Seize it - NOW!

Shoot! Why didn’t I go atop the Eiffel tower??

****! Why didn’t I go for those rides @ the Ferrari World before?

****! Why didn’t I go for Zumba and salsa and all those fast-paced aerobics classes before??? Not even the free trial class???

Everything – a regret, and a wish- wish I had done it before...before I was told I couldn’t do it anymore, not in the foreseeable future- thanks to years of prioritising everything else before taking care of my own body! Not even the desert safari? I couldn’t help scolding myself, feeling bad at that moment- when I realised, there are still a thousand other things that I can do today, that I might not be able to do tomorrow. Finally, I understood Kabir's words- kaal kare so aaj kar, aaj kare so ab... pal mein parlay hoyegi, bahuri karega kab...literally translated as:

What you have to do tomorrow, do it today; what you have to do today, do it now- for any moment might be the final moment, when will you do it then?

I have used and heard and read those words umpteen number of times; and yet, it took me so long to understand. I should have remembered those profound words every single day of my life...I wouldn’t have missed living life so much then! I am glad though that there is still time- time before arthritis makes my knees weak, before high BP and cholesterol strike my head and heart, before my eyes grow weak with glaucoma, before the wrinkles make the red lipstick look horrific on my lips, before I am rendered incapable of wearing the silk sitting in my special storage boxes, and before I have to just pass on the jewellery so lovingly gifted by my husband and parents to my daughters-in-law. There is time before I am told I am too old, too fat, too wrinkly, too this, too that, too whatever...to do what I can do today, now; I still have time to live.

Of Tea Cups and Coffee Mugs, and beyond...

“Wow! So many cups!” was her first reaction when she opened the cup cabinet.

I smiled. “I had got so bored with the same cups Madam has…” she continued.

She was a visiting maid, having accompanied my friend that day, and was now helping me serve tea.

I smiled again.

That was probably the first time I thought why I loved buying cups and mugs and kettles…did they remind me of my Kitchen Playset and pretend tea parties we had when we were kids, or did they quietly comfort my ‘scared of change and yet, get bored easily’ streak? I think it is partly both, but more that streak related to change.

Everyone gets bored, and yet change is sometimes not possible (you cannot change your family, your relatives, your boss,  e.g.) or  advisable (changing your spouse or having an extra marital affair just to add some excitement in your life….would be on the verge of stupidity actually!), or  is unaffordable (your home, your country, or even your job…), or even scary (any of the above could be scary, depending upon individual circumstances!).

It is then that these little cups in bone-china, porcelain,ceramic, stone, steel and baked mud come to my rescue…they add an excitement to life without all the side effects of change! A new cup, or even the cup that has not been used for a long time and hence feels new- both have the same capabilities of adding colour, romance, and life to something as mundane and humdrum as teatime. Probably, it is the same reason why we want to eat out, or sometimes just go out for a cup of coffee or a plate of chaat…it helps break the monotony and routine of something as simple and essential as eating and drinking.

For long, I have kept the special crockery for special occasions; and frankly, for practical reasons (it is expensive, and I cannot afford it being chipped, lost, scratched upon during the course of daily wear and tear); some of it, I still do. And yet, the other day when I decided to have coffee in one of those special bone-china mugs mom had gifted me, it was an amazing feeling to see the froth rise.  As I took my sips, I felt on another plane, that familiar and yet untraceable rush of mushiness enveloping me all over again…

I realised then, that every single piece of crockery serves a purpose besides serving food or drinks…it helps me live an ordinary and everyday  experience like an extraordinary one. It  can make me feel special (say, when it is a delicate white, embossed floral bone-china or fine porcelain),  nostalgic (an older piece flooding me with memories of how and when and why it was bought- like those regular brown ones I had bought only because they reminded me of my holidays at my aunt’s place!), excited (a new piece with its new feel), bored (when it is the same blue stone cup!),  enthralled (the one with the Japanese birds drawn on them…) or even romantic (the bone-china coffee mug with the froth dripping over the rim and smelling so divine)- just by being what it is!

I think I just enjoy the easy change I get by just choosing a different cup for my tea, whenever I want.

Remembering the good, and only the good...

When I went there after almost two years of leaving the job and met all my ex-colleagues, I saw a man smiling broadly as we were all talking.
"Sorry, I did not recognise you,” I said. 
"...You shared your lunch with me,” he said. 
I still had no memory of that incident. He elaborated "It was my first day here and I hadn’t brought anything for lunch. You gave me an apple from your lunch. You are a very nice person..."

I was dumbstruck; not because I had not remembered it, not because I had only given him an apple, but because he had remembered that small incident and that small impromptu act had made me a nice person in his eyes.

I can assure you, I am not that nice a person. In fact, I can be mean and selfish, just like anyone else. However, this gentleman’s words reminded me how a small act can not only leave a good or a bad memory, but can also make or break relationships.

A few years ago, when my husband was travelling, I fell sick during the night. In the morning, still shivering, I wrapped myself in the quilt. I could not drive in that condition, not across the ocean (then and now) called SZR. The only person who came to my mind was my then colleague and friend AKS. She lived in Golden Sands, while I was near the then Defence Roundabout, and it was a time when Oasis Centre was as far as the people not working in Jebel Ali went on SZR! In less than half an hour she picked me up, took me back to Bur Dubai to our insurance approved doctor, helped me with the medicines, took me to her home, force-fed me the breakfast, and then dropped me back home...I have never forgotten that act of kindness. I could have never done it , especially if I had a baby to take care of. Every time I think about her or see her on my FB, that one incident towers above all to tell me that a friend in need is a friend indeed. I am ashamed to admit, I would have most likely failed her in her such time of need- thanks to my fear of SZR!

Whether it was the boss who took time out from his very busy schedule to answer my non-job related questions on Advertising, or his wife who always met us like she was one of us, the colleague who volunteered to show me how to put baby pics on the office desk without the horrible tape showing, the colleague who made dhansak for all of us, the friends who took care of me when I was sick in college and didn’t even take money for the fruits they had to buy to help me recover, the friend who took it on him to take us all out in those Eid holidays because my husband was travelling, the friend who offered to take care of my baby if I wanted to take up some classes to enrich my life, or the stranger who helped me on that cold Delhi evening when the auto-wallahs went on strike....each one is so different in their acts, and yet have the common thread of having been kind to me.

It is also surprising as I write this, that I only remember the good, happy, kind acts others have done for me. Not a single memory of a routine bad deed comes to my mind; not even if I scratch my brain.  So, I let go of it...I am happy to report that it feels lighter :).

If only I could say a big thank you to all those people whose acts of kindness in my time of need or otherwise helped me keep my faith ...if only I could promise myself that I will always only be kind to others, and create a memory that they will be happy to remember when they see, hear, or think of me...

The Signs of Life

I have always been confused about the concept of 'signs', as they are called. I have never really figured out how to read them...when I am trying to get something but don’t get it in spite of my 'best' efforts, is that a sign that I am not supposed to get it, or is that a sign that God is 'testing' my mental, emotional and physical strength, and sooner or later, I will be rewarded? I have never quite learnt to decipher them...

