Fitting Into a Swim Suit

No, it is not a hard thing to do. I thought it was. M had been pestering me to learn swimming for physical fitness and as a survival skill. I had been trying to cajole him into letting me postpone it to next summer. He himself is a reasonably good swimmer and has an extremely fit body. That is to conclude that I was and still am the only bad apple in the family of shiny and fit apples.

So, one fine morning, he called up, gave me an ultimatum, ordered me to bunk work and go to the Speedo showroom to buy a swimming costume. Swimming costume and me? M, you cannot be serious after my successful attempts to skirt the issue. Swimming costume – to me, was a sexy, revealing outfit that you wear to swim and sometimes to flaunt a good body. I neither knew swimming nor did I have a good body to show off. Before buying a swim suit, I thought it was a good idea to buy a bathrobe to wear over it. Though I didn’t bunk work I did go to Planet Sports that day and asked them to show me the biggest swim suit they had in the form of something that would cover me from head to toe. The salesman saw me, smiled patronizingly and said, “Ma’am, the maximum covering types in swimsuits available with us are the ones that cover half your legs and half your arms.” Pooh, life is full of compromises. I thought, “Okay let it be.” I argued that I had seen those full bodyskins that make you look like a seal. “There was no way we would be getting it here in our store,” said the salesman.

“Yeah, all of them have gone to China for Olympics, right?” I still thought he had that full body suit and was hiding it somewhere in the store.

He led me to the section where these wonderful swim suits hung. My inner voices started to yell all at once, “Wow, wish I could wear this, wish I could wear that. Umm, no this won’t fit. Umm no, this is too small. Hai, this is nice.” and I picked up a plain black zip-up kneeskin (mine is closest to this one. Wonder why Speedo has not put my kneeskin on their website) , and the biggest size in this style and also one smaller than the biggest- just for the sake of my ego satisfaction. I moved towards the trial room. On the way, I called up M and gave him a detail on the selected swim suit. Was it hot that day, and was I sweating that day! It was a struggle to wear cotton clothes, and to try on a swim suit was an ordeal. I wanted to curse M loudly for having made me go through that tiresome and lousy job in the middle of the afternoon when I should be sitting home reading blogs. The godforsaken AC of that store was working, but the trial room was, well trial room and they wanted to try the patience of everyone, so the AC settings in that part of the world seemed to be set to a minimal. I will save you the details of the struggle; I fit into both of them. I mean I fit into both, tried one after the other. Just clarifying lest you should think I had to put both of them to fit in.

Now, that was a small ego-boost. Elated, I called up M.

Conversation from inside of the stuffy trial room into the phone:

“Wow, I fit into both.”

“Try one size smaller than the smallest that fit you. I m sure you would fit into that too.”

In Punjabi I said, ““ਠੀਕ ਠੀਕ ਲਾ ਲੌ” it roughly translates as “Now come on, let’s stay within limits.”

“Okay, leave it. I will go with you to the showroom and then you try it.” Oww he is such a darling.

I smsed him the details, style number etc and he promised he would also have a look at a Speedo showroom closeby.

Next day we returned together to the same PS showroom and he suggested me to take two sizes smaller inside the trial room and try them on . I was aghast, “No way. I am not doing it. I m not even going to try swimming. I look like a black whale. Moreover it’s no fun spending so much on a swim suit for a person like me who has not even stepped into a pool.”

“Go on; let me see how it fits.”

Now it was a relatively cooler day. Partly because now my self esteem was two sizes larger, given that at least two decent swim suits had fit me. Encouraged, I tried this smaller one, wow it fit me. I chuckled audibly to myself. M was standing outside; he wondered aloud what was so funny. I opened the door slightly, let him in and told him to see for himself. He saw it from this angle and that. Not that it was very hard to do, because there were hardly any angles to look at , for everything was conveniently rounded off. But he was happy that it fit me. I secretly suspected that he was happy that I found myself not impossibly fat anymore. I was even happier than him, though what I was seeing in the mirror was nothing even remotely close to a flattering image. We finalized the swim suit and off we went. I am glad M didn’t allow me to buy those bazaar chaap swim suits that come in bold prints with long slacks that cover your legs, almost looking like kameez-pajami–sans-dupatta inside the water.

On the way back, M declared, “Half the battle is won. You will learn swimming in no time."
What a faith!!! An incurably contagious faith that he wears on sleeves the way people wear their hearts!!! I started to sneeze immediately upon being badly infected with it in the car. As a result, now am trying all sorts of antics in the swimming pool that is only 3 and a half feet deep. I need to tell you all about so many other pool happenings. That is for the next time. Reason? - A badly frighten(ing)ed reader, my friend Hardly Phatichar says, “aap toh kishton mein likhti hain”. (You write in instalments.)

METTLE

ਰੁੱਖਾਂ ਵਿੱਚ ਹੀ ਏਨਾ ਜੇਰਾ ਹੋ ਸਕਦਾ ਏ
ਕਿ ਕੁਹਾੜੀਆਂ ਨੂੰ ਵੀ ਦਸਤੇ ਬਖ਼ਸ਼ ਦੇਣ...


Rukh'han wich hi eina jeira ho sakda ey
ke kuhaa'rhian nu wi dastey bakhsh dein...


Only trees can have the mettle
to grant helves to axe - heads...

(Read recently somewhere...)

Ishmeet's Music

R wants me to put Ishmeet's music on her blog.

Ishmeet is No More

I am hurrying up the kids to finish their morning rituals of getting ready and eating breakfast. Just before I am about to go drop them at the bus stop, my mother- in- law tells me that last night, Ishmeet expired. Shocked, I am unable to register the news. She, on her part, has to decide about whether the singing program she is organizing in her college is going to be held or not. I have to decide what to tell the kids. I ultimately decide not to tell anything to them. Just when I call their van driver to pick up the kids in time, he informs me that the school is closed. That the vans will not be picking up kids. I call my daughter’s class teacher to confirm and she informs me that they will be going to school, but there is no point sending children to school.

Ishmeet was the alumnus of R’s school – a recent one. R adored him. When he had reached the finals of Voice of India, and needed votes of people to help him win, R simply told me to sit on net, use all my email ids and go on voting every single day. I don’t like reality shows, I despise the hot exchanges of judges, and I hate the disappointed looks on the singers’ faces when they are told they sung badly. I hate the sound of dreams shattering on stage, on camera and I cannot stand people trying to make money and audience deriving a morbid pleasure from the debris of broken expectations. But I recall that I had told a few of my blogger friends to support him because R wanted him to win. That was and is the only reality show I ever saw. I recall how R somersaulted atop the bed with sheer joy the moment she came to know of his victory. I asked her, “Would he come to know that his school mate, a little girl is risking breaking her neck because he won?” She giggled, said she didn’t care. She was crazy, she was shrieking, she was mad with happiness. I was happy for her. Her dad was happy for her.

How can I tell her now, that he is no more. She has a bond with him – she is his fan, like many others. I finally tell her, she is shocked. Her first words are, “I feel like crying mama.” Usually she doesn’t express her sadness like this. When she says these words, I know her throat is choked but she won’t cry because she cannot know if she is to cry or not. In a state of daze, she changes from her school uniform into her home clothes. She is not happy about the school being off today – she usually is not happy about not having to go to school. She takes up her abridged copy of As You Like It that she borrowed from her library yesterday and sits. Then closes it, says, “Mama, I don’t feel like doing anything.” I tell her to take a nap. But she won’t, I know she won’t.

May Waheguru give his family and parents strength to bear the shock. May his soul rest in peace . R is repeatedly saying, I cannot believe it. We all cannot.

I Went to Miss Punjaban Pageant...2

Here is the second and final part of the Beauty Pageant experience.

The anchor, remember that damsel in westerns?, came and spoke Punjabi with an accent. On camera she would speak Punjabi, and off camera she would start speaking Hindi. I wanted to speak in the collar microphone they had pinned to my dupatta, “Oye, someone tell this female to speak Punjabi like a Punjaban.” Incidentally, did I tell that the mic they had pinned on my dupatta kept pricking me with those harmless but irritating little electic shocks they give in Siberia? (Okay, it was a big gapp, they never gave any shocks in Siberia.) It was the channel people’s revenge on my big mouthedness. LOL. Now I am again overdoing it, they in fact, gave me all the respect due to me.

Another thing about this fashionista - she kept forgetting K’s name. She kept asking his name again and again from him and made it visibly known that she had a trouble remembering it. Somehow I felt very sorry for his ego. I mean it might have been okay if she had forgotten mine or Capt D’s name, but forgetting a singer’s name was really bad. He is not a very great hit but then three or four of his very decent songs have been a blast. He would have liked it if she had cared to remember his name. At the end of the show, when she once again forgot or pretended to forget his name about 4th time, he smiled and whispered to me, “No problems, every dog has his day.” I liked it that he was so cool.

We all sweated, partly due to the sultry weather, partly due to a hot and closed environ, and partly due to the sharp, hot camera lights. The best part in the entire show was Sachin, the makeup assistant with a tireless trot and a wonderful smile. The moment the director shouted a number, he would run towards us. Number 1 was Capt D, I was number 2, and K was number 3. Sachin was a cute boy, very smart, very attentive and very accommodating. I tried to bully him into using my tissue but he provided us all with our individual pieces of very soft muslin cloth which he insisted on using on our faces. Before every shot, he would come running and would dab the ‘required’ person’s face with his/her cloth. “Required” because if it was No. 1’s turn to ask question, he would be freshened up for the camera, otherwise he would wait till his turn came, and so on and so forth. But we were all welcome to add to the question, which we all gracefully avoided just so the person asking question should have a free hand.

