What is it about birthdays..that makes you introspect

The run up to my 34^th, yes 34^th birthday!! is actually getting very painful. Its not the looming signboard that says you are headed to 35 that’s bothering me!! Its not the greys or the first tell tale signs of crows feet..

Maybe this happens earlier to some and the other luckier FEW don’t have to feel like this at all. But all of a sudden that thought which was so at the back of my head, seems to be making way -  up ahead. It keeps coming up like that trigger or alarm that you set on your cell and when you are not so ready you put it on snooze..that is exactly what I have been doing.

34 years is a long time, studied well, studied well further..got a nice job, married, have a house, a sunshine daughter and then..full stop. So my 34 years doesn’t sound very different from that of the zillionth person. The worry is that every year I think that the next year is going to be that BIG year in life – when something that I ‘do” and not what simply comes upon me will make me rise from a sea of mediocrity to the next level.

The seamless shift of years, only makes the panic increase – only makes the gnawing question probe its way, right to the surface – “What is my life about?”. Should I accept being mediocre? it isn’t that bad! Why do I think I belong to the “what lies beyond mediocre” set?

As a kid I was always told - work hard and the rest will follow, but that gap between me and whatever is following only seems to be increasing. I often turn around, but haven’t caught a glimpse of it yet..But I am a believer so I will keep walking, will look around every now and then whenever I am low..and I am sure someday that “following” is going to tap and walk with me shoulder to shoulder.

The voice at the other end

“hello” the voice at the other end said. It didn’t resemble any note of what remained in my memory as his voice. We haven’t been in touch so he didn’t obviously recognise my number or my voice.

“Hey Its me” I broke off, there not knowing how to continue this conversation. Was I to sound grim having the context in mind or should I attempt to steer clear from that memory.

“How you doing’ I asked, I knew he knew it then - why I had called. It immediately put him on guard, he had been fending off many like me in the past few months.

So the conversation continued with some pleasantries, till the time came to say why I had called. So I continued because this had to be said..”I heard about your daughter”, I stopped wanting to sense what he felt. But maybe he had mastered the art of wearing a mask for situations like this.

So I continued, letting him know that I only genuinely wanted him to know that he and his family will be in my prayers. “How did it happen?”, “when did this happen?” I left all of that for a later date, if ever.

Today was for him just to know, that maybe another person was praying for him too, that someone else was willing to do a deal with God to ease him off some pain.

So the call ended as abruptly as it started. My ordeal continued – that night as I watch my daughter sleep (who coincidentally is the same age as his) I often cast myself in his role and wept.

Even just the thought made me feel so empty inside. I felt like there was nothing inside me, just a vacuum waiting to be filled – I reached out to my daughter, held her closer, held her tighter wanting to fill my senses with her smell, her sleepy noises…I didn’t want to leave.

But not everyone has that choice…and that moment to leave is the toughest. Because that instant changes the present to the past, every touch to a memory, every smile looks more distant.

If you ever happen to read this I want you to know I am praying “May her soul rest in peace and may you soon find yours too”. 

Go Jack Go!!!

Go Jack Go!!!

Within a cast of perfectly created dishes, there was always someone who had placed his passion on a tray. Created something that his passion persuaded him to and not his better rationale self.

What is more important for an artist – to create what his passion beckons him to or that which  would rather get him much appreciation from critics? Its an oft seen battle that goes on in lot of our minds – the canvas demands an outpour of passion but the strokes betray every such emotion and create what a trained eye will like seeing. 

But Jack however is not yet ruined by this demon “the need to please”. And probably the fact that he is a 10 year old kid is has a lot to do with it. I am a big fan of this little big boy Jack that I saw on Junior MasterChef.  And it surely is easy to fall for him, he is a little gentle giant who stands tall with large innocent eyes & shaggy hair. He goes red every time his work is applauded and smiles straight from the heart.

Obviously every participant on this show is adorable, 9, 10, 11 year old kids who make devilish desserts, cook rabbit meat, make their own pasta…gosh..could put a lot of us to shame. Nearly each of these kids had perfected the art of culinary excellence to the T.

