When The Muse Strikes

The Nonpareil

2012-01-26T10:59:00.001+05:30

Yesterday, chatting with a friend brought to mind the weird behaviour of one of our classmates. To protect identities, I will call her The Nonpareil.I remember meeting her for the first time on campus.

After depositing my stuff in the room assigned to me at the hostel, I headed for the dining hall to have tea. Enroute, I bumped into this girl. She was in the room next door. Tall, slim and decent looking, she was also from my home town. I was happy to have found some common ground.

As we sat down with our cups of chai, we began exchanging information about ourselves, our families etc when suddenly, out of the blue, she shared some private information.

"You know, I've just broken up with my boyfriend."

"Oh?," thought I "do I really need to know this?" I made sympathetic noises and tried to change the topic. But, there was more.

"He is half English you know. We were high school sweethearts. But he had to relocate to London. So there was really no future for us."

As the semester advanced, Nonpareil's behaviour made me more and more convinced that she was an oddball. She had long hair which she would insist on leaving loose, earning her the sobriquet 'Jhadoo' (broomstick) in the men's hostel. She ALWAYS wore make up. Even at six in the morning, if we went out for a morning walk, she would be all dressed up with eyes lined, lipstick on and contacts in place. When asked why, she would say 'you never know when you could meet Mr. Right'. At times if you walked into her room, she would be sitting, listening to some soppy Alisha Chinai number, with tears streaming down her face, presumably mourning the loss of her relationship with Mr. Half English.

Come Valentine's day, those of us not in relationships trooped off for an evening of fun in town. As we returned to hostel tired and happy, we came upon Nonpareil walking up the hostel path with a giant bouquet of red roses clasped to her person. She was blushing and looking very coy.

Being the noisy and nosy kind, we demanded to know the secret of the red roses. To which she replied shyly that Mr. Half English was back in her life. He had come to town to make arrangements for his sister's wedding and had asked her out for coffee. The long and short of it was that they were back together.

Thank God! Now perhaps we could get back to a life without all the drama.

My friend, however, was not convinced.

"Its all very convenient"

"Oh you're just a doubting so-and-so. What does it matter? Life without all the 'rona-dhona'

is great!"

And so it was. Although the re-entry of Mr. Half English did not induce her to tie her hair, the days of crying to Indipop music seemed to be over. Nonpareil walked around with a generally happy demeanour and reduced the theatrics.

During semester break, I called her - since she lived in the same town as me. Not because I was eager to spend time with her but because I was eager to know how the Nonpareil - Mr. Half English saga had progressed. Before leaving for home she had told us that she would be breaking the news to her parents (as would he) and they would probably set a date for engagement / marriage etc.

After the usual 'Hi, how's life' was over, I asked her about it and was astounded by her reply.

"Oh. Something terrible has happened Deepa" she said. "Mr. Half English died."

WHAAAAT???!!!!

"Yes. He was in a road accident in London." she said calmly.

Really? How convenient. I did not believe a word of it. For a girl who wept buckets at sentimental songs and walked around like a waif for a guy who was apparently her soulmate, to be this calm and yes...disinterested...made me smell a rat.

I immediately called up another friend and relayed the news to her.

"I told you!" she crowed. "It was all a story she was feeding us. I knew Mr. Half English never existed. Or if he did it was in her head. Now perhaps he's become redundant and so she's bumped him off".

"How can you be so sure?" I asked.

"Arrey she used to fake phone calls. Do you remember once in the dining hall she got a phone call which she said was from Mr. Half English? Well I was the one that received the call first and it was from her parents."

"Why would somone go to such lengths to prove that they had a boyfriend?" I wondered.

There was only one answer. She was a total whacko! Or perhaps a seriously troubled girl who needed help.

Years have passed since then. Nonpareil I heard had got married, divorced and remarried. This time to Mr. Full English - or rather Mr. Full White Male and lives overseas. Maybe she got her fairy tale with Mr. Right after all!!

Symbol Of A Citizens' Movement: Need For Some Introspection

2011-12-10T22:24:00.008+05:30

An estimated 60% of 9.8 million Jews in Europe perished in the Holocaust. The greatest losses were seen in:

- Poland: 3 million

- Russia: 1.1 million

- Hungary: Half a million

Germany, in the eye of the storm, saw close to 141,500 Jewish deaths. More than one million Jewish children were killed in the Holocaust, as were approximately two million Jewish women and three million Jewish men

The Holocaust, was the genocide of approximately six million European Jews and millions of others during World War II, a programme of systematic state-sponsored murder by Nazi Germany, led by Adolf Hitler, throughout Nazi-occupied territory.

So why am I writing about the Holocaust today?

I was a member of the 'India Against Corruption' page on Facebook. I supported the cause for which the movement stands, although I did not necessarily support or approve of their methods or actions in recent times. I was present at Jantar Mantar in April 2011, when Anna Hazare went on his first fast unto death. I was moved and energised by the outpouring of public support which I witnessed. I even blogged about it here. I admired their social media strategy. I had never seen anything like this in my decade's worth of experience in the Indian social sector. I felt a sense of hope.

However, over the past few months, my interest in the movement and Team Anna waned - in no small measure due to their shenanigans and faux pas in the media. A feeling of disillusionment set in which finally turned to anger and disgust last week.

India Against Corruption has posted a video, a parody showing Adolf Hitler as a supporter of the anti corruption movement in India. The English sub titles depict how Hitler is determined to support 'that Gandhian Anna' and how he would leave no stone unturned to ensure that the Jan Lokpal Bill is passed by the Indian Parliament. There are of course the usual digs about Sonia Gandhi and others. And finally some lip service to 'non violent methods' (although Anna Hazare's comment following the Sharad Pawar slapping episode may lay that claim to rest).

Are the IAC people out of their minds to put up Hitler - the man at the helm of one of the worst genocides known in history - as a poster boy for a citizens movement? How dare they attempt to sully the spirit of Indian democracy (dysfunctional as it is) with references to that mass murdering lunatic?!

What was more frightening was that some 20 people had 'liked' the video and said 'its a wonderful parody'. Did they not see how totally inappropriate the video was? But then again, considering that Hitler's popularity is being revived in our country thanks to devious propaganda by some right wing parties, I guess I should not have been so surprised. People are actually saying that Hitler was a 'good leader' and India needs a dictator. I guess it is easy to say that when you are wrapped in a cocoon of infallibility.

Sorry! I think I'll pass.

Apart from me, only two others objected to the use of Hitler as a spokesperson, however in jest, in a democratic movement. I was so incensed that I put in a scathing comment. Despite the objections, the offensive video was reposted the following day by IAC!!

The whole funda behind endorsements is that your brand value impacts the product you're trying to sell. And so it is with social causes. The person/s and symbols used to promote a cause will impact public perception and the effect you're trying to create. Using Hitler to promote the cause of anti corruption is like using apples to sell oranges. More than that, it actually demeans your cause and insults the memory of millions of people who lost their lives at the hands of a madman.

Today is Human Rights day. A day when we remember with solemnity those who had injustice done to them and those who fight to uphold what is just and right. I thought it is appropriate to blog about it today. Fighting to weed out corruption from your country is right. But if IAC continues in this self destructive path, it won't be long before it loses the goodwill and support it enjoys from the public. It has certainly lost mine.

PS: I could have posted that video. But I really do not want to increase hits to that site.

Old Wine Really Fine?

2011-11-27T13:53:00.000+05:30

House arrest on account of heavy rains has kept me indoors this weekend. To prevent cabin fever from taking over, I've been listening to Hindi film songs. When I played 'Jiya Jale Jaan Jale' from the 1998 film Dil Se, the husband remarked 'vandutaaya paati' (here comes the grandmother) referring to Lata Mangeshkar's aging voice in the song.

My husband and I do not like the same type of music. But on this count, I must say that I agree with him. With due respect to Rahman and Lata Mangeshkar, I feel she was not the right choice for this song.

The song is about a young, innocent bride looking forward to her wedding night. Gulzar's sensuous and smouldering lyrics sends shivers down your spine. Tells you so much without actually saying it. The picturisation was just right. A young fresh faced Preity Zinta, a bare bodied SRK, the lush greenery and the flowing water. The whole effect primordial and stripped down to the bare basics - Superb! And then that granny voice....Just listen to it:

Its not that I do not like Lata Mangeshkar's singing.Far from it. I think she has a golden voice and has given us some really memorable music. Take the song 'Jaise Radha Ne Maala Japi' from the film Tere Mere Sapne. Also about a young bride - although I guess its more about the glow from the wedding night! The tenderness and love that you get from this song is simply not there in Jiya Jale. And its not that the music is inferior. Music is top class in both songs.

Now here is a song from the music director everyone loves to hate - Anu Malik. Its from the film Asoka (you didn't know he was the music director for this film now did you?!).

The song 'Raat Ka Nasha Abhi' is laced with sensuality. (yes! Anu Malik does make good music once in a while) Also makes euphemistic references to sex. Again lyrics are by the inimitable Gulzar. The choice of singer, Chitra, in my opinion, lifts the song to another level. Call me a heretic, but for a song about love making, a 40 something singer is a better choice than a (then) 70 year old legend. The 'inspired' Anu Malik seems to know that. How come Rahman didn't?

And yet Jiya Jale was a super hit song - as it deserves to be. I just have the sense that, if say, Shreya Ghoshal had sung it, it might have moved from being a beautiful song to a mind blowing one.

Micky Mouse In My House

2011-11-13T19:34:00.003+05:30

Over the Diwali break, I watched the film 'Stuart Little' on telly. A cute movie about a mouse who is adopted by a human family with a message that love transcends all - especially species! I however did not appreciate the film or its message. Reason? Just a week before Diwali, I chanced upon a similar rodent in the service area of my home. And let me tell you, these mice are far from being the friendly, eager-to-please critters that Stuart is.

Naturally I lost all sleep after I saw the mouse run and take cover behind my washing machine. All windows in the house were immediately shut. All the rooms were blockaded and the service area contained. Or so we thought. The next morning my husband woke me up with - 'Its there. Behind the microwave'.

'Oh no! What shall we do?!'. It was as if we were being held at gun point by robbers.

'Dont worry' soothed my husband. 'When the maid comes, I will ask her to drive it away'.

So much for my knight in shining armour I thought wryly.

Later that day, my husband called me at work and announced triumphantly on the phone 'The house is mouse free'

'Yay! How did you manage to do that?'

'Well, I asked the maid to move the crockery shelf. And he just leaped out from behind it and started running....'

'Did you kill it?!'

'No! He was too fast' (A likely story. My husband couldn't hurt a fly. Even if the fly was hurting him)

The long and short of it was that the rodent was driven out of the house with a stick and jhadoo. My husband breathed a sigh of relief and left on tour.

The next morning, I knew the mouse was back. There were droppings on the floor, it had knocked over a little cup in which I keep pins and rubber bands. Damn!

Another night went by with me barricaded inside my bedroom. But I had forgotten to shut the dining room window which was where the mouse had escaped from. And now seemed to be using it for entering the house. This time it even bit my kitchen mat to tatters. Enough was enough.

I called my husband and said 'Do something or I'm out of here! And dont tell me to set traps or use rat poison. I don't even want to see that ugly, dirty thing'

'Ok! Cool it. I will contact the pest control guy'.

So that evening the pest control guy, Sathya, arrived. He inspected the rooms and pointed out to me which ones the mouse had been in. Luckily it was only roaming around the dining room near the microwave. It had first gained entry by nibbling through the netlon we have put in the service area. And after it made its escape from the extermination drive initiated by husband dear, it found a new way in.

Sathya showed me a black line on the wall, right above the floor. 'That line shows the movements of the mouse. Since it is dirty, it leaves dirt marks and thats how we can find it' he said.

Really?! I soaked up all this information.How was he going to catch it? A trap? Poison (shudder! I cannot dispose mouse carcasses)

'No madam. Now a days there are new things called 'gum traps'. It is safer than regular traps which can injure the rat and spill its blood and make the area unsanitary. Poison could cause it to die and rot and leave a bad smell. Again there is risk of infection. The gum traps are the safest way to catch them'

The exact same gum trap we used

So what is a gum trap. It is essentially a note book (mean the paper note book not the computer) shaped article. When you open it (like a notebook), it reveals strong gum inside. It is placed at places frequented by the rat. When the rat moves over it, it gets stuck and remains stuck till you come find it. No blood and no rotting.You just fold the mouse in the trap and dispose it.Genius!

The traps were placed and I was advised to leave the window open.

Come morning, there was no sign of the intruder. Drat! Still, it was early days yet. Sathya said the traps could be placed and they were good for at least a year.

Luckily I did not have to wait a year. When I got home from work that evening, there it was! All stuck on the gum trap, just like Sathya had promised. How to dispose it? I was going nowhere near it. The apartment security guard obliged and my home was soon REALLY mouse free.

My joy knew no bounds. I had hated living all boxed up with windows and doors closed all the time. I called just about everybody I knew with the glad tidings.

All's well that end's well I thought. I became a staunch supporter of the gum trap. To me it was the next best thing after penicillin had been discovered.

Until last week. I opened the service area door and a black shadow darted past. 'EEEEEEkkkk' I screamed.

'What happend?' shouted my husband from the other room, ' Lizard?' (Yeah. I'm petrified of lizards. But after this mouse business, I think I'm learning to like the reptiles. They eat cockroaches and do not make a nuisance)

'Guess who is back?!'

'WHAT?!' asked my husband rushing to the service area. But the mouse was gone.

We've blocked the opening in the bitten netlon and put another gum trap in place. Doors and windows are closed in the evening. The guy has not re-appeared since that one time. But everytime I hear some sound, I start, thinking its the mouse who's back. Brings to mind that song 'Zara si aahat hoti hai, tho dil sochta hai. Kahin yeh WOH tho nahi!!'

No! Men Will NOT Be Men.

2011-11-01T20:48:00.001+05:30

I'm back to my favourite rant on gender stereotyping in the media. The Seagram ads are the latest on my hit list. Take a look at this one:

Seriously! A husband cannot remember his wife's name? And that can be excused as 'Men will be Men?"!! Even our male centric mythological texts did not let off Dushyant so lightly when he forgot his wife Shakuntala.

Here's another:

Man forgets his wedding anniversary and decides to buy a diamond ring as a peace offering. Bigger the offense, larger the size of the diamond. After all, who needs to remember trivial stuff in life like a wife and marriage! Grrrrr. And when they do, they fall back on the old stereotype of diamonds being a girl's best friend. Shut the woman up with a shiny rock.

And yet another:

Man looking devastated. Leads you to wonder if someone has died. But no! Its worse. His wife's trip out of town has been cancelled! Men will be men!

Apart from portraying woman as:

1. Not worthy of being remembered

2. Greedy and hankering after jewellery

3. So unbearable that husbands eagerly await their departure from the home - I think these commercials also portray men in poor light. As people who do not care for their wives enough to remember their names. As people who would bribe their way into their wives' good graces rather than be contrite and admit to making a mistake and as people who seem to find their wives' presence insufferable. At least the men in my life do not live up to THIS stereotype.

My father is a wonderful man and a devoted husband. Going against the tradition of celebrating 'shashtiyaptapurti', he preferred to celebrate his golden jubilee wedding anniversary instead. Read more about it here: Celebrating Milestones.

Like my father, my husband is also a caring human being. And what I love most about him is the amount of attention he gives me! He has his faults of course. But I have never wanted for attention from him. He misses me when I'm away and certainly knows how to make anniversaries special :)

The reactions to these commercials have generally been good with people liking the humour, the acting and the music. One reaction says that since advertising for alcohol and tobacco are banned, the companies have to turn to these kind of 'humourous' methods. But why does 'humour' always make women the butt of the joke and present them in unfavourable light?

No doubt, the commercials are entertaining and the actors very talented. Overall stylishly created commercials by Ogilvy. But I think they've gone over the top with the stereotyping. I know this refrain is so oft repeated that it is passe - but I think it bears repeating. Media needs to be more responsible in the way it portrays gender relations. And, we, as a society, need to be more alert to the sub text in these seemingly 'well crafted' and 'entertaining' commercials.

This Used To Be My Playground (with apologies to Madonna)

2011-10-24T15:31:00.007+05:30

I'm spending Diwali in the city that symbolises 'home' to me - Hyderabad. I had my schooling here and the beginning years of my professional life. In my experience, its a great place to be. The city is bursting at its seams now, has perennial water shortage and terrible, terrible traffic. And yet, the madness seems to reach out to embrace me, making me feel more included and wanted than the place which I have made my home these days.

Sarojini Devi Road, (known as 'Oxford Street' in British Times) in Secunderabad has always been busy. Even way back in 1985, when my family first moved here, it was busy little road. On one end of this road was Sangeet, one of the few movie theatres that screened English movies and at the other end was the famed Paradise restaurant, arguably the best biryani place in the 'twin cities'.

Twenty six years down the road (pardon the pun!), so much has changed while some things have remained just the same.

Sangeet before demolition. Source: The Hindu

Sangeet theatre is a thing of the past. Demolished to make way for a multiplex I'm told. It was a sad day when I heard the news. So many wonderful movies and memories are associated with Sangeet. Watching 'Rear Window', 'Vertigo', 'The Man Who Knew Too Much' with my dad, a devoted fan of Hitchcock. Being taken from school - located just a stone's throw away - to see 'Ten Commandments'. The timings at Sangeet were unique. Three main shows at 4pm, 6pm and 9pm. And two other shows - a morning show at 9.45 am and a matinee at 1.45pm. Balcony tickets were Rs. 6 and stall tickets were Rs. 5. And I remember how we mourned when the fare was raised by 50p.

Old photo of my school. Source: The Hindu

The next wonderful building on that road is of course my alma mater, St. Ann's. I have spent some of the best years of my life here. Technically, the school spans the space between Sarojini Devi Road and Sardar Patel Road. And I would prefer to take Sardar Patel Road as it was less crowded. I walked to school for the most part and later in high school, I cycled over. The school has also not been spared in the passage of time. In my day, one had a clear view of the two main school blocks from the road itself. During sports day, we used to have passers by and fellas climb and perch on the compound wall to witness the events. Now a new building has come up inside, presumably to accommodate more students, which totally blocks the view.

Ajanta theatre has been demolished. I remember a rumour that a fan fell on the head of some hapless viewer in Ajanta. And I used to tell the ticket seller not to give me seats directly under the fan! Some of the biggest hits of my time played at Ajanta. Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar, Dil Hai Ki Manta Nahi.... Now it is just an empty spot overgrown with weeds, awaiting a new lease of life.

The red brick Methodist church at the turning near St. Patrick's School, originally built in 1882, has been demolished. A large modern building built in its place invites the devout for worship these days and goes by the name of New Millenium Methodist Church. Possibly the new building came up in the year 2001. I've looked for a picture of the old church on the net but regretfully could not find it. Whatever reason the church authorities had for demolishing the red brick church, I miss it and the new glass, steel and concrete structure that has taken its place just does not evoke the same sense of history.

Amidst all these changes, few things remain re-assuringly unchanged. Like the fruit stall opposite St. Mary's Church, where the vendor always greets you with a warm 'salaamalaikum'. Or S. Mohammad Ali and Sons who rents out tents, utensils and furniture. The board proclaiming their name, notes the date of establishment as 1899. During my time, the owner's daughter studied in my school. So we got props for our drama competitions free!

Basera Hotel

Basera Hotel is still going strong. It has a fancy new restaurant called 'Pickles'. Back then, it had two restaurants called 'Daawat' and 'Mehfil'. One was more 'junta' and the other more sophisticated. Apparently, Talat Aziz used to sing at Mehfil. I still remember one hilarious incident when my family and I had gone for lunch to Basera. My poor dad, unable to decipher the androgynous figure drawn outside the toilet door, walked into the ladies toilet, even as waiters rushed to stop him. During our next visit, we saw that the androgynous figure sported a necklace and teased dad that they had done it because of him.

A view of Oxford Street (S.D.Road) in 1890
Source: Hyderabad Once Upon A Time

In August this year, as part of Madras Week, there was a heritage walk on Mount Road titled 'The Mount Road Magnates'. Sarojini Devi Road in Secunderabad is as rich in history and buildings like those I've described above. Others like the Deccan Chronicle Office, St. Mary's Church, are all historical buildings in their own right. I wonder if there is any group in the twin cities that looks at preserving and promoting its culture and history?

These are just some wandering thoughts that came to mind as I walked down Sarojini Devi Road today and revisited my childhood. A sense of gratitude to have wonderful memories to share and a sense of loss at how my green valley has changed.

What's In A Name?

2011-08-22T07:01:00.000+05:30

While on the subject of animals, ever paid attention to the sort of names we give our pets? My friend once told me that naming must be done very carefully since the namee takes on the qualities of the name. Of course, she was speaking about humans. But I suppose the logic can apply to pets also. Looking around my immediate circle, I came across some very interesting names. I'll start with my own pet.

We had a dog. Or rather, he had us. Arrived one day as a pup from the litter of the colony mongrel and decided to stay. He was very cute - copper colour with intelligent eyes. We didn't want any 'phoren' name and nixed suggestions of Jimmy and Tommy. After trying on some names for size, like Mr. India, we settled on Sher Khan. But our fellow did not really live up to such a grand name. He was content to forage in the neighbourhood dumpster and ignore strangers when they walked into our home uninvited. In course of time, the name got shortened to Sheru.He was much more a Sheru than a Sher Khan. For eg. a Sher Khan would have simply roared at his owners and made them open the gate. Sheru on the other hand, would dig furiously in the garden, perhaps attempting to tunnel his way under the compound wall to freedom.

My husband is an animal lover and had a dog and a cat. He also had some visiting friends in the form of a garden lizard and a cow.

The dog, Scamp, was a cross between a Labrador and a Daschund (how on earth did tha happen?!) He was named in honour of the Disney character Scamp, the scion of a pedigreed mother and a mongrel father. I have never met Scamp coz he scampered off to the happy hunting grounds before I entered R's life. But seems he was not such a good tempered fellow. Barked a lot and bestowed his good graces only on my father-in-law. Did the name Scamp have anything to do with this?

The cat was named Mahabali. A unique cat name, made even more unique by the fact that Mahabali was a girl. My niece giggles when she hears this name. "how can you call a cat that? Cats are not known for Strength!'. A good point. But perhaps cats have more than physical strength. And don't forget their nine lives. That would make their cumulative strength impressive.

The garden lizard was called 'Sori' (meaning Itch in Tamil) so called on account of its scales. Not very clear to me, but R says when you have some skin problem, you get itchy and the skin flakes off. Sori would come very day to a specific spot on the wall to sun itself. A creature of habit this one.

And of course, Daisy The Cow. A comely bovine that would amble over everyday for a snack. I howled with laughter when I heard the name. Imagine a cow named Daisy in Mylapore, the Brahminical stronghold of Chennai city?!! Rather ironical. In days of yore, people 'lost caste' if they went overseas and had to be purified by drinking (or was it bathing in) 'go moothra' or cow urine. The same purifying cow now bears an English name!! Not to forget that the same Mylapore Brahmins mostly straddle two worlds these days - one leg planted firmly on the hallowed grounds of Mylapore/Mandavali and the other arching over to Silicon Valley. All the 'go moothras' of Chennai cannot purify them now!!

So what's the story behind the name your pet carries?

Born Again

2011-08-18T20:51:00.003+05:30

Being a Hindu, I'm programmed to believe in the concept of rebirth. Apart from that, it gives me solace to think that if things did not work out for me in this life, they will in another. I'm a staunch believer in second chances - even (or is it especially) when they transcend lives.

So if I was to be reborn, what would I want to be born as? Not that these choices are in our hands really. But I like to think about it - especially when I'm dead beat or flying around getting work done and trying to race against time.

If I had a chance at rebirth, I think I'd like to be born as a water buffalo.You think thats funny? The two others that I mentioned it to this last week also thought it was hilarious.

But if you think about it carefully, its really a very good choice for a harried, always-on-my-feet, woman-of-the-21st-century, slave to time like me.

The Bubalus bubalis is a noble creature. In my opinion, it is the epitome of relaxation and thoughtfulness, bordering Nirvana. Just picture it, sitting in muddy water, black hide glistening in the sun, swishing flies with its tail, chewing the cud and contemplating, with half open eyes, the world as it whizzes past. Now contrast this picture with the daily routine of any working woman. Wake up to the sound of an alarm, rush about preparing breakfast, lunch, braving traffic and getting to work on time in a photo finish. Then there is the roller coaster ride of dealing with work issues for at least 8 hours. And if you're a mom, then you can multiply this entire effort by two.

Don't you feel jealous? Wouldn't you want to be this animal? What does the world expect from a buffalo really? Practically nothing. Ok, maybe a couple of litres of rich milk a day. Permit a human to tug at your privates a couple of times a day. Ok, maybe thats a tad undignified. Let the passing bird sit on your broad back and pick worms off your skin. Thats as symbiotic a relationship as any! Oh and ignore the many insults and curses that use you as a reference point - In Hindi: Kala akshar bhains barabar (to indicate ignorance) or bhains ke aagey been bajana (to indicate that you have no appreciation of finer things). In Tamil: 'Yerumamaadu!' - a curse to indicate girth and immovability, usually uttered in jam packed buses and trains.

That apart, there's really nothing to complain about now is there? Its a life of self actualisation.

www.cartoonstock.com

Yes, I'd like to be reborn as a water buffalo. With curly horns - as opposed to the long straight ones. A bit of vanity maybe, but I think the curly ones look cuter!

So tell me, if you had the chance to be reborn, what would you want to be born as? Leave your thoughts in the comment box. And feel free to tag others on this topic if you like. Do let me know if you do, so I could also read it.

Age No Bar

2011-07-27T20:53:00.002+05:30

Hi all! Yes, Yes, I've beem MIA for a few weeks. Usual story - busy....er...actually no. Just could not find the motivation to write. :((

Soulmates?

Discovered a channel called 'Love CBS' on my Reliance Big TV connection and came upon an interesting tidbit of information on a show called 'The Insider'. Basically it gives the low down and dirt on the lives of Hollywood celebs. 'Timepass' as my friends would say. Now I came across this bit of news which made me sit up and take notice.

An actor by the name of Doug Hutchison - aged 51 - recently tied the knot with a girl named Courtney Stodden - aged.....hold your breath...16!!! Child marriage is alive and well people! And seems to be vacationing in America by the looks of this piece of info.

So who are these people? What is their claim to fame?

Dough Hutchison is a character actor seen in movies like The Green Mile and television shows like Lost and The X Files. I seem to recollect seeing him in this last one. I was a big fan of the X Files. Do any of you remember the episode about a guy who ate human livers? If you do, you know who this guy is.

The sweet sixteen lady, Courtney claims to be a 'country' singer and was an erstwhile Miss Teen USA contestant. Now if you ask me, the girl does not look 16. She looks at least 25. And a typical bleached blonde with a great bod (and probably an empty head). I do not like saying uncharitable things about my sex, but I'm going to go out on a limb here. She looks like a sluttified version of Paris Hilton - who in my not-so-important-opinion is already scraping rock bottom.

So how did they meet? At some theatre workshop organised by Hutchison and thats when love bloomed. The man apparently called up the girl's mother to ask permission to court / date / see her underage daughter. So it would appear that this whole thing happened with the blessing of the mother. In fact, news reports say that the marriage took place with 'parental consent'.

