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.

The Homecoming...

I had started looking forward to coming back. “Home, sweet home” I longed; and yet, every homecoming, here or there, is full of such mixed emotions. I wondered this morning, as I landed at the airport, why did I not feel that gravitational pull here? Was I tired? Was I sleepy? Was I really not looking forward to a house with no house help (note: I had been perfectly happy with my part time house help arrangement before I left and yet suddenly, I longed for the kind of help I had become so used to in this month, just one month in India- so easy to get used to being pampered!)? Or, was it just because in spite of my many many years here, I had no roots here, only offshoots of material happiness? I think it was the last one. I had not stayed in India for such a long time in years; and I was in no mood to glorify the ‘up and coming’ and yet confused mess that daily life there is; and yet, I felt more drawn to it while travelling on NH 1 ample number of times this time…I saw what I had seen decades before. The filth, the dirt, the poverty, the daily struggle to survive, the green fields, the crammed public transport buses, the lack of civic sense, the piles of garbage on the roadside; and in middle of all this, an obstinate will to live, survive, hope and rise above the given lot.  I was overwhelmed by the over concerned well-wishers, and to some extent, had started getting stifled by this over pouring of emotion; and  yet, I realized the quietness of being alone was no better. I guess I am trying to find a balanced life while living in two extreme worlds…and that is precisely the reason of my mixed emotions this time. My own house looks new, the streets look bigger, life seems same as I had left it a month back; and yet, I can hear an emptiness echoing…I think I have forgotten to go with the flow! That’s all!!

The Case of Missing "Better-half"

A long time back, i had watched Matrubhoomi. An extremely depressing movie that makes you feel sad and bad. Unfortunately, that is the exact scenario that rises if i have to believe what i read recently.

 A recent report in FT (Heirs and Spares by Amy Kazim and Patti Waldmeir) paints a dismal picture of the gender trends and ratios in India and China. Amid the growing financial prosperity, it tells us, is a growing reason for concern. The 2010 census, it says, showed 34m more men than women in China. In Haryana, in India, it reports, there are 120.5 boys per hundred girls, followed by Punjab where there are 118.2 boys per hundred girls. A potential social time bomb. A volcano of social and economic problems....child brides being bought and sold, rapes, gang rapes, much older husbands, much younger wives, girls being bought from East for the sole purpose of procreation, and that too of a boy! (Will they ever learn???)

Reason: one, and only one- the 'traditional' preference for a boy child instead of a girl.
Thought: the boy carries forward the family name, takes care of ageing parents, shoulders the responsibility of running the household.

On a brighter side, girls are finally being considered precious by the society in general. They have a choice now, unfortunately, only until they are married. In China e.g., the boys' families have started feeling the pressure of the competition to find brides for their sons. (A boy has to save enough to buy an apartment before getting married!)

From the moment i first saw the name of a new sister-in-law being changed after her wedding, i hated it, literally and forcefully.

"I am never going to let that happen to me" i resolved, barely 8 or 9 then.

Unfortunately, things haven’t changed much- especially not in that household. And as i have grown up, i have mellowed enough to realise that i can only fight for myself.

This may not be a significant issue for others, not even for spouses of those women in question, not especially in bigger social issues like economic affluence...but somewhere, there is a connection with the feeling that a boy carries the family name forward while a girl does not. Of course she does not, because in our society, we change not only the girl's surname but also her full name sometimes! She, after a few years of marriage, also forgets that she was someone else before her marriage. We uphold our advice to our daughters- “Marriage is like a new birth..." sure, it is. New parents, new relatives, new house, a new name and a new identity; and yet, it is not uncommon to hear men complaining to their wives, “You have changed after marriage. You were not like this when we came to 'see' you", referring to the courtship period in a love marriage, or an assessment period in an arranged marriage.

I have been on the luckier side of the spectrum where we were given equal opportunities as our brothers. However, the more i talk, especially to the men, the more i feel that irrespective of everything, we have a long way to go before we can even fully comprehend the complexity of gender equality, gender imbalances and its impact on our collective future.
How many men in Asia can honestly say they do not feel anything (demeaning) when they are asked to (assuming they sometimes are) contribute to housework like cooking, cleaning, dishwashing or laundry? How many men here can honestly say they do not mind their wives giving financial support to their parents, just as they do to their own? How many men would change their surname to their wife's? How many will change their names, and hence their whole identities, whether they have had them for 12, 15, 18 or 28 years??

These are a function of our social thinking, and the government policies cannot change them. It will take another generation of change; to accept, add, and give respect to the family names of both, father and mother; by adding them as the child's surname.[Even though i realise, this solution is as complex as the problem itself...how many surnames will a baby carry? Baby A B C (B and C being surnames of parents), when Baby ABC grows up and becoems a parent, the new Baby D will be named as Baby D F G B C (F and G being his mom's surnames)?? ]
Another generation of change to realise that a daughter retains her right to take care of her parents for the same reasons that the boy does- they have taken care of her all through; or for the more simple minded- they are her parents!
May be then, finally,  people will feel that their daughters can also carry on their family names and take care of her parents or shoulder the responsibilities of running a household...and hence, there is no need for gender based abortions.

I am quite a few years from being a mom-in-law but i am not sure that time is enough to set the gender issues in order in India. I am worried, already!

