Tag Archives: life

The Game Patience, Perfection – The Game of Black Dog History

Posted on by under muse

8

Yayyy, things did work out. I filed my tax proofs and I think they went it through. I will not know – but still I have done everything I could – and that is what matters right? It has been a roller coaster year and I am glad it is finally over. ISB happened and then there was joining a new job. Just when I thought I was settling in Mumbai – there was uprooting to Gurgaon. Somewhere I did wonder where was life taking me. Hey, but here 6 months into this job I feel pretty settled *touchwood*. Yes, it is indeed not a time for victory dance, but what the heck, I think I have earned myself a little bit of letting down of hair. Let me rejoice till life throws in a new challenge I say.

 Speaking of challenges, you know what exactly is a tough challenge – upkeeping the 130 year old history – that Black Dog, world’s finest scotch, seems to be doing with perfection. I do not know who these master blenders are, but trust me, I would bow to them when I met them. Day after day bottling the most perfect scotch is no easy feat. Yet, they do it and keep the flag of the brand soaring high.

Each bottle of the brand has the distinct aroma that sets Black Dog apart from the other brands. It is almost like there is no competition. Like this one in my hand – the Reserve edition has the most perfect woody and musky smell ever. Then the taste of fruits – oranges, marzipan, peaches and all – how do they blend them all so perfectly – there’s a tinge of spice and a hint of sweetness – every time I sip it is as if I am immersing myself in the lap of luxury. The after tastes of bitter chocolates and liquorices, do the trick for aftertaste after the sugar and spice combination.

 Perfection takes time and for a bottle like this it took 21 years of dark warehouses and endless care. Have you ever seen how one financial year of 12 months and we are already heaving and lamenting . No wonder they say that the best of things in life come with patience. As for me, all I can say is that I am glad that the masters at Black Dog have patience so that I can reap the fruit ;)

black-dog-FnG

Black Dog Calms Me Down

Posted on by under muse

black-dog-FnG

Oh God, what a crazy day. I am running from pillar to post managing my investment proofs. The last moment hitches owing to a misunderstanding with HR and all this while I had thought that I had things within my control. Gosh, I don’t know what I will do. Even as I type this post I am nervous. I am sitting here this evening all tensed up with my glass of scotch, Black Dog for company. The 130 year old luxury drink is doing its best to calm me down – the amber colored liquid shining like gold with shimmer looks to me like a smile the sun is showering on me. Only I wish, the sun tomorrow is just as jolly. The smell of musk and wood – is oh so heavenly – it reminds me of the masculine smell I loved once on someone – gosh how I miss those strong arms but I am too proud to admit. However, there is another side too, the sweetness of the Seveille oranges, molten marzipan and peaches remind me of how sweet life was when all these Tax liabilities need not have been bothered about – childhood whisked by too fast now I feel. I wish life just does a turn and everything works out today. The lingering after taste of bitter chocolate and liquorices remind me that all things after they pass away do leave an after taste and that is determined by how we have perceived the experience.

 5 sips down and I can already feel my nerves relaxing a bit. It must have been a difficult job for the master blenders too, make this liquid to perfection without actually touching it. They too must have been tensed, irritated and bugged beyond explanation. However, the truth is that they did manage to conjure up this wonderful drink which for me is best in the world. Black Dog has a 130 year heritage and I am sure it must have seen the other side of the day too.

 I feel the same would be with me, everything would eventually work out. Coz as they say if things don’t it is not the end. I am sure that if not perfect I will pull through learning my lessons and then someday maybe perfectly blend in too, just like this bottle of Black Dog.

9

When Black Dog Teaches You To Beat Life’s Blues!

Posted on by under muse

13

 

Does life always need to be seen through a rose-tinted glass?

Why don’t we mention the dark patches of grey which we cannot give a pass?

Evenings when the pain is bad and gloom so severe that we wish we could die,

When you are so tired of putting up a smiling face and just want to curl up and cry.

