Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Growing pains !

Most of my childhood was spent in a govt.colony.It was a typical Govt colony where scientists  lived  a comfortable  life in peace and quiet.Almost all of them  aspired to be a millionaires through their children so the entire focus was children and their studies.While almost all the parents aimed above 90  percent for  their children  ,we kids  tried our level best in  our individual capacities to match up to at least a certain standard of their high expectations.

No fancy international schools for us,our schooling began and ended within the secure confines of Kendriya Vidyalayas spread across various cities in India.Every few years we would follow dad to a new city and a new KV.We were not exposed to extreme riches or poverty and were blissfully unaware of the class and economic divide.We only wondered why the uniforms of certain friends were  not so well maintained and why few of them consistently forgot to carry their lunch boxes .KV was situated near the outskirts of the city so we were the first to leave and last to enter the colony gates to and from school.

Playtime was most important and would start as soon as we stepped down from our school bus called 'dalda'. Evening game plans were shouted out loud from the streets for all the neighbourhood kids to hear. Little eager faces appeared in the windows and balconies in various stages of undress to nod or shout back in agreement .Their mothers could be seen lurking close behind in the background ,with evening snacks and a glass of milk in their hands ,lest the child ran away without stuffing himself with that day's culinary  delights.Pet-puja was always a hurried affair,of least importance so to speak, when there was so much to look forward to.There was no way one could step out of the house though, without drinking that big mug of Bournvita. Any one who dared to do that, had to face the public humiliation of drinking it on the playground in front of the whole colony under the watchful eyes of the concerned mother.My mother was notorious in that regard. The four feet nothing figure could be seen waving her tiny arms frantically , raising that formidable glass of milk above her head.

 Since economic divide in the colony was not  very  steep,our expectations from our parents had no scope of escalating to unrealistic heights.A section of our colony kids came from class 4 employees' quarters and these  kids  were most sought after in kiddie circles as they were bold, rebellious and street smart.They were assets to all  mohalla teams be it cricket or any other game, so nobody paid any heed to  officer parents when they tried to dissuade their descendants from mingling with 'that' crowd.Accidental slip of tongue in front of parents would at times lead to scoldings,impositions,temporary house arrests  and the like. Parents were cruel and we accepted that.

We lived in the lap of nature's abundance.A thick green blanket provided ample opportunities for us to climb trees and hide in their welcoming arms. All the parents knew about it and generally had no objection to that. However,we had an unwritten rule that as soon as street lights blinked on ,all kids should be home.Kids spilled over the streets and said hurried good byes before proceeding homewards.Tree climbing was not allowed after natural light dimmed .Once I managed to reach the top of a Jamun tree and was precariously hanging on to one of the thin branches when a friend on guard announced that my dad was spotted at close distance.It was almost dark and I was not supposed to be on that tree.Without much thought,I jumped and the ground beneath made sure that I came out  unscathed from the great fall. We made a great team,nature and us.

                                                                      courtesy-Google images  


We rejoiced every time Zeenat or Parveen ,the smart and good looking colony bitches gave birth to cute pups.With so many hands to feed,all pups were raised fell fed and happy.However ,the finer details of  human reproduction were not probed till much later in adolescence.A few books from the syllabus and select few from the colony library,helped in understanding the facts of life but they were not of much help when we sat huddled together under the  old Banyan and wondered why our parents indulged in the dirty act.We did not ask to be given birth now,did we??Disgusting ,we unanimously declared and after the disclosure,for a few days , none could see their parents in the eye  while talking, especially mothers.How could she?chal, dad theek hai but MOM!! We were betrayed.

                                                                          courtesy-Google images  

Romance was nicer,we thought.What was that longing about,no one knew..it just felt good and you missed the guy and the way he looked at you with puppy eyes. Bass! The pain Jayu Patil felt somewhere between the chest and the stomach was quite  baffling to her when sudden eye contact happened between her and Joshi uncle's son. Much later when I was  in college, I came to know that my kid brothers were instrumental in my not being in much demand in spite of my decent looks.They played spoilsport and nipped any romantic feelings any guy had for me, in the bud. How? Don't ask! It is a miracle that I met my match and am happily married now.Dono ka bas chalta toh main kunvaari hi reh jaati .

It is amazing how secure our parents were in the thought that we kids were safe at play.That we are alive after  all those risky games in the neighbourhood ,interacting with strangers,exploring thick shrubs bare feet,cricket on the road,riding two wheelers without Helmets and much more, is a miracle in itself.

