Drama Queen

There is nothing as emotional as watching children perform on stage.

They are adorable in their honesty. Their innocence can simply reach out and squeeze your heart when you are most unaware. Even I, known to be a rather stone hearted woman at times, have shed a few tears surreptitiously into my tissue seeing my child on stage.

My elder daughter has been acting and dancing since she was four. At thirteen she has almost become jaded. She talks about costumes, props, rehearsals like they are everyday happenings. She has performed in Siri Fort in Delhi and Shanmukhanand in Mumbai. What else is there to conquer?

So when my second daughter was born, I secretly started dreaming of becoming the most sought after star mommy ever. But she turned out to be a different story. She would sit in a corner with a book and not resurface till she finished. It was her sheer misfortune that she was born to a mother who harboured a dream to be the most sought after star mommy .

When she was in kindergarten, her class teacher called me up to say that they were celebrating Independence Day and she had to go dressed in a saree. She was chosen to be Sarojini Naidu. All she had to do was to get up on stage and say "I am Sarojini Naidu". Very simple you thought?

Bribes in forms of chocolates, ice-cream and toys failed. She simply would n't open her mouth. With a lot of persuasion she finally managed "I am Sarojini Kaidu." After much effort and practice my daughter was finally ready for her first stage show.

Her father and I, on the appointed day, with spring on our steps went to the school premises. There, sitting amidst equally enthusiastic parents, we clapped like mad when our princess appeared on stage. Assisted by her teacher, wobbling in a saree, she came to the centre. I could see she was uncomfortable with her make-up on. She kept her mouth in a permanent pout lest she smeared her lipstick on her teeth. Taking a deep breath, holding the mic tight, she delivered her dialogue with applomb, "I am Sarojini Nagar market."

I swear I actually heard my 'star mommy' dreams shatter.

Another Day In Paradise

Bleary eyed , rubbing sleep

Managing to open my front door

And what do I find but that creep

Has again spilled the milk on the floor.

So many times in the past

Warned that guy with the pea-sized brain

That day would surely be his last ,

The day he spilled the milk again.

Fresh green veggies, some nuts to munch

And some fruits for their lunch

Chopping, cooking, stirrring and

Filling up the boxes with an expert hand.

Grumbling about the morning blues

Walking past the cluttered hall.

Stopping by the kids' room

Waking them up for their morning school.

Rise up and shine my little ones

The bus would be here. It's getting late.

Look at you , the sleepy heads

Sleeping still though it's half past eight.

Can't find my socks , and the book of prose,

Mom, sis just hit me on my nose.

Have you seen my lap-top cord?

Bless this home, oh my Lord.

Breakfast table the usual scene.

What? Fruits, milk and cereal 'gain?

Why can't you make us some nice snack;

To last us till we all come back?

Kids and husband now all gone

Peace and quiet and silence around.

Streching arms and heaving a sigh

Oh! for that blissful cup of chai !

Mother-in-law peeping to say,

The maid just called. Not coming today.

Looking at me with great despair,

Promising to help me in any which way.

Brushing aside her offer of help

Showing no pity on my poor self.

It's washing, wiping, cleaning time

Expressing anger on dust and grime.

Back from school after lunch.

Sharing with them the day of fun,

Listening to stories of books and play.

Wishing I could be so young and gay.

History , Civics and Environmental Science,

Checking for craft lessons online.

See the clock! It's almost nine.

C'mon everybody it's time to dine.

Aching body and tired feet

Sinking deeper and deeper in the sheet.

Sleeping till the next sunrise.

Another day in my paradise.

The lazy, hazy, crazy ways of the daughter

My mom was not exactly a hard task master but we were expected to do our bit around the house. So from my early childhood we were taught a few basic survival skills. That included learning how to keep the house clean. How to wash our own clothes and how to cook the simplest food. She also included some banking lessons, ignoring -unwanted -attention- lessons and standing -up- for- my- beliefs lessons.