And yet, I allow myself to get intrigued by them. I wonder, when you meet someone, just like that, on the road, in the supermarket, at the bus stop, in the school, at the hospital, in the lift at your work place...just about anywhere, and your eyes lock for just that fraction of second, and you exchange a polite smile, a ‘thank you’ or ‘excuse me’, or 'you dropped that', or just start chatting about something you booth seem to be looking at or looking for....is it all so meaningless? Are all these people, I cross my path with on a daily basis, just meant to be casually passing by my life?

I met her also just as casually, in fact more than that. I had been going for those classes for a few sessions now, and hadn’t yet made any friends...the ladies would quietly pick up their belongings, walk out of the studio, and into their worlds; except the occasional ones who knew each other from before.

That day, while waiting for the class to begin, I went out to make a quick call. The phone was in my hand, and I was about to hit the dial pad when she came from the opposite direction. 

"The class never starts on time" I remarked, looking up at her, and expecting a grunting “Yes’. I thought she was the same woman (blame my memory cells! No one takes it seriously when I tell them that I have started forgetting things, names, faces….) who had been really upset due to late start of the class just the other day...and had left the class midway because it had upset her schedule.

"Yes,” she laughed and gave me a big smile, “but sometimes, the teacher comes on time- just to give us a surprise!"

We both laughed. She told me she tried but managed to come only once a week for the classes. (So, she definitely was not the same woman who had got upset the day before!)

And then, it just went on.

She offered to pick me up for another class elsewhere where she thought the instructor was better suited to my objective of attending these classes. I wondered (in a nice, and yet a bit sceptical kind of way!), what is this woman… she hardly knows me and yet she doesn’t mind picking me and dropping me back at my place for a class that I have shown no inclination for, so far. Then, we spoke about our kids, their schools; her vacation (she is going away today) plans, compared different education systems (IB vs. SABIS vs. British/ American), discussed the problems of our growing up kids, and compared notes on our teacher's way of teaching. By the end of five-seven minutes of our nonstop chatting, we had exchanged our names, shaken our hands, and smiled broadly at our teacher whose arrival meant we had to stop that high-pitched conversation and laughing.

At the end of the class, we exchanged phone numbers, and she surprised me by hugging not only me, but asking me to hug the kids also for her...

It was so surreal. At a place where women did not even bother to smile, I had made an instant connection with a woman who was as different from me in appearance, culture, expertise at the art, everything; as can be...and yet, it all had seemed so effortless. I hadn’t felt that connection with anyone in a long, long, long time.

Now, again, I am not sure if we were both just passing by each other's lives, and were just meant to have those happy moments, or will it eventually become an unlikely friendship. Either way, I think it was her warm smile that gave me the first sign!

That Split Second...

I was in my comfort zone. No tension, no SZR, no high speed traffic…this was the community area, and you could just roll down your windows and drive at 60-80 km per hour, enjoy the weather as you drive and finish your errands along the way. I turned towards the Town Centre, my indicator clearly showing my intentions. I saw that delivery van waiting to come out from the same point where I was supposed to go  in.  I was right in front of his vehicle. And we both stalled for a few moments considering the narrow entrance and exit respectively in front of us. I saw the three men including the driver sitting on the front side of the vehicle. It was an X position. I had to make an inverted forward slash to go in and he had to make the backward one. Since he could not have come out unless I would have gone in, I almost took that gentle curve to go in, when I saw that delivery van moving forward…there were just a few inches between my car and his van on that narrow community road- just one lane to go in and another to come out. I raised both my hands while looking at him in a gesture of shock “What are you doing? Can’t you see… I am right in front of you and you can’t go flying over me?” and went in, and he moved out. I wanted to stop my car on the road, just where I had made that hand gesture, get out of the car, and confront him for what could have costed me my life, and my kids their mom…but I thought the better of it. I did not even bother to see which company’s delivery vehicle it was, or the plate no. or anything.

I was not unnerved, in fact, I did not think about it at all until later that evening. It was that fraction of a moment. It would have been a terrible collision. He would have hit me straight. Who would have called the police? Would anyone have called the police soon enough? Would I have survived? If I did, would I have suffered any major injuries that would have crippled me for life…and I would have missed rolling down those windows and feeling the cool winter air on my face for rest of my life? Who would have picked the kids at home time that day? What if my husband was travelling at that very moment? Who else would the police have contacted? Who could I have trusted my kids with in that emergency? Who would have taken the trouble to coordinate everything in absence of my husband? Would I have cursed that moment when I decided to go to Spinneys for that bottle of milk? Without realising, I knew, I was thinking about the worst-case scenario in the UAE. With no real family around, we do not know who to turn to in times like these…and in death.

I realised how God had saved me that day, by a split second; and I realised how I cannot thank Him enough for saving not only my life but also of the people I love, my family. It was a miracle...really!

Every accident, on the road or otherwise, causes damage, usually irreparable. But I had always assumed that accidents occurred on highways, or roads where there was a reason for people to ignore the traffic rules (no cameras, for instance; or just an empty stretch- a tantalising, tempting stretch of road beckoning them to test their F1 skills!) or are caused by RTA taxi drivers (who stop anywhere on any road to pick or drop a customer!). But I now know - accidents can occur anywhere. There is no need to panic but there is a need to be ever vigilant when on the road, even if it is the road in front of your house! Idiotic, selfish, mean, dumb drivers are not yet extinct, you see!

Sorry, i didn't get you!

As age takes away bits and pieces of my memory, surely but slowly, and usually at the most crucial moments, leaving me knee deep in my thoughts when I cannot remember the right word for something; I cannot help smiling at the end result of these fights with my brain! As a teenager, I had come across embarrassing moments of others who mixed up similar sounding words (embarrass- embrace, e.g.), but I could only hope I was too inaudible for the friend at the other end of the phone when she called up to ask me how I was. Instead of saying I had been put on a sedative, I think I said 'seductive'! Must have either shocked her, or she would have assumed that I was so sedated that I had forgotten the difference between being sedated and seduced!! Another time, I have mixed up my fizzy drink with my fuzzy logic- now that was really embarrassing because I was with people with whom you are expected to be just right- I am sure, it was that tension of not wanting to make any mistake that made me call my fizzy drink my fuzzy one!

As if that was not enough, it is the various accents of the same language that I have found myself struggling with as much. Only the other day, I was asked a simple question, "Are you a friend of A's?" 

It had to be repeated thrice before I could finally get it. It was  a simple question, but her being from New Zealand and I being from India, and meeting for the first time, I kept on hearing it as "R U a freend of Aeeys?" and in my mind, I was processing it like one big long word "RUafreendofAeeys?" !! Try reading it like that, and tell me if my brain was really not playing tricks with me!

As we spent the next two hours working together and chatting, I realised, it was easier to ignore some words which seemed so different in her accent than to interrupt the flow of conversation; and also because soon I got the hang of where she stretched, paused, or hastened her sounds. 

Quite recently, I also found my friend straining his ear on the phone...speaking to a Peter and asking him to repeat since the line was not very clear. After he finished the call, he said, "It is so difficult to understand their accent sometimes...especially on the phone!" 

“Is that why you kept saying the line was broken…not clear?”

“:)” a big grin was what I got as an affirmative reply.

