breadwinner? buttered, dry or plain stale?

I was reading this very interesting post.
Something that I have thought of and discussed so often.
Why is it important that in a relationship, the man be the breadwinner? The woman takes care of eggs for the weekend...
The man buys the house, the woman buys the blinds?
My father was the 'sole breadwinner', my mum the bread maker.
It worked quite well for them.

But for their legacy of 4 daughters, being taken care of or not being a substantial income earner just doesn’t cut it.
The idea of not working, or looking for a man who would 'take care' of home and hearth never crossed our minds.
At this point, each of us could independently be responsible for running our home. It is fortunate that we are not.

Coming from this sorority of rather fierce financial independence, I am probably the least independent of us 4. In the first three years of marriage, I did not even have a bank account, I would actually give my salary cheque to my husband (and totally hog his debit card). I am a nagger by nature, so regardless of whether I am earning or not (a 2-year maternity break), I would nag about money.

How much I earn is all about the value my work gets... there is no personal ego here.

And if I am doing an honest day’s work at office, I find no need to go overboard being a homemaker too. For that I employ help.

Yet, I know so many highly successful women, who are so damn apologetic earning well or more than their husbands. I know husbands who make their wives accountable for every last penny they spend. Earning is her duty, saving and spending is his right. Most of the saving/investment is not even a joint decision.

These women, some at the very top of their professions, try desperately to convince everyone around them that they are perfectly capable of catering to the needs of husband and child. Fresh food, laundry, school activities. What’s wrong with hiring help, take away and dry cleaners?

Haven’t they heard the latest? Our much praised ‘multi-tasking ability’ is a joke the men are playing on us, to get us to do more.

And I know women, who are so proud of the fact that their income makes no difference to the family. My point is -- if you are working, your skill and time need to be remunerated without gender-bias. You earning a lot less than your husband, or your husband earning 10 times what you do, is not a moral victory.

Here in the Gulf, where a bulk of the income is sent back home to take care of family, 9 out of 10 times, it is to take care of the guy's family.
Of course R and I are totally reasonable about this -- neither of our families benefit from our income; to the contrary, we tap on their resources for small change :)

How big a Secret is it really?

Though I've been hearing about The Secret for a while, it was only last week that I got a copy for myself.
I am not greatly into self-help books. There are books I've read now and then -- Who Moved My Cheese, for instance, about 4 years ago. It kind of shook me out of a stupor, to get me moving and find my own opportunities.
Then more recently Eat, Pray, Love. Good read. Funny. And basic common sense approach to dealing with problems.
Now The Secret. While in principle what the book purports is simple enough, the specifics are way too simplistic.
I am reviewing the book, though I have not completed it yet.
You are supposed to read the book, or at least finish the book without doubting its essence or truth. But for someone who can't even read a Dilbert strip without critiquing it, that's a tough task.

The Secret is The Law of Attraction.
You reap what you sow. You sow positive thoughts and you reap positive action. I agree.

It also talks about Gratitude. When you are grateful for all that you have, then you get more of the same. I totally agree -- after all 'thank you' works like magic. Say Thank You to your child, and she wants to earn that gratitude again, and again. Same goes for the guy on the road who let's you cut him, and you wave back a thank you. He is going to be equally accommodating of the next nut-in-a-hurry.

The Secret talks about giving back. Not sacrificing. But giving. And that rings true. The more you give, the richer you feel. And more comes back to you.

It talks about lists and vision boards. Very practical. Very do-able, helps you focus on the job at hand. Be it getting a promotion, bringing out a magazine or just making your marriage work.

So that sums up all that I agreed with.

But what I could not agree with, and was angered by, was what the book claimed about illness -- that from cancer to paralysis, your illness is because of your negative thoughts, and the only way to be 'cured' was by sending out positive signals to the universe.
Which sick person doesn't want to be 'cured'? And how do you account for babies falling ill?
The book or the message talks about 'focussing' on something to get it. Ask. Believe. Receive.
So if you know how to ask and believe, you will receive? It doesn't matter what kind of a person you are? What about Karma (I am a big believer of that).

Way too much focus is on material wealth. On acquiring unexpected million-dollar cheques, merely by wishing for it. It talks about not focussing on debts... but on wealth.
I would love to get those cheques too... and I would love for all my debts to magically disappear, merely because I am grateful to the bank for increasing my credit limit! If wishes were horses... The Secret would probably say: Wishes ARE horses and Beggars COULD fly.

It even talks about weight loss. Focus on your ideal weight, and not on losing weight, and voila, you are a perfect 10!!!!!!!!

But like all thoughts, advice or philosophies, you can only take what suits you, what strikes you as genuine.
This is where the book fails miserably (though I haven't come to the end yet) -- it's making a promise. A careless promise (like those over the top advertisements) that it is the key to all your successes -- financial, personal, emotional. And it almost at every step absolves itself of any responsibility. If this is not working for you, then you haven't followed The Secret 100%. So if I follow it only 50%, will I get half a million instead of one in the next lottery? If I followed only 70 percent, can I lose at least 10 kgs?

Many of those who stood testimony to the Laws of Attraction, are those who have had a great fall or risen from the very depths of misery. Maybe that's when it works.

And I would rather not plunge to that depth, to reach GREAT heights. Because, what I have now seems pretty great. A fantastic and huge family, great friends, enough money to buy me my books, even expensive ones like The Secret, health...

Of course I want more -- to travel more, to not feel the NEED to work or earn, to drop my 25 excess kilos in a jiffy.
I still recommend that you read The Secret. It's not foolproof. It's not a magic wand, though there are some who say by merely watching the movie (that came first) their lives have changed. As Oprah said, it opens a door -- which is itself a big step.

I must add, since I am a big fan of the Big O, she barely could hide her scepticism of The Secret, though she did agree in principle with The Law of Attraction. Good attracts good. And big people think alike.

one upmanship by any other name

why is it so difficult for us to take a relationship as is? to not compare it with another?
you are not happy just being loved by your mother, you want to know how differently she loves you, how much more, did your sister get a bigger/better piece of the cake, are they more proud of your achievements than your siblings'...
but it's not just about vying for your parents' approval or attention. it happens at every stage of life.
is your bum-chum a little too pal-ly with the other friend? are there secrets that you are not privy to? does he/she have more fun with other people than with you?
then at work. it's not enough to be thrilled with your appraisal or bonus, you need to be more thrilled than the next person. your happiness is not necessarily pegged to the nature of your promotion or the hike in your pay, it is also influenced by how much more you've earned than your colleague.
and all those insecurities and fear we transfer to the most important relationship in our life... with our children.
it's not enough if he/she is smart at school, we search for a position, for a reference point... smarter than x, y or z's child? but if you catch on to this early, you would be wise to put a stop to it -- to not weigh down your child with your unrealised ambitions.
it's fortunate that i don't come from a polygamous society (though, i live in one) -- i am the only one he has, so apart from some wishful thinking, there is little else he can do. and i can be complacent in the knowledge that he has only me to come home too...
or am i being naive?

Weekend Wordsmith-II: Searching

Life is one long hunt... searching for real, hidden and imagined treasures.
You search for affirmation as a child
Self Confidence as a teenager
Success as a professional
Love as you grow older
Your waistline and toes, after childbirth

And as I stare into the mirror, I search for that insecure youngster who thought all the treasures lay around the bend. I want to travel back in time and say, treasures are in the small gestures, kind words, good friends... the big stuff? that's not always a treasure.

Prompt from here.

who the hell is that beef for?

Do you ever peep into the shopping cart of the person in front or behind you at the checkout counter?
I do. Shamelessly. But am deeply offended when my cart is being peeped into. Double standards rule.
The 'meal-for-one' kind of shopper is easy to figure out -- bread in one hand and eggs in the other. Almost on every trip to the store, you find one or two.
Last week there was this guy ahead of me, and I knew immediately that he was in a polygamous relationship (or is really kinky), and had many daughters in addition to the badly behaved bunch of sons who were giggling into the trolley he was checking out -- filled with sanitary napkins, talcum powder and perfumes. (If you think this is made up or is an exaggeration, then you haven't obviously been to the gulf and seen men shepherd their women folk in the personals section.)
Then there are trolleys very similar to mine – bursting with skimmed milk, low fat yoghurt, whole grain bread, muesli, marzipan cake rolls, mangoes, bananas and potatoes. A struggle between the wannabe and what-i-am-now.
So today at the checkout counter, I take a curious look at the purchases of an absolutely stunning looking woman. She is tall, she is well toned, she has flawless skin – bloody perfect... and very unfair, I thought, when I saw her slap a tray of beef mince on the counter. "Red meat and perfection? And I a vegetarian who just bought a kilo of tofu!"
Then the truth slowly unravels. A box of fruits, a tray of fresh green vegetables, turkey breasts, fish fillet (she had the entire food pyramid on display), some energy drink (obviously works out), cans and cans of cat food (that explains it. no children or even a dog to take care of, and end up neglecting self. just a cat that is probably as self-obsessed as Ms Perfect Skin/Body/And All).
So as I reluctantly peel myself away from the line, having finally loaded all my food onto the cart, I decide the beef must be for the really ugly boyfriend or husband.
Then I see her meet her husband/boyfriend outside the supermarket, and there went my last hope into the trash bin... and to top it all, they were polite and helped me and my cart over a bump on the way to the parking lot.
I barely managed a thank you, forced a smile, and bit down the words on the tip of my tongue: "who the hell is that beef for?"

