Loose Character

This is actually an old post (… rather, an old article) that got published in the Indian Express years back.  Wanted to start consolidating stuff that is scattered here and there in one place, as much as possible.  Luckily, this particular link is still alive…  But if you wish to continue reading my blog after that, you have to remember to click the “Back” button on your browser – else you will remain lost in the Indian Express site

http://www.indianexpress.com/oldStory/80231/

My Word! (Meri Word)

It is a common misperception that, like me, if one went to a missionary school, it would necessarily be a convent school. In Calcutta, where I grew up, the next question invariably was “So, which Loreto do you go to?” I hated that question! When I was younger and more energetic, I took great pains to explain to a mildly surprised audience that I studied in a wonderful institution that was a methodist school. What’s more I told them not to ask me about nuns or sisters – because we had neither!

In Calcutta though, the Loreto story was hard to escape. There is, the Loreto House on Middleton Row – the mother of all Loretos. We admired it from the outside while hounding our favourite haunts in and around Park Street. All my men friends in college yearned to date the Loreto Middleton Row girls (school and college). They dragged us along to the tall gates to avoid being shooed away by the watchful watchman!

Loreto Dharamtalla was a stone’s throw away from my school. Loreto Bowbazar was practically next door to my house. Loreto Sealdah was where my brother started his schooling… till they figured out how nasty the little boys were to the little girls – at which point they stopped admitting little boys! Then there was Loreto Convent Road, Loreto Elliot Road and God knows how many more Loretos.

Finally, there were those hundreds and thousands of Loreto alumni who seemed to “network” all over the world when the term “social networking” was unheard of and the physical act of networking with friends and alumni was more difficult – without the help of email ids, the internet and cell phones.  Oh, of course I had to acknowledge the influence of Loreto even though I didn’t study there!

Roll forward to the present times in Delhi and all these memories rushed back to me today. My friend’s Class XI-going daughter, Diksha, called me up late last night. She had arrived from Calcutta on a school trip, tired but enthusiastic. Would I please please please please come to watch her perform in a street play first thing in the morning? At 8 a.m? The venue for the play, much to my relief, was not the street at all … but Loreto Convent School in the Delhi Cantonment area.

I am not particularly fond of leaving for work at 7 a.m any more. I muttered the usual excuses – late night, work, house guests, unknown part of Delhi etc etc. But finally my ego got the better of me. With so many pleases, I was … well, … pleased! Nobody had ever asked for my presence more sincerely and she is too young to pretend to want me there without meaning it! And she is too young to disappoint once I blurted out the “Yes”.

Luckily, the search for the school was short and simple, even though the banner of “Mary Ward 400 years” intrigued me. I have not stepped into a school in the last 28 years other than for my son’s PTA meetings – which were always rather tense and stressful. So it was with a slight feeling of anxiety that I stepped into the school, feeling like a fish out of water.

It turned out to be a very moving and rejuvenating three hours. It was not only Diksha’s school (Loreto House) performing a street play. It was an inter-Loreto event with 8 schools participating from Kolkata, Lucknow, Delhi and Shimla!

Naturally, some plays were better than others – but Diksha’s was easily one of the best since they were made to repeat their performance – as were the girls of Loreto Convent Lucknow. Apart from the expected show of talent, energy and commitment, what was striking was  some of the unexpected salient features across all the performances!

Diksha is kneeling second from the left

First, most of the plays were based on extremely relevant topics that are tough to perform (for school children) in just ten minutes. These ranged from protecting the girl child, untouchability and blind superstition all the way to terrorism and national unity. So, they did full justice to the spirit of nukkad natak.

Second, most of the plays were performed in Hindi - good, correct, shudh Hindi! I must explain this apparently odd statement in a country where Hindi is the national language. You see, when we were kids, we were not just discouraged but not “allowed” to speak in the vernacular at school – unless we were attending a vernacular class. As a result, national language or any other language, vernaculars were treated almost like “notional” languages in a typical English-medium missionary school in the 1960s and 1970s.

