http://www.raone-movie.com/

“The most expensive mid-life crisis of  KIng Khan”
“Atrocious movie! Don’t even go there!”
“The most confused movie ever!”
This is all I’ve been hearing about Ra-One since its release.
Still curious, I booked tickets for the earliest available show. 11.30 am on a Tuesday. I dragged two of my equally curious friends to bunk work & come with me.
Don’t know if the Gods didn’t approve, but the sky darkened with rain clouds when I was just about to leave. I drove on in a snail’s pace in the heavy traffic.
At 11.15, I was still about 4 kms from the theatre. To take my mind off the the tension, I looked out of the window, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel.
A lungi-clad man was cajoling a lady in the platform. She pushed him away. he said something to her. Next second, she was beating her chest and bawling. In a trice, she was prone on the platform, rolling around, still beating her chest.

By the time I could make any sense of the scene I had to move on.

And then the rain came in torrents.

I couldn’t see what was in front of my car. Purely by intuition, I managed to reach the multiplex at 11.30. Panic-stricken I called my friends. They were still on their way, stuck in traffic at various parts of the city. After assuring them that I’ll come to the entrance to get them, I ran in with my tickets, umbrella & a soggy hand bag. Found my seat & settled down. Thank God, the movie had not started.

Anyway, once the movie started, all the comments in the beginning of this blog started coming to me in bits & pieces.

By then, my friends had joined me too & all three of us watched in horror as Shah Rukh Khan ate noodles with curds. With his hands. And spoke such terrible Tamil. (I’ve known white skins speak much better Tamil than that!)

What was he thinking? And as if he suddenly realised he’s offended the most seedha saadha of clans, he had to rope in Rajnikanth, just to stand around, so Kareena can worship him.

Come on! We’re not THAT stupid!

Anyway, while we got over all this & was seriously contemplating going back to work, it got funny. Not intentionally though. We just had to sit around to watch where this was going.

The villain from the game Shah Rukh designed comes alive! Ooh! Scary! He wants to kill Shah Rukh’s son! (Someone please give that boy a haircut!)

Shah Rukh dies valiantly, while saving his son.

And after a mad chase around London, which involves crashing into buses, toppling of cars in slow-mo & many such scenes, the villain corners Kareena & bad haired boy.

And guess who comes to the rescue?

G- One the hero from the game. Of course that’s played by Shah Rukh too.

The story gets crazier and crazier after that.

In a nutshell, after a few scenes of karva chauth, bithday parites, songs, dance & more fights later,  good triumphs over evil.

But I must admit, despite all the flaws in the story, this film is technically brilliant. Very slick & the special effects are stunning.

The songs are good too.

Watch it if:

1. You’re a die-hard Shah Rukh fan.

2. If you’re a naive 7 year old who loves video games.

3. If you desperately need something nonsensical to distract you from your woes.

But when I was a kid, I was taken around to lot of temples & was fed lot of stories where ‘God will blind you if you’re evil’ was always the moral. And I was encouraged to pray for things I wanted.

But as my rational thinking grew, I began to adopt the philosophy mentioned in the first paragraph.

Now, my seven year old son has a lot of questions about God. Since my husband is a thorough rationalist, its totally up to me to shape his mind in these matters.

Do I blindly follow my parents & teach him the ‘Saami kannai kutthidum’ philosophy or explain things a bit more rationally?

Thanks to Cartoon Network, he already has his basics covered on the different Gods & their Avataars. And thanks to school, he already knows there are a lot of religions in this world.

So I just answer his questions, as & when they arise, as best as I can.

1st of  September was Vinayaka Chathurthi. I love that festival only for the yummy kozhukkattais… 

Last year my husband wanted to give him a taste of his own childhood & took him shopping for a clay Ganesha, in a typical market place.

This year, he flatly refused to go along. “The streets are yucky! I will not walk in all that muck!” He begged off. My husband went alone and picked up a clay Ganesha sprayed with fine gold dust.

But  I wanted to make up for the lack of fun, so I woke up early, made the kozhukkattais and called my son for the puja.

Of course, it was just the two of us, since my husband was still snoring.

Both of us sat in front of the decked-up Ganesha, did the puja and I explained to him that Kozhukattais are Ganesha’s favourite sweet & all the fruits were for him.

Then I asked him to sing a small Ganesha song. He did that dutifully.

In a while, it was breakfast time. While he had a bowl full of his favourite cereal, I sat in front of him, with a bowl of kozhukkattais, waiting to dig in.

“No!” my son screamed suddenly. “You cannot have them! Its Ganesha’s!”

Peeved to be deprived of my favourite sweet, I held on tight to the bowl while he tried to pry it from my hand.

“He just blessed it, baby!” I explained patiently. “Now we can eat them.”

“No way! You said you made them especially for him!” He argued.”You cannot take it from him!”

“Thousands of homes make the kozhukkatais today.” I reasoned. “He cannot eat each and every one of them! So he blesses them and gives it back to us…”

But he’ll have none of it.