Saturday Scribes-I

Prompt from here


She stares at me through the lattice that divided the garden from the car park. She squints to get a good view of the guy walking hand in hand with me... was he good enough for me? was he a catch?
Does he deserve my attention, my dressing up in laces and frills.
She worries. Is he good enough to take care of my little girl? Even as she thinks that, she sees me clutching his hand tighter. But that only worries her. I place my trust too easily in people. I don't judge people well.
After all, only the other day I got so chatty with that man who came to fix the faulty electrical wires and repair the converter at the 'big house', where ma works. In a matter 10 minutes the electrician knew my life history. He knew I was waiting for the right man to come by and rescue me from this 'darned' (ma's word not mine) life.
Ma feels if the man is good, the woman will fall in place. That's why she is particular that the man who takes me home should be the 'ideal' father. That's why she requests to see him alone. She hopes his wife would take ma's place with ease.
As I trip over a fallen branch and rip my new lace skirt, I glance quickly at ma, through the zigzag of the wooden grill. Instead of worry, I see her frown lift. And a smile surface.
The man is on his knees, wiping away the grime with his fresh handkerchief... he promises to get me a new skirt, a prettier one... I remember that well, because he did. I was all of 3. The promise of a skirt was enough to make me his slave or daughter for life.
That little gesture was enough to change ma's heart... and give me away.
I remember the lattice, and ma's eyes through it. I remember the promise of a new skirt. I remember ma's hesitant smile...
I imagine the rest. I imagine she would have cried herself to sleep every night, just as I did. I imagine that she still works at the 'big house' . And I imagine or rather hope that she regrets to this day, letting go of me so easily.

Weekend Wordsmith-I: Don't touch

Don't touch (the glass), it will break
Don't touch (the hot plate), you will be hurt
Don't touch (the computer), it's mine
Don't touch (that crystal in the shop), we can't afford it
Don't touch (the apple crumble), it will go straight to your hips
Don't touch (me), i have a headache
Don't touch...
A life of don'ts. don't touch, don't this, don't that...
the foundation we lay for your children to grow up 'don't-ing' all their life.

Prompt from this

mundiri, and other such precious stuff!

Here is my take on this.

Reading that post, just brought back memories of my own.

Mine is a huge family, with tonnes of visitors who dropped in unannounced for a meal or a snack.
There was always food at home.
But there was one precious ingredient that was rationed very carefully.
The maliga kadai (provision store) would give a small plastic packet with about 6 cashew nuts in it, as a freebee with the monthly provisions.
Apart from that cashews were bought sparingly. For festivals and special occasions.
But the privilege of being the youngest was that sooner or later, you'd be the only one left at home... so mundiris could be used with more abandon. in ven pongal and upma once a week...
mum used to break the cashews into small pieces (yes it's possible and is a skill), so that it gave an appearance of being plenty.
But the ingrate i was would call those piddly bits 'kannuku theriyatha kirimigal' (the name of a tv programme and it translates roughly to 'invisible germs').
However, now there is no rationing... i live in the gulf after all! the least i can afford is a steady supply of cashews for me and mum.
And the funny thing is, she still breaks it into pieces, and makes sure that every serving of my fave dishes is topped with some.

PS: By the way, the provision guy still sends that tiny packet of cashews every month.

jealous? me? really? YES!

there is nothing wrong in having a jealous trait -- or even a cupboard full of it.
because Anne Lamott thinks the way I do... not because she is a little mental, but because she is a published writer, and except for ann coulter, all published writers only say the right things.
even if they are published only in magazines in remote neanderthal countries. the thing is i never quite accepted that it was jealousy that drove the deep anger and need to trip some people so hard, they would need dental assistance for the rest of their life.
the one who can't write to save her life, but gets the breaks; the one who can't string a sentence correctly, but gets the cushy pr job; the real dumb ass from school who married this super rich, super cool dude; that darned woman who loses weight on a diet of chocolates and samosas... how unfair is this world?
i just couldn't bring myself to accept that i was jealous of people who were either mediocre in what they did or gained bunny points with minimum effort.
after all i am hardly ever envious of those who are good at what they do. i may have an occasional (or two) murderous impulse... but jealousy? no!
i can live with J K R's riches, Oprah's fame, Mandela's popularity. What the heck! I can even put up with Aishwarya's looks.
it's those who don't have the goods to back up the claim that piss me off.
the realisation that what i considered disdain, actually bordered on jealousy, i owe to Lamott's book Bird by Bird.
does that realisation make me a better or worse person?
don't know, don't care.
it's human to be emotional. jealousy and hatred as emotions are to be expected and accepted just as much as love, and all that jazz.

girl pals vs guy pals

i often hear women tell me that they get along far better with guys than with gals. that they find it easier to confide in men... and i wonder how that's possible.
i've never heard a guy tell me he gets along better with the girls. that his best friends are women not men!
is it my all girls school/college upbringing coupled with a household primarily made up of women? three sisters, mum, helpers, sundry cousins and aunts dwarfed the influence my dad and the few other visiting men had on our lives.
even after all four of us were married, only one gave birth to a son. so the dominance of women continued... my brothers-in-law and husband are most often spectators to an amusing (i assume) show. i am married into a family where again there are more women.
so for me, despite the sizeable number of 'good' male friends, girls are the best buddies.
but for all that, in most places i've worked, i've been amongst the minority. For a total of 4 years of my working life, i have been the only woman in the office/department.
and i feel that's the best work environment to be in for me.
when it comes to colleagues at work, i prefer the male of the species.
not because of the total myth that they gossip less -- oh man! can they gossip. and with such viciousness that we women can't even begin to compete.
i like them because they are low maintenance. they don't complicate -- a word is not given a thousand unintended meanings. they don't break into tears at the drop of a hat. they can take a professional argument without assuming it's a personal assault. and if you are not particularly inclined to carry your professional relationship outside of the workplace and become 'friends', they can live with it. as is always the case, there are exceptions to this rule.
still, when it comes to bonding and buddy power, i need my girls.
apart from my husband, i can't think of confiding in another man the things i would to a gal pal. there are things i wouldn't confide even to my husband, though over the dozen years of knowing each other, he probably is my best pal.
so, the judgemental me, wonders what insecurity in women drives them to claim that a being who shares none of their physical, emotional and mental patterns, is a better friend than one of their own.
is it because they haven't met the right women? or haven't i met those right men...
but how would i discuss with a man my pms woes, blood clots, morning sickness, sexual satisfaction or lack of it, the soreness of my breasts, the discomfort of discharge, the lack of good bras, the need for a good sob, the humiliation of being ogled at, the highs of being wooed…
how would a man understand things about women, that the woman herself hasn't fully yet?
a salute to my gal pals. and to the guy pals for being great, even if they are not my best, friends.

benefits of a work out

the main one is that in an environment of 'working out', you are bound to keep company with some real cuties.

so during my evening dawdle at the corniche, i take in the scenery. some real tight, fast moving scenery.

the only annoyance in such environment is that there are some undesirably skinny b*****s (excuse my french!) sharing the space too.

but i guess, you need to take the good with the bad.

i am sure it sounds a little pathetic that this needs to be an incentive to work out. but i look at it like window-shopping for stuff that i neither need nor can afford. and what's in the wardrobe back home isn't bad at all. it's just the aesthetics of it, and keeping up to date!

what's your measure of a friend?

over the years, growing older, wiser and more tolerant (my blog, my boast, so stop smirking!) i've come to realise that there are no set parameters to weigh a friend. in fact, you shouldn't even attempt it. there are characteristics, unforgivable in one person, that will be tolerated or ignored in another.
and you should not make demands of friends. you can have reasonable expectations of them. that they should defend you when you are being maligned. but you can't demand it.
there maybe broad filters on which you choose a friend -- can't be a rapist (other crimes like murder and theft can be considered on a case by case basis), preferably sane (but this again can be compromised), can't be a spouse-basher, can't be a mormon (they don't like outsiders, so why should we like them), etc, etc...
but you can't go deeper than that.
yet, so often you wonder what drives 'friends' to do 'non-friendly' stuff. for instance, why would they report a conversation to you, about you, that actually does little else but upset you?
and why some friends feed of your grief or sadness... i know some who look almost stricken when you begin to feel better mentally!
below is a forward from a friend who though a little insane, to her credit is not a mormon, criminal or spouse-basher (i think)... and that kind of sums up what we should expect from a friend.


