I am not a mom- I am a supermom genetically

It is 9.03 pm  and my kiddo just dozed off ( yep its a phenomenological, narrative :) ). I just loaded my washing machine so that I could switch it on tomorrow at 5 am. We have a power shortage here in our apartment after 7 am so I like to prep ahead. I made my pork stir fry for tonight and mango curry for tomorrow so I can dash to my daughter's pediatrician for her shots tomorrow. I made my upma for breakfast to avoid early morning panic attacks when kiddo demands her feed and my time. I have made a mental note of things I need to buy tomorrow before I start work on Thursday also the stuff I need to buy for my next order. Oops my baby just wailed its milk time. It's over she is fast asleep again and I am back to my desktop. I am a mother of a 10 month old and  wife of a man who works from 11 am to 11 pm. This is my life. Life of an IIT ian who defended her thesis a month ago. I am not a monster mom. Yes I blog at night, my hair has greyed, I have no time for exercise, I have not touched a book after 30th of Jan (that was when I defended my thesis). I am right now bargaining the rates for chapathi for wholesale for my office, talking to a colleague as I write this. But my kid just had her apple and oat cereal, she is well fed for tonight. At times I forget to eat, but I don't forget that evening snack for my hubby, he has his fruits in a box pre - packed the night before. My body aches right not but I remember I have to dust that shelf in the corner of my living room. 

Is it possible to be like me, I think so, because some things are genetic. My mom was just like me. She skipped her sleep after night shift to make us kids gulab jamuns when we woke up. She knew the difference between shrubs and leguminous plants despite not having a B.ed in botany and admonished our science teacher who taught us these terms wrongly. I am the daughter a woman who survived her deceased husband and carried her head high, got her kids educated and married. I am the daughter of a woman who creates a havoc at the electricity  office for misreading her bills, the daughter of a woman who goes for a hysterectomy surgery telling us kids to do our homework and she will be back.

 I am the wife of a man who calls me and tells me to ask those women to shut up and go do their job,and that he married me because I was different. A man who makes me not want to curse the men folk entirely, who tells me he will take care of our kid not because he thinks I will mint money, but because he knows I would never be happy being tied down, and that I deserve to do what I want from life.

Today I was told by few that my mom had no option so she worked and now that I have an option I should not work. What is my option here, I ask? the fact that my husband toils for 12 hours risking his sanity? For once I feel pity on the poor men. Why should men bear all the burden while many of them would like to take the back seat once in a while? I can vouch for this, that my hubby is very caring towards Sarah and milder than me.I know a lot of men who are technically the mothers in their household, who cook, take care of kids lot better than their wives. While I don't undermine women who stay back home, I think they should definitely not state their husband earning sufficiently as an excuse. I firmly believe even when a man asks his wife to stay at home he is exerting the manliness imposed on him by the society. Given a chance if the society sanctioned, many men would have loved to stay back. So why can't some women want to work?

Having grown up in a state like Kerala where we have shunned such stereotypes, I can say for sure, there are men who have no qualms regarding their wives being employed. But I see a lot of people criticizing Kerala for this attitude. I often here many telling me "You Keralites never take care of your children, you are money minded and leave your children to maids".  Let me assure you I grew up under a maid and I have no hang ups.

While I love the sociological explanation ok Kerala and their women, I would want to tell the upset parties that, because our women work we have a better sex ratio than the national average. We don't kill our daughters because we don't consider them a burden, we know they can do much more than the men and therefore our women are independent.

And in the end dear Sarah, mamma wants to work for herself because some day you would want to do that for yourself too, explore, discover and be alive. I know you understand it more than anyone, you were within me when we both wrote the thesis, you traveled with me when I submitted and defended this thesis and you are my true supporter in all my kitchen adventures. I let this post stay here for you to know some day what I went through.

So please let people decide their priorities and don't impose your battle field and insecurities onto someone who wants the best of both worlds.

I dedicate this post to all those friends who have told me over and over that I am a selfish monster mom, if not for you adulation I would not churn out this post in 10 minutes.

Quest

Knowing what wants from life is a mission in itself. I think our efforts at every point in life be it through journal wiring, mulling, quitting a job, taking up a hobby, breaking off a relationship, entering into debates with our loved ones, becoming  a rebel to the family- essentially they are all different paths we choose to understand what we want from life. My hubby makes this an existential crisis altogether. He goes into what is the purpose of life- mode once in a while. And this phase comes in when I challenge the philosophical being in him. And then when I ask him why don't you pursue this line of thought he says he has to earn a living so he would rather let this thought rest. Though this response irks me (because it has a subtle hint that I have the luxury to ponder while he toils), I know it is his defense because given an atmosphere to write and not do anything I see my hubby frantically pacing like a guinea pig. The poor soul hardly knows what to do when he is free. 

That brings me back to where I began do we actually know what we want from life. If not is it not adventurous to embrace every new turn on this untraveled road with the enthusiasm of a roadie? That is what keeps me motivated each day. Some ask me why did you struggle to complete a PhD and now you bake and cook. I wish I could tell them I don't mind taking new roads in this process of self discovery. The journey is more important than the roads or the destination. But how do I explain this to people who are fixated on reaching the destination and never exploring again?

Living with Carpal tunnel Syndrome- Part 1

When I was afflicted with Carpal tunnel syndrome, the first thing I did was google for forums and write ups from people who suffered from this syndrome. I was surprised to find none, which is not surprising considering the pain one goes through. Typing while one suffers is not something one would normally do ( I am not normal) and once healed maybe people are relieved to get back to life, they don't want to relive their days of misery. But many of my dear ones asked me if I could write about this phase, so that it would help people who don't understand what Carpal tunnel syndrome is and perhaps also highlight the treatments and help one could get while suffering from this condition. 
This series in parts will highlight my experiences living with carpal tunnel syndrome- They have been composed over 7 months with the help from my hubby because I cannot type with these hands anymore.



          Sometimes I wonder what’s worse. Living with a disability forever or living with a condition that will disappear soon ( like in a year and half). I have been living with Carpal tunnel syndrome ever since I got pregnant. Carpal tunnel syndrome (CTS) is a median entrapment neuropathy that causes paresthesia, pain, numbness, and other symptoms in the distribution of the median nerve due to its compression at the wrist in the carpal tunnel ( source- Wikipedia). In layman's term I have numbness in my palms, swelling and pain in my shoulder, neck and wrists.Frankly, I wish I never knew this syndrome existed because I was managing fine hoping the numbness and pain in my arms would disappear some day- I thought I had hurt my hand badly and it was some temporary  nerve problem. But after the diagnosis and the verdict from the Ortho ( which included a nerve conduction study where they pass electric current through your palms) that this would last throughout my pregnancy and perhaps three months after the baby is born I began hating myself for having ever met a doctor for this situation.

