3 movies in 3 weeks

That we love watching movies is now a lore, you'd think these reviews are arriving rather late in the day. So, one, I usually don't write when everyone else is watching the movie and busy tweeting and reviewing the movie if it's a must watch or a dampener. I prefer writing when everyone else has gone home with reams in their head about this and that and everything else.

Raees

The last SRK film I watched on the big screen was Billu (Billu Barber) for it had Irfan Khan (and he is god). All further releases after that, I've watched them on TataSky or discounted DVDs that dear husband buys off during seasonal sales. My sister insisted we watch Raees in the multiplex. Part of me was worried because, we have never visited the multiplex ever with kids unless a children's movie is in question. Even The Jungle Book in 3D failed to woo our two home-theater loving boys. They kept complaining it was too dark. Well, that's another story for another day. 

Luckily for us, the boys had a hearty lunch so when the Udi-Udi Jaye song started they soared to a good afternoon siesta. Long story short, an aging SRK trying to do what Once Upon a Time in Mumbai did to Ajay Devgun. Ajay Devgun was class personified with his bell bottoms, long sideburns, stiff broad shirt collars and that mustache which took him to another level. Here, the only lingering memory of SRK was his kohl-ed eyes and tanned but pancaked skin, all in sepia. The lesser known support characters were good despite the strong editing which was to make SRK stand out - Nawazuddin's character of Majmudar looked too hurried to dispense justice and hence, did not move me so much despite the dialogues and Mohammed Zeeshan Ayub should come out of his checklist as a character actor and start taking more fleshed-out roles, he must know he is very good. Mahira Khan was all sound(given the pre-release controversy), anyone could have done her role and still stayed forgotten. So, there was no story. It was a badly made porridge riding on that one promotional line of the antihero- "baniye ki dimaag aur miya bhai ki daring". Too many topics scattered here and there- there was Gujarat, communal politics, bootlegging, mohalle ka savior, encounter killings and Sunny Leone trying to dance. SRK, oops you tried but you're tired.

Ratings- 1.5/5

Kaabil

I don't remember watching too many notable Roshan Jr movies except Zindagi Na Milega Dobara where he played a near perfect but arrogant investment banker who can sing, swim and dance and perhaps, Agneepath. I've read more reams of his divorce and his mud-slinging with Kangana Ranaut.

We all know by now that Kaabil is a rape revenge drama involving a visually-challenged couple and two corrupt and lawless Maharashtrian corporator brother-duo played by real life brothers, Ronit and Rohit Roy. The pace is fast - fairy tale romance of two visually challenged professionals, marriage, and a double rape which culminates in suicide of Yami's character even before the intermission. 

While it was encouraging to see a movie being made on visually-challenged people, the tepid way of dealing with relationships was disappointing and sexist to say the least. A self-reliant blind girl has to wear uncomfortable shoes to make her intended-to-be happy and familiar that she is around. Who cares about painful toes and wobbly walking and tripping on them? She has to let go of her walking stick in public because he is there for her only to get lost. She takes out her walking stick only to be interrupted by a love-is-in-the-air apology in the middle of a movie promotion in a mall. The worst is perhaps feeling sorry that she got raped twice and is no longer acceptable unconditionally because the man felt violated. So the suicide. The movie was a drag after that. Justifying it with the super revenge tactics is as lame as as believing that the world of the blind is a perfect world. But the disturbing part is, how do men deal with a raped spouse/relative? I do not have answers. Rohit Roy has not come out of his Swabhimaan avatar in terms of dialogue delivery and Ronit Roy is deliciously menacing as Bhausaheb.

Ratings - 1.5/5

Jolly LLB 2

Akshay Kumar has grown as an actor. Remember the hairy-chested Khiladi days where he gyrated nonsensically to Anu Malik songs? The turning point as a viewer happened with Ajnabee where he plays a villain to a dumb Bobby Deol and of course, the Hera-Pheri series. He started picking up smart scripts and kept pace with smart image makeovers. I've not missed too many of his movies after that. He looks relatable quite often and seems hardworking.

I really enjoyed Jolly LLB -1, Arshad Warsi was delightful as Jagdish Tyagi. I cannot think of anyone else as Jolly. And, I think I'm quite convinced about it. But then, it is Akshay Kumar this time and how could I not go!

The movie suddenly throws up a super progressive whisky-chugging Human Qureishi as Pushpa Pandey, wife of Jolly Pandey, originally from Kanpur now in Lucknow who rents a Gucci dress. I have no problem with her whisky act but it was such a miss and blink role from clapping for her husband in court which looked stupid to going through legal papers and evidence to find the fifth cop in the Ipbal Qasim/Qureishi (played achingly by Manav Kaul) encounter killing/murder and eating garma-garam rotis prepared by her husband. 

My in-laws thoroughly enjoyed the movie given its hinterland flavor though Papaji thinks Arshad Warsi is miles better than version 2.0. We also reasoned that Arshad Warsi played a proper Dilliwala and that has its own spice and flavor. Akshay Kumar tried as Jolly version 2.0 and he maybe earning accolades but the actual star of the movie is our adorable teddy bear judge sahib, Saurabh Shukla who loves Alia Bhatt in all forms. You have to watch the movie for him. His mannerisms, his quirks as a father, a heart patient and a judge transferred from Delhi to Lucknow are bang on. The bunch of veteran actors who make up for the ensemble cast are not disappointing at all as Akshay's flaws get hidden by their craft. Kumud Mishra as a villain, yes. You also learn lyrical Lucknowi Hindi through Annu Kapoor who never fails to surprise you.

Ratings - 3/5

3 Pashas

I don't drive to work. I have a car and I have 3 valid excuses for not driving. No, don't get me started. And, I hate the claustrophobic buses. I also hate most of the commercial sedans and the few smelly hatchbacks that offer attractive deals. I hate ACs in vehicles. I totally love the unsafe autos. Ok, don't get me started on why UNSAFE, then WHY unsafe.

Ola-ed an auto on Rakshabandhan to meet a friend over coffee. That Saturday all our North Indian brethren on Sarjapur Road decided to lunch out and have some fun midtown. Well,imagine the traffic bottleneck on this stretch. Idreez Pasha, the Ola man of the hour asked me if there was an another route other than Sarjapur Road. Conversation was bound to happen. He was very brief and direct. He is from Kolar, earns honestly and goes home to his wife and kids every alternate week. No lodgings in Bangalore - his auto is his home. I thought I'd hire him to ferry me to work everyday. He also offered to show me Kolar whenever we intended to do a trip there. I didn't have the heart to keep him away from his wife and kids every alternate week that he went home.I decided against hiring him.

The same afternoon post coffee and some shopping, I was looking for an auto. This time it was Chand Pasha. He is a fancy creature with a big joint family. He wanted to earn an extra 20 bucks. I reprimanded him not to beg and haggle like this. I told him that customers would give you 'dua' and more than 20 bucks if your 'neeyat' is clean. He kept insisting he is a good guy and I kept telling him he must be!I told him I'd rather lose some 50 bucks but never see a dishonest person's face ever. Incidentally, I found him at the auto-stand the next day and he dropped me to work and he owed me 20 bucks which he assured me can be sorted in my return trip if he was around and that he was going to ferry me to work everyday. I gave him a courtesy call in the evening to check if he was around, he was not. The next day, his phone was switched off. His 'neeyat' was to earn 20 bucks more!

Honesty does not have a religion. Truly. The other day, my colleague and I flagged an auto home. He dropped off my colleague mid-way and we were homeward bound. The display credentials intrigued me. He was also a Pasha and he had an honest meter. I didn't strike any conversation with him, I was just a passing listener to his one random phone conversation. He spoke his Hindi with a highland accent.I was convinced he is from Kashmir. So out of curiosity, as I was paying the meter fare, I asked him where he was from. He said he was not from Bangalore. Further probing, and he said, he came to Bangalore 25 years ago from Kashmir.

Some auto experiences in Bangalore.

Nose-picking day

I usually don't rush to the office lift like I did today. Since both my boys were down with the seasonal flu at home I wanted to beat the evening traffic. Hit the G button and as the lift clicked to open, it was an uh-oh moment for me and the gentleman waiting for the lift on the ground floor. He was dressed prim and proper, I could even rattle off the brands and buttons he was wearing. But I'm convinced he'd do everything to avoid me like the plague now. I just caught him in the gross act of picking his nose gloriously and I couldn't help but hide my reaction. But it left me wondering, is it so shame worthy? But imagine shaking hands with him. Hygiene,my friend.