The Socrates Triple Filter Test
In ancient Greece, Socrates was reputed to hold knowledge in high esteem. One day an acquaintance met the great philosopher and said, 'Do you know what I just heard about your friend?'
'Hold on a minute,' Socrates replied. 'Before telling me anything, I'd like you to pass a little test. It's called the Triple Filter Test.'
'Triple filter?'
'That's right,' Socrates continued. 'Before you talk to me about my friend, it might be a good idea to take a moment and filter what you're going to say. That's why I call it the triple filter test.'
'The first filter is TRUTH. Have you made absolutely sure that what you are about to tell me is true?'
'No,' the man said, 'actually I just heard about it and....'
'All right ,' said Socrates. 'So you don't really know if it's true or not. Now let's try the second filter, the filter of GOODNESS. Is what you are about to tell me about my friend something good?'
'No, on the contrary...'
'So,' Socrates continued, 'you want to tell me something bad about him, but you're not certain it's true. You may still pass the test though, because there's one filter left: the filter of USEFULNESS. Is what you want to tell me about my friend going to be useful to me?'
'No, not really.'
'Well,' concluded Socrates, 'if what you want to tell me is neither true nor good nor even useful, why tell it to me at all?'

why i still like a democracy...

despite the corruption, despite the country's ability to elect absolute idiots as leaders, despite the nepotism... i still believe in democracy.
watching the trust motion live (including such gory clips as Somnath Chatterjee digging his nose for a full minute and MPs behaving disgracefully), the sheer dynamics of the voice of the people, makes me really happy that India hasn't met with the same pitiable fate as its neighbours -- Bangladesh, Pakistan, Nepal, Sri Lanka.
I am really happy that however slow our progress has been, we've always looked ahead, looked forward. We are not the perfect nation (FAAAARRRRR from it), but we are a proud one. we are a hopeful one.
and even if money has changed hands, i prefer that, any day, to bloody coups and assassinations to prove a point.

ps: Rahul Gandhi – how juvenile was his speech?
pps: Is Somnathda aware that he is on camera?

Moi, Ana, I, Naan, Mein

I took it from here.
I am: Looking Forward
I think: Way too much
I know: Way too little
I want: Just a bit and a little more
I have: Just enough
I wish: Some things would change quickly
I miss: … weirdly, no one at the moment. I have my daughter and husband by me. So am content.
I fear: People. Really fear the vileness and sheer cruelty of people.
I feel: Terribly upset when I see discrimination. And I see a lot of it here.
I smell: Real awful in the morning.
I search: for hidden motives, when someone is overly nice to me.
I wonder: what people will stop at for money and power.
I regret: Quite a few of my decisions. But you live and learn.
I love: Only one person (as of now) unconditionally, and to the point of desperation. And she doesn’t even know it.
I ache: In my finger joints.
I care: for equality.
I am not: A worshipper… but
I believe: In fate and destiny. And KARMA.
I dance: Surprisingly gracefully.
I sing: Very badly, and very rarely.
I cry : When I am ANGRY
I don’t always : Think a tantrum through. I just throw it.
I fight : fair and square
I write: less than I’d like to
I win: very rarely
I lose: way too badly
I never: can stick to a weight loss program
I always: think of doing great things. And then drop off to sleep
I confuse: not too often
I listen: to people when they talk. I am a good listener.
I can usually be found: with a book, messy hair, in bed.
I am scared: of lizards. And hurting people.
I need: a lot of attention
I am happy about: The human being I am. It’s the characters that I play that bother me.

Amavi Latin phrases

I love latin (and greek) terms used in English. I would love to use it as a matter of routine, but I know I would harshly misuse it.

The only term I can use comfortably is pro bono... thanks to all the Grisham novels i devour.

The term I misused for the longest term, and in this I find myself in the company of a great many, is ad hoc. It means: for this purpose. However, it's used often to convey just the opposite meaning, for no particular purpose.

Here is a term that is so nice on the ear, but so difficult to use: Non sequitur (something that does not follow).

A few terms are easier to inject into your language -- that bona fide idiot who pissed you off on the road?
Persona non grata, too... not that I am one in any place or home. I think...

Here's a new one I read and really liked, and hope desperately that I would be able to use somewhere outside of this post:
Ceteris Paribus: means "other things being equal."

Then there are some that sound suspiciously like Madras pettai slang:

Mutatis mutandis (the necessary things have been changed).
Pari Passu (at an equal pace).

The really CUTE ones, which we wish had a sassy enough English equivalent.
Reductio ad absurdum stands for "reduction to absurdity."
Sui generis: "of one's own kind" or "peculiar". I would rather be Sui generis than peculiar, any day.

And RIP apparently doesn’t translate literally to Rest In Peace, but Requiescat in Pace which means "let him rest in peace."

I know that if ever I decide to study law -- and I do toy with that idea often -- one of the reasons would be all the latin lingo I will learn, and learn to use with ease. My father for instance, can turn a mundane conversation (which could well be about an ailing pet cat) into a language puzzle, dotting it with latin phrases, ad infinitum.

ps: Amavi = fall in love with

i am indispensable

to one person at least.
and i realised that -- or rather, it hit me real hard -- after my last biz trip.
i came back home with a bagful of goodies for her. as excited as she was by those, she was totally thrilled to see me. and it was the small, everyday things that she missed me desperately for. things that give a structure and definition to her day.
snacks in her box, two neat pig tails, checking her homework, making sure her stationery was packed, calling her friends over to play, allowing her to sleep the whole night in the crook of my arm, and most important of all... listening to her talk about her day at school and with friends. nearly a week after my return, she still has not totally filled me in on the days i missed. she is updating me one day at a time.
not to take credit away from R. He is a wonderful father... and i know of only one other who does as well as him: P.
i can't but feel a little gleeful that despite having him around, she still thought my presence was so indispensable to her.
what really drove the message in was when I told a friend, on the phone, that O was fine when i wasn't around, she immediately interrupted me and said: "Of course I was not fine. How can I be? You were not here."
as much as i would like to put this down to my superior maternal skills... i know it's just a thing about mothers.
that 9 years after moving away from home and despite being pigheaded for much of my life, my mother is the only one who can really influence me...

i don't own a gun...

and it's fortunate. given my state of mind today, i may just go on a spree, trigger unhappy et al.
and i swear, this is my last post for the day.
unless someone else pisses me off real bad.

and then there are some...

like here... don't get me wrong. i am no fan of the US, but I don't mind the americans. i find them rather nice.
so here is a people who say there are different paths and methods to salvation. you are not damned if you choose to embrace a piece of stone, or cry over the crucifix.
then there are the others... it's their way or the highway. and if you are not of their belief, then well, too bad, you deserve to die a real painful death.
i am ANGRY!

this is qatar. and i am bloody fed up!

Check THIS out.
today's headline. why don't they just pass a law making it mandatory for expatriates (specifically asian expats) to walk around in shackles, and abandon all relationships back home?
what are we to these effing a'O'? just machines who work with neither feelings nor rights?
they talk about the rights of sponsors... rights of the billionaire human rights violators? is there no justice in this world? is it enough if they are born as rabid rats in their next janam? what about now?
i am beyond cribbing, and now at the point of breaking... i am so angry, upset... need to flee this place.
if this weren't bad enough, read this and this.
why am i still here? why? why? why?!

press del

and heave a sigh of relief... when you delete a person from your contacts and block them from chats, do they really cease to exist?
and if this blog vanishes, would my thoughts too?

school lunches

what do they really tell about the carrier? as in the person, not the container...

i always carried one box wonders, mixed rice with a sprinkling of veggies, chappatis rolled with veggies, idli or dosai smeared with podi... and sometimes leftover prawn or chicken curry mixed into rice (before i turned veg).

and then i would see friends who carried 2 or 3 storeyed tiffin boxes. veggies in one, curd in another, rice or rotis in yet another... i assumed their mothers just cared more... cared enough to load them with boxes of food. where as mine and a few others slammed bread and likes into one plastic dubba, and were done with their maternal duties.

so when one proud owner of multi-storeyed tiffin box invited us home, we were expecting a full spread of goodies.

we were not to be disappointed... the food was there. prepared and served by maids exported from some remote andhra village. the mother was away somewhere, and we heard the father is around only some times, and the rest of the inhabitants of the house -- the uncles and aunts -- were not really on talking terms with each other. but who cared right? everytime you wanted some yummy pakoda, you just had to call mani or ganga or whoever it was on duty, and voila, it materialised on the plate.

at home, pakodas were for weekends. and if you begged real bad, you would be whacked for making a nuisance of yourself.

but this friend quite enjoyed eating at my place. but to give my mum her due, it was only in packing the box that she sought the short cut. otherwise a table of dishes were a norm. and she would embarass me by hovering around us ladling out second servings of boring rasam and podalanga poriyal.

many many years later, married and with kids, when i met this friend, she said those were the best meals she had tasted. and that though she has a cook, she packs her son's food, and serves him herself, while at home.

there is something to be said about boring, mundane details of life... it can be romanticised after a bit of pickling and ageing.

airports

i love airports. don't really mind long transits etc... because each airport seems rather unique. that is, the people passing through it. so waiting to see what changi has to offer morrow when i leave.
some airports that are rather unique...
in doha, people are always looking bored and irritable. maybe just my biases colouring my view... still, my blog, my opinions. though look tired, maybe because most of them are transit passengers. the rest are looking kind of happy to leave.
dubai is an interesting mix. there are people looking expectant, maybe first job in another gulf destination, so they are transiting. some look rather swipe happy, having shopped like crazy. then you will find the relieved lookings ones, just happy to go back home. and the ones who already dread coming back to their insufferable jobs.
and not to mention, the ones who looks so surprised and fingers-crossed happy, because they know they wouldn't have the jobs they do in their own country, either because they are not qualified enough or because their light skin tone is not a cv-booster.
in colombo, the lankans are on cloud nine already to be getting out. the others are mumbling prayers and hoping they make a safe flight out.
in kenya, it's like the chennai central...
in botswana, hard to figure about other passengers, as there wasn't an airport building to speak off about 8 years ago. main gate, check in counter, runway...
chennai. EVERYONE seems to be teary-eyed or sad about leaving. maybe bias again. who cares. but even the geek going to harvard on full aid, looks sad to be leaving madras.
...any other airport that strikes you as exceptionally interesting.

