Five

The biggest development has been the little man sleeping in his own room. It has been decorated with planets, stars, rockets and aliens and has worked its magic on our man. He still finds his way to us from time to time and curls up in between though the days he wake up in his own room he's rather proud of the feat. I'd thought getting him a fancy new bed would do the trick but it's the simple space stickers (some made by us in joint mother-son collaboration) that actually did. You can never tell what works with kids!

North Indianizing

The American woman sweetly asks if I am celebrating Karwa Chauth. I smile sweetly and tell her no. She seems surprised and I decide to use the limited time we have in the lift to tell her that it is a festival mainly celebrated by women in the North of India, while I come from a family that is from the East, where we don't celebrate it. She is extremely surprised and perhaps a bit confused. The papers this morning (Bangalore papers to be precise) have informed her that this is the day when women across the country fast and pray for their husband's long life.
Really?
I grew up in Farakka, Orissa, Goa surrounded by my parents and their circle of mostly Bengali friends. Karwa Chauth was as alien a concept to me as it is to the American lady I met in the lift. Of course we had enough Punjabi friends and neighbours so over the years I did hear about it, though the first time it probably made an impact to make me remember it enough was in Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge. Thanks to that movie, every year on KC day when I get the inevitable call from a hungry friend asking if I can spot the moon from my balcony, I have DDLJ's Karwa Chauth track running in my head (complete with the sickening line: tere haath se peekar paani, dasi se ban jaoon rani).
KC is also alien to a lot of my friends from the South or from Gujarat or Assam. So I absolutely do not get it when newspapers declare it a festival celebrated by women across the country, unless their version of country doesn't extend beyond Delhi and NCR limits.
I'm not speaking against Karwa Chauth though I couldn't fast to save my life and don't exactly agree with the basic thought behind this festival. However, to each her own. I do know many women from other communities who do the KC fast voluntarily. A friend from Shillong keeps it for her Punjabi husband, despite him urging her to eat every year for the last 15 years. A Tamilian friend fasts with his Punjabi wife and a Bengali cousin fasts for her longtime boyfriend who of course thinks she is being dramatic and influenced by Yash Chopra. But I do wonder how a festival that's essentially limited to certain parts of the country gets a national assumption? It's like saying every Indian groom comes dressed in a sherwani, sitting on a horse with a dancing baarat. Or that Jamai Shashti is a festival celebrated across the country. If you don't know what that is, it's absolutely alright but it does make me wonder since when KC became an 'assumed' national phenomenon.
Is it because we have several uninformed newspaper editors? Or is the Johar-Chopra gang more deeply entrenched into our national psyche than we believe them to be?

The Great Man's Wife

An old post I wrote after meeting someone. It was lying in draft. Had forgotten to post it, God knows why!

The Great Man's Wife spoke with the faintest hint of an accent. All those years of first doing her masters in the US and then spending a considerable amount of time living and working there had left their mark on her speech. Her home was open, big and for the want of a better term, earthy. Red brick walls on the exterior, limewashed walls with the right niche hollows in the interior, plants spilling tastefully into the living area and the lawn giving a view of the greens outside. The outdoor furniture was simple but possibly expensive and you couldn't miss the discreetly kept but too prettily painted to be missed terracotta kitchen waste composter. The drink was organic as were the biscuits.

I nibbled on all that health as she told me the story of how her business came along. Though it wasn't as much business as 'economic empowerment.' as she repeated. The Great Man's Wife enlisted women from villages in the outskirts of Bangalore to transfer her much researched creativity onto silk stoles, blouses and on special customised requests, usually from her expat friends who 'understood and appreciated these things' sometimes even on a jacket, a wall hanging on a sari.

Thanks to the soothing combo of the garden breeze, juice and often heard words, I may have been part asleep as she spoke but did catch words of vital importance like 'at the grassroots level,' 'self-sustaining' "at the ground level,' 'preserving heritage,' and so on.

It's good work no doubt but I do wish it was done without the congratulatory self-pat on the back, that is meant to be invisible but yet, is visible enough. And then I thought perhaps I am getting too cynical, that even with the kids abroad, the huge house in the middle of the city and the works of art dotting the walls, she does mean it when she says that at heart she still is very middle class. That she belives in giving as much as she has got. That even now, everything she does is centred around the Great Man and his approval.

