Tag Archives: family

Black Dog Helps Me Plan A Surprise – Part II

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Picking up threads from the last post, let us continue on the surprise that I planned keeping in my Lindt and Black Dog and Baba’s warning look that said “Do not mess with my favorite scotch”.

I reached the factory a little late, as I got lost in the beauty of the Zurich lake and spent an hour wandering down its shore line. Yes, the lost child attitude of mine comes out quite often. At the factory, I decided that I shouldn’t act like the kid in the candy store – but then when it has the option of being true literally, how can you avoid? My only note to self was – pick up variety that will help in the pairing game. And I did, I picked up 5 varieties of chocolates and wrapped them in same packages.

I was all set for the evening and when it did arrive I was excited to try it out. Out came the glasses and our favorite bottle of Black Dog. Just as my sister was to reach out for the munchies that would go with the drink, I hurried to stop her from doing so. Giving me a quizzical look she sat down with others. We were 5 of us (including me) and I handed each one a wrapped package containing a bar of chocolate- the game was to pair the chocolate you’ve got with your own glass of scotch and then tell us the taste that accentuates well with Black Dog 21 year old.

To kick start it, I opened mine and found A dark Chocolate Truffle (yes I cheated, I know!) and was thrilled, and took a bite. As I took a sip of Black Dog afterwards, the taste of sweet mangoes was accentuated with the bitter taste of chocolate.

Ma got a bar of Liquor chocolate and loved it too as she took a bite. She then sipped Black Dog and told us that the chocolate accentuated the taste of oranges that is present in Black Dog.

Jiju paired it with Lindt white chocolate and told us about the accentuated taste of ginger spice lingering on his palate.

For Didi who got the Hazelnut truffle bar of Lindt, Black Dog helped her discover the aftertaste of liquorices.

Lastly, when Baba tried out his Lindt mini macaroons, which had little cocao he exclaimed that this was the perfect pairing as it helped him discover the after taste of bitter chocolate.

Yes, it was fun discovering the various tastes that Black Dog, one of the world’s finest scotch, accentuated through the pairing. The intense amber gold, with shimmering highlights liquid, coupled with the aroma of soft peaches and ripe citrus fruits coupled with pear, marzipan and bergamot, truly made the evening a memorable one!

Thank you once again Black Dog and yes, Cheers!

black-dog-FnG

Black Dog Helps Me Plan A Surprise – Part I

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No story is ever complete without an elder bully sibling. Mine too follows the pattern – there’s a sister for whom I am the first born - courtsey the age difference. She bullies me, makes me meet her unresonable demands yet she is my hero. She is my confidant, she’s my support system and my punching bag.

She taught me to be everything I am today and to do it with grace. Having a sister who is settled in the land of chocolates and Yash Chopra, a.k.a Switzerland adds to the list of reason why I love her! Yes I am that vain ;)

In case you are a Lindt lover you shall understand my vanity too. The BIL is damn cool too and before I take any major decisions – there is always a mail waiting on his inbox that looks out  with puppy eyes and asks him what should she do?

Where were we – ah Lindt. I have visited thwe Lindt factory for about three times now and each time I act like a kid in candy store. One particular episode was hillarious.

This was the time Baba was travelling from London and I was flying from India and we were to meet at the sister’s. We met, we hugged and then I took advantage of the sentimental atmosphere and decided to bully them.

That evening, Baba took out a bottle of Black Dog 21 years from his suitcase. He wanted to raise a toast to his daughters and said that what is better than the bold and magnificent scotch called Black Dog. Baba’s fascination with this world’s finest scotch is well known, he loves it for all the 3 reasons you do to determine the goodness of scotch – color, aroma and taste.

As we raised a toast, I proposed the plan of Lindt factory and before the “Oh, no not again” phrase was thrown in – I said that there’s a surprise that I have planned for the next day and thus they can’t say no. Being the youngest one also has its advantages you know, I did get my way and thanked Black Dog for pepping everyone up despite the jet lag and helping me get my way.

What did I do and what is the surprise – well for that you need to wait till tomorrow – come on, you can’t always have your way ;)

Till then why don’t you enjoy the most regal scotch that is available in India, Black Dog and raise a toast to your loved ones and me?

Cheers!

1

Of buckets and pails and my little Jill

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Dearest Bummy,

I write this today, not knowing the place you shall grow up in. I am not as confused as before and indeed have a reason to stay here, but then life has taught me to “never say never”. Saying that, I am sure that no matter where you are, reading this letter would make sense for the society around would then too fit in just aptly.

There’s another thing I am sure of, that where we live there shall be a sea nearby and it would definitely be a frequented spot. The sea personifies me, and thus it is but natural that I give you an early introduction. Armed with little buckets and scoops we shall build castles, watch them being washed away and then build them again. The salty air will sting the eyes, the sea gulls might scare you even, the shells will be our first treasures and we shall there learn ‘not giving up’. I shall also introduce to you then a concept that seems very simple but trust me will play a big role in your life. I shall introduce you to “buckets” and how, all through your life people will try to fit you into one bucket or the other.

