Mom's Diary-4

"Can I change it incase my parents like it"? A teenager asking a salesman.Sounds familiar to me.

Before you know, your kids who are afraid of entering a darkroom and have to jump to switch-on the light, are taller than you and scare youwith their hairstyle, attitude and philosophy.

The conversation, gesture and words we see and hear are sodifferent now from the times when I was ateenager, which does not look too distant,to me at least.

There are various ‘Those awkward moments’ e.g. when I’mcaught unconsciously singing a song from‘my times’ which has only rhyme and no reason, and Coldplay fans see each otherand say ‘mummy please..’

Eavesdrop and I get a lot of stuff to laugh at.
Her friend answered her message "you are 48 kg and I’m 52..Oh I wd die of obesity.”

My son's friend's father asked him ,"There is a missed call in ur cell. Divya,who is she?
Promptly came the answer.
It’s not Divyaa it’s Divy,a boy. In English it becomes DivyA.
-But why lie?
-Why drag the conversation? And she is just a friend.
One day when hubby blurted,‘WHY I met your mother?” In a lighter vein I wondered aloud that what if we were married to different persons respectively. Pat came the reaction,
“Mummy,Don’t just invalidate my entire existence.”

“Nice words she chooses” I thought.

They hate the author I adore.
I have to read the newspaper of their choice.

If they irritate me with their way of life, I too try their patience by repeatedly getting stuck while using comp, mobile, handy cam other gadgets.‘

And Sometimes I’m chided, when I’m told ,
"switch off the comp, it’s 1.30 am.

All moms avoid arguments knowing they would lose. Still they take place. And mine usually end up with something like,
“Mummy, you must read Ayn Rand."

Amidst discussions (read arguments), laughter, occasional smoot and often turbulent sailing, sharing secrets, I console myself that there is something common amongst us. But the very next moment I realize that I have still a long way to go when we would think alike.

That day ,I retired for my afternoon siesta with my Vaio.While surfing for a book, an author suggested in her ‘must read’ list for a married woman ,I reached at Flipcart.com. We were new to online shopping then.I got the book I was looking for.I kept filling the blanks thinking in the end it will deny as I did not write my credit card details. When I pressed cash on delivery, the order was placed. Was not happy with what I did.I wanted to browse more before placing the order. But the book looked good so it was ok.Feeling a bit foolish I came out of my room and found her there with similar expressions.

I was told that she has placed an order in a site called Flipcart.She thought without giving Credit card number the order will not be placed. It happened accidentally. “ I didn’t even ask you”.and the regret is if I had to place the order I would hv broused more.The book is good though.

At least something in common is there between us. I sighed.

Thank you Flippy (Flipcart) .

The Mind of a Writer

Remember Firaaq Gorakhpuri? He hated his wife so much that he refused to see her face even when they lived under the same roof. But that was an extreme.When Premchand married a widow, I wonder whether his first wife was around.Though Ghalib married his childhood sweetheart but wikipedia says, 'There are conflicting reports regarding his relationship with his wife'. Our very own Gulzar separated from  beautiful Rakhi

In the west most of the famous writers had multiple marriages.Hemingway married thrice, Henry Miller-five times, just to name a few. But it is common in their culture.They might have been like this even if they were not writers.

Generally people who are very popular and admired by many, considered witty with a great sense of humour are not equally amiable at home or with the people closely related to them.

What can be the reason? One what I think is that they don't want to be interrupted. Unlike any other profession they cannot resume their work after making small talk and start where they had left.They have to be selfish it seems.While writing, one moment of distraction and there slips an apt word and an idea which he might never catch again.

At the dentist's waiting room I was reading Mahesh Dattani's column and he was complaining how people who know that he works from home, drop in. In spite of telling them that he is not expecting anyone at that time.

So what happens if a family member needs the writer's attention? They can't be formal at home. And what if his wife wants to know if she should keep her hair short or long or has she put on weight.What for dinner? Writers don't even have fixed working hours.

