Conversations with the self...

What am I in search of?
Is it work?
Just work?
No I don't think so...
I am in search of myself...
In search of the work that makes me...
Can work make me?
Yes, for me, it does...
I am certainly a lot of the work that I do...
I am me to myself because of the work I do...
So what about my relationships?
They are important, no very important...
I can gladly walk bare foot on hot coals for them...
But what I have realised is that my relationship with myself is
Through the work I do...
Am I limiting myself?
Is my definition of my self narrow?
Too work based?
Maybe, maybe not....
All I know work makes me happy, fulfilled and satisfied...
It gives my life a shape, a purpose and a direction...
Without it I feel all lost...
Like a boat, adrift in the sea...

A step ahead....

Remember the movie 'Catch Me If You Can' where  Frank Abagnale Jr. played by Leonardo DiCaprio was conning people of millions of dollars and was always a step ahead of the FBI?

My life is a bit like that, always a step or two ahead of me, going her own merry way, craving her own destiny. Sometimes she seems fit to fall in with my plans and dreams and at other times, she goes her own way without a thought or consideration to my plans or convenience. The idea that I am in control of my life is but a mere illusion and the very idea of being powerless completely freaks me out. My ego demands me to think that I am the sole pilot of my life. But at the risk of hurting my ego and diminishing my vanity, more and more I feel like there is a power, much greater than me who is running my life.

I will go the traditional way and call this power God. Assuming that God is running my life is a double edged sword, on one hand it absolves me of all responsibility, but on the other it renders me completely powerless.

I am wandering. Today my intention was not to talk about God but my life.  Taking a step away from myself, being an observer, I have realised that my life has her curious meandering path which she follows and I just fall in step with her. At times I am happy to oblige and at times, I get angry, I rebel, I protest and try to cling on. But very rarely did things go my way, follow my plans or my dreams. I am not saying that my dreams have never come true. On the contrary in most cases they have, but never at the time I wanted them to or the way I imagined. There had always been slight or significant changes, almost like someone mockingly saying that She can plan and run my life better than me.

I feel like I am a car set in a race track, I have been given certain advantages and some other disadvantages which brings of the illusion of being powerful. But someone has the remote control which has the power to keep me on the course or throw me off. Each car in the race is similarly controlled and we each follow our own course, we know the beginning and the end, we know the pitfalls and the soaring peaks. But we do not know when we are going to hit the pitfalls or reach a soaring peak. We are all driving like crazy, each of  trying to reach the maximum number of peaks and avoid all the pitfalls. But here we are rendered powerless, someone makes us fall into those deadly pitfalls and equally someone makes us reach those peaks. The idea is to keep faith in that someone that She would guide us through the pitfalls and has the peaks ready for us to climb and keep going. After all since we have been made the drivers of our cars means that we are special.

at this moment....

sitting in front of my computer, trying to finish a job application. yes i am back in the job market. the carnival i worked for, is over and wrapped up for the year...so time for a new job. as usual do not feel like doing this application (God I HATE job applications). instead thinking about all things good...mmm  at this moment if i had to wish for something, what would that be...

first one is super easy-- job, a long term, to stay in forever job with fab money and lots of travel...so that i do not have to make another job application for the coming 5 years...or better still ever...

flowers...lots of flowers...so many that our whole house fills up...

some nice candles....vanilla ones...they are so my favourites...

money to go on a long holiday...maybe to scottish highlands...

a day of shopping with as much as i can spend...i am thinking handicrafts...fairtrade...silver jewelery...some nice clothes...yes shoes...some home-ware...

a second holiday maybe in morocco or turkey...

a trip to india...with lots of time...to visit all my family and friends spread all over...do the goa trip with cousins...

to own a great camera and become a great photographer...

to...

okay i know it is just a little evening dream...so should not dream for way too much...but as they say unless you dream...:)

Rath...

After two weeks of continuous sunshine and summer heat, it rained  today, bringing the temperature down considerably. The day dawned cloudy, with big dark grey clouds crowding the sky, reminding me of monsoon back home.  It started pouring buckets, the parched soil of Oxford soaked up the water gratefully and the trees are back in their green glory. They no longer look tired and yellow, wilting  under the relentless heat of the sun.

A message in my inbox informed me that it is Ratha Jatra today. Ratha Jatra is the Hindu celebration when the three deity siblings Jaganath, Balaram and Subhadra get up on a magnificent chariot and go off for their annual visit to their aunt's house. The celebration originated in the Jaganath temple of Puri but spread in the rest of India as well. If you want to know more, you could check this out.

To come back to the weather, one of the folklores that I grew up with is that it always rains on the day of rath. I remember as a kid cuddling upto my mother as she read me poems from Rabindranath Tagore's Sishu. There were many a poem on rath and the rain associated with rath.

Today  in this far away land, watching the rains those far away memories floated back.

I remember childhood days when we never had any school holidays for rath. So throughout the day in school there was heavy anticipation. We would all be busy planning how to decorate the rath we would be pulling in the evening. Yes each child in Kolkata during my childhood days were given a  small chariot to decorate and pull. And if we were really lucky we would even get to buy a brand new one, specially if the old one had disintegrated. I remember more than the pujo it was the chariot pulling which generated all the excitement.

These chariots were made of plywood, loosely nailed together and brightly coloured. They disintegrated really easily too. They came in various sizes, with first, second and third and sometimes fourth levels. So there used to be an inherent competition about the length of our chariots. The most magnificent ones were the three storied ones.

