Liz Gilbert Ko Salaam

For all of us who have grown up reading western novels more than Ramayan and Mahabharat, who are liberal 'din-e-ilahi' kind and therefore do not participate in rituals, for whom Sita is Dipika Chikhalia, Ram - Arun Govil, Bhishma - Mukesh Khanna, who can sing Karmanyavadhikaraste without really understanding it, thanks to B R Chopra... Those of us who believe that life is about living, not just meditating, and yet who believe that, there needs to be a balance in life somewhere... And then again those of us who realise that such balances probably don't exist in this world and who therefore dissolve all such passionate but purportedly idiosyncratic, Utopian, radical thoughts into a goblet, a glass or a whole bottle of wine, lest the world would call them imbecile, extremists of a personal nature, here is the modern day saint, just for our kind!

Elizabeth Gilbert, an ex-waitress, a self-proclaimed ex-seduction addict, an ex-vagabond and homeless, an ex-divorcee, a foodie, a voracious reader, a prolific, inveterate writer, a die-hard romantic, a yogi, a spiritualist, is the modern day Mira. Just for the convenience for all, let’s call her the 'Gopi' who ended up being Mira. She can talk about divinity and sainthood with the same fervour, as she talks of sex and of food - The three most important ingredient of a happy life. She makes each one of it sound like prayer, eating, meditating and love making. Let’s just call her someone who has balanced her yin and yang. Someone who is walking some sort of middle path, which is not really in the middle, but is like a spiderweb all over the 'stuff', that is called life. And if one was to read 'Eat Pray Love', her most popular novel, a unique travelogue, one would begin to feel jealous of this homeless, aimless, disturbed, disheartened, depressed and in many ways deranged (What with all that tree hugging), individual who journeys through her inhibitions and three countries, in two continents, to find a balance, that we mere mortals can only dream of. And in the end of it, if we truly understood the book, we would want to call it, 'Pray Pray Pray' rather than 'Eat Pray Love', because it is a book of prayers, in three different forms. 

But Liz made a mark on me with a totally different book. It is called 'Big Magic'. 'Liz Gilbert Ko Salam' for writing a book that is a sort of holy-book-for-the-creative. The, what-you-can-do-to-bring-your-creativity-out book, which resonates with me to the core. If ever I have known a humble soul, here is one that is the humblest, because she demystifies creativeness and makes it into a form of prayer too. Do it every day, for God and 'Creative Genius' comes to those, who worship it every day, with passion and a selfless pursuit to the service of the goal, without pride. She is a saint I tell you...!

"The ideas that come to you are floating out there," she says, "looking for a suitable medium. And therefore if that idea chose you, you should be thankful to the universe for that!" (Not an exact quote) How much more spiritual can creativity get, I could almost hear a Sufi song at the background as I read the book. 

My Dietitian My Ringmaster, With a Phablet and a Laptop

"You know, we are not rag pickers," said my dear cousin once, "that we must eat whatever is put in front of us. We can afford to eat what we need." This was at some point, in the early years of the 21st century. A nice new idea to begin a whole new century with!

"If rag pickers can eat all that they want to, they are not so bad after all," I thought, an inveterate foodie. I would not say that to her though. Much older than me, she is quite capable of giving me a piece of her mind, my Canada wali didi.

A decade later, the inevitable happens, I get older. And soon... every time I would pay a visit to the doctor, she would ask, "Do you exercise?" And I'd say, "Oh yes I walk and exercise regularly, but of late I have been getting tired, so I miss a few days." It took me years to realise that this was a pattern, that I continued to be firmly in the slightly overweight category and that my baseline weight, the weight that persisted with me most often in those years, had slowly risen by at-least two kilos. That is when I decided that I needed to do something radical about it...

I finally, in-spite of all my misgivings about it, I walked straight to a dietitian and said, "fix me now, feed me peanuts..." only figuratively, because peanuts are just the thing to avoid, when you are dieting. "Feed me peanuts," I said, "but make me the active self that I need to be." Actually I did not say that, I just told her some of my problems, but that is what I was thinking all the while.

