The Colour of Raindrops...

"Oh how I long for the pitter patter of the raindrops... the smell of the wet earth, the fresh green of the leaves.. the scrubbed clean look of the town.. oh! oh!" This is usually the way a conversation goes amongst the NRI ladies. The decked up ladies with each part of their body coloured and in competition with the next sit sipping the choicest of wine and painting in glamorous hues the raindrops of India.

In another corner wearing my regular casuals, devoid of colour and conversation, and usually nursing a drink, sits yours truly. Also thinking about India, the rains. But try as I might, my romantic mind fails to conjure up the images so beautifully drawn by these ladies. Maybe I need a stiffer drink. What I see is continuous downpour for straight three to four months, water logging on the most important of thoroughfares, drainage water getting mixed with the drinking water pipelines causing a deluge of epidemics, trains and traffic at a standstill indefinitely, the poor and the homeless, which make more than 60% of our country at their worst, if that is possible and fathomable(God knows how many drinks to make that horror sink!). The homeless without even the barest of shelter now, the power cuts, the electrocutions, the wait by the window for someone close to return home to safety, the dreaded phone call announcing an accident...these are the images that flood me.

I get up and double my drink. What the hell? Why can't I see colour in the raindrops of India. I am in the same condition as these socialites, sitting in the middle of a rain deprived country, where no season makes any impact, as like the supermarkets which sell all types of veggies the year round, the homes here also maintain the same season all year round.. that of an impersonal, comfortable 22 degrees. So when they can sit in this dry comfort and visualise this idealistic image, why cant I?

Finally, I do see colour, yes the second drink is definitely helping. I see colour of fortitude in the men and women of my country who brave it in the rains each day to reach their workplaces, I see the colour of discipline in the school kids who have at the most, the luxury of a single rainy day holiday through the entire span of the three to four months of rain. The colour of hunger in the multitudes of bais who come each day to clean and scrub in various houses while worrying about their homes in danger of flooding, the colour of bravery in the jawans who stand vigil at the LOC whatever degree of rain. Yes, there is colour of joy in the children jumping puddles, in the lovers sharing an ice cream, in a hot mug of tea by the window after a long rainy day. But to remain spotless and dry, with not a smudge on your makeup, and romanticize the rains... is definitely a talent, drink or no drink!!

As a post script I would like to mention that none of us, NRIs plan our holidays to witness the romance of rains in our hometown though..we usually make it to India during the winters!! think about it...

A handful of stars...

A handful of cousins, quite a bunch, all very different from each other and yet genuine similarities at certain levels. No aptitude for Maths and Swimming(not being humble or apologetic mind you!), wry and self mocking humour, a strong dislike towards colloquial bengali though very much 'bangalis' and proud of the heritage. Extremely fond of books, fish and rice, music and sleep. Lazy, dreamy, moronic at times, slow on reflexes, and slower in the kitchen, friendly, amiable, dealing with life..no complaints, struggling with kids..again no complaints, balancing demanding careers, some doing further studies, some job hunting, keeping busy and just getting on with life. A handful of cousins.

Staying in different parts of the world, rooted to a single country by their parents who continue to call it home. Visiting once a year, trying their best to match times so that they get a period of togetherness, compare the horizontal growth(if any, God forbid!),as vertical growth has long stopped. rediscovering familiar features and traits in the young ones, laughing and joking together, having a couple of drinks, doing a bit of shopping and exchanging the latest family gossip. feeling happy that the kids are bonding, feeling relaxed, feeling chatty, feeling bitchy, feeling like tossing a ball, feeling like being a kid again. A handful of cousins.

A dream vacation is planned, a week just by themselves, no baggages that have accumulated over the years. A resort, preferably by the sea. A couple of rooms should be good enough. A whole week of relaxation without worrying about any schedules, without the antics of the kids or the husband, just the handful of cousins, alone together. seven days of bliss, of gossip and timely served hot tea, of sinful food, of intoxication and indulgence, of rejuvenation, of books, of late night sessions, of rolling on the floor, of prancing like bygone days, of being what you are without any pretense, of being soul cleansed.