During Annual Day, therefore, when one solitary Hindi play had to be performed, one would barely find two and a half girls who could do justice to the play or the language! The average quality of spoken Hindi was nowhere as good as what I heard today - and remember, these kids were essentially putting up a performance for other kids – which means that the audience understood! We have come a long way because this fluency with Hindi cut across schools from all states! Hats off to Hindi’s climb in missionary schools!

Third, the young actors were at ease and enjoying themselves. They were not on any artificial “best behaviour”. There was use of slang in the plays and even a couple of four-letter words (only in Hindi, I figured out that it is more like two-letter words!!)… this was in the presence of all the students, the teachers and the sisters. Nobody winced or gasped! Remembering the Loreto of old, I was truly amazed!

Finally, the hospitality and snacks were outstanding. I was treated with great courtesy and warmth and escorted to the best seat – no doubt because of my shock of grey hair and my distinguished personality! Most people assumed that I was a teacher from another distant Loreto!

Diksha, thank you.  I am really enlightened and energised by the experience!

Oh and before I forget, Mary Ward was the lady born more than 400 years ago – who had the vision and courage to set up the Loreto institutions – technically part of an order called the IBVN (Institute of the Blessed Virgin Mary). Now, I agree that I am ignorant; but did you know that one?

Adult-erated Generation

Even as far back as the 1990s, when my son was quite small, schools in the National Capital Region of Delhi were working their magic on children.  They were promoting the idea of celebrating Diwali with no fire crackers and celebrating Holi with only eco-friendly colours.  It had no impact on my son for a couple of years.  But finally peer pressure took over.  Over the years I have got used to many children declining to buy or accept fire-crackers during Diwali.  Or, they get themselves a token packet or two of fire crackers and go to the community centre to pool together with other children to burn them.

As in other years, on Diwali night, I sedated my paranoid pet Pekingese after dinner and put him in his bed.  Then I decided to take a long walk through our rather spacious colony.  DLF Phase I is one of the older and more populated blocks of the “new” Gurgaon and it took me nearly an hour to complete my walk.  It was well past ten and though one could hear the soft rumbling of crackers, very few children were outside, let alone bursting crackers.  A few had gathered at the nearby park and were winding up for the night.

But what was this that I consistently saw on my walk?  I witnessed at least a dozen enthusiastic “children” aged between 40-50 years in different parts of the colony.  They lived in large 500 square yard houses, were very well dressed and were enthusiastically and determinedly bursting noisy bombs well after 10 p.m!  One has always noticed a few over-zealous adults captaining a team of children in bursting fire-crackers while the children look on.  But I saw no real children on my walk.  Why!  Quite often, there was nobody else other than these lone, persistent, determined souls – pre-possessed and quite immune to the pointed stares that I stopped and gave them!

On the following morning, the newspapers confirmed that the level of pollution on Diwali night had actually come down in Gurgaon.  It was attributed primarily to the success that the schools had had at moulding the thinking of a new generation of children.  In some cases, residents claimed that the crackers were burst not by the residents but by children who had come in from slums and urban villages.

But nowhere did they mention how the lesson in civic sense had passed by an entire generation of adults who were schooled in the 1980s or earlier.  Or how to fix this gaping hole!  Maybe I should turn to Pink Floyd for inspiration and appeal to them…  “Hey Teacher!  Leave them kids alone! .. “ …and fix the adult-erated grown-ups instead!

Light of our Lives?

It came as no surprise. Jyoti Basu, the erstwhile Chief Minister of West Bengal (and the longest serving Chief Minister ever in India) had been ailing for some time. He was 95 going on 96 and had led a full life – by the accounts of friends and foes alike. Over the last few weeks, one had been reading reports of fluid in the lungs, in the brain etc…. which invariably point to one thing.