While our ears have become proficient in recognising accents; Indian, British, American, Arabic, Filipino, Sri Lankan, Pakistani, Scottish, Irish, South African, Australian and sometimes, even Russian; understanding them is a different story. 

A Scottish neighbour and I speak often enough to understand each other's accent (I hope!). I have grown to love her accent but still have to concentrate on her lips sometimes when she is talking, and sometimes, I just nod; hoping whatever she said was good enough to be passed off with a nod. My real problem appears when she suddenly changes the subject and asks me a totally out-of-the-blue question!

All this makes me wonder whether there is anything like a 'native' language speaker really? Unless what you speak can be understood by your audience, how does it matter whether you learnt a language from the moment you were born, or picked it up along the way?  Does that also mean one can never learn a language enough; good enough; for its different dialects and accents to be spoken and understood perfectly well? Is that why we celebrate diversity? I guess so :). If you have ever overheard the conversations of the our very own Punjabi women at the airport waiting for their UK flights, you would know what I mean. The ease with which they switch between their true UK accent and theth Punjabi accent is just pure melody to my ears!

The Final Goodbye

I missed meeting him on my last trip home. I was told he was doing ok. No one told me he was going to die. The other day, just the other day, he died. We were not closely related and I did not know him very well, but I did remember his impressive personality and his laughter. He called my mom 'didi', big sister, just like he called his own; and we called him 'mama ji', mother's brother, just like we called our own.

I got to know him better only in recent years. He was our very first visitor from home; my home; after I got married and moved here. He gave me gifts I am using even today. Later I got a chance to meet his son-in-law- an equally sweet person. I knew he was battling cancer, but he did get better; and I thought he was going to be just fine. No one told me no, he was not.

In a worldly wise manner, I thank God that both his children are married and 'settled'. My thoughts are no longer with him, but with his wife of all these years. I am not sure I can even ask her how she is doing. But I would like to think that she is at least partly relieved that he has been relieved of the constant pain, agony and wretchedness that the final years of his life had given him. I am told that towards the end, they had to drill a hole in his neck to put the tubes in...He looked weak, frail and sick enough to look like his own sister's father...and I am glad I missed meeting him on my last visit home. I would always like to remember him as the happy, strong person that he was. I can only imagine how hard it would be for his kids, especially the daughter to see her strong father in that state. Life is never going to be the same for anyone he was related to...

With every death of a person known to me, I see a person I knew, and who knew me, sometimes from the time I was born, gone, forever. A witness, a known factor, a relationship, a part of the family circle in some way, finished. One day; my mind tells me, for sure no one will know who I was, who was I related to, how and where I grew up, the mistakes I made, or that I was even here....

I am sure as humans, we would always stay hopeful and optimistic, even when we are fighting something deadly like cancer. But I am also sure I would hate to die in a hospital; just as I would hate it if I cannot hug my loved ones anymore; just as I would hate to stop them from living their life because of added responsibilities of my sickness. I would rather go peacefully, quietly, holding their hands, in the knowledge that they are around me, and that they are safe and secure and well taken care of.

As I write this, I wonder, why anyone would want to read this. And I think- what can be more universal than Death? And disease? Every death is a reminder that life is an illusion and yet, it must go on; and every birth is a reminder that no matter what, life WILL go on! …As another cousin battles cancer, I fear his fears; I hear the shallowness in his positive attitude, I see his weight loss; and yet, I hope he will get better.

Warning: Fragile! Handle with Care!!

Diwali is all about materialism- the wealth being spent, exchanged and acquired. And I firmly believe that even if some people choose to say it has become more commercial with every passing year, there is no fun without gifts. Exchange of gifts is essential to Diwali, as is the exchange of good wishes. Traditionally, this exchange mainly meant exchange of sweets but as people have become more aware and more diabetic and as the sweet makers have started resorting to sourcing chemical laden artificial milk and it’s by products for making of these sweets, every Diwali sees 'new' gift ideas.

As we get ready to light up the world tomorrow and exchange gifts, I am wondering if there really was a need to spend all that money on the gifts this year. I mean, I do have last year's and the year before’s unopened gifts, literally; and being Indians, we take pride in the fact that long before the West even discovered the need for it, we were recycling everything- from clothes to newspapers to gift wrapping papers to gifts themselves! So, what stopped me from being the true Indian now?

Well, the appropriateness. The unopened ones are still unopened (I mean, they were opened from a side and seen but not opened fully!) because they are either totally inappropriate for Diwali, or are in too old boxes ( I suspect, having been recycled a lot more times, and are probably unwanted!), or too bad to be even given away.

What is it with people? Some perfectly normal people with seemingly (going by their adorned houses) perfect taste in things seem to get so stingy while buying gifts for others that it affects their choice, and to some extent their reputation. As a receiver of some of such gifts, I sincerely feel they should refrain from gifting anything at all. That would really be better than gifting something so utterly out of place that I can do nothing but let it occupy space and dust in my storage space!

I am all for recycling of unwanted gifts- it saves time, money and space in every house- but there has to be some common sense attached to the process. You should not give what you consider a total invasion of space in your home to someone else just for the sake of seeing that good-for-nothing 'gift' finally gone from your house. Do not, please do not, give new-born baby stuff to a household which does not have a new born baby! Do not give expired gift vouchers- they might look good and so useful but you can for sure say goodbye to your next party invitation! Also, please refrain from giving recently expired or just- about- to-expire chocolate boxes- literally bad taste!!! In fact, regular supermarket chocolates should altogether be avoided (unless they really are the last resort!). I think they scream- ‘I was too late! I had no patience to choose something better! You are not on my priority list- so even though I got your invitation weeks ago, I had no time!’ Also, if you know a person closely enough to know that he/she is diabetic, please do not gift sweets.

The point is festivals are fun with gifts and meeting and eating and greeting. Even if you have to spend a little time in thinking and choosing, take heart in the fact that you do this just once a year- so you might as well do it nicely, or do not do it at all! Take a small plant instead, a small card, even an open and honest apology that you could not find anything appropriate. It would certainly be better than a bad gift, though if you make a habit of turning up at people's parties and lunches and dinners with just apologies, you will have to cook your own very soon (unless you are lucky enough to have friends who just want you to be a part of their happiness and specifically want no gifts!)

And for those who believe in ‘recycle and reuse’- please do remember to remove the original gifter's name card from inside the gift wrapping!

Happy Gifting! The season had just started!!!

Winter,winter...here it comes!

The foggy morning, the cool breeze, the trees being pruned, the winter collections in stores, the dew drops on the grass and the clothes hung out to dry the previous afternoon, and hence, the need to hang them out for another afternoon….yes!!!  Finally, we are about to welcome the winter.

Dubai witnessed a terrible accident yesterday on Dubai Bypass road- a 35 car pile-up, some of which got burnt and at least 14 injuries. The side effects of the onset of winters…people get so lost in the beauty of the morning that they forget they are in conditions they are not used to…they continue to drive like mad, use hazard lights instead of fog lights, use high beams instead of low, and do not maintain safe distance…

But that hazard apart, the mornings are once again beautiful…and a time for tussle. I have started having arguments with kids if it is time yet to start wearing the school sweatshirts, or trousers instead of shorts, or full sleeves instead of short? Is it time to start taking out the woollens yet? Is it time to rearrange the cupboards yet?  Is it time to go shopping yet??