Jokes apart, the news made me feel rather nauseated. I know its a cliche - but the guy is old enough to be her father! And in some cultures, her grandfather!!! One wonders naturally, what brought them together? Lets try a few theories on for size:

1. They love each other (Yawn!): Well if you watch their TV interviews, they keep nuzzling each other, holding hands and saying things like 'She was a virgin. I only wish I was also a virgin'.

2. Its about sex and machismo (Now you're talking!): He's 51. Probably viagra dependent. She's young and nubile and er...a virgin. In some cultures, it is believed that sex with a virgin can cure all manner of sexual disorders.Then there's pedophilia of course.

2.1 Take your supposed star crossed lovers story to the media, get people (and bored bloggers like me) to sit up and take notice. Next thing you know, you got a reality show with top ratings (who doesn't like a bit of voyeurism) and rake in the moolah!

My money's on Theory no. 2.1 people.

While these two wax eloquent on various channels about how their media appearances can be "a forum to hopefully help people change their perspective and expand their minds about love", I can't help thinking about my own country. Marriage at 16 is not something that is unusual here, particularly in states like Rajasthan and Bihar. In fact, girls get married younger than that. It is universally recognised to be one of the stumbling blocks in women's development and emancipation. But then again, India has a long way to go before we can be really a 'developed society'.

But how does one explain the same thing happening in western - and supposedly more 'developed' societies? Are 16 year olds really that different? Are they not the same hormone affected teens, searching for their identities and sense of self within their respective cultural contexts? Is 16 really a permissable age of marriage?

Epilogue: Notes From Agra

2011-07-02T20:48:00.003+05:30

After the tour of the Agra Fort, we opted for an early lunch. By 1pm we were done and not sure what to do next. The Taj Mahal was our final destination before we headed back to the railway station to board our return train at 6.30pm. Even if we pored over every nook and cranny at the Taj, we were sure it would not take 5 hours. How to kill time?

Enter Babloo, our taxi driver.

'Would you like to see the Mini Taj?' he asked us.

That piqued our interest. First Baby Taj, now Mini Taj? How many Tajs were there?

'Well actually madam, the real Taj is open only from 6am to 6pm. The Mini Taj can be viewed at anytime. Especially at night, during rainy season etc'. Made sense. Where was this midget doppelganger?

'Over at the Meena Bazar' said Babloo. That sounded very romantic. I immediately had visions of quaint shops and cobbled streets selling lovely trinkets....all the Mughal stereotypes I had seen in Bollywood films rushed into my mind.

'Ok. Lets go'

A while later, Babloo brought the taxi to a halt in a small, dirty quadrangle with dotted with small shops and spare parts of vehicles strewn about.

'What are we doing here?' we asked.

'Madam, this is Meena Bazar. You go there, you can see the Mini Taj. I don't take any commission or anything. If you like anything, you can also buy it.' The sign above the shop over yonder read 'Gangotri: U.P.Handloom'. A gentleman emerged and beckoned us in.

With the dawning realisation that we stood at the precipice of a con job, we moved cautiously towards the shop. There was really very little else we could do. The gentleman beamed at us and ushered us in.

'We came to see the Mini Taj' we said feeling more idiotic by the minute. Nodding, the man proceeded to shut the shop door. He pointed at the glass cupboard that stood behind us. As we turned, he turned off all the lights and then turned on the cupboard lights.

As we stood transfixed, red, blue, green lights started dancing from inside the belly of a four feet high white marble replica of the Taj Mahal.

'People from all over the world come to see the Taj Mahal. This Taj Mahal is made of 10kgs of marble (I don't remember. It could have been more), was made by 20 sculptors (again, I could be wrong), took 7 months to make and costs 6 lakhs. It is made of pure white marble. See the light coming from inside? Fake white marble is opaque. Real white marble is translucent and glows when light from inside. This is the Mini Taj'.

As the shop lights came back on, we picked our jaws off the floor and looked apprehensively at the shop guy. What next?

'Please come over here sister' he said, leading us to the merchandise displayed at the opposite side. 'What would you like to see? Saris? Bedsheets, footwear? We have saris made of jute, banana fibre and crush proof silk'

As if under a spell, we moved towards to the other side where the man proceeded to show us sari after sari despite our entreaties that we were not interested in seeing or buying anything. But he was determined. 'How about seeing some bedsheets then? We have some very good ones. We have a unique product which is made right here in Agra by the inmates of the Agra Jail -the 'Mosquito Repellent Bedsheets'.

Here is where we made a grave error. S, whose home had a mosquito problem, showed a faint interest. Determined salesman that he was, the shop guy latched on to this smidgen of interest. Out came the sheets in bright yellow and red/brown floral patterns. And I don't know how it came about, but S ended up purchasing two bedsheets.

I wandered away from that counter towards the footwear section. Having witnessed the sale of the bedsheets, the salesman here pounced on me hoping to sell me footwear. He showed me some chappals and said that the leather was so good that it repelled insects, bugs and lizards. I suppose he thought that if mosquitoes worked on one sucker, insects and bugs might work on another. But he went too far with the lizards. Even I didn't buy that.

S had buyer's regret written all over her as we stepped out of the shop. 'I don't like these sheets! They're so loud and ugly!'. I simply collapsed in shrieks of laughter. Were there ever two bigger idiots than us this side of the Vindhyas?(considering we lived on one side and were visiting the other, I think we had the subcontinent pretty much covered)

I have since recounted this episode to several people. It gets funnier with each telling. Its been three months since our trip. Time enough to test the world famous, cost effective and eco friendly mosquito repelling sheets. S says that they work. But then she would wouldn't she?!

A Picture's Worth: Answers And A Little More

2011-06-10T21:32:00.003+05:30

Thanks to those six people who took the trouble of taking the quiz :) Here I was thinking I would be flooded with answers. That'll teach me! So here are the answers:


Misha

Most of you guessed this correctly. It is indeed Misha or Mishka or The Olympic Mishka. The Russian Bear that was the mascot of the 1980 Summer Olympic Games. If you look carefully, the Olympic rings are seen on his belt.

My research on the net reveals some interesting tidbits of information about this cute fella.

The name Misha is the diminutive for the Russian name Mikhail. Apparently most bears in Russian fairy tales have this name because of its similarity to the Russian word for bear - Miedvied (beats me how this sounds like Mikhail. But thats what Wikipedia says!) - and the diminutive form for this word is Mishka. Ergo, Misha.

A competition for drawing the bear was held in 1977 by the organising committee. Victor Chizhikov, a children's books illustrator's entry was chosen winner and the rest, as they say, is history.

Misha was the first mascot to achieve commercial success in terms of merchandising. Loved by children, many of us tried to draw him with varying degrees of sucess. When you see him you automatically say 'awww! cho-chweet!! Did you know, in the closing ceremony of the Games, he even shed a tear?

Appu

In 1982, the 9th Asian Games were held in Delhi. The mascot was Appu, a baby elephant, known in real life as Kuttinarayanan. At the age of 3, Appu was gifted by a devotee to the temple at Guruvayur. At the age of 5, he was chosen to lead a team of 35 elephants to the Asian Games at Delhi. This playful elephant gathered a lot of attention at the Games, including that of the then Prime Minister, Indira Gandhi.

Appu's story however ends sadly. At the age of 7, he stepped on a septic tank and fractured his leg. A wound from which he never recovered. Appu breathed his last on 14th May, 2005. RIP Appu.

India's first amusement park, Appu Ghar was named after this guy. Unfortunately, even this has not survived. The land came under dispute and the park was finally closed in February 2008.

Veera

Veera, is an Ongole bull and the official mascot of the 32nd National Games held in Hyderabad in 2002. Veera is supposed to signify the spirit of sports with his intelligence, strength, passion, confidence and endurance. The choice of an Ongole bull as mascot of the games was strategic. Ongole is a town in Andhra Pradesh and famous for its breed of bulls that have been exported to other countries. For eg. the Brahmana Bull in America is supposed to be an off shoot of the Ongole bull. The Ongole bull is seen in sculptures of Nandi in Shiva temples. Ongole bulls are prized, among other reasons, for their resistance to mad cow disease. In recent times there have been scandals of biopiracy and illegal acquisition of genetic material to breed these bulls. Read more about it at A Load of Bull

Bholu

In 2002, Indian Railways celebrated its 150th year. And Bholu the Guard was its official mascot. Elephants are big and reliable, carrying huge weights and are also friendly. Indian Railways wanted to project this image for itself. Hence we have Bholu.

I remember there was a HUGE blimp of Bholu tied down in front of Rail Nilayam, the headquarters of South Central Railways in Hyderabad. My dad and I used to go past it for walks along with my (then) four year old niece. Every time she saw Bholu, her face would light up and smiling she would cry out 'Bolu!' - pronouncing it the Tamil way. And my dad, railwayman first, last and always, would fairly swell with pride at that!!

Sarva Shiksha Abhiyan

Ah! Now you remember! You must have seen it painted on umpteen government school buildings. This is the logo of the Sarva Shiksha Abhiyan (SSA). I just love how it has been conceived. One speaks of how children, especially those that go to govt. schools, hate studying and how it is such a drag. I feel this logo tries to dispel that and show how school can be FUN. The girl sitting at the front of the pencil is an indication of how girls' education is still lagging behind. Putting her at the front sends a strong message of the need to put girls in the front. The boy and girl sitting on a pencil, to my mind, speaks of how education can be a driver for equality, for change.

While on the subject, have you seen this lovely video about the SSA by Kanika and Bharatbala?

And the winner is......Sudeshna! You got all the answers right. Something special coming up when I see you next. And for the rest of you, this......

THANKS FOR TRYING!!!

A Picture's Worth

2011-06-04T09:44:00.002+05:30

Today, as I was browing through some random sites, I chanced upon the logo of the International Year of Forests 2011. Set me thinking about the various logos and mascots I've seen over the years. Logos and mascots convey so much - they identify a cause, a brand, an event - with just a few strokes of the pen. And their appeal is universal.

So here's what I'm gonna do. I'll post images of some famous logos and mascots ,and you identify it. If possible, tell me what it is associated with. These may seem like no brainers to many - particularly those of the bearded variety that are quiz mad (you know who you are!). This is just a cub attempt and a gateway to thoughts and personal experiences that these logos and mascots represent for me.

For people of my generation, who grew up in the 80s and 90s, the following pictures and their associations should not be that difficult to guess. So here goes....

Who's this cute bear? What is his name?

There is a clue in the picture.

This guy is of desi origin. A well loved mascot from the 80s. India's first amusement park is named after him. Who's he?

This is Veera - his name is on his vest. Who is he and what is his claim to fame?

These elephant mascots just get cuter and cuter. Who's this chap?

A very common logo for a lofty cause. Can you guess which one?

Leave your guess in the comment box. Those who guess correctly, will get something special!

Part III: A Teardrop On The Cheek Of Time: Taj Mahal

2011-05-29T21:27:00.007+05:30

It took nearly 22 years to build the Taj Mahal. I thought it would take me almost as long before I got around to finishing my Agra trilogy!There is so much that can be written about this monument that has come to symbolise India, that I hardly know where to begin.

The first time I saw the Taj, I must have been around five or six years old. After a day spent going around in a horse drawn 'tanga' we finally saw it in twilight. I seem to recall seeing it bathed in moonlight. Maybe my memory has faded and imagination has taken its place - people ought to see Taj Mahal in moonlight. But the image in my mind is beautiful.

We entered the Taj complex at 3pm. Not the best time to see it - April and that too a Sunday. Take my advice people, if you plan to go here, then early mornings are the best time. The complex opens at 6am. Without the multitudes thronging the grounds, you will have a peaceful visit and actually be able to appreciate the splendour of this grand monument. Do not get taken in by the guides / touts who say that the line is very long and they will get your ticket for an extra payment. The line is long no doubt, but it moves fast.

Armed with our tickets, we moved towards the enormous gateway leading to the Taj. This itself is a lovely structure in warm red sandstone with marble inlay work. I was apprehensive - what if my imagination was all wrong and all that people say about this wonder of the world is hype? What if I was underwhelmed and felt let down? I need not have worried.

Through the gateway, the Taj appeared as an enormous white monument - almost like looking at a giant beast through the keyhole. The visual impact is powerful.

As I emerged out of the gateway, the entire Taj complex lay sprawled before me. The white marble edifice, the green gardens and the thronging tourists. The sheer beauty and elegance of the monument diffused through my mind. I was reminded of the poem 'Tiger' by William Blake which celebrates the beauty of that powerful beast. Yet, some lines could be applied to the Taj as well: "What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry?"

As we walked towards the mausoleum, it seemed to grow in size and was towering over us. I recalled an alternate theory surrounding the history of the Taj.

Shahjahan is described by historians as arrogant and vain. He was the emperor of the largest empire of his time and lord of immense wealth. Many of the most beautiful monuments of the Mughal era were commissioned at his command. He gave himself titles like "Lord of the Age", "Shadow of God", "August Representative of God on Earth". Modern researchers consider these important indicators in analysing his motives for the construction of the Taj Mahal. That he seemed to think he was God's representative on earth.

With this as the backdrop, the design of the actual Taj Mahal site and the inscriptions which adorn its structures take on a different significance. An Islamic academic treatise which existed at that time laid out the plan of Paradise on The Day of Judgement. Comparison of this plan with the layout of the Taj Mahal gardens shows remarkable similarities like: four rivers, a tank of abundance and the Throne of God in very similar layouts. Unlike most Mughal mausoleums which are placed at the center of their sites, the Taj is placed at its far end. Put these indicators together and they seem to suggest that Shahjahan was creating at least a replica of heaven.

So were the accounts of Shahjahan's undying love for Mumtaz Mahal just highly exaggerated accounts of his courtiers and chroniclers? Francois Bernier, a French traveler has written that he remained 'constant' to his dead wife till his own death. Now consider this in light of his sojourn in the Mussamman Burj.

The Mussamman Burj are the royal chambers in Agra Fort, to which Shahjahan was confined by Aurangazeb. As you know, there was a battle for succession amongst Shahjahan's four sons in which Aurangazeb triumphed. He imprisoned his father at the Mussamman Burj for eight years. Built of white marble with rich inlay work, the chambers hardly look like a prison. Legend has it, that the aging monarch lay here, gazing at the Taj, on the other side of the Yamuna. The picture of romance and heart break. But, cynic that I am, the picture doesn't quite ring true. Here's why.

The story that Shahjahan remained sexually faithful to Mumtaz is pure humbug if you ask me. He was known to be a man with a huge sexual appetite. In fact, it is rumoured that he had an incestuous relationship with his daughter Jahanara on grounds that it would be "unjust to deny the king the privilege of gathering fruit from the tree he himself had planted." Mumtaz Mahal died at the age of around 39 (in child birth while bearing him his 14th child) and Shahjahan at 74 (overdosing on aphrodisiacs according to some accounts). That would mean close to 35 years of celibacy for an Emperor who considered himself King of the World!!

I see that I've wandered far away from the monument into speculation of the lives that are linked with its history. But in my opinion, that is what makes the Taj Mahal fascinating. The stories behind its splendour and magnificence. The stories that lie in the shadow of its shining white marble-War, blood, betrayal, fratricide, incest.

Before I close, I want to share one more thing. A few years ago, I attended a conference on public health. An IAS officer was slotted to speak on government schemes on maternal health. I will never forget his opening slide. It was a picture of the Taj Mahal - that wonder of the world, the pride of India. But also, a monument of grief, symbolising the death of a woman - who was married at fifteen, endured fourteen pregnancies and died in child birth. And that my friends, is the teardrop on the cheek of time.

Part II: Time And Timelessness - Agra Fort

2011-05-15T16:48:00.003+05:30

Apologies everybody. I've been very tardy about updating my blog. The past few weeks have been so busy - work, home, work, home - that all I could do at the end of each day was fall exhausted into bed and sleep like the dead. Well here I am, on a lazy Sunday (oh! Its been so long since I had one), nothing much to do except update my blog.
__________________________________________________________________________________

Our next stop was at the Agra Fort. Built of the red sandstone so typical of the Mughals ,this timeless piece of architecture truly deserves its status as a World Heritage Monument. It has been home to the greatest Mughul emperors at some point or other. Babur lived here for a while after defeating Ibrahim Lodi. Humayun was crowned here. Akbar rebuilt the fort and declared Agra his capital. The fort as we know it today was built by Shahjahan.

Amar Singh Gate

We entered the fort via the Amar Singh Gate and engaged a guide. A word of advice to those who are not so aware about the Fort's history. It is a good idea to engage a guide. They charge about Rs. 400 for a full guided tour. Bear in mind however, that their accounts may not be historically accurate. So, if you're serious about learning the Fort's history, do some reading before or after your visit. If you're interested only in soaking up the history and ambiance of the place, then the guide's account would be more than enough. Peppered as it is with folk lore and legend, it makes for a romantic hearing.

As we entered the fort area, we crossed a deep moat. The guide informed us that during the reign of the Mughals, there was a 'double moat'. One filled with water and crocodiles and another that was forested and had wild animals to provide a double safety cordon. I have heard about the water moat of course. Most forts have it. But it was the first time I heard about the wild animals moat. And I think it is what historians would call 'an interpolation' although it sounded very grand!

Jahangiri Mahal

The Jahangiri Mahal inside the fort, is a beautiful palace made of red sandstone and used to be the main residence of Akbar's Rajput wives. Architecturally speaking, the palace incorporates Central Asian design features with Rajasthani styles. The guide however, spiced it up with a story of how Akbar, being of a secular bent of mind, used Hindu, Muslim and Christian features in the construction of this palace. He added that Akbar had a Hindu, Muslim and Christian wife and probably wanted to please all three of them. He demonstrated it by showing us the Chatris sitting atop slender, elegant columns, symbolising Rajput / Hindu influence. Then he showed us the arches typical of Islamic construction and finally, a Magen David inlaid in white marble on the elaborate red sandstone gateway into the palace. He did not realise that the Magen David is a Jewish symbol.

See the 3 Magen-like stars at the top?

While I knew all about Akbar's interest in world religions and the Din-i-Ilahi and also about his Hindu wives, this was the first time I was hearing about a Christian wife. Perhaps there was some Portuguese connection here? After all they had started arriving in India around this time. The guide told us that the Christian wife's name was Mariam. When I looked it up, it said that Akbar married a Rajput princess called Harka Bai who became Mariam-uz-Zamani. She was the mother of Jahangir and was also known as Jodha Bai. So it appears that Akbar did not have a Christian wife after all.

What about the Magen David then? Not much information online. Except a blog reference that said it is not a star of David, but a Hindu symbol. The circle in the middle of the star is an important distinguishing feature. I really must check out these facts with my history prof.

Jahangir's Hauz
Pic courtesy: Flickr

Right outside the Jahangiri Mahal is a very interesting thing - Jahangir's bath tub or Hauz. I kid you not! Take a look at the picture. It looks like a large cup without a saucer! It was made in 1611 and is hewed out of a single piece of stone. It is 5 feet high and 8 feet in diameter at the rim and has Persian inscriptions on its outer rim. There are even small steps leading up into the bath tub. Only a few of the steps survive today. The guide, adding his bit of garnish, said that it was covered in gold foil during its hey day. These royals sure had life easy. I wish I had a bath tub like this! Although perhaps it may not be entirely practical. I have an 8' X 5' bathroom and water is rationed. And given that I have a 'balti bath' daily and which I like very much, I may perhaps drown in such a large tub!

Moving ahead, we visited the Mussamman Burj where Shahjahan was imprisoned. But I will include that in my next post. From this we headed for the Diwan-i-khas or Hall of Private Audience. This had a splendid view of the Yamuna. From a black granite bench on the edge of the terrace, the Taj was visible in the hazy heat of the day. Drawing our attention towards it, the guide asked us to describe how it looked. It was a small, blurry speck in the distance. 'Hold that thought' he said.

Angoori Bagh

From here we looked over to the enclosed quadrangle of the 'Angoori Bagh'. As the name suggests, it was a vine yard and soil had been brought in specially from Kashmir to grown the grapes. Skirting this, we moved over to the side directly opposite the Diwan-i-khas, passing the Sheesh Mahal where the public were not allowed, and the Ladies Bazaar to the administrative block. From here, the guide asked us if the Taj was still visible and how did it look. Indeed it was still visible and lo! it looked bigger in size than when viewed from the terrace near the Diwan-i-khas. This was an optical illusion he explained. When the Taj is viewed from the balcony of Diwan-i-khas, the river Yamuna is seen winding its way around it. This creates some sort of perspective effect that causes the Taj to look smaller than it actually is. When viewed from farther away, with the Yamuna out of sight, the perspective effect is negated, and the Taj is seen in its actual size. This piece of information did check out when I looked it up.

Where the Peacock Throne was once housed

Diwan-i-Aam

Nearing the end of our tour, we approached the Diwan-i-Am or Hall of Public Audience where the Peacock Throne was once housed. It is a large hall with colonnades of arches. The throne room is located a few feet above ground and according to our guide, from here, each of the arched pillars is visible individually. The throne room is connected to the royal chambers and from here the royal ladies could witness the proceedings of the court. The courtyard outside the Diwan-i-Aam has the grave of an Englishman named John Mildenhall, apparently the oldest known European grave in Northern India.

This completed our tour of the fort complex. I emerged feeling all soaked up in history and legend. If the walls, columns and latticed windows of this fort palace could speak, what would they have said I wonder? Would they have spoken of glory and power? Or the tears, sweat and blood that went into it? Do we know everything there is to know or have we only scratched the surface? I guess we can never be sure.

PS: All photographs in this post are my own except the one of Jahangir's Hauz.

Part I : Baby Taj

2011-04-24T23:01:00.005+05:30

When Babloo, our taxi driver informed us that our first stop would be the 'Baby Taj', my friend and I were flummoxed. I am a student of history and I have never heard of anything called 'Baby Taj'.

The tomb of Itimad-ud-Daula, situated on the left bank of the Yamuna is locally known as 'Baby Taj' and considered the draft on which the Taj Mahal was designed. The tomb was built between 1622 and 1628, by Queen Nurjahan for her father Mirza Ghiyas Beg, who held the title 'Itimad-ud-Daula' or Pillar of the State. According to Wikipedia, and in fact, the plaque at the site, the masoluem marks a transition between two phases of Mughal architecture. The first which was dominated by the use of red sandstone and the second in which white marble figured prominently.

Entrance to Baby Taj

The tomb is situated, like other Mughal buildings, at the center of a large quadrangle with four large gateways along its perimeter. The masauleum housing the cenotaphs are located at the center of a beautiful garden that is watered by shallow waterways fed by the river.

Frontal view of the tomb

Built on a raised plinth, the tomb is a graceful structure in white marble with elegant inlay work and latticed windows. In this tomb are also interred Nurjahan's mother and other relatives. Nurjahan herself is buried in Lahore.

Cenotaphs of Nurjahan's parents

View of gateway from inside the tomb

It was just about 9 am when we visited the Baby Taj. The day was cloudy with a light breeze making the setting very romantic. The Baby Taj is not as frequented by tourists as the Taj. Without the crowds that throng the Taj, this masoleum offers a quiet and tranquil refuge to the dreamy tourist who wants to linger and savour the history of the place.

A latticed window

Standing at the gateway on the banks of the Yamuna and gazing at the city on the right bank, it is almost as if the river is the line that divides two universes. One covered in a cloak of history and another covered in the dirt and grime that signifies the march of civilization.

Two worlds

Entry fees for Indian nationals is a mere Rs. 10/-. There is also a pay and use toilet that is REALLY CLEAN! You may think I'm crazy to write about toilets after waxing eloquent on the architechural beauty of the tomb. Try taking the 6.15AM Shatabdi out of Delhi to Agra after a heavy dinner the night before and you develop a whole new appreciation for clean pay-and-use facilities!!

Update:

Before I move onto writing about the Agra Fort, I must tell you about this book I am reading. Its called 'The Shadow Princess' by Indu Sundaresan, part of her Taj Trilogy. The book traces the life of Princess Jahanara, from the time of her mother, Mumtaz Mahal's death, through the power struggle among her brothers, till Aurangazeb becomes the Emperor.

The book is dotted with descriptions of all the lovely places I saw during my visit to Agra. It gives a detailed descriptions of the Baby Taj and how Nurjahan was closely involved in its design and construction. Unfortunately, according to the book, she did not stick around to see it to completion. After Jahangir's death, she became persona non grata with the new Emperor (not that there was any special love between them before that!) and was sent away to spend her remaining days in Lahore. But Shahjahan did acknowledge her genius in designing the Itimad-ud-Daula's tomb and borrowed ideas while designing and executing his ode to love, the Taj Mahal.

Do read the book if you are into historical literature.

India's City of Love - Agra

2011-04-24T21:50:00.001+05:30

If Kolkata is the City of Joy, then perhaps Agra is India's City of Love. Situated at a distance of 200km from Delhi, Agra served as the capital of the great Mughal Empire during the peak of its power. Today, Agra is best known as the home of the world's greatest monument for love - The Taj Mahal.

A few weeks ago, I had the opportunity to visit Agra and soak in its history. Over the course of a day, I visited three monuments: The tomb of Itimad-ud-daula, the Agra Fort and of course, the celebrated Taj.

I plan to write about my Agra visit in a three part post - each post dedicated to one of the three monuments mentioned above. I know that reams and reams have been written about these already. But I hope that my take will be unique enough to make it an interesting read.

All photographs featured in the posts are taken from my camera - except perhaps for a few at the Taj. The camera battery had dwindled by then. I may have to borrow pictures from the net.

Hope you will like these posts....

You Love Me! You Really Do!!!

2011-04-17T19:16:00.010+05:30

Awards and recognition are always wonderful, especially to an attention hungry Leo like myself. But when it comes from a fellow blogger, it is all the more sweet and coveted. Thanks Rachna for conferring this honour on me. Right back at ya!!

As a recipient of this award, I'm expected to link back to the person who gave me this award I also have to write 7 honest things about myself. That's going to make me think very hard now! But guess it could be fun.

1. I am your typical Leo-aggressive, determined, passionate and a bit of a drama queen. I am rather 'take charge' in a situation and also a control freak.

2. I never do things in half measures. I love and hate with equal intensity. I have high expectations of people that I love and feel bad if they do not measure up to it - impractical and unrealistic I know. But there you are. But for those that I hate, I ignore them and / or cut them out of my life totally.

3. I am generally straight forward and say things openly, frankly and probably rashly also. I have been told many times to temper my words. I try - can't say I succeed much.

4. Quick tempered - surprise! surprise! I flare up easily and say things which I regret later. I used to think I cool off easily also - but turns out that I'm actually a sulker!! I need to be coaxed and cajoled to get out of my bad mood. Bad girl!!

5. I'm articulate and like to think that communication is my strong point. I can speak several languages. I can speak in any situation and do not get fazed by public speaking. Perhaps my writing is also not-so-bad?

6. I am a loyal friend. I choose my friends with care and try to stand by them when they need me. Not to say that I mince words in telling them if they are in the wrong. But I will still stand by them. And my friends will vouch for this.

7. Although I do not believe in gender stereotypes, I like girlie stuff like clothes, make up, cooking and shopping :)))

So, those of you who know me - do you agree with these 7 things about me?

I'd like to pass on this Award to three people:

Meera : My sister, my friend and a recent convert to blogging. Am super impressed at how well she has taken to this new passion of hers.

Sandhya : I find her writing very sweet, gentle and rather maternal.