where are the boundaries?

i was attending a couple of weddings last month, and absolute strangers and stranger relatives, came up to me and commented on how fat i looked. how i looked older than my eldest sister who is 13 years my senior.
and they were so gleeful to point out my weight problems... like i needed reminding. who the eff goes shopping for me, and do i look like i don't own a mirror?
people -- mainly in india and bangladesh -- know no boundaries. if they remotely know your third cousin's neighbour's cat's one night stand, they feel they have the right to comment on you.
the temptation is strong to tell the one who called me a heavy weight champion that sagging bra straps are not particularly appealing, neither are hawai chappals with kanjeevaram silks. i maybe fat, but at least i have style!
and then i want to tell that idiot -- who squeezed various parts of my body to illustrate her comments -- that if you have to colour your hair, make sure the dye doesn't leave a trail behind your ear and down your neck!
what about the one who looks about 15months pregnant, though the rest of her looks anorexic? should i ask her when she is going to birth the calf?
there is so much to be said about so many people -- mean, nasty, honest truth. but that's when your sense of reasoning is supposed to kick in. where you weigh your words and draw the line. does my big mouth and self-important opinions make a difference to the world? no? then zip it!

from teesu...

My take on this:

If you get something out of a vending machine, it's most likely to be: Water
A word you sometimes catch yourself misspelling: too many...
You least want people to see you as: Fat (actually, it's overbearing...)
You're a little scared of: Lizards
The least attractive thing you do in your sleep: Snore
The number of contacts in your cell phone: 150+
How many of them are restaurants: 1
You lose your cool when someone: shows-off
When you go to the drugstore, you often can't leave without buying: face wash
Your dance moves can best be described as: desperate
The majority of your underwear is: Cotton
Something you eat even though you hate how bad it is for you: cashewnuts
You think you're really not a great: wife
How much cash is in your wallet right now: sing$500
The majority of your shoes are this color: brown
You don't think you'll ever be able to get rid of your: boobs
If your breath is bad, it's most likely because you had: junk
You feel embarrassed when you: fart
The last public place where you used the restroom: expo centre
Something you don't like to debate in mixed company: NA (i have no qualms)
You don't think you can pull off wearing: garter belts
Something you own entirely too much of: books
Someone you would love to see in concert who might bring down your street cred: mj
The last thing that you spilled on yourself: **censored**
If you were on a reality show, the producers would likely portray/characterize you as the: also-ran

my 10 from here

Ten Literary Characters I Would Totally Make Out With If I Were Single and They Were Real (check out were i got it from too...)
just couldn't resist this, so invited myself to the tag. I copy a ps too... if i've selected a woman then it's assuming i am single and male. if i've selected an animal, it's assuming i am one... in no particular order:

1. Heathcliff. Not the cat. From Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. Just so wonderfully dark and sensual!
2. Rhett Butler from Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell.
3. Scarlett from the same.
4. Simba from Lion King.
5. Snape from Harry Potter by J K Rowling. I'd be his Lily! Really... I love Snape.
6. Kafka. From Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami. A girl sometimes needs that kind of weirdness.
7. Maan from A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth.
8. Father Ralph de Bricassart from Thorn Birds by Colleen McCullough.
9. Vandiyathevan from Ponniyin Selvan by Kalki. Funny, brave, and apparently very handsome.
10. Karna from Mahabharatham.

1. you own what happened to you -- Anne Lamott

I have just begun reading bird by bird by Anne Lamott. and it's about writing.
to start writing, write about everything, grade school, birthdays etc etc...
so i am taking the cue from there
and my first bits

Class 1, first day in school. my sister and cousin admit me and take me to class. Mrs Pilackal is the teacher. A stern old lady whose perfectly spun bun rivalled only that of Mrs Pereira (maths teacher for the older classes).
Mrs Pilackal was my first taste of how scary teachers could be. Yet I don't remember being particularly distraught at school. That would come later, with my first exposure to teachers who were cruel -- that story for another day.
One other memory from that class -- which opened out to a long veranda, with wire mesh, which looked out to the street behind the school -- is how my friends and i would play the piano on the desk. we would do it tirelessly, day after day. why? beats me. but it probably is the reason i have wobbly knuckles.
That's where I made my first friendship -- which lasted many many years... we are in touch, but not quite friends.
Grade 1 is also when I realised that uniforms desperately fail the very reason they are imposed. It is meant to ensure that everyone looks and feels the same. No Levi's for one, and Lulu for another.
But what uniforms do is show up how the same piece of fabric can look smart on one, dishevelled on another, glamorous on yet another, and downright crazy on someone else.

Take the cue: what do you remember about your Grade 1. write it down. here. on your blog. on a piece of paper...

money

those who are supremely unaffected by money, are supremely endowed.

a few reasons why i love my job...

1. if i am reading a magazine at work, i am actually doing my job
2. ditto if it's a novel... i could be reviewing!
3. ditto for a movie...
4. meeting people for brunch/coffee/lunch is my job. networking rules!
5. being rude or blunt can be construed as creative liberty! uh-hmm!!
6. i can wear jeans to work, and even to a meeting...
to be continued...

male cabin crew rock!

i loved my chennai-dubai-doha flight. it was mainly MANNED by male cabin crew. and they are just about the cutest! there were no sulky-faced, pms-plagued hostesses. just cute boys. no turning up their noses at the sight of scared labourers, and no annoyed tolerance of the little kids on board.
not only did they look hot in their uniform, they were real cool in their attitude.
have i already mentioned that I love male cabin crew... especially on Emirates?

My Cousin's Production

My cousin who is neither trained nor formally studied robotics, created THIS.
Congrats Abi.

chirp, chirp, sob, sob

for as long as i can remember we'd had a sparrow nest at home. behind a large black and white photograph of my father, taken on his graduation day.
we used to be extra sensitive to the needs of the nesting birds. if they were in a particularly playful or outgoing mood, we would switch off the fan, fearing an injury.
chirp, chirp, chirp... the entire afternoon.
luckily for us, our house cooled easily with the gentle breeze of the coconut and neem trees.
the birds created a bit of a mess now and then. dropping straws from the nest, or just dropping...
once in a rare while, something as sad as an egg falling off the nest, terminating the hope of a young chick.
everytime we had to paint the drawing room, great effort was taken not to disturb the nest. it was an honour to have these guests.
these are the common sparrows I talk about... or at least they used to be. white breasted birds with shades of brown on their body/wings.
but in the last several years, the nest disappeared and i rarely spot a bird inside the house, when i visit.
and yesterday i read a report in Outlook -- the birds are fighting for survival... just about every kind of development goes against them. mobile towers, construction, lack of worms (pesticide use), de-greening.
chirp, chirp... i can hear them sob.

and then it suddenly dawned on me...

in that one moment i knew...
that single word turned my life around...

why can't i have one of those life-defining moments.
all my realisations and wisdom creep up on me so slowly, so gradually, i don't even realise that something has dawned on me, or my life has turned around, until it's old news.

i keep hearing and reading about such experiences -- where people have risen from extreme poverty, mind-numbing grief, or just found a focus in life, that was missing till then.
i am still waiting for that flash of blinding light, that will open my eyes to a new world...

only thing even close to this experience is when i lost a really great diaper bag, with all the stuff in it. it was a gift from my sister. when i complained and whined about it, she said: "it's just a thing. why does it move you so much."

that has stayed with me... and no 'thing' has ever had a control over me since.

should i really call dr phil?

because my daughter thinks i should?
she sees this totally dysfunctional couple being advised by the bald and boring dr phil, and quips: "You and appa should talk to him. You fight a lot."
And then adds, for good measure: "I find him interesting. He gets into my head."
scary, scary, scary... does she really see us in those so-over-the-top-dysfunctional couples??

ps: did i mention that she is just 6!

all about impressions

tell me, is there any one of us out there who would not like to be remembered better than we actually are?
slimmer, taller, smarter, prettier, richer, wiser?
does being already famous, take away your insecurities.
the super rich, super smart Oprah, still wants to be slimmer...
Monroe wanted to be blonder that she was (why, but?!)...
Bill Gates wants a bigger empire than what he already has...
am sure the Mahatma would not have minded a healthier crop on his head...
and am sure stephen hawking wants to be remembered as more than just this amazingly brilliant scientist and visionary. and i am particularly sure that he doesn't want all his images to be in the wheelchair. he wants the image of him weightless and flying to be splashed more often. so i refuse to carry a news image, and replace with an archive image. people think i am taking editorial freedom a little too far.
fact is, it has nothing to do with the job in hand, but the thought in my mind.
how do i want to be remembered?
physically -- from my 19th year
mentally -- now
emotionally -- right after my daughter was born
financially -- sometime in the distant future

i would make a prototype of this... and that would be me, weightless and flying in space.

