Category: Musings

Random thoughts on random subjects

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Musings Stories

Rebellion


As the year draws to an end, most people have been trying to summarize the events of the year gone by. Arguably, revolts and revolutions have been the most significant part of the year. A common thread connects WikiLeaks, revolts in several African and middle-east countries, the Occupy Wall Street Movement, and closer home, heightening protests against corruption. Perhaps Mother Earth too is getting frustrated after such prolonged abuse. Rebellion, it seems is in every human’s blood.

Keeping in spirit with the theme of the year, here is a piece of frustration shared by several women who travel by public transport in the Capital…

The Delhi Metro is one of many things a resident of the city is proud of. State of the art technology, on-time performance, and (gasp!) cleanliness. So when the first compartment of the train was reserved for ladies, it was another hurrah moment.

With jam-packed trains, the first compartment of the train provided a huge relief for women against a rather unruly and unsafe public. While it provided a sense of security, there was still something disturbing.

Very often, men would enter the compartment and stand at the divider between the first coach and the rest of the train. If a lady wished to enter the first coach, she had to move past a wall of men. It was virtually impossible to get past this human barricade without a huge struggle. Very often, the whole train would be empty, and only the second coach of the train would be over-crowded.

One morning, things got out of control. The ladies’ coach was brimming with men. Women spoke in hushed voices, speaking about the crowd. But no one seemed to object openly. And then a girl screamed. She pleaded and wailed to move past a huge group of people. No one yielded. Some hooligans in the crowd began hooting when a few women made some noise. They refused to move away, even when told to do so.

And then something amazing happened. A couple of women blocked the gate to the entrance of the coach and shouted. ‘This train will not move till the women’s coach has men in it’. The doors of the metro train are programmed to open automatically when there is an obstruction.Taking advantage of this, the ladies held up the train.

Even after this move, men refused to budge, even shamelessly smiling at the ladies. Then a few ladies, getting frustrated began manually pushing men out. Most of the men complained saying there was no space in the train. But a few minutes later, we came to know that they had magically found some space in other parts of the same train!

Soon order was restored and the train was allowed to move. A few ladies, unknown to each other, formed an instant union and coordinated with each other to get rid of the men in the compartment. It was heartening to see such unity among women, who are willing to step up and fight for themselves. No knight in shining armour needed. But how did we get into this mess in the first place?

In a way, we are responsible for it. When men started entering the compartment, no one said anything. Only when it reached a tipping point did something happen. And even then, it was only a handful of women who managed to get the courage to do something about the situation, while the majority just stood watching.

From the very beginning, girls are told to learn to adjust to their surroundings. Sacrifice and selflessness are virtues that are the hallmark of a lady. It is all very well. But then subconsciously, the feeling of inferiority, and subservience is instilled into them. And most often, women themselves propagate such ‘values’. It is most unlady-like to do certain things. There are unwritten, yet deeply entrenched rules regarding the behaviour of a lady. Yet, the behaviour of the other half (the majority, to be more precise) is unchecked.

Women themselves have brought upon this situation. By allowing people to trample over us, we cannot really complain. But it is time we stepped up and stopped being bullied. If a lady is not offered the courtesy and shown the respect she deserves, there is absolutely no reason for her to still act lady-like (read meek and docile).

Gandhiji was an advocate for empowerment of women. During the freedom struggle, men and women fought beside each other. When Ms Indira Gandhi was assasinated, it was looked upon in horror. ‘Stree hatya!’, they said. The worst crime that can ever be committed. How then, did India reach this low? If we look back at the lessons from our historic texts, one cord that is common to all is this: The land where a woman is disrespected, is doomed.

Categories
Hobbies Musings

Beads!

She strings sea shells...

I love my gypsy-like, bead bracelet. I love it so much, I’m dedicating an entire blog page and several photographs to it!

A few days back I was fiddling around with a bead necklace… err… bracelet… Its just a really long piece of thread with lots of tiny beads.

We belong together!

All the beads are unique in their own way… Some are broken, some have cracks, some which have holes in weird places, and some which have strange shapes. In short, its made up of rejected stuff a.k.a junk!

