Family Ties

I've learned -

that your family won't always
be there for you. It may seem funny,
but people you aren't related to
can take care of you and love you
and teach you to trust people again.

Families aren't biological.

I read this somewhere many years ago. I have lived away from home for so many years that I have lived this truth. I have had my share of ups and downs, of tears and laughter, of friends and foes, of wonderful love and tearful heartbreaks.

What do you call this family that you acquire over the years? Do you have to give it a name? VJ: My dearest friend, my next door neighbour at one time, and I were thick as thieves. Still are. Born exactly 364 days after I came into this world, it seemed so special to have found a friend in him. That our birthdays had to be so close... right next door... just like us made the friendship even more special.

I moved out of Hyderabad 2 years ago and among the people I missed, he was the one I missed the most. There's something about having a great friend as a neighbour. Making friends with your neighbour is very different from having your friend become your neighbour.

We'd visited each other several times and my trip to Singapore was thanks to him and him alone. We would talk late into the night about life, work, love and everything else in between. There was no way I could give this relationship a name. I still cannot. I tell people "we're family" and people ask, "is he like your brother?" No, he's not like my brother. But he's family. How do I explain that?

He's the guy whose shoulder I cried on when I had the worst nightmares of my life. When I had repeated visions of the one night in which I lost my handbag and the love of my life, he gave me the strength to carry on. When I left Hyderabad, we'd spent months debating that decision. We could rely on each other to look at something in a very objective fashion. And as recent events proved, we still can.

I am just back from his wedding. He tied the knot 346 days after I did. And just as he came to my wedding and was part of my big day, I was happy I could be a part of his. I'd not have missed this for anything but the recent incidents made me a little unsure of being able to make it. I tried and I was there. I had a lovely time. I was family. Not a friend, not a sister... but family.

VJ: I wish you and Sangeetha the very best that life has to offer. I can never be too thankful to have you in my life.

Triumph of Mind Over Matter

I got back on Monday from a 3 day camping trip at Mukteshwar, Kumaon Himalayas. I had a lovely time and got better acquainted with my colleagues (and every muscle and bone in my body). I had three days of trekking in the mountains, blindfolded at times, in the dark at others, chatting away with colleagues, sharing tidbits about my life, learning about theirs.

It's funny how you have perceptions about the people you interact with and how they fade away to give away to new ones. Somewhat like the layers of an onion. I never really understood that term until this trip.

I'm a complete beach bum. I attribute this to the fact that I was born on the coast (Bombay), spent 20 years on another coast (Madras) and went on to spend 2 years, under the pretext of completing a post graduate degree, at a wonderful beach resort called the Pondicherry University. I was also allergic to the beach sand as a child and so the beach was out of bounds. So, my connection only grew deeper.

But I've also always loved the hills. There's something magical about being in the mountains. The fresh air, the breathtaking views, the colours, just everything is magical. This trip, however, was about all that and more. It was about me. It was about pushing myself beyond what I thought possible.

At first glance, the view from this cliff was intimidating to say the very least. I had wanted to climb rock faces and all that when I was in college. And this trip was a dream come true in a sense. But it has been quite a while since I finished college and so quite sometime since I had the dream as well.

There I was, with a bunch of folks right out of college, most of them a gentle reminder of what I was 8-10 years ago. The world is your oyster kind of attitude. It was fun being with them. When the time for rock climbing came, I encouraged them to go on and they encouraged me in return. But when I started to climb the rock face, I slipped and fell. Not once, but twice. I was dejected to say the least and went off to eat my breakfast. The timing was off and I hadn't done anything remotely as strenuous in the last few years. That's when a colleague of mine, more a friend actually, said to me, "Arundhati, have you heard the term 'third time lucky'? Maybe that's what it takes. Why don't you try? We're all here."

I wasn't too sure. I decided to try rappelling. I loved it. Absolutely! There's something to learn from this activity, about trusting a man and a rope so much that you're sure they won't let any harm come to you. I did this twice (yeah, kind of like to make up for falling off the rock face twice!). That's me getting ready to jump off the cliff.

After meeting with success here, I decided to try climbing the rock one last time. I was off to a better start and made it half way up the cliff. And then it began to rain. I kept losing my hand and foot grips every few seconds. But there were about 30 people standing all around, coaxing me to not give up. Stuck to the cliff like Spider man, I cried for about ten minutes. Then I figured that I crying was going to get me nowhere. I saw a bunch of complete strangers encouraging me to get to the top. At that point, I thought to myself, "If all these people believe in me and feel that I can do it, what on earth is stopping me from believing that?" I cried some more, caught my breath and set out to reach the top. And I did it.

I cried again after I was done. Some people thought they were tears of happiness. I think I was just plain relieved. Boy was I glad to be back with these people! Happy that my age old belief:

• if I want something badly enough and have the right reasons for wanting it, I will get it.
• I will get what I want provided I work hard for it.
• As long as I believe that I can do it.

still holds good. I am happy to be back, exhilarated that I achieved what I set out to, and thrilled to have lived a dream.

India

I once talked about some of the things that Indians do that make me not so proud of them. Here's an example. I took this picture at the Taj when we visited 2 weeks ago. The sign says in English and Hindi, "Please do not take off your shoes here" and that is exactly what everyone had done.