 I  am insecure the moment my child steps out of the house. I thought I was early when I sat down to tell them about the birds and the bees .I have good kids ,they heard me out patiently before gently breaking it to me that they were aware.My parents had it easy,we kind of had a community upbringing in the colony.

The growing pains were more or less common for all the kids then ,

Not any more...












  

Monday, May 21, 2012

How I Met His Mother

Hobbs and I were classmates in college and we have a not so unusual love story behind our marriage. Soon after he broke the news to his family,they wanted to meet me and a very unplanned meeting happened at their home one afternoon after college.Just like that!

The living room was packed with people from all generations in a setting which was most informal so to speak.You know, where people are just sprawled around in their living rooms with chai, books, board games and are least expecting any visitor...that kind of setting.

 Hobbs did a back slap and announced ' Shammi ', very thoughtfully to his family and disappeared :/ I fidgeted with my dress ,smiled and said 'Hi' to no one in particular.Aai ,his mother came to my rescue and asked whether I wanted to use the bathroom to freshen up.A sigh of relief escaped my lips and I followed her inside while she welcomed me and confessed that her Hindi was not good .I had no inkling what was in store for me that day.Suddenly she stopped in her tracks and asked :

Aai- Woh rehta hai na bhinti pe, uus se darti hai? ( are you scared of that, which you see on the wall )
Me- Kis se? ( of what ? )
Aai- Woh tubelight  ke paas ,uske peeche, nai kya dikhta hai....mein darti hai ! tuu bhi ? (of that thing there,near the tubelight..I am scared of that.What about you? )
 Obviously she expected yes, for an answer from me but what 'bhinti' or creature was she talking about ? By then my mental faculties had started working furiously to extract the meaning of Bhinti from recently memorized Marathi- to-English dictionary,stored for such situations in one corner of  my  grey matter.Bhinti is wall so the creature could be an insect I concluded after a brief thought.I looked up and spotted a moth near the tubelight

Me-Oh! Moth?

Aai- Maut!! nai nai !! mujhe mrityu ki bhiti nai.( death!I am not scared of death!)

She confused moth with maut ( death) while I was once again confused between bhiti  and bhinti  :0 :0
Bhiti=fear , Bhinti=wall I recalled.

Me- No ! maut nai moth ..the insect there,the grey one over there,I pointed.

Aai-Aga te navhe, paal.. .woh bhinti ko chipakti hai na paal wohichh.. ( not that dear,I am talking about the one that sticks to the wall )

Me-chhipkali !!

Aai- Ho !chipakk-li! tecch..bhinti ko chipakti hai, wohi chipakk-li. (Yes! one that sticks to the wall, the house lizard )

Now that finally we were clear about the subject of  our discussion ,we could go ahead with the rest of the conversation.I looked around for some support but there was none.Hobbs was absconding.

Me- Ok, what about the lizard?

Aai- Bathroom mein do-teen hai tu darna nai,ye bolna tha. (I just wanted to say that don't be scared of lizards,there are  2-3 of them in the bathroom)

                                                                   
                                                                          courtesy-Google images

I had completely forgotten by then that I was desperate to use the loo.Suddenly it seemed unimportant.
Me- I am ok for now,will go later.
Aai- Arre  kuchch nai karti paal!  ( lizard is harmless )
She thought I was avoiding the trip to the loo because I was scared.I was cursing Hobbs under my breath by then.
Me-No really, I am ok.

She called out to her son and my would be hubby, appeared from nowhere suddenly with a strange smile plastered on his face.He was enjoying the scene thoroughly.I have never seen that smile again in all these years of married life.Thankfully he did not insist and led me away into the living room where I was introduced to the grandmother .

There were many translators around in that room so the conversation was not restricted and all went well until it was time for snacks and Aai made an appearance again.I was the guest of honour so she wanted to know my choice of snacks.Someone very cruel in the crowd said Kaande -Pohe and Aai was unsure whether to serve me Kaanda since I am a Marwari.She asked me how we made Kaanda poha without Kaanda .I said we made Batata poha and then I did the unthinkable!I asked her the recipe . She , in her enthusiasm,without a care in the world,began in her toota - foota Hindi. AGAIN!!
E dekh,kya karne ka..kadai tapane ka, poha bhijat  ghalne ka,jaasti nai haan. ....and poor thing went
on and on with her back towards the audience who by the way were on the floor,clutching their stomachs and laughing their heads off. Hobbs is convinced that I asked that question on purpose and I of course deny it in all sincerity.

