On nights like these

On nights like these
When sleep eludes me

Cos Aaru has woken up..with his breathing issues
And after trying to fight his and my sleep

I give in and try to make use of it
I go to the hall and put on TV

And I hear a small squeak from the bedroom, which I hoped so much not to hear
I can not sit in the bedroom and stare vacantly at walls while he sleeps

So all I can do now is take him in my lap, pour out a glass of wine..and watch TV with him sleeping in my lap..as I cant take chances with him..or with myself

Such an odd pair we are..Aaru and I

All alone, yet strong and bellowing

And at this stage all I wish..I wish earnestly as I got to know God would not listen if you just  make a wish mechanically
You got to really ask for it, and mean it

So with all in me, I try to mean what I want

That I meet someone who loves Aaru (not me or my face)..as much or maybe even half of how much I love him and how much love he deserves

That there is someone who is capable enough to help us(not monetarily but in heart and actions, not in words!!!), who would take up some doc appointments while I lie in bed without a worry as I know there is someone else there who worries for him half of as much as I do (that would be enough I tell  you)

That there is someone who would learn how much of each supplements to give him, while I can spend an extra half an hour in bed, after spending sleepless night

Oh God! What I would do to get a person like that in my life....

Sum of it all

It does not go

Whatever I say and whatever I do

This feeling does not go..and sometimes feigning that its gone...hurts and tires me more
So I would let it be

And cry..and break in my solitude..I dont have to keep myself strong always

I remember that day of knowing the diagnosis
It was not told to me right away that his blood has been sent for sampling for down syndrome, all around me knew it(Now I thank God that they hid it, cos my initial days were anyways gloomy. I was scared of so many things that if I had known this, I would not have been able to survive nor would Aaru)

It was 18th August, 2014, I walked into pediatrician's room for general check up and some vaccination. Aaru cried a bit and so did I(can not explain how tears flew down my cheeks when he cried for a vaccine injection, I was never such a soft person) and then doc said all looks well but I have not yer got reports for THAT blood test

I had heard it a couple of times by then, he kept mentioning in our earlier visits but I never paidn attention as husband never paid.
But this time I asked "But what is THAT report?"
He said "For down syndrome"

I froze

And my gut knew its true. I have no idea but the moment he said it, I knew..till then I had not double guessed anything could be wrong..but that minute I knew

Yet I started cross questioning him, as if my cross questioning would make it go away.."why would you think so"
He says " Siemen line on his palm, sandle gap in his toes, slanting eyes"
I kept staring at Aaru, but I could hear pieces of me falling around

Yet no tears, nothing outrageous
I asked where I could get the reports, he said downstairs

Husband has been avoiding it all the time. Each time the doc raised question about the report I would ask him later what that report was and he would say must be ECHO etc etc, but all those were clear long back so I have no idea why he dint even want to check the report?He could have not told me yet got to know the report.

Maybe he wanted to get out of India before the catastrophe fell and dint have to deal with a mad and sorrowful woman and list of activities which ensued once we knew the diagnosis

We went down to get the report, my heart in pieces while husband was being comical, not appreciated in anyway by me

I grabbed and opened and read "Positive", it was the fish report
No tears, nothing.

We came up and the doc very stoically said "So its positive, but the report which would make it 100% would come through karyotyping which was supposed to take another week".
I had no doubt that my baby had down syndrome, yet the husband kept asking some inane questions and I could not meet the eyes of my 18 days old son. I could not gather the courage to look at him. I dont know why I felt I had wronged him.

Husband got engaged in some birth certificate etc while I sat there, my baby wrapped in a yellow wrap sleeping beautifully. I looked at all the babies around and felt strange tinge of pain, lonelieness, envy...yet my love for this boy was not in question.

I asked husband to stop all the talking and rush home, I could not bear to be in that hospital another moment...I needed my mom, my home, my comfort.
While in car, I held Aaaru and silently cried looking out of the window. No way could I show my tears to anyone, not even husband, Cos he really seemed very detached and being with him made me feel lonelier. He sensed I was crying and all he did was patted my arms twice.

In all these years of my existence that was the first time I recall I wanted to break, just let go. And I wanted him to understand that and hold me and be broken himself. I dint want his strength , I wanted someone to feel the pain in exact measures as I felt, a party to my shattering soul, a companion in my misery. And I wanted that person to be just him, noone else. Cos he was the father , an equal in our love for Aaru
But not a squeak from him!

We reached home, the message had been sent to my sis and she was coming over. Mom dint know but she saw my face and guessed and I told her in plain words.