And somewhere through the chink, I couldn't shake off the feeling that I spotted a rather lonely woman.

I'm listening to Alanis and crying my eyes out. Sometimes life turns out so different from what you expected or imagined it to be. It doesn't mean that you are unhappy or dissatisfied with what you have and the bed is probably of your own making but yes, it does make you sad at times to imagine some things that could have been. Some things that you have stopped being.

Yes the setbacks are temporary and there's no other way to go about it but that doesn't stop the sadness from creeping in sometimes.

Don't be alarmed. Just a bit low, it's one of those days and the only way to deal with it is to write it out. Otherwise in many ways this should be and is a very happy time.

Random

Was happily watching Aisha with friend, drooling over Abhay Deol and generally enjoying the froth until she, Sonam Kapoor that is, appeared in the hospital (having apparently rushed there because her sister went into labour) wearing a jacket and mini dress with a Dior bag. Forgive me if I goof on the details here because I was laughing too hard to concentrate. Yes I know this is a film where style is what matters but a hospital? And that too when she rushed because her BIL poked his head into her room and said the 'drop-everything-grab-wallet-car-keys' word It's Time!
Couldn't they have shown her at least in skinny jeans or jeggings or whatever they are called and perhaps a loose top? Who wears a party frock/mini to the hospital in a hurry? Unless she packed her designer tote along with sister's hospital kit? Or perhaps rich, super stylish Delhi girl do these things. Who are we to know. Anyway forget that bit and the punchless end and the endless L'oreal and Dior ads and it makes for quite an entertaining film. Especially if you've had a bit of experience of the party hard, bitch harder Delhi chics the film talks about. Teeeheee ;-p
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When some long lost acquaintance sends me a friendship request on FB, I assume they at least wish to say hello if not share their lifetime secrets. Was quite surprised to receive one such request from a former colleague I rarely interacted with. While accepting the request I sent a message to the ex-colleague asking how she was, saying hello, etc. Got this in return: 'Oh hi, it's you. I did one of those Find Friend things and I guess FB emailed all my gmail contacts. Never mind!'
Thankfully it was a message and not a wall post or it would have been public mein dhulai. I was a bit taken aback at first and did find it rude though as I thought about it, I couldn't help but be amused. In a world where friendships all but skim the surface at the click of the mouse, it's good to have a reply that's forthright. In whatever manner that may be.
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Watched Tere Bin Laden. Badly shot funny movie. But not as funny as expected. Or pehaps my filmi streak is diminishing. Don't seem to love things as I used to earlier and usually find some fault or the other with everything. Age takes your blinkers off when it comes to Bollywood I guess.

Yikes, now they are demanding the Kohinoor back. What if the Brits demanded all the stuff they built back from us? We'd have to dismantle legendary things like Howrah Bridge and pack it off among other things, thus depriving future generation of Bongs to enjoy the priceless joke, 'I'm enjoyeeng the breej on the breeze'. Though must say, good of Cameron to admit that Brit museums would empty out in a flash if they started to give our antiques back. At least he was being honest. As for the Kohinoor, remember standing in queue to see it at the Tower Museum and coming back utterly disappointed. It looked lost in the hideous purple (or is it blue, can't be bothered to google) crown and much much smaller than expected. Instead what moved me and made me want to write patriotic comments was Tipu Sultan's automated tiger at Victoria and Albert museum. Was feeling patriotic enough to write 'Wapas Karo' type stuff in the Visitor's Book while going out. Have no idea why, perhaps it's because I devotedly watched The Sword of Tipu Sultan (Had strange taste in those days), whereas nobody ever made a serial on the Kohinoor diamond. That figures.

