Gobsmacked.

Oh boy.
Yes I know I have a little baby and should have little time to do nosing around into things which are not relevant to me or even of any significant interest to me..but hey..baby is turning out to be a cool guy, called 'Buddha' by my pals and 'chinese Buddha' by those who have noticed his girth, mirth and high raised hands pose while asleep.

So I did get a shock of my life, reading about the various types of mothers who exist, discovered by nosing around the school gate, here is a list (courtesy Mumsnet):

The Queen Bee Mum
The unfeasably glam mum, done up to the nines and whip-thin
The Busybody Mum with too much time on her hands who likes to get everyone's email address and send everyone APBs about cake sales etc
The Keepfit Mum who does the school run in lycra before jogging off over the horizon.
The late mum who lives very near the school but is always rushing in just as the door is shutting.
There's always a Sporty Mum, and there's always Ageing Hippy Mum.
There's always a Popular Mum, who is really nice and smiley and knows everyone.
There's usually Mum of Disruptive Child, who keeps her head down and everyone feels a bit sorry for (but not sorry enough to invite Disruptive Child home to play).
And there's usually a Very Young Mum, and a Very Old Mum.
The mummy who wears sunglasses on her head all year round.
The super-efficient working mum who is always wearing a designer suit, and engrossed in important work on Blackberry until the minute her child comes out of school.
The precious mum who is constantly fussing over her child.
The pushy, competitive mum (loads of those) who enrolls child in every activity possible to give her child the edge.
The 'worn out' mum......fleece and baggy tracksuit bottoms
The 'serial mum'.....a horde of kids,all in different schools/classes


I am Gobsmacked. I am.

I do?

And when the clock is ticking and society looks at you and shakes their collective heads in a combination of sadness and sympathy. When that piece of paper by the court - called a marriage certificate becomes all important, do you then say I do?

How important is it really to get married? I am not talking about being single or not, I am talking pure facts - marriage - the whole hog of the Indian style one or the paper version in court, either way - is it important being married?

If your significant other is not married to you, does this mean that they are not as committed to you as they would be if you were married? Does being married really provide any guarantees about the longevity of a relationship? Surely rising divorce rates answer that last question. Does it contribute to the happiness of a relationship at any point?

But does being married really give your relationship a dignity it can only get through societal approval of living together not-in-sin status? How important is it really for any children you might want to have to be married to their parent? Yet again, that all important society and how it would accept/ or not a child born out of wedlock..matters, or does it? Does this really mean that you marry only to procreate? What if you wanted no children at all, and yes that is an option, would you then find marriage all that necessary?

What about parental approval - is that a good enough reason to marry, so your folks can feel that you are now 'settled'? I still do not quite know what that term encompasses.

Is not the institution over subscribed and over rated?

Could you not just live in peace together, without the pressure of society..which always disapproves anyway?

Space, and getting used to it

Its been a LONG, long, long time since I shared space with more than one adult at a time. I did not realize how much I valued it and in a very cliched way, yes, how much I miss it when its taken away.

Over a period of time, we, who have lived or spent some part of our lives away from the parental home, get used to being alone. Not alone in the lonely way, but alone in the i-can-spend-all-day-in-silence way. The I dont mind making tea for one and sitting quietly and drinking it. I am used to doing laundry once a week and I only talk on the phone when I want to. I am also used to opening the door of my house to find it empty and silent - in the peaceful, ahhhhh-i-am-home way. I am used to shutting the lights and making sure the door is locked when I leave. I am used to thinking about food and making it to my requirements...

It is a long list when you think about it.

Over a period of time you get used to engaging in conversation when you feel like it. You also know that any physical company you have comes with a time limit and eventually you shall be back in your own space and place with your mind for company. In my case it is books for company. I have always loved lying down with a book and spending hours in silence, deeply engrossed in a book. I also like listening to loud music and secretly dancing with great abandon to it when the feeling takes over.
So, though the word is often used and abused, space, as a concept, should have made its presence known and felt to most people who have spent some time alone. Once you recognize it, you also instantly learn to realize when it is missing.

Recently with family over at my house, guests, visitors and the baby - space seems to come at a premium. Instead of being sunk in seemingly endless space, it now comes with time - defining and limiting it. I only get little windows or pockets of space in a day to match my previous existence. Makes it all the more precious, worth recognizing and protecting.

However it is amazing how well this little pocket or 'timeout' works. A few hours of silence, physical emptiness and peace makes a huge difference to overall day quality. A small amount of 'space' and silence with time limits makes you welcome noise, company and distraction.

Baggage.

