When will our Independence Day come?

Our independence from the British came 68 years ago but when will it come from everything else?

Husbands oppressing wives, parents oppressing children, educational institutions oppressing thought, state oppressing speech, and not to mention the widespread oppression due to caste, creed and community politics--there is a hierarchy of oppression that is only growing, and growing rapidly. So what exactly are we celebrating year in and year out by wearing 'Indian clothes', singing the National Anthem, pinning the flag to our lapels and performing cultural events at schools, homes and offices?

One can say that we are celebrating the defenders of our freedoms--those who got us our independence from the Raj, and also those who are currently serving in the Armed Forces--but are they the only ones?

What about the many who are missed because they don't belong to a named group or aren't flattered by the media--ordinary people who strive everyday to make our country more equal and more just by doing simple things that impact larger communities and people without a voice. We don't thank them because we don't know them. They are, sadly, a minority and most importantly, they aren't loud.

Quotes and posts abound on Facebook of Tagore's 'Where the Mind is Without Fear'. It brings a tear and chokes us especially on August 15th, but shouldn't it bring a greater cry, a louder cry throughout the year because it remains a distant dream? Shouldn't it turn into an uproar until it becomes reality?

For that, we need to kick 'Habit', the dreary habit that won't let us stop, think and question.

On this 'Independence Day', I promise myself that I will strive for a truly free life for my children--one where they can question anyone and anything that stands in the way of their freedoms, one where they can learn whatever they want and however they want, and one where they can freely love irrespective of anything else.

Freedom, knowledge and love--isn't that independence? And not just one day every year, but everyday and for everyone. That, is true independence. And it will come. 

Deepavali 2011

I wrote this last Deepavali. This year, I'm not going cracker shopping...husby and friends will do the honors.

I'm curious to see what kind of discounts they will come back with. I'm looking at it as a socio-psychology experiment to understand why some people get more discounts than others. Some of the reasons I can think of are a person's

• gender
• ability to bargain well
• fluency with the local language
• ability to smooth talk
• attitude (bordering on being brash)
• knowledge of the product

Get ready....this is a guys versus girls test. Who is really the better bargainer? I can't wait to see who wins although I think I know the answer already :).

A happy and safe Deepavali everyone!

Waitlisted

I don't know if this is common practice only in India...or if other countries do it too. Whoever heard of filling out an application form for school admission even before the baby had arrived into this world? What would one even fill?

Name - not sure...we're still fighting over it

Date of birth - not sure...approximately November 10?

Sex - not sure...it's illegal to find out in India, don't you know?

Parents name - yes, that we can fill in (yay, finally something to write)

Hmmmm.

Where do all these applications go? To the 'to be born in 1 month, 2 months, 3 months' drawer? What purpose does it serve? What priority will these children be given? Why can't these schools that follow this process simply issue forms like other schools do? When the child is actually born and about 3 years old and ready to go to school? Is this some sort of ego-inflating process for the school? Or a publicity stunt?

Does anyone else think this is weird?

Highway to hell

The Madras-Bangalore highway has excellent roads, decent loos, ok places to eat and simply amazing and super corny warning signs! Read at your own risk :)

• Don't learn safety by accident.
• If you want to stay married, divorce speed.
• Fast drive, last drive.
• Safety never takes a holiday.
• Don't mix drinking and driving.
• Lane discipline gives you long life.
• Safe driving is like breathing. Don't stop it.
• Cautious drive ensures longevity.
• Drive like hell, you will be there.

I warned you...!

Growing (up) pains

Growing up and being a grown-up are two different things altogether. One means you're older, maybe a tad wiser. The other means that you're in a position where you must do a few things to merit that title. Like teaching your kids, setting an example (a good one, obviously), passing on tradition and customs and so on.

Today, we celebrated Tamil New Years day like we always do. We ate. Period. But like I always do on festival days, I dressed up my children in Indian clothes. My tomboy daughter didn't want to wear a 'paavadai' but I insisted and said "I'm going to wear a salwar". And she said, "That's not fair, amma. You anyway wear salwars. If you want me to wear a paavadai, then you wear a sari"!

Touche!

And so we celebrated, wearing paavadai, kurta-pyjama, dhoti and sari!

My first lesson in this new year is the realization and acceptance that I have a lot of growing up to do to in order to call myself a grown-up.

And all thanks to my 'little grown-up'.

Blue

2 teams, both blue.

2 teams, both tough.

2 teams, both champions.

What a great, clean, awesome match!

