Falling in love with an idea of...

My first #SRK movie that ingrained the idea of boundless love was #Deewana. I was asked this question by foreigners about our craze with SRK. Lets face it, we either love him or hate him, or love to hate him! But he was somewhat of a phenomenon for us 90s women. The way I like to decipher our obsession with SRK is by reasoning that the era before him was in the order of angry young man followed by elopements of QSQT era and basically a void where no character shaped up. The Barjatya brigade was skewed towards family and then walks in an awkward looking man who provided the right balance of romance and great indian family values. #DDLJ was an epitome of crazy, immature hero who pulls pranks and then grows up enough to follow Simran home, who fights a very athletic 6' Parmeet Sethi only pumped on adreline from love for Simran, who stops midway when he notices he is about to hit the girls Dad. Move to #Pardes , SRK is now Rahul which is such a common name that it could be any tom,dick , harry from Indian population. He says, " Agar Ganga ki iffazat karna pyar hai... toh hai . ..( If protecting Ganga is love, then yes, i am in love with her) ... Then there was #Dilse, just the way he looked at Manisha Koirala melted hearts.
But then came the critics, who said he was in a box and had a range beyond which he couldnt perform.He proved with #Swades and #ChakDe.
By now, its evident how big a fan I am of the man. A man I never found handsome btw, and isnt it a criteria when we crush over celebrities?
So what is it about him? And then i realise, I am in love with the idea of that man, of the characters he created. Of the crazy #Mohabbatein fazed nostalgia. Of the virginity of first love. Think of it, it matched me at right age. With this realisation, is also the realisation of the fact that how frequently do we fall in love with an idea of something or someone? And how frequently we suffer when reality fails to match our expectations?
I, a die hard #SRK fan didnt watch #FAN or #RAEES or  by the same logic, I wont watch #Zero simply because it doesn't match my idea of SRK. I did watch #Dilwale and #DearZindagi. By experimenting, he is not matching my expectations of him. At 50, he might not be able to play a romantic lead, or maybe bollywood lacks the creativity to come up with scripts for him.( I have two ready) whatever.
By being rigid to my idea of SRK , I am not even giving him a chance.
Sadly, this is well reflected in our lives, we fall in love with an idea of ourselves or our loved ones and forget to be fluid. Sometimes we suffer from undue stress when reality doesnt match up...
How many such ideas have tied you up?

Outcasts rule the world

Oscar Wilde, Kurt Cobain, Chester Bennington, Freddie Mercury, even Galileo for that matter... whats common between all of them is that they all were people who believed in their raw, unadulterated talent and they were people who never wanted to confirm, who never bowed down to mediocrity. And why should they? 
As Oscar Wilde put it, "To live is the rarest thing in the world, most people exist thats all." 
I believe that all of us are born with the same spark called life, only that as we grow, we forget to maintain that spark, try to lose ourselves in the crowd, just to fit in. Sadly, history is not created by people who fit in, but those who stand out. Who have the courage to embrace their eccentricity and who are unashamed of their queerness ( both meanings intended)
Ironically, people lose their essence in an effort to fit in, to be loved but the ones that are loved, adored and even worshipped are the ones who dont strive for it!
Finally it comes down to self belief and the courage that comes with it. So really, next time you are afraid to speak up- Just ask, What for?
As Freddie said-I always knew I was a star And now, the rest of the world seems to agree with me.
Its just a matter of time, if we dont lose the spark!

Hypocrisy

I meant to say this since long, but somehow didnt know how to gather by thoughts around the hypocrisy of the society we live in. Let me first list down the triggers behind this write up in chronological order:
1. Jia Khan suicide case
2. Emma Watson
3. Harvey Weinstein case
4. The whole #metoo movement
5. The extension of it to India.
6. Some observations in day to day life

So where do I start and more importantly why do i start?
I will address the why part first. Humans have a tendency of dealing with everything  beyond the comfort zone - Ignore and hope it take cares of itself. Doesnt work.
Ours is a society of juxtapositions, where we have women like sunny leone who managed to maintain her dignity even with her background in adult movie industry and then we have women like rakhi sawant with no credibility.
Lets go west, The people who voted for Obama  belonged to the same nation that voted for Trump.
We have decent men maintaining a dignified silence and we have men like singer  Abhijit saying bullshit.
Point is to be aware of this juxtaposition.
To be aware that there were victims and there were harassers and there were mute spectators.  And there is a media which will portay it in juiciest way possible for TRPs which actually is the saddest part of this whole equation.
When any issue arises, we deal with it to come out on the otherside as a stronger, better society. But in this information age, everything is saleable- emotions, pain and above all harassment. What it finally leads to is diluting the issue at hand.
So what is the issue?
The way I see it, its an issue of dominance. Of one gender over other only because they feel the other gender is weaker- in postion, social status or physically maybe. And the other gender has 'allowed' them to think so, to adhere to the age old norms created by society. A norm which goes into victim shaming.Mind you I am not naming the genders, because somehow in this situation, women atleast joined the #metoo movement because they had a community, men who were harassed may never get to the point of sharing it in open for the fear of being ridiculed. I think thats sadder.
I have to accept here that I am not mature enough to feel the pain of the victims here. What can I do however is to call a spade a spade.
Isnt there something fundamentally wrong with a society that dictates that job safety comes over human safety? Why would someone choose to remain in a unsafe environment only because it can cost them their jobs, careers and integrity?
And the integrity of the harassers remains intact? Society fails here not the victims.
Mind you, we are still talking about showbiz, so we are the ones idol worshipping the so called celebrities.
How many times have we remarked that, "Yes, I have heard of media reports that so and so person is a womaniser... but who cares.. i admire him for his acting talent!!" A person cannot be segregated into fragments to love. One cannot be blind to the grey areas. Hitler had great regard for art, remember!
This brings me to point no.5.
India has two buckets to place women in..and are evident in Bollywood movies- Hero ki maa hoti hai and behen hoti hai... maa wears sarees and behen wears salwar suit with dupatta... low cut blouses are for the heroine. So respect is also distributed based on the yards of  clothing on the body.
Love +Respect equation is missing. Its either/ or.
Its pretty simple actually, for men who treat women with respect, the feeling is reciprocated and you would see it in the eyes of women, that they feel safe in your company. Again by science, women are intuitive and can see beyond the facades of pseudo feminists and masochists.
And now I go back to my role of being gender neutral. I have never believed in calling favours as i am more of an individualist.  The simple fact it comes down to is  to  having mutual respect.
None of the relations irrespective of genders can survive if this basic essence is missing.
A snide remark is violating respect.
A sexist comment is violating respect.
Anything that makes the other uncomfortable is violating respect.
Above all, allowing it to happen is the greatest violation.
Irrespective of genders, as a society if only mutual respect is given priority, it wouldn't disintegrate and we leave this world a better, safer place for everyone.

True Beauty

I have always struggled with my weight, since puberty hit me. I remember after one summer vacation in school, when I entered my class and everyone looked at me differently.
Luckily, I grew up in 90s when the societal pressure of being thin wasnt evident or maybe my parents never made me feel it.
I have spent better part of my 20s gymming, swimming or worse fad dieting...to be slim. Now when I look back to those pics, I was way slimmer than what I am today.
I got married still on the wrong side of the scale according to social standards.
I recently heard from a girl who said she felt much more confident after losing weight. I am thankful that I never derived my confidence from my body shape but from my intellectual abilities.
And the worst conversations for me were when colleagues at work table discussed weight, when clearly malnourished girls cribbed about losing weight.
It took me a lot of growing up to finally realise the concept of true beauty. So here I am at 35 realising that, I may be a few kgs over weight, I may have a few curves but as long as I am fit enough to climb a flight of stairs, to chase my daughter across the playing field, to work 9 hours and come back home and still have the energy to play with my daughter, I need not be worried. I am perfect anyway.
Most importantly, my true beauty lies in my thoughts, my morals and my ability to be courageous and straightforward.
I sum my character in a famous song- "Ik gal maadi jithe ad jaye garari, jind vech ke bhi bol nu poogayida, baba jithe bhi rakhe khush rahiye khede matthe, kisi da bhi hakk nayyo khaida."
I did lose some weight recently when I noticed I wasnt able to perform some of aforementioned tasks, losing my breath on the 4th floor itself.
And I met an amazing doctor who in the first meeting told me," Weight is transient, just a number." Who told me when I was promoted at work that this is real achievement, your efforts to lose weight is just self management. And I knew I had found the right person to help me.

When I did lose a bit a  friend commented,
"You look pretty, did you lose weight?"
My response," Darling,I was always pretty. Now I am just thinner and pretty."

