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 live today in the open air at the India Habitat Centre….  Rather, she performed from a covered stage and the audience sat under the open sky. …But I am jumping the gun as usual!

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 make it past even 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 do not even know the name of our benefactor!

Luck ran out.  As we inched forward and 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 I had 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 ‘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!  The Gods that managed the gates finally took pity on us after, after half an hour, let some of us in amidst much shouting and confusion.  By then many people 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 very very good.  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!  The crowd, of course, cheered themselves at the last three numbers and everyone 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?

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!

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?

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!