A friend of mine went to her alumni dinner some days back and came back rather disgusted. My friend has not been working for the past few years because of illness and other crisis in the family. She's what you would call a housewife and Femina would stylishly call homemaker. At the dinner, teeming with ex-friends and ex-batchmates who are now AVPs, VPs, CEOs, GMs, TLs and suchlike my friend says she felt like shit. And it wasn't because she realised what she had been missing all along. It's because most of the her ex-batchmates recoiled in polite horror when she came up with an honest answer to THE question: So what have you been doing?
Nothing much, she replied. I married soon after we graduated, had two kids and have been basically at home with them.
"Their look said it all. It's almost as if I was nothing. Not being a working woman or having had a career," she said.
You can't blame her, given the super achiever CVs that were dropping off people's lips the moment THE question was asked.
Why is it that achievement is always measured in such tangible terms? Where do you work or what do you do and how much you make? Why do we tend to look at a woman, label her a housewife and think she has done "nothing with her life" simply because she chooses not to work?
It's a tricky argument I know. With no side doing anything right or wrong. What really matters, and this took my silly brain years to figure out, is what you enjoy doing. And if it is setting up your home, taking care of it and being there, so be it. If it is being at work, getting things done, getting a high when you take over a new team, touchwood.
My friend married her boyfriend right out of the institute whose alumni dinner she attended. The boyfriend-turned-husband was setting up his own business and had a family that was on a rather rocky patch due to several reasons. Without being asked or pressurised or being forced to as is generally assumed, she decided to help him set up his thing and be around for his folks at home till the rough times were over. Before she knew it she had one kid, followed by another and in her own words, never found much time to get herself a job she liked.
But instead of just lounging at home watching serials, baking pancakes and chasing the kids to eat (as the popular cliched image goes), she has been going about a lot of work. The kind she liked doing, without anyone asking her to.
She has been the husband's unofficial consultant/telephone operator in the arly years/brochure designer/content editor and the family's anchor, financial planner, head chef, travel guide for many many years. She's one of the most content people I know and one look at her and you know she is no pushover. Doesn't that count as achievement?
Apparently not. You need to be earning a salary in multiple figures to qualify for that. In the process you may have ignored your home, kids and relationships but who cares? You earn. You hold an important sounding designation. That's all that matters. And before anyone jumps on me, I'm not saying working women ignore their homes and children. If you think that you are missing the woods for the trees so stop reading :)
My friend did try to take up a job once, after her first child. She had a supportive family and good help so she gave in to everyone saying 'Don't waste your talent!' and started work. She lasted five months. "Because this is where my talent was. I loved being home. I loved doing craft with my kids, taking them to the park, cycling. I loved all that," she used to tell me, when the monkey was smaller and I used to be perpetually confused about to work or not to work. "I see myself doing this all my life and still being happy and if you can't see yourself doing it forever, you should get a job."
It settled my mind and I decided to freelance. Because I couldn't get away from the child and I couldn't see myself enjoying craft and staying away from work either. Even if it amounted to almost nothing in terms of money. And today my mind is settled. I know this is what I'll be doing. Working from home. Perhaps increasing the volume as time goes on but perhaps never taking up a fulltime job, unless circumstances demand it.
But this isn't about me. It's about my friend who is very clear in her mind about what she wants. She has good degrees, she has intelligence and the required amount of smartness to get some kind of a job if she wants. She's a favourite in her family. She's built bridges between broken relationships, mended illnesses and done a thousand other things many of us are too timid or indifferent to attempt. Yet in her hi-profile alumni dinner she feels like nothing because she doesn't hold a job, an enviable salary and a blackberry. Not fair, this achievement calculator.

The IT book

Just got mail from big bookstore inviting me to event where ex-IT honcho (according to PR) who has written life-defining book will be launching his book and be in conversation with ex-BPO honcho who has looked at the intense trials and tribulations of the BPO industry in his previous book. Since it's in the evening and I'd be unable to go and attend such a stimulating event thanks to lack of babysitting, I decided to waste my time on the computer by imagining the conversation. Please read at your own risk.

Ex-BPO: Hello Sir famous ex-IT honcho, what prompted you to write this book?

