The First Sari ...

I am a Veteran Empty Nester, with 5 intense years of experience.

From denial, drama, melodrama, tears, anxiety … to a calm acceptance, my journey as a parent, with her jigar-ka-tukda living saat-samundar-paar, has come full circle.

When daughter dearest became a working girl, it meant that she was no longer a college student, with those luxurious months of holidays, which are mainly meant for us sad parents, to soak up suputri love.

I have the reputation of being quite the drama queen, but have quite surprised my miya & beti, by handling the transition quite well & making the most of that ugly phrase, ‘quality time’!!!
Just when I was patting myself on my broad back, for behaving like a mature & sensible adult …

my daughter’s best friend is getting married & hamaari beti is one of the bridesmaids. The wedding is in Tulsa, USA and she goes directly there, from London, where she lives.

My heart melted, when she sent me a picture of herself, in her bridesmaid's dress. Like any reasonable, level headed, unbiased mother, I thought my daughter looked like a princess and could not stop looking at the photo.

Then a few days later, she casually mentioned, that for one of the events, all the bridesmaids were going to wear saris and that she planned to look for a sari and blouse in Southhall, the desi part of London.

Strangely, Shiksha has never worn a sari in her life. Lehengas, Anarkalis, Paavadais, Dhavanis … all kinds of desi gear, but not a sari.

Suddenly I wanted to cry. I was no longer a brave empty nester. I had this desperate need to be with my daughter, when she bought her first sari. I had to be the one who helped her drape those six yards around herself. I sobbed at the thought that my mother was not there to call up and excitedly tell her that Shiksha was going to wear a sari.

How can six yards of fabric & the thought of it wrapped around Beti S, turn me into a mushy mess?!

This too shall pass … I will be back to posting inappropriate jokes on facebook and doing what I am best at – nothing!!!

But aaj, abhi, ippo … my thoughts are with that piece of my heart, wandering around a desi district of London, having dosas and pani-puri & shopping for her ekdum first sari!

The predicament of the compliment!

I modestly declare that we Tam-Brahms are a humble lot – as ‘umble as Uriah Heep, in ‘David Copperfield’!

The humility doesn’t come from a Tamizh Brahmin DNA strain. TB’s are not born ‘umble, you have to become ‘umble – from years of conditioning & practice, emerges a fine, unassuming Tam Brahm specimen, who has no illusions about himself/herself.

I can imagine our TB ancestors at Boot Camp of sorts, where the desire to pay a compliment, is stomped ruthlessly out of you!

There are many things which a Tam-Brahm can do. But while there is nothing that ‘Rajni-Can’t’ do, there is, shocker, something that nammu Tam-Brahm sucks at. So ‘Pappu can’t dance’ & the TB cannot pay a compliment!

Once upon a time, I skipped home with my report card & happily presented it to my parents, unfortunately, in the presence of the rest of the family. I was rather proud (I was young & uninitiated into the TB way of modest living then!) of my marks in English & History. But the report card was yanked out of my hands by the Senior of the family, who through practice & determination, had perfected the ‘Tam-Brahm-Vision”, which allows your eyes to blank out everything else, except Math marks. He scornfully read out my disgraceful performance in the only subject recognised by any self respecting TB & I learnt the first TB doctrine of life – ‘Only those who get ‘Centum’ in Math, get ‘Cent’ to heaven! Ah well, while the climate is supposed to be awesome in Heaven, I believe the company rocks in my future home – hell!!!

The meek, unassuming TB did not happen overnight. Many layers of complex conditioning go towards the moulding of one modest Brahmin. Every family has their own modus operandi, but the goal is one & the same! My kudumbam’s signature training technique was the Group Insult Method!

An ‘umble illustration – Kalyanams/Shaadis are locations where this method thrives. No matter how early you try to make it for a family wedding (ours are mainly at unearthly morning muhurtams), the core committee, representing the family, always gets there before you & are seated strategically, at a vantage point to attack on entry, without warning.

So unsuspecting (till you get wiser) souls like my siblings & I, with our reluctant & sleepy off springs, fall right into the trap ... Greetings vary from a charming, “OMG, you have become so fat”, “Why have you cut your hair so short? You look like a German soldier”, “Looks like you have forgotten how to wear a sari”, to “Your daughter can’t speak Tamizh properly” to “She doesn’t know how to eat in an ‘elai” .... All this said, with grim smiles, affectionate hugs, warm looks ... it’s an art form!

