bits and bytes

Parents say the darndest things

2011-06-21T09:44:00.000-07:00

A couple of nights ago, as we were making our usual torturous, slow march towards the kids' bedtime, I suddenly found myself hollering: "And remember you have to brush every one of your teeth. Not just the ones in front".

As soon as the words escaped my mouth, I realised I had never in my life thought I'd ever need to say anything quite like that. An exchange of this kind would sound so very peculiar to someone who has never been a parent. But to any mother of typical, scraggly pre-teen boys, that sentence is nothing out of the ordinary.

Every time my father overhears me saying something that bizarre to my kids, he guffaws and refers to the 1960 Doris Day classic Please Don't Eat the Daisies. Now that movie title would flummox most, but never a parent of young children. To a mum or dad it sounds like a completely sane and reasonable request to the imps.

As a parent, you do honestly catch yourself saying the strangest things every once in a while. Like I distinctly remember telling one of my boys once not to lick the banister. And another time to kindly not try to stuff his head into a dog's mouth. And to please not press the elevator buttons with the nose. And to please not use his teeth to pick litter off the carpet. And to please not leave shoe prints on the ceiling by tossing footwear up every night. And to please not chuck the school uniform out of the sixth floor window when changing. And to please learn to ignore the monster he imagines is standing behind him when he is in the shower (this at lunch today).

If you're not a parent, yes, our breed does say the darndest things. If you are a parent, please share some of the gems in your "things you never thought you'd say" collection.

Nightgowns kill taste-of-home glow

2011-06-01T18:16:00.000-07:00

It felt very much like being home this Wednesday; like being in faraway India. A hot (albeit comparatively benevolent) sun had been beating down all day. The asphalt glittered in the glare. A strong warm breeze raced through leafy avenues, knocking planters over and blowing the lids off litter bins lined up along the kerbs for garbage collection day. The wind wrestled stray bits of garbage out of the bins, dry leaves and clumps of mowed grass out of yard waste bags and tossed them around the streets.

Coming after a long stretch of a gray, wet spring, this was all very welcome. Smiles were back on the faces of passers-by, as was a leisurely gait, replacing the tight, crumpled expressions and urgent pace of walking through frigid air. Ah, it was nice. And it reminded me so much of home.

The icing on the cake of the uninterrupted Indian experience was dinner at China Cottage. Don't be misled by the name. China Cottage is as Chinese as paneer pakora. This is a Hakka Chinese chain of restaurants, as far removed from authentic Chinese cuisine as India's ubiquitous chicken manchurian. The pictures on the walls include the Taj Mahal. Hindi film songs from the 1950s and 1960s waft through the air. The clientele is almost entirely South Asian. And sickly-sweet, congealed sweet-and-sour dishes fly out of the kitchen faster than you can say bhel puri.

So there we were sitting back, letting this overwhelming feel and taste of home wash over us when in walked another Indian family and immediately our nostalgic trip came to a dramatic screeching halt, wheels throwing off sparks. The party in question consisted of a baby in a portable car seat, her mother, her father and the two grand moms. It was all very casual. The young couple wore tees and slacks, and their moms nightgowns. Yes, NIGHTGOWNS. For dinner at a restaurant.

The vision transported us right back to middle class New Delhi where auntyjis and matajis come out for their evening strolls in their billowing cotton nightgowns in gawdy prints. The only difference was the matajis at China Cottage in Toronto had shed the sheath of modesty that is the dupatta, casually draped over ample, sagging bosoms in New Delhi.

The spectacle immediately pushed our Indian high from a healthy dose to a potentially lethal overdose. We'd had enough of a taste of home. Thanks, matajis, for killing the afterglow.

A pointless, premature ritual?

2011-04-12T18:00:00.000-07:00

Popularised in Thatcher-era Britain and enthusiastically embraced in Indian polity, "TINA", it appears, is coming home to roost in Canada. So far it seems there is no alternative (TINA) to ousted prime minister Stephen Harper. Canadian voters will most likely wake up on May 3 to see they've gone through another premature and expensive election the previous day just to return Harper to office.

This is the first time I'm in the midst of an election without feeling an emotional tug towards any side. This cold objectivity is actually quite refreshing. As a non-Canadian in Canada I am sort of on the outside looking in, though I am in the general vicinity. It sure is fun.

I just watched the first televised debate between the leaders of the four major parties - Harper representing his Conservative Party, Michael Ignatieff of the Liberal Party, Jack Layton of the New Democratic Party (NDP) and Gilles Duceppe of the Bloc Quebecois. To be brutally honest, the debate was a little dull. There were no fireworks. There was very little charisma. And there wasn't much conviction.

You see, I am used to the very shrill, colourful and chaotic Indian general election. Now that is electrifying and extremely entertaining. There are scores of parties, thousands of candidates. There is high drama at every turn. There is no possibility of a televised debate. Imagine if a representative of every party with an MP in the outgoing Parliament was allowed to participate (that's the criterion for the Canadian TV debate). For the current Lok Sabha (lower house of Indian Parliament), that would be 38 debaters! In contrast, this was a very Canadian affair - restrained, polite and, er, dull.

Going by the Liberal Party's past record, Ignatieff is the challenger with the best shot at knocking Harper off the throne. But it's hard to take the man seriously. Even if you don't let Harper's vilification campaign through TV ads sway you, it is impossible to completely trust Ignatieff. The man seems like an ageing party boy. And I don't know why, each time he took the floor during the debate I kept seeing Dubya Bush! No, Ignatieff isn't as thick. But there's just something about the man that is so much like W. And it came as no surprise to me when NDP's Layton pointed out that the Liberal leader had played hooky through most sessions of the just dissolved Parliament. (See, there's the party boy).

To me, Layton came across as the most credible and sincere of the lot. Now I don't know much about the man. This is my outsider's perspective, judging just by his debate performance. But his NDP just doesn't have enough following to propel him to office.

As for Duceppe, he needn't have been there at all. It was Quebec vs Canada all the way. Harper was the only debater who mentioned on a few occasions that Duceppe's Bloc hopes to break the country. It reminded me of Kashmir and India, seeing how Quebec is treated with kid gloves; how Quebec doesn't agree with the rest of Canada's belief in celebrating multiculturalism; how it keeps telling Ottawa to back off or else....

Now for Harper. It is ironic that this much reviled man completely lacking in people skills still has the best chance of returning to the prime minister's office. Harper's is the first government to be held in contempt by Canadian Parliament for allegedly misleading the legislature on government expenditure. The Liberals moved the no-confidence motion, specifically over federal spending on fighter jets and construction of mammoth prisons.

When I came to this country in May last year and spoke to people about the government, not one person had anything nice to say about Harper. So I asked how on earth he got elected to the highest political office in the land. "There was no one else," was the unanimous response.

TINA favoured Harper in 2008. Looks like it might do so again in May 2011. That's how I call it. If I'm wrong, at least this election will become a little more entertaining.

No news, good news for a nation

2011-01-21T07:34:00.000-08:00

Coming from a crowded, disparate, chaotic nation like India where there's always something sensational going on and whose broadsheets don't have enough column inches to accommodate all the screaming headlines, it is taking me the longest time to adjust to bland Canadian newspapers. I still open the paper every morning and wonder "where's the news?".

In the eight months I've been in this country, there has been little of consequence to report. The biggest story was the police excesses on demonstrators during the G-20 summit in Toronto last year. Before the summit there were daily reports on just how much money the government was spending on the affair. In the past week it's been all about the shocking death of a policeman mowed down by a crazed man who stole a snow plow. Once in a while you hear of some corruption scandal. Reports appear now and then about tragic Canadian casualties in Afghanistan. And there was the Toronto mayoral election in October. That's it - since May of 2010.

These were all on exceptional, heavy news days. On an average day, it's quite amusing to see what the front pages here are filled with. There are gripes in bold print about a likely hike of $20-30 in an annual utility bill. In the summer there were a slew of reports on how the city wasn't allowing people to make money off golfers parking in their driveways during a golf tournament at a course that couldn't accommodate too many cars. Once there was something about a woman getting into trouble with the city over widening her driveway. Transit issues, understandably, make frequent appearances. And then there's hockey.

Hardly any national politics from Ottawa makes its way into front pages in Toronto. The most frequent (and I use the term "frequent" loosely here) issue raised is Canadians' concern over Prime Minister Stephen Harper's foreign policies alienating the country further from the rest of the world.

For actual news, you have to turn to the world pages.

Things are the same with television news. One morning a livestock truck overturned on a ramp coming off a busy highway and spilled its load of pigs. There were long discussions on breakfast news programmes about the incident and the conversation then led to the psyche of pigs! The anchors discussed how the pigs would be too traumatised to be herded in a hurry into another truck that had arrived on the scene. Apart from weather and traffic, breaking news here is generally about crime - both petty and serious.

While it's all slightly amusing to the erstwhile journalist in me, it got me thinking that this lack of news is definitely very news good for Canada. It means there is no serious malaise plaguing the country. If you can go on for hours, even days, discussing a rare power outage, the country must be in fairly good shape. There is no strife being reported, so all the diverse communities that make up this nation must be getting along reasonably well. Reports of serious corruption aren't common, so people in public service must be doing their jobs fairly sincerely. There aren't daily gripes and protests about things affecting everyday life, so infrastructure and basic services must be fairly well organised.

Wouldn't it be great if Indian papers and TV news bulletins also became as bland some day? Wouldn't it feel good not to wake up to reports of another politician shamelessly abusing power, or one community attacking another over a trivial matter? Wouldn't it be nice to surmise from the absence of "news" that our country is, for the most part, functioning as it should - efficiently, honestly, peacefully?

Cherry and the blinding technicolour dreamcoats

2011-01-04T14:03:00.000-08:00

As Indians we've grown up gossiping about Bappi Lahiri and his dazzling, if aesthetically challenged, wardrobe. If ever India could nominate someone for the popular television series What Not to Wear, Bappi da would probably top the list of possible candidates for the makeover show. I thought a man's wardrobe couldn't get much more shocking. Boy, was I wrong!

Thousands of miles away, halfway around the world, there is an iconic man who could potentially make Bappi da appear conservative in his sartorial choices. It's Canadian hockey legend Don Cherry, a commentator with big attitude and blinding blazers. The first time I saw him on television, Halloween was around the corner and I thought he'd worn his dazzling plaid jacket in the spirit of the outlandish season. Not quite, I was informed. He always dresses like that when appearing on the sports channels for hockey games.

I'm surprised Cherry's vision hasn't failed him after years of facing his blinding closet day after day. Among other gems he possesses is a plaid blazer in all the colours of the rainbow, and every hue in between. Plaid is clearly his favourite. He has plaid jackets in every colour imaginable. Cherry also loves going floral. The most memorable specimen from the floral collection are a white jacket with carnations all over, a blue one with daisies and another with gerbera. (You can see a few of them here - http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/multimedia/photo_gallery/0805/don.cherry.fashion.statements/content.1.html). On days when he chooses a fairly conservative suit or jacket, he embellishes with elaborate headgear.

Here's what inspired this blog post. I was watching a comedy show this afternoon when on came Bowser & Blue. Catch their act here - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HOuO2S5MjyE&feature=BF&list=UL4Jn87NUmHl0&index=20

So the song got me curious about the man behind the bedazzling blazers. And while I was reading up, there was a big "awwwwww" moment. You will never catch Cherry without a rose on his lapel every time he's on air. I'd wondered about that. Apparently the floral tribute is to his wife Rose, who passed away in 1997.

Anyway, how do you think Cherry rates against Bappi da, or Austin Powers?

Out in the cold

2010-12-09T14:51:00.000-08:00

There was once a woman who lived in the Indian capital. Every year as the leaves began to fall, as the days grew shorter and a chill permeated the air, she felt an inexplicable gloom descend on her. When winter set in in earnest, she hated that her hands, feet and the tip of her nose were always cold. She detested putting on layer after layer of clothing. She abhorred shivering inside her home even after bolting the doors and windows shut.

There were good winter moments too. Like sitting in the garden on a sunny afternoon, munching on roasted peanuts and sesame brittle (til patti). Rushing to the college cafeteria for a cup of sickeningly sweet tea, not to drink the brew but to clutch the hot cup in the hope of thawing the numb hands out after a freezing hour-long bus ride to the university. And year-end parties around bonfires.

But the good moments weren't enough to make her enjoy the north Indian winter. Her winter aversion was a standing joke in her family. Her father claimed that the woman in question put her woollies on in September and didn't shed them until March. I'd like to clarify here that he tends to exaggerate a bit for effect.

Then this woman (am sure you've figured by now that I'm speaking of myself) moved to one of the coldest regions in the world. Her family couldn't stop laughing (especially her brother)! The prospect of Rupa braving a frigid Canadian winter was just too amusing. It didn't matter that the move was to Toronto, which is one of the warmest places in this country any given time of year. I have to admit that the thought of winter did scare me. Acclimating to the cold was always going to be the single biggest challenge for me.

But here I am, making my way into my maiden Canadian winter, and quite enjoying it. Yes, you read it correctly the first time. Temperatures are already struggling to stay on the positive side of the Celsius scale. The lows have been dropping to -9 now and again. Next week they'll probably touch -12. And wind chill has been holding steady at -13 and will soon be -20. Frightening, if you just look at the figures.

But the fact is bearing the cold is so much easier in this part of the world. You are never, ever uncomfortable while indoors. And that makes all the difference. When you step out, you bundle up. You wear the right shoes, the right headgear and the right outerwear. And unless you're out for a day of winter sports, it's unlikely you will be exposed to the elements for prolonged periods. So you don't feel like a taxidermist's creation all the time, which is a big plus in my book. I absolutely despise being bundled up constantly. I feel constricted, stifled.

The few times you do step out here, you quite enjoy the crispness of the fresh, cold air. And because I'm obsessed with airing out the house, I open the door to the backyard for a few minutes most mornings when there's no one but me at home. It feels really good. And the house doesn't feel stifling and stale after that blast of freshness.

So I've realised that being out in this cold isn't as frightening as I'd feared. And that's certainly a very pleasant surprise.

A childhood without Aunt Enid?

2010-11-24T06:13:00.000-08:00

The other day a friend and neighbour asked me at a kiddie party whether I had ever heard of Enid Blyton. Of course, I responded, finding the question a little peculiar. Her excitement at my response threw me completely. "Wow!" she gushed. "Finally someone who knows Enid Blyton!"

I was flummoxed. "Who doesn't know of Enid Blyton?" I asked. Mostly everyone in Canada, she responded. I refused to believe her. After all this country is very much part of the Commonwealth, which is the strongest market for Blyton's delightful children's books. So my friend called out to a young mother of 25 at the party and asked if she'd ever heard of Enid Blyton. No, never, came the reply. My jaw dropped. My friend then asked a couple of teenagers. The response was the same. I couldn't believe my ears.

I cannot envision a Blyton-less childhood. It couldn't be as magical. The world has produced few authors as prolific as Enid Blyton, who penned more than 600 books for kids and young adults in her four-decade career. Wikipedia tells me she is the fifth most translated author of all time, ranking just behind the legendary William Shakespeare. I believe her books have sold over 600 million copies worldwide. And they're still strong sellers more than four decades after her death.

Blyton gifted us some of our dearest childhood friends, including Noddy and his adorable gang. She made life in residential schools so very alluring with the Mallory Towers and St. Clare series. She brought adventure into our lives with Famous Five, Secret Seven and the Five Find-Outers. And she took our breath away with the Magic Faraway Tree and many other tales full of delightful characters.

The friend I refer to grew up in Guyana and moved to Canada about two decades ago. Her childhood, quite like mine, was punctuated with frequent Blyton moments. And she naturally wants to share that with her daughters. But it is apparently difficult to do so in this country because Enid Blyton books aren't readily available. That's something I haven't noticed. I suppose I took it for granted that all kids sections in all bookstores have shelves packed with Blyton's works. Apparently you have to place special orders for Blyton books here, and you don't always get what you ask for.

So perhaps I should make this a mission. Introduce at least a small section of kids to the treasure trove that is Enid Blyton's legacy. Indian city kids are definitely more fortunate on this count. Their parents grew up on Blyton and have made sure the kids haven't missed out on the magic of Aunt Enid.

Finally, social responsibility with social networking

2010-09-10T09:56:00.000-07:00

Even though Facebook has always suggested that those signing up be at least 13 years of age, I know for a fact that a lot of kids much younger than that are on the social networking giant. So my older son, who is 10, has quite a few friends on FB and has often asked me to sign him up. I had been putting it off so far, telling him we'd take a decision on that after seeing how things were among his peers in Canada, where we recently moved.

Yesterday my first-born told me at least 15 of his classmates were on FB. Even if I made some room for exaggeration there, I suppose a few of the kids might just be. So I tried to sign him up. The last category on the sign-up form was the complete date of birth, with the year. When I entered the information, FB very clearly said "you are ineligible". I made sure my son saw it. He was crestfallen, but I was very relieved. And also pleasantly surprised, given all the flak FB has been taking lately over its privacy policy and other issues of security. I don't know if this is a new, stricter sign-up policy or just enforced in this part of the world. Whatever the case, it made me happy.

I guess I fall into the category of more conservative parents who believe in limiting their kids' access to the great beyond of information and networking till they're more capable of handling it. I feel that too much access too soon can be detrimental. Kids are always in a hurry to grow up. We were too at that age, but it was a time when it was possible to remain innocent and child-like for longer. Now with so much information out there, kids are graduating from childhood much too soon. Before they're actually ready for it. I don't think children in their pre-teens or early teens are emotionally equipped to deal with a lot of the stuff that being socially active online might potentially bring their way.

Let me clarify here that my kids do not live a cocoon. They are very aware of the world around them. They have had questions about drugs, rape, incest and homosexuality after reading of these issues, and we have answered them in the simplest possible way. Our boys have email accounts and use them often to stay in touch with family. They browse the Internet almost every day. But I take every opportunity to remind them to carefully choose what they read, especially while using a search engine. They have been advised to consult us if they're not sure of the source of information, and so far they do that. I suppose I hover a bit when they're online, but I think this is one area in which you can't be too careful. There are a lot of freaks, pests and perverts out there. And I believe my primary responsibility is to make sure my children are safe, in the real or virtual world.

There's plenty of time for online social networking, or whatever else replaces it in the future. That day too shall come. In three short years. Right now my older son is still a kid, and I feel he should stay that way at least for a while longer. Thanks FB, for declaring my 10-year-old ineligible.