So after school we would decorate the chariots with colourful papers, glitters, flowers and leaves, put in  Jaganath, Balaram and Subhadra idols, a small plate with a sweet (prasad), an incense stand with a couple of incense sticks burning (much to the horror of elders and the incessant warnings) and after a round of the house [sometimes a pround grandma would put in an one rupee coin as dakhina (offering to the God)].  I remember my father coming home early to help me with my rath. As a youngster memories of me jumping up and down with joy and not being much help in decorating the rath is still there.  After a round of the house, it was time to make a round of the neighbourhood lane and the serious business of showing off the rath to the neighbourhood children and inspecting theirs. In my case it was our compound.  Kids from other houses would also come out with their chariots and after a couple of rounds of dragging the chariots with strings (which because of its lightweight would keep tripping/falling, or the idols would fall face down or the incense stand would stumble) we would offer the prasad to each other and then return home in glory. Next day in school we would all be agog with stories of how magnificent our raths were.

The rath with all the decorations would stay for 7 days, because that is the number of days these Gods would spend in their aunt's house. Then on the 8th day it was the ulto rath (return journey). Ulto rath was not that exciting, so we would do one quick round and then dismantle the rath and keep it safe for next year.

Apart from this, another attraction of rath was the food. Papar bhaja (poppadam) and suji ir halua (suji ka halwa) were must for rath. Also in Rashbehari there used to be a rath er mela (fair in celebration of rath). Among other things I remember the huge papor bhajas (they used to have huge speciality popadams) and also the nurseries. Since July is serious monsoon time in India with a lot of planting happening, these fairs would have huge nurseries selling all kinds of plants. How green and vibrant those plants looked to my young eyes.

I do not remember when I stopped getting excited about rath. Somewhere around teenage I guess.  But the younger memories are vibrant enough to last forever.

The romance that never was...

Disclaimer: Just for a bit of fun and probably a good laugh.

Currently reading Marian Keyes "A Charming Man". Domestic violence is weaved into the novel. Met a character  who is definitely a victim, all under confident and hopeless and shivery. Knew someone like that while growing up. So kind of recognized the signs and somehow got to understand the person I grew up watching, much better. I keep understanding her better and better now when I am thousands of miles away and when she no longer is a victim and very much a survivor. I wonder how this helps her. But never mind, no one can accuse me of gving up.

Apart from that, predominant thought was about self. While reading kept thinking I am so lucky to have married a nice, gentle and kind man, whom I can boss quiet shamelessly, yet who is no mouse and can give me his two pennies worth of stern lecture when pushed too much, which can put me properly and tightly (cos of my figure, no fault of his) into place! The first time I got his lecture, I can tell you I was so surprised that my mouth was a perfect o. Stunned I forgot to fight back (and I am a champion in figthing and giving it back). After a couple of lectures, have managed to somehow precariously stop at my side of the line, well just about. Sometimes have to do one leg balance...you know how life is.

Anyways while reading kept thinking thank God and thank my runaway gurdian angel (who sometimes does good things for me, belated realisation strikes) am married to my husband and not some nasty wife beater. In fact at one point got so overcome with emotions that actually bothered to get up from bed and come to the other room to communicate to husband my thankfulness. Isn't this what marriage gurus say? Do these small things which keep the romance alive and make the partner feel much appreciated? Afterall 90% of the time all he gets are my grumbles and complaints. No, for a change I can be a thankful and apprecitive wife 50s style or Indian bahu istyl. Let me tell you this need to be magnanimous is very strong and has to be gratified almost immediately.

Being the imaginative sort had a little Hindi movie style skit playing in my mind. Something like this....

'Oh baby I am so thankful that you are my husband"....
Husband startled: "What a nice thing to say! This is why I love you so...." 

You know...instantly violins would start playing in the background, and we would do an impromptu dance (hate dancing, though not in imagination) and the rest of it.

All this flashed through my mind during the two seconds that it takes for me to trek from bedroom to sitting room. Must congratulate my imagination for not only being vivid and totally filmly, but super quick as well.

So with great anticipation of a great marriage moment push the door open. Husband engrossed with a fierce frown of concentration, computer screen shows writing going on. I gaze at husband's face and the screen. Some words dance towards me: customers, insights, designs, markets... I sigh....dear husband...so bogged down with essays, assignments, exams, truant group mates with Ph.Ds in free riding and irresponsibility....you know the usual B school crap. My love overflows and I tap gently on his shoulder. No response...poor, poor dear...if possible my love doubles. But husband should look up when wife taps on shoulder, no? So retap...and then again, this time tap resembles a shake. Startled husband looks up....concerntration frown marred with worry. Looks say except great disaster to have befallen me in bedroom hence tapping err shaking.

"What?"  which came out more like a bark, ready to spring into action to slay the dragon disturbing me in bedroom.

"No...nothing....errr just wanted to tell you that ....I... mmm...am reading this book on domestic violence and am (now in a rush like a speeding train late at night) so thankful that I married you..."

Shit that did not come out loving and romantic, did it? But have great faith on husband to be more romantic. Wait all excited.

So what did husband do? Hug me? Say pretty things? Promise to love me for ever and ever?

All I got out of him was an uninterested "Oh" and then back to his computer screen. I mean that is it. No reaction, no romance, no love scene, no violin, no nothing. Essay winning over romance, assingment winning over love, concerntration refusing to give space to mutual appreciation, in short B school taking over marriage!

The moment which had great potential to blossom into what not, turned out even flatter than a month old Coke in an open bottle!


I want a clarification: when marriage gurus counsel to be spontaneous do they include wives of those B school stressed husbands as well? I do not think they were ever married to one, otherwise would never make a suggestion which just might wrap up their careers forever!

Love myths...

One of my friends in face book has posted a link for all her single friends. This video is about men proposing to women.

