Miss you Babai - always will

I still cannot fathom Death and what it means. One moment you have a person alive and the next it is a lifeless body.
How can people say with such surety that the dead go to a better place? Have they been there? Or do the dead just disappear into dust or ashes?

Where did Babai go? I sit up nights like an owl, waiting to feel his presence around me, willing to see him looking at me from somewhere in my living room and I do not feel his presence. I cry out to his soul to tell me that he is in a better place. But I feel nothing.

I miss him so. I call the Charmwood number hoping that there will be a pick up - even a silent one. But all I get is the voice message. I long to hear his voice telling me “Bhalo achi re” . Such a huge whopping lie. He was not OK for some time and hiding it. He was especially careful not to worry me – sitting so far away. In his old age, in the years I have been away from home, I began to appreciate this naturally warm and much misunderstood person that was Babai. We joked about lottery tickets, indulged each other and made sure he got a call everyday from his grandson.
When I was growing up, I did not know him as a person at all. I was closer to my mother. The only things I remembered were that he was strong and never ill and nothing could keep him down.

Babai was not a typical dad. One did not sit and discuss one’s dreams with him. His formula was simple. Position, money and food. Food was of paramount importance. Good food was the solution to all ills according to him. It was terribly tragic therefore to see him refusing food in the last few months of his life.

He was something of a maverick, always on to one project after another. Nothing ever got him down. One failed business venture after the other never robbed him of his enthusiasm for the next . He just got back up and ran again. That was what I always remembered and admired about him- The sheer will power and the complete lack of cynicism. All this kept him so busy that he did not do the usual dad things. Like saving up for his girls, or for his old age. He simply believed things would fall in place. And of course they did.

I did do my post graduation, we did have food on the table and both my sister and I did settle down to reasonably comfortable lives.

I remember one evening when I was little. It was about 8 pm. In a small town that was like the middle of the night and I said I needed a frilly frock for the school play next day. No amount of assurance of telling me that it was too late and to wait till the next day would stop my whining. Finally dad was so frustrated he put me out in the dark for a bit and I was heartbroken. As a parent, I know now, how much more heartbroken he would have been. Ma quietly cut up a beautiful sky blue sari and stitched the most beautiful frock into the wee hours of the night.

The next day, when I came back from school there were 2 big boxes from CG Dass full of frilly frocks. “Take your pick.” He said. He was full of grandiose gestures like that.

And when we fell sick, he was the one we found by our side when we tossed and turned. His first question as soon as we felt better always was - what would you like to eat? And he turned the world upside down to get us what we wanted to eat then.

Another memory I had was of the day the BCom results were announced. He came in from the back shouting Han Go to Ma. I ran out to see what was the matter and he gave me a big hug ( we are not a huggy family) and asked Ma to “Mukh mishto korao. Tomar me rank peyeche.” He had tears of pride in his eyes that day. And he had tears in his eyes when he left me standing on the station in Kota. That was my official ‘bidaai’ No tears on the day I left for my husband’s house.

When he came to live with me having to give up his business I got to know him differently. I became the parent trying to get him out of depression by introducing him to people with who he could talk stone talk to. He was not happy and made no bones about it. His way of protest was silence.

I tried very hard to be a good daughter. While I was growing up and then after I became financially dependant. I know he did not always like staying with us. He used to threaten to go away to Kolkata. We indulged him when we could, sending him off to see his siblings.But he was a great grandfather. And more than just that to Isha. He was her second mother

I do not think I was gracious all the time about being a good daughter though. I said words that did not need to be said. I regret every one of them now. My last words to him were an apology with a hug. “I have said many words I did not mean. Please do not worry about them. I just want you to get better and come to Canada”. In my own way, I tried to make it up to him in his last week. Papda maach tangra maach, mishti, I stocked the fridge with his favorite food much of which he would never eat. I tried. Did it matter? I do not know.

The one thing I should have done when he was alive was mend my bridges with my siblings. We did it after he was gone. He did tell Babun, he had spent a lot of time in riling with his siblings and that they were now all gone. He was urging us to make peace. He taught us how temporary life was to be squabbling in his Death.

I know he missed his grandkids. I remember his expression every time we had to leave for the west. There was such loneliness and despair in his eyes it made it difficult for me to look at him.

Ironical I did not see that look that last time I left. There was no one at the door to see me go. And deep down there was this something…was it my soul, that was so heavy so very very heavy. It knew I think that this was the end.

I have not lived a single day without guilt here in Canada. I have been forever guilty. Of not being with him in this last stage of his life. The irony was that I was working on it. I saw myself back in India by the end of 2012. But Death did not heed my plans.

In deference to the best memory I have of him – of the man who always gave it a good fight – I have returned to living life. In deference to the memory I have of him of keeping silent about his deepest feelings, I am avoiding friends who want to come console. My response to all who ask is “I am OK. I am fine. – Bhalo achi” True, most of us have by now experienced a loss in our lives, but each one of us are different in the way we take it. This is my way- Babai’s daughter’s way.

I am not sure about after life. But in me he lives. As he lives in Bula. As he lives in Babun, Monu, Arijit, Debu and Isha
He wrote, he painted and forgave everybody. I will try to keep that legacy alive.