Indian BPOs, accent training isn't enough

2010-08-27T14:49:00.000-07:00

I'm an outsourcing industry wife. For about a decade in India I have heard several conversations about the many things that go into making a business process outsourcing (BPO) firm tick. While all the technical stuff was wasted on me much like Latin, I followed with interest stories about accent training for Indian kids barely out of their teens so they could masquerade as Americans or Canadians over the phone. It was pretty phenomenal what India had pulled off in a fairly short period of time. In less than two decades our country was serving as back office and troubleshooter for a lot of the Western world.

But now that we're on the other side of the globe I'm seeing things with different eyes. Or, to be more precise, hearing things with different ears.

This afternoon the phone rang and some young man with an extremely peculiar accent asked to speak to my husband and then began a fairly long and clearly rehearsed greeting/small talk routine. I asked where he was calling from and what the call was about. He launched into a long speech that was hard to follow. The twangs and lilts of the American/Canadian speech pattern were all misplaced.

Anyway, I politely pointed out that he hadn't answered either of my questions. So he went through the whole thing again, emphasizing a few words here and there for effect. I still had no answers. Finally I lost my patience and told him my husband wasn't available and he should try calling tomorrow. The caller asked when he'd be back home today. I told him not before 6.00 p.m. He went into an involuntary "so that would be.....okay", which was a dead giveaway. It was so very obvious that he was calculating what the local time would be when it was 6.00 p.m. in Toronto. Again I asked where he was calling from, I confess entirely for my amusement this time. He said, "Toronto, the same place you are." Yeah, right buddy.

Now here's what the Indian BPO industry should take note of. First, the accent training is not cutting it. People in this hemisphere realise pretty quickly that they're not speaking to a local. Besides, I found it very hard to understand what the caller was saying. I have no such problems of comprehension when conversing with Canadians or Americans. The caller's accent was unnatural, forced and really quite annoying. So, is it unnecessary? Or do you need to do a better job on accent training?

Second, people in this part of the world value their time. Legitimate callers with real business open a telephone conversation with pleasantries and then immediately get to the point. There's nothing vague about the call. It is polite, crisp and as short as possible. These callers know they will lose customer/potential customer goodwill by wasting the other person's time. So please, train these kids to get to the point a lot sooner in the conversation. Especially if the call is being made to fish for business. And equip them with the information they need to give straight answers.

If the Indian BPO industry wants to stay ahead of the game, it should perhaps consider these suggestions from this insider/outsider.

Lardy-da

2010-08-16T14:46:00.000-07:00

I'd heard of them, but never seen them in the flesh. When I spotted them first I suppose I stared a bit. Even though my brain kept telling me to look away and stop being rude, I couldn't immediately avert my gaze. I noticed that they jiggled when they moved. The only form of vegetable they ate was deep fried and quite often dunked in a viscous cheese dip before being shoved into the mouth. They consumed unimaginable amounts of meat. And when they walked, it was always with a gigantic tumbler of some form of aerated beverage firmly clasped in a forelimb. They came in all colours, but the racial differences were neutralised by the body mass.

I am speaking of the gigantic blobs of lard that had come to Niagara Falls, Ontario, from south of the Canadian border. I got a chance to observe them last weekend. The Canadian part of the Falls is apparently considered more of a tourist haven than its counterpart in New York state, which is why most weekends Americans drive north of the border and inundate the town.

No matter how much you hear about the obese American, nothing really prepares you for the first sighting. It's hard to explain. Every visitor to the U.S. has told me that the vastness of its people matches that of the nation. Even though you now see a lot of obese Indians back home, especially in the big cities, they aren't yet in the same league as the true-blue large American. And Canadians often discuss the growing incidence obesity among their people. But at least in Toronto and surrounding areas, people are by and large fit and healthy in appearance.

I'm a big Jay Leno fan and try to catch his show whenever possible. Practically every evening he'd have a "now how fat are we getting as a nation...." segment. I'd laugh at the jokes but think to myself, surely he's exaggerating. Now I realise that he is most certainly not. These people are HUGE. They probably haven't seen their own feet or genitals in many years!

I understand now why the restaurant we ate dinner at on our first night at Niagara had "deep fried cheesecake" on its dessert menu. I checked with the waitress if that was correct. Yes, she said. It is really deep fried. And comes wrapped in a tortilla. But of course. Surely a simple cheesecake - made with cream cheese, butter, flour, sugar, eggs and cracker crumbs - isn't decadent enough for these people? I was dying to see a serving of this monstrous dessert but was too chicken to order it. Maybe next time.

Hygiene vs Conservation

2010-08-16T04:54:00.000-07:00

I'm all for personal hygiene. My kids might tell you I am fanatical about it. They'd be exaggerating. Like all moms, I insist they wash their hands periodically, brush their teeth twice a day, do a thorough job when bathing and hound them a little about being clean after using the washroom for a do-do.

If there was a scale to measure hygiene fanaticism - with 0 being a complete slop covered in layers of germ-infested slime and 10 being an unnaturally sanitised being in danger of scrubbing away skin and flesh in the quest for personal cleanliness - I think my score would be somewhere in the middle.

Germophobes who'd rank top on that scale amuse me a little. You can spot them from the way they wash their hands in public restrooms (if at all they use those). There is a normal hand-washing that most people do, and then there's the germophobe hand-washing which lasts a lot longer. I don't think surgeons going into the operation theatre do quite as thorough a job.

Anyway, I came across one of those at a restroom at Niagara on the Lake on Sunday. She made quite a production of cleaning her hands. Then she used the middle digits of her clenched fingers to yank some towels out of the dispenser. The elbows, feet and knees were then very creatively employed to dispose of the used paper towel, open the door and leave the washroom without contaminating her freshly washed hands by touching any surface whatsoever.

When she'd left I noticed the tap she had used was still gushing. That's when I got angry. She was so obsessed with hygiene that she didn't care she was wasting so much water! If I hadn't been in the restroom to turn that tap off, heaven knows how long it would have been left running. Hygiene is essential, but is it okay to seek it at the cost of such a precious resource?

Then there's the other extreme - conservation over hygiene. Singer Sheryl Crow has been the butt of quite a few jokes for suggesting that we all use just one square of toilet paper per bathroom visit. One stand-up comedian said he had immediately added her to the list of celebrities he'd never shake hands with. I agree. That's a tad too much, don't you think?

Hindi-Chini, more alike than we think

2010-08-11T08:42:00.000-07:00

We've moved into a predominantly Chinese neighbourhood on the eastern fringes of Toronto. You'll see a few brown or white faces on our street, but most residents are Chinese. And the more I observe them the more it strikes me that the middle class Chinese person is so very similar to the middle class Indian.

This morning I was watering the lawn in our backyard. Now ours is a corner lot and the street side hasn't been fenced, which means we have little privacy in the outdoors. So while I was in the garden, one of our Chinese neighbours from across the street walked up to say hello for the first time. "So you bought this house?" he asked. No, I said, we're tenants. His eyebrows went up a bit. "Very good tenants," he said, pointing at the hose pipe and then rotating his finger to cover the general spread of the lawn. Because we have a corner plot, we have one of the largest patches of grass in the area.

So similarity number one - if you're a tenant, you aren't really expected to take an interest in the appearance and upkeep of the property.

"How much you pay?" came the next question. I was a little taken aback. I haven't heard that one hurled at me quite so casually for a few months now. And I have never been comfortable with questions of this nature - how much rent do you pay; how much did you buy the house for; how much do you earn etc. I was instantly transported back home. Anyway, I mumbled a ballpark number which seemed to impress him.

So similarity number two - you can be asked the most intrusive and personal questions in the most casual manner. And you're expected to answer, pal.

It wasn't over yet. "For whole house?" he asked. I nodded. "You sublet?" he pressed on. Now I have heard this is fairly common practice among Asians in this part of the world. One couple or family rents a home and then two or three other families move in as well, splitting the rent. The property, naturally, goes to seed pretty quickly. Despite being aware of this, the question threw me a bit. And I was a little offended. But I managed to shake my head to convey that that wasn't going to happen.

Similarity number three - (and we faced this more in Mumbai than in Delhi) just four people living in a big house is considered a waste of space and money. I remember when we bought our four-bedroom apartment in Thane, many asked us if our parents would be moving in. When we said no I could see their brains trying to comprehend why these strange people need such a big home for a small family.

A couple of weeks ago a white lady from across the street asked me if we were home in the afternoon. We'd been out at the time she was speaking of. I asked why. She said she had seen three of four Chinese men walk right up to our kitchen and living room windows. press their noses to the glass and peer in. I had forgotten to close the blinds. "You definitely need a fence," my white neighbour said. I agree. The fence will hopefully be up within the next fortnight and we'll get a shield against prying eyes.

Similarity number four among the Hindi and Chini - curiosity about how others live will often get the better of you. My parents back home once had visitors going into the bedrooms and opening up closets!

Cockroaches - the latest political weapon

2010-07-25T14:08:00.000-07:00

Among the hardiest creatures to crawl the Earth, the humble cockroach can survive adversities most other species can't. Maybe that's why it has become the latest weapon in the arsenal of a political group that is all but dying out across the world. At least, that is, if the Indian Marxists' ace opponent is to be believed.

Indian Railways Minister Mamata Banerjee has reportedly accused the Communist Party of India (Marxist) of sneaking cockroaches into meals served on trains in the hope of denting the image of the mammoth state-run railroad and her credibility.

"They have been planning sabotage. They are trying to ruin (the reputation of) the Railways by letting cockroaches into food," The Times of India quoted the notoriously melodramatic Banerjee as saying during an address to her Trinamool Congress party in Kolkata. She also accused the Marxists of engineering a train accident last week that claimed nearly 70 lives.

Cockroaches? How much more ridiculous can Indian political discourse get? Mamata di seems to have hit an all-time high note of absurdity. Get serious people.

Census idiocy

2010-07-23T20:45:00.000-07:00

I've spent the past seven years fooling myself into believing I've made the righteous choice by giving up my career and choosing to stay home for the kids. I even gave up dabbling in freelance writing because it was interfering with my family's happiness and taking time away from my children. I felt I was doing the right thing by focusing on home and hearth. What a fool I am. Not until this evening did I realise that my contribution to my country was as worthless as that of a convict, a bum or a whore. But wait. Don't those people make some money? So I guess we homemakers are even less productive and consequential to our great nation.

India's decennial census reportedly clubs housewives with non-productive groups like beggars, prisoners and prostitutes. I'm not judging these other groups of people. My objection is to homemakers being labeled non-productive. Just how much more chauvinistic and blinkered can our vaunted mandarins get?

A former colleague told me today that a research group had assessed housewives' worth to the nation some two decades ago and come up with the figure of 10,000 crore rupees. I agree with his view that it was an extremely conservative estimate. But even if you keep to the conservative scale, how much do you think our contribution is worth now?

I understand it's hard to put a price on the things a housewife does. But let's break it down to basics. Add up the incomes of a caregiver for children, a cook, a cleaner, a nurse, a housekeeper. That's something, isn't it? Please take into consideration that we're on call 24 hours a day, seven days a week and 365 days a year. That necessitates higher remuneration. Then compensate those of us who have given up jobs for the voluntary early retirement from the workforce. There are many other intangibles, but even if we leave those out the sum can't be small.

So what the heck are these idiots at the Census department talking about? Thankfully the Supreme Court has stepped in and I hope the judges will give these morons a well-deserved kick in the pants. But the very fact that there is a group of people who think this was is extremely disheartening. If they're right and we're of no consequence, let's strike work my sisters. Bet your ass they'll notice our worth and productivity very quickly then.

Settling in my simple, upside down new world

2010-07-22T06:54:00.000-07:00

After two months of upheaval, my life is finally falling into a familiar and comforting routine. Having moved into the rental, found a place for everything and put everything in its place, we can finally begin to explore and enjoy the city we now call home.

I've found that life in the West is very uncomplicated. That is, of course, if you are willing to put in some hard labour and not whine and complain about all the work that needs to be done around the house. If you keep on top of the chores, there's enough time to relax and unwind. Besides, you're not tense about whether or not help will show up. You're not losing your sanity trying to keep the peace between your driver, maid, cook, gardener and car cleaner. You know you'll get hot water when you turn the tap to the left. You know the light will come on when you flip the switch. You're not left guessing when the gas cylinder will show up at your door. Things are simple that way.

They're also upside down or (to me) the wrong way around. Literally. And that takes some getting used to. Keys go into locks upside down here. Light switches and electrical sockets are all upside down. Some taps move in the opposite direction to the way we've been used to turning them. And because traffic moves on the right side of the road, you're expected to follow the pattern when you're walking. So you take the right escalator instead of the left or keep to the right side of the stairs. I still haven't managed to reorient my instincts of 36 years.

Whose bad?

2010-06-16T11:23:00.000-07:00

Users of correct English will quite naturally assume I've made a grammatical mistake in the heading. Isn't that supposed to be "Who's bad?". Haven't I mistakenly used a possessive where I should have used the contraction of "who is"? Not in today's world apparently. This is the age of "my bad", "your bad", "his bad", "her bad" and "their bad". The "bad" in those sentences - if you can call them that - means mistake. Every time I hear these expressions, I get very distressed. I don't know why that should be, but I invariably do.

The first time I came across the term was while watching an American programme on television. It took me a while to understand what was said. Now the usage has become quite common, so much so that these expressions are commonly heard even in children's television. So it was just a matter of time before my older son, whose brain is like a sponge, picked it up and used "my bad" after doing something wrong. My insides churned in revulsion when I heard that coming out of his mouth. I explained to him patiently that wasn't the correct way to say what he was trying to. But I really wanted to scream "Nooooooooooooooooo"!

I also get inexplicably peeved when someone mixes up "its" and "it's". I found out really early on that it's completely lost on them that the former is a possessive pronoun and the latter a contraction of "it is". They just don't get it. I also get peeved with the Indian tendency to generously scatter apostrophes around, but always in places they don't belong. Like when naming a family. "The Singh's came to visit", they'll write, instead of "the Singhs came to visit". Why? Why can't they understand that the former denotes possession, for instance "this is Mr. Singh's son"? And if you want to denote possession for the entire family, it'll be Singhs'. For instance, "This is the Singhs' home" and not "this is the Singh's home".

Knowing about this deep aversion I have to poor punctuation, a friend of mine gifted me a wonderful book called Eats, Shoots & Leaves by Lynne Truss. The title is derived from a joke that amply demonstrates how a misplaced punctuation mark can at times completely change the meaning. Here's the joke from the book:

A panda walks into a cafe. He orders a sandwich, eats it, then draws a gun and proceeds to fire it at the other patrons. 'Why?' asks the confused surviving waiter amidst the carnage, as the panda makes for the exit. The panda produces a badly punctuated wildlife manual and tosses it over his shoulder. 'Well, I'm a panda,' he says, at the door. 'Look it up.' The waiter turns to the relevant entry in the manual and, sure enough, finds an explanation. 'Panda. Large black-and-white bear-like mammal, native to China. Eats, shoots and leaves.' Get it? The addition of a comma in the final sentence makes all the difference. 'Eats shoots and leaves' would have meant something entirely different, wouldn't it?

Anyway, I'm digressing. The point is language - and not just English - is evolving in a not altogether nice way. The result is an exponentially larger proportion of each successive generation is less articulate. More and more kids and young adults find it hard to verbally convey their thoughts and feelings. I'd hoped the "like,.....like,....you know" syndrome would die out with the coming of age of my generation, but that hasn't happened. People young and middle-aged still suffer from it. If video killed the radio star four decades ago, text messaging is killing language and spelling today. The abbreviations and contractions used in text messaging are alarmingly spilling over into other domains. I am one of very few people I know who doesn't ruthlessly abbreviate every word in a text message.

I suppose in a world that's perpetually in a hurry, "my bad" is more economical on effort and time than saying "sorry, that was my mistake". But I'm not ready for a world like that. I don't think I will ever be. And that's not "my bad".

Subway parody

2010-06-14T18:38:00.000-07:00

My kids love riding the Toronto subway. And the whole time they're on the tube they keep coming up with explanations of or puns on station names, especially my little one. This afternoon we travelled on the subway from Finch to Yorkdale, which is one of the longest circuits you can do on the network. And so it began again.

Finch feels a pinch. Sheppard has a lot of farmers living there. Rosedale has a big flower garden. Eglinton sells eggs. The station after College should be named School. People in Dundas have a lot of sticks (play on the Hindi word danda for stick). King and Queen are where the palaces are. Union is where you can smell onions!! The opposite of Osgoode is os-bad. St. Patrick always provokes peals of laughter. "They should also have stations called St. Spongebob and St. Squidward" (from the Spongebob animation series). That last one is always from the older one.

On the other lines you have Dufferin, which must be full of duffers. Bathurst is where people keep bathing and feeling thirsty. Broadview is where you get to see a long way around. People in Chester have big chests. Greenwood has green trees. And Coxwell is full of roosters.

Is this news?

2010-06-06T19:14:00.000-07:00

One of the newspaper headlines highlighted on a major Indian news portal on Sunday states "US says India destined to be a nation of global influence". Now my question is what makes this headline news? Haven't we heard such platitudes enough times? Do we need to keep flashing these in a vain attempt to massage our national ego even though we know our country hasn't really gained in influence or earned much leverage over other nations in the past few years? Why do we need these patronising pats on the head from the superpower? To me it's disgraceful that we feel these comments significant enough to flash as a headline. And the fact that such articles continue to appear is also proof of the lack of initiative and imagination in Indian journalism today. Actually it reads like something regurgitated from a press handout.

Just a few days ago we were speaking to an Indian friend who has been living in Canada for the past few years. He was telling us about how angry the Indian community here was after the terror attacks on Mumbai in 2008. He said Indians here couldn't understand why New Delhi didn't use its influence to aggressively pursue those responsible for the strikes. I asked him what influence he was talking about. That's when it became clear that we Indians seem to credit our nation with more leverage than it actually enjoys on the world stage. Other nations might hear us out patiently, but it's clear that they don't take us seriously enough to do our bidding.

Anyway, news items such as the one I've referred to might make our foreign office mandarins feel they've accomplished something. But I don't think they're fooling thinking Indians into believing that their nation has actually gained in influence. If anything, such patronising remarks should make us feel slighted. After all, we've been hearing them for decades.

No refills please

2010-05-31T07:12:00.000-07:00

So we're out to lunch at a restaurant called Swiss Chalet on Saturday. The server was happy enough with us at the start of the meal because we'd ordered what he felt was a fair amount of mains and sides. The first round of incredulity hit when I declined his offer of a refill for my lemonade. "But it's free!" he said. I know, I replied, but thanks anyway. He stood there gaping at me for a few seconds and then dashed off in the direction of the kitchen. Out he came a couple of minutes later bearing a huge glass of water with slices of lemon and plonked it in front of me. Just in case you regret your decision of not ordering a refill, was the unspoken message.