Husband went into the other room and I left Aaru with ma, I really wanted to know what he felt, what was our plan, wanted him to tell me it will be alright that our son will still be the best thing to have happened to us.
I went to the other room to check whats keeping him busy, he was on his laptop, I eagerly asked him what was he up-to hoping he would tell me he is gathering some information on how to deal with this all. But he said I have to submit this timesheet as its Friday!
And that moment I knew, this will be my fight..all alone..and without a word I came back to my room

The days and months after that were a haze of research, night outs, buying toys to stimulate his brain, finding which therapies he can go to, what tests to be done, all this with no help from doctors or anyone else

It hasnt been easy to say the least but I have loved every moment of it, of finding  my way through the mess.

Every single thing I learn I try it on him, new supplement, new therapy and see him change and evolve with it

We are growing each day, each minute..Aaru and I..Aaru in all his loveliness and I basking in his glory!

But some days, the memory of pain hovers over me, wringing everything inside out

you are my home

I snuggle upto him on days my heart is too withered
He pulls my hair..gives his 2 teeth bite as an approximation of kiss

I smell him and he smells of the home within me
His small frail body sings back lullabies to me..
The only place I feel safe is his round tummy

I have come to believe this one thing
that you dont need me so much baby..as much I do

You are simply complete in yourself
Its the eroded me which seeks to be mended in your beauty

His antics and my heart

 He comes near me and sits quietly, tired from playing in the playgroud
Very unlikely for him to be so low, given his high energy levels, at all times

I tell him I need to go, for some work
And he, inspite of his low energy, squeaks "नहीं, तुम मत जाओ " (No, you don't go)

My love for him finds its roots, and I stay back for a few minutes, all the while trying to distract him with something
"I will get you more mentos (his favorite toffee)"
And for once he is not excited, his face shows his disinterest and he does not smile

"Show me your drawings, what did you draw today"
His governess shows me, while he unwillingly and half heartedly participates
And the very next moment he is back to "Don't go please"

Sometimes your heart just fills with love, and saddens at the same time.
With all the premonitions...
The future of him growing up and growing apart,
Me going out of his life..
All that in just that moment of sweetness, when he so wants me around him

I try again to take his mind off my going away, while I attempt tp quietly slip out

"Look at this song on TV, its so nice..your favorite"
 "When this song finishes, then you can go"..he tries to bargain, and looks up at me..to delay my going

And I love him a little more..if thats possible!

I tell him "I am just going to Sony world(a place near his house) and come back soon"
And his face lightens up

He goes to the couch and lies down face flat
I ask him "whats wrong?"
He says "निन्नी आ रही है "(I am sleepy)..and he really looks so tired and sleepy

I ask him to give me a hug,he opens his arms and as I hug him he says softly
"You are goign to Sony world na? Go to and come back soon!"

I just wish he forgets that I promised to come back, and is cheerful once he wakes up..which am sure he would be

My guilt of lying to him, weighs me down...

Oh the million ways this heart can break!

We will always be kids

We are all fools...always a kid..however grown ups we might want us to be

We all want things for ourseleves, we all have our insecuritirs to feed, our desires to furnish
Nothing matured about it

I am saying this, cos if this recent incident which happened with me
It involves me and my 3 year old nephew Shrehaan, about whom I write all the time here , here and here
and lastly here

Just the other day he was here with his mother(my younger sister) and as ususal my sister wanted some of my things(yeah she is always asking for my dress, saree, jewllery..its her childhood issue and fascination for  my elder sister's and my things)

And I was being a little childish about it this time and said I dint want her to take anything from my stuff..yet I knew I will be giving it off

She finally chose  a neck piece & an earring
Just to play along with and see whose side my nephew was..I acted up and cried "No. no you can not take it"
She snatched it from me, and I tried taking it back and cried out and seeked my nephew's support and looked at him
He looked at both of us and said "मम्मा  को दे दो !"(Give it to my mom)

And for that brief moment, I felt deeply betrayed. I felt the like an outsider and inspite of knowing that he is just a 3 year old kid and that he lives with his mother and meets me only once in a week, where his loyalities would lie, I still felt a little jealous and betrayed

As much as I wanted to kiss his bird-like  mouth, I wanted to thrash the daylight out of him too


But when he is about to go and looks at me with his soulful forlorn eyes and holds my hand "तुम भी चलो" (You also come along), everything melts and go down holding his hand..but that small amount of feeling of betrayal never goes

It never will

Some of them have it easy, they can treat you any which way, still you would eat out of their hands when they want you too...

