Hope - Elections 2024

The Resident Optimist (my husband, henceforth called the RO in this post) told me around a year ago, “You will see, Modi is on his way out.” The skeptic, the pessimist in me didn’t say this, but thought, “Sometimes I hate this over-optimism of yours. At times I think you are a fool for thinking like that.” But on his face I said, “How I would love it, but I doubt it.” The RO (Resident Optimist) had just smiled that day. At me. Like you all, I had seen Modi wreak havoc on democratic institutions. His megalomania was touching new heights everyday. The lowest common denominator in the civil society, in judiciary, in public protest, in media was going low and low and low and people were like, “at least the government didn’t do this…” “at least we are alive…” And I would tell my children, “this is not the India we grew up in.” India is an idea, a contradiction, but India is real – India is secular. At least it tries to be. The RO, like many other Indians, had bought into the propaganda in 2014, “India needed a strong man image, and this guy will give it to India.” That day, I had almost wanted to divorce the RO for even suggesting that. But to his face, I had said, “Sorry, I do not subscribe to that view. This guy is dangerous for India. G0dhr@ is still alive in people’s memory. You will see the long lasting effects soon.” That day, the RO had gone quiet. It took him a couple of years to agree with me. A few days ago, the night the results begun to appear, I was on my computer, working on a translation. He was on the phone, with his friend in India. Around 12 midnight, he opens the door to my study, and gestures me to come take a look at the TV. I go, and instead of the TV, I look at his eyes. They were shining! News24 was on, and INDIA was leading. “NDA” was trailing. And then it was chal-so-chal. Leading, trailing, losing, winning. I laughed and he said it will take a few hours before picture becomes clear. I came back to my desk. A few minutes later, the IPTV Box stopped relaying News24. The RO came and asked what could have gone wrong. Between the two of us, I happen to be the tech-expert. Hah! “Check the other channels, maybe the internet is down.” I said. “No, the entire Godi Media is on, something is going on,” he said, “they have stopped relaying News24 !” Alright, are they doing the last ditch effort to stifle? I went to my computer, and opened their website and turned their live telecast on. It was working. So I suggested the RO to use his computer too. And then the game began to turn. I stayed awake until 2-50 am, excited, but then went to sleep.…. I think the RO stayed awake all night – working and waiting. Next morning, before brushing my teeth, I came and found him perched on the couch. “Whats happening?” “Nothing firm yet, but Mampi ji, India has voted differently.” Sure, now I was ready to believe him. In early December 2023, once sitting in a mehfil among friends, he had claimed that India will not allow him to continue, that Modi is out in 2024. That day, I had glanced at him indulgently – like a mother whose child has showed off the newest trick. And I had secretly hoped his wish would come true. Now his wish was coming true, and the next day was a conversation around the way India had reclaimed its democracy. My daughter asked me yesterday, “Why are you listening to this irritating fellow?” Modi was speaking in the BJP headquarters. “For cheap thrills, beta, for cheap thrills,” I had simply said. I had gotten busy in the work again, and asked the RO “How was the address of Himself?” “Buss roye hi nahi wo,” he chuckled. I am, like so many of you, enjoying this moment as long as it lasts. No point of this post, just waise ee. But I so wanted to thank all those who stood against these winds of injustice, and kept us afloat. All those who faced trolling but kept on using whatever weapons they could, to keep saying what needed to be said. Some names of those we know, and many names of those we dont know but need to be acknowledged. Amandeep Sandhu Kajal Basu, Orijit Sen, Arun Joshi, Arijit Nag Ravish Kumar Saurabh Kumar Shahi The DeshBhakt-Akash Bannerjee, Dr Medusa, the.ranting.gola Rajeev Nigam, Bhagat Ram Ajit Anjum Dhruv Ratheeand so many more. The list will be edited. Remind us of those that kept you hopeful in these dark times. #IndiaElections2024

Lessons we learn

Conversation in my household about 8 years ago. Jaiteg was in middle school then. He has grown up since. "ਮੈਂ ਨਾਏ ਨੂੰ ਸ਼ਤਰੰਜ ਦੀ ਬਾਜ਼ੀ ਵਿਚ ਦੋ ਵਾਰੀ ਹਰਾ ਚੁੱਕਾਂ। ਇਕ ਵਾਰੀ ਅੱਜ ਤੇ ਇਕ ਵਾਰੀ ਪਹਿਲੋਂ," ਨਾਏ ਜਮਾਤ ਵਿਚ 'ਸ਼ਤਰੰਜ ਦਾ ਪੱਕਾ ਖਿਡਾਰੀ' ਮੰਨਿਆ ਜਾਂਦਾ ਹੈ। ਜੈਤੇਗ ਲਈ ਉਸ ਨੂੰ ਹਰਾਉਣਾ ਬੜੀ ਵੱਡੀ ਗੱਲ ਹੈ। ਨਾਏ ਉਸਦਾ ਸਭ ਤੋਂ ਪੱਕਾ ਮਿੱਤਰ ਵੀ ਹੈ। ਸੋਮਵਾਰ ਨੂੰ ਜੈਤੇਗ ਸਿੰਘ ਗਿਲਬਰਟ ਨਾਲ਼ ਸ਼ਤਰੰਜ ਖੇਡਣਗੇ। ਗਿਲਬਰਟ ਝੂਠਾ ਨਾਂ ਰੱਖਿਆ ਹੈ ਉਸ ਆਪਣੀ ਕਲਾਸ ਦੇ ਵੱਡੇ ਬਦਮਾਸ਼ ਦਾ। ਅਸਲੀ ਨਾਂ ਕੁਝ ਹੋਰ ਸੂ। "ਗਿਲਬਰਟ ਨੂੰ ਤੈਂ ਵੰਗਾਰਿਆ ?" "ਨਾ, ਓਸੇ ਨੇ ਮੈਨੂੰ ਚੈਲੇਂਜ ਕੀਤਾ ਸੀ। ਤੇ ਹਾਰਦਾ ਵੇਖਿਓ ਕਿਵੇਂ ਮੇਰੇ ਹੱਥੋਂ !" "ਬੜੀ ਚੰਗੀ ਗੱਲ, ਚੱਕ ਦੇ ਫੱਟੇ, ਪਰ ਬਾਹਲੀ ਪਾਡੀ ਨੀ ਮਾਰੀਦੀ," ਹਾਲਾਂਕਿ ਮੈਨੂੰ ਪਤਾ ਹੈ ਉਸ ਊਠ ਜਿਹੇ ਨੂੰ ਹਰਾਉਣਾ ਗੱਲ ਕੋਈ ਛੋਟੀ ਵੀ ਨਹੀਂ। "...ਤੇ ਪਤੈ ਮਾਂ, ਮੈਂ ਆਪਣੇ ਚਾਰ ਪਿਆਦੇ ਵੀ ਬੋਰਡ ਤੋਂ ਹਟਾ ਦਿੱਤੇ ਮਰਜ਼ੀ ਨਾਲ ਈ।" "ਹੈ, ਹਾ ! ਉਹ ਕਿਉਂ ਵੇ? 12 ਮੁਹਰਿਆਂ ਨਾਲ਼ ਖੇਡੇਂਗਾ ਕਿਵੇਂ, ਕਾਕਾ?" "ਕਿਉਂਕਿ ਵਿਚਾਰਾ ਹਾਰਨ ਡਿਹਾ ਸੀ, ਤੇ ਫਰਸਟ੍ਰੇਟ ਹੋਇਆ ਪਿਆ ਸੀ !" "ਗਿਲਬਰਟ?" "ਨਹੀਓਂ, ਕੌਨਰ!" ਹੁਣ ਇਹ ਨਵਾਂ ਪਾਤਰ ਕੌਨਰ ਕਿਥੋਂ ਆ ਗਿਆ ! ਤੇ ਮੈਨੂੰ ਜੈ ਦੱਸਦਾ ਹੈ ਕਿ ਕੌਨਰ ਗਿਲਬਰਟ ਦਾ ਸਾਥ ਦੇਣ ਵਾਲਾ ਛੋਟਾ-ਮੋਟਾ ਬਦਮਾਸ਼ ਹੈ। "ਕਿਸੇ ਬੁਲੀ ਦਾ ਭਲਾ ਕਰਨ ਨੂੰ ਤੂੰ ਆਪਣੇ ਪਿਆਦੇ ਕਿਉਂ ਕੱਢੇ ?" "ਕਿਉਂਕਿ ਮੈਂ ਜਿੱਤ ਰਿਹਾ ਸੀ ਨਾ। ਉਹ ਏਨਾ ਤੰਗ ਸੀ ਹਾਰਨ ਕਰਕੇ ਕਿ ਗੇਮ ਛੱਡ ਜਾਂਦਾ !" "ਸੋ, ਉਹ ਗੇਮ ਛੱਡ ਕੇ ਨਾ ਜਾਵੇ, ਇਸ ਲਈ ਤੂੰ ਆਪਣੇ ਪਿਆਦੇ ਹਟਾ ਦਿੱਤੇ ਕਮਜ਼ੋਰ ਦਿਸਣ ਨੂੰ ?" "ਤੇ ਹੋਰ ਕੀ ! ਮੈਂ ਖੇਡਣਾ ਚਾਹੁੰਦਾ ਸੀ ਨਾ !" ... "I beat Nai twice in chess. Once today and once before." Nai 'is considered accomplished' in chess so it is big deal for Jaiteg to be able to beat him. Nai is also his best buddy. Monday Jai is going to play chess with Gilbert. Gilbert is the pseudonym given by my son to his class bully. "Was it you who challenged Gilbert, Jai?" "No, he challenged me. And he is next to be beaten." "Good then, go ahead, but don't be arrogant about it." Though I know he has a good reason to be arrogant about it. "...and you know what mom, I removed four of my pawns." "Whyyy?" "Cos he was so frustrated at losing." "Who, Gilbert?" "Nooooo, Connor." Now who is this Connor ! And I learn that Connor is a sometimes-accomplice of Gilbert. "Why did you remove your pawns for a bully?" "Cos I was winning, and he was so frustrated at losing, he would have given up the game." "So, to prevent HIM from giving up the game, YOU removed your pawns and appeared weaker?" "Well, yes! I wanted to play !" ..... Sometimes it is imperative to go on back-foot to engage a bully in a fight ! #lessonslearned