When we were done, having, to our minds, eaten a little more than was necessary, we asked for the cheque. The server came running towards us looking extremely troubled. "But you haven't ordered desserts!" he exclaimed. We said we'd eaten too much already. He blinked rapidly for a seconds, looking from one to the next in our group. Then he walked off mumbling, "I'll give you Skittles and M&Ms anyway. They come with the meal." And the cheque didn't make an appearance until the candy packets were duly handed over.

In this land of bottomless drinks and huge portions, we new settlers with relatively smaller appetites seem quite a rarity. And this is just Canada, which by most accounts is slightly better than the US when it comes to portion size. We'd had a similar experience at a Red Lobster downtown the weekend before. The charming server there started laughing when we voiced a collective and vehement "No" to her offer of desserts. A Red Lobster main comes with a choice of not one, not two but three whole side dishes!! All of us chose not to have a third side. That had surprised our server a little, but she was more sophisticated than the man at the Swiss Chalet and didn't let her incredulity show on the face quite as plainly.

Last week on the local news I saw a report about what's being touted as the world's worst drink. It's a peanut butter and chocolate smoothie that carries a whopping 2000 calories per serving in the US and a much healthier 1700 calories in Canada! Can you imagine exceeding your entire daily calorie intake with one drink?!!!

Yesterday we went out for a Chinese lunch and Arvind and I ordered a small soup each. Our eyeballs nearly popped out when the soup arrived. The serving concept here is different. You order one soup and then share it with others at the table. Each small soup was enough for four people! So doing the meal justice was a struggle indeed.

Such lavish portions, to me, are a waste. There are other forms of excess one witnesses here. Canada is supposed to be one of the most environmentally conscious nations on earth, which is why the level of waste of electricity surprises me. The corridor our suite is in has in excess of 60 very powerful light bulbs on 24 hours a day. The space is just too brightly lit. They could easily put half the lights off and still have more than enough illumination. And this is just one corridor that doesn't even span the entire width of the building. It's a 26-storey structure with a twin that stands a couple of floors taller. Then there are other common areas that are equally brightly lit, not to mention the apartments themselves. Having just come from power-starved Gurgaon, this amount of waste of electricity is extremely troubling to me.

There's a lot one can learn from this nation in terms of caring for the environment and maintaining high standards of health and hygiene. But there is also a lot that Canada could learn from nations that have fewer resources at their disposal about plugging wastage. Turn a few lights out and don't serve quite so much food. You'll be surprised at how much energy and money can be saved.

City of ugly pooches

2010-05-28T19:35:00.000-07:00

There's a lot of stuff that we've been noticing about Toronto since we moved here a week ago. The cleanliness, order, common courtesies etc. were all expected. But one peculiar thing I've seen is that the part of the city we're currently in is full of the ugliest pooches I've ever set eyes upon!

We're temporarily in an apartment in the affluent North York region. This area, especially around the Yonge and Finch intersection, is full of upscale condominium apartment blocks. Accommodation is extremely compact. So pets are compact too. Which is fine, even sensible. But I'm sure there are a whole host of nice looking small pooch breeds one could choose from. Instead people here seem to favour the ugly ones. Apart from the predictable pugs, poodles and chihuahuas I've seen a whole host of ugly dog breeds that I don't even know the names of. The one that took the cake had a snout like an anteater's! I spotted it during our visit to High Park on Monday. It was just the most godawfully ugly dog I have ever seen and the sighting left me speechless for a few minutes.

Don't get me wrong. I am an avid dog lover. But these Toronto pooches just don't tug at the heart strings. Having lived in Delhi and Mumbai most of my life, I am accustomed to seeing absolutely beautiful pet dogs. The day we moved out of Mumbai my husband and I spotted an Afghan hound trotting majestically up and down a street in Powai. He was an absolute stunner.

Haven't people in North York heard of apsos, spaniels, beagles and basset hounds? They're all small, but all beautiful. Or perhaps the problem is me. Maybe when it comes to dogs, I am shallow and superficial.

Time to move on........

2010-04-29T05:04:00.000-07:00

Just about a week left in Thane/Mumbai. Then a few days in Delhi, my hometown. And then it's off to life in another country for a while. I honestly never thought it would happen to me. Relocating overseas, I mean. It's not that I'm dreading it or am opposed to the move. Just didn't think it would happen, especially since the stages in life when relocation generally occurs - higher education, start of working life - are long past.

One of my ex-colleagues couldn't believe that my husband and I had no objection to uprooting our family and relocating thousands of miles away. Especially since we'd moved into our own home just a year ago and were loving it here. Our children were settled, happy. Surrounded by the familiar, with family just a two-hour plane ride away.

But hubby and I see this move as an adventure. A new kind of life in a very different kind of place. A great opportunity for us and our kids to broaden our horizons even more. Too see more of the world. The great distance from family is the one thing that still troubles us a little. But otherwise, we're all very gung-ho about it.

As the date of departure draws closer, I find myself wondering about the things I will miss most. After a while I'm definitely going to miss the din - the ambient noise that envelops every city-dwelling Indian all the time. And I'll miss the colour. I don't mean in the landscape, but in the people. Joseph would fit right in if he wore his technicolour dreamcoat in India! I'll also miss the food, especially the street food. I don't frequent street food stalls, but I know I'll miss them when they aren't around.

What else? Oh yes, free home delivery of everything from fresh vegetables and fruits to chilled beer and cigarettes. And easy, affordable household help. I'm not afraid of housework, but on an off day when I'm dog tired I know I'll wish there was someone to put the laundry away and make me a cup of tea. Also chauffeur-driven comfort. I hate driving. Chaotic Indian roads terrify me. But I suppose it'll be easier on the other side of the globe.

Soon my whole world will be packed into cardboard boxes, caught in transit. I'm impatient to get on with it and settle into the next phase. That'll take a few months. Will keep you posted.

Crime isn't for everyone

2010-03-27T20:46:00.000-07:00

Quite like Jay Leno, I love hearing stories about stupid criminals. And this one is just the tops. We heard it at a friend's last night. This friend's absent-minded brother-in-law left his wallet in the car, which he'd just parked at a shopping mall in Gurgaon. He'd also forgotten to roll the window up. So the family was walking away from the car when the brother-in-law suddenly realised he was missing his wallet. He turned back just in time to see this young man reach into the car and pocket the prize.

The 'robbee' followed the robber into the mall, caught up with him and challenged him. The young scoundrel couldn't deny he'd done the crime. There was much excitement. The brother-in-law decided to take the thief to the cops. The rest of his family returned home. After waiting for a while, our friend decided to go to the police station to give his brother-in-law moral support. There he found the thief, naturally, begging for mercy and the brother-in-law a little confused about what to do. He wanted to press charges, but that would mean doing without his wallet and its contents for a while because they'd be held in evidence.

So there's the thief (who had called his mother in to plead his case) begging to be let off without charges and his victim keen to get his wallet back so his life wouldn't be disrupted. The young robber's melodramatic mother poured her heart out, saying her grown son was a complete no-good who couldn't keep down a job. "He's such an idiot that he can't even pull off a theft!" she wailed.

Finally the friend's brother-in-law decided against pressing charges, took his wallet back and was about drive off when the thief's mother came up to him and politely asked for a ride home! The intended victim agreed and followed her directions to the house. Our friend and his brother-in-law's jaws dropped when they saw the wannabe robber lived in a plush bungalow.

Incidentally, the only ones who gained anything from the entire fiasco were the cops. They managed to get a cut from the thief for letting him off and from the victim for the return of his wallet!

This reminded me of another story I'd heard long ago about someone's house being robbed. The burglar broke in in the dead of night, carrying a sack to cart off the booty. The homeowner was a wealthy man so there were lots of valuables for the robber to choose from. He went around the lower floor of the house, transferring the best stuff into his sack. Then suddenly he stood before the best-stocked bar he had ever seen. So he picked up a few bottles and put them in his sack. Then he decided to help himself to one for the road. I suppose one drink led to another. After all, he was sampling some of the world's finest Scotch and single malts. The thief should have known greed would be his undoing. The homeowner's family found him passed out near the bar in the morning!

Crime, clearly, isn't for everyone. It certainly doesn't pay if you're an idiot!

(Please share any stories you may have heard about stupid criminals)

Keep that unwanted guest out

2010-03-25T04:51:00.000-07:00

Mr. Calamity turned up yet again like the proverbial bad penny. Kolkata was the unwilling host to the ultimate unwanted guest this week. The unwelcome caller turned the top floors of a heritage building in the city's heart into Dante's vision of a flaming hell, leaving death and devastation in his wake.

We all know that clever Mr. Calamity is a master of disguise. He could visit us as a fire, a building collapse or an epidemic. But even though this hated visitor makes such alarmingly regular calls, we haven't learnt to bar our doors to him.

We live amid wires exposed to the elements, dangling dangerously close to one another. We permit commerical and residential buildings to come up without even basic fire-safety measures. We let water pipes leak, moisten walls and electrical circuits. We look the other way when there are elaborate remodelling projects in homes and offices occupying lower floors even though we know in the backs of our minds that this is bound to compromise a building's sturdiness. We let garbage pile up high along the streets and in vacant lots of land, nurturing rodents that spread disease. We allow our ageing sewers to leak and overflow, contaminating groundwater and pitting roads with their toxins. We indiscriminately spray venomous pesticides on our crops, never thinking of the mass slow poisoning that their harvest unleashes.

I speak here only of Mr. Calamity's visitations borne out of negligence, callousness and sheer carelessness. These we have the power to prevent. We are almost entirely powerless against him darkening our door due to nature's fury. But if small precautions can make Mr. Calamity's visits less regular, we're insane not to be taking them. Each time he comes, we despair. And after he leaves we point fingers at everyone but ourselves. But the sad truth is we're all culpable. If we insist on basic safety and hygiene, this unwanted guest would be making much fewer calls.

I'm no good without..........

2010-03-19T21:19:00.000-07:00

I thought it would be fun to list the things my day is incomplete without. So here goes. I'm no good without......

1) ...the three main men in my life around me. I know I complain sometimes and wish I could escape it all for a while now and then, but I'm no good without my family.

2) ...my morning and evening cups of Darjeeling.

3) ...my morning newspapers. Has to be more than one. Two at the very least.

4) ...my daily newspaper Sudoku, word jumble and a few other puzzles. I get restless and a little irritable if I haven't completed this ritual.

5) ...an ongoing creative project. It could be a painting, a blog/article, a sweater I'm knitting, a candle I'm making. There has to be something. Otherwise I feel like I'm coming unhinged.

6) ...a periodic intake of nictone. It's terrible, I know. Have resolved to reform soon. But it hasn't happened yet. It will though. Thankfully I'm under tremendous pressure from my children to quit.

7) ...a few minutes at the computer, catching up with friends around the world.

8) ...my morning yoga. There are days when it doesn't happen, but those days see my patience wearing thin and guilt clawing at my insides. Like this Saturday morning. Maybe in the evening. But it is so bloody hot! Let's see.

9) ...music.

10) ...my evening dose of comedy on television. No day is complete without a good laugh towards the end.

11) ...at least one bear hug from my kids.

12) ...thanking a higher power for the life I have. I'm not ritualistic, but not an atheist either. I do believe we should give thanks to a higher being for the series of coincidences or twists of fate that have shaped the lives we lead, the choices we made along the way. I seem to have made the right ones, and for that I am grateful.

I think that completes my list. Tell me what you can't do without.

Mirror, mirror on the wall

2010-03-09T20:09:00.000-08:00

How vain are we getting as a people? The obsession with physical appearance is becoming positively frightening. If you're not convinced, just switch the telly on. Every second commercial is for a hair, skin or grooming product. And more than 60 percent are for skin whitening creams.

I personally believe the genuine Indian complexion is absolutely beautiful. Dusky Indian skin is so much more attractive than pasty, patchy white. I can understand people wishing to improve the quality of their skin by reversing the damage that pollution and heat cause, but I can't for the life of me figure out this white fetish. Don't people realise the result of prolonged use of such harsh chemicals is an unhealthy bleached-out look and premature ageing?

One particular brand is now plugging a body-whitening cream. Its argument is that you should try to lighten your body to match your white face. I find that absurd. Generally it's the face that is darker, more tanned than the body because it is exposed to the sun the most. Especially in India, where not that many women wear slinky clothes. Isn't it sort of dangerous encouraging women to use these products all over their bodies? Ah well, these people are looking to shore up their bottomlines. So to hell with the lines that might soon pit the skins of their gullible target demographic.

I guess all this is also because Indians are the largest group of closet racists on earth. We might hate to admit it, but we make snap decisions about people based on the colour of their skin. Why else does every prospective groom openly scout for a "fair-complexioned" wife? Why do we find ourselves being more polite to those with lighter skin?

And when it comes to first impressions (and this is more pronounced in north India than any other region in this country), Mark Twain was sadly very right. Clothes do make the man (or woman). You're only as good as your solitaire diamonds, glitzy footwear and all that covers you in between. People might not take the time to get to know you if you don't look trendy enough. That's the truth. I've been fortunate to have spent the last seven years in Mumbai and Thane where I haven't come across this annoying trait as much. People here are much more relaxed, casual and willing to appreciate you for who you are and not who you're wearing. But every time I go back to Delhi it hits me in the face and is a rude shock on each occasion.

There's more. Open the classified pages in your daily rag and you'll find endless advertisements for surgical and non-surgical body sculpting. I have to say I am most tempted to explore these every time I hit a weight plateau - that frustrating period when my exercise regimen shows results very, very, very slowly or not at all. Fortunately it is just a momentary lapse.

I can understand the morbidly obese with grievous health problems going in for drastic measures like bariatric surgery. But those who are just overweight can easily make themselves healthier with exercise and smarter choices in food. It is a long, uphill battle, especially for women who've had babies (Men are blessed with much more efficient metabolisms. It drives me insane when my husband - who is extremely erratic when it comes to exercise - looks trimmer after just two or three days of walking/jogging while it takes me months to get the same results!). But it can be done. This I can personally vouch for. I am still overweight, but I've come a long way from my nearly 85 kilo days! And I intend to shed more. Slowly.

The point of this post is that we're sadly beginning to get confused when it comes to physical appearance. The emphasis should be on being healthy. Instead it's on looking good, at whatever cost. Many in my generation of nearly middle-aged people are falling victim. But what's more alarming is that younger generations are succumbing more spectacularly. Instant gratification today could lead to prolonged regret tomorrow. Can we prevent the mirror of vanity from cracking under the strain? I suspect not.

Old maid habit for new age woman

2010-03-04T19:41:00.000-08:00

Do you ever go through these phases when the mind just won't be still and calm? Simply can't concentrate on anything no matter how hard you try? The mind is restless, the body oscillating between listlessness and hyperactivity? Well I'd been going through one of these of late. And when all else failed (even an unfinished canvas) I turned to the old faithful - yards of yarn and knitting needles!

Before you raise your eyebrows, roll your eyes and dismiss me as a victim of an early-onset geriatric condition let me tell you knitting can be fabulously relaxing. That is if you're blessed with the basic dexterity required, of course. Once you get the rhythm going the regular clickety-clack of the needles is extremely comforting. There is a pattern, order and structure to knitting. It's not a mindless pastime. You have to concentrate, unless of course you don't mind creating a shapeless woolly thinggy full of holes.

Anyway, if you're working your way towards a definite end product, following the pattern helps you regain focus. And once you reach the intermediate level in knitting, sight and touch immediately alert you to any mistakes. I graduated long ago from the beginner level when you panic every time you drop a stitch or mess up the pattern. I can now work a few rows down without unravelling the yarn and correct mistakes.

My first major knitting project was when I was in my teens. I ambitiously set out to knit a sleeveless vest for my high school boyfriend. My grandmother and her friend very sweetly helped out, shaping and salvaging as much as they could of what I'd made. Another friend simultaneously tried her hand at knitting a scarf for her boyfriend. I'm proud to report that mine was MUCH better, with fewer holes and sags per quare inch of knitted garment! But I also have to give the boyfriends credit for the fact that they actually wore those hopeless creations of ours. Aaah, puppy love.

That was then. I've thankfully improved considerably since and over the last eight or so years have knitted for my kids, nieces and nephews as well as my friends' children. In the past three weeks I've knitted two sweaters for a friend's baby and am now making warm, chunky scraves with fringes for my boys. One sweater is all done - finished and sewed up - and just needs a few buttons. The other (in my favourite a cable pattern) is currently in four pieces, awaiting the finishing touches. Seeing them fills me with a great sense of accomplishment.

But even better is the fact that I've got my mental mojo back. My mind is well on its way to returning to its general calm, collected state. Might take a few more days. And I owe it all to something that's wrongly stereotyped as an old-maid pastime. Knitting can work wonders for new age women too. Just give it a try.

Leap of faith

2010-02-23T20:39:00.000-08:00

It was horrific hearing and reading about the fire at an office building in Bengaluru (Bangalore) yesterday that claimed at least nine lives. But what was even more disturbing was finding out that five of those fatalities were people who jumped out of the inferno in the hope of escaping the flames and fumes.

Some newspaper reports claimed firemen encouraged the jumpers to take the leap after having hurriedly spread out some nets and padded them with clothes and mats. The padding was not nearly enough. Each one of the people who jumped died within seconds of taking that big leap of faith.

I am aware that rescuers at times ask people to jump out of burning buildings, but they are generally better prepared to catch the victims and save their lives. What happened in Bangalore's seven-storey Carlton Towers last evening was just appalling. If those people had hung on, they'd probably have had at least a slim chance of surviving.

3 Idiots lead the way to sanity

2010-02-15T03:18:00.000-08:00

Rarely does a Hindi film come along and change the way people think. But Aamir Khan and Raju Hirani's 3 Idiots seems to have pulled it off. It has made a difference in the thinking and priorities of simple, middle class families that relentlessly pressure their kids on academics. This blog isn't based on hearsay. It's based on conversations I have had with other mothers of school-going children.

One lady, whose older daughter is now just a month away from the high-pressure 10th standard board exam, said her husband had made her back off from forcing their first-born into any academic stream after watching the film. Post-3 Idiots he apparently advocated that the daughter be allowed to do what she chooses and be happy.

A friend of mine in Powai said she'd heard something very similar from a mother in her kids' school. After watching the blockbuster movie this mother had backed off, stopped pushing her son on the academic front and also cut down on micro-managing his life.

3 Idiots is a laugh riot (I loved it). But the subliminal message - let kids and youngsters be; don't sacrifice their happiness on the altar of success - behind the jokes seems to be penetrating the middle class consciousness. The film harshly brings out just how heavy a toll academic pressure can take on some - one suicide and an attempted suicide by students at an engineering college. The book on which the film is loosely based, Chetan Bhagat's Five Point Someone, somehow doesn't manage to communicate the message as effectively.

