It was a reply to a mail I sent last year. It reached me last week.
Of course, the writer of the mail took several months to complete her rant, but she made it worth the wait.
S is my only 'postal' correspondent.
We chat almost every day, mail each other on the days we don't, or at least exchange a few text messages. Yet, we have managed to write letters as well.
Ok, I just read the lines above, and it may sound weird. Let's just say we have lots to gossip about, are rather highly opinionated and think we deserve to be heard... that should explain why we correspond so much.
Anyways, last week I landed grumpy at work, to be greeted by this fat brown cover on my table, with a familiar handwriting on it. The cover was so bulky, I actually thought it could be a book or a scarf... It was something for more interesting. Over a dozen pages of rant. It took me more than one read to decipher the whole letter, for obviously S is no longer comfy putting pen on paper... her handwriting has always been 'horrible' to put it politely. Now it has taken a turn to the worse.
Still, no other gift, absolutely none, would have made me this happy.
I have small briefcase full of letters and cards, when it was still in fashion to use paper and pen.
I love receiving post... And mourn rather often of the dying art of letter-writing!
And I am just so glad, even if it is once a year (or two), there is someone who thinks it's cool to WRITE to me.
Thanks S.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Monday, August 06, 2007
Contrasts
A friend of mine has started her gym tales, and this is no competition to that.
But this is about the contrasts in my gym.
First the ones who are are there to workout:
Fat women, indulgences, excesses, too much to eat, too little work, enough money... and too little clothes... leaving nothing to the imagination.
And then the cleaners at the gym, who go around wiping down the sweaty machines, and cleaning the floors:
Skinny women, not enough to eat, too much work, barely sufficient salaries... and oversized clothes, hand-me downs.
One wishing for the other's body.
One wishing for the other's comforts.
A sad, sad world!
But this is about the contrasts in my gym.
First the ones who are are there to workout:
Fat women, indulgences, excesses, too much to eat, too little work, enough money... and too little clothes... leaving nothing to the imagination.
And then the cleaners at the gym, who go around wiping down the sweaty machines, and cleaning the floors:
Skinny women, not enough to eat, too much work, barely sufficient salaries... and oversized clothes, hand-me downs.
One wishing for the other's body.
One wishing for the other's comforts.
A sad, sad world!
Saturday, August 04, 2007
Bad Momma House
I should post this here also.
But let me start here.
On July 2, my five year old daughter travelled alone to India, to have a longer vacation there. R and I will join her in the next couple of weeks. First me, then him.
The first 2 days were AWFUL.
Then things kind of fell in place, and I tried to make best use of the situation.
Now before you do so, let me give you full right to judge me, badly.
It doesn't matter, because I think I am learning the tricks about guilt, and know how to handle it.
For the first time in some years, R and I have time together. I work days, he works evenings, so any common time is spent being parents.
And as you can imagine, that left little time for us to be just 'us'.
Might I hesitantly add that we are beginning to enjoy this time alone. That we don't bark and scream at each other so much. We seem to look at each other as people instead of appa and amma?
But we appreciate this break. We are not bogged down by responsibilities. In fact, my kitchen has been officially closed this last few weeks.
We don't have curfews, bedtime, school activities etc to contend with.
It is not that I don't feel guilty. But as R keeps pointing out, she is having fun. The grandparents and aunts are loving it.
Yes, not like I sent her to boot camp to spend time with R.
And when I look at it very, very practically, this will benefit her more. Because the next time she sees her parents, she will notice (yes she will, because she is smart little thing) that we smile so much more at each other. That we are not so quick to snap and fight.
She will notice and she will like it.
So here is the moral of the story: Parents should absolutely have time alone at least once a year. I don't mean dinner and weekend at local hotel. I mean totally alone.
I don't know how soon we will relapse and become those grumpy parents again. But it is certainly nice while it's lasting.
But let me start here.
On July 2, my five year old daughter travelled alone to India, to have a longer vacation there. R and I will join her in the next couple of weeks. First me, then him.
The first 2 days were AWFUL.
Then things kind of fell in place, and I tried to make best use of the situation.
Now before you do so, let me give you full right to judge me, badly.
It doesn't matter, because I think I am learning the tricks about guilt, and know how to handle it.
For the first time in some years, R and I have time together. I work days, he works evenings, so any common time is spent being parents.
And as you can imagine, that left little time for us to be just 'us'.
Might I hesitantly add that we are beginning to enjoy this time alone. That we don't bark and scream at each other so much. We seem to look at each other as people instead of appa and amma?
But we appreciate this break. We are not bogged down by responsibilities. In fact, my kitchen has been officially closed this last few weeks.
We don't have curfews, bedtime, school activities etc to contend with.
It is not that I don't feel guilty. But as R keeps pointing out, she is having fun. The grandparents and aunts are loving it.
Yes, not like I sent her to boot camp to spend time with R.
And when I look at it very, very practically, this will benefit her more. Because the next time she sees her parents, she will notice (yes she will, because she is smart little thing) that we smile so much more at each other. That we are not so quick to snap and fight.
She will notice and she will like it.
So here is the moral of the story: Parents should absolutely have time alone at least once a year. I don't mean dinner and weekend at local hotel. I mean totally alone.