Visiting Bangalore once, many years back, we loved the mild, pleasant weather there but were surprised to see the locals wearing monkey caps and scarves and what not…I remember wondering what would they do if they were to encounter a Northern winter?? I think living in the desert has made us too like that…just a mild winter, and yet, we shop for sweaters and scarves and stoles every season!

My winters are never really fully welcomed without remembering the beautiful winter mornings back home. Thick blanket of fog, frozen fingers, wanting to stay put in the warm bed for just five more minutes (which passed more like a second!), not wanting to come out of the quilt, and yet having to get out of the house and go about the daily business of life…fragrance of tea during the day and mugs of beaten coffee at night, the  coriander and radish paranthas with desi ghee, the makki ki roti, sarson ka saag and jaggery, the packets of peanuts eaten every night in front of the TV or every afternoon basking in the sun, the room heaters, cold creams, the winter vegetables like cabbage, turnips and carrots, oranges for the right amount of vit C, dry fruits filled up in our school coat pockets, exams, and our own daily tussle with parents for wearing the right woollens! And more than anything else, the feel of cool air on your face…nothing has ever come quite close to that!!!

I am not sure what memories my kids will carry of their winters…probably camping in the backyard, going to the beaches and parks, and long drives, and doctors! With all the fruits and veggies available the year round now, they do not even have an idea of what was or is typically a summer fruit or vegetable or winter one. I am not sure if that is any longer important either…

What is important though is to be able to enjoy the beautiful short winters that we get…the only time of the year when our electricity bills drop- thanks to no need for ACs and shorter duration of water heaters  needed to be switched on (rest of the year we anyway get hot water!), and the only time of the year when we hope to see rain, and miss the gumboots and raincoats for kids (thanks to our underprepared drainage systems- the schools have been waterlogged badly in the past!). And, for the uninitiated, also the only time of the year when long forgotten friends and distant relatives suddenly tend to remember us…any guesses why???

Happy and healthy winters!!!!

You are under surveillance!

Last festive season saw me looking at the pictures of a 'friend' who had declined invitation to my party, feigning extreme business due to inflow of house guests. I was not looking at her pictures because I missed her so much, but because she was appearing in pictures of another acquaintance's party! I wished she had told me the truth - it would have helped me save a tiny little corner for her...

I did not realise it then, but I do realise it now that with Facebook having invaded our lives, there is no running away! I might decline your invitation with a lie but if another friend decides to tag me in her photos of a happy gathering, my cover is blown! (The same can be used to test your friend list...was I invited to the glittering party whose pictures are now clogging my FB page...meaning it was definitely by someone on my 'Friend' list???, does it matter to me? or, does it tell me where I stand on their 'Friend' list, or is it time to reorganise  my 'Friend' list and separate friends and acquaintances and neigbours and JLT (Just Like That) people on that list???).

With the festive season on us, and the invitations blowing in right, left and centre, my suggestion is, be honest. If you are going to another party, for reasons that only you know (that party is more exciting/ you have already committed to go there/ you are expecting guests/ you have no time for acquaintances and may rather party with close friends/ you do not like mingling with total strangers and would rather chill at home etc.etc.etc.), say so. Honesty has been and will always be the best policy! You might think you are smart enough to make a smart excuse but God forbid, if your invitee lands at the same party????? And for sure, someone or the other will tag you! Oh yes, there is one more alternative: leave your life behind and get busy organising your FB life to the T..leave no loop holes, take no chances.

Of course, it is your call...you might have to make a tough call though, break a few hearts but it will be worth it in the long run. And only you can judge how important your relationship to this invitee is.

I, of course, have never invited that 'friend' ever again, although I do not forget to say a big Hi and hug her when I see her at the local supermarket! (I have confessed earlier on...I pretend!!) ;)))))

Save the Handshake!

A few weeks ago, we decided to try the Balance Café at Oasis Centre. Now, what is so great about a new café, one might wonder, considering the umpteen cafés we already have in Dubai.  Well, this one is supposed to be based on the principles of Ayurveda with the menu crafted under the supervision of Chef Sumit Kumar from the renowned wellbeing destination ‘Ananda in the Himalayas’.

So, we decided to give it a go.  Since we were just two, we chose a table for two on the side- not that we had much choice, the place was already packed with hungry patrons! It was while waiting for our order to arrive that I noticed someone. He did not look even a tiny bit familiar…he was sitting at a large table in the centre, with his back to the main entrance, entertaining a few guests that afternoon. As the lunch hour progressed, larger groups of people started coming in, and they all looked like they worked somewhere close by. While some came in smaller groups of 3 and 4, others came in larger groups as if it was an office lunch or something.

 A lot of them would come in, recognise the gentleman from the back, and proceed to shake hands with him; occasionally hugging the other guests too.  It was at that point that I guessed if the gentleman who was sitting at right angle and a few tables away from us, was  Mr Micky Jagtiani (Chairman, Landmark Group and reported as the Gulf’s richest Indian and  one of the most powerful figures in the Middle East retail industry- http://www.arabianbusiness.com/) himself?   Irrespective, it was a good thing he was eating with his left hand…he would have to wash his hands mid munch at least 20 times by then otherwise.

I realised at that very moment what I would remember the most from that afternoon there… not the balanced food, nor the unwanted overpriced bottle of local water, not even the menu catering to  dietary restrictions…no…instead, it would be seeing him shaking hands with the right hand, and eating with the left, and wondering about our own intrusive habits.

Why do we really shake hands with someone when they are having their food- be it at a party, a social gathering, an office lunch, or an unexpected bump at a restaurant…anywhere? Of course, if you were only using the fork and the knife, it would not be so bad…but it would be neater and nicer to be left alone to enjoy the food, to eat with clean hands rather than having to shake it mid-meal with hands that might have just been sneezed or coughed into, or unwashed after a visit to the toilet, or worse…

It is for the same reason I wonder why the restaurants do not offer wipes/ finger bowls before beginning to serve the food…just in case there is no wash room around and the patrons need to wash their hands before eating (I would certainly want to if i am coming there after shopping/ working/ from anywhere!).  And, even if you were using just a fork and a knife and not your hands as in the traditional Indian fare, you might still need your hands to break that bread on the side plate!

Is it anywhere on the book of good manners? Because it should be!!!

Celebrating Festivals-From the memory bank, to the memory bank

It is that time of the year again...when we clean our homes, spend more money on filling it up again, give up our fitness regimes and just live it up (read as: eat anything and everything...)!!! With Diwali just round the corner, the memories of festivals celebrated in India are flooding me.

The government is tolerant and we are allowed to celebrate our festivals here but unlike India, there are no holidays for the same. While adults can still take off from their work, the kids do not really have that option...so this Diwali, which is falling on a week day, will only have the muted puja and sweets ceremony and we can only have fun on the weekend.

I can only remember our own Dusshera holidays followed by three straight days off on Diwali...the weather would be changing, the festivity already in the air, the peanuts being roasted and for sure their shells decorating every cinema hall and Ram Lila pandal, warm woollens being taken out of their trunks and cupboards for airing and some sunlight; smelling of moth balls even days after....it was a beautiful time of the year.