A few of us in college had gone to a local market and we found a hawker selling these, dirt cheap…

Up close and personal

One look at those beads, and it was hard to resist… I immediately wrapped it around my wrist.

I loved it!

And then it broke – what else could you expect from a piece of junk.

In search of the next bead

But then, I loved it so much! So I repaired it, adding a few other beads from another broken bracelet.

Since then, the bracelet has been my constant companion. Wherever I have gone, its been with me. I’ve lost count of the number of times its broken. And the number of times

She strings sea shells...

its been repaired. But every time it’s been repaired, a little bit has been added to it – a few forgotten beads lying in the corner of the cupboard, beads that had fallen out of old dresses, and beads that had even been ripped out of fancy wedding invitations!

Standing out of the crowd

Not all of them were old, some were new, like sea shells, bright seeds collected during one of our holidays…

Panchayat

There is nothing orderly, symmetrical, or perfect about the bracelet, yet, to me, it looks beautiful…

As it was being repaired for the umpteenth time, I decided to photograph the imperfect, pretty little beads. I’d borrowed my brother’scamera. I don’t know much, except that it had a special lens, which had a fixed focal length. I clicked a few times, and the result was horrible! That was enough to scare me.

Odd one out

If the camera wasn’t intimidating enough, I realised I had no clue how to go about taking the pictures. So I just switched to the auto mode and let the camera decide everything else!

Galaxy

All the photographs here were taken by the camera! Hope you enjoy the photographs.

Cheers!

Imperfectly perfect!

Since I rely on material distributed over the internet, it is only appropriate that I do the same… The photographs here may be used for non-commercial purposes. A simple credit would be appreciated 🙂

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Musings

Somewhere beyond the sea…


For the past few days, I’ve been in Chennai, and its been quite a stay. To me, Chennai is synonymous with the sea. Perhaps it is because it is the one thing Delhi lacks. On every visit to Chennai, I eagerly look forward to go to the beach. This little post is something I wrote a very long time back. But the sentiments remain the same even to this date. The title of this post was given by my grandfather, who submitted it to a local magazine for publication. Hope you enjoy 🙂

Date: 14 July 2007 Time: 2:22 pm

Going to the beach after two years was something that I was most excited about. For two years I had not stepped out of Delhi. I was definitely suffering from nature deficit disorder. Being the kind of nature lover that I am, living in the urban jungle just did not do me any good. I had all the symptoms – stress, depression, poor attention… So when we went to Chennai, the first thing we had to do was to go to the nearest beach.

Unfortunately beaches are not what they used to be… Even before we could step on the sand, all kinds of vendors were trying to sell us something or the other. We did not take off our foot-ware for fear of any glass pieces pricking our feet. As we got closer to the water, we saw more and more plastic bags, wrappers and all kinds of garbage thrown about. People eating carelessly threw the packaging on the sand.

But the beach is huge and even though there are all kinds things and shops spread all over, nothing can hide the beauty of the sea. The sun had started setting and one could see the horizon. It was not the picture-postcard kind of sunset in which the sun bathes in the sea. We could not see the sun because of the overcast sky. It was a pleasant dark blue sky which merged with the sea in the distance. There were many tiny sea-shells all over the beach and we picked up as many as we could. The beauty of nature is simply amazing. Although the shells are the size of the nail on my little finger, they have such unique, intricate and colourful designs. There were smooth ones as well as ones with ridges. Most were flat molluscs but there were also the rarer long spirals and snail shells.

Everyone in my family for generations has had some kind of shell collection to boast about. There are so many shells the size of a human fist. What really amazes me is that my grandmothers and my mother hand-picked these from the beach! There are also shells which my father brought for us from the Andaman Islands which are the size of human heads. There are even clam shells that measure one metre across. My father saw these kinds of shells being used as bathtubs! Today, due to increasing human population on the shore, not many big shells are found on the beach. But there are many small ones washed up on the shore. Though there are many stores selling big shells on the streets of Chennai, there is nothing like the joy of picking shells from the beach.