I don't know how soon we will relapse and become those grumpy parents again. But it is certainly nice while it's lasting.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Writer? Me too!
The next time someone tells me, "Oh, I write too", in response to my "I am a journalist" introduction, I am going to scream like a BANSHEE!
9 out of 10 people tell me they write or love to.
"I write letters to the editor of my local newspaper, every week. Two have even been published." -- Yes, you are ripe for the Pulitzer now.
"I used to write for my school/college magazine." -- Wow! Ramon Magsaysay award probably?
"I used to keep a diary. When I was 12 years old. For a whole month." -- Right, Let's look for a publisher. The next Anne Frank, are you?
Don't get me wrong. I think writing is a great relief, and everyone should write at least few lines every now and then. It is refreshing and puts things in perspective. Take blogging, for instance. A fantastic medium, and such amazing talent.
What I have a problem with is when I tell people I am a journalist and I write for a living, they think it is the same as their "Why I love my parents" essay in 2nd grade.
The pomposity of these people gets to me.
Just because I manage to operate the myriad electronic appliances at home or change the light bulb, does it make me an engineer?
Just because I know how to do a neat dressing for a wound, or prescribe myself and family paracetamol for fever, am I a doctor?
Just because I do my household accounts, does it make me a Chartered Accountant?
Just because I sing in the bathroom, am I Shreya Ghosal?
Just because I shake and sway crazily when music of any sort is played, am I Michael Jackson?
Remember, the Pen is mightier than the Sword.
And next time someone uses the 'I am a writer line..." I will poke him/her in the eye with my mighty pen.
9 out of 10 people tell me they write or love to.
"I write letters to the editor of my local newspaper, every week. Two have even been published." -- Yes, you are ripe for the Pulitzer now.
"I used to write for my school/college magazine." -- Wow! Ramon Magsaysay award probably?
"I used to keep a diary. When I was 12 years old. For a whole month." -- Right, Let's look for a publisher. The next Anne Frank, are you?
Don't get me wrong. I think writing is a great relief, and everyone should write at least few lines every now and then. It is refreshing and puts things in perspective. Take blogging, for instance. A fantastic medium, and such amazing talent.
What I have a problem with is when I tell people I am a journalist and I write for a living, they think it is the same as their "Why I love my parents" essay in 2nd grade.
The pomposity of these people gets to me.
Just because I manage to operate the myriad electronic appliances at home or change the light bulb, does it make me an engineer?
Just because I know how to do a neat dressing for a wound, or prescribe myself and family paracetamol for fever, am I a doctor?
Just because I do my household accounts, does it make me a Chartered Accountant?
Just because I sing in the bathroom, am I Shreya Ghosal?
Just because I shake and sway crazily when music of any sort is played, am I Michael Jackson?
Remember, the Pen is mightier than the Sword.
And next time someone uses the 'I am a writer line..." I will poke him/her in the eye with my mighty pen.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Flash from the Past
A photo. 4 gawky teenagers, grinning widely into the camera, sharing a joke, that even after 15years still brings a smile to our face. We remember the outing, we remember the exchange, we remember the hysterical giggles and shrieking laughs. We remember it all.
A picture that takes us away from the mundane routines of our lives. Home, office, children, husband... A picture that not only triggers lovely memories in the four that are in the frame, but the 5 who are on the other side of the camera.
Do you ever wonder, that memories are rarely in video mode. It is more a series of snapshots, almost like a cartoon film. You flip through those images quickly enough, and it plays out beautifully.
The reason I consider myself truly lucky is not merely because of those images, that I have those memories...
It is because all those who made those memories what they are, are still very much part of my life. My sisterhood. A link where all of us are in touch with each other, either directly or indirectly. Touchwood, none of us is estranged. Busy, pre-occupied, sometimes down, sometimes indifferent, but never estranged. We are all in different places in our lives. Our priorities are different. Yet we are there always for each other.
And that is saying a lot for women, who tend to wander away from their best friends, their best memories once they are married.
... I keep looking at that photo, that one of the gang dug out and sent to all of us. I also keep thinking that we were better looking than our low self-image led us to believe then ;)
A picture that takes us away from the mundane routines of our lives. Home, office, children, husband... A picture that not only triggers lovely memories in the four that are in the frame, but the 5 who are on the other side of the camera.
Do you ever wonder, that memories are rarely in video mode. It is more a series of snapshots, almost like a cartoon film. You flip through those images quickly enough, and it plays out beautifully.
The reason I consider myself truly lucky is not merely because of those images, that I have those memories...
It is because all those who made those memories what they are, are still very much part of my life. My sisterhood. A link where all of us are in touch with each other, either directly or indirectly. Touchwood, none of us is estranged. Busy, pre-occupied, sometimes down, sometimes indifferent, but never estranged. We are all in different places in our lives. Our priorities are different. Yet we are there always for each other.
And that is saying a lot for women, who tend to wander away from their best friends, their best memories once they are married.
... I keep looking at that photo, that one of the gang dug out and sent to all of us. I also keep thinking that we were better looking than our low self-image led us to believe then ;)
Saturday, July 28, 2007
A Cure for Orgasm
A cure for Multiple Orgasm? Maybe even a vaccination in due time? Wouldn't that just make half the world ecstatic!
This video is absolutely hilarious, and just about sums up the male-female take on orgasm and sexual satisfaction.