Wow, sounds like a plan. Kids are dissatisfied, husbands smirk and mark it as another hallucination. Parents are not convinced about the logistics...but the handful of cousins are hellbent on making it happen, more so because they have another common trait...Passive aggression, silent rebellion, winning against odds, The more the disbelief in the family, the more the plans are spurred. A time period is fixed, the place identified, the resort being checked out, flights being called for good deals, kids being made to understand or convinced(depending on their ages),the need for such a vacation. The husbands still laughing it off as a pipe dream, parents getting paranoid, In laws getting mad, bosses finding it queer, friends cheering on the handful of cousins.

The time has come, the kids are being given last minute instructions, The husbands are cribbing about the horrific deals made with the airlines, The in-laws just sighing aloud, the parents going ballistic with their set of instructions, the resort booked, the cases packed, the smile full on, the heart skipping and the legs on the way. Yes!! Finally its happening. A handful of cousins, boarding different flights, crossing time zones, reaching out to each other, reaching out to childhood.

Hugs of welcome, high fives and cheers, the resort is just as it looked in the brochures. The welcome drink is soothing and telling of fun filled days to come. The rooms are beautiful and luxuriant, the sea clear and inviting, the check in is smooth and hassle free. The laughter is pure and unbridled. A quick change of clothes and they head towards the sea, a walk on the fringe, talking nineteen to a dozen, joking, whistling, mimicking..the fun has just about begun. Calls start to come, upset kids, concerned parents, curious husbands, all calling, all getting in the way of a handful of cousins.

Memories of childhood days, the hit bollywood numbers, the school and college romances, the late night parties, the first jobs, the mistakes, the victories, The loss of faith at times and the end of innocence, the marriage proposals, the "boy catching" pictures, all are relived. The plans for the future, the hopes and worries, the insecurities, the dilemnas, the nagging health worries, all are confronted. The days are soaked in the warmth of camrederie,the sea and the sand, while the nights are full of the rich past and the uncertain future. The seven days of a blissful vacation is at its end for the handful of cousins.

Farewells and so longs, a promise to do this again the next year, see each of them on their individual ways, back to their time zones, to the lives they have made... away from childhood, away from each other. To take on the world again with a smile that is full on and a soul that is cleansed.

Mommy don't go

She can never match up to me, ever!! Thoughts behind the sweet, welcoming words of the Mother in Law as the new bride steps into the household. Blushing feet pushing the metal container of rice to the floor and stepping into a world she has dreamt of since childhood. Amidst chaos and revelry, amidst conch shells and auspicious rice, amidst mantras and jokes, amidst the young and the old, two pairs of eyes, watching each other, judging, guaging, smiling, nodding, obeying. The man blissful in his ignorance will always remain a spectator to the unfolding drama.

A few months later

The enamored husband returns from work after a long day to be greeted at the door by the loving mother. She takes away from his hands the bouquet of roses meant for the wife and pleasantly puts it in a vase. What? what are you staring for? c'mon, upset about what? She's just helping, taking the load off her weary son's arms. What does the blushing bride do? you may ask, does she overlook this move? Does she stand behind mom-in-law and gawk? or better still does she rearrange her pallu and count the mosaic patterns on the floor? Ohh you gotta be kidding me..this is no saas bahu serial epitomizing values and courtesys, this is bloody life..you never let the mom-in-law win, ever!! Yah, now you get the picture, she takes the bouquet from the vase and leads the befuddled hubby to the bedroom, where she now places the flowers onto her dressing table and admires the blossoms with a victorious gaze. Yes Mam, she is a clear winner! its match point one love!!

Well into a few years of marriage.
The kitchen sees quite a few rounds of culinary delights each day.
Mommy makes traditional fare , a huge five course meal, no less.
Her son works hard and must eat well!
The food he has grown up on
His soul food, his comfort food, no one but mommy can make.
The bride blushes no longer,
She is equipped with recipes from the net.
Low cholesterol and Low fat is the mantra of the day.
Deep fry is passe and the ghee leaves the shelf,
olive oil is in and grilling is the modern way.
Soups and salads might make the elders wince
but a blushing look from the bride and the hubby is convinced.