I did not give up my hopes, I soon met a few Ayurveda doctors but they all told me I could not take any oral medication in pregnancy and so all I could do was reduce working with my hands as in I should pamper myself by refusing to cook, clean, work and take complete rest. My mom perhaps having never encountered such a condition in her 25 years of  nursing career, did not realize the magnitude of my situation, and kept consoling me saying things would be fine ( she has always been a fighter so she could not let her daughter give up). I wondered how I would have coped with this had I been fully employed, would my employers ask me to take leave for a year or would I go on leave without pay? ( Nah ! they would perhaps fire me). Would I need to undergo series of  examinations from specialists to certify me an authentic Carpal tunnel patient? I frankly don't have answers to these questions but from the forums I have been a part of ( Yes there are forums for pregnant women suffering from Carpal tunnel syndrome) I understand there are many women around the world suffering from the same and still willingly they choose motherhood the second and third time.

Luckily I was not employed. But I was at the verge of completing my thesis. My supervisor was sympathetic to my condition but like an injured player forced to take a back seat and watch his team mates score on field, I had to watch my peers and colleagues submit and defend their thesis in this period. Did it upset me? Yes at times it did especially when people refused to believe or comprehend my suffering. Especially when they asked why do you get rare diseases? Why is it you always? As if I had planned on getting Carpal tunnel and skipping work. Seriously many did ask me these questions. 

A normal day for me starts with me pacifying myself that I am not disabled, neither is this a terminal illness, I will see light at the end of this tunnel some day. But the very next minute, I end up in despair when my hands go numb holding my tea cup. Tears stain my face when I realize I cannot move my toothbrush because my hand’s gone numb again. And it embarrasses me that I don’t take proper showers anymore because I can’t soap or towel myself without taking breaks or pauses. I cried last month when I traveled by public bus, I had no place to hold onto, and people who saw me with my sling conveniently ignored me, I lost confidence to travel all alone.

Carpal tunnel syndrome has attacked me at the most opportune moment, I conceived quite unexpectedly and I had a thesis pending all set to be submitted in 6 months. But today I struggle to edit it. I wish I could explain my helplessness to people who wonder what’s taking me so long. At times I become so frustrated wondering if people will fail understanding my pain and that’s when I wrote some pregnant thoughts - http://catharasisofaresearchscholar.blogspot.in/2014/02/some-pregnant-thoughts.html. I was mad at everyone who kept pestering me to have a kid, though deep within I knew they had no inkling that I would get Carpal tunnel syndrome.

Carpal tunnel syndrome has stolen away every pleasure of my life. Baking a cake seems a distant dream, reading a book a tedious task and sleeping an impossible feat. I have become a chronic insomniac (which is why I am typing this at 2 am on a Thursday morning). I thought I should put my time to better use than toss and turn in bed with numb hands. So aren't they numb now? Oh yes they are… but I have nothing else to do, so I torture them even more.

Would I have loved some support from dear ones? YES, but unfortunately crisis makes you realize who your true friends are. All my friends except 2 or 3 have assured me prayers. Now though I don’t undermine prayers they right now can’t type, cook, fold, clean and help me sleep so frankly they are of no help to me. I don’t intend being blasphemous but Carpal tunnel syndrome  has made me quite bitter and cynical. It has made me rethink on relationships, family, friendships, love and even parenthood. Unlike many adversities I have been through ( mostly emotional), this one has been hard on me. Because I had limited access to phone, mails and rendezvous, I soon realized the friendships that I boasted about were so feeble, to have withered away when I could not stay in touch ( and trust me everyone knew what I went through, I made sure everyone knew about it, I thought I could use the support). Sometimes life can be cruelly hilarious, I attribute my experiences with CTS to this phase.

I cannot stop admiring people using their hands to work, I can gaze at them for hours, watch them chop, clean, use their hands as if it was quite normal ( I keep staring at my maid when she sweeps and washes vessels, yep I am envious of her). I realize how many people in this world would feel the same like me. We often take our hands so much for granted. I can see my misery has not built me strong but made me bitter, I end up hurting others when I am in pain, though frankly it’s unintentional. At times all I want is physical help or silence, not some optimistic crap. It hurts me as I type this and all I want is to sleep peacefully for a night without numb hands. I don’t need to be reminded it will all be fine. It has been really difficult and I have been really brave ( Yep at times one needs to pat oneself). People tell me parenting is painful, but I thought they meant the child birth process but that is not true, there's more pain to this process than child birth alone.

Don’t ask me why I was inflicted with this, there are many out there just like me. Don’t boast about how you finished your thesis before me, don’t ask me why I got pregnant or why I get into rarest of rare situations. Don’t appreciate my spirits; I am too tired to register half your nonsense.  I may not be terminally ill, but I am in pain 24 hrs and I am sorry if I am not tolerant to your worries at the moment. It's been 7 months this way, some days are fine, some days are really bad. And that's how it feels living with Carpal tunnel syndrome. List of things you can't do outnumber the list of things you can do. I know this does not help, but next time you worry about the sky falling, ask yourself, if you have two hands to hold onto those falling pieces :)

                                         ( to be continued..... about treatments, miraculous healing and back to suffering)

Cat chronicles- Don Mathaikunju Geevarghese Samuel

Cats were never my favourite animals. But as I said in the previous post on ‘Cat Chronicles’, 5 years at IIT and my marriage to WHO made me love cats like never before. Candy’s (there’s been a post on her before) death made WHO stubborn and grumpy whenever the topic of getting a cat came up. But I did not wanted to give up. I thought if Candy died it meant we had a lesson to learn and maybe an irresistible kitten was waiting around the corner to join our family. And finally it all happened - One fine morning, when I was leaving from Chennai to Bangalore for the weekend. I came across a pet adoption blog and casually mailed the blogger with my details asking if she had a kitten to adopt.  I got a call in three hours, before I boarded the bus to Bangalore. I was told a cat was rescued and was at a home for the past few weeks. They described the kitten as an adorable little angel except for that he was possessive and drove their own house kitten away.  I spoke to WHO immediately and he was in no mood for a new cat. His points were valid- we would have to leave the kitten in the bathroom or balcony, when WHO was at office and he worked too late. But with my cousin brother’s entry into our family I thought I still had some chance of convincing WHO  and I suggested maybe for three months they could take care of the kitten together because my cousin worked night shifts and WHO would be back by night.

However, that was not the crux of the problem.  Men can be possessive, especially when they don’t learn to share their space with others in the early years of marriage. We had no kids and WHO thought getting a kitten was some trial of mine to check out if he was ready to be a parent (a message he got after watching Marley and Me). He would soon be fighting on this with me weeks later though I was oblivious about this at that moment.

And that’s how Don joined us on WHO’s 30^th birthday. We named him Don, after a day with him convinced us of his menacing nature. He was the naughtiest kitten I had ever seen. He would hide behind doors and pounce on you, he would fetch ball, apple, anklet, hair clip and loved football. He would scratch and bite sneaking under our blanket just to feel high and sometimes he gave you that weird look- the one we later realize was a precursor to his dangerous games. We named him Don Mathaikunju Geevarghese Samuel- the last two being WHO’s middle and surname but Don is the only name he responds to (and these days gundu which means ‘fatso’)

We have heard a lot of ifs and buts from people about cats. Cats are selfish, Cats are dirty, Cats are solitary and this is the best one – Cats can put an evil eye if you eat in front of them. The list is endless. Some of these came from relatives, some from friends and most from parents. I am surprised that many of these people had never come to be at a meters distance from any animal in their life but are always full of hearsay. Against all jibes and comments we made sure that Don stayed put in our house. Through him we learned new things about cats and also saw a lot of myths being broken. So with these posts we will try to break all myths associated with cats, with Don as a reference, one myth at a time.