I believe every woman has TRUE BEAUTY within her in all the roles she plays. For over 18 years across 650 plus salons across the country, Naturals has been helping the Beautiful Indian Woman get more Beautiful.
Today Naturals Salutes the Beautiful Indian Woman.
Presenting Naturals TRUE BEAUTY…

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Being woman : Good, Bad &Ugly

Being  woman : Good, Bad &Ugly

I meant to say this since long, but somehow didn’t know how to gather by thoughts around the hypocrisy of the society we live in. Let me first list down the triggers behind this write up in chronological order:
• Jiah Khan suicide case
• Harvey Weinstein case
• The whole #metoo movement
• The extension of it to India.
•  Some observations in day to day life
So where do I start and more importantly why do i start?
I will address the why part first. Humans have a tendency of dealing with everything  beyond the comfort zone - Ignore and hope it take cares of itself. Doesn’t work.
Ours is a society of juxtapositions, where we have women like #sunnyleone who managed to maintain her dignity even with her background in adult movie industry and then we have women like #rakhisawant with no credibility.
Lets go west, The people who voted for #Obama  belonged to the same nation that voted for #Trump.
We have decent men maintaining a dignified silence and we have men like singer  Abhijit saying bullshit.
Point is to be aware of this juxtaposition.
To be aware that there were victims and there were harassers and there were mute spectators.  And there is a media which will portray it in juiciest way possible for TRPs which actually is the saddest part of this whole equation.
When any issue arises, we deal with it to come out on the other side as a stronger, better society. But in this information age, everything is saleable- emotions, pain and above all harassment. What it finally leads to is diluting the issue at hand.
So what is the issue?
The way I see it, its an issue of dominance. Of one gender over other only because they feel the other gender is weaker- in position, social status or physically maybe. And the other gender has 'allowed' them to think so, to adhere to the age old norms created by society. A norm which goes into victim shaming. Mind you I am not naming the genders, because somehow in this situation, women at least joined the #metoo movement because they had a community, men who were harassed may never get to the point of sharing it in open for the fear of being ridiculed. I think that’s sadder that they won’t get a voice.
I have to accept here that I am not mature enough to feel the pain of the victims here. What can I do however is to call a spade a spade.
Isn’t there something fundamentally wrong with a society that dictates that job safety comes over human safety? Why would someone choose to remain in a unsafe environment only because it can cost them their jobs, careers and integrity?
And the integrity of the harassers remains intact? Society fails here not the victims.
Mind you, we are still talking about showbiz, so we are the ones idol worshipping the so called celebrities.
How many times have we remarked that, "Yes, I have heard of media reports that so and so person is a womaniser... but who cares.. I admire him for his acting talent!!" A person cannot be segregated into fragments to love. One cannot be blind to the grey areas. Hitler had great regard for art, remember!
This brings me to point no.5.
India has two buckets to place women in..and are evident in Bollywood movies- Hero ki maa hoti hai and behen hoti hai... maa wears sarees and behen wears salwar suit with dupatta... low cut blouses are for the heroine. So respect is also distributed based on the yards of  clothing on the body.
Love +Respect equation is missing. Its either/ or. Another reason for social evils like gaslighting and emotional abuse in relationships. Remember English Vinglish? How many men truly love and respect their wives at the same time?
Let’s move to our workplaces, statistics says that women are interrupted more often while speaking than men, ridiculed more often for their opinions. And  spoken over. The science of it  relates it to voice pitches of men vs women.
Then let’s move to the sexism of the society more so in workplaces. There is great study done by Dr. Peter Glick on benevolent sexism, which is exact opposite of hostile sexism.  It talks about  behaviour by men which appears subjectively positive but  is damaging in long run. It’s about reverence of women only in mother  and child caring roles. How many does it happen that a woman's dress and skin is rated more than her brain? The question of how you manage kids may seem like caring but is a form of benevolent sexism. Viewing women as more compassionate and gentle and men as more aggressive can penalize women who are assertive, leading people to deem them "bossy" or "too harsh."  Its pretty simple actually, for men who treat women with respect, the feeling is reciprocated and you would see it in the eyes of women, that they feel safe in your company. Again by science, women are intuitive and can see beyond the facades of pseudo feminists and masochists. The simple fact it comes down to is  to  having mutual respect.
None of the relations irrespective of genders can survive if this basic essence is missing.
A snide remark is violating respect.
A sexist comment is violating respect.
An unwanted hug is violating respect
Suggesting a makeover to a woman to grow in organisation is violating respect.
Anything that makes the other uncomfortable is violating respect.
Above all, allowing it to happen is the greatest violation.
Irrespective of genders, as a society if only mutual respect is given priority, it wouldn't disintegrate and we leave this world a better, safer place for everyone.

The dilemma of a working woman

As you grow older, you realise that certain things or rather certain people don't deserve a response. We create less drama as we grow older and possibly wiser but at the same time we demand the same from people, to be reasonable. So it was easy for me to ignore certain comments made by a celebrity wife inspite of being a working woman. I don't expect a twenty something whose only achievement probably is marriage to a celebrity to have the maturity or realise the struggles. It's probably unfair of me to make this statement too, I am no one to judge someone else's life.

But this also made me do a root cause analysis of the whole scenario. I have certain Observations and I list them as I go ahead

1. Written vs. Verbal :
We live in an Information Age where written and indirect communication has somehow become very important. The ancient Greeks and Indians laid emphasis on verbal communication. Ram-Leela was performed in front of live audiences so the reaction of audiences was instant. All our epics were transferred in form of recitations and there itself is the difference. Today it is easy to hide behind a pseudonym and write nonsense. Just read the comments section of any post on any internet media. It is filled with at least one fool who thinks bullying is okay, using cuss words unnecessarily is okay, judging strangers is okay. It is simpler to write hateful words than to say them. That alone is not the problem.  Try saying the same words to a person on face, a little something called basic decorum stops us because the reaction would be instant. You could read the disappointment, fear, hurt on the other persons face. And that is one of the problem of this internet age. We say things we don't mean.
2. Feminism:
It has slowly transformed from being a powerful word to a word with negative connotation. Open any of the Facebook so called humour pages and you will find memes of sexist humour and memes making fun of the idea behind feminism. My favourite being the graph that relates feminism to body weight and ugliness. Question is who is to blame for it? Patriarchy or pseudo feminists? What is worth fighting for? I have my own idea of feminism which may differ from the said celebrity wife and I have the maturity to give her time to mature. I have the maturity to accept that at 20 I had totally different set of beliefs. I am a firm believer that feminism is not only needed for women but if we really want to bring about change it is a gender neutral phenomenon.
3. Responsible media:
I really have been harping about this. There are a thousand news channels who want to run 24 hours and need something to create a hue and cry about. And that's where unimportant people and issues get importance. Why should I care about what a celebrity wife thinks? Why should I care about how the so called top comedians fought mid air? It's the media which ingrains that I need to care to feed their TRPs.
The click bait sites are another story. "Ten reasons why feminism is a hoax.#6 really surprised me" and I am tempted to read what #6 is. It's all a capitalist world feeding on our reactions, our emotions.
4.  So now question is which battles do I choose to fight?
I can choose to not react to celebrity drama and media hypes.
I choose to not click the numerous clickbaits.
But
I choose to react to every moron I meet in real life who thinks feminism is a word misused by women for their own good.
I chose to react to every woman who misuses the word.
I chose to react to patriarchal women who judge other women.
I recently overheard a conversation where a school principal was lecturing parents about spending more time with kids in an effort to explain why their school wasn't organising summer camps for two hours a day. The argument was that today's parents need to invest in kids or a kind of new generation will emerge who won't care for the parents back.
I choose to react to such people because the future of the kids is in hands of such people.
I chose to educate them that no parent ever on the face of earth is careless enough to not spend quality time with their kids. Working women are balancing work, home, finances, cooking and million other things but no person has the right to judge and lecture any parent on what their parenting style should be. We grew up with working parents and turned out fine.
And I have only one answer to every person who believes working women are neglecting their kids and will payback when the kids won't be attached to them. And the answer is -that every parent should raise independent kids who don't grow up to be dependent on parents for choosing their shirts for the day.  The kid didn't choose to be born to you, we chose to bring them in the world so it's our responsibility to not burden them with the expectations we have of them in regards to our old age. If I am raising my kid right, she will grow up to be a decent human being. That's all I should expect.
In conclusion, to all working women out there and all homemakers and all parents who are raising kids, chose what you react to and chose your battles carefully.

Mental health #2

#WorldMentalHealthDay

I am not an activist or an article writer to motivate the seemingly normal people to be open to issues of mental health. All I have is my stories. I hope it connects.
1. It’s never the external factors, it’s the inner turmoil and how a person chooses to deal with it. Remember Chester Bennington of #LinkinPark
2. There is no profile. A person can mask it really well, so don’t just go about profiling someone as suicidal or not.
3. It’s the 21st century let’s be inclusive in spirit not because it seems cool. Be it #mentalhealth #LGBTQ or anything that was below the carpet decades back.

#letstalkmentalheath

I have been contacted by people, stating that why did I kill the main lead. That too in a grotesquely manner. I am not an activist or an article writer to explain, or to motivate the seemingly normal people to be open to issues of mental health. All I have is my stories. I hope everyone who wrote to me, get their answers.
1. It’s never the external factors, it’s the inner turmoil and how a person chooses to deal with it. Why else would Chester Bennington do what he did? Or #AnthonyBourdain
2. There is no profile. A person can mask it really well, so don’t just go about profiling someone as suicidal or not.
3. It’s the 21st century let’s be inclusive in spirit not because it seems cool. Be it #mentalhealth #LGBTQ or anything that was below the carpet decades back.