Since it was time for school, we wrapped up and left.

That evening he came running to me while I was pounding away at my comp. “Amma! Ganesha has eaten all the kozhukkatais in the plate!” He said joyfully. I noticed his bare upper body had a bit of gold dust.

“What happened?” I asked, pointing to the gold.

“I gave Ganesha a big hug!” he admitted sheepishly.

Next morning I needed a banana for my cereal. So I plucked  one  from the puja plate & proceeded to peel it.

“Don’t!” he screamed. “You’re stealing Ganesha’s share!”

“What?! I told you he only blesses the food we offer!”

“He ate the kozhukkatais yesterday, remember?” He asked me. “So, don’t touch!”

And of course by the time he got back from school that day, the fruits had to vanish too.

This is even worse than Santa story, I thought. He’s been insisting that we have a Christmas tree every year for three years now. Since it is all in good cheer, I gladly bought one and decorate it every year. But I’m so not prepared for his letter to Santa.

Last year it was the Beyblades and they were not in stock in the entire universe.

Frantic, I clutched at every lead I got and found some fake Beys from Parrys Corner. Of course he didn’t want them.

Thankfully it was not with the Santa loot.

And later I kept forgetting the Santa bit. When I spoke to him about a toy, I started slipping. “Remember the Spy Game I got you?” I would start. “NO!” He’d say vehemently. “Santa got me that!”

“Oops! I’m sorry!” I’d apologise.

Last week, he wanted me to take to the Toy Shop to get him something. I had no such intentions. “Pray to Ganesha & ask him if I should really take you.” I told him.

“Buy I don’t know how to talk to God!” he wailed.

“Then it’s high time you learnt. ” I told him sternly. “Just stand in front of God and close your eyes and ask him. If you’re silent enough you can hear his answer in your mind.”

So he obediently stood with folded hands, closed his eyes.

After five minutes he came to me. looking very upset. “I just cannot get any answer, Amma! You do it!”

So I stood in front of the puja, closed my eyes & folded my hands in reverence.

Two minutes later, I opened my eyes to see his eager face next to mine. “What did God say, Amma?”

“He is soooo angry with me!” I informed him. “He just told me ‘there are so many poor children in this world with no food and you want to get more and more toys for your son! Ask him not to be so greedy!’ “

Crest-fallen, my son walked away. Soon it was time to go somewhere. We passed by the Toy shop and a small voice from the back seat spoke.

“I wish God didn’t exist. Then I can do what I want..”

Now I’m more confused than ever…

I picked up this book from the ‘New Arrivals’ section in a nearby bookstore, because it seemed interesting (& I am a sucker for self-help books)

This is a very simple book, which uses a fictitious character called Uma, who’s a stressed-out, over-worked corporate professional, who regains control of her life through the author’s timely intervention.

The author hand holds Uma through the basic principles of Ayurveda. First, she takes Uma to a vaidya, of whom she’s a bit sceptical in the beginning, but  gradually starts to respect for decoding her with just a look & a touch.

Chapter by chapter the author takes Uma (& the reader) through various simple practices like deep breathing, exercising, sipping more water instead of caffaine, bathing right, moisturising your skin, etc. She even has a chapter giving us her best-loved recipes full of taste and nourishment – chickpea salad, yellow dal, rice keer.. all simple, but delicious.

She does not approve of us popping over-the-counter pills for acidity. Instead recommends sipping bioled water with cumin seeds, pepper, etc.. to ease our stomachs…

She’s of the opinion that going to an allopathic doctor is a bit like going to the mall & get a ready-made dress. They’re basically divided into small, medium & large & you take your pick.

But it is you who know your body intimately. You’ve been living in it for so many years. It gives you signals when something is wrong. So why go to somebody who can only look at it from outside and at best can only guess and use his/her intuition to treat you?

(I must say that most alternative healers take a potshot at allopathy, but I guess its only because there has been wide-spread misuse both sides. There are allopathy doctors who are more interested in money than healing and there are quacks who claim to practice alternative healing who totally has no clue about what they’re doing. So I take this mutual mistrust with a pinch of salt)

But this is definitely not just a handbook on ayurveda… Though simply written peppered with a lot of “oohs !” & “aahs!” from Uma (which I personally found annoying), the book is a very sensible read. Its only when I read it for the  second time, did I fully grasp the principal mantra behind the book.

Which is, “Be kind to yourself”

It is a very profound mantra these days, because  we subject our own selves to enormous stress caused by pressures at work, home, family, friends,& generally run around like a car without a driver.

This book like any good self-help book, puts you back on the driver’s seat & teaches you to take charge!

In essence, the very simplicity of this book is its greatest strength.

I’m impressed!

“He’ll need to be here for about two days” He told us.

My father, at 73, is a very active man, who’s never suffered from anything more than a fever over the years. So when they sent us off in an ambulance for the scan, he refused to lie down. So we sped around sitting side by side in the long bench reserved for the attendant, while the patient’s bed was empty.