Myth#1 - Cats are outdoor animals

Well, so are human beings. We were never meant to be inside. Even in the modern setting we spent most of our time outside; only difference being we move from one- inside to the other. But at the end of the day we all love to come home to roost. Given a choice cats love to be indoors. The only problems being once inside they get branded as thieves. So it was always convenient to label them as outdoor animals lest you have to setup a state of the art anti-theft system. Alternatively let’s not forget the real thieves for whom the anti-theft systems were setup in the first place; not for cats I am sure.    

Cats love to be indoors, unless they have to go look for food and water and also for doing the same things in the reverse order.  Once in a while they also like to sharpen their tools or sit on a branch of a tree and just watch the world go by. Logically, I think it’s a chore for cats to be outside because they have to always look out for predators, as they search for food. From a human perspective it would sound something like this – you are in the middle of an urban warfare, always looking out for snipers, as you move about in the neighborhood looking for milk and bread. If all their needs are met then cats will be more than happy to sit on your couch and watch Animal Planet or Nigella cook a delicious soufflé. And that’s exactly what Don does. His day starts with a sardine or a bowl of milk, which is provided to him in the balcony.  If he were to graciously finish his breakfast in one go or at one place and not insist on moving around with the dismembered fish, like how his wild cousins do, we would have let him have his fish indoors too. Once his hunger is satiated, he’s restless to come inside. And he’s so twitchy to get inside as if someone’s after his life. And that’s why I say cats like to be indoors too. At this moment, when his basic needs are met, given a choice between the green pastures outside and the four walls inside, Don would choose the latter. Once inside he gets down to his cat business. And those are proceedings which will break the next set of myths and I’ll detail them in the next post.  Once all is said and done, he’s ready for the longest chore of the day – to sleep. And even a cat knows that it’s best to sleep on the couch and not on the side of the road ( as you can see in the pic below , he loves the comfort of the washing machine too ).

 And then there's a lot more we have learned from Don on the feline nature- stay tuned for more on cats and their behaviour through the eyes of 'Don'.

Misanthrope

I think negative emotions are more passionate than positive ones, with age and time it intensifies like old wine. I have never heard revenge and anger wane but I have seen love dissipating. That's exactly why we see people in love separate with no qualms, the hatred defeats the love. And it's to counter these emotions  that religion was constituted. To give people hope ( false hope) - of an unconditional love, eternity that they would gain for  this unconditional love. And it's amazing how it works with the weak. The weak always believe their situations will change, while the strong are too busy to even worry about eternity. I wish I never got these weird epiphanies- it's making me a misanthrope :) I love that word. If a man is a sum total of his experiences then I am a bad case. I have been blessed with a rare combination or adversities and I am not saying this to be depressed, I have not been very lucky with the mundane- the things people take for granted and so I am a negative emotion binge eater- which obviously makes me look philosophical and intellectual but also makes me a poor companion. I have zero tolerance for frivolity and no wonder I have no friends. I was grateful till now for having a life partner and then I realized why we gel together- a misanthrope can only survive with another one ( or at least someone who identifies the misanthrope as one). Why do you think Watson understood Sherlock :)

Found this beautiful quote that sums these thoughts

“Let me tell you this: if you meet a loner, no matter what they tell you, it's not because they enjoy solitude. It's because they have tried to blend into the world before, and people continue to disappoint them.” 
― Jodi Picoult, My Sister's Keeper

Sometimes we laugh at people for being loners or eccentrics, I assure you they are the best story tellers. 

For the sake of sanity, please don't send me condolences and comforting messages like 'will pray for you', 'god is merciful' and  ' be cheerful'- chances are that I might even contemplate killing you. I am not a fan of morals and humanity.

I cook with my hands- Sorry if that offends you

Last week I received a very unusual message on FB. I am deeply upset with myself for allowing myself to be upset by such incidents but it so happens that I am volatile ( even prior to my pregnancy). This message was from a so called distant relative of my dad residing in Italy. And it read 

Dear Teena,

Please take this message in the right sense, consider it like an advice from an elder brother ( building up tension). I saw some snaps on your food blog ( ok now he is getting to the point) and I see that you use bare hands to cook. This is unhygienic and will send wrong message to the world ( What the Fu###k ? ). I was supposed to show this link to some of my Italian friends and I was worried about what they would think? As it is they think we Indians are unhygienic ( I am bursting, seriously I am). So please use gloves henceforth.

love 

Mr X

I was appalled at what I was reading, and I decided to share it with my hubby after all he is the calm one among us. He read it patiently and asked in quite unparliamentary words ( something I will translate parliamentarily here) Wasn't this guy born here and did his mom not cook using her hands? It's amazing he survived with all the unhygienic background.And then began my battle of mails with this fellow where I had to shatter his colonized mind off the burden to appease his colonizer friends. Well all I wrote was this

Dear Mr X.

I hope you realize India got freedom in 1947 and we ate with hands before 1947 and we still do. In fact eating with hands requires us to wash it before and after unlike man of you friends who might forget to do so because they don't eat with hands. And in fact I have been to Italy and have seen Italians eat Pizzas, Panini and many other stuff ( Like pop corn, MC Donald hamburger, french fries) using hands. In fact I spent an afternoon watching them toss pizza dough with bare beefy hands. And guess what in Venice, Milan, Florence and Perugia, they used hands to make pizza dough. Now I don't know about Rome and since you are there, you should tell me how to knead the pizza dough wearing gloves. Morevoer I am checking cookery videos and I see Jamie Oliver, Anthony Bourdain, Gordon Ramsay and Nigella Lawson using bare hands I am sure they are outcasts and disgrace to your Italian friends. 

And if your friends think we are unhygienic please tell them despite eating with dirty bare hands, and cooking with the same, we could not even kill 1/10th of our population, I wish we could that could be the best population control strategy.

Please find out if Sonia Gandhi uses here hands to eat, I am sure if she does that should upset Italy even more.

love

Teena

This mail was met with an absurd  reply which made me want to hire a contract killer to kill this guy..

Dear Teena,

You treat me like an enemy. Your dad and my dad were second cousins and you wrote to me with such arrogance ( oh god, why can't this guy stick to the point). I did not want my friends to misunderstand you. (to hell with your friends). I am ashamed at the way you argued ( yep, coz you seem to be the loser). I will never advice you hereafter ( good for you and I am blocking you dear brother).

Mr X

I finally blocked this guy off FB. I am surprised I get to meet such people and that they exist. Shallow people who wag their tails to appease the foreigners and who belittle their own culture and upbringing for this. Just because you stay a couple of years abroad does not mean you get to look down on your own people Mr Smarty pants and  you are free to wear gloves to eat your idlis and dosas ( after all they are coated with germs) . May you live ten years more than me and be a burden to mother earth. 

Seriously, why is it so cool when a foreigner eats with his fingers and why is it messy when we lick our hands dripping of curd rice. We use chopsticks, fork and knife and eat every cuisine they way it's meant to be so why is using hands a disgrace? And then you tell me crap like get close to nature?