Partha : A recent friend. I am amazed at his enthusiasm for writing and creating when most others like him would not be.

Keep up the blogging!!

Roar India, Roar!

2011-04-08T23:21:00.006+05:30

The day started ordinarily enough. I traveled to Noida this morning to our partner's office. Come afternoon, my colleague and I went to YMCA near Connaught Place to check out their conference facilities. On the way, we passed Jantar Mantar, the epicenter of a people's movement that India has not seen in a very long time. The lure was irresistable. Weaving through traffic carrying busloads of supporters, we walked towards Jantar Mantar.

The scene we saw was amazing.

Hoardes of people had gathered to express support for this 73 year old Gandhian who has vowed to carry out a fast-until-death unless the Jan Lokpal Bill is passed. Men and women of all ages were gathered together, carrying placards, banners, effigies and shouting slogans against corruption. Cries of 'Bharat Mata ki Jai' and 'Vande Mataram' rend the air.

The diversity among supporters was amazing. Elders were a-plenty. Old men walking slowly, aided by sticks. Women from rural areas and the urban elite from Delhi. Drum beats boomed out, breaking the inertia of apathy. Standing together, supporting a cause.

As I write this note, the news flashes that the govt. has agreed to constitute a joint committee to draft a bill by 30th June and that Anna Hazare will break his fast at 10 tomorrow. I do not know if this movement will end corruption. Most would question if a law can end this deep rooted malady. Many others would just rather watch the IPL. To them I would say - Better an an optimistic fool than a jaded cynic.

I am very glad I got an opportunity to observe and express solidarity with what some are terming as the largest movement of civil society after Independence. I feel almost afraid to say it - but maybe we can believe in Belief again?

Snippets From The Week

2011-04-02T13:35:00.005+05:30

The whole country is rejoicing at India's victory in the World Cup semi-final. Why? Coz we beat Pakistan! Emotions really run high when India plays Pakistan. Facebook messages ran amok with jubilation when India won. "Chak de India" and "Yippee!" and "Go Dhoni's Dashers! Go!". It seemed as if the World Cup had been won already!

Except one message which read "Take that for 26/11 and more". I thought it was in poor taste. People did ask the person not to spread hate. But he/she was unrepentant. Will winning a cricket match assuage the hurt and set right all that has gone wrong between our two nations? I always believed that games and culture can actually build bridges and bring people together. Let a game remain a game and let sportsmanship prevail.

____________________________________________________________________________________

Some days back, when I went over to my sister's place, my 13 year old niece invited me to stay over for a 'girl's sleepover' since her dad was touring. I said I couldn't since I have a husband at home and needed to get back. She didn't reply but I guess it did not go down well with her.

My sister later reported that my niece had a complaint. She said, "I think Chitti likes R uncle (the husband) more than me. She's not loyal to me anymore!". My poor baby! I went over the same day and ragged her about it. Each has their own place and is irreplaceable!

____________________________________________________________________________________

On Thursday, we were busy with a team meeting, when 5 men in white khadi shirts and vesti barged into our office. Addressing my boss, the oldest of the lot said: "Saar...Ai yam the Congress blah blah committee chairman. Ai yam ye vury honourable man"....

The fellows had come asking for money and assured us that they would 'stand by us'. My boss sat them down, had a nice chat about sundry things and refused the money. Smilingly he said what was in effect 'Do your worst. I'm not giving one naya paisa'. The fellows had to go on their way.

When I narrated the incident at home, my concerned husband retorted:"Better be careful. What if they throw acid at you?!"

____________________________________________________________________________________

We hang our washed clothes to dry on the open terrace of our apartment block. Everybody does. Each flat has been assigned two lines where they can hang their clothes. The down side is that clothes get stolen on a regular basis. I have so far lost one rajai (which I had hung out to air) and two lovely handloom dupattas. Today I discovered that two more items are missing. A T-shirt and capris which are well washed and soft and which I love wearing at home.

If there is something that I detest, it is a thief. Only the lowest scumbag would take something for which they have not worked and which is not theirs. Really!

P.S.: Did I go overboard with the pictures folks?

Holi Mess

2011-03-19T23:00:00.006+05:30

If you're a Holi lover, you're going to think I'm crazy. But the truth of the matter is that I do not really enjoy Holi.

Way back when I was child living in Kolkata I suppose I must have liked it. I remember preparing the night before - filling tubs with water balloons to chuck at hapless strangers from the safety of the terrace-and always missing! I remember trying to pitch a bucket of water at a 'dada' (generic name of any young-older guy) in the colony, him side stepping adroitly and somehow me getting drenched in the process.

Cut to a few years later, Hyderabad - me studying for my 8th std final exams. I had read somewhere that during exams you should do things to make you happy. So I wanted to wear the new cheese cotton (it was a type of fabric) top my mother had bought for me. It was so pretty, all white with colourful polka dots. I was sure my mood would be very good if I wore it. My mother warned me that it is Holi and wearing white clothes, especially new ones, is not advisable. I told her I wouldn't be stepping out of the house since I would be too busy studying. So there was nothing to worry about. I would regret those words.

About an hour later, the doorbell rang. I peered through the peep hole and saw a bunch of multi coloured colony kids standing outside.

"I've seen you! I'm not coming out". I yelled through the door.

"Please come out didi. We only want to rub some gulal (coloured powder)on your face. We promise - nothing more than that"

Naturally, they didn't mean a word of it. But I, poor sucker, believed them and stepped out. Only for a bucket full of black water to be upended over my head. The cheese cotton top never looked the same again.

A few years on, in college, it was even worse. A total free for all. The boys took full advantage of the opportunity, grabbing the girls and even going so far as to throw them into a mud pit that was created specially for Holi. I was horrified when I heard this. So when a guy friend came around to my hostel asking me to come out and play Holi, I told him off roundly.

As time went on, I became more and more convinced that Holi was really not my festival of choice. Quite the opposite actually. I read stories of how young women in Delhi were harassed in the name of festivities. I even saw a news feature where the female presenter covering Holi became the target of some water balloons.

So Happy Holi everyone. Its not such a big festival where I live these days. Even so, I think I'll just stay put at home and be smart about not answering the doorbell this time.

The Mother Of All Languages

2011-03-16T23:10:00.005+05:30

Some weeks ago, I saw a wall message on Facebook that had been 'liked' by a friend. The message urged readers to cite Sanskrit as 'mother tongue' during Census enumeration, adding that Sanskrit needed more patronage from Doordarshan, that it was the root of all Indian history and culture and there were many benefits of promoting Sanskrit.

I found several things wrong in this.

First, Sanskrit, even in its hey day, was the language and intellectual property of the elite aka the upper castes and out of reach to the lower castes. That is why the works of poets like Surdas and Kabir became so popular - since they were in local dialect that was spoken by and popular with the masses. Besides, going by the theory that Sanskrit was the language of the Aryans, it would greatly offend people in the south, who proudly proclaim their Dravidian heritage as being different from the Aryan.

Second was the assumption that 'Indian history and culture' was a monolith defined by Sanskrit. If there is one defining feature of Indian culture, it is its diversity - across region, religion, ethnicity and language. Every Indian knows that there is no ONE THING that you can pinpoint as Indian Culture. It is like the story of four blind men who touch different parts of an elephant - the tail, legs, ears and trunk - and describe the those parts as defining the whole elephant.

Practically speaking, what use is a language that nobody speaks in modern times? It is only confined to books and government sign boards - 'dhumrapaan nished' or 'payae jal' !! Nobody understands it nor pays attention to it. It is like a ceremonial uniform. To be taken out only on special occasions - like festivals and functions - looks great but hangs heavy on the person. And returned to the cupboard when the event is over.

I do not mean to demean Sanskrit. It is no doubt a great language. But to urge educated people to cite it as 'mother tongue' in census is outside of enough. 'Mother of all languages' is different from 'mother tongue'. As a nation, as a culture, we have far more pressing issues to attend to in the Census - issues of population growth, literacy, female sex ratio, working population - which are intrinsically linked to development and which we should be more concerned about.

Doordarshan is welcome to patronise Sanskrit all it wants. I can guarantee it would drive away the few eyeballs it manages to catch!! Who watches Doordarshan these days anyway?

Filing For Bankruptcy. Casualty: Creativity

2011-03-07T20:07:00.005+05:30

There is intellectual bankruptcy, moral bankruptcy, spiritual bankruptcy. I thought I would use my 70th post to rant about creative bankruptcy.

Way back when we had only Doordarshan by way of television entertainment, we eagerly waited for the commercials as much as the 'sponsored network programmes'. Some of the ads were so well crafted that I still remember their tag lines. Remember 'Neighbours' Envy, Owners' Pride' and the devil in Onida? Or 'If you have the inclination, we have the time' from HMT? My favourite was the Tata Steel ad with the tag line ' Ispat bhi hum banate hain' (we also make steel). The English versions had these sub tags like 'We make champions....we also make steel' and 'We make the nation's dreams come true....we also make steel'. Made me swell with pride for sure! I found the hindi version on youtube. Take a look:

Some of the commercials were not that great. But the jingles were very catchy. Here's the well known tune from Lifebouy:

What I'm getting at is that the product and the commercial were distinct. There was either a tag line or a jingle which you could immediately associate with the product. And it was total recall after that. Look at me, its been nearly 2 decades, and I still remember the ads with fondness.

These days, we have only sad excuses for commercials. It seems that creative juices among ad agencies have totally dried up. To the extent that the best they can come up with are stylised remixes of old Bollywood numbers. The worst offender is of course Coca Cola. The last 3 commercials they ran, all had rehashed, remixed Hindi songs. Here they are in no particular order:

The Diwali ad - song ripped off: Jaata Kahan Hai Diwane (Movie: CID)

The Invisible Bottle - song ripped off: Tum Jo Mil Gaye Ho (Movie: Hanste Zakham)

The Shadow ad - song ripped off: Aaj Ki Raat (Movie: Anamika)

The Brrr Commercial - song ripped off: Yeh Ladka Zara Sa (Movie: Love Story)

Not to put Coca Cola too much in the dock, here's another, from Moods Condoms. This one is really dreadful. The original from the movie Amar Prem is a Kishore Kumar classic. Rajesh Khanna brings out rueful disillusionment and acceptance of heartbreak so beautifully. And to use it in a condom ad?! Is there a correlation there?

Seriously! Is creativity dead? Back in my day - the pre mobile, pre internet and pre satellite tv days - we could put together better commercials in an event called 'Ad Zap' at college festivals! And we weren't even studying advertising.

Viewer / customer tastes have changed no doubt. And people's attention spans have shrunk. Maybe it is just that ad agencies think viewers' tastes have sunk so low that only some Bollywood connection can revive it. What a tragedy. Think of the joy of the Hamara Bajaj commercial and compare it to the hermaphrodite type model of the Aaj Ki Raat Coke commercial. Sigh! What a fall there has been my countrymen.

Ghosts of Valentines Past

2011-02-10T20:32:00.007+05:30

With Valentine's Day just around the corner, I've been reminiscing about love and relationships. Not to say that I've had much of a chequered past. I was your basic wall flower with friends who were streets ahead of me in the 'attracting-the-opposite-sex' department. I did give away my heart on a modest scale though.

The very first time it happened,I must have been around 10 years old, when I first set eyes on Rahul Gandhi. It was at Indira Gandhi's funeral - no I wasn't present in person, I saw it on TV and promptly lost my heart! He was C-U-T-E! And having grown to manhood now, he has totally fulfilled the promise of beauty seen in childhood. I was pretty sure I would grow up and marry him one day. Fate would surely find a way to throw us in each other's paths. But then I got busy with school, studies, friends and extra curricular activities and poor Rahul was put on the back burner.

Years later, I was all ready to fall in love again. Considering Fate had taken Rahul Gandhi far out of my reach by then, I had no choice but to look closer to home. So I handed over my eager heart to the next handsome face. And what a handsome face it was! Only problem was the handsome face didn't really notice me. So I proceeded to do some really idiotic stuff - like writing a love letter - which I regretted writing immediately after I posted it (or did I send it by courier? I forget). I was relieved when there was total silence at the receiving end. But my friends would have none of this 'Silence' nonsense.

'You've got to ask him what his answer is!' Err....wasn't the silence speaking loud enough?

'No. No. Maybe he's feeling shy. Or waiting for you to make the move' I did make a move. I wrote a letter didn't I?!!

Dragging me kicking to the phone booth (those days mobiles were not so common) they forced me to make that call. And naturally, I got the expected answer - Sorry!

'Thank God!' I said to myself, but made a big production out of having having my heart broken.

'I shall never love again'!! Even my friends did not believe that one.

I never had the courage to speak of these things earlier. I guess it made me feel vulnerable. But I can do so now, and smile about it and share it with the world at large. And, as I have been assured by my well meaning friends, my tentative forays into the world of love, were tepid at best. Considering the heartbreak I have seen my friends go through, I must thank God for unanswered prayers. Because that has guided me to my true north!

Travel Vignettes

2011-01-23T19:20:00.002+05:30

I traveled this week to Bhubaneswar. At the end of a long day, I checked into this nice little hotel, looking forward to some quiet and rest. After filling out the register, I turn and accompanied the attendant who was carrying my luggage. As I neared the lift, another attendant, offered me a glass on a tray. I took it gratefully, eager to quench my thirst....and experienced an assault on my tongue! The clear liquid I had mistaken as water, was actually Sprite. The colleague who accompanied me burst out laughing and then explained that she had done the same thing a split second before me. By the time she turned to warn me, I had already drunk the liquid.

Well, next time, I will surely be more alert and careful about mistaking clear liquids to be water!!

******

Sometime back, I was on an Indigo flight to Kolkata. Usually I am engrossed in trying to deal with my fear of flying and do not pay much attention to those around me. But this flight was a smooth, turbulence free one. So I cast a look around and took in the co-passengers, the condition of the aircraft (pretty good. Good show Indigo!) and then finally rested on a pretty flight attendant. Short hair, framing her face in page boy haircut. Nice hair cut I thought. Won't suit everybody though. Then another flight attendant came upto this one and was talking to her. Then another walked by with the food cart.

That's when I realised with a start, that they all had the exact same hair style. Same short hair, page boy hair cut. And it looked terribly odd and artificial. Poor things, I thought. Forced to cut their hair for the job. Not fair.

Then I took a second look. The hair was not real. It was obviously a wig! Dreadful!

Thank god I wasn't in a profession that required me to cut my hair in a standard style and (worse), wear a wig!!

Its We Who Build Community

2011-01-05T19:24:00.008+05:30

Have you seen the commercial for 'Community Matrimony' dot com thats being aired across the channels these days? Have a look:

It is wrong on so many levels!

Daughter is going around with a guy that sports long hair. And automatically that's the bad guy? Candidates for marriage - girl or boy - should adhere to certain stereotypes in order to make "good marriages". What about those that do not fit stereotypes? Do they have no chance at marriage without conforming?

Then the whole approach to marriage. The family shown in the commercial seems to be educated and upper middle class. And yet they depend upon the 'community temple' and 'community astrologer' to find a groom for their daughter. Six decades of independence and a decade into the 21st century and we still use mumbo jumbo to find life partners.

Then the most objectionable part of this commercial is the over emphasis on 'community'. It is just a euphemism for 'caste', the deep rooted malady we are yet to shake off. For the most part, people still do not marry across caste lines in India. Note the honour killings taking place in North India when couples dare to exercise their choice.

What does one do when the all knowing 'market' decides to turn a social evil into a business opportunity? Is regulation the answer? How does one address the social attitudes that have allowed space for such unbridled opportunism? We need to take a stand as a society or risk reversing the tiny steps we have taken towards progressive and liberal thinking.

From Dreams To Anguish

2010-12-26T17:32:00.005+05:30

Many years ago, a woman was born to a middle class family. Her parents believed in the power of education. And encouraged her to learn, expand her mind and reach for the skies. They gave her a liberal education, at a time when doing a simple graduation and getting married, was all that was expected of daughters in her community.So she grabbed the opportunities presented to her and chased after her dreams. Some proved elusive, others were within reach.

Then, as she stood at the threshold of thirty, the walls started closing in. The M word began to intrude into her otherwise orderly world. 'Why aren't you married?', 'Are you supporting your parents financially? Is that why they are not getting you married?' The questions infuriated her. At first she deflected them. With aggression, logic and later evasion. Then,under the covert, but relentless pressure, she began to shrink into herself.

And so it might have been till she met him. A good and decent man. So she crossed that milestone and got married. Love was in the air and everything seemed good.

Then the walls started closing in again - the expectation to conform. And the confusion and veiled reproach when she didn't.

"You don't know how to draw a kolam(rangoli)!" . She restrained herself from sharply retorting " No. But I do know how to stand on my own feet and be financially independent. Do you know how to do that?"

"When are you going to give us some good news?". She wanted to ask " what good news do you want? I just got a promotion. We bought a house. His cholesterol levels are under control. Take your pick"

"Still no kids? Have you consulted a doctor?" She couldn't stop her tears in the face of this blatant intrusion.

"My sister's dying wish was to have a grandchild." How was she to deal with such emotional blackmail? Her back, her spirit even, was likely to crumble under the weight of this expectation.

"Nobody asks you!" she ranted at him. "Am I expected to make a baby alone?". He did his best to shield her. But it was not always possible to prevent people from riding roughshod over her vulnerability, leaving her exposed.

What was she to do? In her mind she knew that one could not live one's life to please others. Hell, this was the advice she had handed out to many friends when they sought her counsel. But saying it and living it were different things.

Its true, there was price to be paid for wanting to live your life on your own terms.

Please Rise For The National Anthem

2010-11-21T08:56:00.006+05:30

What do you do when you hear that?

1. Stand up straight, hands by your side, chin up and with loud voice belt out 'Jana Gana Mana'

2. Stand up, shoulders hunched over, head down, hands clasped behind the back and head down, as if ashamed

3. Stand up lazily, shuffle from one foot to another, hands behind your back and / or in your pocket, and gaze into space in boredom

These are some of the postures that I have observed people assume, when asked to 'rise for the national anthem'. And am sad to say that there is a preponderance of people taking postures described in nos 2 and 3 over no 1.

Another thing I've seen is that people rarely sing along these days. This could be because they have dreadful singing voices or technology has made us lazy. And of course there are those singing the anthem all wrong.

It worries me. Because it seems like children are exhibiting these traits more and more. Children learn from adults. This must mean that adults themselves don't know the correct words, tune and respect, that is due to the national anthem.

Is the national anthem just any other song? Is singing the national anthem just tokenism? Does not caring about it mean we do not love our country? Are we becoming less and less patriotic? And if we are, does it matter? What does patriotism mean anyway? In a world where the Indian diaspora is growing by the day, has the notion of patriotism become obsolete? What do you think?

Journey With A Shrieking Banshee

2010-11-12T21:05:00.005+05:30

We're on the Young World Quiz circuit again! Today we took the train from Calicut to Cochin (sorry, but I prefer the old names)where the quiz will take place tomorrow. I'm now going to rant about my experience on the train journey. You may think I'm totally heartless after you read this post.

Whenever I travel, I pray to God, that seats near me are not occupied by kids. Not the cute, cuddly, infants that sleep angelically on their mothers' laps. I mean the 2-3 year olds that can walk, talk and throw tantrums. And the good Lord intermittently tests my endurance. Which He did today.

A lady, traveling with her two children, took the seat opposite us. A boy and a girl. I looked apprehensively at the boy. I know what boys that age are capable of by way of tantrum throwing. I once traveled with a boy, who stamped his foot and rolled about on the floor while his mother looked on in helpless embarrassment.

I need not have worried. The boy behaved impeccably. It was the little girl who was the star of the show.

She began with the usual kiddy babble and curious looking over the seat backs at other passengers. All fine. Till her mother took away something that she wanted. Then began the shrieking and screaming. I swear to God. I never knew something that small could emit a sound that loud!

The little girl's mother did try to quieten her. At which the child only yelled what sounded like 'Adikenda! Adikenda!' I assumed it meant 'Don't beat me' in Malayalam.

I spent the next four hours trying to drown out the sound of that shrieking by turning on my MP3 player. But the sound penetrated even the melodious strains of Mohammad Rafi. I tried Zandu Balm. Didn't work. Finally, I could take it no more. I left my seat and stood at the door of the coach, watching the countryside whiz past till we reached Cochin.

I'm a person who likes kids. I am! I've been around tons of kids, baby sat cousins and nieces. Kids generally like me. But this little girl? She could patent that shriek as a means of torture.

Still, I have no hard feelings for the little girl. God bless her. But I do wish her mother finds a way to stop her incessant shrieking!

Spouse Grouse

2010-11-01T18:57:00.005+05:30

Travel sure takes the mickey out of me these days. Over the past ten days, the spouse and I have been traveling on work all over southern India. It has been exhausting to say the least! After a tiring day at Vijayawada, we were set to leave for Vishakapatnam.

Vijaywada has one of the busiest railway stations in India. Thousands of people milling around, trains arriving, trains departing, vendors yelling and us trying to find out which platform our train was arriving on. The porters told us that Falaknuma Express usually comes on platform 6. The train, scheduled to arrive at 21.40 and depart at 21.50 was nowhere in sight. Soon it was 22.00. The train had still not arrived and I was tired, sleepy and irritable.

The spouse however, evinced no such symptoms. In fact, he seemed to delight in the delay and was full of beans, chatting up other passengers waiting for the same train. In between, he even winked saucily at me and made comical faces. Being the congenital wet blanket that I am, I was not amused and glowered back at him. Sauntering to my side he asked: ' Kya hua?' My grunt...er...reply was interrupted by his phone. I hadn't even heard it ring.

"Yes? Speaking. Yes sir. Please tell me." He glanced over at me before speaking once again.

"What? No. I'm sorry. I'm already married. !!!!

That got my attention in a hurry. "WHAT!" I spluttered.

He was grinning broadly. "Gotcha"!!

Mail or Male?

2010-10-11T21:10:00.005+05:30

This is a new commercial of Indian Railways doing the rounds in cyber space. Produced by Nirvana Films and directed by Prakash Verma of the ZooZoo fame. It is a slickly produced commercial and makes use of the classic song 'Rail Gaadi' rendered by Ashok Kumar in the film Ashirwad. Here is the commercial:

Most people I know have liked and enjoyed this video. I did not. Why? The tag line for the video is 'Desh Ka Mail' - with a play on the word 'mail'. Mail could denote the train or, in Hindi, it also means 'meeting' or 'similarity', thereby indicating that Indian Railways actually brings different people together.

The image of a train, to me, is a metaphor. Of different people traveling to one destination. Of meeting as strangers and parting as friends. Of a single thread that connects diverse lives. Except that the human train in this video is devoid of women and children. They have been reduced to spectators.

I am a Railway child. My father was a senior bureaucrat with Ministry of Railways. I grew up in a railway colony. Our social life was structured around the railway club and other railway families. And life in the railways is all about appreciating diversity. In the colony where I lived, our immediate neighbours to the right were Kannadigas, to the left were Hyderabadi Muslims, and in front lived an Oriya family. We moved every 5th or 6th year to a new place, a new city, a new State. My sister and I loved every move, learned new languages and imbibed new cultures.

Having unconsciously learned lessons about inclusion, I cannot stomach this video. The Indian Railways transports 20 million passengers daily. At least half these passengers must be women and children. And yet, like in so many other domains, they have been excluded here too. One comment in youtube questioned "veryyy cool ad .. although i wonder y only males were included as a part of the रेल गाङी ?! :(". The reply to this comment is shocking in its insensitivity "The Ladies compartment is getting ready, gone for a makeover... "

Damn this testosterone driven train for being the metaphor of Indian society!

Gastronomic Match

2010-10-01T15:54:00.005+05:30

Nishi was browsing through online profiles when a chat request popped up. Who was this?

"Age 34, senior management professional in some multinational. Lives in Bangalore"

Hmmm. Nishi had begun to notice the gendered differences in the way these profiles were written. Women dwelled more on their looks: slim, fair, blah blah while men waxed eloquent on their qualifications, jobs and salaries. Showed what society, or rather marriage, expected of them.

Accepting the chat request, Nishi typed in 'Hi'

Social niceties out of the way, Nishi typed in a question about the guy's interests and hobbies.

Hmmm. These chats seemed to be scripted and followed a template. First, the social graces. Hi, Hello, How are you etc etc. Then the exploratory 'Tell me something about yourself'. Then more focused probing. Right now, the conversation was dwelling on food.

'I'm a foodie' said Nishi 'I love to eat and like to try different types of cuisine. My only limitation is that I'm a vegetarian'.

Speed breaker! Oh-oh.

'Vegetarian? But I'm from eastern India'

'Meaning?' Nishi knew what he meant. But she wanted it said anyway.

'I'm non vegetarian' he clarified.

'OK. I have no problems with that' said Nishi with growing irritation. She knew where this conversation was headed.

'But will you cook non vegetarian food'? he asked

'No. But if you want to eat non veg food, you are welcome to cook it yourself or order it from outside'

'Oh? I'm looking for a life partner who has same interests as me. And I would prefer if she is also non vegetarian. It would be difficult otherwise.

Tough Nishi wanted to say. Instead she said 'Well good luck then. I hope you will find a wife whose food habits match yours'

More disillusionment. She had heard of people matching horoscopes. But matching dietary preferences? That had to be a first! Did one really need to use food habits as basis for choosing a life partner? Why this insistence for standardisation? Same caste, same religion, now same food?!

Maybe she was a fool. But she did believe that it was possible to coexist and that diversity made a marriage interesting. It helped you retain your individuality, your uniqueness. Oh wait! The institution of marriage in India demands conformity, especially from women.

At this rate I'll never get married!

Heritage Walk: In The Presence Of The Apostle

2010-09-10T19:19:00.011+05:30

The final leg of our journey was inside the Church of St Thomas. Although tiny in size, the church has a rich history.

The Church is associated with St. Thomas, one of the Apostles of Christ. The spread of Christianity in India can be traced back to the arrival of St. Thomas on the shores of Kerala. From here he traveled, preaching the message of Jesus before he reached Chennai. It is said that his evangelising angered the locals and he fled to the Mount to escape their wrath. Here he was martyred in AD 72 when he was struck down by an arrow.

The Portuguese built a shrine here in the 16th century at the spot where St. Thomas was martyred. During the course of excavation, a stone cross was unearthed. The cross was believed to have been chiseled by the apostle himself. It was rumoured that he had clutched the cross to his person when he was martyred and his blood spilled onto the cross. Apparently, the stains reappeared even after being rubbed off and even bled periodically. So it came to be known as The Bleeding Cross. This cross is now mounted on the wall of the shrine at the alter. Here is a picture:

It is interesting to note the details on this cross. If not for the cross, it could well have been a Hindu sculpture! Note the 'thorana' and the sort of lotus base on which the cross stands. What a wonderful amalgamation of cultures and religions!

The shrine is also dedicated to 'Our Lady of Expectation' ie, Mother Mary. Above the alter, there is an oil painting of The Madonna. Believed to have been painted by St. Luke and brought to India by St. Thomas, it is one of the oldest Christian paintings in India. Here is a picture:

There was another rather interesting rendition of Mother Mary as full term pregnant. I have never seen it before:

With that our heritage walk concluded and we descended the steps on the other side of the hill. At the last step, I turned back to get one last glimpse.