Kids come into the picture and the boundaries are set.
If I could bring up this fantastic young man,
an epitome of virtue, a man I gifted to you,
how come you seem to fail in raising my grandchildren?
I lived in a joint family setup
adhered to the elder's wishes,
a tight financial condition and yet
managed to make my son what he is today.
You have it all, the money, the independence,
non-interfering in-laws, and yet you raise hell?
the young mother has her hands full,
two naughty kids and a MIL to boot!!
Parenting has changed and times also,
These are my kids and how to deal with them, I know.
Studies is only a part now, there are other things that make them whole,
Mental maths is not their only goal!!

You cant run the household, you make a mess of it.
There is so much of wastage,
does money come cheap?
My son toils each day to make ends meet,
Had I not been here, there would have been no savings,
be grateful that I am around to help with things
Your son toils no doubt
but so do I
There are chores outside the kitchen
that you wouldn't dream
I do the groceries and paying of bills
I teach the kids their A,B,Cs
There are accounts to be operated
And car pools to school
gone are your days
when just the kitchen ruled
you have lived your days
read books now
make a sweater if it pleases you
or join a club
let go of petty things
haven't you had enough??

Oh what do I do?
where do I go?
when my son doesn't want me anymore
the one that I have given birth to
is now a mere puppet
in the hands of this fool
When he has forgotten my blood and sweat
the nightlong vigils
the horlicks by the bed
how can I expect
anyone else
to give me due credit
for his success?

Is this why I chose you?
brought you into my household?
that one day you will
show me the door?
I am not doing any such thing
Am just reminding you
that times are changing
You had your chance
and you have spent it
Now I run the show
You are welcome to stay
but my hands are full
Your ravings and rantings
must have to go
You are not indispensible
You must know!!
And still if you must
You may go
for things are not changing here anymore
and be prepared
for your son won't hold your pallu
saying, "Mommy, Don't go!"

A bit of prose, A bit of poetry

At seventeen we are invincible. The world has opened its doors as well as windows to us. The seasons are dewy fresh, high school much more than mere studies, boys are no longer slimy, and we have outgrown our dorky state. It just couldn't get any better. future beckons and the childhood days are not far enough to make us nostalgic. The dreams are young and so is our enthusiasm to fulfill them. Yes, at seventeen the world is certainly at our stiletto feet!

Would not say that we have not a single care.. but usually its peak is the presence of a solitary pimple a week before the school social. Nothing apart from a heart to heart bitching session with a dear friend keeps us awake at nights, parents have suddenly shed their patronizing tones and mellowed, almost become pally, which is a great relief, though still on thin ice, we have started opening up more to them..so there as well the setting looks good. on the verge of leaving the confines of school and entering the freedom of adult life, On the verge of getting a license to drive, On the verge of bunking college to catch a movie, on the verge of earning our own money..Life is an endless field of cherry blossoms.

There's nothing that is beyond reach, nothing that whispers cynicism into our ears, nothing that seems futile, We have time, We are young, We have faith, We are young, We have love, We are young.

The shine in our eyes sparkling the way ahead,
the buds on our cheeks always turning heads
the smile on our lips crushing hearts on the floor
the tilt of the brow let the arrogance soar

Yes at Seventeen we are invincible!!

We are way past Seventeen now.
Most days we feel our age
the burden of life though happy
is still a weight.
Our stance maynot be as tall
Stilettos have taken their toll
there is work and a house to run
kids to be brought up
chores to be done
the buds on the cheek and the tilt of the brow
is a framed picture on the bedside table now
The sparkle of the eyes and the enchanting smile
is the soul of our being, a forever thing
We maynot be Seventeen now
yet to turn heads is an easy thing!!!

The grace of beauty
A mature wine
A woman in her thirties
is simply divine!!

A Woman, A Mom and then theres work as well...