thoughts are as damaging

why can't it be ok to think the worst thoughts, if we don't put any of it into action?
why are even thoughts guilt-magnets.
every time i think ill of someone, or even think way too highly of myself or mine, i get a gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach... what am i inviting with this thought?
an american friend of mine, after a bad break-up, flew straight to India for some nirvana. She came back glowing -- the hours of yoga and just joy of not working, obviously. But she told me it was something more. That in India she learnt that it's not enough to be correct in your actions; your thoughts matter too.
I joked: which part of India imparted that wisdom to you, that i've never had access to...
then i realised... that being political correct was not really part of our collective psyche. that's something we have acquired over time.
we act as we think. we pee and spit where we want, we complain about racism when we treat dark skinned people with absolute disdain, we have no qualms in making public our preference for rich gods... if it's in our mind, it's in our action. why should we pretend otherwise.
but the good side of this is that when we do realise we are not being so nice, we don't just change the way we behave, we also try to change the way we think... or so i believe.
which brings back to my immediate worry: why the hell can't i bitch and be mean and nasty in my thoughts, without looking so bloody guilty the next time i meet the person.

why i don't like the praying type

of all the religious type, the ones who spend hours praying are the ones who annoy me the most.
somehow, they feel the hours they put in praying absolves them from all their responsibility.
that they don't ever have to give or help or think about those who are not so privileged. the PRAYER assumes that his hours of praying (hours that have made no good difference in anyone's lives) don't oblige him to be a good citizen.
i know people who make it a virtue of wearing off their knees and foreheads in genuflection; but ask them to give 5 minutes of their time or 10 bucks of their earning for a good cause? their worn knees will carry them quicker out of your reach, than Flo Jo!
i am sure those prayers are mainly demands... for more and more. for self and family.
why not a word thrown in for say world peace, the Dalai Lama returning to Tibet, that their underpaid and overworked servant manages to get more money out of their stingy hands?

I AM A SHOPAHOLIC...

AND I AM NOT ANONYMOUS. UNFORTUNATELY MALLS ARE PUBLIC PLACES, AND DON'T OFFER ANONYMITY.

1. I admit I am powerless over shopping -- my life has become unmanageable.
2. I have come to believe that a Power greater than me could restore my sanity -- a power called 'more money'.
3. I will make a decision to turn my will and my life over to the care of the Retail God as I understand her.
4. I will make a searching and fearless inventory of my wardrobe (i need more).
5. I admit to Retail God, to myself, and to another human being the exact nature of my wrongs.
6. I am entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of income.
7. I humbly asked HER to remove my bad credit.
8. I will make a list of all persons I have harmed, and become willing to make amends to them all. Next time, I will not shove you in the check out line. I will not grab the last pair of shoes from your shopping bag...
9. I will make direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others. Why remind them of losing the shoe?
10. I continue to take personal inventory and when I am wrong, will promptly admit to it, and exchange the goods for better ones.
11. I will seek through prayer and meditation to improve my conscious contact with God as I understand HER, praying only for knowledge of best sales, a little more money, and of HER Will for us and the power to carry that out, without making wasteful purchases.
12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, I will try to carry this message to shopaholics, and to practice these principles in all my affairs.

Plagiarised from the original Twelve Steps as published by Alcoholics Anonymous.

1.We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable.
2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
5.Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
6. Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
7. Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.
8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.
9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
10. Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.
11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His Will for us and the power to carry that out.
12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

one of those days...

... when people actually haunt you.
i feel so lucky, so often, to have such a huge and close-knit family. dozens and dozens of cousins, and double the number of nieces and nephews. aunts and uncles for every hour of the day...
most of them are around -- ailing, irritable, annoying, creaking, screaming... i'm glad to have them around, even if i see them not more than once a year. i'm glad that they are there, and just as they visit my thoughts, i visit theirs.
in the last few years, the one person i lost, and i genuinely miss even now is Ganeshathai.
Ganeshavalli.
my dad's foster sister, our chosen aunt.
old, deaf, generous to the point of being unreasonable, loving to the point of being indispensable -- there is a catch deep inside at her very thought.
she never forgot a birthday or an anniversary. she never forgot a celebration, when it concerned her adopted nieces/brother and sisters-in-law.
and we never will forget her -- for choosing to light up our lives, though hers was so blighted. widowed young, abandoned by her only son, and taking care of a blind and cranky mother... she looked forward to her regular visits, an escape. we looked forward to it too... for her stories, her touch, the little packets of biscuits and chips she brought along...
a retired corporation school teacher, on a meagre pension, in the care of some kind relatives... that's how she passed her last years.
tiny and bird-like, she had a sense of ridicule that was as sharp as her hearing was blunt.
i think of her, her look of pride every time she spotted my by-line in the newspaper, her hug and gift every birthday, her total devotion to my father...
rest in peace.

and then he's gone

i remember the wedding day so vividly. nov 15, 1984. at vellore, and it was raining heavily.
the day my cousin married him. rotund, gregarious, his conversation punctuated with smiles and laughs.
i was just 10. class 6. the wedding was a welcome distraction, as dad was just out of hospital. i was being disciplined in school, and my family was very angry with me for my misdemenour and the humiliation of being called to school (seems so trivial now. and i would do all those things all over again).
then they move to delhi, for years we would meet during vacations or family celebrations. the cousin i was always very fond of. she boarded with us through college and work... till she got married.
life was never easy for them... situation -- both self-made and inflicted -- has long been difficult. then last August he suffered a stroke. yesterday he died. just when things were looking up -- his daughter in a good job, son set to join a MNC -- he just gives up and dies.
sitting thousands of miles away, i wonder if his last thought was a joke. if his last expression was a smile.
definitely not the closest brother in law, because in a family as huge and mad as mine, very few one-to-one relationships were possible. but he definitely was the funniest.
rest in peace.

what shapes our child

i understand now, and see it in action with my daughter, that a parent's direct approval or disapproval doesn't really count or influence the child.
it is the subtler influences that matter.
it is not only about who your child plays and socialises with... but your approval or disapproval of the friend.
i am not sure if i am clear in what i say.
but i've realised that over the years, what i am or do is a reflection of people my mother or father approved of or respected.
things could have gone real bad, and i may have just decided to do the opposite. and that's where i guess parents' real challenge lies. to ensure that teen rebellion doesn't become a personality trait. that how much ever a child may defy his/her parents, there is the acknowledgement that there is truth to what and tenderness in how, they communicate.

why isn't any one else bothered?

or at least why aren't they showing that they are bothered?
every morning, when i drop my daughter at school i keep my fingers crossed that all the kids make safe passage. the school bus drivers are nuts. the race into the campus... they drive recklessly on the roads. and when i complain (and i complain often and bitterly) i am told "what do we do? we keep telling them. you give us bus numbers and we will take action against the driver."
and then those who walk in or out of school smoking a cig? don't they even have a pea-sized brain? and then again i seem to be the only getting worked up over this, picking fights with the erring parent or driver or whoever...
i am not a prude. i enjoy my smoke and drink, but i do believe in setting examples. i would never smoke in front of my child or any child. and so often, at cafes in family malls, i see parents wagging cigarettes and blowing smoke into their kids' faces.

missed being bobbit

only difference i would have used a knife or my high heels.
last night again, right outside the elevator, at home, a flasher. i screamed, raved, and gave chase... no one came to my help, as i shouted for people on the road to stop him.
and i kept hoping, as he sprinted across the road, that he would be run over, open fly and all... wished so hard.
even now i feel upset, angry, helpless, terrified and just so sad...
what if the next time it is my daughter who sees him first. or worse still what if she had been alone.
what drives people to such perversity?

this is not a harangue against mallus

still... what the heck!
the disclaimer first. i don't hate mallus. i am married to one, and most of my friends are malayalees.
but i've really started noticing them as a unique entity only after coming to the Gulf (gelf, if you please).
it annoys be when the respond 'kerala' when someone asks them where they are from... and i don't mean queries from fellow indians. even if you specifically ask them which country they are from, they say 'kerala'.
at my arabic class, when we were talking about postal systems, and i referred to the indian one, this 'effing' M tells the class, "oh, it is the same even in Kerala."
i wanted to kick her where it hurts, as the class of mixed nationalities looked incredulously at the two of us in class. After all, aren't we from the same country.
yesterday, a new colleague asks me which country i was from. i was amazed. my name, looks, accent are enough to tell the guy i am from the same country as him. when i asked him why he would ask me such an inane question, as if it weren't obvious, he actually had the gall to say. "Oh not many malayalees in the office. so i thought you were from some other place... madras or something."
and people think i'm prejudiced when i come down hard on these folks.
**repeat disclaimer :)**

snootiness

i had decided that i would be surrounded by snootiness. and at the rehearsals to the fashion show i was vindicated to an extent, as a couple of the grumpy models (pals, frown lines are worse than laugh lines) refused to smile at anyone over a size 2.
so on the day of this exclusive show (only for sheikhas and others who had many thousands of $$ as spare change), i decided to beat them at their own game. i would turn up my nose and put on display my intellectual (if they can pretend to be more beautiful than they actually are, i can pretend to be more intelligent than i really am) superiority.
but, i could not stay grumpy or quiet for too long, and start chatting with the fashionistas around -- the buyer, the consultant, the connoisseur and what-have-you; and believe you me, they DO work. what they do is both challenging and interesting -- i really hate to admit this -- and it requires brains too...
don't get me wrong, i am no fan. but i am not as contemptous as before. i actually liked a lot of them (barring the grumpy models). i didn't even have the urge to stab the one who sat across me and tucked into the cookies, canapes and cakes, and looked like she hasn't had a calorie in decades.
i even picked up a few dos and don'ts. the don'ts are easier to understand -- don't ever wear any of the clothes in my wardrobe.
the dos... well i'm done with that!