But before I sign off on this series, I must introduce some spiritual beings that I came across during the walk. This gentleman was enjoying the morning sun at the Garrison Church and was kind enough to hold his pose so I could click a picture:

And this guy is totally self actualised. Bordering nirvana!

Ha! Ha! You didn't think they would be canines now did you? I love dogs and the Lord God Made Them All!

Heritage Walk: Ascent Up The Mount

2010-09-03T18:50:00.010+05:30

Moving on from the Garrison Church, the group took a long and circuitous route to reach the top of St. Thomas Mount. The road went past the main gate of the Officers Training Academy and wound up the hill. Once we cleared the defense area, we moved to the base of the hill. I must say it was not very pleasant. Overgrown with shrubs and bushes on one side and slum like settlements on the other.

Once we started climbing the hill, our focus shifted to the awesome veiw of the city that lay stretched out before us. The road was smooth and there were wall writings on the hillside proclaiming it as a 'Holy Hill' and imploring the public to maintain its sanctity. One person even compared the climb up the Mount to the 'Girivalam' at Thiruvannamalai. (Girivalam is a spiritual festival observed on every full moon day at Tiruvannamalai, for the sacred Mountain Annamalai.In Tamil "Giri" means mountain and "Valam" means circumambulation and involves the actual circumambulation of devotees around the hill with a diameter of nearly 16km)

Half way up the hill we passed some schools run by the Catholic Church (which I presume owns a great chunk of the land on the Hill), and a park on the outer edge of the hill with a life size statue of Christ a la Christ the Redeemer of Rio. We also passed a training center belonging to the Church where we saw a banner of an Indo Sri Lankan seminar:

However did the Indo-Sri Lankan fishermen reach the Pak Bay (whatever THAT was?!). A spelling mistake can be truly hilarious.

Huffing, puffing and sweating profusely, we finally clambered up the hill to reach the sacred Shrine of St. Thomas. As Sunday services were still on, we had to wait to enter the Church. While waiting, we looked eastward, hoping to see the spire of the San Thome Church and the Little Mount Church. But it was cloudy and we were not able to do so. Here is a picture of the vista:

Set a little behind the Church, we came across an interesting bust of Lt. Colonel William Lambton. Lambton served in the British Army and was the superintendent of the Great Trignometrical Survey (GTS) during its initial years. So what is the significance of the GTS to the St. Thomas Mount? The Great Trigonometrical Survey of India started on 10th of April 1802 with the measurement of a base line near Madras. The spot where the bust is located marked the first station of the Survey.

Lambton carefully laid the baseline, which stretched across a distance of 12 kilometres between St. Thomas Mount and another hillock in the southern direction, for the "measurement of the length of a degree of latitude" along a longitude in the middle of peninsular India....This 12-km-long horizontal at about sea level grew into what is known as the Great Indian Arc of the Meridian, a gigantic geometric web of 'triangulations' roughly along the 78° longitude across the entire length of the subcontinent covering a distance of about 2,400 km in the north-south direction. As a corollary, at the end of this massive and perilous exercise, which consumed "more lives than in most contemporary wars" and involved tomes of calculations and equations more complex than any in the pre-computer age, it was conclusively proved in 1843 that the Himalayas constituted a mountain range that was higher than the Andes, until then believed to be the highest. It also established the height of the highest point on the earth, what is now called Mount Everest....The GTS continuous to be the bedrock of topographical surveys even today, 201 years after Lambton laid out his first baseline from St. Thomas Mount to another nearby hillock... (Source: Frontline, Apr. 27 - May 12, 2002 and June 21 - July 04, 2003)

When the volunteer from the walker's group stopped talking, there was a brief silence,marked by a sense of timelessness. I felt as if I was also a station, standing in the path of the Great Arc.

Heritage Walk: The Garrison Church, Chennai

2010-08-29T20:45:00.002+05:30

This year, as part of the Madras Week celebrations, a series of Heritage Walks were organised all over the city. Organised by different individuals and organisations like INTACH, the walks covered some interesting routes like 'Heritage Walk of Madras Christian College', 'Railway Buildings of Perambur', 'Fort St. George', 'Temples of Madras'. The spouse and I went for the Heritage Walk at St. Thomas Mount on 22nd Aug - considered as the day when Madras was founded.

For those of you who do not know, St. Thomas Mount in Chennai, is a small hill near the Chennai airport. It derives its name from St. Thomas, the apostle of Christ, who is believed to have been martyred here. Organised by Vincent D'Souza and Richard O'Connor, the heritage walk started at the St. Thomas Garrison Church and ended at the historic St. Thomas Mount Church on top of the hill.

To be honest, my going for this heritage walk was a matter of chance. When the spouse first mentioned it, I did not pay attention. When he mentioned it again on Friday night, it finally registered. Seeing a golden blog opportunity, I jumped at it. When I sat down to write it though, I realised that just one post would not suffice. There was so much to write that I decided to write it as a series of posts. The first one is about the Garrison Church.

6AM on Sunday saw a bleary eyed me and spouse at the gates of the Garrison Church. We were the first to arrive and were apprehensive that the walk had been canceled due to rains the night before. A while later people started arriving and we were set to go.

Our first stop was the Garrison Church itself. Situated just off the GST road on the way to the airport, this church is 175 years old. It being a Sunday, some of the regular church goers had arrived to offer prayers and were kind enough to share the history of the church. In fact, one of the ladies present had done her M.Phil thesis on the Garrison Church. What a stroke of luck!

Till the 70s, the church had a three storey spire. It had to be lowered to make way for the air corridor due to the construction of the Meenambakkam airport. Here is a picture of the church:

Inside the church, there were many interesting artifacts. Three of these caught my attention. The first was this memorial tablet:

This was put up in memory of one Lt. Charles Wade Crump who died in September 1857, aged 32, fighting under General Havelock at the 'Relief of Lucknow'. It was put up by his 'Brother Officers' to salute his bravery. Very nice and noble indeed. But I'm sure you will understand that my sympathies are for the Indian side in the war.

The second was a painting over the alter. Of Doubting Thomas. You might have used the term many times to express disbelief. It has its origins in a Biblical anecdote, that Thomas, one of the disciples of Christ, refused to believe in Christ's resurrection and asked to feel his wounds before being convinced. St. Thomas being the patron saint of the Garrison Church, it was but natural to have this painting hanging over the alter. Here is the only photograph I took of it:

The last was the Baptismal Font. A baptismal font is an object that is used in the baptism ritual. Unfortunately I did not pay attention when its unique features were explained (probably busy capturing other Kodak moments!). I tried to supplement the gap with some net research. Unfortunately I could only find information about the Baptismal Font at St. Mary's Church in Fort. St. George. Here is a picture of the Baptismal Font at Garrison Church

A bit of trivia before I sign off on this one. The rolling greens beside the Garrison Church serves as a golf course today. We were told that it used to be a polo ground during British times and the place that is now the Chennai airport was the erstwhile golf course.

Seeing planes taking off and landing from the airport runway, it was difficult to imagine it as an idyllic setting where the sahibs and memsahibs whiled away their leisure time.....

Fly Well? I Don't Think So!

2010-08-27T17:38:00.011+05:30

I traveled back from Mumbai last night by Air India. I know I keep posting about my fear of flying. But I simply must write about this. I was less than satisfied at the overall flying experience I had last night. The aircraft was badly in need of maintenance.

For starters, the interiors were dirty. The overhead cabins for example were streaked with dirt and grime. How much does it take to clean it? Then, in the section where I was seated, the AC was really noisy and there was a dull roar which I heard throughout the flight. That, coupled with the turbulence, did nothing to soothe my jangled nerves (did I mention I am a nervous flyer at the best of times?).

You know the panel above your seat from where the oxygen mask is supposed to pop out in case of emergency? Well the panel near about seat no. 10 was hanging in mid air. I mean hanging like how a switchboard panel would hang if you unscrewed it. The airhostess did try to pound it back into its slot. But it kept dropping back.

Then of course there were the assorted holes in the carpet, loose back rests that suddenly shifted backwards even though you did not push back, and broken arm rests.

The flight ticket cost Rs. 6093. But there was absolutely no value for money. When we landed, the air hostess did her usual announcement, ending with 'If you choose to fly Air India again, we would be happy to serve you". Are you kidding me?! After this experience, why would i CHOOSE to fly Air India?!

2010-08-15T11:37:00.000+05:30

Aging Lotharios, PYTs And Visualising Melody

2010-08-05T21:55:00.014+05:30

Lately I have taken to viewing old Hindi film songs on youtube. Last night I came across the song 'Jaane bhi de sanam mujhe' from the film Around The World in 8 Dollars. Made in 1967, the movie stars Raj Kapoor and Rajeshwari and is shot in some exotic locales - for that period - all over the world. I saw this movie many years ago. Cannot remember what the story was about. But I do remember the songs and they are wonderful. The songs feature the voice of Sharda Rajan Iyengar, a lesser known singer. Even though she had a lilting voice, sang beautifully and won a Filmfare Award. But this post is not about her.

Ever wondered, how some songs are lovely to listen to-but when seen in the movie, the visual impact is less than what you expected, leaving you disappointed. For instance, the chemistry could be absent between the actors on whom the song is picturised and would make an otherwise excellent melody fall flat on its face. Classic example - the song 'Roz Roz Aankhon Taley' from an obscure movie called Jeeva starring Sanjay Dutt and Mandakini. Superb melody from R.D.Burman and sensuous lyrics from Gulzar . Picturisation? Pits! Take a look:

Watching the song 'jaane bhi de sanam mujhe'I was disenchanted. It is an enchanting song. Its the sort of song where the gentleman ought to be tall, dark (or fair as is your taste) and impossibly handsome and be conducting himself in a manner where the girl breaks out in sweat!

So does ole' Raju Awaara Kapoor do that? NOT! He's chubby and looks distinctly avuncular. Poor Rajeshwari can barely get her arms around his portly person. To give him his due, he tries. He's not a bad actor and has done the yearning lover perfectly in the past. Remember Barsaat when he plays the violin and Nargis flings herself into his arms, driven by helpless passion? In this song, he attempts the intense yearning look, holding hands and titling his girl's chin to gaze into her eyes. But his age defeats him and he ends up looking like a fond parent instead of a lover. Add to this a black leather jacket rolled up at the sleeves and its a recipe for disaster.

Watching him struggle, one barely notices Rajeshwari. A PYT and the object of the hero's desire, one doesn't expect much from her. Though I must point out that her styling in this movie is reminiscent of Audrey Hepburn complete with the bangs and doe eyed look.

Not everybody can be Cary Grant, romancing women with panache at age 60. What do you think? Watch the song and tell me if I'm being too harsh and judgmental.

P.S.: Apologies for the video quality. I got it from youtube.

Musings From The City Of Joy

2010-08-02T19:26:00.010+05:30

I had a stop over of about four hours in Kolkata today, enroute to Chennai. I spent this time wandering through the city and taking pictures. You may have seen these pictures a million times. And I have nothing new to offer. Except - to me these pictures are reminders of a happy childhood spent in Kolkata, the City of Joy.

The first set of pictures are of the Victoria Memorial which have come to represent Kolkata as much as the Howrah Bridge. Wikipedia says the foundation was laid in 1906 by Lord Curzon. Here's an interesting tidbit. The funds for construction were not given by the British. Instead it was given by British Indian States and individuals who wanted to find favour with the British. So, apart from being a Memorial to Queen Victoria, it is also testimony to the sucking up and toadying done by Indians in the past.

The picture brings back a faint memory of when we had a picnic in the beautiful gardens around Victoria Memorial. I remember going into the museum with my father. I think there is a gown of the Queen on display. It was this delicate garment with some glittering embroidery or lacework on it. If being a Queen meant you got to wear grand gowns, then I wanted to be a Queen too!

Here's a picture of the sidewalk outside Victoria Memorial on the Fort William side. It was raining at the time that I took the photograph and the rain washed side walk with the greenery made for a pretty picture.

Here is a view of the Second Hooghly Bridge, also known as the Vidya Sagar Sethu. Taken from Fort William. It is beautiful no doubt. But somehow cannot compare to the majesty of the original Howrah Bridge (Rabindra Setu).

Walking down Park Street, I wandered past 19, Park Street. What is special about it? It is the address of the District Grand Lodge of Bengal of the Bengal Freemasons. It is tucked away between two large buildings and the lodge itself is not visible from the road. I didn't venture in. The signboard and interwoven letters on the gate intrigued me. Freemasonry is so secretive and Dan Brown has certainly added to its mystique.

Moving on to matters gastronomical - I had lunch at Flury's. Started in 1926, Flury's describes itself as a 'tearoom'. The website claims it to be the only tearoom in British India. Whatever the case, the food was good and the strawberry and cream sundae out of this world!

And finally, the drive to the airport in bumper to bumper traffic. Amidst the mounting stress of not knowing whether I would be able to make it in time to catch my flight, I took the time to be amused by the sight of traffic constables directing traffic while holding up umbrellas in the pouring rain. No pictures available of that though. You'll just have to take my word for it. It was a funny sight.

Some More Wandering Thoughts Albiet On A Wednesday Evening

2010-07-14T21:57:00.003+05:30

I was trawling the net to alleviate my boredom today when I came across a job announcement by a "boutique" recruitment firm (whatever that maybe). It was for senior positions in business development. But when I looked for the name of the hiring organisation, I couldn't find it. Now I think about it, these recruitment firms never tell you the name of their clients. Who is it that they are scouting talent for. I don't understand the need for secrecy. What is the problem in revealing the name of the client? How is a potential applicant to judge whether they want to apply or not? One does not make these choices based on the job description or the pay package alone. It all boils down to making INFORMED decisions for which you need full and complete information. I say we apply the Right To Information Act on these recruitment / HR outfits.

********

Just finished reading Amitav Ghosh's 'Sea of Poppies'. What can I say - simply awesome. Its part of a trilogy. And the way Ghosh has written the first leaves you panting for more. I am eagerly awaiting the next part. What I love about Ghosh is his attention to detail. His novels are obviously well researched. They also indicate his background in anthropology. And he writes about people and locates them in a historical context. His books demonstrate an amazing divesity in theme, content and setting. Compare his writing with that of Arvind Adiga. As I've said in my previous review of White Tiger, Adiga's writing leaves much to be desired. Both have written with poverty and deprivation as their background. Where Adiga is just too in-your-face, Ghosh's writing is nuanced and somehow more profound. He is unequivocally, my favourite author.

**********

Was wondering, what is the etimology of the term 'you look fetching'. How did it come about? What does one fetch if one looks fetching? R said something about a dog theory. Like getting a dog to fetch. By that token, what is the dog connection if a woman looks fetching? Would she fetch you a stick?! Thoughts and opinions invited.

My Sins AGAINST Gender Stereotypes

2010-07-08T21:45:00.003+05:30

I was tagged by my blogger friend Maradhi Manni aka Sandhya to do this. That was about a week ago. I didn't see it until last night. So here goes.

The upbringing my sister and I received never made us realise that the world treats men and women differently or that there were different expectations from each. Perhaps not having brothers was the reason why. Or maybe it was because our father is a liberal minded man who believed that his daughters should reach for the stars. Whatever be the case, this is what I grew up to be and I' rather proud of it.

1. Self confident, aggressive, articulate are adjectives that usually describe me. They're also generally considered MALE traits. In fact I've been chided for my aggressive behaviour many times while growing up.

2. Some of my developmental milestones were delayed-I didn't get married the moment I completed my education at the age of 23. Worse, I got married in my thirties. And I'm not in a tearing hurry to pop out babies even though people say that the sound of my biological clock ticking is deafening.

3. I do not do the usual stuff that married women do. I did not change my last name. I do not wear a thaali (mangalsutra), toe rings or sindoor. I do not perform any rituals or poojas. My one concession to spirituality is a daily reading of the 'Hanuman Chalisa'

4. On social occasions, I am usually to be found in the company of men. I enjoy their company and seem to relate to them better. It irritates me to sit with the women and discuss recipes or school bus timings.

5. I can be relied upon to keep a cool head and take quick decisions during emergencies. People usually lean on me for support during crises.

6. I've lived alone in a big city and pretty much fended for myself. I rented an apartment, drove about by myself and even went for movies alone. It was weird at first. But then I began to enjoy it.

7. A few years back I went overseas for a vacation. I went alone and spent my own money. A dream come true. Expensive - but a dream nevertheless.

8. I returned to full time work recently and my father-in-law helps me in kitchen work. He cuts veggies and puts on the cooker so that all I need to do is throw things together when I finally wake up. Today he offered to take over the cooking of the entire lunch. I have gladly relinquished the responsibility.

There are two things where I do uphold the stereotype:

9. I love clothes, especially saris. Even a four door wardrobe seems insufficient! (refer post dated 7th July).

10. I am afraid of the dark and need to sleep with a night light on. Maybe the residue of a childhood nightmare.

So those are my sins. God forgive me for them! I don't know how to go about this tagging business. If you're reading this, and want to try it, by all means go ahead. It is open to persons of both genders.

Chronicles of Deepa: The Wardrobe, The Dresser and The Side Table

2010-07-06T21:35:00.003+05:30

Last month we went to an exhibition held at the Chennai Trade Center. We had been toying with the idea of buying a wardrobe since I needed more storage space. The exhibition was selling furniture on discount. We went to the Zuari stall and after much deliberation chose a nice four door wardrobe and a dresser. Purchases over Rs. 5000 had an attractive "buy for so-much and get this free" offer. And so we also got a side table for free. The Zuari guys said that they needed about 10 days before they could make the delivery. Since we had to dispose of our old cupboard and dresser, this suited us fine. So we paid up the full amount, took our receipt and invoice and headed home pleased with the purchases we had made. That was on 7th June, 2010.

That was the beginning of a month of sheer torture and extreme stress.

About 12 days after we had made the purchase, I received a call from the dealer. One U.M.Retail Pvt. Ltd informing that the items were ready and would be delivered in a day or two. My husband and I quickly made arrangements to dispose the existing furniture. So there I was, sans cupboard, with all my clothes heaped on the bed. My toiletry items were dumped on a stool with a 100 year old mirror propped against the wall (the mirror is another story).

Two more days passed by without a peep from M/s U.M.Retail Pvt Ltd. So my husband called and they assured him that the furniture would be delivered that day itself. Another three days passed by. On 25th June, I called the shop again. I was told it MAY be delivered that day. I lost my cool and gave the guy a yelling. The guy said he would check with their warehouse and get back to me in half an hour.

Never trust a vendor when he says he will call back. An hour went by and he didn't call. I got angrier by the minute. I called back and gave the guy a dressing down. "I have paid full money for this furniture. That means you have my goods in your possession and are willfully not giving it to me. That is a clear case of theft and fraud. I will report you to police". This seemed to cow the down the guy and he gave me the number of their distribution manager Robin. I called Robin and once again faced ambiguous assurances. I had to do an action replay of the previous dressing down. Robin finally admitted that the wardrobe was not in stock and they would not be able to deliver the furniture before Monday.

That was a bit of a problem since I was leaving town on Sunday and my husband would have to hold the fort till Thursday. Easier said than done. He does not handle stress or vendors very well. Outlining a strategy, I told him to use sheer aggression to get our work done. "Keep calling them every hour. Use different phone numbers. If you're calling Robin at one time, call U.M.Retailers next. Harass them into sending the furniture". With that, I left the city.

My husband and I were in touch over phone to discuss developments. He was forced to remain at home in anticipation of the furniture's arrival. On 28th June there seemed to be a glimmer of hope. It appeared that the furniture would be delivered that evening. But alas, our hopes were dashed to the ground. Robin called me to say that the stock had still not arrived and hence delivery that day would not be possible. I told him that I was traveling and he should speak directly to my husband. Robin quailed at the suggestion. "No madam! I'm afraid to speak to him. Please inform him yourself!!" Stress levels hit an all time high when I delivered the news to my husband. He had taken leave that day and put off some visa processing work for this.

After several hundred more phone calls and still more (empty) threats, the furniture finally arrived on 29th June at 9pm. Oh Joyful day! But wait... A new shock awaited us. The dresser mirror was broken.

My husband refused to go back to yelling and threatening Robin on the phone. So I had to take over. Another 6 days followed filled with daily phone calls and entreaties. Sometimes there was no labour to make the delivery and sometimes no truck was taking a route that would bring a replacement dresser to our home. The dresser was finally delivered today at 6pm. We're hoping it will be fitted tomorrow.

I don't understand what went wrong. We paid full money upfront. Had all the required paper work. Had purchased from a reputed company. Despite all this we were practically held ransom by the dealer. At every step their inefficiency was reinforced. I must have spent at least Rs. 1000 in phone calls alone! And I'm not counting the mental stress and harassment we faced due to all this.

I do not know whether Zuari is aware about how unprofessional U.M.Retailers Pvt Ltd is in its dealings with customers. I plan to get in touch with the PR department and put in a written complaint about this dealer.

Hopefully tomorrow, this time, my dresser would have been fitted and life can go back to normal. But, like Robin said during one of the innumerable calls I made "Invoice No. 132? I will never forget it!" Neither will I Robin. Neither will I.

The E - Slap

2010-06-06T22:21:00.004+05:30

A friend and I were talking about delivering reprimands and homilies over email. It brought back memories of when I was still working full time. I worked as a senior manager and had a lot of email traffic. There were many demands, disguised as 'requests' that came my way. Mostly from headquarters. Now I was known as a bit of a firebrand at the work place. In fact, one one occassion, a colleague even branded me as 'Ms. Thunderbolt'. Naturally, my email communication matched my image. I developed a writing style that came to be known as the 'E-Slap'. A few examples:

If I wrote 'I'm surprised at...' it meant 'I'm pissed off!'. If I wrote ' I'm distressed...' it meant 'I'm enraged!'. If I wrote 'You will agree that...' it meant 'I don't want any arguments'. 'Thanks in advance for doing this' usually meant 'saying no is not acceptable'. And if I was REALLY displeased, then instructions over email would end with '...this is non negotiable'!

I thought I was camouflaging my feelings pretty well behind all those professional sounding words. Little did I realise how transparent I was. At a national level meeting, amidst discussions on e-governance and other 'E' stuff, matters took a humourous turn. A colleauge took my name tag - you know, the clip-on variety. It was cicular in shape. He flipped it over to the blank side and went to work with his pen. A while later, he handed it back to me with a huge smile. It carried the sketch of a hand with 'E-Slap' written across it. When I looked confused, the group broke out laughing. 'Its what you do when you said stinker emails.' they said.

E-Slap?! I didn't take offence. Was rather amused actually. It was an apt description of the way I expressed displeasure through email. Rarely had an appraisal gone by without reference to 'my tone' or 'communication style'.

Its not that I meant to be rude. It was a combination of factors. First, I did not suffer fools gladly. Second, the email represented me. I had to ensure that the words expressed what I FELT. And last - I (unfortunately) had an excellant command over the English language (please excuse my immodesty). All of which converged in a resounding 'E-Slap'!

There was a lighter side to this infamy. People in HQ thought twice before messing with me. Peers, on occassion, appreciated the 'E-Slaps' (naturally not the ones directed at them!). 'You said what we wanted to'. And come to think of it, if they could tease me about it, then they must have realised that my bark was worse than my bite!

The Road Not Taken

2010-05-22T07:31:00.007+05:30

As a woman I am constantly aware of threats lurking around the corner. I was told by my mother not to venture unescorted in the dark, to always travel in groups, not to talk to strangers etc. I relived these fears, overtly, covertly, every time a strange man walked upto me. Nobody thought this self inflicted curtailing of personal freedom was strange. After all, the world was a bad place and you had to take precautions to protect yourself from danger.

Last night, I was chatting with my 12 year old niece. She's at the threshold of womanhood, discovering life and forming her opinions. She' was telling me how she spent her vacation time at home. Like any other 12 year old, she was sent on errands - to buy groceries and vegetables at the shop next door.

At some point, the conversation turned to how once, when she went to the supermarket, this boy approached her and asked which class she studied in. She ignored the guy since he was 'a stranger', and walked past. Then she went on to say that if she was walking alone on the road, and she spotted women my age or her mother's age, she tried to keep close to them. Finally, she narrated an incident that took place a few weeks ago. It was dark and she went to the supermarket. On the way back, at about 10 feet distance, was a drunk, who leered at her and said ' hey...you're all alone'. Frightened, she raced back home. She concluded the story with 'But it was my fault you know. I should not have gone out when it was dark'. My heart broke when I heard her blaming herself. Life seemed to have come full circle. And not in a nice way.

When I argue for women's rights, people say that things have progressed so much that we should now be fighting for 'men's rights'. The world has changed and women now rule the roost. They say women have become heads of state, they've traveled to Antartica and even flown into space. No doubt these are splendid achievements. But what about when a 12 year old learns - without anybody explicitly telling her and through her own experience and observations - that she needs to curtail her personal freedom to ensure her personal safety - as generations of women before her have done?

Between self and ambition lies a long road fraught with obstacles. Braving obstacles on life's journey is par for the course one may say. But women, it seems, are not even permitted to make that journey! After all, it maybe dark, deserted or full of strange men! If 'anything happens' you have only yourself to blame. The earlier you learn that, the better. Age 12 is a good time to start.

Midnight Musings On Film and Television

2010-05-02T23:34:00.005+05:30

Ok, so the title is cliched. In my defense, it is close to midnight and I am musing!

I learned from a show I was watching tonight that Shilpa Shetty is a 'trained Bharatnatyam dancer'. I remember reading somewhere that even Lara Dutta is a 'trained Bharatnatyam dancer'. Apparently the ice maiden Aishwarya also lays claims to the same distinction. Dance requires application, dedication and a whole lot of self discipline. So I wonder - can this really be true? Call me prejudiced, but I'm pretty sure the ladies are fibbing. Being known as a 'classical dancer' probably lends credibility to their otherwise bump and grind dancing style. I mean, I could also claim to be a 'trained Bharatnatyam dancer'. I took classes as a child. It is another story that everytime the master arrived, I locked myself into the bathroom and refused to come out till he left!

********

NDTV good times airs a show called 'Cooking isn't rocket science'. The show is presented by 'one of Britain's most popular chefs Manju Malhi' - not my words, this is what the channel website claims. Now this so called popular chef is dreadfully annoying with an affected British accent that simply grates on my nerves. If you ask me, the show is really a cheap imitation of 'Kylie Kwong Cooking With Heart and Soul'. This Manju woman dresses like Kylie, wears similar spectacles and even has similar red highlights in her hair!!

********

I saw this Telugu movie 'Ye Maya Chesavey' last night. It is the Telugu version of the Tamil film 'Vinnaithandi Varuvaya'. Made by Gautam Vasudev Menon, the Telugu version stars Nagachaitanya (son of actor Nagarjuna) and a new girl called Samantha. My feelings about this movie feature on my status message on facebook also. But it it bears repeating - what a drag! For starters, the lead pair cannot act. Second, the chemistry between them is conspicious by its absence. I suppose the music was ok. But I was so irritated by the movie that I didn't notice. So, without wasting more time and space on this washout of a movie, my verdict: Learn from my mistakes. Avoid!

Celebrating Milestones

2010-04-19T11:42:00.005+05:30

Did I mention previously that rituals and sacrements form an integral part of the Tambrahm lifestyle? From birth to death, every milestone is crossed with determination under the eagle eyed guidance of the priest. The rules are strict and immutable. They are also male centric, institutionalising discrimination and exlusion of women.