We got back an hour later and he was whisked away to intensive care. While my brother and I sat in the reception, biting our nails, my father was having a roaring time inside. He’d expected the doctor to check him, prescribe some tablets and send him home. It was a rude shock to find himself in the ICU, with beepers attached to him and glimpses of other patients in various stages of sedation all around him. Plus he was hungrier than ever since it was well past his lunch time and he had been advised to report on an empty stomach that morning.

We were allowed ten minutes to see him that evening. We went in very nervously only to find him sitting upright on his bed with a scowl on his face. “The food here is terrible!” he griped to us. “I couldn’t even eat half of it! Now I’m so hungry!  Can you ask them to get me something?”

I spoke to a nurse.

She peeped in after a few minutes. “Sir, your coffee & bread on the way!” She announced cheerfully.

“Bread?” My father barked. ” Can’t you get me something like a bajji or bonda?”

“Do you know your cholestrol levels?” She countered. “The doctor will sack me if I give you anything deep-fried”.

My father’s scowl intensified. We made our way out quickly before his famous temper erupted.

The next day’s visit was worse. He was even fiercer and nurses and ward-boys gaped at him, open-mouthed as he sat there and cursed everyone in the hospital and their families.

To placate him, I told him to be patient till evening. “They’ll shift you to a room.” I soothed. “They’re just waiting to finish another course of intravenous medicines ..”

“A room, my foot!” he spat out. “I’ve had enough of this. I’m going home!”

“Where’s my wallet & glasses?” He asked my brother.

“I have it.” He replied. ” You’re not allowed to have those inside the ICU” He informed my father sternly.

“Well, I need them. And what happened to my clothes?”

“I have them.” I told him.

Before he flew off the handle, I spoke to a nurse and got permission to hand him his reading glasses and the day’s newspaper.

When we were ready to leave, he instructed me to have a word with the doctor.

“Tell him I’ll really end up a patient if I stay here any longer. I just need to go home”

But sadly he got shifted to a room only the next evening. But thankfully by then he’d resigned himself to his fate and was a bit more cooperative.

First day in the room was restive. He looked a bit weak, thanks to all the semi-starvation and the sedation he’d received. But the next day he was back to his restless ways.

He tried walking around his bed while the intravenous drug was still attached to his hand. Had a big argument with the junior doctor on the rounds.

After a while, I gave up getting worked up and just sat back and enjoyed the ride.

During a lull between the nurses fussing over him with either medicines or taking his blood sample, a young woman in a doctors coat came in and introduced herself as a physiotherapist.

“Take a deep breath.” She told my father. He complied. “Now wiggle your toes…” He wiggled. She noted something in her book.

“Thank you sir’ She said and went away.

Five minutes later a young man in a doctor’s coat walked in. Introduced himself as a physiotherapist. Asked my father the same set of questions. Noted something in his book and went away.

Fifteen minutes passed in silence with me going back to my book and my father dozing off.

Another knock. Another young thing in a white coat. Introduced herself as a physio.

“There were 2 physios who just examined him in the last half hour,” I informed her pleasantly.

“Oh! ” She stuttered a bit. “They’ve covered this room?”

“Yes!” my father & me chorused.

She beat a hasty retreat.

Then it was time for the evening rounds.

A pleasant young man came in with a retinue of nurses who briefed him on my father’s parameters. He nodded sagely and looked at the patient.

“Sir! how are you today?” He boomed.

“I’m perfectly okay.” replied my father. “And I’ll be even better, if I can go home now.”

“But sir, You still need  another four days of intravenous medication. Just bear with us.” He said placatingly.

“What??” erupted my father. “Four more days? No way! You people promised me only 2 days of admission. This is already day 3! You cannot go back on your word!”

The doctor was now sweating a little. “But sir..” he began.

“No but!” interrupted my father. Then went on to extol the virtues of a calm mind to heal oneself. On how he’ll be instantly better the minute he’s home in a familiar surrounding and with his dogs.

Whenever the doctor tried to get a word edgeways, he started full throttle on something else.

‘Just give it up! Agree to whatever he says & just go!’ I told the doctor in my mind.

After about twenty minutes the doctor did just that. With a promise to speak to his superiors about his discharge, the doctor took off, wiping his sweaty brow.

“Che!” my father cursed after he left. “Kallulimangan! My throat is parched after all the talking, but he didn’t buy any of my stories!” he muttered under his breath.

Another two eventful days passed by, filled with my father’s theories of insurance scams and the underhandedness of doctors and a very scary ambulance ride for another CT scan. SInce there was no emergency, we just drove around  normally, till we reached a signal. When the driver saw it was still red, he turned on the siren and stepped on the accelerator with so much gusto, I was having palpitations with all the near-death experiences by the time we reached the scanning centre!

When we got back, we were  finally informed that he’ll be discharged the next day.

The young doc who had made himself scarce for the past two days, surfaced again.

“Good evening sir!” he boomed. “How are you?’

“Perfect” replied my father.

“Happy? I just saw your release papers being signed.”

“They could have easily discharged me four days ago.” said his father.

