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.