Where is it that we have a problem in taking orders? In following rules? I wonder. 60 years of independence and some of us behave like we didn't deserve that freedom.

Occupational Hazards

I think about the hazards that people put up with, day in and day out, just because of their professions. It's not like I'm writing an HR paper or attending a conference. This thought is a recurring one.

In school, we were taught about how asbestos factory workers ran the risk of exposure to silica dust. And for a long time, I always thought of occupational hazards much the same way. Exposure to this, lack of that, inhalation of something else: always a physical hazard. As I grew up, I also realized that being in the defence forces was a hazardous job. In its own way. But then again, not just physically, also mentally and psychologically hazardous.

I somehow never thought about my own job as being hazardous in any way. Until a few years ago. And several incidents over the years have thrown light on what those hazards might be.

I was waiting for my mother at the airport about 6 years ago. I met a guy who went to school with me. A few years my senior. We talked for a bit and exchanged cards. Then he said, "We should keep in touch." I thought, "Yeah, we should." I was looking at it from the perspective of rebuilding my friends' circle in Madras as most of my friends had moved out in the time that I was away. A few days later, I got a call out of the blue. From this guy. We got talking about this and that and at the end he told me he knew someone who is very enterprising and smart. Could I find her a job? There. It was out. Out there for me to see that the title of "Head - Human Resources, India Operations" of a multinational consulting company had worked its magic.

Since then, I have always wondered about why people befriend me. Earlier, I used to believe that it was because of who I am, not because of what I am. Now, somehow, I am not so certain. I am a little wary of people. And let's face it. I am not averse to helping someone. If I can be of use, why not? After all, I have been helped too. But I hate the fact that this "help" can be the be all and end all of the supposed relationship.

My teachers at school always thought I was a spoilt brat. I didn't want to go to IIT and my parents said OK. I wanted to study Biology and my folks were supportive of that. While I was a popular student at school for most part, towards the end of my school days, I wasn't much loved by my teachers. Why? Because I wasn't too good at Math and Physics. Because I didn't have high ambition. I didn't aim for the IITs, JIPMERs and AIIMSs of the world. It's a different story altogether that the same students with high ambitions landed up beside me in B.Sc. I got what I wanted, and they got what they deserved. Yet, somehow, in the overall scheme of things, I was the lowly one. The star who could have gone anywhere she wanted, but the star who went astray. The top ranker who chose Biology over all else. The one that started out great but turned out just about average.

Accused of lying, cheating and just about everything else (because I needed time off for my cousin's wedding), warned of stuff such as, "My God is watching you." To which the every-cocky I responded with a, "Just as mine is watching you." Fast forward to about 3 years ago. I run into the same teacher who told me I was a good for nothing liar because NOBODY gets married in the December 15th-January 15th time frame. And I was accused of printing my cousin's wedding invitation. We're talking about the early 90s. I didn't even know where one went to get such stuff done, let alone actually go do it. Time is a healer like no other. We talked. I was civil and nice. She asked what I did after school. I told her about everything, including the fact that I was a University topper. And she asked for my card. Immediately, I had a sense of deja-vu. I didn't say or do anything, but I knew what would happen next.

A few days later, when I was back in Hyderabad, I got a call. The same teacher had an enterprising, smart (hmmm!) nephew who needed a job. I asked for the resume and called him for an interview. He made it through the written test, but the technical team rejected him after 2 rounds. I happened to be in Madras again at the time. I got back and sent the candidate a reject mail. My ordeal started from that point on. The teacher called me said, "I'm banking on you. You're the HR Director, how can they reject anyone if you say not to. Is there actually someone above you?" I told her that it didn't matter whether or not there was someone above me. I would do the right thing even if no one was watching. After that, I never heard from her. How did she start banking on someone who barely 10 years ago was a cheat and a liar?

There was also the case, slightly before this one, of the librarian whose daughter was doing her MBA. I met him at an alumni meet and later, he called. Could I get his daughter an internship? No, I couldn't, because we had a space constraint at the time. A few months later, I moved to another company and he probably tried to reach me at the old workplace. And he probably couldn't. Sometime later, he passed away. I sent a condolence message and his son lashed out at me. Saying things like, "When he was alive, you avoided him and now you're sorry he's no more." I was shocked. I don't try and "avoid" anyone. But when I am helpless and the hound me, maybe it does seem that way.

Why am I writing about this today? Because I'm upset. Irritated. I heard from someone I'd barely worked with. She was leaving the company just as I joined. And I had to complete her exit formalities. I was done with everything and there was something pending from her side. I had to attend a family function at my cousin's place and told this lady that I'd leave at 8. She delayed and then pleaded with me to come back and finish her paperwork. For a host of reasons, I decided I had to finish her work. Then she started hounding me for her relieving letter. She'd call everyday, even at 9 p.m., to ask for the status. People in HR have no life, you see. When that was settled, I never heard from her. I didn't expect to. Then I realized all the lies she told me about studying further and moving abroad. She moved to GS, another job. Why lie about it? But suddenly, yesterday, the woman has added me as a friend on Orkut. The usual, "Do you remember me? You looked very cute in a sari." and all that rubbish. I sarcastically told her that I never forget people who make me miss family functions.