Watching the video took me back to the not so long past when I was single and such videos would just add to the trepidation that I might not find the right guy at all. Specially after hitting 30, I had become more sensitive, suddenly all the time that I thought I had in life to find the right guy had vanished and the pressure to find one now and here had steeply mounted. Here I talking about the pressure that I felt within myself, not going into external pressures.
Since young we are fed on stories where a prince comes and sweeps the princess away. Music, movies, literature all glorifies love and relationships and urges us to fall in love. In teenage love is all about Archies card and venturing into the forbidden. In 20s love is all about the man wooing you with flowers, gifts, dinners and dates.
In the video I mentioned above it was the men proposing and all the women looked shocked/surprised initially. When will we women claim the space and take the lead in a relationship? Why cannot we propose and ask the men to marry us?
The points that I am trying to make here are--

• Women should not be pressurised by society, family, peers, friends, literature, music, movies etc etc etc to get into relationships. Our lives should not be defined by the existence of the 'other';
• Happy projections of relationships-- the candle light dinners, bending down on knees to propose, the diamond engagement ring, flowers to woo the girl somehow gives us the message that all relationships should be like this. So when we are in relationships for the first time and after all the magic moments go and left is the regular, a disillusionment comes cos the expectation is of the magic at all times.
• In these days of emancipation why do men always have to propose? Why cannot we women take the lead in our relationships? Come on sisters we can do it.

Never cease?

Years ago it was the late night flights piercing the dark Calcutta sky. Sleepless I used to stand in my window and gaze at them with longing. From my window I got a clear view of the sky above. Sometimes it would be inky blue sky dotted with thousands of twinkling stars, sometimes a full moon would envelope the whole sleeping world into its silvery rays, sometimes in the darkness of a moonless night a black bird would silently fly by, sometimes it would rain so much that I could hardly open my window, except a crack.  Most nights the planes would go by. They would come into my view as tiny dots of light, grow steadily to reveal a silver machine carrying hundreds of people to a far away destination. I would feel terribly jealous of all those sitting in those planes, flying far, far away. Away from all the heartbreak, tears, the known and the mundane. I would foolishly think that traveling physical distance would absolve my pain and rid me of memories.
Now I smile at my  foolishness. How naive I was!
Thousands of miles later, I know that distance does not erase pain, time does. I know there is no easy way out, a broken heart does not mend itself quickly, nor are there any good medicines guaranteeing hundred percent cure. I know new pain takes over older ones. From life's experiences a new person emerges, fleshed with a bit of past embedded in the present.  But inspite of it all life goes on at her own sweet pace.
This time there are no planes in my slice of the night sky. There are  trains whooshing by, rushing off into the darkness. The carriages of the trains look to be in a great hurry, pushing and clanging, making a mighty din. They seem so sure of their destination, they look eager to reach that place and dump the load they have to carry. In the dark of the night, they look like naughty, noisy children rushing off to play. Once they pass by, the silver tracks look empty and bereft. A deep silence replaces the clanging sound. The night regains its poise and lulls us back to sleep. I look longingly at those rushing carriages  wishing I could be in one of them, crouched among the cars, or other goods they carry, or sitting on top of one of them, my face raised towards the sky, the wind kissing my face. I would not mind the discomfort or the cold as long as it took me to far distant lands, to the unknown, to some adventure, away from the mundane.
Will my longing for the unknown never cease?

Love & Peace

Just read something which the writer has signed off with the usual 'love & peace'. I know it is fairly common but today it makes me pause and wonder.

It is just silly me pondering but do we really have both love and peace in our lives? Can we have both love and peace at the same time? How inter dependent are love and peace in our lives? Do we have to be in love to feel peaceful or do we have to be peaceful to be in love? Or are they completely seperate emotions achievable on their own? Are they actually emotions? I would say love is an emotion or rather a state of emotion and peace defnitely is a state of mind. So when we are in love and be peaceful does that mean we are emotionally and mentally secure, happy and without any emotional stress?

Love & peace...weighty phrase....I wish I could say for definite both of these are in my life and here to stay forever.....

Isabel Allende tells tales of passion | Video on TED.com

Post mid night ponderings. I have been listening to Isabel Allende on TED.com. You can find it here.  She is a very powerful and inspiring speaker. Listening to her makes you want to do something for all those women who are deprived and vulnerable. For someone like me who is already doing that work, it just makes me want to double my effort and not to give up, ever.

But while listening to her, what I was thinking is that do women like me, the educated and not in any kind of great risk, can we actually understand what our deprived sisters want? Can we really know what is it that makes a woman accept domestic violence? I may try through my experience and grooming to understand her problems, to rationalise, to find solutions or just to listen, but can I really really understand? Maybe you would argue that I do not need to understand her problems exactly, afterall in develoment we always talk about keeping the distance with our clients. I know all that, but tonight somehow this idea that I may not understand what goes on in the emotional and thinking process of the women we are trying to help, bothers me greatly.

Controlling your life!

You know while writing Sushi, I suddenly realized that for each of us there are one or two aspects in our lives which are out of control. While making up stories about Sushi and her shopaholic urges, I most often giggle. I can afford to giggle because I have never been one of those mad shoppers and it is one area of my life which is strictly under control. But there are some areas which are not and which I cannot afford to laugh about.

There are phases, periods when being in control is more difficult like for example immediately after loosing a loved one or a job, a nasty break-up, recuperating from a sickness, really stressed out etc etc etc. But then on the whole, in our lives there are almost always some problem areas which remain steady. In these spheres however hard we try we just cannot be in control.

Who knows what triggers these patterns in our lives? It is very difficult to pinpoint why we started over indulging and how it became a habit hard to break. Maybe some experience or some incident or maybe we turned to shopping, eating etc etc for comfort or to hide a shame or feel less lonely or less bored and before long these become our vice! I know some people take the help of therapy to overcome these, which is not a bad idea, provided you have the money.

Let me try and jot down some of the problem areas. These are just my personal ideas and in no way am I am an expert in the field. Enjoy and maybe you could also detect some patterns in your lives.