My purpose is not to dissect Jyoti Basu’s political career nor try to understand his personality. My mild interest in politics stems from being curious about life in general. I have much stronger views about incidents and policies rather than parties. As I landed in Kolkata on 17th Jan after a long and irritable journey thanks to the foggy conditions, the buzz went around “Jyoti Babu is no more” and one could distinctly hear the muted sigh going around – rather like the “sigh” one hears in a sitcom when the hero and heroine finally meet!

I shrugged and inched my way up to the head of the taxi queue. I knew, of course, that this diminutive man in life had been taller than Goliath in Bengal politics and his death would take the jyoti (light) out of many lives. But Kolkata had seen stalwarts depart and had its stories of mourning to share. We had grown up on tales of the funeral processions for freedom fighter Deshbandhu Chittaranjan Das or Rabindranath Tagore. In the latter’s case, people tried to snatch hair from the Nobel Laureate’s beard and head to keep as a memento!

As a teenager, I remember vividly the dramatic impact that the death of the matinee idol, Uttam Kumar, had on women – young and old alike. People gave up eating and mourned in their own peculiar ways. As the funeral procession moved to the cremation grounds, people fell from terraces and trees in their enthusiasm to have a last look at the great man. Women beat their chests amd tore their hair. Many married women broke their red and white bangles and removed the vermillion from their heads. In Bengal, this is usually a symbol of a woman losing her husband!

I thought I had seen it all and didn’t expect any new emotions to surface on Jyoti Babu’s last journey. Of course, the crowds turned up in untold numbers – young, old, men, women, able, blind, physically and mentally challenged – you name it and they were there. But what was fascinating was the impact he had even on those who did not step out of the house.

My aunts (aged 70 and 75) refused to eat all day, despite past incidents of hypoglycaemia! My mother snapped at me with a “Are you nuts?  How will I watch the TV then?” when I dared remind her that she was in great pain and was scheduled to meet the dentist that day!  My sceptic husband – who had so far laughed at me whenever I had mentioned that after I am gone, my body be given to the medical colleges for students to dissect – actually looked at me with something that resembled respect!

He wasn’t the only one!  Within a day or two, the number of people in Kolkata who willed their bodies for such “scientific research” (as the media kept referring to Jyoti Babu’s last wish) swelled to more than 300 when for years few had thought of it! The icing on the cake came from my grand aunt. At 90, she is as sharp as a whistle with all her faculties intact! I was visiting her and giving her details of Jyoti Basu’s funeral procession. I updated her on how he had not only donated his eyes but his entire body without a thought for superstition.

“How exactly do they use the eye?” she asked me.  “After all, if I am dead, even my eye is dead, right?”

I patiently explained to her the process of eye donation – the consent, the forms and how the family had to abide by the wishes of the deceased.  I added that it wasn’t the full eye that was removed but only a small part and the process did not disfigure the eye.   And there was a time limit.  It had to happen within a window of four hours of the donor dying.

Grand aunt looked philosophical and her eyes misted up. “That’s fair,” she said. “If I am anyway going to die, then does it matter if somebody removes my eyes four hours before and puts it to some good use?! … Hey!  What’s happening to you, my child? Hey! Why are you sliding down? Are you feeling unwell?”

Hamari Shabana

7th December 2009

Once I was a theatre buff and have seen some outstanding plays. Outstanding plays continue to be staged in Delhi all the time. But over the years, it has become increasingly difficult to manoeuvre around the work schedule and actually make it to a play on time! I end up watching plays infrequently; yet I never give up trying. So when I read that Tumhari Amrita would be staged at Epicentre in my own Gurgaon, I swore that I would make it, no matter what hurdles I faced.

Theatre-goers in Delhi seem to turn out in numbers only on Saturday nights. Sunday nights are a no-no for most people with jobs and small children. And Friday night is not theatre-night simply because nobody can plan to leave from work early enough to navigate through Delhi’s traffic and still reach any formal function on time! They party on Friday nights instead. As for week nights, there is usually a handful of die-hards for plays staged anywhere in Delhi. Tumhari Amrita was being staged on a Monday.

