Should I message?

I am down with the Viral and have been given (God sent time??) to relax after a hectic month.

I have caught up and read all the blogs I wanted to. Even read a lot of the Fun Wall posts my friends have been sending me on FaceBook. (Yup! I wasn't checking them either!!!) Until now, I'd not given due attention to all the applications on FB and finally did that as well!

On a lark I thought I would look for somebody through the Friend Finder. And it was easier than I thought. I found him...on top of the list of profiles, with a photograph that was clearly him, only 15 years older!

His profile is 'Private' and therefore, I know nothing about him. I am so tempted to send him a "Hey" message.

Even discussed it with hubby who thinks its a bad idea. Because we have been estranged for the past 15 odd years and it will seem odd to him, that I am trying to initiate contact with him after the lapse of all this time.

And its not just the lapse of time. It also has to do with the bad blood that has flown between our two families, over this last decade and a half.

He is my first cousin and the son of my dad's older brother who cheated my father off his life's earnings in one single shot... (Wrote about it when I first started blogging dated Oct 9, 2003).

Its not about forgiving or forgetting. Somehow, I feel life is too short to hold grudges forever and we should all move on!

Somehow, seeing a thumbnail profile picture has brought many memories, mostly good ones. He was my Guru in my growing years, since he is just three months my senior. Taught me what I know about music... We were close, and during summer holidays, or wedding celebrations, virtually inseperable. "Thick as thieves" my mom would say!

We have shared several good times together .... Isn't it sad that I can't just open his "Message" window and write to him?

The Silent Raga by Ameen Merchant

A tale of two sisters, bonded by love, divided in hate and reunited; a plot oft heard and repeated.
But Merchant has a way of gripping the reader. His narrative flows, between years, events, past and present unfolding the story of love, betrayal and renewal of faith like the strains of a raga, smooth and melodious.

Janaki the female protagonist, caught in a web of imposed household responsibilities, at 13 becomes the caretaker of her home after her mother’s sudden death, unwittingly becoming mother to a younger sibling….thrust into maturity and immense responsibilities of a brahmanical living.

Reinforcement of her tedious daily schedule page after page is unnerving and invokes pity. Janaki’s hardship of living up to the expectations of the father, an aunt (who is in an illicit relationship with her father) and the society, ties her down in shackles. Her only getaway comes in the form of a weekly Veena class that she is passionate about.

Set in the Tamil Nadu of the eighties and nineties, the story illustrates the conservative Tamil Brahmin society of a shanty at the outskirts of Madras, where girls are sacrificed at the altar of back breaking household chores, easily withdrawn from schools; where dowry forces many a girl to plunge to her death from a Nagalingam tree.

In short, a society and living far removed from ours, yet so close that a peep into any neighbouring agraharam (compound for living near a temple) will spew forth several Janakis, Kamalas and Revathis crushed under the burden of being “nice brahmin girls”.

Janaki’s love for her sister is unquestionable. But her walking out is spurned by the rejections she faces at the hands of prospective grooms and their families. She fears that the only option for an unmarried Brahmin girl would be death, like her friend Kamala, and she, the optimistic fighter, loves life and what it has to offer her too much to end it in a cowardly act. So she flees.

Leaves her home and her sister in the same predicament she found herself in when their mother passed away. Except that her sister Mallika is lucky to continue her education while playing caretaker to the home and their father.

Perhaps the most poignant parts of the book deal with the mental breakdown of the father that Mallika first blames on her sister’s departure. In reality though, the father, somewhere deep inside knows that he had deeply wronged his first born, a shame that manifests itself in the form of a mental illness that requires him to be institutionalised.

Janaki’s flight and subsequent marriage to a popular Bombay film star gives her the breakthrough to pursue playing her Veena, leading to her salvation as she accomplishes her dreams. Her meeting with the sister after 10 years of stoic silence and their subsequent journey to their ancestral home leads the story to its climax.