We were crazy about Ram Lila, the enactment of Lord Ram's life until he comes back home with Sita ji, after 14 years in the woods, and all that happens in between. It was the same story that we had heard since we were born, but still, the Ram Lila was a kind of a theatre...different groups performing it at different locations, and each one with its own reputation.; only there were no female actors. Every day, we would try to go to different Ram Lila to see and judge which one was the best...and sometimes, we had our very own Ram Lila too- the children of the neighbourhood would decide to do one for the neighbourhood families.

Dusshera would be celebrated at home (now referred to as my mom's home), perched at the top floor looking at the crowds below- primarily men, women and children from nearby villages and the local labour; and at the huge effigy of Raavan in the sports stadium a few blocks away. We would all first watch all the jhaankis of various Ram Lila committees and the brightly dressed women with their fluorescent ribbons and at least 10 cms long orange coloured vermillion in their head parting. The balloon man, the chaat vendor, the spicy cucumber and radish vendor, the pakore wala, the jalebi wala- they all lined the stadium and the roads leading to it, making the most of the sea of humans coming to see the burning of the evil.

After the effigy was burnt with great noise and gaiety, and everyone started going back home, we looked forward to the coming home of our very own Ram ji, to take his blessings. We also believed that if you could bring a half burnt wooden piece from the effigy of Raavan, no thieves would ever pay you a visit.

Our ecofriendly Raavan effigy this year, made from a juice carton and old printouts

Now, we make our own effigy, do our own dahan (the burning) (this year, we spent the whole matchbox trying to do this as the wind was too strong in the evening)! and clean up th mess too afterwards...and my children have no idea about Ram Lila. But one of the most beautiful memories of my Dusshera away from home is of watching a big group of Bengalis on Durga Pujo at Puranmal restaurant...they were coming from the temple and were dressed traditionally - with big round deep red bindis, heavy jewellery, kohled eyes, and fine silk- i was mesmerised. That sight  made me too want to dress up for the occassion...and wish i was home, celebrating the most looked forward to festivals.

The 'dahan' in 2007- ignore the date printed in the picture- we didn't realise it had to be fixed!



 Diwali has always been more about shopping for gifts and new clothes and sweets and decorations and in India, fire crackers too. There would be a special pooja, to coax the goddess of wealth, Lakshmi, to grace our home, followed by firecrackers well past our bed time. The next morning would be spent cleaning up the wax from the candles and removing the diyas to be relit that evening...

 Now, we try to create the same memories for our kids, engaging in everything other than firecrackers (they are illegal here, and if you do find them at someone's party, you are breaking the law by lighting them!!!!). It is time to create some new memories (yippee!!!!) We are just 10 days away from the rangoli, the lights, new diyas, material for pooja, sweets, savouries for guests, gifts, new clothes (the only time of the year when kids willingly wear the traditional clothes!), meeting and greeting...and something to buy on Dhanteras!


Happy Festive Season and Happy  Memories everyone!!!









The Very First time!!!

It is always scary; the first time around. You don’t know what to expect, you don’t know how to go about it, you don’t know the level of skill required at your end...and you are wary of the experience so blatantly displayed by others! 

So, day before yesterday was  a scary morning for me...i had spent a few minutes looking at Wojhati, and then speaking to the RTA contact centre representative, getting an idea of what i should be asking for at the Metro station...it was going to be my first metro ride all alone, and only second ever! I have no nol cards, and wasn’t sure if i would be able to travel without one. I wanted to thank my friends Biju and Luke for having come to our reunion last year by Metro- since we met them there; i knew MoE for sure has a metro station on the Carrefour side.

It was going to be a long day, and using my experience from travelling in other cities in public transport, i carried another bag with my papers and water bottle (4 hours later, i wished i had kept a cereal bar too!).

I parked at MoE (Carrefour side!!- very important if you are using Metro to make to an appointment) and looking at my watch, guessed i had enough time. For my 11.45 appointment in Garhoud, i was at MoE at 10.30!

Finally i gathered all my papers once again, shoved them in the bag and got out of the car, double checking that i had everything i might need for the next couple of hours. As i walked in, i felt good, not really scared but apprehensive if i would be able to do it or would i have to reschedule my appointment at the last minute...I reconfirmed form the Customer Service the location of Metro station and started walking to the first floor. Close to Jacky's when you imagine (only the first time around!) that you will now enter the Metro premises, i realised it was a long 10 minutes’ walk. I looked at the others who were coming out, into the MoE, the 'pros' in the field and wondered if they all were coming for work or for pleasure. There were young Filipinos, dressed smartly in their work clothes, and there were young Arab mothers with their kids in tow, mother-daughter duo, some tourists with maps (didn’t anyone tell them that Dubai is a constant work-in-progress??? Maps don’t work here!!!!) and cameras in hand...I made my way to the Information counter and told the lady  i wanted to go and come back from Garhoud. The kind Filipina advised me that i would need a red ticket (I knew that from RTA call centre too) and the total fare would be AED 15.

Now, I have never been to Rashidiya as such but knew that it is the side i have to go to. I have never liked travelling by trains essentially because i always wondered how do i make sure i am in the right train...they do not usually carry names everywhere, nor do the staff check your tickets to make sure you are on the right train, before you are midway through your journey!! This was still my biggest worry. However, RTA has made it so simple by clearly marking which platform the train to Rashidiya will arrive at. I took the escalator and went up. It was not the rush hour and i was thankful for that. I wanted to sit in the Ladies and Children only cabin for my maiden journey across town! I had full five minutes to figure out its location- again, even when the train has not arrived, the location of the cabins is clearly marked, only if you have the time to find it out. I nodded to a fellow passenger  with a quick smile and proceeded to pick up a copy of Read, the free magazine for Metro users.

In flat five minutes, the train arrived. And as if by magic, the Security dressed in the very familiar army green uniform of the Dubai Police hovered around the ‘Ladies and Children only’ cabin to make sure men did not get into that, and if they did, they were politely guided to use the next cabin instead.

There was ample standing space and fewer seats. Soon, at the first stop itself, i found a seat and perched myself at my observation deck. Whether it was Athens or Paris (the two places where we extensively used the Metro), or now Dubai, the one thing that always makes me wonder is the people...if i could, i would want to know each one's story. We were in Athens at Christmas and apart form noticing the skin coloured stockings that all the women wore and their unwaxed arms (just an observation, no offence intended), I saw most of them were carrying gifts...Body Shop gift bags being the commonest, and sometimes, a bigger bag with multiple gifts- i wondered where were they coming from and where were they going to, who were those gifts for, from mother to daughter or aunt to niece or mother-in-law to daughter-in-law...i was fascinated by their courtesy and smiles and yet aloofness...Yesterday i noticed Filipinas- some dressed for office, some as Sales Staff, and yet others as probably domestic help? And there were some other nationalities too which i could not figure out by the colour of their skin. But it was great to see that there was a very mixed traveller profile- by nationality, by age, and by the reason of their travel. I could not help noticing their Nine West bags and some very interesting shoes. A young girl in an off shoulder top and unmade hair was wearing flip-flops, while the Filipina next to her in black leggings and a smart top was wearing shiny red wedges with black heels with an interesting hole in the centre of the heel for a design....I wondered why so amny of them had an iPod with them- how much do they want to stay immersed in their own world even when they come out of it? And those who didn’t were busy chattering on the phone, nonstop...the lady next to me took out her notebook and kept on writing some things to do, some schedules…I could not figure out her handwriting exactly…

In all, it was interesting, safe and though it stopped at every possible destination it could, and left me looking at my watch every 2 minutes or so hoping i would not be late; in flat 40 minutes, i was in Garhoud- having thoroughly enjoyed myself. I was very happy I had spared myself the agony of driving through Dubai traffic.