I know this is an absurd fight but coming from an Indian born here and residing in Italy after the first half of his life I find this hypocritical. I am not ethnocentric but I will not allow myself to be judged and moulded for someone else that's just not me. ( After going through my blog all he had to say was wear gloves ??? )

This post is not meant to offend any other culture but I don't think imitating another culture, another accent, another way of life to be accepted by someone else is cool. It just shows how uncomfortable you are with yourself and how low your self esteem is.

Some pregnant thoughts

People, who tell you pregnancy is all about the glow on your face and excitement about that miraculous life growing within you, are definitely men or sadist women, who are lying or perhaps even a woman in denial or playing a joke at you. Despite years of debates and discussion with my spouse, surviving societal expectations and pressures, things definitely don't seem rosy and romantic to me, now that I am pregnant. There are times you feel lonely and then you realize there is someone within you (like that someone is right now kicking me from within). But then you wonder will this mere realization suffice? or am I subjecting myself to the romantic notions of pregnancy my subconscious has gathered from books, movies and wisdom of elders. I guess some of us fall in love with the notion of motherhood that we believe it's gonna be a romantic phase. When you visualize yourself in a pink checkered frilly frock (with those rose buds and bow ties) with a bowl of strawberry and a bulging tummy it appears cute in your  photo shopped mind. This post has been in the draft mode for 6 long months. I have never found it so hard to verbalize something before.

Frankly I wanted all that glow and when I looked devastating I was told it's a boy by many (these 'many' are like oracles in demeanor but as competitive as stock brokers when it comes to speculating the gender of the baby), as if it would pacify my aching heart. During our daily morning tea time conversation I asked my hubby my greatest fear- " Are we ready?" " Are we ready to accept we will never expect anything in return for all these aches and pain I go through?" "Will I be able to resist myself when a rebellious teenager asks me someday why I gave birth to him/her?" Long time ago a couple visiting us were shocked that we harbored such thoughts even before conceiving a baby and they told me that people don't think so much. That's exactly my problem, that we don't think at all and hence that teenager someday is right to ask why the hell he/she was made in the first place. I have asked my parents too, in my teenage rage, and so if what goes around come back like a boomerang, I am expecting the same.

I also get pissed off when people tell me 'enjoy!!! it's the best phase of life'. I don't understand what they mean. I don't think peeing 20 times a day or sneezing and finding yourself leaking is exciting. Neither do I think struggling with a numb hand (Carpal tunnel syndrome- and now it's infected both hands) or bee hive kind of rashes all over our body (please google - PUPPP) is  exciting. I cannot whip, or fold, type, or lift an object with my right hand (and now the left hand too) so imagine me typing this post :) I don't expect graces from heaven for going through this phase it so happened and I am learning to cope with it. So next time you see that stupid Johnson's ad and feel all teary remind yourself it's a hoax. Chances are that you will throw stuff at your hubby in pregnancy rage rather than sit and knit purple booties :) and that's normal. You won't say gaining weight brought happiness, you would sigh at the swollen feet that does not fit into your pumps (I don't have such issues but have friends who suffer from swollen feet). You are going to hate yourself on those sleepless nights trying to restrict yourself sleeping to the left while your partner tosses and turns and even  lies on his tummy.Bliss!!! Let me tell you it's not easy. You definitely need a lot of contemplation before you decide to get pregnant and family and societal pressures should be the least of your reasons to conceive. Because if you are unprepared two souls bear the brunt the most- the hubby and the baby and that's just unfair.

I don't mean I regret this. I just hate people telling me to enjoy this. Despite all odds I have been surviving this all alone, I did not employ a helper. I still manage everything home with the help of my supportive hubby, I am still editing my thesis. Pregnancy has made me love and respect my man even more. Unlike many lazy men I see around me, he wakes up early enough to help me with chores around. He is away mostly compared to others who get back home by 6 and relax, and yet he chooses to support me in everything I do at home from cleaning, massaging, washing to cooking.  He makes me realize we are in this together and had he the option he would share the numbness, the itching and the labour pain. And that's love.... and that's why I believe it's worth to bring this kid into a world where he/she can see mutual respect, love and care right from home. But that does not lessen the aches and pains and mood swings and nausea and weakness.... it does not mean we should glorify them and wear them as jewels. It need not be recounted 100 times in future to tame our kids- because we did choose this on our own for whatever reasons we have.

Each experience is unique so I am all ears to mothers who have pleasant stories to share but I just want to remind them, that its just not the same for all, we do experience joy with those occasional  kicks and flutters but we hardly have any control over our emotions ranging from anger to depression. I think comparing one's pregnancy to somebody else's is the biggest sin ever, trust me pregnancy can get competitive too, I see women compare baby weight, length, circumference and what not? Personally I would stay away from such competitions.

Something that has soothed me throughout is maintaining a baby journal where I record my thoughts, my daily mood fluctuations and ailments. It helps one bond with one's baby and would make the best personalized gift you can give your kid some day. Many friends who heard this laughed at me. They believe nothing beats money and investment. But I disagree. Despite the numbness, I never quit the journal, and I even jot down my inhibitions about being a parent. And frankly I love being cathartic that gives me sanity.

The biggest lesson I learned from all this is that there would be a load of useless people who would ask you why you don't have kids but you won't find a single soul when you are at it. I don't remember a single person from this clout calling me up and asking me about my health but they were the most determined of souls to convince me on the bliss of motherhood. So if you want to take this bridge it's a long solitary journey and it's not the last phase that hurts- the whole thing hurts in bits and pieces. So next time someone asks me when I am gonna have the second one- I am gonna shove some Mississippi pie down their @###

Bizarre antics of the Average Mallu male

I was reading Cyrus Broacha's 'Average Indian Male' and it occurred to me that he hadn't analysed the South Indian male adequately. And being a malayalee I cannot claim an authority over the whole of South India but from my 30 years of experience with Alpha-males from the Kerala region I guess I know them quite well. Before I begin, let me assure you I will be discussing pure breeds alone and my representation of a Malayalee alpha male is not the second or third generation Non- resident Keralite living in other states of India or the Middle East ( popularly known as GULFF), or Europe and the United States. Though occasionally few traits transmitted from the true breeds over generations can be evident in these half- breeds. My favourite case studies for this study would be my dad ( his soul rests in peace) and my pop-in-law ( a soul that can never rest in peace). Now I have few cousins, uncles and other assorted relatives who exhibit more or less the same traits, for me to conclude the reliability and validity of my experiment. For the purpose of comparison I have chosen two case studies from different educational, geographical, cultural, ethnic, caste, creed, complexion ( my dad and dad- in-law). But the end result will show you irrespective of the differences they conduct themselves quite the same. So let me delve into some bizarre antics of the Average Mallu Male.

