Priya Kaushik - Jeena Isi Ka Naam Hai ....

Confession: Before I met Priya, I was quite willing to dislike her! Priya was the first woman of substance (I am still trying in vain to acquire that status!) in Ashok’s life; as the pehla Kaushik bahu, she floated into AK’s (as Priya called him) existence, like a breath of fresh, exciting, happy air & my-now-husband, was so used to spending time with her, that jab we met, he was forever calling me “Priya”, which bugged me no end!

So in our case, Ashok substituted ‘Meet the Parents’, with ‘Meet the Bhabi’! Priya in those days, worked at the book store in Sindoori hotels (I think the owner of the store is the person behind the iconic Landmark); there she was, plonked on the floor, surrounded by one of the loves of her life, books, sorting them, a dazzling smile on her face (much later I realized that there was rarely a time when she was without her favorite accessory – that smile!), totally at peace with the world & my hard heart melted – no one could remain immune to that charm!

Another first – finally met someone who could talk even more than me!!! A student of English literature & a favourite teacher of the language, to hundreds of lucky students, Priya had no full-stops in her sentences -she jabbered on excitedly & every second sentence had ‘Ramesh’ (AK’s brother & the best brother-in-law!) in it! This was a woman in love & when I went to meet her, twenty-six years later, incredibly, she still couldn’t form a sentence which didn’t have a “Ramesh” in it – a deep, enduring, unconditional love, which should be described by a better writer than me, because it left me speechless, or should we say, word-less!

Pregnant Priya was the cutest – waddling around, with Karan kicking up a racket inside, she grumbled about how being married to a doctor had its disadvantages – every time she complained of aches & pains, apna Dr. Kaushik would nonchalantly dismiss them as, “aisa hi hota hai pregnancy mein!’ I was one of the first to hold Karan in my arms & was hooked for life! Karan will never be able to shake off the fact, that he has no choice, but to accept that his crazy aunt Uma, will always regard him as part-hers!

Sid the Kid, was born in Botswana; Priya narrated this fascinating story, about how she was teaching in a school there; when the absolutely adorable bundle called Sidharth, came into this world, within a few days after her delivery, Priya was back in her African class-room, with the new born baby, comfortably gurgling away, in a pram next to her – he had the entire class rooting for him! No surprises, that Sidharth has such a positive, sunny disposition, full of good humour & that ‘make the most out of life’ attitude!

On a trip to India, from Botswana, Sidharth, then a baby, had a bad attack of the loosies! At a restaurant, we finally ran out of diapers;Priya & I sneaked into the restroom & made nappies out of the hand towels there ... that sealed the deal – we were partners-in-crime!

From rewind mode, back to the almost present: We rushed to Chennai in September, to spend time with Priya. Soberly & gingerly, we entered the hospital room, only to find that a party was going on there – a bright, chirpy Priya was the centre of all the action – loving aunts serving her food, chatting non-stop with her cousin, a telephone conversation with Sid .... we were greeted warmly by her, she asked me to come near so that she could check out what I was wearing & if my jewellery matched!

I am glad there were witnesses, or no one would believe this! As all the dear & near relatives were leaving, she firmly insisted on knowing when they would be back the next day; on first name terms with all the nurses, through the pain, enquired whether the lady who had come to check on her, had eaten her dinner!

We laughed, we caught up, we gossiped, like two old ladies & she demanded that I come back the next day, with a sketch book, to keep her occupied! I smile, as I remember the doctor, doing his routine rounds – he couldn’t fit in a word, as Priya breezily told him that she had a good night’s rest, no side effects of the drugs, had a decent appetite & believe it or not, told him, firmly, that he had nothing to worry about!!!!

Ashok spent the nights in the hospital room & had tales of his own to tell; the cutest one being how Priya, got up late night & asked Ashok to sing for her! So a mini concert broke the silence of the Apollo Cancer Hospital, at 2am – Priya ki farmaaish was old Hindi songs & Ashok belted them out for her! Of course, on the final night, Ashok was firmly told that he couldn’t spend the night, because he was making other music too ... of the snoring kind!!!

She was racked with pain & I got into the habit of pressing her legs – of all the compliments I have received in life, this one from Priya, I will cherish – she said I was the ‘best leg presser!’ Now when I look back, I have a feeling, it was less about her pain & more about giving me something to do, because she understood how worried I was!

