Rut race

Have you realised that the routines we call mundane have the power to take over our lives completely? We sacrifice so much at the altar of these mundane routines: the first casualty is time and everything else just follows suit. Our talents are wasted because we do not have the time to pursue them. Friendships sour because we do not have the time to call. Our passions die because the dull routines of our daily lives have no place for them. We forget we had hobbies because we can’t remember to dabble in them. We forget to help people who can do with our help. Our health suffers because we can’t make time in the business of our humdrum lives for a walk, a workout. And just because something as irrelevant as our routines, which apparently we decide for ourselves, ultimately decide for us what we do with our days!

Thankfully, there’s more to my life than routine because I consciously make an effort to break their monotony with my quirky ways, by taking up new hobbies, for example, or pitching in with a good cause. Of course, work is another story, where quirky doesn’t always work! But usually, the dreariness of the daily schedule is nothing more than a case of inertia: an unwillingness to break a pattern because you’re simply too lazy to do it. It’s a good excuse to cover up for what we have not achieved in life, even though it seems so achievable.

I think women are more prone to being victims of this inertia than men, simply because they’re expected to find satisfaction in the predictability of their daily chores. A fulfilling life for a woman need not be anything more than a day of monotonous activities, according to a large section of the society we inhabit. So a woman must struggle twice as much as a man to rid herself of the burden of a routine which binds her to do sometimes banal activities and prevents her from doing something that can add more meaning to her life or at least a little bit of excitement.

Let me also add that I am not undermining the importance of either a routine or the daily chores that make up that routine. What I am saying is that we can’t let either of them take over our lives. We can’t let them prevent us from doing what we love.

I guess if you’re reading this blog, nine out of ten chances are that you’re a blogger too. And that means you’ve found time to do something you like to do away from the restricting motions of your everyday life. And that’s exactly what I hope more people would be able to do: to not get stuck in the rut of routines because there should be more to

And this too shall pass.

But when?

When can I stop pretending that I'm happy?
When can I start living my life like it's mine?
When can I start being myself again?
When can I start believing in optimism again?

Wrongs and Child Rights

I don’t know if any of you in other parts of India have come across this news items about how an 11-year old girl was brutally beaten black and blue by a doc in Lucknow, but if you haven’t, you must go read it now. The little girl was working as a domestic help at the doctor’s place and had apparently been sent there by his uncle who wanted her to earn a quick buck for him when her parents died. She was rescued by a neighbour.

I know what most of us find appalling in the story is the way she was beaten, but what’s sadder is that we don’t feel sad or surprised that a child like her would have to go to work at an age when she should be in school. And that’s because we’re just so used to seeing child labourers around us, we don’t even stop to think about them when we see one.

Last weekend, my friend celebrated her daughter’s third birthday with kids and mommies. In a conversation I can’t get out of my head, a young mother of a one and a half year old told me ruefully that maids for children were so difficult to come by. Her daughter was accompanied by a six-year boy at the party to take care of her! To quote what she said, “There’s so much awareness among maids also these days that they don’t want to send their daughters to work and want them to study instead.” “Good,” I said. “Ya,” she replied, “But bad for us. We don’t get any young girls to work for us.” I don’t think I can have another conversation with this woman who is educated and yet not enough to know that education is a right everyone should have.

First of all, I can’t understand how a parent can entrust their child to another child and think the latter will be equipped to take care of her. And I can’t understand how people can get over the guilt of exploiting an underprivileged child’s situation to serve their purpose. How do they do it?

It’s simple, isn’t it, that you wouldn’t want your child to go working somewhere even if life put you in the worse possible situation? Then why would you think you are “helping” a family by employing their child? When you let a child work for you, do not deceive yourself into believing that you’re actually supporting the child. You are not. You’re just encouraging child labour. Imagine for a moment what would happen to the child if you did not allow him to work for you? He would go and work some place else, you will say. But what if no one allows the child to work? Will the child not return home? Will the parents not be compelled to take care of him and provide for him? If they’ve brought the child into this world, they must take his responsibility.

Also, if you really want to help the child and his family, you can do it without bringing the child home to work. Send him to school, for instance. Pay his fees and it’s a paltry amount to pay in a government school. It may not cost more than what you spend on the cake on your child’s birthday. And surely, there’s enough surplus money in rich people’s pockets to feed a single child.

I would like to mention here that these are not just my personal views. Organisations working with street and working children also say that the only way to ensure that children get treated as children irrespective of their socio-economic background is by stopping their parents from sending them to work. Even though they don’t know it, children have rights too.

I have been working with one such organisation in Lucknow since its inception five years ago – Ehsaas, (the website is still under development). And I have never spoken about it here because the NGO was started and is run by my sister and she doesn’t need me to talk about her; her work speaks for itself. However, I thought it was pertinent to talk about the work that the NGO has been doing because it is through their work that I have been sensitised to this cause. I was as clueless as any one of you about what to do with children who’re out there working to make ends meet. But I was made to realise that paying them for their work isn’t going to solve the problem. Because these children laugh and smile and seem happy does not mean they are getting what's their due. Without an education to help them in the latter years of life, we are ensuring that they never become part of the social mainstream. We are ensuring that the government continues to ignore them.

Sometimes, it’s important to look at the bigger picture and say that even though it makes me feel good to hand a ten rupee note (sometimes lesser) to the boy who works at the tea stall, the child who sells bottles at the railway platform, the girl who sells balloons at the crossing, it’s not the best thing for that child. And believe me when I say it’s not. What can you do instead? For one, be part of efforts to rehabilitate such children. Find out what social organisations in your city that work for them. And let them do what is best for the child. Also, as privileged sections of the society, we must force the policy-makers to take cognisance of these children. It will not happen overnight but gradually - by creating awareness and raising debates about the issue. After all, they're as much citizens of India as you and I.

Don’t take a selfish shortcut. Take a stand.

Aisa Waisa Paisa

So you know how terrible I am at numbers and figures. But it wasn't always like this. When I was a kid, I used to stash up my pocket money/money given on festivals, birthdays, etc. in different envelopes. So all my ten rupee notes would be in one envelope, twenty rupee notes in another and so on. And I would write the denomination and the number of notes on each envelope, I was so organised!

If you knew me from back then, you would be surprised to see what my wallet looks like now. You will find a note in each pocket of my bag, a little change here and there, a tiny bundle in the wallet. If you ask me at any point of time how much money I’m carrying, you will draw a blank. I never know the exact amount of money in my wallet and only have a vague idea of whether it’s “less” or “more”. And if someone ever flicked from my wallet, I would never know till the volume of notes did not change significantly. Pathetic, I know.

I wasn’t like this till very recently. Even when in college, I was so particular about keeping my cash well. I knew exactly how much money was in my bank account (and thankfully, still know that!), how much I was carrying with me in my wallet and would meticulously maintain the hisab for every penny spent, right down to the two rupees given to the PCO wallah. When I took a 360 degree turn from that and reached where I am right now, I have no idea.

And don’t for a minute think it’s because I have too much of it that I don’t care how much money I have with me. On some days, I feel so poor I can crib about it the whole day, nay, week. Some days, I feel super rich and splurge like there’s no tomorrow. You get the picture? Basically, I’ve begun to suck at money management. I never remember how much money I’ve spent, never remember how much something cost, never remember how much time the money I withdrew from the ATM lasted… I’m just so clueless about money.

And I don’t like it a wee bit. It’s like not knowing how deep the water is – whether it’s good enough to swim through, too much to drown yourself in or just ankle deep. Since I do not manage home finances, living in a joint family as I do, it’s not like I’m leading the family to financial bankruptcy because of my poor money management skills. I only have my limited resources to fool around with and that’s some solace!