What do you do then? Force yourself to believing that everything is just as sunny?

Watch the idiot box despite knowing that even the best comedy shows to you don’t seem as funny?

Or do you do the opposite and just lock yourself up and decide to battle our the grief with tears,

 Decide instead, to not be brave, to not stand up and admit defeat before your fears?

Can there be not a balance instead where you find a silver lining to your dark cloud,

Try to tell yourself that ‘this too shall pass’ and ‘it’s all going to be okay’ no matter how clichéd these sound?

For once can we not decide to take life by the horns and enjoy the darkness it brings,

As I say this aloud a familiar bell rings.

Do you know of the story of a single grain of wheat,

The trails of the dark room it endures, to come out as the finest scotch that we can enjoy neat.

This takes me to those warehouses where Black Dog master Blenders put in hours,

Where in cold darkness as they blend and bring out the best of their blending powers.

However but, where would the amber like color, the intense flavor and the bold taste come from if not for the grain,

And its toiling in the dark damp warehouse and bearing the brewing pain?

Black Dog shows us how a simple grain turns out to be the lap of luxury and fine living,

That in the end all that matters is the exquisite after taste that leaves you craving.

If the wheat had refused to bear the process, would be bottled under one of the world’s best brands,

Similarly how can we dream of the world stage when we accept defeat before life’s rants?

There’s a lot which a glass of amber shimmering scotch can teach you trust me,

A label like Black Dog which has a 130 year old heritage is no joke you see,

So the next time you feel blue and wish you had a different and glamorous life,

Sit down with a glass of Black Dog scotch and re-evaluate life’s strife?

In the end you shall realize that a little patch of darkness is not always a bane,

That for every episode of life’s blues, there’s an amber colored shimmering drink that is there to keep you sane…

 

Cheers!

 aged_21

Of buckets and pails and my little Jill

Posted on by under muse

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

 

 

Leaving Behind Better Kids For This Planet ….

Posted on by under All about me...

I am actually writing this post in haste. No, wait! I am actually writing this post in rage, in frustration and in complete anticipation of the back lash that “Who am I to comment on parents, when I haven’t raised a kid?”

So roll your eyes and bring out the tomatoes, but just make sure that they are in bucketful, for I just attended a La Tomatina this fall and thus the squish will not bother me much.

Kids – ok how do you define them? Well here is how I go …

Curled up toes, eyes closed tight shut,

When looking innocent is the symbol of the cult,

Fairies and pixies, flowers that talk and the house with a candy door,

Who said there is a limit to which your imagination can soar?

Letters to Santa, wishing on eye lashes, 

The love for dirt and the fun in the splashes.

The urge to grow up but the belief in forever having your way,

When a good story over meal could make your day!

Yet all I see around today are reality shows where you need to thrust a hip and rock your bosom – even when at 5 you have little idea of what it symbolizes, crack jokes that make me squirm but the parents who face the cameras are in splits, the sequined tube dresses replacing the comfort shorts! And now little dolls that can give a 2 year old the Breast Feeding experience.

I wonder if I am old fashioned when I pick out story books filled with fairies for the kids I still read to, I wonder if I am teaching them all wrong when I urge them to get dirty instead of rebuking them for spoiling their mascara and eyeliner (all on a girl aged all of 3 years!) - I wonder if I am conditioned the wrong way?

I may not be a parent ever – but then should I not worry? I may be a parent without an umbilical cord connection – but then isn’t that all the same thing? I may be juvenile when I shudder at the thought of a 2 year old knowing what suckling is instead of stork delivering bundles and Santa gifting little puppies – but then am I wrong to worry?