I was called to her house for consultation. When she opened the door I found a small, stocky, five feet tall lady with an overbearing personality with Jack the three legged black dog (probably a Doberman Pinscher, Pardon me, I am not good with dog breeds) in her tow. She happens to be my neighbour, in a large apartment complex with 570 flats, neighbour is just a term of convenience. I did not really know her up until now. Jack has been a wonderment for my daughter and her friends for months now. She talks about this dog to everyone who she likes to talk to, her Dada - Dadi, her Nani her friends at school and her music teacher too. She has been patting it and has been playing silent smiling games with it, which involves touching the dog and darting away and then going back to play the same game all over again, whenever she saw it on his walk. Mostly with a tall hefty and silent man, who never complains, though his walk gets disrupted by these curious youngsters. No prizes for guessing, that this man is my dietitian's husband. I instantly liked her for having Jack for her pet.

Everything about her was mystic. She was unfolding before me to be just the kind of person I adore and have great regard for. I learnt later from another neighbour, she had adopted Jack, after having found it abandoned on the streets, another point that goes in her favour. An obvious follower of Buddhist philosophies, she had miniature Buddha statues in a large decorative wok kept over a low table, at the entrance of her pent house. There was a long chain of the tiny Buddhist prayer flags, hanging along the length of the inner wall in the upstairs room, where she meets her patients. So here I was, with a five foot, stalky, spunky naturopathy doctor, with tonsured head. I thought to myself, probably shaved at Tirupati. That is very common here in Bangalore. Later I discovered from her, that she had donated her hair to cancer patients, one more point in her favour. She was rising like a meteor in my eyes. We spoke for two hours straight. And in the end we got friendly enough, that I gave her a small squeeze when we parted.

So we went straight up to the consultation room and she came to the point. You are fire and ether, she concluded from seeing me and my old reports. As per Naturopathy, all humans are made primarily of five elements, earth, water, ether, fire and sky. Each body has one or two primary elements, which influence their personal health and choices.

Based just on my body type and my blood group, she already had a list of dont's for me. No Green Tea... a surprise for me, No besan or Sooji or maida, no Nuts, no jaggry, again a surprise, jaggry is not meant for my body type. In my mind I kept chopping off the cakes, the pastries, the nan, the upma, the besan halwa, the pakoras in besan, the green tea of course, the cashews, peanuts, fig, almonds and the walnuts, that I fondly munched on, my morning tea with jiggery, jiggery in curd etc etc... I was already in the arena and was being tackled and pinned down to the floor, all five foot five of me, just as I had suspected all this while, before coming to her.

But it was not all tackling... she said the most magical things to me, Are you constipated, ever since the beginning of my life on earth... okay I will fix that. You will fix that!! My meeting with her was getting more and more of a transcendental experience for me! And I can do something about your haemoglobin count and your hypothyroid and high LDL too. I have a reputation of curing these!!! She added. I was dumbstruck. No, she is no small time dietitian, she has credentials to say whatever she said.

But my first visit was mostly inconsequential, because she needed some reports. It is the second visit that left an indelible impression of her on me. This time, all equipped with my latest blood test reports and a notebook and pen, I promptly went to her. To fix my hypothyroid and my constipation and my High LDL and my haemoglobin, all in one masterful stroke.

And that is when she touched me to the core. She said, quite nonchalantly, as she worked through my diet chart on her excel sheet, "early morning, have a scoop of icecream!!!!." Icecream?? Icecream??? did I hear it right? I am your slave darling tell me what next? She was my personal Close Encounter of the Third Kind.

Yes, I would do anything to retain the favours of this Ring Master with a phablet in one hand and a laptop in the other, who presides over a pack of hungry lions and lionesses and gives them just what their body type needs. Not everything under the sun. Oh and she has a cell phone on her lap too and a bunch of outstanding diet balancing books on sofa. Nonetheless she runs a full fledged circus on her Whatsapp group!

She drew my diet chart, which had more food in it for one day, than I ate in two days up until now. Parathas and rice and more rice. And fruits and curd and okay this is where I almost got a little uppish, two amla (gooseberries) and a glass of methi juice (Fenugreek) to end the day with!!! Anyway I checked myself before any disagreement could escape my mouth. Because here is a person who lets you have ice-cream first thing early in the morning and also snaps at you in case you were to disagree with her diet plan, without reason.