thank you yamini

i remember only her name. can't recollect anything else... not a face, characteristic, quirk.
but i am grateful to yamini; thanks to her, I escaped being the last name on any roll call, for 10 years in school.

ogle feast

delicious, yummy, delectable.
Aishwarya didn't have to act in the scene where she sees him practice his sword fight.
she only had to react. slurp, slurp!
still wondering whom i'm talking about?

workplace woes

i keep asking myself why what i earn doesn't determine how or who i am at work.
i have an ego, attitude and contentment totally disproportionate to what i earn...
because i am all about vibes, no amount of money will keep me in a place that gives my soul stress.
my first job in Qatar was at a place where the vibes were not so great... but i worked hours that didn't coincide with the mirth-less ones. i had access to the internet, so could chat away the whole morning. the money wasn't great, neither was the work... in terms of quantity. but i did learn new tricks of the trade.
but no sooner did the atmosphere change, and the general state of unhappiness started interfering with my aura... i scooted.
i can't explain this any better, by myself.
i can take the help of one Ms Rowling though.
the place was like Azkaban. The keepers were the dementors. As soon as they smell a whiff of joie de vivre or sense a smile, they come down hard and give you a kiss... their very presence sucks the joy out of the place.
they thrived on seeing people unhappy... and frankly, if i think too long about that place, i can almost hear the strangled cry of my happiness.
i am away from that atmosphere, thank goodness!
unfortunately, there are people i care for who are still there...
where i am now is like Hogwarts, till Book 5. There is no room for dementors...
that may change; but then, when it does, i won't be around to suffer it. Inshallah!

living the good life, without the goods

just about sums up our life here. the common impression of the gulf indian is that they are rich because they live a poor life. but we are the healthy anti thesis. we are poor because we live the rich life.

spa treatments, gourmet dinners, boutique shopping...by we i mean me, mine and our friends who sport similar feathers. we flock together for a reason! we really do live the good life, and are broke by the first week of the month; fortunately there is no wet blanket in the guise of common sense telling us 'be smart, you are here to save, not to have fun (and probably end up in debt)'.

our dinner table conversation every weekend is about the amount of money people around us have... especially that man who just passed by, staring disbelievingly at us, the bunch of indians, sitting in a restaurant that easily costs $50 a head for a light meal. he is driving his landcruiser prado (the dream machine of every gulf indian), wearing his peter england shirt and bata shoes bought during his last trip home.

we are also talking about ms money bags who looked shocked that we were walking out of whistles with shopping bags. you know she has money in her bags because 10 kilos of gold weigh her down; really worn chappals prop her up; fragged bra strap slip off her shoulder and peep out under the transparent sleeve of the jazzy kameez bought at Lulu Hypermarket. and she is wondering where our husbands work (and how out of control the men were) to let us shop at whistles, and wear shoes from Nine West or Milano... snooty indians, they are too good for lulu and parthas, or what?and 'snooty indians' look at her with equal disdain... enough gold on her to write off the debt of an impoverished african country, but still does a mental conversion while spending money on 'chappals'. as we grudge her all the ready cash (definitely not the prehistoric bra), she grudges us the tons of money she assumes we have...

in my assessment there is a very fine line that separates the two types... we both place way too much emphasis on money: one by hoarding, another by burning it.

ps1: appraisals around the corner, and i am not really so bothered by the hike; because i know for sure, for me, earning more is not equal to having more. it only means spending more.

ps2: just as i complete ps1, i hear oprah on tv, say this: "nobody is living the life you think they are, behind closed doors." righto lady!

Why you should read In the country of men by Hisham Mattar

Grief loves the hollow; all it wants is to hear its own echo.

Concern. I think that was what I craved. A warm and steady and unchangeable concern. In a time of blood and tears, in a Libya full of bruise-checkered and urine-stained men, urgent with want and longing for relief, i was the ridiculous child craving concern.

Charity, thy name is Selfishness

there is nothing more selfish than being charitable. because the kick you get out of being so, is often far greater than the effect of your intent.
we are not talking about buffet and gates or writing off the african debt.
we are talking about indulging a beggar, feeding the poor etc...
i am a great believer in this selfishness... in fact i am so used to giving away part of any extras, that if i don't i believe ill luck will befall me.
so it's no longer about the extra cash could be put to better use... but the freebee i got needs to be distributed before i get 'too lucky'.
and of course the feeling of being in the company of pals like warren, bill and oprah is ever so gratifying.
and so, ever so regularly i donate... i give to charity. money i can ill afford to give away. you just have to peek into my credit card bills and mortgages to know the truth.
but if some unexpected money comes my way, i am so superstitious that it will bring me bad luck if i don't share it, i look for a recipient right away.
when i am walking out of the supermarket with a trolley full of useless stuff, i assuage that nagging feeling by buying a ticket off the red crescent guy.
this could be linked to my susceptibility to guilt... in my worst moment, i have even blamed myself for hillary clinton's horrible dress sense (are my vibes affecting her taste?)
all this i understand and have come to accept.
here is something that i don't understand. how some (many?) people are so oblivious and immune to 'charity from guilt'... they would sooner fold away the rotting 1 riyal note, than to put it in the box for physically disabled, or children of war in afghanistan.
i admire them -- their ability to be so comfortable with themselves, that they don't resort to charity to make themselves feel good.
that putting away every last coin and note into the wallet is what gives them a good night's sleep; that the effects of the ills that plague the world, never touch their psyche or bank balance.
it's a long way to that state of mind, and meanwhile, i would be borrowing from my credit card to keep up with the jolies of the world.

adult ADHD?

165 channels, and not one that holds my attention for more than a minute.
tonnes of work to be done, none near completion.
mails and friends to catch up with, hours online, and the backlog only grows.
Adult ADHD?

life, again.

to tempt fate, plan

to call your bluff on discipline, have children

when on a roll, a boulder will surface

when MLTR is in town, you are down with adult measles

finally on a diet, and a friend comes along with your favourite cake.

life!

relapse

after nearly a year of this i relapse...
we have taken triple play, so there is tv connection again at home
can there be moderation? or do we need to do the 12-step again?

which is worse

you have so many secrets that you husband knows none of your passwords...
or
you have no secrets and your husband has free access to all your mails!
not sure which is worse, but do know which is sadder.

no remote

when u have a child, your dinner comes with free entertainment.
unfortunately, if it is not to your taste you can neither change the channel nor walk out...

blank

third day in a row i open the page, and stare blankly.
where is that idea that sprung to mind at the Tadamond roundabout signal?
where is that thought that crept in, during the long wait outside the pool?
where is that really funny comment i made to myself, while enduring a phenomenally boring conversation with that self-obsessed little pr***!
why do all the words flee when i decide to put it down.
it is at times like this, when my memory is a blank that i really get scared... is this the beginning of something... that obsession of mine all over again.
would i one day, like Elhanan in Elie Wiesel's Forgotten, just cease to remember mid-sentence?

ps: btw, found the book to be a tad boring. well, more than a tad actually! do think the Nobel committee has a bunch of very depressed and unhappy men.

About The Dictionary below

One of the members at the writing workshop I attended some weeks ago wrote that.
I found it absolutely beautiful and true... it was spiritual without being religious -- my favourite way for things to be!
We try to find solutions and proof for everything in science. We take refuge in it, and then the line blurs. From trying to cure diseases, genetics becomes about designer babies.
From finding alternative energy resources, nuclear science becomes about destruction.
I am all for science... don't get me wrong. But not a science that disprespects and rapes nature. Definitely not that.
And for me just as how science is misused, so is religion.
From providing solace for the soul, it is now a weapon to discriminate and kill...
That the sun rises and sets, and in Qatar is it is a perfect ball in the evening, unlike how sunsets are back where i come from; how sometimes the sun and the moon are visible up in the sky at the same time; how there are shades of pinks and oranges in the skies that I've never ever seen -- not on an artist's palette, not in a weaver's loom, not on photoshop... colours that we find impossible to translate; that every day we learn new aspects of species, attributes that we cannot even begin to imagine...
and when you see or hear or experience all this, and just take it a wee bit down, from the head to the heart... a humbling moment, that trivialises the wars we wage at work, home and in the world.