Leg Day

Two youngish gym bros (maybe in their 20s) are alternating on a leg press next to mine. I finish my 3 sets of 15 reps each. One kid asks me, "How long did it take you to reach there?" I don't understand his question. He points to the weights I had placed. I had 100 lbs on each side. "Em, maybe a couple of weeks, maybe 4 weeks?" I say tentatively because I don't know if it is respectably heavy or not. "Respect, man!" he says, points to his press (it has 45 lbs on each side) and I laugh with him. "Women are strong," he adds. Meantime the other kid comes and says, "Dude, when my girlfriend and I workout together, I am always surprised by her strength." "Well, women ARE stronger, after all, both here (I point to the head) and physically," I can't help saying. "True ! they go through so much when pregnant, and we have no clue how much pain that causes." This time, it is my turn to say, "I respect you for acknowledging so nicely!" #legday

My Funny Mother

My Funny Mother... In the early 2000s, she took the multi-million dollar offers in her spam folder very very seriously. To her, they had probably chosen her to give her their fortunes and inheritances. Thank God, she talked to us about her impending windfall. By the time we could tell her these were scammers, she had already sent each of them about 3 or 4 emails in response to their distress calls. Thankfully no banking information was disclosed. Her emails to them were hilarious to say the least. She would write that she was totally empathetic to their ‘reaching out to her.’ She never wondered why she was the ‘chosen one.’ She was ‘very interested’ in travelling to Nigeria among other countries. And later she could totally laugh at herself for being like this. This gullible person was entirely different from the college-principal persona that I saw all my life. That person was someone all the students feared, and at the same time looked up to. She could see through anyone’s lies, she could catch anyone bluffing. She knew the minutest details about her students – from names of their villages, to names of the Sarpanch of that village, to their fathers’ names. “Madam Principal is taking a round” were the most dreaded words we could hear - even if there was no reason to fear her. Still everyone, including me, wanted to stay out of her way. As an administrator, she was a success – right from Gidderbaha College, to Lopon College, to Sang Dhesian College. Sometimes, she did make that ‘principal’ face at home too, and we objected to it promptly. But mostly, she was the same innocent self that anyone could fool – but only in her personal life, never on the professional front. And I would always wonder how ! If I had asked her how, she would have smiled her big shiny smile that said goodbye to this world today 7 years ago. We celebrate her life everyday. Posted - July 28 - 2022