Soon we were very near the water and the warm, soft and slippery sand became firmer due to the water content. There were tiny crabs crawling all over the place. It appeared as if there was a boundary line separating the dry sand from the water. This ‘boundary line’ was made by garbage strewn around. Beyond this divider of dump, the sea was clean and clear. Every time the waves came crashing on the shore, they would take away any dirt thrown by uncivil humans.

We left our foot ware further away and stepped into the approaching water with our bare feet. It seemed as if the sea was welcoming us by washing our feet. In the distance we could see huge waves – waves that were perhaps 2 metres high. But by the time the water reached us, the level was just high enough to reach our ankles. This was because as new waves came towards us, the receding waves pushed the incoming waves and reduced their force. The clash was as if there were two armies running towards each other to fight and although the approaching waves won the battle, their numbers were significantly reduced. We went further into the sea till the water level reached our knees.

When the waves came, they brought along with them many molluscs. But these were not like the empty halves of shells we found on the dry part of the beach. These were closed with live creatures in them. From what I have heard, these creatures can only survive underwater. Against their will the water brings them ashore. When the waves receded, the water took them away into the sea. Every once in while, I could see these mysterious creatures peep out of their homes in the shallow water and duck back inside. More than once did I see them ‘walking’ on the sand under a thin film of water. I might have even felt one on my foot which was buried under the sand. There were also small holes in the wet
sand which were created when the water receded. These were, I suppose, for the unknown creatures underneath so that they could breathe.

There is something friendly and scary about the sea. On the shore, the cold water came in a friendly manner and washed our legs-pretty much in the manner a dog would welcome its owner. Sea water has many different salts which are good for the skin. I have personally seen cracked heels get healed completely after just a few hours of exposure to the sea water. As the waves came crashing down at us, the sheer force of the water felt like a massage. But the force with which the water receded was greater than the force with which it approached us. Every time the water receded, we could feel it trying to pull us towards it as if saying ‘come, play with me, like those other people who are having fun swimming in me’.

The scarier side of the sea is its unpredictability. Every now and then, a huge wave would come and drench us even more. Sometimes while receding, the waves would change their course and instead of receding in the same way that they came, they would take a kind of U-turn. As a result, these receding waves would bump into the incoming waves at an angle. This caused a huge splash and sprayed water all over us.

We spent almost two hours at the beach in this manner. The sky became darker and darker and before we knew it, the evening changed into night. We could see a faint light in the distance. It could have been a lighthouse, or a ship sailing – no one could tell. The moon was out and we could see its light through the clouds. Cloudy skies are always beautiful during the daytime. But cloudy nights are sometimes spooky. For a little while, the moon came out of its blanket, which gave the clouds a silvery colour. But it was not at all scary. In fact, it looked magical. It may seem very ordinary to most people, and me too, on most nights. But this sight, on that day, seemed extra special. Perhaps it was the sea that
had passed on its charm to the sky.

Back in the car, our legs all covered in sand and beginning to itch, I could not but help recall the song, “Somewhere… beyond the sea…”

Categories
Musings

The anonymous bus conductor!


The world can be very harsh, but if we look close enough, there are little little positives for us to feel good about.

Of late, things have been rather gloomy. The print media seems to be enjoying a golden spell of bad news. Every single page had nothing but depressing stories. Scandal, corruption, crime, dirty politics, natural disasters… the list is endless. As far as news channels are concerned, quite frankly, I’ve lost hope on them and stopped watching TV altogether.

Seeing all this gloom only has a compounding negative effect on our lives. How our life is, and how happy we are, is plainly a matter of perception. If we choose to look at only the negative aspect of things, then that is all we will end up seeing. We act as magnets. The more we think about bad events, the more we end up pulling bad things towards ourselves.

A few days back, I too suffered an attack of negativity, and everything around me seemed very very evil. There seemed to be no good left on this planet.

But life has very subtle ways of bringing us back on track. And when I say subtle, I mean very subtle.

One day, while I was travelling aboard a local bus, the conductor got up an announced to all the passengers that they would have to get off the bus. He said that the bus had to go and pick up some students and that they were late. As it often happens with the DTC buses that ply on Delhi’s roads, routes are cut short, or altered, or bus stops are skipped at the will of the driver and conductor.

So as usual, there were a lot of angry passengers shouting at the driver and conductor for leaving them stranded.

