The truly creative mind...

The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature born abnormally, inhumanely sensitive. To them... a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death.
Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create -- so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, their very breath is cut off...
They must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency they are not really alive unless they are creating
Pearl S Buck

This quotation is fading on my book of poetry

Random Thoughts

What would thoughts read like if you could transcribe them verbatim as they occured?

Here are my thoughts from 5 pm today for about 30 minutes

Anu turned 21 today. Wonder how her day went. Wonder if they saw my message or wrote me off as forgetful as usual. I actually have thought about her a number of times today. Always I go back to that summer in Kota where the lady downstairs was commissioned to stitch baby clothes for Anu. Nadu's wish were the Jaipuri baby razaiis. everybody seemed to be having babies that year...and I doubted if I ever would have that pleasure. I think I landed in B'lore the day Anu was discharged. I remember letting her lick some honey. I do not really know if Anu has a sweet tongue. She does not talk much when I'm around. Only observes me probably wondering how her mom could be friends with me..If she doesn't it must be because I fed her honey. If she has, it must be the honey.

Gosh it is really hot today. Look at me...barely 26 degrees and I'm wilting like a pansy. Shame on you Indian! Wonder why pansies have such a connotation? They are pretty hardy flowers really...Its surprising how I've taken to wearing dresses on hot days. Stopped wearing them when my dad caught me snapping while decorating the front yard with rangoli. I thought I looked Mary Pintoish in that first dress. Heeheee Arijit's comment was so funny. Is that your new nightie? Its very smart...

Should I pick up a peonie for the garden? The flowering season's almost over. Oh there's one with a bloom still on...my garden is going the way my life is..with no certain plan, a scatter here and there. Its not really lack of time it is lack of creativity I think. The geraniums are doing well, the begonias are dying, the tomato plant is confused in the upside down container, still wants to grow the right way..Amazing how names have form now, Cyclamen, Forsythias, geraniums,lavender, tulips..

Arijit has watered the garden and is glowering at me now because I am watering it again...The garden looks like how one would look post operation when you ask for water and they wet your lips with ice! Leaving you wnating for more...I better get this down before my mind travels somewhere else

What color was your Monday?

I write. Sometimes. No correct that. Rarely. Only when I feel like it.
So when Jo asked me last week to pen a couple of lines about the fall pictures I posted, I gave a tongue in cheek response instead of telling her I cannot turn it on and off. The desire to write or paint. That I do very well all the time – give tongue in cheek responses I mean . Good I never made a profession of writing or painting. I would be out of pocket all the time. I should have made a profession of giving tongue in cheek responses but then not everybody appreciates my humor.
I was humbug enough to believe I was the arty type once upon a time, but the truth is I have always been a hard headed practical person. Even when my heart was broken into a million pieces I was thinking of how to pick things up and start again. Quietly, scientifically, practically.
So what makes me write today? Random things. Extreme feelings. Deep anger, deep sorrow, deep appreciation of my blessings, unexplained feelings for things I still do not understand. Like death.
It is Monday today that not very good day of the week. My day started when I was in the vice like grip of something that felt like a hangman’s noose and yet oddly comforting. It was about 3 am .It was my daughter probably in the grips of a nightmare as a result of all that trick or treating.. I fell into a fitful sleep after that wondering if I should call my husband in India and take an update on dad’s operation. I looked at my blackberry and saw the dear man had posted an update. To me and other silent beings on this earth. I was mad at these silent beings. And sorry for Amit. That’s how my day started. Most of my long commute was spent in talking to him and then the kids. As usual, he talked me out of my anger. I looked out of the window in wonder to see a car pass by with at least 3 inches of snow on its roof. Took my thoughts in a completely different direction. It had been a fairly bright weekend. Where was he coming from?
Surprisingly, even though there was this massive crash on 401, I reached Finch before time and hopped on to the Viva blue to sit in front of a shivering lady from Jamaica. She was very interested in the recipe for Palak Paneer which I obligingly wrote down for her- giving her tips on how to make it more tasty and shamefully salivating at that early hour for a dish I do not even like! My body like my mind acts in really unpredictable ways sometimes! And all my hardheaded practicality cannot figure that out.
I had time to pick up a frothy coffee from Country Style and marvel at all these Canadians bundled up. Was it really that cold? Or was my new peacoat that warm? At work, I was actually happy to see people who usually do not bring out the best in me and beavered away at my computer. I suddenly felt like writing to Nahida after a long time. So I did in between many interruptions and a meeting I did not know why I was attending.
I caught up with the project gossip over lunch and then took myself and my blackberry for a walk. I felt like the Fat Man who walks alone. Don’t ask me what that means. It is a graffiti I see everyday and feel sorry for the Fat Man.
By now, I’m sure you are seeing the halo round my head? The palak paneer recipe giver, the patient listener to office gossip, the good friend to Nahida and of course the Fat man who walks alone to lose these unwanted pounds? I suddenly take an impulsive picture and post it on facebook. More goodness for the world. The halo gets a deeper hue.
Then I suddenly see the date and remember. This used to be a special day for me . How many years ago? The halo has disappeared and I feel like connecting with Nahida again. And then see the last posting she has made. About Ms. Meera passing away.
Less than two months ago Ms. Meera had called me – sounding as excited as a school girl. She wanted to talk to my kids. She asked me to tell them about her. I promised her they would. I remember another promise I had made to Sarita’s mother about coming back to see her in Lucknow. And I see myself now as someone who could not keep promises. Where did they go? Can they hear me? Feel my regret? I so want to know.
So that was my Monday-blue Monday-green Monday-yellow Monday-blue and purple Monday. What color was yours?