This morning, I opened my mailbox to find an email from her. Her brother-in-law is moving to India from the US. Could I help him find a job? I politely declined because I have no contacts in Bangalore anymore in any case. But the point is, if I did, would I still have? I doubt it. I want to have nothing to do with people whose every move is a calculated one. Every phone call, every meeting, doesn't have to have an outcome, doesn't have to have a hidden agenda.

Talk to me, spend time with me, I'd love it. As long as you're doing it because you want to, because you like to, not because you need to. Take me for who I am, and not for what I am.

This past week

I have had an eventful week.

We've done loads of stuff in the last 7 days and to a great extent, it has been great fun.

We started celebrating S's birthday the previous day and were at a posh restaurant at midnight. This was a futuristic modern European restaurant. But I'm fairly certain I'm never going back. Why? Because the duds didn't know how to serve us nicely despite the fact that we were the ONLY guests. And I told the DJ that it was my husband's birthday at midnight, so could he please play "Happy Birthday"? "Sorry Ma'm. We only play House and Lounge music."

I thought that was fine. But when the clock struck 12, I wished S and hugged him. Not one of the restaurant's staff even bothered to wish him. What does it cost to say, "Many happy Returns"? Maybe in "Modern" Europe they don't wish people. That's a little too futuristic for me. I am a little old fashioned in these matters.

Now coming to the nice part. I got the day off. Why? Because my company has a policy that allows employees a day off on the birthdays of their spouse and children. Isn't that fun? I spent the day making a nice cake for the birthday boy. You can read all about it here.

After cutting the cake, we went shopping. I got him a gift and he got me one. (I'm liking it even more.) Then we bought a whole lot of stuff for the house and to aid my food blogging efforts. And then we went to our favourite restaurant in the whole world, oops on the whole earth: EARTH.

There, the manager, chef, waiters... just about everyone came and wished S. We got such royal treatment despite the fact that restaurant was overcrowded. We had some nice wine with mushroom starters, pizza, pasta and the chef brought us a special cheesecake (with his compliments) with a candle on it and "Happy Birthday Sachin" written on the plate with syrup.

THIS is the stuff birthdays are made of. I'm not saying that on other days people can be rude. All I'm saying is that be nice, but be extra nice on someone's birthday.

I had a few cooking firsts. The cake and the icing were a definite first (in 20 years). I also baked my first successful batch of masala buns and then, my very first bread.

My office has been sealed by the MCD and until the matter is resolved, we are working from home. So, that gives me about 2-3 hours extra to myself in a day.

I was interviewed by CNN IBN on Monday and S and I came on two of their live TV reports as well. After our earlier India Today feature, we're suddenly very very media friendly. After the burglaries, we featured on Aaj Tak and an auto driver in Delhi recognized me the next day and was very sympathetic.

I have also completed 8 years of being part of a workforce. A very rewarding 8 years this has been. I walked into the office of a TTK subsidiary on the 8th of August 1999 and there has been no looking back. I think about giving this all up, I think about it a lot. But will I get around to it, I don't know. Only time will tell.

Happenings

So much has happened, yet it feels like nothing is happening. Apologies for ignoring this blog for such a long time. My food blog does get a lot more attention these days and with time, I am fairly certain that this problem will be fixed.

I was in the news almost all of yesterday and for a good part of Monday. CNN IBN was covering the crime rate in Gurgaon. Despite the shocking numbers, the ACP said that there was no need for panic. The situation, according to him, is under control. I'd like him to have 6 weeks of sleepless nights. Or 6 weeks of leaving for work each morning not knowing if all will be OK when we get back. 6 weeks of being suspicious about every activity outside his door. 6 weeks with no peace of mind. 6 weeks of the trauma I've been faced with, before he says, "I don't see any need for panic."

I've had advice pouring in from every corner.

• "Why don't you leave your jewellery in a bank locker?"
• "Why do you wait for a Saturday to go meet the authorities, why can't you go tomorrow?"
• "Did you not lock your house properly?"
• "Get a better lock."
• "Get a maid to stay full time or ask your parents to come and stay with you."

Hindsight is always 20:20, right? I can think of a thousand things I could have done. But nothing can change the fact that my privacy was invaded. Someome broke into my house while I was away. Someone went through my personal belongings and took away something so dear to me.

People asked me, "If that mangalsutra is so sentimental, why were you not wearing it?" I really want to slap some people so hard. I don't need to explain to them that I got 5 mangalsutras at my wedding and can only wear one at a time. And isn't wearing it my choice? Even my mother didn't ask me why it was in the locker.

What amused me the most, however, was this guy from the Crime Branch.

Inspector: Aap gehne ghar mein kyon rakhte hain? (Why do you keep jewellery at home?)

Me: Sir, thoda sa to ghar mein rakha hi jaata hai. (Sir, some of it has to be kept at home.)

Inspector: Theek hai madam. Aap ka to gaadi se aana jaana hota hai, apne bag mein rakha keejiye." (That's fine Madam. You must be traveling in a car, carry the jewellery in your bag."

Me: Kyon? Taaki mera handbag chori ho jaaye aur aap poochhen ki akal nahin thi jo itna saraa bag mein liye phir rahi thi?" (Why? So my handbag could be stolen and then you can ask if I didn't have the common sense to not carry expensive stuff around?)