I remember a certain non Indian relation of mine, telling me a long time ago, that Indians can never travel light. At that time I had never flown outside India, so I put on my indignant hat and argued with him for a few minutes.

A few years down the line, I flew to England to study, of course I had the biggest suitcase money could buy and needless to say I took with me essentials like a pressure cooker and many boxes of spices (did not know at this time that there everything I desire that is Indian is available readily in UK as well). My suitcase weighted close to 65 kilos, but the logic given for this excsssive baggage was the year long stay and the fact that BA was doing a student deal (did not know at this time that there would not be a return deal like this from BA and would cost me over 350 pounds for this).

Over the past decade of so, I have flown many time to many places and each time I have indeed noticed that most people of Indian (South Asian lets say) do not travel light. They will have the biggest bags, with the 'HEAVY' tags on them, and they will need to spend a long time arguing at the check-in desk over excess baggage.

Yesterday I was at Heathrow again, at a terminal which has many flights to India. The check-in process was never ending and the shop selling bags to repack excess baggage was doing good business. There was a proper 'REPACK' area and new trolleys were seen. A couple traveling back to India were with 4 large bags (this is not the norm for EU/UK - Asia flights, as opposed to the US). The man at the check-in desk sighed and hummed and hawed and pointed the brown folks to the excess baggage shop and counter.

Do we carry in the kitchen sink with us? Or are our bags full of presents for the people we so care about? Or are we the 'what-if' category of packers? What is it that makes us pack and pack and pack and weigh everything 5 times before we leave for the airport, all set to argue with the check-in desk guy. Is it financial/ economy reasons?

Going back to my non Indian relation and other non Indian friends who have traveled the planet with nothing much. How do they do this? Simple, they say, you take nothing. You reach India, you buy stuff, you use the stuff, you throw the stuff and you come back! Shaking my head I thought - they clearly dont buy handmade throws and pottery to carry back with them. They obviously dont haunt Cottage Emporium before departure and are not fans of Indian publications!

I know I dont travel light - my excuse is my obsession with all things handmade which keep traveling from UK to India and back. I fit the stereotype. Yes I know. But is the stereotype just my imagination or do we really not know how to travel light?

Temple Treat

So this has been a month of many firsts. And one of them included my heading to a Hindu Temple in London, which I heard about for the past 10 years, finally I headed to the Swaminarain Temple in Neasden, London. It is a famous Gujarati temple which is on the tourist trail in London. I had stood in the crowds, close to the temple to see a spectacular firework display on Diwali in 2000, a long time ago. And since then I had not been in.

I am a fairly religious person, though talking about my faith and belief is not something I like doing, therefore temple visiting is not a need/ habit, its one of those..lets go and see it type of situations. Once in a temple I am happy, I pray, look around, feel good and go home. I have somehow managed to travel and see quite a few of the important Indian temples - Tirupati, Kashi, Haridwar, Rishikesh....and I do have a deep desire to see Amarnath at some point of time..anyway, I deviate.

So we went to this temple as a family and so we went in to see the temple and pray.

First we got pushed around quite a lot by some very rude people.
For the first time I was told that I could not take the baby bag as it was a "bag' and bags are not allowed in the interest of security (Heathrow eat your heart out). Then we stood (a first in a Hindu Temple for me) in two seperate queues, one for men and one for women. This differentiation by the same people who point steady fingers at mosques and Islam for differentiating between the sexes.

So the little one who is all of 2 months old was wearing these cute shoes.


Two uniformed men within the worship areas made me take off the tiny shoes the little one was wearing, as they were 'shoes'. They did not mind the leather belts, the phone holsters and the shiny leather wallets, but in the interest of being pure they wanted all shoes. Needless to say my fast asleep son woke up and was not pleased. I dont think I need to tell you that they were indeed very rude, bearing in mind the level of 'offense' and the offender here being a baby.

According to most religions babies/ children are equated to God, Angels, and have a special status which they enjoy till they grow up.
The experience was nasty, depressing and one I shall not want to repeat in a rush.

I dont know if this is a Gujarati thing, a British Gujarati thing, a question of rules of just plain stupidity on part of the temple. It might also be me being jumpy about anything to do with the baby, but I did not like the sex discrimination in the queuing system either. I have a special place in my heart for shoes, now especially for tiny fabric made ones with dragons on the sole.
I dont know if it is all of the above in parts, but, I did not like it. At all.

REALLY!!!