Ex-IT: You know I was always stuck in Bangalore's horrible traffic jams while getting back from work and used to be so bored. After all, there's only a point up to which you can pretend to be busy on the laptop, play with your iPod, etc. Calling up friends I had no time to call otherwise was a big no as it used to be only around 7.45 PM and I didn't want them to think I waslukhkhaand had absolutely no work. Which was the truth but cannot be admitted after all, right? In fact, there have been times when I have left the office at 5 and deliberately taken the stairs from the 10th to the ground floor and then admired the fountains in the office buildings, the leather Italian sofas in the reception before proceeding to Coffee Day downstairs and placing the most complicated order I could think of. Since those buggers take several minutes to process any request other than for simple cappuccino, this way I was able to waste precious time before reaching the exit gate and calling my driver to get the car around at the (almost) respectable hour of 6.30. In fact, there are times when I have asked the driver to stop at 3 ATMs on the way home even if I had money in my pocket just so that I'd not reach home before 8.30 or 9. After all, my wife also has to maintain standards with her kitty friends and tell everybody how late her husband comes home, right? The pity is that I don't even travel much so she's really not left with much topic for conversation. Oh sorry, I'm really blabbering a rather lot, aren't I?

Ex-BPO: That's alright sir. It's good for the heart. So your book came out of these traffic jams, did it?

Ex-IT: You could say it did. As I saw the beggar woman hold her bowl near the car window, the grumpy looking driver of the big Volvo bus honking behind my Scorpio, the autorickshaw driver who looked like a copy of the Kannada hero Upendra, people standing in queues for buses as us lucky ones in cars whizzed by stuttered by, I realised how uncertain life was. You could be here one day and there next. And you could be anyone, autorickshaw Upendra or Volvo driver or person who had to wait for bus even if it was over crowded. It gave me meaningful insights into people's lives and I decided to turn it into a book.

Ex-BPO: How interesting. But didn't you also describe your experiences of working in the IT sector in the book?

Ex-IT: Of course I did. I didn't mean to first but since I also wrote most of the book in office (a great way to motivate yourself to stay back beyond 5.30) parts of it kept getting in. I also realized it was beneficial for my ego. When I went to the canteen at 7.30 to get a cup of tea instead of my earlier 4.30, the canteen man looked at me with utmost respect and said in a worshipful voice, "working late sir?' The best part was hearing my wife tell her cousin on phone that I was very busy and working very late, so she would see if we'd be able to make it to their house for dinner on a weekday. It almost makes up for the non travelling part.

Ex-BPO: There are some memorable characters in the book. Are they from real life?

Ex-IT: Shhh...my ex-boss' wife is at the reading. (Loudly) Of course not. Though I must say it was inspired by different instances and people I came across at home, shopping malls, get-togethers. Not at the office. The setting was inspired by my office though. It's such a boring beautiful steel and glass building that it's difficult not to get inspired.

Ex-BPO: You were inspired by your office building?

Ex-IT: Yes, why not? Also by the security checks at the entrance, the ban on camera phones, the smart looking identity card...

Ex-BPO: I'm speechless sir.

Ex-IT: Are you being sarcastic?

Ex-BPO: No sir. I'm too moved to speak. In fact I thought I was the only one inspired to write by these smart looking office things. Now that I find a kindred soul I'm overcome by emotion to talk. Why sir, in my book 'BPO Baby,' I have devoted one entire chapter to the office I-card, how it defines your professional personality and inspires sameness, the problems if you lose it. I've also talked about the almost dress code like adherence to blue shirts and brown/black pants by men in corporate world Sir. I've had people sending me fan mail saying how much they appreciated the deep thought process and insight that went to writing that particular part.

Ex-IT: I can understand. I myself am very attached to the episode where the department shifts from C-Wing to B-Wing and the employees had to abruptly switch over to new ways of sitting, dual screen monitors, new desks, chairs, cubicles and coffee machines, etc. It was an evolution that took some time to get used to resulting in interesting dramas and developments. For instance, there's this character who has a horrible day that starts because she's unable to figure out the new and complicated Italian self-vending coffee machine in the corridor and it sets of a chain of events. Also the B Wing being nearer to the new Indo-Chinese-Thai restaurant outside the office complex, I was able to weave in a romantic angle as well.

Ex-BPO: Yes sir, I can totally understand. And it helps to have seen these things first hand. For example, Cafe Coffee Days play a big role in all my novels, because they are the breeding ground of blooming office romance. I have seen it Sir.

Ex-IT: Exactly. I'm touched by your understanding and I'm sure that there are many more like you. This is the reason why more of us from the IT/BPO sector need to come out, write and share these experiences with our fellow readers.

Audience member: Sir, could you please share some tips for successful writing and getting published?