There are some people who can be the worst & the best with you...Yet you take in the worst, cos their best is so beautiful, innocent and honest

One of those things

In my last post I talked about lots of things being on my mind...
One of it was me getting on stage with kathak, after 15 years

As you grow, you lose so much of yourself, which can only be revived by doing what you love doing

And in times like these, when you are trying to regain yourself, you realise how much of you has been lost

You find yourself little mellow, in everything you do...or everything that was so you

And kathak was such a thing for me

And I felt I could not be what I used to be (even though the bit I wad doing was no where close to what I used to perform earlier, in terms of complexity), and that made me little shaky..
I could not do that stuff by letting my vigor be chipped away

And for that reason I created multiple reasons in my mind, and told my sister that I wont take part

Cos she was the one who had organised this whole show, to showcase her institute and her students along with a kathak dance teacher caller Murari(who incidentally knew my guru too) and his students

This sister is the one I wrote about here :
http://memoriesofaworldelsewhere.blogspot.in/2011/08/she-is-doing-her-bit.html

and here:
http://memoriesofaworldelsewhere.blogspot.in/2010/09/presenting-malvika.html

I said "I dont like the girl I am dancing with, she doesnt give me right vibes"
then "I am not his student so I guess he is not interested in involving me in this programme" (I was like a guest dancer and not his regular student. But I was the one who initiated this and asked her to ask him to include me in his compositions)
and another "I wanted to do this cos I hoped a more enjoyable experience and an environment of dance and music, but thats not happening here, since they practice separately and I am just like an add-on"

But for some reason she was so adamant on me performing. She said if I dont like the girl, she would ask him to let me do this solo, etc etc. And finally I gave it a shot.
More to try myself than for anything else.

And gradually the enthusisam started creeping in.
When we had the final stage practice, I felt so different.

I was that girl who used to be so sure of herself on stage, I always knew all eyes are glued on me when I dance.
I would look at people in their eyes while dancing and would see them looking at me and that gave me a high
But this time I had no clue, I just wanted to get thru it.

But after that stage rehearsal, when I went down, all the women there(sister's students) gave me a boost which I have been lacking.
Some said "You are far more elegant than the other woman"
Some "I could not take my eyes off you"
And I got my reward in small ways, dance must be in my veins

Here we go again...after 15 years

Siblings are the keeper of one's identity

I wish siblings knew each other and loved each other till the time they could, with all their hearts..and then lost touch once they moved on, in different directions

Cos sometimes the mapping of wonderful childhood and crooked present makes things all the more ugly

So, that they can be remembered by the sunny winters spent with tea-sipping and gossiping, the dance rehearsals and heart talks
And not the indifference which creeps in with time, not the distance which commences like a poignant wound

I run behind to capture the lost warmth, but each of our meeting slips it away..further..till I can no longer see it
And assume that it never was the way I imagined it to be

There was a time when everything which happened to me had to be linked with my sisters/cousins. The hidden meanings of things which only we could decipher, in our own strange ways..every single time the only thought in my mind would be "I have to go back and tell this to my sisters".

From a meaning-less glance from a cute boy, to meaning-ful feelings of our nascent hearts...from shredding apart meaning of every line of a song to .. counting the number of days we stayed without each other..

We built our childhood and adolescence in different hues

When in drunken stupor, I had this strong urge to call one of them..and just talk any crap.
With time those desires have died down. How I wish I could revive it, but it has reached a no man's land.

Now even something very important to me also goes unnoticed, un-talked  about. The sheen and richness gone. When did this happen?

 As a teenager I used to look at some of our adults and wonder how they could bitch about their own siblings to their spouses, and haughtily think that we will never grow apart..not an ounce from how we were.

We all live plain lives, most of us, al least I do. And what keeps us going are those bouts of exhilarating experiences we have had in our lives. Those rainbows in our lives, are the ones we want to recur in succession. With someone close, some city , some drink, some song.
And if I look back I guess my times with siblings & cousins have been the best..that is when they were...not anymore.

Now I dread my times with them, cos they will further make me believe that whats lost can never be revived.

They say change is inevitable, outgrowing one relation and growing into another is the way it is. But I refuse to agree with this decorum of life. If one can not sustain what was beautiful, then every thing beautiful in the present will lose its meaning to us gradually. If we can't love the ones the way we loved them earlier, but make new friends and progress with our life as if nothing has changed, then am sorry I dont belong to that category of people. For me friends could never replace family, my people, my childhood, my roots. If we drive ourselves away from them, we are rejecting our very roots. I am proud of what I was with you all, and my pride in anything new in life will always be based on what I had.