Motherhood comes naturally. Working motherhood doesn't. The key of managing a baby and a career definitely lies in being organized. Easier said then done…but true none the less. Its better to be prepared for the upcoming challenges and equip ourselves with a plan than doing a repair job later in the day – There’s always going to be too much on the plate with a kid below a year at home and a rewarding job outside. The points below are oft repeated and clichéd by now and am sure many women are leading successful lives without any of these essentials.. but trust me.. its not bad to make life a bit easy..

Get an organizer. Any organizer. No matter what kind you use, from good old fashioned paper to software you installed on your laptop and be in charge of it.

Prioritize. An off site meeting with a client can probably be delegated to a colleague in case the toddler at home has gulped down a coin, in the same vein as teething problems of the child and the associated crankiness can be put on a back burner without guilt. Accepting that you cannot be everywhere at the same time giving your one hundred percent is essential. Accepting help graciously in any form does not need to have a guilt tag either.. as long as you return the favor.

A stressful day at work is often followed by a new set of tasks and demands when you get home. When your partner is looking for reinforcements and your children want your attention, a big 'head and heart' shift is needed. Thoughts about work can color the way you interact with your children and continue to distract you long after you have left work. This is natural and the child will have no memory of it as long as you don’t let the guilt get to you, so relax and smile. Once you get home, a ritual or routine can help to make the transition. This is a way of marking the physical, mental and emotional move from work to home, from worker to parent. It can be something as simple as changing out of work clothes, or switching your thoughts to your child as you go from work to home.

Talk to your partner and older children, if any, about the challenges of making the transition. This is likely to be helpful, especially during stressful times at work. Help them to see things from your perspective, try to see things from theirs, and have reasonable expectations. Expecting time to flop out on a chair and relax in front of the television as soon as you get home is probably not realistic!

Your expectations of yourself and of family life need to be realistic. It would be great if you were always able to leave your concerns behind and be the 'perfect' parent. It would also be great if children were always cheerful and concerned more about your well being than their own. Unfortunately, that's just not how things are. There will be times when the balance between work and family demands is 'upset'. For example, your child might be sick, you might be working night shifts, you might need to travel for work, or a project might require extra work or longer hours. Good strong family relationships can help you all withstand trying times. And remember, there is no universal formula for work-family balance. You, your situation and your relationship with your child are unique. You need to take into account your energy level, personality, and parenting style as well as your child's needs. Set reasonable standards for yourself with realistic expectations.

A happy woman makes the family happy..and a martyr just overloads the family with guilt.. enjoy womanhood and its blessings, live life to the fullest and remember its ok to leave your child with a care giver to attend a night long bitching session with other women..recharge yourself with whatever gives you pleasure, as your battery is the most used in the family!! HAPPY INTERNATIONAL WOMANS DAY!!

Marching Hearts...

last week it was my daughter's annual sports day at school. The entire primary section had been practising march past and drill formations in the desert heat for the entire previous month. Teachers had been writing in the school diaries for snack and elektral water reinforcements, caps and towels to keep the heat at bay were being sent by parents everyday. Toshali kept on reminding me that the children had to be in school on the sports day by 2:00 pm sharp and the parents need to take their seats by 3:00pm at the latest.We did manage to reach somewhere between the appointed and the easygoing time. After ignoring the scathing look from my daughter I walked over to the ground and managed a seat at the far end of the pavallion. The ground looked ready for the kids, the positions neatly marked the captains politely helping parents find seats, the announcers cheerful and effervescent, all in all a well spirited day it seemed was about to begin.

I had a few moments on hand and very easily, I was transported to my school days, to our practises, the races, the disqualifications, the marches, the white ironed uniforms, the presidents and the prefects so smart in there official cloaks and badges, the school flag the trophies all floated past my eyes and it took the arrival of the chief guest to bring me out of my reverie.