No matter who the messenger, I'm just glad the message is finally getting across to some people. Indians as a people can be extremely demanding of their children. The cut-throat competition and unrelenting pressure in academics has led thousands of kids to take their own lives in the past few years, choosing death over humiliation from a poor result. A drastic change in mentality urgently needed. Kudos to 3 Idiots and all those behind it for nudging Indians in the right direction.

Confessions of a compulsive decorator!

2010-02-14T20:40:00.000-08:00

Here's my confession - I am secretly addicted to looking up design and decorating sites, constantly seeking tips to make my home better! I just can't help myself. It's chronic. The Better Homes and Gardens (BHG) website is my design bible and I check it every single week. I also regularly visit House Beautiful and Elle Decor.

Every time my husband walks in on me browsing through these sites, he gets extremely nervous. I can see an alarmed "now what does she want to do?" running through his head. But to be fair to myself, I must point out that I never go for any elaborate, expensive changes. Just little things here and there that end up making a big difference.

The addiction began when we were waiting for the builder to hand over our Thane apartment. It was a very long, agonising wait. I spent all those months planning, researching and dredging the Net for ideas. And I think my hubby will be the first to admit that it paid off. When we finally moved in a year ago, it was to a home that we absolutely adored. The little touches made a huge difference. I owe BHG a lot. It showed me ways to make the ceilings appear higher and, consequently, the rooms larger. My kitchen was more organised. The best idea was the installation of an appliance garage close to an electrical point. It keeps the appliances handy, yet out of sight. BHG also taught me how to control clutter and plan closets. I can't say I've conquered clutter for good (that's an almost impossible task with two growing kids in the house), but things are much better than they were a couple of years ago.

And even though my home is complete, I still visit these sites. I can't get enough of tips on the use of colour and textures; ways to make cool rooms feel warm and welcoming; tricks to make a tiny room appear larger. One never knows when one might need them, right? ;)

Orchestrated?

2010-02-12T09:32:00.000-08:00

This might make me the newest conspiracy theorist on the block, but something about the timing of the entire Shah Rukh Khan-Shiv Sena brouhaha leaves me deeply suspicious.

On the off chance the Shiv Sena wasn't in on the conspiracy (and deep down I don't believe that is the case), it has played right into a crafty Khan's hands by raising a stink over his willingness to include Pakistani players in his floundering cricket squad. All the resultant jingoistic chest-thumping from either side might just turn out to be the biggest boon for the actor's just-released My Name is Khan. It's been better publicity than Khan or Dharma Production's millions could ever buy. Suddenly SRK has been virtually elevated to sainthood and is being celebrated as patriotism's newest mascot.

By rising to the bait and pledging to disrupt the film's screening, the Shiv Sena has made millions overly keen to watch My Name is Khan. While those millions surely have a huge number of die-hard SRK fans, I'm sure they also include people who would otherwise probably have given the film a miss.

Now why would a political party do that? What has it gained except bad press? The Shiv Sena seems to be fast losing relevance in the political arena. It seems now to be concentrating on screaming itself hoarse over some regionally chauvinistic cause or the other, generally giving the PR advantage to the opposing side. It must be gaining from this somehow. Why else would it do this so consistently? What's in it for the party? Bears thinking, doesn't it?

Yeah, silence that annoying ring

2010-02-05T19:25:00.000-08:00

I felt like doing a little jig this morning when my bleary eyes spotted a front page news brief saying the Maharashtra government was thinking of slapping an entertainment tax on downloaded mobile phone ring tones and caller tunes. I hope it's steep enough to pinch. Maybe that'll silence the excessively annoying and shrill blares of music that regularly penetrate the air in public places and even at private events.

I suspect I'm in a very, very small minority here, but I just can't stand it when musical ringtones keep interrupting conversations at lunches and dinners. Somehow it doesn't bother me as much if it sounds like a good old-fashined telephone ring. I mean here I am having a fairly impassioned argument about politics or whatever when suddenly my senses are mercilessly assaulted by a few bars of "Livin Da Vida Loca" or "Roop Tera Mastana" or "Majua Mauja".

The most bizarre ringtone I ever heard almost had me leap out of my skin. I was riding the elevator up to my apartment and the only other person with me was a man in his 30s. Suddenly I heard a child's shrill voice scream, "Papa, papa, mummy ka phone hai; Papa, papa, mummy ka phone hai; Papa, papa mummy ka phone hai"! For the first couple of seconds I couldn't figure out where the child's voice was coming from. And when I did, I was praying for it to stop screeching because my head was pounding. Unfortunately the father made a complete hash of his first attempt to answer the phone. (I don't think he was too happy about being shaken to his very core every time the wife called. His trembling fingers hit all the wrong buttons). So it happened all over again. All this took place in a matter of half a minute, but it seemed like the longest, most agonising half a minute of my entire life!

I'm not sure the proposed tax would cover wierd personalised ring tones like that one, but even if it manages to silence a few, I'll be thankful.

Hot air over melting glaciers

2010-01-19T04:08:00.001-08:00

Glaciers the world over are melting. That's the one incontrovertible truth. Some say they are melting abnormally fast. Others call this claim alarmist and say the pace of disintegration is actually a lot slower.

The last few days' very public row over the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Control's (IPCC's) projection that the mighty Himalayan glaciers would melt away by 2035 strikes me as a little unnecessary. Now personal attacks are being made to discredit the panel's Indian head, Dr. Rajendra Pachauri. The controversy - following an IPCC admission that its forecast of doom wasn't actually based on solid research or scientific study - has certainly dented the international panel's credibility.

But my question is, what does it matter? We've been told - and I believe this is beyond question - that the glaciers are melting faster than they should. Whether it is at a rate judged too fast, or even faster, what's clear is that the world has to attempt to arrest the liquefaction because the result could be catastrophic for our entire planet (sea levels would rise and swallow large tracts of low-lying land, the planet would soak up more heat with less ice to bounce sunlight back etc.). So let's get down to finding a solution instead of bickering and arguing over the melt rate. No need for all this hot air over ice. It runs the risk of accelerating the pace of the meltdown!

Pushed to the brink

2010-01-14T20:41:00.001-08:00

It's been truly scary reading over the past week about a spate of suicides in and around Mumbai. Most of them were young adults, some little children. The count, I believe, now stands at 14 in a span of seven days. Academic pressures, unhappy family situations and unfulfilled aspirations led these children to end their lives.

Being on the other side of the divide as a parent, it got me thinking about motivation and pressure. Where do you draw the line? We all know that the Indian schooling system is cruelly demanding. The kids are pushed to perform in school and that inevitably transfers to the home, prompting parents to at times make unrealistic demands of their children. Any child who doesn't fit into the mould of the ideal pupil suffers. The system isn't flexible enough to handle children whose interests may lie in other areas, whose strengths are not necessarily in the stuff included in the curriculum. They aren't encouraged to hone their natural abilites, instead are forced to submit to the norm. And this can be fatal for a child's morale.

So how far is it safe to nudge a child? When do motivation and encouragement turn into unhealthy pressure? When does it become unbearable? Why do parents lose perspective? At what point do the marksheet and college prospects become more important than the child's happiness? How do you know for sure whether your child isn't trying hard enough or is genuinely unable to cope? Why don't parents make it a habit of talking to their children so it never reaches the point where communication is so broken down that they can't even sense their child might be dangerously depressed?

Those questions are relevant when it comes to academic pressure. But what left me baffled and terrified was the suicide by an 11-year-old girl who had participated in three reality TV dance shows. Neha's parents had apparently pulled her out of the dance academy she used to attend because they thought enough was enough and it was time she got back to focusing on her studies. These are parents who had allowed their child to follow her dreams. It was just a drastic reaction by their daughter to finally hearing a "No" from her parents.

But that "No" becomes essential at some point. Any parent knows that saying "No" takes a lot more strength than capitulating to your child's demands.

My kids read the newspapers and must have noticed this report. I have to make sure they understand that what Neha did was silly, that she unnecessarily cut short a life that could have been full of joy and success.

I suppose it's easy to say these things when it hasn't happened to you. Easy to sit in judgement. I can't imagine what the parents of the children who ended their lives are going through. They will probably carry a crushing burden of guilt for the remainder of their time. A few days ago they wouldn't have imagined such a thing could happen to them, as we can't now. But it does happen. And, as parents, it is our responsibility to learn to recognise the signs. Learn to take a step back and reassess priorities when our children seem to be floundering. Keep communicating with our kids. It isn't a one-time lesson. It has to be learnt and practised over and over again. I hope I never forget this.

Sick to the Gill

2010-01-13T09:12:00.000-08:00

So where the hell does he get off insinuating that liberated women can have no claim to their "modesty"? So-called retired "Supercop" K.P.S. Gill - him also of bum-slapping infamy - said so quite plainly while appearing on a television debate about India's attitude towards molestation.

Cases of molestation are suddenly in the media spotlight in India after a former senior police officer was convicted of sexual misconduct against a schoolgirl (who later committed suicide) nearly two decades ago. But the sentence slapped on S.P.S. Rathore was a horrifying light one - six months in the slammer and a paltry fine of Rs. 1,000. The prosecution did not make a case of abetment to suicide against him even though Ruchika Girhotra's family fought hard for it.

Also in focus has been a German minor's rape in Goa in which a minister's son is the main accused. And the alleged molestation of an airhostess by three players of Goa's prestigious Churchill Brothers football club.

So NDTV 24/7's We The People debate was about whether Indians have a very casual attitute towards molestation (which, I feel, they do). After all, in this land a girl/woman feeling completely violated after being pawed or groped against her will is described merely as being a victim of "eve teasing". And on this debate appeared Mr. Gill, who was convicted of "outraging the modesty" of bureaucrat Rupan Deol Bajaj at a party in 1988. A drunk Gill had allegedly patted her behind.

Gill said anti-rape/molesation laws were being grossly misused. I suppose he meant against poor, innocent, saintly men who never so much as ogled a woman. He said - now I can't regurgitate his exact words, but this was the gist - a woman can't claim to be liberated on the one hand and object to having her modesty outraged on the other! Now where's the connection, Mr. Gill? If a woman goes out into the world and builds a career on the basis of her diligence and competence, does she become fair game for every man with a glad eye and wandering paw? Is it too much for her to expect to go through life without having her bum slapped or grazed, breast brushed against or sexually explicit remarks muttered as she passes? That is really, really crass, Mr. Gill. And this from a decorated retired policeman!

Most women in Indian cities have suffered molestation to some degree, especially if they use public transport. Men will brush against you or try to grope you in crowded buses and trains. They will flash you even in open, public places or masturbate in plain view on lonely avenues. I can personally vouch for this. It happens for a few fleeting seconds but leaves you feeling sickeningly violated. There's not much you can do. Who do you report? You've never before seen the molester and probably won't again. So you shrug it off as yet another nightmare and get on with your life even though you feel rage and outrage in equal measure, at least for a while.

I hope Gill is reincarnated as a liberated woman. I'd kill to know how his avatar feels after being sexually harassed.

The 'wind' beneath their wings

2010-01-08T03:31:00.000-08:00

This is turning into a total mommy blog, isn't it? But then bringing up the kids is my primary occupation for now, so I suppose it's justified. Anyway, I'm my own boss. Any occasional reader of this blog will just have to suffer my whim if he or she chooses not to navigate away from this page instantly.

So my boys are completely obsessed with all things wind-related. Burps and farts, either genuine or feigned, are constantly echoing through our home. (No, our home doesn't smell foul. Thankfully the builder has designed an extremely well ventilated apartment). And then come the giggles, which are terribly infectious. So any attempt from either my hubby or me to sternly tell the boys that this isn't acceptable behaviour comes to nought because a hint of a smile invariably escapes.

Recently our older son had to undergo a minor medical procedure, after which the doctors asked him whether he had "passed" gas, urine and stools. He couldn't get over it! Now he very religiously informs me each time, "Mama, I just passed gas", and then dissolves into giggles.

They laugh hardest each time they make me recite a Sanskrit shloka (it isn't genuine, guys) about the supposed hierarchy of farts. I learnt this at my dad's knee and have dutifully passed the wisdom on to my children. Padakasya dhadaak raja, Tasya mantri tuntuni, Phushphushayya malaya gandha, Nishshabde praan hantika. For the sake of dignity, if there's any remaining, I will refrain from translating. (Incidentally, a version of this appeared in the new hit film 3 Idiots).

Another thing that's caught my kids' fancy is pretending to be hurt in the crotch. There's much show of cupping the groin, doubling over and writhing in imagined agony. After watching Kung Fu Panda again recently, they've taken to doing all that and then moaning "oooh, my tenders" just like Jack Black does as the voice of the animation film's lead character Po, the giant panda.

Something else my boys can't get enough of is saying chaddi, which is the Hindi word for underwear. Their twist on the old childhood ditty goes thus: Akkad bakkad bambe bo, assi nabbe pure sau, sau se nikla dhaga, chaddi leke bhaga! One day they came home from school and asked me, what's the full form of C.H.I.N.A.? Chaddi hanging is not allowed!

And their attempts to develop original jokes continue. Just this afternoon Kabir, my older one, asked me, which author is really deep? Malcolm Gladwell! (I was reading Gladwell's 'What the Dog Saw', so it was on my bedside table.) Raghav too has now met with some success in his attempts at being original. Where do ostriches live? Os-tralia! Which cars do octopuses drive? Oct-avia (Skoda)! Not bad for a six-year-old, eh?

Oh, to fall ill in peace

2010-01-04T03:39:00.000-08:00

Some years ago an ex-colleague asked me what I missed most about life before children. I had just been through a harrowing week of nursing two kids with the flu and was feeling pretty poorly myself. After thinking a bit I responded, "I miss the luxury of falling ill in peace"!

He must have thought I'd turned into a total crackpot. I know that at first this sounds completely outrageous. But think about it. When you're a mom, you're never off duty. I mean, NEVER. Not even when you're sick as a dog. There's just no scope for quiet R&R.

Visits to the paediatrician are frighteningly regular for the first three years of a child's life. Kids seem to catch a bug just by looking at an ill child. And when you're looking after them all day and night, you're bound to catch it too at least 50 percent of the time. Predictably, it's all about getting the kids better. Though my husband helps out a lot, he just can't be around all the time. And when every bone, sinew and joint aches while you're calming your feverish baby, you wish you could just lock yourself away in a quiet room and lie down in total silence for a couple of hours. Unfortunately, that's one thing you just cannot do.

I used to miss other things that were part of my life before motherhood. A career, late nights out, drinking without a care, sleeping in on weekends, putting my interest first. But I traded those in for familial bliss and now their absence in my life hardly bothers me. But every time ill health comes calling, I miss the luxury of recuperating in peace. Aaah, to be able to lie in bed and take a few days to recover. Give the body a well-deserved break. Let the mind drift. Savour the khichdi and chicken broth. Do nothing. Nothing at all.

But now life can't be put on hold despite illness. There are mouths to feed, lunches to pack, school runs to make, rooms to tidy, clothes to wash, homework to supervise, TV viewing to regulate, fights to break up, arguments to conclude. It's hard enough doing all that without having a runny nose, leaden head, breaking back, cramping uterus and wobbly legs. So imagine what it's like with all that, and more.

Cause without caution

2010-01-02T20:12:00.000-08:00

Many have done crazy things for charity or to promote a cause. And in most cases the end justifies the means. People have skydived, run, hitchhiked, cycled, walked, roller-bladed, rolled, driven, baked, sung, danced, stitched, knitted, written, raced snails (yes, you read it right!), auctioned themselves, climbed mountains, dated, shaved beards, walked dogs, eaten, kissed and swum - all for a good cause.

But when I read this morning that a man drove blindfolded from Patiala to Chandigarh to promote India-Pakistan friendship, I thought it a bit much. Is there really need for such recklessness to get a message across? The driver, 30-year-old Bhatinda resident Harpreet Pappu, had a skilled navigator to guide him through the 60-km route. But still, what he did could endanger others using the same road.

If the blindfolded driving was meant as a metaphor for the extremely complex relationship between the twin nations of India and Pakistan, I laud the man's creativity and sense of humour. But was there any need to put lives in danger to promote the cause of peace? The Indian Express quoted Pappu as saying that people flocked to his car - decorated with the Indian and Pakistani flags - through the route, but he kept the speed in check for the sake of safety. And he apparently had a very loud motorbike lead the way so he could follow its sound.

Mercifully, things went off without incident. But it could easily have gone wrong. I can understand and salute daredevilry when people risk their own lives for a good cause. But I have to draw the line at putting others in peril. That's just plain stupid and should not be encouraged.

Sweaty feet, keep your shoes on

2010-01-01T04:59:00.000-08:00

This is for all those who suffer sweaty feet. Please, please, for the sake of others who are cursed with strong olfactory senses, keep your shoes on in an air-conditioned cinema theatre!

This past Christmas was movie marathon day for my husband, our kids and I. We first watched James Cameron's Avatar in 3D and were completely blown away. For me that is indeed strange because I detest sci-fi as a genre. Epic fantasy and science fiction buffs, please don't take this personally. It's just a matter of taste. So here we were watching this epic unfold with three-dimensional impact when someone seated behind us decided to take his/her shoes off. That dampened the experience for us to quite an extent. How can one concentrate completely on a film when the senses are assaulted by the vile smell of someone's sweaty feet?

Feet prone to sweating are a fairly common problem, especially in a humid climate like Mumbai has. And those who suffer it have a really difficult time. But they are fully aware of their condition and should at least not subject others to the torture of a stinky movie theatre! Please, please, please keep your shoes on in air-conditioned, public spaces.

If that wasn't enough, those foul-smelling cheese popcorns seemed to find a lot of takers during the same show. So it was a double whammy. The combined stench, arrested and circulated by the air-conditioners, was overpowering. I had to sit through most of the film with my shawl clasped over the nose, held in place by the 3D glasses!

Thankfully we were spared a similar experience at the second film we watched (3 Idiots, which is a complete hoot and we all loved). It was a different multiplex theatre where the air was unmolested by sweaty feet. Phew.

Happy 2010 everyone

2009-12-23T20:44:00.000-08:00

As the end of the year approaches, I find my calendar packed to the hilt. Besides, with the kids home, I have very little time to myself. Hence the break from blogging. For all those (seven) people who hang onto my every word and wait with bated breath for the next post (yeah right!) I say, don't be disappointed. I hope to be back to it as soon as possible. Once the hangover lifts, the holiday weight disappears and guilt from the vacation bingeing abates. Actually, sounds like it might take a while.....