The other reason can be that the wife doesn't resemble the character he is creating in his notebook who is obedient and knows him so well and speaks only when he wants.

I know a writer who lives in a mansion with his two dogs, a bar full of alcohol and a few devoted servants.Though separated, the wife is in touch and still cares for him.So one more thing which I observed is common that though separated these wives are not sure what exactly they hated in their husbands and still respect them.I fail to understand how can wives even stand them who made their lives hell.I was brooding all this when I saw Rakhee touching Gulzaar's (One of my most fav writers)feet on the stage in an award function.

I know we cannot generalise as on the other hand there are writers like Jug Suraiya who cannot write an article without the mention of his wife.

Madras Memories

It was like a foreign land for me when I reached Madras around 15 yrs back. Language seemed the only barrier between me and the city where I planned to stay for the rest of my life. But I took it in my stride and by the time I reached Vellechery, I could already read ‘Pallavan’ in Tamil. As it was written on all the city buses in English and Tamil.Same goes for all the sign boards and most of the hoardings.

The warm smile of our landlady made me forget the fatigue caused by the 36 hrs long journey from Lucknow. She asked us what wd we like to have: coffee, tea or Horlicks? I would have had a fit of laughter if in Lucknow someone would have offered me Horlicks. Hubby stared at me with surprise When I said 'Horlicks'. Horlicks was good. Which was warm and sweet like her smile. For two months we lived like a big family. And then we got a house on campus.

The Hindu every morning looked so different from TOI and IE I grew up with. While my 2 yr old daughter and I had to interact with ppl who didn’t know English, hubby was comfortable with his colleagues and students.
IIT Madras was a pleasant mixture of quiet surrounding amidst the jungle and fast city life just outside the main gate
I had my fears when we planned for our second child in a new place and far away from my parents,Still I enjoyed my ‘fatso’ days there.I read all the books by RK Narayan from the Faculty Club library and ate lots of south Indian food and was sure to deliver a Swami straight from Malgudi Days.

Choosing a doctor was a tough task.I found an around 80 yr old lady doctor when I reached the clinic a friend had suggested. She took good care of me throughout .Specially with the diet plan etc. But just one month before the due date I wondered about her capabilities and facilities in her clinic in case there would be an emergency.
At this point we met Dr Prabhawati at ‘Andhra Mahila Sabha’ hospital.She looked like a typical doctor from advertisements. Smart with short hair and wore a crisp cotton saari. Like most doctors she also spoke less, but gave me all the important instructions politely and assured me that everything is fine with my health. After just 2-3 routine check ups ,one fine midnight I found myself at the hospital. The nurses on duty must have called her. And at 3 in the morning she was with me,though I was feeling guilty for disturbing her.At 4 am I delivered my child. After that I met her just one more time..
Around this time hubby got an offer from IIT Kanpur which was near my hometown. I had to leave Madras before I could explore it.
One day I saw Dr Prabhawati’s picture in the obituary section of 'The Hindu' at a south Indian professor’s place.Then I came to know that my doctor was in the advanced stage of cancer when I needed her at that unearthly hour. She did a lot of social work also in the rural areas.

During my check ups I used to be so occupied with my queries and fears that I never noticed that she wore a wig.

A trip to South India

Life in a Non-Metro

Just got out of a hot shower in a December morn,I reached for a pair of denim and well ironed top/kurta, knowing that I had a lot of running around to do at the Annual Sports Meet in the school where I teach. Though there was no dress code but it is a truth acknowledged throughout India that saari is the safest bet if u are in a formal environment.So I chose one from a few I have.

As I was signing the register a colleague smiled and said, "lucky saari ! you are wearing it :-)" Cute compliment.I never heard it before."yes"I responded,"I didn't want to disappoint my fans.;-) (who belonged to III A ). In the class, girls chirped, "looking nice ma'am" and boys gave me the look of 'what happened to this lady'? She is looking so different.