Ex-IT: Sure. Should be based in office. Should have one frustrated protagonist who doesn't get a promotion or the girl in the beginning. Allow a lot of scandal and gossip to flourish. Maybe a suicide but not at the workplace. Give some real life instances like off sites, team outings in the evenings which make great setting for clandestine stuff, office lunches, team dinners, etc. Write about things people identify with like bad boss, good mentor at workplace, traffic jams and mix in some jargon like brand extensible, web-enabled applications, etc., to show your audience that you know your stuff. The story will write itself.

AM: But sir, what about those lesser fortunate Volvo drivers, people waiting at bus stops? I couldn't find them in your book!

Ex-IT: Oh that. See they gave me this germlike germ of an idea which developed into something different. But don't worry. Someone will write about them too. What are Indian authors based in foreign countries for?

@McDonald's

"But sir the coke is free. It comes with the meal."

"I know that but I don't want it. I already got one with the meal my wife ordered."

"Sir but this one is for you. Two meals, two cokes."

"No thanks yaar we want only one coke. You take this one back, why waste?"

"But it's free sir!"



@buffet lunch

"Arre, why only two desserts? They are charging us for the other sweets also na. So you must try everything!"

"No no I'm off sweets."

"To buffet lunch mein kyun aye? Ek din me kuch nahi hota. You must try everything."


Always makes me wonder what the takeaway boy/insistent buffet lady think after such an exchange. Did takeaway boy think we were too slow on the uptake and unable to comprehend the magic term free which means anything you don't have to pay for must not be refused?

Did insistent buffet lady think you were new to the buffet culture and therefore needed education which certainly is load your plate even with things you do not want to eat so that every morsel justifies the 400 odd bucks you were paying?

Random

It's one of those days when I have to key in 2000 words by tomorrow which means I get going tonight. True to tradition have written only 20 words so far and have spent the last hour watching The World's Extreme Restrooms on TV and finding things like http://recipes.bbclifestyle.com/. Given that I drive myself and the girl who helps me around at home batty wondering what to cook everyday I sure need this. Though I wish they had a section on India too. Much as we love Seafood pasta and Summer couscous salad, a life without dal really isn't sustainable for too long. At least in this household. Off to watch Castle on Star World now. The husband is away on work and the son is asleep and though the double decker words need to be written, procrastination is too long a warning to remember!
Oh and by the way finally found a copy of Embroideries by Marjane Satrapi at Blossoms. See that's what I love about Blossoms. The good children at Landmark would ask you to pronounce Satrapi five times as you resisted the urge to type the name yourself and save them the trouble of remembering their alphabets. They'd then possibly announce they're out of copies or disappear in the pretext of finding the book. At Blossoms, you simply park yourself on the ground floor, point to a copy of Persepolis and ask in a rather distracted manner if they have that 'book called embroideries' by her and it materialises like magic in two minutes. Neat haan?

Of crazy tarantulas and bloody oranges

Cannot get myself to like Quentin Tarantino's movies (will be cold shouldered by brother for the rest of my life now). In my mind, they are all jumbled up in a profusion of profanities and guns. And the overdose of gore is a big turn-off. I never understood Reservoir Dogs (bunch of men abusing each other in warehouses and cars) and though I did sit through Pulp Fiction I think that was mainly because of Travolta and Thurman, both of whom I love. Managed to watch Kill Bill 2 up to the point where Thurman kills her former fellow assassin and tells the little daughter she'll have her chance of revenge later. Would've probably gone ooh and aah at such coldly sassy attitude earlier in life but by the time I watched the movie I was a mom and had started turning teary jelly at any suggestion of cruelty to kids in any movie.

Which brings me to the koshchen that who decides which movie is great and which isn't? Because what you like and dislike is so subjective. Remember queasily sitting through Clockwork Orange in my mass communications film class as the slightly unwashed documentary filmmaker taking the course gushed over it. Couldn't even close eyes halfway and pretend to watch all that blood and gore as had to dissect film after that. Your call that classic cinema? Yeah sure. Just like Tarantula's Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs is called one of the top independent cult films ever? Vat nonsense. At least in my world. Gimme In The Mood for Love or Rashomon or Breathless or Lost in Translation anyday over Tarantino's capers. At least they do not have psychotic men trying to cut each other's ears as justification of crazy plot that involves four different gangsters doing four different shootouts in a disco/warehouse/church all the while going f*#k, f*#k, f*#k, f*#k. My thoughts exactly. Yeah.