In the Tambrahm way of life, when a man reaches the age of sixty, he celebrates his 'Sashtiapthapurthi'. When a man reaches seventy, he celebrates 'Bhimaratha Shanthi'. When he reaches eighty, he celebrates 'Sadabhishekam' and when he approaches one hundred years of age, he celebrates 'Kanakabhishekam'. These can be celebrated only if his first born is a son and his first born's first born is also a son. Yes. Its complicated. And where does the woman figure in all this? She just needs to be beside her long living husband when the celebrations take place. If she has not been so disobliging as to have kicked the bucket before the festivities - which are basically a re-enactment of the marriage ceremony by each subsequent generation of male children.

Discrimination, exclusion and isolation are experienced by women everyday in different ways. You could be an illiterate woman surviving on daily wages, or a highly educated woman belonging to a privileged class of society. Regardless of the strata of society they belong to, these are realities women learn to confront, negotiate, accept or propogate, depending on socialisation, experiences and personal mission in life. If you choose to stand up for egalitarianism, then the support and partnership of men can make the difference. And that is the origin of this long winded narration!

My parents are celebrating the golden jubilee of their marriage this year. All his life, my father has looked askance at poojas and rituals that mark the Tambrahm lifestyle. On several occassions he was simply pressurised into going along with them. But in this matter, he refused to budge. My father scorned the 'Shashtis' and 'Bhimas'. 'My wife and I have together built this family. I see no reason to celebrate only MY birthday.' But this year he was rather excited. 'Our marriage will be 50 years old. Lets celebrate!.

So we will Appa. And this post is a daughter's celebration of the wonderful liberal thinking man that you are.

With love.

Faith, Beliefs And All That

2010-04-10T12:15:00.003+05:30

After her last three misadventures, Nishigandha should really have been prepared for this one. As it turned out, this one didn't even progress to a formal meeting of the interested parties!

The first contact was made by Mr. Sharma, father of the hopeful groom. He owned a business in advertising and after handing it over to his eligible son, was now leading a comfortable retired life. He appeared to a liberal minded man. He suggested that Nishi get to know his son, Arun and if they clicked, then the parents could come into the picture. What a nice thought!

With optimism, Nishi sent an introductory mail to Arun. He replied back and their communication was on.

"What do you like to do to unwind and relax?" asked Nishi.

"I like to read. I'm into spirituality and mysticism". said he

"Really? Thats interesting" said Nishi

"Yes. I attend discourses and seminars. Last weekend, I went to see this holy man. He lives in a slum, having renounced the world. I waited three hours outside his hut and when I finally saw him, I wanted to ask him so many things. But I remained silent."

Nishi was taken aback. Not that she thought being interested in spirituality was wrong. But in her experience, her peers and contemporaries rarely showed this level of interest. She was also a little worried. From spirituality, it was just a hop, skip and a jump to ritualism - which she abhorred.

"I should tell you that I take a skeptical view of god men. I believe in God and respect all faiths. In fact, my brother is married to a Christian. We're totally fine with that."

The reply to this mail stopped the progress of this alliance in its tracks!

"I must admit I am not comfortable with your views. I think it is not good to have two different faiths in one family. I have certain beliefs and opinions and don't feel like I have to compromise on them. I will be constantly paranoid about the influence, a member of another faith, will have on my children. I'm sure they will try to convert them into another faith."

Was this man for real?! Seemingly well educated, erudite and liberal minded. Yet he believed in 'holy / god men' having no problem waiting three hours in a slum to meet one. His political views on religion were fundamentalist to say the least. Well he could take his views and just buzz off!

Introspecting on the matter later, Nishi wondered if she was the exception. Did most of her generation think like this Arun character? Was SHE the misfit? And if she was, what next? Marriage, people said, was a compromise. Should she compromise her beliefs and values to attain the state of matrimony? But if she did, she would not remain herself. Nishigandha would become the sort of person that she hated. And self loathing was the worst punishment in the world.

"I think I'll just be me. Wait and watch. There are more fish in the sea!"

What Was She Thinking?

2010-03-28T23:21:00.003+05:30

I have a lot of time on my hands these days. Naturally, I spend a huge chunk of it in front of the idiot box. So I was watching this program E! tonight. And realised how behind the times I am. It seems that Sandra Bullock's marriage is on the rocks. Turns out that her husband - who goes by the name Jesse James - was cheating on her with a tatoo model (it is news to me that this is a lucrative career option!) by the name Michelle 'Bombshell' McGee.

Now I like Sandra Bullock very much. I've seen many of her movies: Speed, While You Were Sleeping, Two Weeks Notice, Miss Congeniality etc and I really like this lady. I find her immensely likeable and relatable (if there is such a word). She's like....the Juhi Chawla of Hollywood! But her choice in men is lamentable. I did a bit of digging on the net and found out things about this Jesse James character that make you wonder - What was she thinking!

So this guy is a TV personality and owns a company that makes motorcycles. He's been married twice before he married Sandra Bullock (which to my conservative Indian way of thinking is one time too many). But the interesting bit is, that his second marriage was to a porn star, who according to wikipedia, was also convicted for tax evasion. Now I don't want to be judgemental here - but even the most open minded person would agree that there exists a yawning chasm between convicted porn star and classy Oscar winning actress.

What is it about smart,successful and beautiful women that makes them choose such losers? Take Zeenat Aman, who was battered by her beau Sanjay Khan, so badly that it left her with a permanently damaged eye. Or the lovely Hema Malini who married a married man, and settled for being the 'second wife'. Does the world of glamour and showbiz play such havoc with your psyche, that your good judgement and sense of self preservation totally deserts you? Or is this a risk that comes with any relationship? And it is only because these people are celebrities that it gets highlighted?

Or is it just that Deepa's idle mind has become the devil's workshop?!

Passing Thoughts On A Wednesday Morning

2010-03-17T09:53:00.010+05:30

Two days ago, my father grumbled that he was facing a 'book drought' and wanted a good book to read. He didn't look very excited when I gave him The Lord of the Rings. An hour later, he wandered into my room and announced the coordinates of Middle Earth. "It appears this book is set somewhere near the Equator". He couldn't understand why I cracked up over that comment!

* * * * *

You remember those halcyon school days when you and your friends spent hours wondering what you would do when you grew up? Well, my twelve year old niece reports that, a classmate told the class teacher "Miss, I think I will be a lesbian when I grow up". The teacher, paled and hovered on the edge of a panic attack (or so I imagine)on how to handle this unusual career choice. My niece offered her career-choice-of-the-moment. "Miss, I want to be a journalist when I grow up". The teacher clutched at this straw gratefully "Yes. Now that is much more practical". Yes....school hasn't changed much, though career options available to young people seem to have expanded manifold.

* * * * *

My mother is an unsung hero. She grew up in a small temple town in South India where families were tradition bound and life revolved around the temple. Among the fifty odd families that lived on that street, my mother was the first girl to complete high school. Back in the fifties, this was a remarkable achievement for conservative Tamil Brahmins. So how was she commended for this out of the ordinary achievement? What accolades did she receive? "Nothing. Life went on as usual".

* * * * *

A Review And A Rant

2010-03-13T13:45:00.008+05:30

Javed Akhtar must be real proud parent. I know I would be if I had a talented son like Farhaan Akhtar. The guy is so multifaceted - can direct, act and sing! So what brought on this gush fest? The spouse and I saw 'Karthik Calling Karthik' last night. Our collective verdict is that we liked the film.

The story, set in Mumbai, deals with the life of Karthik, a young professional working in a construction company. In the first thirty minutes of the film, he's this loser who gets bullied by all and sundry. He's in love with Shonali (Deepika Padukone), an architect who works in the same company but doesn't notice him. Then his life undergoes a transformation, when, strangely, he receives a telephone call from himself! I'll stop here with the story - don't want to spoil it for you. Its not a thriller or a murder mystery, but the story does have a twist.

Farhaan Akhtar owns this film. I mean the guy is superb. Apart from the fact that he's totally yummylicious, he's a talented actor. I don't know how he does it, but he gets Karthik's body language absolutely right. Look out for this scene where he's dressed in a black suit, saunters confidently into his office and proceeds to get his life back. The sauntering is total perfection!

Deepika Padukone is improving with each film that she does. I love the characterisation of Shonali. For starters, she's an architect. Imagine what a breath of fresh air that is, when all film heroines are expected to do by way of a career, is look breathtakingly beautiful and gaze worshipfully at the leading man. Second, she's a girl about town. Smokes, drinks and frequents pubs (at ease Mr. Muthalik! This is just a movie) and isn't considered a slut for doing so. She's a level headed girl trying to make a career for herself on her own terms. Applause!

Of course there are the occasional googlies and boo-boos. But if you can overlook these, the movie is good and worth seeing.

While on the subject of movie watching, I thought I'd use some space to rant about 'cinema hall etiquette'. Agreed the movie revolved around telephones. And agreed that audience being engaged is good. But does that have to be demonstrated by NOT putting your mobile on silent mode? Also, I'm baffled why someone would spend time on the mobile when you've spent money to come watch a film? Like this PYT that was sitting next to me. She spent some 30 minutes just sending and receiving sms-es-after having arrived late. Then the movie got interesting I suppose coz she stopped. (Way to go Farhaan!).

Before I sign off on this post - do look out for a Shyam Benegal movie called 'Well done Abba'. We saw the trailor during the interval and it looks promising. It has the same feel as 'Welcome to Sajjanpur'. Its set in Hyderabad (my home town) and seems to have captured the local Hyderabadi flavour. So I'm going to watch it for sure.

(Phew! Glad I got this post written. Its been a month since I wrote anything and was getting worried that The Muse had left for good.)

Glimpses of Goa

2010-02-14T13:24:00.018+05:30

I've just returned from spending the last three days in Goa. It wasn't a holiday - for some reason people automatically think a visit to Goa means a holiday!! I had gone on official business. But I did take time to see a few of the sights. Not all and not the celebrated ones (like the Church of Bom Jesus). But what I saw, I enjoyed very much. I wanted to share those moments and so I'm putting up some photographs which I took. Alas, I forgot to take my camera. So these pictures have been taken with my mobile phone. Please bear with the not-so-great picture quality.

My stay was in Panjim which is about 32 kms from the Goa Airport. The drive was beautiful - lush greenery, waterways and bridges. Here is the one snap I managed to click from the moving taxi.

On the second day, I took a stroll with my colleagues along the promenade down to the jetty. The area has some superb buildings with a distinct architectural style. I'm not an expert, nor did we ask any local to enlighten us - but the architecture certainly indicates Goa's Portuguese past. Here are a few pictures.

At the Jetty

The structure in the distance is actually a floating casino. There were several of these, including one called Casino Royale!

Above is a picture of the Institute Menezes Braganza and Central Library-apparently the oldest public library in India set up in 1832. It is a lovely building in butter yellow. I noticed that many buildings were painted yellow, blue or red. As you will see in the pictures that follow.

Headquarters of 2 Signal Training Centre

According to a blog I found on Goan Architecture, the building in the picture below is named 'The Maquinez Palace' and was orginally built in 1702. The premises were used to house first the Goa Medical College, and then the Dept. of Food and Drug Administration, Govt. of Goa. It has since been renovated. In the present day, the offices of the Entertainment Society of Goa and the India International Film Festival, Directorate of Film Festivals and Press Information Bureau are situated here.

Deciding to do the 'touristy' thing, I took a cruise on the Mandovi River. The sailing vessel (it was too big to be called a boat and I do not know the correct name) is this huge three storeyed structure. On the topmost deck there is a stage with a DJ and lots of chairs. Passengers are 'treated' to song and dance. Loud music is played and people are invited to come and dance. People generally shed their inhibitions and shake a leg. Alcohol is consumed freely regardless of time of day. I cannot say that I enjoyed this experience. The water was lovely and the sights par excellence. I would have preferred to enjoy these in silence with only the sound of the waves for accompaniment. Be that as it may, here are some pictures:

The white structure you see in this picture is a sort of midget lighthouse

And, saving the best for last, the sun setting over the Arabian Sea....

Liar! Liar! Pants on Fire!

2010-02-03T21:43:00.007+05:30

"Off with the old! And on with the new!" thought Nishi. New Year always brought with it a sense of anticipation. She was all set to put the JP episode behind her and get on with the business of finding a life partner. Logging into her profile online, she powered the partner search and began browsing. Eventually, she stopped at one profile.

"Hmmm....", she thought " Thirty six years old. Has a masters degree. Works in the pharma industry. Is against dowry and states it. Thats good. Lives in Delhi with widowed mother. Hmmmm...." Nishi decided to let her dad do the talking. She was going to handle this through remote control.

A day later, her father called.

"So? What gives?" asked Nishi.

"See, he's working for a public sector undertaking. Its under the Ministry. I know about this one. Job wise, its all pucca. He is the only son. His father passed away some five years ago. He lives with his mother. Has a sister who's married. No encumbrances." said her father in delight. " I gave him your mobile number. Talk to him. See how it goes. If you're comfortable, then at some later date, you can meet him."

Two days later, he called.

"Hi. This is Bharat. Am I speaking to Nishigandha?"

Bharat lived in Delhi with his mother. His father had passed away a few years ago. Due to bad business decisions taken by his father, the family had suffered a financial set back. Bharat had started working after completing his graduation. He did his MBA part time and brought the family's economic situation back on track. He was now ready to settle down and get on with his life.

Bharat gave Nishi a lot of attention. They talked on the phone for at least an hour daily. His English was poor and he preferred to speak in Hindi. But at times, it felt to Nishi, that he was coming on a bit strong. Particularly after one incident. He had gone to Bangalore on official work. He called her from there and said that he was at his aunt's place and would she please speak with his cousin? Nishi didn't really want to speak to cousins this early in their relationship. But not wanting to sound rude, she agreed and promptly had an anxiety attack.

The cousin, trying to appear friendly, started the conversation with "Congratulations!"

"What for?" asked Nishi

"For your upcoming marriage to my brother"

"I haven't yet decided you know. Its too early to tell" replied Nishi feeling cornered.

"Doesn't matter. Thats just a formality. You're going to be my Bhabhi (sister-in-law)"

It wasn't the cousin's fault, Nishi supposed. Bharat must have led him to believe that things had progressed further than was actually the case. The thought annoyed her. She didn't care for high handedness. Later, Bharat apologised for putting her on the spot. Nishi grudgingly gave him the benefit of doubt.

********

Nishi scanned the airport terminal nervously. Here she was, at Delhi - come to meet Bharat and see if he was 'The One'. He had warned her on phone last night that he was 'no Hritik Roshan'. That he was 5'4" and weighed 90kgs. Nishi knew this from his profile She hoped she was not one to judge people on the basis of their physicality alone.

There he was. Wearing a yellow kurta and white pyjama as he said he would. He bore little resemblance to his profile photograph. It had not been very clear anyway.

Well, ok. The Hritik Roshan disclaimer had been bang on. He resembled a stuffed toy more than anything else. But that could be cute yes? And look! He was carrying red roses. How sweet!

********

Nishi lay back on the bed with a tired sigh. It had been a long day. She was glad to be staying at her friend's place for the next two days. She had gone to Bharat's home and had lunch with his mother. A sweet lady who hardly spoke. She had just greeted Nishi and disappeared into the kitchen. After lunch, Nishi had insisted that she wanted to speak to his mother - alone. Bharat had reluctantly agreed. He went to take a nap and left the two women alone.

Nishi had asked his mother what she was expecting in a daughter-in-law. The lady had replied softly," I have no expectations. I just want my son to be happy".

"But you must have SOME idea about the sort of woman who will be Bharat's wife" insisted Nishi. "The reason I'm asking is that I'm not your 'typical' daughter-in-law. I am a working woman and would like to be in a liberal minded family. I am not religious and do not observe rituals. Are these ok with you?"

The lady had seemed surprised. Then collecting herself, she replied " Like I said, I have no expectations. Maybe if you light the lamp daily that will do..." Some reality orientation was called for here thought Nishi. Before she could get to it, Bharat walked in.

"So? Finished all your discussion?" he wanted to know.

"Not really", said Nishi, annoyed at the interruption. Naps should last at least an hour she thought.

"Well, you ladies can discuss your matters later. I want to show you something Nishi" said Bharat.

"What is it?" asked Nishi

"I don't know if I mentioned it earlier Nishi, but I have got another job offer from a multinational pharma company. I have decided to accept the offer and will be moving to Bangalore."

"No. You didn't mention it." said Nishi. Not that it mattered really. Bangalore....Delhi. One metro city was the same as another.

"I've been offered a package of fifteen lakhs per annum. I will also be given accomodation and a car. I wanted to show you my offer letter."

"Congrats Bharat. Thats a great offer. And you don't have to show me your offer letter. I'm sure its as you say it is."

********

With her thoughts in turmoil, Nishi prepared for her departure from Delhi. What was she going to do about Bharat? On the one hand, he was well qualified, had a great job and good prospects. The way he had pulled his family out of financial doldrums was admirable. On the other hand, he was pushy. He took things for granted about her (cousin incident). They didn't really have much in common as far as interests went. And the weirdest thing was how he never left her alone with his mother for too long. Where was this headed?

At the airport, she told Bharat, " I need time to think things over. You're a nice person. But I need to think whether you are right for me. I'll get back to you with an answer in two weeks."

********

Two weeks later, Nishi was still in a dilemma. Was she headed anywhere with Bharat at all? To make matters worse, Bharat would call incessantly (truth be told, it was probably just 'regularly'. But given her mental agitation, it seemed more like 'incessantly'). Her parents kept asking what her decision was. She felt like a storm was trapped inside her head. Finally she decided to seek guidance from her college professor - someone she had great respect for and who had always given sound advice.

Prof Kamat listened to Nishi patiently. "So what do you want to do?" she asked Nishi.

"If I knew that ma'am, I would not be sitting here!" wailed Nishi." As time goes by, I'm filled with misgivings. My brain says I should say yes. But my heart and my conscience are holding me back. I don't know why".

"Hmmm...." said Prof Kamat thoughtfully. "Buy some time. With Bharat and with your parents. Let me do some digging on the chap. I have some contacts."

********

Five days later, Nishi sat looking at Prof Kamat in horror. "What?! Are you sure its the same Bharat?"

"Positive. Lives in Delhi at Dwarka with widowed mother. Works in a PSU in pharma industry. Yes. He's already married. Whether separated or divorced I don't know. My contact could not dig that much."

"No wonder he wouldn't let me talk to his mother! He was afraid she would spill the beans. How can somebody attempt to deceive like this? This is a lifetime decision. It should be made based on trust and transparency." said Nishi, shaken. What a narrow escape.

"Well Nishi," said Prof Kamat, "I know you. When you said your conscience did not permit you say yes, it got me thinking. You called it conscience. Others would call it a gut feeling or intuition. That's why I took the trouble of doing a bit of digging. And it was worth the effort. Now you know the way forward."

"Thanks Prof. Indeed I do."

********

Nishi was waiting for Bharat's call that night. She had already brought her parents upto speed. They were equally shocked and thanking their lucky stars their daughter had the good sense to seek objective guidance.

"Hi Nishi. Its Bharat."

"Hi. I've been waiting for your call. I have a decision."

"Yes?"

"I'm turning you down Bharat. The reason being that you're a liar who can put all other liars to shame. You deliberately tried to deceive me about your real marital status. You should be ashamed of yourself. Please do not attempt to contact me ever again. And a word of advise - foundation of marital relationship is truth and trust. You can never be happy unless you cultivate that. Goodbye."

Nishi disconnected the phone and looked across at her parents. They were smiling in encouragement.

Missing in Action

2010-02-01T21:46:00.002+05:30

Hello readers. I've been missing in action for a while now. The last days of 2009 and the entire month of January 2010 have been filled with anxiety and tension for me and my family. My mother underwent a by pass surgery and I've been busy (still am) taking care of her. Doesn't leave much time for anything else. But....I hope that I will be able to get back to blogging pretty soon. One more episode from Nishi's life is begging to be told. So...watch this space!

The Trip To Nowhere

2009-12-29T22:26:00.008+05:30

"Please dad no!" wailed Nishigandha. "I want to enjoy my break. Don't make me go through this rigmarole."

"Come on Nishu", her father cajoled. "Whats the harm?"

Nishi hated those three words. They were the single reason for many of her troubles in the recent past. And now the three headed hydra had raised its ugly head again. Whats the harm in meeting Mr.Thinks-he-is-marriage-material? He had been found through the good offices of Match Made in Heaven Matrimonials and high meddling by Vishu mama who lived in Chennai.

"Why don't you go to Chennai and spend Christmas and New Year with Vishu mama and Latha mami?" her father had suggested. Innocently she had agreed. She did need a break, especially after her harrowing experience with Bob the Flasher. A few days with Vishu mama and Latha mami would be nice. They didn't have children of their own and loved her to bits.

And then, a day before her departure, her father had cornered her. Mr. JP, was a post graduate in English Literature from Delhi University. He also had a diploma in French. He worked in the HR department of a software company and was based in Chandigarh. He was on his way to a holiday in Bangkok and would be stopping over in Chennai. Enter Vishu mama and Latha mami.

Despite her protests, JP's biodata intrigued Nishi. English Literature didn't sound so bad. A man who had studied literature would have an appreciation of fine things now wouldnt he? And he lived alone in Chandigarh. Considering that Indian men rarely cut the apron strings, that was a good thing. And he was taking a holiday, by himself, in Bangkok. Which could mean that he liked to travel in his free time (like her) which in turn could mean that he liked to explore new cultures and lifestyles (like her). Hmmm....perhaps he was worth a dekko?

And so it happened that Nishi arrived in Chennai two days before Christmas. Vishu mama was bristling with excitement. This was the most important task entrusted to him after his retirement and he was determined to make a success of it.

"Wear the red one Nishi. No not that one. And please avoid black. Its inauspicious!" said Latha mami. "Do you want my ruby necklace?"

"Mami!", cried Nishi horrified at the thought of rubies. "I'm not on display here. Besides, his flight arrives only at 11AM. There is a lot of time to decide on what to wear."

"Delayed!" said Vishu mama putting down the phone. "The flight is delayed due to severe fog conditions at Delhi".

"Oh good!" said Nishi, " perhaps he will not turn up at all. What a relief!"

"Nishi!!" Vishu mama said in reproachful tones.

"Oh all right! But I draw the line at wearing rubies mami." said Nishi with finality.

Five hours later, Vishu mama finally called from the airport.

"The flight has landed. I'm taking him to a hotel".

"Why can't he just bring him here?" asked Nishi. "This is a double storeyed house with four bedrooms na?"

"Nishi!" said Latha mami in horrified tones. "That is very Improper and Inappropriate".

Three hours later, Vishu mama returned, tired.

"I had to take him upto Central station".

"What?! Thats on the opposite side of town! Dreadful traffic too."

"Yes, well thats just too bad isn't it?" snapped the normally calm and placid Vishu mama. "None of the hotels I took him to fit his budget. He said he will freshen up and make his way to our place. I'm going to take a nap in the meantime."

An hour later Nishi was seated in front of the elusive Mr. JP. Sizing him up, she saw a lanky build on a tallish frame. He wore geeky glasses and seemed a little nervous. Not surprising, considering how Vishu mama and Latha mami were fawning over him.

Nishi tried conversing with him, but it was awkward making conversation under the incandescent beam on Vishu mama's face. Finally, taking matters into his own hands, JP ventured, "Would you like to show me round the city tomororow? Is it ok with you sir?" Vishu mama's beam went up a few hundred watts - if that was possible. It was decided that they would drive out to Mammallapuram the next day. JP left soon after.

"Well....? What did you think? Do you like him?" a volley of questions which were interrupted by the ringing of the phone. It was JP. He had stopped at the ATM just outside their house to draw money. The ATM had swallowed up his card. So now he was both cardless and cashless. What should he do?

Vishu mama looked flustered. He used ATMs rarely and had no idea about fire fighting when faced with greedy machines that swallowed up cards.

"Ask him to try the helpline of his bank and freeze the card number" said Nishi. And that was that.

* * *

The next day saw Nishi and JP in a taxi on ECR on their way to the quaint port town of Mamallapuram.

"Hope your card troubles are under control?" asked Nishi.

"Yeah. I've told the bank. They've frozen the card. It was a debit card. I have to use my credit card now. Do you mind if I smoke?" he asked as they walked towards the five rathas.

Nishi was slightly repelled. She didn't care much for the habit of smoking. But hey! he was an adult.

"Suit yourself. Its your life." She steered the conversation towards literature.

"So...I hear you have a degree in Literature. What texts did you study? I love to read and own (rather immodestly) that I'm pretty well read!"

"Thats nice. Ummm....I can't remember what we did." Duh?! Well never mind perhaps he was still upset about the loss of his card.

Over lunch, JP said he liked meeting her very much.

"Thank you. It was nice meeting you too. You're nice to talk to." said Nishi.

JP set aside the plates and spoons and asked her to show her hands. Thinking it was an attempt at home grown palm reading, Nishi extended her left palm.

"Both hands please"

Nishi had a premonition about what was to come. But somehow couldn't stop it. He grabbed hold of her hands, looked into her eyes and said "Nishigandha, will you marry me?"

Nishi was flattered. I mean come on! Which woman wouldnt be flattered when a man held her hands, gazed into her eyes and asked her to marry him? But she had to be sensible about this. Just because they had spent a pleasant day together did not immediately make him a suitable candidate for her life partner.

"I need to think about this JP. We met just yesterday"

"Thats ok. Say yes. Even if you mean no."

DUH??! "I can't do that. I'm a straightforward person. When I say yes or no, I usually mean it."

To lighten the heavy mood, she asked "Are you looking forward to your Bangkok trip?"

"I'm not going. When I lost my card in the ATM, I was so put off, I decided to cancel my trip."

"OK. What do you plan to do now?"

"I'll hand around a few more days here. Will you keep me company?"

"Ok. I can meet you tomorrow evening. I'm busy during the day."

"OK. No problem. Lets meet at Chennai city center"

That night, Nishi recounted 'The Proposal' to her best friend on the phone.

"I'm a little swept off my feet. Maybe I'll say yes."

"Go slow Nish. Check out other stuff about the guy. Find out more about his company. I'm in software myself and if I'm not mistaken that company has given pink slips to about 500 employees this year. Ask more about how much he earns."

Food for thought.
* * *

The next evening, Nishi waited for JP outside Chennai city center. He came up to her a little later.

"Sorry. I'm a little late. Traffic"

"Yes. You've chosen a hotel in a very crowded part of town." said Nishi. He was looking a little funny. He wasnt wearing the geeky glasses. But that wasnt all. His eyes were looking funny.

"What happened? Why are you staring?" asked JP.

"You're eyes are looking a bloodshot" said Nishi.

"Oh that! I've worn contact lenses."

"But your eyes are looking green also!" said Nishi.

"Yes. These are tinted contact lenses"

Wow! Nishi had never encountered vanity in a man before. He went down a bit in her estimation. Were these double standards?!

"Shall we go to the gaming zone?" he asked.

"Gaming?! I don't go near that stuff" said Nishi.

"Oh come on! Lets try it"

The next hour was spent with JP moving from machine to machine in excitement and Nishi doing her best to enjoy the games. The glamour of 'The Proposal' was beginning to pall rapidly. He was getting on her nerves.

"So! What shall we do tomorrow?"

"Eh?! Tomorrow? You're still going to be here?" said Nishi in dismay. Then quickly correcting herself, " I mean, don't you have a flight to catch to Delhi?"