Apart from the cooking, I enjoyed most of the stuff she taught me. Cooking was something I never liked and did not see the importance. What skills were needed to boil some Maggi anyway? Was n't that all I needed to survive? My mother did n't really agree with my conviction and proceeded to teach some basic fare. Rice, dal, egg-curry and some green veggies. But the lesson that I loved most was about multitasking. "A woman needs to multi-task if she has to succeed " was her motto and she encouraged me to do at least a couple of thing at a time. Needless to say this one really came in handy when I had my babies and needed to do a hundred things at the same time.

Armed with my mother's training, I thought I would raise my two kids and run my house with super efficiency. I went ahead at full throttle till I hit a major road block. My thirteen year old. Not that she stopped me from doing my work. She just expected me to do her share of tasks as well. I did gave in (though not exactly gracefully) a couple of times, but then I forcefully drew the line. Cleaning up her room was her task. Picking up the dirty laundry was mine. Keeping the study table organized was her task. Folding her clothes was mine. The list was endless.

I really thought I had the brilliant solution till I realised one more thing. My daughter thought just lifting her finger for something would reduce her energy level. She was simply not interested in increasing the expenditure.

So when a woman addicted to juggling tasks had a child who refused to even get up when the door bell rang, what did she do? Pulled her hair in frustration? Screamed like a banshee? Threatened with violence? In my case, it was all of the above. But no matter how much I screamed, coaxed and cajoled she remained unmoved. Work apparently was boring and was completely useless. Who worked when there was a better option like watching T.V. existed?

This was getting bad. I panicked thinking she would continue being lazy through out the foreseeable future. Time for Plan B. "So can you do something else while watching T.V? May be you can clean up your closet ? Or re-arrange the books on the shelf? See how much dust they have gathered? You can clean up that as well. Or may be fold some laundry? Can you do that for me? You prioritise the various tasks that need to be done. Then allocate some of your grey cells to certain work. The rest of your mental resources can do some other task. It is called multi-tasking. This way you increase your efficiency and also become an expert at time management. It is the catch phrase of the millennium. Your granny taught me this in the previous century. All women need to multi-task if they want to succeed.."

It was such a triumphant moment. Thinking I would have completely dazzled her with my motivational speech I looked at her expectantly.

She looked totally bored. " Mom, I am watching T.V. munching some chips, listening to some music on my i-pod, texting my friends and also listening to you. Not to say breathing as well. So if that's not multi-tasking, what is?"

Plan C any one?

Can't Cry Enough

The loss is irreversible.It also can not be expressed in words. But what hits you the hardest is the finality of the parting. A relationship has ended forever and you are left totally unprepared to handle the impact.

You turn your head to speak to the person and and are stunned to realise he is simply not there. For a moment there is denial. His presence is every where...how come he is not around?The closet is full of his clothes. The bathroom shows his carelessly kept toiletries.. toothbrush, comb..the whole house is a heartache. His slippers. Books. Bags. Journals...

The grief seeps into you. There is a numbing pain and nothing seems to make it better.

The first night is the hardest, you wake up in the middle of the night and stare into darkness.How is it a person who was here just a few hours ago is gone forever?

Never will you hear his voice again. Never hear his foolish jokes. Never be taken aback with his startling laughter. There is something wedged deep in your throat and no amount of swallowing dislodges it.

Regret comes next. There are so many things you wish you had done. You wish you had recorded his voice. Captured more of his images. You wish you had taken that last walk together. Held his hand more often. Wish you could see him just one more time.

As days pass, you reluctantly accept the parting. You realise no matter how hard you pray, how hard you try, you can not bring him back. The part of you that was also a part of him no longer exists.

Mindless activities seem to help. Packing away his stuff. Giving away his possessions. Getting the paperwork done. Painful work that some how takes away a bit of your grief and helps pass the time. There is his big portrait on the wall and people come and tell you how serene he looks in it, how happy. You see it and think you would have preferred him in colour and three dimensions.

But you are polite to your well wishers and you nod without saying anything. You know that though they can never understand your grief, they also feel some pain. He was something to them too.

Life does not stop, and you also move on, picking up pieces. Slowly, ever so slowly, you build a life that no longer has him in it. It is tough but so are you.