The conductor instructed everyone to get off and said he would make arrangements for us to travel in another bus that would be approaching shortly. And soon enough a bus did arrive. But it didn’t stop at the bus stop (nothing unusual). The driver got pretty frustrated because they were pretty late (or so they claimed).

As the other bus sped away, the conductor paused for a few seconds, and all of a sudden instructed everyone to get into the bus immediately. ‘If we’re late, we’re late! It’s just too bad!’ And so the bus resumed its journey, albeit with quite a sense of urgency and the conductor told the passengers that he would drop them off and then pick up the students.

He could have easily left us at the bus stop, and it would not have affected him in any way. On the contrary, going so late to pick up those students would surely land him in big trouble. And none of the passengers would ever bother about him for his troubles. But he still completed the route for the benefit of the passengers.

I know it is a very very trivial incident, but somehow, it made me feel good. I felt relieved that all is not so evil in the world 🙂

Categories
Musings

The tooth and nothing but the tooth!


It’s been a while since I wrote a post. In order to fill in the gap, I’m again posting some stuff I wrote a long time back. This one, according to the local file, was supposedly written on “20 June 2007 Wednesday” at “3:40 pm”. Hope I’ll have something fresh to post soon.

For many days… I think for many years now, I have repeatedly had this dream about my tooth. The dream involved a shaky tooth (one of the front teeth). The tooth was shaking so badly that it was hanging by a vein (or something of that sort). And invariably I was always eating during these dreams!

I was struggling to eat – trying every possible way to avoid chewing with that tooth. Sometimes I was chewing softly, at other times I was trying to eat from one side and I could feel the tooth shaking and threatening to fall. The kind of feeling which I used to get as a little kid.

Then like the classic Hindi movie, the climax occured! I got tired of waiting for the tooth to fall and I chewed harder – almost as if with a vengeance! Like the only good guy in the movie, I fought with all the pain. I chewed the food and the tooth took an eternity to fall! And then the moment came… I felt a hard stone like thing in my mouth. The sweet blood flowing from the vacant space in my mouth. That’s how my dreams hed been ending.

As I said earlier, I have been getting similar dreams for many years now. At first, I thought that it only put into expression my fears that my teeth will end up being like my parents – really bad (with all due respect to them). That one day, my teeth will shake and fall down – one by one…

I had reason to believe that 4 of my teeth would be pulled out because almost 2 years back, we went to the dentist and I was told that I would be put on a waiting list for the operation. My teeth would be pulled out and I would have to wear braces. I still do not know why it was called ‘waiting list’.

Yesterday I went to the dentist… my worst fear was that 4 teeth would have to be pulled out because there was not enough space in my mouth for all of my teeth. One wisdom tooth was already on its way out. And in the morning I had the same dream about my tooth.

On the way, I examined the papers from my previous visit. It said that I had some kind of non aligned teeth and some expert advice was required.

We walked into the dentist’s clinic. The dentist happened to be a specialist – an orthodontist (the specialist was the one whose advice was required). The orthodontist’s face was covered with the mask that surgeons wear. Only his eyes were visible. I sat, or shall I say, I lay down on the inclined chair. A bright light shone at my face and I could not keep my eyes open. He started examining my teeth. After I described the problem about my teeth and he had fiddled around with his instruments enough, he turned to my father.

Why exactly did I have to get 4 teeth pulled out? Why was my first sign of wisdom grating my cheek? As usual, I kept quiet. And one by one the doc (i.e. orthodontist) explained my problems.

The doc said that I had very crooked teeth which, to be aligned, had to be put on braces. For the braces, space had to be created. As it is my mouth was small (it is now official, because the doc expressly said so) and now that I was becoming wise, I could almost feel my teeth vanishing away to make room for the braces and teeth. The doc then explained the technicalities, which is as follows.

To put braces, the doc required 6 mm of space. Each tooth occupies about 10 mm, so pulling out four teeth would result in an excess of 34 mm. The braces had to be put not only to align the teeth but to also cover the extra space created so that it would not look ugly. This process of aligning the teeth would take two years during which time I would be required to visit him every fifteen days. Very calmly, he said, pulling out the teeth is very easy… in just two sittings… but it is the next phase which required a lot of effort.