• Emotional needs: We, women of 21st century India are really proud of ourselves. And so we should be, we are ground breakers-- we are doing things which our mothers never imagined and doing them well too. But with so much venturing into uncharted territories, we often time get confused about our emotional needs. Mostly we tend to think that we are all powerful, non vulnerable, do not need any support. Fighting for independence or to create a name for ourselves, we often build up these images of ourselves for the world-- that we are strong, independent, feisty, take no nonsense and many more. While all this is true, it is equally true that we are human beings and like the rest of our species we need love, care and attention. We are often lonely and love crying our hearts out, but feel afraid to acknowledge this in public, lest that makes us less look strong. Because of our image we attract men who seem to think that we can take care of ourselves, they need not be involved in any way. And we let these men think in this way, it satisfies our egos, but it does leave us sad, lonely and aching for love many a times. As a result these relationships mostly do not survive and then we move onto someone else who again has no clue what we want. How secure are you in acknowledging your emotional needs? I know I wasn't till very recently and used to fall for all the wrong men. Somewhere along the line this becomes the norm and however much we rationalize, we tend to go for the wrong men or give the right men the wrong signals.  I think sometimes we even delude ourselves in thinking that we are strong  enough, when in truth we are actually not. Over the years I have seen many of my girl friends struggling with this.This is one area we need to watch out for girls.
• Finance: With us all being financially independent, we get to do a whole lot of stuff-- shopping, indulgences, hobbies, holidays, gifts etc etc. We often disregard our parents when they urge us to save. I am including the men also in this, both my husband and brother being glaring examples of non savers. The logic is 'oh well we earn, so we can spend and money is not a priority in our lives, experiences or what money can buy are". I completely agree but even then I think that we can very easily save/put aside 10% of our salaries for emergency/rainy days/future. You never know what ugly surprise life has in store for you in which corner. I can manage my finances well and can save a part of my salary easily. Being the post office saver kind, I agree my saving would never translate into millions but they would be there when I need them. I can never understand when people complain that they do not know where their salary vanishes.  I am someone who plans for every money that I spend. But then I know many people who are really scattered when it comes to expenditure. To someone like me all it takes is a little control, but obviously to those who cannot do it, it is much more graver. I think this is one area, where our control often slips, for some perpetually, for some occasionally.
• Eating: Ah here comes my vice. I love eating. But I do not like exercising to burn all those calories, also my hobbies are sedentary like reading, writing etc, to top it I was born in a family where hereditarily our structures are fat and short. So all these factors make me one of the fatties of this world. I know it is not good for health, neither is it in fashion. I know I should stop eating, I have identified that I eat many times cos I am feeling lonely or bored and most of these times I am not hungry. I tend to go for deep fried, quoted in sugar, crawling in calories types of food. I know I should eat salads, fruits, veggies more and more. I know, I know, I know. I try and I try and then I fail, so after sometime I try again. During all this I gain some more weight. I know all it needs is a little discipline, a little restraint. Just the kind which I apply on my spending but this is one area where my control is fragile at best and lacking most of the times. It took me a while to work this out, also this realization illuminated why no diet, or exercise regime ever works. Many of my friends suffer from this same problem, while some are extremely conscious about their eating habits and can amazingly restrain themselves. I have come a long way in that while before when I used to see a chocolate goodie all I thought about was the amazing taste when it hit my mouth, now I do spare some thoughts as to what it would do to my body. I have started playing an interesting game to myself-- every time I eat something really high in calories, I try and think which part of my body will this fat settle/ snuggle in. Believe me it automatically slows the pace of eating and also many times stops me from going for the second helping! All said and done, I do have a long way to go.
  
• Shopping: This is related to spending I guess, but not totally. Shopping can wreck havoc in many people's lives. I remember the first time I read a shopaholic book. I was amazed thinking how people can shop this much. Soon I realized that there was a pattern to shopping and people who actually shop like mad least needs all that they shop. In fact I have a friend, who before when she used to feel depressed used to eat, then she controlled her eating binges and now instead goes shopping. Her philosophy is that shopping can hurt her wallet but it helps her to lift her mood. Given a choice between eating and shopping, she has chosen shopping. Again I am one of those who knows the upper permissible limit very well, sometimes I do go over it a wee bit, especially if I am in a silver shop or craft's shop. But most times my control is superb. I just do not sway. In fact in these days of tight budgeting, often I stop my husband from buying silly, not necessary stuff. I can see that it frustrates him sometimes. But I just do not see any point of spending money at a whim when that money could be spent for essentials. I know it is not the same story for everyone. Many people I know struggle to control their shopping urges and often fail.
• Drinking/smoking: These are the known vices and most of us indulge once in a while, some of us indulge often and other everyday. In case of smoking it can be even an hourly thing. I used to smoke quiet regularly at one point, now for the last 3/4 months I have completely stopped. I was reading a book where there was a character of a beautiful aspiring model who worked out for three hours in the gym every day, almost ate nothing. I was about to get impressed when her character revealed to be addicted to smoking. Ah I thought here comes her vice. Even though she had complete control over her eating, she could not control her smoking. I wonder if cigarettes had calories, would this girl ever smoke them?

This triggers another thought. So do we need to over indulge in something or the other to be happy in our lives? We all know that the things we indulge in are often bad for our health, harm us in some way or the other. Yet we cannot stop. I do not remember our parents or our grandparents' needing external stimuli to feel happy or fulfilled? Is this the result of the new life style brought about by globalization? The more busy and stressed we are, the more we need those chocolates or the coke or that cigarette or drinks on Friday to forget the stress of the week. In fact life without these de-stressers have become kind of unimaginable!

I walked in the rain...

Yesterday I walked in the rain...
I walked and walked...
Just when people ran inside shops, hurried back home, stood under shades..
Side walks were filled with people waiting out the rain...
With hoods down, caps and hats on, snuggling a little closer inside their coats...
A couple of umbrellas were bobbing up and down ahead of me...
I walked along...hair flapping in the wind...the rain on my face...
People sitting inside cosy cafes, sipping hot drinks gave me curious looks...
But I loved the walking...
I changed directions, discarded the short cut and walked along a long winding street...
It was so refreshing to be out in the rain with the wind in my face...
To look up and see the dull grey sky....
Birds were huddled against roofs...feathers all ruffled...
The spires looked slippery and rusty...
The brownstone houses looked drenched...
Stone buildings looked unmoved...
Trees were swaying in the wind...
Nodding their heads in a secret rhyme...
A chruch bell tolled far away...
Flags, wet from the rain, looked half mast as if in mourning...
Little puddles of water were everywhere...
Faint wiff of cigarette drifted in...
I tried to find the warmth of my tropical rain in this chilly English afternoon...