I try to rectify my behaviour. Once in a while, I start putting down on paper how much money I spent on what and when, just so that I’m a little more organised, but the plan fizzles out soon enough. The problem is that since I do not have a steady flow of income that comes in at any specific time of the month, I do not have a time frame within which to evaluate my expenses and income. Okay, so that may sound like a lame excuse but it’s an excuse nevertheless.

Thankfully, The Guy is far more sensible with money than I am. He has an exact account of his money, wherever it may be. He knows how much we spent on an outing. He even remembers the prices of things we buy. As a couple we often resolve to budget our expenses, but it hasn’t ever worked out. We just roll along with the times - good or bad as they may be.

So tell me, how do you manage your finances? Do you have a monthly budget? Do you maintain a record of your expenses? Tell me, help me.

Things that should’ve been posts but were not

I have a zillion half posts in my head. I've written them in my head and left them unfinished (in my head) because I don’t think they’re anything more than half posts. In the absence of any full-fledgedpost, I’ve put together a collection of all these unfinished thoughts for you:

1. I should have written about The Guy and my 12th anniversary in the first week of October. Twelve years of being in love, not being married. But considering that both of us almost forgot about it, a post was not happening. I remembered with shock and shame some time in the afternoon that day how we’d both forgotten all about it, but both, the shock and the shame stayed with me for only a moment and we continued to enjoy a lazy holiday, not giving in to Archies’ card propaganda.

2. I should have also told you about all the Diwali shopping I did. I even clicked some pics to put up here but I wanted to click so many more and did not have the time to. The post was thus killed even before it was born! My pre-Diwali shopping had me going to various exhibitions for home décor and Diwali decorations. I picked up some tee-lights, candle stands, lanterns, garden decorations, a funky red kettle, platters, gifts, new curtains for my room and an onyx vase among other things! Here’s a peek at some of the stuff:






3. I should have shared with you some details of all the Diwali bashes I attended, but they were all so similar and I was so not enthused about them, that it seemed like a purposeless post. I could have, in fact, told you about how out of sorts I was on Diwali, how I celebrated the festival so half-heartedly because some part of me just wasn’t able to get into the spirit of things. Worst of all, I had a severe asthma attack at one of the parties forcing me to return home and spend the rest of the night wheezing and sneezing.

4. Nevertheless, I clicked a lot of pics on Diwali because there’s nothing like good times spent with the family. I dressed up in a silk saree and turned on the bling, even though the sexy blouse I was supposed to wear that day wouldn’t zip up. (No, it wasn’t the fat, it was the darned zip!) Anyway, I’m still bringing this quintessential Diwali pic hoping to brighten things up a little bit here.

5. One of the reasons why I’ve been blogging lesser is because I’ve been in very low spirits of late for reasons I cannot discuss here. It’s been not-so nice on most fronts but I’ve decided to bounce back despite all that. Ain’t in me to be down and out for too long!

6. But among the good things is my determination to get back to writing full throttle. Actually, I’ve been writing all this while but now I’ve made up my mind to earn some money out of it too. I’ve started doing customised cards for special occasions apart from continuing to write for print media. And as a lot of you suggested, I’ve started doing academic assignments online and getting back to my love for literature! I’ve also volunteered to do some writing for an NGO and may even be paid for it. I’m happy!

So what's up with you?

A plate full of memories

Purely Narcotic tagged me to do this very interesting tag about food memories: Five memorable meals ever eaten: It could be anything that makes the meal memorable - the food, the place, the place you were in your life when you ate, the company, the weather, the ambiance - heck, the guy who served the food!". Considering that I have such a large storehouse of memories, it wouldn’t be difficult to dig out some that are associated with food.

And the first one that comes to mind is of Sakhawat’s kebab and biryani. A lot of you may have heard of Tundey kebabs from Lucknow, but Sakhawat’s kebabs are far better than even Tundey’s! And I happened to have spent a substantial part of my life in a house that was located right opposite Sakhawat’s shop. The evenings at home were characterised by the smell of the kebabs wafting into the house. And it coincided with Dad’s returning from the court. Now, my Dad isn’t a foodie, but he had a weakness for these kebabs. He would come back home and steal me away for a quick bite of kebab and roomali roti and the day’s specialty. It was a great time for us father-daughter to bond and also great food to bond over!