Thanks to this new diet chart, I eat more than I ever ate in a day, yet I feel the pangs of hunger at-least two times a day, which I had completely forgotten about, since I don't know when. No kidding... she does have a cure for constipation, ask me all about it! Piku are you listening? 

Word Wall vs Pokemon or Customer is King

When taking on a new venture, it is not all about money, it is about the idea being accepted. And if an Idea has to be accepted by a six year old, it had better be good. That day my idea was "Word Wall". This is from a year back, I attended a session at my daughter's school, on how to teach your child to read and spell. One of the suggestions that I particularly loved was the "word wall". A wall with words that child finds difficult to spell. A little bit of googling got me a list of "sight words", words that cannot be spelled just with the phonetics. I decided I would begin with some of them. As they challenge even adults. Thanks to Microsoft word, my spelling skills are not put to test anymore. But children can still master the spelling skill. Because they are in that age when their learning skills are still being put to test. I thought I will not let my daughter fumble for spellings in Google. I must do something constructive. And so I created her first word wall.

The first lesson of parenting that I have learnt is that, the child knows how to say 'NO'. And she can surprise you with her NOs. But I seem to be a slow learner. So here is what happened with the word wall and a tough customer.

I took out some chart papers and asked my daughter, 'Chiku wouldn't you like to have a "Word Wall". Chiku is my favourite nickname for her. It sounded like a fun idea to her, so she said yes. But she was quite busy drawing Pokemon characters ('Nock Towel' to be precise) on her own, so she did not bother to assist me. Oh... I was excited about it, I couldn't wait for her to be done with the drawing. Having done my market research, I was determined to make a Word Wall that very day. Isn't this relentless pursuit for the desired object, a characteristic of children? We never grow up after all! I jumped at the opportunity. I asked her to help with cutting the chart papers in the right size. But she did not hear or answer. Time and again she was trying to find out how her Pokemon was coming up. I took it as her consent and went ahead with cutting up the chart papers. I showed her the exact place I wanted to stick them. And she said yes. I asked her to help but she did not bother with that either. She was now admiring her Pokemon and giving finishing touches to it. I said, "Okay let me do it" And so I did... And what else, I even wrote down two word groups in the chart paper, by the time she was done with the Pokemon picture. And here is what happened. She looked up at the Word Wall and at her Pokemon and announced, "I want to stick my Pokemon at this place, Remove the Word Wall now." 

In her mind Pokemon had more aesthetic value than the Word Wall. And somewhere within, she was also trying to test, if this was my ploy to teach her new things. Reluctance and resistance to learn is not an acquired skill after all.

Oh I was so satisfied with my effort, a perfect product in my mind, I was really disappointed with the way she simply refused to accept the Word Wall. "But I asked you darling," I protested. She chose to ignore that statement. 'Customer is King!' and she was my customer at the moment. She was certain that the Word Wall did not hold the same importance, as her fine Pokemon art work. And if I considered the particular place as ideal for the Word Wall, then that had to be the best for her art. I realised that all my convincing, protesting and negotiating would not work on little darling today. She had made her choice and she would not change her mind. She did not buy my idea. Does it not happen with many products too? They do well in market research, but when it comes to paying for the product, the customer refuses to accept it.

I realised, a change in strategy was needed urgently, after some amount of chagrin and arguing. And even thumping foot, particularly when the little one was about to tear off the chart papers dispassionately, when I refused to remove it. So I just made way. I removed the charts and let her stick the Pokemon instead, but moved the charts to another part of the room.

I was afraid the Word wall had lost out to Pokemon, even before I had the chance to try the idea. And then, once Chiku was done with appreciating her art in its victorious spot, she turned to the Word Wall quite spontaneously and almost immediately, she was asking questions about it... The word wall may still have a chance. Advertising and marketing strategies are inevitable in building customer acceptance for a new product!

Ladies Coupe by Anita Nair - A review

This is a story of Akhila, a 45 year old spinster, who realises that she has spent her life making others happy, her widowed mother, her younger brother and sister. In the process she completely ignored her own happiness. Much to her surprise, she did not even know what she wanted in life, to be happy.