Violence against Women

ਅੱਜ ਸਵੇਰੇ ਰੇਡੀਓ ਸ਼ੋਅ ਦਾ ਵਿਸ਼ਾ ਅਚਾਨਕ ਬਦਲਿਆ ਤੇ ਨਿਊ ਯੌਰਕ ਵਿੱਚ ਹਾਲ ਹੀ ਵਿਚ ਮਨਦੀਪ ਕੌਰ ਦੇ ਲੁਕ ਕੇ ਬਣਾਏ ਗਏ ਵੀਡੀਓ ਵੇਖਣੇ ਪਏ, ਜੋ ਉਸ ਦੇ ਘਰ ਵਿਚ ਵਾਪਰਦੀ ਹਿੰਸਾ, ਉਸ ਦੀ ਕੁੱਟ ਮਾਰ, ਉਸ ਨੂੰ ਤੇ ਉਸ ਦੀਆਂ ਬੱਚੀਆਂ ਨੂੰ ਮਿਲ਼ਦੀਆਂ ਗੰਦੀਆਂ ਗਾਹਲਾਂ ਦੇ ਗਵਾਹ ਨੇ; ਅਤੇ ਅੰਤ ਉਸ ਦਾ ਆਤਮ -ਘਾਤ ਕਰਨ ਦਾ ਫ਼ੈਸਲਾ ਸੁਣਾਉਣ ਦੇ ਵੀਡੀਓ ਦੇਖਣੇ ਪਏ। ਪਰਸੋਂ ਰਾਤ ਤੋਂ ਮੈਂ ਸੋਸ਼ਲ ਮੀਡੀਏ ਤੇ ਚੱਲ ਰਹੇ ਵੀਡੀਓ ਅਤੇ ਉਸ ਬਾਰੇ ਖ਼ਬਰਾਂ ਤੋਂ ਭਾਜੂ ਸਾਂ, ਪਰ ਅੱਜ ਸਵੇਰੇ ਲੱਗਾ ਕਿ ਉਹ ਤਾਂ ਜ਼ਿੰਦਗ਼ੀ ਖ਼ਤਮ ਕਰ ਰਹੀ ਹੈ, ਮਨਪ੍ਰੀਤ ਕੌਰ, ਤੂੰ ਉਸ ਦੀ ਗੱਲ ਵੀ ਨਹੀਂ ਸੁਣ ਸਕਦੀ ? ਤੇਰਾ ਟ੍ਰਾਮਾ ਉਸ ਦੇ trauma ਤੋਂ ਵੱਡਾ ਤਾਂ ਨਹੀਂ ! ਬਹੁਤ ਸਮਾਂ ਲੱਗਾ ਉਸ ਦੀਆਂ ਗੱਲਾਂ process ਕਰਨ ਨੂੰ, ਤੇ ਫ਼ੇਰ ਰੈੱਡ ਐੱਫ ਐੱਮ ਤੇ ਸੁਣਨ ਵਾਲ਼ਿਆਂ ਦੀ ਕਚਹਿਰੀ ਵਿੱਚ ਲੈ ਆਈ। ਕਿਥੋਂ ਗੱਲ ਸ਼ੁਰੂ ਕਰੋ ਤੇ ਕਿਥੇ ਮੁਕਾਓ? ਇਹ ਆਖੋ ਕਿ ਇਹ ਸਭ ਤਾਂ ਹੁੰਦਾ ਹੀ ਹੈ, ਨਵਾਂ ਕੀ ਹੈ? ਗੱਲ ਕਿਉਂ ਕਰ ਰਹੇ ਆਂ? ਕਿ ਇਹ ਆਖੋ ਕਿ ਕੁੜੀਆਂ ਨੂੰ, ਔਰਤਾਂ ਨੂੰ ਮਜ਼ਬੂਤ ਹੋਣਾ ਪਵੇਗਾ ? ਮਤਲਬ, ਤੁਸੀਂ ਆਪਣਾ ਸਮਾਜ ਨਾ ਬਦਲਿਓ, ਆਦਮੀਆਂ ਦੀ ਸੋਚ ਨਾ ਬਦਲਿਓ; ਜ਼ਿੰਮੇਵਾਰੀ ਔਰਤਾਂ ਤੇ ਸੁੱਟ ਕੇ ਸੁਰਖ਼ੁਰੂ ਹੋ ਜਾਉ, ਕਿ ਤੁਸੀਂ ਮਜ਼ਬੂਤ ਹੋ ਜਾਉਗੀਆਂ ਤਾਂ ਜਿਉਂ ਲਇਓ, ਨਾ ਮਜ਼ਬੂਤ ਹੋਵੋਗੀਆਂ ਤਾਂ ਮਰੋ ਪਰ੍ਹਾਂ ! ਜਾਂ ਇਹ ਕਹਿ ਕਿ ਵਿਹਲੇ ਹੋ ਜਾਉ, ਕਿ ਇਹਨਾਂ ਪੱਛਮੀ ਮੁਲਕਾਂ ਵਿਚ ਔਰਤਾਂ ਨੂੰ ਬਥੇਰੇ ਹੱਕ-ਹਕੂਕ ਨੇ, ਜੇ ਮਨਦੀਪ ਨੇ ਆਵਾਜ਼ ਨਹੀਂ ਚੁੱਕੀ ਤਾਂ ਕੋਈ ਕੀ ਕਰ ਸਕਦਾ ਹੈ? ਤੇ ਜੇ ਬਹੁਤਾ ਹੀ ਪੱਲਾ ਝਾੜਨਾ ਹੈ, ਤਾਂ ਕਹਿ ਛੱਡੋ ਕਿ ਔਰਤਾਂ ਵੀ ਤਾਂ ਮਰਦਾਂ ਨੂੰ ਤੰਗ ਕਰਦੀਆਂ ਨੇ। ਗਰਜ਼ ਇਹ ਕਿ ਮੁੱਦੇ ਤੇ ਨਾ ਆਉ, ਮੁੱਦੇ ਨੂੰ ਪੇਤਲਾ ਕਰਦੇ ਜਾਉ ਜਦ ਤਕ ਅੱਗ ਤੁਹਾਡੇ ਆਪਣੇ ਘਰ ਨਹੀਂ ਪੁੱਜਦੀ। ਇੱਕ ਸੁਹਿਰਦ ਸੁਣਨ ਵਾਲ਼ੇ ਨੇ ਆਖਿਆ ਕਿ ਔਰਤਾਂ ਨੂੰ self-defence ਸਿੱਖਣਾ ਪਵੇਗਾ। ਸੁਣਨ ਨੂੰ ਗੱਲ ਬਿਲਕੁਲ ਗ਼ਲਤ ਨਹੀਂ ਜਾਪਦੀ। ਸਹਿਮਤ ਵੀ ਹੋਣ ਨੂੰ ਤਿਆਰ ਹਾਂ। ਸਵੈ -ਸੁਰੱਖਿਆ ਸਭ ਨੂੰ ਆਉਣੀ ਚਾਹੀਦੀ ਹੈ। ਪਰ ਰੁਕੋ ਜ਼ਰਾ - ਸਵੈ ਸੁਰੱਖਿਆ ਕਿਸ ਖ਼ਿਲਾਫ਼ ? ਆਪਣੇ ਹੀ ਘਰ ਦੇ ਮਰਦਾਂ ਖ਼ਿਲਾਫ਼ ? ਪਿਓ, ਪਤੀ, ਭਰਾ, ਪੁੱਤਰ ਖ਼ਿਲਾਫ਼ ? ਸ਼ਰਮ ਨਹੀਂ ਆਉਂਦੀ ਸਾਨੂੰ ਇਹ ਸਬਕ ਦੇਂਦਿਆਂ ਔਰਤਾਂ, ਬੱਚੀਆਂ ਨੂੰ? ਇੰਨੇ ਇਨਕਾਰੀ ਆਂ ਅਸੀਂ ਇਹ ਮੰਨਣੋਂ ਕਿ ਔਰਤਾਂ, ਕੁੜੀਆਂ ਖ਼ਿਲਾਫ਼ ਹਿੰਸਾ ਤੋਂ ਬਚਾਅ ਕੁੜੀਆਂ ਦਾ ਫਰਜ਼ ਨਹੀਂ, ਸ਼ਰਮ ਨਹੀਂ ਆਉਂਦੀ ਸਾਨੂੰ ਜ਼ਿੰਮੇਵਾਰੀ ਆਇਦ ਕਰਦਿਆਂ ਉਹਨਾਂ ਤੇ, ਬਜਾਇ ਉਹਨਾਂ ਨੂੰ call-out ਕਰਨ ਦੇ ਜਿੰਨ੍ਹਾਂ ਅੰਦਰਲੀ ਮਰਦਾਨਗੀ ਮਹਿਜ਼ ਔਰਤ ਤੇ ਹੱਥ ਚੁੱਕਣ ਤੱਕ ਸੀਮਤ ਹੈ? ਤੇ ਜਿਹੜੇ ਪੁੱਛਦੇ ਨੇ ਕਿ ਮਨਦੀਪ ਤੇ ਉਹਦੇ ਵਰਗੀਆਂ ਕੁੜੀਆਂ/ਔਰਤਾਂ ਇਹੋ ਜਿਹੇ ਜਾਨਵਰਾਂ ਨੂੰ ਛੱਡ ਕਿਉਂ ਨਹੀਂ ਜਾਂਦੀਆਂ, ਉਹਨਾਂ ਨੇ ਹਿੰਸਾ ਤੇ ਬਦਸਲੂਕੀ (abuse) ਦੇ ਸਾਈਕਲ ਬਾਰੇ ਨਹੀਂ ਪੜ੍ਹਿਆ ? ਕਿ ਕੋਈ ਵੀ ਔਰਤ ਆਪਣੇ ਅਬਯੂਜ਼ਰ ਨੂੰ ਛੱਡ ਕੇ ਘੱਟੋ ਘੱਟ 6-7 ਵਾਰੀ ਮੁੜ ਕੇ ਆਉਂਦੀ ਹੈ, ਕਦੇ ਮਜਬੂਰੀ ਵਿੱਚ, ਕਦੇ ਸਮਾਜ ਦੀ ਦਿੱਤੀ ਸ਼ਰਮ ਕਰਕੇ, ਕਦੇ ਬੱਚਿਆਂ ਦੇ ਮੂੰਹ ਨੂੰ, ਕਦੇ ਆਰਥਿਕ ਕਾਰਨਾਂ ਕਰਕੇ, ਤੇ ਸਭ ਤੋਂ ਵੱਡੀ ਗੱਲ, ਸਾਡੀ ਤੁਹਾਡੀ ਮਦਦ ਦੀ ਥੋੜ੍ਹ ਕਰਕੇ? ਕਿੰਨੇ ਕੁ ਮਾਪੇ ਨੇ, ਭੈਣ-ਭਾਈ ਨੇ ਜਿਹੜੇ ਮਨਦੀਪ ਵਰਗੀਆਂ ਕੁੜੀਆਂ ਨੂੰ ਕਹਿੰਦੇ ਨੇ, ਕਿ ਕੋਈ ਲੋੜ ਨਹੀਂ ਇਸ ਵਹਿਸ਼ੀ ਨਾਲ ਰਹਿਣ ਦੀ, ਚੱਲ ਤੂੰ, ਅਸੀਂ ਤੇਰੀ ਪਿੱਠ ਤੇ ਖੜ੍ਹੇ ਆਂ ? ਕਿਥੇ ਹੈ ਅਣਖ ਸਾਡੀ, ਜਿਹੜੀ ਪਿਸਤੌਲਾਂ ਤੇ ਗਾਣਿਆਂ ਵਿਚ ਡੁਲ੍ਹਦੀ ਫਿਰਦੀ ਹੈ? ਜਿਸ ਸਮਾਜ ਵਿੱਚ ਕੁੜੀਆਂ ਨੂੰ, ਔਰਤਾਂ ਨੂੰ, ਇੱਜ਼ਤ ਨਾਲ ਜਿਉਣ ਦੀ ਇਜਾਜ਼ਤ ਨਹੀਂ, ਕਿਹੜੇ ਮੂੰਹ ਨਾਲ ਦੇਵੀਆਂ ਦੀ ਪੂਜਾ ਕਰਦਾ ਹੈ, ਤੇ ਕਿਹੜੇ ਮੂੰਹ ਨਾਲ 'ਸੋ ਕਿਓਂ ਮੰਦਾ ਆਖੀਐ' ਗਾਉਂਦਾ ਹੈ ਸਵੇਰੇ ਸਵੇਰੇ ਆਸਾ ਦੀ ਵਾਰ ਵਿਚ ? ਨਾ ਇਹ ਪਹਿਲੀ ਕੁੜੀ ਹੈ, ਜਿਸ ਨੇ ਅਜਿਹਾ ਫ਼ੈਸਲਾ ਕੀਤਾ ਹੈ, ਨਾ ਇਹ ਆਖ਼ਰੀ ਹੋਵੇਗੀ, ਕਿਉਂਕਿ ਸਾਡੀ ਕਥਨੀ ਤੇ ਕਰਨੀ ਵਿੱਚ ਢੇਰ ਫ਼ਰਕ ਹੈ। ਕੈਨੇਡਾ ਵਿੱਚ ਹੀ ਭਰੂਣ ਹੱਤਿਆ (female - foeticide ) ਇੱਕ ਅਸਲੀਅਤ ਹੈ, ਕੈਨੇਡਾ ਵਿਚ ਘਰਾਂ ਵਿਚ ਔਰਤਾਂ ਤੇ ਹੱਥ ਚੁੱਕਣਾ ਅਸਲੀਅਤ ਹੈ; ਪੁਲਸ ਆਉਂਦੀ ਹੈ, ਫੇਰ ਉਹੀ ਔਰਤਾਂ ਇਹਨਾਂ ਹੀ ਮਰਦਾਨਗੀ ਭਰੇ ਮਰਦਾਂ ਦੀ ਜਾਨ ਬਚਾਉਂਦੀਆਂ ਨੇ। ਕਿੰਨੀਆਂ ਹੀ ਔਰਤਾਂ ਨੇ, ਘਰ ਵਿਚ 'ਸ਼ਾਂਤੀ' ਰੱਖੀ ਰੱਖਣ ਖ਼ਾਤਰ ਅੱਧੀ ਅਧੂਰੀ ਜ਼ਿੰਦਗ਼ੀ ਧੂਹੀ ਜਾਂਦੀਆਂ ਨੇ, ਫੇਰ ਇੱਕ ਦਿਨ ਮਰ ਜਾਂਦੀਆਂ ਨੇ। ਪਰ ਸਾਨੂੰ ਕੀ ? ਅਗਲੇ ਦੇ ਘਰ ਦਾ ਮਸਲਾ ਹੈ, ਹੈ ਨਾ? ਆਪਾਂ ਤਾਂ ਸੁਣੀ ਹੀ ਨਹੀਂ ਇਹੋ ਜਿਹੀ ਹੋਈ ਬੀਤੀ ! ਅਸੀਂ ਵਿਚਾਰੇ ਭੋਲ਼ੇ ਪੰਜਾਬੀ, ਅਸੀਂ ਵਿਚਾਰੇ ਅਣਖੀਲੇ ਪੰਜਾਬੀ !!! ਇੱਕ ਹੋਰ ਸੁਣਨ ਵਾਲ਼ੇ ਨੌਜਵਾਨ ਨੇ ਕਿਹਾ ਕਿ ਇਹੋ ਜਿਹੇ ਬੰਦੇ ਸਾਡੇ ਆਲ਼ੇ ਦੁਆਲ਼ੇ ਨਹੀਂ ਹੁੰਦੇ ਕਿਉਂਕਿ ਇਹਨਾਂ ਦੀ ਕਿਸੇ ਨਾਲ ਬਣਦੀ ਨਹੀਂ ਹੁੰਦੀ। ਗ਼ਲਤ ! ਇਹੋ ਜਿਹੇ ਬੰਦੇ ਬਾਹਰ ਹੋਰ, ਤੇ ਘਰ ਵਿਚ ਹੋਰ ਰੂਪ ਧਾਰਨ ਦੇ ਸਮਰੱਥ ਹੁੰਦੇ ਨੇ। ਉਹਨਾਂ ਔਰਤਾਂ ਨੂੰ ਪੁੱਛੋ ਜੋ ਇਹੋ ਜੇਹਿਆਂ ਨਾਲ਼ ਦਿਨ-ਕੱਟੀ ਕਰ ਰਹੀਆਂ ਨੇ। ਇਹੋ ਜਿਹੇ ਬੰਦੇ ਤੁਹਾਡੇ ਆਲ਼ੇ ਦੁਆਲ਼ੇ ਹੀ ਨੇ ! ਸੱਜਣ, ਬੇਲੀ, ਮਿੱਤਰ ਬਣ ਕੇ ਵਿਚਰਦੇ ! ਵੇਲ਼ਾ ਪੈਣ ਤੇ ਨਾ ਸਿਰਫ਼ ਅਸੀਂ ਅੱਖਾਂ, ਨੱਕ, ਕੰਨ, ਮੂੰਹ ਬੰਦ ਕਰ ਲੈਂਦੇ ਆਂ, ਬਲਕਿ ਇਹੋ ਜਿਹੇ ਮੁੱਦੇ ਨੂੰ ਮਹਿਜ਼ social issue ਕਹਿ ਕੇ ਛੁਟਿਆ ਵੀ ਦੇਂਦੇ ਹਾਂ। ਤੁਹਾਡੇ ਗੁਰੂ ਨੇ ਤੁਹਾਨੂੰ ਕੁੜੀ-ਮਾਰਾਂ ਨਾਲੋਂ ਨਾਤਾ ਤੋੜਨ ਦਾ ਹੁਕਮ ਦਿੱਤਾ ਸੀ, ਕਿਉਂ ਨਹੀਂ ਤੁਸੀਂ ਜ਼ਾਹਰਾ ਤੌਰ ਤੇ ਇਹੋ ਜਿਹਿਆਂ ਤੋਂ ਰਿਸ਼ਤੇ ਤੋੜਦੇ ? ਹੁਣ ਇਹ ਨਾ ਕਹਿਓ ਕਿ ਅਸੀਂ ਤਾਂ ਕਦੇ ਕਿਸੇ ਔਰਤ ਤੇ ਹੱਥ ਨਹੀਂ ਚੁੱਕਿਆ, ਇਹ ਨਾ ਕਹਿਓ ਕਿ ਜੀ ਸਾਡੇ ਲਾਗੇ ਤਾਂ ਕੋਈ ਐਸਾ ਹੈ ਨਹੀਂ, ਜਿਸ ਨੇ ਕਦੇ ਆਪਣੇ ਘਰ ਦੀ ਕਿਸੇ ਔਰਤ ਤੇ ਹੱਥ ਨਾ ਚੁੱਕਿਆ ਹੋਵੇ ਕਿਉਂਕਿ ਅੰਕੜੇ ਦੱਸਦੇ ਨੇ ਕਿ ਹਰ ਚਾਰ ਵਿਚੋਂ ਇੱਕ ਔਰਤ ਨੇ ਇਹ ਹਿੰਸਾ ਝੱਲੀ ਹੈ। ਦੂਜੇ ਅੱਖਰਾਂ ਵਿੱਚ, ਹਰ ਚਾਰ ਵਿਚੋਂ ਘੱਟੋ- ਘੱਟ ਇੱਕ ਬੰਦੇ ਨੇ ਇਹ ਮਹਾਨ ਕਾਰਾ ਅੰਜਾਮ ਦਿੱਤਾ ਹੈ। ਝਾਕੋ ਤਾਂ ਭਲਾ ਆਪਣੇ ਆਲ਼ੇ ਦੁਆਲ਼ੇ , ਦੀਹਂਦਾ ਕੋਈ ? ਹੈ ਹਿੰਮਤ ਤਾਂ ਤੋੜੋ ਨਾਤਾ ਉਸ ਨਾਲ਼ੋਂ, ਫੇਰ ਵੇਖਿਓ ਕਿੱਦਾਂ ਸਿੱਧੇ ਹੁੰਦੇ ! ਇਸ ਹਿੰਸਾ ਨੂੰ ਤੁਹਾਡੀ ਸਾਡੀ ਪਰਵਾਨਗੀ , acceptance ਨੇ ਅੱਗੇ ਤੋਰਿਆ ਹੈ। ਇਹ ਉੱਦਣ ਹਟਣੀ, ਜਿੱਦਣ focus ਹਿੰਸਾ ਕਾਰਨ ਵਾਲੇ ਹੈਂਸਿਆਰੇ ਤੇ ਆਇਆ, ਜਿੱਦਣ ਇਹੋ ਜਿਹਿਆਂ ਨੂੰ ਮਸ਼ਹੂਰ ਕੀਤਾ। ਪਰਦੇ ਪਾਈ ਜਾਓਗੇ ਤਾਂ ਇੱਕ ਦਿਨ ਸੇਕ ਲੱਗੇਗਾ ਆਪ ਨੂੰ ਵੀ ! ਕਿਰਪਾ ਕਰਕੇ 'ਵਾਹਿਗੁਰੂ ਜੀ' ਤੇ 'ਸੋ-ਸੈਡ' ਵਾਲ਼ੇ ਐਥਿਓਂ ਪਰ੍ਹਾਂ ਰਹਿਓ। Written in August 2022