'The Supreme Court has frowned upon the clubbing of `housewives' with prostitutes, beggars and prisoners under the economically non-productive' category in the Census, saying this betrayed the "totally insensitive" and "callous" approach of statutory authorities.' from here

I mean...REALLY. And we are supposed to be progressive and moving towards being an equal society. Do they not know the basics of feminist economic thinking? Or even simple economics? Have they not heard about such things as domestic economies.

Beggars in Delhi are known to earn close to Rs 5000 a day at times and often run a parallel economy where in they loan and even donate, yes, donate money to others in need.

I dont even want to whisper about prostitution and economics..really.

I am so in shock, okay maybe not shock, surprise and a deep sense of disappointment maybe..

'There is also increasing recognition of the unquantifiable service women provide by raising children.'
I dont want to keep going back to my baby, but its about 120.00 Pounds per day to get childcare in this country..

And now I am getting so mad, I want to hit someone.

Back with Baby

So I am back..
I am back with a permanent resident in my head and a presence in my life which has changed things by 360 degrees..
Had a baby boy a few weeks ago..and its been a whirlwind ride since then! and I am sure there is more to go.
Much as I LOVE my little boy I do think the whole pregnancy, labour and delivery business is a BIG con. The whole thing about 'you will forget the pain' etc etc does not happen. Being pregnant was kind of interesting and fun, given the amount of stuff you can read, absorb and think about..well..it was interesting till the last trimester, which was painful enough for me to look forward to labour pains!! Yes, that bad.
I am still a bit traumatized by the whole child birth business so will spare you the detail, shall just say a bit and then stop.
I had kidney stones, and the Dr then said if you have gone through this pain, child birth will be a breeze. Guess what...he was kidding..labour pains made kidney stones feel like mosquito bites in comparison!!Yes, that bad.

Came home with 20 staples on me and 28 inside me. ahhh!
And then they came out.
And then I was made to walk within 26 hours of being operated..walk, take a shower, eat something and then go pick the baby and feed him. Tough love has a whole new meaning in the NHS, UK.

Baby is damn cute and occupies most of my mind and body and time and energy. I hoped not to turn into baby mush filled mommie who cant think and talk beyond baby..but I have some fears right now about this.

Having a lot of time off as maternity leave, means I can enjoy the baby for a while before he goes to nursery...I hope he enjoys me though. I mean how much fun can someone who wipes your face and nose every 2 hours be?

So yes, life is a bit different now..well more than a bit. And this is not including the thinking I have been doing about my own mother, having people here in the house with me, my relationship with the daddy of the baby and how the world does not look ALL that different yet..but I guess I can take things as they come...

Hope to blog more..and not always about BABY.

Too young you say?

We recently lost a friend. A young friend.
A friend who we had seen a lot of, with his young wife and baby.
With who we cooked, chatted, ate and celebrated.
Life moved us to separate ends of the country, yet we remembered the good times.
As a similar age couple, you see yourself in others your own age, at the same place in life in terms of work, finances, family commitments and the never ending promise of and eternity to do all that we want to by 40. It is almost like we have bought a stake in our futures and shall work towards it. Life is good and shall continue to be so, atleast for a while.
Delusional.

A very early morning phone call to say he has passed, came as a surprise. Which turned to shock and disbelief. And now its grief, not just at our loss, but at the loss to this family and his young child who does not understand the idea of 'never', 'ever' and 'forever'. It has been heartbreaking.

None of us, at least all of us under 40 or even 50/60 perhaps dont think about death.
A few weeks ago, I walked past a woman in the shop who was selling legal aid for making a Will and I smiled, shook my head and walked past. Not me! I thought..are oyu crazy, I am too young, thanks, but no thanks. I dont have anything to put in a will and I also think I am too young to contemplate death.

Youth and death seem not to be friends.
But then I make a mistake,
Death is no ones friend.

Surreality in India

So I was in India for a few days for my brothers wedding (more on that later). And on one of the evenings that I was relatively free I decided to go out to eat all the stuff that I dont get that easily in UK. So out I went with mom and sister to the local market.

I spied a fellow selling kachaloo chat (sweet potato, roasted on coal, served diced into squares with spices and lemon juice - FANTASTIC). I used to love this chat and I was dying to eat it. However there was also the more pressing need to go to the toilet. Sister points out the McDonalds and says she shall wait in the car while I use the toilet and come.

Off I go to McD and on the way ask the Aloo chat guy to make me a plate quickly. On my way out of McD a beggar woman (lets calls her AMMA) comes and tells me that she is hungry and has not eaten in days. She follows me to that chat guy and keeps begging. I handed her a Rs10 note and she walked away whispering blessings for me.