Okay, the girls started off, with the cue. On the yell of “action” they would walk towards the camera, stop on a round rug. Most of them would start with “sahsshri akaal ji” (they should have been saying “Sat Sri Akal Ji”) though we were fine with a ‘good afternoon’, or’ hello’ instead of a wrongly pronounced greeting. But they wanted to make it sound like a typical Punjabi setting, though some of them looked like they had walked the sets off the K-serials with their fake jewellery. A few wore traditional Punjabi jewellery but unfortunately knew nothing about it. Some of them were just out of school, some were the students of 11th or 12th grade, a few were there after their graduation, one was a law graduate, another an experienced lecturer. And I wondered what their dreams were, and if they were going to be realized. Except that they were not clear about their dreams. Whenever a question veered towards, “why do you want to participate in this contest?” they replied with, “I want to do charity”, “I want to do something for orphans,” “I want to do something for child education,” and the staple, “I want to promote my culture and heritage.” But if I asked what a maun (ਮੌਣ) is, they cut a sorry figure. Now, maun in Punjabi is the top brim of a water well and any girl who wants to represent Punjabi culture, should know what it is. Because well-sites were the women’s entertainment before the times of the Kitty Parties. If I asked one to name the Desi-months of the Indian year, she was lost.

All the while I was wondering, which culture are they going to represent, they are a lost generation themselves. They come here and try to speak their own language in an accent that wants to pretend they are Phoren-returned. They want to say proudly that they cannot write in Punjabi, and at the same time, we find they do not know how to write a straight sentence in English. Hindi is out of question for these girls. How do we expect them to represent a culture and at the same time be well versed with the Indian realities in the global context? They have dreams alright, but no efforts directed towards reaching for those targets. They want the stars to drop in their laps but they don’t make an effort to reach out.

One of them said “joking is my hobby”. Please ignore the bad English. It comes straight from their bio-datas. The singer K asked her to crack a never-before-heard-joke. She related a godforsaken joke which blooped up badly. I ended up laughing hysterically simply because I didn’t know what to make of the joke, but thankfully the girl never came to know why I laughed. I hate to be a part of that cruelty issued from the judgment chairs in reality shows though the organizers did try to spur us to give out a little drama. I didn’t tell him, but I know I am a very boring person and would not enact any drama for anything- not at least on stage or camera.

Lest you think that all of them were there just with looks and make up, let me tell you that some of them came up with really brilliant answers on female-foeticide, social problems, and laws concerning women. There was this pretty girl, very simply but elegantly dressed up in simple Punjabi attire. She, in her bio-data had written that she had a story to share on why she wanted to be a part of this pageant. (Basically we took the questions from their areas of interest as mentioned in their introduction in their entry form). She fell in my lot. I mean I was the one to ask question, I crossed my fingers and asked her what it was. She said it was personal but she would share it. I was amazed at her courage. She said, “When I was conceived, my mother was pressurized to abort the baby in case it was a girl because there were already two girls in the family. Somehow I survived. Through this contest, I want to show the world that I m the same foetus which might have been aborted.” I wanted to ask her if it was her mother who saved her, but then I thought she might cry on camera. I let her go and gave her the maximum points – for her courage, her presentability, for the way she carried herself. I hope to find more about her later.

Then, there was this girl whom I asked, if you were to be reborn, would you like to be born as a Rakhi Sawant, a Mayawati or a Maneka Gandhi. She chose Maneka Gandhi and in detail told us about her work for animals. It was brilliant; the way she responded was confident and very positive.

I was sorry for some of them who deserved far more than this. One of them was a wonderful singer who had earlier appeared on live shows on TV and made a great advertisement for herself when her turn came. But we forgave her that, after all she is a child of 18-19. All three of us thought that she should concentrate on singing and not waste her energy elsewhere.

All through, there was no AC; I wondered why the channel was pinching its pennies. If only they had rented a Kitty hall in some hotel, everybody would have been saved a lot of time, energy and water, because I could actually feel sweat running in streams down my back. On top of that there was the makeup which had finally found its way in the tissue papers and that cute muslin cloth. I asked for a mirror to touch up my lipper. An assistant came and asked what I needed, D said, “Madam ka makeup dubara kar do”. That smart assistant was baffled. He said, “Kya breakup kar do?” I was crazy with laughter. I said, “Rehney do, tumhara qusoor nahi, garmi bahut hai.” He was genuinely puzzled, went away nodding his head and we all couldn’t help bursting into laughter.

I must mention those three cute girls; I think they were assistants to the director. They sounded very sensible, practical and pleasant. Every few minutes, the organizers would turn the pedestal farratta fan after the director called CUT, K was sitting onto my left and the fan was to his left. Every time the fan was turned on, he would be lost in his thoughts, his papers would fly away and he would look helplessly at them. The spot boys would gather his papers and then the contest would re-commence. I was reminded of Uncle Podger’s antics. D needed spectacles to read but he did not wear them. I think he did not want to look old by wearing them. As a result, all the time he kept making tentative guesses on what might have been written. Some of these guesses were really really wild, irrelevant and funny. I was giggling inaudibly all the time at his plight.

At about 5, we were done with the entire grilling process and were looking like sweaty, shiny, grilled but hungry chickens ourselves. Then they fed us with some greasy poories with chanas and a sugary cold drink. So much for the beauty…

It was a great learning experience for me - in terms of human communication, human psychology and the working of TV shows on sites away from TV Studios. The crew was, all in all, a very supportive, energetic and decent one. The one thing I am happy about is, the judgment was fair and was valued; otherwise the channels are sometimes known for promoting their own favorite candidates and pushing them through the pliable judges.

I Went to Miss Punjaban Pageant...

I participated in Miss Punjaban Contest-2008 today.

This is what I can say after spending one hell of a grueling day in the chair of a judge of a beauty-talent show audition. A regional channel of Punjab is organizing a gala (so they say) show and they had invited me to be one of the judges. At the moment, after spending about 5 hours in front of sharp camera lights, I am totally zonked out. I wonder why I go to such events again and again. I had done one such exercise before too, and had learnt my lessons quite well. After receiving a beautiful memento with my name printed on it, I had then vowed never to be a judge in a beauty show but there is a nerve in me that starts to twitch the moment I am invited to this job again. The reasons, I believe are that I find such programs as a forum to suggest the youngsters what they need to do and what they need not to do in such contests. Judging from what I am writing, by now, I bet that many of my friends perhaps believe that I have been an erstwhile Miss Punjab, or Mrs Punjab or even Miss India or Mrs India. No, no, no, no. I have not even been in close proximity to a venue holding such events, thanks to my strict parents who nipped any such talent in me in its bud. Just kidding. I never HAD such a talent. I have had just the gift of speaking and a big mouth which comes in handy while adjudging others on stage. How this channel got my name as a judge is anybody’s guess. They are about as famous as I am. LOL.

Okay, coming back to today’s event. It was one of the four- or perhaps five auditions to shortlist aspiring Miss Punjabs. I had no idea who my co-judges were. Later I found out that one was my old acquaintance, an ex-army officer - Capt D, now serving with the Government of Punjab, and the other was a moderately known Punjabi singer named K. It was a tortuously sunny day. When I reached the venue, I found out that all the watches around had been requested to forget that it was the stipulated starting time of 10 A.M. which had been postponed indefinitely. There was this pretty girl who was getting made up by the makeup artist. The moment she turned towards me, I was amazed to find her dressed up in westerns, with tight slacks and strapped up shoes. With a gaping mouth I turned to Capt D who was waiting for his turn for makeup. “Is SHE going to anchor the show?” I meant, is this what the beauty pageant for Miss Punjaban has come down to? Talking arrogantly, she made me realize that I had been one of the ignominious beings who had rejected her in favor of Japji Khaira in another semi-final of a Miss Punjaban show. And in the same arrogant tone, batting her mascara'ed eyelashes, she kept telling, well that is when I had begun my “career.” Ignoring her, I concentrated on the questions I was going to ask the contestants. Then Capt D sat in front of the makeup artist. The makeup didn’t make much of a difference to his face, but he was given the impression that he has been brightly made up. This made Capt D a very happy man.

Then came my turn to be happy. I sat before the makeup artist, conveniently forgetting that I cannot carry any kind of makeup ever. There are two reasons for that. One, in the month of July, there is no way that my make up would not bleed with the sweat. Second, that I cannot carry any kind of make up at all at any time. I wipe off my kajal with my sleeve accidentally and end up having black lines on my cheeks. Okay, I’m not that stupid, but yes I do tend to forget that I’m wearing kajal. The only thing I can carry elegantly is lip colour. So there I was, my face getting layer after layer of makeup, my eyes getting painted, my cheeks getting re-formed and my crooked nose getting a beautiful shape. (Remember Stephan Leacock’s With the Photographer?) Then the make up artist applied lipstick. And then I saw the mirror and then I gave out a subdued “EEEIIIIWWW, my lips are not that thick”. He said, “Madam this is the look.” I said, No way, you have made me look like a TV personality, I want to look like the humble teacher that I am. Kindly give back my lips the shape that they have.” The makeup artist was annoyed, but he was one of those jolly types. He wiped the lipper off. I heaved a big sigh of relief when I saw the results of the re-application. Back to my original self. I pinned up my dupatta, and as soon as I had finished, poof, the power vanished. Not mine, but the cooler, the fan and the exhaust fan stopped working due to a power cut. And then began the sweating. I looked at the makeup artist with the “See, I told you” look and he said, “Here is the tissue, don’t wipe, just dab.” Like the delicate damsel I’m not, I obeyed him.