Now, now don't come blazing all your guns at me. Yes, we all pick our noses at some point, that is - out of necessity, for fun, joblessness and you can add your reasons. Look at our social conditioning. My boys do it more out of exasperation when they have snot and nasal debris stuck up there and I help them clear in the most non-disgusting way I can think of. And, off they run to the bathroom to wash their hands and face. And subconsciously, I am telling them it's best reserved for the bathroom and that too, under adult supervision.

Yes, a good part of my childhood was spent with folks and elders telling me not to fart in public, not to pick your nose in public,not to scratch your head in public and a lot of not-to-dos in public. They are habits best avoided and in case it's an unavoidable emergency, I was asked to look for a toilet or bathroom. I also remember getting flak for calling out some old folks in the family who farted quite loudly without rhyme or reason especially during social gatherings. Well, they are old I was told and they could do anything they like. Like really. 

Coming back to picking noses.Our music teacher at school famously did so during assembly and prayer in full glory. I don't think she cared much for the suppressed giggles and the dirty stares. The result was we didn't want to learn the piano under her.Lost one hobby.

And, my day just can't end without drama. The auto guy was also picking his nose during the journey. He was also scraping it off at traffic signal jams. I had my tolerance levels really stretched yesterday.

You think what is in your nose should stay in your nose?

3 fathers and a king

There are fathers

With bittersweet love for their fathers

Who beget painful memories for their children

And there are fathers who loved their fathers

Who their children look up to with pride.

They write happy pages to read in old age.

A Pakistani who thinks he is a father first.

His young lad goes to school while his wife keeps vigil.

In a distant land he drives from morn till his bones creak.

He asked me one question - why so much hate between our countries?

I told him the mistakes of our forefathers.

And the radio blared - Long live the King!

While dear Indie told me about the late Sheikh,

How good a father he was, how good a statesman he was.

The roads are named after him - isn't that proof?

The Double Promotion

Y is my childhood school buddy and we've been harmlessly mean (you know, in an innocent way) to each other. She hated me for topping the class and I hated her for the awesome Tibetan noodles and momos she got as lunch. But we pretty much stuck together. So in her FB post today, she asked her friends to recount how and where we met her and our mutual comments drizzled to how I got the double promotion at school. And, I told her it’s some story and I should tell her sometime.

So, this is for all of you, who know and don’t know that I got double promoted in school, not once but twice. Yes, I spent just 11 years in school.

There was no pre-school when I was growing up and the mandatory has-to-be-3 yrs old rule for Nursery A and that I was a July-born made things difficult for my parents. I don’t remember learning rhymes or ABC. I had figured numbers till 100.All the colors, most animals, birds and the blah. I must be 3 when I used to struggle through multiplication table 9 and, how I hated my parents for it. I recited my first poem before I began school – a Bengali poem composed by my father, I don’t even recollect a word.

My nursery interview was a disaster, my parents think. Because I could not sing any conventional nursery rhyme but I belted my own chartbuster – of some dandy this, dandy that. But my headmistress was quite delighted with my performance and promoted me to Nursery B. Of course, my parents were relieved and eventually proud, and one more blame game subdued. So that makes Y my immediate junior. The stakes just got higher and I was learning the table of 13 and 14 with lot of stress, sheer rote. And no, my mother didn’t feed me almonds or memory enhancing tablets. I was pretty much the topper all through kindergarten and class 1 and also, the class monitor. Always.

Then things got out of order. We had to leave town because my dad’s mother, technically my paternal grandma was unwell - a cranky old lady who was not particularly fond of kids. So, I didn’t go to school for a year. Father’s meager salary couldn’t meet all expenses and selling ancestral property for short term plugging was not his kind of problem solving. He promised to get me to school the next year. I was cool about it. That year, I played under the tropical sun, woke up whenever I felt like, slept whenever I felt sleepy, walked 2 kms to watch BR Chopra’s Mahabharat every Sunday, climbed trees, plucked fruits, chased cows, got bitten by leeches and stung by ants, fell into ponds almost drowned, got scared by snakes and ghosts and what not! But, that year remains by far the most educative of my entire life. I saw how tough it was for Mother to go through the grind at so many levels, our younger brother was just born and my sister was just 2 years old. Father learnt it the hard way that one’s own brothers and relatives can be pretty indifferent when the going gets tough. Lessons in resilience and self-reliance.

Fast forward to the next year, we came back to Shillong to start from where we left. Lost all our belongings and household stuff to the idiocy of our landlord’s son - recovered most of the documents but lost plenty of memories.  Rehab started and I was back in school. My old classmates were a year senior and I was where I needed to be, Y became my classmate. My parents never prepared me – they thought I was brave enough to handle it. But, my old classmates were taunting, the boys especially. They’re sure I’d flunked a year. And, here I was trying to tell them my grandma was ill. But who listens to a 6-year old? The shame gave way to resilience. I gathered steam and did enough to tell others that I am better than them. I was the class topper and the class monitor in a more democratic setting of course.

My winter vacations were rigorous. My father made sure I had procured Math and Grammar textbooks from my immediate seniors and I had to slog it out a couple of hours. No, we didn’t visit relatives because their kids had winter exams, CBSE syllabi. So every spring when school re-opened I was sort of ahead of the others in class. But there were equally bright and intelligent folks in class like Y who learnt stuff there, in the moment when the teachers showed them.

At the end of my sixth standard winter vacation, besides my winter ritual of Math and Grammar practice I spent some part of it learning how to make candles with my Headmistress’s daughter. She was a couple years older than I and I learnt a good deal of art and hobby stuff from her. She also helped me with my projects. As the holidays were drawing to a close and school books were readied for the next session and like always, I had mastered almost more than half of my Math and Grammar for the seventh standard. I was very bored one evening at home looking at my books when someone joked that I should consider asking for a double promotion. And that’s it. The next day, I actually had the gall to present my case to the headmistress while she was running up to office to receive late admissions. And, I don’t remember what all I spoke to her but she smiled at me and asked me for a valid reason. I told her I am generally good in a lot of things and there is evidence – I’ve been consistently winning the General Proficiency prize every year. More importantly, I had cracked more than half of the 7^th standard Math and Grammar. I am definitely sure my headmistress must have thought I was crazy. I came home and told about my incredible case to my parents. They didn’t laugh at me but they didn’t condemn me either. I was relieved and by evening I had forgotten about it.

School reopened and we were officially in the 7^th standard, there was something about being in this class. Coming of age sorts. Our class teacher was a fabulous light-eyed lady who would teach us English Literature and Grammar. She got us organized for the year, divided us into activity groups and who would do what.  We loved the sense of community in the class. Each one contributed not beyond 50 paise to a rupee for the class fund and we’d get the charts in place and tidy up with nice dainty curtains. So the monitors were the cashiers and our class teacher assured us that she’d cover should we run into any shortage. Of course, she meant every word of it. The first day of school is usually a half-day, staff meeting and annual plan of action and all that.

It was just the second day when I was counting the coins to procure chart papers and we’re quite sufficient I thought for the time being. You’ll always find me on the front row when the class teacher beckoned me. My instinctive reaction was – no Miss, we don’t need the money. We’re doing good. We’d ask you when we need. She gave me a puzzled look. She gently brushed my protests and asked me to come to her table. I went up. She told me in her very calm voice to pack my bags and go to the 8^th standard classroom. I was like what??!! Oh wait! Yes, we had a staff meeting yesterday and the teachers agreed that Kiran should be given a chance to prove herself in the 8^th standard. And I also respect those teachers who would have protested and rightly so. I don’t think I even said a proper bye to my buddies. I just walked away in dazed amazement.

That walk to 8^th standard classroom was the toughest, the loneliest and the longest. Young 14-year olds embracing adolescence and teenage angst and what’s that got to do with someone who just got a double promotion. I knocked the door. My new class teacher received me matter-of-fact. Of course, she did her best to keep it as low profile as ever. And, I am thankful to her for that. My really former classmates were puzzled – those enquiring looks and some pretty dismissive and indifferent but no harm or malice at any point in time. I took the corner most seat on the front row abandoned by all and looked around. How I wanted to run back to my last class of familiar faces and friends. And, the wait for school to finish so that I could run home and tell parents that I just got double promoted. One girl reached out, she still remains my fondest friend though we are not so much in touch these days. More folks joined us in the coming days. No more segregated classrooms – boys and girls in one class, one big equal.