So there she was, in the middle of that dull hospital room, brightened up by her positive energy, worrying – not for herself, but for Ramesh , her parents, her boys her in-laws & even us .... I reiterate, there were others around who will, albeit with a sense of disbelief, vouch for this!

Back in Chennai, in November, this time with a heavy heart, I got ready to go to Priya’s parents house. My poor mother was horrified, when she saw me dressed in a bright orange churidaar kameez, with an eye-blinding fuschia duppatta; she exclaimed that it was very inappropriate for such a solemn occasion; but this was for Priya, who would have gushed excitedly at the colors & leaned closer, to check out my silver jewellery & I knew it was alright!

Hanging with two of the coolest, fun loving, interesting & handsome dudes in town, I realised, that Priya's zest for life, fun-loving spirit, sense of adventure, special spark, quirky sense of humor, her magic, masti & so much more, is reflected & lives on in her two sons, Karan & Sidharth Kaushik!

I remember humming this song, with Priya, who said it was one of her favourites:
“Kissi ki muskurahaton pe ho nisar, Kissi ka dard mil sake to le udhaar,
Kissi ke vaaste ho tere dil mein pyaar, jeena isi ka naam hai!”

By this definition, you lived well, Priya Kaushik & did us all proud!

Love you always!

It happens only to Uma!

A year ago (time is a healer of sorts & has given me the courage to tell this tale!), there was a state of chaos & panic, at Casa Kaushik. Our one & only offspring was gratefully flying the nest & heading to university, in London. The fact that her hyper, anxious desi parents were accompanying her, did not hassle her; not because of her undying love for us, but because we were going to drop her off & return home, leaving her to savour her much anticipated freedom & the heady experience of living in a parent-less universe .... At Last!!!

So much to do, so little time! Anyone who has gone through the ‘bidaai’ ritual will know what I’m talking about. Like a possessed soul, I would wake up in the middle of the night, rush to the kitchen,take a small knife (don’t worry – the only unsavoury thing I have not atempted in life is murder!), a lemon squeezer & kitchen sponges & dump them in my daughter’s suitcase. My qualified-to-handle-crazy-wife-husband & thank-God-I’m-leaving-daughter, kept a safe distance from me!

Almost didn’t, but managed to squeeze in a rushed trip to my beauty salon, filled with cackling Filipina women & here’s the thing – I always get the feeling that they’re talking about me, or laughing at me!

But this time, it was different – I had no time to be sensitive & thankfully, the laughter club was subdued; while the owner was away, these girls were busy skyping with their families. I just needed the lawn that flourished above my upper lip, to be mowed to perfection. I have made peace with a lot of stuff in life, but draw the line at sporting a moustache!

So one of the girls started ruthlessly threading my ‘mooch’ & displayed fine skills of multi tasking, by simultaneously cooing to her fat, gorgeous baby on skype, being given a massage by her grandmother! Suddenly she shrieked, ‘Finished Madam’ & I just hurriedly paid & rushed back.

Scene shifts to London. Suputri was happily settled into her hostel & giving us broad hints that we needed to make ourselves scarce; apparently, it is social suicide to have your eager parents hanging around you. Mistake mat karo, we were supposed to help, but like the elves in the fairy tale, ‘The Shoe maker & the Elves’, we had to sneak in and out of the hostel, before daylight broke!

Suddenly, we were on our own, sans Beti-S, in our hotel room, a little unsure about what we were supposed to do. So I found myself in the wash room, peering into those tiny, scary, magnifying mirrors, which highlight every flaw ruthlessly & horror of horrors, discovered that only one half of the moustache had been threaded off, leaving the other side, proud & manly, reflected oh-so-clearly!!!

OMG!!! In my hurry, I had forgotten to check if the lady at the beauty parlour had finished properly & she of course, was too busy drooling over her baby, to bother! What the .....@#$%?! I did calm down eventually & had the unique opportunity to check if I looked better with, or without a moustache! Without definitely, or my husband, who is very proud of his lush, black, Veerappan like meeshai, would get a complex!