I still remember the day when I discovered about Tamanna’s fascination over make up – all I wanted then was to hold her close and still want her to smell of baby powder. I wanted her to realize why I said it was all too soon when I took away her box of rouge. I wanted her to understand the joys of the times when it is ok to wear skirts with hairy legs and not be bothered about facial hair (all feminists at bay please – I would like my daughter to groom for herself, so you need not take out your knives at me accusing that I am one of those because of whom girls think that it is important to shave to fit in!) I just wanted her to know that blissful times do not last for long and thus she should wear the dirty tee, have a few bad cuts and learn to smile with a broken tooth – till the time it all doesn’t matter.

There’s so much time left to play the grown up games, the little feet attempts from a young age – but then that is a game right? Putting on Mamma’s lipstick, trying to walk in her heels – that doesn’t mean we get them baby heels or teach them how to line the lips for a perfect pout at 6 right? We can teach them all about “good touch and bad” without telling them about what “groping” and “lewd jokes/remarks” are all about right?

I want to know the difference between cuteness and ‘acting beyond age’ – I want to know if I am the only hyper one who finds it disturbing when little kids act like Moms and it shows their urgency to grow up and ripen before age. Also, how instead of picking them on our laps and telling them it doesn’t suit babies, we go on to make ads reinforcing the belief that when kids act grown up they look cute?

I wonder if this really doesn’t raise a single eyebrow apart from mine? -

A child who doesn’t live his/her childhood to the fullest, is he/she to be blamed for not knowing the joys of being a kid? Should we then put him/her under scrutiny in later years for not urging their next generation to live carelessly (when they themselves do not know what it means?) Is the era of information overload so powerful that it is eating up the belief of “birds and bees” and “tooth fairies”? Why is it that today a dance class is to get an entry into a reality show, a cricket camp only to discover the “Sachin for tomorrow”, a play date considered to be a waste of time, imaginary cooking only to cultivate habits of being a good daughter (in-law) and yes friends only allowed till they help in your studies. Why not just let them be? Am I missing out the point here of raising kids?

If that is the case, am glad that fate has left a big red looming question mark on my forehead when it comes to bearing children, for then I wouldn’t have to ponder much on this saying I read somewhere and I consider it so apt for our times:

“In our urge to leave behind a better planet for our kids,

We are forgetting to leave behind better kids for this planet”

I couldn’t agree more to this piece I found on Google Images (no copyright claimed)

The Homecoming of Ma – A Lost Cause?

Posted on by under All about me...

My hands tremble as I type this – it is strange how emotions churned out through words, can have the most unexpected effects on an unassuming you at times. I am miles away from a place I call home. I am eons of years away it seems from a mad frenzy they call Durga Pujo. A downloaded clip from the internet plays “dhaak” (the same folder stores another snippet to which my day dawned to Mahalaya this year), I light an incense stick (whose pack inscription promises “original dhuno smell”) – I put it off in less than a minute. So much so for creating a perfect Pujo atmosphere, I chide my incense aversive self!

This is not the pujo atmosphere I grew up in. However, strangely the pujo atmosphere now around in Kolkata is just unknown. It should unnerve me, the latter, but strangely it comforts me. The change somewhere soothes me in my grandmother’s voice, that the Durga Pujo I remembered is indeed today just like the fairy tale, as it would appear to my daughter a few decades down the line.

I remember the last time I visited home, I had a heated argument with Baba over the spending that surround the autumn frenzy. I remember we brought up theories of employment generation, capitalism, liberalisation and ultimately it ended the way all arguments ends, with both of us running out of rebuttals and we moving to discuss the fate of the society over a round of drinks. The feeling of angst and irk however doesn’t leave me, even long after I have that conversation, in fact it never leaves me, when it comes to pujos.

The old lady taught me that religion lay in the purity of heart, in the midas touch that could convert even the most frugal offerings invaluable, in those prayers that should come to you naturally and not by merely repeating what the pujari asks you to in front of the deity. Today, however it all appears just a glistening box with nothing inside. The craving to put up a show over-rides the true effects, in my generation and in my opinion.