The doctor had not learn his lesson. He actually disagreed with my father. “Sir, I’d already explained to you,” he began.

“This was all with your best interest in mind. And once you go home, please stick to the prescribed diet, have your medicines on time and surely, no smoking!”

Now this was one thing the doctor didn’t know about my dad. He’s from a generation which thinks smoking is disrespectful & has to be done only behind closed doors. To this day, he never smokes in front of his mother or his siblings. (But smoking in front of his wife & kids are not disrespectful, I really don’t understand why!) And will never admit to smoking to anyone who’s not immediate family.

Here he had to admit not only to the doctors, but also to the nurses, ayahs & the ward boys standing around his bed!

He now looked the doctor squarely in the eye. ’Oh my god! Why are you such a glutton for punishment?’ I sent another telepathic message to the doctor.

“You say smoking is harmful to me”

“Yes, sir. It is a well-known fact.”

“But doctor, smoking will kill me in about ten or twenty years. But have you heard of carbon monoxide poisoning?”

“Of course,” said the good doctor not knowing where this was going.

“If I walk on this busy road outside, the carbon monoxide from the exhaust of about hundred cars will kill me in half an hour. So, do I stop walking on the road?” he demanded.

Stony silence from the doctor.

“If  I take your advice, have all the pills, eat horrible food without salt, avoid sugar and quit smoking, how many more years will it add to my life? ten, twenty?”

The doctor shrugged.

“But if I continue living like always – eat tasty food, smoke and live happily I’ll probably live for another two years?

The doctor started to say something.

But again my father’s voice drowned his.

“I’d rather live for two years enjoying my life rather than live for twenty years like a sanyasi!”

After a teeny tiny pause, the doctor found his voice again. “But sir, I agree with you. But what if you get another clot and end up with paralytic stroke? Then you’ll not have a life at all! You’ll be bed-ridden & lose all your independence!”

‘Don’t you ever learn? Just agree with him & get going! He’s just using you to amuse himself!’ I wanted to scream.

My father glared at him. “Courage.. is what I have. If you think you can scare me with such stories, you’re mistaken. You’re looking at a man at one time had lost so much money in his business and never even gave it another thought and went on with his life the next day” He announced. “And I’m not going to sit in a corner in fear what will happen next.”

“But sir, I maybe too young to give you philosophical advice but Shree Krishna has told in Bhagavad Gita….”

‘OH MY GOD!’ I screamed inwardly. ‘WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU???’

But as soon as he began he caught himself on time and said, “You know what’s best for you sir! All the very best to you!” WIth that he shook hands with my father and left.

Finally!

The next day after waiting anxiously for his release, my father paced the corridor, sat in the chair for a while, fidgetted with all the gadgets in the room and finally when he couldn’t take it anymore, started tormenting the accounts department about his discharge.

Then, while I was lying down in the attendant’s bed and reading a book, he went down to the second floor, paid up, collected the paperwork, came back to the fifth, handed it to the nurses, came into the room, picked up his bags and we were ready to go.

I felt like I was the patient and he was the attendant!

On the brighter side, now he’s so terrified of getting admitted again, he’s very regular with his medicines!

But to quote my husband, we don’t really have to worry about that. Because if there’s a next time, the hospital staff by now will definitely have standing instructions to stop all other cases to check him up as fast as possible and send him home with prescription at the earliest!

If you have a boy from age 6 to 10, or at least live around one, you’d have surely heard the earth-shattering, “3… 2.. 1… Let it ripppppp!!!!”.

But there are lot of people out there who have no clue about Beyblade Metal Fusion. Since I’ve been exposed to passive beyblade fever which has gripped my household for the past year, I thought I’ll throw some light on the subject.

For starters, Beyblade is a metal spinning top.

Before you say, “Ah, our good old bambaram!”, let me assure you its a bit more complicated than that.  Its made of  5 removable & inter-changeable parts : face bolt, energy ring, fusion wheel, spin track & performance tip.

Plus, it has a story. Or an epic drama. Which airs in Cartoon Network everyday.

Of course, the hero is not a beyblade. It is Gingka Hagane, a boy who owns a blueish bey, which has the spirit of Pegasus, a white, flying horse. He wanders from town to town looking for formidable bladers like him with whom he can battle.

He has a group of loyal friends who each own a bey with different spirits.

In a battle, the fighters do nothing but, rip their respective blades in a stadium, stand around & cheer for the spirits which emanates from the beys. I was quite disappointed, actually! After all the war-cries, tight close-ups of faces contorted with rage, is this all you can manage???

They also have a common enemy, who runs the Dark Nebula organization. He constantly sips orang juice & has a lightning streak in his hair.

So, there you have it. A hero, a villain & hundreds of battles everyday to establish each other’s supremacy.

This keeps most of the boys I know glued to the TV at nights. And during the day, they play non-stop with their beybaldes, screaming ‘Let it ripppp!’ the battle cry of every bey battle.

When they’re not doing both, they watch endless episodes on youtube or look at all the merchandise available online and drive their parents up the wall with their demands!