"Actually, I havent booked my return ticket as yet. Perhaps you could help me?"

"Sure. Would you like me to put you in touch with a travel agent?"

"No. These fellows overcharge you. I would like to book directly from the airport. Can you come with me?"

If it got him out of the city, she was willing to invest the time.

* * *

"How much is the fare from here to Delhi?" He was asking at the Indian Airlines ticket counter.

"Sir Rs. XXX"

"Lets try Jet Airways"

The line at the Jet counter was long. They had to wait for 15 minutes before they reached the enquiry window.

"How much is the fare to Delhi?"

"Sir Rs YYY"

Well, which one do you want to take? There is not much difference." said Nishi.

"Hmmmm. Lets see, let me try Spicejet"

"Sir, there is no flight on this day. On the next day, the fare is Rs. ZZZ"

"What is the fare to Mumbai?"

"Mumbai?" asked Nishi. "I thought you wanted to go to Delhi."

"Yeah. But I thought maybe I can spend New Year in Mumbai or Goa"

Goa?! Where did that come from? He would ask to go to Timbuktu next.

"Let me try Kingfisher" said JP.

"OK. I'll just wait right here near the coffee counter." said Nishi. She had had enough of standing in queues for destinations to nowhere.

Thirty minutes later, JP returned.

"Well? Where are you finally going?" asked Nishi.

"I think I'll hang around a few days. I haven't booked my ticket."

What?! Three hours of badgering various airlines for fares and no ticket had been purchased? What were his plans?

" What are you doing on New Year's Eve?" he asked her.

"I'm leaving Chennai tomorrow and will be back home" said Nishi firmly.

"Oh"

"Yes. Shall we move now? To Vishu mama's house? Remember you accepted their lunch inviation?"

"Oh yes. I'm sorry. I'll not be able to make it. Please inform them."

On the auto ride back, Vishu mama called her. "He can't make it mama."

"Why? Did you say something to offend him?"

"Mama! We will talk later. Please drop me at that corner. I will walk the rest of the way."

Getting down, Nishi extended her hand " Bye JP. I'll be in touch. I need to speak with my family before I can give you an answer"

* * *

Back home, Nishi informed her dad that it wouldn't work with JP. He was out.

"Why?" asked her father.

Now that was a tricky question. If a guy was educated, had a job and didn't look too bad, parents had a tough time understanding why their daughter was refusing him. Plus, how was she to explain that his vanity, indecisiveness and apparent stinginess had put her off totally?

"He smokes."

* * *

A few days later, Nishi sat down to write the first 'Dear John' letter of her life. Only this one was sent over email.

Later that day, JP called. Nishi didn't take the call. JP sent her an sms "I'm sorry I proposed to you."

Nishi supposed she deserved the rude message. She should have taken JP's call and told him in person. Normally she didn't take the coward's way out. Maybe she was punishing JP for Bob the Flasher's behaviour?

Functions, Tambrahm Ishtyle

2009-12-23T21:39:00.004+05:30

The social life of Tambrahms is full of 'functions'. This is the collective noun for an assortment of socio-religious occasions, when one dons expensive saris, jewellery, rubs shoulders with numerous relatives and, most importantly, FEASTS! Life in Chennai over the past fifteen months has been filled with Kalyanams, Shashtiyaptapoortis, Sadabhishekams, Poonals and Punyajanams.

The first thing about Tambrahm events is that they begin early. Very early. It is not unusual for 'muhoortams' to be scheduled as early as 4 AM. When I was getting married, my father made noises about a 6 AM 'muhoortam'. I put my foot down and said nothing earlier than 10 AM would suit me unless he wanted me to fall asleep at my own wedding. Thankfully, I got my way. I suppose he had visions of me pitching forward into the sacred fire!

Back to the 'functions' I mentioned earlier. I am a vetran of at least a dozen. Now I'm not complaining. Attendance at these events means my husband and I don't have to do housework for that day. Besides, I'm a foodie. And the fancy food served at these occassions are a great attraction.

When one arrives, usually around 7 or 8 AM, a steaming hot cup of filter coffee is immediately pressed into your hands. With that, you sink onto the nearest plastic moulded chair and take reconnaissance of the area - or at least whatever you can manage in that sleep deprived state. The filter coffee helps. You're then better placed to critically review the array of pattu saris and gold jewellery worn by 'Maamis' of various age groups. You then catalog them as 'Wow!' , 'Hmmm. But not for her age', or 'how kaatan'(a term best known to alumni of my alma mater. Also known as Ghaati). This pleasant reverie is broken with summons for breakfast. Or as we call it here in Chennai 'Tiffin'.

Tiffin consists of idlli, vadai, pongal, accompanied with coconut chutney and sambar. Sweets are also served. Usually a halwa or kesari. You gobble it up and wash it down with another (disposable) cup of heavenly filter coffee. After this brief repast, you return to the main 'function' venue and commandeer the nearest plastic moulded chair to resume the aforementioned review of kanjeevarams. Occassionally, a known face walks by. You greet them and then reproach them for not having visited your home. They smile and nod and inform you that so-and-so's son has flown down from the U.S. for the occassion. If you know of any 'nalla ponnu' (good girl), do pass on the information. He lives in New Jersey and is in software. Naturally, you think. Thats the template.

The function has progressed. It is nearing 10 AM. You poke the spouse in the ribs and ask 'How much longer?'. For 'lunch' that is. Yes. Tambrahm functions serve lunch that early. 'Let us try to get the first 'pandi'" The very first guests to be served. If you're alert, you maybe be successful. Else, you'll just have to wait in line, hanging over the shoulder of some poor guest, who made it to the first 'pandi', willing him/her to finish their meal at top speed.

As you take your seat for lunch (barely two hours after breakfast), a fresh green banana leaf is laid out in front of you. A tumbler of water is set down beside it. Deeper pockets would serve bottled water. A 500 ml bottle for each guest. You sprinkle water on your leaf, cleaning it in readiness for the food to be served.

The first thing to be served is 'payasam'. Not much. Just a drop to begin the meal on a sweet note. This is followed by a spoonful of 'thayir pachidi' or a salad of sorts mixed in curd. Next comes some sort of fruit salad - banana, grapes, dates in honey. Coming up close behind this are the dry sweet, vadai and aplam (pappad). Next the vegetables are served. Usually an 'usali', aviyal and potato fry. You are now ready for the rice. Steaming hot mounds of it are heaped on your leaf and its is usually good practice to be alert to the quantities. The ghee is spooned over the rice. You mix it with the rice and create a small crater in the mound for the sambar. The sambar flowing down the sides of this makeshift volcano is reminscent of Mount Vesuvius. The 'sambar rice' is followed up with 'More kozhambu' (the Tamil version of Kadi), 'rasam sadam' and 'thayir sadam'. The meal ends with a delectable cup of payasam.

Feeling like a beached whale, you rise slowly from your seat and make for the hand wash. Your hosts stand by and chide you for eating too little. You field the remarks expertly and head for the star of the show - the person/s for whom the celebration has been organised. You meet them, smile, make small talk, mark your attendance and are ready to leave.

On the way out, you pick up the 'vettalai paaku/thamboolam' (beetal leaves and coconut) and the 'bakshanam' (goodies to munch on later) and head for your car. All the while remarking "good food. But its the same fare everywhere no?"

I tell you, there is no pleasing some people!!!

The Misunderstood Man

2009-12-09T14:57:00.004+05:30

With a contented sigh, Nishigandha got into bed and reached for her computer, hoping she would bump into some friend online. It had been a long day and she could do with some bantering and reminiscing. Opening her mailbox, she saw a mail from the online matrimonial site she had registered on. The mail said that ‘Topgun’ liked her profile and that she should log into her account to find out more.

‘Topgun’ was 34 to her 31 years. He had a post graduate degree in aeronautical engineering and had spent a good part of his life in Canada. He had moved back to India a few years ago and now lived in Mumbai, working for an airline company. Well that explained the ‘Topgun’ sobriquet. Moving the cursor down to the ‘accept / decline’ option, Nishi considered her next steps carefully.

She had put up her profile on this popular matrimonial site reluctantly. Admittedly, she was lonely and wanted companionship. Plus, at 31, she was under pressure from her family to tie the knot. But the arranged marriage route did not appeal to her. That was when her best friend had suggested the internet.

“Doesn’t it seem like shopping on Ebay?” Nishi said.

“Look at the positive side Nishi” her friend replied. “You’re in the driving seat. You decide who is eligible. You decide if you want to contact them or not. You can search for likeminded people. And you can avoid the horoscope matching, dowry hunting sods you have been presented with so far.” And so she had done it.

Two months later, Nishi had all but given up when Topgun entered her virtual space. His profile was well written though the photograph was not very clear. Deciding to take the plunge, Nishi clicked ‘Accept’ and shut down her computer.

A day later, there was a reply: “ Hi! Thanks for accepting my request. Lets take this a step further. Please mail me at topgun@xyzmail.com . I’m also available at the same id for chat on messenger if you like’. Nishi sent him a polite reply and added his id to her messenger list.

And that’s how it began-with polite missives, moving on to friendly, humourous mails and finally to flirtatious banter on chat. Topgun, better known as Bob, was a funny guy and Nishi began to look forward to their daily chats. A week later, they were talking over phone. That’s when Nishi began feeling uneasy.

Bob on the phone seemed different from Bob on email or chat. At least his language did. He used an awful lot of profanity! That too in Hindi. Nishi was not a prude. But she did object to the use of crass language with people she had only just met. Also, somehow profanity sounded more offensive when spoken in Hindi. So she requested Bob to refrain from using profanity.

“I feel uncomfortable with it”, she said.

“Why?! Come on! Don’t be so pseudo” said Bob.

Perhaps she was being too school marmish about this. She checked with her best friend.

“Guys tend to do that Nishi”, replied her friend who had two older brothers. “Don’t give too much importance to it. Or else he’ll do it more to annoy you”.

The burgeoning romance soon took a turn for the worse. Bob seemed intent on infusing sexual overtones to their conversations. Nishi once again protested.

“Please! I feel uncomfortable with the direction this conversation is taking”

“ Don’t be so prudish. If we get married, we’re going to have sex! It’s a natural thing.”

And so Nishi kept quiet, thinking that she was being too old fashioned. Besides, when Bob wasn’t using profanity or making lewd suggestions, he was wonderful to talk to.

Later that evening, Nishi was still at office, completing an urgent report. All others had left and she was the only one in office. Just then, a chat window opened up with a ping. It was Bob.

“Hi! What’s up?”

“Nothing special. I’m working on a report which I have to send off in an hour. What’s up with you?”

“I’m in office too. Thinking about you….”

“Shouldn’t you be getting back home? The traffic in Mumbai is bad. I should be heading home soon. Others have left”

A web cam invitation popped up.

“Accept the invitation. I want to show you something.”

Nishi should have refused the invitation. She really should have. As fate would have it, she didn’t.

And there it was! She couldn’t believe her eyes! The phone rang and she answered it in a shocked haze. It was Bob.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing Bob?! Are you out of your mind!”

“Oh come on Nishi! Don’t be so pseudo. This is very natural”
“Natural?!....There is nothing natural about your behaviour. It is sick. Absolutely sick….”, spluttered Nishi when she was interrupted by Bob.

“The car is parked” he said in a satisfied tone.

Fighting down nausea, Nishi disconnected her phone and went home.

She ignored all the calls from Bob but could not escape from the text message. It was a one liner, his usual: “Don’t be so pseudo”

Nishi saw red. Enough was enough. This had to be answered. She opened her mailbox and began pounding away.

Bob,
The stunt you pulled today was sick. It is clear that you have no respect for women. And I don’t want to be with a man who has no respect for me and my wishes. If that makes me pseudo, so be it. I wear the badge with pride.
This is goodbye.
Nishi

After sending the mail, she blocked his id and shut down her computer with a satisfied snap.

The next morning, she saw an SMS from Bob. “Hey! If you don’t want to stay in touch, that’s fine. But I think you have totally misunderstood me.”

“Oh yeah?!” thought Nishi angrily. “How does one ‘misunderstand’ an erect penis staring at you from the webcam?”

A New Series: Its A Jungle Out There

2009-12-09T14:27:00.003+05:30

Hello All. I'm starting a new series of fiction called 'Its A Jungle Out There'. The series follows the exploits of Nishigandha, a thirty something career woman and her attempts at finding a life partner. Being female, single and beyond thirty is not easy in India. Words like 'spinster', 'feminist' and 'career woman' are used almost like insults.

The series is an outcome of many conversations and discussions which I had with my friends about marriage. Each of us had some experience or other - mostly unpleasant - to narrate on the issue of 'trying to get hitched'. Nishigandha is entirely a figment of my imagination. Of the incidents that will be narrated here, some are fictitious, many are not. But the angst, the anger and the anguish are very real.

This series is dedicated to my friends and all those women who go through so many indignities in the name of marriage. Here's to mending broken hearts and restoring hope in dreams and aspirations. Wish me success!

Book Review: 'Amen: The Autobiography Of A Nun'

2009-12-02T21:44:00.002+05:30

This post comes after a long break. Partly because I was busy with 'home affairs' and partly because the Muse was playing truant. Well, she's back now. And a book review it will be.

I had planned to review 'Aruna' Story' - a non-fiction account of the rape of staff nurse Aruna Shanbaug written by Pinki Virani. But when I trawled the net, I found several reviews already in place. And since most of the opinions expressed were similar to mine, I canned the idea. Instead, I am, reviewing - 'AMEN: The Autobiography Of A Nun'. Originally published in Malayalam, it was translated into English and published in 2009 by Penguin Books.

At the outset, I should clarify, that I still have one chapter to go before I complete reading the book. However, my opinion on the book is already formed and I doubt that the last chapter will do much to alter it.

Synopsis:

The book is a personal account, rendered by Sister Jesme, of thirty three years spent in a convent. Sister Jesme is a nun belonging to the Congregation of Mother of Carmel. She holds a doctorate in English literature and has served as Vice Principal and Principal in two Catholic Colleges in Kerala. In August 2008, she left the Congregation.

In her book, Sister Jesme, writes an anguished account of her experiences as a nun. She raises the very important issue of the status of women within the Catholic Church. She questions why nuns are treated different from priests particularly in the matter of the Vow of Poverty.

Then there is the issue sexuality which has caused a lot of public outrage against the book. According to her, homosexuality and lesbianism are realities within the convent. Though never spoken of, it happens and is known by myraid names like 'special love'. The book also hints at sexual exploitation through an incident where Sister Jesme has to deal with the advances of a priest.

The book also highlights petty politics and groupism which were faced by the author. It also hints at class based discrimination between nuns hailing from affluent and those from poor families. Being set in the mileu of college life and academia, the book includes in its chapters the author's opinions on poor administrative practices and bending of rules being practiced by the colleges where she served.

The Verdict:

The book is a brave attempt by Sister Jesme, who seems to be a lone crusader. It takes a lot of guts and gumption to go against the establishment, particularly one as powerful and revered as the Catholic Church. All the issues raised by her in the book are important and deserve to be brought into the public domain. Sadly, the Church has closed ranks against her. It maybe a long time before it will be ready to bring these skeletons out of the cupboard.

At the same time, I find many parts of the book confusing. For eg. There is a chapter where, during a retreat, some nuns complain to Sister Jesme that the priest they confessed to had asked their permission and kissed them. The same priest asks to kiss her too when she goes for confession. She refuses and informs him that the other nuns had found his act distasteful. He replies by saying that he did it with permission and quotes passages from the Bible. She counter quotes. At the end of all this quoting, I'm left feeling baffled. So? Did he make a mistake or didn't he?

Without sounding like I'm belittling her problems, I must say that at times, it feels like Sister Jesme suffers from a persecution complex. One feels empathy with her trials and tribulations. But at some point, it seems like the whole world is her enemy and she is the only blameless one. This is particularly true when she is describing the problems she faced during her tenure as lecturer, then Vice Principal and then Principal of a college. In fact, when I discussed the Malayalam version of the book with some Malayali Catholic colleagues, one of them remarked, that the book was all 'I'm OK. You're not OK'.

Finally, the book could do with some tight editing. It rambles in places and events do not seem to be well connected. The language is heavy and gets tedious to read. But I would not blame the author for this. A first time writer and writing on so bold a theme, she should have been provided with better editorial support by Penguin.

As regular, serious and practiced readers, I would recommend that we put aside the flaws in the book and read it, to get an insight into the issues raised by Sister Jesme. Judge for yourself whether her story is real or imagined (as you can see, mine is not an unbiaised opinon). And think of the lives of women in religious life, belonging to other religions also. I'm sure there will be many similarities.

A straightforward one: Sight seeing in Cochin

2009-11-14T20:13:00.025+05:30

On the Young World trail, we spent two days in the city of Cochin. And we made use of this time to soak up the unique history of this city. My research on the net shows that Cochin had many foreign visitors over the centuries. If you wiki it, you'll see that Cochin has been influenced by the Arabs, Chinese, Portuguese, Dutch and the English. And of course, it is also home to a small Jewish community.

How the Jews actually came to the shores of Kerala is not clear. The ten rupee brochure I picked up in Jew Town, tells me that the Jews made their home in Kodungallur (or Cranganore)in Thrissur district of Kerala. This port town was destroyed in a flood in 1340 AD and that's how the Jews reached Cochin. There is also mention of their persecution by the Portuguese. The city gained prominence as a major spice destination. In fact, the Pepper Exchange is located in Jew Town in the old quarter of present day Cochin. (The building right behind the signpost in the picture is the Pepper Exchange)

Jew Town is a narrow street, lined with shops selling handicrafts on either side. The houses have a European feel to them. I suppose it is the Portuguese and Dutch influence. At the end of the street is located the Paradesi Synagogue. Wikipedia says that the Paradesi Synagogue of Cochin is the oldest synagogue in the commonwealth of nations and was built in 1568 AD. It got the name Paradesi, (meaning 'foreigner') since it was built under Dutch patronage and used by 'White Jews' (a mixed Jewish community consisting of the Jews from Cranganore, Middle East and Europe). The dominating feature of the synagogue is a clock tower which was built in the 18th century.

We entered from the side, after reading a board that cautioned visitors about the dress code. The floor of the synagogue was laid with Chinese tiles. At first glance they looked identical. We were later told that each one was different from the other. There should have been at least a hundred tiles on the floor!

Inside the synagogue, a volunteer then proceeded to give us a brief history. We were surprised to learn that it is being maintained by members of ten Jewish families who still lived in the area. The gentleman was extremely patient with the questions asked by the tourists. (The ignorance was palpable. Eg. Are Jews different from Christians?-not me I promise!). On the way back, we learned that mail from the local post office was post marked with the Magen David. I wasted no time in sending off a post card to my 11 year old niece. (I have a fond wish to contribute towards the broadening of her mind!)

From there we visited the St. Francis Church, famous for housing the mortal remains of Vasco Da Gama before it was moved to Lisbon 14 years later. Built by the Portuguese,it was orginally a Catholic Church. After Dutch occupation, it was converted into a Protestant Church. A sign proclaimed that this was the oldest European church in India. My husband immediately contested this, claiming that the Luz Church in Chennai was the oldest church in India. I do not know which is the real claim.

We then walked towards the water to watch Chinese fishing nets being lowered and lifted from the water. Have you ever seen these nets? They look incredible. Like giant spiders hanging over the water. Made of simple materials. Just long pieces of wood, joined together and nets strung across them, I could watch these cantilever nets forever! Local lore has it that it was introduced in Kerala by Chinese traders from the court of Kublai Khan. One website claims that these are the only Chinese fishing nets seen outside China. True or not, these nets provide wonderful Kodak moments!Any tourist to Kerala would have at least one picture of a Chinese fishing net against the backdrop of the setting sun.

Done with imbibing the sites and culture of Cochin, my husband and I returned to our hotel, grubby and tired but happy. Till we boarded the steel trap that is also known as the Garib Rath Express to Calicut. But thats another post!

View From The Ringside

2009-11-07T19:30:00.012+05:30

I've just returned from the Young World trail. I was trailing with the better half - better known to the world as (ahem!) the charismatic quizmaster of the The Young World Quiz. For those of you who don't know - The Hindu Young World Quiz is a national level live quiz for middle school children. 2009 was the tenth edition of this popular quiz.

This year, I accompanied my husband, as his assistant, to thirteen cities where it was held. Three weeks of travel from city to city-Hyderabad, Vishakapatnam, Vijayawada, Chennai, Pondicherry, Bangalore, Trivandrum, Cochin, Calicut, Mangalore, Madurai, Trichy and Coimbatore. Phew!

In each of these cities, a regional round was held. This consisted of a round of written preliminaries. On an average 250-300 teams participated in the prelims. In the metros like Chennai and Bangalore, close to 600 teams participated. Out of these, the top six teams made it to the regional finals. The winner of the regional finals represented their city at the national finals.

Here are some impressions and opinions I gathered during the past month.

Given how I'm a 'raving feminist', my very first observation is that quizzing seems to be a male dominated sport. In most cities, very few girls made it to stage for the regional finals. I can recall only one team in Pondicherry, one in Vijayawada and two in Coimbatore (Note how smaller cities had female representation and not the metros). I wonder why this is so? Are girls less informed than boys? Or is it that boys are better at retaining trivia than girls? Or are girls simply not interested in quizzing and more interested in performing arts?

Second, schools from smaller towns mostly (and I say MOSTLY for a reason) did not perform well. For example, in Trichy, teams from the nearby districts participated. Unfortunately, only the city based schools made it to the top 6 teams. This of course, could be due to better teaching standards (one hopes) in cities, children having better access to information like the internet and also more opportunities to showcase their talent.

There were two teams with whom I was very impressed. Both these teams were from small cities / towns. One was a school called Marygiri Senior Secondary School representating Calicut city and another is St. Paul's High School representing Hyderabad. These boys were amazing. Shy and bashful, they were powerhouses of information, getting question after questing right and annihilating their opposing teams. Why is this remarkable? Both these teams are from village schools. One from a panchayat in Kannur district and another from a taluka in Nalgonda district. The former went on to become the 2009 champion and the latter came as second runner up. And all done with quiet confidence and dignity. I was so impressed! And oh! The feminist in me was also satisfied. The first runner up was the girl-boy team from Coimbatore!

Apparently, youngsters of today do not read the classics. Or perhaps I should stop at 'do not read'. To this question - 'In which celebrated novel would you find the characters Bill Sykes and Nancy' - the overwhelming majority of children wrote....hold your breath...Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew!!

Then there were the cheeky ones. Here's one: 'Which common part of a building or a house would one relate to a product from a company associated with persons called Allen and Gates'. (the answer is Windows). And one bright team wrote 'Kitchen'! And my favourite: 'In Indian mythology, who is the Goddess of knowledge, music and arts' - to which one answer boldly proclaimed ' V.V. Ramanan' (that's the better half).

So that concludes my sojourn in the world of children's quizzing. Overall, a good and different experience. I'll sign off with a couple of suggestions for the organisers - next year, perhaps you will consider inviting some women as chief guests. Also, chief guests need not be from the entertainment industry alone. I know they're popular and will attract crowds. But hey! children get to see them all the time. Lets give them some other role models to emulate.

Coming Soon!....to a blog near you....!

2009-11-02T15:09:00.003+05:30

Hi All! I'm behind my 'one blog per week' target. Sorry about that. I've been traveling like someone crazed and with no internet access. But the good thing is - I've come upon many ideas that would be great to write about. So I'm planning three posts (tentatively: like to keep an escape route):

1. A book review: Incessant train travel has one bright side-you can catch up on your reading. Which I did.

2. A place I visited during my travels in Kerala. I'm looking forward to doing some research on it

3. An opinion on quizzing: You will understand when you read it.

Signing off,
In anticipation
Deepa

The Independence of Miss Mary Bennet - a personal point of view

2009-10-22T19:33:00.004+05:30

Hello All! I'm back after a pretty hectic Diwali break. And what I have to offer is a book review. This one is titled 'The Independence of Miss Mary Bennet' by Colleen McCullough. You would be right in making an immediate connection with Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen.

P&P is one of my favourite books. The first time I read it, I was in my teens and fell hopelessly in love with Mr. Darcy. I am fascinated by this book. Not the least because it is written by a woman in the rigid English society of several hundred years ago. I have read it many times since my adolescence and find a newness with each reading. I love the gentle irony with which Austen outlines the lives of women, the obsession with making good marriages, the entailing of property of men who didn't have male heirs, the social hierarchy and the burden it placed on women. Many parallels with Indian society! I also loved the characters themselves. The gutsy Elizabeth (I might have been her in a different life!), the vulgar Mrs. Bennet, the moralising Mr. Collins and the pompous Lady Catherine de Burgh.

The Independence of Miss Mary Bennet is a sequel (of sorts) to Pride and Prejudice. Now normally I'm wary of sequels - in books or movies. But I so wanted to know what life would have been like for the Bennets, Darcys and Bingleys after the happy ending. And this book was authored by Colleen McCullough. I had read three books by her: The Thorn Birds, Tim and The Ladies of Missalonghi. The content of each book was diverse and I had liked them all. So I went ahead and purchased the book.

A brief synopsis of the story:

The story is set twenty years after P&P finishes. Mrs. Bennet is dead. All the sisters are busy with their own lives. Lizzie and Jane are mothers and wives to rich men. Kitty is a young widow having married and buried an elderly peer of the realm. Lydia is her usual wild self. Mr. Bingley and Mr. Wickham never appear in the book, though there are several references to them.

The two older Bennet sisters are not having the fairy tale marriages one would expect. Mr. Darcy reverts to his old proud self. He is all set to become the Prime Minister of England. He is also not happy that Lizzie has given him only one son and several daughters. Jane is busy popping out babies every other year.

Miss Mary Bennet, the boring sister who plays piano and reads dull books is a 38 year old 'spinster' looking after her mother. With the latter's death, she comes into some money and decides to write a book about poverty in England. When she goes about this, she gets into all manner of scrapes which is essentially what the book is all about. And oh - by some clever dentistry and skin care, she is now a beauty equal to Elizabeth.

The Review: Disappointing

The first thing I have against the book is casting Mr. Darcy in the role of villian. Call me a dumb romantic - but Mr. Darcy thrilled my adolescent heart. Here was a rich good looking man who loved with such a passion that he underwent a complete transformation to honour his love. He embodied all that women expect from men but rarely get. So it was rather difficult for me to accept a Darcy that was ambitious, calculating and a son-preferring father.

Next - Mary Bennet. In this book she is forced, as the only unmarried sister, to look after their mother for seventeen long years. After her mother's death, she is determined to seize the chance to live life on her terms. She is very well read and wants to write a book. She has no interest in getting married, and decides to travel to research her book. She is angered by the poverty she sees around her, particularly the treatment of children who are forced into unpaid labour. Very promising indeed - till she chances upon one Angus Sinclair. After this, the book is like any other Barbara Cartland.

Oh wait! Thats not entirely true. There is intrigue also. Mary Bennet is abducted and held captive by a mad priest. She is imprisoned in some underground labyrinth of caves and tunnels not far from Pemberley. A good part of the book is devoted to her incarceration and the search and rescue. To add more garam masala to the biryani - there are half brothers, death and murder.

Final word:

I expected MUCH MUCH more from a sequel to Pride and Prejudice. P&P is a classic. It is taught to literature students. It makes a comment on the society of its time, particularly the status of women. It is also bold in its attempt to present a female protagonist who has a mind of her own and a male protagonist who makes a mistake and admits to it. Above all, it is written by a woman author in a time when women did not normally write or were allowed to write books.