Spring comes again. So does summer. Then autumn and winter. As years go by you may no longer think of him everyday. Your ache is no longer constant. You do know one thing deep in your heart though. No matter how many new relationships are now in your life, the precious one that you shared with him,can never be replaced. Ever.

So Girl, Take Heart

My seven year old daughter wants me to be a T.V. actress. According to her,even the most useless women can become T.V. actresses, so why not her mother. She is upset at times that her mother does not work and feels that I lead a complete wasted life.

There's no reasoning with her that I gave up a pretty well paying and challenging job to be with my children. As she has never seen my careerist go getter self, she assumes I am no better than the cook or the domestic help.

So many years ago, when I gave up my job in an IT company to bring up my first born, there was no day care service near my home. My company did not offer such a facility although every year a good number of qualified, hard working women gave up their jobs to look after their children. The women who stayed had to do a tightrope life-work balance act. They kept their young ones with their parents or in-laws and sometimes with a care giver at home.Sometimes their husbands supported them, sometimes they did not. At times they felt guilty, at times they were just happy that they enjoyed economic freedom.

The world over the working women face the same issues every day. They wake up, prepare their children for school, pack lunches, deal with deadlines and meetings, rush back home, cook dinner, help their children with home work and fall asleep almost the moment their heads hit the pillow. Then of course there are soccer trainings, dance lessons, dentist's appointments, PTA meetings and attending social dos. Just writing about it makes me exhausted. So no wonder most women either give up midway or feel guilty about not having enough time to nurture their children.

I worked in a metro like Bombay. It was and still is one of the best cities to work in. If I felt marginalised in this city, I can imagine what other women in other cities go through every day. I felt compelled to give up my job for lack of support from all quarters.There was very little support and sympathy in this country for working mothers. I was made to feel that I was doing a great disservice to the nation by not staying at home and bringing up my children. My quitting work is a decision I regret every single day till today.

Today, on the occasion of International Women Day, I would however like to tell my daughters that a new society is emerging. Today's woman demands her deserved status in the working arena. She is a valuable member in her organisation and she is asserting herself. She is no longer bound by tradition to to stay at home and look after her children. She can no longer be deprived of her right to choose. Right to be a lawyer, an astronaut, an accountant, a pilot, an army personnel, a home maker or simply an useless T.V. actress. Work will not be an adjustment for her. It will be a validation for her self worth.

And if she does decide to give it up, it will not be due to lack of support. It will be because she thinks it is the right thing to do for her own happiness.

Friends in the times of facebook

In my early school years I was almost an outsider- watching other kids play. Having spent my first few formative years in Muscat, I was not aware of the games children played in India. I watched on most of the time while they played all the usual games of our childhood.
As times passed and I grew more comfortable with my surrounding I made friends more easily. In the '80s when there was not much T.V, no internet and hardly any contact with the rest of the world, my friends filled a part of me that I now know was void. They made me whole and enriched my life in so many different ways.

The world of a child in the '80s was like a dream. We played. We laughed. We ran barefoot in our neighbourhood and the parents never told us it was ill-mannered to barge into our friends' house at any given time. We played stupid games, watched the Sunday evening movies together and broke into meaningless laughter without any provocation or reason. Every morning we would eagerly wait for the school bus to take us to school so that we could meet our classmates. And we would be equally eager to go back home to we meet our friends in the neighbourhood. Life was a continuous cycle of fun and frolic. When the school broke for summer, we went to our home towns with our parents to visit our grandparents, to Kolkata, Lucknow, Bangalore... We would write letters to each other during the break and look forward to joining them again two months later.

College was different. We had learned to be more responsible. So life was no longer just a game. It was also going to the college canteen, (we responsibly split our expenses) bunking lectures, (one person was appointed to be the responsible one who would industriously take down notes for all of us) and going for movies. We would responsibly carry our ID cards so that we could sneak in to see an adults only movie even when we were below 18. Throughout my college years, my friends formed a support system . They helped when I missed lectures, accompanied me when I had to go to distant libraries or any other places for any work and gave me courage to face the world when my heart was broken. We would call each other at odd time and just talk for hours.

