The Cringe Factor

I am old fashioned. Horribly so.

I can not see a movie that has some steamy scenes with my 14 year old daughter. The other day, I saw a   movie highly recommended by a close friend. “Can we see this with Ishita?" I specifically remember asking. “Oh yes" was the reply.

 Within a few moments of the movie starting, the hero and the heroine were unabashedly romancing each other. I spent half the movie looking at the floor and the other half surreptitiously looking at my daughter. She was of course all wide eyed eagerness. I on the other hand was cringing and squirming on the seat. Apart from having the heroine in various states of undress, the movie also had some extremely violent scenes. I definitely did not think the movie was appropriate for a 14 year old. Angry, I questioned my friend's judgement. “What? You found it inappropriate? Have you seen the clothes girls wear on MTV? And have you seen how violent the cartoons are these days? Trust me; she did not see anything that she hasn't seen before."

May be, but I am the kind of a mother who left her 14 year old behind to see Love Aaj Kal. Hilarious but true What was the harm in watching a hero and heroine having a few flings before and after marriage? Living together is no big deal in today’s world. So why not watch it on screen? But while watching the movie, there were several moments I felt glad our daughter had not accompanied us.

Innocence is slowly being lost in our world these days as more and more children are growing up on American TV shows. And the internet is certainly not helping. In Mumbai at least, I see my daughter's classmates aping the film heroines and wearing tank tops and mini skirts. I hear the boys her age using words I did not even know existed in the English language. I know some of her friends write on Facebook that they are in a 'relationship'. I see that and I feel awkward. I do not know whether having an old fashioned mother helps or harms my child. But I grew up in a different world and it is tough to let your values go, even for the sake of your own children.

Few months back my daughter Ayushi, who was not yet 8 at that time, came back from school all excited.  "Mamma, I learned a new word today."

“Wow! That's great! What was the word?"

"Gay. Supriya learned that from Dostana. It means a man loving and kissing another man."

I cringed.

The Projects We Do For Love

I have been racking my brain for almost a week now. All blog ideas have deserted me and I am completely clueless about what to write.

Not that nothing interesting happened in my life the past week. I connected with my old college friends through Facebook and had some lovely lunch and dinner with them. My  husband survived his third trip to China and came back all safe and sound. ( Though there was a scary moment or two, like when he was served donkey meat for dinner). My parents went back to Kolkata after spending two months with me here. My daughter Ayushi grew up a bit more...despite my best efforts to prolong her childhood.

Not that I want her to be eight forever. I just want her to skip the 10, 12, 14, 16 part and go directly to a responsible 20. I am already dealing with one temperamental teenager and sincerely do not think I can deal with another one.

Another reason why I want to prolong her childhood is because I know what projects will be coming my way as she grows. Digestive system of a frog, a solar cooker, model of a sewage treatment plant and many such  more. The schools these days emphasise a lot on projects. Apparently projects are less traumatic than home work. The child is less stressed. Obviously, as the entire stress is on the parents and they have to think, plan, execute and take the elaborate models to schools on the submission day. The kids meanwhile happily play downstairs with their friends. No stress, no mess.

Last month it was a log cabin. Reams of paper were rolled and stuck. Windows were made of an acetate sheet. A chimney was planned to the minutest detail by the engineer dad ( finally the IIT degree was put to some use) and  the porch and the roof were designed by the architect grandfather. The entire concept and the idea was of course the mother's. The elder sister chipped in with some hard labour and finally, after some 5 hours of gruesome work, the log cabin was ready for submission.

This month, it is Antarctica. So we have been making mountains and oceans, penguins and seals, birds and icebergs. As the model had to be made of eco- friendly material, we had to make sure we did not use thermocol, plastic and toxic paints.( I cheated a bit though and used acrylic paint) I have been given lot of suggestions by well meaning friends, including " Use shaving foam with fevicol to make snow and ice, " to "Bake a huge cake. Cover it with white icing. Bake figures of penguins. Your Antarctica is ready. Whats more, the kids can have a blast eating it after submission."  Though I do agree the suggestion was fantastic, I did not think the teacher would have appreciated my efforts.

So all of last week, I have been sitting till midnight making penguins and seals with atta( flour) and creating mountains with papier mache. The penguin and seal figures had to be baked in the micro wave individually and let me tell you that there have been some minor disasters in the kitchen. Thank God most Indian flats do not have smoke alarms.

Once, out of sheer frustration, I entertained the thought of just painting the board blue and submitting it. "Ma'am, due to global warming all the ice melted. Just the ocean remains."  But I do not think the teacher would have seen the humour in either global warming or my project. So atta and papier mache it is.