It is the unachievable for some, the non-existent for others.
Ya-ya party discussions sometimes tread on this (depending on the comfort level of the women present), and almost right away one can make out the FAKERS from the FEELERS.
The FAKERS begin with a confused giggle (orgasm? is that a bacterial growth in my vagina?) and the when wisdom dawns slowly, they agree vehemently without offering details, because they claim they are too shy to do so (thank heavens it is not a bacterial growth, but then why aint't I getting it?).
The FEELERS know that next time around, at the get together for spouse and offspring, all eyes would be on her husband. That elusive male, who walks the talk.
The FAKER holds tighter to her husband, hoping that the closer she stays, the sooner it would grow (not the bacteria, but the orgasm, that even wikipedia doesn't have satisfactory explanation for).
At the next ya-ya party, there is a showing of When Harry Met Sally, to help FAKERS master their art.
This video is absolutely hilarious, and just about sums up the male-female take on orgasm and sexual satisfaction.
It is the unachievable for some, the non-existent for others.
Ya-ya party discussions sometimes tread on this (depending on the comfort level of the women present), and almost right away one can make out the FAKERS from the FEELERS.
The FAKERS begin with a confused giggle (orgasm? is that a bacterial growth in my vagina?) and the when wisdom dawns slowly, they agree vehemently without offering details, because they claim they are too shy to do so (thank heavens it is not a bacterial growth, but then why aint't I getting it?).
The FEELERS know that next time around, at the get together for spouse and offspring, all eyes would be on her husband. That elusive male, who walks the talk.
The FAKER holds tighter to her husband, hoping that the closer she stays, the sooner it would grow (not the bacteria, but the orgasm, that even wikipedia doesn't have satisfactory explanation for).
At the next ya-ya party, there is a showing of When Harry Met Sally, to help FAKERS master their art.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Warning! May offend sensitive readers
I have been wanting to blog about a LOT of stuff, and hold myself back out of fear of what people may think. And I am shocked that I feel that way, because in person, I care two hoots, and speak my mind, however dirty, x-rated or blunt I maybe.
But the writer in me, tugs at my sensibilities, when I want to write about stuff like SEX.
Still, it is time that I did. Because for most virgins and married women, sex is on the mind, all the time.
Sex after Children is what ya-ya party sob stories are made of.
Speak to most married (girl) friends, and it is the same sob story again and again.
See, while men cease to speak in detail of their exploits once girlfriend turns wife; secretive girlfriends turn into big-mouthed wives, and have no qualms of discussing sex or the lack of it.
So, back to the subject of children being a natural contraceptive, especially for us Indian folks who believe in sharing the bedroom with the brood till they learn to scream "stop rocking the bed you two!"
Then the next day, there is a flurry of shopping for second hand bedroom set and setting up the spare room, and kick the kids out. But then this usually happens when the children are about 8-9, by which time, the hymen, due to limited activity, starts to grow back.
It is not about lack of opportunities alone, it is also about how everything starts feeling looser, and it just doesn't seem worth the effort to suffer lacy underwear that causes an itch under the arms.
Why am I ranting? Because, sometimes a girl just has to!
But the writer in me, tugs at my sensibilities, when I want to write about stuff like SEX.
Still, it is time that I did. Because for most virgins and married women, sex is on the mind, all the time.
Sex after Children is what ya-ya party sob stories are made of.
Speak to most married (girl) friends, and it is the same sob story again and again.
See, while men cease to speak in detail of their exploits once girlfriend turns wife; secretive girlfriends turn into big-mouthed wives, and have no qualms of discussing sex or the lack of it.
So, back to the subject of children being a natural contraceptive, especially for us Indian folks who believe in sharing the bedroom with the brood till they learn to scream "stop rocking the bed you two!"
Then the next day, there is a flurry of shopping for second hand bedroom set and setting up the spare room, and kick the kids out. But then this usually happens when the children are about 8-9, by which time, the hymen, due to limited activity, starts to grow back.
It is not about lack of opportunities alone, it is also about how everything starts feeling looser, and it just doesn't seem worth the effort to suffer lacy underwear that causes an itch under the arms.
Why am I ranting? Because, sometimes a girl just has to!
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Hair Raising
I've sported a crew cut, I've had it in a bob, I have had it in steps, and now down my shoulder.
My hair.
Till I was about 12 I hated it fervently. Just too unwieldy, and not fit for a length any longer than an inch or two.
And then while spending time at the workplace of a hairdresser family friend, 3 clients asked for a perm like mine. A new found respect for my AWFUL curls.
Ever since, I am vainly in love with my hair. Of course, I kept it short for a long time. But the last several years, I have let it grow.
Please note this. Growth of curly hair is not the same as the growth of straight or wavy hair.
The curly hair does not grow down. It grows out. In all directions, except down.
So shoulder length curly equals mid-back length straight.
After coming to Qatar I've been exposed to style products that include 'tousled' and 'out of the bed look', which roughly translates to 'parata thalai' in Tamizh or 'Sai Baba' style.
My appreciation for what I possess, grows. So I can get out of bed, just run my fingers through the unmanageable locks, and run out of home, looking stylised (and very weird).
The other thing about curly hair is that it's seasonal. From tight manageable curls in winter to frizzy and furious in summer.