I sat erect and attentive, watching the unfolding of the day's proceedings it was time for the march past, without consent, without notice once again,the march past of my school days appeared in my vision.. each step matching with the other, each arm raised to the perfect angle, not a single beat missing, the flags down and the heads turned in salutation to the Chief Guest, each movement planned to perfect precision.Back again to my daughter's school, I saw children marching by to the band, I could feel immediatly the lack of discipline.. my anger rose as I remembered the hours of practice, I could see the varying length of socks and hemlines, the slouches here and there, the mismatch in steps, the kids were mostly searching for their parents in the crowd and the look of determination that was a trademark in my days on the faces of the parading kids was totally absent. This were just some kids walking by.. almost as if in a park.. I felt disapointed to say the least.. just at that point my eyes went to a little boy in the group who walked with a limp, dragging one foot behind the other, then again on searching I saw a girl with a deformity in her arm. My eyes searched and in each group I found a kid who was different, who was glad to be a part of this ritual, who was proud to belong and who was smiling the widest.

Yes!! I shook myself out of my dreams and watched in respect as the school kids took one and all of their mates through the school march. This school was not disqualifying the kids whose steps didn't match, this school was trying to march to a common step.. I asked myself is it that important to have a perfect set up for anything in life?let alone a simple march past? I remembered the sorrow of dis qualifications, the ridicule of not being able to match steps to the beat, I saw again the smiling and joyful faces of each child with mismatched steps... yes, I realised its not always important to be perfect.. there is much more to life than that!!

Thank you Indian School Muscat.. for opening my eyes to the smile of each child on that hot afternoon of your annual sports day.

Time after Time....

"Love is not Love,that alterations find.." says a famous poet, agreed to an extent..but what is love then? Is it the heady feeling described in the Mills and Boons novels that I so eagerly read in my teenage years? or is it the song and dance routine of the bollywood flicks? Worse still, is it the 'baring it all and plunging on to the next horizontal space available' syndrome of the hollywood flicks?? What is love?

It is february again and the world is going mushy and romantic. The stores are dressing up their windows with red teddies and white hearts, teenagers are eagerly awaiting that special call for the dinner date on V-day and the hospitality industry is cashing in on it big time. I am sure some producer will release a mushy love story that weekend with a chocolate faced hero and a 'cute as a button heroine' to melt the crowds. Roses, cards and perfumes will be sold in thousands, chocolates will be gifted, egos will be satisfied for a day and the day like all other days will end. Is this love then?

Love has always escaped definition, we know what love is not..but we are yet to pin down what love is.. or maybe.. that is what love is - a fleeting tempest - like the flickering candle, the passing wave, the dancing moon that hides behind the clouds the moment you gasp at its beauty, the fabled golden dear that tantalizes but cannot be captured.. the unknown dewy flower that beckons but when plucked fades off in our hands. The love that sets our hearts aflame by its freshness and romance, that makes us gaze yonder for hours and write poetry, or makes the most practical guy wait for hours at end for a glimpse of his beloved is definitely short lived. In a years time or less a routine develops and the heart does'nt come to the mouth each time you see your love at the end of the road, neither does it soar as high on getting a text message.. does that mean love is out of the window? When the gifts start to dwindle and the dates focus on the menu more than the attire.. is it the end of love? Maybe its the end of the romantic love and the candyfloss associated with it.. maybe its time to move on to discover the aftermath of the tempest! To relax in still waters, to wake up to the smell of familiar surroundings and the calm of an everlasting bond. Here the definition of love changes again from poetry to prose.. flowers though still appreciated might not top the list of priorities.. maybe a call is not made just to say 'I LOVE YOU!' maybe its not said at all anymore...But there is love, no doubt, in the unnoticed gesture that covers your feet with a blanket while you sleep, that ensures that the tank is full when you plan on taking the car out, that gives you your freedom to bitch about the increasing absence of love in today's life. Love might be less frequently visible in cards but the bills are paid and no questions asked. Love after its tumbling and gushing stream like stage has entered the laze of a river that feeds and nurtures, prods and protects, between the gentle reminder of the stream and the vastness of the upcoming ocean lies the most stable though tad boring phase of love.

Februaries will come and go..but love will be celebrated in every moment of togetherness, every gesture of care and every step taken towards a common goal. Love will shine through everyday humour as well as anxieties, it will take its course through illness and recession, it will hide and reinvent itself almost when we are about to give up on it, Love will see that it prevails through the phases and the years of our lives. Maybe love will teach us to enjoy and discover each of its phase as long as we can find where its hidden..we have cause to celebrate!!