The very thought of my precious teeth being pulled out frightened me so much that I felt that they were already gone! I put one hand on my mouth and felt my teeth to do a reality check, and then kept feeling them through my lips. It was as if my teeth were being robbed and in a desperate attempt to save them, I was hanging on to them.

It seemed like the doc could read my mind and continued to answer my next question. He said, “Then you may ask why pull out 4 teeth and not just one?”. Our teeth are more or less symmetrical. So if one tooth were to be pulled out, then the jaw will tilt to one side. To prevent that, the corresponding tooth on the other side of the jaw would have to be pulled out. Now it so happens that not only is our jaw symmetrical horizontally, but also symmetrical vertically. So the corresponding teeth would have to be pulled out from the opposite jaw.

Then came the really shocking bit… I still had a milk tooth!!! So in my case, first that tooth would have to be pulled out – making it five teeth gone! It took me a while to realise what had just been said. The doc pointed to the sole survivor of the species called milk tooth. It was only later on, after returning from the clinic that everything began to fall in place.

So now it seemed certain… my teeth would go away – my signature vampire-like teeth would be destroyed. My worst fear was coming true. As I was writing the obituary of my teeth, the doc began chatting about how most of the people who had got such a surgery done were unhappy about their teeth. Most people wanted that beautiful perfect set of teeth (which all the glamorous people in the world have) and would mainly get such a surgery done for cosmetic purposes. And then I came in the discussion – I think it was something like she may not like-her crooked teeth… Hold on! Who said I was unhappy with my teeth? On the contrary I was happy with my unique teeth. I had to step in and defend myself!

I made a faint sound and the doc turned towards me with a questioning look. I said with an embarrassing smile that I was happy with my teeth. The rest of the conversation involved all three of us.

The doc then began to briefly explain that pulling out the teeth was not a problem but it was the subsequent two years which would require commitment and that it should not be taken lightly. Only after discussing with the whole family should the procedure begin.

It was then that I began to see a tiny almost microscopic ray of light. Is the doc giving us an option to avoid the operation? Was it not supposed to be like I had to get my teeth pulled out and there was no question of opposing the doc’s advice? After a little more discussion I tried to clarify whether the surgery was going to be a purely cosmetic procedure. The doc said that the overbite was only a mild to moderate problem which did not require such a procedure. He said that in his area of specialization, all such procedures tend to be cosmetic procedures only. The overbite was not so severe that it needed the surgery.

Whoa! So what about that tooth that was on its way out? After enquiring my age, he said that the phase within which wisdom teeth come starts at 18 years of age and can extend till the age of 25 years. These teeth almost invariably cause problems when they come out. He said that they would automatically shift down over a period of time. So no problems? Apparently.

While in the car, I remembered the dream I had had in the morning. All this while I had thought it was a manifestation of my worst fears (which it most probably was). But now I felt (this may seem very weird) it could have been my sub-conscience warning me about my milk tooth. Could I have predicted the turn of events? May be I had started developing a new sense… my sixth sense.

Sweet!

Categories
Musings

Getting the monkey off my back!


For almost a whole year, I have had a tough time trying to negotiate my way around a project that I was very enthusiastic about. It began in the month of April last year, and I had rather grand plans for it. Now, looking back to what I had planned, I think I ended up trying to bite off more than I could chew. Perhaps it was too ambitious.

Being the superstitious person I am, I wanted to keep the project a closely guarded secret, and then reveal everything later on. For I am of the opinion that you should never divulge your plans before executing them. Otherwise, the plans never materialise. But, as luck would have it, that did not happen.

Due to unavoidable circumstances, word got out that I was working on a short video. And very soon, what was supposed to be a month’s work just kept getting delayed and delayed and delayed… I began losing interest.

With great difficulty I managed to get the footage together. But by that time, I had begun my freelance project. Once I was done with it, I thought, well, time to finish what I had started. Even as I was thinking about getting to work, the annual creative minds competition was announced, and I was selected to work on a small 2D movie. Unfortunately, it couldn’t be completed on time, and ended up being shelved. It was quite a setback, even though I was shortlisted for the finals in another category.