Somehow, the global trend to respect anything that looks, sounds or feel unreasonable and untempered has helped me with my bad hair days!
Hail curls, and I just hope this is one fad that never goes out of style...
My hair.
Till I was about 12 I hated it fervently. Just too unwieldy, and not fit for a length any longer than an inch or two.
And then while spending time at the workplace of a hairdresser family friend, 3 clients asked for a perm like mine. A new found respect for my AWFUL curls.
Ever since, I am vainly in love with my hair. Of course, I kept it short for a long time. But the last several years, I have let it grow.
Please note this. Growth of curly hair is not the same as the growth of straight or wavy hair.
The curly hair does not grow down. It grows out. In all directions, except down.
So shoulder length curly equals mid-back length straight.
After coming to Qatar I've been exposed to style products that include 'tousled' and 'out of the bed look', which roughly translates to 'parata thalai' in Tamizh or 'Sai Baba' style.
My appreciation for what I possess, grows. So I can get out of bed, just run my fingers through the unmanageable locks, and run out of home, looking stylised (and very weird).
The other thing about curly hair is that it's seasonal. From tight manageable curls in winter to frizzy and furious in summer.
Somehow, the global trend to respect anything that looks, sounds or feel unreasonable and untempered has helped me with my bad hair days!
Hail curls, and I just hope this is one fad that never goes out of style...
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Harry Potter and the Crazy Me
I am all rheumy eyed, writing this, after reading HP7 cover to cover. And craving for more... like the werewolf who has a taste for human flesh, even untransformed.
So it's 2 am, I am a little tipsy after the night out with some girlfriends, and I drag my very sleepy husband out of home in search of that one elusive book shop that is selling the books at 2 am!! Al Saqr zindabad.
So after some luckless rambling, we land (taking a no entry) in front of the store and I bark at the guard to stop locking the door, and thrust a 100buck into the cashier's hand and grab my Deathly Hallows.
Unputdownable... I grab some sleep after the first 100 pages, and then am glued to it again.
All this would not be so frightening if I had been say half my age? Or atleast 10 years younger. But for a grown woman, with responsibilities at home and work, to stay curled up in bed a whole day?
How, absolutely delightful!!
And as good friends always validate your obsessions, far, far away, another crazy adult is trying to grab pages between feeding and poo washing...
And in other land far, far away, is a woman raking it in...
And all over the world are muggles enchanted by her quill...
The Deathly Hallows
Have you ever been the one who could never understand the passion displayed at the Kacheevaram Silk Sarees section Nalli's? You look at the women grabbing bright, gaudy sarees and drape it around themselves and stare so (strangely) admiringly at themselves in the mirror, and wonder "What the eff is wrong with these women?"
Well, that's how some people viewed me, this last week, when I was get delirious with excitement over the last part of the HP series.
Point is, nothing is wrong with me. I am under a spell. Have been for 6 years now, when I first laid hands on the first book.
The series is amazing... I won't say this is my favourite book(s) ever, because there are just far too many. But problem is many of them were written before I was even born. But I saw the story evolve, I see the author write about reality. Yes, yes , it's about magic. But above all, it is about people, about relationships... it is a book about emotions.
And it is very clear about right and wrong...
She doesn't talk about good and bad changing at convenience, she simply equates it to being humane and not being humane; however silly your humanitarian spirits may seem, they pay off; and however clever inhumanity may seem, it destructs.
And then it is the belief in innocence, the trust in youth, the confidence in giving chances... the spirit of love.
A truly amazing book, that shows darkness to reveal the power of light; that shows hatred, to reveal the power of love... And does it all without being stupidly sentimental.
No Spoilers here... just that whatever adults-in-denial (yours truly in particular) may say, HP is a book for children... It ends as such. With hope and love.
JUST LOVE IT!
So it's 2 am, I am a little tipsy after the night out with some girlfriends, and I drag my very sleepy husband out of home in search of that one elusive book shop that is selling the books at 2 am!! Al Saqr zindabad.
So after some luckless rambling, we land (taking a no entry) in front of the store and I bark at the guard to stop locking the door, and thrust a 100buck into the cashier's hand and grab my Deathly Hallows.
Unputdownable... I grab some sleep after the first 100 pages, and then am glued to it again.
All this would not be so frightening if I had been say half my age? Or atleast 10 years younger. But for a grown woman, with responsibilities at home and work, to stay curled up in bed a whole day?
How, absolutely delightful!!
And as good friends always validate your obsessions, far, far away, another crazy adult is trying to grab pages between feeding and poo washing...
And in other land far, far away, is a woman raking it in...
And all over the world are muggles enchanted by her quill...
The Deathly Hallows
Have you ever been the one who could never understand the passion displayed at the Kacheevaram Silk Sarees section Nalli's? You look at the women grabbing bright, gaudy sarees and drape it around themselves and stare so (strangely) admiringly at themselves in the mirror, and wonder "What the eff is wrong with these women?"
Well, that's how some people viewed me, this last week, when I was get delirious with excitement over the last part of the HP series.
Point is, nothing is wrong with me. I am under a spell. Have been for 6 years now, when I first laid hands on the first book.