My best friend is a Muslim

And I am very sad to say this.

Because I had always thought of her as Nahida, a human being a sterling character and my favorite pillar. It never mattered to me that she was a Muslim.

It still does not. But over the last 20 years, there have been so many riots, blasts, insurgences, Babri masjid tumbling down...things that have somewhere silently frayed the fabric. The first person I always thought of during these riots was Nahida. My heart felt for her and tried to imagine what she must be going through. But while our lives have mirrored each others and we have always slipped into each other's shoes efforlessly, I recently realised that this was one thing I never could do quite the same way. I really could not feel the hurt she must have felt when she could not rent homes, when she worries about Anu. I can only imagine that it must be manytimes fold how I felt when my insurance agent did not believe me recently. And I feel that I have failed my friend.

Games I play

I play some games. Silently by myself.
When I used to walk back home from college in Bellary with the sun beating down my head, I used to play this game...cloud cover the sun. Sometimes there would be no clouds in the sky. I then used to desperately wish if a cloud appears from somewhere then this wish will come true. And most times, a tiny little bit of fluff appeared!! Promise!:))
Then I play this game of toss. I always wish on heads. Most times, heads appear. My wishes themselves may not come true but my mind is immediately calm.

Then I wish on missing items. If I find this. .....Like I lost my Nigerian beaded belt in the Continental flight when I moved from US to Canada. I nevr thougt I would find it. When I was waiting for the truck to arrive at 4815 Bloomburg Drive, and was worrying about dad, I wished I would find it. And I found it in the bag I looked in at least 10 times before.
I wish on the Magic Fortune cookie. And it mostly tells me what I want to hear. Funny isn't it?

I am a proud Indian. ARE YOU?

Sometimes there is this simmering rage inside me. Like now.
When my 'Indian-ness' is questioned by someone entirely un-Indian.
I know this sounds like a take on Sharukh's interview on NDTV.

But my anger had been triggered off from elsewhere. And watching Sharukh on NDTV fuelled it a little more

Just because I live in Canada or US I do not become a non Indian. I still invest in India, have a home in India and uphold the values of a true Indian in the global world. I am India's ambassador out in the world and a darn better one than those who spew communial hatred in India.

Am I a dollar chaser? Are you a rupee chaser? What's the difference? As long as my dollar is going into India and into Indian economy and not the fat greasy palms of the bureaucrat you may be grooming to keep your Indian business running.

To me being an Indian is tolerance, live and let live, and accepting of all cultures and beliefs. To me being an Indian is to appreciate the goodness in others while giving my best. And to treat every individual as a human being before I treat him as a Muslim, Christian, Dalit or Brahmin.

That India is holding its head high today is because of people who had similar values Gandhi, Sai Baba, Narayan Moorthy, Ratan Tata. Who focused on the best in India and the real issues. They are the Indians I relate to.

Not the petty Indian crab who tries pulling you down by deceipt, sarcasm just because he perceives you to be more successful than he. And happier than he.

And therein lies his failure and unhappiness.

I feel like ending this with a Bah!!! And those who know me will know the intensity of my feelings with just that.

