Bhat a Bhest Oph Time (What a waste of time)

Bhat a Bhest Oph Time

La... lala... lala... la lalalala Lubh ij a bhest oph time! (Love is a waste of time) Is that true? Or isn't it this way... Love is the wonder drug, that which has always been there, nudging us from the outside and from the inside too. Love has always been there and yet never been discovered enough... To begin with, it brings life to the planet, it sustains life on the planet and it keeps life healthy and happy and multiplying. Is that a waste of time? I am sorry... I have a problem understanding this. So I decided to list out Bhat ij the Bhest oph time (What is the waste of time), if it ij not lubh. 

The other day I passed by a person, who it seems got very upset with me some time back, to the extent that she picked up the phone and shouted out at me. I tried my best to explain my point, going to the extent of visiting her at her home, bad idea I know now. I tried to make peace with her. Since she lives in my apartment complex, I could afford to do that. She was alright when I met her. I liked her actually. I would have loved to associate with her. I really wanted her to be, if not friendly, at-least neutral to me. As luck would have it, it did not appease her. The next time I met her with a broad smile, she looked back at me like stone, it was not indifference it was more than that. It was a devastating look. I was strung hard and athwart. The matter was closed for me that very moment. I let her be. 

I met her again months later. It’s a large apartment complex where I live, it is easy to not see a neighbour for months, if they don't live in the same block. I did not bother her with even a hint of recognition. But then it showed on her face. A loath that made her otherwise soft features into something hard and unlikable. Her face dried up, I could see that her whole composure was tense at the very sight of me. I wondered if this is what she wants, neglecting me completely or she might rather let bygone be bygone. I left the matter there. 

I met her again after another hiatus of a few months. She was even stiffer and dry this time. I wondered why she hurts herself, when she actually wants to hurt me. However small the matter in question be. I know she is spreading something wrong about my Little Venture that she is upset with. I know for sure she is a primary cause for my Venture to kind of collapse in the middle under its own weight. I know that she is not sure she did the right thing. But I was also not very sure about my own venture. I was not sure I wanted it in the way I created it. I thought whatever she did, did not really matter in the larger scheme of things. I really wish she will not dry herself up, chafe herself and make herself depressed in an effort to destroy me. Because it really does not matter to me. I wanted to walk up-to her and tell her that. But I did not think she would understand. She has gone too far to regress now... I let her be with her misery.

Our health is in our two hands. Anything that makes us sick is a Bhest oph time! Contempt, Anger, Jealousy, Burning up people's hopes and desires, Causing rifts, Hatred, Distrust, Enmity, Hurting others people’s feelings or physique, Vengeful attitude, ... oh one can be creative and keep adding more to the list. These are all the opposite of Love. In-fact the worst enterprise on the planet is revenge. These are all the surest tools to make oneself unhappy. The question to ask is, do we really hate ourselves so much, that we would make ourselves unhappy, just so we can make someone else unhappy? Oh the answer is never yes, if you really listened. 

A few years back I was no less a dried pickle than this neighbour of mine. But then my quest for happiness and good health made me discover these age old, long forgotten wisdom. You can very well imagine me and this neighbour, both confronting each other like two mummified potatoes. Eyes dried and red, hands flinching as if to charge, face droll, body stiff as a stick, throat lumped up with suppressed anger. And then again, how would it help me to reciprocate the hatred? For the sake of a raisin, don't a raisin be said my heart. I have a whole world of people I smile at and they smile back at me, I'd rather nurture that.

I have a better idea, let 'em hate their heart's content, let 'em discover what's bad with me and let 'em memorise it all by-heart, the problem is… I will never quiz them or evaluate them on their knowledge base! Bhat a bhest oph time phor them (What a waste of time for them).  

When Parents Become Gods! Unmything some myths!

Remember the moral science lessons in school? Our Parents are like Gods to us and our teachers like our Parents! I wondered why complicate it, just be what you are! Parent - Parent, Teacher - Teacher... Simple! I must admit, they sounded a tad bit reassuring though! Imagine to have your God right in front of you, in broad daylight, talking to you, fussing over you, hugging you, worrying for you, lecturing you, scowling at you, threatening you, shouting at you and disciplining you... That was simple!

Now what are these Gods made up of? Certainly not of sterner stuff. They are primarily human and therefore full of faults and lagging and with developmental needs that run into hundreds of pages. A lot of them never attended to. No human, nobody, not one... can be God, even though no God is perfect! Yet every parent plays the role of God, and how?

It is a role that weighs us down to say the least. We worry and we worry ourselves down sick! The trick is for us to not be Gods and only then we can be Gods! Oh don't worry I like conundrums, trivia, puzzles and even rebuses... Don't bother with this statement yet. Let me be more specific...

I have often heard parents say these, and at times at the earshot of their children too... You would have heard these too... I may be guilty of a few of these offences too... My child is slow in writing, my child is poor in spelling, my child does not like to study, my child does not read books, my child does not understand this, my child is not good at sports, my child will NOT do this and that and so and so... When we say this, we ensure that our children pick these up as a traits... Like Gods we introduce them to newer and firmer beliefs that become true, by and by... We give them those failures just as if God would have written it for them in black and white.

And have you heard this? My child falls sick because I used to, as a kid... I don't know for sure if it is true, and even if it is, genetics is not as perfect a science as constructing of a space ship. You can have identical space ships, but never identical people. This is God's design to ensure perpetuation of life. Because if the same flaw replicated over and over in families, no one would exist by today, over these millions of years of evolution. The thing to be sure of is that, more often than not, our children are a new and genetically improved version of us, centuries of evolution is evidence in its favour. Chances of our children having the same disease as us might be really thin. And even if I am wrong by several miles, what is the point in discussing and reinforcing the beliefs about intra-family diseases? There is nothing to be gained from it.

I would like to unmyth some myths!

Child slow in writing… I read somewhere that, psychological age for writing is EIGHT! Our children are invariably introduced to writing as early as four years of age. Mind and hand coordination develops much later. So the kind of writing we do, where thoughts just flow out of our fingers on paper, is impossible for them that early. The best they do is to copy symbols as best as they can. Question is do you know of any ten year old who does not know how to write? 

Poor in spelling (read English spelling)… let’s begin with 'diarrhoea' and 'rendezvous' (there can be a major debate on how to pronounce this word) and 'psychosis'. Some of these words even have two different spellings! The good old Oxford English and the simplified American English! ‘Neighbour’ circuitous as it is, is ‘neighbor’ too! ‘Rigour’ is ‘rigor’, oh and ‘diarrhoea’ is ‘diarrhea’! No matter what you did, some spellings will always challenge you. This is what I learnt some time ago. There is a science behind how English spellings are learnt by children, there are specific psychological levels defined in term of age groups. This is because of the complexity and multiplicity of logical construct in English spellings. Just google it to know more. You will be surprised. Now the question is, do you know a fourteen year old who does not know how to self-correct spellings? Or who does not know at least enough English spellings to wade past, through their entire lifetime of correspondences?