Community and people

"Years ago, anthropologist Margaret Mead was asked by a student what she considered to be the first sign of civilization in a culture. The student expected Mead to talk about fishhooks or clay pots or grinding stones. But no. Mead said that the first sign of civilization in an ancient culture was a femur (thighbone) that had been broken and then healed. Mead explained that in the animal kingdom, if you break your leg, you die. You cannot run from danger, get to the river for a drink or hunt for food. You are meat for prowling beasts. No animal survives a broken leg long enough for the bone to heal. A broken femur that has healed is evidence that someone has taken time to stay with the one who fell, has bound up the wound, has carried the person to safety and has tended the person through recovery. Helping someone else through difficulty is where civilization starts, Mead said." Now the attribution of this story to Mead is perhaps untrue. Also, perhaps taking care of the vulnerable is not unique to humans or human civilization. However, I am sharing it with a hope that we are out of the woods where 'survival of the fittest' seems to be the rule. Even Today. pic from - Internet of course

Luckiest Girl Alive

My daughter is an insistent talker. She talks everyday with me, multiple times, about things serious, and things irreverent, and things profane. We both read (and she also has her Tik-Tok feed) and we both try to find and share vocabulary for phenomenon that have bothered me, and bothered her and share with each other. It is empowering to have this little being by your side. In this same spirit, some days ago, she told me about a girl who thought she was date-raped by a University senior she hooked up with. I know you are stuck on the ‘thought-she-was-date-raped.’ You are probably wondering – girl, either you were raped, or you were not raped. There is nothing like ‘I-thought-I-was-raped.’ But going by the details of the girl's encounter, her experience does qualify as rape. And she talked with a mutual friend of my daughter’s and hers. Once the guy she hooked up with (and thought she was raped by) came to know that she had talked with someone, it scared him so much that he started to publicly bad-mouth this mutual friend at every opportunity. How talking to a friend will help the girl, I have no idea for now, but I am glad she is not staying silent. She is trying to figure it out – she is trying to understand her role (actually lack of it) in this situation. Perhaps she will make sense of the things soon. Perhaps it will take this kid a lifetime to do that. Until she does that, she will re-live every second of that encounter every single day – in every single moment. She will not be able to cleanse it off from her skin until she sorts it. She would want to scratch it off from her person, and her mind every single day. She is the one who will be left to sort this mess which is nothing of her making, because he didn’t understand the concept of consent. Many entitled young men, older men, and husbands of all colours and hues and races have no idea there is something called consent that needs to be considered when a sexual-intercourse takes place. Rape is more prevalent than we think it is. Trauma of someone known or unknown having raped them tortures more women than we can imagine. The movie “Luckiest Girl Alive” has been doing rounds on my Netflix suggestions for a few days now. The face of Connie Britton had been staring out at me from the promos. Sorry to say but her face did not cut it for me, and I kept avoiding watching the film. Well, I must add here that these days I had been watching “Derry Girls” in a piecemeal fashion and was enjoying imitating Irish accent while speaking English (especially with my daughter- who does the accent too !). Today, ‘Derry Girls’ ended, and before the loss of a long series ending could hit me hard, I just started watching ‘Luckiest Girl Alive’ – thinking it was just a crime thriller. And as soon as Mila Kunis appeared, I knew it was quality stuff. After finishing watching it, I feel it is a must watch for everyone. I would not give any spoilers here, but the film treats the evil of date-rape and victim-shaming well. Boys-will-be-boys type teenagers who think they will go scot-free are meted out poetic justice, but the real deal is the character of Ani, the character that Kunis plays. This character is painted with so many different shades of good and not-so-good, that the viewer is always kept guessing. Her pursuit of her identity as a successful career woman, and the impediments that hold her back are not just conventionally laid out for you to watch, you are made to pay attention to understand her. Highly recommend everyone, especially all women and girls, to watch it. Edited to add: Every man must watch the film. Sit together and watch it with women of your household - if possible.