I continued to remain a pariah and outsider for reasons best known to the girls at least. Oh yes, one reason was I was not dating anyone in the short lived class affairs. I was such an unattractive nerd and I couldn’t bring myself to create those mushy feelings for my fellow boys, I looked at them as equals in the field. I even went to the extent of proclaiming my innocence by tying the sacred Rakhi thread on those poor hapless boys who also readily agreed. I did what I was good at – studies and I soon earned the sobriquet – teacher’s pet. It was fashionable to be a rebel and I was anything but a rebel. So the class hated me with all its might. I was competing with 4 boys for the top slot in the class. I had average marks in a couple subjects and I quite remember those subject teachers giving me those all knowing but shrugging I-told-you-so looks almost making me regret my double promotion. I was unsure if I’d ever crack Acids, Bases and Salts like a pro and balance chemical equations like that. I worked harder and longer. My old mates had no choice but to give me that space. To be accepted in a new environment, one tries every trick in the book – right from writing assignments for others and undergoing friendly roast-ish banter and bullying. I also gave it back to one of the bullies in class, male or female you should not ask. The next year, I was elected Vice Head Girl and eventually, I went on to become the Head Girl of our school. My moment of reckoning had come but at some amount of personal cost – boycotted for being different.

My parents taught me to deal with shit by not taking shit, no mollycoddling. And, it’s ok to be hated by some. Whoa, the perils of a double promotion. No, it does not have to do with being bright and brilliant with the books alone. There’s so much going on underwater. I wish I had more mindful teachers who saw me battle out all alone and who should have given me a gentle nudge or a kind word once in a while. My Math tutor refused to admit me to the prestigious all boys club because they’re brighter and faster and whatever. I refused to budge and told him that I was saving up all my fuel for the Boards and he shall live the day to see that. I just did enough to get distinction marks in most papers, I left a couple of questions unanswered because I was so damn sure of what I wrote and I was not wrong, I topped the school. Everyone happy, my parents and especially my school – my Headmistress and my teachers, their investment and trust in me had paid off. But I also learnt that I was not always right. The difference of marks between the State topper and me were 17 marks and I had donated 30 marks worth questions just like that. Lesson learnt, compete with yourself not with others.  

Love Thy Neighbour

When i was growing up, there came a point in time when i wished there was no neighbour around me - they were so pesky and annoying. Their current affairs was so up-to-date - what rank you got, what food you ate, how thick and healthy was your hair on the head,how many new dresses and pairs of shoes you had, which guy you were seen with and yada-yada. They also resorted to amusing tactics of isolating you out if you didn't accept their seniority and supremacy- they will steal your plants, break your planters or steal clips from the clothes-line and the occasional but cowardly pelting of stones and breaking of windows..Mind you, this has nothing to do with what culture they belong to or their economic standards.Whatever the case, neighbours were the least important in my scheme of things.I preferred friends and family.

And when you settle away from home in a new city, your roomies and colleagues at work who become friends become your lifeline. You have similar fears and strengths before going your own ways. The occasional filtering also happens when you realise a certain roomie and his/her priorities don't gel with yours and you have a choice of letting go, nastily or gracefully. There will be moments when you will feel betrayed,cheated and disgusted - the sense of closure is nowhere. There are no neighbours to run to - you run out of something, or you're in the middle of a mess - you turn to your roomie/friend/colleague to bail you out! They are your actual neighbours within a house or system, if you may. There is clearly no marked space.

When i moved to the US after our wedding, we were in a nice gated community, half of whose occupants i never saw or met.In such a lovely neighbourhood, making friends is tough.I made friends at the bank, the library and the bakery-cum-bistro down Castro Street. Most true-blue Americans that i've come across will work Mon-Fri - work defines their identity. Small talk happens over a drink on a Friday evening and mostly before 9pm. Weekends are fiercely guarded to catch up on sleep, bicycling, trekking in one of the national parks or as mundane as picking up groceries or mall-hopping. Even pot-luck lunches are so timed!Yes, you do say the clipped 'Hi there!' when you're at the pool or taking a walk down the park. But there are no conversations beyond that. I stopped feeling strange - in the US, time is a huge premium.Oh yes, you do have plenty of friends but they live miles away.

Back in India, we lived in a bungalow where you had no choice of a neighbour but your landlord. However well-meaning and sincere our efforts, the visits were formal and the exchange of pleasantries, few and far between. No fret. We had neighbours but the insulated kinds.So, friends were the saviours again.

Here in the new city, we have neighbours within inches and meters. The first day, when we moved in and were monitoring the movers and packers with the unpacking, our next-door neighbour was walking to the lift for her dental appointment. They knocked our door in the evening - offered us potable water for the kid's milk and also, asked us to look them up for any help. That was really sweet! I tried to hide my cynicism - i am usually the cynical types.The next day, i knocked for old newspapers to line the shelves.

Within days, her 4-year old daughter and our son have become best buddies - he eats half his meals there and we have stopped keeping track of whose toys and slippers are lying in which house.It's a new feeling - i actually have a neighbour! I told my husband - hey, we actually have a neighbour who talks and keeps tab about your well-being. They helped us with practically everything - milk, newspaper, bottled water, maids, cooks, car-cleaning, internet, phone - you name it. Both the husband and the wife are thorough responsible professionals at a very reputed MNC. Their daughter is sent to daycare after school. So the kids get to play only after 6 or 7 in the evening for an hour but it's the most awaited ritual in the whole day. And, we, mothers, laugh our stresses away over a cup of tea.

We've shared meals and every festival until now is incomplete if we have not sent a home-made sweetdish across.I have gone out shopping and felt a soul-connect while bargaining deals or choosing an outfit.She's become a good friend, more than a neighbour - we do complain to each other about our respective husband's pet peeves over food or socks and stand by each other in sickness too. 

They didn't get a chance to bond with the previous tenant for whatever reasons - apparently, both the husband and the wife were working professionals. But i would not take that as the reason, working people are not that bad and stay-at-home moms are not that boring.

But yeah, a good neighbour is a blessing. When i will be away, they volunteered to look after my plants. They are already sad they won't see Arjun for such a long time. We had a lovely dinner last evening - a happy send-off for me!

Touchwood!

Of maids and cooks - Part 2

Within a week of Kavitha assuming duties in my house, i asked her to keep an eye for a decent cook. She got Savitha - a shrewd Kannada girl from Mysore, who minced no words about how much premium she commanded in terms of time and money. She refused to come at my preferred timing and the yada-yada. I had little to no options - our little community of families had grown up kids and working mothers - so all the other cooks are engaged. Kavitha also gently cautioned me that Savitha has a history of not lasting beyond a month. I kept a brave face and told myself, if Savitha does not get along with me, she possibly won't find a better employer. Savitha is technically a great cook but will not do anything on her own - she will cook as instructed, she is also lightning fast No, you can't engage in any small talk with her - she finds that micro-management and she gets nervous.But within a week, she started nosing around Kavitha if yours truly will gift her anything for Onam. Heck, what? I just gave her new bangles and sweets for Ganesh Chaturthi.And within a week, she bunked work without informing me. A week later, she wanted leave for 3 days - i didn't ask her why but i green-signalled. She didn't show up for an entire week - no calls, no SMS. I made up my mind to let her go. I put pressure on Kavitha to ask her dear friend to get in touch with me.

I don't know how these conversations happen but Savitha showed up that very evening, dressed in jeans and a smart kurta. She said, she was ready to cook. Something in her tone put me off so badly that i asked her if she was really interested in carrying on in my house. She bluntly blurted out, it was my choice and she is ok with any decision i take. I told her i don't want to eat food cooked in such a grudging manner and that she may come settle her dues immediately the next day. She, of course, went and fought with Kavitha, who in turn was very scared that i might fire her as well  for getting an inefficient person. I told her to relax and to redeem herself, i asked her to get another cook and that's how Bhagyalakshmi happened.

Bhagyalakshmi is a Mudalair Tamil, about 35 years old with 3 grown-up sons. Yes, she also married very young. She has a penchant for 'designer' blouses, speaks broken Hindi and is a very loving person.She's very invested about what she wants to feed you with, loves a little extra salt in all her preparations. So, everyday, she has a nervous time passing the 'salt' test with me. She is very forgetful to a fault and can't fry potatoes to save her life.But, Arjun likes her and they have a fun-session everyday counting granules of pomegranates and she sings to him.But she feeds our entire family and feels rewarded. '

And life goes on.

Of maids and cooks - part 1

I've been meaning to write about these two people who i am very grateful to for embracing me in this new city with all my pet peeves and all that baggage. To the rest of the world, they are not even visible. One is my help - Kavitha and the other is my cook - Bhagyalakhsmi. Both are migrants and not locals. Not like, i had difficulty getting anyone here - instinctively, the frequency should match.