Poor in number skills...  Probably re-looking at the teaching style will completely solve that for our kids. No one is poor in numbers, we can count, we can calculate and we can pretty much manage our lives with limited number skills. There are a host of tools. We should be creative with this problem... Montessori materials can help some kinaesthetic learners, online worksheets, can help the auditory and visual learners. And there are even games and apps to improve the skill. But if all fails, there is no reason to be talking about it. God has a design for every individual, some designs may not have number skills in it at all. That should be okay. 

Poor in languages… How is that possible? Without language there is no learning... And then again, there are dedicated materials in Montessori, mobile apps and games and worksheets and umpteen amount of material on the internet. Keep looking, something may click for the particular kid... Don't ever tell the kid she is poor in language... No point... Nothing to be gained. 

You see the point is we as parents also act as secret service agents, we filter information for our kids and pass on only that which is needed, all the rest are secured in top secret locations, never to be shared with them. Imagine yourself to be MIB and you will get the picture loud and clear.

This one is my favourite, whenever I hear it... My child does not like Hindi or Kannada or any other vernacular and pretty much, less favoured languages… This is spoken with a dint of pride! She will never like that language if we said that! Not because she does not like it, but because there is pride in not liking the language.

My child Vomits because I vomited, falls sick because I fell sick etc etc... It may be true. But as secret service agents, we have to appreciate that top secret information are not to be leaked. It is an information that our children can easily do without. Because too much information will do nothing to help them build immunity. And how do we know it is not the food habit, the late sleeping habit etc etc causing some of these problems? We don't know for sure, our child's paediatrician will make really interesting faces and remarks if we shared these details with her... but it makes for a riveting conversation over a cup of tea with friends.

In fact in our capacity as Gods we are really restricted in what we must be saying to our children, if we have any hope of not being over frantic, over indulgent, over interfering manipulative Gods, that is. Don't tell them they are poor, bad, difficult, destructive, obsessive, cranky, confused etc etc... Instead tell them the opposite, whether true in that moment or not. Tell them they are loving, caring, well-adjusted persons, tell them they care for their books and toys. Tell them they are fun people to be with. If it is God's desire it will come true! Very soon, before we knew it, they will become that. Because the child believes whatever we say. Better to say what we wish for them to be...

Sounds too simplistic? It is really simple I agree. You are what you think. If you think you are the best runner and if you lose a race, you will make sure you won the next one. If you think you can't run, you will never make an effort to win any race. 

The world out there is very hostile, everyone is criticising and curtailing everyone else, at least we as parents can choose not to help the world in demotivating our own kids!

We do act like God in our children's lives. You are a good singer and viola, the child becomes good at singing, you are a good artiste, voila she is, you are good at maths, voila she is, you are a wonderful human being, and voila that is what she becomes. And if all this affirmation does not really have a ‘voila effect’, at-least we create a positive thinker, a happy person and more than anything we will build an effective relationship with our children. Positivity will only breed positivity! Try it, it works... let’s be the God we are!

Dear Readers, these are my experiences of being a mother. They are my beliefs and thoughts, the way I saw it when I was myself a kid and the way I see it now as a mother.

Unleashing the Child's Imagination: The Magical Sea World

Drip drip drip... the water trickled to the floor from a glass that had just overturned on the table, drop by drop, into a pool it had created on the floor. I ran to the utility to pick up a cleaning cloth to dry up the water, lest someone may slip. But then my daughter, my seven year old fairy princess, sat down next to it, with a tiny dolphin cut-out in her hand and she said, "Mamma the ocean, just right for my dolphin." see she is learning to swim." I had ordered for the month’s grocery and our toothpaste, a pack of Colgate Strong came with cutouts of seaworld characters. My daughter was very excited to find a dolphin in the pack and had been thoroughly enjoying with her new toy!

The cleaning cloth limply hung in my hand and with a whiff and a whaff... the small pool of water filled the entire room, the entire house, the entire neighbourhood, we were in an ocean with a little dolphin who did not know how to swim.

"Won't we drown my dear?" I asked gently, not wanting to obstruct the chain of imagination, just nudging it a little.

"Oh no Mamma" She announced triumphantly, "we had kelp for dinner" Kelp is seaweed, we had palak-paneer for dinner, which she calls kelp!

Little one was in-charge of teaching this particular dolphin to swim in the swimming school. Besides the baby dolphin, two baby whales, five baby flounders, three baby salmons were also enrolled at the swimming, diving, breaching and spy- hopping school, run by none other than my daughter. A marine enthusiast ever since she read these books on marine life, with that long hatted cat.

The baby crocodile was declined admission, as they snap too much and disturb the school. My daughter courteously asked the Mamma crocodile, if she could take her baby to a pool nearby, where her friend specialises in crocodile's snappy swimming lessons. "By the way," she added helpfully, "my mom said that, crocodiles don't live in oceans, so please get going before you get hurt."

The baby dolphin had some difficulty understanding what their experienced and weathered teacher was saying because, her dolphin tongue was a little different from the teachers', but a small bite of kelp administered to the dolphin, solved the problem.

I got inquisitive and asked, "How are the flounders and whales and the salmons able to understand you without a dose of the seaweed?"

"Oh that is easy," she explained condescendingly, "the effect of yesterday's seaweed has not worn off yet."

And then there was an intrusion, the entire school was post haste instructed by their teacher to hide behind one leg of the dining table, which was presently a coral reef. With froths and bubbles, there came a group of Lego divers, with their heavy exploration devices, hunting for a lost treasure. The school relaxed and came out of their hiding place. The divers asked the school of fishes and cetaceans (You see Dolphins, Whales and Porpoises are Cetaceans she explained), whether they knew anything about 'Captain Nemo's treasure'. It turned out that the treasure was right beside the other leg of the dining table, the other edge of the same coral reef. So off they went, but only to realise that, there was a giant shark chasing the divers. The school of fish whirled up a huge whirlpool in the ocean, causing the shark to get confused and it disappeared. The divers breathed a sigh of relief and thanked the school. Their teacher congratulated them for their bravery. And then celebrated with a...

Ding... Dong... that was the familiar sound of the door-bell, my daughter ran to the door to check who was there, as I wiped off the little pool below the dining table, which had just transformed into an ocean.

Look what a few magical seaworld cut outs and a small pool of water can do to your child's imagination! Go buy a pack of Colgate Strong and enjoy the stories that your child weaves around these magical characters!

Don't lie to your kid... Remember you said she is smart?