Chapter 12
———————-
Past Closure
———————-
“It’s funny how memory works, “ Abeer continued,lost in thoughts, “I cant remember now what the fight was about.” He pinched his nose trying to remember and then gave up with a sigh. “ I had gone home, which always was a difficult time for me, but I had to.” He paused deciding to continue or not.
“Pakhi did tell me about your relationship with your mother.” I supplied to make him comfortable. He was surprised and said so, “ It wasn’t all too bad,” he justified before continuing, “You ask me about that day and trust me, I don’t remember anything else about that day except how it made me feel. I still shiver at the memory of seeing her in the hospital.”
I chuckled and he noticed.
“That’s not what I heard.” I accused again but he maintained his composure.
“Obviously, you have a different version of the story than me, I can only tell you what really happened and maybe then you can go back and check if Pakhi told you the truth.” He waited for me to respond and when I nodded he went into a reverie
“ I had been out of touch with Pakhi for a month I guess, the reason was that I had gone home. And my home wasn’t a pleasant place to be, it was a place where I was constantly reminded of my failures and I avoided talking to Pakhi when I went home because I didn’t want to take it out on her. It was my way of separating the good in my life from the hell that home was.”
He got up at that and took the framed sketch made by Pakhi down, he caressed  the hair of the girl in the sketch as he spoke, “Pakhi told me that this girl was her, always looking out of the window, waiting for me to come back.”
I winced at that, which Abeer didn’t notice as he still was looking at the sketch.
“She wasn’t home when I returned and when I called, her brother picked up and informed me about her being in the hospital. Everything after that is hazy, I just remember I was sitting next to her bed and she was lying there all pale and weak.”
“And then you slapped her.” I was losing my patience.
He didn’t deny. “And then I slapped her.”
He repeated, not regretting it, “ She was everything for me, and I couldn’t understand how could she value her life so little and do such a thing.”
“Because you made her feel unimportant.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be like that, I wasn’t supposed to be this important.” He explained.
“You were to her.” I replied ,”then.”
“I didn’t know that, I wasn’t used to be important to anyone. I didn’t  even know how to process my emotions when I saw her like that and so I reacted. I turned into this angry person who took it out on everyone including her and her brother only because I was hurt.”
“That’s your explanation ?” I asked sarcastically and he nodded as if it was the most logical explanation ever.
“Next day I returned to apologise, but by then she had already made her decision and she asked me to leave her forever.”
“Which you did?” I asked and he shrugged.
“Did it ever cross your mind, to check how can a person who did something extreme one day for you, turn the next day to throw you out?”
“It did cross my mind, and I begged her for another chance. Promising that I won’t screw up this time, but she was adamant.”
“And it was easy for you to give it up than do pursue?”
“Trust me nothing was easy, but I am glad I left, clearly we were bad for each other and I am happy that she has a happy life with you.”
I didn’t react.
I was no closer to getting the answers I desired. “ I don’t think I can come around to justify people who give up on their dreams or their life.” I thought out loud and this time Abeer laughed. What I said was an extension of my own struggle to deal with Pakhis departure.
“Is that how you think of her, yugaant?” He asked me and I didn’t reply.
“Or us?” He asked again and I was ashamed of myself for even voicing my thoughts.
“Trust me Doctor, it takes a lot of strength to do what she did. Physically hurting an unknown person is easy, even mobsters and other lowlifes do it with ease because you yourself don’t feel the pain, having the strength to do it to yourself is derived from a lot of pain. Pain which becomes insurmountable.”
“ You are the psychology expert right?” He asked me sarcastically but I sat there with my head hung low. “ it’s easy to say that you dislike certain people, but difficult to go and understand them. All you have seen is the scar and formed an opinion, that day I had seen the seriousness of her actions, and it scared me. It wasn’t an attention seeking gimmick Doctor, it was a serious attempt gone wrong fortunately.” He went on lecturing me not realising the passion with which he was defending Pakhi.
“People don’t commit suicide as a reaction to their external environment, Doctor, people do it because of the battles they fight everyday within.”he pushed his finger at his heart while saying that and his eyes welled up for what he said next, “I have not spend a single day in peace, since I left Pakhi, not because I am hung up on her, I am grown up enough to know that she made a decision to be away from me. But because , I failed her. I failed to understand what went on inside her even after spending so much time with each other.”
I didn’t have the courage to admit that I failed Pakhi too, so I just sat there listening to him taking it out of his system, noticing that he had resorted to calling me Doctor, but I had to rush past these trivial thoughts and concentrate on the task at hand. Pakhi.
“Do You now know?” I asked him directly.
He shrugged. “All I know now is that, we got together very young with a lot of expectations from each other and when they weren’t fulfilled, it messed up with our heads. I was distant as I was dealing with my own problems not realising that she wanted to be a part of it. In trying to protect her, I damaged her. You know how it’s said that a bird struggling it’s way  out of the egg is part of its strength buildup? And shouldn’t be helped as we risk crippling it? I tried to handle her with caution and messed up pretty bad. She felt alienated by me.” He went on and on, gathering his thoughts.
“She is better off without me” he repeated conclusively. “Maybe It wasn’t about me at all, it was just who she was then” he smiled to himself, “Well that’s what I tell myself, when I cannot sleep at night.” He concluded and looked up at me.
I was still not able to connect the dots of the whole puzzle this was. I had an image of Abeer when I visited him, I always knew he was important to Pakhi and in meeting him, I was hoping that he would have all the answers, but he didn’t seem to.Even if he did, his answers were sounding superficial to me. or maybe he was just entertaining me.
I decided to play a little to get what I wanted from him.
“Frankly Abeer, the reason I walked into your house the day before after I saw your sculpture was because I was intrigued. Pakhi told me everything about you when we first met, and I was intrigued then too, I had not heard of such passion. And that time I attributed it to the sensitivity of artists. The raw emotional appeal that’s identified with them. Like I have read about the paradoxes of artists,Pakhi was like that- openly brash and bold in public, but still shy and emotional in her own way.”  I unknowingly used the past tense but he didn’t notice.
“But she changed with you?” He asked attributing my use of the past to the fact that I was talking about Pakhi as she was then, when I met her.
I nodded,lying again.
She hadn’t changed. She had just learned to mask herself better. A thing I realised after she left me.
“Similarly, I had an image of you. An elusive brat who didn’t care for the world but focused on his art. That’s how Pakhi portrayed you.”
He laughed.
“You are the psychiatrist, you tell me.” He challenged.
I had no answer.
He got up to put the sketch back on the wall, angling it perfectly, moving it by millimetres till he was satisfied that it was perfectly positioned. He then wiped the edges of the sketch for nonexistent dust with his sleeve. And I noticed his movements. Apart from the way he carried himself, the overgrown salt and pepper hair, the stubble growing on his chin and the relaxed way in which he dressed, there was nothing in fact relaxed about him. I looked around the immaculately decorated room.
It wasn’t a room of a man who didn’t care. It was a palace waiting for its queen. Everything was at its rightful place and his relaxed demeanour was in fact him waiting.
I had a short pang of jealousy as this realisation hit me. In the mean time he was back at his place, sitting opposite me and looking at me with a self assured smirk.
“ Why are you so sure that, she will be back?” I asked him and he didn’t flinch, he wasn’t surprised, he just smiled and within seconds the assertiveness of the first day I met him was back. At that moment, he didn’t care that I was Pakhis husband. For him, we both had an understanding, where he finally understood that I had deciphered him.
“Why are you so sure that she won’t be?” He threw back at me. “She asked me to stay away and I am holding my end of the bargain. I won’t ever interfere in her life. If today you call her up and ask me to talk to her, I won’t. I promised her that. I will wait for her permission to invite me back in her life. But that doesn’t mean that she won’t be back on her own.”
I sniggered at the information I had withheld from him. Right that moment, I had two choices, one to keep him waiting forever and second to end his misery. I wasn’t sure that he would be able to handle the reality, still I decided to go with it. He had just minutes back assured me that he was a grown up.
“You told me, your end of the story, Abeer, I said getting up.... “let me tell you my end.”
He folded his hands and looked up at me, waiting.

Mental health #1

I made a bucket list when I was 23. It's hidden somewhere on a blog I used to maintain. If I remember the list, it had certain things that were important to a 23 year old me and included things like visiting the Effiel Tower and learning French etc. What was not a part of the list and still a dream was to see my favourite band perform live. I have grown up with the heart touching lyrics of linkin park. And I would be honest here, like every middle class Indian I grew from Bryan Adams, Enrique to finally graduate to linkin  Park. And I have this habit of always checking their tour schedule in a hope to see them perform live. Even my phone has the songs recorded from live performances. There's a different energy to live performances in my opinion.
But all of this became immaterial a few days back, as the lead singer of #LinkinPark , Chester committed suicide and selfishly I was angry. I was angry because I suddenly felt empty as if a life goal was snatched away from me. With fresh reports pouring in and all sites picking up the news, it's almost there on my feed everyday. And I have just one question why? LinkinPark would reply with "I don't know why". I fucking named my blog after the song. And all my close friends know that there are two things I force on every acquaintance who gets close to me, 1. Linkin Park 2. Fountainhead. So I somehow tried justifying my anger as a fan. Even if they find a new singer and they go on. It's not the same. Now that I have sufficiently taken out my frustrations at the news. Here's the bigger question in front of all of us. A famous, rich man who was loved by many and who had a wife and six children, was lonely enough to commit suicide!
There is a bigger force at play here. And we in India, where mental health isn't even addressed need to think about it more. The cure of depression in our culture is get married. And you are not supposed to be depressed post marriage. If you say it aloud to someone, you are looked at with crazy eyes. Why would someone married with kids be depressed?
Chester's suicide is an indicator of how facades are deceptive enough and how somehow the demons of the past keep haunting you. That's what their official statement said. He was a man who found fame and money by singing about his demons and his battles with his inner demons but never really overcame them.
What I want to say here is that, find compassion to people around you, maybe someone really is silently asking for help and maybe you could be the person to save someone's life.
There's this image around Hollywood celebrities of drugs and self destruction. But deep down aren't we all humans requiring care and love in whatever form possible? There's this image around Indians too, we are too full of life to even understand the implications of words like depression, post natal depression, bipolar syndrome etc. In our mind these are all big words coming from west. Nothing could be wrong with the brain. But in reality we all need to start embracing these definitions, if not for diagnosis then for support system.
The last loss of a person that affected me this much was someone closer to me and it's not very much me to be effected by a stranger whose music I loved. But it did. Because now I have the maturity to understand that a suicide cannot be blamed on the person who took that drastic step. The society that pushed that person to take that step is at loss too.
So here goes my tribute to the  person who helped me grow from an idealistic, romantic teenager to a practical woman:
Give me the strength of the rising sun
Give me the truth of words unsung
      So rest your head
      It's time to sleep
     And dream of what's in store
The body bends until it breaks
And sings again no more