I waited out a month or so, waiting for the reasonable one to come along. I had to endure door-rings, desperate pleas to be hired and all the heart-wrenching games that follow. There were some interesting ones that came along. One of them was an elderly but very street smart woman by the name Salma. She had betel-nut stained teeth and of course, very calloused lips - she walked up to my door and with almost certain divine birthright asked me to 'retain' her as the cook - i usually have a very intense interview with every prospective case. So i asked her why should i hire her? She answered very confidently - because the previous tenant trusted her with the kitchen and she is very comfortable working in my kitchen - she told me she knows more about my kitchen than even i would. She even went to the extent of bullying the younger ones who knocked at my door. That cheesed me off, very badly. I made up mind to ensure she does not enter my house. Fair play, woman. I pulled out my trump card  - when she came with that betel-nut smile to be hired - i told her i am not hiring her and the reason is, she ruined the gas stove burner while in her previous employment and that, i had to shell out quite some dough to get it back to some respectable shape. She never showed her face again.  

My kind neighbour offered me her help and cook and i was really relieved. One, i don't have to worry about security and trust, given the fact the mother-daughter duo were working in her house for the last 8 months.The only rider being - the mother will work if the daughter is hired. My neighbour's reasonable caution being - the daughter's husband is dying from his drinking adventures and she takes off unannounced but the mother always covered for the day - so no pay deductions and it worked well for both parties. So, the mother cooked and the daughter took care of the cleaning and they come two times a day, seven days a week. What luck, i thought! We had that friendly negotiation that i would stop looking around and they will start from today. That today never came. Because young and perky Pramila would not turn up, elderly Rama would not start cooking. This drama went on for a week, see how patient i have become. I got bizarre reasons when i asked about Pramila's absence - she forgot to come because she slept through and blah.I gave her exactly a week plus 3 days bonus for her to show up. She didn't show up and trust my bizarre luck, i had no options - all knocks and enquiries stopped (thanks to old and wily Salma's bullying of the younger lot).The day Pramila showed up, my husband opened the door - she instructed him to summon Didi (that's me). The summoning bit irked me.My husband was visibly amused. I went to meet her. She was like yeah, she's supposed to start work. I looked at her and told her i am not hiring her. She was stunned - why? because i don't want to hire you -you slept through the day when the deal was made 10 days ago. I will hire anyone but you. She asked me if someone has replaced her - i said, already. She asked me - who? None of your business. 

So, i was without a help, and without a cook as well. I was resisting hiring a cook for sentimentally silly reasons. But with a hyperactive toddler and another on the way and, our bigger mission to eat healthy, home-cooked food at work, my energies and resources were getting poorly divided. And, i am not a champion in cooking, i am reasonably good.So, we had those really volatile days.Oh!eating out? forget it - this part of the city is poorly blessed with quality and service in the culinary department. Flashy joints and sub-standard food -we had very disappointing trips.

Then one day, Kavitha came by. She is tiny, wiry and frail - left me wondering how will she work? Some routine police-kind of questions and the more important, background check. I had grown paranoid reading reports of daylight murders and robberies in the city - i feel vulnerable at all levels, especially with a toddler who can't even speak a word for himself except his endearing babble. With loads of cynicism i told her of my rules - that i would not be monitoring her at any point but one fine day if i discover a missing spoon (symbolic),that will be her last day in the house. Also, she should not cut corners - do less work but do it well. And, she would not demand hikes,gifts, money and the jazz unreasonably. I told her, she will never get an occasion to ask - because,i am generally mindful of such occasions. Her face braved all of that - and she shot back, very politely - stealing a spoon or anything for that matter won't send her to the grave rich. Ok, you're hired. 

So, Kavitha is not literate. She is about 28 years. She eloped when she was 13.She has 2 daughters, one 14 and another 9.Both of them attend a private 'English-medium' school.She is a Chennai-based Telugu.She works in 4 homes to pay for her kids' fees and to keep the kitchen hearth going. Her husband's contribution is zero - he is the personal driver for some big-shot and, is a perennial drunk and chicken-consumer. She told me her story on my asking - I usually dismiss this as a routine sob-story that all maids use to milk some guilt and sympathy. She is fond of Arjun and is caring towards him. She is not fussy, keeps to her work and there are days, when we share breakfast and some tea.She's scared of taking leaves, lest her pay gets cut.

Of late, she is not keeping well - every third day, she has 'fever' (any sickness is fever). Today, we had a long chat over breakfast - the actual reason of her 'fever'. Her daughter is in class 8 in a private school.The fees are getting higher - she opted to send her to a govt.school, the daughter refused to shift, saying all her friends are in this school. Her husband asked her to discontinue the daughter's education from the next academic session. Kavitha does not know how to cope with this tension.I heard her out, I told her worrying so much won't solve the problem as much as working her gut off in so many homes.She does not want any charity but she wants her girls to have some legacy of being educated at least, until the 10th standard.Her husband is callous. Her girls, however innocent, are unaware of the travails she has to go through to keep the house functional. She tells me their demands are endless. They want new dresses for every festival, they also want similar crayons and all that blah. She obviously, cannot afford every desire of theirs. She has stopped feeling guilty. She does not blame them.

Back in the day, i thought, we were such tolerant kids - if our mother told us, she could get just a dress each for a certain festival, we were ok. And, father assured us, that we would look very beautiful in that one dress even if we wore it for 5 consecutive days, we believed him. There were also many festivals, where we gave up small luxuries of buying a new dress or toy because the computer fees had to be paid.Such innocent times!I don't remember feeling threatened or small if my neighbour had more dresses and toys - i feel hugely blessed to have had such a secure childhood of contentment with whatever we had. I wish to pass that to our children even if we are economically slightly better off. 

The rate at which kids evolve these days is frightening at times.And, if we are not able to give them a feeling of security (not to be read as wants and desires) in such highly-paced consumerist times, what are we leaving them with? I know of two 3-yr old kids in the block who refuse to read books, they would read it from the Kindle.Okay, point taken. Their parents beam with pride at their gadget-savvy behaviour but i really don't know.

Okay so back to Kavitha. I calmed her down and told her to keep faith and, that help will come in some or the other form. No problem in this world goes unattended.And, it's time she asserted herself a little more firmly.Instead of discontinuing the education of the girls in private schools, she may choose the option of sending them to a govt-aided school. Her girls will benefit from a lot of schemes and scholarships. Of course, the veneer of a govt.school is not all that appealing with the kind of facilities outside education, that public, private and international schools provide.At the end of the day, she has to make up her mind. 

All I could tell her is, she should operate within her means and not promise the moon to her girls. Disappointment is a bigger problem to deal with than reality. The reality is, by the time the girls turn 18, they would have to be married off and given their economic and social strata, too much of a flashy lifestyle or education can be a disadvantage at times in terms of adjustment. And, they have no assets in terms of gold, silver or even some plot of land. Kavitha was in for a rude shock. I told her to start saving up some of her earnings - like try and make ends meet by not claiming her pay from one house out of the four for a period of six months. See how difficult and manageable it is. With that corpus, she could invest in silver anklets for both her girls and lock them away in the bank. 

I have not told her but I plan to open a savings account for her this coming New Year.At the end of the day, I realised both of us are no different. We  all work our souls off to care for our families.

The transition

About a month away from Arjun's birthday, my landlord decides to throw a tantrum.The timing couldn't have been more perfect.My million dollar maid was on vacation for a month and i had 2 young cousins of V coming home for the school summer break. So yeah, back to the landlord. He wants to come home for an inspection, we happily obliged. He didn't seem to have a problem with the way we have been maintaining his house, he admitted it's better kept than his - and also,dropped a nugget or two of his late father's wisdom that a clean kitchen and a cleaner bathroom is an indication of a well maintained house. In other words, we qualified for his late father's praise and compliment. 

We also maintained a lovely green patch and a mini pond. We had about some 50 potted plants and some lovely fish swimming in the gleaming sunlight reflected water.He looked around and then, he just lost it that his 15-yr old well maintained tiles are rusty and spoiled.Of course, the color of mud that spills from the pots while watering is the 'rust' and the water scales have done his tiles in. We were both taken aback, he orders us to keep just 10 pots and the rest can be moved to his bland garden downstairs and we should continue maintaining them there and the mini-pond, apparently is bending his concrete roof and cracks are showing up. I was very flustered, i didn't wait to negotiate - i just confronted him that he was complaining after 18 months and if at all, he had problems with keeping plants at home, he should have objected in the very beginning and that portico-stretch was meant for plants and those cracks existed even before we moved in. He stopped short and then mumbled something. He said if at all we loved plants, we should enjoy the coconut and gulmohar trees around, see there is so much of green cover around.But, those rust stains should go and asked us for a timeline. We  were like ok. Give us 2 days and mind you, we cannot use chemicals, we should use soap and water.