In Bombay...

...For the week with the boy. This time the brother has shifted conveniently to Bandra so the bad mamma is dragging the boy around, showing him her old playground. And guess what he's mesmerised with? The street food vendors. Of course, he is far from trying anything out yet but he loves standing in front of the sandwichwala, bhelwala and dosawala to see how thy work. His eyes go wide as they deftly go about slapping chutney-butter-aloo on bread and circle dosa batter nonstop on the tawa. He also loves what he thinks are very fancy 'machines' even if it's the just-pressed sugarcane juice his mother would stay miles away from after a college time gastro scare.
All this awe and admiration has made me suddenly realize the lack of street food scene in Bangalore. At least a visible one. Sure you have the nariyalpani vendor and the peanut and fruit sellers but those aren't essentially streetside junk, like Delhi's Chole Kulchas or Momos or golgappe and the abovementioned lot in Bombay. In Bangalore, you're better off walking into a darshini or KFC for a quick hog. In the last five years I don't recall eating anything exciting at a street vendor and no, Empire's late night chicken dosa doesn't count. That's a shop. Street food, as it thrives in Delhi, Bombay and Calcutta is surely missing in Bangalore. Wonder why is it so? Or am I wrong? Any idea, Bangaloreans who perhaps still read this blog? Any street food memories in the city that you think I missed? Please to tell.

In Vombay]

Was asking A to eat his vegetables (carrots really) when he declared that he positively hated them and asked me why I was eating mine. "To grow strong," I said, giving the standard boring Mummy answer. "For what strong?" he demanded to know and when I was silent for a second provided the answer: "Oh to shout."
Did not know whether to laugh or cry or be proud of son's excellent sense of humour like good Indian mother. The husband, predictably enough, was in splits. And once I stopped choking on my peas, couldn't help but think is that how he sees me really? The mamma who's always shouting? The mamma whose favourite word is No?
Did not get too emotional about it as by the time your child is four and half you know that kids really do say the wildest things. So quite a pro at this by now, though this is the first time very teenager style, let's poke fun of mamma comment has happened. If anyone needs a self help cum how to boost your spirits book it's us moms. Perhaps I'll write one. Hmmm....

Why do they call it water cooler moment?

Why not the Chai Wala Gossip or Ciggie Break Talks. Think the Water Cooler is a very foreign concept but some people (esp the kind who think it will make them sound witty) do end up using it. Met a former finance guy ("Wall Street is an addiction") who kept talking of the "watercooler moments" that inspired him to start the venture he's now running. 'Wait a sec,' I wanted to tell him, 'All you guys ever did in that swanky office was buzz around the watercooler? Didn't anyone ever want chai or coffee or a soggy sandwich or even an artery-choking mayo-rich salad at the cafeteria?'

To me, a Watercooler conjures memories of school on hot afternoons when everybody's bottles had dried up and the area around the watercooler would be stamped with muddy shoeprints, lost hankerchiefs or bottle caps. We would let the cold water trickle down our throat, inside and outside and hope to God the PT Sir wouldn't make us play Kabaddi in the hot sun. That is the image I have. Certainly not of a workplace gossip session. That usually involves a certain amount of milk powder ki Chai, watery Nescafe and a lot of smoke.

In every place that I have worked, gossip sessions invariably bring to mind the office staircase or as many would call it, the fire escape. Whether you smoked or not, it was the place to escape when you wanted to bitch about the new babe who wore so much mascara it looked as if she had it surgically inserted or the boss who had no idea how long it took to travel from Bhayandar to VT. Does anyone ever think of watercooler? Now that I freelance and spend most of my working hours at home, I'm wondering what could be my chai escape equivalent and there's only one sad answer: The kitchen!