Now comes the turn of the chat guy to get paid. Its Rs 15. I hand over 20 as I had no change. Turns out neither did he...so he looks left and right and spots Amma, the beggar. He asks me to walk with him, so I do.

We go to the beggar, he asks her for change for a 10 rupee note as I watch.

She pulls out a large-ish bag full of coins and notes of a small denomination....

I stretch out my empty hands in front of the beggar for money...

She hands over a Rs5 coin to the chat guy and one to me, as my sister watches.

I was indeed taking money from a beggar!

Weird. Very weird.

I know I should re think my preconceived ideas...but I never did think that i would ask a beggar for change. In fact one of the standard excuses one gives a beggar is that you have no change to give him/her. Not only did I get change from her. The idea of standing in front of a beggar with my hands outstretched was one of the things I never thought I would see myself do!

The Brightest Spark

In life as a lecturer I have come across many varieties of students. Needless to say some are bright..while others..lets just say..the lights are on but no one's home...not sharp, to say the least.

As a fair person with an overly developed sense of fairness and duty I try my best with the second category..encouraging, cajoling, threatening and sometimes also scaring them into trying harder. But it does not always work!

So at the start of last term, I was approached by a very quiet first year who asked me which lecture she must attend. As she is one of my students I told her it would be the Textiles lecture at 12 in the Main Room. She then proceeded to attend the Graphics lecture from 10-12 and then my lecture from 12-2 and then moaned that its too hard. I had to explain quite calmly that she only needs to attend her own class and does not have to sit through some other lesson. (To be noted - each class has over 200 students and so it is hard to notice new faces and figure out for lecturers who do not belong in the session).

It was the start of term, she was new, a little lost and perhaps would figure it out eventually I thought. But nope...she did attend all the lectures all of sept-dec from 10-2pm. She came back this term and told me she cant handle this..and I asked her, without trying to sound condescending..if she is sure that she is attending only my class..and when I heard the answer I gave up. I dont know what she cant get...
- no one in that room is from her class..eg friends etc
- no one in that lesson speaks about textiles...ever
- no attendance sheets in that lesson have her name
- no one else complains of attending 4 hour lectures.

Thus I am pushed into making a few guesses:
A - She likes the Graphics lectures
B - She loves the Graphics Lecturers
C - She sleeps in both sessions
D - She wants to learn more than what she signed up for
E - She is not very smart, and perhaps shall never be.


Oh yes, she is incredibly sweet and nice and polite..but apparently E is the best guess..she is NOT the brightest spark!

and this was a long time coming..

So I moved house..it was manic..needless to say. The change of address with a million people, moving of TV and Internet and Phone, buying of new furniture and conflict of opinion about where to put what...well...anyone who owns more than 20 pairs of shoes and more than 4 suitcases of clothes, more than 3 book and definitely more than 1 DVD/CD carton and is a foodie and enjoys cooking, therefore has a huge kitchen... would know what I am talking about!

Mom came to visit me in this part of the world for the first time...and it was a short trip and I wanted to take her everywhere..forgetting her limited energy levels and my unlimited enthusiasm levels :) it was more slow walking, talking, eating, shopping, English Breakfast Tea and Crumpet breaks than sight seeing etc. As usual..good times go by really quick and leaving her at the airport watching her clear security and disappear into the vast terminal was sad..I felt like a school child again..not wanting to let go of that hand. But then I am heading to India soon for the mother of all weddings..so I was okay in the knowledge that I shall be back soon with the family.

I finally got around to attending the PhD graduation ceremony. 2 are held each year and I was busy in India..so finally got my robes, my funny hat and my photos. Mom and the Husband came along with me to the city in which I spend 8 long years..long, fun, sad, painful, hardworking, ill, ecstatic years of my life. I had not been back for a year or more and it felt strange yet familiar to be back. The city of Leicester holds too many memories for me..so after a while of happiness the sad and painful memories came back and I said goodbye. My education..for now..is over..and so the chapter is closed.

Moved to the new house, unpacked with the help of the lovely friends and managed to get back to work without taking time out. And then came sad news of the person I respected the most and loved a lot passing away. Yes he was old and yes he was ill, and yes each time I left India and said Good bye I was not sure if I would see him again. But its known..that when you love someone, truly and deeply..there is never a right time to let go and say goodbye. The news came as a shock..and the instant reaction of floods of tears took a while to be replaced by deep emptiness and a brain struggling to contemplate a life without this important person. He stood for knowledge, humility, justice, affection, indulgence and kindness..memories of wandering Rashtrapati Bhawan, eating Chinese, getting a Sony Walkman in the late 80's, getting endless gifts of books, shoes, music, clothes, warm hugs and endless chats...came back. Being in Delhi without him..is still hard for me to imagine...being away from family and not being able to share their grief and pain was not helping. Even now..I am welling up at the thought of reaching India and not heading straight to his house to say hello before heading home to mum and dad. Strange. Not really.