Or maybe we are just one dysfunctional family, which disintegrated with time..for no concrete reason? or is it just me feeling this way these days?

This post isn't meant to lash out at any of you sisters/brothers, specially you two who read this blog but never comment.
 But just a rhetoric in my mind, and trying to understand..the inevitable!

But I still remember that patch of sun on our bed, where we often huddled around  on late winter mornings, lazily flitting through one topic to another, in our innocence, in our love for life, in our glory. And we shifted our positions during all this, to capture that piece of sun, which shifted its position as the day went by

That piece of sun is what I will always remember and try to bring it back in my life, in different ways..

A sibling may be the keeper of one's identity, the only person with the keys to one's unfettered, more fundamental self. - Marian Sandmaier

She and Me

No, she is not my role model. There are so many things I would have wanted her to do differently
Be bolder, stand up for what she wanted and deserved, not be a push over..are some of the thing

I believe in breaking things rather than preserving thier ashes
If something does not work out, get rid of it..anything if not wanted in its totality is a clutter..and life should be free of clutter
But she keeps asking me to preserve, to hold on to things till they fall out of my hands without my mistake
And I either get irritated or laugh at her stale values

Yet, when I speak a harsh word with anyone, when I shout at auto-rickshaw guy, I have this nagging feeling of going an notch below in my image in her eyes

Cos I was always this soft girl, who could not fight the world(Now all I do si fight)

No, she was not a dancer. I dont know whose genes I inherited for the danseuse in me.

"हट बे निखाटू गंवारवा मैं तेरे संग ना जाउंगी " - My mother would teach us this dance in her clumsy, faltering, endearing way

Yet to me, till date, thats my sweetest memory of anything close to sweetness

No, she might not be so good in English, or have had as good an education as we had, or maybe we were a tad better student than her

Yet, my oldest  memory of education is about her asking me to write 100 times in a book, something I could not remember easily

My purest feelings, my overwhelming love and my maddening  anger, I feel only for her

Happy mother's day Ma!

माँ और माँ की जाई 

Maashi....Chocate

You omit the L's and R's
Chocolate is "chocate" and rain is "ane"
And I love saying it the way you do

"Broom" is for some reason "baate" for you
And we sisters also sometimes refer to it as "baate", in our conversations :)
You kids have a strange way of getting into elders brain

But gradually I see you correcting your words now..
I feel the pride, but at the same time some god-forsaken sorrow creeps in
"Cream" is still "Cheem" for you...as yet...hope you never get it right

My sweet valentine this year
तू जिगर दा टुकड़ा ,you are my शोना शोना मुखड़ा

A girl who reads is the girl to date

My sister ( who writes here) posted this link on my FB wall saying this was for me

She was the one who initiated me to blogworld, by writing her first post 8 years back on my niece when she was born(Now I dont know where that blog has gone).
And I had begun by writing a comment on it, thinking all this space is just for family to see and comment

She doe not write often now, maybe cos too much of happiness does not give you incentives to write

We, the frequent bloggers, are the ones to whom beauty of longing belongs, who write cos happiness is too fleeting a thing for us

Ok, so lets come to what that article talks about. Well, it talks about me, without knowing me

Some of the lines, bore my resemblance more than others;

"She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants"

"She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street"

"She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted"

These lines I feel have been taken from my mind, or any of my post :)
"Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.She has to give it a shot somehow."

"Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel"

"Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop",

But this one is not true:
"It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries"

Because for me books are not only about great authors and famous books. They are also about my whims, my drive towards unknown. I would go through random books and pick one by title, or by its picture. Not knowing what it would turn out to be, giving me that edge of uncertainty, the best ingredient in life
So let me have that pleasure, while you buy me a pretty red dress. Am pretty much a books-clothes-accesories girl

This one is so beautiful,makes me believe that such a thing will happen to me:
"You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots."

And here is the best of the best..undoubtedly me
"Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes."

There are great many books to be read, I have just begun

Nawab Pataudi

I am woken up by a sms from my father at 1 AM in the morning, the day Pataudi died.

Sms reads -
"Just saw news of Pataudi's death. This looked like a personal bereavement to me since Pataudi and Sobers were the two international cricketers whom I saw from closest range in my life, in the historical test at Eden gardens where second day's play was washed away due huge crowd, which could not get full accommodation.