Kyunki Main Us Din Bilkul Free Thi

This is what happens when a deprived woman like me has the house TV to herself and no work on hand. Watched TV nonstop and discovered the following facts of life:

1. Little boy Aditya Narayan has grown up, lost weight and turned horror film hero
   
2. Katrina's hand wave in Rajneeti is exactly like you know who (yes I didn't know even that)
   
3. Poor Arbaaz has finally got Malaika to do some naach gana with him in a film cheesily titled Prem Ka Game. Chee chee
   
4. Ze famous Barbara Mori doesn't look all that hot. At least to me. Think this will be a big dud.
   

GK lesson over I switched on to the serials to see what depths our society had plummeted to and got thoroughly confused. Every second serial featured a havan or a mandir or a heavily veiled bahu with too much sindoor or a tense looking boy trying to talk to a tense looking girl in churidar and choodha. If you do not know what those italics are, do a google search. I'm too lazy for translations. Anyway, all that mandir and mangalsutra overdose made me wonder if serial writers ever met people from other communities and religions. Probably not. They probably also attend the same school of headlines serial titles. That explains the names which sound suspiciously same no matter which channel you switch to. You could almost make up a story with these. Since I'd nothing better to do, apart from updating myself with Anandi's wellbeing in Balika Badhu (very updated with the serial after Mint's plug last week), I suffered surfed Colors, Star Plus, NDTV Imagine, Star One, Zee and wrote a weird letter. Read at your own risk. And if you are a TV moron like me, yes, these are all names :

Sabki Ladli Bebo,

Hum hai Do Saheliyan: Kismat ki kathputliyan. Waise to Sasural Genda Phool Hai par Kabhi to Raja Ki Ayegi Baraat aur tum kahoge Saajan Ghar Jaana Hai. Kyunki har ladki ka Sapna hai Babul ka Bidaai. Jaldi hi tum banoge Do hanso ka joda. Ab na rahega tera kagaz kora. Kyunki tumhe Rehna hai Palkon ki chaon mein. Kyunki Sabki Jodi wohi banata, bhagyavidhata.

• Have lost all readership now.
  
• Alwida
  

 

 

 

Made payesh (Bengali for rice pudding) the other day. Here it is:

Nothing monumental about it except that I'm now officially my mother. Growing up, payesh was the answer to everything in our house. Birthdays? Anniversary? Overnight guests? Is-there-anything-sweet-at-home cravings? Payesh it was. To be fair to mom, she also baked cakes, made fish in white sauce, malpuas and various other things but payesh was and still is her signature offering. Post marriage, when I started calling up mom to get recipes in my usual loving manner (but why do I beat the butter and sugar together? Why not everything? Why do you make everything so complicated?) I would steer clear of payesh. Or for that matter macher jhol (Bengali fish curry) and anything standardly mundane that I scoffed at as a kid/teen. It's different now of course. Age has taken over and is fast turning me into my mom as I keep repeating stuck record like. Macher jhol is made at home at least twice a week. The only difference with mom's is that hers is more regularly made and tastes a hundred times better. And now there's the payesh. It's a good thing I thought while stirring it that day. Stays in the fridge long enough to keep the hungry husband happy and doesn't look too bad when served in a nice bowl if there are guests. Now let's see what else is there in the mother's repertory of the mundane that I haven't tried yet....ummm...aloo bhaja? Is there something your mom made that you scoffed at as a kid for being too regular but found yourself cooking later in life? Am I the only one?

Search me

Thanks to God Google (term not invented by me) I learn new things eveyday. For instance, yesterday I was searching for 2009's bestsellers to send somebody a list and came across an entire world of books that were unknown to me. Did you know that Abraham Lincoln was a vampire hunter? Nah? Then how about Elizabeth Bennett? Did you know she was part of Zombie warfare? Well I didn't. And while I was hiding under a rock, a guy called Seth Grahame-Smith was putting zombies in Mr Darcy's pants and bloodsuckers elsewhere and striking mega deals worth $575,000 with publishers. Oh and he also went on the New York Times Bestseller list says the Guardian. Strange are the ways of the world indeed. Shall bare my fangs the next time anyone makes fun of my collection of Marian Keyes, Sophie Kinsella or for that matter, Georgette Heyer.

Strange how some women will spend thousands on creating jwalry they don't really need but will balk at giving 500 extra bucks per month to the maid. Just a thought.

The Dalli

A source of much entertainment to the kiddo. Whether from the car or the metro.

Nice, no?

And the cows go marching on...