I heard a diesel generator being turned on and the power was restored. Soon my adventurous spirit had the better of me and I tried to locate an AC room. Well, you got me right, I had contacts. Not in my eyes, but in the college that was the venue of the contest. So off I went to the Principal’s office. Was she happy to see me, and was I embarrassed to be there in that painted mask of a face I had on my shoulders. But she said she understood and we caught up with the old times when she was a lecturer and I was an honors student. Meantime a wicked messenger from the organizers came to tell us that we were getting late and we should start. Wow, as if we were holding them from starting it. By now, it was 1: 00 PM. I wanted to yell, “What becometh of my lunch, you wretched fellow?” But then my senses returned before he could yell back, “Lady, we are on a cliff hanging for our dear life, we gotta finish this event in time, and all that you can think of is your lunch?”

We came to the hall, took our seats and waited. Being the only woman in the panel, I was made to sit in the middle. What a scene! There was the beauty between two beasts. (I hope none of the two is reading this). The channel team took a bite, or byte, or bit… I don’t know how they spell it but they sound like they are going to give us a “bite of some food”. This bit was to speak good good things for the channel for about 30 seconds. Honest, I have never watched the channel. I confessed this and they were aghast. But I told them I watch cartoons all right. I counter-questioned them, “What is the full form of your abbreviation” and they giggled, “Even we don’t know”. Wow, they get paid by this channel and they don’t know the full form of this one-of-the many-three-letter-channels floating around. Then I decided to stop embarrassing them and sat quietly. However, I tried to be neutral by telling them that I m keeping my fingers crossed about how this event turns out. All three of us introduced ourselves to each other and then started the contest.

I m totally tired now, so it is to be continued….

Reality is that I didn’t want this post to be too long ;)

Life

Life is

fast evolving as

a roller coaster ride

on the graph of time.

The crests touching the skies,

the falls leading deep down

into the abyss

below the earth.

The Child on the Road

The child was barely 11 months old. She sat in the middle of the road to my place. She was clad in a thin frock, she had dirty patches on her skin and her nose was running. Her eyes had big blotches of kohl. A small Ziploc bag having 5 or 6 mangoes was lying close to her. There were a couple of pieces of Indian bread (roti) wrapped in a piece of cloth lying next to her.

I was coming by car, I saw her from afar. I thought someone with her would pick her up just in time. I stopped the car very close to her; there was that fearless look in her eyes that you associate with innocent ignorance. There was enough space for me to drive by her , but I was afraid I might hurt her in case she suddenly lunged towards the car. I came out of the car looking for the mother, or a possible guardian, which I presumed was a beggar. Finding none, I picked up the child as lovingly as I possibly could. There was a little room on the side of the road. I make her stand there and sat near her, asking where her mama was. She was dazed, she didn’t even cry when I picked her up. I touched her cheek, I m amazed it didn’t take much effort to touch her dirty cheek though I am always finicky about my kids being always clean. Then I picked her mango-packet and placed it next to her. As I went to pick the pieces of bread, I saw a scooter coming from the other side. The young boy might just have crushed the bread and rode off. I almost bullied him into stopping and picked the bread, wrapped it in the piece of cloth and placed it next to the child. My car in the middle of that small approach road - I sat with the girl, painfully aware that in case she was an abandoned child, I would not be able to leave her like that and go home. In that split second, I tried to weigh all the options I had, in case I had to do something about an abandoned child. Once again, I tried to look for someone who had left her there.

I wondered, hungry myself, who could have the heart to leave her like that? Meantime a waif of a woman, carrying another infant, a girl less than 2 months, on her side, came there. I was so angry that I wanted to slap her. I think I was louder than I normally am, “ Kaun hai tu? Yeh teri bacchi hai? (Who are you? Is this child yours?)” She had an expression of a dog just kicked. Sheepishly she pointed towards a gate, “ Haan, woh main wahan se kapde lene gayee thi. (yes, well, I had gone to get clothes from there)” There meant two girls standing near a bike. I guess those girls had promised her some garments some other day and today was the day of the fulfillment of that promise. I was least interested in her donors. “Tumne bacchi ko beech sadak mein bithaya houa tha, koi kuchal deta toh? (You had made the child sit in the middle of the road, what if someone had crushed her?) She again mumbled an ashamed answer. My anger was mounting up, I don’t know why. I almost shouted at her, “If you couldn’t take care of her, why did you give birth to her?” Immediately I regretted having said that. If she had a choice, she wouldn’t be a beggar. If she had a choice, she would probably not have given birth to a girl child. After all, then she would have had the choice of Pre-Natal Sex-determination.

Seeing me shouting at that woman, a man came towards me. He tried to add fuel to the fire. “A couple of minutes ago, when I came with my car, she had made the younger one sit in the middle of the road.” I was so full of my own wrath that I hardly paid any attention to him, which I know he didn’t like.

I wanted to yell at her, “If the wheels on the road leave her alive, the predators roaming about won't. She would be raped, maimed, abused and left to bleed and die. Why did you leave her alone on the road?” But I didn’t say that. I just said, “Dhyan rakha karo is ka” (Please take care of her). My voice was sounding more like a request than an angry shout I had meant it to be.

Buddies?

Who is a buddy?

A friend, a companion, a soul mate with whom you are comfortable. With whom you can laugh, cry, shout, yell and do anything to your heart’s fill. Well, we get so many mushy mushy emails everyday that describe buddies. Any definition that I give will possibly be totally inadequate.

Well, this is not what everybody seems to think. Last night, I received an email about bio-engineered buddies. So horrified was I after going through their website that I kept thinking for a long time if it was for real because all kinds of forwarded mails are doing their rounds on internet. And I kept wondering why 'this product' has not been banned. I was told later that the Customs departments of Qatar and Oman have not given passage to their packages. I wanted to post a picture from their website but then I couldn’t muster enough courage to do it.

The shock that I got on reaching their homepage is nothing as compared to the one that I received upon reading their FAQs. Their comparison to infants was something that snatched the beats out of my heart. We, the human beings, are admittedly the most intelligent organisms on earth. We can practically do anything. But do we really need to have these? Is it not a sample of our sheer crassness and callousness? Where is our aesthetic sense? Where is our quality of being human, whither humanity?

Or perhaps I am over-reacting? Maybe, but I had to share it with all of you.

Well, the manufacturers are able to market them means there are buyers who have placed orders. Or at least people are interested in buying these Genpets.

With Apologies to the not-so-bad Cops

About 6 years back, I and G, who is a mother of two boys and is far fitter than me, used to go for a walk in our upcoming locality in our then mall-less, multiplex-less city. I call my colony upcoming because the civic amenities of a planned city were still far from it - people still had septic tanks instead of the regular sewage; in the name of water supply we had our own motor pumps and water tanks on rooftops; and the roads were maintained not by the government but by the elected governing body comprising of the colony elders. The apologies of roads would be in perpetual repair. On the days it was not raining, it would be dusty all over, and on rainy days one would have to jump over puddles with extreme dexterity. But city it nevertheless was. After all our postal addresses proudly carried the name “….city.”

Adjacent to our colony was a village. Yes, a proper village with its buffaloes tied outside. Complete with a hand pump that blessed itself for not being in Pakistan and thus having been spared its life simply due to its invisibility in the times of Sunny (Deol) Bhaaji’s Gadar-rage, dung cakes neatly pasted on the house-walls, open drains running adjacent to houses, carefree people sitting on home-woven single beds (manjies) out on the roads and enjoying the dust rained by vehicles passing them by. However, this village had hopes of being converted into a city sub-urb. Since our colony had congested roads, I and G used to walk in the open spaces (read broken roads) offered by a newer colony ‘cut’ between the village and our colony. Still we were happy because we could walk for those wonderful 55 minutes in complete absence of heavy traffic.

Now in a small area, you get immediately noticed if you are a pair of fast walking females in your walking shoes - moving fast enough to look like you are rushing to outdo the fire engines to put out a fire somewhere. Also if one of the pair (not me :D) is in tight jeans- considered totally out of sync with the dress code of the area that inhabits women in kameez salwars and their heads demurely covered with dupattas. We knew that we were arousing uncalled for curiosity. It was their problem, so we would ignore them in the hope that they would get used to us walking past them every evening, and with time, things would be okay. However, as they say in the vernacular proverb, the cat can nevertheless see the pigeon even if the latter covers its eyes.

There were some chits of boys, about 12-14 years, who would hang around some recording shops, cheap salons (I mean naii di dukaan), or even by the wall of the gurdwara that fell on the way. Every time we passed, they would pass some unkind comment which we couldn’t hear because we used to be engrossed in our own chat. They would also, on their part, try to pass it in such a low voice as to give them a perverse satisfaction of having passed a comment to two ‘females’, and at the same time the pleasure of not having been heard and thus saving them the reprimand from us. One of them went on to declare rather boldly, "go on walking, you wont slim down.” (ਜਿੰਨਾ ਮਰਜੀ ਤੁਰ ਲਓ, ਪਤਲੀਆਂ ਨਹੀਂ ਹੋਣਾ) I felt like turning back to give him a nice heavy slap on the face. Did it matter to them if we were almost their mothers’ age? However, we thought that we could not stop walking if their attitudes were different, and even with our Amazonian looks, actions and spirits, we could not go on fighting every offender on the road and thus waste our precious walk-time and much needed energy.