It is the story about her search for womanhood, that her environment and her family failed to instil in her. It is a personal journey of not one, but six women, aptly set in a train. She meets five women from different circumstances of life and at different junctures of their lives, in a ladies coupe, of the second class compartment of a train. She had boarded the train with a one way ticket to Kanyakumari. Again an apt destination... to travel to the tip of the country, to find the ultimate truth. Farthest from home, that a simple person like Akhila, who has lived in Bangalore all her life, with very little space or courage to think for herself, could think of, in her most courageous effort to explore.

All five of these women that Akhila meets, are just as much as herself, searching for the answers. Each one of them share their own story of life and that helps Akhila to discover what she truly desired from life.

As I read the book, I longed to share my own story, because each one of us have a story to tell. As for me, there were seven women in the coupe not six, I being the seventh one. A mute spectator, listening to others, but who never spoke or shared her own story. But like Akhila, she was discovering what it meant to be a woman.

I don't know if this can be termed as a feminist novel. And then again, why not? I don't see anything wrong with that label. I have never really reflected upon the 'ist aspect of myself... feminist, communist, capitalist, sexist etc etc. I have not had to. These are labels that others can give, how can I label myself. I try to be logical that is all.

Logically speaking this novel introduced me to the concept of independence of women, in a very natural kind of way. I believed that a girl had to burn the midnight oil, be a professionally qualified person, with a high paying job and a fancy position at work, to be emancipated. I never thought of emancipation to be as fundamental as the right to breathe. This book is all about emancipation of mind and body and heart. Not something to be earned or toiled for. Not like a prize for hard work, reachable only for a few. This books removes the scarcity concept from emancipation, that girls from the eighties and nineties, were brought up with. It makes it to be something as natural as air and water. I had never really explored the free for all emotional independence before. Call me naive for that. There will be a million reasons for that if I were to explore. Each one of you can, if you stand in that tight fitting shoe, if you know what I mean...

But here is the book that demystifies emancipation. Ever since I read it, I have told every woman about it, if I have ever had a remotely intimate talk with her. It is worth a read.  

That Lump in the Throat

I was ten then. I had barely woken up from my sleep that morning. I could hear my mother grumbling, in the next room. She had fired the maid on some pretext and had been using my help liberally to take care of the house. She had not spoken to me for past two days and I woke up with a start. In my effort to please her, I silently slithered to the kitchen with my sleepy eyes and started washing the utensils in the sink. Hoping she would notice and forgive me for whatever mistake I had made. Her approval was very important for me. She was my mother, and I was just ten. I felt the now familiar sensation of a lump in my throat. It had been there for a few days this time, ever since my mother stopped talking to me, two days ago, more accurately. And I wished it away, but knew it would be there till she forgave me. I felt miserable, yet responsible for whatever I had done, for which my mother was silently punishing me. 

Today my friend reminded me of that lump in the throat. Referring to my "It’s Okay To Cry" blog. She said, I know it is okay to cry, but what about that lump in the throat that refuses to go. I wish she had not mentioned it and I am glad she did. Because I have pushed those unhappy feelings so deep in my psyche, in my effort to be the strong, independent woman that I have forgotten what it was like to be a girl. 

Was it not uncommon to let those tears roll down the cheeks or to just be hurt inside, with that lump in the throat? It was painful, but I learned that is was comforting too. When those tears rolled out or just lumped up in the throat, I knew I had reached my limit and could let others take charge of me. Such helplessness I thought, would nudge someone to do something affectionate for me. 

I was not sure of my Mother's reason for anger then. Now when I look back, I don't feel the same pain anymore. Oh and after ages, that lump in the throat is back... I can keep it now... I don't need to be afraid anymore. 

To Save The Paper Or To Save Creativity, This Is The Question

The new generation is far more environmentally aware than we ever were. They are born in a time after 'the Inconvenient Truth'. We had water crises even when we were kids, but there wasn't enough consensus on the means to save the environment. But today's kids, all thanks to Al Gore, know not to waste, like never before. Save paper, save water... oh! The world is wailing under human exploitation, and children of today seem to be saving every bit of it that they can, in their own little ways. My little one will run to any dripping or open tap in public and turn it off. She cannot bear the sight of water leaking. If she hears me honking while driving, she will protest. She is the first to remark about a plastic grocery bag, if I dare to take one, that is. 