Both of them were in a black car. As the car approached the gate, I ran fast out line, reached by chance the back side window, tried my best to put my head inside and saw them clearly laughing and talking.
One was black and the other was white, but both were extremely handsome and looked so smart.
Pataudi's death has made me so sad"

My father never fails to surprise me with his emotional connect to people outside the realm of his close relatives.
And being his daughter, am such a fry cry from that. I have never iconised anyone in my life, never held anyone larger than life and attached my happiness or sadness with them.

Its this child like thing in him that makes me love him , even though he drives me mad mostly. I could almost imagine him doing all that, what he wrote in the sms

A bright eyed teenager, he must have been back then

This sms dint make the cricket-lover in me miss anything, but reminded me of our huge bunglaw(back from Britisher's days), back in my home town. The huge terrace, where we all used to accumulate on a pretty winter day. Elders having tea, kids frolicking around, and the small rickety transistor blaring with live cricket commentary and my father and his brothers hooked on to it.

And being able to conjure up that image right now, seems like a privilege to me

Now I am dreading demise of next (rather first on his list) icon in his life, whom he idolized to the extent of fights with my mother. Whose hairstyle he copied in his hay days. And that icon is film actor Dilip Kumar.
Whose pictures and newspaper cuttings of all his achievement are sprawled across an almirah in his bedroom, as if he is our own.

She is doing her bit

This is for my sister, who recently sung at freedom park in Bangalore, where Anna Hazare's supporters had conglomerated

Hum Hindustani

She was overwhelmed by the spirit of people and response to their performance..


Baar baar haan

Three cheers for her band Dwi

Yes, we are a family of singers and dancers!
And does this post look like advertising her band..then it is :)

लंगड़ा भूत(One legged ghost)

On a sultry summer day, while the fan made noise as it creaked to provide some comfort and sound of vehicles wheezed past the house in a daze, he was lying in his half sleeved under shirt and telling the same story again

But with added spices, each time

"Then the ghost was caught and split wide open. I put some chilli powder, turmeric, garam masala... in his stomach".
All the Indian spices would go inside then, one by one.
Each time there was increment or change in the ingredients which went inside.

My small brother sat and listened intently while me and my elder sister romped around him on bed...
And even at the age of 6, my child-mind could sense that this is a fake story, created by him and I knew that he continued with the story, without any plot, just to humour us.
And back then, my heart swelled with love for him..not knowing that these were the seeds of a bond which is meant to exist for a lifetime
I still remember his smell from that summer, a father's smell, which I never found in any other man

What makes it so difficult now? To see him in the same light as I saw him as a kid?

My father was never the preacher, teacher kind. I miss that sometimes, whenever I have to choose anything in life, I always know that its just me who has to find that direction for myself.
Papa has always left everything to his kids..
He does not believe in notions of right, wrong..or maybe he is so lost in his own world that he simply doesn't bother.

His knowledge of everything in life is awe-inspiring.
If its palmistry, our house would be inundated with books by "Cheiro"
If its chess, then Anand Vishwanathan, Karpov and Kasparov fill our mini-library
If its science, then stephan king, Issac Asimov
If its philosophy then Krishnamurty and the likes
And for plain fiction its Hermen hesse, Dyotsovesky, Milan Kundera..you name it we have it in our house

People read cos sometimes they want to be abreast with general knowledge, or sometimes to be part of the elite group which talks of intellectual stuff, or for their own use
If I had an ounce of my father's knowledge, I would have moulded it in my favor

But his knowledge is just a thirst, nothing to do with anything I mentioned above. This makes him someone I admire without restraints , despite everything else I dont and cant

He loves kids.

He was always the one to go to, if I wanted to get pampered
Ma dint have much patience with our small misgivings.
If I cut my finger a wee bit, Ma would just ask me to wash with dettol and put a band-aid. But I would go to him cos he showed all the concern in the world and make a huge thing out of any of my inconsequential ailments

If I wanted to buy a dress, I knew my mother would give me stories of how something is out of our budget, so all I had to do was ask papa
He would take me to the shop and without looking at the price tag, would choose the costliest dress for me, budget or no budget
Did he know that he was so much loved then?

When did I stop doing that? Going to him for anything?
Sometimes I feel both of us are punishing each other for our own follies..

Or maybe He has a love for children, which does not reach the realm of elders.