Necessity is the mother of invention. The Vaadhiyaar/Pandit, at our wedding, despaired about the fact that I refused to play the coy, demure bride; but now, in a bid to avoid traumatising the janta in London, I walked quietly & with my head dipped down, quite the bashful bride!! If there was a travelling circus in town, I could have easily be employed by them as the ‘half-half- woman!!!’ If you go through our London photographs, you will notice that all the pictures have been taken from a long distance! The photographer, mainly Ashok & some unsuspecting Londoners, whom we requested to take a photo or two, were never allowed to cross the ‘Lakshman-Rekha,’ defined by yours truly!!!

All these years, when family, friends & well meaning loved ones, gently tried to tell me, in the kindest ways possible, that these things seemed to happen exclusively to me, I refused to believe them. But here I am, on the ripe side of forty, crooning, ‘Main Aisa Kyon Hoon’ & yep, ‘It happens only to Uma!!!’

I proposed, they disposed!

I love being a trophy wife;

Feminists (advance apologies, young Anu Santhanam!) are going to make voodoo dolls of me & stick pins into every available space! A student of economics, I subscribe to Adam Smith’s theory of “Division of Labor (DOL)” – my shaadi is a tribute to DOL, where my husband & I divide our responsibilities equally; he earns & I spend!!!

Don’t get me wrong – loved every moment of my mazdoori days – great colleagues, fun clients, the pay slip…. but was equally ecstatic about hanging up my career shoes & living a life of decadence, doing nothing! But there’s many a slip b/w the cup and the lip; the well meaning society around me, scoffed at my dreams of an idyllic, wasteful lifestyle!

“What will you do sitting at home?” they cried in horror! Facebook, some faltu writing, reading, watching movies, travelling …. apparently not enough reason to while away your time – helplessly watched my dreams slipping away & I was no longer mistress of my destiny; suddenly groups of determined women emerged out of nowhere (I guess I had been blissfully slaving at my job &S had no time to realize their existence!) to rescue the ‘poor, bored housewife’ – my fervent pleas that I was not, fell on stubborn, deaf ears:
 The Samaj Sevaks: I was summoned for high tea by this bunch of zealous ladies & told that I had to pay my dues to the community! Felt like my debut, my coming out ceremony & I could sense critical gazes analyzing my every move. Apparently, despite spilling scalding coffee on my outfit & committing the crime of addressing the senior citizen of the group as ‘aunty’, I passed muster & was graciously informed that I would be given the post of secretary of the “Ladies Association” – when I had the temerity to ask what my responsibilities would be, I got some glassy glares & taking pity on me, one of the kinder souls told me, that as a reward, they would throw in a couple of children’s fancy dress & recitation competitions for me to judge, to boost my morale!! How could one refuse that, but I weakly said that I would consult my husband (I always use him to get out of tricky situations!) & get back to them!
 The Satsang Sisters: these babes are formidable! They sniff you out, taunt your heathen lifestyle, throw you a bone by accepting that maybe having a full time job prevented you from fulfilling your religious duties, but aaj ke baad, no excuses!!! Believe me, cross my heart & hope to die; there is a parallel universe out there – from bhajan groups, to shloka classes, chanting, prayer meetings …. All very spiritual & noble, but I am one of life’s incorrigible ‘purana paapis’! Plus, you have to sit cross legged on the cold floor for ages for these sessions, my chubby knees protest & my stomach makes rumbling, hungry noises! There is one Guruji in town, who is always narrating stories about some wicked ladies, who were not God fearing & met with horrific ends & I am convinced that these anecdotes with a moral at the end, are meant for bad ‘ole me; I have a one-to-one, fun, private relationship with the Maker, so am now wasting my ‘doing nothing’ time ducking out of sight of the ‘Satsang Sisters!’
 The Kitty Cats: Now these parties are fun affairs, spilling with bindaas babes, who get together & have a blast! There is money collected & a winner is declared every month, but I am happy with banks & my husband! Apparently they sing, dance & make merry – even prepare songs & dance to them! How cool, but the thought of myself croaking out maybe “Sheela ke Jawani” & doing the Katrina moves, chilled me to the bone – what if someone taped it? That could be blackmail material, so I politely purred in refusal! Did I hear strains of "Munni badnaam hui ....?!"