The jolt was so sudden that we both didn't know how to react. So many mornings and evenings, we have had our cuppa there, spent quiet moments of reading and listening to the chirps of our feathered friends and enjoyed the blossoms. Suddenly, the love and comfort that sanctuary provided just slipped by. I felt disdain and pity for this old grumpy Reddy.He comes from a generation where his father worked hard to put him into a REC and got him some privileged land in Jubilee Hills while he landed a civil engineer'post in the State Govt. Everything came easy with the babu-giri. Appreciation of finer things seemed a distant thing for this old man.

His nagging got worse, we didn't get affected anymore. He was not happy that the stains went away, he finds the tiles duller and the shine gone.Ok, after 15 years definitely.We asked him pointblank, what he wanted.I told him, i will remove all the pots and the pond within a week.He gave me a smug look of satisfaction, he still tried to be reasonable and asked us to shift the pots to his garden and we could continue to look after them there. I conveyed to him that i'd give away the plants for free to anyone but not shift to his garden.Sorry.

Thankfully, i had enough and more friends willing to adopt my plants and fishes and, in record time, got them moved to their new happy homes. 

The next few spanners were even more bewildering.Sonny boy had just learnt how to stand and wobble around. The two young cousins loved to play with him, so some thuds and tapping of feet.Old man sends us a warning not to walk around with heavy sounds.Ok. Then, the use-water-within-rations, despite us paying 700 bucks every moment and there being a borewell, not like we waste rivers. But he won't repair the leaking cistern and the taps that have given away.He expects us to adjust despite the handsome rent we pay.It was getting very annoying. We asked him if he wanted us to leave the house, he said no.Then, i recollected, he had wanted an untimely rent hike within the 1st one year in the name of inflation though our rental agreement stated the 10 percent hike would happen in 2 years. And, i had put my foot down strongly that if i had to accommodate his out of agreement demands, god alone knows what all i should be prepared for,going forward.So, the agreement was a farce? He withdrew then. So, the growing and annoying menace was part of his getting back at us for refusing him his untimely hike. 

I stopped feeling harassed. I felt really sorry for him for all the petty tricks he was trying. His poor wife with severe varicose veins wanted to learn how to bake cookies at my place, i was polite. His elder son still addressed me warmly as Bhabhi.To make matters more annoying, these two young cousins took great delight in plucking raw mangoes from his backyard on those sleepy summer afternoons. How can you ask young teenagers not to? One can't keep count of the number of mangoes but he definitely counted his pomegranates which reached our long running corridor. 

I let go, asked V to let go and not feel provoked. We had the best memories in this house - we had just moved from the US, couldn't have been happier with such a spacious old world house, high ceilings, a European bath-tub and such amazing foliage.The ornate book-shelves, the amount of open space Sonny boy had to feel his feet, the number of slumber parties and sleepovers of our friends, the unending movie-sessions.

It was only a matter of time before we picked up the cosmic signals. Destiny wanted us to move to a newer pasture,to newer opportunities and to a new city. We had gotten way too comfortable with our beloved city and why not- the city where i was born, the city where V moved in as a child with his parents, the city which brought V and me together, the city where our Sonny boy was born, a city special for so many reasons.

Time to move on, time to pack our bags, time to be ready for change.Always.

No one asked me

Crime Patrol on Sony Entertainment TV is kinda interesting at times. Deals with the staple - murders, thefts, drugs, social crimes across age-groups, from every possible remote corner of India and gives the viewer details of the case, matter-of-fact with all its challenges and all.

This one particular episode was around dowry harassment cum-murder.A wife, with 95 percent burns in the ICU and  indifferent in-laws absconding. We hear of such stories in North India on an everyday basis - we cringe and condemn, feel bad and forget about it, with a silent thank god - our daughters are safe or this has not happened to me.Dowry is no longer a North Indian thing now, it is so widespread and has social and religious sanction in some or the other twisted form.

Part of the reason why my folks resented my marriage into a North Indian household is the fear of dowry. As much as I am thankful to my parents for a golden childhood despite economic constraints, I am deeply upset with my father for doubting his middle class upbringing, his child of being incapable to hold on her own and for not being there for me, even now. Only, if he trusted the way he has raised me and that, V is an awesome person, without any trappings. 

The true meaning and original intent of dowry is lost thanks to the whims and manipulations of those empowered. In a faraway hamlet in Mawlynnong in Meghalaya, it is still the norm of the village and community to help a newly married young man and woman to start house. The community takes pride and responsibility to build a house, give them some fowl, household needs and life starts. This, in my understanding is dowry. And, good dowry at that.

MIL often goes nostalgic, that "all things" used to come from the girl's house and that, the girl's family used to bear all expenses and relatives from the boy's side were given "expensive" gifts at weddings, post weddings, even at childbirth, WTH..I also make no bones about the fact that our community is totally against dowry in plainspeak and no showering of unnecessary gifts happen and wedding expenses are always shared.There are those Tom and Jerry moments.

So yeah, the 95 percent burns wife lying in a ventilator on TV. I was educating P about the evils of the dowry system and all.The TV suddenly faded and P tells me she saw her mother burning like this. I was taken aback. No one in the family knows what actually happened. The blame game is still on for the last so many years. I also don't believe in digging up a painful past. In whatever graphic detail she told me, it left me shaken and strangely enough,P felt liberated after so many years. She has become numb to the taunts and humiliation that come with being a semi-orphan. I asked her what made her tell this to me. She told me she has not shared this with anyone and she still does not know why she shared with me. She said she felt overwhelmed after hearing those words on TV - 95 percent burns. What triggered after that, I know. 

Factually, P is the sole witness to the entire thing but the police never recorded her statement. She feels she was too young - 9 years to be precise. The elders also never bothered to ask her - they have been bullshitting around the matter till date. She does not remember her mother so much these days, it's been 7 years now. Anger comes and goes when old familiar spots are visited. She remembers her mother scrubbing her hard during baths and caning when she was naughty. That is all. Her mother fought for a week and wanted to speak to her. When P was taken to the ICU to meet her, she got so frightened at the blackened sight of her mother, she ran away.Does she regret that? She does not know. 

I told her she should never ever resort to the kind of thing her mother did. P told me,she won't and that she loves her life and that there are enough people in the family  who keep reminding her that her life is worthless and that she might end up like her mother. So she wants to prove a point. 

Right now, P is in boarding school and in the 8th standard. Her annual exams are just a month away. She is not the brightest but she is sort of hardworking. Life has distracted her pretty much. I promised to her that we'd learn driving in the vacation and how to operate a computer. I just hope and pray she clears her papers safely.

A good year gone by and a great year ahead!

So 2012 was very,very good. Arjun arrived in style.No hassle,no fuss - more on that later. He was this little heavyweight who knew what he is here for. He was watching movies with us from day 4 of his arrival and what a movie to introduce him to - Rowdy Rathore!

After my nice ManFriday decided to leave for Bombay, i ran into help/maid worries in the peak of my pregnancy and post-delivery.But then, babies bring their own luck come what may. Touchwood, i have a million-dollar angel, ready to mould in whatever way i wanted her to be. She knew nothing when i took her in but she was willing to learn and took care of me, post that. Family and relatives come and go, but she remains.You get the drift.When hubby dear and i have those rare arguments,she ends up crying. She has one landmark statement for me - "Didi, you are serious when you speak to Saab in English." Serious meaning sad,tensed or angry.

Hubby dear got our favourite big car, we have done 3 road-trips already - one by ourselves,one with family and one with friends. And, the list of 'where next?' is getting longer!

I have a learner's licence now!I know how to drive, technically and practically. I still need to practise to be a pro.Hubby says, it will take a year and i believe him.

2 weddings in the family - and babies already on the way! Isn't that awesome?

Arjun continued to regale us. When he was just a month old, he had his first flight and he was very chilled out, no mid-air drama!And, he was equally comfortable in the Mumbai locals.

Time for Arjun's passport. And thus, photo time!The very decent passport photo that we have is the result of 20 minutes of struggle at the studio. A point came when the very patient photographer nearly lost it - 15 takes and 15 expressions and none of them Passport-worthy! Finally,hubby alone knows what magic he did, the 16th take was okayed! And, oh yes! His passport arrived in good time.

His mundan ceremony took us to MP, the land of his father and forefathers- very calm and imposing.It was heartbreaking to see him give up those lovely silken locks which i took care for months since his birth. It was also our long due meet-the-relatives trip. We had a gala time!

And, in all these, our very dear friends were not far behind. A very dear friend about my age has adopted a big grown-up girl. And, both of them want to study! A few fell in love and also, moved on. Two got engaged.Yet another fought through work stress to be a super fit person. Some of my lovelies are raising  beautiful children and spreading so much cheer. We don't get time to speak everyday but we don't forget to remember them in our prayers and join them in their celebrations and victories and be there in times of difficulty.

