Its a boy!

It’s a boy!

Diwali is still two months away and I have already started Diwali shopping! I can’t believe myself!

A typical Diwali shopping at my home would begin a week before the D-Day. Well how much time does it take to buy few boring shirts for the three men at home? Complete half an hour if we stretched our time and tried to look through the whole stock in the store. But if you had to shop for a daughter things would have been completely different.

Planning would start by doing a little research on the latest designs, silks, new shops in the neighbourhood and most importantly what the aunty next door is buying for her daughters, So we could outdo the aunty and her girls!

Once the research is done we would get into the second phase-convincing ourselves and the breadwinner of the family- the father that this certain shop was offering   a “ buy 2 get one free”  and we would only gain by actually buying two instead of one. Before the father could assimilate the statement into his system, and make some simple calculations the women in his life –his wife and the girls had already  off loaded some weight off his tattered wallet.

Phase three would be- setting aside a few days for hopping  from one  shop to another across the city, pulling out all the neatly  stacked saris  throwing them over the shoulder , looking into the long mirror provided and checking  which one  made us  resemble Aiswariya Rai or Katrina Kaif. The sales man saying, “ Oh! Yeah!That’s perfect on you….just right” for all the ones we   tried didn’t help at all.

You know what they say-‘The mirror never lies’.

We are slowly brought to the hard ground with a thud and finally settle for one…or two …or may be ??

Well I will save you all the details of Phase 4- designing the sari blouse, hunting for the perfect tailor, buying matching accessories...Phew!!!

These laborious processes are some of the best things a mother goes through with her daughters.

But this mother was deprived of that pleasure for all these years.

Time for a little flash back…..

About 28 years back lying on the delivery table waiting eagerly for the doctor to check the baby and break the surprise – the Doc asks me,” So what is it you want – a boy or a girl? And without hesitation I said –“a girl.” She shook her head from side to side and said you have a son.  I had a choice of dressing up my son in girly pinks or shopping for blue clothes reluctantly..

I always look at the brighter side of life and decided- there will be occasions to enjoy being a boy’s mother.

That day came when my son reached a marriageable age and it was time to find a nice a life partner for him.

I have seen a lot of arranged marriages to know that the prerogative of bossing, choosing, declining, scrutinizing, looking at prospective brides like a machine piece and finally magnanimously permitting my son to nod in agreement  was mine. Isn’t that the way all weddings happened so far in our families?

Well I agree that was too over dramatic. But you get the drift I guess.

  One day our son called and threw cold water on that too and put a stop to all the frenzy and announced his decision to marry and that he had found his choice.

What??

And here I was- looking forward to “seeing many girls”. What about the list of questions I had put together as part of my interrogation process?

How will she compare to all the points in the profile of my daughter in law I had created?

Now here I am shopping for Diwali- for this girl who bosses over my younger son,  demands that my husband   talk to her and give her attention first  not just his son,  calls and enquires often   about my cough  that I have been having for long…. Everything a daughter would do.

Finally, this home has a daughter.

Got to rush…I have many more shops to go to, to buy a beautiful Diwali sari for her… and then the phase 2...phase3!.Will it be ready by Diwali?? God Am I getting an anxiety attack??

Where is my husband’s credit card now??!!

Selfies??

Selfies??

These days whenever I see ‘selfies’, I always wonder - why would one want to take a picture of themselves? Aren’t photos for the memory of an occasion - an unforgettable event, a sad send off, a happy reunion and so on?

Nowadays, I open my Facebook and see many posting pictures of them taken by themselves.

Having grown up in an age when cameras were not that commonplace, it was a novel and prestigious equipment for anyone to possess.

When we sisters were still in school (ranging in age from 5 years to10), we grew up in Bombay and our father didn’t believe in owning a camera. But he loved to pose for a picture and always knew to turn his face just a little so that he shows his best angle. We had to wait for a week to see the photographs, and once they came in he would keep admiring his profile, showing-off to all and sundry, until my mother had to politely tell him to stop making a big deal of it.

Once a close friend in the building got a camera and all of us went to the terrace for a photo session. We went with lot of powder dabbed onto our faces and perfume sprayed generously. One person had a pair of goggles, and all of us started fighting for it as we all wanted to look like Sharmila Tagore, Nanda or Mumtaz, whoever we considered ourselves closest to in appearance.

There were about 10 of us in that group and the photographer had to take 10 pictures of the group, so that each one of us was seen wearing the dark glasses in a photo.  Of course my father can be spotted with his head turned to one side a wee bit because he wanted to show his best angle!