With all your confidence, sense of well being & assurance knocked out of you, you stand before them, vulnerable, exposed & ashamed. A few more such sessions (because we are suckers for punishment) & voila, emerges the Humble Tam-Brahm for life!

This is a thorough lot – so there are refresher courses at regular intervals. Tools are many – in my case, my offspring was used to highlight the importance of being humble!

On a visit to an aunt’s place, she surprisingly received my daughter well & complimented her on her “long, thick, shiny hair” – I was in the seventh heaven of ecstasy; at last, some praise! But my joy was short-lived, as she proceeded, with a puzzled look & wondered aloud – “How come you have such nice hair? You couldn’t have got it from your mother (yours truly!), because she has such thin, short hair!!

An uncle, who heard my mother gush (the most non-committal TB moms, like my Amma, make gushing grand moms!) about her granddaughter’s academic abilities, remarked firmly, “Must have got that ability from Uma’s husband’s side of the family, because, duh, Uma was not very good at studies!” Hallelujah, one refreshed & humbled TB ponnu!

My husband used to be a fascinated & engaged spectator, full of admiration for my phamily’s blunt honesty & commitment to the cause at hand. Until, he achieved the near impossible – acceptance from the family, which meant that they would be gracious to invest their ‘humbling’ skills on the ‘Maapillai’. Again, daughter dearest, who had grown taller, was greeted with, “Oh, how nice & tall you have become. We were really worried, because you see, your father is so short!”

I had one outraged, indignant husband on my hands, but the ‘glass is half full’ way of looking at it is that, it was a moment in his life, when he was upgraded, from son-in-law, to son of the family!

We weathered that storm, earned our ‘Humble Tamizh Brahmin’ stripes & now look forward to the day, when our now almost adult daughter, will be initiated, into that evolved group! Somewhere, in a far away land, is our innocent & uninitiated jigar-ka-tukda, unsuspecting of what lies ahead!

The Mommy Manual!

‘The Mommy Manual!’

• The Mom-Contract makes you sign off any rights to privacy. From sitting on the pot, with a pair of eyes gleaming curiously watching & wondering , ‘so what’s the crazy lady called ‘Mama’, doing now’, to your laptop, passwords, email, facebook, bags, telephone conversations ... becoming public property! Try protesting & you get a bewildered, “but what can you have to hide?!!” By the way, the vice versa doth not apply!!!
• X-ray vision – Mandatory for the Mom Job: that black lace top flung into the corner of the cupboard, the converse shoes lying unpacked & unforgotten, in the bag that went for a sleepover, the brand new watch, left on the bathroom counter, the phone on silent mode, snugly safe in a tiny clutch purse, which, hallelujah, found its way under the bed ... of course your offspring looked everywhere, of course it ‘aint there AND of course, it’s somehow your fault , because you must have rearranged the cupboard, or put it somewhere else! Use your super powers as Mom to unearth lost treasures & all you get is, “You must have put it there!”

• Daddy needs his beauty sleep, but Mama Owl has to remain wide awake, 24x7! Maa duties include getting strange messages, at 2am (no allowances for time difference!) asking, “Hey, I am doing my laundry & does the colour of my new pink pyjamas run?”

• Mommy hood is a one way street; Thou shalt always make the first move, call, message, text ... once in a rare blue moon, the mom in you gets rebellious & decides to keep silent for a change, hoping that maybe then, you’ll will hear from the ‘one-who-never-calls’! No luck & you eat humble pie & call & go into a massive guilt trip, when daughter dearest complains - “Haven’t heard from you in ages (translate to one evening!). Guess you were busy!!!” Your mom heart will melt & explode with regret at having put your offspring through such trauma!
• Fear the few times you get that message saying, “Call me!” Moms must come fitted with shock/bad-news-absorbers! So unfortunate tidings of a lost phone, laptop being stolen (yes, this mother of a university going kid has seen/heard it all!), extravagant splurge ... Mom always hears it first! My one & only daughter, insists that ‘Papa is easy going & cool, but Mom is high-maintenance!” But still, upon HM Mom (High Maintenance Mom, duh!!!) is bestowed the rare honour, of being served fresh, piping hot bad news! The breezy explanation is that she knows you will first freak, flip, yell, rave & scream like a fisher woman & then, revert with a solution – that’s a backhanded compliment & convoluted praise, btw, even if you don’t recognise it at first!!!