The shops are all so cunning too. The shelves are all relatively empty most of the time. I’ve spend hours driving my son from one store to another in search of the elusive Beyblades only to find out there’s no stock.

Then suddenly their shelves are full. For exactly 10 minutes.

Because, sometimes I go back in an hour to get some forgotten bit & there are hardly any Beys left!

Once, a friend swore me to secrecy and tipped off about a dealer in Parrys Corner who has all the Beyblades and will sell you the entire set for about 2000/- ! This was just before christmas & thanks to all the TV he watches, my son had written an elaborate list to Santa which featured only beyblades & their accessories.

Thrilled, I called the dealer. Of course he had the entire set. If you can wait a few days more, he could even supply a stadium!

Wow! I was impressed. Another great friend whose office was round the corner to the dealer, offered to pick up the loot for me!

I was so proud of myself, when I drove out of my friend’s place later that night with a set of 12 beyblades stacked in the boot of my car!

I waited endlessly before my son fell asleep, before I could open the huge package. But these blades did look different. They were more elaborate than the ones he had. Suddenly nagged by a little voice which warned me of a huge scene that may break out if I leave these under the tree, I quickly hid these deep in my cupboard & ventured out to buy something else the next day.

And a few days later, after my son got over his disappointment of not getting anything from his list to Santa, I slowly told him that my friend had actually got him a set of beyblades.

He leaped from the sofa and wouldn’t stop screaming till he got the loot.

A few seconds of stunned silence followed after he opened the bag.

“But Amma”, he said in a small voice, “these are fake Beys! See! Its all written in Chinese! These don’t come on TV! Tell uncle X that the shop keeper has cheated him!” He nodded wisely.

“And also tell him Beyblades are not a set of 12! I think there are about 30 beys, totally.”

Well, thank god for that little voice, I thought with a sigh.

A few days later the friend called me. “Hey! How did he like the loot?”

“Hmmmm, yeah, he loved it!” I lied, not having the heart to repeat what my son had said about him getting cheated.

“So what about the maidan?” He asked.

“What maidan?” I furiously tried to think if I ‘d promised to go along for a sporting event.

“Hey, that thingy, da. The maidan for beyblade” he persisted. “My wife says that was on your son’s list too. Do you want me to pick it up for him?”

“Oh, you mean the stadium!” I laughed. “Umm. nope! I’ve already got it..” I lied again.

But all this was ages ago. Now that Funskool India has got into the act, every shop is fully stocked with all the Beys you can think of. They even have all the accessories like the stadium, shoot launcher, grip launcher, srting launcher and the works.

But you know what?

Ever since they’re available all over town, my son is slowly losing interest in Beyblades. He’s more into Dragon Ball Z, and has started collecting those toys zealously.

What’s Dragon Ball Z?  Oh well, that’s another story altogether!

http://movies.ndtv.com/

Yesterday, my fb page was full of friends wishing all a very happy mothers’ day.

There are a few who think all this mothers’ day, fathers’ day, sisters’ day, brothers’ day, friendship day, women’s day, men’s day etc. are all recent trends marketed by greeting card companies.

And there are a few who believe that the perception of motherhood differs greatly in the west. They need one day in a year to stop and thank the person who has nourished them from when they’re born. “What’s the use of sending her to an old age home and ignore her 364 days of a year and suddenly honour her one day?” they ask.

Of course western mothers are also a lot unlike our own homegrown Nirupa Roy kind of mothers. They do not cling to their babies from day one. A baby sleeps alone in a separate room with only a beeper for company from the day he/she comes home from the hospital.

Children are taught to feed themselves and be independent long before they take their first steps.

I am no way suggesting the mothers there are hearltess, selfish creatures who ignore the needs of their young ones, but the rules of growing up are very different.

I just cannot imagine a mother here, sending her child to bed without supper if he/she misbehaves. Of course, a whack in the back is perfectly normal, but not feeding your child is definitely not.

We see mothers clinging to their babies long after the babies themselves have babies.

I just finished reading a book called ‘Aftertaste’ by Namita Devidayal where the central character is a mother universally called ‘Mummyji’ who establishes a flourishing sweet business in Mumbai when her huband loses all his money. The story follows her struggle in the early years and how she manipulates her four children by creating small insecurities, pitching one against another and makes sure she never loses control over her family fortunes.

A gritty lady for whom whose calamities only makes her strong, who remains a formidable influence in all her childrens’ life till she breathes her last.

A very interesting read which gives us a sneak peek into the minds of  an all-powerful mother, her simple, but malleable husband, their simple-minded eldest son and his family, a spoilt & beautiful, but perpetually insecure elder daughter, a meek and quiet younger daughter & a rebellious and belligerent youngest son.

The importance and influence of a kick ass mother in her children’s lives kept me riveted to this book. I just couldn’t help thinking what an awesome power a woman can have on her world if she’s strong enough.

The book ends with her children feeling strangely liberated after her death and all her carefully & secretly stashed wealth remains undiscovered.