Hope

It is 8 PM and I am just home after a stimulating talk with a young person I met at my local library. I was actually on a walk with no intention of stepping inside the library. Library is one kilometer from home and I had planned on going all the way to the intersection from my house where 2 kilometers finish, and then come back – marking my 4 kilometers for the day. But I feel an urge to walk into the library. I go inside. It just feels good to wander among racks full of books. After I have had that bit of satisfaction, I approach the front desk person and ask her about the hold on Ajeet Caur’s ‘Khanabadosh’ I had placed. She informs me that the library system is trying to locate the sole copy of the book I have requested, and that it may or may not arrive, but that it is upto me to keep or cancel the hold request. I want to keep my hope alive, so I let it stay. I have a few more questions for her to which she responds in a nonchalant manner with a few well-practiced shrugs. “Wow, that’s a lot of ‘I-don’t-care-shrugs for one evening,” I think aloud walking sadly away from her. That is when I notice that the library has a few sales going on. Two dollars for a hardcover, and one dollar for a paperback. That is where this stash comes from today. With no credit card on me, no phone tap facility enabled, and with a mere 5 dollars bank-note in my pocket – I am going shopping toward the back of the library. I choose these three books and come back to the front desk. But I do not want to deal with the negative energy of the shruggy young lady who seems to have had a bad day. Now I approach the other staff member, a young man. He cashes me out, and I ask for another book lying behind him – the book is named – ‘Storying Violence’ – on Coulton Boushie’s death and acquittal of his killer. This case is close to my heart. I often refer to the case in the class when talking about Indigenous people and their present. This book is not for sale, but I can borrow it. I do. Meantime, the young man notices the Atwood I am buying. (Isn’t it sheer luck that I find this Atwood for sale – for TWO DOLLARS?). “Are you a fan of Atwood’s too?” he strikes a conversation. “Yes! How can you be a student of literature and not be?” I ask. And then he goes on to talk about a few of Atwood lectures he had attended, tempting me to sign up for a few myself. “I am not much interested in fiction,” he says, “just that I like what she says about mistakes one makes while writing, etc. etc.” I have no clue what he is talking about, but I like the idea of learning from one’s mistakes. “Oh, and I am also very impressed by Jane Goodall’s talks,” he continues. “I see,” I encourage him, knowing nothing about Goodall’s writing/talks. Having seen her work and admired her for it, I do know about her conservation work, and I do know what she does. “What stands out for you in what she says?” I ask him. “That human beings always find a way,” he says with shining eyes, “ I like that she speaks from a conservationist’s point of view that we may be living in the worst possible times right now - with climate change and what not, but we will bounce back. I feel a certain hope that if she is saying this, there definitely is hope.”

I look at him as he continues from across the fibre glass screen, “see I am a student of literature.” “Can I adopt you, kid?” I want to ask, but then think that it might weird him out, and I hold my tongue. “I am at the U of T and am finishing my degree in culture and history. I am not so much interested in fiction as I am in the vision of the future. Atwood and Goodall provide me with that.” “So what culture are you the most interested in?” I ask. “Maya, Inca, and Aztecs – in what is now South America,” he answers, adjusting his face mask. “Then you must have read Charles C. Mann’s ‘1491’,” I said. “No, I don’t think I have, but I would love to. Tell me more about it.” I speak a little bit about it and tell him that I seldom leave books half-read, but this one is quite taxing. I add that it is essential for everyone interested in Indigeneity, culture and history. He shifts gears a little to tell me about his project. It is about shadow puppetry in China and his fourth year paper is on the topic. He tells me that it is difficult to find scholarly articles. “There must be few takers for history, and literature courses in the university?” I say with despair for I know as a teacher in literature and liberal arts that someone speaking about literature with a shine in their eyes belongs to a dying breed. “No, no, there are quite a few of us!” he interrupts. “Like – 10-15 or so?” I joke. “See, ours is a small campus,” it seems he is apologizing for the campus. “I know ! my son goes there too, and it is not that small, is it? So how many ARE you?” I persist. “Perhaps a few hundred?” he says tentatively. Now I see that hope too ! In these weird times when universities and colleges and institutions are trying to stick to only ‘practical’ ‘job-oriented,’ ‘trade-oriented,’ ‘labour-focussed,’ courses and programs, and are trying to prove the finer aspects of life as redundant, this kid gives me hope. If today’s young people are still reading literature, and are still researching into history and contextualising it with their present, it gives me hope that we will sustain. As Dr Goodall says, humans are the smartest beings, and they will find a way to bounce back. Thank you, Michael. We need more of the likes of you.

ਅੱਜ ਮੀਂਹ ਨਹੀ ਪੈਣਾ

ਤੈਂ ਸਚ ਈ ਕਿਹਾ ਸੀ,
"ਸ਼ਰਤ ਲਾ ਲੈ, ਅੱਜ ਮੀਂਹ ਨਹੀ ਪੈਣਾ,"
ਰਸੋਈ ਵਿਚ ਖੜ੍ਹੀ
ਪਸੀਨੋ ਪਸੀਨ ਹੋਈ 
ਮੈਂ ਹੱਸੀ ਸੀ, 
ਬੜਾ ਹੱਸੀ ਸੀ,
"ਹਾਂ, ਤੇ ਮੈਂ ਕਦ ਕਿਹਾ ਮੀਂਹ ਪੈਣੈ?
ਇਹਨਾਂ ਦਿਨਾਂ ਵਿਚ ਮੀਂਹ ਨਹੀਂ ਪਿਆ ਕਰਦੇ,
ਬਸ ਮਿੱਟੀ ਲੱਦੀਆਂ ਹਵਾਵਾਂ ਸਾਹ ਘੋਟਦੀਆਂ ਨੇ..."
"ਨਹੀਂ,
ਕਿਹੈ ਤੂੰ ,
ਮੀਂਹ ਪੈਣੈ,
ਮੈਂ ਕਹਿਨਾਂ
ਮੀਂਹ ਨਹੀ ਪੈਣਾ।" 

ਤੈਨੂੰ ਕਿੰਝ ਪਤਾ ਸੀ,
ਅੰਦਰੋਂ ਮੈਂ ਮੀਂਹ ਦੀ ਉਮੀਦ ਲਾ ਕੇ ਬੈਠੀ ਸਾਂ? 

ਮੈਨੂੰ ਲੱਗਦਾ ਸੀ
ਮੈਂ ਸ਼ਰਤ ਹਾਰ ਗਈ-
ਪਰ ਬਾਹਰ ਬੱਦਲ ਆਏ,
ਮੈਂ ਅਸਮਾਨ ਵੀ ਘੋਖਿਆ,
ਸਵੇਰੇ ਤੈਨੂੰ ਝੂਠ ਮੂਠ ਆਖਾਂਗੀ,
"ਰਾਤ ਕਿਣ ਮਿਣ ਤੇ ਹੋਈ ਏ" -
ਤੇ ਤੂੰ ਹੱਸ ਕੇ ਆਖੇਂਗਾ,
"ਲੈ ਬਾਬਾ ਤੂਹੋੰ ਜਿੱਤੀ।" 

ਆਹੋ ਮੈਂ ਈ ਜਿੱਤੀ ਆਂ-
ਅਖੀਆਂ ਅੱਜ ਏਨਾ ਕੁ ਵਰਸੀਆਂ
ਕਿ ਸਭ ਬਰਸਾਤਾਂ ਹਾਰ ਗਈਆਂ । 

ਰਾਤੀਂ ਮੀਂਹ ਪਿਆ ਸੀ-
ਬੜਾ ਮੀਂਹ ਪਿਆ ਸੀ ।

तुम तो रहोगी न

क्यों पूछते हो -
"तुम तो रहोगी न ?" 