Based on what I thought was a flawless line of thought, I reached the ticket counter on the very first day with a swagger. Imagine my shock when I discovered that all tickets of all denominations were sold out!!! I called people high and low to find that one influential person who could find me a couple of tickets. Alas, they were really and truly sold out. Influential people and peons alike threw up their hands and my despair grew and grew.

Only this morning a close friend slipped me some valuable advice… I was to reach the venue alone fifteen minutes before the start of the play. Last minute cancellations were always there and a lone person was more likely to claim her rights to that ticket than someone in a big group. It sounded like rather a slim chance but I went nonetheless, desperate that I was. The ease with which I found a ticket and went in was unbelievable! I walked in and sat.

Of the solo plays that I have seen, Nathbati Anathbat (performed and acted by Shaoli Mitra) stands tall and proud… a cut above the rest. For those who are not familiar with it, Nathbati Anathbat is the story of the Mahabharata as perceived by Draupadi. Shaoli Mitra acts as Draupadi, of course. But being a solo performance, she also acts as Yudhishthir, Bheema, Arjuna, Duryodhana and an unbelievable number of characters! She also enacts battles, love scenes and court scenes and there is no scope for even a moment of boredom as she capers across the stage by herself and portrays multiple characters.

So, solo plays can be very very good and Tumhari Amrita was not even a solo play since there were two actors – Shabana Azmi and Farooque Sheikh. I knew that this combination on stage would put up something worth witnessing. I also knew that they represented two characters who had known each other for 35 years through their love letters.

Yet nothing prepared me for what I witnessed on stage today! Nathbati had had the richness of multiple characters and the battle and outdoor scenes to make it lively despite being a solo play.  Tumhari Amrita did not have any of that. It had two desks with sheaves of paper on which the script was written. Shabana Azmi sat at one desk and Farooque Sheikh sat at the other. They were dressed in sari and pyjama-kurta respectively. There were no sets, no music, no melodrama and no other characters that came on stage. To that extent, even though there were two people acting, they were really sitting at their respective desks throughout and not budging an inch! It reminded me more of a play-reading than a play!

But this was no play-reading! The variety of emotions that the two (especially Shabana) displayed just sitting in one place with a sheet in front is unbelievable. The pace of the dialogue was just right with no scope for boredom. There was laughter, sighs and pin-drop silence in most of the places. And did I notice a couple of hesitant finger-tips carefully wiping off something from the eyes? Before I knew it, it was over.

I came home feeling that I had learnt something new – how to act in a play without acting! Shabana looks young and refreshing and I would have placed her age as late forties. This is not possible since I am 46 and I saw Masoom, Shabana’s landmark film – where she acted opposite Naseeruddin Shah – while I was still in school! The ease with which she portrayed the character of Amrita – all the way from girlhood to middle age was phenomenal. At each point, one could vividly visualise Amrita in her big palatial home in a frock or sitting house-bound in her granny’s house or lonesome in her artist’s studio in Paris.

And to think that I made it by a whisker!

Defect to Effect

Recently, I came across an article in the Deccan Herald that caught my eye titled “Those Kodak Moments”. It was about how quickly children grow up and before one finally takes time off from work to spend “quality time” with them, a rude shock awaits the parents. They discover that their children have grown up, the roles are reversed and it is no longer the children begging to be taken out; it is the parents trying to get their older teenaged children (or even working children) to go out with them. It ends by urging younger parents to take time out with their children and not get caught up in the maze of rules.

The article was well-written and had a genuine and valuable message. But something in it took me back in time with images and memories unfolding in a rush like the crazy bright colours and patterns that one sees through a kaleidoscope. Parenthood did not come naturally to us and we are the first ones to admit that we are not and never were ideal parents even though we tried very hard! When Nilesh was growing up, both of us were really busy eking out a living and a survival policy in our respective and chosen spheres of work. We were the classic nuclear family and you might ask why we chose to have him at all!