Janaki is a protagonist with a heart of gold and guts of steel. A girl so hopelessly trapped in circumstances, and yet who finds the way out, makes an incredibly optimistic tale and serves as an inspiration for those of us, who under insipid circumstances also tend to get bogged down and lose our will to fight.

God's Own Country

As we drove past the greenest of green landscapes, I wondered why we had stopped venturing in to Kerala, and discovering its hidden treasures, virgin beaches, waterfalls etc.

Along with the mist that rose from the falling waters of Athirapally, rose the mist that crowded my mind as well.

All looked well as we surveyed the crowd gathered at the Falls.

Athirapally is a beautifully located waterfall, surrounded by greenery that is refreshing and verdant even under the glaring hot sun.

The Forest Department allows visitors to access the river that falls down a height to form the waterfalls. So you can find people soaking in the stream of water, splashing others with the cold water and generally having a lot of fun.

The river bed is rocky and requires a lot of careful manoeuvring. As we decided to cross the stream, to get to the middle, (since the flow of water was better there and it wasn’t as much crowded) a bunch of young boys decided that we needed help.

They started by extended their hand to help us cross the stream, as we tumbled over rocks and tried to get a grip to prevent ourselves from falling.

One of the boys, wearing just a calf length track bottom (he had even left his fly open), looked visibly high on something. He came quite close to me and I guessed it was not liquor since he wasn’t smelling. I reckoned it was grass (marijuana), which is quite easily available this side of the country. (It actually grows in the wild.)

Soon they were following us and kept getting uncomfortably close. As my husband confronted the boy I’ve mentioned, it seemed as if they would back off. But the stares and looks in our direction continued much to our discomfiture. My husband could not enjoy the water or play with the kids as he stood watching, guarding us from these probable predators.

As time passed, the boys zeroed in on another family consisting of two girls who were with their parents. At one point, both hubby and I saw the boys lying in knee deep water and masturbating. The sight was so revolting and disgusting that hubby swore, “I hate Malayali men.”

Even as School going kids we had encountered flashers (men who raise their ‘lungis’ to show off their private parts to unsuspecting girls) and I’d thought over the years, perhaps, this phenomenon had been curbed by the cops.

But somethings just do not change.

As we packed and left the area an hour or so later, they followed us almost till the car.

As for me, as I said earlier, the mist disappeared. There is no wonder why we had stopped venturing to discover the hidden beauty of this gorgeous State.

Aamir

I generally don't write movie reviews because as in books, people may just have a different taste in movies.

But this is one flick, like Rang De Basanti, or Taare Zameen Par, all of us must see.

Aamir.

A movie that tackles a very serious topical issue, in a very in-your-face manner, yet, focuses on the sensitivity of its viewers. A movie that is unemotional, dealing with the unfathomable. It gives the issue a new perspective, one that will be etched in my mind forever.

I will think of the protagonist before I quickly allow my self to label an individual a 'terrorist'...

Together with the awesome acting (Big screen debut of Rajeev Khandelwal is striking and compulsive and he is a handsome dude), is a very strong script backed by amazing direction (no leverages granted here for the first time Director), and sensible music and background score (not the AR Rahman/Sandeep Chowta type of run-of-the-mill stuff).

Considering the kind of movies that have been churned out lately (Krazzy 4, Race, Tashan etc), Aamir is a class apart and above.

But be sure, it won't be hanging around in Cinemas too long. Go see it while it is still playing.

Gran'ma's Home

My kids usually take off for the granparents' home during the Summer break. Its not just the change of place and the relaxed atmosphere they look forward to. My mom pampers them silly year after year, catering to their littlest whim and fancy, with love and absolute adoration.

Example: She knows they love ice creams. So she buys huge family pack tubs of different flavours, with cones and makes them a double cone WHENEVER they demand.

So, after a fulfilling lunch or dinner, you'll hear the squeals of excitement as my mom hands out cones, with "Vanilla on top and Chocolate down" or "Strawberry on top and Butterscotch down"!!!!