 One good thing came out of it though,I quickly learnt Marathi making it a point to practice spoken Marathi with my rural Marathi patients in the hospital.So sincere was I in my efforts that there came a time when Hobbs would speak Hindi and I would respond in Marathi without either of us realizing. Aai is not too bad with her Hindi now but she does not need to be good anyway, now that my Marathi is fluent.Sometimes when I am in the mood for some fun,I gently steer her towards a conversation in Hindi mostly asking her about a recipe (her weakness). We laugh heartily later about it.
In case you are wondering,she is right beside me peering above my shoulder and making a list of her favourite recipes.I have not told her this, but I am planning to get her cook-book published.

She is a great cook and she deserves a lifetime achievement award for it.

Friday, May 11, 2012

Civil Lines 6 - A book Review.

I did this book review for The Book Lovers review program.

                                                                     courtesy Google Images                

Now famous for its intermittent existence,Civil Lines was the brain child of Delhi based  Dharma Kumar.After that,from 1994 till 2001,four issues were published by Ravi Dayal .The publication was dedicated to new age writing from India and the publishers were not at all in a hurry to come out with regular issues.After  the death of both Ravi Dayal and Dharma Kumar,this latest collection has seen the light of the day after ten long years.The editors offer an explanation to the readers and attribute this  elephantine gestation to them being unsure of their editorial judgement. What we see in Civil Lines 6 is a collection of stories from various authors like Anand Balakrishnan,Rimli Sengupta,Benjamin Seigel,Manu Herbstein and others.

Great Eastern Hotel is an excerpt from Ruchir Joshi's novel in progress.Set in crowded maze of Calcutta lanes the story has a backdrop of  Tagore's death.
The ocean of peace lies in front,
Launch the boat O helmsman...
~~the song written by Tagore for his own funeral and being sung by a strong voice at the funeral creates an imagery of sorts.

Itu Chaudhuri's flight is a short composition about the secret of being able to lift off and take a flight ,literally.The thrill of the flight,never quite being sure where you will land,the delicious suspense of it all...

Erazex by Achal Prabhala takes you through the corridors of a boarding school in Dehradun where a typewriter correction fluid provided a hallucinogenic escape to the boys.A tragic incident turns the life on campus upside down both for the boys and the teachers
.
 Mumbai readers will connect with Naresh Fernandes and his story set in Bandra.'Skeletons' opens with a newspaper account of a pair of skeletons found in the quiet neighbourhood of Bandra,those of a doctor and his faithful dog. Lonely in life and in  death in the metro city.

Manu Herbstein talks about building bridges in his account of the same name .Bombay appears prominently here too, when he describes the cartoons of Mario Miranda depicting Bombay in myriad hues.I loved this piece but then, I am partial to anything that is connected to  Mumbai any which way.

Fashil -Arabic for failure is the nidus around which Anand Balakrishnan weaves his words while Nilanjana Roy makes you travel with a few ghosts and her Shamla Mashi in  a carefully crafted, Sugarcane.

The book ends with a photologue by Gauri Gill .Nizamuddin in the dark, the sufi saints,the railway station,the durgah,the night times of old Delhi captured through the lens, makes an interesting end to this collection called Civil Lines 6.

Just one point that crosses my mind after reading this volume..How long before  Civil Lines 7 goes in print? How about a web edition,will it be able to bridge the gap and present few more new age authors from India?




     

Book Review-JD Salinger-A Life Raised High.

                                                                     
I did this review for The book lovers book review program .To say that I liked the book, will be an understatement,I got lost in the pages and took little more than usual time  to finish reading it.

                                                                 

Kenneth Slawenski  founded a website devoted to the life and works of J D Salinger. This book took seven years of research and the hard work is evident as you turn the pages of this wonderful volume on J D Salinger.Difficult for me to say who intrigued me more,the author of this book or the subject.An excellent story teller,Kenneth Slawensky takes you effortlessly through the various sages of the life and times of Salinger. Born to middle class Jewish parents, Salinger was a reclusive writer who devoted his life to Zen Buddhism,Catholic mysticism and Sri Ramakrishna's teachings and of course ,writing.

The far from ordinary life of J D Salinger has been depicted with great sensitivity and respect by Slawensky. Salinger had abundant self confidence but on those occasions when his confidence ran dry,his ambition kept him going. He had amazing tenacity to drive him through lean periods before he tasted success and achieved literary recognition.