Diversity

We are living in an age where this word is the key to success. Its a key to sound inclusive, to portay equal opportunity.
Diversity is about equal opportunities, It is about appreciating the differences. Diversity is giving voice to all the different opinions on the table.
Management books say that diverse organisations are stronger because they appreciate the diversity. Women in workplace at higher positions are appreciated because they bring a different insight to the business. But if we twist the whole meaning of diversity in order to fit in at a global level, if we say only the right things, if we become followers instead of trailblazers, the whole point is lost. Diversity does not mean I  cannot see the race, gender, or other visible traits of a person when I see them. It does not mean that I reject the regional or cultural heritage of people and accept them on the table to act as clones.
What it means though is that I SEE THEM and I APPRECIATE THEM. I GIVE THEM A VOICE. I say to them that " For me the world looks blue, what colour do you see? Maybe together we can agree its purple or red!"
I take the insights from their diverse heritage. That is true diversity on all fronts - be it gender, region, race or sexual orientation. It is to recognise, accept and appreciate. It is about equal opportunity based on merit and not merely being blind to the diverse aspects.
Sadly, the word is reduced to a chapter in Management books, a legislative compliance in companies and a totally flabbergasted middle management and employees at ground level. Diversity is not about accepting substandard talent to fit a quota and it surely doesnt end with hiring.
Dont hire a unicorn and then cut its horn and make it forget how to fly!!
ACCEPT, APPRECIATE & LET IT FLY
Thats the true aspect of diversity!

-----(c) Dixy Gandhi

Smile some more

I have been a big fan of Marvel since the first ironman movie I guess. So imagine my excitement at the first Captain Marvel movie.The first superhero movie with a female lead by Marvel (Well in my honest opinion, Marvel always has been risk avoider. DC got it perfect with Wonderwoman, but thats for another day).
I would imagine the first solo film to be of the black widow, but guess she still has to pose some more  in tights with her rear facing the camera for marvel to trust and invest  some money on her.
Even Captain Marvel comes only after the build-up of Infinity War, as collateral 😊
So thats the premise, apparently someone on twitter used a photo app to make Brie smile more in the first-look posters of the movie. Isnt that so nice of the man, to remind her to smile while fighting the bad guys. She in turn replied with an Instagram post of all the Avengers smiling. Apparently, only the men can sulk. Girls should smile more.
Some days I wake up willing to ignore all the stupidity and double standards around me, but some days it just gets too much. The sadddest part is that I know nothing will change. There will always be an justification for patriarchy. No speeches by Chimamanda Ngozi Amichie will be taken in right context, the answer will always be you cannot generalise. Women will always be judged for showing emotion (she is using her tears) or not showing enough emotion( she is being a cold bit**) , for drinking too much (Ahh..thats what these pseudo feminist are like)  or not drinking at all (old school) . For how they dress or how their skin looks over their brains. One cannot just have it all. Not to forget the mansplaining!! Seriously! I am a mechanical Engineer with masters in English but please do explain me the functioning of a DC motor or how to pronounce a word right.
And its only so much one can take with write-ups like this termed angry.
Yes, I am angry, but while I cope with this anger, let me smile some more 😊

Shades of Grey

No this article isn’t about the crappy novel by E.L. James.

But now that I have your attention let’s talk about Shades of Grey.

World isn’t like a  piano: All black and white.

Nothing can be labelled angelic or pure evil.

Every sage has his past, Valmiki was a robber once...

However, in the social age, we are always eager to label things as Good or Bad.

The recent example was the #TilakNagar incident.

Prima facie, everyone was quick to react and support the girl. Obviously, she has the guts to stand up against eve-teasing, lets support her. Everyone from media, celebrities shared her posts and the government announced a Rs.5000 prize (Seriously!)

The guy was immediately labelled as the villain! (I don’t say the good guy here, please note!)

Then came the sensible reaction, someone somewhere thought that lets look into the facts and so the media dug up dirt on the girl, came up with on-lookers who reported the so-called truth.

Was it really the truth?

No one cared to find out as again, the charade started with people shifting their stances and now labelling the girl as bad and the guy as good! Celebrities tweeted their apologies.

See how fuzzy, blotchy and hasty our judgement is?

I have few observations to make here-

Obviously, being human I can also label things as good and bad so let me get it done with first. The girl shared the guys pic on social media, making him infamous. Everyone shared his pic openly and he was the culprit. No blurry images here for protection which is the norm legally! That was wrong. We talk about gender equality so let’s be judicious, so she had his bike number, why share his picture? Would she have liked it if her picture was shared like that?

 I won’t be surprised if he or she is approached by #Big Boss as contestant or dances in a reality dance show next. How we love to make celebrities out of bad boys!

But guess the final judgement by the social media, while the police is still looking into the matter (A sorry state of Indian legal system) is in favour of the boy.

He is indeed a good boy, and it was the girl who wanted publicity.

Having said this, I think this is how the incident really played out.

The girl was minding traffic and the guy said a few choice words to her.

She decided to act out of vengeance and played her political connections to punish him. She obviously miscalculated the jagrut media. And soon, her 5 mins of fame changed to a nightmare  the Vanilla Sky way!

My take comes from my personal experience of visiting an ATM in my home town some years back.

 So I go inside the ATM to withdraw cash, and two tall, hefty, middle aged men walk in while I am still withdrawing cash. Obviously, I feel threatened, so I calmly tell them that, "you are supposed to wait outside when the ATM is in use" What follows can best be written out in **** and  ###  as they told me very impolitely that they aren’t interested in my money and I should mind my own business.

Mind you, they were educated, well dressed MIDDLE AGED men!

My mistake? Not shutting up apparently!

The thing is both could be wrong, the boy in using choice words and the girl in her act of vengeance, but why are we so eager to place the blame on one person and make the other go scot-free? No one’s  black and white here.

Obviously the next step is to find out who was more wrong and then the culprit turns out to be the one who tried to strong ones case by covering tracks and lying. Does it change the fact that maybe some words were uttered to outrage her modesty?  That she had to walk out of that place red –faced the way I did from that ATM?

 The media has moved on, the re-judgement passed. The balance is finally restored. But in future maybe we can learn and concentrate on some things-

1. Think before acting.

2. Avoid pressing that "share" button when it comes to such incidents.

3. Give an equal benefit of doubt irrespective of gender.

4. Stop being judgemental

 

To end on a positive note, if entertainment for you is really watching Bindras, Sawants and Radhe Maas on reality TV, let’s make celebrities out of such incidents!

What Really Matters?

I would like to start this note with a disclaimer that I am not an expert on relationships. In fact, I am just the opposite. I am a loner who loves reading, exploring new places and watching Sci-Fi movies. I can count my friends on fingers- of one hand, without using all of them. I have one best friend of the opposite gender and I couldn’t even keep that friend as just a friend and ended up marrying him. Let me tell you, that’s the end of friendship, or maybe a start of something more beautiful.

What I want to emphasize here is you can choose to stay single or get married to your best friend, or get an arranged marriage. The next step is always going to be arguments or fights or to put it lightly for the "pro-claimed classy" you both will disagree on certain issues. And this lesson that I share now is the one I learnt from my husband. I am a reactive person, in the sense that I shout, a lot. And then I go silent. It took me two years of marital bliss to come to the conclusion which ironically for a person who is die-hard Linkin Park fan should have been crystal clear. In the end it doesn’t even matter!

Even as I write this, I am sitting amidst casually thrown T shirt and shorts in the room, not the bedroom mind you, the living room! Because somehow that’s the place my husband chooses to throw all his important things. And I used to shout! Remember the movie Chalte Chalte? Rani Mukherjee always threw a fit when SRK threw his shoes on the floor. It’s the exact same situation, So if I have to describe my living room right now, It has his clothes lying on the sofa. His wet towel on the 3K fabric swing I purchased so lovingly for my home and his socks , 4 pairs of them stuffed in the Shoe rack. This isn’t public shaming, this is living with a man! And now it comes to the reaction part, for first six months I shouted, which resulted in him placing his things on the right place reluctantly, then came his reaction.

Obviously, we are two different people, so I have some habits that disturb him. He started pointing out the charger with the switch on, the glass I casually place on the fabric sofa, instead of the table without a coaster! In my defense, I will pick it up when I get up, but you see there’s always a movie going on and I might not get up for the next three hours, time sufficient to leave a mark on the sofa! I am no saint either.