Weddings were a good time to pose and take pictures, even then. I always found the group photos very hilarious. We would have a group of 32 or so people crowding and the photographer trying to fit everyone in frame. And each and every one of us - posing with smiles, frowns, straight glum faces, face turned at calculated angles, sometimes children open mouthed and yawning -had a story to tell when they saw the photographs years later.

Did we ever wonder if anyone from the wedding house actually cared about how we all looked? It was just another obligation they were respecting - “have to finish with the group photo routine quickly so we can go and eat” would have been their thought, I’m sure.

Sometimes we even cover and block out the groom and bride completely in our attempt to be seen in the frame. Yeah, well, they would have come in all the other pictures, right? One less wouldn’t matter now, would it?

Then a little later, when I grew up to be a teenager, came the video craze. No wedding was complete without video coverage. That became an added expense at the wedding. Video coverage was considered prestigious and one sign of a pompous wedding. Video recording soon became another vocation to be taken up by many youngsters.

And all of us who were novices in posing for videos ended up staring into the camera with extra glum faces, whether it was for the famous group photos, or when we were just eating or sitting in a group chatting. We would suddenly become quiet and peer into the camera for a second or two, trying our best to act natural, but ending up far from it. Our parents had taught us to eat everything that was served and not waste a single morsel. But when the videographer was covering us while we were eating, we did not want to look greedy, so we would leave a piece of laddoo or vada uneaten. Building a good impression for that one second of coverage was more important than the ‘right thing to do’ - not wasting food!

The worst would be standing for a group photo and not knowing if we should act natural and continue talking so it looked candid for the videographer, or pose and give our best angle for the still-photographer, as both would be taking the pictures together!

Those were the days when there was a little nervousness, novelty, pride and simplicity in getting photographed!

Some of these things are pretty much the same even these days. We still queue up during wedding receptions and wait patiently for a group photo. We still think ‘dark glasses’ or ‘shades’, as the goggles are called these days suddenly adds to our style quotient.

But one thing I still cannot comprehend is -Selfies.

Recently my son took a selfie of a bunch of us, and we all look like we are vacantly staring into the sky as he is tall and had the camera held up even higher in his outstretched hand.

I don’t think I will ever get savvy at selfies. Even now every time I go to a studio to take a passport size photo for visa applications, I have to be told to look just a little up, no right... maybe a little down…no, no, don’t close your eyes… Phew!!

After all these instructions my passport picture looks like one picked out of the “most wanted” list from the police station nearby.

If I were in the immigration counter looking at that picture on the passport before me, I know I would hit the alarm button immediately!

With such a knack for posing I would never attempt selfies!

My Running story

52 years old, hyper tensive, unfit, problems with knee  etc…not an ideal profile for taking up running .So when I told my family and friends that I have joined a running program  all had only words  of caution for me and discouraged me from joining this program. But I am glad I just listened to my heart.

Frankly I also didn’t expect anything miraculous to happen to me. I was hoping to lose weight-one issue I have been fighting against for long now.

So the first day when Santosh said,” Do not expect Weight loss “you can imagine how I felt then.

But once I got into the program all was forgotten. I was just enjoying the routine and slowly coping up with it.

Finally came the decision making time for me when time was nearing to sign up for  TCS Run.

I felt it was too early for me to enrol into this at this stage…my family of course agreed with me nowJ

But our RBR what’s app group didn’t give up on me. All of them kept slowly encouraging me to sign up- “We are all with you. Come on.” –They said.

This time again I am glad I listened to them and not to my fa mily and my fears.

Then again after debating whether I should sign up for Majja run or Open 10 k

(my ego did  not allow me to opt for senior citizens categoryJ) finally I  put my name down for 10 k.

The D-Day:

Just like facing board exams for the first time I felt nervousness, anxiety and jitters when the D Day was approaching.

We got up early in the morning at 4 am ( I have never done that even before my exams) and reached  UB city to see many people already there . I have never seen Bangalore so active and abuzz   with activity so early in the morning. There was no time for fear any more. We were all extremely excited. As we approached   Kanteerva stadium the thumping music and the RJ’s cheering set the mood.

Finally the actual event started. We were at the start line and celebrities like Carl Lewis and John Abraham were waving us off. By now I was feeling like a professional runner myself. I wanted to shout out to John Abraham-Johny boy with all the muscles and fitness why don’t you also run like us…You Can Do It Man!!  J

The music along the way, the volunteers cheering   and the facilities helped a lot.