Not many would know about Salinger's romance with Oona O'Neill who later  married Charlie Chaplin.Similarly,his association with World War II,the deep impact that the war had on his life has been vividly described .

The Catcher in the Rye,published in 1951 was a phenomenal success after Salinger's earlier work For Esme-With love and squalor'.John Updike remarked : J D Salinger wrote a masterpiece in that book.By virtue of Holden;s character being so absorbing and because the novel allowed the readers to interpret the novel in many ways,it created sensation of sorts and that is how Holden became a  legendary character.
With great respect,Slawensky describes Salinger's need to be alone as he penned his thoughts on paper.He mentions about Salinger's den,a bunker which was built only to be able to allow him to create characters which became as real to the author and his readers as flesh and blood people.

Slawensky talks about the death of the reclusive author at the age of ninety one and the impact it had on ordinary people,his readers. The internet was flooded with increasing frequency,with readers talking about how,Salinger and Holden had touched their lives.Two interesting facts come to the fore through this book;
Mark David Chapman,who shot the legendary singer Lennon was arrested from the side walk where he sat reading The catcher in the Rye immediately after pumping bullets into Lennon
A copy of the same book was recovered from the room of John Hinkley Jr.who shot Ronald Reagan.

Slawensky talks about the death of Salinger at the age of ninety one .The internet was increasingly flooded by readers and fans who spoke about the great author,his characters and how they were affected by the writings of Salinger.
The story of an extra ordinary writer told brilliantly by another,makes this a treasure trove of information on the shy man .
Highly recommended as a leisurely read.You may not want to rush through this one.

Monday, April 30, 2012

Domestic fights are divine

Hobbs and I are not the only couple who is constantly fighting for dominance in the house.There is one more couple who is embroiled in this fight for supremacy.The only difference in the two fights is that one can be heard loud and clear and the other is  a non-verbal duel held strictly behind closed doors.Unbelievable but true!

I am neither talking about my elderly in-laws on their triannual visits nor my parents here.In both the cases,the fights have become rare albeit louder with advancing age .What is a fight which can not be heard especially by the opponent.My MIL secures her hubby's hearing aids in place before she goes full-on.Dad has convenient, selective hearing genes so he switches off somewhere in between mom's sermon and after a while all is well.However,when the tables are turned and the males are enraged, both women can be seen with their noses buried inside tabloids/newspapers/religious texts, depending on the gravity of the situation.

A little peek into the background of the battleground (my abode) is essential before I talk about the actual conflict.
The Rajasthani-Maharashtrian melee is very common at my house but 'states' don't matter and feature at all  in our disagreements.The kitchen however and the house helps have to switch modes with each impending parental visit .Be it,no-kanda-lasun-mirch-masala cooking to extra tadka-kanda-lasun or lunch at 11.30am to lunch at 2.30pm  or full milk chai at 4 am to nimbu paani at 8am, the kitchen and the helps are gently geared up  for revision exercises.Extra amount is doled out to them during such visits , to 'kindly adjust'.Mumbai helps have a tight work schedule and it takes a lot more than kindness for them to 'adjust'.Time khoti nai kar sakta koi yahaan.It is very easy to guess for any outsider which set of parents is around.Gatte ki sabzi in the dubba and Balika Vadhu title music blaring in the house-mine and pithla ,masale-bhath in the dubba and Asambhav title blaring- its the in -laws.


Now that the situation is somewhat clear,let me tell you about the conflict in question.The fight that I am going to talk about here is forced upon this very giving and forgiving couple who permanently resides in my house. Situation is particularly complex because this couple with divine wisdom, beyond years is routinely asked to intervene when others fight and here ,they were instigated against each other.The instigators are none other than the septuagenarians mentioned above.The Samdhans expertly add ghee to the fire every day and manage to do that deftly even when the other is not on the scene.

It all started decades ago when my  mom one day was frantically searching for the small Devi's frame which she had given to me at my wedding.The frame was found behind Dutta's frame eventually.The frame disappeared again during her next visit.Now,I would have never missed the frame as the house temple is not my domain and neither Hobbs nor I are regular puja people.Twice is too much of a coincidence and of particular importance was the exact place where the frame would be found,behind Dutta's or Narsinghji's frame.MIL threw some  light one day on the whole thing ..Devi is Vishnu's ardhangini and is depicted in every frame of His so why a separate one.Mom on the other hand said that it was very rare to have Vishnu in Devi's frame and it is that female  independence,that she worshiped.So Deviji  has to hide behind Vishnu when MIL is around and she sits pretty in front of Him when mom is in charge of the temple.All big talks actually if you ask me.If you have not  guessed already, it is only their own family deities they were partial to,nothing else. Vishnu-Deviji are embroiled in a tussle for no fault of theirs and that too in my house.
Hey Bhagwaaan! Exactly!!