Anyway, I just wanted to wish everyone the very best for 2010. Let's hope the Commonwealth Games in New Delhi don't turn into a national humiliation. And I'm certainly looking forward to an action-packed FIFA World Cup in South Africa. Once every four years I turn into a crazed football fan, seeking out all the yellow I can get my hands on. Go, go, goal Brazil (yes, I am very Bengali in my soccer loyalties)!

Cheers y'all. Kick off the New Year in style.

Of history and professors keeping it immortal

2009-12-17T22:48:00.000-08:00

I studied history in college and loved it thoroughly. Many felt it was a peculiar, boring choice given I could potentially have selected another course. But I didn't get English in a college to my liking. History was the only other thing I wanted to study, so I enrolled for three years of the stuff at Delhi University's Hansraj College.

Anyway, the purpose of this blog is to share the gems that were passed on to us in those dingy classrooms. I speak not of historical facts and chronologies that you can find anywhere. I am referring here to the unparalleled spin our professors put on it thanks to their eccentricities and idiosyncrasies. You'll understand why I don't mention names here. I remember all these professors very fondly. They injected life into history lessons like few could manage. The students were so busy stifling smirks, giggles and guffaws that the classes whizzed by year after year. Never a dull moment.

Let's begin with the ancient Indian history teacher in our freshman year. He wore clothes flashy enough to give Austin Powers a complex. We'd rarely look at his face because we were mesmerised and dazzled by his favourite canary yellow tie that seemed aglow with mild radioactivity. And the checks on his loud plaid jacket, heaving on a hint of a potbelly, were almost hypnotic. But his most striking feature was the ability to make just about anything sound like total sleaze. "The Vedas are ancient India's biggest contribution to universal knowledge," he might be saying in his deep baritone. But it sounded like the narrative of a B-grade soft-porn film. It mattered not what he said. The lilt, diction, voice and delivery had this baffling effect of making it sound very, very dirty.

For medieval Indian history in our second year, we had the most absent-minded simple soul as a professor. A wonderful and kind man, he was unfortunately blessed with a very exaggerated Indian accent. What I will never forget are the lessons on the Slave Dynasty that once ruled Delhi, much before the Mughals. "Iltutmiss bilt a tomm for himself. But hij sunn Nassruddin Mahmud pre-decijed him and was entommed in that tomm," he told a very confused class one morning. For those not conversant in Indian, let me translate - "Iltutmish built a tomb for himself. But his son Nasiruddin Mahmud pre-deceased him and was entombed in that tomb."
Can you imagine keeping a straight face through a year of this? I frankly don't know how we survived gems like this and "bullbush domm" (bulbuous dome, while discussing Islamic architecture).

For European history the same year, we had a cantankerous old professor who always looked like he was at death's door. On occasion we actually got extremely concerned he'd passed on seated in class when he didn't stir for several minutes together. Anway, when he got going, he was difficult to understand. It sounded like he was speaking through a mouth full of marbles. And the day he discussed Catholicism and the Vatican, we were left mystified. He kept grunting about the Pope and his Pepsi. It took us quite a while to figure out he was speaking of the Pope and his papacy.

But you know what? Had it not been for all this, I'd probably have forgotten entirely about my history course through college. These professors left an indelible impression and made my years at university immortal.

At the turn of the millennium I was........

2009-12-13T05:02:00.000-08:00

In the spirit of year-end retrospection, which this time coincides with the end of the 21st century's first decade, I thought it would be fun to see how much I'd changed since December 1999. Let's see now:

At the turn of the millennium I was......

1) ....well, 10 years younger (25) and a little bit naive.

2) ....still basking in the newlywed glow and thrilled to discover that, contrary to what one hears, marriage can be extremely liberating. Arvind and I got hitched in 1998.

3) ....on the way to becoming a mum. Full of hope. Oblivious to what a natural childbirth really entails! Baby 1 arrived in August, 2000.

4) ....more patient. Or was it less? I can't quite decide. I do think little things drive me insane much sooner now. But then I realise that I have become immune to a lot of aggravation and provocation being around my children all the time.

5) ....a LOT slimmer. But less fit and flexible than now.

6) ....able to make friends more easily. Now I just don't have the time or patience to endure pointless small talk in the hope of unearthing a friend. Go for quality rather than quantity. Few pass muster, I'm afraid.

7) ....less likely to give people a second chance. Thanks to being a parent, that has changed.

8) ....more likely to be distracted by the superficial. Thankfully, with time, lucky ones like me learn to separate the wheat from the chaff and go for substance rather than flash.

9) ....much more ambitious. I wanted to build a career in the news business. I don't miss my professional life one bit now.

10) ....totally unaware of my painting skills. Didn't make a start until 2003. Was pleasantly surprised, to say the least. Now I hope that can turn into my primary profession some day.

11) ....more easily drawn into arguments. I'd rise to the bait each time. Now I can let things slide when I know an argument would just lead to bickering and not a constructive exchange of ideas.

12) ....less capable of being a heartless bitch when the situation demanded it (some might disagree). No such problems now!

13) ....more likely to wear jewellery.

14) ....less likely to wear make-up. Camouflage is now necessary sometimes!

15) ....just as likely to pick out mistakes in print, even text on the TV screen. Can't switch the inner editor off - ever!

16) ....able to consume mind-boggling quantities of food and alcohol! Those days are, mercifully, behind me.

17) ....as likely to switch on the telly and hunt for the funnies. I badly need a good laugh to unwind at the end of each day.

18) ....just as impatient with Hindi films. While things have begun to change, the majority of movies coming out of Bollywood still hold no appeal whatsoever for me.

19) ....more likely to offer justification for my behaviour in the hope of validation. Now, I frankly don't give a fig what others think.

20) ....less in love than I am today! (I know, I know. High on barf value. A sappy note to end on, but it's the truth)

So tell me about yourself. How have you evolved in the last decade?

It's about temperament as much as temperature

2009-12-09T19:44:00.000-08:00

As attempts stumbled along in Copenhagen to reach international concord on arresting climate change, it struck me that what's happening around us isn't just about rising temperatures and all the related disasters. It's also about human temperament. It's about us as a people, as a species.

I'm not talking about human survival. That is certainly at stake if the worst case scenarios climate researchers have projected do come true (God forbid!). Let those more in the know debate and discuss the environmental aspect of things. What I'm speaking of is the change in human temperament that has been another unfortunate outcome of global warming.

History shows that people from areas with harsh climates who had hard lives battling the elements were the ones who left their shores to invade the balmier parts of the world. Think about it. Where did the early invaders and conquerers come from? The Vikings, the Huns and many more of their ilk all hailed from regions known for their cruelly cold winters and brief, fleeting summers. When growing or gathering food and staying comfortable were daily battles, the temptation of securing supplies from more fertile lands and perhaps living in more clement weather proved overpowering.

The people of the tropics, on the other hand, were happy to stay put and enjoy the bounty of their native lands. They were placid as a people, easy-going. With the abundance of fruit, crops, rain and fresh air around them, they never felt the need to seek greener pastures. I can't really think of a tribe or nation of conquerers and imperialists that emerged from the balmy tropical regions. Even if there were warrior tribes in the tropics, they mostly fought for control of local resources.

But that was then. Now pollutants have become the great levellers. The deterioration in quality of life and resources across the world is proving directly proportionate to the spike in aggression and unrest. The fight for resources is no longer the domain of nations. It has come down to individual levels in extreme cases. You can see it in urban slums across the developing world (many of them in the tropics) where water riots routinely break out.

You don't even need to study the entire world. India is the perfect microcosmic example. Indians living in areas with harsher climate and extreme temperatures tend to have mercurial temperaments to match. There is an underlying tinge of aggression, a tendency to restiveness. Indians from areas where the weather is milder have traditionally been more even-tempered. I know, you feel I'm oversimplifying and generalising here. But think about it. Be honest. Isn't that the case?

Unfortunately, things are changing now. And nowhere is it more apparent than in our overcrowded cities. A steady poisoning of the air, water and soil has corresponded with a rise in impatience, belligerence and suspicion. Climate change and pollution are certainly not solely responsible for this. But they are significant factors. It is extremely challenging to stay patient and placid when caught in a snarl of toxin-belching traffic, lining up in the heat for a few buckets of water, breathing in fumes from diesel generators every time the electric supply fails. The hotter it gets, the worse things become.

The cities of India's north are used to punishingly hot summers. But not the rest of the country. Mumbai has seen a steady rise in its day temperatures and a decline in annual rainfall over the past few years. Homes in Bangalore (I should say Bengaluru), the Garden City, now don't just have ceiling fans but air conditioners too. That certainly wasn't the case a decade ago. Chennai's water woes are famous. These conditions are fairly new to them, so people are struggling to cope with the changes. In all these cities and surrounding regions, tempers have been creeping up just like the temperatures. People there are no longer the easy-going folk they used to be.

That's why I have my fingers crossed for Copenhagen. I hope our leaders finally agree to work together for a cleaner, greener world where our children can breathe a little easier and live in harmony. Because I certainly don't like what climate change is turning us humans into.

Mumbai, be grateful for the Dharavi wart

2009-12-01T22:50:00.000-08:00

It's the biggest wart on the face of an already pockmarked and scarred Mumbai. Most residents of this gigantic city that's home to about 19 million people feel embarrassed whenever the name Dharavi comes up. A sprawling, stinking mass of tin, tarpaulin, cardboard, brick, slush and sewage that throbs in the very the heart of Mumbai, Dharavi was till a few months ago considered Asia's largest slum. In September the UNDP (United Nations Development Programme) said the Pakistani city of Karachi has now wrested that dubious distinction with the spread of its Orangi township.

Anyway, the size of Dharavi (175 hectares, housing a million people) isn't the point of this blog. Last night I was surfing channels and came across a programme called Slum City on National Geographic. I stopped to watch, and was mesmerised. I knew so little of what went on within that fragile, choking city within a city!

I knew that Dharavi was the main centre for the production of leather goods in Mumbai. Many of our American friends and acquaintances have made endless trips there to shop for bags, jackets, overcoats and belts - some even custom made. I also knew that there were several small-scale garments manufacturing units there. I knew that several designers make use of embroiderers and crochet artisans from Dharavi.

But what I learnt from Slum City came as a very pleasant surprise. Dharavi is apparently the epicentre of garbage segregation and recycling in India's financial capital. Had it not been for the queen of the slums, Mumbai would be sitting on a heap of refuse of Himalayan proportions. Mounds and mounds of inorganic waste are painstakingly sorted, segregated and recycled within the slum every single day. Plastic, tin, paper, rubber, metal - anything and everything is reincarnated in Dharavi. I knew recycling was big in Dharavi, but I had no idea of the scale.

Instead of being ashamed of its presence, Mumbai should be thankful to Dharavi and its enterprising people. The city's collective endeavour should be to find out how to assist these recycling businesses and make them cleaner, more efficient.

We know that the government's efforts to redevelop Dharavi are failing miserably. Many residents have been promised small homes with electicity and sanitation, but in alternate locations. The residents, while all for better living conditions, just don't want to relocate. When it comes to location, Dharavi is better placed than most upscale neighbourhoods. It is close to the airports, to the three main inner-city train lines, and to both the expressways that lead into and out of Mumbai. Naturally, its people don't wish to live anywhere else.

The state should perhaps start with giving the recycling businesses in Dharavi a helping hand. Maybe efforts to expand the recycling facilites will entice the people involved to move to bigger, better and cleaner spaces. Or at least to clean up their current locations. Just remember Mumbai, we're deeply indebted to these people. We owe it to them to try and make their lives better.

A year since

2009-11-25T21:26:00.000-08:00

A year since those horrific, numbing 60 hours in Mumbai. A year since a band of misguided young men brought a mammoth metropolis to it knees. A year since India realised just how shamefully inadequate its emergency response apparatus is. A year since we saw just how little coordination our emergency services have.

The memory of the 26/11 attacks of 2008 remains alive, with plenty of periodic reminders and public discourses on the subject. Yet it has turned out to be a year of squandered opportunities, of misplaced priorities and an unpardonable waste of time.

Our first responders remain woefully ill-equipped to take on terror, or even a natural disaster. Firemen have reportedly been given bullet-proof vests rather than better equipment to contain blazes. Our overburdened hospitals struggle to cope with any sort of pressure, be it a terror attack or a public health outbreak.

Our police forces remain largely armed with archaic weapons that can certainly not match the new generation assault rifles that terrorists favour. Just some weeks ago it was reported that the government hadn't even bothered to arrange basic accommodation for several security personnel. These men had set up camp under the imposing canopy of the Gateway of India, sleeping, cooking and bathing out in the open. This is how we treat men we expect will put their own lives in jeopardy to protect us!

The broadcast media remain shrill and prone to sensationalism, gaining no maturity from the tragic experience that exposed their tendency to stoke panic and even jeopardise rescue efforts with their overzealous coverage.

What's worse, there's no sign of the seamless coordination between emergency services that is key to effectively responding to threats of any nature. And the unfortunate thing is that there is no one person or office that can be held responsible. It was a collective, systemic failure.

Even at an individual level, we've failed. Life has trudged on, regaining the momentum that was rudely interrupted by those harrowing few hours last year that claimed nearly 170 lives. While the tragedy unfolded in south Mumbai, we couldn't tear ourselves away from our television sets. We watched in disbelief as a bunch of youngsters swaggered through our streets, killing people at random and holding the city to ransom. We - even I - vowed to ensure that this incident would change us forever. We pledged never to allow our leaders to leave us so vulnerable again. But life went on. Personal preoccupations soon pushed any proactive public campaign efforts to the backseat. The 2008 terror attacks didn't even figure as an issue when we elected a new state government for Maharashtra in October! Nothing changed.

What's the way forward? I feel we need to shake off this Indian tendency to react rather than preempt. It requires a fundamental change in belief and behaviour as a people. It won't be easy. We need strategists who sit together, think up various worst-case scenarios and ensure that we remain prepared for each at all times. I'm not saying that we could have pulled this off in the one year that has passed since the Mumbai attacks. But we could have made a start and already covered a lot of ground. That's what's disheartening. We haven't even begun.

The priceless curiosity of childhood

2009-11-24T19:46:00.000-08:00

I've been meaning to share this very proud mommy moment. While we were holidaying in Sri Lanka in October, our van stopped at a petrol station in a one-horse town in the island country's central province. When the driver got back into the van, my older son Kabir asked him: "Is petroleum a major industry in Sri Lanka?"

I wondered if I'd heard right. I had. The driver, a wonderfully patient man called Sarath, said Sri Lanka didn't produce petroleum. So Kabir asked where it came from. Saudi Arabia and Malaysia, he was told. So how did it get here? Through pipelines and marine tankers. And how did it get to the individual gas stations? It's offloaded at the ports and then transported by tanker trucks.

The conversation then turned to sources of energy and Kabir asked if Sri Lanka had any hydroelectric power plants. He wanted to know where the dams were. This entire exchange was spontaneous and not once was he prompted by either my husband or me. Sitting in the back seat, we couldn't believe our nine-year-old was making such serious conversation. We were so proud. And we realised just how much the sometimes punishing school curriculum in India had impacted him. This time, in a good way. Geography lessons had definitely further fuelled his natural curiosity.

Geography seems to be the hot favourite for Kabir and his six-year-old brother Raghav at the moment. Their pet game these days is something called Atlas where you have to name a place using the last letter of the place the previous player names. This takes care of many a long car ride, which is quite commonplace in the cities of Thane and Mumbai whose roads are choked to bursting point. As a consequence, the boys have learnt the names of so many distant places, including Argentina, Nicaragua, Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, Armenia, Norway, Yorkshire, Zimbabwe etc. etc.

Their mission, every time they play it, is to land the other players with the letter A. The names of the majority of places end with 'A', so after a point you do get stuck. Raghav needs help after the first few rounds, but in the process he picks up a lot of new names.

Last weekend we were driving to a wedding in Mumbai. We had to cover a distance of just about 30 kilometres but it took us two-and-a-half hours! The streets were completely clogged with traffic that day. Thanks to Atlas, the drive that could have been a nightmare from my restless kids turned out to be quite pleasant. Adding to their delight was the fact that their grandfather, my father-in-law, was with us. And they did their darndest to land Dadu with an 'A' each time. There were hysterical fits of laughter each time Dadu got an 'A' and protested vehemently!

A couple of weeks ago when I found the kids were getting frustrated while playing Atlas because they were running out of names too soon, I told them to sit with an atlas each and use the index to find new names every time they got stuck. That really paid off. They learnt so many new names! And they're really keen to try that again as soon as their school examinations finish in the second week of December.

A child's curiosity and capacity to absorb information are just astounding. Of course I've had to answer the usual questions about how do babies come out of their mummies' tummies. So we've had conversations about the uterus, the birth canal and contractions. The subject of conception hasn't come up yet, but I expect it to any day now.

And you learn from your kids too. Every now and then Kabir or Raghav comes up with a nugget of information that I didn't know, especially about the habits of animals. And they get so smug when that happens! This is what I most enjoy about parenting - the give and take of knowledge.

Why I hate Blackberry

2009-11-22T07:19:00.000-08:00

This is going to sound like a typical wife's rant, but I hate my husband's Blackberry from the bottom of my heart. It's like the other woman in our marriage, keeping his mind straying away from home and family. He just can't resist its chimes and flashes. He checks it first thing at the start of each day, even before wishing me and our kids a good morning! On his days off he keeps going back to it by force of habit, spinning the dial and checking messages that could surely wait for the other side of the weekend. At airports, doctors' offices or anywhere else we need to wait, he turns to his Blackberry for comfort and companionship. It's as if the kids and I aren't even there! He's either answering emails or playing games. He's unable to function without that sleek, shiny black temptress touching his skin! To be fair, I must confess that he loves me to death and lets me know that often enough, but I could surely do without competition from what is essentially a mobile phone on steroids.

Pinnacles of preposterousness

2009-11-17T20:41:00.000-08:00

In the very first front page I skim through this morning I come across two news items that are some of the best examples of preposterousness one can encounter. One in the sheer callousness it reflects, the other in the ridiculousness of the research project it publicises.

The first report is about an insurance lawsuit. The vaunted lawyer of a gigantic Indian insurance firm actually tried to convince a court that being left paralysed by a motor crash sixteen years ago was a "blessing in disguise" for the young woman asking for a larger compensation package. Can you imagine that?!

Shweta Mehta, now 27, is paralysed from the waist down. She has spent 16 years in a wheelchair and is unable to do much independently. Her medical bills are high and salaries for hired help have been steadily spiralling upwards. That's why she is asking the third party insurer for more.