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Ishani's pink jacket phobia

I rarely write about this little girl of mine.
She is the one who comes up with those funny oneliners like the ones you read in the Readers Digest.
Like declaring after a hearty breakfast smacking her lips " Bacon is the best chicken ever!" Or after a tumble with me in the bed emerges sweating and laughter all over her face gasping " Oh my God! Love is hot!" And then after counting the worry lines on my forehead and asking me what they were for, went around looking for her lines and finally found them on her little tummy!
Like most little girls, Isha's favorite color was pink for a long time. Even till last year. I bought her a pink winter jacket which she wore all of last winter giving her purple one a clear ignore.
The jacket is one of those in which you can take off the fleece to make it a windcheater, so it could be worn in spring too.
Suddenly, Isha developed a strange apathy for this pink jacket.She just stopped wearing it.
When I asked her why she said "It stinks". So I washed the jacket and offered it to my little goddess, who took it a little hesitatingly and then in it went into the closet.
I stopped trying to figure out what was the matter.
Many weeks later, Isha and I set out on one of our weekend 'mother-daughter bonding trips' as she calls it. Taking advantage of her mood, I asked her to wear the pink jacket and she said "NO. I dont like it!" But why not I insisted.
"You know this spring, Alison and I used to collect bugs?" she asked me. I nodded. "One day I put two grasshoppers in my pocket because I did not have my bug catcher. And then I forgot about it. The next time I put my hand in the pocket, they were all squishy!"
"But I washed it!" I told her. "No. they are still in there"
Sure enough, on my return I checked and there were some small remains of the poor grasshoppers which even the tumble in the washer had not taken out. Even though I have since cleaned the jacket, my bug loving and animal loving daughter is not going to wear the jacket which will remind her of the dead grasshoppers I know!

Reflections 2009

Ever since Kali Potti got us to keep a Black Book - which I promptly renamed Confidante, I used to pen down my reflections of the year gone by and my resolutions for the New Year. I did that till I reached Kota and then stopped... From last year, I started again. No resolutions... just reflections. A good way to take stock I think. So here are relections on 2009 for this family
Almost everything that I wished for in 2009 came true...save two wishes. Winning a lottery and getting to 64.5 kgs.
I still think the former is more possible than the latter.
For Ameeth this year was more stable though he continued to be dogged by a frozen shoulder. I think he was really pepped up after his India trip, because it opened up new possibilities.

I started the year with a long update to friends and family. And enjoyed doing it so much that I started an outreach program this January and connected with so many of my old friends and associates from all my past lives. I have had many lives. Bellary-Dharwad-Kota-Delhiand the Tata group and New Jersey. I was aided by Facebook and Linked In of course. That was really wonderful.
Much had happened to us in 2008. Comparatively 2009 had less ups and downs, in many ways even unremarkable. I think what was most remarkable for both me and Ameeth this year is the realization that we can make most of our dreams come true. And thats a good way to start a new year.
As we enter 2010 however, there are new things that will happen. Arijit will go to high school, I may be in a project out of Canada and we will move house closer to Isha's school. What I am looking forward to most of all is the school reunion in Bellary in August

And of course..there is an important announcement I have to make. We have added two new members to the Dasgupta family - Chimpy and Chompy Dasgupta. Right now we are getting to know each other and soon we will be posting their pictures on Facebook. Isha is their foster mother, and Chimpy seems to have inherited some of her traits..Chompy is an active little creature bullied relentlessly by Chimpy much like his foster uncle Arijit.
We expect Chimpoy and Chompy to impact Isha's life most of all, I know all of you think she has grown up. And she does- overnight like a weed. But she still is the little baby of the house and is cuddled and totally spoilt . With this move, we are hoping she will become more responsible. Motherly, she always was.
Thats the short update then! Happy New Year to all of you and may it bring you all you wish for!

Arranged Marriages

Yesterday I watched Vivah on Zee TV and then was subjected to a barrage of questions by my kids on what had happened when I met their Dad. This made me go back to my unfinished project ( the book that I will one day complete) and open the chapter on suitors. I had actually contemplated writing a book on this topic once upon a time.
I was very contemporary and always thought I would have a love marriage. When I was 28 and this was nowhere in sight, a well intentioned friend advocated placing a matrimonial ad.. So we drafted one creatively and placed the ad.
And then I was having quite a few interesting correspondences with eligible bachelors from the army, from the medical forces, from some corporate houses.

A doctor from UP was the first to come ‘see’ me. On the day he was supposed to arrive at about 10, the doorbell rang at 7 and there he was just to tell me he had arrived and would be back on schedule.

I made a mess of the lunch which he sportingly had and at the end of the meal, signified his approval of the match. I was to put it mildly, quite overwhelmed. I hummed and hawed and said we did not really ‘know’ each other and maybe we should give it a month.
In the month that followed, there was no word from him. And so I put his picture in an envelop and posted it back to him. Almost by return mail the picture came back with a letter from him telling me he had given me a month because he thought I needed to think and to look at his picture and deliberate. If pictures could talk, I would have

There was a doctor from the Army who I exchanged mail with who was quite sure I would be bored in the armed forces. He was right I think.

And there was a professor I met in a bookshop. I had no idea how he looked and he had set up a code. I was supposed to ask, “Excuse me do you have the time on you?” to anyone I thought was him and if it was him, he would say, “Yes and the inclination too”. . We had coffee in the India Coffee House on Janpath and I enjoyed his company immensely but could not imagine being married to him. I think the feeling was mutual. We used to write to each other for a time after that.