Personal goals got mashed a little here and there. I couldn't devote much time to fitness but thanks to my Arjun, he makes me run, sometimes crib. I promise to read a little this year.

Yes, wanted to end this on a super-high note.I went berserk talking to weavers of Chanderi and Maheshwari saris and came home with 9 breathtakingly gorgeous saris,4 lovely dovely dupattas and  plenty of other knick-knacks.And,i didn't make hubby go bankrupt.

By the way, 2013 has just begun.

Dussehra notes - the 9 day plus 1

When did Dussehra come and go? As you clean away the dried flowers and decorations to prepare for Diwali, you see how fast time flies.My little boy has already completed 5 months!

We attended a community Jagraan on the third day of Navratri. Sonny boy was very patient with the grown-up circus around him.The small time country singer put me off badly - there was nothing charismatic or devotional about him, all that he did was flash his paan-stained teeth and he continuously asked the devotees to raise their hands in the air. The music was loud and garish.I came back somewhat deaf.

In the weekend we played dandiya until midnight and the greater highlight was the midnight snacking and hunting for flavoured paan in the sleepy by-lanes of Begum Bazar.

On Saptami, we paid obeisance to Maa Durga and partook this year's much awaited khichudi-beguni-dalna-payesh - in true Bong ishtyle!Yes, all the aunties come in big red bindis and the men flow in their Kolkata kurtas and slippers!And the antakshari in Bengali was hilarious to say the least because the emcee was schoolmarmish!

Dussehra is a little painful for me - suddenly all the festivals are over for the year save Diwali and an odd one here and there.You do bid a happy colorful farewell to the goddess and look forward to next year and the fallen marigold lives to tell the tale. Kids and adults equally look forward to the burning of Ravan - and our inner demons. It is a little painful because some of our inner demons refuse to pale away - they offer quite a dogged fight and it's only a matter of time before you thrust that ultimate blow. The same goes for family - you hope things will change for the better, you can only hope because the fight is theirs, the spoils are ours. 

On our way home, the goddess showed me the lighter side of life as her devotees danced to a popular Bollywood item number - chikni chameli. Seriously - "Aaayee.. chikni chameli chup ke akeli pahua chadha ke aayee.." 

Matheran Revisited

Matheran is very different than what it was in our young salad days or maybe,we have matured and changed since. Decision around which dates and where to stay didn't take long- V is a an ace!Packing was my responsibility - all things in one rucksack - baby's,his and mine.His memories of the place were as remote and distant as mine. He had trekked this place with his friends and I had come here with colleagues from work.Very very different situations.And, now, it's about our small world.

Day of departure-

Check drill of what we carried and the jazz from tickets to diapers, mosquito repellant to moisturising cream and what not.Remembering the mistakes of my last trip to Matheran, i made my bestest-sure not to goof-up this time, especially with a 4-month in tow.You just can't afford to. The 9-day Ganesh festival was on, so Hyderabad looked crazy. We reached the station on time and boarded the Hussainsagar Express (Sec-Mum).Very homely compartment - we ran out of what next to eat.Sonny boy got frightened to sleep in the lower berth otherwise very well-behaved.Our original plan was to get down at Kalyan at 2AM and take the connecting local to Neral, at 4AM.We chucked that and decided to get off at the last stop, Mumbai and take the local from there. I am so glad we did that.

Day 1

As our train rolled in at CST(formerly VT) at 5 am, V promised to show me a different side of Mumbai and the gentle morning air also brought back old memories of a young man's tryst with Maximum City.I heard so much about Mumbai never sleeping, i believe that now. As we left the station, V very helpfully refreshes my memory with an unlikely starter - this is where Kasab..I was like yes, i know but don't take his name please!Hopped into a quaint cab and V wanted to show me the iconic Gateway of India and the Taj by the sea. It is no longer open to the common man at all times after the infamous 28/11 bombing.Barricaded, we saw it in passing as much as we passed by the iconic hotel. As i stared out to a sleeping Mumbai, i imagined how a regular day must be with the humming janta,traffic, chaos and din. I could hear the streets breathe and sleep and a crow cawing once in while.We headed off to Marine Drive for a cuppa by the Arabian Sea.No, we didn't see any actor/actress jogging by as many claim.Of course, we were seated bang opposite the iconic Air India building at Nariman Point. It was so heartwarming to see so many families and bunches of youngsters in happy chatter enjoying a cup of tea at dawn.A lot of morning walkers and the municipal boys in their cleaning drive.V tells me Marine Drive always holds a special place for any aam Mumbaikar, i am sure it does. We also came across a small time scribe who was on a signature campaign to have more toilets installed.

We were back at CST to catch the local to Neral, killed time nibbling sabudana vadas. People here are so dang punctual, read their newspapers religiously and a host of other things.Passing by different stops,Mumbai  stinks I must say, no cleanliness drive in the world can save this city.The sights and smells drove Sonny boy mad, he was already tolerating the humid weather.So relieved to reach Neral,we had a quick vada-pav breakfast and set off to Dasturi. The number of hair-pin turns can leave you a little queasy.From there it's a horse-trot or a trek or hand-pulled buggies or better still, the newly refurbished toy train.

Our hotel had some amazing Gujarati cuisine lined up for us. Old-fashioned housie in the evening while the youngsters foosballed and some of us played badminton; and there is always the idiot box.

Day 2

We were done with breakfast. I wanted some much needed sleep while V decided to take a walk in solitude. He promised to be back by noon for piping hot lunch.He got me the freshest wild flowers from the valley and he did seem to have enjoyed a proper workout.Two incidents left me gaping.

High-way Robbery

V had picked up a bottle of Fanta to keep him company. As he went deeper into the woods with the sunlight peeping through the leaves, he had little idea that something like this could also happen to him. Generally, he is always prepared for any eventuality but this time around i had packed, remember?So no knife,no torch and a host of other things. Out there in the distance, this fairly strong guy stood in the middle of V's path. Both of them stopped and sized up each other.First, there was silence, each asking the other to back off but well. When V decided not to budge, two others from the bushes showed up. And it was a uh-oh moment for V.He had nothing on him, not even stones or a stick. The stares didn't take long to turn to menacing gnarls. The message was plain and simple - hand over what you have and leave, no questions asked.V had no option but to surrender the bottle of Fanta. The monkey grabbed and opened it, guzzled it down in 3 shots and disappeared into the bushes.Whew!That was close.

Ropeway Crossing

After the highway robbery, V trekked to Honeymoon Point (yes, there are such names) and came across this bunch of adventure lovers who do this. He did a Hamlet - to do or not to do. Like all married men, he assumed happily his nagging wife won't allow him such privileges. But the loving husband made sure he left my contact information with the organisers just in case. He tells me he saw the most breathtaking view of the valley and that there is no point of recovery in case there was a mishap. It took him 4 minutes to cover the valley and one is left dangling in the last minute at Louisa Point as the person on ground hauls you in.

A bunch of flowers from the valley for the wife. And it was an afternoon dedicated to reading a graphic novel Indian by Choice on the couch while V and Sonny boy enjoyed their 40 winks.A pleasant horse-trot to all the view-points in the evening.

Day of departure

We made sure we took the toy-train ride all the way to Dasturi and it was the same old. Just that, at the station we learnt our train got cancelled thanks to the Telangana whatever. We took the local to Karjat and a kind TT put us in an AC suite to Pune. Sonny enjoyed the fields of bright orange and pink cosmos flowers at the window. The return trip was all the more memorable - leaky bus roof and Sonny boy decides to watch Pawan Kalyan's Telugu movie Gabbar Singh through the night.

Cute because Chinese or the other way round

Family re-union lunch for V and me with Sonny boy at an upmarket restaurant, mostly haunted by Telugus who loved a spicy fare.As we walked to the lift, we found ourselves in the company of a not-so-young but not-so-old bunch of Telugu women,very sartorially turned out who started greeting Sonny boy.He was in the best of his social manners, flashing a smile here and there to whoever called him baby!One of them asked if she could take him in her arms,we okayed. We were 7 people in the lift and of course, the baby.  

And that tiny lady in the Pochampalli sari remarked - 'Enduku he's not crying,huh..' Silence. She has a few gray hairs and clearly looks a mother of 3 grown-up teenagers. Is it a norm that a baby qualifies to be a baby only if crying? Smiling babies are not babies if that is what she meant.

While every other lady took turns to coo and squeal along with Sonny boy, this same woman follows up with another one - wondering if the baby is Chinese because he is cute.That's when all the other ladies ganged up against her and shut her up with - "What a stupid question!"