Having had your house burgled is one thing. Having your life open to question by just about anyone is quite another.

Everything happens for a reason

I firmly believe this. Everything really does happen for a reason. I also believe that something good happens out of everything.

We got burgled. Our privacy had been invaded. Our wealth had been taken away. But we got something in return. We got to meet our neighbours. And become friends with them. Leftover dinners are more fun because of the people we can share them with.

We went out for a picnic with some friends and friends of friends. S slipped and hurt his ankle. I thought, "What next? How much are we being tested? And for what?" But I've been a reluctant driver for most part. I love zooming on 2 wheelers, but I've never had a connection of any kind with four wheelers. And I had to drive S back from the hospital. And take him there again and bring him back. And I figured I can do it.

There is a reason why something happens. That reason may not be apparent to us. Maybe it will be after a while, maybe it won't. But that doesn't take away from the fact that there is a reason.

I've felt pain in the past when a relationship fell apart. But the guy did something that showed me it wasn't worth it in the first place. That was my reason. That took a part of the pain away.

Maybe I'm a die hard optimist or maybe I'm just a realist. But seeing the good that comes out of any bad just helps me deal with life better. The good incidents do help me enjoy life, the good that I see in the bad, helps me cope.

With all the ups and downs that life threw our way, S and I complete 10 months of being husband and wife. All I can say is that it has been loads of fun.

Sense and Sensibility

I've not been a great dresser. Not ever. And this post isn't about the great novel. It is about the dress sense of people and how it affects my sensibilities. My clothes have always been what I'd call comfortable. My friends at one point had threatened to disown me if I ever bought another piece of vegetable dyed Gujarat block printed material. I still do. I find them very pretty and, most of all, comfortable. And I can't ever coordinate my ear-rings and shoes and handbag to the clothes I am wearing. So, I tend to carry the same handbag everywhere. I wear the same set of ear-rings and almost always am wearing the same comfy footwear.

A proper down to her little toe Delhiite once asked me in typical Delhi English, "Don't mind, I want to ask you something. I've noticed that you wear the same footwear with jeans, trousers, suits and sarees. Don't you have any others?" I said, "I said, 'I have another pair at home for when this wears out. The look on her face was saying, "Oh you poor thing. I didn't think you were that hard up for money." But what she said to me was, "Here, whenever we buy a dress, we buy all matching accessories for that."

Thanks to my never ending skin allergies, I can only wear cotton, silk, or a combination of the two. In Hyderabad, I was once told by a colleague, "You don't wear synthetics, you don't know what you're missing!" And I thought "Fine! I live a sorry sad life."

I've always traveled comfy. Track pants instead of jeans for long train journeys or overnight bus journeys. Casual and comfortable. The same goes for flights. I find it amusing when people dress up in their finest clothes for a flight. My husband and I were once aboard a flight at Delhi, and I felt like a beggar. I'd just woken up, had a bath, put on a pair of jeans and a kurta over it. People were dressed in chiffons, or silks... had loads of jewellery, make up... the works. Even some men were so overdressed that I can't find words to describe what I felt. It was evident from their conversations that they'd spent the day sightseeing. It was like they became sights for others to see.

Somewhere else, maybe! But in Delhi, I've found that dressing up like that isn't exactly unusual. Most of the places that I go to, I see people dressed in totally "dhinchak" colours. There's a special pink. And on any given day, you're bound to see that pink paired with orange, yellow and the brightest blue you can see. A colleague once joked to me that people dress this way so that they can be spotted from a distance. But if every one's dressed in these colours, then how does one tell the difference?

During a college trip to Kodaikanal, that involved endless walking during field trips to study plants, I noticed that some classmates had come in flowing chiffons and high heels. And I thought, "How are they going to climb the mountains with these?" Three weeks ago, S and I went to Mussoorie. And half of Delhi was there. And believe me, it was a sight. Pinks and blues with loads of zari and stone work everywhere. High heels that were stone studded. All this for a day picnic!! And there I was... in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.

But I can't help but think: is it them? Or is it them? One more of those things that remain beyond me and my comprehension.

The male of the species

I always commented to my mother about guys peeping into autos. Just look around you. If you're a woman and you're on the road, you may look all around you, but you wouldn't necessarily peep inside another vehicle. Men do that. All the time.

I am tired of men ogling and worse still leching. Earlier this week, I took a bus back home. It was not exactly empty, but I managed to find a seat after 5-10 minutes. There was this guy. The typical Delhi local. Kind of like Salman Khan in Tere Naam... but only the variety that identifies more with Leonardo than Salman. Anyway, the tight T-shirt that shows off non existent muscles, coloured hair that needs vigourous head shaking in order to allow for normal sight, skin tight jeans... and a handkerchief stuffed inside the pocket, half outside. This guy kept staring at my chest. It must be true that most men think with their 'you-know-whats'. And then he kept repositioning himself to peer more. The thing is, one way or another they're not getting any views. But they don't know that. I come from supposedly 'conservative' Chennai and hence know nothing about being fashionable (read fashionable as showing various parts of my anatomy to the ogling public). Then this guy tried the cheapest trick in the book. He crossed his legs and stood in such a way that if the driver were to brake all of a sudden, he'd fall directly on me. Too bad for him that the driver did no such thing.