The rain stopped...
Clouds cleared and as if by magic the sun came out...
Hoods fell back, caps and hats were removed...
Umbrellas were folded and carried in hand...
People poured into the streets from all corners...
Briskly they resumed their walking...
Streets filled up...shops got a little empty...
I looked ridiculous all wet in the sunshine...
Birds shrugged off the excess water and got back into the business of flying...
Trees looked relieved and sucked in the faint sunshine...
Brownstone houses dried up...
Stone buildings still looked impassive...
Puddles turned into mud...
Spires glittered catching the sunrays...
This sunshine is a weak cousin of my tropical sunshine...
But it is sunshine no less....
And it made me smile....

Just like that....

They say with each passing days incidents which are part of our lives become memories, then time dims them, ultimately they get pushed to the furthest corners of our brain to stay there till something triggers them back to the forefront of our consciousness.

This makes me compare memories with a trunk full of old clothes. I am sure you all have had experiences of sitting with your mothers, while they pulled out old trunks and then shook out old clothes smelling strongly of moth balls and faintly of some old forgotten perfume. I remember as a child I used to be facinated by old trunks-- they were synonymous to mystery, great excitement and unrevelaed treasure. If in the process I got sprayed with the accumulated dust from the piece of cloth which wrapped the trunk so be it. Not being afraid of lizards and cockroaches, a couple of their carcases or eggs never bothered me much. I loved it more when either of my parents explained in details each item that came out of the trunk--like this trunk was part of your grandmother's wedding trousseau, the fancy dark blue velvet blouse with beadwork was your grandmother's favourite one, it was done by Meher Ali who had a tailoring shop in New Market, she had a matching sari to wear this with, (it as a very memshahebi thing to possess and wear and was consiedered to be very fasionable at that time), an old dairy whose pages have become brittle and the ink has become faded, an old dry leaf used as a page mark, a fountain pen which someone had got my grandfather from Britain, an old cookie tin filled with stamps...a beautiful lady's evening purse and some beautifully embrodiered handkerchifs....a jwellery box stuffed with trinkets and stones which must have come undone from some necklace or some other piece of jwellery....I remember being awestruck with each item that came out....touch them lightly so that they do not dissolve into a thousand pieces...my imagination would take a flying leap....I would be transported to a time when my long dead grandmother was just a young girl. I have heard that she was married at the age of 16 which was quiet an age considering the time. I would start pestering my father with loads of questions like "did women during that time go out to shop like we do?"...."No"....my father would patiently explain, " all the trades people used to come to their home...they would be downstairs while the women would assmble in the first floor veranda and throw a rope down. The traders would tie their merchandise to these and then a servant would pull the rope up."... This seemed very limited way of shopping to me, but how can you be satisfied with seeing just a few of whatever you want to buy....my young brain rebelled at the thought to not being able to walk into a shop and choose. To explain the restriction my father would launch into a socio cultural sketch of the time. Then my mother would come and chip in with stories of her family's shopping. It seemed like most of the shopping was done by men at that time, or traders came home. This seemed very very unsatisfactory to me. Looking back at those time I smile at my naivitee and am so thankful for having been born in the present.

Shopping till dropping...

Today yahoo is flashing this article "The formula for the perfect shopping spree revealed". On any day shopping is something close to my dear heart, but after yesterday's mega shopping spree this article struck me as read and thought worthy. This article talks about the result of one of those mumerous studies going on whereby after collecting data they have come to the conclusion that women on the whole prefer and also enjoy shopping than men. Dumb ha? As if a study is needed to understand this, should have asked me or one of those thousand women who spend more money shopping than they can afford. Stupid I must say. Universities with more resources than common sense indulge in all these time wastes.

Ok enough study bashing, to get back to the serious topic of shopping. Yesterday I seriously went over the edge and spend more money than I could afford and stopped only because I just could not stretch my money limit in any way any more. One good thing about me is that my shopping contains lots of stuff for other people as well. So I cannot be labelled as totally self centred. Thank God for small mercies.

At the brink of leaving Delhi, I realise that I would miss shopping in Delhi. It has been ages since I shopped in Kolkata. I would miss markets and shopping paradises like Dilli Haat, Janpat and other parts of CP, Lajpat Nagar market, Sarojini Nagar market, sometimes South Extension, GK, Priya complex etc etc. With each of these places I have fond shopping and spending memories. I have spend hours in each of these places, trudged into each nook and cranny, explored every shop, lugged heavy bags and got really exhausted in the process.

And defnitely I would miss my partners in crime opps no in shopping. A special heartfelt thanks to Anubha who forewent going to her office to finish urgent deadlines just so she could accompany me in my shopping. I do really appreciate it, Anubha.

I am not one of those loitering kind of shoppers. Before I venture into the shops I know in my mind what all I need and from where to get them from. I go to particular shops and take quick decisions. Over the years I have at times been stuck with a fellow shopper who had agonised over one tee shirt (to take it, or not to tak it a bit like he loves me, he loves me not) for over an hour. (Forget tee shirts I cant even agonise for an hour whether a man loves me or not! I guess it is all with my grand old 30s hormones doing impatient tricks. But then I have always been the impatient sort, though I completely agree that living with Jayshree has made me doubly so.) Uff I deviate so. To get back to shopping, I get soooo impatient with such people that I never ever go shopping with them again.

My kind of shopping partners are women who are quick on decisions, do not hesitate to spend money and definitely do not cry over it later.