So what's the insurance lawyer's logic for this absurd argument? "The accident, for the girl, was blessing in disguise as she could get better education and also compensation," he told a shocked courtroom in Mumbai. Jokes about lawyers being heartless abound, but this has to be a new low even for people in the profession with such a poor reputation. The judges, fortunately, immediately let it be known that this line of attack would just not cut it.

The other report I notice is about a research project that claims to have succeeded in putting a price on happiness and sorrow. Australian economist Paul Frijters has been tracking and valuing human emotion since 2001. He claims to have found that to a man, marriage is worth 18,000 pounds and to a woman just half that. (Now that challenges all previously held beliefs about men abhorring marriage and resenting the fetters they feel come with tying the knot). And Frijters says - more in line with contemporary thinking this time - divorce is worth over 61,000 pounds for a man and just 5,000 pounds for a woman. She, like Ivana Trump, clearly believes in not just getting mad but getting everything!

The researcher has also assessed the monetary worth of other human milestones like the birth of a child and the death of a loved one. According to him they affect a man much more dramatically (in terms of monetary worth, that is) than they do a woman.

Doesn't Frijters' research project sound like a decade-long exercise in futility? What's the point of research like this? What does it achieve? How can its findings be applied or used? What's more, who backs it? Who funds it? Who stands to gain from this farce?

I'm sure some would like to be able to study human emotion in a more dispassionate fashion, but isn't this going to an absurd extreme? Can we be as cold and calculating about feelings and sentiments as we are about money? And I absolutely do not believe, despite all of Frijters' findings, that anyone can put a price on human emotion. Mr. Frijters, I wish you luck but sincerely hope your next research effort isn't as pointless.

Taking the magic out of magic

2009-11-15T02:53:00.000-08:00

I'm really conflicted about this. My kids have lately been watching Magic's Biggest Secrets Finally Revealed, a television programme that gives away all the tricks magicians use for their trade's most popular acts.

On the one hand I'm happy that the boys are now questioning every magic trick, wondering what sleight of hand has been used to pull it off. They are constantly trying to guess the secret - there's a hidden trapdoor; the magician has the ball up his sleeve; there's another assistant behind the screen etc. etc.

But on the other hand I feel a little bad that the magic has been lost. When we were children, a magic show was truly mesmerising. We really believed some people possessed extraordinary skills that helped them defy natural laws. All of us suspected in the backs of our minds that there had to be some other explanation for what we saw being done, but most didn't question it beyond a point. We just enjoyed those few moments of wonderment.

Magic's Biggest Secrets Finally Revealed has put an end to that, at least for my boys. Is that a good thing? I'm not sure. But I do hope that my kids appreciate the skill and dexterity that go into performing magic on stage.

To-wit, to-who

2009-11-03T04:57:00.000-08:00

My kids are growing up fast. And just as rapidly developing a sense of humour. A couple of days ago we'd stopped at an ATM, so there were questions from the boys about money transcations and whether you can withdraw coins from a bank. We said yes, but for that you have to go to a branch. Immediately our nine-year-old Kabir said, "Ah, that gives me an idea. Who do you call when you find a twig in your soup?" Who, we asked in unison. "The branch manager!" We couldn't help but guffaw. And, as parents, we felt so very proud. For him to absorb what he hears and use it to pun is really quite amazing.

Some months ago, while Wimbledon was on, Kabir asked me one afternoon, "Mama, what do elephants play at Wimbledon?" What, I asked. "Squash!" he proclaimed with pride. That was another original.

Our little one, Raghav, also loves jokes. But he hasn't yet started dishing out original material. Our six-year-old's current favourite is: "Knock, knock. Who's there? Sonia. Sonia who? Sonia shoe I can smell it!" So we hear that one again and again. He has tried to make up some knock, knock material, but he hasn't quite struck gold so far. One of these days......

Actually, it's no surprise that my boys have taken so keenly to jokes, especially puns. Compulsive punning runs in the families of both their parents. My husband has quite a reputation. One of his best so far came when he heard that a Bengali friend of my father's had been appointed India's envoy to Germany. "Ambassador Bonn gaya," he said. Those familiar with the Bengali accent and the Hindi language will get it.

And hubby isn't the only one. His father, my father and my brother are just as bad. Every family event has the room reverberating with laughter as one wisecrack follows another. So, given the combination of genes, I suppose my boys were pre-destined to by witty. Actually, I think it's great. There can be nothing better than a life full of laughter.

Growing up Indian, the Amar Chitra Katha way

2009-11-01T19:51:00.000-08:00

Last week my kids got special delivery of a veritable treasure chest. Two cartons packed with the entire collection of Amar Chitra Katha. That's more than 400 comic books! It was a gift from a much loved friend of mine. It must have cost her a small fortune. But, to my mind, it's worth every penny, and much, much more. The hours spent with these wonderful books are far more precious than anything money can buy.

Most of us have grown up reading Amar Chitra Kathas. And I am overjoyed that my little boys are doing the same. An unmatched concept, Amar Chitra Katha was the first to introduce Indian children to their rich cultural, religious and historical heritage using the irresistible comic book format. Gone were the dull and weighty accounts of India's past that were heavy on text and low on appeal. The bright colours, rich illustrations and simplified storytelling brought characters from mythology, folklore and history alive for kids, making them real and accessible somehow.

Launched in 1967, the Amar Chitra Katha series introduced us to all our freedom fighters in a way that school and library texts on history never could. From Lokmanya Tilak to Subhas Chandra Bose, Mahatma Gandhi to Bhagat Singh, Veer Savarkar to Jawaharlal Nehru, the series gave us a tantalising glimpse into the lives of men who helped shape our collective destiny. It was the best possible introduction to the world of biographies.

And Amar Chitra Katha simplified the often confusing world of Indian mythology in a way no one else has managed to do. The two great Indian epics, the Ramayan and Mahabharat, are so full of complex characters, relationships, equations and sub-plots that it is easy to lose one's way. So Amar Chitra Katha gave us simple overviews of the main stories and also separate books on the significant sub-plots to the epics. For instance the Gita, which is one of the central tenets of Hindu belief, is based on a dialogue between Lord Krishna and the warrior Arjun while they are poised for a mighty battle between good and evil. There is a separate comic on that exhange. I re-read it last night after decades.

Apart from their entertainment and educational value, I feel Amar Chitra Katha help our children understand the meaning of being an Indian. The books help them see that our nation has no single, monolithic identity or truth. Being Indian can mean being anything, or anyone. They make kids appreciate diversity by offering a basic understanding of many faiths - Hinduism, Islam, Christianity, Buddhism, Sikhism, Jainism, Zoroastrianism and Judaism. Tales of saints and reformers like Kabir, Guru Nanak, Shankaracharya, Ramakrishna give them hope that things can be changed for the better when they start to go wrong. Accounts of our struggle for independence awaken a sense of pride in nationality.

Available in a host of Indian languages as well as English and even French, the Amar Chitra Katha series has tried to keep current by offering new biographies on contemporary personalities like India-born American astronaut Kalpana Chawla (who died in the Columbia explosion in 2003) and the late industrialist J.R.D. Tata, among others. And its Heroes Challenge invites its young readers to nominate heroes on whom Amar Chitra Katha has not yet released a book.

In a way, Amar Chitra Katha has made an invaluable contribution to helping us grow up Indian. And it continues to do so for future generations. I hope this unique venture never runs out of steam.

Saying it like it is

2009-10-31T20:34:00.000-07:00

A little candour now and again can be a good thing. In diplomacy, it can be like a breath of fresh air. When Hillary Clinton lost her patience at an interaction with Pakistani journalists during her Lahore visit this past week and cut right through the BS to call a spade a spade, I was as pleased as punch.

The diplomatic world's worst-kept secret - that Pakistan harbours terrorists - exploded in the local media's face when U.S. Secretary of State Clinton said: "I find it hard to believe that nobody in your government knows where they (Al-Qaeda operatives) are and couldn't get them if they really wanted to."

Osama bin Laden, his Al-Qaeda network and scores of other terrorist comrades have made the inhospitable mountains along the Pakistan-Afghanistan border their home for close to a decade. The entire world knows this. And it's obvious that this safe haven could not exist without the tacit approval and cooperation of at least some in positions of influence in Pakistan as well as Afghanistan.

But so far world leaders have been walking on eggshells each time they speak of Pakistan's apparent attempt to rein in the forces of terror. They hail Islamabad as a key ally in the war on terror. And they refuse to publicly acknowledge that the Pakistanis have been turning a blind eye to the presence on their soil of men wanted around the world for killing thousands of innocent people.

Finally, the U.S. seems to have dropped the act and is saying it like it is. I don't know if Clinton had President Obama's approval before speaking that harshly, but I feel only good can come of ending an era of mouthing platitudes. "I want to have the kind of relationship where we really are talking honestly about everything between us because there's just too much at stake," Clinton reportedly said in defence of her outburst.

If Clinton really wants to work towards cutting the crap and getting real results, let's wish her the very best.

Soul-salving Sri Lanka

2009-10-18T21:01:00.000-07:00

We're back, though we don't want to be. Back to reality, chores and responsibilities after a fabulous week in stunning Sri Lanka. A week when we unwound, switched off and recharged. When cell phones weren't a distraction, when newspapers didn't numb us with frightening facts. It was an idyllic state of disconnect. And the spectacular natural beauty of the place was like a salve for the soul.

A week is far too little time to really experience the Emerald Isle in its entirety. But we were fortunate to have even that much. We landed in Colombo airport in the wee hours of October 10 and drove four hours to the town of Kandalama in the central province. It's a quaint little place by the man-made Kandalama tank, close to the Buddhist pilgrim town of Dambulla that is famous for its ancient cave temples.

The Heritance hotel where we stayed is an architectural marvel that lies ensconced in thick woods. The 900-metre structure is hard to spot even from close range because of the clever way in which it has been made to blend with its surroundings. Floor to ceiling picture windows run the length of the structure. Most of the corridors have been left open, so you have rooms along one side while the hill and the woods lie at arm's length on the other. Monkeys, squirrels and monitor lizards have a run of the place, just as much as the guests. Deer and elk roam the property. And bats whizz above your head as you make your way to dinner.

I'm now a confirmed admirer of the architect, the late Geoffrey Bawa. He has created a building of delightful simplicity, yet with remarkable features. Terrace gardens camouflage the Heritance Kandalama completely, so much so that you probably won't spot the hotel in the day till you drive into the porch. And he has integrated large chunks of the rock around which the hotel has been built into the design. So you have portions where the rock serves as the wall. All the rooms have balconies that are surrounded by cascading foliage. Of the three swimming pools, the most beautiful is the infinity pool that overlooks Kandalama Tank.

The other thing that sets the Heritance, Kandalama, apart from other hotels is the quality of the food. It served up some of the best food we've ever eaten, be it Sri Lankan, Oriental or Continental cuisine. There were buffets for every meal and such was the standard that we saw not one guest at the hotel opt for the a la carte menu through our three-day stay. No surprise then that its kitchens have won the Heritance, Kandalama, a whole host of awards.

While in Kandalama, we visited the ancient city of Anuradhapura. A world heritage site, Anuradhapura was the first Buddhist capital of Sri Lanka and is dotted with stunning ruins, the oldest of which date back 2,500 years. To me, the most spectacular were the Abhayagiri and Jetavana stupas. They are impressive in the sheer scale as well as simplicity of design. The Jetavana dagoba is made of more than 90 million bricks! It is considered the largest structure in the world made entirely of bricks. It is said that there are enough bricks in the stupa to build a great wall from London to Edinburgh, a distance of over 500 kilometres.

I noticed though that the Sri Lankan authorities seem to be cementing most of the stupas and painting them white, which to my mind takes away from the beauty of the original structures. Though the effort to protect these gems of history are laudable, I feel one should find a way of doing so without changing their basic character.

Kandalama is a great place to stay if you want to visit Sri Lanka's Cultural Triangle that includes the rock fortress of Sigiriya, the ruins of Anuradhapura and Polonnaruwa, the island's second Buddhist capital. Not surprisingly, the Heritance Kandalama plays host to large groups of Buddhist pilgrims and holidaymakers from East Asia.

After three days in Kandalama, we drove south-west to the beach town of Ahungulla. The drive was picturesque right through, but we had the misfortune of riding in a van that seemed to have no shock absorbers whatsoever. Except for the main motorways, roads in Sri Lanka aren't the best around. So if you're planning to travel there (and especially if you have a bad back), do try to avoid hiring the very popular Toyota HiAce vans. Because those will rearrange your skeletal frame.

Anyway, the six-hour drive did eventually end. And it was fortunate that the place is so very beautiful that you don't dwell too much on the discomfort. Ahungulla lies by the Indian Ocean south of capital Colombo. It is just south of the more popular beach resort town of Bentota, and therefore less crowded. Exactly like everyone's idea of a beach holiday destination, Ahungulla was practically razed to the ground by the 2004 Tsunami. It has built itself back up remarkably well.

Our home in Ahungulla was another Heritance hotel, also designed by Bawa. An equally beautiful property, it bears all of Bawa's hallmarks. Nature occupies centrestage. No element of the design ever takes attention away from the landscape. The Heritance Ahungulla has a massive colonnaded reception lobby that opens out into a placid swimming pool. As you enter, at a single glance you take in the lobby, the pool, a patch of sand and the Indian Ocean beyond. It just takes your breath away.

We'd decided to use the Ahungulla leg to just relax, not exert ourselves by dashing about visiting the local sights. And we did just that. The Ahungulla Heritance offers its guests more onsite recreation options. It has two tennis courts, a badminton court, two swimming pools, billiards, ping-pong, a library and Internet connectivity. So the evening we arrived we hit the beach and then the pool. The next day was library, badminton and then the pool. Followed by tennis for my husband and the kids. And the beach at sunset. The third day all four of us hit the tennis court before cooling off in the pool. (My kids will never forget the sight of a monitor lizard taking a drink from the pool we were in and a squirrel stealing my older son's lemonade!). The evening was reserved for the beach after a well-earned afternoon siesta.

The only excursion while in Ahungulla was to nearby Kosgoda to visit a marine turtle hatchery. It is a remarkable, not-for-profit facility. Run purely on donations and entry fee, the hatchery was completely destroyed by the Tsunami. It's up and running again, thanks to the generosity of patrons around the world.

The hatchery pays local fisherman a little more than market rate for the turtle eggs they excavate from the beaches. This ensures that these endangered creatures don't end up on breakfast tables. The hatchery then incubates the eggs under mounds of sand. Soon after the hatchlings emerge, they are released into the ocean. The local species include the Green Turtle, the Leatherback, the Olive Ridley, the Loggerhead and the Hawksbill.

The hatchery caretaker said only one percent of a clutch of eggs bears female hatchlings. So the females are doubly endangered and their survival is critical to the future of the species. That's why the hatchery keeps the females for seven years, making sure they are strong and their chances of survival once back in the ocean are the best they can be.

After a memorable three days in Ahungulla, we drove north two hours to the Sri Lankan capital Colombo. It was the 16th of October. A bustling metropolis, Colombo is full of the sights and sounds of any South Asian city. It is full of beautiful buildings constructed during British colonial rule, which ended in 1948. My husband had been to the city on work in June and was keen to take us for lunch to a place he had visited then. Paradise Road Galleries, situated in an upscale area of Colombo, was everything he'd promised and more. The food was excellent, the ambience unparalleled. Curiously, the house was once home to the architect Bawa. So it seems we were on a virtual Bawa pilgrimage!

Of course we did the truly touristy thing and hit a few export surplus clothes stores in Colombo. The much talked of House of Fashion was a little chaotic and disappointing. What surprised me was the fact that it had no trial rooms! Odel was much more impressive in the way it was organised and the variety of stock. The prices were unbelievable. So I quickly emptied hubby's wallet.

We'd booked an apartment for the day at the Hilton Residences. The apartment was well-appointed and comfortable. We relaxed there for a few hours and flew out at midnight back to Mumbai, just in time to be home for Diwali.

Sri Lanka was incredible. We came back happy, rejuvenated, sated, a little bit heavier and very, very tanned. And we can't wait to get back.

Seriously, Nobel committee?

2009-10-09T06:51:00.000-07:00

W-H-A-T???!!! My jaw dropped as I heard U.S. President Barack Obama was to receive this year's Nobel Peace Prize. I was up to my eyeballs in clothes that I had to pack for the holiday that begins just a few hours from now, but I had to drop all that and blog.

I couldn't understand. I still can't. Why Obama? Why? What has he done to deserve this highest of honours? Given a few speeches? Renewed hope among non-whites of a world of equal opportunity? Spoken kindly and respectfully to the Islamic world? Yes, yes and yes. But so what?

The entire world had succumbed to Obama appeal during the U.S. presidential election last year. And his victory was celebrated just as enthusiastically across the globe as it was by his supporters in America. I was among the billions applauding at the time. We have since followed his fortunes with interest. His quiet dignity and erudition have earned our respect. His address to the Islamic world through his speech in Cairo was a welcome departure from the macho BS that used to flow out of his predecessor's mouth. But has all that made the world a better place? Has it changed anyone's life? Has it ended the mutual suspicion - even hate - between the Western and Islamic worlds? No, no and no. It's true that America and the world have very high expectations of this man. But he hasn't done anything yet.

Which brings me back to 'Why?'. I am well and truly baffled. And I hope Obama is too. He must know he has done nothing to deserve this honour. My respect for the man would increase manifold if he gracefully declined the award in favour of someone truly worthy of it. I hope he does.

Why can't we cast caste out?

2009-10-06T21:06:00.000-07:00

Caste. A word that in India could spell power or misery. Privilege or dishonour. Influence or helplessness. Don't you think it's time we cast it out?

Ironically, in today's India the caste knife cuts both ways. Earlier belonging to a high caste was like being born with the silver spoon in the mouth. No longer. The chauvinists among the high caste groups still haven't come to grips with the fact that people they consider lesser mortals are getting preference in education and employment, while also becoming considerably influential politically. But discrimination against the lower castes is certainly not a thing of the past. There are still thousands of temples that bar entry to "untouchables". Thousands of villages even today don't allow people from the lowest castes to live among them or draw water from their wells.

Today India is extremely nervous that the United Nations will declare caste discrimination a violation of human rights. But I think we should jump at this chance and sign on, as our neighbour Nepal has reportedly done.

Wouldn't it make sense to just declare caste discrimination immoral and illegal? Lots of old, anachronistic practices have slowly died out after being declared unlawful. For instance, widows no longer burn on their husbands' funeral pyres (except for a few shocking cases now and again) and child marriage appears to be on the decline. This change has come very slowly, over many generations. But at least we seem to be moving in the right direction on these fronts.