There is this small girl, 8-9 years old, our maid's daughter whom he treats like his own kid
I see her putting her arms around him as I used to, or demanding things with a right as I used to
and I feel a pang in my heart

Maybe I stopped making him so wanted and a father-figure, somewhere down the line, which this small girl still makes him feel
And thats the foundation of a bond between them, which I seem to have lost

Down the line, I must have made me feel alienated from myself

On this father's day, if I have to describe my father it would be these things:

1. A passion for books, never saw in anyone
2. Playing online chess for 6 hours in a day
3. His hiding his glass of drink in most weird places, lest the brigade of women at home jumps on him for having a drink on consecutive days
4. His reading out "Brother Karamazov" to Ma, while I lay beside him, not understanding anything of the book, but just my love and admiration for him multiplying in leaps and bounds

There can be many more such bullet points, but that summer day of my childhood and his brewing up story of लंगड़ा भूत, is etched in my memory and surpasses any and everything else about him

My usual conversations with my father is so weird, that it gives me material to write and laugh about. But all that is post our conversation, not during it at all.

Here is a snippet:

Papa calls - "What are you doing?"
I - "Watching some TV, and you?
Papa - "Oh you are also watching tennis, am watching french open"
I - "Ok. No am watching something else"
Papa - He hardly pays attention to what I say "This Djokovic is such a maniac. His playing is so erratic"

Here I must admit that this is the first time I hear this person's name. My knowledge of tennis is still about Boris Becker, Pete Sampras, Nadal, Federer..and a few others of that league

I - "Who is he?"
Papa - "Come on, he is number 3 seeded"
I - "Oh..I am not aware"
Papa - "Anyone who is interested in tennis would know his name"
I - "But when did I say I am interested?"
Papa - "You have no interest in life!!" - Now his tone is beginning to get belligerent
I - "Come on, tennis is not the only thing to be interested in" - My tone is sounding irritated
Papa - "Then tell me what is your interest in life?" Now his tone is of a school teacher castigating a student
I - "------------"
Papa - "You know na, I have a TV tuner in my PC and thats where I watch all my matches, cos the TV is forever occupied by your mother with her daily soaps?" - Grudging undertone

This piece of information has been shared with me (and all my siblings) nth time and my only reaction can be a sigh!

I - "------------" -
Papa - "Your mother is watching something called X-factor" - sarcastic undertone
I - "So am I"
As usual he pays no attention to what I said

Papa - "Can you believe it, this Djokovic guy is only 24 and is giving hard time to federer who is 29?"
I - "------------" "Here I am trying hard to concentrate on X-Factor results

Papa - "Ohhhhh...what an ACE!!" - He can really shout
I - "Papa, you always call up and talk to yourself. Whats the point? Let me watch what I am watching and you drown yourself in tennis"
"Silly girl!" *hangs up*

Oh , these fathers! Who said men cant be nags?

Then sometimes words fail...

..And beauty takes over!




When beauty gets unbearable, and I cant contain it within me..the enormisity of it which sometimes wants to burst my heart..I tend to share it with the world..to let it out

All my babies fill me with that overwhelming feeling..

Just look at him in this pic, eyes full of stories, lips like a bird, cheeks pink and rosy, and a face worth million dollars..

My splendid, breath-taking Shretzi baby..Shrehanu!

Genes Story

I can see both my parents in me so clearly at times. Its like I am living outside my body and watching them take over me.

Some things just show up out of the blue and am taken aback by the similarities.Especially things I used to dislike about them, showing in me

My mother does not like to wear slippers while at home. I would take her case on that and scare her with stories about all the insects going inside her system through her feet, but she would timidly tell me that its too much of a task to wear slippers while roaming around the house.It used to irritate me.

And now I see myself doing the same..I dont feel like taking the effort to put on slippers each time I have to move from hall to kitchen to bedroom. I give myself the excuse that my floor is really clean..but I know this is my mother in me

My father has this habit of carrying a camera wherever he goes..digi-cam, video camera..all of it. And he keeps juggling between them all through his trip, taking inane snaps or videos. And none of his pictures would feature him.

We would make fun of him and at times shout at him for making such a major show about it that he has no time to sit and talk with anyone

And now I see myself doing the same..well definitely not to that extent..but I have started taking pictures like a freak.
Specially many dont feature me, which is so unlike me.
I can feel that the same bug has gotten into me. And its definitely not a penchant for photography.
Maybe its an urge to replicate beauty..or an attempt to stay away from people..I cant say..
And then there are mad eccentricities of my father which I could never understand and now understand so well cos I see myself doing the same, irritating things about my mother, which manifests in different ways in me, like cleanliness mania, trying to have an order in everything etc etc

The funniest part is all contradicting character-streaks from both my parents show up in me..sometimes pulling me apart and sometimes I can only smile in exasperation and say that one cant fight one's genes..there is no getting away from it!

Maybe this is the best gift we can give to the ones who gave us life..

Small town girl

"You dont look like someone who belongs to so-and-so city" - I heard this statement once again from someone at work recently.