My all time favourite shopper is my father. Unlike men generally he is a great shopper and has great tatste and can bargain to boot. Good thing about going back to Kolkata is that I can now shop more with him. Ahem.

What do you do when you have no money???

While growing up I dreamt of becoming a being of my own, a woman with an identity. I always assumed that whatever job/work I would do would get me money. I mean it never even registered in my muddled brain that I could become a modern working woman yet have no money in life. Women who have no money are the ones who are dependent on their fathers/brothers/spouses and cannot break through shackles however much they face discrimination. Since I had no interest in becoming such a person, money I assumed would flow naturally.

Problems cropped up when I decided to get into development field. In development field you get a lot of things like hands on experience, excitement, over work, interesting no highly interesting collegues, genuine warmth of people for whom you are working, sophistication of superior beings who work in UN and other such superior organizations but money. No ladies and gentlemen, you do not get any money. You go to work for a NGO they would welcome you, burry you under work but money, that is not a polite thing to ask for. What money? NGOs are hardly paying organizations, we can pay you enough to surivive a month in Delhi, well barely, rest please depend on others. So whom do you depend on? For me I went back to depending on my father.

Depending on father/brother/boy friend...does that make me a modern working woman? I mean not having enough money does that qualify me for the rest of the tag?

My colleagues and me, we keep cribbing about this lack of money in life. But lately this lack of money has been stressing me out with more frequency than what is good for my cholestrol level.

Time to look for some money making schemes.

• Ok, I could play lottery: Have any one of you won a lottery ever? I could play Lotto but going by my luck dont expect to win. I have never ever won any kind of lucky draw, let alone a lottery of millions. Worth a shot at least...
• Indulging in Criminal Activites: This could be a sure shot way to easy money making but since I am one of those hyper tensed people I do not think I would ever be able to enjoy the money acquired through this. Scrap...
• Business venture: Mmmmm...worth exploring....

Ok cant think of any more ideas...

Children and Conversations...

Conversations… I had these snippets of conversations with children at different points of time...just wanted to put them down.

Place: My office
Time: Around lunchtime.
Background: Suddenly a little fireball of a boy come and leans against my desk in office. I look up startled.
Me: Aarey kya huya? [What happened?]
…: Thak gaya. [Got tired]
Me: Nam kya hain tumhara? [What is your name?]
…: Guru, kitna bar to bola tumko. [My name is Guru, I have told you so many times]
Me: Sorry Guru, main na bhool jaati hoon. [Sorry Guru I keep forgetting]
This conversation was happening between me and a ten/eleven year old boy, who comes to my office to deliver food from a local dhaba.
I look in my drawer; there is nothing in food group to offer Guru sadly. For a brief second I contemplate giving him a pencil, but didn’t think it would go down well with him.
Me (after a pause, while I was searching): Guru tum kaha se ho? [Guru where are you from?]
Guru: Darbhanga [One of the poor districts of Bihar]
Me: Kiske saath yeha pain rahete ho? [With whom do you stay here?]
Guru: Mamaji. [Uncle, mother’s brother]. Achaa main chalta hoon, der ho raha hain. [Ok, I am going, it is going late].
Abruptly he turns around and vanishes.

Another conversation…
Place: My cousin brother’s house
Time: Freaking 6 a.m.
Background: My sister-in-law goes to teach school at 6 a.m., so a small girl about 12/13 years comes to play with her son/ my nephew till she is back. Since the girl’s parents go off to work around 5.30 a.m. in the morning, they drop her that early.
I felt someone come and sit near my head on the bed. I open one eye and see a freshly bathed little girl, looking prim and proper with bindi and lipstick, smiling broadly at me. My sis-in-law says a cheery bye [another morning person] and disappears. Since it seemed rude to go back to sleep, I mutter some incoherent words. That was all the encouragement she needed.
…: My name is Deepa.
Me: Hmmm.
Deepa: I know you.
Me (a little interested): You do? How?
Deepa: Boudi (my sis-in-law) told me about you.
Me (with a little less interest): Oh ok. So where are you from?
This set her off for the next half an hour. She is from Kakdeep area which is in South 24 Parganas, fringing on the Sunderbans. First her dad came to Delhi, then her mom and now both she and her brother are here too. Her younger brother goes to school, while she works because her parents are poor and need all the money they can earn in order to retrieve the land, which had to be pawned to the moneylender when floods hit the plains. 24 Parganas is situated in the lower plains, at Hoogly’s (Ganga’s name in West Bengal) mouth and treacherously prone to floods.
Me: So when your parents get their land back, will you go back to school?
Deepa (a little wistfully): Don’t know.
(Then she perks up) But I study in the evenings with my brother.
Me: Do you miss home?
Casually asked but she launched into a missive on missing home. This naturally got me interested, if I was completed my Ph.D. my thesis would have been on diaspora, home away from home and all these vague concepts. Yes according to Deepa she does miss home. I point out to her the glitters of Delhi, no she was firm, and home will always be home. She rather be in her village with her grandparents and cousins. Don’t know whether these were Deepa’s very words or she was copying what her parents say. Talking to her was similar to reading one of the writers in exile. Whatever the background, the experience of displacement, the feeling of not belonging are almost the same, stress on the word 'almost'.

Another conversation
Location: Children’s Home, New Delhi
Time: A few days back
Background: This minor girl of twelve/thirteen years has already gone through a lot more hell than most of us go through in our entire lives. She is away from her home and family, forgotten her mother tongue, speaks in a mixed language (bits of her mother tongue and Hindi) and is highly traumatized.
I had this conversation after I had finished formally translating for her.
Girl: Didi (elder sister) when can I go home?
Me: Soon. See once the legal proceedings start it takes sometime. You have to be patient.
Girl: Didi I miss my home and my family so much I cannot tell you.
Me: You will go back home soon, don’t worry. You have to be patient and brave.
Girl starts crying. So in order to lighten her mood I ask her: You have already forgotten your language, so how will you speak in home?
Girl: I will relearn once I am back.
Me: Wont you miss Delhi? Your friends in this place?
Girl: No didi I just want to go back home.
The poor girl is still stuck in the children's home, and there is little one can do to hurry up court procedings. In fact children's homes are like a can of worms-- each case turns out to be more horrifying that others. Anyways that is going off to another line...