The moral of her story – Family and love are much more important than money.

A simple moral, but told in a very interesting narration which flows from one character to another so seamlessly.

Anyway, this post is not exactly a book review, so let me come back to mothers’ day.

As I was saying a mother & motherhood  in India is an all-powerful phenomena than elsewhere in the world. She can create, destroy, nourish & nurture at her will.

Before anyone points out that women are still oppressed in most parts, let me tell you behind every oppressing man, stands an oppressing mother or grandmother or an aunt who directs the puppet man. Man or woman, the way we treat others around us is primarily taught only by our mothers.

So here’s wishing a belated mothers’ day to the all-powerful, all-knowing Indian Maa!

All my childhood years, attending a wedding meant tagging behind my mom, behaving myself in front of strangers who were actually related, eating lots of laddus & jangiris & occasionally playing hide and seek with long-lost cousins from distant lands.

But after K’s sister got married, this meaning changed for me. Having just stepped into college, we were all still getting used to being treated like grown-ups.

Now it was all girly fun, where we could all dress up in our mothers’ fineries and prance around, inventing jobs for ourselves or just hang out together, gossip & look around coyly for good-looking boys.

Oh , and it gave us a legit reason to stay out late.

So when K’s cousin’s wedding rolled around a year later, I was all set to have fun. I went across to H’s house the previous day to check out what she was wearing. But she wasn’t attending.

“Why?”

“K did not invite me properly..”

“What? Didn’t she come over to give you an  invite?”

“Yeah, but I felt she did it for formality’s sake. Didn’t say I have to come or anything. After all, we hardly know her cousin.”

“But H! K is sooo close to us! Remember the fun we had at her sister’s wedding? We chatted with this cousin for hours!”

Nothing I said moved her. Now I was in a dilemma. Should I be the patch-up friend here and call K and tell her about this? Or should I just ignore it and go for the wedding with N & B? Or should I call them too and find out if they felt the same? Weren’t we a little too young for such grown up ego-tantrums?

But then, what if K was not very keen on me going too?

To end all the endless questions, I dialed K’s number. When I told her, she was horrified.

“I went over to her place & invited her with a kumkum dabba!” she wailed. “Please explain what she means by ‘inviting properly’?  And hey! I invited you over the phone. Are you also going to ditch saying that was not enough? What will I tell my aunt & uncle? They are so keen to see you all at the wedding!”

I assured her I’ll make it with the other 2 and in fact had a great time at the wedding.

I’m sure this is a unique problem we face only in India.

Anywhere else, either you’re invited or you’re not!

No ‘inviting properly’ or any other hidden power-play at work!

But with us, the inviting and the attending has so many subtle nuances. I suppose it’s because, we’re totally caught between the age-old customs and the evolving westernised concept of giving people their ‘space’.

There were times when we used to land up at a friends’ or reatives’ homes unannounced and never doubt for a minute if you’ll not be welcomed with open arms.

Now we have to call beforehand to check if they’re home and if they’re free to receive you. Heck! even I wouldn’t like it if someone lands up with family for a meal while I’m planning on catching a movie or have anther dinner scheduled!

At the other end, we have the custom of ‘visiting’ an ailing person.

When do you know its the best time to visit someone who’s recuperating/has had a baby/has had a surgery/is in the intensive care?

We hear horror stories of someone who’d underwent a minor surgery, but expired because he’d caught an infection from a visiting relative.

Or about a newborn who had to fight for his life for weeks in the neonatal care, because some visiting relative had forced a pinch of sugar into his mouth which had some bacteria?

When one of my own family members was in the ICU, even we, the immediate family, were given only 5 minutes to visit her, twice a day. Reason: she’s recovering from a serious infection and she does not need any fresh ones. And since she was stable and would require a few more days of intensive care, we were asked to go home at other times. “What’s the point in you guys hanging out in the crowded lobby?” we were asked. “She’s doing well and if there’s an emergency, we’ll call you. You’re fifteen minutes away, anyway.” Reasoned the doctor.

So we trooped back home and hoped for the best. But we kept getting calls every evening from relatives who called us from the hospital lobby, demanding to see her. And were horrified by the family’s absence!

One of them said, “Can one of you be in the hospital, so we can at least see you?” It was like marking their attendance. It only got worse after she was shifted to a room. Every evening we were swarmed by visitors and the patient just wanted to sleep!

Ditto when I delivered my son. I was still getting used to the lack of sleep and all the other discomforts only a new-born can give you, and every evening, I had to grit my teeth and be nice to the hoards that wanted to ooh & ahh the baby…

But when I did refrain from visiting a sick person, fearing infection, I was gently reprimanded for not showing my solidarity to a fellow human being!

God! its all sooo confusing!

The line between giving someone their space and giving your moral support when a person needs your presence has been so smudged that we don’t know when we’re wanted and when we’re not.

After my experiences on both sides for years, now I’ve made rules (at least for me) to follow.