The Dictionary by Farwin Zulfikar

"The universe is godless they say. And thanks to Darwin's meticulous years we can explain its existence. It all happened by chance! come the big bang and voila we have the world! A sun that would rise and decsend at the same time in the same course everyday. It's like saying the dictionary was born out of an explosion at the printer's.
Imagine that! An explosion at the printer's leaving us with a perfectly and alphabetically ordered booklet. With words - the windows to our soul, a casket containing little trinkets with different sounds, a Pandora's box, if used incorrectly or insensitively can result in war."

chef in the house

starters: cashews, mixed with stale cornflakes, with warm seasoning and salt.
main course: open packet of ready to cook pasta, add to bowl of warm water, some butter, 8mts in the microwave. an expert cook will stir the mixture every 3 mts to obtain right consistency.
dessert: crumbled marie biscuits topped with left over ice cream, for a smooth crumbles.
beverage: strongest alcohol in the house, to get guests drunk, before they begin to ponder over the meal served.

ps: the devil is in the details, so don't scrounge. bring out your best china. not the disposables.

psssttt: make sure you receive your guests wearing a frilly apron, and strategically placed flour on your forehead and nose.

bon appetit!

still not weaned

that's me
two days ago, the baby cot was dismantled, and a new, bigger one was set up, right next to our double bed.
after 6 years and 3 months of sleeping in the same baby cot, she nods off to sleep without so much as a murmur of nostalgia. me? i stayed up a couple of hours, fretting over my baby, who needs a cot, not a crib.
then today, it was time for the high chair to join the crib on the loft. She hasn't used it in a year, but it tore my heart to put it away. finally we did it today. again, it is i who stares at the vacant space next to the dining table.
it is breast feeding all over again. the night, when she was 14 months old, i decided to give her a sipper of milk instead of the regular feed, she only gave me a quizzical look and grabbed the sipper.
and i spend the next several nights weaning myself off her feeding, as she sipped her milk from the silly pink and blue cup.
grrrrrrrrrrrr!

the Guru also Hates

i can heal you. wash away your pain and give solace to your malice (does it even make sense? but rhymes!)
i have enough philosophies, thoughts, solutions and words to find a way around every problem and emotion you throw at me.
take deep breaths... breathe out your hate and breathe in your love...
feel your body relax as all the hate flows out of your body. distance yourself from what cannot breathe and die.
distance yourself even more from what can.
look inwards.
and then go crazy!
all that is missing is a white or saffron robe.
but here is the thing... i can forgive most things. even racism. if it is born out of ignorance or an inferiority complex.
what i cannot and will not forgive is the racist who wears his philosophy on his sleeve and ass. who does everything, short of wearing a KKK mask, to make it clear he/she is a white supremacist, who takes every opportunity to reaffirm (?!!?) that he/she is better because she is white and so the rest of the world is her doormat.
and in all my life, i have come across just one person who is so despicable, so bitter, so full of hate, it almost rubs off on you.
i hate this one person so much for being such a rabid racist... and who gets away with it.
her name is frances racist gillespie, formerly known as clare racist gillespie (my husband reading over my shoulder wants to know if i am ready to be sued! I am. I speak the truth).
to speak openly about her heals my hurt. that's my excuse for using my blog to bitch about a person by name.
i am healing.
and it is accepted that you can voice your opinion about public figures, and for the purpose of this discussion, she is. She has written some books. uhmm!
Here is a case study of why I hate her so much.
In the last place I worked, there was this Brit guy, a paedophile, who was forced to leave the company.
Her first reaction was: "Oh so it is all Indians again, we need a Brit" or something to that effect.
She also had the gall to comment loudly that non-native English speakers (meaning Indians) were being recruited for the English newspaper only because they were cheap. And that was compromising on quality.
What is truly amazing for me is that in my wide open, and easily forgiving heart, I have found no sympathy for her, pitiful as she may be
Last week, after years, I run into her... and the anger was still raw. And it burnt, when she said "we prefer Qatar the way it was before..." Yes, before, when an illiterate could be the principal of a school, if he had the right skin colour!
Oh, did I mention, the reason she and her fellow racists give for not going back to UK? Too many Asians/Asians have taken over/Britain is no longer what it used to be...

do i cease to exist

just because no one has scrapped me on orkut
wagged a finger at me on facebook
mailed me on gmail for 2 days running
even the junk on hotmail is down to a trickle
and there are no comments on my blog
do i cease to exist if my virtual identity is on the wane?

name does matter

the watchman usually grunts us in and out of the school. a grouchy fellow, from south east asia, who reserves his smile for just a few.
nasty man.
and then this morning he gives me and O a big smile and a loud greeting. i am surprised, but manage a smile. since he is of no importance to me, i forget the change in attitude and carry on with my day. till it's time to pick her up. this time i am with my husband. again smiley, formerly known as grouchy, waves out. hi chris, replies my husband...
how do you know his name, i grumbled under my breath. "i asked him yesterday."
all that grouchy wanted was to not be treated as the annoying watchman, who gestures rudely to the motorists and ensures that the children find safe passage in and out of school!
so come sunday, chris will get a greeting, however grouchy he looks!
because what he does, i realise rather belatedly, deserves our gratitude.

The F Word

People are rather easy with the term Friend.
People they work with, live next door to, car pool with, are all referred to as FRIENDS. Being Friendly with someone does not mean you are Friends with them.
For me the F word is sacrosanct. I don't like people taking liberties with it.
I would never call myself someone's Friend, unless I've earned my place as one.
And I won't refer to someone as a Friend, unless they have earned their place in my life.
I am not talking about signatures in blood or duels won.
But there has to be some give, some take.
Give a little time and confidence, take a little humour and joy.
You don't have to labour over your friendship or draw an agenda and work on it.
It has to come easily, but not taken for granted.
It has to have a meaning. A responsibility. A duty. A commitment.
You need to be able to fart and burp without embarassment (an 'excuse me' is mandatory tho'). You need to be able to count on them.
Just because we share a workspace or parking lot does not make us friends.
We need to share an interest, a worry, a laugh, a cry.
We need to share the good and the bad times. And we need to share those mundane, boring days, as well...
We need to fight freely and vocally, knowing well that the fight has helped us understand each other better.
So next time you call someone a friend, pause and ponder. Are you worthy of the F word?

THE DEAL WITH PEOPLE

is that they appear worse than they really are.
and more often than not, they are who they are with.
remember that irritating classmate who clinged to you? maybe if you hadn't avoided her so much, she wouldn't have clinged to you as much.
and that ass-licker at work. if you treated him with a wee bit more respect, he would rise to that expectation.
if ever i need to undergo rehab for the influence guilt has over me, the list of people i have to call and apologise to would be really long!
for character assassination of people who have done nothing worse than getting out of bed on the wrong side.
when at the very first meeting someone lands up 15mts late, and i decide to brand him as the one who has no respect for another's time. doesn't matter that he was well on time, till someone crashed into his car!
we are too stingy with the chances people merit, in making an impression. and while on that, first impressions are way too overrated!
i have realised, after repeated misjudgements, that there aren't really that many bad people around. there are just people who get a bad deal, or are in a bad situation, and are not strong enough to not reflect their desperation/frustration as their personality.
like in India. of the thousands of people who live in dire poverty and filthy barracks, only some turn to a life of crime. the rest are still smiling and laughing, and wouldn't hesitate to share their last piece of roti with a stranger. and then there are those who will share the last piece of roti, but will not think twice about stealing from a neighbour.
'being bad' is really not about character -- it is about circumstances.
so the next time you want to judge ME harshly, maybe it's not because i am a 'bad' person, i am just having one of those days!

what sex is your esteem?

male or female?
here is the deal: yesterday, i was at a writing workshop. one of the exercises was a dialogue with a body part. while almost all the women picked on a body part they are not comfortable with, and had a rather tormented conversation with it, the men chose a body part that was giving them trouble -- physical/medical.
for women it was clearly about self esteem, appearances -- breast/stomach/teeth/skin/double chin!
interesting!

where else?

few other places will offer an opportunity like this.
in a class of 13 in my arabic class, we are 2 indonesians, 3 indians, 1 pakistani, 1 russian, 1 dane, 1 norwegian, 2 iranians, 1 filipina, 1 brit...
anywhere you go here, you will find such diversity... i've heard that there is even a sole icelandic out here in Doha, somewhere...
that's the interesting part about the Gulf. how people from across the world see it as a shot at a better life.
the not so interesting part is that there is not much melting in this cultural cauldron... so your take out in terms of experience is much less than it ought to be.

retard behind the wheel!

that's the bumper sticker i am going to mass produce and distribute.
so the idiot who wakes up an hour later than he should, drives like a maniac, endangering the lives of every other motorist on road, to gain 5 minutes.
this is my reading of the nutcases who weave in and out of traffic at crazy speeds, at 7 in the morning. is there never a correct side to the bed they get out of?

guthra, kifaya... sexy by any other name

some guys make it pansy-ish, some make it sexy... guys who wear a baseball cap for instance. or hair falling over their face... or just the way they wear a smile.
Out here, that one thing is the kifaya or guthra... the long flowing headscarf. A really common site at traffic signals, malls, near any shiny/reflective surface -- arab men adjusting their kifaya. there is a precision to making it look casual. right above the forehead, there maybe 2-3 light pleats. the scarf is also casually thrown over the head on one side. older, more distinguished men, let it just flow, but are particular about the crease above the forehead.
in some countries, they tie it like a turban... on Omani men, it just looks, sexy, sexy, sexy...
but my personal favourite is when one end is casually tossed over the head, the other end rests behind the shoulder... a perfect fit is a day old stubble, twinkling eyes, a sweet smile, and a gentlemanly gesture that says, 'yes you are welcome to cut in, and cross the lane... go ahead'
oooh, the guthra, with some traffic etiquette, can go a long way!