And after about 1hr 40mins I  finished my first ever 10 k run.

I couldn’t believe myself …But yes I did it.

I did it without any injuries, without breaking out of the race and more importantly- in time. The electronic chip would stop registering time automatically if we went beyond a stipulated time.

Thanks to Runners'  High for giving me all the hope and encouragement throughout even during practice sessions. Once during the run I suddenly had to jump to the left and put my foot in a puddle as the Fortis ambulance was rushing. Not only did I  not  end up with twisted ankle or fall but I  managed to continue running without stopping.. Thanks  to the stretches of our feet at the end of our sessions my balance was intact I think.

What can I say about RBR friends –my co runners? They are the most encouraging and lively group I have come across.

There’s only one complain about this whole running affair-

My family and friends avoid me and my phone calls like plague. They have heard enough about Running High and TCS and my self-proclaimed achievements. They can’t take it anymore,. And I ‘m sure they have passed on the message to others too as my phone has been quiet for some time!

I am changing my profile now- 52 years young, no Hypertension problem, no knee problems fitness improving, and a running enthusiast.

My family and friends agree with me this time!

Let us change for a better India.............

Let us change for a better India……
Change is required and is a very important ingredient of any evolving society. When we look around us and exasperate over various issues, bad roads, traffic, politics, corrupt and/or inefficient politicians let’s take a few seconds and give a thought on whether we contribute towards the solution or add to the problems with our own actions- knowingly or inadvertently sometimes.
 Don’t we contribute to the garbage in the city by not segregating our waste at home and also not reducing/avoiding plastics?
 Don’t we not add on to the pollution by not car - pooling, not using public traffic and not switching off at signals ?
 Do we follow traffic rules –Always?
 Do we pay our taxes regularly?
 Don’t we not sometimes get carried away by our own biases for religion or region and end up casting our vote for the wrong person?
I could go on, but the point is when each one of us finds it difficult to make small changes in our ways or our attitude to various things around us how can we see a change in our country? Why complain then?
At Jwalamukhi we train school children with these simple values and develop an attitude of making small changes in themselves . When these children grow up they will definitely be part of the change that we want to see in India.
On August 11th Jwalamukhi children took a rally on New Bel road, Bangalore to spread these social messages among people .
Children carried banners that had messages like,” I am a Hindu, I speak Tamil. But I am an Indian first”, “ I will not litter the streets.”,” I will not throw chocolate wrappers or on the street”, and were picking up plastics thrown on the streets by others. There were more socially relevant messages. They stuck stickers which said:” I will follow traffic rules” on vehicles. They also gave brochures with pledges by them to do the right thing when they grow up and also few ways of how others could make a difference.Children wearing t-shirts that said-“ I stand for change”, and with their faces painted with tri - colours not only looked cute , vibrant and energetic, but I ‘m sure they carried all the messages they were spreading back with them in their hearts too.
Happy Independence Day to all!
Together we can make a difference!!
Let’s start now!!!

Link for pictures of the rally:
https://plus.google.com/photos/105085413440680811765/albums/5910881029204309313?authkey=CIHL9Z_5s8OzOA

Those were the Days

Bombay - the early ‘70’s.

Tring ….Tring…………….Trinnng rang our phone. We three sisters would dash towards our living room vying with each other to be the one to answer the call. We always felt important answering the phone, even though we knew it was always for our father. The first time we answered the phone we picked it up and barked, "Hullo who is speaking??”. My
father, not at all happy with his daughters’ lack of etiquette instructed us in not so patient terms, “Always start with a polite and soft 'hello' and then follow it up with 'who is speaking please?'…..and it would never hurt you to finish it with a 'thank you' now will it? And there is no need to scream into the phone at the top of your voice now, is there? Do you want the caller to hear you directly??".

After these lessons in etiquette and numerous corrections we finally learnt our way with the phone.

The telephone was always an important fixture at home, with a spot designated and furniture designed specially for it. It was either kept on a prestigious stand or in the corner table right beside its 6 inches thick directory. Learning to read the directory was another lesson we had to go through.

It wasn't just in our home; the phone was considered an important part of many families. A person's status was decided based on whether he or she owned a phone. It was common to come across this in the classified matrimonial columns- “Wanted - a tall, slim, beautiful, highly educated, home loving, caring, pious, obedient girl for a well placed, post-graduate
boy from a respectable family owning a phone and a car”.

No other information about the boy was required!