That moment, when our little bundle of joy is born, from the very first cry onwards, we are all certain and truly believe that she is the most intelligent one on the planet. We ignore the law of averages for once, as we begin to overemphasise her every action, so that anyone who is willing to lend an ear may know, that she is without doubt, ahead in achieving every milestone of her life and is indeed the smartest. We fuss over it, we fumble over it and we even surreptitiously fight with other proud parents over it. I am sure our children, if they could speak, would remark, "Okay that's ENOUGH!" 

My daughter went to day care from when she was five and half months. A very prestigious, well known day care, with the best facilities... there I go again…! Anyway the first thing the centre supervisor ever said to us was, like a pin to the bloated balloon. She said, "To us, every kid is alike, you may think she is the most gifted of all, but they are all the same you know!"

Hmmm I needed some water to gulp down that one, not that I had not suspected that by myself already! But this is not about kids being all the same. No... Please go ahead and believe in your parent instincts and say it aloud, your kid is the best... Because this piece is about them being smarter than us…

So then someone who is smarter than the rest of the world, won't she catch our every lie? Lying to a genius are we? You’ve been had! She will catch you and she will wonder who to trust? Isn’t your child the most sensitive, the smartest, the most sophisticated, the most gifted, the high IQ type kid of the 21st century? I can safely say in 2016 that, all parents in this group, all of them, each and every one… are from the slow, old, long gone, whimpering twentieth century. Lying to your kid? I am sure none of you did that!

I learnt it early, from some parenting manual! Do not lie to your kid, she will not trust you, she will be distressed and not trust any grown-up. Never lie was the lesson. Oh no it is not easy! Don't lie means open up the can of worms in public, wash dirty linen in the public and put up with cantankerous toddler in broad day light and make small talk of it! Oh no it is a daunting exercise.

Sometimes, just in very extreme cases, I have lied! To save the Planet, “The water has become cold, so turn off the shower”… To save her eyes, “Oh that's a load-shedding, no TV now.” She never suspected us, we were consistent in our lies. Just a handful of consistent white lies on a daily basis. But did I ever tell her that, her grand mom was at home, so come home fast? No... Did I ever fool her into doing something for a new toy I never bought? No... No never because I did not want to tell her a verifiable lie. Something that she would just find out to be not true. Load shedding not verifiable, because she did not understand the concept of electricity back then. She did not know that a lighted tube light and a revolving fan are proof that there is current. Water is cold... she did not know how to turn the tap. The thing is, she trusted us in these lies, because we built the trust with her, by not lying to her in too many occasions, by being consistent with her.

She would ask, “Will you buy me a chocolate if I did this?”

“No you just had one, if you did this, I will give you a hug and a kiss.” I would inform her.

“Will you buy me a toy for this?” She’d negotiate.

“No we just bought you a toy yesterday, I will make a beautiful badge for you for this one.” I would counter negotiate. All transparent, verifiable conversations. 

There are lies we as parents cannot do without and we have to be careful in creating an atmosphere of trust outside of those few lies! Where do babies come from? “The Stork gets it of-course!” “Where is my cake?” Well tell her, “I ate it! Since you had left it.” “Gremlin took it,” might raise suspicion. She will throw tantrum if you tell the truth? Good… she will learn that she can’t get everything by throwing tantrum and that life can at times be unpredictable!

Here is a story that stuck to me all these years. My daughter was probably two and half then. My neighbour and I took the world's smartest kid and the planet's smartest kid to the park. Both of them about the same age, played in the park, in the world's most unique ways, I can assure you, I was there!! Yes… Yes… give me the LOL.

It was probably 7:00 p.m., Probably a Friday, I still could let my daughter play a little longer, but my neighbour had something important to do at home. I agreed to spend some time at her home with the kids playing there. Plucking our toddler out of the park was a challenge back then... And here we had two terrible twos to extricate from the play area and take them no place more boring than home.

Pat! my friend made a promise to her little one, “Come home I will give you a chocolate.” The kid agreed. To my daughter I said she would not get one, she could decide whether she wanted to come or not. She agreed because her friend was going.

Soon I realised there were no chocolates at the other end! I excused myself from my neighbour’s house and rushed home and got a chocolate, hidden behind me. I offered it to the mom, so she could give it to her daughter, after my daughter and I had left. Oooh what a complicated plot!!! Silly me! 

That is when she said, "You know I don't want to encourage my daughter to have chocolates, please take it back." … It was benumbing, befuddling, I stood there unable to move from where I stood, for a few seconds, with embarrassment and hurt, as the rudeness sunk in... Have I interfered?  But... but she just made a promise of a chocolate... why promise one, when you will never give it? Mollified after those few moments, I began wondering. Is it possible? This mom claims her daughter is beyond her age, unabashedly with numerous anecdotes to drive in the point. Is the kid also stupid enough to not notice the lie? From then on I became a mute spectator to many many such episodes some grievouser than others…

I will leave it to the readers to guess what it did to the child. Commenting on such a sensitive topic is not my objective. Yes, better senses prevailed, when things got out of hand... Every child deserves a perfect childhood, I am sure this other kid is getting one too. Parents are not Gods. They make mistakes and that is how they grow. The bringing up happens on both ends, child brings up the parents, by their many reactions and actions. Parents bring up the child, in all the many ways we already know oodles about.  

Why do we lie to our kids? What is it doing to them? Are we really solving a problem or are we creating a bigger more systemic one? 

He Loves Me... He Loves Me not... 'You Be Contented' - Part 4

Anjali coiled herself in the bed... This was a game she had always played with herself since childhood... She imagined she was the 'Very Hungry Caterpillar', settling down as a cocoon. She believed she would wake up a butterfly next morning. Colourful wings red pink and blue, and she would lift off from the bed, up... straight into the blue sky...

When she was little, she woke up a butterfly too. She would pretend to be a butterfly, her dad would carry her around in the house and she would flutter her Mom’s dupatta... Her parents loaded her cupboard with butterfly frocks and butterfly wings and laces and frills... she was indeed their butterfly.

Gautam was her neighbour, a few years older to her, she saw him in the elevator, at the badminton court, sometimes loitering with his friends, but mostly with a lot of fat books. She did not think he ever noticed her. Sometimes she would pick up a rose, a chrysanthemum, a marigold or a compound leaf and pluck it petal by petal or leaf by leaf, saying... he loves me, he loves me not... She would make sure that the last petal or leaf was always 'he loves me'... She reasoned, what was the point in tragic ends. She believed in comedy, she believed in happiness and she believed in believing in everything! Could a butterfly's wish be denied?

She was just past her graduation when Gautam's mom approached her's. “Anjali is just the girl,” she said. “We have literally seen her grow here in our neighbourhood and fashion into a beautiful young lady”

“But she is still studying... I am not sure if she wants to have a career.” Her mom said.

“But she can be whatever she wishes to be... We will let her be... whatever it is,” said his mother.