She makes them milk shakes of every imaginable fruit, lick lollies (ice candies) of every imaginable colour and flavour, buys them all the 'Kurkures, Bingoes, Lays, Cheetos and Cheese Balls' they desire.

Mom lets my son walk down to the neighbourhood store to buy a toy EVERY single day. Armed with a ten rupee note folded and placed in the pocket of his shorts, hand in hand with our family gardener, he gets himself a knick knack because he has a fixation for "new toys".

While both of them suffer from swollen tonsils when they are in Pune, even in the warm summer months, all the ice creams, shakes and ice candies don't aggravate the tonsils at mom's place. They don't fall ill or even get a sore throat.

Its the strangest thing ever!!!

At home in Pune, we are strict parents, denying the Ice creams (due to the tonsils), or junk food. But at gran'ma's place, there is no such word as "No". Mom spoils them so much that it takes us atleast three weeks to "unspoil" them again.

Funnily, I don't get perturbed by the 'spoiling'. It just makes me love and adore my sweet darling mother even more!!!!

I am also reminded of a dear aunt (mom's sister) in Delhi we would frequently visit for our 'Weekend Rejuvenation Package'. Leading hectic lives through the week with school routines, jobs, hubby's MBA etc, we'd just reach her home on a saturday morning and crash. We'd sleep for hours, chat, eat whatever she'd cook for us, and just relax.

She would not only feed us, she would also take care of the kids and their requirement...easing the pressure on us, atleast for the weekend.

Gran'ma's are adorable. But I have not seen anyone as adorable as my mom and her family. Obviously, I believe that this runs in my mom's family... Actually, I am quite certain of that. I only hope and wish and pray that it has percolated down to me, so I can be a good gran'ma to my grand children as well!!!!

My Indian Rail Yatra

Yes. Some of us do take the train to destinations that cannot be accessed by air and would be too tedious by road. I've always been intrigued by Indian Railways and the 'system'. This time I thought I'd click a few pictures on the station...


Ever seen a platform so empty?

The wordly belongings of an Army Personnel

Wordly belongings of this young boy's family

Waiting for Godot

Dry Murmura Chaat: Maharashtra Speciality



What a contrast!!! Pune's premier hotel Le Meridian: 5 star comfort faces the city's Railway Station



Drinking water? God forbid!!


A Locked toilet benefits who you said????

From Maharashtra to Andhra Pradesh, platforms and stations look alike. Seen one, then you've seen them all. The Railways should be lauded for this model of replication across the country!!!

Its a matter of trust

"How hard it is, sometimes, to trust the evidence of one's senses! How reluctantly the mind consents to reality."
Norman Douglas

When I used to open the door for courier guys I was cautious. Having read too many incidents in newspapers of how criminals pose as courier delivery guys to enter into homes and loot, rape, murder the residents. The targets are women who most often than not are alone at home in the afternoons.

Yet, sometimes, as long as it happens to be a newspaper story, after a period of time one tends to forget them. Laxity increases and the danger though omnipresent does not surface until a new story appears in newspapers.

Newspaper stories seem too far away...like it happened to ‘them’; can’t happen to ‘us’.

A few months ago, we heard about a woman who was murdered in her own apartment in Mumbai by a man who posed as a courier boy and was hand-in-glove with the servant of the house (who as almost all cases show, was recently hired). The lady in question happened to be the mother of the man who runs the company my husband used to work for.

That was the closest the horror of such a tragedy ever got to us. We were alert for a few days but are back to our lax days again.

However, the point I am trying to make out of this post is the complete lack of faith one human has in another. We cannot trust anybody. The milkman because he could mixing urea in the milk, the rickshaw driver who always asks more than he deserves as a matter of right, your maid because she may be stealing from right under your nose, your boss because he may be jeopardising your next promotion behind your back, your doctor who may be charging you an exorbitant consultancy and so on and so forth...and of course, your courier guy as well.

Our lack of trust is ingrained so deep that when I am flagged by a traffic cop (especially when I haven’t violated a traffic rule) I am certain that his intention is to take a bribe. It may not be the case every time. And yet, I mentally condition myself to take him on, if he proposes that I pay him an amount without issuing a proper challan/receipt.