When I travel in a cycle rickshaw in Gurgaon, random guys whistle at me. This morning there was this guy in the bus. He turned his face to look at me. Then when I did the same back, he started looking away and was totally uncomfortable. Guys lech even when I am in the car with S. It's almost like it's their birthright. Once, I was traveling with my mom and a guy kept leching at her and she said to me, "Even when I am almost 60, if these looks don't stop, they probably never will". I agree. I am not exactly Demi Moore. Far from that!!

Has any of you seen women do such things? I'd really like to hear from you if I'm biased. I've seen girls teasing a supposedly innocent guy in the movies, but in real life, not to date.

Music

Music sure isn't what it used to be. Many a time, people tell me I've not moved with the times. OK, so I still listen to film music from the 50s and can sing along to most of Lata's and Asha's songs, not to forget Geeta Dutt.

In the early 90s, I remember my parents commenting on some music I was listening to. And they said, 'Is this music?" If they are, today, subjected to Himesh Reshamiyya's numbers, they wouldn't be talking about Jatin-Lalit, Nadeem-Shravan and Anand-Milind that way.

I think it's quite the same all over. Give me Abba any day. But give me Brothers Four or Joan Baez or Ralph MacTell and I won't complain.

About 2 days ago, I was traveling back home and was subjected to some song which went "Aa bhi jaa". That's all I could catch in that song... wait... that's all there was. In a lousy monotone, the guy went on like a stuck record. He must have sung "Aa bhi jaa" about 100 times in that song. I wanted to scream and jump out of the cab. What rubbish plays under the umbrella of "Super Hit Hour".

We watched Cheeni Kum and it was a pleasure to listen to Ilayaraja's old numbers reinvented. Such hummable numbers. I know I will incur the wrath of several people on blogosphere when I say this. But I will anyway. I don't think very highly of ARR's music. I find it highly repetitive. And the guy copied music left, right and centre from Western Classical music. Sorry, in my book, geniuses don't resort to plagiarism.

My Tamil music is limited to Ilayaraja's works and I hope to, someday, own all the music that the man created. I do own ARR's works as well: Roja and Bombay. Someone gifted me the cassette of Rangeela and so I own that too. But that's it. Deva is another story altogether. He will need a book, not just a mention in a blog post.

Why this random post about Music? Just like that. Because I was tortured... because I've loved the songs of Life in a Metro... because I can't get Jaane Do Na (the remake of Vizhiyile) out of my head.

Compromised

We live in DLF City Phase V, Gurgaon and because this is a DLF zone, we pay through our noses for things such as maintenance and SECURITY. On Friday, at around 3 p.m., we were informed that our house had been burgled. As we reached the apartment, we came to know that 6 other apartments in the complex had also been burgled. The burglars struck between 10 a.m. and 12 p.m. and camped away with as much jewellery, cash and forex that they could stuff their pockets with. More than the fact that I lost my jewellery, including the mangalsutra, what is shocking is that someone broke into my house, that our security has been compromised.

All the doors had been forced open using a crowbar and one of the apartments even had a grill door, which had been broken. The police claim that DLF City Phase V is such a secure zone that they never felt the need to make this a part of their beat and was never under their radar. But they are investigating this case. The agency to which DLF has outsourced security of Phase V, LE Security, has not done anything since the incident occured and when questioned by the residents, the representative walked away from the meeting saying that he is not answerable to any of us.

All the while, we have found that the security situation in DLF properites has left a lot to be desired. Over the last few years, there have been several burglaries in these properties, but nothing ever happens and everything gets brushed under the carpet. The head of LE Securities, however, gets to take his family on vacations abroad, all sponsored by DLF, for exemplary security services provided.

It is very clear that the security guards have a hand in this. It is next to impossible for someone to break open 7 doors in broad daylight without anyone smelling a rat. Moreover, it seems too much of a coincidence that the security incharge for DLF V was on leave on Friday. Quite the same way that he had been when the earlier burglaries took place.

DLF mints money at our expense. And so does LE security. We pay them month on month, and we also pay them through our losses. Because at the end of the day, they also get a cut from the loot.

I want to be able to spread awareness about this incident, about the indifference of DLF staff and LE Security. We would like to get compensated for our loss. We would like to ensure that DLF, as big an empire as it may be, doesn't get away with this. Any suggestions and help would definitely be welcome.

Baby Names

Why do some names become popular all of a sudden? I wonder. Especially in India, when we have so many names to choose from, I find it really odd that people seem to pick names from a really limited pool.

Between December 2005 and March 2007, 6 of my friends had baby boys and they ALL named their sons Siddharth. I begged my close friend to name her child something else if it were to turn out to be a boy, but no! Her husband was hell bent on naming the boy Siddharth and that was that. Imagination and research seem to have gone for a rather long walk.

A few years ago, when Pandit Ravi Shankar's daughter became a popular figure, the name Anoushka was everywhere. I had 3 managers in my team, all 3 had daughters with the same name. And now, the names Shriya/Shreya/Shreeya have become overly popular. Even my own niece, born to Sachin and Priya, is called Shreeya. And some 4-5 friends who have daughters between the ages of 0 and 5 are called Shreya or some variation of the same. Fortunately, I do have 2 close friends who've named their daughters Meghana and Dhwani.