And so Gautam and Anjali were married... No one ever asked Anjali what she wanted for herself, other than whether she would marry Gautam and ofcourse wasn't that the last petal in every flower, the last leaf on every stem? “Yes, Yes, Yes,” she said.

Marriage was all fairy tale affair... Anjali was on top of the world. There was a hurried courtship period when she learned of Gautam's love. He had doubled up his effort to make his career, he did not want to miss the chance to spend the rest of his life with the most luxurious, luscious butterfly he had ever come across. The reason why she saw him so often in the elevator, in the lobbies, in the nearby grocery store and wherever else she went was because, he made sure he was in all those places at the right time. Oooo Anjali's knees turned into jelly and she melted like butter. It was a true fairy tale.

Anjali's address changed by just the flat number, she did not bother to change her permanent address anywhere. She did not have much correspondence coming her way either. Some brochures of beauty parlours, jewellery stores and departmental stores...

Shruti aunty became Mummy ji. Usha di became her sis-in-law. Oh that charismatic Usha di, the one whom every girl in the neighbourhood emulated. She was just the best in whatever she did. A pride of Shruti Aunty... ooops Mummy Ji. Older to Gautam by several years, Usha di had completed her education from a leading management institute, 'the best!' As Mummy ji would suggest. She was married, had two kids and was in a high ranking role in a multinational. The only respite was, as Anjali soon realised, that she lived in a different city. But in truth, she was always there in Anjali's household.

Early morning when Anjali left her cocoon and came out from her room, fluttering in her beautiful attire and jewellery, Mummy ji would mention in the passing, you know, Usha wakes up at five in the morning. Packs her two children to school, makes sure the home is taken care of and then leaves for her high paying, high ranking job. I am so proud of her. First time around Anjali joined in with Shruti Aunty - Mummy ji and praised Usha even more... But then day after day, Usha became a constant feature in her life.

Oh it just began to pile up on Anjali, so much so that one night when Gautam embraced her in one of those tight, cuddly and lustful embrace, the one they waited for all day... it felt a little too tight to her...and then she realised that Mummy ji was sitting right in the middle of them saying... "Usha can type in a mail to her boss, even as she makes love to her husband..." Eeeeeek she shrieked!!!! She realised she was getting psyched up...

And then, by and by, Mummy ji became a constant feature in Anjali's bedroom. She was there when Anjali woke up, telling her about how Usha makes her bed with one hand and brews tea with the other. She was there when Anjali took bath, telling her how Usha could scrub her body better than anyone in the world, she was there when Anjali read her novels, telling her that Usha read such serious literature... And of-course she was filling all the space between Anjali and Gautam, so that they had fewer embraces, fewer smiles and laughs to share and fewer moments together. No, Mummy ji never really came into their private space, but she was there in Anjali's mind... Everywhere she went.

And then when it started mounting in her head, she told Gautam about it. "It irks me," she said, "It bothers me. Can you please tell Mummy ji about it?" She thought he would understand. He was her perfect husband. The love of her life, her lover...

But he looked quite perplexed... he said, "Do you have any idea how much worse women have to go through? Mummy has her quirks... But it is not as if she is hurting you!" 

Anjali was shocked, to say the least... Was Gautam suggesting that not hurting her physically is an act of kindness towards her? And therefore was he suggesting that she should not complain about anything that bothers her anymore? Because of-course they would never torture her in any other way but in this one single thing! In-laws have their reputation to protect! Anjali was disillusioned, devastated, despondent, distort...

That night she coiled up in a cocoon again.... But this was no play, this was a nostalgic, consoling self-hug... reminiscent of the game she played ever since she was a child... She did not know if she would ever be a butterfly, the closest she had felt to being one, was now looking more like a make-believe, sham! She was not Gautam's butterfly!

You never know when your dreams can come true, do you? They just have a way of coming true, if you really believe in them. The next morning Anjali had planned to bake some cake... She baked the fluffiest cakes in the neighbourhood, everyone knew that... While she was meticulously measuring every ingredient... Mummy-ji remembered Usha again. She said something about Usha baking cake for her children's birthday, the best cakes she knew.

Anjali froze, and then she stopped her baking. She typed in a quick SMS and hit send, on her phone. She carefully put away every ingredient for later, in small containers and jars. She was glad she had still not cracked the eggs and fluffed them - that would have gone waste! She picked up her purse from the room... She said, "Mummy ji, I have got some work, I have told Gautam, I will be away for a bit, see you." Mummy ji stopped at her track, where? She asked... but Anjali was already pulling the door shut...

She did not return for lunch. She had forgotten her cell phone at home. She did not come for evening tea either. Mummy ji missed the elaichi tea that Anjali served her with hot pakoras every evening. The bell did not ring at all. Anjali just turned the key and opened the door, just minutes before Gautam was about to return from work… She had been to the library all day. She had five books tucked under her arm, three ‘Mills and Boon’, one book on ‘Cooking a Romantic Meal for Two’ (She would have to just improvise a bit to make it three) and Shakespeare's 'As You Like It'. Later, maybe tomorrow, she had decided, she would meticulously compare the literary extravaganza to understand why 'Mills and Boon' are junk and 'As You Like It' a classic, when the fact of the matter was, that both dealt with love and romance. 

She reasoned, what is the point in taking Mummy ji seriously, what is the point in comparing myself to Usha. I can fill my day and my time with something more exciting, interesting and uplifting. The butterfly will find her wing eventually!  

Are you the 'TDH' type or the 'Alliance Invited' type

Read this to the end, because in the end you could test to check which type are you... Don't miss the suspense by scrolling down already!

Are you a person who believes in the mushed up romance, married the man or woman of your dreams, a TDH (Tall Dark Handsome) or some such definition of an ideal man or woman, did you marry for Chemistry? Or are you someone who married the old fashioned Indian way, the 'Alliance Invited' type. For the sake of convenience let’s call the two types TDH and Alliance Invited. It does not matter how you married, you might discover that you can jump categories! You may have had an 'Alliance Invited' marriage and you might be all mushy-mushy, besotted, inseparable, can-die-for-each-other couple. Or you may have had a marriage of your choice, the trophy called 'Love Marriage', but you might discover that it was more an alliance than an affair. I knew someone, dating a girl without the knowledge of his parents. He would take his girlfriend out to movies or lunch or anything, only if her mother also came! Goes without saying there were differences in their views (the boy’s and the girl’s) in this matter. The point in everyone's favour here is... nothing is wrong with being in either of the categories. 

While a lot has been said about arranged marriages being arcane, inconceivable to the westerners, mysterious, unnatural, absolutely abnormal etc etc etc... I choose to take offence to that line of thought and so would many, many of you out there. The two forms of marriages are intertwined in our tradition, like a fine yarn and both form of marriage has been equally accepted in our country. Marriage after love and love after marriage.