Home Sweet Home

Dear friends,

Am back from my two weeks break at home. It does feel a bit horrible, though it is nice to be back in touch with all my friends in Delhi and also I kinda missed our terrace and bits and parts of office or rather the people. Needless to say way too much work piled up but not started any of it. "Time to get back to work Suchismita" I tell myself but so far my brain is refusing to process this information.

Since I am still so gung ho about home, googled water colour paintings of home and some very nice pictures flashed up. Putting up two for you.

Sincerely,

Blogger back to blogging

Breakfast...

Thanks to Anubha I have started eating proper breakfast now a days. Before this I have never been much of a breakfast person. I always start feeling hungry after noon. But Anubha gets hungry early on in the morning and makes something. So by default I eat with her or just bring the food to office and eat it while starting work. I am told it is a good habit, lets see how long this can go on.

We usually eat poha, sabu dana (this cooked with peanut masala or just crushed peanuts is my latest obsession, I think in my old age I am turning Maharastrian), parathas, egg, chicken saussages and bread (this is my contribution to the breakfast menu). Sometimes when I am feeling indulgent I walk to Janata Bakery and pick up their mushroom patty. In the winter Jayshree and me, we eat a lot of kachouris. These are not the bong kochuri. We have a favourite shop who serves them pipping hot with equally pipping sabji, mirchi and chatni.

When Anubha is not making the effort I generally stick to cereals with yogurt or my other usual-- papaya.

At home my mother refused/refuses to cook any breakfast, so whoever felt/feels hungry would toast a bread, maximum there would be cheese or peanut butter or marmalade during winters. Sundays were/are different, along with milk in the moring, kochuri with cholar dal and jilipi would come. Sunday Telegraph and this breakfast while Rangoli being broadcasted in DD1 was a great combo to start the day. I look forward to Sundays at home. I always used to get up at 7.30 a.m. eat, read the interesting bits of the paper and then go back to sleep. What bliss.

I remember the breakfasts we used to eat as kids in mamarbari-- kochuri, shingara and jilipis. This was before television had started broadcasting in the mornings. The radio would be on full blast, there would be mostly some Rabindrasangeet playing, and each page of the Sunday newspaper would be floating around among my four mamas/uncles. There would be inevitable tussle over the sports page, my eldest mama would be walking behind my didima/grandma reading her the football/cricket news, praising Mohunbagan and crusing East Bengal. While the other mamas would try to prise it away from him. Soon a huge discussion would start off, while Ma and me would sit and eat. This was even before my brother was born. Suddenly the entire scene from my childhood came back so vividly.

Mills & Boons

You read M&Bs! :O (Horror written all over the face)
How tacky! (With nose up in the air, it’s a real art the ‘holding up nose’ I tell you)
Ah you are a closet romantic! (With utmost suspicion, like romantics are akin to Al Queda and dawning realization that I am one of them)
Don’t you get bored? (With a yawn and the unsaid air like I never read anything less intellectual than Kant, Hegel, Schopenhauer and Nietzsche, ok too German maybe Plato, Aristotle, Rousseau, and Marx et al.)
How teenage! (With a superior air, like they are eighty-year-old grandmas, my grandma, God bless her, is more sporting than that)

I do read M&Bs. More than that I love M&Bs. If reading M&Bs makes me tacky then I am not only tacky, I am mother superior of all tackiness. Didn’t you know I am a die hard romantic? Ah the feminist grab fooled you, but I am someone who believes feminism and romance goes hand in hand, you just need the right kind of guy. Bored while reading a M&B? Never, unless the author has done a real shitty job. Well I maybe going on thirty one but in heart am still a sweet sixteen. Thanks for acknowledging it.
Once the fact that you read M&Bs gets known this is the general reaction you mostly get. I do know because I have been getting these kind of reactions since class VII. Yes been reading them since then. Don’t remember who introduced me, but my two elder cousin sisters used to read and rave about them, but whenever I wanted access to one, they would be very mysterious and say, “Not now when you grow up”. It was one of the things that you do when you become a teenager. Oh how impatient I used to be. So finally in class VII, I got my hands on the first M&B. Have been severely hooked ever since. Over the years there have been many funny incidents over my reading M&Bs.
I lent a M&B to one of my classmates, her mother caught her reading it and she confiscated it. Not only that, that draconian lady came to school and gave me a lecture on morality (not knowing that her own daughter was planning to elope with a guy and go and live in Assam at the age of fourteen, so much for moral policing). I still remember that day when after school she came to meet me, there was students all around us, having fun, me along with one of my loyal friend who decided to face the music with me, listening to her lectures.
Every night after reading the M&B, while going to bed I would drop the book in the space between my bed and the window, which was just next to my bed. This was my effort not to let my parents know what I was reading. Every morning my dad would come to the room, to wake my brother and me up, open the window and lean over, pick up the book and keep it on the window ledge. So much for trying to hide the books. But he never said anything, never tried any funny censoring. My mom tried once, but soon lost steam and backed off. (That is the good thing about my mom, she looses interest pretty soon.) So with parental non interference I kept reading these books.
Some where along the line my cousin brother in Delhi had the funny idea that I should not be allowed to read M&Bs, so what he used to do was come and snatch the book away. We used to have huge rows over that.
In JNU hostel one of my seniors had a huge stack of M&Bs, which she graciously lent me. Angira my ex room mate and present Delhi best friend is not into reading books and she hates it when I am in the middle of one. She specially hates M&Bs because she feels these are totally nonsensical and worthless books. Once I was deep into a M&Bs and Angira kept on talking.
Listen I think X is really having an affair with Y.
Hmmm.
What do you think?
Hmmmmm
P was saying ABCD is a good movie, lets go on Sunday.
Hmmm
Don’t you have to finish that essay? Get up and do some work. Can’t understand what you keep reading.
Mmm.
Will you kindly take off that horrible book off your face and listen to me?
Mm. (In my head I scream "Yaar my hero and heroine are in a really romantic mood and starting to have hot sex, so will you please shut up!!!!").
Total silence for five minutes. Ah she heard my silent scream. My hero and heroine are done with their sex, sated they fall asleep. I look up. Where has Angira gone? I see her on her bed, curled up with a book. I get up to enquire, she and non study books dont go too well together. She is reading the UN Charter.
“We The Peoples Of The United Nations Determined…”
[Had my mom been present she would immediately get on pet her hobby horse ‘me-bashing’. Dekha (see) this is why Angira gets a first class, because the girl has dedication while you…etc.]
Thankfully my mom was not there and I found the situation was so incongruous that I laughed and laughed.
This is how I have been going on. Lately haven't been getting access to M&Bs and I do miss them. If you have old stock and need spring cleaning, unlike Aatreyee please don’t sell it to the junk man, please give them to me.