I know hundreds will pounce on me for advocating this, claiming I am over-simplifying a very complex issue. But then sometimes the easiest and most obvious solution can be the right one, especially when the problem is tremendously complicated. Won't doing away with caste restore honour to millions who have been ill-treated and insulted all their lives? Won't it gradually fix the fundamental problems in society that have caused widespread discontent, feeding violent reactionary movements like the Maoist insurgency that is slowly bleeding the life out of a large swathe of central and eastern India?

The main problem is that there is a lot riding on caste politically. Our leaders have spent decades nurturing hopes and expectations in various caste groups. Job and educational reservations for SCs (scheduled castes, or listed lower castes) and OBCs (other backward castes) are among the most popular carrots politicians dangle before voters ahead of every election. Politicians like Uttar Pradesh Chief Minister Mayawati have got where they are today because of caste politics. She is the newest mascot of Dalit empowerment. Dalits are members of the lowest bloc in the Indian caste heirarchy who received the most inhuman treatment of all, shunned as "untouchables" and left the worst jobs.

On the other hand, high caste chauvinists want to cling on to the system because they feel it gives them honour and privilege, somehow making them better than the rest. And these group wield a lot of political influence in many parts of the country.

The tragedy of it all is that the caste system began centuries ago as a simple way of distinguishing people in various vocations. Priests were Brahmins, warriors were Kshatriyas, traders were Vaishyas and people doing menial work were Shudras. Trouble began when someone decided to make it hereditary. So a Brahmin family would always be covered in honour while the children of the Shudra had no hope of improving their lot or elevating their social status because they were condemned to a life of menial labour. That's when this most inhuman of social systems began to evolve. Gradually scores of sub-castes emerged, creating an extremely complicated social web.

Even today inter-caste marriages are fairly uncommon in the Indian heartland. Though my husband and I live in a bustling 21st century city, people are surprised to learn that our parents aren't from the same state and that we had a "love marriage". And when they find out that we have no idea what my husband's caste is, they're truly horrified!

So deeply ingrained is caste in the Indian psyche that it even crosses religious boundaries. Though millions turned to other other faiths such as Sikhism, Buddhism, Christianity and Islam because of caste discrimination among Hindus, caste identity has remained intact for most of them. Marriages are generally arranged between families with similar caste backgrounds.

To me, the United Nations move to brand caste bias a glaring human rights violation is a golden opportunity to give this barbaric system a long-due burial. Anyone who maintains that anything good has come of the caste system is lying. There have been no advantages to us as a people. All it does is divide us, create hatred and suspicion. Mahatma Gandhi recognised this. He told us we wouldn't get far as a nation if we didn't end discrimination against the socially disadvantaged, whom he called Harijans (people of God). We should have paid heed.

There's still time. Let's cast caste out now.

Fling out the faux front page, please

2009-10-03T05:50:00.000-07:00

I hate it. Just HATE it when a faux front page stares back at me first thing in the morning. Why do I have to turn a page to get to the front page? Doesn't the name say it all? It is the FRONT PAGE for god's sake. Completely self-explanatory.

I understand that the print news business is fighting for its life these days thanks to the explosion of competition from the electronic and online media. So advertisements are more important than they've ever been before. But you can't go and change the basic character of a newspaper. A reader should not have to turn a page to get to the main news. The front page should tell all.

But now, a couple of times a week, the first page of a newspaper won't tell you what's happened in the world in the past 24 hours but instead tom-tom the launch of a new property development or trumpet yet another luxury brand. I personally find it sickening. Please keep the ads inside and preserve the sanctity of the front page. Please.

The China chip on our shoulder

2009-10-01T20:22:00.000-07:00

It's time. High time we stopped. This perpetual chip on the Indian shoulder when it comes to China is getting plain embarrassing. We just can't seem to stop ourselves from comparing our achievements with those of the Chinese. To what purpose? It's most counter-productive.

On Thursday China marked the 60th anniversary of being a Red republic with great pomp and pageantry. Indian journalists were among hundreds from around the world invited to watch the spectacle at Beijing's Tiananmen Square. From all accounts it was a great show, the centrepiece being the parade through which China showcased its military prowess. Nothing wrong with that, considering we Indians do it every single year on the occasion of Republic Day in January. What I found pitiful was how some of our news channels started comparing the arsenal missile by missile. They said things like India has no answer to this one, matches this one, surpasses that one.

Why, why, why? What's the point? I hope to god that our defence decision-makers and military commanders are already aware of all this. Why do you need to flash these comparisons in front of the public? Are you trying to work up a mammoth inferiority complex? Or mass paranoia? You've already tried your best to do both by harping on increased "Chinese incursions" along the borders just about a month ago. Thankfully the hysteria whipped up then was very short-lived.

And it's not limited to the domain of defence, is it? Whenever we try to assess urban progress, we seem to promptly compare things to Shanghai. Our economic indices and business accomplishments are always compared to those of the Chinese. Why the hell can't we stop ourselves?

The thing is that while we're ahead of the Chinese in a handful of fields, we're way behind in most others. So such comparisons simply end up depressing us as a nation, denting morale. Doesn't that defeat the purpose?

There's no denying that China has notched up phenomenal successes in the last six decades. But it is a fundamentally different nation. It is goverened in a very different way. Its achievements have come at the expense of personal liberties and human rights. Individual voices are stifled. So much that we take for granted in our lives as Indians are pipe dreams for the Chinese, even people in booming cities like Shanghai.

I'm not trying to say that we're better off, or they are. It is important to understand that our two nations have evolved in very different ways. It's only natural that the pace of advancement will not be the same. The India we know and love is a cacophonous, chaotic place full of conflicting opinions and courses of action. Yet we are advancing. There's no attempt being made here to justify tardiness in development. I'm just pointing out that this is inevitable because of the way we are as a people. Comparing ourselves to the Chinese monolith is futile.

That reminds me, I just love the new Hindustan Times ad campaign that has It Is Time as its catchphrase. It urges an end to Indian cynism, sycophancy, breaking of rules and disregard for human rights. People are made to snap back to their senses with the swat of a rolled up newspaper. One of the ads shows three guys looking at the Bandra-Worli Sea Link, Mumbai's beautiful new landmark that took over eight years to build. One of these chappies says China could do this in two years, which is when he gets swatted on the head and shuts his trap. "It is time to end cynicism", says that ad. And I agree wholeheartedly. Let's not constantly beat ourselves up and run our morale to ground. That's defeatism at its best. Let's have a little more faith in ourselves and stop looking over the shoulder constantly at what our northern neighbour is up to.

Gun-nesh puja

2009-09-29T04:46:00.000-07:00

Everytime I think our leaders couldn't get more vulgar or politically incorrect in their behaviour, they promptly go out and prove me wrong. When I saw a front page picture this morning of Gujarat Chief Minister Narendra Modi praying to assault rifles and guns on the occasion of Dussehra, I thought my still sleepy eyes and brain were playing tricks on me. I blinked and took another look. Same picture. I rubbed my eyes and looked yet again. Nothing had changed. There he was, reverentially worshipping a huge display of modern firearms and medieval weapons.

I read up a little bit about this bizarre ritual and was horrified to learn that this is something Modi has been doing for some years in his home to mark Dussehra, a festival that celebrates the triumph of good over evil. Apparently it is an old custom called Shastra Puja, or worship of weapons, that was popular among Rajputs and other warrior classes. That I can understand, because it was a ceremony where these warriors were paying their respects to the tools of their trade. It is something people in many professions do even today, praying to whatever helps them earn their living. Policemen often perform Shastra Puja, but then they use these weapons in the defence of innocents like you and I.

But Modi is the chief minister of a state. He sits in an office, administers, signs papers, works the phones, canvasses votes, shakes hands, poses for photos, pontificates, and rubs people like me the wrong way. I don't agree with a lot of what he believes in - that's okay. This is a democracy after all. But him sitting with folded hands in front of the tools of death - Kalashnikov rifles, guns, cartridges, tridents, swords - just seems WRONG. He is a public figure. Surely he considers how something like this would look?

Modi has a large fan following among hardline Hindus because of his tough posturing on some sensitive religious disputes. But more moderate Hindus who believe we Indians should just try to get along view him with a degree of suspicion, especially after the 2002 religious violence in his state that led to the deaths of many Hindus and thousands of Muslims. There were allegations that the administration turned a blind eye while Hindu mobs went about killing Muslims across Gujarat in retaliation for the burning of a train carrying Hindu pilgrims.

Let me state clearly here that I have nothing against Shastra Puja. It's just that it looks bad when a public figure holding a job that has nothing to do with weapons sits and worships them. Bad PR is what it is. Is Modi's Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) too myopic to see how bad this is for its image among millions of liberal middle class Indians that it is so desperately trying to woo?

Deflating the airbrush

2009-09-23T04:47:00.000-07:00

The airbrushing secret to picture perfect models has been out for many years. But even now, despite knowing about this highly underhanded tactic for making gorgeous models look even more alluring, us lesser mortals gaze at magazine covers and wonder how they manage to look that bloody good!

So when I read in this morning's papers that French politicians want a health warning on airbrushed glamour photographs, I couldn't help but applaud. A group of about 50 French leaders want the health warning law to fight eating disorders that ordinary women develop in their quest for the impossible figures they see in commercials and glossies. They have proposed a hefty fine of 37,500 euros or 50 percent of the cost of the advertisement if the law is broken.

Whether or not their efforts succeed, I believe these French politicians are fighting for a good cause. Coming a few years after the ban of size zero models on runways in some of the world's fashion capitals, it will advance the struggle for a world of women without serious body image issues.

No matter what we say, images of lissome women with curves in all the right places, flawless skin, legs that go on forever and sparkling pearlies do affect us. Take me, for instance. I have never been obsessed with physical appearance, but I do try to look presentable. I've fought a looooong battle against weight since my two pregnancies. After years of consistent exercise, I am approaching a respectable size and feeling good about myself. But when I see pictures of actresses and models my age, who are also young mothers, looking just as luminous, taut and perky as they did a decade ago, I can't help but get a little disheartened. And this is even though I am fully aware of airbrushing! So I can't even imagine the effect these pictures have on impressionable young girls who don't know of this cunning method of hiding flaws.

I get seriously worried when I see little girls these days. Firstly, the lack of physical exercise (which has become a common problem in most cities) has made many of them tubby. Then, they come to parties dressed in sequin-covered cutaway blouses or dresses and caked with make-up. Unfortunately, most of them end up looking like tarts-in-the-making. I know it isn't a nice thing to say, but it's absolutely true! I suppose it's only to be expected because they live on a daily diet of MTV and Channel V that play non-stop Hindi music videos showing full-size versions of what they're trying to look like.

At times such as these, I thank my stars for being the mother of boys. I can't imagine what these girls' moms live through. (I heard a hair straightener appeared on a seven-year-old's Christmas wishlist last year. This isn't hearsay, it's someone I know!) When misguided little girls hit adolescence, they take to all the new fad diets in an effort to starve themselves into shape. If a parent doesn't catch on, the child can end up with serious and lifelong health problems.

The problem of body image issues is very real. Especially for young girls, but even for older women. I think this health warning idea is a good one.

Please pass the low-calorie butter substitute

2009-09-19T20:40:00.000-07:00

Oi, what happened to the butter? There isn't any available anywhere! Not in Thane, where I live. I believe not even in Gurgaon. And is apparently very hard to come by even in Mumbai. Don't know about the rest of the nation, but I suspect it's much the same.

So where did it all go? Have the cows and buffalos imposed a ban on the production of butter, all other dairy produce being spared the same fate. You get plenty of cheese, buttermilk, cream, yogurt. But not butter. Not the scrumptious, golden, creamy spread that can transform an ordinary piece of morning toast into a bite of bliss, inject magic into a baked dish. My older son loves the stuff, as does my husband. They're missing it sorely. And the baked goodies coming out of my kitchen are missing a little bit of their magic.

What's even more strange is the fact that the shortage is across the board - all manufacturers. Amul, Mother Dairy, Britannia. I didn't even know of the scarcity till about a fortnight ago when we finished the last half-kilo slab of butter in our fridge. The shops told us they hadn't had any fresh stock in for more than a month! You do get some unsalted, white butter from Parsi Dairy (and I now stock that for baking emergencies), but it isn't quite the same thing.

This mysterious shortage is good news for some. Zydus-Cadila is making a killing! Its low-calorie table spread Nutralite, which it positions as a healthier alternative to butter, is flying off the shelves. So high is the demand that the company is finding it hard to keep up. Now Nutralite ain't bad, but it isn't a patch on the real stuff.

I remain baffled. Will someone please tell me what's going on? Where's the butter? And howcome no one has written about this? Is no one else curious? I'm not a big eater of the stuff, but butter is a constant in our fridge and is consumed in fair quantities in our home. It is missed.

Missing the clouds

2009-09-14T21:20:00.000-07:00

Oh, how I miss them! Those fluffy, wispy, grey tufts in the sky that make my world look so much more beautiful for a quarter of the year. This morning we have blue skies above, the unrelenting sun bleaching everything out. I keep checking the south, which is where the rain-bearing clouds roll in from in these parts. But it's just a blue haze today, holding out very little hope for an overcast day.

Just yesterday I read my father's blog complaining about a week of rain in Delhi and realised how much living away from the city of my birth has changed me. While I was in Delhi, I too enjoyed the rain for a couple of days but began to grow restless and frustrated if it lingered for any longer than that. I loved the rain in short, sharp spells. But not when an incessant pitter-patter stretched for days.

Living in Mumbai and Thane for half a decade has changed how I feel about the monsoon. The buildup to the season of rain is absolutely spectacular. I can't quite put it in words. After months of sticky, icky weather, you can't describe the ecstasy on spotting the first bank of monsoon clouds rolling in, the first burst of cool breeze caressing your face. Everyone starts to smile. It's infectious. This buildup sometimes lasts for over a week, the anticipation growing every second. People keep peering out, extending their hands out of apartment windows to check if the heavens have finally decided to be charitable.

We've been extremely lucky in living throughout in apartments with beautiful views of hills and water bodies. We could see Powai Lake from all the rooms in our home in Mumbai. In Thane we face the hills of a wildlife sanctuary and the river Ulhas. And these views are the most breathtaking in the monsoon. On lazy weekends my husband and I at times spend hours sitting in the balcony, sipping coffee and gazing at the scenery. And we keep wondering how we'll adjust back to a life with no views to speak of when we move back to Delhi!

Of course, there's a downside to the monsoon. You wage a constant battle against mould and mildew in every nook and cranny of your home. This year I realised to my horror that textured lampshades with grooves in the fabric are mould magnets! Drying clothes is a nightmare. It can take up to three days for clothes to dry, longer for thicker fabric like denim or linen. But this monsoon has been much better for me because my husband bought me a 100% clothes drier that makes life so much simpler. So no more musty smell in clothes and no rooms taken over by drying laundry.

There are also several waves of viral and gastric infections in this season. If there are children in the house, you'll all fall ill at least two or three times each monsoon. There are also mounds of rotting refuse here and there, slush on the streets, clogged drains on days when the rain is heavier than usual. Yet I love the season.

A good monsoon here lasts about three months. You adjust to a quality of daylight that is gentle on the eyes. So when the clouds disappear, it takes quite a while to get used to the glare again. Something I am struggling to do today, which is why I am missing the clouds. The monsoon arrived late this year and it hasn't rained as much as it should in a good season. So I haven't had my fill quite yet.

The silent agents of change

2009-09-07T22:06:00.000-07:00

Sitting ensconced in our upper middle class worlds, we all like to believe that we are in some little way making a difference in the world. Somewhere out there, things are better because of a little charitable deed we did. That could well be so. But what we don't recognise is that the real, silent and potent agents of social reform inhabit our everyday lives but remain invisible to most of us sahibs and memsahibs

Take the time to get to know the team of women who clean and cook for you and you’ll be amazed. While we were living in Mumbai a few years ago, we had three ladies coming in to help us. One used to clean, one used to cook and a third babysat my younger son, who was then less than a year old. Their life stories, on the surface, were just the same as those of millions of other women occupying the less glamorous part of the urban Indian landscape. But dig a little deeper and you’d be blown away by their individual initiative, ambition and fortitude.

All of these women had three children each, coincidentally two girls and a boy in each case. The cook was a widow and the other two had been deserted by their husbands soon after the third child was born. None of these women had studied beyond primary school. And all of them had been married off while they were girls, in their early or middle teen years.

Now these ladies led very hard lives. The cook and cleaner worked three or four part-time jobs in middle class homes to make ends meet. Money was always short. Yet all of them – and this is what impressed me most – had promised themselves that they would educate their daughters and not marry them off before the age of 18. This wasn’t because of advice from social activists or from fear of being punished for breaking the anti- child marriage law. This came from within.

People like you and I cannot understand just how much it takes for such women to stick to this resolve. First, money is a constant challenge. Even public schools for the poor cost some money. Second, there is no supportive spouse to share the responsibility. Then there is always pressure from peers less evolved in their thinking to pull the kids out of school and put them to work. And when it comes to the daughters, the constant advice from the peers is to get them married and pass the “burden” on to another family. Yet none of these three ladies caved. The cook, who was older and had grown children, even made sure that her younger daughter got the vocational training she wanted in order to get a good job.

We’ve now moved to another city and the women who keep our current home running are more fortunate as they are in good marriages. But they too were child brides. Yet they don’t wish the same fate for their daughters, all of whom are in schools.

Through my life I have encountered scores of such examples of admirable courage among the invisible members of home after home. The majority of maids had alcoholic and abusive husbands. The women kept the home fires burning. The cleaning lady in my mother’s home in Delhi has single-handedly put five children through school. Her husband, a gifted embroiderer, wasted his earnings, talent and life on drink. Yet all their kids completed school, thanks entirely to the mother. One of the sons now runs an Internet cafe and computer repair store.

Think about it. This is a gigantic leap, accomplished in a single generation. I can’t think of a parallel in the lives of us, more advantaged, people. We are born into means, giving us automatic access to the education we want to make something of ourselves. We get all the right opportunities, know all the right people. Some of us have probably done a little bit better than our parents managed to at our age, but nothing life-altering.

And then look closely at the lives I have written about. Don’t ever look down on these women. Don’t ever be condescending towards them. They’ve moved mountains while we’ve probably just piled our sand dunes a little bit higher.

Splitting hairs over partition, again

2009-08-19T21:25:00.000-07:00

Rake up the dead, especially controversial figures from history, and they'll bite you in the behind. India's former foreign minister Jaswant Singh certainly learnt that lesson yesterday. His book on Muhammad Ali Jinnah, the father of the Pakistani nation, got him unceremoniously kicked out of the nationalist Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP).