I hope you inherit my gift of gab, but I certainly do not hope you inherit my reclusive nature. For then it would be very difficult for people to bucket you, you see. For the world I am an extrovert, because talking comes naturally to me. Also, because they do not know that Ambiverts  like me exist. For them the buckets are labeled as only Extroverts and Introverts.

Similarly, you can either a feminist or not be one – the balanced approach where you refuse to give into male bashing or “I don’t need a man in my life” theory – just cannot be true. I cannot be traditional, the one who knows how to dish up a traditional recipe or drape a saree and yet know her salsa and gulp down evil mojitos in a jiffy. Remember what I told you about “tradition” earlier? I cannot have raag Malhaar on my Ipod and then go and zumba to Gangnam style. I simply cannot have a mush side when I am all sarcastic when I deal with my loved ones. I cannot have sambar as my comfort food when I swear by Bengali food as a daily affair. Remember what I told you about “comfort” once?

I simply cannot believe in dating and yet not have faith in marriages – for here both the concepts are confusingly intertwined. I cannot be seen dreaming of being a stay at home mom when I am supremely ambitious and competitive.

The ‘cannot(s)’ however my dearest come from those around me, who themselves are unable to live a balanced life and thus they create buckets. Sadly today all types are bucketed, the middle path that Buddha taught us, is only good for discussion at a posh meet-up.

Your teenage will worry you when you don’t fit into buckets. I wouldn’t save you then, for I want you to learn through your own finger burns about how shallow this entire thing is. You will be lost in your 20s and turn to ask if there’s anything wrong with you (like people say – as you do not fit into any buckets as defined by the society). I shall then open a Wiki page that reads “harmful side effects of smoking”, fix up an appointment with a gynae to counsel you about smoking and then ask you if you want to share a smoke with me and know how “weird” people tagged me? (Or probably still do, as you read this letter)

You shall survive, for you are my daughter and do just fine. However, in the process I want you to create two little buckets of your own. One filled with those names that have always striven to ‘bucket’ you and the ones that don’t. The latter will be much lighter than the one Jill went up the hill with, but trust me the latter will help you lead the most wonderful life.

They will be those who should be on your speed dial, with whom there’s no gender divide, you shall tuck you in when you are drunk, be the Whatsapp group that helps you go through a bad day and who shall welcome your dumb moments with the same grace as your achievements. They shall be the one for whom you are just ok for whatever you are!

However, remember my little one that there’s more to them than that. Whenever this bucket tells you something which hurts you or is not very sweet, do not react thinking they have changed sides! Take a step back and think, for their point outs will always be true (well most of the time!) and will help you be a better and humble person.

They shall be your shield and your mirror – appreciate them for that!

I have been lucky to have found my bucket be filled with such a few names and thus, when people who have always termed me as ‘weird’ wonder why they don’t bother me and how I am so at peace with myself I thank those names and send a prayer.

Tell them you love them, hold them close, appreciate them and always be there for them, for this is a bucket that shall never let you tumble and fall. As for the rest, note them down in your little black diary, for someday they shall help you decide the kind of person you should not be!

Now, let’s build some castles shall we?

Buckets full of love and cuddles,

Amma

 

 

Letters to My Daughter – Part V

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Dearest Bummy,

Yes, I know I had this conversation with you last night in my head, like the numerous other ones, but I have this urge to pen this down. I don’t know how much of an example of a traditional mom I will turn out to be, but I just want you to know that we pull along just fine without having to have an exact fit into defined roles. All I want to tell you today, is that there are choices to be made in life and there are traditions to follow – they both should be as per your comfort and should always be something you pick for yourself and not to gain acceptance by the world around you!

Remember the time I explained to your about “comfort”? Well today let us take on “tradition” :)

“Tradition” they define as a custom or ritual handed down from one generation to the other, what started in the past and continues till the present. “Tradition” as I have learnt, is knowing all that the society is made up of, and then choosing what you want to follow depending on the beliefs that make you up. I have never been the traditional daughter the society would have loved to cite as an example, yet I am just as human as the one who fits the shoe. Bummy, I have come to realize that it is much better to not wear the heels that cause you blisters, than to wear and feel that this shoe wasn’t cobbled for you, yet try to keep up the gait, because the world might think low of you. Strangely Bummy, the times we live in (and shall continue too) we try to bucket people into two categories who are either traditional or not. For the rest like me, sweety there’s a struggle – not for us, but for the world to categorize us and their inability to arrive to a conclusion.