Only problem, there were no signboards pointing to my destination when i got out of the Metro station- God bless that man whom i stopped on the road and asked for the same....10 minutes’ walk and i was there, just in time for my appointment.

In all, highly recommended, if you do not mind spending better part of the morning on one appointment. I feel more confident of the Metro now, provided it is not the rush hour! I wonder though why all Metro stations do not have parking, and why they have not used their golden outdoor surfaces for harnessing solar energy....My return journey was smoother and as interesting though i did not have the time to find the ‘Ladies only’ cabin, more people got in than got out, some were standing, lesser were seating (i wonder why there are so few seats in the Metro) ...i was back just in time to do some rushed shopping at Home centre (it was last day of their sale!), grab a sandwich and get out before my free four hours of parking got over! 

Queue's Cues

As we stood in the queue waiting for the gentleman ahead of us to finish his transaction, the older man standing tentatively next to us (neither in the queue, nor out of it) quietly moved right ahead of us! I looked at my son, he looked at me- we exchanged glances but none of us said anything to the intruder. I asked, 'why didn’t you say you are in the queue?’ He asked 'Why didn’t you say?'

'Because i want you to learn to speak up'.

We both kept quiet. We both knew we are bad at confrontations and standing up for ourselves- precisely the reason i want my children to learn those two essentials of surviving.

Nevertheless, we both let the older man do his shopping. We let him get away with being rude (he had not even asked whether he could come ahead of us, since it was our turn.) and bullying us (he DID finish his transaction even though we had been waiting for our turn for the last 15 minutes).

It made me realise how easy it is to observe the basic nature of anyone in a queue- not a pleasant situation to be in, and hence, the perfect situation to see one's true nature. Also, very similar to how one behaves on the road. I bet, the older man who jumped ahead of us without any apology or request, does the same on the road too- changing lanes without any consideration to others, sometimes only to satisfy his urge of being ahead of everyone. And he is not the only one. There are people in every traffic jam, who get away with driving on the hard shoulder and then try to get in the queue right at the front- making everyone else following the rules and waiting patiently for the traffic to clear look and feel stupid.

 I wonder if queue-behaviour can be put to more productive use. Can companies, e.g., observe their prospective employees in a queue, discreetly enough? Can prospective life partners, especially in the Indian scenario where more marriages are still 'arranged ' than otherwise, be observed and judged by how they behave in the queue? Or is not important enough in the larger scheme of life? To me it seems like it is.

Imagine getting married to a person (A) who is so timid/ good/ soft natured that he/she will let anyone and everyone come ahead of him/her in the queue. What does it tell you about that person? To me, it says, 'He/she is too good for himself/herself. Having him/her as a spouse would mean i will have to take care of all practical matters, and teach the kids not to let others take advantage of them, and yet, we will be fighting all the time- he with his idealistic glasses on, and i with my practical ones!’

 Now imagine having this person (B) as a spouse: He/she looks at the long queue ahead of him/her, decides it is not his/her cup of tea to wait. He/she brings his/her trolley from a 'hard shoulder' and tries to get in. If A is in the queue, he/she will let B in, and if it is another one like B himself/herself, they will have an argument, some bad temper and may be a scene.  B kind of a person will teach the kids about jungle raj in life, disrespect to others, cutting the queues in life too to get ahead. I wonder if I would be able to trust him/ her; and yet, if we were married, rest assured, he/she will not shy away from doing even wrong things to for the good of his/her family!! My feeling is I wouldn’t like B very much though- he/she seems to be a bully, the kind who loves to intimidate people and then glow in that warmth of their fear!

So, i guess, it all depends on what you are looking for. You could leave it at that- a rude person in the queue, or you could take it to the next level to judge a person’s nature- be it for a job, marriage or simple friendship, or you could even use that as an opportunity to teach your kids a thing or two about being respectful and yet firm about doing the right thing.  

As I write, I am realising what an effective tool a visit to the supermarket is- first the ‘speaking shopping trolley’ (http://muteobservations.blogspot.com/2011/04/speaking-shopping-trolley.html) and now the queue-behaviour! Just make sure you are at a crowded hypermarket at the weekend if you really want someone revealed!

Following my heart

When was the last time you followed, literally followed, your heart?

I am not sure why 'following the heart' is almost always associated with making a big choice- like choosing a career of your liking, or going against all odds to marry someone you love, or leaving your job to do something you always loved, or taking up an expensive degree course because you always wanted that name tag of that prestigious university in your CV, or leaving your world behind to take a cruise round the bigger world, or even dropping an existing, glowing career in search of something more satisfying like building schools in a forlorn village?

 I could follow my heart every day, if i so wanted, couldn't I? I could eat that Baskin Robbins that i have been avoiding given my weight issues, i could read at bedtime until i finished that new book, i could sleep late and get up late, i could get in touch with someone i have always wanted to but have hesitated for whatever reasons, i could literally follow my heart every day!!! Would that decrease the value of that dreamy line 'Follow your heart' in anyway?

I have done really silly things in following my heart...and the good thing is, all of them have made me feel good :)))

I once saw an old lady waiting at the building Reception- i loved the white footwear she was wearing, and i could not stop myself from telling her so. And i realised, it made me happy too.

I have got in touch with people i wanted to get back in touch with, i was worried about or even curious about, and i am so glad i did.

I have made special trips to Bikanerwala for its hot jalebis!

I have called up doctors on impulse to thank them for a good treatment, and though i did wish to tell them when it went wrong, i did not :(

I had been searching for a particular perfume for 20 years. I had no clue about it but its fragrance completely bowled me over every time anyone wearing it passed by me. I had been tempted to stop complete strangers, in malls, in hotels, even in the kids' school; and finally one day, i did. I had taken to kids to a theme play area and that meant, there were more kids and fewer parents around. As that lady passed by me, i recognised that fragrance. I went up to her and told her i loved the perfume she was wearing and could she please tell me which one was it. That French lady, very sweetly, wrote down the name for me, speaking in half French, half English- and i cannot even begin to tell you how happy it made me to finally get hold of the perfume that had eluded me for decades.

I have realised more and more that to be able to follow my heart is a blessing, a privilege, a gift. But I also understand that even when we all might want to follow our hearts and do absolutely stupid things in the process, sometimes, we just cannot. I now know (finally!!!!!) why the head was placed above the heart. I think it all again boils down to one basic rule- do not exceed your limit! The world would most likely be a more chaotic place if everyone started following their heart and i guess, that is why we limit our 'follow the heart' encouraging line to only major decisions...hmmm...that Baskin Robbins might as well wait!

India diaries- My way, or No way!

He was getting late now- he would be just in time to catch his last train home after dropping us home first. As much as we had rushed our shopping, he rushed to get out of the parking lot. And we would have been on time if our way, right at the end of exit, had not been blocked by another car.