However, you cannot go on pretending everyday that you are not bothered. And we were bothered big time! One day, we saw two Punjab Police cops armed with wireless devices, perched on a white bullet patrolling our area. Those were the days when the PCR (Police Control Room) bikes had just started to do rounds of the cities in Punjab. I think my eyes must have had that shine of hope when I looked at G, and suggested, “Girl we can go to these PCR cops and report about those boys; at least they can warn them.”

G is the older and wiser of us two. She cut me down with, “Yeah sure, they will take care of those comment passing boys, who will take care of them?”

By 'them' she meant PCR Cops.

(ਆਹੋ, ਇਹ ਉਨ੍ਹਾਂ ਨੂੰ ਰੋਕ ਲੈਣਗੇ, ਫੇਰ ਇਹਨਾਂ ਨੂੰ ਕੌਣ ਰੋਕੂ?)

:(

Tag-Monsoon Showers

IHM had tagged me to this fun tag. I love doing tags, as long as I can handle them. This one asks me to take up a book closest at hand, open page 123 and write the lines six, seven and eight. The one closest at hand is Dan Brown's "Deception Point." Yes, it is the writer who gave us "The Da Vinci Code." However, he wrote "Deception Point" two years earlier to that bestseller. Anyways that is not what the tag is about. Let me not digress. Here are the lines:

Sexton felt an anger simmering. Now Tench was putting words in his mouth. He tried to counter, but Tench was already talking.
'So you're saying, Senator, for the record, that you would do away with the agency that put men on the moon?'

(Sedgwick Sexton is running in US Presidential elections, Marjorie Tench is a Senior Advisor to the President. They are in the middle of an important debate on CNN.)

The story is about a face saving device adopted by NASA during a presidential election, and the subsequent ruckus created by the higher ups resulting in multiple life-loss. Senator Sexton's USP (as he thinks) is the criticism of the overtly fund-guzzling NASA. He tries to prove that all that NASA has done is to take tax-payer's money and give nothing in return in terms of research and results. NASA is forced to vindicate its side, and it majorly misleads the sitting President who is painted very honest and upright. Incidentally he is running for a second term. This reminds me that thankfully Bush Chachu cannot have a third term. It never fails to amaze me that America, with its super omni-wisdom about the rest of the world, could be fooled into having a person of his IQ as its own President; allowing him a second term was absolutely outrageous.
The main character is Rachel Sexton, White House Intelligence Analyst and estranged daughter of the senator Sexton. She is sent by the President on a fact-finding mission. Suitably, she meets a handsome scientist at the Arctic base where she has gone to verify the authenticity of NASA's supposed discovery of an out-of-space-rock with proof of Extra-Terrestrial life. As reality dawns on her that it is a case of extreme scientific forgery involving a greater stake, she tries to make the findings known to the President. Then starts a struggle against a master plotter.
It has, in the typical style of the author, a lot of information that does tend to hang heavy at times, but which is necessary for the reader. Dan Brown is excellent at designing the plots and creating consistent characters. The leading characters are not just good looking bimbos. They are highly intelligent individuals with that edge over lesser mortals like us. It surely makes an interesting read.
Thank you IHM for tagging me on this for it has given me a chance to share one of my summer readings. As becometh a tagged, I must not let this torture stop. Hence, I tag Maverick, Gazal, MIP, Oceanic Mirages, Thought Safari, and Ramanujam. And of course, I would expect you all to tag at least 5 more unsuspecting beings.

Thoda Pyaar Thoda Magic

We are not a first-day-first-show-watching-family. We are not even a movie going family. I remember, when I had gotten married to M, he said, “Don’t expect that I would, like a newly-wed, take you to cinema halls for movies.” Not that I had lost much with that because I did not use to go to cinema halls to watch movies anyway, though I used to be very fond of movies. Good old TV had been enough for me. So, like a good wife eager to impress, I said, “Yeah, its okay”. Later I realized that it was NOT okay. Because, I must say, I secretly resented him watching a movie with his gang and having the cheek to come home and tell me the story when I would ask him how it went. While I understood his concern of not exposing me to the smoking-jostling-pinching-leching motley male-crowd [as if I was the only desirable female around :)] at conventional cinema halls of a small city, I would feel bad at having been denied the opportunity to watch a movie on the big screen, even if for a justified reason.

He is, now, a changed man. His love for movies remains intact, and it has also now conveniently enveloped me and the kids. Wow, how come, you would say? Arrey bhai, what with the PVR cinemas with their plush interiors and luxurious ambiance – he would like to take us to movies every single day of the week. We three, me and the kids, act like spoiled brats and would never say no. At one point of time, during R’s exams last October, we saw two movies in a row. In a joint family, this becomes embarrassing sometimes, because the parents are not movie goers. The last movie they saw in a cinema hall after even-they-don’t-remember-when was Chak De, that too when we could sell it, through kids, to Daddy and Mama as a movie promoting hockey. But they know their son well, and hence just smile when they see us merely giving him company to the cinema hall. Ek Abla Naari aur uske Becharey Bachhey !!!

Oh my god, how I digress !!!

What I had started off with was to share that we went to see Thoda Pyaar Thoda Magic today. And to think it had gotten released only yesterday. Kids had been looking forward to it. Though I would have preferred to watch Sarkar Raj, yet I, for their sake, said yes to watching it. And I am glad I did. It is such a cute movie. I guess 50 percent of the hall was populated by kids who went home happy after watching Rani play the angel. Her smile, her eyes, her impishness, all wield the magic. R liked her skirt. Normally she says a pre-paid ‘NO’ to long skirts. Saif, in the role of a hardened-heart, matter-of-fact-business tycoon, looks great; the four kids do their jobs well in their roles. I would recommend it to all the parents with kids to go watch it with the kids, the time spent with them in the cinema hall would be worth it.

And I would ask the kids in adults to go watch it – just so they come out of the cinema smiling. After all love alone is not enough, one needs a little bit of magic in life, even if the magic IS of love.

'Nimakh' Transliterated - I

This transliteration of the book Nimakh is an attempt to address the many requests of our non-Gurmukhi reading friends to help them enjoy the unique experience of experiments done in Punjabi Haiku by Amarjit 'Sathi' Tiwana. He gave his gracious permission when I spoke to him about this. I present the first installment of the haikus from the book. Though an effort to capture the phonetic sounds of Punjabi has been made, this transliteration may still be far from perfect. So, please feel free to ask questions about any typical Punjabi word. I have tried to give in italics a few words I thought might pose problems for persons not familiar with Gurmukhi and typical Punjabi.