Save paper!!! How? We express through it! Unless the entire future generation forgets to write and only types, onto holographic keyboards, projected from their tiny wearable or implanted devices. But what of origami, painting, art work and the rest? How far can we take the save paper drive? It hit me on the face, when conducting a session with kids on 'Expressing Oneself'. I asked each kid to tear a piece of paper from their notebook and do whatever they felt like, with it. In a group of five, two chose to make an Origami art, two others drew on their pieces of paper, a natural instinct. One nine year old, wrote her name and introduction on one fourth of the page, leaving the rest blank. And I was tempted to ask her why.

She said that, those who made origami had wasted paper, this was the same response from those who chose to draw on the paper. Regarding the artwork she was not sure, she just thought of writing because, "it is a better use of the paper" that was a young conservationist talking. I gathered that this mind-set needed to be further explored. I grabbed one origami and one art piece in my hands and waved it at them next to each other and asked them, which seemed to be a waste of paper at all. The kids looked at them all keenly for a few seconds. Their most discerning thoughts at work in those moments. Only then it dawned upon them... that both drawing and origami were basically an art form, expressed with paper. Each one completely expressed the artists' feeling or thought. I then asked the kid who wrote the introduction, why was the introduction only on a quarter of the page, did she have a plan to use the rest of it too...? She had understood the point and so had the others. In times to come, I hope each one of them will confidently express themselves using paper, in any way they wish.

The question is, how do we judge wastage of paper with kids? They need complete independence to use the paper the way they please. Why push them to use it in one preferred way and to ignore the others? A piece of paper once written on or drawn on or cut into an art, is a used resource. Most of those writings are not really used, a large volume of them are practice material, rough draft etc. Largest volume of them are not stored, after they are used for their intended purpose. The most amount of menace is caused by fliers and advertisements, the fancy gilt edged multi page ads from the builders and developers causing the maximum amount of damage. Somebody must stop them from damning the papers. Our stereotypes about the best usage of paper may only hold our children back in their imaginative drive and from being an 'out-of-the-box-thinkers', that each of us wish for our children to be!!

I have a seven year old conservationist at home. But I get bogged down by paper fans all over my home, and paper boats and paper cuttings of tickets, passes and the works, and paper cards and invitation cards, oil pastel on paper and crayon and colour pencil on paper, even some stories and stencils, and not to forget paper stars. Sometimes the unguarded exclamation escapes my lips, 'do not waste papers'!! But now I know I should refrain.

For a seven year old, every bit of paper is being used. They do not have the concept of misuse as yet. I know she is not tearing them wantonly, she is making art out of every bit! Those artworks may not look that mature or useful to me, but to her they her expression at its best. And to me she is the most important ingredient of the environment!!

Dear Readers, these are my observations and learning from being a mother and from once-upon-a-time being a kid myself. Please share your feedback and thoughts. Please also read "It is Okay to Cry"

Its' Okay to Cry

My 7 year old had come back from play crying, within minutes of going out, she had been a bit unreasonable and her dad had grounded her for the evening. She could not bear the thought that, playtime had just begun and she would not get any of it that day. Added to the fact that we had returned from a three week vacation, just three days back and this was only the second day, that she had gone out to play since our return.

I heard the whole story and felt she did need to learn a lesson, but she kept crying inconsolably. I feigned disinterest in the matter, leaving her dad to deal with it. I thought that a short while alone in her room, would appease her and then we could play some indoor game, it usually works with her.

For a few minutes I forgot all about it, when my friend called to chat up with me. She was whimpering now and I was sure she would be quiet and 'talkable' any moment. Only to be drawn back to the bummer with her cry getting louder and louder, to draw my attention ofcourse... by now I was quite sure that a grounding would not teach her any lesson today. I strongly believe that, consequences should be given with the child's understanding and consent, and it is certainly to be 'handled with care'. I realised that this was no time for playing the mute spectator, in a matter that concerned daddy and beti. Instead it was time for me to play the mediator, the tailor bird, if you will. She was upset with her dad and vice-versa. This was an "abra kadabra moment..." when mom comes into action and plays magical tricks.