This generation would never be able to appreciate what it took to talk to person in a different city, state or country. We had to book a trunk call with the operator and linger around near the phone for the call to come in. As soon as we picked it up, the operator, in her well trained automated voice, will ask us to take our call. We had to rattle out our conversation quickly. We had all become experts in clearly planning out what we wanted to say in those three minutes. And of course we girls never got to talk in important trunk calls, lest we waste time in our "hullo who is speaking” ramble.

If it was a trunk call it was always our father who would drop everything, even his favourite newspaper and run towards the phone. And once he had picked up the phone , he would constantly keep waving his hand at us to keep quiet so can hear clearly. Quietening three girls and their mother was not easy, so he sometimes had to resort to throwing a pen or pencil at us to catch our attention. My father’s voice would also slowly increase in decibels to make himself be heard clearly - the trunk lines were always inaudible. We wouldn’t dare to throw the same line back at him now - “do you want to be heard directly?”... I’m sure the nosy aunty in the ground floor flat could hear him clearly all the way from our third floor flat :).

My father was so used to running to the phone and picking it up that even in recent years, whenever our mobile phone started ringing and we were not around, he would start announcing “ Phone! , Phone!”. It took a while for him to understand that there was no urgency nowadays to pounce on the phone. We could always call back if we wanted to, or we could avoid the call too if we didn’t want to take it!.

Another person made important by these phones was the line man. He was always in demand and would come in like a hero and saviour to repair our precious instrument whenever it was out-of-order. A couple of days before Diwali, our phone would invariably stop working and this Hero would to make many a visit to our place for repairs. The reason for this well-timed phone outage would become evident to us on Diwali day when he came home for his Diwali Baksheesh. We would dare not turn him away without a packet of homemade sweets and a Rs.100 bill...

Being one of the few houses to possess a phone in our building made us feel privileged, and we never missed out on an opportunity to throw in a casual line here and there “Oh! Want my phone number.?”, or “ Call me? Oh sorry you don’t have a phone, do you?”, or even a sad “ You see my phone has not been working from yesterday...” :)

But the downside of this was that every one in the building would give our phone number as their own contact number to all and sundry. And so whenever the phone would ring it was invariably “Please call Mini ‘s mother from flat no. 3?” or "Please pass on this message to Mrs Menon in flat...". Sometimes Rao uncle would turn us out with a "Tell him I am not at home!!”, and we would promptly return back home and tell the caller, "Rao uncle says he is not home now” :)

These calls would see us girls running up and down the building to call Mini’s mother or Menon Aunty... these days when everyone has a phone of their own these things seem trivial, and ancient.

But those were memorable days when we took pleasure in our huge black phone with rotary dialing. The sound when we turned different numbers is still lingering in my ears. The phone was kept on a beautiful stand in a prominently visible area and was covered with a decorative napkin. The maid had an added chore to dust and wipe it to shiny black everyday.

Now? We gift an expensive iPhone to our children and all we get out of them is "Oh! iPhone 4? But I wanted an iPhone 5!"...

Those were days when we took a lot of pleasure in small and simple things.

Phone lost its charm when it became mobile..