***
हाँ, रहूंगी न 
जब मेरा मकान
ईंट ईंट तोड़ोगे
तो एक ओर खड़े रहकर
तुम्हें देखूँगी,
सूटकेस में
मेरे घर को निचोड़ कर
ले जाते देखने,
मैं रहूंगी न....

सुनो
वो श्रापित राजा की कहानी याद है?
जिसके बदन में कीलें घुस गयी थी ?
रानी निकालती रही,
कितने रोज़, हफ्ते, माह, बरस...
और जिस दिन बस दो पल के लिए उठी
तो बांदी ने आख़िरी कील निकाली,
जगते ही राजा ने सोचा इसी ने सेवा की है,
रानी यही है, 

राजा और बांदी को पंखा झेलने
मैं तो रहूंगी न....

when the phone splashed into the bucket !

It happened last weekend early morning when I was about to start the laundry. There was a bucket half full of warm soapy water in the bath tub. I know I should have left my cell phone on the reading desk, but I didn’t, and SPLASH ! it fell into the bucket before I could say Jack Nicholson. And along went my heart ! I quickly retrieved it (the phone) from the bucket – and guess what another smart thing I did? I kept it (the phone again, not the heart) under running tap water (cold, mind you) for fifteen seconds, to get rid of soapy water, and then shook it so that the water could be dislodged out of its speakers and the charger vents. My heart broke - again, again and again as the water droplets escaped the phone.
Cursing myself vehemently, and preparing from within for its demise, somehow it struck me to quickly sync it with the Macbook so that I don’t lose the data, contacts, photos and my apps. I mean imagine my genius and on-the-spot-solution-finding-capability. Thank you very much! The blasted phone took its time and I expected it to die quietly anytime. It didn’t.
The syncing done, I remembered the rice jar solution for wet phones. Just to remind you, that while I was busy handling this catastrophe all alone, the rest of the family was blissfully asleep. Placed the phone in the jar, and hid the jar inside the deep drawer of my desk lest someone should wake up and get curious about my precious phone ringing in a rice jar.
By now, I was mentally exhausted. Like the proverbial ostrich, I hid myself in the blanket, and slept while the rice presumably sucked away the dampness. After about an hour, I took the phone out from the auspicious grain jar. Aha, it was still breathing. The music, however, refused to play through the speakers. “Ey lo, it IS sinking, Mampi. Thank God you had the foresight to insure it against water damage.” Yes people, I had allowed myself to be talked into purchasing that insurance. I silently complimented myself - alone again, of course. A voice from inside said that I should tell everyone what has happened. Then thought the better of it because then they will all, in future, refuse to obey the rule that no one is allowed to take the phone to washroom. So I stayed mum. Meantime, I restarted the phone, and voila, the speakers boomed in all their glory.
It was last Friday morning. Friday is here again. The phone is still working.
Miracles happen!
Disclaimer : This post should, in no way, be considered a show off of my 64 GB Gold iPhone 6 that survived the dip in the holy laundry waters.

I Jiggle, therefore I am

I was afraid, shy and scared of doing lunges today when the trainer asked me to try doing them with support first.
“The knee will hurt.” 
“Don’t worry, you can stop where it gets too much.” 
It turned out that my technique needed work. The moment I understood how I was to consciously use the hamstring of my back leg, and put minimal pressure on the knee of the front leg, and was to spring back to starting position instead of trying to balance myself on the same position of a lunge, I was in that Eureka moment. And I was unstoppable. After three long years, I did three sets of unassisted lunges-and I was giggling!!
Yes, I can !
And then I stumbled upon this video. And did my entire cardio on a repeat of this video and audio, and talked to myself.
“YES, I am imperfect. My tummy comes in the way when I do my abs, my flexibility has waned – my fault, I didn’t work on it for so long. Cellulite has piled on; the knees were almost going to give up because my quadriceps were getting wasted. The equilibrium needs to be worked on. My left side has grown weaker as compared to the right side, so when I do free weights, the left arm sometimes wobbles. I am not as swift in my workout as I was. Sometimes the assisted chin dips machine scares me, and I barely scrape through the workout the trainer has designed on that machine.”
“NO, I don’t give up. I do my best to suck the tummy in to cover the full range of movement that I must. I finish the reps that he wants me to do. I make sure I do everything the right way, I make sure I do everything that is planned for that hour. I modify the grip in the deadlift so that the CTS suffering wrist doesn’t weaken. The knees have to be strengthened. I will not live half a life. I sweat, I pump myself up, I tell my body – you are luckier than so many – you can work out, you can do what you want to do, you will do more than your mind had looked forward to.”
Yes, I smile through my workout, I laugh, and I enjoy it. Those endorphins calm me down – make me feel a part of the bigger picture.
I don’t like the way the body looks but that’s the only body I have – and I better love it . And for the love of it, I better work on it !!
I WORKOUT, THEREFORE I AM.
I am one of these girls, I am all these girls.
Yess !!!
I rock !!!

http://www.takepart.com/video/2015/01/18/this-girl-can?cmpid=tp-ptnr-upworthy

Selfies

Before selfies became an art, a photographer’s research area, a psychologist’s study, they were something that we did covertly. The duck face selfies, the funeral selfies, and the half naked selfies that essentially are supposed to centre around the new ear ring - are a relatively new fad. Long before these trends became popular, we had the silent, hidden, old fashioned, selfies –not called selfies but selfies they sure were. Yes, I clicked my first displayable selfie in 2005 or 2006. And when I displayed it shyly to my husband fishing for a compliment, he asked me, “Motte, did you smile yourself?” I mean he didn’t say did you smile FOR yourself? He asked did you smile yourself? I knew what he meant, but I asked, does someone else smile for you? And gall aye gayee ho gayee, but naal di naal meri lassi ho gayee. ( That picture not displayed here. I don’t want any riots on FaceBook. As it is, the world doesn’t seem a very safe place to be anymore.)

A few weeks ago, at a wedding, when I thought I was nicely dressed up, and had some tolerable makeup on, and when I thought it was a good occasion to get myself clicked, I handed over the phone to Rasan to click some nice pictures of mine. She is the one who gives me all my cover pics for the FB, she is good with the camera. However, only she knows or God knows what happens when she is clicking me. She forgets all her art. Or perhaps the teenage is fast catching up with her? I thought she would act like the paparazzi, and click some pictures when I was not looking, and in the process capture some nice shots to keep. What she came up with was some real ugly mug shots with my chin drooping, eyes popping, my fat displayed and hair disarrayed. Thank God, she didn’t make a point of taking the picture of the right ear. Then I called out to Jai, and he is, as you know by now, being raised as a mercenary kid. I had no money to spare, so he didn’t do a good job at all.

Finally I had to resort to, yes, clicking selfies. With age fast getting on to my side, my needs are also diminishing. I just need an angle that shows off a dimple and a mole, perhaps the one from where the cheek looks slightly thinner, chin singular, eyes slightly bigger with eyelashes prominent (sans that grey eyelash, of course), hair less grey and neck slightly longer – and the dupatta has to be in place and the background people have to be minussed. That’s all that a girl asks for.

Vanity, ah vanity !!

P.S. – By the way Microsoft word still shows selfie as a non existent word and gives me “sulfide,” “sulfite,” “sheltie,” “self,” “shellfire,” as alternatives. More on this later, I like "shellfire" !! But I wonder why selfie has not joined the MS Word default vocabulary.

Jai's Lunch Boxes

Jai forgets his empty lunch box (god knows if he leaves it empty or throws his lunch away and then on purpose forgets his lunch box) daily at the school. I end up buying bulk packs of plastic sandwich boxes to compensate. And I have been requesting him to bring back those 10 odd boxes.