1) Table manners- An average Mallu male  is quite particular about his food, he can't be enticed by viagra but can definitely be coaxed by over- priced exotic tasteless fish ( like pearl spot for instance). He would constantly quote the price of the fish during meals on the table and remind his kids how tactfully he bargained and got them a good catch. An average mallu male would also insist on sitting at the head of the table and in rarest or rare cases some alpha male would request they be served in a different plate than others to mark their supremacy. Their wives require exemplary surveillance skills. An average  mallu beta female seldom eats peacefully with her one eye looming over her husband's plate asking him dutifully if he needs refills, which he replies in grunts ( like hmmmmmm - if its a yes and hmm hmm - if it's a no). A traditional alpha male finds it hard to confine his food to his plate. He drops his food around the table sometimes strews the table with fish bones and curry leaves which by the end of his meal is dutifully swept by his wife or daughter but never him. Taking one's own plate to the kitchen is unheard of in average mallu culture and modern husbands doing so are still frowned upon and considered henpecked husbands in many parts of the state.

The end result of every meal is a dissatisfied beta female and tortured gamma prodigies who find it hard to relish the taste less over priced fish. 

2) Stand up or mind it !- An average mallu alpha male expects people to stand up when he enters a room especially the women, the young and those who rank socially lower than him. If the audience wear a tradional lungi ( aka 'mundu') that is folded up revealing one's legs, they are expected to drop it down to show respect to the alpha male. Many wives have been restricted from visiting their homes for the reason that a brother or uncle of hers did not stand up and let his mundu drop down when the Alpha male visited them. But if the Alpha male grants you the permission to sit down- you  can, provided you don't lean back and relax yourself. Occupying 1/4th of the chair and a posture that indicates you are leaning forward eagerly listening to the alpha male  can earn you brownie points ( like a packet of dunhill, a  jasmine roll on, yardley powder or Fa soap).

3)  My money is my money, your money is my money-  The alpha male controls the primary and secondary income of his family. The secondary income though perhaps more than his, will never be identified as an independent source. A joint account in a mallu family is always a hoax, for the account would always be operated by the alpha male. The alpha male still believes in feudalism and curbs minor revolutions budding in his household with the use of leather belt, cane, chappals and bare hand. Prowess and aggression is considered as a sign of manhood and hence gamma prodigies get dutifully caned for asking bare necessities ( which they will be then eventually granted). The beta females constantly suffer from Stockholm syndrome. They earn money yet deny the ownership over their earnings, and defend the alpha males reverentially. 

4) Narcissus is my true god- The alpha mallu male is always in love with himself. He lives in a world of grandiose plans. He believes he is the neatest and cleanest man on earth and despises every other males especially those of other cultures. There are of course exceptional behaviours that he rules out ( like peeing/shitting under his favourite coconut tree is considered bonding with nature). He conducts himself as he pleases. In his encyclopaedia of  conduct, things work his way and never the vice versa. His mistakes are lessons for learning and others mistakes sheer stupidity.

5) Oh I am modern yet close to my roots- An average mallu alpha male will ask for curd rice and lentils ( aka kanjim- payarum) or fish curry meals  after a dinner at pizza hut. The logic being his stomach will get constipates if he is denied of his daily diet. The problem is that average alpha mallu male finds it very hard to accommodate new habits alien to his culture but also wants to pass the message to other cultures that he has updated himself. So he force feeds himself noodles with chopsticks and stuffs himself with pizza all the while criticizing the backwardness of the neighboring South Indians and average North Indians, only to get back home and ask for his favourite fish curry meals, kanji or dosa. It is no different when it comes to dressing.

 A proud mallu though might be well accustomed to jeans, shirts and other accessories needs a lot of air circulation for which he prefers wearing his bizarre colored lungi ( with pink flowers and purple butterflies more like a bedsheet)  which he manages to procure on his every visit to Kerala dutifully even when he resides abroad. This attire is suitable topless showing off the hairy chest. There are a lot of advantages to wearing a mundu or lungi as evident from malayalam movies- you can lift it with your feet in the middle of a fight- that's sheer style, you can remove it and tie it over your head when you attack your enemy or are totally drunk, it is very easy to remove and throw when you are in a hurry to rape, in fact unfolding a lungi and tying it again is a strong message that the guy is ready to fight. A lot can be written on the politics of Lungi.
Men wearing shorts are often looked down and considered municipality sweepers, inferior and unmanly- shorts have no politics to be mulled over. The same applies to the moustache a mallu male adorns trimming it and curling it using his favourite coconut oil. Minus the moustache the mallu male loses his prowess the way Samson felt helpless without his hair ( refer old testament in bible). Moustache if viewed in the right way is the antennae for the mallu male- he twists and plays with it when aroused, in fear, when nervous, while plotting revenge- the direction his eyes faces determines his mood. The manliness of a mallu male solely rests on his moustache, lungi and the number of bad words he can swear oops and not to forget the number of pegs he can ingest ( after all we top the charts in alcohol consumption).

6) Relationships- It took me years to conclude with these findings. In Kerala the dad's side of the family is always full of vamps and villains and mom's side with angels. Dad's side of the family be it an aunt or uncle will always crib, torture and use un-parliamentary words just because they are the dad's side of the family. While mom's side of the family are by nature forgiving and loving people who give, give and give. They respect the son-in- law and serve him the best of best while the daughter-in-law gets royally disgraced because that's how the dad's side behaves. For this reason kids always long to visit their maternal side where they are duly adored and loved while going to the dad's side can be a nightmare. A common theme in mallu movies and mallu families is the rivalry over property issues and death of the alpha male- head of the family. These fights sometimes legal battles extending to two generation revolves around the division of land and property. Every alpha male will have a story of being betrayed by some sibling over some land issue which is the sole reason for Kerala topping the alcohol consumption charts ( that and some pending dowry he has to receive from his wife's family).

The beta female is the most subdued, psychotic, depressed and convoluted creature in this community. Despite her education she is still a victim of this vicious torturous cycle. A lot more can be told about the bizarre antics of average mallu male but then my hubby thinks I am too critical about things and should stop doing this for my own peace but since this post was composed before this statement of his, I use my  discretion to post this here. By the way my hubby is not a typical mallu male and I married him for this reason :)

Why I did not change my surname?

I know it's gonna be quite controversial and difficult to float. I might offend a  lot of my friends ( well the ones who know me well wouldn't be surprised) but I have been mulling over this topic for quite some years and was waiting for a gush of hormones to propel me to craft this  post ( that's how I basically write, emotionally, unedited, at a stretch). What better time could I ask for than pregnancy ( yes I am pregnant and I don't think its a big deal ) with all that progestrone being produced and mood swings cornering me- I guess this is that auspicious moment to get back here and voice my thoughts. I have been neglecting this space a lot- mostly because I hate writing because some great guy told me I can't write. It's amazing ! the effect certain people who mean nothing to us can have over us and how they can turn our worlds upside down with their frugal words. Well I won't discuss more on that. There are many benefits of being pregnant ( something I will discuss in another post)- to me it has revived my old self. I wake up with an I- don't - give- a - damn- to - you  attitude and have suddenly become passionate about things I discarded years ago. So that's how I decided to pen these thoughts.