Bleeeeeeeeeed Blueeeeeeeeeee!

Loyalty and love...for sport

In today’s ever-changing ‘flat’ world, people from different parts of the globe live in other parts of it. They call it ‘home’ either for the moment or forever. But are they truly displaced in their feelings as well? Where is their heart? Who will they side with if their present and past ‘homes’ are on a collision course?

‘The Cup’ will make the sub-continent its home by the end of the week. An outsider to this event will think that this is achievement in itself. Alas, the truth is far from it. The magnitude of this, is known only to the billion plus whose hearts beat to the sound of every ball played.

A billion hearts will be praying, singing, screaming and urging you on today.

Bleed Blue India, Bleed Blue.

Radio Ga Ga!

Radio in India has come a long, long way since the time I was a kid. From old Hindi songs and classical music, it moved on to 'English' songs for one hour every evening. And they even played requests and took dedications! I haven't tuned in to the radio in a really long time (ever since I moved back to India, I think) so I was pleasantly surprised to find that Bangalore has its own 24 hour 'hit' music station Radio Indigo. They have a couple of 'foreign' DJs and the music they play is a combination of rock, pop, hip hop and everything else that is considered 'hit'...at least for the moment.

But the advertisements they feature are as bad as any other station...here are a couple that I hear everyday...

"A recent survey showed that 40% of people that are heart patients are in the age of 25 - 35. Did that wake you up?" - When I first heard that, I thought it was an ad for a health club of some sort promoting the value of staying fit. Um, no...it's for health insurance! It's ok if you're not fit and have a bad lifestyle, make sure you don't get screwed on hospital bills!

A lady with a very strong American accent talks about the benefits of studying at one particular design school in the city...and ends it all by saying she's from SCOTLAND! Come on, get your 'accent' together!

Lastly, an ad featuring Bangalore's hippest French/Italian restaurant Medici! French/Italian...like Indian/Chinese? That's adaptation if you ask me.

Perspective

A traffic jam at the end of my street on a weekday morning. Irritation, annoyance and everything else showed on my face. And then, I saw two people run by my car...huffing and puffing with their bags in tow. The traffic jam had brought everything to a standstill, including the bus that they wanted to get on to. And so they ran and climbed into the bus...a big smile on their face.

They weren't the only ones smiling at the end of it.

Right Choice Baby, aha!

50 paise for the small one and 1 rupee for the big one. That's how much I used to pay for Pepsi Cola. And this was many years, maybe even a decade, before Lehar re-introduced it in India. So where did I get it from and that too for such a piddly sum? My school canteen!

It did not come in a glass bottle but in a plastic tube. It was not brownish-black but multi-coloured. It didn't need an opener, just one's teeth. 'It' was not a drink but a Godsend-divine- crushed-ice thingy that made everyone long for recess! And the dirt and grime in the ice box that it was stored in added to the flavour, of course! What a hit it was especially during sports time and awfully hot summer days, which were aplenty in Madras! But by the time I was done with school, it was gone. Replaced by cooler drinks and fancy ice creams that became a part of every child's life, therefore every school's canteen.

And now, it's back...'Chillicks' is its new avtaar. It's packaged differently, stored in a cleaner way and costs a whopping 10 rupees. But I can't get myself to try it. It feels weird.

Pepsi Cola in a clean tube for 10 bucks? Nah. I'll just hang onto my memories of the old one...the original.

Deepavali 2010 - the beginning

I've celebrated Deepavali in India, specifically in Madras, for most of my life. Waking up at the crack of dawn, oil bath, new clothes, sweets and the all the rest of it are still fresh in my mind. Funnily though, the one thing that I've never done is to go shopping for the crackers. Maybe because I've never been very keen on the different bombs or other noisy things. The task of buying even sparklers and flower pots was always outsourced to dad, uncle, brother, driver etc..

What a shock I got when I saw at a 'Discount Firecrackers Store' here in Bangalore that the cost of 1 box of 10 flower pots was Rupees 700! I realized that I may walk out with just that and a box of sparklers. Thinking that I need to return with more cash, I was on my way out but was stopped by the owner.

Yenna madam, what do you want?
Illai, I don't have enough money, I'll come back. (He prob thought that this was a precursor to a long drawn out haggling session)!
No, we give a 70% discount on the printed prices and I'll give you more discount if you buy a lot.