Why is it today that this season has come to be the true depiction of sham? The girls who adorn sarees during the Ashtami anjali refuse to wear them to office, because it is surprisingly not formal? To my mind, there’s no more formal an attire. than those five and half yards of cloth! Why is it today that the hands that never fold before the deity that is housed in our homes, have special provisions for those 5 days, when being pious is almost like a cult symbol? Why is it that those very minds who shall argue and debate over the fate of the nation, curse governments for the jobs not done and the vote banks that are bought out, never for once refuse to participate in the mad spending that surrounds the affair? Why is it that a father who considers alcohol to be un-pious graciously accepts sponsorships when it comes to pujos and allows his toddler son to read out the brand captions that surround the apartment complex?

How many of us tell our next generation the story behind Durga Pujo in greater depths than merely that it was the win of good over evil? How many of us stop to stare at the wisps of the cotton flowers that still boder a few Kolkata streets or goad our kids to step out on an early autumn dawn to collect shiuli for the pujo, because it has a connect?

I somewhere feel I was brought by in a fairy tale land, by a grandmother whose education was too good to be true. I stand proud to be someone who knows her alcohol and yet knows her exact rituals when it comes to pujos. I stand proud to be someone, who despite of not having any formal education in her own mother tongue (why do you think this piece is in a foreign language!), has been raised by a mother and father who encouraged me to discover my roots. I search today, for parents who take their kids aside and embark on a troupe to visit the best of the pandals around the city, forgetting their own fun and frolic? Those very ones, that have a history that should be passed on and not where spending is maxed by sponsors. Well mine did, and am glad I have a piece of that fairy tale Durga Pujo, tucked in safe in my memory. (In case yours did too or you do the same, take a bow!)

Every year I offer just one prayer to Ma, that you must be bombarded with requests of well being, prosperity, affluence, good health, for me just save one little thing – the power to be a parent like my own (combined!) so that I can save the fairy tales I lived, especially this one that is all about your home coming, Ma.

Hope you had a good one this year! :)

P.S: This appeared in print in this year at Kolkata, for one of the leading publications dedicated to Durga Puja 2012

Letters to My Daughter – Part V

Posted on by under All about me...

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”

Heaven shouldn't have kids…

Posted on by under All about me...

Yes! yes! yes, you read me right. The heaven that I dream of should have all my favorites – books, dark chocolate, white truffles, cheese, and some more cheese, wine, mushrooms (you get the drift right?) but NOT kids. Kids somewhere do not fit into the surreal world, kids are for this planet, so that their laughter can brighten up the day, so that their smile can make you wish that time could stop and so that their wisdom can make you feel that not all is lost.

To say that I love kids, would be an understatement. I absolutely ADORE kids and mind you I am dead serious about that. I love being around them, taking care of them, changing nappies, telling them stories, cooking, feeding, cleaning, teaching and then craving some more cuddles. While I frequently get the “wait till you have your own” looks from people around me, siblings, cousins and friends are often relieved to have me around when they are with their kids. At ISB too, I was the pioneer in setting up story telling sessions for kids – my defense was that it refreshes me. They cleaned their throats, rolled their eyes and let me be for what is an ivy league B school worth without a few weirdos? :P

Before you go on to ask me about my dreams of a house filled with kids, let me tell you that in all probability mother hood is ready to elude me. I would like to stay positive, hoping that a miracle happens and there is indeed a path breaking medical research, but let’s say on bad PMS days this makes me consume a LOT of chocolate! However, saying that does not take away my being proud of finally being able to sign up for the All Mumbai Single Parents Adoptions Group and starting my visits to the nearby child welfare center (orphanage to me sounds harsh, cause the very definition of the term “orphan” suggests permanent bereavement and abandonment).