Then there were some creepy ones like the one from a newspaper group. He looked decent was a vegetarian and a teetotaler who called himself a Sai Baba bhakt. But we later heard some not very pleasant stories about him.

I think I was pretty unsensitive to some too. There was a guy who came around to see me one afternoon who I just did not meet. I hid in my friend's house till he went away. And some were insensitive to me. Like the guy I was supposed to meet in Mumbai on my way to Lonavla. Though I made a special stop in Mumbai, he did not do so.

There was a guy my mom really liked, but I did not because I put him up in a hotel and arranged for a day out and the guy just accepted it all as hospitality. In hindsight, maybe there was nothing wrong with that. But I thought it not manly enough. I guess it is a constant process of evaluation in arranged matches. Sometimes you think you are done with your evaluation and presume the other has too. You let down your guard too soon.

Like when I was asked to go spend a day with a prospective MIL in Gujarat. The house was full of stuffed toys which she made. Not only that, cootchie-cooed with. I think I failed that evaluation, because my transparent face may have shown my wandering thoughts on how to deal with the stuffed toys issue if this thing progressed further.

At 33, I was sure I was going to be a spinster forever. And was wondering how I could be a sweet old un-embittered one.

And then I met my future husband
I thought he was a thoroughly pleasant chap. My only objection was that he was too fat. My mom told me that could be easily taken care of. She must be eating her words to this day. Because all of us have grown fat with him.
We did not decide immediately of course. He came down to meet me Standing on the banks of the river Chambal , I felt utterly comfortable in the thought of being married to this man and spending my life with him. This was the feeling that was missing with all the other guys I had seen so far.

Twilight Zone

It can be the most peaceful time of the day, depending on whether its twiilight before dawn or twilight before the night.
I like the twilight that comes with dawn, when the whole house is sleeping and I tiptoe downstairs to take a peek at my Google mail and have a quick cup of tea. It's also time when I take stock, of my life, the day before me and the what's running out in the kitchen and needs to be replenished. If I feel extra energetic, I also try and connect with my Source energy and everything seems to be possible.
Its amazing how much I get done in that 30 minutes - kids' lunch bags, kids' breakfast, putting away the dishes from the dishwasher,my own breakfast, cooked and devoured, checking my mail, my finances and putting things in as much order as I can. In those 30 minutes, I feel like the superwoman I am.
Then I look at the clock and break the silence and magic of the moment - GOOD MORNING KIDS! ITS WAKE UP TIME - And usually, all hell breaks loose while I rush into the bathroom and out again, straight out of the house - leaving the beginnings of the third world war behind me.

What's the big deal?

Those who know me know that I am rather irreverant of standards...but sometimes I really wonder what is the Big Deal about things.
Here I am sitting on the bench, waiting for my next project to come along. My company is kindly paying me my salary in return for the odd responses to proposals they pull me into at nights and on holidays. One morning some people came to work, they were sent an invite by their bosses..and laid off. No big deal. Just like that. And could happen to anyone any day.
Today I was sent a mysterious invite "Discussion" it said. Now today has been one of my upbeat days. I have stuck my hand out and introduced myself, got myself embroiled in 3 proposals and am feeling generally important. One of the VP's I have earlier accosted in the corridor comes and asks me for my card and I hunt around in my wallet and actually find one and give it to him.
Rather ironic it has to be today I think as I am told I need not wait and can come in right away. So I go in. And am asked to explain something. My card on the table! Still can't figure out until I am told. I had given out my Tata card! My old card!. Apparently it had gone down very badly. And upset a lot of people. How could I have done that? I had to make a written explanation explaining the reasons for doing this. I sat there and tore up my card thinking ... So this is a Big Deal. Probably is too. May not be very evident to a socially handicapped person like me. Is it to you?

The first snowfall of the season

There's something about the first snowfall of the season.

Despite the winter blues, the short days that mean you are driving back in the dark even though it is only 5.30! there is something about the first big snowfall of the season.
The day before ... people leave the office early hurriedly grumbling about the nasty weather to come. Mothers worry about how the kids will manage the walk back from school in the snow. Kids wonder if they will have a day off.
And then - the heavens drop a white blanket on the world silently at night and despite all the problems the snow will bring to your commute and your frostbitten fingers and noses, you have a smile on your face when you look at the pure sheets of white.
There is no need to rush the kids for school, the snowpants and snowboots come on- even though it is just 5 inches of snow.
Later, you see gloved hands, bare hands all picking up the soft fluffy stuff. Snowballs go plopping across! The less daring ones pick up the snow, look at it lovingly and aim snowballs at their imaginary friends on the pavement. The shyest kids also have these wondrous smiles lighting up their faces.
Even though the snow is already melting, snowmen come up...perspiring ones.
Overnight the snow will freeze, turn to black ice, even I will have to walk gingerly like a model so as not to slip and fall; be extra careful while driving so that the car does not skid...but that is tomorrow. Today, everything is beautiful