For starters, we did not plan on a sibling for him. Neither of our parents (all of whom had retired and were hale and hearty by the time Nilesh came along) could spare even three months of their lives to come and stay with us to look after their first grandchild even though we were at the peak of our “work-life conflict”. They had helpful suggestions like “Send him to us and we will return him to you when he is five years since you won’t have the time to bring him up anyway!” Plus Delhi was too far, too hot or too cold for them J

That was taking the “bundle” of joy a bit too literally, I thought – sending him up and down. Besides, we weren’t ready for an empty nest syndrome just after having a newborn baby in the house! Our parents also unknowingly threw down the gauntlet and we just HAD to do something about it!  Some more unintended help happened. I never had full-time, live in help till Nilesh was 15 – which is actually the time when most people let go of their full-time help. Mentally, I was not comfortable with Nilesh growing up with “Nanny Maa” instead of “Naani Maa“. Consequently, I never found a full-time maid that I approved of

That left very few avenues for being strict about his bedtime and about not taking him with us when we went out. So, Nilesh went EVERYWHERE with us. He spent more time sleeping on the back seat of our hastily-acquired second-hand car and on peoples’ sofa sets than any other kid of his age. Even at parties, there would be a “quiet corner” where he would sleep off after his meal. When he grew that tad bit older, … why!  He just joined the party!

When school began in right earnest, we would sometimes not go at all (all of us, that is). More often than not, we would all go after explaining to him that sleeping late and waking up early once in a while is a part of today’s life and good for everyone to do – IF he wanted to have a share of the fun. The sacrifice would be to complete his homework early, sleep in the afternoon and get up early the next morning without a fuss. Kicking up a fuss would mean the end of the ride. We did not consult specialists and child psychologists to figure out what impact this would have on his adult life because we had an inkling that they would not approve! But he also never once bunked school.

So, he learnt to go everywhere and did everything that we did… what can a married couple in their mid/late thirties working for 14 hours a day do anyway that he couldn’t do other than drink alcohol?  This also he tried and the experiment was engineered to ensure that he didn’t like the experience :-)

Similarly, Nilesh was made to like banana. We drove out of town on almost all our holidays and almost all of them were outdoor holidays. When you are on the road, driving through Meerut or Saharanpur or Rajasthan or Kerala – what is the ONE food that is available everywhere, is wholesome and nutritious, is easy for a child to have, is reasonably tasty, not messy to eat and comes with its own natural protection against germs and poor hygiene? Bingo!  “Bananas” is the correct answer! Friends thought that we were bananas… but after watching Nilesh eat 6-8 bananas at one sitting on a cold Sunday morning (when he was up and we were still sleeping), they agreed that maybe there was some merit in going overboard with bananas!

Of course, we worried about this wandering gypsy lifestyle and felt a wee bit conscious about it now and then. We still fretted about quality time and the right values and all the various things that parents fret about. Most things we did were all wrong and I wish that he could have a bit more of this that or the other. But, for the first time, the article I read made me feel good about something we did. Nilesh’s forced introduction into the cross-cultural domestic and interational world meant that he had to learn to cope with it (many clients of mine still ask about Nai-lesh) and, I suspect, even enjoy it.

At 18, Nilesh – a hurried concatenation of Nilu and Mahesh at a hurried naming ceremony – comes along with us on visits to friends or family 60% of the time. He has independent deals and lunches and dinners and what have you with our friends (our friends, not just their children). When he comes with us, we feel good. But when he doesn’t come too, we feel good since he is doing his own thing with his friends and his interests. There is no feeling of guilt or nostalgia on this count and I have to thank Nilesh for it!

Life has come a full circle. Nilesh has just called up Nisha – my friend and wife of an old NIIT colleague – and, much to my chagrin, invited himself over for lunch this weekend “to eat the yummy Kerala fish fry” that Nisha makes. What’s more, I heard about it from Nisha!  First we were annoyed, then embarrassed as hell (yes!  Even my Keralite husband who loves that fish fry too!). Only Nilesh and Nisha were as pleased as punch!