This takes me back to a time before even my brother was born. When my mother was pregnant with my brother, my parents had to decide on names. My father is, among other things, a Sanskrit scholar. He extensively researched the scriptures to find a name each for a boy and a girl. He read the Silappadikaram and was impressed with the character of Kannagi. Further research revealed to him that the character of Kannagi was based on Arundhati.

Arundhati: the wife of sage Vashishtha, one of the Saptarishis. Arundhati had come to be known as the epitome of fidelity. The wife, who remained true to her marriage vows and followed her husband everywhere, because her job was to be by her husband's side. And to this day, the little star next to the 6th star of the Saptarishi constellation, is a reminder that she took her vows more seriously than other women in her time, or today.

As a child, I always wondered why my parents had to give us such complicated names. Today, when I think about it, I find that the names are well thought through. Not a grandparent's name to please the family, not a name that's easy for foreigners to pronounce, not a name that was popular at the time, not a name that an astrologer suggested based on my horoscope, not any of those things.

And with this post, I announce my real name to my readers (there are still those people who didn't know who I was until I told them): Arundhati.

Random Facts Replace Random Thoughts

I have been tagged! No, it isn't the Orkut kind of website I'm talking about. Wooster, my dear friend decided to take revenge on me for not spending an evening with him last weekend. But if this is punishment, I'd misbehave everyday. At least that way, I'll get my blog updated.

8 random facts about myself:

• I have been playing Scrabble since I was 3.
• I sing almost all the time when I am awake, either aloud or silently.
• I love cooking and baking and could do it all the time.
• I am extremely talkative and love learning new languages. The two do go well together!
• I have a beautiful handwriting, if I may say so myself.
• I hosted a TV show on Vijay TV almost 10 years ago.
• I make a living on the side by writing and do a lot of embroidery, but still consider myself "creatively challenged".
• My 3 personal all time highs: getting the President's Award from R. Venkataraman in 1991, receiving the Gold medals for topping the University from Prof B. Ramamurthi in 2000, having S propose to me in front of a 150 people at the Beach, Bangalore in 2006.

and here's the list of the chosen 8 who shall continue the chain:

Janani - Pretty Woman, Random ramblings.

Sunanda - Blogosphere's most wanted - missing in action.

Lipstick - more than just a cosmetic!

Geeman - loves Physics, music, and marathons

Whizkid - Life and times in Bangalore

Aaroo - Writer, trainer, HR person - all rolled into one.

Arundathi - namma Chennai ponnu

Trupti - a celebrity blogger. Love her food blog and her spirit.

There are rules too

• Each player starts with 8 random facts/habits about themselves.
• People who are tagged, write a blog post about their own 8 random things, and post these rules.
• At the end of your post you need to tag 8 people and include their names. Don’t forget to leave them a comment and tell them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
• If you fail to do this within eight hours, you will not reach Third Series or attain your most precious goals for at least two more lifetimes.

Home!

Home Sweet Home

That's where I am headed today. This is probably the longest that I have stayed away from my beloved Madras. Six and a half months. And I am so eager to visit.

I want to

Sit and talk to Amma and Appa.
Go to the beach.
Meet friends.
Meet my friend VJ and his fiancee.
Attend the wedding of two friends who were almost family.
Shop at Nilgiris.
Eat paruppu urundai.
Savour Amma's lemon cheesecake and date bars.
Get my hair done at the best beauty parlour in the country: Kanya.

I wish S would come along. I am going to miss him. But it's Madras I'm going to. And just for 3 days. So I'm going to make the most of it.

Changing Trends

I had 3 vouchers of Pantaloons and I decided to share it with my family. I kept one for myself, gave one each to my brother and husband. On my own, I bought some things for my parents there, but the vouchers I divided among the people I knew would definitely use them.

About a couple of weeks ago, S and I went to the Pantaloons store in Gurgaon. I wanted to pick up some formal wear as I am no longer with a dotcom but with a research firm, I knew my collection of jeans and kurtis would not suffice.

I went to the women's section and was shocked to see the range of clothes. There were very few nice pastels. Browns and blacks ruled and there weren't any colours that I would have liked to try. No purples, reds, greens, yellows, pinks... I managed to pick up one light lavender shirt. Disgusted, we moved to the men's section. And right there, on male mannequins and just about all the place, I saw every colour that I may have wanted to buy. The most beautiful shades of orange, purple, pink, red and blue... all in the MEN's section. Why? Oh Why???

There will, as always, be things that are beyond my comprehension.

On a side note, a year ago, to this day, was what S and I consider the turning point of our relationship. It was at a dinner with friends at a pub in Delhi, Pebble Street, that we had our moments of truth. That we were probably more than friends. That we connected at a deeper level. So much that a few weeks later, he popped the question.

Why?

I wonder…

… about many things. Some of them are:

Why do people fill their cars with stuffed toys?
Who said stuffed toys are for girls? See the countless men that I see… all middle aged, dribing to work in a big car, just them and their entourage of stuffed toys.

Why do Indians colour their hair blond?
Especially when it doesn’t suit them or makes them look old.