"How can anyone park like this- literally at the exit of Exit?" was the question on our lips.

We tried the right way- asking the mall Security to help us- they could announce the car no. on their PA system and ask the person to park the car out of the Exit route.

"What can we do? It is an 'Open' parking- anyone can park anywhere!" was their reply instead.

"Wow! mera bharat mahaan!" we thought.

But not him.

He got out of the car, losing patience with the situation (someone had already done a double parking behind our car and disappeared- and he had to spend extra 15 minutes manoeuvring the car to get out of that jam position; and now this?). We kept sitting in the car, mute spectators, not knowing what was going on in his mind, except that he was getting angry by the minute.

He bent down. We thought- to look if the car was in 'neutral' and could be pushed to another position in the car park. He squatted near the rear tyre and kept looking at it- for a long while. He did not get up even when another car came up behind ours and started honking for us to get out of the way. He showed his hand in a gesture of 'Wait' to that car- it seemed that car was his car and its tyre had a problem and he was trying to fix it.

After  about five minutes, he told the surrounding rickshaw-walas to move a bit so we could get out- that car was still in our way, and seeing no other way out, he had removed the big stones blocking the side way and took the car out through the sand that had been put for some reason in that Exit way.

As we all heaved a sigh of relief, we asked him what he was looking at.

"I was not looking at anything didi", he said, "main to uski gadi ki hawa nikal raha tha!" (I was deflating that car's tyres!)

"What?" was the exclaimed expression of my elder one.

“But why were you sitting near that car for so long?” I asked.

"I was making sure that the tyre gets FULLY deflated- this person should pay for the inconvenience he has caused to others- by getting inconvenienced himself!”, the driver from the Haryana village said as a matter of fact.

"Oh, is this how revenge is taken in India?" asked my elder one, really innocently.

He laughed and said, “Why not? We tried the right way but it was of no use- you have to fight your own battle here!" he gave his parting advice to my kids.

He missed his last train home that night and had to take lift from a ‘tempo’ going towards his village but he taught us an unforgettable lesson about jungle-raj, living in real India and surviving in spite of not enough resources at your disposal.

I hope that inconsiderate driver also learnt an equally valuable lesson.

Letting them go...

Silence! Pin drop silence! Better than that in a school or college library. After two months of voices around me, it seemed strange. As i said bye this morning to the kids and Hello to the new school session, the warmth of the kids' presence gave way to grave silence. Suddenly, there was time at hand, and there was this eerie quietness that has the ability to depress you or calm you, engage you or totally disengage you, make you look forward to the day or ending of the day; depending on your disposition, preference and circumstances.  But, it can only be filled temporarily, if your kids are the centre of your universe.

I wondered what it would be to be in an empty nest when the time comes. We have taken our own parents journey to that point as a matter of fact, never realising how slowly, but surely, quietness first hurts them and when they begin to relish it- the easier routine and all, we pop in the scene once again- disrupting their adjustments to life's changes again and again...

I wonder if i will be able to let my children fly across the oceans to study in some university in the hope of a brighter and securer future for them. I wonder if i will be able to let go of them at an age and in a world as rife with drugs and all other vices as it was never before. I hope i can- for them, as well as for myself. It will be selfish to not let them go....

When i recently experienced being away from them for four full days (what can you say when kids want to say bye?), i realised how empty the world suddenly becomes unless you have things to occupy your thoughts. These things could be your work, your time pass activities, serious hobbies, friends, relatives, etc. etc. But yes, in the eyes of the world, you are suddenly a free bird, a situation akin to my mom's retirement from her job (-suddenly, everyone who needed a helping hand could only think of her!), or that of a young unmarried girl having finished her education, not gainfully employed, and only at home because she is waiting to get married.

I realised (as I have done at many other occasions before), employment at any age is so very important. That could be economically meaningful employment or even a non-economic employment as being a mother to growing up kids, or even grand kids. It keeps you distracted from disruptions of life, it keeps your mind occupied, and it helps you to keep up the image of being 'useful' to the country, society, and world in general...if you know what i mean.

Suddenly i realise that as much as i miss the kids, as much as i love having them around me, i need to grow up to understand that one day, they will have a totally independent life; one day i will be just a part of their life; one day they will not need me- and for that one day, life slowly and surely prepares you, in its own way...i think so....

India Diaries- Revisiting the Past

I stood there, in front of that familiar house, familiarity wavering as the outer facade seemed a little changed. Two luxury cars were parked in the covered driveway, and a gardener was watering the plants. Barring that, there was no sign of anyone living there. No noise. No activity. As if they were on vacation. I tried hard to think of the name. She was one of the three sisters- and i could no longer remember if her name was Jasmeet or Jaspreet. Given that we had last met almost two decades ago, i thought that was okay. I decided to ask the gardener.

"The people, who used to live here, are they still here?" or "Is any one home?" what was a better question, i contemplated. Instead, i ended up asking, "Yahan par teen behnen rehti thi- wo abhi bhi hain kya?" (Three sisters used to live here, are they still here?)

"Only madam and Sardarji live here now ", he replied.

"Which madam?"

"J” he said the  name, "the other one has gone abroad."

I assumed one of the sisters had moved to the US and one was living here with her husband...or, could it be that all three had got married and moved abroad and only their parents were living here?

"Kisi se baat kar sakte hain kya? ek minute bula denge please?" (Can i talk to someone, could you please call someone from inside the house?)

"Madam to shayad paath kar rahi hongi aur Sardar ji abhi fresh hone gaye honge" (Madam must be praying right now and Sir would be freshening up) he replied while going to ring the bell.

I thought about dropping the idea but it was too tempting. I was visiting the city after twenty years and i wanted to meet the girl i had studied with for three years. I had always wondered what cards life had dealt to the young, graceful, intelligent girl i had known. We were never close  friends, more like acquaintances. But i admired her for what i did not have- her grace and her home right in front of our college. 

After what seemed like eternity, a gentleman appeared with an obvious questioning glance. I am sure now i must have sounded like a confused babbler when i said i was looking for this girl, three sisters, i was with the middle one, studying so and so subject, the elder one studying another stream...and so on.  

The gentleman patiently heard who i was looking for and told me that the elder one was now in London and the girl I was looking for was inside. He invited me in to talk to her.

A few minutes wait, and after two decades, i found myself face to face with the girl i had wondered about all these years. She looked just the same, only more elegant, and more reserved. I should not have expected her to show any warmth anyway since I had  decided to drop in uninvited and unannounced. I could not help hugging her though- a piece from my past shifting place, itching to get a new colour.

We spoke briefly- about our ex-principal, our lives now though i could not bring myself to ask her if she was married or what was she doing now (i found these questions too personal), i learnt that her mom who used to send hot aloo paranthas for us hostellers had passed away a few years back...we exchanged our phone numbers and with a 'Stay in touch' i said goodbye to her.

I was happy to have done this- i had created new memories in the disc space marked J and they allowed me to remember her in a fresh light.