So while wearing a skirt and jacket walking into the meeting room is seeing as “progressive women power”, then sharing a smoke with the colleagues is taken as “modernity” the just opposite happen when you walk in wearing a saree. You are of course expected to be NOT at ease, I mean come one, you are either a western-culture-influenced short skirt wearing girl, who wears saree only during special occasions or you are the saree clad one, who never prefer to show off her legs! Balance and tradition do not go hand in hand – or so we have been made to believe in recent times.

Tradition differs from class to class, yet another tough aspect of life that you have to gulp. A woman construction worker smoking a beedi or walking into the country liquor store for a nip bottle will not draw as much attention as you would, saree clad with your Davidoff in hand. Strangely, if there are gender defined shoes which the society tags for the argument pertaining to “tradition” it should be equal across all classes right? How I wish, that Utopia was true darling! Here, it is almost as if we have taken for granted that those with little “means” are corrupted for tradition and the “good girls” are only from families that have permanent house walls!

Tradition they say demands a lot, I have been however raised to believe that tradition has a lot to offer. All it demands in return, is your appreciating the customs that makes it up and then choosing the ones that you feel are attuned to your mindset (for the rest that don’t suit you, it demands a little respect.  What might be your choice, may not be others but that doesn’t mean we do not respect them! Right?)

Clothes don’t define what your roots are, your actions do. Your piousness in society standards don’t define your traditional morals, your respect to the world around you does. In order to uphold traditions you need not wear a saree, be a teetotaler or remain a virgin till you marry – for you must always remember that the first man/ woman to set these standards also had a choice – the choice to adhere to these or not. If they made their own choice, why can’t you? I adorn a saree, because nobody ever forced me to wear it, I was given the option of loving it or not. Your Apa*, never encouraged traditional clothing for children, for the simple reason that his little girls couldn’t run in flowy dresses. Thus, it is true that your mother never owned a single piece of salwaar kameez, till she entered college and wanted to wear one. I was never asked to pray, for faith has always been a personal affair in the family. ‘S Mashi**’ comes from a different faith and yet she is the daughter of the house. ‘A mesho***’ comes from a different faith and nationality, yet we all gather and wish them on Durga Pujo, for that is the tradition which the old lady set for the house. Tradition baby, is like your taste of “salt” nobody can ever define that for you. However, you need to try different cuisines to know your taste. Thus, tomorrow when I introduce you to art, music and culture lessons, do not think it is for the heck of making you a traditional girl, but mainly I want you to discover what you really want, and what will pay your bills and what will be your passion!

I don’t know how to answer your question (in case you ever ask me to) if I am traditional or not? How can I answer when I don’t know it myself. I learnt the rituals of Durga Puja not because I am traditional, but mainly because I found them fascinating – the stories, the smell, the chaos and yes the fun in doing things together. I learnt cooking not because I was told I need to learn it to feed my man, as the tradition goes. Instead, I was told that everyone should learn to cook to be independent – Ama**** hates it if she hears that one chooses to survive on “Maggi” because who wants to cook a lavish mean for one self? I learnt to drape a saree, not because it is the most traditional piece of clothing around me, mainly because I love the elegance it provides me and the self-confidence it oozes out! I do not smoke in front of my parents, not because of traditional demands (heck, then I would not have even told them!), but mainly out of the respect for somewhere I know they don’t like it. 

There’s a difference in me not allowing you to do things till a certain age and then after an age despite my not agreeing to your view-point, letting you make choices. I want to guard you till you are old enough to know that there are choices to be made. The world is a tapestry filled with traditions, I want you to pick and choose them. I don’t want you to abstain from anything for the argument of tradition, for trust me what is tradition in this part of the land, is not in the other part of the world. So traditions too come with their anti-thesis. It is up to you to decide which is the shoe that goes with your personality. Google, will be there to throw up answers, to provide you with all the information, however remember Google cannot make you a person. There are no buckets in which you need to be categorized when it comes to “traditions”, I don’t want to leave behind any legacies mandating you to follow. Yet, I want you to know my history, know the family you come from and then decide for yourself. 

In the end, I am sure once you adorn a saree and give a sweet smile there will be an aunty who says “Ki misti ghoroaa meye”***** – for the world loves to categorize you, it is a fascination they live by and it often feels good to oblige them, till of course you know at heart where you belong!

Loads of Love and Strength,

Amma

*Apa - what kids in the family call my father

**Mashi - Bengali addressal for mother’s sister

***Mesho - Bengali addressal for maternal aunt’s husband

****Ama - what kids in the family call my mother

***** - To Translate it means “What a sweet and lovely traditional girl”

Tuesdays with Tamanna!

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 The irony is Tamanna and I, never met on Tuesdays! Tuesdays and Thursdays used to be the most difficult days of the week for they were her counselling days. Tantrums, cajoling, temper shoots, love musings a mix of all was needed to see through these two days with A (her BMC counsellor) and today as I spend the last Tuesday here, I am suddenly gripped with a strange nostalgia, of whether I fared well in this test of mentorship, for remember I wasn’t a mother?