The article made me pause and think of it in a different light. And guess what? We were asked to come along with him as his parents!  I wonder what is in store next!

The Crest of the Matter

Rekha Bhardwaj performed in a live open air event at the India Habitat Centre….  Rather, she performed from a covered stage and the audience sat under the open sky. …But let me not jump the gun!

A few days back, I noticed an advertisement in the Times of India (TOI), Delhi Edition about Rekha Bhardwaj’s upcoming performance at the India Habitat Centre.  The ad urged readers to head to any of the given TOI offices with a copy of the newly launched Crest Edition.  Apparently, we had only to wave the Crest there and abra cadabra .. a pass for the show would appear!

I kicked myself for discontinuing the Crest Edition just ten days back.  I could not possibly call up my newspaper agent and tell him that I wanted it again and that too for a day!  My friend Nupur took charge and managed to lay her hands on a couple of copies of Crest – the passports to the passes.  Armed with these we paid separate visits to the Gurgaon office of the TOI.

First Nupur waved and waved the Crest Edition but in vain.  The passes had been exhausted!  Certain that she was doing something wrong, I paid another visit to the TOI office and waved my Crest at everyone I met.  I even threw in my coy smile for good measure.  I couldn’t even make it past the door.

Sunday dawned and, die-hard music fans that we are, Nupur and I decided to go to the venue of the programme anyway.  In Delhi, there are so many cultural programmes going on at any point of time that we have developed the knack of gate crashing successfully to most of them.  Besides, our logic was that, being an open air programme, no gate-keeper, pass-checker or security person could stop the notes of the music from slipping beyond the cordon of protection.  We decided to listen to it from the outside if things got tough.

The serpentine queue at the venue resembled the earlier immigration queues at Delhi Airport.  We took up our places at the tail.  The queue snaked back and forth all over the fairly spacious Habitat Centre lawn.  As we got talking to the elderly gentleman in front, he re-confirmed that one would need passes to enter.  As he saw our faces fall, he pulled out two ‘extra’ passes since his sisters had dropped out of the programme at the last minute!  Talk of miracles!  Sadly, we did not even ask the name of our benefactor!

Luck ran out as we inched forward.  Long before we reached the gate, we heard the verdict passed down from person to person in the queue ahead of us.  Chinese whispers did not distort the message which was loud and clear – all the seats were taken and no more people would be allowed in.  Shrugging, we settled down on the lawns to listen to the music – after all, that had been our expectation in the first place.  There were a lot of us outside since the show had been promoted heavily in the newspaper.

The last time that I attended a TOI sponsored music recital was almost two decades back with the ‘Morning Ragas’ series.  I remember shivering at 6:30 a.m on a cold winter morning as we listened to Pandit Mallikarjun Mansur!  True, we sat on durries on the ground but we were made to feel welcome and at home, even though it was a ‘free’ programme.  The organisers had thoughtfully organised complimentary chai in kulhars for all those present.

Coming back to the present, the acoustics were bad outside and one had to guess who was singing and what.  I wonder why the organisers did not put up a large screen and some loudspeakers so that the overflow audience could savour at least a part of the show from the lawns and bless TOI!  The Gods that managed the gates finally took pity on us after half an hour.  They let some of us in amidst much shouting and confusion.  By then many of those waiting had left.

One and a half hours into the performance, I was quite disappointed and I wasn’t the only one.  The crowd was eager for the popular film tracks.  Instead, Rekha Bhardwaj sang a series of unknown songs – including plenty of sufi music.  I love spiritual music but my soul must have hardened and her renditions did not touch my soul.  Looking at the masses walking around or shuffling out, it seemed to me that I was not the only one left unmoved.  Also, did I hear a few off-key notes this evening?  I thought so – but hey!  Who am I to say that!  I am not trained in Indian classical music!