Incredibly Indian

After my trip to the Indian capital last December I was going to write a piece “Maa Tujhe Salaam” on the Republic Day this year impressed as I was with the airport, the metro and the malls of Delhi
But life has its strange twists and turns. I found myself back in Delhi on the eve of the Republic Day under very different circumstances.
My father lay critically ill in the hospital and my sister and I were the chief caregivers. Just like one realizes the true worth of friends and relatives in a time of crisis, does one realize the culture of a place. Delhi is ruled by scavengers! Soon enough I began to see that the cab drivers, the helps at home were all cashing in on the hapless situation we found ourselves in. They were out to maximize their gains in the face of our vulnerability. I looked for angels in the crowd and for the first time in many years found none!
Everything was a struggle. From getting my father a bedpan to getting him cleaned up and into a fresh pair of pyjamas. The inhumanity, the lack of reverence for a human life both amazed and disgusted me. The nurses were in a perpetual daze administering wrong dosages of medicines and relaying half baked information.
When it was time to leave the hospital, and I asked for an ambulance, my father was actually made to step into the ambulance and then ordered out! One had to literally scream to get their attention to the fact that the reason the ambulance was ordered was because the patient was a patient! And people who did their duty at the hospital lined up for their bakshish!
While the doctors were excellent- all surrounding facts almost negated the fact that they were so.
I hired 24 hours attendants for my Dad, who slept while my dad moved himself around to the bathroom on his own.
Unfortunately we lost our father the second time into the hospital. And when it was time to move him to the crematorium, a drunken ambulance driver tried to order the bodily remains out with no reverence to the fact this was the last journey of a person – a living being a few hours ago! The crematorium employee wanted money to hand over the ashes and the pundits were shockingly mercenary.
Thanks to one family of women and an old pujari, we finally found some solace and peace in performing the last rites.
Is this what Incredible India is all about? True the size of the population puts a strain on the infrastructure but whatever happened to the tehzeeb North Indians were known for? In its run to become an economic superpower, Indians are slowly losing their values – the essence of what made India dear to us.

...not a very nice person

I am not a very nice person today. I am moody, unpredictable and crabby.

When everybody in the world is showering good wishes on me.

Why is this so?

I had built up a hype for this day and just a few days before, let all the air out and decided to retreat within that nice quiet space which nobody likes except me. Why did I do it? I dont know. I just go there sometimes and its really nice and peaceful if people would just let me be!

And in this frame of mind the big day started..I know, age is just a number, but so are revenue and sales and profitability. We chase these numbers all our lives. I think its nice to acknowledge the number that is age and be grateful for the fact that one made it there.

How did it start and how has it been going?

The midnight call and song from Tutuda and Rinti..Nice
The lovely card from Shona ...nicer
Shona grumbling about my non cooperation movement...hmmmm
Shona consoling himself counting off the things he did manage to give me Swaroski bracelet etc etc..not very nice Shona like that guy who nearly married Kareena in 3 Idiots and I know you are not that person!:)
6 a.m call from Nahida and my not finding the phone in the bedroom and then missing the phone on my cell phone as well! Drat it Nahida! Why does this always happen? I guess you call in your time more than mine! There there...I'm being nasty ....not very nice
Yes predictable no not boring but yes infuriating. How nice if that was a ring on the doorbell and it would be you wearing your million dollar smile? hmmmm
Album posted by Rinti. Nice and predictable. Had excepted some verbiage there but what could she say?
No surprises from Rati as well....call from her quite a nice short call nice...
Call from Subi...nice always nice
Call from Monu when I was in the bathroom...and after I rushed out and took the cordless back with me she hangs up...hmmmmm not very nice
Call from Babai and Ma. Ma's operation scheduled next week...not very nice
Call from Putts...nice. Her asking me not to get irritated with my parents not very nice.. Not her that is. Me nasty me..not very nice
All the Facebook wishes...nice..predictable but nice
Sudipto's legitimate comment??? hmmmmm still has me thinking? How can any wish be illegitimate? There is no known law against wishing!
The card from Arijit...very nice. I know Shona bought it. So much more they mean to me your hunting out the right cards
Call from Babun and Tuhina..nice
Wishes from Debu...nice
Snowfall today hmmmm
Sun predicted this afternoon ...nice
Rolling off from Mississauga project...not very nice I liked this project but my work here is done
The sun is out now and someone left a box out there. I opened it to find a holiday gift hamper. No no Coach handbag Who has sent this? ...Nice

The day is half over. I have got myself in a better place now having walked out of the quiet place nobody wants me to be. Dont know how the rest of the day will unfold. I have got gift cards from Alice Fazooli,Old Navy and AMC Movies. Will be one of these..I suppose

For those who are wondering it really is no different from any other day. I do not feel any older..not even any wiser.

It has been a good life and all of you have helped make it so! So cheers! And thank you for being there when you were there

...for oft when on my couch I lie

in vacant or in pensive mood..they flash upon my inward eye....

I was not just sharing poetry when I posted this on Facebook last year. I was sharing my mood.

Each Fall around November 1st...I get into this 'vacant and pensive mood' and walk down memory lane.

It's funny how a certain date floods you with memories of some framed pencilled sketches, a gray vest...a labor of love. Of someone who you thought the world of and who you thought thought the world of you. Strangers now in this over connected world. Strangers who could die and make no difference to the other.

And fill you with wonder. How transient the greatest moments of one's life can be.

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.