1. Harmandar parikarma
Maapey teikan mattha
Bacchey wekhan machhiaa’n

2. Kirat kareinda
Mailey bastar
Nirmal hatth

3. Rahi guacha bhaal
Akhaa’n banh’ke maa’n
Kheidey bacheyaa’n naal

4. Bacchey paondei khilli
Ikko wehrey khedd’n
Kuttey kukkad billi

5. Tankaa’n tey aswaar
Jango’n mudian asthiaa’n
Dhakkia’n fulla’n naal

6. Hukam karey sarkaar
Laa’o pulaa’n tey naake
Lehar na langhey paar

7. Pattjharh dhal’di sham
Score board tey siffraa’n
Khaali kheid maidaan

8. Chutti wali talli
Bacchey ghar nu challey
Jhulley peengh ikkali

9. Uchhi sakht chattaan
Treirh che uggya ghaa
Patthar andar jaan

10. Ambar nitt udaar
Magghar maah musaafri
Karey koonjaan di daar

11. Raagi karey riyaaz
Taanpurey tha’an sangat
Pakkhey di aawaz

12. Dhaley dupehra suttey
Manji uttey baapu
Manji hethaa’n kuttey

13. Mudh mudh chakkar laawey
Hatth ghadi di sooyi
Veila hatth naa awey

14. Chaayee dhund chufeirey
Gurudwaarey jandi
Bebey ‘neyrey ‘neyrey

15. Vagh reiha daryaa
Jithey paani peitla (shallow)
Othey uggeya ghaa

16. Pind che goli challey
Guru nanak di foto
Kandh tey tangi hilley

17. Harhya janda ghar (harhya – flooded)
Wicchey jaan khadaoney
Battakh balley geind

18. Mehak vihooney
Diary de wich
Sukkey full

19. Laggi ann pakaa’n
Pehli roti maa’n ne
Chidiyaan de layee rakhi

20. Dhal’hdi sham
Safeideyan de saaye
Door… pind takk

21. Sarad sanghni dhund
Vekhdeyan ee ho geya
Udd’da panchhi gumm

22. Maa’n pakaavey roti
Bacheyan wali choti
Baapu wali moti

23. Taarey tim timaondey
Ikk ikk kar ke raat nu
Airport wall aondey

24. Mela bharya poora
Roye guachi baccchi
Kuchhad wich katoora (Kuchhad – in her arms)

25. Baddlaa’n wich jahaaz
Jheel dhundh ‘cho aondi
Koonjhaa’n di awaaz

26. Ho pattey tey aswaar
Nikki bhoori keedi
Kardi nadiya paar

27. Bhaado’n challi langh
Rukkhi’en patt haryawley
Badlan laggey rang

28. Pattjhad aye
Bebey di fulkari
Dhupey suknee payee

29. Sardi layee tyari
Nikk sukk rahi sambhaal
Furti naal galehri (squirrel)

30. Bebey chakki jhoyee
Daliye andar dana
Bacheya koi koi

31. Jhaadaan wich samaadh (jhaad-bushes)
Jaye wassey pardes
Chadd pittra’n di yaad

32. Ikk dooni dooni
Bachha padhey pahadey (learns tables)
Beebi kattey pooni

33. Nighi dhupp chadhi
Icicle di weil
Tupka tupka jhadi

34. Nighi dhupp siyaal
Kar manji da ohla
Maa’n sukaavey waal

35. Raat chan’ni langhi
Pattey pattey tey payee
Tupka tupka treil (dew)

36. Chulhey wicho’n dhoo’an
Guru gharo Rehraas
Sandhya hoye vidaa

37. Pattjhad aye lathe’y (fell)
Rahiyaan pairien khadkan
Rang birangey patte’y

38. Chaddar uttey bhoondi
Baapu sutta taan’h (stretched)
Rakh sirhaney khoondi

39. Sarghi booha kholey
Dhupp chall kea a rahi
Lakh croraa’n meel

40. Chaala’n maaran
Satth che bacchey
Chappad daddu (chappad – village pond)

More in another post...

Tag-Monsoon reaches North

~NM and IHM had tagged me on this. I am late on this. But here I am. And the hardworker that I am, I worked as hard on this one as I had on the previous one. From what I have learnt about the tag thing till now, one is to infect more bloggers. In keeping with the tradition, I would love to see others doing it.

I'm: what I look and express and experiment with.

I think: of family first.

I know: I am capable of doing much more than what I am doing.

I want: a lot from life including more adventure, more love, more peace of mind.

I have: the best guy in the world.

I wish: to give the best to my children and husband.

I hate: being helpless in any situation.

I miss: living in a village.

I fear: loneliness.

I feel: God has been very kind to me.

I hear: from my maid that the world will end in 2012.

I smell: of my favorite perfumes - I mean one at a time.

I crave: reading all the time, sugar post-meals usually, indulgence occasionally.

I search: for myself. I also look for ways to make my people happy.

I wonder: whether honesty begets honesty.

I regret: having lost dad when he was needed the most.

I love: being needed and being myself.

I ache: to go to Australia again.

I care: for almost everybody around me.

I am not: selfish and that is not good for me.

I believe: that everyone is basically good.

I dance: to bolian in traditional Gidha and total desi punjabi beat songs on the dance floor. However, the situation is "kee kariye nachna aonda nahi"

I sing: for Mahesh (only he can stand my singing).

I cry: mostly when hurt and sometimes when angry.

I don’t always: judge people right or guess their age right and this has landed me in hot soup sometimes.

I fight: anger and fat in the same order. And I usually fight for a cause.

I write: my heart out.

I win: friends.

I lose: battles with Mahesh.

I never: doubt that there is goodness in world.

I always: take people on their face value.

I confuse: tiger sharks with bull sharks.

I listen: to ghazals and quwallies while on a brisk walk.

I can usually be found: on the net, or in my room with a book, or cleaning up mess after the kids.

I am scared: of losing my loved ones.

I need: to invest in a very very good laptop with all the good features; and in one real big portable hard disc to store all my music at one place.

I am happy about: meaning so much to so many people around me.

So much of I and I. Well, that is entirely what this tag is about. And now I sneeze and pass the infection on to
1. Roop
2. Sidhu
3. Jasdeep
4. Devaki
5. Monika
6. Parry
7. KJMK
8. Thought Safari
9. Pinku
10. Guri

Since this tag has been doing rounds in the blog-world for quite a few weeks now, I m not sure I am the first one to tag you all. So, in case you've done the tag, ignore this. Otherwise, finish the homework in time to avoid facing dire consequences.
This means "please do it".
I would be honored to pass it on in case any other friends apart from those linked here want to do it.

ਸੱਚ / Truth

Initially I posted only the original poem in Gurmukhi script. For those friends who know Punjabi but cannot read the script, I am transliterating it in Roman. I have dared try a working translation. Hope it makes some sense. There was some problem in spacing. So, I just ended up giving different colours to the three segments.

ਇਹ ਝੂਠ ਹੈ

ਕਿ

ਸੀਤਾ
ਅਗਨ ਪਰੀਖਿਆ ਮਗਰੋਂ
ਜ਼ਿੰਦਾ ਬਚ ਗਈ ਸੀ ।

ਸੱਚ ਤਾਂ ਇਹ ਹੈ
ਕਿ
ਹਰ ਯੁਗ
ਹਰ ਜਨਮ
ਹਰ ਵਾਰ
ਅੱਗ ਦੀਆਂ ਲਾਟਾਂ ਵਿੱਚ
ਸੀਤਾ ਦੀ ਰੂਹ
ਸੜ ਜਾਂਦੀ ਰਹੀ ਏ;
ਸੀਤਾ ਦਾ ਦਿਲ
ਫਟ ਜਾਂਦਾ ਰਿਹੈ;
ਸੀਤਾ ਦਾ ਮਨ
ਮਰ ਜਾਂਦਾ ਰਿਹੈ;
ਸੀਤਾ ਦਾ ਮਾਣ
ਟੁੱਟ ਜਾਂਦਾ ਰਿਹੈ ।

ਹਰ ਯੁਗ
ਹਰ ਜਨਮ
ਹਰ ਵਾਰ
ਸਿਰਫ਼
ਸੀਤਾ ਦਾ ਜਿਸਮ
ਅੱਗ ਵਿੱਚੋਂ ਸਲਾਮਤ ਨਿੱਕਲ਼ਦਾ
ਵਿਖਾਈ ਪੈਂਦਾ ਰਿਹੈ –

ਸੀਤਾ ਦੀ
ਮਿੱਧੀ, ਸੜੀ, ਮੁਰਦਾ ਰੂਹ ਦਾ ਮਾਲਕ,
ਹਰ ਯੁਗ
ਹਰ ਜਨਮ
ਹਰ ਵਾਰ
ਮਰਿਆਦਾ ਪੁਰਸ਼ੋਤਮ ਅਖਵਾਉਂਦਾ ਰਿਹੈ ।

For those who know Punjabi but can't read Gurmukhi:

Eh Jhooth hai
ke

Sita

Agan Parikheya magro'n,
Zinda bachh gayee si.

Sach ta eh hai
ke
Har yug
Har Janam
Har vaar
Agg dian laatta'n wich
Sita di rooh
sarrh jandi rahi ey;
Sita da dil
fatt janda reha ey;
Sita da mann
marr janda reha ey;
Sita da maan'h
tutt janda reha ey.

Har yug
Har janam
Har vaar
sirf
Sita da jism
agg wicho'n salaamat nikkalda
wikhayee painda reha ey –

Sita di
middhi, sar'hi, murdaa rooh da maalik
Har yug
Har janam
Har vaar
Maryada Puroshottam akhwaonda reha ey.

Says who?
that
Sita

survived the Agni Pariksha

The truth is
that during
Each era
Each birth
Each time
In the flames of fire
Sita's soul
burns to ashes;
Sita's heart
tears open;
Sita's mind
dies a hundred deaths;
Sita's pride
suffers a thousand cracks.

Each era
Each birth
Each time

saw
emerging alive out of fire
only

Sita's body.

The owner
of

Sita's crushed, burnt, dead soul
in
Each era
Each birth
Each time
has been known as
Maryada Purushottam.

...And I thought I was Smart !!!

Jai is becoming very finicky about his food. Does not want to drink milk, does not want to have his usual big bowl of curd, sometimes he would say a plain no to food.
These problems are not new to me. Rasan has gone through the same phase and I think I have tackled it efficiently. She had started to skate at Jai’s age. With such extra physical activity a growing child needs extra nutrition. She would eat with a little bit of convincing. This one, however, is a tough nut. He goes for tennis in the mornings and swimming in the evenings. (Alongwith Didi, of course). I was worried that with the continuous taxing routine, he might grow weak. Despite trying hard to convince him why certain foods are good for him, I was only partly successful.
The other evening, I was talking to the swimming coach about Jai’s progress in the pool. He said Jai needs to develop stamina in order to be a good swimmer. So I thought the time had come to use another strategy. I told his coach to chat up casually in the pool with the lad about importance of good food. I fed the coach about the fact that Jai hates Protinex in milk and wants only Rooh Afza. Everyday Rooh Afza is cool, but not very nutritious. A spoonful of Protinex in milk might help with his protein intake.

After about an hour, when my little man came out of the pool, he said, of course in chaste Punjabi, “Did you see me? I did a hundred breadths today.” I said, “Yeah, yeah I saw you doing great in the pool.” While Rasan did her tenacious lengths of the big pool, I started talking to Jai.
“I saw your coach talking to you in the pool.” (The truth is that I was away to my regular walk outside the stadium)

“Yeah,” he tried to dismiss the topic.
“And what did you two talk about?”
Again in chaste Punjabi.
“Well, just this and that” (actually he said, “Bas eh oh”)
“Ahaan, Even then, tell me what all did you discuss.”
“About food, you know.” Okay, so he was opening up.
“Wow, what? Did he tell you to eat something special?”
“Yes, he said you can eat anything, Just DO NOT drink Protinex in the milk, cos it tastes bad, b-a-a-a-d-d,” and he made a face that is simply not explainable in words.