Highway on my Plate: An end, or a new beginning?

As i reached the roundabout, i was surprised at the new expanse in front of me. The eight lane highway on the stretch between Springs 14 and Choithrams, aka Springs Drive ages back, and Parallel Roads project now, had opened for traffic. Finally, an end to the constant drilling, milling cranes and road rollers, and chaotic twists and turns that welcomed the residents every morning for almost 2 and a half years. Though this is not an end to the ire of investors of these properties, especially the road facing ones, it is better than being in a construction zone for that long now.

My first U-turn on this traffic light and i realise something else. I can see into the garden of the people on this side of the road, and from their first floor bedrooms, they can enjoy the highway traffic, day in and day out- thanks to the raised level of this highway! What was more noticeable was the change it has brought into the design of these properties. The walls have always been low, to provide the effect of a safe community, but now, for these properties, they are dangerously low. Anyone can just hop into their backyards, especially since they open onto the highway now! Any passing-by stranger can look into their backyard and see what toys their children are playing with, how many guests they are entertaining, whether the garden is mature or nascent, whether the gardener is doing a good job or just leaving the sprinklers on, and so on and so forth....So much for privacy and safety in these 'gated ' communities! I have not even thought about the yearly rain yet…I can only hope these backyards do not get waterlogged with the water spilling from the highway! And this is just the beginning. The whole Parallel Roads project is not completed yet, and hence, not yet open to full traffic. Once it does, i wonder if it will really be a privilege to have a cousin of Sheikh Zayed Road right here, and i wonder if it will help the property values in the area. After all, how many residential communities in Dubai can boast of an 8-LANE highway with a 60km speed limit and no speed bumps (only traffic lights, which some jerks do not mind jumping, especially when there are no speed cameras, and their own children are not likely to be crossing these roads!) and no pedestrian walkways (to reach the other side of the community)?

Welcome to Springs and Meadows! You have to think of other excuses for reaching late at a party here now.....

Being Anonymous

Someone asked me recently why i have a * and not a name at the bottom of my blog. "Well", i started, ":))", that was a smile meant to avoid any further discussion...

Later, i asked myself, really, why did i not use my name instead? What was stopping me? I traced my decision to a life long list of experiences in 'favour' of my decision.

‘Crank' calls were a part of growing up when we were teenagers. A common phenomenon, where the caller decided to create a sense of a mystery by keeping quiet, and sometimes breathing heavily! The end result was two-pronged. One, it served as a safe way for a teenage girl to boost her self confidence in the knowledge that she had a secret admirer while saving her from any further complications. And two, it saved him from any beatings at the hands of the girl’s family. (And I am pretty sure it was applicable vice versa too.)

Since the caller was anonymous, it was unknown, disguised, safe…

That anonymity that lent a sense of mystery to those phone calls also ensured safety.  

From writing anonymous letters to newspaper Editors to lodging a complaint with the Community Security, I have chosen to stay anonymous. Why???

I figured, it is because i am scared.  

I might be bothered by the very late night parties of my backyard neighbours, but i do not want any of them  to unleash their pets on me when i am walking down that street! 

I might have some valid suggestions for our service providers but I do not want them to look at me as the 'noisy' one. Noisy ones often get punished, you see. 

Besides, since every complaint means that someone is  not doing their job properly, complainants  are looked down upon in the same way as the troublemakers themselves. I do not think i would like to be looked down upon! So, i choose to hide; believing and hoping that anonymity will always help!

As a student,  when (and that happened many many many times!) I did not understand something that the teacher was talking about, I secretly hoped that someone  will raise a hand and clarify that doubt. I never did that myself. When someone else did that, it helped in in ways more than one- a. it answered my questions too,  b. it made me feel better that i was not the only one with a doubt, and c. if anyone ever thought in the whole classroom that it was silly to have not known that concept or meaning or translation, they would be thinking so about 'that' person and not me. I preferred to stay the anonymous ignorant student on the first row, thanking God for the girl next to me, the bright one, who also taught me that there was no harm in being ignorant, provided you do something about it.

 Now, though, I am scared of being typecast, of opinions, judgements, presumptions, and restrictions and other actions as a result of the same, other people's anger if my thoughts do not go down well with them and the like. Judged and typecast, thanks  to our curious nature,  by anyone who will venture to read this blog that because I belong to a certain gender, nationality, race, region or carry a certain surname, I must be in line with their own  knowledge gathered from school textbooks, personal experiences, or fiction. I must conform to their pre-conceived notions, or at least strengthen those notions in some way.

“Oh! It’s a woman!”  

"Hmmm, she is an Asian…”

"Aha! I knew that- "

"OMG! How can she talk like that about her own country/ race/ religion/ gender...."

"I know her from work- i didn’t think she was thinking anything beyond those presentations!" (See a smirk there!)

"Hey, i was there at the party that she is mentioning. I didn’t know she took an offence to that incident!"

These thoughts  are what i have wanted to avoid, or rise above. Somewhere, i did not want to be recognised, pointed a finger at, or passed a judgement upon. Also, it makes me (feel) more accepted, as I could be anyone- any nationality, any religion, any colour;  just about anyone at all!

So does anonymity ensure acceptance? Does it appeal to my safety-obsessed mind? I think so…though I am keeping an open mind for further discussion!