Somehow it's only in Delhi that I spot signs that say Dupattein hi Dupattein, Pancard hi Pancard, Bhature hi Bhature, and so on. Have you spotted these anywhere else in India? Please to educate me then. In this case, Satman auto in Karol Bagh clearly has an abundance of Vikrams.

Duniya badal gayee hai par cameramen at filmi award shows haven't changed. Bas, the stars have. Nowadays, instead of the Amitabh dancing-pan to Rekha and vice versa routine they have a wide range of faces to choose from:
Shahid dancing
a)Pan to Kareena
b)Pan to Vidya
c)Pan to Amrita (Rao not Singh)

Kareena dancing
a)Pan to Shahid
b)Pan to Saif

Katrina dancing
a)Pan to Neetu Singh
b)Pan to....oh ok...both Salman and Ranbir are not around, spoilsports

Salman dancing
a)Pan to Ash
b) Pan to Kat...oh no...she's smart and has fled home

Oh and there's Rekha again in all her Kanjivarammmmd glory. Amitabh is going up on the stage.
Samai badla par kuch cheezein nahi badli.

So much fun no? Better than spending money at expensive parlour just to read Stardust because it would be against self-respect and dignity to actually go and pick it up from the stands. That's why award shows are perfect. Ek to unsaid gossip, woh bhi muft mein!

The What To Expect ladies should write another book. This time titled, What To Expect: Activity Classes for Your Preschooler and The Best Way To Time Manage Them. Then again, we would require our own Indian version of the book. Don't think they have Shloka & Scriptures classes in New York do they? Or who knows, maybe they do. NRIs after all, are more desi than us desis in desiland.
To get back to the classes, they require serious time-management, making some of the class toting mommies into multi-tasking-driving-commuting women par excellence.
"I'm in Bombay! Let's meet," I yelled excitedly on the phone to my friend S. "Oh God," she exhaled regretfully, "Kyra has her ballet today at 3. Could you make it now?"
"How about tomorrow?" I persisted.
"We could do a quick coffee at about 11. Post noon I need to take Shivam for the Robotics class and then at 3...." Kyra has her ballet, I completed.
"No yaar," S was a bit irritated by my lack of knowledge. "Ballet (Improves posture)is only on Tuesdays. Wednesday is Shloka (Improves Indianness) and Friday is Swimming (Improves life-skill). We are free on Thursday though as her Art & Craft teacher is on holiday."
See how difficult it is? Not just the time management part but also the bit about meeting. Especially if you wish to meet a mommy to a preschooler and have one at home yourself. You need to discuss and juggle schedules like school, lunch, nap, playdates and of course, Shloka, Gym and Ballet Class. All unavoidable and sacrosanct. Trust me, it's tough.
Back home in Bengaluru, I get a call from K. Her son and mine are the same age. Which she thinks makes us mothers in arms when it comes to the class system.
"I spoke to the swimming sir. He can take them in the new batch starting soon, every Wednesday and Friday. This leaves Tuesday and Thursday free for Piano lessons (improves music skill) or Speech and Drama (improves confidence), whatever you want to choose."
Choose? Let me breathe first.
Totally Martian when it comes to this part of motherhood. Come undone just dropping and picking up the child from school and live in complete nightmare of not checking diaries and forgetting life-changing assignments like 'Make a decorative object out of waste materials lying around the house.' And this is when he doesn't leave for school at crack of dawn (yet) or have uniform (yet) or homework (yet). But I try for sure. After all, do not want son be left behind in learning important lifeskills. Now excuse me while I call up the girl who teaches skating. Improves balance.

Watching Luck By Chance on TV. How come Hindi movie strugglers always manage to find sunny, breezy homes in Mumbai? That too complete with terrace big enough to keep a sofa in (like Konkona's in Luck) or with fab sea view (again Konkona, in Wake Up Sid). What happened to the damp walls, leaky taps, cracky bathrooms eh? Though Wake Up Sid's chai on paani ki tanki on the terrace was rather realistic.
Went to Toto's after ages (like last Dec) and got the shock of life on my way to Bandra from Worli. Came out of the Sealink at Lilavati and could see nothing but a sea of cars all the way to Hill Road. Took forever to reach. And zipped through Highway-Sealink when I did Malad-Worli the next day. Strange are the ways of Bombay traffic.