Sapna mera, toot gaya …

dodging these bullets weakened my spirit & I limped back to picking up free lance work; I proposed, a life of wasteful nothings & these fierce female fraternities firmly disposed my dreams!

Aishwariya Rai Bachchan - weighty woes!

What’s inspiring about a fat lady waiting for a bus – “Moti”vating!!!

Thank God I am an ordinary, run of the mill, fat lady, who can crack jokes about ‘gundu’ women!

I count my blessings, that I have a delusional spouse, who knew me when I thin as a pin & today claims, that ‘there’s simply more of me’ to love!

I am grateful for daughter dearest, who valiantly claims, that all mothers are meant to be plump, so that they have soft bodies to cuddle up to!

A heartfelt thank you to Photoshop – where I slice off more than half the body fat, before posting pictures!

But most of all, I am so happy that I am not Aishwariya Rai!

Rewind to the time she was the toast of Bollywood, Oprah’s favorite Indian, the most beautiful woman in the world, the Bachchan bahu … this blue eyed, giggly Ms World, could do no wrong; apart from her soul piercing giggle & fake accent, ie!

Then Beti-S happened – the world questioned why Grand-“Paa” & not “Paa” carried Aradhaya out of the hospital, the images of sasur-bahu images were splashed all over the media, serious TV reporters were reduced to a messy mush, excitedly declaring that India had her legit ‘First Baby’ … & all hoped that they would live happily ever after & we the people, could move on with our lives!

Apparently not! Oprah Winfrey landed in town & the glitterati of Mumbai went into a tizzy, behaving like star struck teenagers! Madam O swooped down on the Bachchan household, for a private unveiling of the little princess & ceremoniously escorted Ash out for her debut outing, as “Aaradhya ki Maa”! All hell broke loose as the media went hysterical at the sight of “Mummy Aishwariya” who had, how do you put it, become quite healthy!

Ms Bachchan Jr now hit the headlines, but for the wrong reasons! Outraged reactions ranged from “OMG”, to “how could she” to eyes rolled in horror, articles on how Aishwariya had let herself go & let down a nation, videos tracking her weight graph …. remembered gratefully the time when I emerged as the fat lady – huge enough to having my own stall at a travelling circus - the worst reaction was from my uncle, who fondly told me that I had become so gundu, I looked liked Jayalalitha!

The other day, NDTV, a leading news channel, had a discussion on why the nation was more concerned about Aishawariya Rai becoming fat, than a non-functioning Government, kidnappings by the Maoists, child labor, the upcoming Presidential elections …

Sure, being overweight is far from “healthy” (a hilarious term used by Punjabis to describe fat people – the number of times my ‘health’ has been toasted by my well meaning Punju friends!); yes, we like our celebrities to be fit, slim & un’healthy’! No doubt, Ash baby looks like a giant shadow of her former ‘dhoom’ self!

But isn’t being overweight a personal choice? There are kinder souls who say that the poor little (dare I say that?!) Ms Bachchan is simply enjoying playing “mommy” & can’t be bothered with diet-shiets, or working out. To give our feisty former Ms World credit, she seems oblivious & blissfully unaware of the storm she is creating & trots out to various events, cloaked in tent like “Anarkali’ suits, which are supposed to hide her bulk.

The argument is that she’s in the glamour business & needs to look good. Yep, but she is on maternity leave right now, people. No movies have been signed, no endorsements snapped up, but even if they were, who are we to judge? If someone’s willing to shell out the big bucks to take her on, or use her for any commercial purposes, the risk is theirs, not ours! Comparisons have been made with Hollywood Mamas like Beyonce, Victoria Beckham, Heidi Klum & a host of others, who have magically shed their pregnancy weight & swung right back into action. Kudos to these hot mamas – how do they do it?! But then comparisons are odious!

It’s all about choice! Let Ash & her famous phamily worry; Aby Baby says he is having the time of his life with his two gals; anyway, he has other worries, like his sinking career, to ‘weigh’ him down! Pa is still dotty about Bahu-A & is even to planning to start a university in UP in her name!