The story of Heer-Ranjha is oh so aching romantic. Heer and Ranjha a social unequal, fall in love. Heer is married off to another man, Ranjha finds her in her marital home, unhappy and longing only for him. He brings her back to her parents. Her parents finally approve of the Heer-Ranjha marriage. Yet they are killed by the steadfast, jealous uncle, who poisoned Heer's food... killed on their wedding day, Heer by deception, Ranjha by choice, at the altar of love, because the one he loved had ceased to live. Heart rending, tear jerking, oh so mushily romantic and devastating all at the same time, isnt it? And there are more, Shiri-Farhad, Sohni-Mahiwal, Sanyukta-Jaichand, why even bother to look at modern times, look at the open display of love between Krishna and Gopis? I don't know how to relate to that. But we all, as a culture, respect it.  I don't need to write a lot, numerous accounts of such unfaltering love have been read, re-read, made into motion pictures, sung in songs and engraved in our minds and our hearts.

Here is another story, the story of queen Hadi Rani, newly wed to Maharana Rao Ratan Singh of Mewar, sometime in the seventeenth century. Just after their marriage, infact on the night of their marriage, Rana was summoned to join the battle against Aurangzeb, to save the modesty of Prabhawati, another Rajput princess. The accounts differ in the matter of exact timing of summon for the war. Either the night of marriage or early the following morning. Let’s just stick to one that is more awe inspiring, more romantic, more oh-so-tragic. 

Rao Ratan Singh was visibly ambivalent about going to the battle, leaving his young bride that night. When convinced by the queen to leave in haste, he sent back a messenger to the queen, asking for a memento from her. Hadi Rani sensed that she was an impediment in Maharana's way to fight a successful battle, he was enthralled, beguiled, bewitched by her that day. He would probably try to save himself for her, rather than give it all up, to win in the true Rajput style. 'Rajputs are no cowards', she was taught by her mother, she realised that history would shame her for holding back Rana's feet. At the spur of the moment, that very short, hurried, stiffening, embarrassing moment for a Rajput Queen, the young bride could think of only one unmistakable, mordant, acerbic memento to inspire the captivated Rana to fight the battle. Her head, her last breathe with it, which she sent to Rana on a salver! Her head to strengthen Rana for the war, on a silver tray! 

He wore the memento to the battle, around his neck, he won the battle, he cut his head off in the end, in one single chain of events! He had lost interest in life, having abided with love's final bidding!  

She sacrificed her life to send him to the battle, he sacrificed his on the altar of love, for she was no more! Isn't this a moving tale? A mere arranged marriage…

And there are more if you want to turn the pages of history, Ram-Sita, you may differ on this, but they did not have any courtship and no promises before their marriage. The Swayamvar with the bow, her father's idea, somehow took away from Sita, the right to choose her groom and handed it to those men in that ceremony and to their strength and skill to hold and to string the formidable bow. It was an Olympic matrimonial event! Sita the coveted trophy... It could have been any man...

The point being that, stories of powerful love is there in both forms of marriage. If rest of the world cannot understand our social system, well these traditions were not made for them to understand. They were meant for us for some reason we may agree or disagree with, either way it’s a choice we can make. 

How did I begin thinking about this? I refrain from even taking sides here! Well, this thought came to my mind because I read a query in a Facebook group of which I am a member. My reality check of who we are, as a culture and a cohesive group of people... A mom of a one year old had apparently kissed her ex, in the presence of the kid, in one weak moment, she was worried if the kid would remember. 

Now the test... those of you whose jaws dropped at this revelation, you might be, at heart, the Alliance Invited Indian at the core... Just can't understand what this moment-of-weakness is all about. Those whose jaws did not drop, those who are asking for more questions... you could be the TDH type, moved and carried by the heart. Making mistakes like this one and making amends along your life, because you are seeking something more from romance in each moment! Who is anyone to judge either of you? 

I don't know how to judge this incident... there is no information whether her marriage is still there, whether she is happy in her marriage or whether she is in cross roads in her marriage. None-the-less there were comments that she should be chaste to her husband... we don't even know whether her husband is around! This is how our society teaches us to see things... You have a one year old... you are a wife too! You are a wife... you must be happy! You must be ruining your marriage with this one weak moment!

Any harm in breaking this stereotype? 

Dear Readers, a serious question for us, some of you may wonder why write about it at all? What is it worth? When I read this query that I shared above, the only thing that flashed was that, I didn't want to express my opinion. Don't I have enough of my own worries that I should be sorting out other's worries too! But then at a higher level, I feel we women tie ourselves to a high standard and then shatter ourselves by breaking them... I don't really know in which camp each of us falls, but we can be a little less judgmental in the end of the day! I neither support nor oppose whatever this woman shared... I just hope she will make all the right choices. 

Rupa Can Stitch... Oh no She can't be a Tailor - 'You Be Content' Part 3

Rupa loved to look far away at the horizon from her perch at the 22nd floor of her home at a luxury apartment building, which was the tallest building in the area. She felt that, the point where the earth meets sky is the answer to everything. If you are tall enough to touch the sky you have everything in the world, she thought. It was not achievable in truth, but then from her vantage point she felt she was closest to sky. She thought she was Rapunzel sometimes, any moment, a witch would call out to her to lower her hair. But she had short hair, so the witch would have to use the elevator. Besides there were no witches in her home, it was just her family and her dreams. Two different individuals she always felt. One inhabited her in the evenings and early mornings and only once they had left for work and school, she was inhabited by her dreams.

In her fifteen years of marriage, She was happy to be a loving and caring wife and happy to be a mother of two children who were now 13 and 11 years of age. She was happy with whatever deal she stuck in her life. 

"I want a home maker to make my home happy." She remembered, those were the first words that Amit had spoken to her, as she sat opposite him in her father's home, dressed, not totally decked-up yet with a lot of effort, to meet him, her prospective groom and his family, for the first time. Rupa was an average student. She smiled at those words, Amit took it for an affirmative. She did not imagine she would ever have a passion that would pursue her and engulf her to sickening degree. She thought that was all too well for her, to be a home maker. She liked the proposal, the guy, the family, everything. But just a small part of her, just one tiny bit of her, was revolted by this opening sentence of their first meeting! Are you looking for a 'home maker' or a 'house maid' who offers other personal services…? She forgave Amit for that mis-statement, understanding that men like Amit are brought up with limited vocabulary and limited desires. 

She was limited too, in her choices. She had been brought up a chaste Indian girl, with just one objective, she had to marry one day and that's that. She realised early in school that, she would not be one to carve a path for herself, by her academic feat... So she was fine with this arrangement. She did not consent, but she did not know how to answer to this direct insult and yet save this proposed relationship, which she had no real problem with. She could not be picky, could she?