T’s mythophobia scared me beyond my wits. It wasn’t those sudden unearthing of  events that make me gape in wonder that unnerved me, it was the extent of damage they were causing to her psyche that was the major concern. While we struggled through our lives and the emotional baggage we both carried the most important thing that I sought to make her understand that there was a fine line of distinction between lies and imagination. And that while the latter was healthy the former was a strict NO!

To explain her the difference I introduced her to Calvin and Hobbes and tried to unearth before her the power of imagination and that how Calvin never really ‘lied’. I tried to tell her that lies meant her trying to show her own self as someone she’s not. I succeeded at times when she told me the truth about cheating in a ‘maths’ test one day to score the highest and then I failed when her teacher asked me if she really had a cousin in US who was seeking to sending a her Wii for her birthday?

When she once cooked up stories about her trip-in-dreams to Iggatpuri I asked her if she really did this to fit in to a group or whether she was really uncomfortable in being in the skin she was in? In her innocent defensive mechanism she said that she found it ‘fun’ to cook stories. And so as I indulged in pretend play of ‘Teacher Student’ with her somewhere I realised that her very back ground troubled her. She liked to remain in a dream world where everything was exactly opposite. Where people spoke differently, wore different kinds of clothes and had a different lifestyle. She wanted the world to see her as someone she was not. Only because she had this image in her head that that life was ‘fun’.

While this was her ‘imaginative’ mind, the problem lay in her incessant lying to her classmates about her social conditions, about her background and the type of lifestyle she indulged into. She once lied to her teacher that her Marathi marks were poor because everyone only spoke in English at home!

One year and T taught me patience, taught me how difficult it is to maintain a strict face when your child cries but you know you have to be strong to teach her right and wrong. And that though later you’ll crave to pick her in your arms and cajole her saying it’s ok, you will not, instead you’ll just wonder and wonder that how it is not ok!

I couldn’t cure her fully that I would ramble about it here, but suddenly I felt to note down these thoughts? Why today? Maybe because all of a sudden as I stand to leave T and go I am gripped with this sense of self analysis on whether I have been too strict at times? Whether I have lost out on the fun play aspect with her and taken her childish follies too seriously? Whether I have been a paranoid pseudo-mother who was too motivated to do things right?

It’s not that I never had fun, I remember spinning a ‘why butterflies don’t get wet’ tale for her in the most imaginative way while people around me either quit saying they have full faith in my power of imagination or Googled the scientific reason for me to spill out?

It’s just that I am indulging in a self critique today. As I sat in the bus I struggled with this analysis and spoke to the two people I always talk to in my head – GM and Y! But then something else comforted me too and that brought me to actually write this to be frank!

Packing and moving on you discover things which you think are long lost! I discovered my old tattered copy of kiddie Gita today, the one which is ear-marked with all of GM’s favourite teachings. As I smiled and ruffled the pages I stopped at where Krishna says that lies are ok if they are to save your skin, but the moment you lie and that hurts anyone emotionally or physically, even if it’s in your unknown being, know that you have sinned?

I just sought to save T from hurting others and in turn her own self in the long run, GM. So guess you wouldn’t be too disappointed with me, right? I just wanted to make her understand that it’s important that she turns out to be a person whom people accept and love for what she is and for not what she pretends to be, for then she would be lying about her own identity. What would be worse than a self identity crisis, right GM?

T, I hope when I am back from my ‘tour’ (yes she thinks I am off for another office tour, but yes a long one!), I find you as a person who’s happy and confident and loves her own reflection in the mirror!

Loads of Love and Wishes

Letters to my Daughter – Part IV

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Dear Bummy,

I think by now you already know all that I want to tell you through this letter, for that is all I have been talking to you in my head since last evening. The last weekend evening of your Ma’s rendezvous with the city that shaped her, was spent in discovering things I would like to tell you when someday we come back to settle here and sit by the sea, to share a cup of coffee. The very picture brings a smile to my face, it’s almost I can imagine your summer dress flowing in the breeze as I sit holding you close sniffing your freshly shampooed hair smelling of strawberry!

We might have had a fight before that. I think we will, for I know I am not going to be a cool mom. But you know what don’t fight back with me. It’s not worth it, I’ll be too obstinate to even pretend to listen to things which are a strict no –no. Instead pick up a call on Oma and trust me you’ll be soothed to know that I was more deviant than you can ever imagine. It’s ok don’t be shocked, we seldom can picture our parents as kids doing stuff they will never approve of now. But the truth is, they are humans too and so when Oma shows you a photograph of the ‘hippie’ stage of my life, kindly do not faint to see bandanas, black nail polish, gothic wear, chunk jewellery and yes not to forget hair in thousand braids!!!!

Disastrous as it may look and sound, it wasn’t. It did not shape me, it did not linger, it was just there to comfort me when I felt mis-fit in doing anything else. We all grow that way, clinging to various ‘comforts’ and there’s nothing wrong in that!