I excused myself from the call and went straight to the little one...I call her 'chiku' lovingly, besides many other other cute and adorable pet names I have for her. I offered her an option for a truce.

"don't play with friends chiku, lets just three of us go out for a walk." I offered.

"But I want to play with my friends," she yelled.

"But you do agree that, what you did was not right?" I asked calmly.

"But I forgot that is why...," she tried to rationalise.

"But you agreed to it some time back, didn't you?" I rebutted, gently but firmly.

"But I want to play with my friends." She persisted.

"Lets first go out... and you stop crying." I offered helpfully, with a glass of water.

She agreed and so did my husband. Once out, she kept her distance from her dad and she told me again and again that, she was sure he will not allow her to go and play with her friends that day.

'Be positive." I said. I had made up my mind to persuade hubby to let her go play. Because this whole experience was very distressing for her and she would only resent it for long, that was not going to help.

So I raced her..."catch me." I shouted and ran off, she chased me, and she is indeed a fast runner, she caught up with me and then raced me a bit. We were quite far from her dad, who was approaching us at a slow pace, he is always amused at our 'catch me' games, so we chatted as we sauntered...

"Do you think crying will help?" I asked, as she was again building up tears in her already puffed up eyes.

"But I know papa will not let me play." she retorted.

"How will crying change that?" I quizzed.

"But I am sad Mamma." she replied quite simply.

"But even when you are sad you can smile, can't you?" I debated.

"Why?" She asked quite surprised.

"Because when you are crying, you cannot think or solve your problem." I explained.

"Should we not cry Mamma?" She asked...

That is when I realised, that we were not totally on the same page, in this conversation. I did wish she would stop crying, but it was not my intention to make her think that, she is wrong in crying when she feels sad. 

"Crying and feeling sad is not bad." I corrected myself.

"Then we can cry?" She asked, relieved a little, but quite puzzled at my sudden change in stance.

"Yes, you can, but when you are crying, you cannot solve the problem. You need to wait till you stop crying and then solve your problem." I explained, now desperately trying to make sense to her.

"But I know Papa will not let me go to play with my friend, what is the point in trying to solve this problem." She responded, lugubrious and at the verge of tears by the end of her sentence.

"Why don't you try being hopeful and ask Papa." I suggested, honestly feeling a sigh of relief, that this discussion was coming to an end, for the moment. I quickly signaled my husband, who had caught up with us by now, to permit her to play if she asked.

"Papa...I want to go play with my friend." She said in a small voice, with little hope, some fear and a gnawing anticipated disappointment.

"Okay..but come back in half an hour." He said, much to my relief and to her disbelief.

"Didn't I tell you," I reinforced, "If you are hopeful, you can solve your problem!"

She was now smiling and was her normal chirpy self already. "Yes Mamma." She agreed... and ran off towards her friend's house, without further ado.

The questions of "should we cry or not," lingered in my mind. Should we or should we not... Where is the question of 'should'? We don't wish for the tears, they just come. They are part of us, just as much as the tongue, the eyes, the skin and also as much as the breath.

Let me put this question to you... Is crying bad?

I think that... our feelings, whatever they are, protect us, when we know how to control them. They harm us when we can't control them. Children are not old enough to control these emotions, but understand their helplessness vis a vis these uncontrollable occurrences... angry tantrums, tearful eyes, restlessness, banging up doors, even inexplicable sadness...

No, sadness is not bad, nor are tears, or even anger. The sooner we teach our children to connect with these feelings, the sooner they will learn to tackle them. I believe that, all feelings - happiness, sadness, excitement, affection, jealousy, greed, guilt, disgust, anticipation, apprehension, anxiety... they are all part of the personality. If they learn that now, they will gladly tackle them and make them their friends. It is disconcerting for parents to handle their children's anger, meanness, selfishness, dislike, contempt, sadness, guilt and such other feelings, which do not seem very positive. It is equally disconcerting for parents to handle their own mood swings. No matter how daunting the task, rather than to let our kids just find out, on their own, the ugly feelings growing within them, and for them to detest it, we must assist them to make peace with them. Does anyone know a person who is complete without them all...?