My oldest memory of  listening to a couple fight over change of maiden name is when I was 13. My mom was being promoted from a blue label nurse to a red label  nurse which meant she had to change her name tag. My dad insisted she change her name from K.Kuriakose to K. Augustine. After 16 years at work holding her maiden name my mom was forced to change her surname. I realised she gave the not-being- promoted excuse as a reason for not changing her surname all those 16 years. People knew her as Kuriakose. It amazed me that a woman of her generation did not take up her hubby's name immediately. I never understood why dad  insisted the change of surname. Her passport read Kuriakose, so did all official documents and that would  never change. Her signature was M.K Kochuthresia, that would never change either. Was dad eager to share her promotion? or did he just like the fact that her tag showed his name- some narcissistic pleasure. It made me even wonder why I couldn't inherit my liberal mom's surname? But my identity was defined as Teena Augustine and my signature bears the same name. Despite my disagreements with dad, I never had the urge to change it but at the age of 13, I made a covenant with myself- " I wont ever change my surname when I get married".

I got married to the best soul on earth- a selfless, progressive man I am willing to die for- but I was true to my covenant- I did not change my surname to the surprise of many. It irritates me to see people changing their surnames on facebook the very next day after their marriage. It's as if their sole mission in life was to get married to change surname. I look at those excited couples and wonder- why don't any of these newly wedded husbands add their wives names as surnames just for fun. It never happens. As women we are constantly reminded we don't belong to the homes we were born into and we happily agree and accept the new family and their surname.

At a wedding I was asked if I changed my surname? I was trying to fathom why such a question should arise- when the person addressing me listed all possible reasons for why women change surnames

1. You will have issues inheriting your husband's property when he dies if you don't change you surname ( Ok that sounds quite monetary and gruesome- what if I die before him??)

2. Schools will get confused if parents have two surnames ( that's what marriage certificates are for- and if they are educated they shouldn't find this confusing at all- its not a quadratic equation, its just a name)

3. Husband and Wife are one so they should have a common name ( ok then let my hubby choose my surname or we could have a number plate that way every couple can shed their old names and be known through a number like we have passport number, license number)

4. Kids will find it confusing- ( my  god ! kids these days are better informed than us and process complex technology, two surnames mean nothing to them)

5. Not changing surname means you haven't submitted yourself completely ( cut the crap !!!!!)

My father-in-law called me up  when I was in Chennai to courier me some papers he wanted to be delivered at some government office. I read my address and he made me repeat Teena Augustine thrice. I thought he was turning deaf but then after his long pause, he asked me why I hadn't changed my surname. Now my hubby and I lived in two cities for 3 years - I don't think the distance affected us though people speculated the end of our marriage- I don't think our relationship is so brittle to fall apart because of an unchanged surname.

And yet I fail to understand why we undermine our identity and accept these silly changes because somebody has been doing it for centuries? Why do rational, educated men insist their wives prove submission through change of surname? It's also getting fashionable to add both surnames, I have no opinion on that I see it as a effort to preserve harmony, it would make me happier if the guy took both surnames too- like an Aiswarya Rai Bachan  and Abhishek Bachan Rai but sadly that doesn't happen. So it all boils down to my bad luck that I am a woman and so I comply to a lot of crap instituted by a couple of crappy old systems which definitely was decided by men and enforced through the support of few women.

My aunt tells me there is an unexplicable joy in surrendering to one's husband and losing one's existence in his shadow. She believes change of surname is just a beginning of this experience.And not wanting to shed one's surname reflects one's ego. It hurts me when women perpetuate norms and justify such actions. Now that I am pregnant I wonder why my child gets to bear my hubby's surname and not mine or why not both of ours. What makes the world presume a child belongs to the father. Bible says ' for this reason man and woman leave their families and unite to become one'- that to me makes a lot of sense. Can't we for a difference shed our names and the proud lineage we boast about and adopt a common name and start our own family? What tradition are we trying to uphold? what aristocracy? what norm? 

Shakespeare said what's in a name? I wish he was here, I would have loved to discuss this idiosyncracy with him. So that's why I never changed my surname- because I am an arrogant feminist with an ego of the size of a dinosaur who finds unnecessary norms imposed on me as a burden. And I am grateful I live in times when I have the freedom to do so. If a marriage is so weak that it breaks because a wife did not change a surname- I think that  marriage would never survive in the first place. So all those people out there who think my hubby could act a bit more chauvinist ( make me bend on my knees) should look themselves in the mirror and roll their right fist into a ball  and then open their middle finger :) I mean it  !!! for those who agree with me, I owe you a big hug.

Italian Cooking Class

There's good news to share with you. After three years of blogging I have decided to take the next step- of teaching cooking and I  have decided to start with Italian, something I am very passionate about. My love for Italian cuisine grew after my visit to Italy in 2010, where I was on a project for 3 months. I hadn't read Eay Pray Love then but when I read the book after I returned I felt like I was revisiting the Italian culture of gastronomy through Gilbert's book. It's one thing to eat a cuisine and another thing to learn it from imbibing the culture, I guess to me that kind of an experience happened in Italy. In Italy I learned cooking was fun, at times unorthodox and that every recipe had it's own story.

In this cooking class I will be teaching some basic Italian recipes. I will start with three basic sauces, followed by three kinds of pastas using these sauces. We will also explore a Classic Italian frittata, Aubergine Parmigiana and end the class with something Dolce- Pana Cotta

I will be providing the participants m recipe notes, the key ingredients required for basic Italian cooking and the standard equipment one must have at hand to cook Italian.

I would like to work with small groups so I am considering 10 participants for each class. The classes will be held at Doddanakundi, Bangalore on 19th and 20th of October between 10 am to 1pm.

Do mail me at teenaaugustine2002@gmail.com for further queries on registration and other related concerns. Please reserve a seat for yourself on either of these days by mailing or calling me and bring in a plastic container to take your sample dish back home.

You can also contact me at 9243506427

Hope to see you soon.

"Lascia cuoco Italiano" ( Let's cook Italian)

Healing through cooking

Have you ever been rescued from a depressive episode or trauma by a passion of yours? If you've ever been through a trauma and could bounce back to normalcy, you would be grateful for those little passions you cherished a lifetime and would know what I was referring to in my opening line. I never knew I had  a passion until 2008 when I went into a depressive phase.I knew I had lost interest in work and hated going back to my institute. I took a 3 month break and felt like a loser for making that decision. My self worth was shattered into zillion pieces and I could not forgive myself for breaking down. What I did not know then was that this was my first breakdown in a series of more to come. Depression can be ugly, it is a mental asthma if anyone asks me to describe it in a word. Your mind feels asphyxiated all the time and you are aware of this 24x7. I was ashamed to break down especially after my diligent study of psychology. That's when my doc asked me what activity in this whole wide world could rejuvenate me? It took me a while to realise he was asking something non academic. After all I was so immersed into work, I gave up everything else for academics. It's my hubby who then said " Cooking, she loves to cook". " That's great then, your assignment is to cook something special every day, challenge yourself, and surprise yourself".

I have been cooking since I was ten. It was an act of survival. With a working mom and no helping hands one learns cooking if rightly initiated. I loved eating too but I never thought of cooking as a stress buster or a passion. I was impulsive and bent rules to my liking. I did the same with cooking and when my dishes turned out well, I assumed I was lucky. But that year, I started looking at cooking differently. I started wondering how cooking was a scientific yet an artistic activity. I discovered movies, documentaries and books that shared views of people who loved to cook. And in no time I was hooked onto cooking reading voraciously recipes, their history, new ingredients I had not heard before.