It was a hard year 2009..with tension, losses, victories, achievements, good, bad and startling news..and so the way to end it was not planned...till lastminute.com happened..so off we went to Prague. It was fantastic place..lovely people..hot dogs and beer, German crafts and tall people. Trams and trains from the Communist past and a new country with clean empty streets, old old architecture and the space to walk and breathe, seeing as its not a very popular tourist destination. The place was straight out of a fairy tale with castles and Gothic spires..very very nice. Saw the New Year Fireworks..interesting it was...and entertaining to see this free for all firework display.

Came back with a tummy bug and promptly landed up in hospital..:) nice. Am okay now, have overcome work and paperwork and all the misc things you queue up to do when you get a vacation. So at the end of my winter vacation..I am finally in a place where I can say..I have nothing to do till tomorrow morning. Really..work done, food cooked, clothes sorted for tomorrow's start back at work. Ah...I think this calls for a cup of tea and relaxation with some music.

Apologies for disappearing...but if the aforementioned is explanation enough for you...come back again..I shall come back to this world now.

Its time to let go.

I saw you and thought I could love you and get something back also perhaps. I could find love and warmth within you. I thought I would be secure and comfortable. In you I would find a haven of peace, away from the big bad world, confident of being secure and warm. I could call you mine and introduce you to all those I love and like. I could be myself. I could rest. Worn out and tired and cold..and I would come to you..looking for everything and much more. You were my identity.

Finding you, was such a relief. I could finally stop looking, checking, meeting, fixing, booking my diary, calling various numbers. When I found you I thought this would be end of my hunt. The looking, checking and saying 'pass' to get to the next one. The never ending lacking, the eligibility criterion set by me..were not met by all. But you, you were the one I would want. I could put money on it.

But you were cold. Empty. Dark. You gave little. You made me shiver and you made me sad. You made me worry and you brought me bad news and bad luck. I could not change you, no one could change you. You will always be cold. It did not work. And while I wish you no ill, I wish good luck to whoever, should anyone ever, wants you.
The song playing on repeat inside my head now says...This is the end, my friend, the only friend, the end.

Well..so long..was nice being here, but its time to move on.
Indeed it is..time to move. To pack and move. To find another house to love and cherish.

You dont know who you are, till you are out of your pond.

So,
I did not know how English I have become till I went to France.
Lovely architecture, great weather, very good wine (i dont like cheese so wont comment) and very stylish people. Yes the city of Paris had an atmosphere of a certain kind.
But..yes there is a but.

But..it was dirty, the pavements had junk, the streets had graffiti, the subways had water (I do hope it was water) leaking across platforms, the metro stations stank like public toilets!! Uff..and no, before you say London is the same and so are other European cities... this is not the outskirts I am talking about..this is near the Champs Elysees, near the Louvre, near the Notre Dame cathedral..oh boy. I was surprised.

It does not end here. The English it seems have made an art of queuing up. It only needs two people to stand one behind the other to start the formation of a queue here. People will join in an orderly fashion, wait and shuffle along (patiently in most cases) to reach the end of the queue. It is not unusual for people to bring along books/ newspapers to read if they know they shall be in the queue for a while. It is almost an institution to queue in the UK. So was I surprised to find people not queuing in Paris? Yes! They stand on the side, they push past you, they wriggle past you (shoulder shrugs used in vast quantities here) just to get ahead. At the Eiffel Tower this was most evident..and well..in a city known for its museums (and therefore queues) it can put you off.

It does not end here either. The tube in London is used by thousands of people..well maybe not just thousands..but its mostly clean, its worn out and tired looking sometimes but it does not smell as much as the French RER & Metro. Oh boy..there was chewing gum, what I think was water, dust and grime!

Am I sounding like I am complaining? Well read on coz I am not done yet.

Well, having flown to many places, many times, I am well drilled in the check in process, check in, clear security, get rid of liquids under 100ml, sit in lounge, board and go.Right? Well it seems that at CDG, Paris..the boarding/ waiting lounges past security have no toilets. No siree! If you want to use a toilet, you need to leave the lounge, go and come back in only after clearing security all over again. Guess who was smart enough to drink enough water to need to toilet, and therefore spent all of 2 hours in a queue (the flight was delayed! thank heavens!).

