rickshaw. I can walk. I can sit with random public in a share auto. (I’m not snobbish… I have traveled by buses in rural areas and by the local trains in Mumbai). But I find it difficult to sit with 24 other people in an auto meant for 7. Moreover, I’d be forced to travel in the direction that the majority in the auto is traveling… not really in the direction that I want to go.

And having weighed all our options for a very long time in this town that we now call home, my husband and I decided that what we considered a luxury earlier is now a necessity. After having come to that decision, we took our time deciding what car to buy. Just about everyone who knew we were researching cars gave us their unsolicited advice. And when we finally zeroed in on a car, we saw another one… a little bigger, a bit more expensive… and we fell for it. But we needed a car. What we were looking at was going to more than just serve the purpose. We walked the fine line between luxury and necessity for a couple of days. Good sense prevailed and we bought the car that we needed, not the one that we wanted.

And we drove home in it last night. I’m on a high!

The New Year

2006 is behind us now. I haven't been here to write anything for a long long time. There have been lots of changes in my life. I moved cities to join my husband. I've found my dream job: one that actually combines my academic background and my work interests. Life has finally settled into a nice routine.

There are so many things I want to write about. Some personal topics, some general thoughts. Thoughts that cross my mind everyday... as I come to work, as I go back. Thoughts about low cost carriers and the passengers they carry. Thoughts about people and their behaviour. Thoughts about aggression in people, about the necessity to get ahead at all costs. Thoughts of my dear and beloved professor who has been so instrumental in making me what I am... but the people around him couldn't stand his radical thoughts, his passion for education, his popularity and most of all, his success.

I'd like to write about my experiences as a single woman in India as well as those as a newly married woman. I want to write about some generalizations that people make, especially the ones that drive me hopping mad.

The list is endless and I do hope that I will find the time to write about all this and more. Happy new year!

A Tale of Four Cities

It happened to me... it really did. And now I'm a married woman.

The days leading up to the wedding from the engagement were beautiful, but there were probably some of my worst days in there too. Reminds me of the opening line of the famous Dickens novel. But I can probably now pen one of my own and call it "A Tale of Four Cities".

Almost everyday before the wedding, I had at least one person asking me if I was nervous. Finally I started asking people if I should be. My cousin called me and said, "You actually might feel like running away" and I thought, "What rubbish... why get into anything like this and then try and run away".

The wedding itself was a lot of fun, but it was extremely tiring and several of the unnecessary rituals drained me, both, physically and mentally. But nothing could mask the excitement that I felt inside me. There was the excitement of starting married life with someone who had come to be my closest friend. But there was also the slight sense of trepidation that I felt. Would I adjust? Having lived by myself for almost a decade, there are times when I wonder if I can live at home with my parents for months at a stretch (fortunately, I have no problems there), so the thought of living with someone day in and day out for the rest of my life did cause me to be a little worried. But then, I was marrying someone whom I trusted enough... to give me my space and the time I need to adjust to this new life.

Our jobs keep us in different cities. Our parents live in different cities. Airtel and Hutch sure are making a lot of money thanks to this. So, my new life hasnt started yet. But I'm looking forward to setting up "our" house, traveling on weekends, cooking meals for two. Sometimes just the thought of all the adjustments we'll be making reminds me of this song from "When Harry Met Sally"

You say "either" and I say "either"
You say "neither" I say "neither"
"Either" "either", "neither" "neither"
Let's call the whole thing off
You say "potato," I say "patattah"
You say "tomato", I say "creole tomata"
Oh, let's call the whole thing off Oh, if we call the whole thing off
Then we must part and oh
If we ever part, that would break my heart
So, I say "ursta" you say "oyster"
I'm not gonna stop eatin' urstas just cause you say oyster,
Oh, let's call the whole thing off
Oh, I say "pajamas", you say "pajamas"
Sugar, what's the problem?
Oh, for we know we need each other so
We'd better call the calling off off
So let's call it off, oh let's call it off
Oh, let's call it off, baby let's call it off
Sugar why don't we call it off,
I'm talking baby why call it off
Call it off!­
Let's call the whole thing off

I'm all set for this amazing journey! I'm calling nothing off... my husband says it is too late anyway! :-)

It happened to me!

A close friend of mine proposed to me in the most romantic fashion a couple of weeks ago. We were at a pub with a big group of friends and he went down on one knee in front of a 100 people, pulled out a diamond ring and asked me to marry him. All along I thought this sort of thing only happened in the movies. But no, I wasn't drunk. It happened to me. And my whole life changed in that one instant.

Considering I really really like this guy, the obvious answer was a yes. We're tying the knot soon... real soon. I've been on a constant high ever since. Life's not been the same. But it's a welcome change. I'm lovin' it!