The series is amazing... I won't say this is my favourite book(s) ever, because there are just far too many. But problem is many of them were written before I was even born. But I saw the story evolve, I see the author write about reality. Yes, yes , it's about magic. But above all, it is about people, about relationships... it is a book about emotions.
And it is very clear about right and wrong...
She doesn't talk about good and bad changing at convenience, she simply equates it to being humane and not being humane; however silly your humanitarian spirits may seem, they pay off; and however clever inhumanity may seem, it destructs.
And then it is the belief in innocence, the trust in youth, the confidence in giving chances... the spirit of love.
A truly amazing book, that shows darkness to reveal the power of light; that shows hatred, to reveal the power of love... And does it all without being stupidly sentimental.
No Spoilers here... just that whatever adults-in-denial (yours truly in particular) may say, HP is a book for children... It ends as such. With hope and love.
JUST LOVE IT!
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
All Woman, All Girl
Confident, Confused, Sexy, Gawky.
All Woman, All Girl. Just a child?
My first job. Am all of 21. And Billy Joel sang the sang to me, for me...
Sitting in the beautiful, dilapidated Indian Express building, in the Express Estates. Sunday afternoon shift. The dumb shift that interns serve. And we sit listening to this, me and a few others.
A different world, before other women joined the domain. The only female in a department of 12 (apart from the alpha female). A girl amongst men of all ages, attitude and stages of hairloss.
And I sit listening to the song with the guys... feeling confident, confused, sexy, gawky...
The way a woman would feel in a room full of guys. Most of them rather nice.
And without our noticing it, the clock has struck 5, and with that the chief walks in, ordering us back to work. Back to reality...
Memories are made of moments... and while we remember with great clarity the beautiful ones... every breath, every sigh, every smile and every word... the not so great ones are a blur.
The beauty of memory is it's capability to make the beautiful more beautiful!
On a tough day, Billy Joel is the way to go, girls!
And for all those men who made me understand Joel better -- Thanks.
She's always a woman
She can kill with a smile
She can wound with her eyes
She can ruin your faith with her casual lies
And she only reveals what she wants you to see
She hides like a child
But she's always a woman to me
She can lead you to
can take you or leave you
She can ask for the truth
But she'll never believe you
And she'll take what you give her, as long as its free
She steals like a thief
But shes always a woman to me
Chorus
Oh-she takes care of herself
She can wait if she wants
She's ahead of her time
Oh-and she never gives out
And she never gives in
She just changes her mind
And she'll promise you more
Than the garden of eden
Then she'll carelessly cut you
And laugh while you're bleedin
But she'll bring out the best
And the worst you can be
Blame it all on yourself
Cause shes always a woman to me
Chorus
She is frequently kind
And she's suddenly cruel
She can do as she pleases
She's nobody's fool
But she can't be convicted
She's earned her degree
And the most she will do
Is throw shadows at you
But shes always a woman to me
Turn it off and smell the roses… or whatever!
(I wrote for my mag... reproducing here)
About six weeks ago, my lifeline went on the blink. Or so I thought.
I rush home, all eager to grab a bag of crisps, a steaming cup of coffee, the remote control, the phones and plonk down.
Because that’s how most weekday evenings are spent. Tea, reading, phone calls, dinner, even social visits… all in front of the TV.
Yet, if you had asked me two months ago if I were addicted to the tele, I would have said ‘no’.
Then the bitter truth. I was a closet-addict. In denial. Because when the satellite receiver went dead, and the familiar drone of Frasier, 24 and Lost was lost, the future seemed bleak. What would my evenings be like?
There is only so much gallivanting you can do in Doha.
What would life be like without the comfort blanket.
Apparently, not so bad.
It is like when you give up smoking, and smell the flowers.
The lack of tele-noise at home has had such profound impact on my senses, that I have convinced a friend who is redecorating her house, to relegate her big screen TV to a less prominent place. And as that move happened, her son wondered loudly how he would have his dinner from now on!
Probably it was easier for me to give up the tele, because I never ‘only watched TV’. I always, watched TV while doing something else.
Like eating, reading (yes, it’s possible), doing puzzles, ironing, preparing dinner, browsing the net.
But that is no reason for the die-hard addicts to give up hope. It just needs a little discipline. To wean yourself away from the tele, start by diluting your tele-time. Do something else while sitting in front of the TV.
If you don’t want to go the length and disconnect satellite/cable TV, then here is an alternative. Activate parental control, and courier the remote to a friend in another country. It will be at least a week or two get it back, and you would be forced into detox.
I have decided not to renew our cable connection for now. When I feel like watching something, I choose from the collection of DVDs and cassettes. For news updates I go online.
There are times, alone at home, when I pine for an emotional Oprah-moment, a high-pitched Richard Quest report and even the toons. But those are fleeting. Most of the time I just feel clearer.
Do I claim that ‘I now have more quality time with child/husband/laptop/pet cockroach’? No such clichés. I don’t know if I am doing anything better, since giving up non-stop access to television. I only know that it doesn’t feel bad at all. It feels great almost all the time.
The home just seems so much more relaxed and serene.
And since it’s in keeping with the spirit of the day, let me also add, I am doing my bit towards controlling noise pollution (and other environmental hazards TV causes, that I am not fully aware of).
About six weeks ago, my lifeline went on the blink. Or so I thought.