Phew. Rant over!
I loved the city, the architecture, the food, Buddha Bar, Ferragamo store, Louvre Museum, the top of the Eiffel and La Defence. So though its incredible..its has sides of it which were unexpectedly and disappointingly poorly maintained and organized.

And the strange feeling of relief when I landed in UK was unusual for me. Yes this has been home for a while..and though I miss my friends etc when I am away from here, I never really see things for what they are when I am here. Sure I moan about the over crowded tube, sure I moan about needing to stand in queues and hate flying anywhere from heathrow. So this whole compare and contrast and therefore by default appreciate was most unexpected!! I dont tend to do this comparison in other countries ever..I dont know if the England Vs France hatred has permeated subconsciously? or its just the surprise of being in the 'beautiful city of Paris'..I dont know. Not sure. But leaving my pond to see another non familiar pond was a good critical thinking exercise!

The Problem with Being French

Is that you speak English with a strange accent...
Is that your long features and aquiline noses make you look like a snob...
Is that you have the ability to speak through shoulder movements alone...
Shrugging can depict: yes, no, maybe, dont know, dont care, forget it...
A scrunched up nose can depict: funny, yes, no, maybe, dont know, dont care, forget it.
You do the 'bored' look effortlessly...
You might be known for the 'passion' but you dont look like you would enjoy the thought...
You look cool, but not as cool as the Italians...
You look hot, but not as hot at the Spanish...

- And that ladies and gentlemen is based on the French stereotype + observations of a few French friends and colleague over the past few years. But then...I met and saw some of this stereotyped category recently when I went to get a visa to get into France. And while I waited..I watched, not stared but watched and was amused by how much truth lay in the stereotype!

Must say, they were quick, despite the language barriers.
They were efficient despite the gallic shrugs and the nose scrunching.
They looked cool, despite the large amount of black in the room, sharp haircuts and statement making eye wear.

And now I am off..to Paris. To see the one city which I have managed to miss in my 10 years of living in Europe. The one city which I want to see, but did not want to do it alone for some strange reason (talk about stereotype). And not in the summer (have visions of wind blown walks on a rain slicked Avenue des Champs-Élysées). The paintings, the sculpture, the architecture....have read a large amount about it, have heard painting described in loving detail by my grandpa. Have studied French History at a grad level and now. Now I get to see some parts of it! whey-hey!

---
Image Credit: Benh shall use it till I can get some of my own or from Marooned

Notting Hill

And despite a pact to never go again..I did go to the Notting Hill Carnival!

Yes, it is Europe's largest street party. Its loud, its open, its funny and it is full of people peddling drugs like any other party/ festival. There is alcohol to be consumed and jerk chicken to be savoured, celebrities to be spotted, all fun.

Part of the fun is also having people brush past you mumbling, 'get me, 5 rolls for a tenner, get me!' and then there will be yet another who shall walk past quickly mumbling, 'weed, grass, marijuana, e, speed - cheap'. Different strokes for different folks..whatever you speak, you would get what you want there. No problem.

Yet another element of fun were the glass pieces on the floor..with 1 million people pushing through London's narrow streets, its often hard to see where you are going. Mix glass shards with horse droppings (from the Met police on horses) and you get a unique mix of stuff that can screw your flip flop clad feet in more ways than one.

The fun also comes for many in the form of amazingly skimpily clad people...no not in the parade..but watching the parade and shaking their...booties (for lack of an appropriate term) in time to the music coming from the steel bands going past. Some of these skimpily clad women and men were this time around coated in chocolate...so much of it..you could smell it at a distance! Some of them were not clad at all..! I had much fun watching the starer and the stared.

What was not fun were the 222 arrests made in 1 day of people causing trouble..peddling not just drugs & alcohol, but also those carrying knives and guns, wearing bullet proof jackets..using the carnival..now notorious for its high level of 'danger' to the common person. Riots are known to break out during the carnival as gang wars find a place to be executed. Therefore the police was out in large numbers too! Which was comforting at some level..but slightly disturbing as well..as always.

This does sound like a report of the carnival..it was not meant to be. I am sure most carnivals have drugs and alcohol as part of the atmosphere. So I am down to my pet peeve..guns! Held by an officer - intimidating, held by a criminal - upsetting/ scary. But guns in a carnival - pathetic, depressing, annoying..its meant to be a party of good music, dancing on the streets, dressed up people, good food and many smiles. Yet we have people with guns walking around..and not just the police.

Am I being naive/ pathetic myself by being upset? Are guns now a part of our so called 'society'? Or is this just so in UK/ US? and does not happen in Rio? or in Bombay for visarjan? Anyone been part of the Ganpati visarjan crowd for a whole day? I want to hear from you.