What’s with the clothes that girls these days wear?
In the name of formal wear, they wear fitting clothes that show parts of their anatomy that have no reason to be exposed. Then if someone (male) looks, they take offense.

Why do people wear chudas (red and white bangles) even with jeans and a T-shirt to indicate they are newly married?
And think that is OK, but feel it right to comment on my wearing a bindi with “western clothes” or comment on how weird it is that I wear my mangalsutra the “wrong” way because in my culture, newly weds wear it that way.

Separate posts on each of these topics, someday!

Simple Pleasures: Bus Travel

"You travel by bus? Why?" I keep hearing this from loads of people. I always hated bus travel because of the nasty crowds that I had to deal with. Oh, don't get me wrong. I am not some rich couple's child who had a chauffeur driven car while I was growing up. But I lived inside the IIT campus and rode a bicycle to school and back. Cool life! I could have chosen to attempt the IIT JEE and get into it and do what most campus kids in my time did... spend 21 years on campus and then go to the US. Engineering wasn't my cup of tea in any case and I've always been the "exploratory" type. I had to start trips outside the campus because I had classes outside.


I've always been fascinated by buses. When I was all of 9 years, I'd gone to a Spelling Bee contest at Good Shepherd and the teacher sent me back with 4 other kids. All by myself... from Nungambakkam to IIT. My mother is furious with the teacher to this day and I don't blame her. But the thing was that I was this confident girl. I KNEW the bus routes very well. Even when I was just 9.


When I had classes outside, I'd ride my cycle to the IIT gate, park it there and then take a bus to wherever I had to go to. But there were times when the buses would be crowded. I had a boy's cut in those days and went to my classes in jeans and a Tshirt. I was once trying to get on to a bus and after the bus started moving, a lady was trying to make me get off because she forgot it was her stop. A guy on the road lifted me and placed me on the road. I turned around and slapped him. It was only then that he realized I was a girl. So, I've had my share of bad incidents.


I decided to go everywhere on my bicycle. If it meant attending classes in Nandanam, visiting my grandmother in Mylapore, or a friend in Ashok Nagar. I loved riding my bicycle. Chennai's traffic is also the most organized among all cities I've lived in. Safe enough for a child to ride a bicycle even on Mount Road.


For the first 2 years of college, I took the '5E' ladies special. After that, I bought my first "bike". As in one with a motor. It was a TVS Super Champ and I refuse to this day to call it a "moped". There were no pedals. It had a kick start and was as good as any other "bike".


When I moved to Pondicherry, I started French lessons. I would wake up at 4.00 in the morning and then switch on my roomie's heater and place some water and an egg in a vessel on it. I would wake up again at 5, by which time the egg would have been boiled perfectly. I'd go through my morning routine and leave at 5.45. Walk down for 15 minutes and reach the gate. Catch the 6.00 a.m. bus to town. Get off at Ananda Theatre and walk for half an hour to reach Alliance Francaise. Everything was nice about this routine... except for the fisher women and their huge baskets of fish. I would almost throw up by the time I got out of the bus. So I got my Super Champ transported to Pondicherry as well. Another post will be dedicated to my bus trips between Pondicherry and Madras.

In Bangalore and Gurgaon, where I spent the next 2 years after I graduated, I had to use the bus on several occasions. Of course, I had the bike in Bangalore as well. In Chennai, whenever I had a problem with the bike, I'd happily take the bus. PTC or MTC or whatever it is called these days is by far the best bus service that I have used in India. Many people say BEST that runs in Bombay is the best, but I find those buses tough to use. The digits are in Devnagri on the front and the side. So I always know which bus I've missed! (As Appa puts it.) It's only on the back of the bus do they have the route in numbers written such that I can read and understand.

In Hyderabad, I used the bus. I asked the receptionist at the office about bus routes to Secunderabad. And she said, "You're a Director. What will people think if you go by bus?" I assured her that the driver and conductor and the passengers would never come to know! She didn't think it was funny. She said, "I never travel by bus. Always by auto." I avoid the auto whenever possible. You're sitting through a jerky ride, and at a level where the fumes of all vehicles, especially the buses, come straight at you.

In Bangalore, I started taking the bus when I signed up for Spanish classes. I had to learn the Kannada script in order to figure out where the bus was heading. But hey, I learnt another language. (Hindi numerals will probably account for a separate post.) Back in the NCR, I am back to using the buses.

You meet so many types of people. People look at me up and down, up and down... what's a girl with a laptop, sunglasses and a nice handbag, wearing trousers and a formal top, doing in a bus? I find it amusing that they find me amusing. Delhi Gurgaon buses are filled with labourers. There are times when folks get up to offer me a seat. I still steer clear of crowded buses. But the ones where I can get a seat...mmm nothing like it. I watch the sunset in the evenings. Focus on the people on the road. Chat with the conductor if he seems a nice sort. Look at other buses to see where they go, what route they take. I couldn't have done any of this had I been driving back and forth. I'm saved the trouble of watching the road and steering clear of all the cars that are there just to run into mine.

Ah, the simple pleasures of life!

What do I say?

It has been a while since I posted anything here. Blame it on many things: a new job, the long commute, intermittent internet access at home and, of course, my new found love for food blogging.