Soon after things had settled a little, I decided to get back to my project.

But this time, technology let me down. Not once, but thrice. Something or the other just kept cropping up. Finally, when things did work out, over six months had gone by and I was getting frustrated. I thought I would quickly finish it and get it off my back. But, when I took my finished project for evaluation, it received a very negative reaction. One after another, people came up with flaws and suggestions to fine-tune it.

I did the video-editing from scratch and created animated footsteps. That again took a lot of time. The next time I got it reviewed, I was told the audio was not good enough. And that there should have at least been some sort of an interview in it. That really threw me into a fit of rage. I had given up.

Then one day, my uncle paid us a visit, and saw the project. Not bad, he said. Just add one interview. That should make it complete. I was severely dejected. But he told me to complete it. He made a few suggestions, and they were very good ones too. But I was mentally tired. The very thought of looking for an interview, editing the video again, and changing the whole story, was too daunting.

The video was now haunting me. I felt like I had let myself down and I was severely disappointed.

It took me a few more months to actually think about touching it again. I kept thinking every morning about doing something about it, but it never happened.

There are times when you plan for things, and they never work out. And there are times when you don’t consciously plan for something, but its there, lurking quietly at the back of your mind, without you realising its there. It was just one of those days, I just mechanically opened the file and started editing the audio. What I had feared would take me weeks, I ended up doing in a day. Well, not exactly a day. But the major part was accomplished on that day, and some fine-tuning the next day.

And today, I feel that I have done it. For a major part of the process, I felt I could not accept the outcome. It was a failure. It failed to impress anyone.

But over the last few months, I have come to accept it for what it is. Partly because I have little choice, and partly to get over the setback. Unless I learn to accept it, with all its flaws, no one else will. It still does not have the interview, and the audio is yet to be evaluated. But unlike the other times when I was scared of a negative review, I can say right now, that I am satisfied with the outcome.

I have finally realised that I was looking at it through a completely wrong perspective. I was trying to impress others. Ideally, whatever we do, we must always strive to do it for ourselves. If there is an external benefit we are seeking, it will never make us happy. But if we are satisfied, no one else matters. It was not for others that I took on the project. But for myself.

It was not exactly what I had imagined it to be. There are perhaps a million flaws in it, some of which I am aware, others, which I am yet to be told about.

Perhaps sometime in the future I will look back and say, that’s crap! But right now, I would say its done. I know its not yet got the final nod, but no matter what will be said about it, I’m not changing it. It may not be complete, or perfect for someone else, but to me, its just right!

You can watch the documentary, The Lost Sultanate, on YouTube.

Categories
Musings

The pigeons shall inherit the Earth!

Our master - the pigeon

They enter at will, and leave as they please. They go about their daily lives without any reluctance, as if we don’t even exist. And should they choose to fly, we must bow down and make way. For it is their territory, and we must not come in their way.

Our balcony was a beautiful place. Actually, it was part store-room, and part junk-yard. But it was ours. Until they invaded.

Our association with pigeons is a long one. In fact, no conversation is ever complete without a little anecdote about the pigeons that have enslaved us. I’m not joking. Today, the little feathery bundles have wrecked havoc in our balcony.

Our master - the pigeon

At first, they seemed so cute, so innocent and so adorable. With their beaks they would peck at themselves, pick up sticks, build nests and occasionally crash into a window. When they had initially arrived, we had welcomed them with open arms. We allowed them to build a nest and raise chicks. One by one, they came and soon, there there were more than we could handle.

Now, our balcony is ruled by the most dreadful of dictators.

Okay, maybe they don’t curtail people’s freedom of speech, but they sure know how to get their way. Their means are subtle, but surely effective. They are such beautiful judges of people. They know whom to trust, and who will harm them. With just one little tilt of the head and the most melancholic look, they’ll make you dance to their tune.

In many ways, they are like spoilt children – stubborn to the core. We’ve tried several times to prevent them from building a nest. Every single day is a constant battle to weed out the sticks. But they just won’t give up. They know, that no matter how many times we tear apart their half-built nests, we wouldn’t harm them.