Real People and Real Problems

All of the last two weeks I have been fretting - because the insurance company refused to extend our coverage and because I am sitting on the bench with little to do.
Such trivia fills up our mind and pulls down our moods in a way the world appears to be black. Until we encounter real people with real problems. Then we know how blessed we are!
We have in Mississauga a neighbour - who was also our neighbour in New Jersey. A wonderful outgoing couple with an active social life. They go camping and park trekking and are always busy. Two sons, one with Downs' syndrome and the husband with a history of cancer in the kidney 4 years ago.
I got back from a high school open house 3 days ago and got a call from the lady of the house. Her husband's symptoms had returned she told me. Could Ameeth accompany them to the emergency?
All my problems flew out of the window! Fortunately the symptoms were due to a severe infection. But then I look at this family. How they pour life into every living moment. Do they complain? The only thing you hear them complain about is the lack of time, because they are so busy filling up the minutes with memorable moments.
Here's another story. A colleague who is an Indian. He had the temerity to expose a bureaucrat many years ago. He was hounded out of his country. And here he sits calmly smiling and telling me how he keeps his blood pressure down and leads an active life.
And then we have my daughter's dance teacher. She lost her entire family in the Kanishka air crash in 1984. 60 + years old and at least 10 times more agile than I! A spring in every step and not a wrinkle on her face.
These are real people. With problems larger than any I ever had! They inspire me and make me thank God for my blessings - My wonderful family my husband and my kids! Kids who make me proud when I listen to their teachers talk about them!My larger family- I still have parents who cook me my favorite dish every once in a while and my mothers magic fingers still can massage a migraine away from my head. Friends who God knows why think the world of me! My life, my health, my job and enough resources to help out those that need my help.

Warm glow feeling

No matter how old you are, there are times when you have that 'warm glow' feeling that leaves you suddenly smiling despite everything.

I think we have all experienced this feeling sometime or the other in our lives. I have been extremely fortunate in this regard. I experienced it when I got a mail saying "You fascinate me" . When a younger colleague remarked I was one of those ageless entities that would never really grow old, when another one attributed her success in life to me and several other occasions.

This Valentine's morning was another one

I was tearing my hair out since last night, because this year I have to file taxes in 3 countries. And a sudden mail popped up on my screen, telling me that I was the sender's first valentine. And I was enveloped by that 'warm glow' feeling.

In appreciation for this feeling, I felt obliged to walk down memory lane to that point when I became his 'first valentine'

I was by no means a promiscious person and perhaps 28 at that time. I had been owlish, wise and intense till I fell hopelessly in love at 25. The relationship was doomed from the beginning, being one of those triangular ones and I was the outer vertix of the triangle. As it happens with owlish intense people, getting out of this relationship was extremely painful. I was literally an emotional wreck and lived from moment to moment silently celebrating anniversaries of every moment in the last two years that had passed.

God has blessed me with many good friends. They surround me like his angels when I am especially alone. My friends, stood by me, took me out and brought me news of a guy who wanted to be introduced to me. And thus I met this guy whose first valentine I was. Though he looked older, he was quite a few years younger than me, 4 or 5 I do not remember. All I remember is that I did laugh quite a bit and went to see a movie with him. And I think I began to be enveloped by a 'warm glow' feeling.

This went on for about a week or 10 days. Again I do not remember. It was a short and sweet thing. It broke up one day when the guy confessed he was not looking at permanency of any kind, he was too young for it.

I was already feeling quite used by this time and though I could appreciate the guy's honesty, did not want to be involved in any 'casual fling'. So I broke it up with apparently some immature acts like paying back my share of the movie ticket. I also wanted to make a clean break so avoided all phone calls and attempts to connect. It was, I believed ( and still do) in our best mutual interest.

Several months later, with all my single girl friends married and I still single, I got into a depression. I had a few blackouts and was ordered to rest. My door bell rang one such gloomy evening and there was my valentine, telling me not to shut the door on his face and that he had only come to say goodbye.

After that he called me every year on my birthday for a few years. I never expected these calls and used to be pleasantly surprised by them and experience that warm glow feeling.