I'm rather disappointed in Colleen McCullough. I thought Tim was a beautiful story. I also liked Thorn Birds which exposed the decay in the Catholic church in an epic saga. But 'The Independence of Miss Mary Bennet' is pedestrian fare. It is nothing more than a well researched Georgette Heyer novel which uses four letter profanity.

Read it at your own peril.

Diwali Shopping With The Seniors

2009-09-28T19:05:00.007+05:30

My parents have come to spend Diwali with us this year. My mother, in her usual over the top style, wanted to buy clothes for all of us. This was immediately followed by an almighty row, instigated by yours truly, on this 'conspicuous consumption' and ostentatious expenditure. All for nothing. My mother dug in her heels and refused to budge. So we left at 2pm for T.Nagar, the epicenter of Chennai's frenzied Diwali shopping.

T.Nagar is a bustling market area in Chennai city - and I use the term 'bustling' conservatively. The area has major sari showrooms, gold shops, home accessories, kitchen wares, vegetable vendors apart from permanent traffic snarls and a sea of humanity weaving through the traffic. I usually get serious panic attacks when I am in the vicinity. Today being Vijaydashmi - one of the most auspicious days of the Hindu calendar, the crowd had increased tenfold.

Enter me, my sister, and my parents, heading for the RmKV showroom, one of the famous sari retailers in the city. Pan to my father, looking astonished at the swelling crowd. 'Are they giving away silk saris free?' he wanted to know, unable to believe the magnitude of the crowd. My mother looked apprehensive since she is not too steady on her feet due to her brittle bones. A crowd is not a good place for her to be in.

So we abandoned RmKV and headed for Sundari Silks, another showroom located a short distance from RmKV. Mercifully it was less crowded. But not so less that we could get attract the attention of a salesman. It was like playing hide and seek. "Excuse me...! Can you please show us saris....excuse me!". When one guy appeared to look interested, we told him our budget. " You have to go over there." He pointed to the other side of the room. My sister snapped " We went there. There is no place to sit. You bring the saris here". And my dad " see...nobody is attending to us here! We should have gone to Rasi or Rangachary's" And me " Appa! Give it a rest no. We have come here, let us see what is there. Stop grumbling." And his usual refrain " I am worried about your mother..." And my mother "Konjam summa irukela!" (will you calm down please)

At last a salesman gave us his full attention. I suppose he got fed up with our squabbling. My sister and I made our choice. And just to confound our mother, we bought her a kajeevaram sari that cost a bomb. "But I don't want such an expensive sari" " We want you to have it. It is our sentiment" Ooooh! It gave me such pleasure to give her dialogue back to her! Since she liked the sari, she gave up protesting after a while.

We crossed the road and went to Murugan Idlli Shop for a snack. Managed to get a table for five persons. And waited interminably for our order of dosas to arrive. My dad, impatient at all times, ate up his chutney while waiting for the dosas to arrive. Then when it became intolerable, he got up and gave an earful to a nearby waiter. "We have been waiting for half and hour. Two people have come and gone at the nearby table. And I have eaten all my chutney!" (the last said in an aggrieved tone).

When the order arrived at last, my dad, wanting to avoid another delay said " Ok. Now get us some bondas" "No bondas on the menu saaar!!" "What?! You told me there were bondas. And now you say there aren't any bondas! What sort of establishment do you run?!" "Aiyyo thatha! He said pongal. Not bonda!" "Did he now? Well I dont want any pongal" said my dad, put out at the loss of bondas.

And then we took an auto home. Surprisingly without a squabble with the auto guy about the fare.

Is mein fight hai, romance hai (saris are romantic), emotion hai...standard outing for the Familie Sundara Rajan.

Political Parties Election Symbols: My take on it

2009-09-19T22:50:00.012+05:30

As I was watching some political news the other day, I got to wondering about party election symbols. What is the etymology of election symbols used by various political parties? A closer look shows that the symbols of some of the major parties reflect party ideology, or turning points in the country's or the party's history that have shaped the way the symbol looked. I've picked a few party symbols for this post...

1. DMK symbol - The Rising Sun: The DMK, with its roots in the anti brahmin / self respect movement in Tamil Nadu, broke the Congress strong hold over the state and heralded the 'dawn of a new day' - hence the Rising Sun symbol.

2. Indian National Congress symbol - Hand (right): The party of which Mahatma Gandhi, Nehru and other leaders were members had the symbol of a charkha inside the tri colour. So when and how did it change into its present day 'Hand' symbol. According to some accounts, Indira Gandhi, visited a temple in Palakkad in Kerala, and was inspired by the deity. To me, it is the 'Abhaya hastham' which roughly translates into 'the hand that protects'. Now, I'm a Congress supporter, but this is a bit too paternalistic for my taste.

3. Bahujan Samaj Party - The Elephant: The Buddhist symbol of strength of mind. The BSP claims to represent the interests of the Dalits of the country. The Dalit cause is intricately linked with Dr. Ambedkar, the Father of our Constitution. Under his guidance, thousands of Dalits had embraced Buddhism as a way of throwing off the shackles of exploitation they bore due to the caste system. The Elephant thus has a the dual symbolism of linking with Dalit identity and mental strength through Buddhism.

4. Bharatiya Janata Party - The Lotus: OK - so I tried to do some research on this one. But did not have much success. So here is my personal take on it. As we all know, the lotus blooms in muddy waters. It is also an important symbol of the Hindu religion. Several gods and goddesses hold the lotus flower in their hands. The BJP is a Hindu right wing party and its logo unequivocally establishes it as such. Though the party keeps harping about a Hindu nationalism as a complete Indian nationalism, these symbols have a vedic / sanskritised etymology, thereby indicating an alignment with upper caste, upper class politics and an alienation from the Bahujan or Dalits - my take purely based on symbolism and not political strategy.

5. Shiv Sena - The bow & arrow: I'm going to go beyond just the party symbol and look at other symbols of this party. It is very interesting, since the symbols are violent in nature and mirror the ethos of this party. The bow and arrow - symbol of war. The Marathi manoos going to war with the migrants entering Mumbai. The party symbol - a snarling tiger. The violence and destruction they have been inflicting on the poor Mumbaikars over the issue of 'outsiders' in recent times are explanation enough of this mascot. Lastly, the name of the party itself. Sena or Army. Again the reflection of violence and menace.

These were a few which interested me. So I did some research on the net, added my own interpretation as garnish for your enjoyment. There were a few others which I found bizarre and funny:

- Rashtriya Lok Dal - A hand pump
- Muslim League Kerala State Committee - A ladder (which doesn't seem to be going anywhere)
- Indian National Lok Da - Spectacles (!!)
- Mizoram People's Conference - A light bulb.

I realise these symbols might have been chosen because the better ones were taken. But a party election symbol should be more carefully considered and reflect the manifesto of the party - be it paternalistic like the Congress, right wing like the BJP or far right wing like the Shiv Sena. What do you think?

Teachers Who Flunked

2009-09-17T00:40:00.004+05:30

This post should actually have gone out on Teachers Day. It is not one of the feel-good posts that one usually sees on such occasions. I read many tributes to wonderful teachers and really, I do agree that teachers can inspire you. But what about those that didn't? The bad apples, the eccentric ones, the one's who should never have been allowed near impressionable minds. Don't they also deserve some mention in blogosphere? So here's to the mean ones, the ones that made my life difficult and who I remember purely for how nasty they were to me!

I'll begin with kindergarten and tell you about Mrs. R. Back then, I had all this restless energy and didn't like sitting in class for nearly four hours every day. All that nervous energy led to a rather peculiar habit of shaking my legs. I mean I shook them like I would if I were operating the pedal of a sewing machine. Mrs. R noticed me doing this. When her admonishing me to stop had no effect, she hauled me up to the front of the class along with my little pink chair. Sat me down in front of the whole class and asked me to shake my legs in front of them. Naturally I was petrified and couldn't move a muscle. The habit was instantly cured. But the humiliation of it has stayed with me to this day.

Then we had this interesting geography teacher in middle school. I forget her name. Now she HATED us. I mean with a vengeance! I have no idea why. She just hated all her students. She'd yell and scream at us during class 'You muff!' or to a friend of mine who had the misfortune of having an older sister in the same school (and who did better than her at studies)- 'You dolt! Look at your sister and look at you!'. With hindsight I realise that she was a pretty good teacher - when she was able to set aside her hatred of us!

Cut to college and up looms the terrifying figure of our department head. A real dragon lady. Not a shred of compassion in her. When she walked down the corridor, we instantly hid behind our textbooks. You were in her good books if you got good marks and fared well in exams. If you didn't, needless to say that she made her displeasure felt.

I remember one year, she raised a huge ruckus because the students didn't wish her on Teachers Day!!! She made a big fuss that we were all ungrateful wretches who didn't think of doing anything for the teachers blah...blah..blah. She managed to gather support from other department heads as well. And so there was a hastily organised general body meeting called by the students union. They begged us to put together some sort of a cultural show and give them some gifts. I kid you not! This really happened.

And so we did just that. Collected money from the students, bought snacks, gifts and rehearsed a song and a dance. Cordially invited her and the other teachers (who looked a bit shamefaced actually) and put up a gala show, all the while cursing her in our hearts. Come Children's Day two months later - what did one get? Zilch!

I didn't write this post to pillory the teaching fraternity. Far from it. I've had some wonderful teachers who have influenced my thoughts and I owe a debt of gratitude to them. But when I saw so many blogs about 'gurur bramha...' and 'to sir with love' I thought - lets flip the coin over and look at the other side. Drona may have been the world's best teacher - but don't forget, he made Eklavya forfeit his thumb.

Coconut shells and Horse Hooves

2009-09-08T11:41:00.001+05:30

In college,I was part of the Indian Music Club. As part of the cultural life in college, we had the Mount Holyoke competitions. These were basically inter year competitions. It was the time when juniors tried to assert their suzerainty over the seniors. And seniors of course, fought back aggressively. As you can imagine, the competition was stiff. Each year was determined to win Mount Holyoke. The club membership divided itself into first, second and third years. Club leaders went into overdrive choosing the best songs, choreographing the best dances, organising the best events and slave driving club members. Life for a week was all about club meetings and rehearsals.

IMC in the second year stands out in my memory. All the second years in the IMC congregated and the assistant leader (elected from among the second years) took charge. We were going to do one Hindi and one Tamil group song. Then there would be a duet and a solo.

My gang and I were the 'Hindi gang' consisting of two tamilians, one mallu and one bengali. We were asked to come up with a fantastic number that would have the audience up and dancing to our tunes.

So what was this great number to be? It had to be catchy. It had to have melody. Should sound good when sung in a group. And it should also have that special something which was all 'US'.

After much debate and disagreement, we decided upon the song 'Yelo Yelo. Yeloji sanam hum aa gaye' from the film Andaz Apna Apna. It was the song of the moment. The movie had been released recently, it had AAMIR KHAN (drool! drool!), had that lovely O.P.Nayyar feel without being old and was totally US! What a wonderful idea.

There was a small fly in the ointment. Our pianist was in the first year. This meant that she could not play for us. No one else among the second years could play an instrument.

We were crushed. That song begged instruments. The original had the beautiful strains of a violin, guitar and castanets. In the movie the song was sung by the hero on a horse drawn carriage and the castanets gave an impression of the clomping hooves of a horse.

But never let it be said that we were defeated by this. We were a creative bunch and we hit upon a creative idea. That is to say, I hit upon a creative idea and the rest of the group thought it was a fabulous one.

"We can use coconut shells na?" I said. " We will beat it rhythmically to the required beat and it will sound just like horses"

"Wonderful! Wonderful!" A day ski in our group immediately volunteered to get the coconut shells. Everything fell into place and we started practice in right earnest.

The day of the competition arrived and we eagerly awaited our turn on stage. While we waited, I noticed that the second year group was the largest. I mean we had to be around 15 girls at least. Thats one thing about the second years, I thought. We know how to show solidarity. Look at us. Everybody is singing!! 'Everybody' is correct. When we filed onto the stage to sing, we were so many that the entire stage, some 10 feet wide was covered!

The song began. Out came the coconut shells and the audience collapsed with laughter. Yet another day ski had thoughtfully brought a tambourine (which she had omitted to mention) and she was cheerfully banging away at it. Oh yes. One more thing. We had not practiced previously with the coconut shells. So it was being banged away, in a valiant effort to imitate horse hooves, the tambourine girl was still going strong and the audience was in splits. Added to the mayhem was the fact that the group was way too large. The right end of the line was singing faster than the left. The icing on the cake was when some of the girls in the group, seeing the mirth among the audience, started giggling themselves. I even have a photograph of this.

The song ended and we walked off the stage. The audience wiped its eyes and moved on to the next song. We left the auditorium for the post mortem. Once outside, there was a general silence in the group. We looked at one another not knowing what to say. Then everybody started laughing. It was too much. Coconut shells?!! 'Whose idea was it?' they wanted to know and I tried to make myself invisible.

We went back in to hear who had won. We knew there was no chance it could be us. And it wasn't. But surprise surpise! We got second place?!!! WHAT? HOW? WHY?

Maybe we got points for creativity. Maybe we got points for 'echo effect'. The right hand not knowing what left hand is doing seems to have worked well for us. My theory is that we got points for full wholesome entertainment!! What say?

Jungle mein A - Mangal

2009-09-02T22:27:00.006+05:30

On a weekend trip to a college campus in south western Tamilnadu, I was shocked to learn about some gender discrimination being practiced in the name of 'Protection'. Being located at the foothills of the Eastern Ghats, far away from civilisation, all students are hostelers. Having been a hosteler myself during my college days, I was curious to learn what hostel experiences were like in recent times. So I asked a group of girls about it.

To begin with they were shy and hesitant. Said the facilities were superb and they loved being in hostel. 'So when is curfew?' - That opened the pandora's box.

Let me explain the meaning of the term 'curfew' in the context of this post. Back when I was in undergrad, there was a 'curfew time' for hostelers. This meant that you could roam around the college campus till 11pm. At the stroke of eleven, a bell would be rung signaling that you had to return to your room from whatever corner of the campus you were in. If you didn't return, you ran the risk of being locked out of your hostel. Being locked out was not really such a bad proposition, if you didn't count the mosquitoes and Lord Clive's ghost. But that's another story.

Cut to present day...these poor girls had to return to their hostels at 6PM! And there they had to remain till the next day.

'But what about dinner? Don't you have to go to the dining hall?'

'Our dining hall is inside the hostel'

'But what about the boys? Do they have curfew?'

'No' said the girls sadly. 'The boys have no curfew. They can roam about as they feel like'

This was too bad! Prohibiting the movement of girls around campus after 6PM! What if they wanted to go to the library? What if they wanted to surf the net? What if they simply wanted to hang out with their friends? Yes, their guy friends! Separate dining halls? It was outrageous.

When I was doing my masters, we looked forward to mealtimes when we could eat, laugh and hang out with ALL our friends. Privacy and protection was limited to the hostels. Which basically meant that you could not go beyond the reception areas of the men's or ladies hostels. A rule we respected and everybody was happy.

Poor kids. I felt bad for them. I thought GenNext was so cool and in charge of their lives. Perhaps we had a better deal after all.

And you know the unkindest cut of all? The guys got wi-fi access whereas the girls didnt!!

From Hell

2009-08-26T22:33:00.008+05:30

I have just returned from a trip to Hyderabad. As the title of this post suggests, my journey was from hell.

I had booked my tickets online. Wonder why IRCTC asks for a berth preference when the moment you enter an age below 60, you're given the worst berth? I had the worst case of bad luck. I got side upper berth for both onward and return journeys. Giving them the benefit of doubt, I supposed that I should have booked my tickets earlier. With that thought and a sigh, I mentally prepared myself for the journey.

The horror began with the onward journey. For starters, I almost missed the train. The scheduled departure time was 16.45. I left my home at 15.35 thinking it would give me adequate time to take the local train to Park, walk the subway into Central station and board the train. How wrong I was!

The line at the ticket counter at the sub urban train station was long. With the line inching ahead and the minutes ticking away, my anxiety levels began to rise. Just as I reached the ticket window, this jackass cut in from the adjacent ticket line. I snapped.

"Hey! Join the queue"

"No.The guy at that counter said my ticket is issued in this counter"

" Whatever! Join the queue"

"No!"

What?! I couldn't believe this. And nobody else in the queue said a word!

"Well then you can buy your ticket after me." It was the best I could do given my time limitation. Plus, he was holding a five hundred rupee note. It would take forever before he had his ticket and change.

Finally I boarded the local train. But as luck would have it, I had boarded the slowest local train in the world. It chugged along amiably at a leisurely pace, even stopping once when no station was in sight. Must have stopped to let an old lady cross the tracks I fumed.

You think this is bad? Wait till you hear the rest. I somehow made it to Central station with five minutes to spare. Locating my third AC compartment, I wearily made my way to my (shudder) side upper berth.

Remember how they had introduced a 'side middle berth'? Now consider the engineering aspect of it. How do you think Indian Railways managed to accommodate a side middle berth? Well, they raised the side upper berth a few inches and stuck the middle berth in the newly created space between the lower and upper berth.

Now the side middle was so excruciatingly uncomfortable that even the Railways relented. Public displeasure for once did not fall on deaf ears. A decision was made scrapping the middle berth. And so they were. Expect that the smart cookie that took out the side middle berth, didn't think to lower the upper berth back to its original position. The result was that you couldn't sit up on the side upper berth. You either had to lie down or get off it. And when you lay down, the roof of the coach was barely inches from your nose and the wall curved just over your shoulder. The net effect, you felt you were sleeping in a coffin.

And such was the prospect that lay ahead of me in the 14 hour overnight journey from Chennai to Hyderabad. To make matters more interesting, twin babies and their parents were my co-passengers. I don't suppose I need to mention that traveling with babies is right next to traveling on side upper berth in my list of dislikes on train journeys. Of course, in a moment of charity, I did sympathise with the couple who had two side lower berths (to my one side upper). I suppose their journey was worse than mine.

The remaining hours of my journeys were filled with travails and indignities which you will no doubt find amusing. My chimpanzee imitation - hanging and swaying while hoisting myself onto the side upper berth, the wailing of the babies when lights were switched off, the consequent burning of the lights all night (right on my face) - the night it seemed would never end. I arrived at my parents bleary eyed and in a bad mood.

"Side upper eh?" , said my dad. "Too bad". He then went on to express his opinion of what the Railways should do about this problem. "If they allot a passenger a side berth, lower or upper, they should give them a discount for the discomfort". Yeah! Right. Like that was going to happen in my lifetime.

Gloom descended as my return journey neared. Side upper again. But wait! When I boarded the train, I noticed that the upper berth was not placed high as Everest. Some kind soul had lowered it back to its original height. Praise the Lord! Perhaps I would get a good night's sleep after all. But....(yes, my life was turning out to be one obstacle course!), three giggly girls just out of their teens were my co-passengers. I eyed them with trepidation. However, if you discounted the constant giggling, texting and whispering into mobile phones well past midnight, I suppose it wasn't such a bad train experience.

PS: But even after this tirade about the journey from hell, I should tell you that I love the Indian Railways. It is a total paradox. With its beautiful train names (Rajdhani, Shatabdi, Amrapali, Hussein Sagar Exp), filthy stations and perpetual wait lists, to me, it is a symbol of the diversity and plurality that exist in my beautiful country. I'm a railway child. And I suppose that's what gives me the right to criticise!

Know More Tag

2009-08-21T14:17:00.002+05:30

A lazy friday afternoon....feel like a siesta. I came across this tag while browsing a blog and thought to try it myself. Here goes...

Copy the following questions to your own note, erase my answers, enter yours, and tag your friends. Use the first letter of your name to answer each of the following questions. They have to be real and nothing made up! If the person before you had the same first initial, you must use different answers. You cannot use any word twice and you can’t use your name for the boy/girl name question.
Some of these were really tough and I HAD to think!

1. What is your name: Deepa
2. A four Letter Word: Dawn
3. A boy’s Name: Devavrata
4. A girl’s Name: Deeksha
5. An occupation: Driver (he! he! maybe its formula racing !)
6. A colour : Deep blue (there is NO colour with D - I googled it. What? You're not supposed to google?!! :D )
7. Something you wear: Dress (Ok. Predictable. But my options are limited. If my name began with M, I'd have more to work with. Like 'Mekhla')
8. A food: Dhokla (viva Gujarat!)
9. Something found in the bathroom: Dressing table (mine is in the bedroom
10. A place: Denmark
11. A reason for being late: Drunk!
12. Something you shout: Damn *X@#***
13. A movie title: Drohkaal
14. Something you drink: Daaru
15. A musical group: Doors (yes, I know there is a THE, but I'm taking some license here)
16. An animal: Dog (my favourite animal. Absolutely love them)
17. A Street name: Deen Dayal Upadhyay Marg (this just popped into my mind. Is it in Delhi?)
18. A type of car: Daewoo (couldn't think of anything else)
19. A song title: Dil hoom hoom kare
20. A verb: dusting

Who will I tag? Anyone who comments should(can) take up the tag, if they haven’t already! C’mon people tags are fun, and they are a sureshot blogpost, if you have the bloggers’ block. Also, tags are a good way to know each other! What do you say? Do I have a good sales pitch?

Sound and Fury

2009-08-18T17:32:00.008+05:30

A theatre festival was announced in Chennai by The Hindu, a leading English daily. Being interested in drama, I was naturally excited and did not waste time in booking tickets for the opening play - 'Antigone' staged by Motley, a theatre group started by Naseerudin Shah. But this post is not about the play. It is only inspired by it.

The English daily I mentioned before had decided to dispense with the usual critics review of the plays and instead announced a 'Citizens' Review'. I thought it was a clever way of getting art out of the clutches of the intellectual elite and democratizing it. Get it out to the lay person - let the people decide what they liked. Excellent going so far.

The play didn't really ring a bell with me to tell you the truth. So I looked forward to the Citizens' Reviews wondering if others felt the same way. Come Tuesday, I grabbed the supplement and poured over the reviews and was stumped. I couldn't make sense of what had been published as reviews! Did they like it or did they not? One particular reviewer - let us call her MS - had me flummoxed with words like:

"The blind prophet is ably replaced by an overarching prophetic vision of doom that hangs heavily over the play itself"

"...held the play together tautly, despite a tangled and prosaic discourse."

"Ratna Pathak Shah as Antigone is remarkable in her portrayal of an essentially ambiguous character. Antigone has confused readers for centuries with her tendency to be both gentle and violent, but Shah’s rendition bears a translucence that makes these shifts both forgivable and credible."

"Anouilh’s adaptation seeks to make Greek tragedy accessible and ends with a post-modern notion of resignation, disaffection and the pain of continuity,... "

What were all these high sounding words? I was bewildered. Call me stupid, but if I like a play, I say: " It was good! I loved it! Naseer was superb. He has a great presence etc" Simple ideas, simply put.

When I thought a bit more, I realised that this was no 'Citizens' Review'. It was a great con job. Of pretending it was a reviewed by lay persons when actually it was done by a professional. I mean just look at the writing - disaffection? translucence? prosaic? Do ordinary people speak and write like this?! As the Bard said, these were words full of sound of fury signifying nothing. Now I got mad. I had to do something about it.

So I wrote in to the newspaper via email and expressed my outrage at their blatant attempt to dupe me. And guess what? They got back to me! It came as a surprise and I suppose it goes to the credit of the newspaper for wanting to set the record straight (though I didn't really buy their explanation). They had been accused of writing only good reviews in the past since the festival was organised by them. So, to uphold their impartiality, they decided to hand over the stick (or pen) to their readers.

The editor was very professional in explaining that they took care to have a representative cross section of people among the reviews they published. Also, they could not disqualify a person for writing professionally. MS was not a professional critic, but a person who acted in plays. Everybody, even members of the theatre fraternity, was allowed to write their reviews and space allowing, the paper would carry it.

Well said indeed. Except that it was all humbug - ably demonstrated when MS reviewed the last play titled Citizen Josh and was featured in a separate box item. Excerpts from it include

"‘Citizen Josh’ is rife with interesting moments: there are moments of startling clarity that are surprisingly insightful; there are moments of genial good humour that provide bursts of relief and familiarity; there are moments of blunt straightforwardness that lull you into a warm sort of intimacy with the artiste on stage; most importantly, there are moments of poignancy that give you reassurance and disquiet simultaneously"

I learned a lesson from this. One: Do your own review. Read other reviews only for comic relief. Two: Never expect newspapers to admit having made a mistake or even attempt to take corrective measures based on feedback from readers.

If you're interested to read the Citizens' Reviews, try this link: http://www.hindu.com/thehindu/mp/2009/08/17/index.htm. Go to the Chennai edition and read the reviews published between 10th and 17th August.

Jai Bajrangbali!

2009-07-16T19:55:00.007+05:30

This story is actually my sister's. Several years have passed since it took place and there maybe factual inconsistencies.

When my father was still in service, we lived in the railway colony at Lancer Barracks, Secunderabad. A really nice colony. Lots of open spaces, trees, birds and...monkeys. With their habitat being fast destroyed, the poor creatures had no choice but to head for the trees in our colony.

There is one more animal in this story - our dog Sheru. A mongrel who wandered into our home as a pup and adopted us. Sheru was a free spirit. Not for him the slavish devotion to humans seen in other dogs. He came and went as he pleased. Hung around the house in unexpected nooks and crannies and was only mildly apologetic if you went flying across the room because you had tripped over him in some dark corner.

Due to the constant threat of monkey invasion, we had some ground rules in our home. The balcony doors were to be kept shut, if the adjoining room was empty or if its occupant was not armed with a stick. A rule we all adhered to for the most part. The few times that we did not led to some "incidents".

My sister was student extraordinaire. She was the teacher's delight - perfect combination of brains and hard work. Watching her go at her books was like watching someone do an aerobic workout! She usually favoured the dining room for studying - the table itself forming the sun around which she orbited.

And so it happened, that one day, she was alone at home and busily flexing her brain muscles. During the course of her circumambulation around the table, she noticed a shadow. Thinking it to be Sheru on one of his home visits, she did not pay much attention to it. The balcony door was, however, open and alas, my sister did not connect the shadow with that fact. It wasn't long before my sister came face to face with our simian visitor.

All hell broke loose. My sister flung down her textbook and sprinted for the front door. Crashing out of the door, she slammed it shut behind her and bolted it, lest the monkey followed her. So now she was safe - outside our house with the monkey locked inside!

My memory fades at this point. I'm not able to remember what followed after that. I think my sister called upon our neighbours for help. As they also had monkey-phobia, I am not sure if the help was forthcoming. It is likely that the monkey lost interest and left the premises - after kicking over a few items of furniture or rummaging in the kitchen. I'm sure my sister can fill us in.

Why did I write about this you ask? Two reasons - we have monkey neighbours at our current residence also and I was reminded about the monkeys of yesteryear through a link in Facebook. Check it out at the community titled 'Marredpally Days' and see the thread on 'Marredpally Monkeys'

The 15 book tag

2009-06-30T15:02:00.003+05:30

The rules are: "Don't take too long to think about it. Fifteen books you've read that will always stick with you. First fifteen you can recall in no more than 15 minutes. Tag up to 15 friends, including me because I'm interested in seeing what books my friends choose."