Wish I had clicked him.

Maujaa'n Ee Maujaa'n

I put a brake to the car. Rasan wants to rush to the school gate saying a hurried bye. I wipe the extra baby cream off her face and kiss her nose. She kisses her brother a warm bye (thankfully he has no school that day; he doesn’t have any 'paper discussion') and runs off to meet her friends before the school prayer. I reverse the car, slowly wiggle my way out of the maddening rush and come back home.

She has a paper discussion at school. Till now, there only used to be a Parent Teacher Meet in which we examined their examined papers, calculated results, signed the report card, said good things to the teacher, and came back home. It was, and still is a gala day for the kids who dress up in their finest “home dresses” - a welcome change from the school uniform they get to wear everyday. However, in addition to that, now Rasan has a paper discussion day too (in school uniform of course) two days prior to the PTM and they are told their marks and other stuff about the question paper, for example how to attempt and more importantly, how not to attempt the paper. So, more or less it is a regular school day sans the school bag.

She comes back from school at 1:30 – all red with the sun and heat outside and excitement inside. As usual, she is hyper about telling about her day, “Yeieiei....Mama, I am first in English…”

“Wow, that’s great. How many marks?”

“Too bad, I don’t know how many, but I topped.” Yes, she forgets to ask her marks from the teacher, but she knows she topped. My Funny baby - I can expect this of her.

And I laugh…

As I help remove her tie and belt to ease her under the fan, I am all ears.

“Well Mama, I am not first in all the subjects though.”

“That’s ok beta. Doesn’t matter. I would have liked if you had gotten highest in all subjects. But no problems. So how was your day?”

I must admit I was a bit disappointed but I knew that she had problems with her Punjabi and Hindi papers, and that’s where she might have been hit the most. So I prefer to keep the discussion off those things.

She freshens up and takes up her tennis racket to play with. We stand outside in the lobby. She says as she hits the ball, “Mama, you know what? In the school today, we were all talking about how everybody’s parents are going to react to their marks.”
Here is what I get to understand.

AP : My father would hit me if he found that I had bungled in marks. AP is a girl.

AD: My father won’t allow me to enter the house if he found out I didn’t score well. AD is a boy.

ABJ: MY father would tell me to sleep out on the road if he found that I had gotten less marks than what he expected. ABJ is a boy who shares her birthday too.

And then one of them asked, “Okay R how would your parents react?”

R: Well, Papa would not ask about my position. If at all I tell him that I am second or third or fifth or tenth in the class, he would say, “Wow, that’s nice.”

ABJ: and your mom? Because all her friends know I am a Chota Mota Hitler in my own right.

R: Well, when she finds out that I didn’t score that well, she would say, “That’s bad but its okay. What is gone is gone. Now start working harder on the next unit/term.”

While reporting this, she is grinning from ear to ear.

AP+AD+ABJ say – Yar teriaa’n ta mauja hi mauja.

Then R+AP+AD+ABJ+together sing – MAUJAA’N EE MAUJAA’N……

THE Award

Devaki thinks that my blog is worth this cute award. Thank you, thank you. I cannot tell you Devaki, how much of an ego-booster I needed these last few days, what with the kids' vacations going on and me getting tired acting as their chauffeur, dustbin, insulated shoutbox etc etc etc - apart from the regular roles that I perform.

And I pass it on to Roop for her matured and insightful thoughts on her blog and the Unchaahi posts. Apart from expressing wonderfully on the cause of women and unborn girl child, she has a great flair of writing travel memoirs which I simply adore.

And I also consider Amitabh Bachchan worthy enough for me to pass this award to. Ahem, Ahem. Let me clarify that it is not due to his star status that has me awed and therefore this award. Salute my spirit that even though he does not know of my existence and therefore he would never come to know of this award, yet I risk your sneers. It might not be a Lifetime Achievement Award etc etc (they don't matter to him cos I think he doesnt go to such ceremonies anyway) . This one comes from one of his readers and this reader is content in reading. He is a wonderful writer, and his blog has sense. He amazes and inspires me all the time with his ripe linguistic skills and his matured expression.

And I would further consider Sudipta for the honor. Reason, he makes me laugh with his simple humor in most of his posts. And of course because he is one hell of an intelligent Capri.

And to Raza for sharing this wonderful post in particular and all his posts in general. That is because he writes so sensibly and in such a thought provoking manner. And well, he is one hell of an intelligent and expressive Capri too. I know, I know this will raise many-an-eyebrow.

I, Me, Myself confer this award to Sidhu (though perhaps he would prefer that I address him as Sidhusaaheb) for the versatility in his posts and for being such a regular and prompt commentator on mine.

I love Amarjit Tiwana's Haiku site. His poems are like a little bird that flies over my computer everyday and says a few words that re-form themselves as a Haiku. I hope he accepts this nice matters award, though he seems, like Amitabh Bachchan, above these things.

Actually there are many blogs of note that I really want to link here through this award. However, sheer modesty stops me from being so extravagantly preposterous.

Thank you Devaki, once again.

The Goddess Abides

Before her widowhood she had been a daughter and sister, wife and mother, dividing herself perforce, though willingly, for she had enjoyed each relationship and treasured her memories. Now she was living with herself and by herself as though she were a stranger, discovering new likes and dislikes, new abilities. Books, for example – she had thought of books as diversion and amusement. Now she knew they were communication between minds, her own and others, living and dead. Such communication was the source of learning and she had a thirst for learning, reviving after the busy years of her married life. (29)

“The ability to love is the secret of life. So long as one can love, really love, another human being, death waits afar off. It is only when the capacity to love ceases to exist that death follows soon. I thank you, my darling, for letting me love you. It keeps death from my door.” (29)

“Do not limit happiness; one takes it where one finds it.”

“One happiness has passed, but hold yourself ready for the next, whatever it is. If you do not see it on the horizon, then you must create it where you are. So long as you live you may find happiness if you search for it, or create it for yourself. Perhaps the search itself is happiness.” (31)

…that love had ended, stopped by death, and suddenly, for a while, there was no one to love. In the long months when she knew he must die she had wondered about love. Would it go on living after the beloved was dead? Could so strong a force continue to feed only upon memory? She knew now that it could not. The habit of love became a necessity to love and remained alive in her being, like a river dammed. Now it was flowing again, not in fullness, not inevitably, but tentatively and gently toward this man who sat facing her, his back to the sunset. (46)

“The need to love and be loved lasts until we draw our final breath and from the need comes the power. It is in you, it is in me. How can this be, you may ask. Because, my child, my dear and only One, love sustains the spirit and the spirit sustains life. Yet even if it is one-sided, the one who loves is sustained. It is sweet to be loved, but to be able to love is to possess the life force. I love you. Therefore I am strong." (47)

“It comes to us, always to be welcomed, from whatever source, at whatever time. One love does not displace another. Each love is added richness.” (66)

“Each experience of love…is a life in itself. Each has nothing to do with what has taken place before or will take place again. Love is born, it pursues its separate way, world without end, transmuted into life energy.” (77)

She understood why he had left her today and she knew that he would always come back. She had made it possible for him to return to his work. She had given him his freedom even from love, and so he would love her forever. (210)

…the only way to be loved is to be stronger than the one you love. (224)

Somehow she had come into his life at a moment when he needed to worship and he had worshiped her. What does a woman do with a man’s worship? She can destroy it by her own selfish need – or she can use it for his development and growth.
I must never let him know, she thought.
But know what?
She must never let him know that she was merely woman. She must never descend to daily need, if she wanted to keep him. No, even that was selfish. There could be no question of “keeping.” She must rise to the heights of her own. She must be quite willing to release him while she loved him – even because she loved him, for love, if it be true, seeks only the fulfillment of the beloved and this on the highest level. (241)

These are some excerpts from The Goddess Abides by Pearl S. Buck

(Methuen , London, 1972)

The introduction to the novel reads:

Pearl Buck tells a story of human love in its infinite variety. At the centre is Edith Chardman, just widowed in the prime of life (42, as I found it) as the story opens, after a long and happy marriage to a man much her senior. Into the emptiness come Edwin (72, to be precise), even older than her late husband, and Jared(24, when he meets Edith), young enough to be her son. With each there is mutual attraction, strong and vital, yet with the vast differences imposed by disparate ages. In the intense months that follow, Edith confronts complexities of love to which she had never had occasion to give the least thought. She learns how subtle are the ways in which love is to be fulfilled.

Just a Thought

India has reached the finals of Azlan Shah Hockey for the first time in last 12 years. It is no small feat for a country which had almost forgotten that there has to be a glory involved with the official national game. More than winning this game, it was about good playing - on and off the field. However, I wont be analysing the situations that have been laid threadbare before us anyways with the Gill vs Gill episode.

Indian Women's Cricket team has won Asia Cup for the 4th time in succession. A matter of pride indeed for all of us. And for the team that had to prove itself - against the norm that is the Indian men's cricket team. The so-called "Team India" - that is supposedly the sole honour bearer of a 100-Crore plus strong country, that is the symbol of the nation, that is the life and breath of a people who sleep and wake through their television sets flashing live their dreams through this game.

Both the news are found relegated to obscure corners of national newspapers. IPL and the teams named so spiritedly are spread all over the major and minor newspapers.