She looked back at her life... As she was growing up, her mother's endless bantering over what she should and should not be doing in sasural (in-laws home), while she helped her mother in home and kitchen work… It acted as an internship, to prepare her for the inevitable appointment at sasural. And it was all very well. Rupa wanted nothing more than a life that her parents had conjured for her. But she did not understand this nagging desire in her... She shut it up and kept doing what she was doing...

Oh but there was more to her. She loved to stitch clothes. She loved to design her outfits. She loved to design outfits for her friends and neighbours. So much so, that the first gift that Amit ever gave to Rupa, was a sewing machine. For her first birthday after marriage. Amit was a reasonable man and they almost had a relationship of love, trust, affection and understanding, just like any married couple does. After she became a mom, Rupa stitched clothes for her little ones and the little ones of her friends and neighbours. Everyone who wanted some help with outfit, would come to Rupa for help. Her husband's colleagues also knew about this unique skill and kept making request for something stitched by her which, she proudly fulfilled.

It still came as a surprise to her, when her friend asked her why she did not think of starting a tailoring business. 

"No," she said, point blank, "where is the time!" 

"But this is all you do..." reasoned her friend... "You could as well establish your own shop..."

"Yes," thought Rupa, "this is all I do... Yes I can be an entrepreneur."

"Establish a shop? Do you have any idea what setting up a shop takes? It won’t be possible for you to do it," her husband was yelling at her..." Rupa stood stunned listening to him. "No you will not do all this. I told you I wanted a home maker, and that has not changed."

"But," she wanted to say, "I never told you I wanted a lover... I never told you I wanted you to be able to listen to me... I never told you I wanted a partner not a manager of my life...."

This was all very confusing for Rupa. One part of her wanted to give it all up altogether. She was after all living a happy luxurious life. “What is luxury?” She had asked the property dealer when she called to check about this flat of hers that was then under construction. They ended up buying the flat. Rupa still wondered, what is luxury? One part of her wanted her dream to become a reality. She was imagining herself sitting in her own tailoring studio. She wanted it! She had even thought up a name... 'Horizon' because there she knew everything becomes one, two disparate people seem together and happy from a distance. It is only when you come up-close that you know the truth. Rupa knew how to phase out and look at her life at the horizon. Strung together and happy.

She had a close group of friends, who had started her off on tailoring assignments. Rupa had saved up all her earnings from this secret business of her's, what pains she had taken to complete each assignment as fast as she could, so she did not have large bundles of clothes at home, raising her husband's suspicion. Sometimes even leaving the clothes, received for stitching, at friend’s homes, for safe keeping. "I don't have enough storage space at home, it will get soiled," she would say untruthfully, more for her own satisfaction. Her friends knew why... They knew it exactly, weren't they her conduits?

And now a big opportunity was knocking at her door. A neighbour who was running a boutique, right next to her apartment complex, was moving from the city and wanted to offer the space to Rupa on rent. All of the boutique's her existing customers would be retained, provided Rupa did a good job! And there was no doubt she would. 

But that one sentence, the very first that Amit ever spoke to her in private, held her feet like thick chains, like the ones that hold back the elephants! Many times she fantasized it was behind their back, she thought she had done enough for him to let him know she was more than just his fantasy of a wife. She thought, the two children she was raising were proof enough to show to Amit that it was not just a contract anymore, there marriage was all about love, affection, intimacy, attachment and warmth. For him to realise that these emotions were much stronger than surrender, succumbing, sacrifice and all those other meeker cousins of love. But Amit in some ways was still held up in those first few minutes. He did not want Rupa to get into any business. No matter what. That was the contract he felt he was entitled to uphold! He had chosen her profile before he chose her. It was totally a job offer, no more than that!

Rupa could do it... She could rent the boutique… She had the money she had saved from her secret tailoring job... 

Something gave Rupa a push, she was not herself anymore, not the way she had known herself to be, giving in to that constant chattering in her mind was not something she had imagine she would ever do. Let me give it a try at-least, she said to herself... She confirmed to the neighbour that she was taking the deal... She got into this secretive deal for the boutique without informing Amit... She already knew his answer in case she asked... And there she was, in her boutique, from the moment he left for work, to the time children returned from school, and then from the moment they went out to play to the point when they came back home. But this was not going to last long... Amit came home early one day and found her with a client in her boutique. Without a word, he went straight home, he waited for her to come back. 

She decided to put as much time between them as possible. She chose to go back home very late. He was waiting for her. The moment she walked in, all hell broke loose. Did she care that he had been at home for hours now and was hungry? Did she care for her children's home-works? Did she care for what she meant to him? Did she care how he was hurt? She kept calm... She had made up her mind... She said, "I want a supportive husband' did I tell you this when we met the first time? Well over the years this is what I have missed. You did not ask, I thought you understood. I will leave it to you to decide how you want to go about with this. Support me or take an amicable decision. I know I am not wrong."

Would there be a rephrased contract in their lives... or would they finally dissolve the needless petty contract and consummate their marriage, once and for all? It really does not matter, for there are just too many Rupas and Amits... any end is good enough, now that Rupa has herself by her side.

Rama the Juggler - 'You Be Content' Part 2

One rainy morning when Rama woke up, she saw the time was past 5:30 a.m. too late she muttered and rushed to the toilet. She had just thirty minutes to get her daughter's lunch box packed, she would then wake her up and get her ready for school. The bus comes at 7:00 but her daughter will easily take an hour to get ready, or 45 minutes in the least!

It was still dark outside, she could hear the sputter of falling rain from the terrace. Louder hollowed sputter coming from the corrugated sheet laid over the ducts of her apartment, muted drops from the terrace floor and the gazebo roof. She often gets morose on rainy days with a false sense of sadness jabbing her heart. She did not have time to meditate over any of that now, she quickly thought up two items to be packed in her daughter's breakfast and lunch box.

She set the water to boil in the electric kettle, put some rice to cook in a pan for her husband's lunch to be packed post haste, after her daughter left for school. She completely forgot to drink the hot water while she packed her daughters lunch and breakfast and readied the milk for her. Only at six she realised she had to have her medicine, which she quickly popped with the warm water.

"Wake up baby," Rama cajoled her seven year old. It takes her ten minutes to bring her daughter out of slumber. Rama likes to keep this time stress free for her daughter so she lets her have that time... Finally it was all done. Daughter dressed and ready, standing at the bus stop with Rama, waiting for the bus at 7. The bus came promptly on time and Rama rushed home to pack the next set of boxes and to prepare breakfast for her husband. She swiftly completed this task too. By 7:30 her husband had left for work.

She was feeling tired now, she did not want to go for her walk anymore. She rested for a few minutes and soon was getting ready herself. Rama had to leave for work at 8:30 and she did not have much time, her maid was here now, she could let her handle the kitchen and focus on getting ready. She was in her business attire having, her breakfast soon, and then she left for work.