This weekend I walked in there, promising myself not to choke like the last time. Alas but, for every weekend is the same story. I sat by the cot, all wrapped in a pink blanket two little eyes stared at me curiously. I was tempted to pick you up my little one, but then me who frets over cleanliness so much and hates it when people do not think twice before picking up babies in their work clothes and exposed hands, how could I do the unthinkable myself? So instead I sat by the cot and cooed and whispered what to me was a prayer for your well being. I could have stayed glued over there for the rest of the evening had not a few little muchkins demand a story telling session from me. I wonder what is it about 4 year olds that makes curiosity such a blessing – curiosity about every little thing, from my hair bands to the ink marks on my jeans, they want to know the story behind everything. I wonder if any day they would want to know the story behind their being left behind at the center by their family? Would they demand to know why despite their being such a long waiting line by couples, such sweet souls willing to adopt, the entire system gives into money game, waiting for green notes from a foreign land?

Yes, children should belong right here in this planet, but then should we bring them to this world unsure of what future we are to provide? I feel sorry for all those mothers who had to take this decision, forced by society, financial plight and reasons galore and then there are those for whom I have no remorse – deviant mothers I called them once, now I want to ask them “What were you thinking lady?” I want kids to fill up the world around me, but then, I want to do that only if I know for sure that, I can make them happy. When people talk about wanting “their own kids” and terming adopted ones with fancy terms, I wonder if they ever consider what makes kids their own and whether there is a dearth of kids on this planet to love?

We share pictures on FB, thinking a dollar would actually be contributed for the well-being of a child, yet we won’t give up a Diwali purchase to make sure a lesser deserving kid has a festive evening. I don’t want to wish a world bereft of kids, but then as I look around I wonder whether these angesl fit any other place better?

This weekend I spent providing legal advice to an old couple – grand parents to two little and adorable inhabitants of the welfare home. Let us call them G and S. G was 4 (and then S was 1) when G’s father set fire on their mother in front of her eyes. G remembers the incident vividly (now 6) and is a key witness to the case. They should try to rehabilitate and make her forget the episode, smother her with love and care, but then here it is the opposite. G’s (late) mother gave the dying declaration (fearing harm on her kids and knowing that she won’t be around to protect them) that it was an accident. G’s grandparents have however registered a case for murder against the father and since G is the only one to corroborate the fact, her memory is crucial. To safe keep her the court has placed both her and her brother under the care of welfare home. The case I know will take years to be resolved and might even be lost in the process, what happens then to G and S, don’t ask me for I know for sure that they won’t be adopted!

G asked her grandmother (as we were wrapping up our meeting) if she could go home with her for just one day and it almost killed me there. I took her in my arms and cuddled and smothered her till she was distracted enough to let her grandmother leave. As I left and those little palms waved me good-bye, I knew they didn’t belong there, they belonged in a much better place filled with love and devoid of vices. But, the question is WHERE? For the world outside is hungry for their blood, the eyes out here will scrape the little minds, the world in that welfare home is without a future, where is it that these kids should belong them? I wonder, I ask!!!

Doing my bit to spread awareness about Violence About Women (VAW)

Posted on by under All about me...

Gender studies is something which I hold very close to my soul – over the last eight years it has somewhere intrinsically made itself a part of my identity of who I stand for.

When I look back I see a confused girl walking on the grounds of the law school, wondering if she could ever know what she really wants to do in her life or would she ever get the “heart calling” which she had only read about in books.

Two years later, as I stood at the UNESCO forum, being the youngest ever delegate in its 60 years history, speaking about globalization and its effect on Indian women, I surprised myself by making sense and inviting praises. Since then, there has been no looking back and some where I am glad that my life did find its calling. My book stands witness to the fact about how passionately I feel about the cause. To me it is not taking to the streets, but I have chose to bridge the gap of inequality “one book/ article at a time” .

When Bell Bajao (an international initiative by Breakthrough under the Ministry of Women and Child Rights, India) approached me to pen down a piece that would spread awareness about VAW, I wanted to do complete justice to it.