I rush home, all eager to grab a bag of crisps, a steaming cup of coffee, the remote control, the phones and plonk down.
Because that’s how most weekday evenings are spent. Tea, reading, phone calls, dinner, even social visits… all in front of the TV.
Yet, if you had asked me two months ago if I were addicted to the tele, I would have said ‘no’.
Then the bitter truth. I was a closet-addict. In denial. Because when the satellite receiver went dead, and the familiar drone of Frasier, 24 and Lost was lost, the future seemed bleak. What would my evenings be like?
There is only so much gallivanting you can do in Doha.
What would life be like without the comfort blanket.
Apparently, not so bad.
It is like when you give up smoking, and smell the flowers.
The lack of tele-noise at home has had such profound impact on my senses, that I have convinced a friend who is redecorating her house, to relegate her big screen TV to a less prominent place. And as that move happened, her son wondered loudly how he would have his dinner from now on!
Probably it was easier for me to give up the tele, because I never ‘only watched TV’. I always, watched TV while doing something else.
Like eating, reading (yes, it’s possible), doing puzzles, ironing, preparing dinner, browsing the net.
But that is no reason for the die-hard addicts to give up hope. It just needs a little discipline. To wean yourself away from the tele, start by diluting your tele-time. Do something else while sitting in front of the TV.
If you don’t want to go the length and disconnect satellite/cable TV, then here is an alternative. Activate parental control, and courier the remote to a friend in another country. It will be at least a week or two get it back, and you would be forced into detox.
I have decided not to renew our cable connection for now. When I feel like watching something, I choose from the collection of DVDs and cassettes. For news updates I go online.
There are times, alone at home, when I pine for an emotional Oprah-moment, a high-pitched Richard Quest report and even the toons. But those are fleeting. Most of the time I just feel clearer.
Do I claim that ‘I now have more quality time with child/husband/laptop/pet cockroach’? No such clichés. I don’t know if I am doing anything better, since giving up non-stop access to television. I only know that it doesn’t feel bad at all. It feels great almost all the time.
The home just seems so much more relaxed and serene.
And since it’s in keeping with the spirit of the day, let me also add, I am doing my bit towards controlling noise pollution (and other environmental hazards TV causes, that I am not fully aware of).
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Knot or the Noose
One of my sisters-in-law is highly accomplished. She did her doctorate from one of the best universities in the US, she is a professor, she is well known in her field, is extremely smart and well-read.
She is also wonderful with her nieces and nephew.
Still, every time someone refers to her, and wants to make a distinction between her and her sister, they say: "The unmarried sis-in-law..."
It annoys me so much, the next time I am going to poke the person in the eye with something pointy, and tell them that she has so much going for and to be identified by, that has nothing to do with her marital status.
Yes, she is 40. Yes, she is unmarried. And yes, most of the time she seems extremely happy. There maybe times that she is not so. But which one of us married ma'ams can claim to be content 100 percent of the time?
I wonder, if it upsets me so much that she is referred to as the 'unmarried' daughter/sister/aunt/friend or whatever, how much it should affect her.
Why can't they just call her the one with a doctorate, the one who is awesome with the kids, the one who is a well known researcher...
What is our obsession with marriage, when most of us who are married can't stop complaining about our spouses.
Here is the other interesting thing. I notice women making this reference more frequently than the men.
Why is that?
She is also wonderful with her nieces and nephew.
Still, every time someone refers to her, and wants to make a distinction between her and her sister, they say: "The unmarried sis-in-law..."
It annoys me so much, the next time I am going to poke the person in the eye with something pointy, and tell them that she has so much going for and to be identified by, that has nothing to do with her marital status.
Yes, she is 40. Yes, she is unmarried. And yes, most of the time she seems extremely happy. There maybe times that she is not so. But which one of us married ma'ams can claim to be content 100 percent of the time?
I wonder, if it upsets me so much that she is referred to as the 'unmarried' daughter/sister/aunt/friend or whatever, how much it should affect her.
Why can't they just call her the one with a doctorate, the one who is awesome with the kids, the one who is a well known researcher...
What is our obsession with marriage, when most of us who are married can't stop complaining about our spouses.
Here is the other interesting thing. I notice women making this reference more frequently than the men.
Why is that?
Monday, July 09, 2007
Woman in a man's world? Easy does it!
I hate to admit this. But it is more difficult to work with women than men.
Men maybe quick to react, but they are as quick getting over issues and moving on.
In my 13 years experience across various jobs, women colleagues, I find, have been more consistently petty, jealous and seriously bitchy.
Men do bitch, and boy, do they gossip. But as I said, somehow they are quite honest and open about their loyalties. What you see is what you get most of the time.
Not so with women.
A colleague told me the higher you rise, the fewer friends you will have at work. That is the 'success tax' you pay. It is not so much about who you are, but where you are!
At my very first job, my boss was a woman. And when I joined as an intern, I was the only other woman in the department of 12. Wise woman... because other departments headed by women, with women in the team, seemed to be a lot more tense.
Of course, I had teething issues... my boss and I didn't quite trust each other for a while, and then once trust was established, it was real smooth sailing.
But I was young, out of college, with no previous exposure to office dynamics. And that has been my greatest experience, that at the very first job, I realised it was easier being a woman in a man's world, than a woman in a woman's world.