We lost touch and went on with our lives. I on my part am totally immersed being a good wife to my wonderful husband and mom to even more wonderful kids. They shower me with love and respect and I am certainly not deprived of any of these good things. Of course, I do occasionally spend some of the passion on my work :)

But when recently thanks to internet and facebook I connect with some old friends, some memories of the past come by I feel good. I stop the 'spot running' momentarily to smile and get enveloped by that 'warm glow' feeling

Phir bhi dil hai Hindustani

A reluctant immigrant. That's me. I thought I was a rare commodity back home; when I refused the Rotary scholarship and had no desire to live anywhere but in India. Holidays abroad yes, of course, most welcome, but India was where I always always wanted to live. And die.

Once you come out though, whether it is the US or Canada or Jamaica, you meet scores of them, reluctant immigrants. Every one of a couple, desperately homesick, and the other more stoicly reminding of the practicalities.

When I joined TCS, I wanted to do a short stint in the United States, to earn the dollars to pay off my home loan and to show my kids Disney World. And then I got hopelessly stuck.
Scores of reluctant immigrants here will identify with this story. We convert dollars to rupees and that makes our eyes really widen, but the spend is in dollars too, so you are not really able to achieve that saving you imagined you would. Certainly not if you like us who has reversed the motto'Simple living High thinking' to 'High living, simple thinking'.

Then you go back to India for a holiday. Noone warns you when you, starry eyed, board the plane about the shock you will receive. Not just culture mind you. It is the whole package. Environmental, natural, everything. I simply could not imagine why my beautiful green Delhi was looking so decrepit and dusty in the 2 years I had left it behind. My sister impatiently told me after I wondered for the nth time; that this is how it always was. The fruits looked tinier, people looked tinier. Lajpath Nagar, that delightful market to which I escaped everytime the blues hit me, did not seem to be offering those deals anymore. Inflation had hit India so hard that even the cost advantage did not remain.

That first visit was frought with so many problems. Everything in our house had to be reconnected, phone, electricity. Things that stopped working had to be fixed.By the time we got it all going, it was time to come back. Come back with a new appreciation for things we took for granted; clean air, drinking water, uninterrupted power supply and a relatively orderly way. I was so confused. And so utterly ashamed of being this way. Does this happen to everybody else too? This confusion and shame? I do not know. That was when Ameeth applied for the Canadian PR. I let him.

I have visited India twice since then. But I was better prepared, and enjoyed those visits more. Was it because I knew I was not going to live there anymore?

It has not been easy for me, this transformation. But I have to be honest with myself and everyone else.

It was in the US we had to handle our kids by ourselves without any help. We also had to let go of the luxuries we were used to. I had to learn how to drive and cook everyday.

But it was here that I spent more time with the kids, and tried out so many Indian dishes because I felt like having them that I became an inspiration to some people back home too. We hardly saw movies in India. Over here, we saw the Hindi movies the day they were released. We followed news on NDTV avidly and sometimes knew more than our friends back home on the latest. Sometimes, we cared more too. I was accused in a recent article I published of being the NRI who watches from afar and easily says 'nice things' Not so. Almost every NRI I knew hung their heads in shame when Mumbai burnt, because they were not there but here. When I was there, it was so much a part of my life that I just went along with living my life. When I was mugged in Delhi was when the stories of other muggings became real.

What did I miss? Initially the dhobi, the driver, the maid and even the sweat and squalor but permanently my friends and relatives. Coming to that, I was meeting my friends in emails and chats while I was there, and that continued here too. In fact, I met them more when I went back home. I regret that my kids are not able to meet and play with their cousins, but not the petty politics that goes with relatives.

When we realised one day that Isha had stopped speaking Bengali, I declared that we have to go back. These kids have no idea of the Indian culture I said. What a huge lie this is! And now I am not talking just my kids. I am talking about the Indian kids( the ABCDs American Born Confused Desis) .

We have these stereotyped images in our minds. Fed by the Manoj Kumar movies. All desi kids exposed to Western culture become materialistic. Become hippies. Not so. I have seen ( no heard) about only 1 Indian kid who has strayed away here.

The rest of them?

They do India proud. They go out and volunteer in India for their summer holidays. They sing and dance Indian classical. They tell you things in the Bhagvad Gita you are not aware of.And some of them go back to serve in their country. They are not confused. We confuse them. We speak with pride about India and then do those typically Indian stuff. Like bribing the Income Tax officer to get a refund of my own money. ( my own salaried money!!) My son asked me with a crease on his forehead. " Are we criminals?" We are. Certainly hypocrites.

In the same period, I have seen young kids in India consumed by consumerism. Kids of middle class working parents becoming addicted to the pub culture. It is too new and very much the in thing. The peer pressure for brands and beer is tremendous.