I brainstormed over all topics already written by me and wondered if there was anything that I wanted to re visit? I recollected all the stories which I have collected during my various field trips to find a topic. Yes, I did and at that moment I could run and hug Muriel Rukeyser (poet and social activist) who had once told that – “The Universe is made of stories, not of atoms”

I have heard screams behind doors and being told to ignore. I have seen parents fight in front of kids and none minded the language or the decibels. I have seen men being termed “better” than the other because a loose tongue cannot be compared to the hand that is raised to hurt! It is ok for him to scream, he is the man and he has a temper – haven’t we all heard that. However, my personal experiences have shown me how bad the effects of “verbal abuse” can be. Yes, it is a form of violence and abuse and it is time we face it.

So, this October 2012, in the spirit of spreading awareness about Violence Against women, I have taken a stand against “verbal abuse” and demanded that it be treated as one of the most degrading form of violence that effects the body, soul and the very existence to the very core and leaves us empty and battered.

Here is my interview with Bell Bajao about my views on VAW - http://www.bellbajao.org/interview-violence-against-women-awareness-month-sagarika-chakraborty/

Here is my article on “verbal abuse” ( I would love to know your thoughts on it” - http://www.bellbajao.org/feature-words-should-be-empowering-but-sadly-often-sum-up-to-stand-for-verbal-abuse/

Do read and let me know if you agree to stand up and join hands with me?

Mumbai Mondays 18 – Drops Of Sunshine On A Rainy Day, Is What Mumbai Is All About!

Posted on by under All about me...

I have been putting this post off for a very long time. The reasons have been parents visiting, flu attacking, work piling – basically unending. However, to me this perhaps is the best round up post for the year gone by that I can ever write. Today as it pours here in Mumbai, I decide to write about the sunshine this city bestows on me.

Mumbai has always been a blessing, for this is the city that I am not ashamed to admit that has made me who I am. It gave me the inspiration to pick up the pen when I had lost out on life. It gave me my first experience of death and how to deal with the loss of GM, a life which I still don’t know how I am coping up with. It pushed me to Hyderabad as if to renew the unspoken vows me and Mistah had committed to each other and we did, marvellously that too *touchwood*. Nobody can take that away from you Mumbai, that even in a lost sea of faces I assume my individuality the best when I am with you.

Mumbai has infact been like GM to me – soothing me, helping me philosophise, making me understand the bigger goals of my life, picking me up from dump and urging me to fly. Hyderabad, on the other dad is like Baba – showing me the brutal facts about my life on my face, with no pretences and then telling me with a firm face that there’s no running away and that I have to deal with it. Moments like those, just the way I have spoken to GM in my head, fought with her for leaving me without a warning, I have craved for Mumbai too. I remember going for the night drives on the ORR at Hyderabad near the airport (we used to jokingly call it going back to the Flintstones ers) – try to make myself believe I was at the beach that lined my old house in Mumbai. The effect though soothing, even in my dazed state I knew I was just trying to fool my own self.

Mumbai has always been the point from where I start again after I give up. To think of it I have no womb connect with this place, yet there’s that invisible foster hand that soothes me each time. I found Tamanna here and then when I had to let her go Mumbai showed me why I was not ready and how it was for the best. Now, after I am back in its own miraculous way it introduced me to PGCAI or  in simple terms to the group that shall help me bring my little one home. Last week I had the first meeting with the founders of the group and it was such a wonderful one that before we knew we had spent 3 hours chatting as against our initial plan of a quick 30 minute coffee grab. The best is that I shall soon start working with a nearby adoption centre and so I have two years to have on hands experience and decide. Mumbai, does it yet again – where again will you have the option to try out mentorship and decide whether you are ready to be a parent.