That experience has helped me deal with female (and male) colleagues ever since.
First with the latter -- while working for or with male colleagues, the cardinal rule is not to be timid. But if you are the boss, then it is not being overtly aggressive, confusing aggression of manly leadership.
Now that we have the simple part over with, let's get on with female colleagues.
Working for a female boss, empathy counts. Believe me! That doesn't mean being patronising, nothing can be more annoying than that.
Working with women is a fairly easy task. If everyone is at the same level, there really is no problem.
But if you are the boss, then get ready for a whole load of shit!
No one resents a multi-tasking woman more than another.
There is no easy way of handling them... If you are too empathetic and understanding of their home-life balance, chances are you will be taken for one long ride.
If you are not, then you are termed 'Queen Bee'. And really there is no middle ground.
While men may resent you, they either get over it or get on with it. But the intentions are clear.
With women, it festers.
... To Be Continued
Men maybe quick to react, but they are as quick getting over issues and moving on.
In my 13 years experience across various jobs, women colleagues, I find, have been more consistently petty, jealous and seriously bitchy.
Men do bitch, and boy, do they gossip. But as I said, somehow they are quite honest and open about their loyalties. What you see is what you get most of the time.
Not so with women.
A colleague told me the higher you rise, the fewer friends you will have at work. That is the 'success tax' you pay. It is not so much about who you are, but where you are!
At my very first job, my boss was a woman. And when I joined as an intern, I was the only other woman in the department of 12. Wise woman... because other departments headed by women, with women in the team, seemed to be a lot more tense.
Of course, I had teething issues... my boss and I didn't quite trust each other for a while, and then once trust was established, it was real smooth sailing.
But I was young, out of college, with no previous exposure to office dynamics. And that has been my greatest experience, that at the very first job, I realised it was easier being a woman in a man's world, than a woman in a woman's world.
That experience has helped me deal with female (and male) colleagues ever since.
First with the latter -- while working for or with male colleagues, the cardinal rule is not to be timid. But if you are the boss, then it is not being overtly aggressive, confusing aggression of manly leadership.
Now that we have the simple part over with, let's get on with female colleagues.
Working for a female boss, empathy counts. Believe me! That doesn't mean being patronising, nothing can be more annoying than that.
Working with women is a fairly easy task. If everyone is at the same level, there really is no problem.
But if you are the boss, then get ready for a whole load of shit!
No one resents a multi-tasking woman more than another.
There is no easy way of handling them... If you are too empathetic and understanding of their home-life balance, chances are you will be taken for one long ride.
If you are not, then you are termed 'Queen Bee'. And really there is no middle ground.
While men may resent you, they either get over it or get on with it. But the intentions are clear.
With women, it festers.
... To Be Continued
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Maggi -- 2 minutes!!
When I was in school the Maggi 2 minute noodles was launched. It was all the rage. The smart mom on tele, feeding her children and their friends Maggi for dinner.
And believe me I've been one of the friends every now and then, and always came home angry that amma could not make the 2 minute noodle. She would spend hours on her elaborate cuisine.
Years later, i'm remembered as the person whose mum is a great cook.
My daughter's friends will remember me as the Maggi aunty. For the 3rd time this week, despite second and tenth thoughts on the ingredients in the pack, I dish out Maggi for dinner.
But that smart mum on tele was a fake. What am I?
And believe me I've been one of the friends every now and then, and always came home angry that amma could not make the 2 minute noodle. She would spend hours on her elaborate cuisine.
Years later, i'm remembered as the person whose mum is a great cook.
My daughter's friends will remember me as the Maggi aunty. For the 3rd time this week, despite second and tenth thoughts on the ingredients in the pack, I dish out Maggi for dinner.
But that smart mum on tele was a fake. What am I?
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Just...
We just wanted a girls' night out.
Drink and smoke with great abandon, without fear of setting a bad example to our children.
Just hang out, and feel there was not a care in the world, other than getting hope tipsy and safe. The husbands indulge: they would take care of the kids.
Just 3 girls, wanting a night out. After weeks of planning and re-scheduling, we hit the only easily accessible joint in town. Everything about the place, from its name and rickety tables to the patrons and the music, was askew.
But we were determined to get drunk. And being drunk would be the only way to enjoy that dig.
Tequilas and cocktails fail miserably in their endeavour. They barely draw out a few giggles from us.
An hour before midnight Cinderellas start discretely, and then not so discretely, looking at their watches. And then call out the men to drive us back home.
Where we having fun? Oh, yes, we were. That was for sure. But somewhere in all that wanting to cut loose and run wild, mommy-strings were tugging at us. Has one been fed? Is the other up? Are the men watching violence (and whatever else) on TV while the children are around?
Are these creeps around us -- young and old, really the alternative for what we have left behind at home for the evening?
Apparently not. Final analysis:
We girls do need to go out and have some fun -- Get drunk, get high, smoke ourselves senseless. But the beauty of it is, our life is not so screwed up that we need to do it everyday.
Just that one night in ever so many moons, when we want to be just girls. Not wives and mothers.
Just Girls out on a night for some Unadulterated Fun.
Just wish Doha had a few more decent joints to do that.
Drink and smoke with great abandon, without fear of setting a bad example to our children.