So after this reactive phase, where we both pointed at each other's irritating habits. we started to live with it! And yup, that’s the most peaceful existence. we often get scolded by elders of the family that we live like Students in a hostel! But we don’t care! Because after the initial disagreements what prevails in my house is peace. I know what some of you might be thinking, as the woman of the house, it’s my job! To clean up, look after the house, make sure its super-clean for guests. But I ask you this, what matters more? I work the same hours as my husband, have a one year old to look after and yup I can pick up all these things in the time I wasted writing this! But try doing it for 7 days a week then multiply it by 30 and then 12... it sure will get to you! The wet towel will always be on the swing!

And so I let it be there, Coz that’s where it belongs!
A happy me in a messy house is better than an irritated me in a clean house.
A smiling, cracking jokes couple in an untidy house is better than a bickering couple in a house that has no clutter!
A clutter free relationship is better than a clutter free house!
In my messy home, all guests are welcome, I sure will find place for you on the sofa where the laundry is lying from Sunday! And the guests, do they matter more than my husband? Surely no!

That’s the master Key! Let things be as they are. Homeostasis (As Sheldon would say)

Also, one thing my husband is great at is transforming the house into a super-clean place 10 mins before the guests arrive. Other times, we let the room name define itself, it’s a living room, we live there, so we leave signs  of human existence there!
Lesson learnt is- Always ask yourself what matters more?

So this evening after a hard day at work for both of us, we intend on opening a bottle of Red, watching a movie amidst the wet towel, laundry  socks and yes toys, lots of toys!

5 ways Parents scar/e children for life

There is this universal system of raising children which is based on the lement of fear. It seems all children are brought up the same way. Hollywood children are scared of monsters in the closet. My reference to this being #supernatural again.
And our desi children- well since long, mothers have a unique way of instilling discipline in toddlers. In the process they not-so creative mothers create some monsters that children are scared of, and they remain in that fear zone till a long time. I, for instance have this irrational fear of dogs! Have no idea about the source of this fear but I am sure it must be related to some childhood incident.
So since hitting the child is so old-fashioned, modern mothers have an unique way of handling their naughty brats. By creating monsters! And here I list the five types of monsters every mother/parent creates-
1. The "face-less" monster:
 I remember when my 3 year old neice refused to sleep, my mother would say "Go to sleep or watchman will take you away!" The funny part was our building didnt have a watchman, so in the poor child's imagination "watchman" was a scary monster who took away kids if they refused to sleep at night. I bet she would have drawn a sketch like this of the dreaded watchman in her head with his weapon of attack - the stick(danda)



2. The "known" monster:
This one is classic, as Maya Sarabhai will say "typical middle-class" monster every mother creates-
Mom: Stop playing in the mud.
Kid: *Refusing to pay attention, totally ignoring the mother*
Mom: I am warning you! Stop playing in mud, its dirty!
Kid:*Still no reaction, if at all, its a i-dare-you stare to mom*
Mom: Ok dont listen to me! i will tell Papa when he comes home.
Kid:*Immediately brushing his hands clean and running inside*
Papa somehow, becomes a monster in the kid's mind through whom the kid is blackmailed into obidience. This time the monster is a known monster.Loving Papa turning into a fearsome monster- His weapon being "bare hands"

3. The "higher-authority" monster:
Children are funny in a way that once they enter school, the teacher becomes GOd. So everything she says has to be followed by the kid and also his parents. And that kind of authority gives parents the chance to make a monster out of the teacher, so the conversation flows like this-
Mom: "If you dont brush your teeth at night, I will tell your teacher"
And the kid to save himself from the embarrassment of his teacher knowing that he is the kind of kid who doesnt brush teeth at night, meekly follows the command.
In that instant, the sweet teacher turns into a monster with a "chalk" in her hand as a weapon by which she will write "**** is a bad boy" on blackboard for all to see.
4. The "random stranger"  monster.
This one is epic again, and as old as time itself. everytime a child misbehaves in a shop or supermarket, the shopkeeper becomes the monster.Or in a supermarket, the meek helper becomes a fearsome Godzilla.
Mom: See, if you dont get up from the floor at once, uncle will beat you
And the kid, fearfully through tearsome eyes, gives up his demand for chocolate and tries assessing how the meek uncle has so much power!
5. "The unbeatable Mom monster"
Every kid knows one thing, MOm is the final authority on everything. If you keep her happy she will pamper you to the world's end. However if by chance you wong her, than hell hath no fury! Even the "hulk Smash!" anger is surpassed by mom's anger. And then the kid has no option but to behave. Anything from the simple rolling pin to a utensil, ladle, ruler can become her weapon as she immediately turns into the Goddess Kali about to attack Maheshasoor.

I have a sweet 10 month old, and she tries me to my wit's end. So much so that every night before her I am on the verge of crying as she refuses to sleep and I am tired at the end of a long days work. Even multiple cups of coffee give up on me. But somehow I am trying to adopt a fearless parenting style. Let me see if I retain this control when she turns a demanding toddler. But for now I imagine this as I grow old with her-

Here's to all parents'- May God give you the strength of raise fearless kids!!
 

Nerd Girl

The Merriam- Webster Dictionary defines the word nerd as-

: a person who behaves awkwardly around other people and usually has unstylish clothes, hair, etc.

: a person who is very interested in technical subjects, computers, etc

 

It was never cool to be a nerd before #Mark Zukerberg, the most difficult time being high school where like Lindsay Lohan in Mean Girls girls  faked their intellect in non-girl subjects like Mathematics and Physics.

Here's how most of my conversations went when I chose Mechanical Engineering

 

Aunty1- So beta, what stream you chose?

Me- Aunty, Mechanical

Aunty1- aaye hai ( Oh-My God) Computer IT nahi mila? Percentage toh acche hein tere! (You didn't get Computer/IT, I heard you had good percentage)

Me- No Aunty I wanted to do Mechanical. Don't want to do Programming. (No offence to people who do, it takes lot of patience which I lack)

Aunty 1- Oh really! Its going to be hard work you know, its for boys.

 

And as soon as I turn my back, the gossip went like this-

" She is crazy, will be difficult for her mother, she is such a tom-boy"

 

Bottom line is- The very first assumption with girls in Mechanical is, we didn't get enough marks to land in Electronics/ Computer/IT. The next assumption is that we are tom-boys by heart, which I am if we have to go by the strictest meaning of the word. But I am also a fan of Nail colours, and used to meticulously change and match my dress with nail colours every day! Does that make me a non- tom boy?

 

But still the term "nerd" is stuck to me, right from the time my would-be husband came to see my room and saw all the books I read. I am obsessed with books and can read any damn book! That maybe makes me a nerd. But its not easy to be labelled a "nerd" either. Google "Idiot Nerd Girl" and you will get the gist, It was a meme that peaked in 2010 and is a image of a "fake nerd girl". The idea is that a girl cannot be a "nerd" and if she says she is - she is faking it!

So that's the whole issue- Girls cannot even be labelled nerds! (*not crying sexism, time to prove them wrong*)
 

 

And if I want to self-label myself a nerd I have to pass many tests made by self- proclaimed territory protectors (Read Nerd-guys) So I thought let me make a list of things I am obsessed with as obsession with something is a prime requirement of being a nerd.

So as I mentioned already,

1.I am obsessed with books, chick-lits, biographies, Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Classics. It could be any genre.

2.Next comes Comics- mainly the Avengers & X- Men. I was obsessed with them before they were made famous by Hugh Jackman.

3. WW2- My obsession started with Anne Frank's Diary back in school and then I had to educate myself with all the documentaries from Discovery Channel and the books.

4. Supernatural- The series and the genre. Plain obsession, nothing else beats it. Yet to find anyone as obsessed as me irrespective of gender.

5. Bikes- Again, being a girl I am supposed to fake my knowledge in it from fear of being ridiculed at or being labelled a wananbe-cool. But I am obsessed. I just cannot not (use of double negatives for emphasis) show interest in a features of a Cruiser /sports Bike. Latest obsession being a Thunderbird 350cc.
6. Linkin Park - I did not suddenly wake up to them but like any average teenage girl graduated from Enrique, Boyzone, Backstreet Boys to MLTR and finally Linkin Park. I have this weird habit of always checking where they are performing next and my bucket list includes wanting to see them perform live once!

7. Football- There was a time in my teenage I never missed a League Match too, Now with a baby and all, its difficult to follow, but I do know Barcelona won this year! That's about it, In my age (I speak as if I am 100) I could name each and every player of each and every club & country with the records the players held, and it wasn't a knowledge acquired for show-off. I was genuinely interested. I would still any day take a 90 min football match over a one-day. And think of it, India is not playing so no emotions, no heart-break!

8. Harry Potter- Can watch it endless times.

I made a mind map of how my thoughts run when I come across anything which pretty much sums up my Gemini thought process.

Here goes-

 

Then there are things I am not obsessed about that supposedly throw me right out of the nerd category

1. Star Wars/ Star Trek- Never seen, not even interested.

2. Lord of Rings- Not interested again

3. Fast & Furious- Never Seen, only Vin Diesel movie I like is Pacifier :-)

4. Matrix Revolutions- Seen but not obsessed.

5. Game of Thrones- Yet to watch.

 

And then there are things I like which make me a truly feminine girl

1. SATC- Still watch re-runs

2. Grey's Anatomy- Loved the spoof on Supernatural and got addicted during maternity leave.

3. Crazy about nail colours- guess that puts me in dumb blonde category.

 

Point is whatever I might be, nerd or not, I take pride in being enthusiastic about things I love. I can hold a conversation and at least have an opinion about things. Not many people ( again regardless of gender) can boast of that.