Finally in the last 15 minutes, we heard her familiar numbers from Omkara and Delhi 6.  She also sang Duma Dum Mast Kalandar… and these three songs were outstanding.  I guess it is the classic dilemma of what we like doing versus what others want us to do.  It is not just the dilemma of performers but of managers and people going through life!  Rekha Bhardwaj should stick to her “folksy” film numbers.  The crowd that remained cheered themselves hoarse at the last three numbers and trooped out happy.  I am glad that I went for the show and got Rekha Bhardwaj out of my system.  And I am glad that I saw and heard the accompanying keyboard artist – who was exceptional!  He plays classical piano and jazz – quite a genius!

That was not all.  At the gate stood volunteers handing out souvenirs … you guessed it!  They were copies of the Crest Edition of the TOI!  Mine is waiting prominently on my table.  Who knows?  It may become the future passport for another pass for another concert?

Kadwa Truth

As I was born in Kolkata to Bengali parents, the significance of Karva Chauth – essentially a festival celebrated in Northern India – passed me by in my childhood.  It was like any other day for me.

My mother set off dutifully for work after a sumptuous brunch.  A born foodie and compulsive “snacker”, she returned home from work in the evening carrying jalebi and kachori for us to feast on.  My father came home by midnight with no expectations that my mother might be fasting for him!  In fact, usually, she had already had her dinner by then!

Back then, shops did not overflow with Karva Chauth wares.  For the families that did observe Karva Chauth, it was a discreet and private affair.  Even in Delhi in the 1990s, I registered the existence of Karva Chauth only because curious colleagues asked me whether or not I was fasting.

Bollywood and TV ads enlightened me about the significance of the moon, the man and the mesh that is so much a part of this festival.  But Karva Chauth has attained a new importance and visibility in this millennium.  Shops overflow to the streets with bangles and gifts; banners scream “Karva Chauth” at you.  And the festival ‘bonus’ is to be treated to Diwali-like traffic jams a good ten days before Diwali!

Is this the spirit of the festival?  I guess the bitter truth is that, like any other festival, Karva Chauth is also an opportunity for the eternal consumer in us to display consumer behaviour.

Representatives of the fairer sex (aged between 7 and 77) patiently sit with palms held out in front of rows of mehndi artists who patiently toil away at creating exquisite designs.  It is not without its humorous moments.  A woman dressed in opulent clothes and jewellery watches anxiously as the henna artist tries to extract a single note from a mountain of large-currency notes that have uncontrollably sprung out from her handbag…. with henna on her hands, she is unable to pay him without his help!  If he runs away with her purse, will she try to grab it from him and risk spoiling her mehndi design?  I wonder…

With purse somehow clutched under one armpit, she holds up both her hands a foot away from the body and navigates a busy street.  She is like a misguided missile.  At school when we were first introduced to Shakespeare, we always wondered how Lady Macbeth looked in the famous sleep-walking scene.  Why oh why didn’t somebody show us a video clip of this lady???

Not all moments are humorous.  Some women insist on driving with fresh henna on their hands.  One such driver opens her car door with an electronic key and and miraculously starts the engine.  She has her tiny daughter seated beside her.  At the busy corner, juggling between gears, steering wheel and smeared mehndi, she loses control and badly scrapes a parked car with a surprised old man inside.  Before he recovers, she has fled.  The child starts crying but what is a bit of safety of self, child and citizen when compared with ensuring the safety of the mehndi?

The Delhi Police are advising car owners to install anti-theft gadgets in their vehicles to protect themselves against theft.  I wonder if they have any advice for us during Karva Chauth?

I did it!

Hey world!  FINALLY I get around to creating my blog!  I tried my best to be “the last person to hit the blogging scene” and seem to have done quite well on that count   I ran an internet business way back in 1996, set up a payment server for credit card transactions, chatted and … you know..  the kind of stuff considered cutting edge way back then !!!  Wonder why a simple BLOG took so much time (and motivation!) to start!  Or why I am not rushing to do the “cool” or “right” things any more!  Anyway, here I am - a bit rusty but determined to start!