Reality check, doston; while we waste precious time chewing our nails about her being overweight, it is Madam A, in the eye of the storm, who is laughing all the way to the bank … fat & all, she still makes it to magazine covers, over young starlets with hot bodies, gets the best endorsement deals in town! Her life, her decision, her priorities … yehi hai right choice, Aby Ki Baby!

I have a dream ...

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to tick of parents who allow their kids to make a nuisance of themselves in public!

Before you brand me an intolerant, crabby, anti-social, child hating so & so, lend me your ears:
I heart children! The gurgle of a cooing baby is music to my ears; I stop during my walk in the park, to soak in the sight of happy kids playing with gay abandon, screaming, yelling & even fighting; At the Special Care Centre, which I am associated with, I love the firm tone of the young student, distributing sweets on his birthday, telling me, that for my own good, “I will give you only one chocolate, Miss Uma, because you are very fat!”

But there is a right time & a right place for everything in life!

For kids in cinema theatres, tagging along with their parents, for films not meant for them – a firm “NO!” Last weekend, Mr. & Mrs. Kaushik, trotted off to the cineplex, to watch the much acclaimed, “Vicky Donor”, a comic & sensitive take on sperm donation. Imagine my horror, when I spotted this couple, with their two under 13 kids! What follows is logical, including the son loudly piercing the darkness of the theatre with “what is he doing?” when the hero is, well, trying to donate sperm in the clinic!!!

Or babies - I mean, they are meant to cry, that’s what they do, but that’s the parents cross to bear, not ours. Why would you expect a tiny thing to be calm & serene, in a darkened hall, with weird, loud sounds??? If I were a baby, I would bawl my heart out too, at the injustice of it all, in protest at my silly parents for bringing me to this depressing room called a theatre & because of the fierce, moti aunty sitting next to us, angrily hissing, “Shhhhoooo”!

Many solutions – leave the children behind with family or friends, skip the movie totally (you’ll live), wait for the DVD to come out, or take turns, so that one parent stays at home!

So the other evening, I attended a lecture session by a spiritual leader. The community was shocked at my heathen presence at such a pious gathering & I was accosted with “how come you are here” to “I can’t believe you came for this!” We could discuss why my gracing such a gathering caused such commotion; but I would rather express my disbelief, that for a lecture discussion, people had thought it fit to bring their children along. Apart from a handful of amazingly well behaved kids, most of the bachchas around, ran wildly around, shouting & screaming, wanting to know if popcorn was available, or were plain bored & kept whining that they wanted to go home – all this, while poor Guruji was talking about social responsibility & how we need to change ourselves, before expecting others to change! Aiyaiyyo!!!

But my worst nightmare happened in broad daylight, when while stuffing dosas in my mouth, the kids from the next table in the restaurant, sauntered across to our table, stare fixedly at us & loudly wanted to know, “what is this aunty eating?” Mentally, I am placing muzzles on their tiny, but loud mouths! You may be curious about what the parents are doing during all this – NOTHING! They beam at us from across the road & encourage the little tyke to “ask aunty”!!!

Like Martin Luther King, I have a dream - of a world, where at relevant places, children will be seen, not heard; well actually make that, won’t be seen OR heard!!!

life isn't all ha ha hee hee

Not gonna win a popularity contest after writing this piece; but oh well, I’m a Sagittarian & often experience that lingering after-taste, of feet in my mouth!

Across the last two months, it appears that every newspaper in town, reserves one column at least, for women, who have been the victims of rape, molestation & worse still, some have even been killed, after these heinous acts!

Yes, deep rage directed at these criminals, who deserve the highest form of punishment – can think of an apt form of justice, which I dare not express in a public forum! My heartfelt sympathies for the victims & fingers crossed, that they survive such an ordeal.

Lekin, must confess, that in some cases, in the blame game, the victims participate too:

Today’s ‘Khaleej Times’ reported, that a Japanese stewardess, was waiting for a cab, to take her to the airport. Two men drove up in a car, offered her a lift to the airport & after some hesitation, she accepted their offer & got into the gaadi. Full of lustful intentions & galat iraadey, one of the men got into the back seat & molested her, while his companion drove on.
http://www.khaleejtimes.com/nation/inside.asp

Another newspaper described how two young women, after a night of clubbing in Dubai, were looking for transport, to take them back home, at 2am. A middle aged man offered to take them home & they trustingly got into the car. He drove for a while, stopped to pick up a male friend, headed towards the desert area & they raped both the girls.