So what was so different about Jack – he is someone that I wish I had the courage to be EVERYTIME…

To try something new because I believe in it and not being scared of the outcome. Don’t sometimes all of us stop trying to do things differently because we have already mastered the art of doing things that are acceptable and maybe even appreciated?

Do we train our minds to create clones of acceptance and maybe in the course suffocating honest passion which keeps waiting for an opportunity to surface.

What I would give to be like that 10 year old…you Go Jack Go….keep that crazy passion alive to express your art in your own way.

The questions she asks me..

 She goes on non stop. Its questions about the ads on the TV, the food that is served, the people I talk to on the phone, the maids I crib about..there is a question for every occasion.

 Its only after she says her "gud night, Jai Shree Krishna, sweet dreams" and shuts her eyes is she done. Thats my 5 years and 3 month old daughter. All through my pregnancy, I read about stoking a child's curiosity and answering their questions. Never say "no", never sit them down with a "dont ask such questions"..

 So when my tiny daughter..just about managing a sentence or so started asking questions..I patted myself on the back and answered..well its been 5 years to the day and I am still answering questions..

 While her questions have not tempered down with time, my enthusiasm surely has..

 Off late the questions she asks have only gotten trickier to answer, its also made me realise that now is the time that as a parent I need to choose the path I walk on. Will I always have it in me to answer these questions or will I at some time choose the easier way of putting a stop to questions that make me uncomfortable to answer. Well, honestly I dont know - but I will try to walk this tight rope for long as possible. These are the questions that somehow as kids, we intrinsically knew never to ask. 

• Where does a baby come from?
• When will I have a baby?
• Is the navel more important than a vagina? (well this question happened soon after I thought it was important to teach her about her anatomy clearly and not refer to body parts by strange names.)
• If Dada is the oldest in the family, when will he die? How do I explain that this obviously does not work on the FIFO system
• Once people die what happens to them? this one I have already bungled up, since I told her that they are reborn as children in the same family. So when someone close in the family passed away a couple of years back - she wanted to know who they were reborn as!!
• On seeing a soap commercial on TV - why are Uncle and Aunty having bath together? water conservation I wanted to say.
• When she saw the prince kiss the princess on the lips  - she asked why cant mamas and babies kiss like that?

Another realisation, has been my inadequacy to answer questions with the apt information - and this I find easier to address thanks to Google. Which parent wants to feel intellectually inadequate in front of their child?

She asks;

• What causes tsunamis and can it reach our house?
• How are clouds formed?
• Earthquake kaise aata hain?
• Do all gods raise mountains? this was after consecutive tales of Hanuman and Krishna
• So if Radha is not Krishna's wife - who is she and why do temples not have his wife's pictures?

 Per se these questions dont pose any difficulty, but when you are speaking to a 5 year old - there is so much moderation, decoding and simplifying that you need to do in your head that it makes it a task in itself. 

Most importantly, children need answers which are black or white, they need to be yes or no, right or wrong, good or bad. The "grey" answers are yet not something that they can take as an answer.

But, Ira - i must say that every time you ask me something I learn a little bit more. What I dont know I find out (thanks Google), what makes me uncomfortable I learn to conquer, What I cant answer now, maybe completely I mark in my head as "to be answered later" and be as honest as I can in the present. But I surely dont want you to stop, I dont want to judge your curiosity as right or wrong.

So keep asking and I promise to answer it with sincerity for as long as I can.

"Akream"

Now in hindsight, Saturday was meant to be. You know how there are days that you plan and still are a total mess..but there are some that falls very correctly in the "meant to be category".

For a couple who has spent all their life in Mumbai, I can a bit shamefully admit that there is infact not much that I have indeed seen of this city..even more shameful that as parents to a rather inquisitive 5 year old. Mumbai starts at Bandra and ends at Andheri.