So imagine my surprise when the courier guy (yep...had to be him; he triggered this post) handed the envelope to me this afternoon and said, “Madam, I have a request.” For a second I contemplated closing the door chain first and talking to him through it (what if he was making conversation with me to buy time?) But I did not, and said, “Hmm?” He said, “I need Rs 30 because my vehicle has got punctured.”

Now this is the critical part. Principally I would not mind helping a person in need. But this young man was wearing a handkerchief that covered half his face (I know Pune is a polluted city and all, but he should have taken it off while talking to me at least??!!!)How was I to trust him?

And yet, I did. I closed the door momentarily, fetched my wallet and gave him the money. He promised that he would return it in a few days because, “I keep coming to the building often.”

Now I am wondering, should I be glad that he wants to return the money...or should I be scared that he may be back and that’s not a good sign? Or should I have just refused to give him the money in the first place???

Didn’t I just say that it’s getting more and more difficult for one human to trust one another?

Join the tribe!

When I began my career as a journalist, I'd often heard people tell me that they had a very bad impression of scribes, what with the lack of social accountability hitting media across the board (I mean print, online and television) and sensationalism gaining in coverage space, albeit less than glossy advertisements.

People would say, "Oh you're a journalist! वो तो खाऊ पियू लोग होते हैं !" (They're interested in eating and drinking only)....elaborating further, "कहीं भी बुला लो उन्हें, सीधे snacks के काउंटर पे पहुँच जाते हैं !" (Call them to cover an event and you will find them on the snack counter for sure.)

One fellow went to the extent of saying that I had a rather easy job. "What do you have to do? Come to an event, eat and drink and take the Press Release back to print the news!!!!!"

Sometimes I would be aghast at the accusations. Sometimes I would just smile and be glad that I didn't fall in that category. I never bothered offering anyone an explanation because I did notice most scribes doing what I'd heard...eating and drinking at events, at times snoozing at events too, comfortable in the knowledge that the Press Release will have all relevant details.

But..these words affected me. I would always be careful to decline coffee or tea, or the samosas or sandwiches at events. I would eat before I left home and would make it a point to keep a pack of chips handy if I missed a meal. Refusing the beverage or the snack, I would beam inwardly at my self control.

Until today!

I went out to cover an event today at 230pm. Ideally I should have had lunch before I left, but I'd had a late breakfast and wasn't keen on lunch. Dashed out of the door and went to the venue.

By 430pm I was ravenous. I was on the third floor of a building and could not possibly go down to look for a pack of biscuits or chips. Then, the meeting broke and snacks were served. Sandwiches and coffee.

Needless to say, I was the only one who gorged on two sandwiches! Even as I dipped the sandwich into ketchup, it struck me like a bolt from blue... The reason why scribes are always seen snacking during events, is because the poor souls are on the field from morning to late nights and do not have the time for a decent meal!

Today, I joined my tribe and have officially begun behaving like the scribe I aim to be!!!

Men in uniform

For everyone who has often seen Barkha Dutt of NDTV conduct shows on the channel, she must come across as dictatorial. The fact is she is. I have been on We, The People, a show on NDTV several times and each time I have found that she indulges the celebrity invitees to the show and ignores the participating audience to a large extent.

And yet, I am willing to put aside her misgivings as an anchor as there is something I admire about her. Her passion for the men in uniform. A passion I share with her.

Flying back from Delhi last weekend, I read this article in the Hindustan Times. Read it HERE.

When I read it, tears formed in my eyes. For once, I wish I had written that story.

I’ve been the wife of a defence officer. (We are out of the uniform, but in many ways, the uniform still stays with us). And I have lived the life she has described.

Outside the Defence, all the tax payers of the country, look upon the Services perhaps as a glamorous career option..that wasn’t meant for them.