This is something oft-repeated with me, people not being able to associate a small town with me.

I dont know if its something I should feel happy about, but I surely get irritated at such statements.

People in India dont know so much about their own country, and stay like frogs in a well, in their so called notions about how a city and a human is co-related.

I dont say they are not, but not in the way people usually perceive.

Maybe it has to do with the way I dress, or speak which catches them off-guard.
Maybe people feel that if you belong to so-and-so city, you dress in a certain way and your English is bad. How stupid is that?

These people dont know that the school where I studied, always had someone who was in the top 3 ranks all over India, in boards.They might not be aware of the college I studied, had in a year top 3 IAS women rankers.

When I was 15-16, few cousins from Delhi had come down to my city and they asked me what is the night life like, in my city.
I could not fathom what they meant. We used to wake up by 5.30 for school, came back home, read/danced and then by 9.30-10 we used to be dead tired and sleepy and went off to sleep.
Where is the time for night life? And whats one supposed to do in that life?

Our life was confined to studies, dance rehearsals on weekends and 4 of us were enough for each other to seek anything else.
Sometimes friends came over or we went to their place and had some tea and chatted.
We were content, thats all I remember.

Here when I go to a pub and see these 15 years old smoking a joint, having a drink, making out in public..I thank my stars for the lack of night life we had when w were this young

Yes we dint know much about jim morrison, difference between hard and soft rock or head banging..but we knew lata, hemant and the ageless melody of yesteryears.

I squirm when someone says "My hindi is poor". If you dont know your mother tongue then thats something to be ashamed of, and not flaunt proudly.
Its not like you are a Shakespeare when it comes to english. I can ask them meaning of 10 words in English, which these wanna-bes would not have even heard of.
So basically, you have no command on any language.

If I knew Keats, Hemingway, Nietzsche, Maugham and Maupassant..I also had our Mahadevi verma, Sumitranandan Pant to ruminate
I even read Rabindranath Tagore's translated version in hindi

I also knew Majaaj, Meer Taqi Meer, Iqbal..
And I felt enriched.

Some of these names might be un-heard of, by the youth of today.

When I look back, I like the fact that owing to the lack of a life outside studies and dance, we had no other go but to either take up a career which needed us to study hard, or stay at home(which for us was never a possibility). I am not saying I would not have liked to do something other than what I do now.

I would definitely have wanted to pursue dance, but there are always pros and cons of all paths in our lives. I dont regret not having so many choices.

My only wish unfulfilled is - I wish we did not have such liberal parents. I sometimes wish that we should have had a father who put restrictions and a mother who was finicky about lots of things. I wish I had an elder brother who I could be scared of.Then our brain would not have got so corrupted by notions of love, feminism, freedom and the likes.

Sometimes lack of options keeps things stable.

There is power in simplicity.

Note : And I know guys will acknowledge that we small town girls have somethink called namak..which I cant really find a word for in english :)

Band baaja baraat!

Weddings in my house, are a world of their own

Apart from all the fun things, weddings are a place where you can find a glimpse of a lost you, where you are reminded of what you had been..long long time ago.

I was at a cousin's wedding in Delhi recently and was touched at the way certain things unfurled weird emotions in me

Some of these people I was meeting after more than 15 years or so

I have been trying to be this single, strong independent woman of the world..but for those few moments of life, I felt like that little girl again..
This girl who used to love attention from elders, pout and preen!This pampered little girl who used to throw tantrums..

It reminded me that I have been loved and cared for..that I too have roots

Its good to be reminded of your roots, it is a wholesome feeling of being someone's grand daughter, niece, sister, special friend

"Kitini pyaari lag rahi hai"(You look lovely) - Someone cups my face and says it affectionately. I feel abashed and look away while I smile, cos such things dont happen to me anymore. Noone cups my face in their hands and says sweet things. Am a little un-used to such displays of affection now. It has been a long long time.

"Bahut patli ho gayi ho"(You lost so much weight) - The usual comment from one and all around. Even though when these people had last seen me 15 years ago, I was 4-5 kgs less than what I am. Yet a slim person always hears this comment.

And then follows my protest of negating it, giving them facts and figures and people laughing it away

Once I felt a tug at my sleeve and turned around to find an elderly lady beaming at me. This was an aunt we had a spat with years ago, but when I saw her smiling at me that way and wanting my attention, I automatically touched her feet and she hugged me..and I beamed back. It was a genuine smile that I gave her..heartfelt!