Ok, so now this kind of made sense...or did it?! That meant that for the printed price on 1 box, I would actually get 5! And this applied across the board, on whatever kind of firecracker one wanted to buy. 5 boxes of flower pots and chakras each, 10 boxes of sparklers and 5 boxes of 'shaatai' later, I was at the billing counter feeling mighty thrilled about my first ever 'pattaas' purchase! My joy was short-lived because the bill presented to me was for Rupees 1850. I was figuring out what I should return to the shelf when he said, 'it's ok madam, you please take this for 1500'.

Was his generosity because this is the season for giving and sharing, because I was probably the first 'boni' for the day or because he still made a killing on the sale because I suck at bargaining????

You decide!

Happy Deepavali!

Kolu - memories

Pattu pavadai, house-hopping with mum, singing songs everywhere, eagerly waiting for the juice/rose milk, and finally the 'vethalai paaku' bag, usually with something special in it for the kids. Doesn't seem like too long ago when I was doing this. But now, it's the daughter's turn...circle of life and all that. A repeat experience except that there was a lot of explaining regarding the dolls. And the son...gunning for the wax fruits, never mind that he won't eat the real ones! And me...and mum. Fun times. Hope they last a long long time to come.

'Try'al Rooms

I hate shopping per se, especially for clothes, especially in India. Of all the annoying things about it, the most trying bit is the trial room experience.

Opening the door:
It takes a bit to figure out how to...push or pull? What if there's no handle? It's hilarious to see people try it one way, feel terribly embarrassed and do the opposite. Sometimes even that won't work...why? Because there's someone inside and the sign on the knob that says 'occupied' or 'vacant' (just like in the aeroplane loos) is jammed.

Hanging the clothes:
Why is it that most stores have just three hooks or less to put the hangers in? Yes, the rules say 'only three garments at a time' but come on, this is India. No one follows rules so they might as well remove the sign! Even if you do take only the prescribed three garments, where are you supposed to put the clothes that you are in? On the floor?? OK, they may be old but definitely not that bad! These are times when it pays to own a large handbag...it makes a good floor mat substitute. (All you designer handbag owners, disregard this...I'm sure you will first run out naked than put your precious bags on the floor)

Space:
I know stores are trying to maximize display space but that doesn't mean that the trial rooms should be built so tiny. But all credit to them for fitting all four sides (including the back of the door) with mirrors to give the false impression of space...and to positively horrify the 'trier' if the outfit should look ghastly! If you think you look bad, look again and be certain of it!

The fan:
It's hot in India...very hot. But is there a need for a very small but extremely high speed fan to be placed on the ceiling that's not that high at all? It's almost scary to raise your hands up to put on the outfit lest it get stuck...and cut off! And let's not forget hair flying into your eyes, mouth and everything else...especially for those with wavy hair that becomes unmanageable with humidity (ahem)

The companion:
The most irritating part of the trial room experience is the jobless friend who's job it is to bring different sizes of the same outfit to the 'trier' should the size not fit. And invariably, it won't. Back and forth they go bringing different colours, sizes, patterns and so on. It doesn't stop with just that either. Comments and critiques galore...yes, no, maybe, definitely not, awesome, blah, blah...until someone (usually me) glares at them first..and then, if the hint is still ignored, yells at them. There is a supervisor for the trial rooms but these are usually helpless people who just roll their eyes and sigh at all this drama. All they do is fold the discarded clothes really.

The queue:
Mums with kids in-tow (ahem), dads with cell phones ringing (ahem ahem), college kids with bored expressions, elderly couples trying to manage rowdy kids...everyone's in line but not everybody is actually waiting to try on stuff. No, they are holding spots for friends and family! The great Indian reservation system in full force!

Sigh...one of the few things that I miss about the States...

Help is help is help...HELP!!!!!!!

In the 5 years that I've had to manage domestic help in India, I've realised a few things:

• They are stubborn
• They pretend to know everything
• They have selective hearing
• They won't change their ways (and I mean using-actual-floor-cleaners-instead-of-RIN-on-the- floors kind of change)
• They love the dishwash bar even though it takes nothing out of the dirty dishes
• They talk too much even if I'm not interested in hearing them
• They won't move a single piece of furniture to clean under it

But they want a raise ever so often. And new clothes. And money for cell phone recharge. And all the other nonsense that goes with being help in this day and age.

Help!