PS-Last Dhanteras,I made small murtis and enclosed them in beautiful cases for the parents .The process of replacing  frames from the set frame of minds is going to be arduous .Your best wishes are required!

Sunday, April 29, 2012

Walking In The Woods

Walking in the woods,
silently on tip toes..
veiled eyes marking my trail
their piercing gaze sending shivers down my spine,
                                                                                                 
Walking in the woods,
the tall stately tree  looks far ahead in the sky
knows not who treads, what lies in wait beneath...
shuffling of tiny feet,largely unnoticed,

Walking in the woods,
the old Banyan sits like a matriarch,
nesting birds a midst serpentine creepers
Strange feet weary from their  tread resting underneath,

Walking in the woods,
the wild roams, albeit with restrain
the laws are their own ,own rules to follow..
to live and let live ,never to tame.

Walking in the woods,
dwarfed by the might of the untamed,
I bow down my head ,humbled..
for I am, but a mighty speck...


 
  

Monday, April 16, 2012

Tears- A far cry

                                                                     courtesy-google images            

Tears,idle tears, I know not what they mean....Tennyson wrote in a wonderful poem .

I do not weep often but I shed tears all the time,copious tears .They say tears are the silent language of grief but in my case tears can take many forms .Before you draw an obvious conclusion that I am perpetually sad and grief stricken or the other extreme that I am talking about crocodile tears,I must elaborate further as to what makes me shed tears so often.

Actually It does not take much to make me misty eyed. If I say I cried when I gave birth to my kids and not because of pain but because I was overwhelmed,it sounds pretty normal .But things were a bit awkward recently when I visited a student of mine in the maternity ward and could not control my tears as I held her baby in my arms. I mean,here she was all excited and smiling about the wonderful experience and there I was trying to hide my eyes brimming with tears.Why??

I just have no control over my hyperactive lachrymal glands.Actually I have learnt to live with the defect but at times it really becomes too much to handle.After the initial fun making ,now the family is also embarrassed about it.How much could they have laughed about it anyways.I have instructions to arrange for the corner seat in the auditorium during concerts when my kids are performing.I shamelessly cry and my throat gets choked as soon as I spot them on the stage amongst the crowd of performers.Other parents give me strange looks but I just have no control.I wail on the mute mode (thankfully!)

Movies are another thing when it comes to shedding tears.Even the atrocious ,nonsensical ones can have that one moment,just one fleeting moment for my eyes to go on the watery trail.Can you imagine how embarrassing it can get ?I am scared to go for Housefull 2 type of movies for that reason.Serious movies can justify my red nose,chinky eyes,puffed-up face in the lobby but a Housefull type and  that kind of appearance attracts attention in the wrong direction.People look at me and then give strange looks to Hobbs.I have never blamed him for leaving the theater ahead of  'The end' under the pretext of rushing to the car park. Two decades of being married kind of develops that kind of understanding between couples.Thank God most Bollywood movies do not have ends that can not be missed.I am filled with disgust when my eyes refuse to cooperate in a K Jo movie and overflow with Shahrukh hamming big time on the screen and you can never ever understand the shame I go through while some random Balaji soap does the same to me and I am not even following the story!The point is,you cry, my eyes follow.As simple as that.

 Talent shows,reality shows,you name it..while the contestants are busy shedding crocodile tears,I am busy shedding real ones looking at them.There are some songs which make me sob ,like the 'ma' song from Taare Zameen Par.Each time ,every bloody time I listen to it,I sob.Muffin my son, actually tried playing that in the background once  to emotionally blackmail me and it almost worked. My brain was thankfully more hyperactive compared to my lachrymals that day. I have cried for each milestone that my kids crossed.They have grown up now but I still forget the demonic behavior of the previous night and stare misty eyed at the angelic faces of both as they sleep.

When Shakespeare said ,if you have tears,prepare to shed them now...he meant me and I do not even need to prepare.They are spontaneous,mine are shed just like that ,at the drop of a hat.
How true when they say,tears are the heart's own dew!

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