Last year the pangs of separation were worse because of the discovery of Fibromyalgia and Degenerative Spine Disorder. (I don’t want to go in the details, my survivor story is up here) The worst was that I thought I had hit a dead end and would never bounce back. The only good thing that came of the fear was the fact that I worked my ass off at ISB and grabbed the ISB Award at the end of the year, a thing I feel I earned after tremendous hard work! However, inside I knew I was broken. Even when I came back here I felt that I would never give myself a fair chance in life again.

Mumba Devi smiled perhaps as I said this. Soon after I came here I met a wonderful lady who showed me what living with spirit is all about, a friend called in to say that Purple Pact can be registered, found another wonderful group and yes I found myself the best doctor ever! So were the rainy days over – nah! The pain stayed with me, the Salsa levels 3 and 4 remained a dream as I had to pull out and I became haunted by the thought of becoming obese (yet again!).

There’s something in the air here that refreshes me, there’s something about the Asian Koel that follows me ever since GM left, there’s something sweet about the salty lashes of the sea here that makes me never give up. So began yet another challenge of living with pain but defeating it. How could you let your dreams die, the city echoed. Yes, you cannot be cured but who said you cannot be healed, she reasoned.

True to that I took up yoga in my own feeble efforts, music therapy and color therapy. Found myself a healer, a darling one that too. Slowly, I began forgiving life for telling me NEVER for a lot of things. I read a lot, accepted my situation and started my own process of healing. I wouldn’t let the ghosts of the past affect me. Browsing through this post did make me sad and then this too – would they never come back I asked myself?

I made a pact with myself 2 months back that this post is an appreciation of that very pact. I am proud to say I can buy myself a McD sundae (that is the goal I set for every little promise I make to myself). After they threatened me surgery last year, made me give up everything I love – running, dancing, swimming, travelling, rolling in sand, I stepped in here, the city took one look at me and said “Woman you are not going to live in with me with that face!”

That was it, 2 months later here I am, with my research almost done for my next single title. Have my debut book paying me a good royalty *touchwood*, got a story in the Chicken Soup series, have a story lined up for a collector’s edition with the names of Javed Akhtar and Sashi Tharoor. The nonfiction manuscript of 700 pages is all set for print and shall hit the stands soon. NOW for the best part, after what seemed like ages am returning to the track – got my running permit for MUMBAI MARATHON 2013. I might not be a big deal for millions of others out there, but for me who wakes up with extreme muscle stiffness, who can’t bend beyond a point still, whose first step after a long sit down is still the most dreaded one, who courtesy fibro fog still throws the milk in the garbage and the empty carton back in the fridge and not to forget the excruciating pain, this means the world. Yes, I strongly feel that my resolve to always spread smiles, to surround myself with a job I love and to always count my strengths whenever life throws a cloud burst at me helped me. The lovely friends, the parents who know have taken up to research more about the condition and yes my back bone – my Mistah – can I ever thank them enough? No!

I miss GM today and her special name calling, can’t still mourn her for I know I have got her fiery spirit. Yes, but the time to rejoice is lined with restrictions. Needless to say the Mistah is freaked out and doesn’t approve of the decision to run, but then the man has a simple theory, do not give up because I do not approve, give up if you feel I make sense. So the pact is that I’ll keep doctor informed of every little discomfort, will NOT run if the training session is bad and yes even if I make it to the D day I will not run to win – if I feel after a while this is not for me, despite the preparation I’ll pull out stand by the stalls, hand out the others water and happily watch the parade.

This is my little sunshine on an otherwise cloud burst morning! Didn’t I tell you Mumbai rains always make me smile!

I know this is not a usual Mumbai Mondays post, but then Mumbai Mondays is all about Mumbai and me right, even Mumbai mush! :P <3

——————————————————————————————–

Mumbai Mondays is all about seeing Mumbai and its surroundings through my eyes. It’s my take to introduce you to a city and its surroundings which I love, as I see it – alone and often with friends (we call ourselves the Mumbai Mad Caps). It’s a thread that goes live every Monday. I cover places randomly and welcome suggestions too. You can find more posts about Mumbai Mondays here.