Addiction, rush and technology

The rush to buy snow leopard is on. All the Apple buffs have been waiting this release and I am sure there shall be a queue to be stood in at the Central London Apple store. Ahh..the complex life we lead.

Need a computer with 24x7 access to the internet, which - must be high speed only, with unlimited downloads ofcourse. Now not just any computer, we must have an Apple..and not just any apple..the top of the top category is a must. And then we must also have the iPhone to go with it..and not just any the iPhone 3G and not just 3G it has got to be 3G-S ofcourse. Now not just that..we need the new OS-X as well..so here we go..chasing our technology demon..which always runs faster than us and can only be momentarily caught. I am not even getting into the accessories for Apple category yet..

Its strange really..the amount of time we spend on things that have battery or power connections is not even funny. The day you think you will not work, you do get on the computer, check your email..chat with some friends/ family..and then maybe even do some facebooking etc. And then you say..today I shall not spend so much time on a computer and so you watch TV instead..and of course you play with your phone during the advertisement breaks..yes? Sounds like you?

Pointing fingers makes you jump and say NO! that is NOT me and NO i am not a technology addict! Sure? Sure! The only time you are not hooked to something electronic..is when you are traveling maybe or visiting other humans..neither of which assures me, that you wont at some time whip out your smart phone and check email/ text or use a Sat Nav to talk to you. Or, when you are asleep! and when you wake up..you reach for your phone? Yes? No?

Here is the challenge..spend one day of the weekend at home. When you have finished your chores.. Dont switch on your computer and pick up your phone only if it rings, dont play with it. Do not watch TV at all and yes, stay at home for 6-8 hours at least. Just pretend that nothing electronic will work today..nothing.. Can you? Can you? Now I, have my doubts.

and if you cant..think about getting to one of the internet rehab places which have recently opened. Check you symptoms here.

and you know what..let me know about how you get on!

15th August

What is the whole point of India celebrating independence day in today's time and age?
Quite a few of us dont know what it was like to not be free. That does not mean that we do not value our freedom or belittle in any way possible the efforts made by the freedom fighters to win back our freedom. It just means its somewhere far in our past, a memory of a rule which ended and we started again as a free nation..so, its been many years and its time to look forward and stop celebrating and looking back.

BACK here being the important word. We took back what we had/ we had a right to and was ours. Yes we were ruled by foreign nations and people for many years..and thus on 15 Aug 1947 we won back what we seem to have lost/ given up for many years. So is it still worth celebrating? Did we not just get back what was ours and will remain so indefinitely?

I think celebrating independence day and remembering our past by looking all the way back to 1947 is somewhat akin to celebrating a divorce, which can be seen as the demise of an unhappy relationship. The Brits and India did not have a good equation and parting of ways was finalized, with arguments, discussions and finally mutual consent..so why keep going back to celebrate it? There is something not quite right with celebrating the end of a painful era. Year after year, after year. 30 years since we divorced/gained independence, 40 years, 50 years...why is it a milestone? (and i am not even going far far back to comparing other milestones in our 1000s of years of history which might be more conducive or compatible with a 'celebratory mode').

The other thing also being the partition of India which has the same birthday. Yet another painful memory, yet another unhappy event. So why remember it with joy and pride which seem to be the mood ordered for 15th August. I can fully understand Pakistan celebrating 14th August as the day of its creation..fair enough. But do we as Indians need to do so? really?

We should place the day into a respectful category and move on and completely stop remembering with pride the day our rulers left us. Does it not have slavish undercurrents? remembering the hated ruler/ owner/ master we once had and not letting time diminish or end the memory of a negative past?

Janamashtami memories

Its Janamashtami again..one of the two days in the year when I fast for a day. For the many years that I have been away from home, I have missed the special prasad that was made today by my grandma, ma and papa. I missed the prasad each year and even though ma kept some away in the freezer for me to eat when I came at Christmas it was never quite the same.