Seriously, what all we do for our children. And all those who think that the child should have done the project herself,  please think again. There would have been mounds of atta and glue on my kitchen counter, there would have been dollops of paints on my floor and that papier mache would have been reduced to some sticky glob of paper, stuck on my sofa. By taking the role of a leader and delegating the little one to be the helper, I made sure this whole process was less painful.

The Antarctica was finally ready 2 nights back. Unfortunately, my sleepy eyes could not focus and hence no final photo was taken. Yesterday, I heard from Ayushi that some boy mutilated the penguins and beheaded them.

 Honestly, I was not bothered. I had done my job. The project was submitted on time. What happened afterwards was not really my concern. I only hope the teacher is considerate enough not to burden the parents with some more projects in February.

Now you know why I did not blog for some time. And why I want the little one to remain little for some more years. I do not think I can handle the  digestive system of a frog.  Or the drainage system of Harappa. Not again, please God.

What has stressed me more  was that I was unable to reply to my comment thread on time for the previous post. When I told Ayushi my concern, she nonchalantly told me " So stop writing interesting blogs. No one will want to read them or want to  post any comments on them and you will not have to reply to them any more." Where did she get her intelligence from? I wonder....

An Idiot's Guide to Opening A Wine Bottle And Having A Good Time

Let me begin by saying that this post is meant for women only. Men do not need to be taught how to smoke, open various alcohol bottles and be an ace athlete. ( Like Tiger Woods). They are born with certain superior knowledge. Well, on second thoughts, this post is for all of you who think Bubbly is a girl's name.

1.Though not necessary, you need an occasion for opening a bottle of good wine. Mine was a Christmas party. Invite your best friend, her mother, your cousins and who ever you think wants to have a good time. Whatever it is, the husband has to be conveniently away,on some official trip.

2. Raid your husband's cellar/ bar if one exists. If not, you can always hop across to the nearest wine store. Please note, if you live in Delhi or North India, send your driver or any other male to buy a bottle. People there think women who buy alcohol are all immoral. ( 703 walli madam to badi looje chracter nikli, akele hi wine-shine khridti hai ji)

3. Buy the most expensive wine you can get your hands on. Even if your tongue can't tell the difference, your brain can. You and other people will experience more pleasure out of your wine if you think you are drinking a  premium and pricey one.

3. I strongly suggest you buy some complex sounding, unpronounceable French wine, simply because they are supposed to be the best. I have been told that a Californian Merlot or the Italian Chianti can be just as good. If you are using your husband's credit card to buy your wine, do not discriminate and buy both.

4. Check if you have at home something that looks like a bottle opener with two arms spread wide and a bottom that looks all screwed up.  That is your wine bottle opener. Chances are your husband's bar has one. If not, send your driver again to buy it. Even if you live in Mumbai. This work is boring and should be left to a male.

5. Get your glasses ready. Remember, wine drinking is an art and you must create an ambience. Never drink out of stainless steel glasses. It spoils the whole feel.

6. You are not supposed to chill a red wine as much as a white one, but if you like it that way, go ahead and do it. Remember your ultimate aim is to have a good time.

7.Always remember the accompanying food should be out of this world. If you can serve low calorie stuff, your efforts would be appreciated more by your girl friends.

8. At the right time, with a lot of flourish, present your wine bottle. By this time, you all should have had some mouth-watering snacks and some pre-wine gossip session on men, clothes, men, make-up, men, getting old, men, and careers. ( Not necessarily in that order.) And no, I did not forget to mention the kids, the omission was deliberate.

9. Now comes the difficult part, so pay attention. Look at the cork on the wine bottle with complete concentration. If you stare at it long enough and hard enough and if you say your prayers right, it might, just might, open all by itself. If not, then get that damned corkscrew and start working.

10. Keep the bottle on a table and hold the hands of the corkscrew. Make sure you are holding them hard. Then gently, but firmly, lower the screwed up bottom on the cork of the bottle.

11. Now hold the head of the corkscrew and twist the head as viciously as possible. If  at that time you think of your arch enemy, the job gets easier. Make sure the wine bottle is securely held. You do not want to break it before you can even open it.

12. After some savage swivelling, the cork screw generally gives up and raises its arms in complete surrender. You  have  to be graceful in your victory. Gently but firmly lower its arms and pull. You will see the cork has come out of the bottle. Hurray.