Cooking heals our soul and I think any activity that heals, needs the feel of building up or creating something. It's natural because creation is the opposite of destruction and in any crisis you find a part of your self destroyed. And what you wait for in that lull period thereafter is to create, restore, build up that portion of your's that's lost. Just like a surgery reconstructing a part of you, just like putting back those lego blocks altogether, just like moulding that piece of clay that broke under too much pressure, you wait for that one activity that can put you back to shape. I have always found pottery and cooking satisfying for this reason, the fine product reminds me I made something that's visible to me.It always reminds me of the healing happening within.

There could be many other possible reasons why cooking is healing. It is an indulgent activity, requiring lot of precision and takes up so much of your attention that you forget all the brooding and bad thoughts that haunt you. Have you ever cooked in bulk? I once made 7 Choco apple tea bread to salvage a box of apples I bought from Kashmir.It was a painful process chopping chocolate to coarse pieces, pureeing the apple to prepare a sauce and baking them one after the other. I did this because I needed a task larger than I had ever done. I knew it was physically strenuous and I was trying a new recipe so trying 7 cakes at once was  crazy. But when I saw the cakes cooling on the the rack I realized how relaxing it felt to just stand there embracing the warmth of the oven, smelling the fresh baked goodies. Every time I do a large assignment, I go crazy mostly because I don't intend to take over large assignments but then I challenge myself to go forward and make a small step out of my comfort zone (baking one or two cakes is comfort zone).My hubby tells me he thinks I am crazy in the kitchen and this does not look like stress busting. I agree with him that things do get chaotic, I lose patience, I yell and am pretty much the mad woman but it's the final product that soothes me. Plus the fun of sharing it with loved ones.So sometimes crazy things do happen in the kitchen and yet it's healing. It makes you a lot calmer and confident than you were before. People say before every storm there is a calmness to me I am calm after the storm :)

Something else that makes me fall in love with cooking is how colourful things are in the kitchen they just brighten my day. I choose ingredients that give me a collage of shades. I choose a decor and appliances to go along that matches my idea of a colourful palate. Seeing colours makes me happy. It's like gardening for some, that bright feeling you get when you see your flowers. I get that seeing my ingredients and the final product. I look at  a pizza and say '' that's a beautiful collage'', I don't know how many of you would agree with me on this. I even visualise how my goodies would turn out to be, and this in turn motivates me to cook most of the time.

Cooking is also a time when I indulge in my second favourite activity- listening to music as well as singing. This has been beneficial to me and my cooking. I guess many of you who cook do it this way. Nothing motivates me like my favourite song when I start a bake-a-thon :). Sometimes music as well as dishes you cook evoke good old memories which in themselves have a healing power. And by the end of my day I feel good about myself. Each time I make something new I know I have nailed it and I look out for new adventures- that's what being passionate is all about. I am aware that not everyone loves cooking but that's maybe because it's not your thing or it's not your thing yet. Maybe running is your thing or painting or writing. I can only tell you how cooking healed me but I believe we all need a passion to indulge ourselves in a mundane world where we end up doing things we don't enjoy for  a living ( well some of us do that don't we?) And chances are that you might snap/break/asphyxiate/die once in a while.So you need those little tricks under your sleeves to get back to life. Mine is cooking what's yours???????

May 25- I am reborn

If I could I would declare this day as my birthday for the rest of my life because forty minutes ago I had the biggest realization of my life. I went through a life changing experience. My heart just stopped for a second and my whole body shivered. I felt lonely and happy at the same time. I was prepared to die without an ounce of fear or worry. I always feared death but that very moment I felt at peace when I thought of death. I felt like a misanthrope and felt no desire to live for anyone on earth. Is this how people faced their last moment?, I bet not, most of the time we are never ready, we have many unfinished business, loved ones making us want to live more. But that very moment, my mind went blank, something I always wished to experience while meditating. An eerie, cold sensation enveloped me, a heightened sensation of being alive like I had never been. I wasn't suicidal trust me, but everything around me seemed calm and peaceful. I so wished I could die so peaceful only to be defeated by death and to be reminded of my existence. But something has changed within me I can feel goosebumps as I write this.

I am at loss for words to describe what I feel right now but I also know if this moment passes away I wont be able to put these very feelings into words and I don't want to forget this day and this very moment. I lost my battle with faith, hope, love and..................... family ....................... today.

Marriage matters strikes back- Part 1

I thought we were done with marriage matters. The journey to the altar was witty and eventful and I thought that was it. When we started our life together, I thought everything would be different. Different it was from day one and witty when I think of it today though then, I literally cried. So I decided to launch marriage matters back again with my musings on my in-laws, their house and neighbourhood, their visits and some interesting snippets on life after marriage.

I blame the bollywood movies, in fact the film industry  in every part of India and Saas- Bahu serials for fooling girls with stupid notions on life after marriage. When I left my home in an Innova racing towards Kadampanad ( a place that is no different from Malgudi to me) after my wedding, I cried and I don't know why. I think there was so much pressure from everyone to see tears in the bride's eyes and having watched too many Ekta Kapoor serials in my college days I acted along.

 So here I was with my in-laws and hubby cramped in an innova all teary. I drifted off to sleep dreaming of my welcome at my new home, a home I had not seen before and had no clue how it looked except for the few pics WHO had shown me. I would soon learn that nothing can prepare any bride for what awaits at her groom's place. We reached Kadampanad when it was nearly 7.30pm and it was dark. My pop-in-law insisted that we light candles and pray at the historical church of Kadampanad before entering the house.My stomach was already churning and yearning for some soft earth to receive the undigested pork and beef I munched at the wedding banquet. I could wait no longer and vomitted right in front of the church when I got out of the car.
It was pitch dark and only when I got up did I realise what I had done. My hubby agreed to come back in the night to throw some mud over the vomit so that it would be concealed the next day ( which he dutifully forgot). The car then took us back to WHO's home where I was expecting a grand welcome with fifty plus people who would usher me in. At the gate I saw there was noone but my in-laws. The neighbours were all tired so they left for their homes said the photographer. But let the rituals continue he said and asked my mom-in-law to give me the lamp and the photo sessions continued. The photographer left immediately and what was left was a disturbing silence. I was asked to change and serve dinner which startled me because I was new to the place. But dutifully I went in changed and searched for the kitchen.