• Doing laundry & ironing – once you have gone through a suitcase full of dirty clothes, needing to be washed & ready by the next day, to pack for the family vacation, you can do anything! Planning to use my washing & ironing skills, to start a laundry service called, ‘Amma Dry Cleaners’ - because no one washes & irons like Mom does!’

The Mom Job: no salary, zero benefits, no retirement..... phir bhi, the best thing that happened to me. It made this cynical, hard-hearted soul , experience strange emotions like fierce love, which makes you feel your heart is going to explode all the time, weep uncontrollably when Beti S delivered her Valedictorian Speech, much to her horror & utter humiliation, cover the walls of Casa Kaushik, with pictures of her as a baby, much to her disgust, with special objection to the photograph of her stark naked & when she comes home from university, which is saat samundar paar, creepily stalk her & find bliss in just gazing at her sleeping peacefully, under your roof!

Motherhood – the only place where you can experience heaven & hell at the same time!

The Facebook Commandments!

The other day, a friend of mine, a relative newcomer to Facebook, seemed puzzled & confused. She was hurt, that she posted such witty, clever, funny stuff (& she is genuinely hilarious!) & no one responded!

Being the Senior Citizen on Facebook, I sat her down, like a wise old man & asked her, whether she took the trouble to read other people's posts /updates & if she so, did she also comment, appreciate & offer an opinion?
She confessed that she really didn't.

So I sat the newcomer down (that she is past 50 didn't matter; it is the Facebook years that count!) & introduced her to the...

'Facebook Commandments!
'

• Thou shalt comment occasionally, to let the other person know you care!

• Thou shalt at least 'Like', if you can't 'Comment', because all Facebookers need that TLC to keep 'em warm!

• Thou may allow yourself the luxury of not responding once in a while, but it is sacrilege to ignore posts of personal triumph, phamily stuff etc.

• Thou shalt express grief, but for heaven’s sake, do not 'like' posts about sorrow & loss!

• Thou shalt Never 'Comment' on anything on your offspring's page. You have been given the honour of being on her friend list & you don't want that privilege withdrawn! I am proud to report, that recently, after exemplary behaviour & displaying remarkable restraint, I was recently promoted on my daughter's page & granted a 'Like' allowance! Having subsequently 'Liked' fifty pics all at once, am on shaky ground currently!

• Thou shalt remember, that while you can carefully photoshop & adjust your pictures, to look hot, glowing & trimmer; you have no control over tagged photos, enthusiastically posted by friends, where you always look your scary worst!

• Thou shalt enjoy the silver lining, that while in the real world, you can't shut people up, facebook offers you hope, with that sinfully delicious option called 'Delete'!

• Thou will realiseth that breaking up on facebook is a dream - you simply 'Unfriend'!!! A heady experience, I must add! In our 'jawani-diwani' phase on facebook, every time I had a fight with my husband, I 'unfriended' him & he had to worm his way back to my list! Till the clever facebook janta caught on & knew exactly when the Kaushiks fought & made up.... not that anyone really cared!!!

• Thou shalt work, parent, cook, clean.... but you must NEVER be late for Facebook! I am proud to say that recently, I have been awarded 'Punctuality' points by facebook & a certificate, personally signed by Marc Zuckerberg, which holds pride of place on the walls of my humble abode!

Facebook Wisdom:

Say what you want (no one can beat you up on Facebook!);

Be who you want (no one will know the truth!);

Look the way you want (Photoshop & the 'crop' key to trim off the ugly portions of your hips - zindabad & when people on Planet Earth actually see you, face to face, they won't recognise you!!!);

The only entertainment expenses will be your internet bills;

Be the change you want to see on Planet Facebook!

Where the mind is without fear & the head is held high,
Into that heaven of Facebook, let my friends awake!!

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!