Its time we all embrace our inner nerds and be openly in love with things that give us pleasure without being afraid of being ridiculed or bullied as the Idiot Nerd Girl.

 

 

Letter to Mr. Homi Adjania

Dear Homi,
you have hurt me terribly by making ‪#‎cocktail‬. A 2 min video will not make amends.
Kindly make a film that changes the message you gave in #cocktail.
Regards,
yes-I-wear-Western-clothes-and-love-to-party

#mychoice

 Any publicity is a good publicity and so the video went viral with everyone having an opinion about it. Some good, some bad and finally the director had his say.
(I dont have a say;-) I am just using the video reference to make a point, which is #mychoice )
First of all lemme tell you some facts-

1. Homi Adjania- the video director is also the director of #cocktail. The most regressive movie of all times which tells you that unless you wear your hair long, dress up in salwar-suit( mind you, only till the MIL approves, remember d " main hoon hi nahi is duniya ki" song? so spaghetti and shorts, or was it a jumpsuit??( I have no fashion sense anymore) ) and are soft spoken, no smoking, no drinking.. You will end up being used like a doormat.
In his defense, that is the ground reality in India. But he could've made a progressive film just by changing the ending.

2. The video got shared on Ashton Kutcher's wall!!! OMG! Ashton (*fake excitement as if he is Brad pitt or Eric Bana) but seriously, Ashton?? women empowerment? ‪#‎his‬ choice you know kinda Demi moore, mila kunis, his choice thing. you get the point.

3. The video stars ‪#‎DEEPIKA‬ .The one woman I admire for being who she is. She always wore her heart on her sleeves. Never gave in to fake bollywood standards of "we are just friends". She gave respect and love to every relationship she was in. And that itself takes courage.
In a society that cringes when a girl says she has a boyfriend, Deepika flaunted hers for all to see. That itself gives her full right to star in the video and say #mychoice , because she has infact lived her life on the choices she made. also ending up with a permanent mark for an temporary relation.
Yes, the video says some things which one might take in literal sense. I absolutely oppose infidelity. (so I do have an opinion after all) but its time to rise above it.

 #mychoice is for all the choices we make, some we will regret, some will take us far. But stand by it.
That makes me think about a new topic- The Change of surname after Marriage is also #mychoice, but for some husbands like the home possession isn't complete without 7/12, the possession of wife isn't complete without the change of surname, or they compromise with a hyphen (*cringing and pulling a dagger to my heart*)- More on it later.

 - Dixy Gandhi (No Hyphen)

The Lemon Tree

This is a short story I wrote in 2010, but was lying in my secret blog (Yes, I have a secret blog too :-))
Now after all these years, I gave it to a friend and she missed the plot twist!! So now its on public domain, waiting for someone to read and let me know if they got the twist or not!