Rama was responsible for managing an important profile in a multinational. As she drove to work, her phone started ringing. And Rama transformed. She was now all business and logic. Who would tell that she had been slogging since 5:30 a.m. in the morning? She was full of energy, as if this was the only thing she ever did. Get on calls and sort out issues of the company's internal and external customers.

Somewhat stuck by the self-realisation of this transformation, Rama mused... She had it all, a great family, a great husband, a beautiful, adorable bundle of joy, her daughter and a job of her dream, but she was always at the edge! Most of the time she felt like a juggler, juggling between… the home and family of her dream and the job of her dream. It did not seem to gel, the home and the work... She knew she had two identities... They call it split personality she reminded herself. I am not split personality. I am just split between choices. I wish I could have some simplicity in managing the two worlds. As rain drops frosted her windscreen Rama realised how her heart was caving in, that sputter of rain always brought that edginess in her! Maybe a cup of coffee would make her feel better.

Soon she was at the office, the moment she reached her seat, her manager met her and she could sense that all was not well. She instinctively knew it was the project she was working on. She just wanted it out of her way and that is what she did. It was almost as good as her best. Her manager offered, “But you are a go-getter Rama, you don't get contented, you are always bring more on the table, perfection, clarity, insight, whatever it is! Don't lose that skill of yours, he advised.”

Finally at her much needed coffee break Rama met up with her friend, 'her emotional sand bag at work'. She narrated the irony of her life. I am not complaining, I am not being impractical or unreasonable, she said, It seems no one ever asks me if I am tired or need some assistance. Why am I taken so for granted at home, when people at home know how big a responsibility I handle at work? Why is no one ready to take up small daily responsibilities? For me... house no home… comes first... and then comes work... Work comes first for me when at work... How can I handle two firsts? I don't seem to relax for a minute. I will complete my day here and will be off to work, to put dinner on the table on time. It is not as if someone will complain if I did not, but no one will help enough, unless I am sick that is! Why is it assumed that home is my responsibility alone and my work is only my problem!

“But Rama you know what a gorgeous life you have... You have a fantastic home, family everything, just the way someone would dream...” Said her friend... Her voice trailed off... Knowing where she was headed. The water ahead was murky... She knew this is how far she could get at rationalising, idle words spooned into her mouth by the people around her... Is that all? Good home, good family and no real respect? Her friend wondered. “We are the pillar of support for our families,” she muttered finally...

It was still drizzling outside, she could hear the gentle tap, tap, tap of water falling on the roof of the office cafeteria, frosting on the window panes around her, a million drops of water bulging and trailing down from those transparent glass sheets… Yes, said Rama, pillar-less ourselves we support the society, hopeless ourselves we provide hope to everyone, hapless ourselves we spread happiness in the world. Am I a corpse in Rigor Mortis, mistaken for a pillar of support? Don't I deserve to be helped, empathised with, cared for and indulged? Rama knew she had spoken too much, it was just her heart and mind whining under stress. She was happy to do all that she did...

She thought of the little being who brought smile on her face every moment. How she melts at the very sight of her daughter, that cherubic smile, those innocent idle talks. She thought of love that brought her and her husband together. The little things they do as a family, those holidays that they regale themselves with. She wanted it all and would go an extra mile to nurture her home. Could she ask for more? This is the life dunked and nurtured in love.

What she said was not so much for herself, as it was from the realisation that the entire feminine mass around her had been fed the same dialogues of contentedness as she had been. They were the cut copy paste of each other. Children of discontent, contempt... discouraged, downtrodden, dominated, disheartened. Yet they had the heart to build happiness around them in every heart they touched!

How should she ask for that equity, which the entire society, the entire civilisation, the entire human history conspired against her, not to give her? No, Rama was not unhappy now, she was glad she had sapped out her discontent... she was now quite content once again.... It was a rainy day, it was her nature… Rama gathered melancholy in her heart, at the sound of sputtering raindrops, mistaking it for her own tears of sadness. 

'You be Contented' A Weapon Against Women - Part 1

You should be contented, you have a great job, a great husband, beautiful lovable children and a great family (Read Marital Family)... You be contented you have a great husband, beautiful lovable children and a great family, so what if you don't work...? You be contented you have a great husband, and beautiful lovable children, so what if the family is difficult...? You be contented you have beautiful lovable children, so what if your husband is not all that great...? You be contented that you have a home over your head, so what if you don't have kids and not such a great husband and family...? You be contented you have yourself... so what if you lost everything! That last statement should have been the first to begin with... You be contented you have yourself! 

Why are women not enough for themselves? Why is all impression of contentment associated with their family bliss? Why should she not be always inwardly contented, happy or alternatively why should she not ask for more, if she has a blissful family life? The desire for more is natural and human. While there are values and there are duties, that are inseparable from every individual, there is yet a soul that needs to be tended to, with tender loving care and it needs to grow too.

In India often women are given education, just enough to get them past their father's door, in through the door of her marital home. A little bit more education and somehow all doors tighten. Too less education and then there are only walls, no doors going anywhere. This is ridiculous. Trapped in gossamer web of culture and tradition, she fails to notice her individuality within this whirlpool of unending expectations and undue disrespect! Girls in India are children of discontent, their birth a tragedy in many families, their ability to foster life is at once a blessing and a bane. 

What does a woman need? Maybe that right to take a detour from work once in a while to go shop or have a cup of tea with friends, while someone happily steps in to take care of home. Maybe the right to opt into and out of work as per her own vision of how her children should be nurtured. Maybe the right to disquietude without having to worry about cultural consequences. Maybe the right to not be a chattel of her family (parental and or marital) and her husband. Torture against women is an institutionalised affair, you need special laws to protect against dowry deaths and marital tortures. We can't even claim justice under general law, there is a need to speed it up, there is such a pattern to it! It is a vocation among certain class of society, organised dowry crimes!

Somewhere between the oft paining inside and the oft resilient outside, a woman always suffers the need to be just her and yet not be shamed for that. Just as much as I have been stereotyped, I have stereotyped. In many ways this piece is more a realisation than a complaint. Haven't we all? We are wired to question things in a certain way... we do it till we are questioned in the same way! How and when did we each realise that we were women? When did we realise that being a woman made us a lesser specie? There must be as many stories, as there are woman in the world. 

I decided to express this thought, with the help of four stories. This is a series of five blogs, four stories to follow this one!

The Day I Rewarded My Kid for Aggression

I was at work when I got the call, from my daughter's Montessori school. House of Children as they call it! My five year old had beaten up six kids, all by herself, in a single Bollywood style fight! How is it possible? I wondered... Her pre-school, which was very tolerant and which encouraged us to let our kid learn at her own pace, seemed to be having problem with this free minded girl, all of five, who chose to take matters in her hands.