And to make matters worse, they’ll just decide to lay eggs on the floor – and abandon them. So now we feel guilty of killing yet another unborn chick. There can be nothing more cruel than that!

If any pigeon is reading this post, my request to you is, please don’t ruin our little open space… You’re definitely welcome to visit, but its still our property, and we’d like it to remain so…

Categories
Musings

Identity crisis


If you’ve ever lived away from relatives, away from your native place, then you have experienced what is called an identity crisis. You are a second generation migrant, so you do not fully understand the local culture. But you do not know your own culture that well either. Since you visit relatives in your native place, you are in touch with your culture, but just about. So you’re stuck somewhere in between. Neither fully here, nor fully there.

This identity crisis is something that sets in early in life, and never goes. Loyalties are divided. Your ancestors belong to one place, but you have grown up in a different place. You have adopted certain qualities from both sides, and you are trying to find out where exactly it is, that you belong. Where you live, others find it hard to understand your roots. And you find it hard to adopt theirs. You prefer your own culture, and wish people around you would try to accept you for who you are, and not try to impose their own culture on you.

In your native place, you feel like a stranger. You have not grown up in that environment, not had the chance to know so many relatives, and find it hard to speak the language that is supposed to be your mother-tongue. You have a few relations with whom you have been fortunate to interact with your whole life, and there are a host of others whom you have probably met once in your life, if you’re lucky. When you meet them, it feels like some formality. You do not know how to react, you feel uncomfortable.

Then there are special occasions, like weddings, when everyone shows up, and you feel completely out of place. You don’t know most of the people, and they don’t know you. Half of them are living on the other side of the country, and the other half on the other side of the world. Many times, you have to double check and find out how it is that someone is related.

This is when you begin to doubt if you really belong there at all. So where do we belong?

I’ve never been surrounded by relatives. It’s always been the four of us. Five, till my grandmother(father’s mother) was with us. Relatives have always been at a distance. I hardly know anyone on my father’s side, as he hardly is in touch with anyone. The little I have come to understand of my father’s family is when we get news of a wedding, or a funeral. It’s very strange. Even if you’re completely cut off from family, somehow, from somewhere, the letter reaches you.

On my mother’s side, I’ve tried fruitlessly to keep track of the hundreds of relations. It’s hard enough trying to get to know your cousins who have grown up in completely different circumstances and environments. Add to them you parent’s cousins, and their kids, and your grandparent’s cousins and their families!

I sometimes envy my friends who have practically every one of their family members living within five kilometres of their house. At least it is easier to keep track of them! On festivals they can visit each other, arrange get-togethers with cousins and enjoy.

It must be so much fun to live in large families, or at least in the same town as most of your family. You can decide to meet up and have lots of fun. I’ve heard my parents tell stories of their childhood, when the entire family would be together, and all the cousins would get together and play a game or enact a play, and just have a great time.

But when you live thousands of miles away from them, you begin to feel all alone. It feels like there’s no one around. And the feeling becomes worse when there is a festive occasion. Your friends are busy with their own families, and your family is far far away…

Categories
Musings

What’s in a name?


That is the question a very famous playwright once asked. So if there really is not much in a name, why is there so much fuss over it?

When we are born, we are supposed to take up the ‘family’ name. This family name is dubbed the ‘surname’, or the ‘caste’, and who knows what else. More often than not, we are forced into taking up the father’s name. Why? After all, wasn’t it my mother who brought me into this world, taking a lot of pain and making a truckload of sacrifices? I’ll admit I’m a feminist, but my point is I’m equally my mother’s child, and my mother admittedly deserves much more credit for bringing me into this world.

Even application forms ask for the father’s name. And the government takes the liberty of attaching your father’s name after your own name in your passport. Well, its my name isn’t it? It’s a mark of identification right? Then at least allow me chose my name. What if I decided to adopt my mother’s name? There are matriarchal systems in India too. And I’m really proud that somewhere, women are given their dues, and I wish there were more such systems.

And then there’s this whole issue of changing your name after marriage. Well, am I no longer my parent’s child? Well, this debate will keep raging as long as humanity will exist.