My students come from varied backgrounds. A child who has already traveled half the globe, rubs shoulders with another whose father washes clothes in one of the hostels or cooks food in some mess, in perfect harmony. One was absent for a few days and told me that he had been to Princeton University.And when I asked Saina why was she absent for two days.shyly she replied and I didn't believe my ears,

"Ma'am our cow ate my uniform".

A unique excuse I've ever heard."It is possible", a few others confirmed.

Now some complaints:

Ankan Verma: Ma'am these people call me Ankal (uncle)

Maanas: Yes and they call me Minus :(

By the way Class 3 won the Trophy for the 'Best special Display.' Sari was lucky indeed.:)

Enjoying my afternoon siesta is in my DNA. And internet is the lullaby. I could be the founder member of the page:‘I don’t watch TV’ On Facebook, but Luckily I got to watch a part of the documentary on Madhubala which was being telecast on one of the news channels. The segment I watched was dedicated to Kishore Kumar and how he married and then tortured her later.

I never cease to thank God for my evening walks.Mostly I'm alone. Sick of the same songs on my mobile, I took hubby’s IPod and the first song was ‘Jab Tak Maine Samjha jeevan kya hai,jeevan beetgaya' sung by Kishore. Thinking about the way he treated Madhubala ,I hated him and felt like skipping the song.Then I thought of what I read somewhere:

“All forms of madness, bizarre habits, awkwardness in society, general clumsiness, are justified in the person who creates good art.”

So if a person is gifted he has a right to hurt/humiliate others? I almost agreed and couldn’t skip the song and what a song!

My locality is full of small and big temples. I pass by many of them. And here was one.It looked like a well and covered with a lid. Some smooth round pebbles, marked with vermillion reminded me the saying about my hometown, Uttarkashi. It goes like..’Jitne kankar,utne Shankar’.

After supper I watched Bawarchi with my MIL (mother in law).Kishore Kumar again! I was fast asleep just after I heard Jaya asking Rajesh Khanna.

‘Itna pyaar diya ,uska koi mol nahi?”

RK had no answer.

How different my life would have been if I were living in a Metro,having a good job.I put myself in the shoe of those ladies whose profiles I view on FB and wonder do they have a life better

than mine? I don’t really know. All I know is that I'm happy in celebrating myself in the small pleasures that everyday holds.

http://www.womensweb.in/articles/celebrating-myself/

Happy B'day Jesus

Just felt like having a Christmas Tree at home.Didn't have one since my children stopped believing in Santa.Thinking of Dickens' famous lines:

"I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year"

People

In the hullabaloo of cosmic Mela It seems that we lose our dear ones and traveling through time we again cross paths.Our brain,though en extraordinary organ, having its limitations fails to recognize but our heart gives some signals:

How out of numerous colleagues,only one,whom you get to meet only once in a blue moon ,gels so well with you that u become permanent members of the 'Mutual admiration club'.Like that day at work, how could she
differentiate between my usual cheerful self and the fake broad grin? When she asked."looking dull now a days.Any problem? Or just Monday morning blues"? I couldn't lie so kept quiet.
whereas colleagues/friends who are inseparable,couldn't see anything.

The World is His Ashtray

I believe that a drunkard’s devotion to his deity, to whom he surrenders everything including his senses is unparalleled. Of late I have noticed the same passion burning also in the hearts of the people who smoke.

In a family of non-smokers I never had /have an opportunity to observe them closely. Now more awareness against it, i.e., banned in restaurants etc the chances are bleak. People visiting you also go outside to smoke. Now we don’t even see a Jackie Shroff, i.e. a good guy smoking in the movies.

As a kid I have seen people smoking casually, sitting and chatting in our drawing-room. Now only I realize that we always had an ashtray in our house. When, the one made of some light metal, a bowl with a lid and a big hole on the top looked weird, was replaced by a lovely glass ashtray. It had spaces left on its edges to put the cigarette if the visitor wished to sip tea in between. The ashtray was cleaned regularly and put on the central-table and used as a paper-weight also. Right now I realize that in these two decades neither I had an ashtray in my house nor I saw a lovely one on the shelves of a gift/china shop.