Sometimes we bounce off the energy and affectations of the other person.
Each person we interact with, makes something within us come to surface , parts in us we dint know

I wanted to hug so many people, a thing I do rarely!
Maybe by wanting to hug them, I wanted to hug bits and pieces of myself..which were lost in each of them

In between, we sisters would catch up to exchange notes on who dint touch whose feet, who was trying to avoid whom, who looked pathetic and who was drinking away to glory, who was being a pile on..and so on..

The rustle of silk, smell of mogra..jasmine and lilies..clinking of glasses..shehnai in the background..henna on my hands and me trying to manage everything with just one hand..sound of blaring music and shaking a leg..the teasing and match-making..maketh a wedding worth its while!

A house full of women

I feel that a house full of women is so much richer than a house full of men.
And I know that a man trapped in a bevy of women is just so lost.

They don't understand what gets to these women that they start fighting one moment and the very next moment they are all cosying up to each other and sharing secrets

Ours has been such a house, what with 3 sisters and mother..against one brother and father
They both used to clamour for our attention...my brother being the youngest, tried following us, in all our gossips..
We would usually hurl him away with something like "you are younger and wont understand, so go and study"
Or "Why are you always sticking to us, go and play with your friends"
And he, in all his cuteness, would make excuses to study while we chatted around him

I guess there is something about women, these men don't understand and they are forever in search of that mystery...that elusive smell

But women can be so so difficult and we sisters are a perfect example of that

With every re-union there is a day of splendid fighting and shouting..accompanied by sullen days..when the men around just sense the tension and very meekly try to get us together..with a fear of getting ripped apart in all that..which happens every now and then..yet they are steadfast in their attempts

Just a couple of days back in Delhi..we sisters were together and in no time a massive battle of words and arguments ensued between us.
It started between my younger and elder sister but, as usual, ended with me and my elder sister..

When we fight with words..none can dare to enter that arena and we cast blows at each other like missiles..the place indeed looks like a battlefield..
After the bombardment and then an eerie silence..

Funnily the topic is never a relevant one...this time it was about some 3rd person who does not matter either to her or to me..
But it eventually leads to personal stuff
Maybe some unspoken thoughts..hidden resentment..suppressed expectations..gives way to illogical fights

But surprisingly all this anger never leads to any hatred..

After that bombardment the scene must have been funny, from a 3rd person's perspective
My elder sister was sitting on the chair, with most probably tears in her eyes, which I realised later, when she spoke
I had "Alchemy of desires" sprawled across my face, and my eyes darted through the words without registering a thing..I wasn't thinking of the fight nor was reading but the mind was in an unknown frenzy,too clogged to take in anything

The 3rd sister was trying to act paralysed, lying face down on the bed with very little movement, while I knew her mind was acutely aware of the fight

In all this, none dares to enter the room till the air has cooled down a bit..

Enters the mother!
She is scared to enter while we are blowing accusations at each other but once that's over, she has to ALWAYS come and ask SAME questions

"Why were you girls fighting?"
-No response!

"I really don't like it when you people fight, now that you stay away from each other"

Responses (mostly from 3rd sis) - "Don't sisters fight? Why do you irritate us with questions like this"
"Hota hai bhai!" (It happens)

Mother again in her meek tone - "We sisters never fought, not after we had our own children."

Elder sis (voice breaking cos of crying) - "That's cos you sisters hardly meet..and its good that you guys don't meet...else you would fight and kill each other like us"

Silence prevails..while there is a flurry of event ..in which my elder sis is readying to go out

And I..in all this..after every fight..feel an immense relief
Unfortunately my laughter neurons are slightly conked off!!

Cos I feel like laughing, like mad, and while my mother kept asking questions I threw the book on my face and convulsed with laughter

The inane fight and the stupid questions tickle me...even as a child if my mother scolded me and demanded answers to rhetoric questions..I would hide my face in my knees and laugh like mad..while my mom thought I was crying bitterly :)


Someone rightly said "If you don't understand how a woman could both love her sister dearly and want to wring her neck at the same time, then you were probably an only child."
There are times when you are certain you hate her..and the next moment you want to hug her and tell her all your harsh words were meant just to hurt her temporarily

Anyways..to conclude...we are back to talking..
Till we meet again :D

Presenting Malvika

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HehklYw57N8

That's my younger sister.

A fab singer (though not as well known) and she sung the radio ad for Nescafe a few days back, which has been playing on kannada radio channels.

She sung in Kannad, without knowing or understanding a word of it :)

She actually sings in Tamil/Bengali/Assamese but does not know these languages (except bong a bit)

Isn't that so much like Shreya Ghoshal :)