Just hang out, and feel there was not a care in the world, other than getting hope tipsy and safe. The husbands indulge: they would take care of the kids.
Just 3 girls, wanting a night out. After weeks of planning and re-scheduling, we hit the only easily accessible joint in town. Everything about the place, from its name and rickety tables to the patrons and the music, was askew.
But we were determined to get drunk. And being drunk would be the only way to enjoy that dig.
Tequilas and cocktails fail miserably in their endeavour. They barely draw out a few giggles from us.
An hour before midnight Cinderellas start discretely, and then not so discretely, looking at their watches. And then call out the men to drive us back home.
Where we having fun? Oh, yes, we were. That was for sure. But somewhere in all that wanting to cut loose and run wild, mommy-strings were tugging at us. Has one been fed? Is the other up? Are the men watching violence (and whatever else) on TV while the children are around?
Are these creeps around us -- young and old, really the alternative for what we have left behind at home for the evening?
Apparently not. Final analysis:
We girls do need to go out and have some fun -- Get drunk, get high, smoke ourselves senseless. But the beauty of it is, our life is not so screwed up that we need to do it everyday.
Just that one night in ever so many moons, when we want to be just girls. Not wives and mothers.
Just Girls out on a night for some Unadulterated Fun.
Just wish Doha had a few more decent joints to do that.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
What is Shame?
What's the deal with shame? Or embarassment.
Not that I am without the one, and immune to the other.
But do feel these are wasted emotions. Makes no sense whatsoever. Just wish the world would be a better place and relationships easier if these disappeared.
Not that I am without the one, and immune to the other.
But do feel these are wasted emotions. Makes no sense whatsoever. Just wish the world would be a better place and relationships easier if these disappeared.
Monday, May 14, 2007
working mum or mum working?
here we were, 2 working women, feeling all important. Asking questions, being appreciated.
And then comes this lady and tells us how proud it makes her feel to see working women, doing so well.
The compliment just grazed us. One was keener on taking her 5-year old to the bathroom, the other was on the phone enquiring about her unwell 3-year old.
so what are we? working mothers in that order of priority.
or just mothers who happen to work?
And then comes this lady and tells us how proud it makes her feel to see working women, doing so well.
The compliment just grazed us. One was keener on taking her 5-year old to the bathroom, the other was on the phone enquiring about her unwell 3-year old.
so what are we? working mothers in that order of priority.
or just mothers who happen to work?
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
good lies?
ok. today i took the easy way out. i didnt rationalise. when my daughter cried monster, i lost my patience, gave her a little ganesha idol she got as a gift from my sister, and told her now no monsters will come near her.
more or less what my mother did with me.
but in this case without that total belief. with doubt, with impatience... true me.
more or less what my mother did with me.
but in this case without that total belief. with doubt, with impatience... true me.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
flirtations
How important is flirting for the well-being of a woman? I
s it merely for the young, restless & cellulite-free?
No. In fact it is more important for the older, without-rest & what-have-you...
Flirtations. It sure can kick-start your day.
A few nostalgic exchanges with someone from the past.
A fleeting smile or eye-contact with a total stranger at the traffic signal or jam.
A teenager who ogles at the 'aunty' (big boobs are big boobs for the inexperienced, who cannot differentiate it from mere fat).
Even an unexpected call from partner of many years...
Flirtations... as important as a strong cup of filter coffee, a good review for your byline, a hug from a friend.
Flirtations... on certain days, when the mirror is exceptionally rude, is more important than all of the above put together!
s it merely for the young, restless & cellulite-free?
No. In fact it is more important for the older, without-rest & what-have-you...
Flirtations. It sure can kick-start your day.
A few nostalgic exchanges with someone from the past.
A fleeting smile or eye-contact with a total stranger at the traffic signal or jam.
A teenager who ogles at the 'aunty' (big boobs are big boobs for the inexperienced, who cannot differentiate it from mere fat).
Even an unexpected call from partner of many years...
Flirtations... as important as a strong cup of filter coffee, a good review for your byline, a hug from a friend.
Flirtations... on certain days, when the mirror is exceptionally rude, is more important than all of the above put together!
Thursday, January 25, 2007
racism bollocks!
Give us a break. racism will always exist. live with it.
If you are at the receiving end the best way to hit back is to ignore and succeed.
If you are dishing it out, and dont like it, then just stop being such a fucking asshole.
But ignore Big Brother. And Good's pilgrimage.
And for goodness sake, Shilpa Shetty is used to racism in her own country. So what's the big deal.
She is after all a dark (and absolutely beautiful) woman living in a country obsessed with fairness.
A country where south Indian accents are mocked by brethren up north, who cannot string a grammatically correct sentence together.
So what?
Get your free publicity, some money and get on with business!
If you are at the receiving end the best way to hit back is to ignore and succeed.
If you are dishing it out, and dont like it, then just stop being such a fucking asshole.
But ignore Big Brother. And Good's pilgrimage.
And for goodness sake, Shilpa Shetty is used to racism in her own country. So what's the big deal.
She is after all a dark (and absolutely beautiful) woman living in a country obsessed with fairness.
A country where south Indian accents are mocked by brethren up north, who cannot string a grammatically correct sentence together.
So what?
Get your free publicity, some money and get on with business!
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