Living a life in transit in a foreign country meant I put it behind me and carried on like it mattered not. Well to be honest, it did not matter all that much. But as I get older I am keen to get the hang of all things traditional that I have seen as a child. I remember dad getting the ingredients for the prasad. All 3 of them sitting and gardually sifting, grating, chopping, dicing, splicing and preparing big massive thaalis of components. Watched them roast some, toast some and cool them, the aroma of coconut, khas, sugar syrup wafting through the house. Ma would also make some fruit chat and other dry roasted nuts and seeds to be eaten all day by all those who fasted. Ma would finish making them and then each year the test was to see if the pattis (sugar syrup based stuff) had set perfectly. Each year my grandma made perfect ones, dad and mom just about managed to pass the test. 8 different kind of pattis and so the test was a long tedious one. Ma would pass sometimes and scrape by sometimes with semi-solid concoctions. Each year the worry about passing was present in varying degrees! After grandma passed away the varieties decreased in number. With the onset of diabetes the sweets got cut back further. With 2 of 3 children leaving home this decreased further to only one kind of prasad being made...and today in India, my mother has made 2.

After so many years of being away I have finally decided to check out my memory and ability to make complex things. I have indeed managed to locate all ingredients in the British market and have brought them home with great delight. I have been slaving over the stove for the past 3 hours and spent about 2 hours preparing things..so. Miles away from home, the memory, the enjoyment, the tradition lives on in my own head. The deed is done..the family recipe is intact, how well or poorly made it is shall be seen tomorrow. As of now, I sleep with a smile, knowing I have retained some traditions which I enjoyed as a child, and now, value as an adult. Here's to my granny who insisted on tradition and to my mom and dad for being good bahu and beta and passing it on!!

Kashmir

So I have been away for a while..
I went back to India..went back to Kashmir.
Each time I go back there, my whole system goes into 'happy' mode. There is something uniquely welcoming and at the same time imposing about the Zabarwan mountain range. Its something to do with their size, their presence, their appearance. They sit there, a constant in your line of vision, present but unreachable. There but not involved, almost watching over Kashmir from behind the Dal Lake. There is something about Kashmir - the emerald green fields, edged with olive green trees, the brooks and streams, the mountains and boats..the people - beautiful.

As my visit progressed, I spent various late evenings sitting on some elevated spots - staring, memorizing. One evening on the parapet of Pari Mahal..watching the sun go down into the Dal. The other evening at Dal Gate, watching the lights come on inside the Houseboats. At Dachigam, at Nagin..I just kept looking..looking..looking..

What I see always brings out the same reaction in me. It leaves me overwhelmed, happy, peaceful, at home, and makes me want to emblazon it in my mind, drink in the feeling, soak in the atmosphere to take away with me. Back to UK, in my mind, in my heart, as images, smells and sounds..to be relished from time to time..in small quantities..till I go back again next year.

In Kashmir, I feel at peace. Yes it is an odd thing to say. I know. But something there makes me slow down, and feel good from the inside out. Perhaps its to do with my genes, perhaps it is to do with my work, perhaps its just the magic of the place.

My Exciting Life

So..
I wake up to the first day of my summer break and I have:
~ an email asking me to send some documents to my boss by tomorrow morning. So I run. Type, print, pack, paste and run to the post office.
~ I discover my washing machine has flooded and my kitchen sink seems to not want to drain. So I call the plumber and ask him to come soon.
~ I run to the post office to send the documents. It is a HOT day, there is a long queue and I am worried about being late in getting home to meet the plumber.
~ I stop at the bus stop to wait for the bus to take me home and an old man next to me awaits the same bus.
~ Old man faints with the heat and collapses to the floor. I dial 999 and ask him the questions I need to ask him. How old..? born on 20.06.1926. Ok. Heart disease? No. He could talk..and I was told to rest his head on something higher than ground level. So I sit cross legged on the floor and rest his head on my lap. I ask a man to get some water so I can sprinkle it on his head to cool him down. Water on head reveals bright blue eyes in an old old face, he just turned 83 last week..
~ I check his pulse and the plumber rings me to tell me he is outside my house and I should open the door. I let him know we have a sick man and he is more important than the plumbing in the house and so he can just wait.
~ Ambulance arrives and asks me if I am related and I say no. They take Paul (old man) away.
~ I get home to a grumpy plumber who does not know his ass from his face. He manages to push air down a pipe with a gun and therefore drain the water in the sink and the washing machine on the kitchen floor. It smells like 15 people have thrown up.
~ Dont worry he says I know what I am doing. 1 hour later he still does not know what he is doing. So he asks me to help. I get on my knees to figure out where the water is leaking out from. Fitted kitchens look good...but can be a pain to repair.
~ Much leaking later, the man says he has figured it out and shall sort it.
~ I get a call from a friend who is not too happy with her man and so she calls to sob on the phone.
~ yet another one calls to check if we can meet tonight for dinner...
~ My mother calls to check I have not called her...
~ Husband calls to say we have guests for dinner ...
~ Pilates instructor calls to check if I am coming for the class..


Is it me? Or is everyone's life this weird?