Calling Jinnah secular proved Singh's undoing even though his political boss, Lal Krishna Advani, had survived a similar mistake some years ago. While Singh would surely have expected - perhaps even hoped for - some protest and controversy over his just released book Jinnah: India-Partition-Independence, I don't think he had anticipated expulsion from the BJP. Controversy can be very profitable for authors because suddenly thousands of people who would otherwise not have considered reading the book in question will rush out to buy a copy to figure out what all the fuss is about. But this proved to be more than a storm in a teacup.

Now I've been a student of history at university, and even a cursory glance through books on the Indian independence movement make it amply clear that Jinnah was a suave politician from a previleged background who was deeply secular in his thinking. It was merely his personal ambition that made him back the British idea of breaking India up on religious lines. Jinnah was, clearly, an opportunist. But, for a member of an aggressively Hindu political party to go and write that in a book is fraught with danger.

I personally believe that splitting hairs over partition is an exercise in futility. It creates bitterness, dredging up emotions that would better have been left buried. It keeps us from moving forward. There aren't many left of the generation that lived through the horrific bloodbath that accompanied the biggest mass human migration in history in 1947. We, a generation born into freedom, should now keep our sights focused on the future, ending decades of mutual hate and suspicion between India and Pakistan.

I can't quite understand why Jaswant Singh had to write about Jinnah in the first place. What was the compulsion? There are plenty of Indian historical figures, even controversial ones, that he could easily have chosen as subjects. So why Pakistan's Quaid-e-Azam?

For the BJP, a party that has always questioned the Indian subcontinent's break-up into Hindu-majority India and Mulsim-dominated Pakistan, it is impossible to stay quiet when one of its own is perceived to be glorifying the man they hold responsible for partition. To add insult to injury, Singh is reported to have written that Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel and Pandit Jawharlal Nehru were perhaps as culpable. That is what pushed the BJP leadership over the edge. While they might let the dig at Nehru slide because he was the patriarch of the Nehru-Gandhi dynasty that dominates the rival Congress party, any assault on Patel's reputation is unacceptable. Iron Man Patel, independent India's first minister of the interior who orchestrated the formation of this gigantic union of states, is one of the BJP's prime historic idols. In fact its current leader, Advani, aspires to the Iron Man epithet.

Jaswant Singh is now going hoarse telling whoever cares to listen that he is shocked at the expulsion from a party he has served for three decades. But I really cannot understand why he set out on a literary project that would surely sour - if not sever - relations with the leadership of the BJP. Even he cannot be fool enough to have not anticipated that.

This will certainly be right up there among some the darkest hours of Jaswant Singh's long career, first in the army and then in politics. The darkest hour by far was when he, as India's external affairs minister, personally escorted three Islamic terrorists to Kandahar in Afghanistan in December 1999. The terrorists were freed in exchange for hostages on board the hijacked Indian Airlines flight IC 814. It'll be interesting to see if Jaswant Singh can now manage to salvage his political career.

Enough about Kasab, please

2009-08-05T21:16:00.000-07:00

It isn't news that our news publications seem to be suffering from an escalating lack of imagination and increasingly warped perspective. But the continuing manic obsession with terrorist Mohammed Ajmal Amir Kasab, for all the wrong reasons, is downright ridiculous. I have no quarrel with the media reporting on Kasab's trial relating to the terror attacks in Mumbai on November 26 last year. That is news and people would like to know how things are progressing. But all the rest is completely unnecessary.

Some front pages this morning have reports about the young Pakistani - the only terrorist taken alive after Mumbai's 60-hour nightmare in 2008 - pining for a rakhi! Apparently he felt left out after seeing cops, lawyers and prison guards sporting colourful rakhis (threads that sisters tie on the wrists of their brothers). He asked his lawyer if anyone would do him the honour. The lawyer shared this little tid-bit with the press, which promptly lapped it up. Who needs a PR agency when the Indian press is so willing to oblige?

There's more just from this morning. Apparently Kasab very helpfully offered to sketch the faces of two other terrorists, also wanted for the 2008 attack, whose pictures the Indian police do not have on file. And he handed over childish doodles to the expectant cops. What on earth did they expect?!! Disappointed cops and prison authorities have now dismissed the sketches as "completely useless" and decided not to hand them over to the judge trying Kasab. The report further enlightens us on how the Pakistani was given paper and pencil for the sketches and then watched "extra closely" to ensure he didn't hurt himself with the writing tool.

The Indian Express quotes an unnamed prison official as saying: "Although he is not a sketch artist, we were expecting him to make a serious effort to draw the two faces. However, when he gave us the sketches we did not know what to say. He had drawn doodles like a small child. The drawings do not resemble actual faces by any stretch of the imagination and are completely useless."

I ask again, what the hell did you expect?!! That this young, misguided killer is a closet Van Gogh?

These are just the latest in a series of such absurd reports. We've read before about Kasab getting bored in prison (well, d-uh!) and asking for books to read. According to reports he has been reading books on magic (probably hoping to spirit out of Arthur Road Jail) and the autobiography of Mahatma Gandhi. We were also informed when he asked for permission to take a stroll outside his solitary confinement cell. And when he requested an Urdu newspaper, toothpaste and a bottle of perfume.

Now I've been in the print news business for quite a while, so I am aware that papers need what are called human-interest stories. But human-interest reports are meant to tug at a reader's heart, stirring compassion and empathy. Why on earth would you want to do that for a man who killed several innocent Indians in cold blood? And, even if you think it necessary for some strange reason, why on the front page?

On the night of November 26, 2008, a group of young men landed on Mumbai's shores after setting sail from Pakistan some days earlier. They had orders to randomly kill as many people as possible and were talked through the barbaric operation by their minders in Pakistan. The final toll of Mumbai's ordeal was 170. Kasab was one of those killers. Please let's remember that and not - even unwittingly - try to humanise this monster.

Truth be told

2009-07-22T20:14:00.000-07:00

So our parliamentarians are outraged yet again. This time it's a stupid television programme that has their jocks in a bunch. Sach ka Saama, the recently launched Indian version of the ridiculous American show Moment of Truth, has our enlightened representatives agonising over the future of Indian culture and morals.

The show basically has people answering a set of 21 questions that progress from the mundane to the increasingly embarrassing and personal in the hope of making some quick cash. In India prize money is Rs. 1 crore (just over 200,000 USD). This is how it works. Aspiring contestants have to submit to a polygraph test where they are asked several questions. When they actually appear on the show, they are asked questions picked from the same set of queries and their answers are tallied against responses in the lie detector test.

I have watched a few episodes of the Moment of Truth and could never understand how people willingly made complete asses of themselves on prime time television and tore their families asunder just to win some money. Questions relating to professional ethics could be very uncomfortable and those relating to fidelity were downright cruel. And yet people queued up to appear on the show! The smug Indian in me dismissively shook the head because it fit in with the popular global perception of Americans.

Truth be told, I was a little shocked to discover a few weeks ago that India was now to have its own version of the show. It shook my belief that to an Indian, family comes first. But then I suppose one has to acknowledge the emergence of a new breed of Indian to whom cash is king. I am also a firm believer in the principle of laissez faire, so I was curious to see how this would pan out. If people don't mind endangering conjugal harmony in the hope of easy money, more power to them.

Not surprisingly, Sach ka Saama has hit a roadblock in its very first week. Members of the Rajya Sabha (the upper house of Indian parliament) are up in arms over its "obscene content" and the broadcast ministry is reportedly considering throwing the book at Star Plus (a channel desperately trying to shore up ratings after its bouquet of soap operas fell out of popular favour) for apparently violating the content code. What's really stirred the cauldron is a married woman being asked if she has ever considered adultery. She said no, but the polygraph ruled she was lying through her teeth.

Now what's the point of taking the TV station to task? If there are asinine people who voluntarily go on the chopping block to satisfy India's newly acquired insatiable voyueristic appetite, let them go hang. They walked into this with their eyes wide open.

And what's this about Indian culture yet again? Are you saying that no married Indian woman has ever fantasised about having a fling, if not actually gone ahead and had one? Come on people! Why is it that everything is fine as long as it's not discussed in the open? Has this country never witnessed infidelity? And don't try to brand this an urban phenomenon triggered by the degradation of values under the influence of the crass West. You know just as well as I do that this doesn't just happen in big cities. And none of this is new.

So let Sach Ka Saama run its course and die a natural death. Believe me, it'll happen. People will fairly soon tire of watching skeletons tumbling out of closets. Just leave it be, because you'll just appear hypocritical trying to shut it down under the guise of high Indian morality.

Frisk farce

2009-07-21T20:15:00.000-07:00

I find more than a little ridiculous the Indian leadership's collective outrage on former president A.P.J. Abdul Kalam being frisked by employees of an American airline at Delhi airport. What's the fuss about? Isn't he just another world citizen, subject to procedures designed to keep us all safe in the skies? What's more, the man in question didn't seem to find anything offensive in being asked to take his shoes off and being swept with a metal detector.

Explain to me, how is this a slight to out national honour? The reactions have ranged from the melodramatic to downright mischievous. Civil Aviation Minister Praful Patel has reportedly called the act "absolutely unpardonable". Congress party's Jayanti Natarajan has dubbed it an incident of national humiliation and gone as far as to recommend that Continental Airlines services to India be scrapped till those responsible are punished. Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) leader Arun Jaitley claims we bend over backwards to pamper our state guests (which I agree with to an extent) while Indian VIPs are subjected to humiliating security measures the world over. The Marxists, of course, have again taken the cake. Sitaram Yechury of the Communist Party of India (Marxist) has reportedly suggested that the Indian government investigate whether the former president was frisked because he is a Muslim!

Was Kalam's a singular experience among passengers of the Continental flight from New Delhi to Newark? Highly unlikely. Did Continental staff ask only those passengers with Muslim names to step aside for frisking? They might be able to do that in the United States, but I can't imagine a foreign airline trying to pull such a stunt on Indian soil. Besides, people, Kalam isn't the least bit bothered or offended!

This Indian obsession with wresting special treatment at all costs is just annoying. Actually it's no surprise that these reactions are streaming out of Delhi, a city notorious for its "jaanta nahi mein kaun hoon (don't you know who I am?)" culture. Every has been, is and wannabe in our national capital aspires to VIP treatment.

Kalam WAS our president. He is now an ordinary citizen. He has earned the respect he deserves not just from the nominal office he held but for his scientific work and as a national motivator. If Continental staff were brazenly discourteous to him, I would take strong objection. But a security check isn't disrespect. It's common sense. And former leaders the world over would be well advised to submit to them in order to set a good example.

Surely the Indian leadership can find more worthy causes for outrage and action? How about the agony of millions of farmers whose crops are withering on parched fields across northern India? Or the billions of rupees being wasted on erecting statues of egomaniacal leaders? How about expending some of that misdirected energy on making sure our defence personnel are better looked after as we reminisce as a nation a decade after the Kargil war with Pakistan? Please stop wasting your breath. You're on our payroll and we'd like to see more responsible use of your time for a change.

Thanks, Mr. Zardari

2009-07-09T10:08:00.000-07:00

Thank you Mr. Asif Ali Zardari. Other than for marrying the charismatic Benazir Bhutto, history will now remember you for admitting at long last that Pakistan has been nurturing terrorists as part of deliberate national strategy. At least Indian historians will. Your nation might now plead with the world to put your remarks of July 7 in the context of the situation in Afghanistan after Soviet withdrawal, but few are buying that line.

The Indian press has, understandably, pounced on those few words you uttered while addressing former civil servants in your country. Your statement was front page news on all Indian dailies on Thursday, July 9. Because finally there is something we can throw back at a world that for decades has been unwilling to openly back us when we say most of the worst terror strikes on Indian soil have had their roots in Pakistan.

Incidentally, and not surprisingly, the Pakistani press has been uncharacteristically silent on the issue.

Was it a gaffe, Mr. Zardari? Or are you actually trying to set things right? Just a few days ago you had reportedly admitted in an interview that militants were, in the past, considered "strategic assets". What's going on? Is someone twisting your arm? Holding a gun to your head? Why these sudden bursts of conscience?

Whatever the reason, we as a nation are thankful. Hope the world will now recognise just how these subversives your nation has bred have left India bleeding. We have reportedly lost 60,000-70,000 lives to militancy since the 1980s. Punjab, Kashmir, the Northeast - wherever discontent surfaces, your "strategic assets" have fuelled the fire and taken an unacceptably heavy toll.

We hope that your public acknowledgement of responsibility as a nation (yes, many of us see it that way) will mark the beginning of the end to this inhuman strategy.

Death by burger

2009-06-18T20:28:00.000-07:00

Okay, this may be late, but only now have I learnt of the existence of a culinary monstrosity called the Quadruple Bypass Burger in the U.S. After seeing pictures of this 8,000-calorie horror in a newspaper here this morning, I was just too curious. I had to google it. What I found astounded and amused me in equal measure.

Available at the very appropriately named Heart Attack Grill in Chandler, Arizona, the father of all burgers has 19 layers that include two pounds (nearly a kilogram!) of beef in four thick patties. I use the masculine here because the restaurant management claims only a real man would dare to take on the challenge of wolfing down this artery-clogging sandwich. Also squashed into this voluminous burger are three layers of cheese, four bacon rashers, lettuce and tomato. One site claimed someone called Joey Chestnut had finished a Quadruple Bypass Burger in 1:42, not mentioning any unit of time. I hope that's in hours but have a nasty suspicion it's minutes. How can anyone possibly do that?!! You have got to have a death wish to even attempt such a feat.

That's not all. To make it an experience that would have any cardiologist worth his salt either keel over in shock or rub his hands in glee (depending on the ethics, of course), the Heart Attack Grill serves potato fries cooked in pure lard. And if you're so inclined you can round off the medically nightmarish meal by ordering a can of sugar-loaded Jolt power cola and a pack of Lucky Strike filter-less cigarettes! No wonder one of the perks of being a patron is having a skimpily-dressed waitress in a naughty nurse outfit roll you to your car on a wheelchair.

The restaurant owner claims in his blog (check out heartattackgrill.com) he thought it would be funny to have a hospital theme for a place that serves fare considered bad for health. And the more obese you are, the more likely you are to keep going back because if you tip the scales at over 350 pounds (that's more than 150 kilos!!!), you can eat there for free.

Now, I have never been to the United States. But all the people I know from other parts of the world who have travelled there on work or leisure have reported deep shock at the amount people in that country eat. The portions restaurants there serve have stupefied and intimidated each and every one of these travellers. I have only read and heard about steakhouses that offer not to charge patrons who can finish two-kilo slabs of meat, unassisted, in an hour. But what horrifies me is the fact that hundreds successfully complete these challenges! To my Indian mind (and appetite, which I must confess isn't small by standards in this part of the world), that's something that would definitely lead to death by steak. Or burger. Chew on that!

The Ostrich-isation of Oz

2009-06-10T10:43:00.000-07:00

Oz is in denial. It is just not a good time for Australia. On the one hand it is battling a swine flu epidemic that is washing ashore mostly in the form of cruise ship passengers, and on the other is watching its reputation being torn to shreds over a spate of attacks on Indian students that the victims allege are racially motivated.

What shocks Indians like me the most is the Australian government's stubborn refusal to acknowledge that at least some of the attacks are obvious outcomes of racial hatred. Certainly brings to mind the image of an ostrich doing what it does best in a sandy patch. With all due respect to the authorities, but so many sudden attacks on brown-skinned folks can't possibly be "opportunistic" crimes. I find it hard to believe that struggling Indian students have suddenly become mugger-magnets.

The only official so far to concede a possible racial motive in some cases has been Victorian state police chief Simon Overland. But then he also added that a few of the attacks were "opportunistic".

Back in India, most of us had no idea that Indians were being targeted until late last month when we read about a student being stabbed with a screwdriver and left battling for his life. Soon after came the petrol bombing of another Indian student's home in Sydney. Only now are we learning from news reports that such assaults have been fairly common for several years, especially in and around Melbourne. But it appears the frequency and hate quotient have dramatically risen since the end of May.

News reports suggest that victims of attacks before May 2009 hestitated going to the police to press charges for fear of losing any chance of making a future for themselves in Australia. Some have even alleged that the police simply refused to record the crimes.

I appreciate Prime Minister Kevin Rudd's appeal for calm and request to refrain from doling out vigilante justice, but he must understand that the Indian student community - which is reported to be about 90,000 strong - is angry, vulnerable and probably a little scared.

These are young people. You push them, they will push back. So use of excessive force trying to break up their protests is probably not the way to win their confidence. Maybe you should sit down and talk to them. Hear them out. And please stop burying your head in the sand Australia. It is perhaps time to recognise that you might have a racial problem on your hands.

Watch and whine

2009-06-08T00:06:00.000-07:00

As I type this, my kids are sitting behind me watching a Japanese animation series dubbed in Hindi. I can't tell you just how ridiculous it sounds, especially because the young voiceover artistes are for some incomprehensible reason encouraged to speak like whiny, inarticulate brats. What especially gets on my nerves are the inane "aaaa-aaah-waaah" sounds that seem to punctuate the dialogue ever so often. And the tone of speech! You have to watch one of these to understand what I am talking about.

Lots has been written and spoken about violence in cartoon films and their effect on a child's psyche and behaviour. All true. As the mother of two boys I can personally vouch for the fact that watching such programmes definitely triggers aggression in children. There was a phase when my kids watched such junk regularly and all play in those days involved some form of violence. Finally I banned the Power Rangers, Eon Kids and others of their ilk in the animation world from our home. The effect was almost immediate.

But I don't think parents have yet realised the danger from other seemingly harmless foreign shows. The anything but carefully thought out vernacular voiceovers to these programmes seem to be rapidly affecting children's temperaments and speech patterns.

In the past few months my kids have developed this horribly grating, whiny way of speaking. Initially I couldn't figure out where this was coming from. I merely had to question them about something they'd done and they would start moaning, screaming and complaining. Now I know why. It's the dubbed drivel on television. So now viewing of the offending shows has been severely curtailed. The boys' summer break from school ends this week and I couldn't be happier. At least their television viewing will dramatically shrink back to an hour or two a day. But they still haven't stopped speaking in that irritating manner. It might take months more to completely undo the damage.

Would someone tell the Indian arms of Cartoon Network, Nick and Pogo to please choose the shows they air more carefully. I'm not sure who does the voiceovers, but they certainly need to reassess their approach. Please understand that the tone used in these nonsensical shows could negatively influence speech in an entire urban generation. If things aren't checked soon, we could end up with a nation full of young whiners. God help us then!

Hello there

2009-06-03T09:21:00.000-07:00

Well, better late than never I guess. I've finally entered the enticing world of weblogs. Through my tiny sliver of this gigantic pie I hope to communicate my thoughts, share my feelings from time to time. See you soon.