As parent, we are supposed to feel sorry about such incidents. We must promise to mend our child's ways in future. I did all that, as if following some 'Parenting Manual'. My daughter was considered loving and caring. Parents would personally come to me to tell, how she goes out of her way to protect small children. What had come over her?

I flashed back at that moment... I was the most docile child, when I was a child, long long ago. One part of me felt proud, that she had stood up for herself. I did not know the whole truth yet. Beat six kids all at once!!!!! What is up with my child?

To begin with, this was her third year in Montessori, some of the sudden changes in her life were: 

- Firstly her teacher, who she was very attached to, had taken a break from work this year. 

- Secondly she is an October born. Now how can that be a reason? Well she was kept in Mont 2 this year, as she would be taken into a primary school system only after two years, unlike her other friends, who were born before 31st August and would move to primary school the following year. Her closest friends moved to Mont 3 and she missed them and they even made her feel she was left behind! Now that is a very children thing, isn't it? 

- Thirdly I was unable to understand how to help her, in her moment of severe upheaval. I had spoken to her teachers and nothing came out of it. I had spent time talking to her, but she was still not happy, not as yet. For once I felt helpless, as the unrelenting practical world took over my daughter's emotional world.

At the moment, what needed immediate attention was this beating-up-of-kids affair, blinking like a beacon, we just had to resolve this one. I had to hear the story from her. I understood that, only if she shared every word of what transpired at school that day, would she understand what I had to say to her. So here is what I did... She came home from school and I did not ask her anything. Nothing when she alighted the school van, nothing till she had had her lunch and was relaxed.

She on her part remained quiet too. I am not sure if she felt the need to tell me anything, or she was smart enough to know already, that it was a matter to be kept hidden from mom? 

Finally when I felt I could, I said to her casually and cautiously, I am not sure if you can do both at the same time, "Your Aunty from school called me." They called their teachers Aunty, this was the culture in her school. 

She coyly asked, "What did she say?"

Not wanting to put words in her mouth, I asked, "Do you know what she said?"

"...Yes," came a small inaudible and cautious reply.

She knows she did something wrong, I thought.

"If you tell me everything, I will give you a Barbie doll my dear, "I said carefully. I needed her to understand that sharing the incident was important.

"They were teasing me, I hit them," She said, now visibly relaxed.

"Who all did you hit?" I asked, it was a slow process, it took her time to recall the names, she was still trying to decide whether it was worth it, to tell the whole truth. Three names finally. I mentioned one to help.

"No I did not hit her, I just pinned her to the wall." She clarified.

I was shaken by now. She is tall for her age, but lanky. I could visualise the whole scene as she narrated it to me. Pinning one to the wall, hitting another!!! She did reproduce the whole story. I do not remember the exact details of it. It has been quite some time since. In the end of it all, that day, we cemented a relationship of trust between us. She knew she could share her good and bad experiences alike, with me without fear.

The teacher had done her bit of explaining to her, why she should not hit children in school and that too a whole bunch of them, my tiny Rajnikanth! I did my bit of explaining to her. With muted expressions and lot of information.

The bullying at school did not stop that day, nor did the small fights stop. There is another juicy story of my daughter's karate chop that took a lot of work! But they are just incidents. I had diagnosed the problem. I made it a point to follow it up with her teacher regularly. There were several serious conversations with her teacher. These were all diagnostic and corrective approaches, undertaken by the adults. My daughter never realised it, before she knew it, the reason for her to get aggressive had disappeared. Before anyone realised it, her teachers were again praising her good manners! 

That barbie doll? I did not delay it one day. We went out to buy the doll the same day that she came back from her big fight! It still sits there, mixed and muddled with all the other Barbies that she has... I don't think she remembers which one was her reward for telling the truth.  

She is Was- My-Friend!

She is my friend, but we talk no more, she was my friend, but she is still there and has a long healthy life ahead... god bless her... She is my ex-friend... excuse me, no way… She is 'was-my-friend'! How about that? This is the story of friendships that fray in the seams... Once upon a time, long long ago, I was naive enough to think that, she either is my friend or she is not, there is nothing besides that. To begin with, there are so many long lost friends... oh but they are just lost in time, they have not ceased to be friends. This piece is about friends with cold scowls, who never remain friend anymore. The favourite trinkets that break irreparably, yet we keep its pieces in a plastic pouch, for old time's sake.

Am I guilty of the 'was-my-friend' syndrome too? I am not certain, do we always know who and how we hurt? We only know who hurt us and how. I can never be certain of how I have hurt others. I don't know how it frizzles and frail. One fine day you just know... Probably because you moved on, probably because you did not.

Friends are like genie who come out of the magic lamp, in all shapes and forms. Sometimes a confidante, sometimes an empathiser, sometimes a partner in crime, sometimes companion in misery, sometimes an inspiration, sometimes even a secret adversary... no matter which shoe the friend fits, she is indeed a great company to have. They don't care enough for you, to have to give up on you, but they never let you give up on yourself. Not always because they want it that way, but by nature it’s just their presence that causes it. And just like the genie they disappear. They are parallel worlds... their paths don't normally cross with yours. They just stay in their own orbits that happen to be parallel to yours. There is no commitment, friends can disappear in thin air and resurface like a genie as often as they wish. They are the angels in our lives who hold our hands and make us stand up, stop us from falling, but eventually they move on from there, some never to be found, some never to show the same friendship as they did yesterday.

A lot of time friendship simply falls apart. I know that feeling when it strains. It can be something so small that one forgets the reason. Whatever the reason the damage is done! It’s probably passage of time, probably passage of experiences, a sudden revelation from the past, a realisation of something... If you are a person who measures friendship in how much its worth, surely and certainly you will grow out of every friendship you have ever had and you ever will have. If you put an equation to friendship, the answer at the end is always zilch. Because there are no equations to friendship. 

I have learnt it the hard way, so I will not be surprised if ghosts of the past reappear and bring back many hurt souls before me, which I crumbled. And therefore I no more complain about those who hurt me either. Whether it is silent treatment or complete denial of my presence or cold stares, whatever it is from that 'was-my-friend', I bless them and move on. Because we are indeed parallel worlds, there is not much to be gained from crossing paths, to fathom the reason for the change... If someone really cared she would certainly speak up and try to resolve the issues that bother her, not just offer hurt for a hurt, with inexplicable behaviour. A silent treatment, to my mind, is a way to unfathomably hurt someone. One who resorts to it towards me, is certainly not my well-wisher, no matter how much I value her. So good wishes to such persons, I own up to my erroneous ways, but I have no balm for your aching heart... And indeed those broken trinkets lie in delicate corners of my soul, with a will of their own. For try as I might to keep them in lead boxes, they show up unintended and leave moments of disquiet... That's alright, they are valuable... aren't they?