May my sweet relationship with M&Bs continue for life and keep flourishing. Inshallah.

Ma...

Happy Birthday Ma.

Today is my mother's birthday. Even though I am writing this piece for her, I know she will never read it. Maybe that is why I am writing this. Maybe one of these days when I am home, I will read this piece out to her, I can almost see her nodding her head when she hears this.

Unlike my dad who was a midnight's child born in the twilight of India's freedom, my mother was born a good ten years later. She was born in independent India, much after the horrors of partition and blood shedding.

My mother's side of the family was settled in Birbhum district of Bengal. They were the traditional kobiraj (doctors) there and did not come to Kolkata till the 1940s.

A small annecdote about my mother's family. My mother tells me that her gradmother was a real fiesty lady. She took it as her solemn duty as the village kobiraj's wife to look after all the sick in the village. In the nineteenth century an illeterate lady crossed the strict caste boundaries of the village society and visited houses of the dalits and looked after them, offering them food and medicines. There was one dalit kid whose mother had died at child birth, he was brought up by the grandma and he became a part of the family, even is till today, his son has adopted my mother's family's surname and became truly one of them. The village could not alleniate the family because the kobiraj is needed but they did not eat at the house, so everytime there was some festival or celebration or social gathering raw food used to go from the house to the other village upper caste houses. And my mother says her grandmother's pet line was that "when I die these bhaggars/dalits would burn me, I dont need to go to the upper caste heaven, I will be in with the dalits wherever they are." She, my mother's grandmother, lets call her simply grandmother used to pamper my mother a lot. Her idea was that girls' are temporary gifts to a family, they soon would be going away to another family so till they are there pamper them. My mom says bypassing her four brothers she got the best food, best clothes, was not allowed to do any household chores etc. In a nutshell she was spoiled rotten by her grandparents, uncles and aunts, much to my grandmother's horror. She is another fiesty lady, but will talk about her in another post.

Thus my mother started her life on this earth and thus she continued, thankfully. Her family are practicing Hindus and sometimes too much into it. Once my mother starts visiting religious places or gets on with her rituals there she is no stopping her, making my brother and me, climb up the wall with impatience. But there are other parts to her as well. She was put to a convent of missionary sisters who wanted to educate girls. My mother knows the Bilbe by heart, was always telling me and my brother stories from it while we were growing up. And just next to her house where she grew up there was a masjid. She grew up hanging out in the masjid, chatting with the maulvi shaabs, who used to come visting to 'nazar uttaro' whenever she used to fall sick (which was quiet frequently). She loves visiting masjids, listening to ajans and peer babas are extra special to her. So my mom grew up a wieird mix of Bible quoting, Masjid loving, practising Hindu. Whenever I hear the word 'syncretic' she comes to mind. She is the best example of tolerance and respect. She is the ideal citizen modern India had in mind, till it went so horribly wrong.

Another thing which I love about her and have tried to imbibe is the immense respect she has for everyone. In her own way she is one of the most indiscriminating person I know. She is friends with just about everyone. She is the only person whom I have seen, who speaks to eunachs with respect. There was this old eunach who used to visit our house frequently when we were growing up. She would come and sit with my mom and chat for sometime, my mom would always push us towards her and tell her "bless them". She was such a gentle person, hardly the brash eunachs you meet now a days.

Anyways I think I have rattled on, long enough. So need to stop here.

Bang Opposite My Desk...

In our office sitting arrangments keeps getting reshuffled. As a result right now, bang opposite my desk sits our women's justice lawyer. A young fiesty UPite girl [if you think UPites are backdated people, meet these young women of my office, each a pataka (firework) in her own right and challenge all the misdeeds of patriarchy with full gusto, I know for sure I am not as brave as them] is our women's justice lawyer, lets just call her A. Though she is worth a piece any day, today I dont want to talk about her, rather her clients. She keeps getting battered, shattered, abused and discriminated women who come to her as last option. Many times they do not even know what they want, why they have come, what fight a legal battle entails. Sometimes parents or other relatives accompany them, sometimes not. Many come with small children. The common unifier is that all these women have faced violence or been severely discriminated and are too poor, hence visit to a pro bono advocate.

Today she got a client who faced indiscriminate violence in her marraige for the last five years. The client looked barely 21.When these clients come, I try to be as inconspicuous as possible and melt to the background. But sooner or later, their stories are so overwhelmingly sad, that I give up all pretences of working, and listen shamelessly. Sometimes I rush to the tiolet, choking back emotion. And I look at our women's justice lawyer marvelling at her strenght. If I met such battered women continously I am sure I would get severely depressed. Yet she carries on with passion-- passion to bring justice to these women who were most violently treated by the very men who were supposed to protect them.