‘Comfort’ that is what I want to explain to you today, lest that evening by the sea never happens. I have learnt not to be too ambitious in life, so I jot these down, my child. Read it at leisure, one at a time for then it wouldn’t be preach!

  1. Baby, in life it is important to find a place that gives you comfort and yes it should be a distinct one which is no where close to my lap. In fact that space should be just yours devoid of any other human contact. I found mine in a small strip of virgin beach here, I hope you find yours somewhere. For then you shall discover yourself, when the world tags you as lost.
  2. There’s nothing as comforting as music, go discover your kinds. But remember NEVER share your IPod, just the way you won’t share your bra! Push-ups don’t work for everyone and not all are comfortable with the concept of half-cups! Similarly, Bhimsen Joshi might be too passé for some and Methany might be completely out of the blue. But, in the end, it’s your comfort. And trust me, even if you give into peer pressure at times to tune into what’s cool so that you can fit in, keep a back up playlist handy, for there’s nothing like a loop of favourite songs that never grow old, when you want to just disconnect from the rest of the world.
  3. Have one phone number on your speed dial list, which can comfort you at any hour of the night! Make sure but, that the person is a good listener or in fact at times ‘just’ a listener. It helps you the next morning and you wake up feeling much lighter, without any guilt. But yes, love NEVER use the person as your ‘punching bag’. Nothing hurts a person more than badly framed words, which are used to take out the vengeance about something he/she wasn’t a part of!
  4. I’ll always hug you to sleep, till the time you don’t throw me out of your room in want of ‘space’! Yes, I am shameless that way. But Hun, there’ll be hugs that you crave which I will not be able to offer. A strong pair of dad’s arms at times. Well I would offer you Opa’s but I know that would be a compromise I would be forcing you to make. But, it’ll do you good trust me, for it’ll help you find your comfort hug within yourself and then when sleep eludes you and the want of a strong hug creeps in really deep, you’ll slip under covers with someone like Hobbes, wearing your Winnie-the-Pooh socks and snore softly, while the world wonders how can you be so at peace with your own self.
  5. Living with me would ensure that there’s no cuisine you haven’t tried (unless your medical condition doesn’t permit!) and “I-don’t-like-to-eat” is something you would discover only once you start earning! But yes, I’ll help you discover something very early on – your comfort food and the acceptance that it acts the best too soothe you. Trust me, when you discover it you’ll perfectly understand why when you wake up during a few nights you find me sitting at the balcony with milk and cookies or a bowl of sambar and I assure you that I am ‘just thinking’. We shall ignore the over flowing ashtray that I seek to hide then, ok love?

Anarkali, it’s very important to be comfortable in the skin you are in. Correction, it is the most important thing, for then the rest follows. Once you discover your own self, no other jig saw puzzle can un-settle you baby!

Comfort Hugs and Kisses,

Amma

P.S: For more letters to my unfortunate unborn daughter click here :razz:

A Girl's/Woman's guide to mourning…

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Have been planning this post for quite sometime now, but the occasion was never right. In fact I guess the seeds were sown the moment GM slipped into coma and Baba, Kaka (Uncle) and me battled to make sure that she be surrounded by all her loved ones and comfort.

 Then there was no looking back. Mourning – I thought it was the only thing that spilled beyond gender, caste, society et al. As usual life was to break this bubble and tell me ‘welcome to reality’. It did and in the crudest way possible. It hasn’t left me bitter, for GM somewhere has taught me never to really be bitter with things and people. It baffles Ma, when I refuse to get back at people, but how do I make her understand that it shocks me more than it hurts me when what someone refers to as ‘depravity of human mind’! But this time I did get back at people, musch to everyone’s surprise and I have no qualms about it.

I scanned Amazon, Flipkart and the like, but unfortunately I didn’t find a handbook that defines ‘Guidelines for Mourning or How a girl should mourn’. Decided – its high time I be the leader of the pack, self-appointed, albeit!

Rule 1

You should mourn when you know that even the last straw has been pulled, instead of inventing new ideas to extend the time in this world – Money matters!

One of the cheeky relatives that the balls to come up to me and say that instead of teaming up with my dad to go in for the latest ventilator think for GM, we should just let her be on oxygen and pray! The bill apparently was scaring her. One look at her and a few crisp words in Bengali that the same is not our concern right now and that all of GM’s working children, grand-children are there for that, didn’t make her ashamed, instead just made her go away and try the same logic on my aunt. Who too walked away. She grumbled that that is how she had taken care of the ‘situation’ for her MIL then was she wrong? I answered no, but then just as she had the right to decide for her family, we had the right for ours!

When was the last time I asked you for money and how you plan your household, that you define mine?