Tragedy, TV, thoughts

It seems impossible to stop watching the news channels when a tragedy occurs. Constant stream of updates, photos, interviews, live action on 'ground zero' to name a few things that are shown; it is played out like a soap opera except that everything in it is real. No one walks away after the director says 'cut'. The stories are told and retold with modifications, some true and many made-up. 'Unanswered questions', 'suspicious events' and other such catchy headlines are splayed all over to make people take even more notice.

This is the age of TV sensationalism. And yet, we can't stop watching. What is it about tragedy that draws us to the TV screens? As much as the anchors host with saddened expressions and softer voices, do they actually care about how the victims' loved ones feel? Yes, they are doing their job but shouldn't there be a limit to how much is said and shown?

Feelings before TV ratings. Something to learn...for us and them.

Namaskara Bangalore!

My writer's block is certainly not due to lack of thoughts, rather the opposite. Many questions and doubts about the settling in process have been answered. Finding good help, summer classes, grocery stores, local snack shops etc are all done. And in a much shorter timeframe than I imagined. Mainly because there are no language issues this time around. Most people speak a fair bit of English and an even fairer bit of Tamil. Although I'm a proud owner of this, I do feel that I'm not going to need it much.

Maybe Namaskara will suffice...

Hyderabad Blues

Change is the only constant in our lives these days. Everyone lives everywhere and makes it their home for that point of time. Adaptating to the city, streets, cultures, languages and everything else. You hate it and love it equally. But as you age, the good-byes get harder, maybe even a bit teary. Everything becomes a memory that you want to retain forever in your mind or at least in print. The list of 'this might be the last time we do this or see this' becomes longer.

Is this simply because we understand better with age? Maybe. We know that things don't stay the same. Some things are difficult to replicate no matter how hard you try. Something exciting and fun from a long time ago may not be anymore. Tolerance reduces. Friendships last but not without a great deal more effort. People, places, things change. We all change.

Four years have passed and quite quickly too. From an out-of-towner to a near-local. But no longer. My time here is finished. Languages and lessons learned. Friendships and memories made. Adaptation accomplished. But only to start over.

Home is where the heart is but what if you left a little of your heart in every place that you've called home?

The Entrepreneur

Not everyone has the ability to make a dream come true. It takes a lot of hard work, dedication and guts. Congratulations and good luck to Petawrap!

Paper Weight

There isn't a whole lot of recycling going on in India. But the one thing I knew was that old newspapers were not thrown in the bin. They were given to the "pazhaiya paper kaaran". No idea beyond that. My newspaper cabinet was threatening to burst so I found one such paper kaaran and decided to pay him a visit with a boot full of old papers.

Upon enquiry I was told that the rate per kg for newspapers and magazines/books was Rupees 6 and Rupees 4 respectively. And he had these old rusty metal scales with 2 5kg weights and 1 1kg weight around him. Very excitedly, I watched as he heaved the magazines onto the scales first...two 5 kg weights on one side and a 1kg above the mags....9 kgs times 4...Rupees 36. Then he put the papers on one side and the 2 5 kg weights on the other side but they didn't balance out. Instead of pulling some papers out and re-weighing them he just looked around, picked up a fairly large stone and put it next to the 10 kgs. Clearly he could see that I was puzzled. Nonchalantly he said "Yeh to Paanch kilo hai"!

Bye bye digitization, we're back in the stone age! Yeah, pun intended.

The case of the missing Crocs

Once upon a time, about two years ago actually, a pair of Crocs made its way into a home. The wearer wore it all the time even though Fuschia didn't match many outfits. But, fashionably unconscious as she was, she didn't care. She loved it that much. The crocs went everywhere with her...on the train, in a plane, by car and by foot. Through rain storms, muck, sand and cement. Always left in the same spot by the doorstep, the Crocs went missing one day. The house was turned upside down in an effort to find it. The usual suspects, both around and under 3 feet in height were thoroughly questioned but to no avail. She had most unpleasant thoughts about what might have happened to them especially about who might have taken them.

After a restless night, she decided to put the word out in the building about the missing Crocs. The first person to be told itself knew of its whereabouts! It was located by the main gate, the entrance to the building! Did she mistake the main gate to be her doorstep? How else did it end up there? Ah! The paper boy!! He came to collect the bill but left with the Crocs instead. And the next day walked up barefoot leaving the Crocs by the gate. Amateur.

Now the very clean Fuschia (it has been scrubbed silly) is back where it belongs. Inside the house and not by the doorstep. It takes too long to get a shoe to age gracefully. She will sleep in peace tonight.


****All characters and objects in this story are fictional. Resemblance to any individual or object dead or alive is purely coincidental.****