Smokers, like drunkards are also devoted souls. A worst victim of motion sickness, I only detested them in a bus or a train, when with the first breath of that smell I would puke. Otherwise who doesn’t like Vinod Mehra blowing smoke on Rekha’s face in the movie  GHAR while she sings lyrics penned by Gulzar.

Coming back to ‘burning passion’, in my locality, I get to cross paths with many beginners and stalwarts of smokers’ club, though just for the fraction of a second. One doesn’t have to stand and stare but just a glance is enough to see the deep satisfaction which seems “exquisite and leaves them unsatisfied”. From holding it to blowing smoke out of their mouth, each step looks a ritual .They seem to pronounce that if it is a slow death then let it approach me while I enjoy several such lives.

The latest argument I heard in the defense of smoking is that more non-smokers die of smoking related diseases. Husbands console their wives saying Net pe check kar lo.  (Check the data on the Net).

Humming the song I faintly remember, Bhupinder singh singing in Chitrhaar, Cigrate ka dhuaan jata hai kahaan? Ye kahi jata nahin (where does the smoke from the cigarette go, etc), I sincerely wish for a few smokers I know a healthy and long life.

Dreams

The storyteller

While watching Prem Rog on TV this afternoon, I thought  of a classmate/friend of mine, Anita Rawat , the great storyteller who narrated the story of this film to me (us)almost 3 decades back.

I don't know how many people are aware of this genre and talent of(film) storytelling. She used to start from the casting and could make her listeners visualize 'The End',on the screen.These sessions used to take place in the free periods at some corner of the playground of the school while enjoying the winter sun and continued in various parts throughout the week.The mesmerized listeners were found in tears sometimes.I wonder if there is a 'Filmfare Award' for such orators.

When I saw this film with my friends,whom I was visiting, in a theatre which is now submerged in water along with the orchards,bazaars, schools, a palace and a clock tower of Tehri Garhwal, I had already heard the story. OMG !! She had even described the cleavage of the heroine so vividly.

When I returned from Dehradun to Pauri after one of my winter-breaks and announced that Sunjay Dutt was looking great in Vidhata
I was requested by SD fans to tell the story,I couldn't continue after 5-6 minutes."Picture Khatam"??They asked. We all had a good laugh.Then I realised that Storytelling is not everybody's cup of tea or bowl of popcorn.

Funny FlipKart Ad

Don't miss the statue in the ad :-)

A visitor

Suffering from viral, I was admitted to Health Centre. I'm back after two days of home-sickness. Apart from many other friends
see who came to visit me. :-)

A Trip to South India

Thanks to the frequent drizzle that made the weather agreeable and to our wonderful hosts to make our trip enjoyable.
Throughout my stay I kept comparing North and south India regarding development, roads, weather, traffic, people,police (kaval in tamil ) food etc.
The journey by Brindavan Express, from Chennai to Bangalore was enjoyed most. For the first time in my life I enjoyed the food available in trains. My God, those dosas were heavenly :-)
It was nice to see ladies wearing thick gold chains and ornaments while traveling. Here in north chain snatching is so rampant that it is not at all safe .

Pondicherry was exactly the same as I had imagined, specially the streets (rues)around Aurobindu Ashram ,the French–style houses and restaurants, etc.

Like my Mumbai trip, I kept thinking about the bloggers from Chennai whose blogs I read. I wondered if one of them was around when I was strolling at City Centre, Adyar, KFC or T Nagar. But I had no luck :-(

One thing that I missed during these eight days was a cup of proper tea-kadak(strong) Chai. But I got a double dose of tea in the form of a book called Chai-Chai, which I wanted to read but was not getting here.

Time to return and how true was what I read in Chai Chai: “..return journeys are always shorter and more assuring”.
I found myself humming the nursery rhyme my dad used to repeat whenever he used to return from his official tours ‘Dekh liya humne jug sara-----apna ghar hai sabse pyara. (I have seen the whole world and realized that my own cozy home is the best)

Ajmer Trip

Dargah Ajmer

' Love towards all malice towards none.'