Every thing changed when we started working. Financial independence gave us that extra confidence but we also learned the key words that later helped us to navigate our lives better. Team work, deadlines and intercommunication skills. Coming from diverse backgrounds we slowly learned to depend on each other, have faith in each others abilities and give each other enough space to bloom. No more barging in unannounced. At work with my friends I learned to work hard and party harder. I had my first drinks with them, and learned for the first time to live my life away from my parents. Truly coming of age moments. There was still no internet and cell phones. At least not in India. My friends still communicated over phones.
Now, after so many years, when I started to track down my old friends, I discovered a totally new world. In the times of internet, friendship has taken a new status. So now I know every minute as I follow them on twitter or facebook what they are doing at that precise moment. I know when they have a showdown with their kids, when they feel overwhelmed at work and when they simply feel bored. My friends who are now in distant lands like Melbourne or Washington or Hongkong, know what my home looks like or what interest my children even without coming to my house. The social networking sites have completely changed my idea of a friendship. I love it and can not get enough of it. I comment on their photographs, join their fan clubs and take part in their quizzes. Though, sometimes, just sometimes, when I am a little sad and need a bit of encouragement, I miss the days I could just drop into my friend's house for a cup of tea and a little chat. I wish we were still living close to each other or meeting every day at work. No amount of status updates can ever replace a warm hug and a friendly laughter when you are down.

At least not for me.

Worried Sick

I admit I am a certifiable hypochondriac.

Every ache, every discomfort, every sneeze to me is a symptom of a deadly disease. I spend endless hours surfing the net analysing my symptoms and trying to fit them to a horrific ailment.Despite the doctor's reassurances and other pathological tests, I genuinely believe at times that I am fatally ill.

In my defence I must say that there are reasons for these obsessive compulsive beliefs. Our family boasts of some really gruesome illnesses. Mind you, I am not talking of malaria, typhoid, jaundice or ordinary pneumonia.... kiddie stuff all of them. what we have is hard to pronounce and harder to acquire diseases. Between my mother's family and my father's I have every base covered. There have been cases of Myasthenia gravis, Alzheimer's, Guillain- Barre syndrome, Parkinsons, liver and pancreatic cancer, epilepsy... There also have been cancers of the brain, stomach, blood, and breasts. There has been a simple gall-bladder surgery gone horribly wrong where the patient had to put in a stent in the bile duct to rectify the situation. Needless to say there have also been standard stuff like paralytic strokes, heart failures and diabetes. There has also been one retinal detachment which has resulted in blindness. But who considers them serious these days !

So you see, there is a genuine cause for my concern here.Often I have found myself going to a hospital for various tests. Once I dragged my husband to the hospital emergency because I was convinced I had a grievous neurological issue. I could not swallow my food. My throat had refused to cooperate with my tongue and the food went the other way. My poor husband had to leave his food uneaten and escort my brainless self to the 24 hour emergency. The doctor there diagnosed a severe throat infection but I was not really convinced. Just an infection? Definitely it was more severe? Like throat cancer perhaps? The doctor had a glazed look in his eyes and I didn't think he trusted himself to speak.

So despite medical evidences to the contrary, I have had a brain tumour, blood sugar, kidney disease, stomach cancer and high blood pressure so far. When I went to my third sonogram in as many months to detect any abnormalities in my stomach, my doctor took me aside and asked me what exactly my problem was. "Cancer runs in my family you know and I keep thinking I am next" My doctor turned serious and held my hand. " I know exactly what you mean. You see death runs in mine. So far nobody has been able to defy it. I am sure one day I am going to die too..."

I came out of the clinic and a minute later started laughing outrageously. People perhaps thought that I was stark raving mad but who cared? You see self-deprecating humour also runs in the family. We can admit that we are morons and have a good laugh at our own expense. And I have been laughing since then. Though at times I am troubled by a potential problem. Has laughter killed anybody so far? There's always a first time, right? Can excessive laughter cause an abdominal tear that can turn into an inflammation of the intestine that in turn cancerous? I must google that one...

Meanwhile if any of you have any information on that one then please let me know. I am worried sick...