I have nothing against the IPL. For M's sake, I am even taking interest in the matches, and am trying to understand the score and the game.

Just an observation - from an Indian loyal to Hockey, from a woman proud of the Indian Women's Cricket Team's feat (however humble it might be considered), from a confused Indian about our priorities in the sports field.

Nimakh

Nimakh literally means “small,” “little.” When I first went to Amarjit (Sathi) Tiwana’s haiku blog, I was reasonably impressed. When I started to interact with him, he offered to send me a copy of his publication NIMAKH- his book of Punjabi haiku poems.

Haiku is (perhaps) the smallest poem in the world. Having its origin in Japan; it has been adopted by poets world-wide. To me it is no less than a wonder. It is a superhuman ability to express oneself in a matter of 10 odd words and still end up saying a poem.

The poet informs in the book that Bhai Kahan Singh Nabha has defined the word Nimakh as “the time taken to blink an eye.”



I was at work when someone called up to say that he had brought Tiwana’s book for me. It was a huge surprise. I was grateful, I was happy and I was amazed that I got the book within 48 hours of saying yes to Tiwana’s offer of sending me the book. I reached home by 1 and found the book- Nimakh was really nimakh : 84 pages and only two poems on each page – lest quantity should override quality. All of 17 x 11 cm ( 4.4’’ x 6.4’’) – it was fit to be carried in my current purse. As the kids went into the swimming pool at 4.30 p.m., I dived into the book. Consuming one poem by one poem, one page by one page– I was amazed at the expression, angry at one reality depicted in one poem, pleased with another, nodding at a truth condensed in a poem, agreeing with the nostalgia in another—my response was that of a child who has been made to sit in a room full of toys. She doesn’t know which toy to handle first, which one to keep, which one to let go. I normally do not dog-ear the books I read. But the devil inside me wanted to dog ear at least 20 pages for a future reading. The book was so cute that I couldn’t muster courage to do that. So I tried keeping a little scrap of paper as a book mark to go back to that particular poem.

The most striking thing in the book after its poetry is what Navtej Bharati has to say about the poet and his muse. I wouldn’t literally translate what he has to say but the crux of his foreword is something like this.

We tend to take things around us for granted. We see things only as far as we need them; we live only as much as we need to. We refuse to see the miracles around us – miracles that happen everyday, around us, with us, in us. It is due to a “stare” (geijh in punjabi – when we get used to looking at things in a particular way). It is such poetry as Tiwana’s that breaks this geijh. It is such poetry that tells us of the Nature that is beautiful with the presence of mankind, and is beautiful sans mankind. Man is diseased with a narcisst approach. Nimakh washes our eyes to show us the world around. They tend to include us in the Great Chain of Being. We see more and we live more.

I won’t quote any of Tiwana’s poems here. You need to go to his blog and read them all by yourself to have a first hand feel of the miracle.

Roop's Tag

Roop had tagged me on these. Its my first one. I have worked really hard on it. Ever seen someone work so seriously on a tag?


I am passionate about:

1. Mahesh- though he would hate that I am saying this publicly…
2. Ghazals and Quwallies – Jagjit Singh and Nusrat Saab respectively
3. Reading – Fiction and non fiction, both
4. Punjabi poetry – all of Surjit Pattar, Shiv, and random pieces I encounter.
5. My Nokia N95 8GB – it allows me to take so many pangas with it
6. Internet –I pray for the endless existence of this amazing world
7. Work Out - More whenever I attack it with vehemence.
8. My work-place - with all its heat and dust.

Eight things I want to do before I die:

1. Own a Mitsubishi Montero- for Jai’s sake
2. To lose this weight forever and see a fit Manpreet in the mirror
3. Then Go for a World Tour – Just me and Mahesh
4. Publish all my poems ( I would do that sooner than waiting for the time just “before I die”) definitely before I leave for this world tour
5. Inculcate a lot more Jigra (at least as much as my mom and mom-in-law have). Jigra in Punjabi means a lot more than Patience
6. Appear and win in a gameshow that promises 5 Crores – it has nothing to do with the dream of the world tour, just recording for reference sake
7. Learn to do good makeup
8. Laugh and laugh and laugh.


Eight things I say often:


1. Oww come on
2. O Jaan de yaar
3. Theek theek laa lo
4. Got it? (in my classes)
5. Dafa karo ( I know its rude, but it is to tell myself to let go of things that annoy me)
6. hmm...well...
7. Exactly
8. Right…

Eight songs I could listen to over and over:

1. Entire Mulaqat-Ravi Mann
2. Aiwen hass ke na langhya kar ni sanu ishq ho geya
3. Mere dil dian too jaane tere dil dian main --- KOOLJEET (yes he is sach much cool)
4. Zindagi ki na toote lari, Pyar kar le ghari do ghari – Kranti (Film)
5. Saawal Sundar Ramaiiya – Bhagat Kabir’s Shabad - sung by Bhai Harjinder Singh Sri Nagar
6. Jinde jinde ni jinde – Rahat Fateh Ali Khan
7. Kids’ rendering of “Phone Chakko Ji”

8. Apni marzi se Kahan apne safar pey hum hain –ghazal by Jagjit Singh (among many others from the same artist)

Eight things that attract me to my friends:

Roop, I wanted to follow your example and ask only my best buddy M just as you had asked your best buddy P, but I planned a little variety. So, I tagged a few of my friends on SMS today and here is what I found. Well, most of it turned out sugary, so please take it with a pinch of salt.

1. Damdar, Charming Personality, Loving nature (Kiran you are so cute) and the Aura I create around myself – (ahem ahem ahem, I know I am not at the modest best, but I m being honest at least) Six of them said this, though I would have liked to know 'What' in Personality
2. Vivacity and typical Punjabi style of dressing and talking – Harpreet Vohra said this. Raghbir said it is the typical Jatti touch
3. Positive attitude (Thank you Ravinder Bhai, otherwise I m such a sloppy Capri), Friendly and Helping nature-three of them found me good enough
4. I am a little Kamli-said Bikram Sekhon and Ajay Bhaji (they are right) though Bikram later sent another sms saying “U r cute and have a spirit to fight in society” and Ajay Bhaji added that he is a little kamla too, that is what endears me to him.
5. I talk straight forward without any mean interest- a colleague wrote
6. My clarity of Fundas and Intellect – Daljinder and Santosh Basran
7. Simplicity and sense of humor – Rohit said
8. My Smile – Aww Avneet is always sho cute
9. Way of talking and accent – I got this from four of my contacts

However, I have saved the best for the last:

10- M found that (among other things) what attracts him to me is my Innocence and a Kind and Big heart. - No comments !!!
Roop, now this calls for a big Awww. See the amazing results when you put your friends to work? You come to know so much about your own self. Otherwise I also keep ranting that I m worthless, useless, talent-less, artless, everything less blah blah blah. Thank you, thank you, thank you all – this will keep me on the cloud nine for at least a month. Thereafter I will find some way to hang on.
…and this takes care of my homework.

Open to feedback and Inputs (especially to all those who could not SMS me :))

VISAKHI

My friend Gurinder Singh sent me a Happy New Year wish in January (understandable) on my Facebook Funwall. I did not check it (the lazy bum that I admittedly am) till the 13th of April. It was perhaps Willed by Him that I had to check it on the Asli New Year. Anyways, I responded as soon as I saw it. He responded with a Happy Visakhi and at the same time poured his heart out with a poetic rendition of his feelings. I somehow could not stop myself from responding with what I feel about Visakhi. The words in maroon color are his, the rest a development of the thread he handed over unwittingly to me.


Kaisree chunni lai ke..
kaisree ladoo kha ke
kaisree jalebi nu ghuma ke
gurudware ja ke
ja phir dhani ram chatrik ga ke
dhol nu dga la ke
... aundi hundi si Visakhi...
par hun nahi..

Haan,
kankaan de son rang nu mehkaundi,
wattan banneya tey meildi aondi,
mere pind de mele wich dhoorh udaondi
...aondi hundi si visakhi
Par hun Nahi...

Hun ta har saal subsidiyan da marya kirsaan
visakhi nu
laazmi aondey meenh
tey gadeyan nal bhijji
apni laachari nu
sir utey madasey wangoo banhda
akhbar di mehz tasveer banya nazar aonda aey

kankaa’n di rakhi keon karni,
visakhi hun kinh manaoni

haan oh rangan, sugandhaan wali
...aondi hundi si visakhi,
Par hun nahi...

...TOOTH FAIRY

Rasan lost a milk-tooth today. Not that it is the first one, but it is surely the first when the tooth fairy won’t be visiting her. Ever since age 6 when she lost her first milk tooth, I have been faithfully acting the elusive fairy and placing a Canadian loony or a two-dollar coin from my forex residues. The excitement that accompanies the ritual cleaning of the tooth- before she places it under her pillow for the tooth fairy to find it spic and span and place an equally shiny coin in exchange for it - is simply endearing. She sleeps that night without fuss for I have told her that the tooth fairy visits you only when you are asleep. She even forces me to sleep early lest the fairy should turn back and not give her the promised coin. The shine in her eyes in the morning upon waking, in the anticipation of that coin is worth all the treasures in the world. The yell with which that coin comes back to me, and finally goes to her piggy bank is so innocent.