This is just scratching the surface – you read or hear about such cases very often.

While I agree that such crimes must not be condoned & severe action must be taken, what’s wrong with these women?
• Why, in a foreign country, would any sensible female, get into a car with two strange men?
• Two young women heading towards a night club, without any clue as to how they are going to get back home, late night – what sense does that make?
• We are not talking about naïve young girls – these are educated, self sufficient women of the world; surely they know that life isn’t all ha ha hee hee …?

Yours truly is the paranoid mom of a nineteen year old; I still make panic calls to my daughter, saat samundar paar, who despairs that I refuse to treat her like a sensible adult & check, that for a night out, she is with a safe, familiar group of friends, that they only use the hostel approved cabs & that all important warning about ‘don’t talk to strangers!”

Though my offspring regards me as a freak of nature, I am sure that in parent world, “I’m not the only one …” It doesn’t matter if you have boys or girls, we need to teach ‘em to be safe, cautious & arm them with the necessary skills to be out of harm’s way.

Yep, think we need to add “parenting” to our work info on facebook – a 24x7, full time job; no wages, intensive labor, the hours suck, but still, the only place in the universe, where you can experience heaven & hell at the same time!

“It was the best of times and it was the worst of times” … this classic line from Charles Dickens “A Tale of Two Cities” survives the test of time & describes our lives today – celebrate the best, but be prepared for the worst!

UAE beckons - aam janta ishtyle!

Dubai, the man made miracle, the city that never sleeps, the land of glitzy dreams, a rich man’s haven, where money is the local lingo ….
But fikar not, aam aadmi, some delights in the UAE come cheap & easy; Sit back, fasten your seat belts & allow yours truly, to whisk you away on a tour of the Emirates, janta ishtyle:


The tallest building in the world, the magnificent Burj Khalifa, which attained Hollywood status, with MI4 &Tom Cruise scaling its unbelievable heights; free, unlimited viewing by day or night – never fails to take my breath away!
 Cruise along the stunning Dubai creek & Dubai harbour, in the only way it’s meant to be enjoyed – an abra ride! An abra is a small motorised water taxi, which used to be the main mode of transport, years ago & still sustains, survives & excites – for the princely price of a couple of dhirams, row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream ….

 Dubai’s little sister, the pretty city of Alain, is home to a Guinness world record holding garden – apna “Alain Hanging Gardens”! It achieved permanent residence in the record books, for the highest number of hanging flower baskets … & I attained adulthood, without realising, that such a category existed! A visual treat, a great photo opportunity & your heart will really go ‘garden garden’! Entry – totally free!!! Just remember, the flowers bloom only for a month or so, in the spring!

 First day, First show for movies – it happens only in the UAE! The movie buff’s paradise, where excitement is to check new releases on Thursday morning & watch ‘em before the rest of the world;

 Food glorious Food! Even Oliver Twist can ask for “more” – you can pick up a wholesome & delicious Lebanese sandwich, feast your Indian souls on Gujju Thalis, South Indian fare, mouth-watering chatpata chaat, the best shawarmas in the world ….. for under 10dhs! For a little more, the world is your dining table, doston! You name the cuisine, UAE has it! Need to take a break now, because I am suddenly feeling hungry!!

 UAE’s answer to Hyde Park & Central Park – ek, do, teen … lush green strips of heaven, scattered all over the Emirates, which beckon you to take long walks, chill with a book, have picnics ... you get the idea – simply enjoy! Most have free entry, but a select few, charge a couple or more dhirams; total paisa vasool!
 Sure, Dubai Mall houses some of the best stores in the world, but I head straight for Book World by Kinokuniyastar – a treasure trove of the best literature in the whole of the Middle East; cheap skates like me, sometime don’t even buy – the store encourages you to kick off your shoes, sit down in a cosy corner & read – oooh, rows of glossy magazines, books, ripe for the picking … my little oasis in desert country & a day well spent!