But what drove me to write this post is not the feminist angle, but the regional angle. Yes. This is the part when I complain that South Indians are alienated in India. You see, we put our ancestors’ names before our own name, and usually use it as an initial. I have lost count of the number of times I have to sit down explaining to people around me, “No, that’s not my name, that’s my dad’s!”

Here is where most of the government application forms allow us some leeway. They allow us to write our names the way we want to. There is just one space for name. So I can feel free to put an initial before my name.

But what’s with these private companies? Why are there 3 columns for my name. I have one name. I don’t have a middle name. That’s the American way, or maybe the British way. I don’t know. But I sure know that it’s not the Indian way.

The other day I was trying to book tickets online. And for the billionth time I was asked to fill in my first name, middle name, and last name. What’s worse, it was supposed to match the name on my photo identification.

Well, how do you suppose that’s going to work?? You tell me to provide my name, and then you tell me how I should write my name by providing 3 columns. And then you expect it to match the name on the government identification, which of course has a single name with an initial!!

So now, even centuries later, Juliet’s famous lines have fallen on deaf ears.

Categories
Musings

The disease called cricket!


Warning! I am about to sound clichéd. But that’s OK. You see, I am an Indian. And all Indians have this genetic disease. For anyone curious to know the various symptoms and effects of the disease, I hope this will provide enough fodder.

Firstly, I am very excited about writing this. So much so, that immediately after last night’s match, I began drafting a post about it and I did not get sleep for quite some time. And I did not even watch the match! So that just proves how severe the infection is.

Yesterday, India took on England in the world cup. All of us were sitting and watching the match in bits and pieces. We just got the news that we had won the toss and decided to bat first. We had a decent start, and there wasn’t much excitement. Then word got around that Sachin Tendulkar had started hammering the Englishmen. Ah! Now things were interesting. We all gathered around the television to admire the little master as he effortlessly scored yet another century and smashed yet another record. Everything was as per the textbook!

And then the wickets began falling. One, two, three… And then panic set in. “Go inside! You’re a bad luck charm!” “Switch it off!”… Well, hopefully you got the picture.

One by one the wickets tumbled. With every fall of a wicket, we felt like we were being stabbed. It was agonising. Soon, we were all out!

But we had a big score. Yeah, it should have been bigger, but 338 was still a match winning total. Some consolation.

But, as we soon found out, the pain had only just begun. The English batsmen were off to a flying start. Boundaries flowed mercilessly. We could not bear the pain. So we decided to take the anaesthetic. We switched off the TV and went for a walk. But the horrors of the match followed us, and we kept in touch with the commentary every few minutes. Strauss was in sterling form and he lead the team with a brilliant knock. 200 for just 2 wickets, and plenty of time in hand. The match was all but lost.

Some people had gathered outside a small retail outlet. We joined them as a decision was referred to the third umpire. Complete strangers were discussing with each other what the decision should be. “That’s out! Clearly!” “Yes! Absolutely!” But then the umpire did not agree with us. It’s open to debate if that decision was correct or not. But I’ll say it was wrong!

We continued, with heavy hearts to reach home. And then I received a message. The eerie silence of the empty streets was interrupted by the sounds of people cheering. Something had happened. We tuned in. 4 wickets down! Ah! Finally, some respite. A sight for sore eyes. But there was still a long way to go.

We stuck by our superstition and turned off the broadcast. And sure enough another fell. We tuned in again. And then another… But they continued to make runs comfortably. We turned it off! Every time we turned it off, a wicket fell! Soon they were 8 wickets down! Well, surely we couldn’t lose it now! And then they hit a six. And then another! Oh no!

The tension was unbearable. Last over – 14 runs, 2 wickets. We turned it off yet again. We waited patiently for a few balls to be bowled. We waited for some cheers, some sounds. But the sounds outside, and the messages on the phone were discouraging. It was all lost.

Well, at least we did not see it! We tuned in to the result. And we could scarcely believe it.

It was a tie. A TIE.

For all the sacrifices we made, after all this emotional trauma, no result!

They say cricket is a funny game. But for those suffering from this disease, we just don’t seem to get the joke. Whether or not cricket is funny, the joke’s definitely on us!