13.Now ceremoniously pour the wine into the glasses and silently thank god for big and small mercies. Remember to clink your glasses and say cheers before you take the first sip.

Note: Resist the temptation to break the bottle on someone's head if you fail to open it. You just have to be good at the neck twisting and arm wrenching part. The rest is rather easy. If you can practice that move on your husband/boyfriend first, your chances of failure will drastically diminish.

If everything fails, you can just give up and have tea instead. And while you are having that beverage, just offer your heartfelt thanks that you were born in India and not in Europe and you do not have to do this every night before dinner. What a relief.

Wish List

Another year has gone by.

A year, that was  for me, rather good. But still, there is a lingering sense of dissatisfaction. I feel I could have done a bit more, achieved a bit more. I wish I had set some new goals and tried  hard to meet them.  I wish I had gone to new places, tried out some new tastes. I wish I had learned a new art, like pottery. I wish I had an exciting job. I wish I had read more books. But if wishes were planes, the beggars would fly...

I never make new year resolutions. I know I am incapable of keeping them. I prefer to make some wishes instead. If they are granted, I feel happy. If not, I know they were never meant to be fulfilled. After all, there is also something called destiny.

So this year again, I have made some wishes. Who knows whether they will be granted or not, but there is no harm in praying for fulfillment, is there?

So here it is, my wish list for the year 2010.

1. I wish I would have the courage to read Brothers Karamazov and War and Peace. Each time I pick up  these two Russian classics, the task seems daunting. The sheer size of War and Peace has unnerved me in the past. I wish to read these 2 books in 2010. Though, I will require some hand holding for this.

2. I wish my children would start showing some respect to each other. They are constantly bickering and fighting. The older one tries to bully the younger sister. ( Ayushi, go get my books from the 

table or else,.. or Ayushi, if I ever catch you behaving like this, I will beat you..) The younger one is not to be out done. (  Stop being so lazy and get your own stuff, or I already have a mother, I don't need another one...) I wish my older one would learn that bullying some one, specially when that some one is less than half your size, is not the most graceful thing to do.And I wish the younger one would realize that one could do with another mother in life, specially when that other mother is your own older sister.

3. I wish my husband would accept that it is almost impossible to know all the roads that exist in this city. That if he stops to ask for directions once in a while, no one, specially me, would think he was physiologically challenged. Think of all the fossil fuel we would save, not to mention time.

4. I wish there were companies that would re- employ educated and competent women who had left their jobs sometime back. I wish the corporates would understand that some women have to give up their jobs temporarily to raise their children. That these women can be dedicated and conscientious workers, though they may not be so young any more.

5.I wish shedding some extra kilos that I have piled up would be as exciting  and as easy as eating yummy street food. No matter how hard I try, I can not go back to my former slim and fit self. I know it was the the food in Delhi and Amritsar that kind of did me in, but I wish the food did not stick.

6. I wish I could blog about general, mundane things, like the road in front of my house or the children playing in the park. Those who have the ability to write on every day things are in my opinion true writers.

7. I wish to learn more about technology. I am pretty much a dolt when it comes to any thing new. It took me months to learn about the computer and I still need help from my older daughter when it comes to more serious issues. Technology should not stupefy me, it should be able to make my life less muddled.

8. I wish I would be able to totally conquer my anger. I battle with belligerence and pretty much lose every time. I scream, I use hateful words and I snap back. What's worse, I hang on to my frustrations and never let  go. I wish I had more control over my self. I wish I would learn to be calm and serene this new year.

9. I wish I could meet all my friends more often. There is nothing like talking to those people you have grown with, physically as well as mentally. I wish all of them lived near by and I could drop into some one's house unannounced.

10. And lastly, I wish I could open a bottle of wine effortlessly and gracefully. I wish I could show you what happened when 3 idiots -- a bottle of Merlot, a cork screw and I, met for the first time on a Christmas party. May be I will blog about it, if you wish for it.

So that's about it.  That was my wish list 2010. Towards the end of the year, I will know how many of them have come true.  I wish the year would end soon! And yes, I wish each one of you a very, very happy New Year! Have fun always.

Right To Life

When I was about 15, a girl in my apartment committed suicide. She was nineteen.

She was not really a friend but I knew her well enough. She was a member of a club I belonged to and sometimes we all hung out together. After her death, we went to her house to offer our condolences to the family. Standing on her ninth floor balcony, from where she jumped off to her death, I could not stop shuddering. Everything looked tiny and small from up there and I kept on thinking what immense courage it took to jump off from that height. At that time, to me, suicide meant courage. I could never think of ending my life. Death was an uncertainty and I was not brave enough to face it.