Again, this will not be true for every Indian kid . There are many like my lovely god-daughter who I always point out as an example to my kids. But I am talking about the average Indian kid. the average Delhi kid. When I was still sitting on the fence, one proud Indian vice principal asked me, " Why do you want to come back? Is it for the kids?" And that I would be doing quite the wrong thing by them. Because India today is the not the idealistic India you grew up in. She told me of kids who are drug addicts; and who cannot be thrown out of school because they are well connected. And we are talking about one of Delhi's best schools here.

Does this look like I am leading to the conclusion that India is not livable for me anymore? Strangely no. There is no dilemma in my mind. If I hit a jackpot today, I would be back tomorrow. Not to Delhi. But some small sleepy town with a good boarding school. Where I would teach and my kids would study. I would visit with my friends in the summer holidays and dare them to find time for me.

Till then, I will raise my Indian kids to be proud Indians. Blind maybe, but proud, because that is something I can do here and cannot do in India.

Your children are not your children....

....They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.They come through you but not from you,And though they are with you yet they belong not to you. says Kahlil Gibran.

Nahida, my wise and best friend, gave this book to me years ago, when I was somewhere between 16-20 I think, and I really could not grasp what Gibran meant. How could my children not be my children.

At 46, however, the stark truth of what is said here strikes me. My children do not belong to me just as I do not belong to my parents. We are all free wheeling agents on this world, come here to play the role we were designed to or perhaps mess it up not making the right choices.

They were away from me for a month, miles away in India and I worried about my parents more than I worried about them. I convinced myself that it was best they were in India, while we roughed out the initial immigration part in Canada. While I was doing up their room for them, I wondered idly how they would like it, but did not suffer from pangs of misery missing them. This is how it would be I imagined, had I had them earlier and they were away in college.

But when they boarded the plane alone and in the airhostess' charge, I worried. I met them at the airport and despite all that is written above and the wise realization, my eyes filled up. Why? I ask myself this question several times in my life. Why do my eyes fill up without warning when I watch them perform on stage or when I go to PTA meetings?

That evening I sat down with my son and had several moments of quiet conversation with him. I saw he was becoming his own person. I felt a quiet happiness and pride. While I tucked my daughter in I realized that all along that I had missed them like I would miss an amputated part of my body.

They do not belong to me and yet I am in charge of them. I have to discharge this charge with responsibility. I have to let them go when they want to fly but be there to tend them if they fall midway, as long as I can.

They do not belong to me but yet they are a permanent part of me. I will hurt when they hurt. And when they rejoice, my eyes will cloud over. Because my eyes, my wise eyes, knew this secret all along.

Bomb Scare

We have learnt to live with terror everyday. Warnings posted about unidentified bags and looking under our seats for lurking danger do not send a shiver up our spines anymore.

They used to once upon a time. Especially when we were small town girls visiting the big bad city Delhi.

Somewhere in the late 80s, on a mild winter afternoon, my friend Poonam and I landed in Jaipur bus station on her scooty to buy tickets to Delhi. The announcements were everywhere. On the walls, through the loudspeakers, we were urged to look at all with suspicion for our own safety.

Tickets bought, we returned to board our vehicle. Just in time to see a suspicious character lurking around it. With our bravest 'dont mess with us' looks we walked towards the scooty. To our horror, we saw attached to it- a dirty cloth bag. We looked around trying to obey the instructions we heard earlier but the policemen were absent and those were not the cell phone days. Moreover, Poonam had to fight the eternal battle between being a brave mom or a cowardly reporter. She had her little girl waiting for her at home and every moment was precious. So we gingerly unhooked the bag from the scooty and in one long swaying movement threw it into the bushes waiting for the bang. Nothing happened.

In the meantime, the suspicious character who had become an interested observer ( also the terrorist in our minds!) raised the alarm . Bomb! Bomb! Not wanting to be a part of this even if meant being heroes, Poonam fiddled around with the key. Then turned around in horror! Even this seems to have been fiddled with she declared.

We stepped away from the scooty expecting it to explode and in doing so bumped into an identical one behind me. I looked at Poonam and she looked at me sheepishly. We knew who the miscreants were. Us!

We scrambled on to the scooty( the right one!) and were away in no time. I have often wondered if the owner of the bag found the it and if she/he did, was Mr. Nuisance around to explain? I guess I will never know.

My Pillar of Strength

I did not realize this pillar of strength for a long time. If Nahida has a golden heart. So does he. My husband Ameeth. Nahida always said that if you knocked on a door hard enough, it would open. Doors did not open for me. Not until I got married. After that I think I only had to stand in front of a door and wonder what was beyond and the door opened. My son and daughter were behind such doors for me. My second and third jobs also were. The opportunity to come to the US was also behind another and the flat we bought with almost zero resources.