I was shocked to see a pile of unwashed vessels and plates from the wedding eve. I hope they have a servant I told myself screening my manicured, polished hands. The dinner was silent and I realised people seldom spoke in this house. We retired early to bed only to be woken up by the clanking of pots in the kitchen at 4 am. "My dad wakes at 4 am for coffee", said WHO and I could not sleep after that.By 5 am I heard a knock at the door and my pop- in- law came in fuming saying "with two women in this house I had to boil milk and make tea".
Few years later I would learn to relax at many such filmy dialogues but at that very moment I got up despite WHO asking me to chill down and marched upto the kitchen. I expected a helping hand but saw noone and despite my moaning hands crying to save their wax, I started with washing the unending pile of plates. I was soon introduced to a perennial problem of Aranavilayil house- " The ever blocked sink"- that got blocked after washing 3 plates. On asking a solution I was introduced to the age old standard method of using a curry leaf twig to clear the blockage ( this sink still exists and so does the method).
My pop- in- law suggested I carry the vessels outside to a tap near the washing stone and wash it down with ash that was far superior to a vim bar. "And make it quick we rented these", he said. Tears welled up my eyes for no reason. I expected some filmy royal treatment as a bahu(daughter-in-law) and here I was at 6 am washing vessels crouched around a washing stone with ash on my arms and clothes. WHO came out in his shorts and washed them with me showing his moral support. He could see I was unhappy." This is not how I grew up", I said. He listened silently. " I feel betrayed, this place is so dirty". He was silent again. " You got a stupid sink", I said. He hummed.

"Atleast we have cool breeze and chirping birds for company",he chimed."And is this all", I asked myself ? my newly wedded life? in the backyard of a kitchen washing utensils whole day with ash and clearing a sink with a curry leaf twig? I would soon learn there were more interesting rituals waiting to embrace me.........(to be contd....)

The girl who lives in the past

“Each has his past shut in him like the leaves of a book known to him by heart and his friends can only read the title.”

- Virginia Woolf

I have always been described as the girl who lives in the past. I know many who live in the past, some who live in the future and none who live in the present.( That's my quote). It's not like I have a wonderful past to stick on to. I actually don't remember a lot from the past but I am a nostalgic being by habit.I love old songs, old movies, old people and old fashions.

 Many of my memories from the past are sensorial. Like I can smell my dad, he always smelled good. The secret to this was that he changed three shirts a day and used three different perfumes, apart from the after shave, talcum powder and creams he applied. Yes dad is the only man I know in the Pre- Shahrukh ad days-  who used creams for that particular skin glow. In fact it was from him and not my mom that I learnt of vico turmeric and fair and lovely. In many ways dad had a lot many feminine qualities, my mom never had. I would have laughed at his devotion to beautifying himself then, but recently a quote by Virginia Woolf ( I am die hard fan of hers) reminded me, what dad did was perhaps normal.

" It is fatal to be a man or woman pure and simple: one must be a woman manly, or a man womanly."

I completely agree. I remember him fretting over a pimple in fact borrowing clearsil from us his kids. I can vividly see mom running after him to get a wound dressed and dad crying like a kid.In his demeanor he was gentle a quality people often related to a woman. Dad was the talker, talk , talk, talk. He had the charisma to keep people listening too. 

He had a taste for music and the first ghazal I heard was " chupke chupke raat din" by Ghulam Ali at the age of 3. Dad was a sufi when it came to music much to mom's disapproval he played the devotional songs of Muslims and Hindus and Christians too. Some of my memories of the past is quite musical. I remember each class I passed or failed based on hit or flop number that was popular those days.

Dad had a strong penchant for good food though he seldom shared it with us. He was indeed a glutton and never believed in sharing. He also got invited to lot of places he never took us and I remember listening to him vividly describe his trysts with food.Knowing we would never get to be to any of those places made me visualise what those treats would look and taste like.

Though I never admitted this when he was alive I think I have inherited the love for animals from him and the niceness and willingness to be fooled time after time by people I trust and love the most. 

I miss those long discussions, those sweet smells, those clamours over music, debates over politics and religion. I wish I could show him these blogs, my new inventions in the kitchen, progress at work and I think he would understand.
I was listening to this song 'Darmiyaan' from a boring movie called jodi breakers and though it was a romantic movie the lines' kuch toh tha tere mere darmiyaan' reminded me of dad and that's how nostalgic music can make me. Sometimes missing someone is not even painful it's a calm,serene feeling of contentment. The more one can recollect good memories over bad ones the missing seems more meaningful.

I know , I know I am getting too emotional in my posts these days but hey this is an online journal and I did not promise entertainment :)  and I am entitled to be emotional for I am the blue girl :)

Do listen to Shreya Ghosal version of Darmiyaan and if you have a penchant for music like me you''ll travel to a different world too, I promise.

Kia Kaha

Sometimes silence is golden. For me silence means I am burning within, things are chaotic and I am looking for the fire exit of my life or that I am punishing myself for being an absolute idiot. Sometimes it all happens to coincide- my reason for silence. I always considered myself an honest individual- too idealistic, aggressive a typical type A personality. But off late, I feel myself drifting, weak from the ambush of jerks. The fact that I am aware they are jerks do nothing to make me feel justified in times of crisis. My honesty is so compulsive that I tend to believe I am wrong when someone tends to label me in grey. I baked 8 cakes last time I felt ambushed ( choco-apple tea-bread) but my soul feels abysmal. 

A friend of mine from New Zealand said something quite soothing today. She repeatedly slipped in these words in her mail and the each time I pronounce it, I feel soothed. 'Kia Kaha', 'Kia Kaha', it feels like a mantra. It definitely feels like a name I would have loved to take up. Kia Kaha in Maori means ' Be strong' and my friend tells me this phrase means deeper than it's definition and has been a source of support to New Zealanders through out their history. Kia Kaha is part of their marching song, was a popular slogan and message during the Christ church earth quake and therefore is a term closely connected to the lives of  New Zealanders.

My friend often greets me saying "hi from the bottom of the world" and it often makes me smile.Thanks Keryn for this loving message. I know tough times never last but tough people do- all they need to do is keep chanting 'Kia Kaha'. Five years ago  I began blogging to prove to someone I could write. The comments motivated me, later built my hopes, then progressed me to a narcissist who fretted when there were no comments, when my friends did not become followers and my family never read me. As I progressed in life as a blogger and a human being I realised the comments don't matter and failures won't make me hide in fact they made me a fighter. But I still feel low on certain days and worry about things that have no significance at all. 

Do you feel stagnant in life? Do you doubt yourself? And try hard masking it with a phony face while your heart is throbbing all along? I would say- 'Kia Kaha'.

I am reading  'Life without Limits' by Nick Vujicic and a quote of his inspired me a lot. It woke me from my inertia and forced me to post this today. The quote goes like this -"Some injuries heal more quickly when you keep moving". I have been going through an excruciating phase feeling empty and wondering why I should even consider blogging. My topics that once were never ending were now empty or rather I found everything I wrote as trivial. We all go through such phases of self doubt in life which I call the Wilderness phase of life. Some say it happens when you think too much and some say it happens when you have read a lot. I don't believe in both the theories, I think the wilderness phase comes in before a beautiful spring to make you stronger.I believe that this phase has its lessons too and I need to be more observant and silent.

And I am amazed how help comes from the least expected channels when you lose hope from Nick's book, Keryn's mail. How life won't let me give up and wants me to strike back with all the vigour I have. Maybe one among you out there who reads this will find an answer through this confession of mine. And for you... I write. I get back to blogging..... 

Move ahead in life despite that stupid mistake, despite the wasted years, the wrong plan, the painful moment, the wrong relationship, keep moving because staying stagnant won't help you grow. And some wounds heal quickly when you keep moving.

I promise to keep writing for myself and not because someone out there will comment or not comment.