Later, much later, I realized choosing death over life was actually an act of cowardice. No matter how painful her life was at that point of time, she needed to face it. She needed to examine her feelings, talk about them. She needed to fight for her life. One meaningless act, that perhaps took just a few seconds to execute, forever changed the life of her family. She left her parents, her brother and her sister, who she claimed to love with all her heart, guilt ridden and unhappy forever.

Life is all about meeting challenges. Just when everything is smooth, it throws a curve that leaves you a bit clueless. But there is no problem that a human mind can not navigate. We may get hurt, but we also heal. And we continue to journey on our path, knowing that there is always a new dawn, breaking somewhere, on this earth.

But what if our mind and our body did not decipher this truth? What if we permanently stay in a world which is always dark? What if we lose our ability to walk and to talk, to eat and to breathe, to know and to comprehend? What if we have to be kept alive by machines and modern medical marvel, completely stripped of our dignity? Suffering pain and trauma that will never go away? Do we still say that choosing life over death is the only right thing to do?

Aruna’s story, which is currently in the news, has left me in a moral dilemma. Do we have the right to decide to end the life of a person who can no longer decide for herself? Do we say that in her case, death is a better option than continuing her meaningless suffering? The hospital staff, which looks after her is vehemently against euthanasia. They have looked after her for the last 36 years with love. They can continue to do so for the next 36 years. But is this the life she would have wanted to lead?

I know that if I ever were reduced to a vegetative state, completely dependent on other people for my basic survival, life would lose its meaning. Life may be a struggle at times, but I know that it is worth fighting for. But what if I knew there would never be an end to my pain? Would it still be meaningful? Would it be wrong for me, or for any one for that matter, to seek a dignified exit?

The medical world is divided over euthanasia. Do we have any legal right to end somebody else’s life even if we know the person may suffer endless trauma day in and day out? There will always be 2 sides to this story. But I continue to believe that though I have the courage to face any challenges that life may throw at me, I also need to have my right to dignity. And my right to live a life that is not spent hooked up to various machines and force fed by well meaning strangers.

A cruel life or a merciful death…I should have the right to decide.

Maa on Facebook

"This is Hema? The last time I saw her, she was in pigtails. Now she has a daughter who is that big!"

"Yes. And this is Shukla aunty, who still looks the same."
"Who is this?"
"Don't you remember? The Gaurs on the 4th floor? This is the daughter Ritu."
"How did you get the pictures?"
"Ma, this is Facebook.  It is a social networking site. I found a lot of my old friends here. They keep uploading their pictures. And we exchange notes and greetings."
"How did you manage to locate all these people after so many years?"
"My friends found me through friends search."
"Our times were different, we had to send letters. And if the addresses got lost then that was the end of our friendship. Who are all these men?"
"Don't you remember my friends Dheeraj, Aziz and Ajay?"
"Of course I do, they were very sweet boys.This is Ajay? He looks like a panditji."
"That is because he is a panditji now. Well, almost. He has become very spiritual."
"Has he stopped painting? He was so talented."
"No, he still paints. Only, he paints pictures of gods and goddesses. Want to see some of his paintings? He has uploaded some of them here also."
"How come there are so many men here?"
"These are all my friends, ma."
"You have so many male friends? Does your husband know?"
"C'mon ma, I am an adult now. I can have male friends you know."
"Hmmph. This is beyond me, all these men and you. Is your brother also on Facebook?"
"Yes he is, but he is not my friend."
"What? You and your brother are not friends? Is that how I raised you? You do not want to be friends with your own brother?"
"Ma, he is not my Facebook friend. I don't want him here snooping on me. Moreover, if he has not sent me a friend request, it means he also does not want me as a friend."
"This is completely outrageous. I hope your husband is there in your friends list."
"Yes is, but he is not very active."
"What else do you expect? He is a very busy man. He will not spend time on such frivolous activities."
"Facebook is not a frivolous activity. A lot of very busy people are there on Facebook. It helps us to reconnect with all our old friends. It is just that your son in law is not the friendliest of person and does not have many friends. Hence he is never there."
"And what is this red heart doing on your page? It says you have a relationship request pending."
"D sent me a request to be my spouse on Facebook. I did not accept, so it is still pending."
"But he is your spouse. Why did you not accept?"
"I don't want him as my spouse here, OK?"
"This is totally beyond me. You and your strange ways. He is your husband, whether you accept him on Facebook or not. And what does Akhila mean here? Her relationship status reads as 'It's complicated.'
"It means that she is recovering from her divorce and is currently seeing someone.''
"O my god, when did this happen? She was such a sweet girl. I always knew her husband was a moron. How much time do you spend on this Facebook?"
"Not much ma, just log in to tell my friends what I am doing at the moment. Drinking coffee at the Barista, at home teaching the kids, like that."
"Who will be interested in knowing all that?"
"All my friends. They also keep updating, so I know about them too."
"Can anybody open up a page on Facebook?"
"It is called opening up an account  and yes, everybody can."
" Is Vikram on Facebook?"
"Who Vikram?"
"You know, Mrs. Usha Reddy's son? They were on the 6th floor. remember?"
"Oh yes, I remember. She used to send us yummy tamarind rice. I don't know, why?"
"She once taught me to make mango thokku pickle. I forgot the ingredients. If her son is there, then may be you can ask him to be your friend. And then may be two of us could connect after all those years. She was such a fabulous cook, she made lovely chutneys and stuff. And she did ask me once how I knitted those cable sweaters. May be we can be friends on Facebook and share our stuff. Hey, if you are in touch with Mrs. Sharma's daughter, can you then tell her to make an account for her mom too? And remember Mrs Balakrishnan?...."