1. Swami and Friends (R.K.Narayan) - Warm childhood memories...lazy sunday afternoons..and Appa reading about Swami's exploits from the book....
2. Rebecca (Daphne du Maurier) - Eerie and mysterious. The imagery was very powerful. Red rhododendrons?
3. The Hungry Tide (Amitav Ghosh)- The first (and probably) the only book I have read set in the Sundarbans. It was a great experience.
4. The Glass Palace (Amitav Ghosh)- I learnt a great deal about Burma
5. Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen)- My first 'romantic' novel. Fell in love with Mr. Darcy
6. The Lord of the Flies (William Golding)- Literature text in +2. Analysed it to death! But it was great.
7. Sybil (can't recall author) - Wonderful story about a girl with multiple personality disorder. 16 split personalities. Nothing can beat that!
8. To Sir with Love (E.R.Braithwaite)- am a sucker for emotions.
9. Srikantha (Sarat Chandra)- totally deconstructed the structure of a novel. No intro, no body and no climax. Story went in a straight line. Interesting!
10. David Copperfield (Charles Dickens) - Again - middle school literature. Loved the story.
11. The Kite Runner (Khaled Hosseni) - My first exposure to Afghan society. I found it is very similar to Indian society - same class/caste system and many words are similar to Urdu.
12. A Thousand Splendid Suns (Khaled Hosseni) - Wonder at how a man could capture the lives and feelings of women so beautifully.
13. Memoirs of a Geisha (can't recall author) - loved the exposure to Japanese culture
14. The Thorn Birds (Colleen Maccullough) - I just love stories of forbidden love
15. Riot (Shashi Tharoor) - See point no. 14

Completed in 7 minutes!

I must admit that these books arent all the ones that will 'stick with me' - I was just racing against time!

Not 'Rakhi' but a 'Swayamvar'

2009-06-26T19:26:00.011+05:30

The name Rakhi Sawant usually evokes a grimace and shudder of revulsion from me. I try not to make uncharitable statements about other members of my sex. But Rakhi makes it very difficult not to do so. For starters, its her face - hard and coarse. Then its her voice - loud and coarse. The whole image is one of coarseness. And it has little to do with her bare and dare act.

The latest among her exploits is that apparently, she's tying the knot. And being the attention seeker that she is, it is going to happen on national (possibly international) television. Teasers are doing the rounds on TV with Rakhi trying to act coy, barely managing to tame her silicon implanted twins in a low neck choli and asking viewers for their 'ashirwad'(blessings). An almost-obese Ram Kapoor looks fondly on (perhaps at the twins), talking about his 'friend' Rakhi's marriage. Its so sweet I could just barf!

It was interesting to note the profile of Rakhi's suitors. If the media is to be believed there were 12,500 suitors who have now come down to a more manageable 16. The average age of these guys is 25 years - when guys are known to be wet behind the ears. The youngest is 21 and runs a poultry business. See the 'chick connection'?! (Sorry, couldn't resist that one). There is one who is in law enforcement in J&K. It would be safe to assume that he has a pronounced death wish (remember how Rakhi walloped her then flame Abhishek on Valentine's Day in front of the whole world?) 50% of these suitors are from small towns like Saharanpur, Raipur and Kanpur. Their professions range from fitness trainer, stuntman to vastu consultant. And of course, the romantic 'NRI'.

Two things are obvious from this. These young men see marriage to Rakhi as a means to an end. The end being a foot in the door to the glamour world. Second, it seems that the producers of this reality show have picked suitors who are mavericks - the type who could be the hero of a Hindi movie. Figures, since Rakhi has been quoted as saying that she wants a husband who is: " as smart as SRK, with Salman’s build and Aamir’s attitude"-Think of the roles these gentlemen have essayed in their films. SRK-quintessential NRI. Salman Khan evergreen tapori (stuntman, fitness trainer et al), Aamir Khan - a bit of everything.

Rakhi Sawant is actually a great choice for a reality show. She loves being the center of attention, doesn't mind compromising her dignity to gain fame and loves giving madcap quotes like: "I have full faith in Jesus. Duniya bhar se heere aayenge auditions ke liye... (‘gems’ from across the world will come for the auditions). God will help me choose the right person"! Add to it her penchant for getting into controversies (Mika you listening?) and you've topped the TRP rating. If in the process you have further commodified women - who cares about them anyway? They are an essential commodity in marketing. The means and the end. Its the moolah that matters right?

Sex Ed 1-on-1

2009-06-16T19:32:00.004+05:30

My niece is 11 years old. She's growing up, an intelligent, observant and articulate girl. I like to think I'm a doting aunt. I am very protective of her and can do serious bodily harm to anybody who tries to hurt her.

One Saturday, my sister dropped her off at my place. I was to help her with her latest project - research for an essay on a nearby animal shelter. So we set off, aunt and niece, to the Blue Cross close by.

We had a great time at Blue Cross. She loves cats and cooed over the orphaned kittens. I'm a dog lover and played with the adorable puppies. Together we wondered if we could take one (or 10) home. She interviewed the caretakers and they answered her questions patiently. An afternoon well spent.

As we walked back home, I noticed a car with tinted windows parked on the left. A man, who appeared to be the owner,was standing near the bonnet. I sensed something was wrong and immediately moved my niece over to my right and away from the guy. As we neared, I realised that the jerk had stopped to flash us! There he stood, with his fly undone and his thing exposed. I turned my head away in disgust and quickened our pace.

A while later, still shuddering with distaste over the incident, I wondered if my niece had also been 'exposed' to the view. I looked at her as she walked by my side, quiet for the moment. She seemed ok, but I realised I should say something. I had gone through a similar experience as a child. I remember the fear and confusion I had felt. I did not want history to repeat itself.

" Were you afraid?" I asked, opening the discussion.

"Of what?" she queried

"That guy"

"Oh you mean the guy near the car? I forgot." She tried to gloss over the incident obviously uncomfortable at having to discuss this with her aunt. But I did not intend to give up.

"Its not your fault ok? He's sick" I said, hoping I was helping.

"What?" she asked

"Next time somebody tries this with you, I want to you pick up the biggest stone lying on the ground. Look around for an escape route. Then throw the stone at him. Make sure you hit his pee-pee (that's what she called it)" I told her, hoping I was equipping her with essential survival skills.

"Ok." She said and dissolved into giggles. Equilibrium restored, we walked on home.

As we turned into our lane, we saw a little guy, about 3 years old, pee-ing onto the road.

"Look Chitti! He's showing his pee-pee! Shall we throw a stone at it?" exclaimed my niece.

Ah well. At least she got the message.

All That Glitter - And It's Not Even Gold!

2009-06-04T22:25:00.005+05:30

Last week we were invited for dinner to a distant relative's home. So, armed with a bouquet for the lady of the house, the four of us arrived at the posh M.R.C.Nagar residence of said distant relative. Since I cannot keep saying 'distant relative' all the time, let us name the poor man. Let us call him....Raja.

Raja stood at the gate to welcome us. We exchanged greetings and warm smiles before proceeding inside the house. Being a shy and retiring sort (you're laughing?), I hung back and entered the house last. Only to have my senses (mostly that of sight) assaulted by blinding light. Once my eyes had adjusted to the light, I realised that it was not any supernatural phenomenon. It was the living room. It looked like something out of a crazy Arabian Nights movie.Let me explain.

The largish boudoir...er, living room, had two double sofas and a small divan type with two single seats. All these items of furniture were made of black leather. Sexy you say? There's more! Upon them were thrown, rugs in black and gold. The double sofas had shell shaped cushions, again in-you guessed it-golden colour. Strangely, the cushions did not nestle in the corners of the sofas, but sat perched precariously on the sofa backs, threatening to topple over, but defying gravity by some miracle. The divan, on the other hand, was adorned with heart shaped cushions which were embroidered with red sequins. To achieve a 'cute' effect I suppose. The whole seating arrangement was pulled together by a massive glass center table set over a tiger skin carpet. I have no idea if it was real.

One corner of the room was done up in a jungle theme. It had this large tree trunk with 3 branches. Upon the branches sat a variety of stuffed toys, including a stuffed tiger. Over the "tree" hung a chandelier, only the second in the room. The first and more prominent one hung over the massive glass center table mentioned previously.

Another corner attempted an Oriental theme. There was a huge golden (need you ask!) laughing Buddha. Above it was a marble shelf of sorts, upon which were arranged several more laughing Buddhas in various sizes. All golden of course. Oh! But I stand corrected. There was one which was not golden - not entirely anyway. An Indonesian Buddha made of green glass and wearing golden ornaments. All other spaces which were not covered in gold, leather or sequins had mirrors. You were faced with an image of your bedazzled self every which way you turned.

Polite conversation, in this setting, was a challenge. The room and its adornments were really the only options available, in terms of conversation pieces. So sitting under a large fur lined Japanese fan that hung on the wall, we tried our best. "Where did you buy this trinket" and "It must be a full time job to take care of this house" and the most insincere one " How lovely. You have an artists eye"

My sister-in-law and I were eventually overpowered into silence by this vista. My husband was bewildered by it and kept looking around in slack-jawed wonder. Only my brother-in-law seemed in control - but then he had Dutch courage to fortify him. We also forgot the real reason why we had come. To get fodder for the family gossip mill-on forbidden tales of love, money and live-in relationships.

Disclaimer: All persons, places and shiny objects in this narrative are fictitious. Resemblance to any living person, place or shiny object is for me to know and you to guess!!

Assaulted - Provoked?

2009-06-02T21:58:00.005+05:30

Ever since I've started blogging, I've developed an interest in reading what other bloggers write. Particularly on subjects which are of interest to me. So I wander from link to link, eagerly perusing what others have to offer. If the post moves me, I even leave a comment.

So yesterday, I chanced upon a blog written by a Mumbai based gentleman. He seems to be quite a prolific writer, poet, and what-have-you, having 7300 blog views to his credit. He's interactive and responds to each and every comment that readers leave behind. His responses are positive and respectful. Needless to say the blog is very popular.

A post by this blogger titled 'Indian Male Libido Going Haywire?' caught my eye. The blogger refers to an article in the Times of India about the rape of minor girls from affluent families. He then goes on to wonder why these crimes occur. Is it because the Indian male is frustrated?.

The post seemed harmless enough. Even socially relevant. Rape is after all a very serious crime that affects the lives of women. But the comments were another issue altogether. One comment in particular concerned me. I paste an extract here: "...girls are equally accountable by being so sexually arousal..they are found arrayed with so meagre outfits..that u can;t help shunting ur eyes from her...". (Pardon the poor english!)

I just had to retort to this. Here is what I said and also the response it elicited:

Deepa:

Hi John. You have raised a very important issue about violence against women. However, I am a little concerned about the last comment that Prasun made - that girls are equally accountable by dressing sexily. It is like saying that one should blame a woman for not taking sufficient precautions to prevent her rape. Ours is a democracy. Society and the State have a RESPONSIBILITY to ensure safety of women especially from violent crimes. Safety and protection are a RIGHT of women. Besides, as most feminists will tell you, rape is not about sexual arousal at all. If it was, how does one account for children being raped? Old women past 60 being raped? Young boys getting raped? Rape is about wielding power over the powerless.

Blogger John said...

Deepa,

Thanks for your comment, I respect your view that rape is about power, but disagree with that contention.

Rape may be about power, that I don't know, but rape is also about arousal. I read somewhere that a man can get aroused once every eight minutes. Unlike in the middle ages (with more women working and all) he lives in a society where women have right to work and earn a living he is surrounded by women everywhere he goes. Imagine a man being aroused every 8 minutes in the office and on the street by a sexy figure, a revealing dress, a show of undergarment (all of which openly happens in today's society), etc. and a man would become something of a sex fiend if he doesn't have a wife or cannot restrain himself.

In cities like Bombay around half the population consists of men living alone. That's all the more reason for women to exercise caution while dress, and not following the trend of wearing sexy clothes advertised to sell products. Because if a man is aroused he will exercise his libido over an innocent minor or someone who is not in a position to fight back.

I guess this fact of men's sexuality has not been understood (rather has been misunderstood) by women's libbers. Hope to put this aspect in the right perspective.

J

I am really at a loss how to deal with this mindset! This is from a man who, going by his writing, seems to be highly educated, erudite and well informed. He probably represents the mainstream thinking on this issue. That it is not the responsibility of the state to provide a protective environment for women. A man will do nothing to 'control his libido' but a woman must give up her freedom of choice and wear conservative clothing to prevent getting raped.

This opinion is just a polite and polished version of what girls at a Mangalore pub were subjected to at the hands of the Shri Ram Sene not long ago.

Oh! How will women ever throw off the shackles that enslave them if men do not partner with them in the endeavor?

I was so distressed by this exchange, that I just had to write a post about it. I would really like to know what my readers think about this. Or better still, please visit the blog: http://johnpmathew.blogspot.com/, read and leave a comment for the author.

Hit-and-Run Down Memory Lane

2009-05-25T20:34:00.004+05:30

It happened on the 7th of May 1998. Two days before my convocation ceremony. I was going to take the afternoon train to Mumbai to attend it. It being a defining moment in my so far uneventful life, I wanted to look spiffy. An ambition seriously impeded by the absence of some crucial toiletry items. So I set off immediately to rectify the error. Er...I went shopping that is.

Shopping required that I cross two main roads - Sarojini Devi and Sardar Patel. Both arterial roads in Hyderabad (my home town)and by definition very busy and chaotic. Add to it the quaint Hyderabadi penchant of never obeying traffic rules...and you have, to be cliched - a recipe for disaster.

The lady was obliging and I negotiated Sarojini Devi Road successfully. Emboldened by my success, I ambled along, under the cool shade of my flower-patterned umbrella, day dreaming about the degree that would soon be mine. But, Sardar Patel, Iron Man that he is, proved more difficult to conquer.

I stepped onto the road and like a good pedestrian, looked first right, then left - or was it first left then right? Whatever be the case, I looked to see that all was clear. Then I moved forward in an attempt to cross the road. I say attempt since I did not, in fact, manage to cross the road. This was mainly because I was ambushed by an elephant.

When I recovered my breath, I saw that it was not an elephant, but a scooter. I also noted that I lay sprawled on the road in an undignified manner and my flower patterned umbrella was blowing down the road. The terrified face of a young man loomed above me. I realised that I had been knocked down by a speed demon, driving on the wrong side of the road in order to get into a bye-lane.

Enraged,I yelled : "Are you crazy?! Cant you see where you are going?" With hindsight I realise, that these were rhetorical questions. It was plain that the answer to the first was yes, and the second was no. I scrambled onto my feet, wincing as a burning pain registered on my right knee. It was bleeding. I saw red (pardon the pun).

Confronting the trembling young man, I resumed my tirade: "What's wrong with you? Which idiot gave you a driving license? Look what you've done! Where is my umbrella!" I spotted it flying past and commanded the boy to fetch it for me. He did so without demur. "What is your name? And don't try to lie to me!" And so it went on.

Finally, when I ran out of steam, the young man stuttered his apologies. I was not in a mood to accept them, beleaguered as I was, by visions of myself hopping across the college lawns, to collect my degree certificate from the chief guest. Naturally, one cannot hope to look spiffy on one foot. Coming out of my tortured visions, I noted that the young man was still carrying on with his apologies. "....anything you say. Anything at all. I'm really sorry".

I did think of asking him to drive me to the shops and back. Perhaps it would not be quite the thing to be chauffeured by the person who brought you close to death's door. "Well, then you better drop me home".

What happened at the convocation you ask? I managed pretty well I must say. A combination of painkillers and sympathy from friends and family. I gave 'swan like glide' a whole new meaning!!

The White Tiger That Wasn't

2009-05-18T22:25:00.009+05:30

I do not think The White Tiger deserved a Booker prize. I do not think it deserved anything at all. I'm sick and tired of authors making a commodity out of India's poverty and earning millions from it. But lets talk about the book first.

It is a mediocre story, set on a theme that is as boring as it is over done. Poverty, corruption and the great rich-poor divide. So passe! Don't get me wrong. There are many books and short stories written on Indian poverty - many of them in regional langauges - brilliantly conceived and subtly executed to to convey the message. Adiga's story is just too in-your-face. And as described by another blogger' crudely moralising'.

What is wrong with this book is that Adiga went over the top. He painted everything black or white - more black than white if you ask me. He even went so far as to name it Light and Darkness, a sledgehammer approach to imagery which leaves the reader cold. The story moves on, in ever darkening morbid circles, outlining everything that is wrong with India - urban, rural - nothing is spared. No one has any redeeming features. And so the protagonist moves through the story, lying, deceiving and finally murdering his way to success, all the while calling himself an entrepreneur.

Adiga seems to be under the mistaken impression that, by writing a superlative version of all that ails India, he is raising awareness about it. In an interview he says: "...nearly a thousand Indians, most of them poor, die every day from tuberculosis....I've tried hard to make sure that anything in the novel has a correlation in Indian reality." Depicting reality is one thing. Many others have done so and far more successfully than Adiga. But trashing your country, every which way you turn, is unforgivable. It makes me want to kick his Australian immigrant ass.

Incidentally, Mr. Adiga, if you wanted to correlate to Indian reality, what did you do with the 50,000 pounds of prize money?

So how did he win that Man Booker prize? Here is my theory - I think the English were rather pleased with his depiction of India. It kind of assuaged their hurt at being relieved of the 'white man's burden'. And they decided to do their good deed for the day by rewarding Adiga. Run along then! How else can you explain why Adiga triumphed over Amitav Ghosh?

I'll end now, on a positive note (unlike Adiga). The book has one redeeming feature. Its a quick read.

Patriarchy And The Twice Born

2009-04-28T17:22:00.016+05:30

Last week I participated in ceremonies to honour the memory of a beloved family member. The ceremonies went off well to the satisfaction of friends and family. This blog post is inspired by a few incidents that took place during these ceremonies. Rituals and traditions are generally considered a normal part of the Tam-Brahm life style. But, to those who believe in an alternate way of life - one that upholds equality, equity and inclusiveness, it is a bitter pill to swallow.

For starters, one needs to understand and respect hierarchy. Lets start with women. In the best of Brahminical traditions, the older women hold all the knowledge (and therefore power) about the intricacies of rituals. You see, though men PERFORM the rituals, women ARRANGE it. And in order to arrange it, one needs to be well versed in the requirements of the ritual - what flowers and fruits are required, on which side should they be placed, which direction should one be facing and so on. Here it should be noted that dowagers are the most aggressive in wielding their power, since their true source of power has departed the world. More on that later.

Next there is the idea of 'purity and pollution' or 'madi' as is known in Tamil. I have come to the conclusion that the Tam-Brahm obsession with madi is the single most significant reason for water scarcity in recent times. Clothes must be washed in readiness for rituals the following day. The washed clothes must not be touched by anyone, else they become 'polluted' and must be washed again. You cannot perform rituals unless you are 'madi'.

Now let's talk about the whole concept of 'Sumangali'. Literally, it means ' a married woman'. Hindus are obsessed with the sumangali. A woman's sole purpose in life is to become or remain a sumangali. Being a sumangali completes a woman's identity. She is always expected to wear the symbols of sumangali-hood on her person: vermilion, thali (mangalsutra) and toe rings. A sumangali is thus, self actualised in her lifetime, and a candidate for sainthood should she pre decease her husband (which is highly recommended)!

During last week's ceremonies, I committed the ultimate sumangali faux pas, of pottering around sans thali/mangalsutra. I was pounced upon by an older female relative and severely reprimanded for my oversight. I oscillated between yelling 'Its my neck and my thali! I decide if I should wear it or not!' and strangling her. Alas, coward that I am, I contented myself with a mumbled reply and swift exit from the room. I spent the rest of the day avoiding her.

Cut to serving up meals. Meals have a pecking order. Old timers will tell you that it is the men who should eat first, though children can also join in the first service. Food is served on banana leaves laid out by women. This is followed by an elaborate ten course meal with the women (usually older) fiendishly pressing more and more food on the hapless eaters. After this, the men retire for a brief respite leaving the women to clean up after them.

Finally, the women sit down to eat. This eating also has certain objectives. The minor one is to fulfill nutritional requirements. The main one is to ensure against left overs. This is because cooked food (especially ritual feasts) may not be refrigerated nor eaten for another meal as per the tenets of madi. Regardless of whether your belly is full, food may be piled onto your plate if it is in danger of being left over. Any protests that your belly should not be treated as a garbage bin are ruthlessly brushed aside.

To say that I was stressed out is putting it mildly. I have always held the view that women bear the burden of tradition while men are its beneficiaries. To be pulled into the quagmire of rituals and tradition as an active participant was unpalatable. The unequal and gendered division of labour for a cause that holds little meaning to me, went against my core beliefs. But, being my marital home, there was little I could do, except fulminate to my husband.

The silver lining in this circus was my husband. He did me proud. Among all the men present, he was the only one who ventured into 'women's turf'. Though he was shooed away many times, he did attempt to help. He served the women when they sat down to eat. Though he was teased for wanting to 'take care of his wife', he soldiered on, giving as good as he got- shoveling huge quantities of food onto the leaves of the senior women, insisting that it should be eaten since food cannot be left over! Once I even came upon him on all fours, cheerfully scrubbing the floor after the previous batch of people had eaten. Now tell me - isn't that a prince among men?!

Perhaps all is not lost yet. Perhaps things will change. Despair is not an option for those in the business of social transformation. Another world is possible. Let us hope that it happens in our lifetime!

Three Cheers for Indlish!

2009-04-21T15:44:00.007+05:30

Part of my job requires that I review and edit reports. A task which, over the past few years, has become a source of mirth and entertainment. Just like teachers relish howlers their students give them in exams. I delight in the faux pas that I have come across during my 11 year professional life. If you view them from a creative and humourous point of view, they have certainly made the tedious task of reviewing reports bearable.

Indian languages are phonetic in nature. What you hear is what you write. Enunciation has unique regional flavours, marked by mother tongue. So the East Indian would have trouble saying 'vacation' simply because the syllable 'va' is absent in their lexicon. The best you would get (with due apologies) is a 'Bhay-kay-shun'.

So here is a tongue-in-cheek collection of words, terms, concepts recounted with the deepest affection, for those that have written (created?) them, for the purpose of your enjoyment.

Here's something from the report of a drought project. Ever heard of 'vermin compost'? Normally known as 'vermi-compost' and refering to the conversion of organic waste into fertile soil by the noble gesture of earthworms. Perhaps here it has a more sinister meaning - perhaps destructive, annoying rats and cockroaches. Or maybe the product of a mind that moves faster than the hand over the keyboard.

There is a clarion call for Bread Improvement I understand. The stuff they sell in supermarkets these days is atrocious. Daylight robbery! Before you get on the soapbox, the nearest Gujarati will hasten to clarify that this could perhaps be a reference to the need for Breed Improvement - you know of livestock?

Then of course, there are the assorted tap recorders, leddies, and redeemed spellings ( I will not even attempt to explain this one).

But the crowning glory is rather adult in nature. I've heard of Acid rain, Purple Rain but Erotic Rain? For the ignorant, it refers to pattern of rainfall in semi arid areas. Leave your guess in a comment box.

With love to those that propogate Indlish!

Traffic control comes of age

2009-04-03T22:56:00.004+05:30

Kudos to the Chennai Traffic Police! They're really trail blazers in putting mobile technology to innovative use. I learned this on my drive back home this evening - at the traffic signal past the T. Nagar bus stand - (yes....the area does seem to be the stage on which the drama of my blog unfolds!) to be precise.

So there he was, a rotund traffic cop, standing right at the center of the traffic junction. He cut an interesting figure, reminding me of Mr. Goon of Enid Blyton fame. A chubby dravidian version of Mr. Goon amidst honking buses, cars and swearing drivers (my irate self included). And behold! Mr. Goon was busy speaking into a mobile phone as he ably directed the traffic around his ample self.

Well! Talk about multi tasking. Perhaps he was filing his daily report over voicemail or issuing instructions to his subordinates at the control room. Or maybe he was directing traffic at another junction through his mobile. The possibilities were mind boggling. The digital age made another world possible.

What a role model. I'm sure drivers of vehicles that passed him, took a leaf out of his book and multi tasked with their mobiles as well. I am filled with admiration! And for those of you who say its illegal to talk on mobiles as you drive (and / or direct traffic?), I say this: Stop splitting hairs and think of how you can embrace the myriad possibilities of the digital age.

MAY DAY!

2009-03-28T12:19:00.001+05:30

My trips to Delhi really provide so much material for my blogs! Here's a new one. I was flying back to Chennai on JetLite last night. And of course, whenever I fly, the powers that be decide to have some fun at my expense. So we were experiencing bad weather and turbulence and the captain had to order everybody, including the crew to return to their seats and belt up. Being a nervous flyer at the best of times, I was not happy. As I sat, gripping the arm rests and praying hard, a new thought struck me - why was it so noisy? Air plane rides are never silent, tranquil experiences I admit. But the sound levels were unnaturally high. My anxiety levels soared.

When the turbulence subsided (momentarily I must add), I asked a passing flight attendant: 'Why is there so much noise?'. He looked surprised. 'What noise?' 'That! Cant you hear it?' I said on a hysterical note. ' Its the sound of the engines ma'am. Dont worry'. I gulped. ' Hope everything is ok?' 'Yes ma'am. Everything is fine'.

A while later, the captain addressed the passengers:'Good evening ladies and gentlemen......this aircraft weighs 79 tonnes and is of the top grade in its line....I believe some guests have expressed concern over the noise levels.....this engine is more powerful than others and that is why it may seem a little noisier....blah blah'....

'Some guests'? That was clearly me! And what did he mean 'more powerful' - didn't they fit engines as per the need of the aircraft? You didn't put round pegs in square holes did you? More powerful my eye! I bet they were trying to hide the fact that they were fighting to prevent the aircraft from plummeting to earth. I was going to die for sure. I started praying again - this time a bit louder - so God could hear me over the roar of the engine.

A short while later, the aircraft made a smooth landing at Chennai airport. As I de-planed, the flight attendant grinned wickedly at me. 'All ok?' he asked. I smiled back sheepishly.

What can I say? If God had meant for humans to fly, He would have given us wings!

Helping Hands

2009-03-13T17:02:00.000+05:30

This morning, I observed an act of kindness on my drive to work. I was driving past the T.Nagar bus stand - a place of nasty traffic snarls. My only aim in this leg of journey is to move through traffic, without hitting people or being hit. In my endeavour to accomplish this goal for the umpteenth time, I saw a sweet and tender sight.

A middle aged guy, about 50 was helping a young school boy, about 10, to cross the road. He had his arm around his young charge and was carefully negotiating the morning traffic. An ordinary enough sight you might say? I didn't think so.

Sadly, I have rarely seen people stop to lend a helping hand to someone in need - and for something as simple as helping a child cross the road. But more significantly, this middle aged man was a traffic constable. These are the least helpful people I have come across. Apart from dotting the roads at infrequent intervals and scowling at moving traffic, I have rarely seen these guys stretch themselves to help citizens-despite having a mandate to do so. And here was one helping the most vulnerable of citizens, a child.

In this age, of police inaction in some of the most brutally violent situations, of people's indifference to the suffering of others, this was one of those 'feel good' sights. Did my heart good to see this. I drove the rest of the distance to work humming 'kisi ki muskurahaton pe ho nisar' and a vague resolve to try and do a good deed that day. Which is to spread the message of this unknown cop's good deed. May his tribe increase.