When I need to be on my own, like when I’m ill or taking care of someone, I tell people not to bother visiting. I personally find making small talk when ill is all the more draining.

Sometimes its very irritating when people gape at you as you’re lying in bed, trying to memorise every detail, so they can compare notes with a fellow visitor. And don’t even get me started on the ones who just want to cross you off their list of visits that day!

And I never visit a new-born till they’re back home & well-settled. (except for very sensitive folks who keep a tab!)

But best of all, I like this uncle of a friend, who held his son’s upanayanam at home with just him, his wife & son and later sent a card to all relatives & friends which said,

“My son’s Upananyanam ceremony was held at home on ——. I know you’ll want to be informed and your blessings will always be with him”

It really requires lot of guts to something like that. I’m sure none of his relatives forgave him for depriving them their share of elai sappad and all the gossip they’d have caught up on!

http://shivatrilogy.com/book.html

This book was strongly recommended by a friend, an avid reader whose taste in books is largely similar to mine. “Its a page-turner. Totally un-put-downable” He said.

So I picked it up on my next visit to a book shop. Down with a strange viral which refused to disappear despite paracetemols and heavy duty antibiotics, I was confined to bed for almost a week. But I had lot of energy to read.  I finished this book in two day’s time.

Yes it was un-put-downable. The theory that Lord Shiva was a tribal from Tibet, who comes to the Indus Valley civilisation to fight for them in a war against evil and falls in love with the princess Sati and marries her is all very very interesting. The plot has all that a good drama demands. A reluctant hero, an unattainable heroine, a prophecy, brotherhood, war, twists in the story, etc. makes this book a page turner.

But since I just finished reading Ashok Banker’s Ramayana series, I just cannot help feeling biased.

I’m not comparing the authors. Both are skilled writers. Their books are really fast-paced. But there’s a huge difference.

While I did feel the Ramayana series could have been finished in 3 books instead of 6 and the violence was just too much for me, there was a sense of witnessing mythology in Banker’s books.

But The Immortals of Meluha gave me the feeling that I was reading cowboy or a James Bond story  set in ancient India.

Just imagine. There’s a part where  ’Shiva was lying on his bed reading a book (a palm-leaf book) and smoking a chillim when he heard a blast outside’

Excuse me? I can only imagine a Sean Connery or Roger Moore or Clint Eastwood doing that. Not someone wearing a dhoti and angavastram and has jata-mudi!

In another page, one of Shiva’s side kicks actually says  ”Yeah, right!”

And in another, Shiva looks into Sati’s eyes deeply and says “I love you..” And she replies “I love you too…”

This whole thing cracked me up so badly, I just couldn’t read the book seriously after that!

And the characters keep referring to India and its greatness and powers.

I thought till the invasion of the British, India was only a loose combination of various kingdoms. And I remember reading somewhere that it was the British who even coined the name India. So how did ‘India’ exist in 1900 BC?

I just cannot wait to get my hands on the rest of the triology!

But jokes apart, people, do pick up the book. It’s a high drama, fast-paced, un-put-downable and if you don’t mind the cowboy-bond influence, you’ll probably enjoy it much more than me!

Oh, I forgot! The friend who recommended the book is a typical ex IIM, fundu type of a guy, just like the author! No wonder he loved it!

The scene would haunt me for the whole day.

A part of me would feel guilty for running away. Maybe I should have stopped and given a piece of my mind to that man. Or called the police. But when the next time I saw a similar scene, I used to get terrified of the drunken man and my legs would automatically carry me as fast as they could away from the scene.

I used to berate myself for being a coward.

Anyway, this was years and years ago.

*****************

We were having dinner the other night. Our relative peace was shattered by some yelling and screaming. I peeped out of the kitchen window.

The backyards of my building and the house behind us share the same wall. The new live-in watchman of that house was standing in his kitchen and screaming his head off at his wife.

I rushed back to the dining room. “Do something!” I told my husband. “What?” He asked in annoyance. “I don’t want to interfere in his family business.”

By now the screaming was louder and it totally unnerved me. I climbed on to my kitchen counter and opened the window wider. My son who was super excited with all this, scrambled to climb up beside me. I could distinctly hear some thuds. He was beating her up! That did it. I wanted to make up for all the time I had run away from similar scenes.

“Helloooo!!!’ I screamed. My voice was not loud enough. Clearing my throat, I tried again. “Who’s making all this noise?? Don’t you have any sense beating up a woman like that?” By now my voice had become a pathetic squeak. My son literally fell off the counter laughing.

Suddenly a strong pair of hand lifted him off the counter. “HEY!!!” roared a booming voice, right next to my ear, almost making me deaf. My husband! He couldn’t bear to watch me squeaking and making a fool of myself, so he had decided to help. My God!!! All these years, I had no clue my husband had swallowed a loud speaker when he was a baby!

His booming voice bounced off the walls around and reverberated everywhere. “Who are all you people? If I hear one more word from you, I swear I’ll call the police!” He thundered.