Rule 2

Understand death as beyond all reasons and doings

The concept of guilt to me is actually par all. Death is inevitable, so I learnt, but to me what mattered more was the concept of guilt that it would leave behind. I know it for a fact that my father and mother both live with the guilt that they couldn’t be with their fathers (respective) when they passed away (both were working away from their home lands) and I did not want them to go through it again. So while a few of them told me to wait before I usher in my parents on an emergency flight from Zurich – reminded me of my sister’s condition, I stuck to my guns. My parents were to come and come in by the first available flight irrespective of the improving or deteriorating condition of my GM. One of them had also in fact called me in Mumbai to tell me that probably I should come when she’s really on the verge of leaving!!!! I had just disconnected the line then. Also, the decision to shift my GM to the advanced ventilator despite knowing that there was ‘no hope’ was my insistence keeping in mind that my uncle and my father were NOT to survive with a life long guilt that they could have done something more to give their mom comfort!

To me the very moment Baba had held my hand during a smoke break and asked me if there was something he could do medically to give her a few moments of respite, was the trigger.

Guilt eats you up, especially the guilty which raises ‘what if(s)’ which have no answer. It’s my duty as a daughter to ensure that the daughter/son of the previous generation do not live for the rest of their lives with such a guilt!

Rule 3

Nothing beats the grief a SON faces on losing a mother

My father was in a state of almost denial and hence everyone thought it was essential to give him company. I saw a DIL (my mom) who was in pieces, whom people said they had to be strong. I saw myself, who was still being viewed as the deviant grand-daughter ever, who just never cared for society.  For 36 years the DIL has been more than a son to this MIL. She was in fact closer than her womb connects. For the last almost 3 decades these grand-daughters were the ones whom GM had brought up . In fact it shocked them that my mother knew all about her last wishes about dressing up in finery and where she eye docnation receipt was kept. It shocks me to see this being a reason of shock!

 So we didn’t exactly feel the grief and know what my father was going through? Me who accompanied Baba for each of his smoke trips, because right since childhood those 5 minutes of father-daughter talks help us connect, didn’t know what he as a son needed? He needed space and realisation of the loss and when me and mom tried to reason that out, we were told that we wouldn’t really know!

Where were you when I helped my Baba cry so that he could sleep – busy talking about my deviance right? So Thanks! But not thanks for the extra gyaan about ‘grief’!

Rule 4

You are a girl, your mourning should be behind curtains

So when my mother stood up that I being GM’s favourite was to accompany her to the house and till the pyre, we got a lot of cold stares. It didn’t matter then, for anyway I was tagged, what shocked me was the gender associated mourning drama. You – my dear man who claim to be her close relative, had the right to shoulder her , because of your different genitals. Irrespective of the fact that you were never there when she was in pain. That despite of me having the nerves to sit through the trauma beside her, you considered yourself the stronger one fit to help her in her final journey. Sorry, not here, not with me.

Same thing happened regarding dressing her up, final journey and the ashes strewing. I made it I was there and I have no qualms. Yesterday too if people gaped when I sat for the puja along with my dad and uncles and later told me that she would have been proud of me, I did not bat an eyelid before I replied that she wouldn’t have been proud of me, just satisfied. Infact had they used these words in front of her, she would have said there’s nothing to be proud of – she’s just doing her duty!

Things that shock you, are actually normal. It’s you who are crazy to live in a shady world of poorly framed rituals. Not me who’s run by heart and mind!

Rule 5

She’s gone. Help her leave following all rituals

Even if the rituals make no sense? Even if I believe that there are no real leaving behind? That I still believe that there are no real ends just that there are no real beginnings? My ‘why(s)’ baffled them and their ignorance shocked me.

As GM lay there sleeping, one of them lit incense sticks beside her head stand. I jumped to remove it, shocking him. I coldly replied that she was asthmatic and could never bear the incense smell (something which I have inherited!) and hence it be kept near the foot. He insisted that it was the ritual. I told Baba that no ritual was to be at the cost of GM’s discomfort. End of story beginning of yet another set of whispers.

Same thing was at the shradh ceremony – when everyone insisted on the incense sticks being lit in front of her photo. I stood guard for 6 hours to make sure it’s not. Rituals cannot surpass likes and dislikes merely because a person is not physically present.

Also, rituals have a meaning and when are we to understand that. When I went shopping for GM’s puja last week I noticed that the purohit had asked for a ‘paan daan’ (a beetle leaf holder) to be included in the list of items. My GM HATED any sort of addictions and hence I struck it off. Yesterday at the shraadh an elderly person raised a hue and cry about it. The purohit looked at me, when I merely asked him that what is this puja all about? Isn’t it to give away as final offerings all the material goods that she liked? He nodded and so I looked at the lady and said, hence since my GM never liked all that, it shall be replaced by a basket of chocolates. Uncle and Baba helped me decorate the basket of flowers and chocolates.

When will you understand my fellows the rituals and society are what we make of. For when I teach Anarkali to distribute chocolates on GM’s anniversary, it’ll be a ritual which I create!