So Saturday was indeed planned as a day to actually Mumbai-ise ourselves. My daughter has been demanding a picnic for a while now, so it seemed as a good time to cram all her wishes in one mega day. We packed off at 1 pm in our little dented Swift. For some one who has had a lot of elaborate lunches in the train - managing a "picnic" in the Swift was nothing impossible. So somewhere on the western express highway as we crossed Bandra - the picnic basket opened. Out first came all the raddi paper, which was being put to the best of use - obviously we didn't want to dirty the newly serviced car. Little jars of chutney, butter, a packet of bread and kebabs were arranged, then neatly layered on the bread and passed around the car. In my head, I ticked off picnic as done - from the list of things that my daughter wanted for the day..

Just as the last bit of sandwich was down, I asked her if she had enjoyed her picnic lunch - she first looked at me quizzically and then asked "So mamma, every time when we get food on the plane is that a picnic as well?"

Stumped! & stupid..thats how i felt - I was obviously no better to the teacher's hammered image of a picnic..a food basket, a park, a mat to arrange the food and lots of games to play. 

Ok, item no. 2 on the list to the rescue. Our next stop was Tarapore aquarium, in her words "Akream". Just as we were 50 metres away, she asked me what kinds of fishes would there be? Would there be a shark or a blue whale? I could only manage to catch my husband's eye through the rearview mirror and hope for a better verdict than the picnic lunch. 

Ironically, as we parked and headed to get our tickets. We crossed 2 loaded tourist buses - that were out on Mumbai Darshan. The highlights of the Mumbai being, Tarapore aquarium, Hanging garden, Prince of Wales museum and the Gateway of India. Is this indeed Mumbai Darshan? For a city touted to as the one of the greatest in the world - there should surely be more to offer. 

I dont understand what it is as Indians that makes us so defiant to rules. A signboard at the entrance says "No photos allowed", those wishing to take pictures need to take a pass of  Rs.2000. Once inside, it was almost like no one had read the sign or most thought it was a dare to see  - how much faster they could click. But most suprisingly, I was wondering - what are these people clicking?. For any of you who wish to introduce children to the aquatic wonders, please get to on to Google, the aquarium in our city is nothing but shabby.

It took us less than half an hour to see all the fishes TWICE, pick up a fight with someone who kept insisting on taking pictures and to crib about the paan stains everywhere. In all honesty, if just the upkeep of this place was better, it could be a close to decent basic level aquarium. Looking at the turtles and fishes, I almost wondered how they were even alive. Once we got out, I didnt even have to ask my daughter what she thought. "Mamma, she said - "the Akream is disappointing".

Our next stop was more to beat the heat and give a much needed break to my husband from driving. It was a surprise I had told them. Confidently, we parked near Churchgate station, and walked to Resham Bhavan. 

2 pairs of anxious eyes stared at me, "Chalo yaar, you will like it" is all I said. As I opened the door to the Tea Centre, I almost thought I had entered the wrong place. I checked again if this was indeed the place -  I read once again Tea Centre written in bold lettering outside. 

But this place was nothing like what I remembered it to be. When I last visited, which was nearly 7-8 years back, it was a quaint place, which had a lovely old world feel to it.

The scene I saw today, was of a perfectly successful restaurant, packed at lunch hour. The old tea centre, did not even have these many tables and chairs!!! There were a lot more sofas, old photos lined one of the walls and soft notes played on the piano made it a perfect place to have the chai of your choice. Hmmm! Well 8 years was a long time and one of the waiters told me that the new management thought this was better. But the good part is, that they still serve some great chai and caramel custard.

The itinerary for the next few hours was decided, we would park at Kala Ghoda, then walk our way to Gateway of India – with the necessary detours in between. I am skipping the part where we thought the building opposite Churchgate station was the Prince of Wales Museum or when we got lost finding out way to Kala Ghoda!!!!.

Anyways, the next stop – Jehangir Art Gallery, made up for all the “Ops” moments through the day. The sculpture display, is really about art being clever. Waste items have been fused to create dramatic sculptures. Cycle chains, hand mikes, spades, wires, yes those uninteresting things suddenly were made to look so integral to a thought. Some really wow moments there. But what really makes you speechless is the price list.