The startled watchman looked up. “Sorry, sir…” he mumbled and slunk away. I flashed a grateful smile at my husband, though my insides were quaking. Both of us went back to the dining table, a bit shaken by the incident.

My son was huddled in his chair like a mouse. His face was pinched and was trying hard not to cry. “What happened?” I asked him. He looked at my husband. “Appa… ” He  began with a quavering voice. “You scared me when you screamed like that…  don’t ever do that again…”

After a bit of consoling and cajoling, he was his normal self again.

My husband glared at me. ‘All because of you’ He mouthed.

Later, I got a lecture on how I should not go around yelling at people from my window. “Did anyone else bother? Who are they to you? You had to climb on that counter like a monkey and make a fool of yourself!’

I was so mad. “I just can’t watch a man beating up his wife in front of me!”

“Then shut your window. Meet the owner of the house and complain about this. There is absolutely no need for you to deal with a drunken watchman!”

I sulked for a bit and thought that was the end of the story.

A few nights later, I was frantically getting my son to sleep when the same noises came from outside. Since my husband was traveling, I decided to ignore it. Soon my son was fast asleep and I went back to the book I was reading. The noise got too loud for me to concentrate and the language he was using was so terrible. He seems to be getting worse by the minute.

Throwing caution to the wind, I opened my curtains and screamed my squeakiest best. “Can’t you see people are trying to sleep? We’ve already warned you once. Shall I call the cops?” This time the wife looked up. “Please do Madam. I cannot take this torture!” She then turned to her husband and screamed in full volume about how uncouth he was, disturbing the peace in decent people’s neighborhood and so on.

She looked up at my window again and yelled at my direction, “Call the police Madam! I don’t care if they arrest my husband!”

I so didn’t want to get sucked into their brawl. So I went back to bed and switched off the lights, signaling the end of my participation.

The next morning I asked my friend who lives in my building if she gets disturbed by the nightly fighting. She seemed clueless since her flat was on the front side of the building.

She promised to send her driver to warn the offender. If that does not work, she promised to accompany me to meet the owner of that house.

Later my maid told me that she went over with my friend’s driver and issued a stern warning to the watchman. She assured me that he’d behave himself.

Later that evening I got another earful from my husband when he called. “Keep all the doors locked, just in case,” he warned me. “I really wish you had some good sense to keep out of such things…” He added wearily.

The next few days were peaceful… I had almost forgotten the watchman.

It started again last night. His high-pitch voice came floating up the window. Followed by his wife’s loud retorts.

I thought for a minute. Then did the sensible thing. Opened the curtains and shut the window.

But at least I tried this time.

I spent the New years with a close set of friends and as we all sat around talking, the topic of New Year’s resolutions came up. A friend promptly took over the role of Emcee and went around with an imaginary mike in his hands, asking each of us to say a few words about our respective resolutions.

The scene took me back years ago to a similar setting. I had just landed a job in an ad agency as a trainee, and was invited to a New Year’s party at my immediate boss’s house.

It was so impromptu that it took my strict tam-brahm parents totally by surprise. Here I was, lounging in front of the TV sipping my cuppa after a hard day’s work and someone screamed my name.

I dragged myself to the verandah to see a colleague on his scooter. “Hey! Come on! N asked me to pick you up for a party at her place!” He said with great urgency. He spotted my dad peeping from the drawing room. “Uncle!” He screamed above the roar of his scooter. “I’m here to collect your daughter to a party in our boss’s house, in T” (It was hardly 3 minutes from my place) He said in pukka tam-brahm tamil. Before my baffled parents could respond I was off with him with a hurried goodbye.

Though she was my boss, she was hardly a few years older to me and I learnt that the New Year’s party was an annual affair at her place with full family in attendance with a few close friends too.

The party was great fun.  My friend’s super stylish older sister and her husband danced away to some fast numbers with their small sons.  Her dad was a great sport and was pottering around with the music. Her mom made sure she fed us at regular intervals. They had one more couple over other than my office crowd.

At midnight my friend ran to her garden, took out a list of her New Year wishes and set fire to it. Apparently that’s a tradition she’s been following it deligently since childhood.

I don’t remember much else from that night except me with 2 more female colleagues who opted to stay over, retired in a cosy bedroom upstairs and talked the rest of the night away.(the colleague with the scooter preferred riding back all the way back home which was literally at the other end of town)

Did N’s dreams come true that year? I never found out since I quit the job in a couple of months, but I’ve kept in touch with her through the years and she seems to have a happy contended life, so I guess they did.

Personally I never believed in making resolutions every year. I do make my resolutions from time to time, but they don’t seem to co incide with December- January. Its scary to make rules for myself which I have to follow one whole year!

So on that aforementioned evening, when it was my turn to announce my resolutions, I said ” My resolution is not to have any.”

But since I’m getting too much flak from my family & friends on my lethargy & general shabbiness, I’ve decided to make one resolution a day & make sure I follow it through. And today’s was “Post something on my blog!”

So here it is, folks!

A very very Happy 2011 to everyone! ( I know I’m late, but my next resolution is to work on my lethargy!)