 A hop, skip & jump away from Dubai, is big brother Abu Dhabi; solid, soaked in culture & scenic, with its long, blue stretch of Corniche (where moi lives & the view from my living room is divine!);the awe inspiring Grand Mosque, which you can take a tour of, without coughing up a dime;

free concerts on the beach; the magnificent Emirates Palace Hotel; the action packed culture diary, which recently included a week-long celebration of Charles Dickens on film –

a surreal & exquisite opportunity – totally free, a gift of the Abu Dhabi Film Festival;
 Much has been written about the fabulous Yas Marina circuit, which hosts the Formula One Abu Dhabi Grand Prix – the tickets for the season are a whopper; but once a week, the circuit is open to the public at large, where you can go for an evening walk, jog, rent a bicycle, or simply soak up the circuit vibe, yep, FOC!

 Where else will you find air conditioned bus stops, a store called “No Name” selling Arabic Abayas, or a sweet shop, inappropriately titled “Butt Sweet House”?!

The Emirates beckon, on a shoe string budget …

Kyonki Beti Bhi Kabhi Poti Thi!

Once upon a time, I was the nucleus of my parent’s world; being the youngest of three daughters & a natural drama queen, I cornered most of the attention of the family! My poor, helpless brother, when he arrived into our little universe, dominated by women, didn’t know what had hit him & spent most of his life, staying out of our way; until he escaped to go to college & with relief, soaked up every blissful moment of a sister-less existence! No surprises here, that when time came for him to get hitched, top of the specification chart was, ‘someone totally unlike my sisters!’

One of life’s unsung pleasures is that state of paradise, when you enter the big bad world of the working class, start earning the big – ok, in my humble case – small bucks … & live at home with amma & appa! Oh, the bliss of waking up to the rich aroma of filter coffee in the air, which I am ashamed to admit, happened because my poor dad got up at some unearthly hour to brew! Clothes freshly laundered & ironed, beds made & breakfast in the best joint in town – mom’s kitchen! Pure decadence! Dad, on his walks, exchanged your library books, posted your letters at that old fashioned, almost extinct place called the post-office; mom was friends with all mine, took surprise sleepovers, loud music & noisy giggles in her stride & always instinctively knew what a bunch of overgrown, adult females, behaving like teenagers, wanted to eat! Life rocked!

Enter my knight in shining armor – this one had a motor bike with a spark plug that wouldn't spark! When my brother came down from university to meet him & hugged him warmly, I glowed, until I heard my blunt bro confiding to my husband-to-be, “Thank God you turned out to be so decent. You should check out some of the losers she hangs out with!’ The glow dimmed to a glower!!!

Post shaadi, at the bidaai at the station, I observed my Pita-shri take Ashok aside & they proceeded to have a hush-hush conversation. My heart overflowed with love, knowing that appa was probably telling my naya pati, to look after his princess well; later I asked Ashok what my dad had said to him. Hesitantly & reluctantly, we had a ‘sach ka saamna’ moment: my father apparently told my better half, that his daughter was high maintenance ,impulsive, hot tempered & child-like. He hoped that Ashok would be patient & understanding, despite all that! My dad was a relieved man – his conscience was clear AND he had ceremoniously given away his worries …. et tu, Appa??!!

With Beti-S’s arrival, we were officially the ‘three idiots!’ This is where my kahaani actually begins. I became a full time mom & weirdly, my sensible, loving parents, were suddenly replaced, by doting, dotty grandparents! The sacred morning coffee routine was a thing of the past. I mean, how could I expect them to waste their time brewing caffeine (not good for you anyway!) when they just wanted to gaze at their precious grand-daughter?!

Nineteen years after our jigar ka tukda arrived on planet earth, my mom still begins every phone conversation, by loudly (she till date believes that the volume has to be proportionate to the geographical distance!!!) enquiring, “how is Shiksha?” An occasional aberration & she fondly asks about my health & when I trip with delight, am humbly brought down to mother earth with her dialogue –‘you need to take care of your health, to be fit to take care of your daughter!’

Growing up in a typical Tamil Brahmin household, rising and shining in the wee hours of the morning, was a sacred code, not to be messed with. The door was yanked open, curtains drawn open to let in cruel sun rays, pots clanking … yep, no choice but to get up!