Religion and Child Rights

Religion and child rights
Until 1977 we lived in Chembur, Bombay . There are some things that will never be erased from my memory - When I was in VII standard a class mate –Chanda , Gujarathi Jain , very naughty, playing pranks on all of us and constantly talking and getting into trouble with teachers for talking during class , suddenly stopped coming to class. She was one person who was missed by teachers and students alike. Every teacher who came to class would invariably ask after five minutes of class- Where’s Chanda ? Why is she absent? Class is so quiet? No one had the answer.
Later one day we came to know that Chanda was going to become a saint-renounce material life in a special ceremony that evening. Few of us who went to see her later could not believe it was the same Chanda who loved bright floral prints and had beautifu l straight hair- in a white sari, head shaven and looking serene and quiet. I couldnot undersand- why ?
A few years after moving to Coimbatore we were watching on T.V, a young sharp and bright looking boy being chosen as the next Shankarcharya of Kanchipuram . The news that caught my attention and has stayed in my mind so long was not the ritual itself but that the 14 year old lad was being fed by his mother his favourite food Poories and Aloo sabzi. His last meal before renunciation. After that neither will he be allowed to meet his mother nor will he be allowed to eat what his heart yearns for. He was going to take Sanyas.
Why?
While in college , a convent college, we had as classmates a few Christian nuns in the class with us. They were just like all of us girls when it came to giggling and chatting etc but for their attire. Our class mate was a sweet petite ever smiling nun by the name Regina Mary. We called her Sister Regi. Once a month on Mondays post lunch was movie time in our college. Even if we girls gave it a skip our Sr. Regi would definitely go to see it. We would tease and rag sister Regi when some “ love scenes “ were on screen and ask her to close her eyes. She would just laugh us off. Kamal Haasan was her favourite actor too- like he was to all of us then. She would also hide Mills and Boon inside her note books and read them secretly. We didn’t see anything wrong of course. They were just like us.
Once while chatting I posed the question that was chewing my brains for a long time- why did you choose to become a nun? She very matter or factly told us- we are a very poor and big family. When my younger brother was very sick my parents prayed to God and they took an oath that if he gets well they would pledge one child to the church-so I was sent here. To the question- don’t you miss home? She said,” when I left home I was much younger so cried and even ran away to home once to be sent back here,but now I have got used to this and accepted this life. I did this for my brother Right? “
Why?
Now very recently, a couple of days back I read an article about how young boys were chosen, and sent away with the Naga Sadhus after a 12 year training and preparation period during which they learn to live a life of rigour and sainthood.The article ( In Deccan Chronicle) mentioned how when a 12 yr old bal naga was asked why he was becoming a sadhu he said- “After his parents’ death his uncle could not take care of him and wanted him to join an ashram in Tamil Nadu. He chose this.”
Why?
Why??
What forces a child to suddenly take up Sanyas? Does he have a say in this big decision of his life? Does the child know what he is getting into? Do you think the child will be told that he will not get ice cream, will not get to play always, will not get to see his parents or fuss while his mother feeds him, will not get to wear good clothes, will not get to play with toys. He has renounced all the worldly pleasures, remember? All this when rest of his family members and friends are enjoying a normal family. When his brother or sister chips a nail his mother would go running to kiss the wounds away but this sanyasi boy will either be doing his prayers in church, or keeping a fast or living in a cave in Himalayas.
Has any one questioned this? Do we dare question religion? NO WAY.
What about child rights? Who will become their voice? Or doesn’t anybody care.
Is every thing done in the name of religion right ? No, Never, Then why aren’t there any rules to stop any one from forcing their minor child into religious sainthood.
In a day and age when there’s a school of thought that says that a child is not born a Hindu, Muslim, or Christian or atheist . And he should be allowed to decide that for himself when he grows up. How can religion give us the license of robbing his childhood from a child. What about the Child’s right to stay home, his home with his family and follow his dreams-be it become a cricketer or scientist or if he chooses later in life the spiritual path. It should be his choice?

Think about this:
• Most of these children are from poor families. A case of Religion exploiting the poor in yet another way.
• When a minor ( by 3 months) brutally raped and murdered a young girl in Delhi , as per law his right to be treated as a minor was called upon. What about these young children who are sent by their families to live a life bereft of childhood and lot of restrain and hardship ?
• When an Indian child in Norway was taken away from his parents it made headlines in all media. But why isn’t media debating this right misused by religion?
* Thers's a legal age fo marraige. Not renunciation or Sanyas.

Isn’t there any law to stop this?
Who will stand up against religion in such cases? Who dares to?

JabTak Hai Jaan - Review

Its Diwali time. And it has been our family tradition for a few years now - its time to see a SRK flop movie.

This time we were hoping that it might be better as it was Yash Chopra 's movie.

All I can say is we didn't break our tradition.

The movie seemed to start alright. The locales as in all Yash Chopra movies were awesome - taken in London and Leh.

But then it didn't take off well at all. Just dragged and dragged. The age difference beteen SRK and the girls looking too stark, age has started showing on the Badshah of Bollywood.

At one point I felt there was absolutely no correlation between the scenes I was watching. I wondered if I was struck by Retrograde amnesia just like Shahrukh Khan but was relieved to realize that I was just coming out of a short nap!

Maybe we expected more of Yash Chopra ....
Maybe afternoon 2pm is not the right time to see a slow romantic movie...
Maybe the company was not good (hope my family does not read this review:))
Maybe we dumb people do not understand terms like Retrograde Amnesia ...

Or may be the movie was just not worth watching.

A R Rahman's music was not very impressive either.Poor guy would have dozed off while preparing the tunes for the scenes !!!

Friends please do not believe the the ratings you see. Yet another example that ratings are all rigged .

Well finally after the movie finished and we came out we all hoped that we would be hit by retrogrde amnesia and forget what happened in the last 3 hours spent inside the cinema hall!!