Right across was the formidable college building- the place i had loved so much that i thought the three years spent there were the best years of my student life. But now, it seemed so different. There were no locked gates, students/ visitors going in and out on a weekday evening. The barbed wires were the same but the building bore a fresh paint. The hostel premises had been extended far beyond. I could see the classrooms from where i stood. I imagined the girls waiting at the boundary of the Arts block before the bell rang for their classes to begin, the white uniform for Mondays, the assembly, the break times, the small library, the tiny gift shop, the juice shop, the canteen where my first war against the soft drink industry's impact on the environment was waged after joining hands with our Environment teacher- she cycled her way to the college every single day...

I didn’t want to disturb any of those memories. I wasn’t even willing to take the risk of seeing if all of this had changed since the Principal had changed. The one person i wanted to meet was not there at that hour in the evening. So, I convinced myself- i was not tempted to go inside and relive. I was worried i might make new memories that would spoil my own old sweet ones. I realized these new memories would have no one i associated with my great three years there in them- no friends, no teachers, no incidents, no achievements, no wardens and no hostel stories...

As i sat in the car, i realized how unforgiving buildings can be.

I realized that places which are special to you should never be revisited for the sake of your own memories.

I realised that revisiting them may not be as pleasant as the original pictures in your mind.

I realized that although both, places and people change;  people speak to you, stay connected to you and allow you to move on with new memories of themselves. Whereas places- they stand there, changed but disconnected- it does not matter to them who is visiting them with what strange ideas, or memories or whatever- they extend, they shrink, they change colour, they even change plans- but still, they remain inhuman....

India Diaries- The Movie

Some people say they hate surprises. I had never quite fathomed why, until very recently. My apologies to that set of people, whose thoughts i could not understand or appreciate...I always took 'surprises' in a positive sense, like a surprise birthday party, or a surprise gift, or a surprise visit from a loved one, or a surprise phone call announcing i had won a lottery! All positive. Now, i can safely say, it is better to stay neutral as far as surprises are concerned.

My visit to India has been full of such surprises- positive, negative, in-betweens. It would become a travelogue if i was to write details of each surprise but to share a few is definitely in order.

 We decided to go for a movie - a late night show to accommodate my brother's gruelling working hours. As we settled down into our seats, the kids had already started getting impatient (for their popcorn and drinks served at their seats!). And then it started- we wondered if we were in the wrong theatre. It looked like a 1980s movie. We tried to think what it was about. Was it an advertisement - it looked like Vicco's advertisement from back then when it started - a family of three, an only boy, his parents wanting him to have a sibling, mother having some medical issues- so what do they do? It sure could not be an ad; it was toooooo long for that. It just went on and on- capturing their daily life, the boy’s loneliness, the chance meetings, the house help.....an intense 15-20 minutes long motion- picture. Finally, the 'it' is revealed- they adopt a girl child.

The advertisement/ short film was about adoption, and more specifically, adoption of girl child. I was still appreciating the thought and the effort when it started. (Again???)

The familiar tricolour appeared on the screen, with a reminder to all to stand up in respect. While i was still reading the reminder (i was not expecting it at all!!), it started playing- Our National Anthem.

Yes, they were playing the National Anthem before actually starting the movie. It was emotional and nostalgic at the same time. As you sing along the National Anthem, it fills you with feelings of pride and solidarity you did not know existed. For those who feel nothing of the sorts, i think, they need to shake themselves up real hard, get pinched - may be they are just sleeping???

As we all stood up in respect, i could see a group of young men in the front seats looking back to see if rest of the audience was standing.  Then tentatively, some of them stood; rest of them still waiting, until they felt ashamed enough.

The last i had seen the National Anthem being played in the theatres was when i was a child and that too for specific movies about our war victories or national heroes.

The movie seemed less interesting in front of these surprises.

India Diaries- The Gift Shopping

I had not thought i would do it. Seriously! There was no plan to go, and in spite of my having been to the malls umpteen number of times, i had not been tempted by the on-going 'Sale' offers. (I had stopped buying for 'future' gifting purposes long back- given the space constraints in my cupboard!). And yet, there i was; having given in to the strong desire to meet my parents; running to the malls on consecutive days, with kids in tow (who could not wait for it all to end).

I started at the Ibn Battuta mall, for the sheer fact that it has more walking and breathing space than Mall of the Emirates. (I did venture out to MoE one day, and i could not wait to rush out of its sea of shoppers...it was truly suffocating!). Running from clothing shops, to book shop to the jewellery stores- i can tell you from my very own personal experience that gift shopping may seem exciting at first, but in reality, it is a very tiring and frustrating experience. You have a list of friends and relatives in your hand, and a very vague idea of what you would like to buy for them in a given budget per person- but, to find an ideal gift that meets those gender, age, relationship, and financial criteria, you need a lot of patience, stamina and will power. Add the irritated kids to that list if your kids hate shopping like mine!

So, there i was when i came across some very interesting shoppers.

At the jewellery store, i met this young girl (must be in her early twenties), dressed in simple black and white, hair tied up roughly in a knot and wearing interesting earrings. She saw a lot of simple, everyday wear pieces. By the colour of her skin, she looked European, though she could be from anywhere really. I assumed though, that she was European. I wondered why was she shopping alone. I wondered if she lived here, or was she on holiday or work? I wondered why a young girl like her had no companion... as we both finalised our purchases and the gifts were being wrapped, we both found ourselves admiring a pair of earrings placed on the table in front of us. 

"Very pretty!" i remarked.

"For my mom" she said, "her birthday gift."

"Wow!" i thought " lucky mom that her daughter is going through the trouble of selecting a gift that she would be able to wear and show off to her friends..." i tried to imagine rest of her mom's life, her friends, her social circle, her home...but realised it would be too much given the limited interaction i had had with the girl.

A while later, at a clothing store when i was asking the staff for a particular size in the shirt i had selected, an Arab lady walked up to him and asked him something in Arabic, pointing to the dress she had in her hand.

"Sorry ma'am. No Arabic."

She looked at me, if i could tell her what he had just said.

"Maafi Arabi", the only two words i know by heart!

What followed was a mix of hand signs (to denote the age that she was buying for), sign language (like walking), a very broken Arabic conversation, and in the end, a happy ending! She got the information that she was looking for (whether the dress was right for a toddler who had just started walking!), i got the realisation that i should have put more effort in talking to Arabic speakers to pick up the language (that is the only way to truly learn the local dialect by the way!), and the staff probably was thankful that he would not be reprimanded for not being able to help the customer.

A while later i was at the Information counter dropping my 'lucky draw' coupons in the barrel when a family of four walked to claim their own coupons.

"Where are you from?" the staff asked them- he was putting the details in his computer.

"Bahrain."

He handed them over their coupons, and as they proceeded to fill them, the lady grumbled to her husband "You should get a stamp made with your name and address and carry it when we come to Dubai...we have to fill all these details again and again in these coupons"

Clearly, they came to Dubai often, shopped a lot and usually during the shopping festivals.

And then there were more, like the stifling experience at Mall of the Emirates, or the relatively fun way of taking a long walk while trying to find a particular store at the Dubai Mall - thanks to the size of the mall!

In all, i realised that gift shopping may not be fun in itself, but it is great nonetheless. There is always an apprehension whether your gift would be enjoyed or received in the same spirit as it is given; but there is also a satisfaction that you have put in an effort that is truly worthy of the person for whom it is being bought...and that is how, all the visits back home start.