 November and December are busy months for me. This is what my daughter Ayushi calls the 'guesting season'. As you have guessed, my parents are already here. I am also expecting my friend and her mother from USA, my cousin and her family from Muscat, my brother and his family from Kolkata. So I will be blogging sporadically till December. I will however keep reading all my favourite bloggers. So you keep blogging. Till then, bye....

Rootless In The City

A city still commonly referred to as Bombay has been my home for the last several years.

 This city was perhaps not what we had in mind when we planned a home for us. It was crowded, it was dirty and it was a chaos. On top of that, it was expensive as hell. We never thought we could bring up our children here, in this city, where land was at a premium. There was no open space for my children to run and play. No place where we could walk hand in hand. No place where we could sit back and relax and watch the time go by. Constantly moving, constantly bustling, there was never a moment of peace here. A lot of time we felt hopelessly out of depth. But slowly, I do not know when, this city seeped into our blood. The city became so much a part of us that it became hard for us to imagine living anywhere else. It became home.

But lately I have been wondering about our decision to stay here. After all, as some people claim, the city belongs to the Maharashtrians first and Indians later. As my name suggests, we are clearly not Maharashtrians. Having grown up outside the state, my husband and I also do not speak the language. We are outsiders here. We have taken the place of some locals who perhaps would have stayed in our flat. My husband perhaps has taken the job of a Marathi who would have got the job otherwise. Education, ability, skill; they all take a back seat. The fact is that we are not Marathi Manoos and we do not belong here.

So where do we go? Do we go to Delhi where I grew up? But we are not really North Indians. I can not speak Punjabi either. Does Delhi belong to the Punjabis anyway? We can go to Patna where my husband was born and brought up. But neither are we Biharis. We are both products of parents who trace their roots to East Bengal, now in Bangladesh. So do we go and stay there? May be we should migrate to Kolkata, after

all we are Bengalis even though we have never stayed there. We do not know the city as well as we do Bombay. Or for that matter Delhi. But that doesn't matter, does it? The fact is that we are Bengalis and we might as well go and live there.

Imagine how peaceful India would be then. No fighting for land. No fighting for languages. No fighting for culture.We can then fit our lives in to neat little labels. Chchat Puja in Bihar, Ganeshotsav in Maharashtra. They can keep Sachin Tendulkar, we will be happy with Sourav.  Dosas in the south, parathas in the north, rosogullas in the east.There will not be any friction over culture, speech or festivals. Sheer bliss.

But the trouble is that when I see Sachin play, I do not see the Maharashtrian.. Just like when I hear Kishore Kumar, I do not hear the Bengali. I do not label APJ Abdul Kalam, Lata Mangeshkar, Amjad Ali Khan. Amitabh Bachchan, Narayan Murthy.... when I see them, I simply forget which region they come from. I only see the face of an Indian. But perhaps I am only one of the few who think like that.

So currently, I, with my fondness for Kanjivaram sarees, Sachin Tendulkar, Hindi movies and aloo parathas, am rootless in the city I call home. When I hear Raj Thackeray say that Mumbai belongs to the Marathis, I start  to think, where do I really  belong then? What label do I use for myself?

I am still thinking about it. I also keep thinking about one more thing. How many of you, while singing the National Anthem, ever think the song is in Bengali?