View from the Jain Temple...


One of the Vibrant lanes of Pushkar

A Pet's Tale

The moment I read a few lines of the post (Nanoo) I had a dejà vu.

Back from school I found my elder sis and bro arguing about a blackish-brown pup who was sitting comfortably in the corner .A cleanliness freak, she didn’t want the pup to stay.  I didn’t know whom to support as keeping a pet was a big responsibility too.

In the evening when bro was off to play cricket didi put the pup in a bag and went for a long cycle ride and left it 5 km away from home. To her horror she found the pup on our doorstep the next morning and before she knew Ronny had already learnt to shake hands.

Popular among the kids, she had regular lil visitors leaning on our railingin the evenings. Dad was still paying back the house loan but it was called ‘Ronny’s House’ by many.

During the chilled winters of Dehradun she preferred to sleep in one of our rooms, a verbal instruction was enough to send her back to her room. But what amazes/ intrigues me most even today that how cd she make out that who was passing by the main road outside the gate. She wd growl just before we heard the sound of lifting the latch of the gate.

It was a busy road. People and two wheelers wd pass by but the moment someone was about to open our gate, not even touched, she wd bark even though she wd be sleeping in the innermost room of the house.

I took my board exams, graduation, Post grad, took a job and then got married and even later Ronny was always in the background .Thirteen years is a long time after all.

After few years when bro got married everyone (friends) said Ronny should have lived to see this happy occasion, the way we say about an elder of the family who is no more.


Pets give us so much but leave a pain forever when they leave us.

Pics from the classroom

 

Teaching the lil ones in school was one of my short term goals (In the line of '5 Year Plans".I hope to explore other goals and enjoy them in the years to come. But right now I'm missing what I did in past 5 years ..

Teacher's Day

When does rest of the world celebrate Teacher's Day?
Do they celebrate it at all.

Gold!!!@ Beijing

Congrats India!!

Congrats Abhinav

Mumbai

Last week I visited Mumbai for the first time.The city looked like a film which I've already seen,as all the places,roads and their names looked so familiar.Thanks to our hindi films.

Though beaches disappointed me but I loved the promenades.

I saw 'Mannat'and 'Jalsa' but I couldn't resist taking a photograph when I was told that this building belongs to our very own Lata Mangeshkar.

-Vandy.

PP

While browsing the net I landed here and got to read the post titled PP which instantly brought a smile on my lips.

During pre PCO days pp i.e.neighbour's phone  (PADOSI KA PHONE) was the source of many good/bad news from relatives and friends . I don’t remember any phone -owner getting disturbed or feeling  irritated when he had to call his neighbours to receive their phone calls. But those were the days when we had the neighbours in the true sense of the word.

Now let me tell the reason to smile:
During mid 80ies, we lived in Pauri Garhwal. The place we lived at was away from the city.We had to climb down quite a distance to reach the school and then climb up the same distance to get back to the ‘Officers' Colony’ which had only five houses. There was one more house which belonged to an Engineer of Jal sansthaan (‘waterworks’).

In those five houses, for a few months,only we had a Phone. Our engineer friend got this facility later but for some time Srivastava uncle had to depend on our phone for his official calls, which were quite frequent as the nature of his job required it. To call him we had to walk down quite a bit. So we had a‘who will go’ look on our faces whenever he got a call. Still it was fine with us.

One winter afternoon we were startled by a sound of a pebble hitting our tin roof. We came out to check who did it!! We looked up(the motor road) and saw our very jovial Shah uncle who was the SP (suptd.of Police) ,a busy person. He said (loudly) that he was passing by and just wanted to say hello but didn’t have the time to climb down (to reach our house).

After that day we just had to throw a pebble on the tin roof of the person we had to call.

Anyone who heard or saw us doing that had a good laugh.

flowers and Thorns

This is the first pic I took on my way to Badrinath.(somewhere near Kannauj)







This bush is called BICHHUGHAS and found in Uttranchal in abundance.Just a touch is enough to give you electric current and pain for hours.