The first acquaintance Priya made after her marriage was with the tree. As she had walked out of the rented car with downcast eyes and a ‘pallu’ covering her head, following her husband to her new home, she could feel the tree welcoming her. There was no pomp and show. The marriage had been a low affair. As an adolescent, Priya had imagined a different kind of marriage, her imagination which was hugely impacted by movies and books. She wanted a grand affair like in the movies she saw. With her friends dancing to the tunes of the latest songs, an uniformed band to announce her arrival in the new household, a huge hall full of guests who blessed her and sighed at how beautiful she looked and all the while a handsome groom at her side beaming with pride for his prized possession. After the ceremony which was performed a thousand times over in her mind, she would be seated in a nice car and would reach her new home. Over the years, the only thing that changed in this ceremony was the model of the car. At fifteen, she saw herself saying goodbye to her family and sitting in an Opel, at sixteen it was a Skoda and at eighteen a Mercedes. These were her dreams. The reality was quite different.
There was no hall booked; her parents gave her away in a small ceremony in a temple. She did not go in a Mercedes, which was the latest thought of her naive eighteen year old mind because it was at eighteen that she got married. Instead, her in-laws had booked a second-rate Maruti, the rent for which was paid by her father. She did not even have a beaming groom by her side. It was not against her wishes. She had agreed to the marriage, the guy had a steady job, he owned a house inherited after his father died some years back and a two wheeler. He was a catch, as her father explained. Priya would not be nagged by sister-in-law and wives of brother-in-laws only because he was the lone child. And even she had convinced herself that Mercedes, fancy weddings and love at first sight happened in movies. In real world, a job mattered, a steady income mattered, that’s how far one can get in a middle class home.
The decorated Maruti left them at her new home; she had seen that place before when her parents had taken her to see the place she had to pass her life in, a month before the marriage. They were shown the newly built second floor, with bare rooms which needed furniture. It was an unspoken demand but that was the main aim of the meeting. Marriage is a romantic thing, sheer poetry, divine that’s what Priya thought and believed. But before her eyes she saw it turn into mathematics and accounts. The budget was drawn, maintenance was calculated for an eighteen year old beautiful educated girl and it was decided to give her away with the money that would take to include a new member in their family, with new furniture for her.
“The boy is well settled, Priya won’t have any problems.” Her father remarked and the word ‘well settled’ echoed in her mind. How do you define well-settled?
She would have bargained it all for a happy life and that’s what she hoped for, a loving husband and in laws. Her dreams were shattered the first day. She had admired the coarse voice of her husband, it was manly. But it never softened. She had admired the dark brooding eyes, but they never showed happiness. He ran the household with an iron hand. Her mother-in-law was a sweet and meek lady who believed in everything her son said. No change was welcome in that household and Priya was too shy to suggest any. Within months she resigned to the mediocrity of her new home.
Her husband had a constant frown on his face, nothing made him laugh. The only time she saw him smile was when he invited his boss for lunch and that smile was so loathsome that Priya wished she had never seen him that way with no self-esteem, like a slave trying to flatter his master. Priya hated him even more after that. It was not just the fact that he lacked any humor or that he never smiled or that he was greedy, he seemed to be angry, punishing the world for some bad that happened to him. Priya could never even extract a decent sentence out of him; peeping into his heart was just not possible.
Her mother in law was different; she loved Priya like her own daughter and helped her in all household chores. They had an unspoken understanding starting from the day, her mother-in-law first saw Priya. She was about fifty eight and walked with a limp due to arthritis settled in her knees, but even her frail health or her age had failed to wash away the smile from her face. The days were simple, the ladies of the house woke up at 5 am, swept the whole house including the veranda and the compound. The dried leaves were collected and blaze was set, even before the sun was up. Then Priya was in charge of the kitchen, she took care of her husband’s lunch box and breakfast and the house wore a blanket of silence occasionally disturbed only when her husband spoke. It would only be alive after he left for work. The ladies would heave a sigh of relief and resign themselves to their chores till late evening, when the husband returned home.
The afternoons were spent with her mother in-law reading the religious books and Priya catching some sleep or watching her favorite soaps on TV. It was her only escape from the harshness of reality. The ladies on the soap wore enough makeup and beautiful saris to draw her attention and they were loved. They had long conversations with the men in their lives and more often they were the ones making the decisions.Priya desired that kind of life and spent the afternoons dreaming of it all. Sometimes, Priya would sit with her mother in law and listen to her hymns. It was on times like this that she managed to extract some information about her alien husband and her new family.
“Was he like that even before your husband died?” Priya asked her mother in-law one day.
“I don’t know, I never got to know my son, he was with his father always”
“Oh and was your husband like that too.” Priya asked again.
“Yes, he was. He always did the right things but he was a man of few words.” She replied.
“Very much like him” Priya remarked and the old lady nodded. The look of understanding was back in her eyes. She narrated incidents of her life to Priya, a hard life indeed. Priya would massage her arthritic legs and the smile would deepen.
“I always missed a daughter” she said.
By evening, the women got back to the work at home, and there was plenty to do. There was no house help present and everything from sweeping, mopping, washing utensils and clothes was shared between them. There was not enough time to do everything.
At the start of the month, Priya’s husband would draw out a budget and money was handed to both of them for daily use. If the monthly budget went overboard an emergency meeting would be called and means to curb the expenses would be thought over. The reasons for over expenses probed upon and a plan drawn up to recover. It was after the first month of their marriage that the huge electricity bill popped up and the emergency meeting had declared that television time was to be reduced and the refrigerator to be switched off at nights, water for bath to be boiled on LPG instead of the electric geyser. The next afternoon, Priya sat by her mother in law listening to the hymns, she did not dare to switch on the TV.
“Is it not Monday today?” The mother-in-law asked.
“Yes” Priya gave a non committing nod.
“So you’re not watching your daily soap.” She asked again.
“Don’t feel like.” Priya remarked and the old lady smiled.
“Switch it on. Just remember the channel it was on, before he left.” She smiled.
“What?” Priya was surprised.
“Well trust me; I have been doing it for years. He won’t know you switched it on in the first place, Saves the entire grumble.”
Priya was dumbfounded. “And the bill?” she asked
“As if it matters, I have spent 30 long years with a miser so I know.”
Priya knew they were going to get along great. The resemblance of her husband with her father-in-law had made sure of that.
Then came the season of the lemons and the tree blossomed. Priya was given the responsibility that not even a single lemon was wasted.
“Do we like sell it?” Priya asked her mother in law. “I mean there are plenty.”
“I make pickle and that is given to everyone who wants it.”
“At a price?” Priya knew the answer but she asked it anyway.
That season was spent in making sour pickle.
“We make the sweet one at home.” Priya said.
“Well, he likes the sour one.” His mother informed.
Her mother in law made sure that she made some sweet pickle for Priya. Nothing could cheat her son’s keen eye though,
“Are their not enough lemons this year? The pickle quantity seems less.”
“Spoken like his father.” His mother murmured in the kitchen as Priya smiled.
It was a routine; he reached home from office, had his cup of tea and then watched television till sleep defeated him. Dinner was served before him and he ate without any attention to what was in the plate, he managed to pass some comments on the food not being that great though.
The electric bill refused to come down.
“What should we do, at this pace I will soon be bankrupt.” He remarked.
“We take all the care.” Priya replied.
“Why do we need to put the bulb in the veranda on?”
“It’s zero watts”
“Don’t you boil water for bath?”
“We use cold water, we are saving LPG too.”
“The fridge?”
“Switched of every night, you do it yourself”
“How am I supposed to run a house alone?” He complained.
Priya and her mother in-law managed to make some decent money from the pickle sold. That did not satisfy the man of the house though.
“You have Bachelors, why don’t you start tuitions?” he suggested.
“I never have.” Priya replied.
“You can try to supplement the income.”
And from that day, Priya’s day turned more hectic. He got the “tuitions from class I to IX” printout from his office, enquiries came and Priya’s afternoons were engaged. Her mother-in-law adjusted well though.
The next season, things did not change much. The electric bill was still high, the income still low and in his words they were trying to make ends meet with him single handedly struggling.
The tree blossomed again and this time, Priya did not insist on the sweet pickle. One morning as she was sweeping the veranda she heard some noise near the lemon tree, outside their boundary wall. There was a man there and Priya shrieked. He ran.
“Must be stealing the lemons.” he said as he came running, “Why did you scream?” He was angry at being disturbed from his sleep. That afternoon, a man came to meet Priya. She was taking the tuitions and took him for a parent.
“I am sorry to scare you like that in the morning.” He said in perfect, civilized tone.
“That was you?”
“Yes, I was passing by, morning walk; saw some lemons lying on the road. Was just picking up, didn’t know someone would be awake so early.” He explained.
“Why did you run?”
“It was an unearthly hour and you screamed, did not want to be beaten; I stay in the house two blocks from yours.” He went on and on. “I am sorry to steal like that, but I took eight, so I can pay.”
“That’s okay.” Priya replied.
“So you are a teacher?”
The tête-à-tête was making Priya uncomfortable, only because in one year of her marriage she had learned to keep her thoughts to herself. The man did not give up though. He went on talking for about half an hour and when Priya went silent, he targeted her mother-in-law. She was glad to talk to him.
“We make pickle” she informed him.
“Really? Are they for sale?”
“Oh you can have it like that only, let me get you some.” The old lady rose, but the man put his hand on her shoulder.
“Oh no, I won’t” he explained, “I have as it is been a thief, so let me buy it from you. I like sweet lime pickle a lot.”
“Sadly, we just make sour one, but don’t worry I will make it for you.”
“I don’t want to impose. I will buy the sour one.”
“No no... I would make the sweet one for you.” The old lady insisted.
The man left after a long conversation with the both of them.
“I want some money to buy sugar and cinnamon.” the mother asked her son that night.
“Sugar?” he questioned, “we bought the month’s supply.”
“It’s for the pickle.”
“I don’t like sweet lime pickle.”
“It’s for a customer.”
“Customer? We don’t sell pickles, it’s just that we make it for home use and what is left is sold. I am not running a business here.”
She was amazed at the hypocritical nature of his son. She had for years endured her husband and expected some change in her son, but there was none. The genes were fully replicated. Her husband had planted the lemon tree in the tenth year of their marriage when they had bought the land. He had saved every penny to afford the land. She had always admired this much about him and waited. When they got married, she waited for them to own a house to start be less stringent, after they bought the house, it was the education of their son. Then it was like second nature to him, to save money. As a result, she spent her entire life in four saris at any given time. She had plenty of gold though, because it was an investment.
When Priya entered the household, her mother-in-law saw herself in her. A young girl, who wanted a romantic life, what she got was a hard one. After her husband’s death, he had taken the reins of the house in his hands. She was treated by her son the way her husband treated her like a secondary member with no rights to voice her opinion or wishes. It was natural, He had grownup seeing his mother treated that way and that’s how he treated Priya. What his mother failed to understand was the reason. She could not decide the root cause of his attitude.Was it all genes or was it the environment of his growing that had made him callous, a miser, selfish?
“Well I intend to make the sweet one too this time, Priya likes it.”
“Okay, make sure you make less of sweet and more of sour.” He ordered.
That day both Priya and her mother-in-law made the pickle. At night when he returned home, he turned his nose up at the smell.
“It smells nasty, the sugar and the lemons, how can someone eat that combination?”
“I like it.” Priya said.
“Lemons should be sour; pickles are to add spice not sweetness to the food.” He declared.
“Well you detest anything sweet.” Priya murmured and went to sleep.
The next day, the man who wanted the sweet lime pickle came by. He spent a good hour chatting with both Priya and her mother- in -law. They had started to enjoy his company. He was fun and he gave due respect to both of them. Priya packed the pickle for him.
“Make sure you let it rest for some days though, the skin is bitter.” She instructed.
“Well, the lemon skin is always bitter, some days won’t make it sweet but the taste lies at the centre.” He replied. “Thanks anyway.”
He came in for a chat nearly every day after that. He thanked the ladies for the wonderful pickle, spoke a great deal about himself and more importantly laughed a lot. Both the women had substituted their loneliness with his interesting presence.
The next summer, Priya gave birth to a male child. That change also failed to impress her husband. The little kid as he grew up was his solace though. He pampered him a lot. The fridge was left switched on at nights because it was always full of ice creams for the toddler. He doted on his son but nothing changed for Priya. Her life was the same, she worked in the mornings, taught little kids in the afternoon, then the pickle guy came and chatted with both of them and evenings were again spent in serving her husband.
Years passed and the kid grew up to be a nice boy. He brought life back to that household. He absolutely adored him and that made him less of a pain. He smiled freely and laughed freely now but his attitude with the women in the house was unchanged. Their son was different; he treated both his mother and grandmother with a respect they deserved.
“I think you should not waste your time on the pickle this season, concentrate on your son, he has his board exams coming up.” husband announced one day.
“Oh but she should make it.” His son argued.
“You like it so much?”
“Yes, I love sweet lime pickle that mom makes.”
Husband turned his nose up at his son’s taste but smiled anyway, “Alright, Priya just make some for our little son and we can give lemons away to neighbors, there are plenty. I don’t want you to waste time on making the pickle, our son’s education is important.” He ordered.
“And we must make some sweet lime pickle for the man who has been buying it for years from us.” Priya’s mother-in-law murmured in the kitchen. Age had worsened her arthritic knees and taken most of the strength away but the good natured smile prevailed.
“After all he bought sweetness in our life.” She muttered and a knowing smile passed between Priya and her.

This Story was also published here : http://www.womensweb.in/2015/08/lemon-tree-short-story/

The Prince of the Citadel

This is a short story I wrote in 2010, but was lying in my secret blog (Yes, I have a secret blog too :-))
Now after all these years, it was an interesting read. So here goes...

                                              
                         (Image taken from : http://www.beneath-ceaseless-skies.com/artwork/lost-citadel/)