Atleast one safe item on our Mumbai Darshan list! As we walked to the Gateway of India, we crossed the Chatrapati Shivaji Museum, erstwhile Prince of Wales Museum. After the aquarium debacle, it really took some convincing to go inside. But that is where all the reluctance ends. The near to perfect condition of the lawns and the professional management at the entry was enough to tell me – that this was one place that had received its due attention and makeover.

The makeover does not stop here, the museum has its own gift store, a nice cafeteria, clean loos and polite staff. It has a remarkable collection that ranges from the Indus valley civilisation to a variety of birds, animals and sea life found all over India on display (You can surely miss the aquarium and visit the ocean wonders here, though not alive their condition seems to be better than their living counterparts). 

We really did not cover all the three floors – but managed to leave with a sense of awe and pride. This item should surely remain on the Mumbai Darshan list.

The last stop for the evening was the Gateway of India. The grandeur of the structure hits you even as you approach it – what is also befitting is that it has as a neighbour – a monument that today embodies both beauty and pain – the Taj.

But all it takes is one look at the water to kill the beauty of the moment. Lining the surface of the water, is a layer of used bottles, wrappers of chips and every other waste that should be in the bin. The proud Gateway of India, stands silent to our relentless effort to keep this city dirty.

I pass one subdued thought at this juncture and then move on with a shrug. Well, its time again for a break and some refill before we start our journey back home. So this time, I play it safe with Café Moshe’s. Whatever, you order – please do try the molten chocolate. A perfect end to a not so perfect day. But I realise that its mostly the imperfections that make things and moments memorable. Over the last 24 hours, I have been trying to get my daughter to pronounce – “Aquarium” – but all she could manage was a confident “A” – and then  “KREAM”. Like all relentless mothers, I kept correcting her. This morning, even before she completely opened her eyes, she smiled and said “Aquarium”. 

Perfect!, I told her..but wasn’t the imperfect “AKREAM” more endearing. I smiled and hugged her – thinking of the irony of life.

 

The 2 women and a hut

The morning hours are strictly "do not cross my way hours". Living in a busy metro, with maids to coordinate with, the school bell to catch, the office muster to sign and the traffic to deal with..definitely does not bring out the best in me.
This is my constant state of mind 365 days.

Now for a couple of months..as the moring tarffic stops at the Milan subway signal - there is a new sight that I look forward to everyday. Admist, the smoke, dust pollution, cars screeching by, the ricks honking there is a world untouched. A tiny shanty - where an elderly woman and a younger girl (who i think is her daughter) stay

These 2 women have created a world around themselves..at a spot which for any suburban traveller is a nightmare. A tree near by acts as their cupboard, small scraps of cloth, plastic bags with their worldly belongings, a broken umbrealla -  are all safely tucked between the branches.

Off late I have also seen a latest addition to their family..a stray dog, who is loved, petted and hugged like any home pet.

I look out from my window..feeling like a stranger peeping into someone's house. The scene is like a serene morning, where the mother makes the tea (or whatever it is that I see boiling in the vessel). That also seems to be the only vessel her kitchen holds. Her kitchen surely surely needs a mention, it is a makeshift fire from scrap wood, a vessel, 2 plates and something between a tumbler and  a mug.
The daughter, fights the sleep in her eyes..sits hugging her dog..what am i seeing..how is this any different from any of our homes. They laugh, they tease, look at the busy people rushing by..they almost seem happy.

I sit fuming, counting the seconds to the green signal - the world with the 2 women and the hut is untouched. They smile, not knowing where the next meal will be managed from, how the hut will stand under the Mumbai downpour or how long will it be before they are shooed away from this hut..that they have built literally from scrap.

As I stare unabashed, our eyes meet..mine fuming with the daily drama and hers content with her world around. The signal turns green..I go back to my paper and the moment moves on..