1999

I've been wondering if one phase of your life or one year is ever more important than the rest... isn't it like saying, the rest of my life was not so great...
anyways, dwelling on that, realised that there just maybe phases in your life, where a lot of things seem to happen. For me it was 1999. More specifically, my 25th year.
It was a year full of firsts or mosts or news... and in no particular order, but what memory dictates
1. i covered an election campaign in the districts, trailed Amma
2. i travelled to the North East again
3. i got married
4. i stayed away from my home (parents') for the first time, when I went to the Film Inst in Pune for a month.
5. i left Madras and moved to Doha
6. i lost my virginity (am a good indian girl and waited to get married)
7. i went abroad for the first time
8. got my passport
9. switched tracks in my career and worked on the desk at GT
10. for the first time, truly hated my job and office
11. Touched 75kgs for the first time
12. Cooked a full meal for the first time ever
13. Set my first home
14. Learned that being sexy was not about looks but attitude
15. realised that marriage is a lot of hardwork!
16. India lost the world cup
17. almost had a ******* (censored), but better sense prevailed
18. for the first, only and last time was invited to an orgy at the film inst hostel...
19. almost tried pot but chickened out...
20. for the first time (and last) ever, ran from an eve teaser instead of standing and fighting because i was in a strange country, and didn't know the language. still ashamed of the coward i was... and for not kicking him in his balls.

Happy Birthday To Me!

This is the new me. I am celebrating myself. My birth and my life.
So as a first step, I indulged in a beautiful Skagen watch, and a pearl necklace.
My indulgence shall continue.
Happy birthday. Jai Hind!

Support Arun Gandhi! Jews, Move On!

Arun Gandhi was forced to resign from the board of M.K. Gandhi Institute for Nonviolence based at the University of Rochester. Simply because he chose to comment on the all powerful Jewish mafia.
Here is a news report quote:

Gandhi was on a panel of scholars, writers and clergy who discuss a new topic weekly on the Washington Post's "On Faith" page and his comments, posted Jan. 7, drew a torrent of criticism, much of it unfavorable.
He wrote that Jewish identity "has been locked into the holocaust experience — a German burden that the Jews have not been able to shed. It is a very good example of (how) a community can overplay a historic experience to the point that it begins to repulse friends.
"The holocaust was the result of the warped mind of an individual who was able to influence his followers into doing something dreadful. ... The world did feel sorry for the episode but when an individual or a nation refuses to forgive and move on, the regret turns into anger."
Describing Israel as "a nation that believes its survival can only be ensured by weapons and bombs," Gandhi asked whether it would "not be better to befriend those who hate you?"
"Apparently, in the modern world so determined to live by the bomb, this is an alien concept," he wrote. "You don't befriend anyone, you dominate them. We have created a culture of violence (Israel and the Jews are the biggest players) and that Culture of Violence is eventually going to destroy humanity."

Now pray tell me, what is wrong with his comments?
Why does the whole world have to continue apologising for what happened to them under Hitler? To appease them, another set of people (the Arabs/Palestinians) have been permanently displaced, terrorised and satanised. Isn't that good enough? Who will speak up for the Arabs in the Middle East, and what they have had to endure because of what Hitler did in Europe to the Jews?
And why couldn't the Jews involve in a verbal debate with Arun Gandhi, instead of shutting him up and getting rid of him?
Hasn't the world asked the South African victims of apartheid to move on? Hasn't the world asked the African-American victims of slavery to move on? Hasn't most of the world moved on from sometimes brutal colonisation.
Is death really worse than brutal discrimination. So the Jews died dreadful deaths. Does that make other brutalities, that didn't result in deaths, less despicable?

How screwed up was this guy's childhood?

Philip Larkin - This Be The VerseThey fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.

a lifetime just ain't enough

is it?
for all the things we wish to do...
for all the things we want to learn...

how can one lifetime be enough to be all the people we want to be...
for everything we wish to achieve...
.... we hope to experience

how can one bloody lifetime be enough for all the places we want to visit...
for all the cities we want to live in...
for all the people we want to live with...

how the hell can one lifetime be enough for all the people we want to love...
for the all the children we want to have...
for all our fantasies...

how is one lifetime enough for all the books i want to read...
for all the words i hope to write...

is one lifetime really enough to be everything i want to be: generous and rich, great mum and great professional, well read and read widely, well fed and thin, sexy, but not do my legs, be the master of my temper, be spontaneous, full of contradictions, but no hypocrite... gossip, but not be gossiped about... is one lifetime enough to be or do all that?

A century

This is my 100th post!

not peeing, just standing

everytime i see men standing by the roadside, i hold my breath -- almost a reflex action. Then I realise, they are just standing... not peeing! And this is Doha, not Chennai... It is difficult to get Chennai out of your psyche.
Same goes when I see people squatting on the road. They are only squatting... nothing more!
Chennai, singara Chennai... hmm, if only people didn't make a public spectacle of their crapping and peeing.

ana ismi V, wa anta?

well, i've started Arabic classes finally.
I learnt the script some 7 years ago, and thought it was time i made sense of what i read... mindlessly.
Interesting to be back in a classroom... The brain needs to open up a bit, soak in more...
there is time enough.
so for starters, ana min al hend, min madina madras. ana ashtaghil fi qt.
go figure!

then the sun came out

briefly in the afternoon. it was warm... and i loved it.
i love it when it's bright and sunny. after all am a 'madrasi'
i love it when it rains
i love it when the moon comes out, and smiles down on us

but i HATE it when it's cold

rain

it's raining in qatar. roads are flooded. it's raining here... i love that sound of rain. it gets messy and damp... i love it still

colour change

just in case any of my regular readers wonders why the colour change -- it was on the request of one of of you.
i had to give in for two reasons. one is because she claims that she is colour blind and the pinks and greens were making the letters illegible. second and more importantly, it would leave me with just two readers, and one of them writes this!
so back to black.

insanely worried about insanity

i am. so worried about it.
i'd rather have some debilitating physical illness (must i choose?).
and i am quite happy with my current level of insanity. i don't want that to accelerate.
it's not insanity=madness.
i am talking about mental illnesses in general.
chronic depression, alzheimer's, bipolar disorders...
it scares the crap out of me. to not be in control of my senses.
at almost 34, every time a mobile number dodges my memory, or i forget a name, i reach a state of panic. Early onset?
and of course this fear has been amply supported by an am-palmist friend (or is she?), who is quite sure the break in my 'mind line' must mean a period of insanity. Can't it please mean, that i only have a crooked mind?
now whether fate has insanity in store for me or not, all this worrying could easily tip me over the edge...

oooooooooooh! that feeling again!

as i walk along the glass wall, looking in, approaching the door... my pulse races, i am practising my lines, i am excited... a state of pre-orgasm. Embarrassing, definitely!
Then I walk through the door, and look into his eyes, and slowly mouth the words: "Can I have a membership form please."

Finally, a library member again, after close to 9 years of starvation.

Qatar almost seems normal now. Yes, the library is attached to the Georgetown Univ-SFS Qatar campus; yes, I have to travel some 12-14kms to reach it; yes, I can't borrow some of the categories, as I am a public patron and not a student; but, what the heck! there are loads and loads of books there. And finally I don't have to spend indecent sums of money on carting books to Qatar.

ps1: For the uninformed. Qatar doesn't have a decent book store. it didn't have a decent library. Otherwise, it is not such a bad place, really.
ps2: I've picked up two new authors, more of that later.

I Fall in Love Again, and Again,

and again.
Every day I wake up falling in love, and there are moments throughout the day that make me fall in love again and again -- a photo, a call, a memory...
Of all the loves I've had and have, this one is the toughest. Most beautiful, yes, yet the toughest.
And like all those who are in love... there is fear. A gut wrenching fear; only difference being, it is not a fear of being let down or being spurned. It is a fear of letting down, of not doing the right thing...
That my words and actions could scar worse than anything else possibly could.
That the total unconditional, uninhibited love thrown so casually my way, is not received as graciously and gratefully as it should be. That the debt I owe for being loved so, will never be paid off... if there is such a thing as debt in love. That this kind of loving will not be forever.
That I maybe too quick to anger, too slow to love; judge too easily, and not care enough; too full of expectations, too little of acceptance.
I fear that when I chide about being careless, before I kiss the wound away, her hurt would remain a longtime after the pain has gone.
And when I ask her to stop talking or humming or singing her nonsense, because I am being disturbed, I fear that I would not be disturbed at all, and left alone.
I fall in love so many times in a day, everyday...
when she calls me at work to just 'talk'
when she is curious about what I do in the gym
when she tells me the marks on my face are gone
when she kisses and hugs me, for no greater reason than because I am there
when even while at play, she reaches out to me
when every time we watch a movie, she switches off all the lights, and grabs a blanket to share... even if we are only watching Lion King for the 500th time!
when she shows unbelievable patience with her colouring
But that is not what I fear...
I fear that I won't love her enough when she doesn't do the cute things and the things I am proud of.
I fear that I may not love her the way she deserves to be loved -- even when she is throwing a tantrum, or embarrassing me
I fear that she may grow up to be me, and learn my prejudices, and forget to love the way a 6-year-old does...
I fear that she will grow up too soon...