When on vacation at my parent’s place, I envisioned Shiksha, who I am convinced is batgirl reincarnate, being treated to the same rude, morning ritual.
To my horror, discovered that mean parents make besotted grandparents. When their poti slept the mornings away, my mother would firmly instruct the maids to keep the curtains drawn, the door shut tightly & gaze at Beti-S’s sleeping form & inform me “You know, they work so hard, that they need this rest!” Huh …….

More shocks ahead – the same ‘amma appa’ who firmly told us that we had two choices, to eat what was made, or not to eat, were graciously checking out what their precious angel wanted to eat!

Uss zamaane mein, we bought clothes twice a year – on birthdays & diwali.
Now, Shiksha was taken on shopping trips every day - ‘a gift from Thatha-Paati’! My weak protests were squashed with, ‘you are young only once, so we want her to live it up!’ Could have done with some of this bindaas philosophy when I was a young girl!!!

Moral of the story: I would have liked to be my parent’s grandchild, rather than a mere daughter, if you know what I mean. But justice will prevail –‘Kyonki Beti Bhi Kabhi Poti Thi!'

Empty Nesters - the five stage theory!

Stage 1:

The virgin steps into an unknown territory; when you leave your heart & credit card behind with your offspring & enter an empty ghar for the first time – what this mom did was to keep the door of daughter dearest’s room, firmly shut. To go into that pink, purple & green kamra, (we could stop here to discuss the violent hues, but maybe not, because I am determined to stay focused & resist the temptation to go off tangent!) sans its rightful owner, makes it difficult to be brave & not bawl your heart out, for your little sparrow! That she is a fully grown adult, who is likely to want to kill herself, or me, for describing her thus, is immaterial – when she’s a doddering eighty year & if I am still alive, (scared you, huh?!), she will still be my baby & that’s her cross to bear!
Stage 2:
Theek hai! So the mourning period is over & my disapproving houseboy (who lovingly addresses me as “Maa-Ji” & makes me feel like a fossil, but all that maaf, because of the giggles he inspires, every time he calls my husband “Papa”!) insists that I set aside sissy emotions & open up that door, so that he can clean the room. “Khulja Simsim” & voila, “Didi’s” (yep, if yours truly is “Maa-ji” & my better half is “Papa’, then “Didi” it is!) room is back in business!
Stage 3:

Optimism raises its pretty head in this phase. Skype, calls, mails, messages, bbm’s & yep, even some old fashioned letters …. dullen the judaai ka gham! Every dark cloud has a silver lining & here it comes – yeah, yeah, I miss my daughter, but can’t control the excitement at the rare opportunity to clean up her room without worrying about the room’s resident shrieking at me not to clean up her mess, or to deal with her outrage at my wanting to chuck stuff away & that she will clean the room herself … someday!!! Aaaaah, this is pure therapy – to make that bed without a single wrinkle on it, to neatly stack stuff (which the young style guru of the house labels as nerdy!) fill garbage bags up with the junk which has unbelievably fitted all into that room … & I thought I would never feel happy again for a long time!

Stage 4:
Taking my cue from the movie “Bad Teacher”, I christen the upcoming period “Bad Parent”! The room cleaned & cleared, looks divine, spacious & much better than mine! First, my laptop is relocated to “Didi’s” study table; Like Goldilocks, I find the spot ‘just right!’ But I called this stage “Bad Parent” so enter “Papa” too! He slides the treadmill to his daughter’s room & he too, finds the distance from the treadmill to the TV, ‘just right!’! From then onwards, its invasion of the room, all the way! Clothes from the laundry are kept in the cupboards ‘(just for a few hours till I find time to sort them out’, you tell yourself!), the drawers & shelves are packed with stuff you can’t seem to find place for, your cosmetics find their way to the dressing table here ….. Yes I am ashamed, but kya karein, control nahin hota!!!
Stage 5:
The wait is over & the daughter of the house is finally coming home for the holidays. My emotions – a mixed bag, of bubbling joy, ecstasy, uncontrollable smiles (which have creeped out quite a lot of folks!) …. & panic & pure guilt! OMG, the room has to be cleared & wiped clean of all traces of us having wickedly taken it over!
The pots are going to be simmering with Shiksha’s favorite dishes, the frig is getting stocked up, films are being downloaded for family movie nites ….. & some serious clearing up is happening – so much to do, so little time!!!