Dearest GM,

I am sorry, for I know you wouldn’t have never liked me being rude with people. I know that you taught me to step into the other person’s shoes before reacting. But this time I thought it to be more important to step into your shoes and speak what you would have. After all, that is how the world is to know that the legacy you spun is living on right? You don’t need any rituals for remembrance, I’ll make sure that the mind you have gifted me with shows your presence each day.

Yours and only yours,

SC *special name*

Monsters under my bed! Yours???

Posted on by under All about me...

There’s a problem in bringing up kids with high level of imagination (all eyes at me please and not at the door – there’s no diva who’s set to appear. DQ is in front of you! :oops: ) – or so my mother bantered and I smirked. But that was ONLY before Tamanna came into my life. Now I bow down to the power of imagination and in fact dread each time her counselor calls me. “I say a little prayer for you myself” before I pick up the calls and then I leave it on my cuppa of Green Tea to go through the escapades of photo shoots and expensive parlor visits to do her hair (the Barbie way) – when in reality she was in a special class!

Guess this time the morning tea session with Ma is going to be a long one.

Today as I type this, I smile when I think about the session I am to have tomorrow with Ma about Tamanna. I am sure she’s again going to giggle about my “monsters under the bed’ episodes! Being a typical Calvin, I thoroughly believed that there were indeed monsters under my bed each night. The difference was that instead of a father telling re-assuring stories to put a child to sleep (as imagined by Watterson) I had a sister who gladly did the opposite to keep me awake as she snored! And since my parents had the rule that I couldn’t step down from the bed after lights were put off, as I could do was clutch my Hobbes near and wonder if the monsters were done with their dinner, or whether they were making plans to attack me and whether they really had glowing eyes with X-ray vision!

For long I have believed in this story – refused to peep under beds at night and somehow deep down my alter ego still mocks me for believing in this fear. According to her I hate beds (yes I do!) and have none at my place mainly because I am still scared of invisible monsters! (No!!! it’s not true :oops: )

Paah! I wag my tongue at her and walk away only to come back and sit by the mirror and tell her profoundly yesterday and indeed I am still scared of monsters, but unfortunately they are no longer invisible. After growing up they come in all shapes and sizes. They differ in forms, patterns and come wrapped up in all sorts – like through a DVD (Exorcism of Emily Rose) or even as a face that still makes me break out in sweat and tears – fear and heartbreak are fast friends in this part of the wall.

Monsters do not shape us but, they stay to shape the walls around us. I haven’t met a single man/woman who doesn’t come with the baggage, the problem is we don’t know when and how to shed it. Trudging along we become so habituated carrying that load, we slouch into an ‘accepted’ zone. Though we know that doors might open and the baggage can be dropped we fear about the times when the opposite might happen and the already existing load becomes too much to handle!

Standing from a neutral perspective it’s easy to say to loosen up, but then again when you have been tightly bound for a long time and the ropes don’t eat into your skin anymore, how so you react to discourses about pain and free times?

Letting go doesn’t always mean putting life back to where it was. Such a principal only works in the legal agreements I vet for my clients. It in reality means letting go a part of you completely – so that it vanishes and a new set of prejudices take its place, which you counsel yourself as the necessary evil to keep you going.

I see my friends – fleeting social butterflies hopping from one party to other, changing arms like summer apparels and nod when they say that this is the best life a girl can have. Then why do you cry after 4 drinks I ask one of them, why are your eyes moist when after that drag of “grass” you should be on a ride to ecstasy? She mumbles something about loneliness and a run away youth she’s trying to grasp, before she pukes all over the floor and passes out. Her beau for the evening likes an ‘easy going’ life and hence is mesmerized in some other nectar dipped neck!

I see epitomes of stability and smile into the mirror – I was there to once! Life would be perfect with a job, house, happy spouse and adorable kids! Now the order is all jumbled up as I see a close one battling divorce when the ‘irreparable breakdown of marriage’ cause baffles her more than it baffles her family court judge! The kids I see hug each other to sleep – occasionally asking her if divorce actually stands to be a sort of punishment for naughty kids! She on the other hand Google(s), attends counseling camps and is confident that time will heal everything and that she doesn’t need men in her life!

I see myself and a lot around that resembles me. I overwork, I exhaust fearing that tomorrow I might again blame myself for not doing what I should have done – like I do for each thing that didn’t turn out the way I wanted (irrespective of the real reason behind it!). I am too critical about my own self, but I don’t take judgments about my own self from others. I have a “I am what I am’ defense ready when anyone tries to hold up the mirror and I have a “I survived when he/she/the opportunity was not there right” line ready to pick myself up and “move on”.

But, the truth is that in reality we are all monster stricken individuals, who refuse to see that with time monsters do not vanish and life doesn’t become ok but that we put up walls which we think monsters can’t climb. But then for some like me they do and sit quietly under the bed, and just when I think I am ready to take the plunge they shake the bed and make me run back to the clove in the middle. And I snuggle up with Hobbes and tell myself, I am all ok here, all alone. When, we are never alone – the monsters are watching!