When I was in college, I couldn’t get over the taste of palak paneer that my Mom made: simple, delectable and flavoured with mother’s love! The first meal at home after I returned from hostel had to be palak paneer. Nothing less, nothing more. I know the recipe by heart but I can’t come close to mom’s cooking!

Another palak paneer memory is from Cairns, Australia where I tasted the most amazing Indian food out of home. Surprising but true, the Indian restaurants there whip up better food than most restaurants in India! Or perhaps it tastes better because you’re so far from home. Imagine sitting in an open-air restaurant near the lagoon in Cairns and enjoying palak paneer and naan. It’s the best of both the worlds! I can’t quite forget what that meal tasted like.

And them there are the innumerable club sandwiches that I have had with The Guy. When I started dating him, I was already in love with them – the sandwiches, that is. And he would unfailingly get them packed from The Taj here in Lucknow. I still savour the sandwiches simply because of the memories they bring back of our dates!

My latest food memory isn’t of a food at all – it’s of coffee: cold coffee. It’s a memory that’s in the making. I don’t know how it became part of our routine, but there’s hardly been a day in the last two years when The Guy and I have not had cold coffee together in the morning. We aren’t breakfast people, but coffee is just as good. Some days, I have cold coffee just because I love the time we spend together gulping our mug-fuls and talking of the day ahead. I look forward to those five minutes as the most precious moments of the day.

So what’s your fave food memory? You can answer them, but I’d like to tag:
1. Maid in Malaysia because I’ve read so many of her payasam tales, I know she’ll have lots of food memories to share.
2. Chandni, because her tweets convince me she’s a foodie!
3. Goofy Mumma, who is quite fond of cooking, I guess.
4. Monika Manchanda, because if she can think of starting a food blog, she must have lots to share from her meal memoirs
5. Broom Box, because of the lovely food photography I've seen on her blog.

"But you don't look married!"

You bet I don’t because when I got married, I didn’t also go for plastic surgery! I’m sure you didn’t either, then why are married women expected to look a certain way?

Why is it that the symbols of wedlock must only be displayed by women in the form of sindoor and mangalsutra, bangles and bichiya while no one even notices the wedding ring on the men? I find it amusing when sweet, plump, inquisitive aunties check you out head to toe to find that one sign that will give away your marital status, if the girth of your waist doesn’t.

Over the years, I have consistently forgotten to wear the sindoor and I have no mangalsutra to flaunt. I wear the bichiya when it suits me and for reasons that have more to do with fashion than anything else. I have put on some weight since I got married almost six years ago, but ever so gradually that most people haven’t noticed it! And therefore, I get that line often, “But you don’t look married!” Not that I’m trying to look single, but I don’t think I need to look married either. I mean, if you know me you would know I’m married and if you don’t, how does it matter?

I’ve often thought of carrying a placard with me stating I’m married since I don’t look it and since people so want to see all married women to look it! Of course, all the while I think that, I have my tongue in cheek, so you needn’t worry about me ever really doing that!

What’s more amusing is that no one will so much as give a second glance to a man to check out whether he’s married or not. The mister will always just be mister – single or otherwise. But even the telephone operator wants to know when you give your name whether you’re Miss or Mrs! Does it make a difference? Is there a thought process behind this inquisitiveness or is it just conditioning?

Could it also be that this is a culture-specific thing? I remember I knew even as a child that a woman who was in a pale-hued saree and not wearing a bindi must be a widow. So it works both ways: while married women are supposed to dress a certain way, widows are also expected to dress a certain way. And to what purpose, I wonder. Why does the society need markers to demarcate married women from single and widowed women? How does a woman’s marital status affect her social status? And how does that affect discrimination against her?

Answers, anyone?