I could have well taught her to go back to school and do her geography lessons again.No, that's old and does not work anymore.She is a working woman, so she should spend her money travelling instead of visiting temples and buying saris or gold.

V shot back in chaste Telugu - "India is a pedda country..so many states and regions, each very different from the other..Assam lu, Meghalaya lu..North-East lu just like South lu..

Ahaan, she joined in - "I only wanted to confirm -North East. See!"

What to say.

Enduku - "Why" in Telugu

Pedda - "Big" in colloquial Telugu

lu - The plural sign in Telugu,also extended to masculine nouns. 

Pedicure-ing my baby

I don't know who used to trim my nails when i was a baby;all through my school life it was always my father who religiously took out time every Sunday to ensure my nails were trimmed neatly with a blade.Yes, a blade. He hated the nailcutter because he could not see the inside of it and feared it might slice the skin here and there. A blade, in his opinion gave him more control and hold. Not to worry, i began to wield the blade soon enough effortlessly.And guess what, on my first job away from home, my father tucked a nailcutter in my bag asking me to upgrade in life. Poignant enough,i find it so strange my father pushed all of us to adapt to the changing times but refuses to change himself. I am informed he still does not use a nailcutter and old as he may be, his nails are still neat as ever, perfectly trimmed.

My husband picked up a real cute nailcutter, a penguin-shaped one for sonny boy when he was 3 days old. Yes,sonny boy made his entry to this world with already grown nails and baby nails are ouch,sharp!It hurts when he scratches. Little does he know who/what/where he is scratching. Half the time, he is hurting himself. And how often will one put him on mittens.It's a sweaty humid country. I have a pet peeve towards long nails. No,i don't chew them. I just like and have always maintained short, prim and propah nails. Yes, i also paint them and buffer them time to time. I wanted to trim them asap but how and when. 

Then, in jumped the elders saying the baby has to complete 40 days before i trim his nails.And, Dadi told me to kiss his nails and blow them away like wishes every Monday and every Wednesday. The nails shed, apparently. Baby nails are soft,so they scale and shed, to tell you the truth irrespective of the day. Meanwhile, his paediatrician chided me for growing his nails. I looked at him helplessly and told him this is India and every newborn has so and so rituals and traditions to follow. He said, that's the point - this is India. Everyone comes with ample free advice. Just nod and move on but never offend anyone. 

When the day came to trim his nails i thought i should wait for him to go to sleep then i remembered my mother's myth/belief to never ever cut nails while asleep. Apparently, one's life gets shortened.You get the drift. So i was stuck. It seemed daunting but i must thank the little man for being patient with me. I made him lie on my lap facing me and told him stories as i went snipping the extras. I almost felt as if i was holding my breath underwater. It's not easy. And now it's a weekly exercise. 

The father refuses to come anywhere near when i ask him to trim his son's nails. You know why. He is so terrified he might hurt him. Yes, Mother Courage - we have to prepare for,god forbid, any unintentional hurt too.Phew!

Eid Mubarak

My childhood memories of Eid in Shillong are very faint, we did not have too many Muslim friends. I understood the meaning and import of Ramzaan and Eid only after I was in college thanks to a Muslim friend of mine. Her family treated me as one of their own. And boy, I looked forward to Eid for my favourite paratha and rajma besides the sewaiyan which Aunty used to prepare.

I missed that warmth and verve when I came to Hyderabad for the first time. I remember tagging my room-mate to our office driver’s house for Eid somewhere near Tolichowki. We were greeted with the customary fragrance of Attar and Eid embraces and led to a room meant only for the women. The same evening, we also visited another colleague’s house near Mehdipatnam and I remember, his wife had prepared quite a spread for all of us.

Thereafter, Eid memories for me were just another holiday and people around talking of haleem and biriyani. This year, my husband insisted I should see Charminar in its midnight glory. I almost nearly missed it thanks to the viral marathon in the house. I am glad I didn’t miss it this time. My only worry was our son, will the little fellow be able to deal with the madness and rush. God, he did and beautifully. I called up an old student to check the traffic conditions in and around Charminar knowing how paranoid my husband can get driving a big beast.

We were treated like royalty by the traffic police. Got decent enough parking near the High Court, we walked a total of 3-4 km through lanes and bylanes. Arjun was the most awake and he saw the world backwards and frontwards from his father’s shoulders while his father went away clicking pictures with one hand. We lapped up piping hot butter masala dosa and vadai at one of the roadside eateries. The baubles and shimmer and glitter took everyone by storm. My fever vanished. Everyone seemed to be out shopping then, the poor the rich and just about everyone from dry fruits to clothes to sandals to bangles. It felt good to see so many people out shopping at that unearthly hour. I was given the second odd look once in a while while my husband and son enjoyed the exclusivity. We picked up some nutmeg.

In the midst of all the hustle and bustle and the jostling, suddenly we had arrived at the foot of the Charminar. All around were scattered peels of fruits and leftovers of shopping cart discards. But the magnificence can’t be beaten. We stopped by for some sugarcane juice and decided to hitch an auto ride. Hard luck, no auto wanted to come the High Court side. I was so tired chasing and trying to keep pace with my husband. I remember screaming at him if he was catching some train. He told me he wanted to save our son from the pollution. I was like, yeah right. Little fellow had a sound sleep back in the vehicle.

Two days later was Eid and we visited old childhood friends of my husband. It took us the entire day and platefuls of sewaiyan and dates. Old world hospitality and conversations and a quaint accent of Hyderabadi wafting through the attar incensed air. I was a little annoyed with myself for my inability to wish my friends. Better late than never. Eid Mubarak!

The mosquito net

It was 1981 and mom, all of 23 was in her 7^th month with her first child. She trailed Dad all the way to Uppal in Hyderabad from a sleepy town in Assam. The office provided quarters – a big room with 2 single beds (which could be joined to make a single one) and an attached kitchen. The common bathroom was outside in the hallway. The Goyals lived next door and there was this other family. Life was very comfortable despite the small stipend – weekend visits to Charminar and Salar Jung, the Zoo and rides on horse-drawn tongas and no windows but curtained double-decker buses. Sugar-cane juice and black and white (Isolate 2) photography were the weekend treats. Vegetables and fruits were in plenty and very dirt cheap.

Summer is summer. The fan ran non-stop and mom would tie soaking wet clothes around the bed poles as a sort of cooler As the days advanced, she took to sleeping alone in a single bed and craved for a mosquito net. She informs me the mosquitoes are peculiar this side with a white spot on their heads, almost as if they  are wearing Gandhi topis. So off they went to the bazaar one weekend and brought home a nice mosquito net for a decent bargain. Both hoped for some respite and relief and some peaceful sleep.

She was woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of the front door being opened. Oh, dad just stepped out to visit the bathroom. The door was kind of ajar and there was a gentle breeze outside. And she felt relieved she was not a feeding pit for those bellowing mosquitoes grr-ing outside the mosquito net. Just then, she felt a poke in her tummy, she was lying on her side with her eyes on the door waiting for dad to come back. She thought, must be the hyperactive baby inside her. Then, another poke. She turned and lied on her back. She felt the poke again and, wait. This time it was a long stick from outside the mosquito net. There seemed to be two people standing outside the mosquito net and one was holding the stick. She sat up with a fright and called out for dad. There was no sign of him, the door still open and creaking, and she was left with no choice but flung herself out of the bed and ran towards the door only to find it latched and when she turned back, the strange visitors had disappeared. And, she heard dad snoring in the other single bed.

She woke dad up and went hysterical for sleeping so deaf to all her shouts and screams. Dad had no idea so much had happened within 3 feet of each other. The mosquito net was brought down and it was a sleepless night for many reasons. The next day, the mosquito net was disposed (actually burnt) and those pokes and visits never happened again.

Valentine's Day

2006 - I remember ‘celebrating’ my first Valentine’s Day with my best friend A, and her elder sister – our MD. We never believed in love per se but what the heck.Of course, we were always broke, research scholars that we were. MD always bailed us out. The Horticulture Deptt of our home state put up a stupendous rose and strawberry show and live music by a very old band at our favourite All Saints’ Hall. Old and young, married and unmarried but much in love – pride and happiness at the homegrown Dutch roses and the strawberry spread, again home-grown. We decided not to go restaurant-hopping since we would be ‘disqualified’ for all ‘couple’ benefits. MD bought us a box of strawberries each and the roses came for free. Those were the days, my friend.

2 years later, when I met him and I told A, she was the happiest but she said she’d travel to my part of the world to approve/disapprove after meeting ‘the love’. She was not disappointed. And, the Valentine’s Days that followed were forgettable. We simply did not believe in that one day, found it too yo! And we were definitely not part of the cappuccino crowd. You can imagine the kind of gifts I got from him– a hammer and a tool-kit when I was moving house, or a global travel adapter or a fish-net for my aquarium – yes, very practical ones, nothing remotely romantic.