Tonight she asked me point blank, “Mama, hasn’t it been you all through, who used to put that coin?” This is not the first time that she has doubted it. Last month, when Jai lost his first tooth, she told him to clean it nicely and put it beneath his pillow so that the tooth fairy finds it worth exchanging for a dollar or two. And surely he found a two dollar coin beneath his pillow. Next morning, she expressed her doubt about me being the tooth fairy but I shoo-shooed it by turning my face away and saying no. But both my children are very particular about not taking a “hmm” for an answer and making me say out aloud what I want to say. Their pet line is “injh nahi, uchi bol ke dasso!” That is their way of ensuring that I don’t lie or try to put them off the track. Anyway, I tried to manage with a "hmm" thinking it was perhaps too early for her to lose that faith in fairies.

Coming back to her question tonight, I ignored it gently and concentrated on Mahesh’s incoming call. Finally the call had to end; she was awake still and repeated the question. I couldn’t lie tonight and said, “Okay, you want the truth? Yes, it has been me.” Thank god for the half-dark room. She bawled, “aaannnn, too bad.” So I went to the bed, lay next to her and explained why I went on doing it. Then I asked her, “Wouldn’t it have been rather good if you didn’t know the truth?” The rational being inside her spoke, “No, its okay, I suspected it. But now I am not feeling good that there is no tooth fairy.” “Well, with your new found knowledge, don’t you dare tell Jai the truth,” I warned. “Okay, I won’t baba,” said she, “but I feel like crying,”

Oww my baby, she is already feeling the heart-breaks as the childhood beliefs start to vanish. But she decisively said, “Okay Mama, don’t put any coin beneath my pillow today, lets see if the tooth fairy comes,” Is there still a trace of that fantasy in her mind? I wouldn’t want to kill it. “Right, I won’t. Lets see.”

And I won’t. For sure.

Perhaps I should…???

And This 9th March

Would that
In these busy days
You were visible, physically...

Watching the time
Come a full circle-
Watching your investments
Returning us dividends-

- Of a healthy
Wholesome life
With children growing
Inch by inch
Every two months.

- Of the faith you taught
Entrenched in our mind
Making possible
An existence
Protected by love.

- Of our own growth
From struggle
To
Settlement

And

- Of Her loneliness
Visible
With her wrinkles
Through her smiles

Fourteen years is a lifetime…
But this banwaas for her will not end
For there is no come back of
This Raam.

Questions And Answers

We are watching Sanjiv Bhaskar’s Journeys of India. Today he is showing Punjab. First he shows a Sikh wedding in a prominent Jalandhar marriage palace. Then he travels to the Indo Pak border at Wagah. The scene is complete with the blue attired coolies on the Indian side handing over the stuff to the coolies in red on the Pakistani side.

He travels to his home village and tries to find his ancestral home but it’s impossible for him to locate it. After all, the winds of change have swept over the Pakistani villages too.

His sentimentality is so well received among me and my children. Rasan is preparing her school bag for the next day. I am telling her to go brush her teeth. She is mesmerized by the similarity of the land, vegetation, the sunset and the sky that is common between the two countries.

She suddenly asks, “What is Lahore?”
“It’s a city in Punjab,” I say.
“Punjab?”
"Yes, there is a Punjab in the Pakistan too , and it was once a part of this Punjab.”
“Okay, that is where Nankana Sahib is, right?”
“Yes.”
“Cant they give it back to us?”
“No.”
“Why, its our land!”
“No, its no more ours. When the country was partitioned, it went to the Pakistani share.”
“Okay, so India and Pakistan fought?”
“No, not over Nankana Sahib.”
“Mama, when Dhesi mama (my mom, Dr Dhindsa) came to India, how old was she?”
“She was Jai’s age.”
“Oh, and how did she come?”
“She was brought with her family on a truck by my Bapuji.”
“Oh, and your dad?”
“Well he and his family had to travel by foot over to India.”
“Oh, and how did they manage? Did they have water?”
“Well I am not so sure; they probably didn’t carry water bottles in those days…”
“Did they have any money?”
“No, when you are asked to leave your house suddenly, I don’t think you can get hold of any money, right?”
“Why did they have to leave the house?”
Well, because the leaders said Sikhs and Hindus were in danger in Pakistan.”
“Why?”
“Because they said that Sikhs and Hindus had killed Muslims in India and the Muslims might like to have revenge, and they might kill Hindus and Sikhs in Pakistan.”
“They were lying, right mama?”
“Yes they were, partly.”
“So the people didn’t kill each other?”
“They did, but again that is because they were misguided by leaders.”
“What do leaders get out of it mama?”
“They like to know that they have power over people, and that people agree with what they say…”
.
.
Meantime she goes and brushes her teeth in between the commercial breaks. She comes back to announce,
“I hate England.”
“Why?”
“Because they divided India.”
“Well, they didn’t. Partly it was our own fault. We allowed them, so they could.”
“But they ruled over us. Why did they have to rule over us?”
“You like to mind your class, right? You like to be the monitor too, right? How would you like if you were told that everybody around you would agree with you and you will have immense power over your friends? Every body likes to be obeyed.”
“Well ruling people is different, ruling countries is not acceptable.”
“Yep, but that’s no reason to hate England, you don’t have to use the “hate” word, (Well, as a rule, my kids don’t use the phrase, “I hate”)
And I tuck her into her comforter…
.
.

“So what did your grandpa do, Mama?”
“Child, he was a farmer, but he died 5 years before partition.”
“Oh, what did your dad do then?”
“He had to rely on government scholarships.”
“Does government give money to study?”
“Yeah, to intelligent children who need it.”
,,,
,,,
,,,
And the conversation lulls her to sleep.

Everytime I visualize the scene of people abandoning their homes from this side, and from that side for ever with next to nothing with them, my throat is choked. And now my daughter’s too.
Are my children inheriting that pain, too?

Answering the simple questions is so hard sometimes.

Some Good Websites

Three months - a frantic run to finish PhD thesis, Mera Daghistan, a change in job and the resultant paper work, (and so many other excuses that I have forgotten now), The Fountainhead, and of course word games . And you thought I have been a real lazy bum in coming back here to update after so long? And I know you all have gone back from my page disappointed (if at all you ever felt like appointed ;) ).

Apart from the above reasons, these three months were spent hibernating. These three months - I discovered yet again that being a parent of an about to be 10-year old is not easy. I have shared her growing pains and suffered some resultant pains on my own person in the process. I have found what the expression "pain in the neck" means, because I am suffering from that - literally and figuratively. I have reawakened to what "apple of my eye" is because both my apples -Rasan and Jai - have been alternatingly sweet and sour and hence enjoyble. Oh boy, I am behaving like that incorrigible doting mother now... And to think I had logged in today to share some good educative websites for practising English Grammar and Language and Mathematics. Here they go.

http://www.rhlschool.com/

http://www.englisch-hilfen.de/en/index.htm

http://bringing-up-kids.blogspot.com/

http://www.internet4classrooms.com/tcap_lang.htm

http://kids-space.blogspot.com/

http://www.mathgoodies.com/lessons/vol1/perimeter.html

http://www.superkids.com/

I found these sites extremely helpful in worksheets for practice at the school level. Because I myself loved playing simple word games on them during the print taking process. My thanks to the creators and the people behind these sites.

It would be so helpful to people like me if you all could share some good websites about kids education.

This Morning

My favorite treadmill in the gym overlooks an interesting segment of the road. To avoid looking at the calorie-time –distance-incline-speed panel, I usually concentrate on the people going by. Early mornings are always a familiar scene, whether you watch it from the treadmill, or from the window of your house sipping tea. Fathers with rumpled hair, sleepy eyes, nightclothes going to drop the kids on their scooters and bikes; reluctant kids hanging on to the seats, or onto the fat tummies of their still young dads who are going to flop on the bed the moment they reach back home. Rickety school buses carrying children to school-amazing how the cars and other personal vehicles come with all kinds of safety measures but the van and bus wallahs have modified the buses with seats to benches and kids sit there prone to falling in any direction should the bus take a turn. I always used to wonder where do all the old vans and discarded buses go. And now I come to know that they are employed for these “not so important” journeys. And kids going in buggies. Buggies - the very logic of which makes me cringe, but which, in any case, are better than the rickshaws manned by skeletal men who have to paddle fat men and women to their destinations. And of course, cars – driven by ill-clad chauffeurs (it being Ludhiana) and dads and moms who go to drop the kids to school.

Today, there was something special that I saw. There were five kids, probably slum kids-probably not - but definitely from lower middle class. They were all in motley dresses, not in the uniforms of public schools. One of the kids, a female, had a single crutch to support herself, and a carry bag in one hand. Other kids were younger, and all carrying school bags or plastic carry bags-obviously going to school on foot. They stood and had a deliberation amongst them over I don’t know what. Then they hailed a rickshaw that was passing by them in the same direction. I do not know what the exchange between them was, but I saw the rickshaw puller shaking his head indicating a negative response. The kids again talked to him, probably pleaded with him. After about 2 minutes of discussion, the older girl indicated to the kids to hop into the rickshaw. They all took their seats immediately on the main seat and the "tupp", and off they went.

From what I gathered with my over-oxygenated brain atop my sweating body, I presume the kids requested him to drop them to their school, and he refused. They then renegotiated and then he relented.

And I am 100 percent certain that the kids had no money between them.

Therefore, I admire the rickshaw puller, who got nothing in monetary terms from this trip, except perhaps some mental satisfaction of having helped a few underprivileged kids.

Would you, or I, or anyone else amongst us do it if we were going past them in a car ??