Conversation today:

Mampi-Would you bring the boxes back or you want me to show up at the school, yell at you and then bring those boxes back?
Jai- (hands folded) please !!
Mampi- No drama ! Would you or would you not, dude?
Mahesh - (who happened to be around when this conversation took place, in his usual polite tone) - the boy said he would bring the boxes back !
Mampi- (ignoring the father) I am talking to you Jai, would you or would you not ???
Jai- (quietly) You heard the Rooster !!

(For the past three days, Rasan has been roaming about with a book on Chinese horoscopes - Going by the year of birth, Jai is a Horse, Mampi and Rasan are Tigers, Mahesh is a Rooster )

(May 15, FB)

The Martian Rooster

So while I was busy acting the good mommy and the witty mommy, and was posting stuff about his kids, the Resident Rooster was readying for the flight. He informed me two days ago that he plans on buying a one way ticket to Mars. I don't know where he heard it from that there are 40 men and women (they are all Indians of course; maybe there will be more now that there is apni sarkar in the centre) who have bought this ticket. I searched the internet to discover that people are indeed vying for that one way ticket. Now how he would get that ticket is entirely his problem. I, like a true bhartiya pativrata nari, offered him my company. He, in his quintessentially polite way, said, "Mampi, you, precisely, are the reason why I want that ticket !!!"

So much for selfless love !! Bah!!

(May 23, FB)

The Procrastinator

Mampi-Jai ! Stop postponing things. (in Punjabi I said, 'ਪੈਰ ਘਸਾਉਣੇ ਬੰਦ ਕਰ')
Rasan- Jai, you are so lazy. You while away your time doing nothing.
Mampi- Jai ! You are such a procrastinator !!
Jai - What is a procrastinator??
Mampi - Go look up in the dictionary.
Jai - I don't have the time !!

Rasan chokes on the morsel in her mouth and yells (not subtly at all), "Irony Irony." She has been reading 'Macbeth' lately. Thank God she didn't yell "Blood, Blood!

(May 31, FB)

Narinderpal

Narinderpal was hardly 4’-8.” Her face was small, dark wheatish, and she would tie her very curly, very black hair in a plait. She gave the impression of being a little school kid – only until she opened her mouth. Her voice was too heavy for her height and looks.

We were together in the GNDU campus during our M.A. days. I was from Goraya, so I had to live in the university hostel. She was from Sultanwind, and still liked to live in the hostel. The top floor of the B wing ( I think it was B) was assigned to our class. Her room was right opposite the shared washroom, so we would often stop by to say hi to her. Her smile would extend right into her small deep-set eyes.

She idolized me – I never thought I was worthy of her attention, or of her hero worship, but she somehow looked upto me with a certain devotion that would invariably leave me slightly embarrassed. It never flattered. Sincere though they always were - I was always looking for ways to escape her compliments. She would love the way I made notes, love the way I planned my studies, love the way I carried myself, loved the way I handled the stage – but I somehow always wanted to escape that praise.  She would like to walk with me, but I was always kind of self  conscious walking with her –she was so short and thin, I was taller and plumper. (okay, fat perhaps)

She had a huge crush on our very handsome teacher who taught us "Saint Joan." Oh my, didn’t we all? She would look at the tall Sardar with moonstruck eyes while he would animatedly deliver Joan’s speeches and Bluebeard’s exhortations. (Why did I always think Bluebeard must have looked like him?)

M.A. I happened, and then M.A. II flew by. My father passed away just two months before our exams were to start. Narinder would offer support whenever she would find me sitting and crying alone in my cubicle. She would force me to come to her room, and would talk to me. I still remember she said, “Manpreet, you will die crying, stop this and focus on your exams now.” I would be amazed to see where she got the courage to scold me. I had always respected her, but she became some kind of a go-to person in those days. We somehow finished our exams and parted ways, with promises to write to each other. Yes, those were the days when we would actually write long letters to friends.

I began writing to her, as I wrote to all my friends during the hot summer days awaiting results of M.A. She would write back in her small, neat and emphatic handwriting. Then her letters stopped coming. I still wrote – angry some times, anxious at others – but I kept writing to her, asking her - "Narinder - Nanni/Nannu (we used to call her) - where are you? What's happening?"

Three months, or was it four months? I received a letter from her brother. It read something like, “Dear Sister, who are you writing all those letters to? She died three months ago!!”

I did not have the courage to ask what happened to her. I just wrote a letter of condolence to him.

She stayed on, in my mind, I always wanted to write about her, her voice still is around me. We were never very close, but she somehow still lives somewhere in my heart.

(June 13, FB)

Shards

Am I the mirror in which you wanted to see yourself ?
And on purpose you shattered me? To see your multiple selves ?
So why does it now scare you to hear that nightly noise from those numberless shards?
(June 21, FB)

Moms and Chaos

Jai is getting ready for school. His father is with him, sitting cross legged on the floor. Jai puts his foot with his shoe on, on his father's thigh. "Papa, tie the laces."
"Am I your servant?" retorts the father. "Well, that's what fathers are for," the boy is quick. Meantime I reach there and overhear the talk. "Aha, so what are mothers for, my sweetiepie ?" I ask and plant a noisy kiss on his unwilling cheek. "Mothers are for chaos." he is ready with the response.
"Umm, to remove the chaos from your life, right?" I ask, expecting him to say, yes, fathers cause the chaos and mothers tackle it.
"To remove some and to create most," he says dispassionately.
I am ready to shed tears !!! Bade beqadar ho ke tere kooche se hum nikle. Swere swere !!
(posted on June 25 on FB)

Dear Life - Alice Munro

Alice Munro builds her stories the way Jackson in her story Train renovates the barn and the farmhouse. She finds a good foundation and then repairs and builds the walls and then works on a sound ceiling. You are willingly trapped in the story, and yet you are free to go. There are no doors. At times, there is no foundation, she just waves her hands and behold, there is a house!

I just finished reading Dear Life (Penguin 2012).

The stories are snippets from, before and soon after the Second World War, and of the mid twentieth century - my favourite era.

Her characters are real- from day to day life. At times, they look like me, like you and you wonder if you had ever met her, if she had seen you inside out – from up close, close enough to know you and to write about you. 

Some of the male characters you hate but you love. Harris is the poet Greta’s longing who surprises her by reaching Union Station. Howard is the crafty architect who eats his cake, has it, and stashes some for the future too.  Uncle Jasper is the expert doctor and the imposing husband. Another doctor decides to marry the young teacher, and chickens out at the last moment to abandon her, eventually bumping into her years later on a Toronto street.

“For me, it was the same as when I left Amundsen, the train dragging me still dazed and full of disbelief.

Nothing changes really about love.” (Amundsen)

Her women are marvelous. Lilian - the supposed blackmailer, Corrie - the blackmailed, Greta - the passionate poet married to an engineer, Aunt Dawn- the repressed housewife – I love the scope of Munro’s vision. Leah, the shy girl who somehow unexpectedly transforms as the scandal maker, a villain and the temptress; and ‘my mother’ who with her two children, leaves her loving but boring husband to go to live in a trailer for an exciting life with Neal, the theatre artist who eventually abandons her with a new born baby – both are unrepentant but lonely.  Belle, the lonely farm girl, amazes you when she reveals that she has been an alumnus of Bishop Strachan School, and her father had been a reporter for The Toronto Evening Telegram and an unpublished novelist.  

And I have not talked about many others. Somehow her women emerge stronger than her male characters. Is she biased?

For four days, my house did remain unkempt, food was hurriedly cooked, shower postponed with excuses of ‘just another story and then I am going,’ and kids not yelled at for watching endless episodes of Pokemon or staying on Facebook well past their curfew time – that is what your pen does in my life, Ms Munro.

Its all about -

“She was a certain kind of woman, he a certain kind of man”.