Have you ever felt there are monsters under your bed? Or if you are grown up (unlike me) do have skeletons in your cup board which refuse to let you put on your best dress and look pretty?

 

 

[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xnujO3SCGBE]

 

Letters to my daughter – Part III

Posted on by under All about me...

Dear Princess,

Yes :roll:  all you want at me, for it is indeed one of those RARE occasions when I decide to call you with a socially acceptable mush name! Or so what people think – for to me Anarkali is a perfectly socially befitting name!!!

To say that I am missing you bad would be the greatest oxymoron of all times right – how can I miss something I never had till now? Well I do and I crave – like never before. Maybe because after I ceased to be a princess I realized how wonderful it was to be one and I crave to make someone feel the same.

I don’t know where you are – whether you have already arrived in this world or are en-route or whether you have just expressed your desire to a stork to be transported to a doorstep. In any which way princess, I just hope you find your way to me in the next three years. But will you do one thing my child, as and when you decide to bless me will you meet GM once on the way. It’ll make life easier for both me and you, trust me!

The walls I have built around me, I don’t want to break them down and yet I want you to know the real me – so I think a long chat with GM will solve the dilemma. Those grey hairs are courtesy a lot many of my escapades, my dear!

Remember our dream den Princess – the one where there are no walls but just book shelves lined with the choicest ones picked by both of us, where there won’t be floors but just Persian rugs. And where instead of TV we’ll have a white screen for all those animated movies and jungle documentaries and a white board to doodle and learn new words – I shared that dream with someone. Not a friend, not even a close acquaintance. Not even Uncle A or Aunt S. I don’t know how to answer ‘who’. It was only when I rattled on to the coffee tables and the dreams of it storing our half played Scrabble or jigsaw puzzle games that I realized that the milk and cookie sipping escapades are only ours and there’s no scope of anyone else! He says I am fiercely possessive – I peep into my bag of dreams and smile at the little broken toy pieces I seek to guard. Scrap to me is valuable and that is perhaps why when you insist on preserving a twig, I’ll give into your imagination of it being a magic wand! He also thinks I’m sily and so I stopped sharing my dreams with him too – I am saving them all up for you.

You know I think I saw Bruno yesterday – yes the golden retriever with whom we’ll roll in the mud till we can challenge the Ariel or the Surf Excel guys! I was returning home when a lost Bruno caught my attention, as I stroked it, it’s warm nuzzle made me realize that he’s lost, I took him around the compound to the little boy holding the broken leash. I wish I could bring him home baby, but I guess I’ll wait for you so that we can bring both Buzz and Bruno home together!

It’s going to be a bit lonely here Princess, GM feared that, do you think you would be able to manage with the bed time stories and sky gazing activities I indulge you into? Or is Aunt S right when she says that her baby can already sense Uncle I’s voice and gets excited. Am sure we’ll work a way out Princess.

Why this letter today, maybe because am a little bit vulnerable. I was on the verge of breaking down my walls when I realized that I have to hold them up for you. But then again I sensed that it might not give you the glimpse of how your mom was really as a girl who believed on Valentine’s Day too once – long long back and did wish on fallen eye lashes. So maybe when one day you feel that you are stuck up with a demented mother devoid of all girly emotions – I’ll show you this letter to give you a glimpse of me and then remind you of the chat you had with GM en-route my world. Yes, I know then other questions will follow – but guess to you I will answer each one of them.

One thing I am going to do different but Princess, which GM would have ever approved of. I am going to introduce you to death before you discover it the hard way. I am going to share the story of Gautam Buddha* with you much before the time that my mom did with me!

Milk and cookies strike up awesome conversations and that’ll be our comfort food even when roles reverse and once again I become a child with dreams in my eyes – for you.

Come soon princess, I have almost perfected the animated steps of ‘5 little monkeys’ and ‘Good boy Carl’!

Stomach bubbles and Butt kisses,

Amma

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The lore goes that an old lady was distraught on losing her only son and went to Buddha asking him to bring him alive. Buddha tried to reason when she challenged his powers as a divine entity and said that he never really realized the truth about human emotions or being. The calm and ever smiling Buddha then agreed to grant her wish but asked her to fetch an essential ingredient which he needed to instill life back into the child. He asked her to fetch a handful of mustard seeds from a house which has never witnessed a single death. The old lady without a thought set off to find such a house-hold. It was only after she covered the entire village in vain that she realized the true lesson which Buddha wanted to impart – that how no one can escape death. As I questioned a blank space that day sleeping on her bed that ‘why GM?’ – Ma told me this story – handed down to her by her grand father when she had lost her brother – her lifeline.

P.S: For more letters to my unfortunate unborn daughter click here ;) ;)