We both thought it was our joint fortune. But I think it was mostly the wish of a golden heart. One that does not wish harm for anybody however badly that somebody has hurt him. He does not wear his golden heart upon a sleeve. He camouflages it behind his wicked dancing eyes and flippant one liners. It took a perceptive person like me( I am a pretty good judge of character) almost 10 years to discover this. But there it is. The unselfish heart. Kicking up a successful career to follow my dreams. Always buoying me up and holding me up as an example to his colleagues. Restraining me from being impulsive. Being my sounding board. He has always been there.

He is so rich and yet he thinks himself poor.

You can always find someone who owns a better house and a better car and more money. But to find someone who is rich of heart? You may look all your life and never find such a person. I am lucky that I have.

On his 49th birthday, I wish that he realizes his intrinsic wealth lies within him.
Happy birthday Shona and happiness always ( lies within your reaxh)

There is time yet to bloom

Today Arijit graduated from elementary to middle school.

We watched his face as names of his classmates were called out for different awards. His name was called out somewhere near the end and he looked surprised as he walked to receive his award.

My heart went out to my little boy. He has not had a cakewalk in elementary school. In a way, he failed to thrive here too at least in the way we Indian parents measure success.

From the time he was in pre-k, we were told he was very shy and reserved. From a vivacious and gregarious 2 year old, he suddenly turned inward one day, while he was performing something in front of relatives and said 'Lajja'. I have not been able to figure why. He had a turbulent kindergarten, with the class teacher picking on a 5 year old as if he were 10. The fact that I doid not meet her often like all the more available moms did not help. I did not start worrying till the first grade. When we were suddenly made aware that he needs help. And all because I never considered homework serious business in his earlier grades. I guess the damage was done. The boy was hyperactive and stayed at home all day with his grandparents. when his middle aged parents came back from work and took on the homework, tempers were at short fuse. If I were him, homework would be anathema for me too.

Then in third grade we moved to the US. Again, he went through untold humiliation in school. His shyness was mistaken for his inability to understand the English language and even though he passed his ESL test thrice, his teachers would not just get convinced much to the detriment of his self confidence.

His fourth grade was the worst. I got panic attacks everytime his teacher called, which was often. Unfortunately we believed in the system and not our little boy. We took him to doctors and even a psychiatrist who told us in no uncertain terms there was nothing wrong with our boy or his IQ. His teachers probably needed counselling. I became a pretty fierce defender after that, and Arijit always seemed surprised when I supported him.

This year my little flower has just begun to bloom. He believes he is going to become a famous cartoonist. He had a smoother year and had many friends and admirers. He wants to go out to play with friends now and goes off to birthday parties on his own. He has conquered some of his shyness with little help from any of us. We have not been protective parents; we have been pretty pushy and very judgemental too. Despite this, he has won.

I was a star performer in school, the brainy one. And I have both consciously and unconsiously wanted him to be that too. But what he is today is much better than what I was at his age. He is a much better human being. And have I not always said that matters most?

So what Arijit, if your ambition was to get the honor roll and you did not make it. You are a winner anyways and I am so proud of you.

Humbled

Yesterday my son paid me a compliment.

He said he wished that I would be his mom again in his next birth. As an afterthought he said, his dad too of course. Because we were really cool and should have been in the GNT.

Not quite a criteria for the best Mom really. I think I was terribly ungracious about the compliment. I think I had a blank and quiziccal expression on my face. A kaleidescope of thoughts were fleeting by. Of being a GNT employee and away from him when he was 3 months old and 'Failing to Thrive' A GNT employee again later when I was pregnant with his sister and was flying around fueling my ambitions and he had pneumonia at home. Months later at a new job neglecting to be the 'homework mom' when he was in his first grade.

Like all working Moms I am constantly running myself through continuous assessments. Am I always there for them? Is the time I am with them 'quality time?' With all the 'Finish your breakfast fast! And come on its time for Karate' I wonder if it is. My moments of truth are those when I hear my little baby say with absolute conviction. That she is not going to go out and work. She is always going to be around for her kids and..she is never going to tell them she has a headache when they want to go to the park.

I am able to take this feedback with more ease and can offer more justifications

I use the time they are in the park to clean up and get dinner ready. On the few occasions I am at the park I sit away from other moms, because I always feel inadequate. I am not up-to-date with the latest summer camp information and the other activity information. Sometimes I miss some school meetings too.

I am constantly surprising myself with my superwoman capabilities. I do a fairly good and fast job at work, when I entertain I do it successfully mostly, I am available for all important occasions of relatives and friends however physically dead I may be. In all my avatars I am doing a pretty neat job. Except as a mom.

But then I wonder how I would be if I were a full time mom? Frustrated with my pickled brains, depressed about not using them most of the time? Unhappy and wasted? what sort of mom would such a woman make?

Someday I will ask my kids this question and from their answer know.