And, last year, when the elders decided to solemnize our engagement, the pandit chose a day we had been disdainfully laughing our heads off all this while – 14^th Feb’11. Umm..well, the pandit informed us helpfully that it was ‘shubh’ to help preserve love in a marriage. After the ‘sagai’, we were packed off in the evening to go enjoy dinner and the works and come back home early. We were officially ‘a couple’.

This year, ‘the love’ who is husband now tells me on Monday that he has a surprise for me. He promised to be home by 5 in the evening.The surprise was he didn’t come home till 12 in the night.

14^th Feb this year, he took a day off for me. We had a bad idli-sambar breakfast at home. I made it up with nice sambar-rice with papad and dahi in the afternoon and, ice-cream. Slept like logs. Washed and cleaned the house. He fumbled around saying he left something in the car and needed to get them. I can’t tell you how wow the surprise was – a stunning blue Kanjeevaram. By the way, I was not yet over my Sunday thrill when he gifted me a lovely silk sari, just my kinds type. We went to the temple where I first offered to play city tour-guide to him 3 years ago. That is another hilarious story. Another time.

Then, off we went to our favourite Green Bay bakery for our evening round of snacks and tea, this is close to my old workplace. And I was nervous when he asked me to buy whatever came to my mind at the jeweller’s. I told him I am not used to such things. And, he said reassuringly, we have a lifetime to get used to such things. It was a gulp moment for me. When we left the jeweller’s, I was sporting a lovely pair of ‘baalis’. Glee! We landed at our favourite restaurant – and well, another awkward moment there. At the entrance, the restaurant staff ‘instructed’ hubby dear to pick up a rose and hand it to me. We were like okay!

As we were ruminating over the years gone by, we realized how time flies so fast. So many things have happened and so many are in the pipeline. We smiled as more couples with and without children in tow of all ages poured in for their evening celebrations. As we were leaving, we saw the waiting lounge – young and old, in their finest finery.

So, what goes around comes around. Both of us shed our cynicism and agreed we cannot put away this date – love is love but we still don’t and won’t belong to the cappuccino crowd and no mush, yes, no mush. We rounded off the day with a sumptuous 'meetha paan' which resembled a cone ice-cream. So much for Valentine’s day.

What is your name, Madam? My name is Madam

It's been ages I had interesting conversations with the autowallah bhai log. Around  Diwali, i met a kind soul who drove me home safely through an unavoidable potholed road.He charged 10 rupees more than the actual meter fare and for a change, i didn't feel bad giving him his premium. I also offered a box of Diwali sweets.His face lit up and he was tad guilty, left with a 'Happy Diwali, Madam!'

Yesterday,I was outside a big retail store with a big bag and of course,the waiting autos are always the foxy ones, negotiating with them is a real hurdle. So I don't even look at them - simply ignore. I flagged a running auto, a young boy driver and I must say,I am partial to brand new autos.He had absolutely short hair, seems to me, he shaved his head weeks ago.I didn't say a word, just hopped in and he had that 'please,meter pe 10 rupaiya, madam' look. I gave him a hard stare and told him to take the nearest left and exit to the connecting road. He mumbled a grumble but gave up mid-way, more like a student who has been denied a free period.He defended he won't get any return passenger. I retorted he should never give up hope.He said he lost all his hair hoping.I was like - come again? I preached if he got up everyday that he would not get any passengers.You can always expect 2 kinds of reactions. One, to extract their pound of flesh, some autowallas drive over potholes purposely and make you regret you ever hired them. Two, well the obvious - drive properly.Well, my young boy drove properly, more out of love for his new auto.And, methinks, he is not from the city, once in a while, he asked me directions. Two, he also gave me options of shortcuts or regular U-turns which meant more fuel and more fare.I left it to him and he took care it was optimum for both.

I was amused a little. I remarked at him that he does not look like a local, he confirmed. He was from Mahbubnagar and I asked him what about his family. He said he has none. I asked again, mother-father? He was puzzled, and answered of course, his parents were there. Then, what was he thinking - wife and kids . His parents were in Annaram.On further enquiries he said he is a class 9 drop-out and he was more interested in autos and lost interest in school.I asked him if he ever wanted to finish school. He said yes, his mother is after his life egging him to write his 10th.I asked him, if he wants to. He said yes because he feels bad his friends are in college.I asked him his age, he quickly defended saying he is not so grown-up as he looks but is much younger. I told him I didn't say he looked old. He reluctantly revealed he was 17.And what about his driving licence - he was like 'ho jata'. Very good, I told him his entire life was there in front of him and tomorrow, his kids would be very proud if their dad managed to study a little more.

Soon, I was at my doorstep. He pleaded with me to give that extra 10 bucks. I looked at him with a stern but gentle stare. I handed him the meter fare. He accepted it fairly. Then, I handed him 10 bucks with the promise that he will write his 10th open schooling exam.And wherever and whenever we meet again, he should shout out with the update.I asked his name - Venkatesh. He asked my name - 'What is your name, Madam?' I said, 'Madam!' And, that I used to teach kids his age.He held that 10 rupees, wondering whether to return or ..I didn't turn back.

A suitcase of hopes

I was looking outside the window-sill, found the rain water outlet so absolutely clean. Before I could turn around and ask, my mother informed me Guddu and Bhatt uncle got it cleaned. My school can be seen across our house, a half-constructed parapet and a little girl running around in white stockings with a nice red-jacket on and her mother calling out her name.

Everything seemed very distant and all the voices drowned in that feeble winter sunshine. There seemed to have been a light drizzle. And there was this crumpled invoice of a failed courier in my hand. That dark steel gray suitcase never reached me. I had not paid attention to it in months. It was sent on the 3^rd of August, 2011 and today is the 26^th of January, 2012. There was a helpline number I could call on the reverse of that invoice. Some Mr.Kirti answered my call, he tells me its about 5:30 pm in Mumbai and the office is about to close for the day. I gave him the consignment number and he agreed such a parcel came and was never delivered to the rightful owner and they conveniently informed us – Lost In Transit. He was kind enough to assure me the parcel is safe.

Suddenly, I hate myself for not following it up on time. The courier people offered compensation but I stood my ground. I thought of consumer rights and the counter measures, anything not claimed over a period of 3months can be disposed in whatever manner by the courier people. But they said the suitcase was safe.

I began wondering what about the contents inside. This aunty told me she sent an orange saree with a black and gold border, meaning ornate heavy stuff. Mother told me, my favourite saree was also in that suitcase. I was like, oh no – you mean the silver one with that blue and dull gold brocade? She said yes. I was even more determined to get hold of the suitcase. Kirti told me the suitcase was in some godown in Pune. Why on earth, Pune?

I dialed the courier people again, since it’s a toll free 24/7 hotline. A young woman answers my call and I could almost sense domesticity in the background - a cranky husband and a cantankerous kid and our lady was munching on something. I rattled off my missing bag story to her. She could not care a flying whatever, she told me she was eating dinner and she will see into this on Monday. I was very desperate and told her, that one of her colleagues spoke to me and assured me that they’d go out of the way to ensure this got sorted out at the earliest. I don’t want to sound sexist but I hated her so much at that point in time. I came down like a ton of bricks on her and questioned her work ethics and what about that glorified thing called customer care and service and how they could be so careless of a missing baggage for 6 months. Mother interjects that she had packed some homegrown herbs and foods. It was so agonizing to learn that, I almost felt like saying woh sab jaye tel lene but the sarees are heirloom to me and I’d do anything to remove the odours and smells of 6 months.

I wake up in the morning to find my husband packing for his Europe trip and gosh, it was the same steel gray suitcase standing next to his favourite Samsonite. Very endearingly, he told me to have a look and see what needs to be added or subtracted. Of course, I won’t find those 2 sarees – the orange one with the black and gold border and of course, my favourite one, the silver one with the blue brocade. The silver one is with mother and the orange one does not even exist. It was a 4am dream. 

By the way, I have been shopping to my heart's delight without burning any hole whatsoever anywhere. I began the year with an envious Kashmiri collection -a chignon saree,a heavy embroidered party stole and a salwar suit that I admire day in and day out and would hate to see the tailor cut to size. A few days ago, went berserk getting Rajasthani mojris and jootis of the choicest colors and don't kill me for getting about 8 MP handloom kurtas in different hues and dyes. Oh, another update, a friend's mom in Baroda just sent me 2 splendid Bandhej salwar suits in glorious shades. I am already over the moon. And,these are not gifts.