I grew up in a small town where everyone knew everyone. We lived in a bungalow which was situated quite away from the main colony where most of my friends resided and I had to walk about ten minutes to reach their homes, a walk which included a railway bridge and a vacant plot which was full of shrubs and about 2 kms away from the main railway line, there was this big red bungalow which was always in the best of the condition though no one ever saw anyone there. The ‘princess of the town’ owned the vacant plot. The princess herself did not reside in the town but had moved abroad. Everyone talked about her property being maintained by a housekeeper, but no one had seen him.
There was also this legend in the old town that the house was haunted by the ghosts of the ‘princes’. The legend had passed down from generations which said that the royal family had a curse and none of the male members crossed an age of thirty, as a result the blue blood was not so pure anymore and the city had been reigned by female rulers belonging to another royal families brought to the city through marriage. The legend said that all the male members, fathers, brothers, and sons lived in the house after their deaths and overlooked the city. They partied at nights in the open verandah of the bungalow and walked among the common people of the town in the day.
One of the princes, who ruled about 300 years ago, was deeply attached to the city and he had constructed a citadel that was in shambles today located about two kms away from their palace, the red bungalow. A railway line ran near the remains of the citadel now. Nearly all the passengers of the trains that crossed that part of the city at nights closed their windows because many people had claimed to see a well-dressed man scorning at them from the citadel. It was claimed that sometimes that man would peep inside the train windows and look intently at people. As a result, it was a ritual; the windows used to be closed. The more adventurous sometimes left the windows open, but it was said that the prince made it a point to scare the ones who dared. He did not like being disturbed so even the engine driver never let out the siren while in the range of the citadel. The legend said that the prince was forbidden from entering the palace. It was something he had done while living and people claimed to have heard his cries of despair at nights, when he heard the other kings partying while he stayed alone in the citadel.
I usually walked that part of vacant plot to play with my friends and returned before sunset. On some occasions, my mother would invite my friends over. One day it so happened that I was playing with my friends and our topic of discussion strayed to the ‘prince of the citadel’. I was raised in a contemporary family and my parents had made it a point to rationalize my thinking as a result I never believed in the legend or the ghosts. The curfew of not walking through the barren land was still applicable on me but the reasons given by my parents were related to safety as the place was quite isolated. My friends with a more traditional outlook though stood by the story. So a bet was placed and I had to walk into the citadel at night alone. It was not a big deal I could do it. I had imagined it all when the plan was hatched and my logic said that if I could imagine it all until the end I could do it. I just had to calmly walk to the citadel, climb up the stairs, wave at my friends and come back home. Simple. The only problem was that when I tried thinking about it, I saw myself entering the citadel but when I tried picturizing my return the red bungalow popped up in my imagination. Something was wrong, I usually followed that routine of imagining things before I did them and if I could, all was safe. If I could not, there was a problem. That is how I knew my return was going to pose some dangers but under no circumstances, I could back off. The image that an eight year old carries in front of his friends is fragile and has to be maintained under all conditions. I was going to go through this. Period.
The day was fixed, I informed my parents that I was going out to play and then at about 7pm after the sun went down, we walked to the citadel. My friends maintained a safe distance and I was asked to walk down to the citadel. I managed to stride up to the foot of the building. All the while, my friends kept making scary noises, but I was not scared. I knew I could do it. However, the moment I walked up the stairs my courage had diminished greatly. And then I saw it, a pair of black eyes boring through me. When I reached the first floor where the window was located, I saw someone hunched near the window, fighting the cold. That person kept staring at me and I was frozen. We kept looking at each other for a long time, then my nerve cells reacted and I shrieked. The next second, I was running. I had no sense of direction but I sensed that someone was chasing me. I reached the vacant plot still screaming and in my confused state, I misunderstood the red bungalow for my home and ran in that direction. I climbed the stairs at the front and reached the verandah. The lights were on there and a round table was set with chairs around it. But it was vacant. And then I saw four well-dressed men walking to the table. I let out another shriek and was running again.
The next thing I remember is being in my bed. I had a scar, which looked like a whiplash cutting my right eyebrow. I don’t remember much about what happened but my mother filled me in. She said that after I failed to reach home, as it was getting dark, my father was sent on my search. He heard the scary noises from the vacant plot where my friends stood making them (he did not know that, of course) and had returned home to take his service revolver. When he came back, he heard me shriek and started running after the voice and then he had found me unconscious in the verandah with a whiplash wound.
My friends saw me with renewed interest after the episode and a new story circulated the city that I had met ‘the prince of the citadel’ and that I was whip lashed by the partying kings in the verandah. I did not deny any of it, but for the days my father was posted in that city, I embellished the details of that night with new musings from my overactive brain. When I left the town, everyone believed that I had talked to the prince and that he told me how so lonely he was and he wanted to come with me, which I had vehemently refused. After the prince refused to listen and persuaded me, I had left the citadel shrieking at my disapproval and ran straight to the palace to complaint to his forefathers about his stubbornness. I always highlighted the fact that I was brave enough to stand against the prince and had the guts to warn him that I would complaint to his forefathers. This was my version of the story to hide the fact that I was scared. I never mentioned the dark hunched man at the window.
Another version of the story was by my friends, in that version the prince had indeed come out of the citadel with me and I had screamed when the prince entered me to use my body as a host to reach his destination. The fact that I ran towards the red bungalow from the citadel was a further proof, they said that it was to meet my ancestors and to join their party. I should say that my friends’ version was better than mine was. It made sense because my version was tainted with my weak effort to hide the fact that I was scared. The result of their version was that I was looked at with a certain amount of respect after that. Even the parents of my friends made sure that they pleased me lest they would infuriate the prince who lived inside me. Many a times mothers of my friends remarked that I had developed a royal attitude. It was the look in my eyes they said. Everything about me had turned regal. I was not complaining. I was the ‘prince of the citadel.’
I was using the sobriquet to the best of my advantage. Soon, my father was posted in another city and we moved out. I carried my little autograph book was filled up by my every friend and every one wrote the same thing. They were going to miss the prince.
I insisted on keeping the windows open as our train passed from that area of my city. In addition, I am not sure why it happened but a shiver ran down my spine as the train crossed the citadel. I was sitting at the window and staring at the citadel, but I did not see anyone, nor did the other family who shared our compartment with us. They were five people- an old couple, their son and his wife and their eight-year-old daughter. Like my father, even they did not believe in the legend and that is why they allowed me to keep the window open. I was staring intently at the citadel, hoping to see the shabby man I had seen that day, but no one was there. The prince was gone too. And then I wondered if my friends were right, what if the prince was me now? What if he lived inside me now? The thought was scary but romantic. I told the eight year old we were traveling with about my escapade. Her name was Sheeba; she was also traveling to be in the same city I was going to. Her father was in a bank and they frequently changed places. When I told her about my theory, she seemed impressed. I liked her and very soon with some aid from our parents we exchanged addresses and phone numbers. I was to keep her posted about the status of my theory and that I did. I went to an all boys’ school so Sheeba was not in my school but I managed to meet her in the evenings for a game or in a park or when we went for a stroll. She never asked me about the prince and gradually she lost interest in that theory and our topics changed to her grades and hobbies and the extra curricular.
I soon forgot the old connection and was carried away by my new life at the new school. There were some changes in me. Mom attributed those changes to her upbringing and my subconscious mind told me that it was the prince. I could use fork and knife without spilling anything now, a feat mom had invested a lot of her time on but I had refused to learn and then out of nowhere I had the best table manners Things happened at their own pace from then on. I was always great at mathematics, it was genetic, my father had masters in mathematics. I had no interest in history or geography. But suddenly, I was good in that too. My social studies grades shooted up and I was not complaining. The prince was very giving; he was enhancing my capabilities without asking for anything in return. I was enjoying living with him now. Very soon I found myself talking to him. If I saw something new, it was a routine to take his approval before I took a decision. When I cleared my class X exams, my future course of action was to be decided. My parents wanted me to pursue science to enhance my mathematical talent but I decided to go with arts.
“And why arts?” my dad questioned.
“Because I want to study history,” I replied calmly. There was this development in me. Earlier I was a temperamental child but I grew up to be a well-behaved adolescent. I had never lost my cool, growing up, accepted all the curfews imposed by my over watchful parents with grace. In my mind, I had become manipulative and political. I could have my own way usually without throwing a tantrum. That was a good sign, which could be attributed to growing up, I chose the prince.
“What is in history?” dad asked.
“There are many things which happened in the past that I don’t know of.”
“And how are they going to help you?”
“That’s what I want to figure out by actually studying the past. The past is the answer to many present situations; maybe I can change the future by actually studying the past.” I replied.
I had a vertical distance from friends my age; I was too perfect for their lousy taste. So I do not know if sixteen year olds talk to their parents with such articulateness or not. The only friend I had was Sheeba and she had turned religious, for her everything had an ulterior motive decided by God. So we do not decide our path, God does that for us. I refused to accept her theory, the way she had dismissed the prince theory years ago after believing in it for a short while. So I had no chance of finding out about other sixteen year olds. I was perfect in my own world. Even my closest friend of years, Sheeba was not so perfect anymore. She was not even cute now. Sometimes when she got idealistic on me, I wanted to kill her. But I did not. What stopped me? I had no clue; it could be one of the two- my own upbringing or the royalty of the prince. I had never done anything violent.
Something had changed, maybe her attitude had made me distant from her or maybe she grew up to be a different person. I was no longer attracted to her. Other than her, I had very few friends. The guys in my class maintained a distance from me, there was something about me that disturbed them. I never cared to find out. I was happy to be on my own.
Needless to add that I managed to convince my parents and joined arts with a major in history. I was good at it selectively. My classmates were good in modern history that involved the Indian freedom struggle but all that was like news to me. I excelled in ancient history though. The Maurayan dynasty, the Gupta dynasty, Mohenjo-Daro & Harappa civilization were my strong points. It did not seem that ancient. I could visualize it. And the key to understanding and remembering history was to visualize it.
It took me years to find out only because I was not looking for it. It was while I was doing my masters in history. I had begun to spend a lot of time in the library and that is where I found the book that covered the history of my childhood town. It had pictures starting from about a thousand years ago but I flipped through half of the book and landed on the page, which gave a detailed account of the building of the citadel. It felt live. I also read about the prince. The book was written by one of the local historians and it gave me all the answers I needed
I stopped blaming the prince for everything after that. If I was improving, it was me or like my mother felt it was her upbringing. I could never be the prince. I could never be the person who had about three hundred years ago created havoc, who had in his freakiness to survive more than thirty years of age that was given to all male members of his family killed many. A man who had run from pillar to post to uplift the curse. He was abandoned from the palace because he had been cruel to his people, all the other kings before and after him had made peace with the thirty years and they lived happily and lovingly for the years given to them. The prince of the citadel could not do that. Reading it all, made me sense that the prince was a lie. A childhood notion in my head, which made me believe that I was the prince. I could never be.
That night, I went home a changed person, like the curse was lifted from my head. I did not feel weighed down by anything. I reached home and all I wanted was a good night’s sleep, my overworked brain needed that rest. But that was not to be. I had just slept for an hour and there was a knock at my door.
“Happy thirtieth Birthday!” my mom sang