But as always, there are so many things that I do want to write about. The commute everyday from Gurgaon to Delhi, the sand storms of summer, the hailstorms of summer, the fruits of summer, movies that we watched, places that we visited, food that we ate, it is truly endless.

I want to talk of the simple everyday pleasures – like getting a seat in the bus on my way back, especially a window seat, like watching the sun set on my way back home, like having S surprise me by driving all the way to Delhi just to pick me up. There’s also a not so everyday pleasure that I was treated to last evening – S got promoted. After all those long-into-the-night discussions about “if they don’t recognize what you’re doing, then you should quit”, it finally came through. So maybe they were paying attention.

I’m all by myself this weekend. I plan to bake some brownies and/or an apple pie. Let’s see. We have no cable TV at home and so I’m forced to watch the DVDs that we have or listen to music. I have been reading on days when I’m alone. On days when we’re together and not entertaining, we play Scrabble. I have started driving and we go on a trip a day (at least we try to). There are suddenly so many things happening. And I’m faced with the eternal – ‘so many things to blog about… so little time’.

Mango: The King of Fruits

Summer’s here. And there’s only one thing that makes me look forward to this season. That, of course, would have to be the arrival of truckloads of mangoes into each market. I grew up at the IIT Madras campus and we had a reasonably huge garden. We had 2 coconut trees, one lemon tree, 1 sapota tree, a banana patch, and 2 mango trees. One tree was of the Rumani variety and the other belonged to the Humayun clan. Rumani is quite ordinary. It is available all over Madras by end of May or early June. Humayun, however, is unique in that it is not easily available. But it is one of the sweetest and tastiest mangoes I have ever eaten.

When I was much younger, I read somewhere that the Mango is the King of Fruits and I thought, “No, it can’t be. It has to be the orange.” I loved oranges then and continue to do so. I can finish a dozen or so of them in an afternoon if no one’s watching. Amma tells me she ate 2 dozens a day when she was carrying me and would sometimes not eat anything else. Maybe that’s where I got my love for oranges. I digress! I used to think that people loved the mango only because it was seasonal. Maybe not. I think I’d eat mangoes everyday throughout the year of they were available. I love them. I, in fact, love all kinds of fruit. But the mango is special.

One mango related incident that stands out in my, and my entire family’s, memory dates back to when I was about two and a half years old. We were spending the summer at my aunt’s place in Bangalore. Appa had taken H for a movie and Amma was at home with me. She took off my clothes and sat me down on a chair in a banian so that she’d have less to clean and gave me a mango. I ate it and by the time I came to the seed, I had mango all over my face and the white banian had turned yellow for most part. Just then, the movie goers returned. I quickly hid the mango seed behind my back and turned to H.

Me: What am I eating?
H: mango

Me (Wide eyed and full of awe, he was after all the hero in my life): How did you know?

H teases me to this day whenever I sit down to eat a mango. He says, “You had ‘mango’ written all over you and yet you thought that if you kept the seed hidden, I’d never know. Innocence was your first, middle, and last name. You should have stayed that way: tiny, naïve, and innocence personified. Why did you have to grow up?”

I spent many summers in Bombay, the city where I was born and the one that has gone down in all records as my “native place”. I ate a lot of Alphonso mangoes each summer, and while I do like them, I am not crazy about them as most Bombayites tend to be. Call me a true blue Madrasi, Chennai-ite or whatever you like. My favourite variety after the Humayun is the Banganapalli mango. People make fun of me for loving this fruit as it is so common. My friends tell me that the only real mangoes are the Alphonso, or Chausa or Dusehri varieties. How do I care? I love it and truly believe in making hay while the sun shines. So, since these beautiful yellow sun kissed Banganapallis entered the market in March, I have been buying them by the kilo. I can eat just that throughout summer and not want anything else. Or maybe just mangoes and vanilla ice cream. For breakfast, I could have a Rasalu mango too. I am not too fond of mango flavoured things like mango ice cream. Maybe I got that bit from Appa. Appa loves chocolate, but doesn’t care much for chocolate flavoured things like ice cream or milkshake. Likewise, give me mangoes anyday.

Mangoes and ice cream always remind me of this conversation I had with my FPG, Anand, when I was working in Madras. Both of us were crazy about mangoes and both of us ate cereal for breakfast.

Anand: Good morning.
Me: Hey, morning. Guess what? Instead of adding banana or raisins to my muesli this morning, I added mango. It tasted great.
Anand: Oh you tried that too. You know what? We had corn flakes and milk. And I added chopped mango too. And much to Vidya’s surprise, I added a scoop of vanilla ice cream. It was heavenly.
Me: I should try that too. Ice cream in the morning. Wonder what Amma’ll say though.

And we got back to our desks to begin work. Five minutes later, I walked up to his work station.

Me: Anand
Anand: Yeah?
Me: I was thinking about your breakfast.
Anand: Hmmm?
Me: What were the cornflakes and milk doing in the bowl anyway?

There are a few mango recipes that are very typical of Saraswat cuisine. I will soon post the recipes in my other blog. Keep watching this area.

Creation!

This is the my friend's creation who entered this world in January this year, bundled in my creation. :)












This is my creation: a cross stitch blanket for baby Sid.