I have heard people complaining about the corruption in the Armed Forces, the “free ration” we get (Mind you, NOTHING is free….the money for it being compensated somewhere in our dismal salary packages), the so-called perks (Canteen and Medical services…) and some times absurdities like “you get what we pay out of our tax money” (Excuse me, but we pay our taxes honestly too.)

I agree. Corruption is taking root, one step at a time in the Armed Forces. Which public service will not have a few rotten tomatoes? But does that mean the entire vegetable basket is to be condemned?

When we raise a finger at a Brigadier stooping to issue undue favours in return for a mere gold chain (as was exposed in the Tehekla expose) do we stop to think that after 25+ years of service why he would risk condemnation?

The abysmal pay packets have a story of their own to tell. Until the recommendations of the Sixth Pay Commission are enforced, the average carry-home package of an Officer with SEVENTEEN years of Service is about Rs30,000. Enough to pay a Home Instalment, a car loan etc?

That’s how much a friend with two years of work experience in the call center industry was earning. As a bachelor, it was more than he could ask for.

But imagine a family sustaining themselves through outings, vacations, extra stuff for schools, uniforms, groceries, other essentials, fuel, compulsory savings etc on that meagre income. A family of four mind you!

Lets not discount the other contingencies such as an ailing parent who cannot be treated at the Military Hospital, or an out of turn transfer which will land you in a city where Defence accommodation is unavailable (You might be put on a roster), so you end up taking a home on rent, paying market price for it. Or consider that after staying in this rented accommodation, you have to move to a Defence dwelling, and you shell out the money for the local transfer yourself.

And here I speak of Officers. One cannot fathom the plight of jawans, sailors and airmen who are even forced to share family accomodation (one flat amongst two families) due to shortage of official accomodation, or those who die fighting terrorists in "peace time" receiving no extra compensation...and a two line mention in the left hand bottom corner of a newspaper that could be used to line a garbage bin.

Glamorous. Yes. Lots of parties and a life of dancing and merry making….

But that is one side of the coin. All the partying and merry making can get tedious when you have to pay for each of them and attending them is “compulsory”.

I agree that the Defence is a non-profit making sector, so all the expenses that go towards disbursement of salaries, upkeep of establishments, procurement of equipment etc are just EXPENSES. But can we do without it? Can we do without the two lakh personnel posted in J&K fighting terrorism? Or guarding our shores and skies?

The morale of the man in uniform is at an all time low. Read stories in newspapers about the brewing dissent... jawans shooting at their superiors etc, and you’ll know that the situation is grim.

The sense of pride a uniform evokes is, in this materialistic world, temporary and transitory. Weighed on the yardsticks of success and happiness, it falls way below the mark.

Patriotism is not enough reason to join the Armed Forces. They need more. Give them more. Or they will, like my husband did, flock out, one by one, for several reasons, seeking happiness, contentment, success and money, elsewhere.

Happy Birthday Abhir!

It is 5 years today...5 years since Abhir came in to our lives, at 8 13 PM...sharp ( I saw the clock, so I KNOW)...

In 5 years, he has grown up so much into the lovable champ we hoped he would be ... (Its his Birthday today so I am NOT gonna utter a word about his fussiness over food, bed wetting, stubbornness etc etc)

5 years ago, we had hoped he would delay coming in to the real world by a few weeks, because he was severely under weight and frail in the womb. But nope...he was in a tearing hurry to see the world, and despite our best efforts, his sister held him in her arms on that night in a dimly lit corridor of the hospital.

5 years have been a roller coaster. In many ways, he is a typical boy, falling and bruising himself all the time, sometimes needing medical attention, sometimes a hug and a kiss and sometimes words "You are such a brave boy!"



He is a brave boy indeed. He has fought his childhood shortcomings and emerged victorious. I have written about it before. You can read it here.

After 5 years of constant struggle, he has triumphed over his insecurities and his health issues.

We are celebrating his Birthday on Saturday. I may not be able to send all of you an Invitation. But this party is open to all. It is in celebration of my son becoming an individual....and I want to share this joy with EVERYBODY!