Crazy FreshNHappy; Adjectives in the Air

Crazy was the feeling from the word go. 

It was the second time in 2.4 years that I was going to leave my toddler and my husband at home and go for a mamma's day out. And although it was the second time, it felt as bad as the first (which was so long back that I do not even remember it). 

Guilt abounds - It’s a Saturday and I am leaving these 2 homed in with nowhere to go. Doubts galore – Will he manage all by himself, to keep him happy and fed? And mostly, till the clock struck 1 pm – Is it worth it? I am a 30-year-old newbie blogger with 3 very prominent strands of grey, an equal number of root canals and 300 reasons to not be a stranger among the young and getting younger bloggers, invited to a starred hotel. I am too old to walk up to someone and say ’hello’ and too young in blogosphere to even dream of doing that! 

But I went. And as my 2 men dropped me in the hotel portico, I thought I saw them exchange knowing smiles as I closed the car door behind me. They have plans. Oh well, I have plans too, mused I! 

Did I just say I had plans? 

Plans there surely were, but not the ones I was trying to make. IndiBlogger and Ambi Pur had it all planned to the (white) t. On offer were not just any run-of-the-mill plans, but plans that make you feel 16 and make you act 6. Plans which make you re-examine all your versions of ‘fun’ and leave you hungry for more. Plans which make you drop your writing pens and your hair, both. Plans which spell C.R.A.Z.Y. – no less and only more! 

Oh! But I am not going to tell you all about it. No need no intention of going from A to B until Z of this Ambi Pur IndiBlogger Meet. Five pictures from my experience is all you need to see to really know what I mean, and just 4 verses to prove to you why my second just-me outing in over 850 days was well worth it. And for that ladies and gentlemen, let us wax lyrical. Not poetry really, but just a sing along, to mark a Meet which believes in making us do exactly that – sing along. 

1.

As I took a corner table, waiting with bated breath,

2 men slunk up to ask: ‘Lost soul, do you have a minute?’

I was blindfolded and led into a room that smelled so good,

I thought I was in Kerala enjoying my honeymoon.

Though the lady in the picture is someone else not me,

When I opened my eyes I too saw rotting fish, and this man in chaddi.

While the camera taped me talking, dreaming, laughing and turning peach,

Ambi Pur took me 6 years back, with such magic and mystery.

2.

With nostrils full of flowery scents I got back to the Meet,

Grabbed the last but one chair in the back, as if waiting for me.

What you see in the picture above is not just good hair-hot curls,

What you see here is masala for yet another time travel.

I went further back in life, as I head banged on and on,

Forget honeymoon, here’s stuff that crazy college days are made of.

No goodies came my way, Alas, my mane too short it seems,

Oh well, what goes what goes, at least I felt I was 16. 

3.

Oh no! It’s not a deodorant and that’s not why my arms are raised,

Can’t you figure I’m Dharmendra paaji from our favourite ‘Sholay’?

Basanti lost her left chappal, and I announced in my deep guttural,

“You cannot dance for smelly bloggers till you have your left chappal.”

So scented Left Chappal nosed up to the scent-y Right, 

Ambi Pur helped the chappals meet, it was no more a fight.

Dharam paaji in his skirt ball-danced with dear Gabbri,

If this is not smelly to smiley, then tell me what is, please?

4.

From the crazy spread of food to the crazy frenzy here,

Not a moment to think of baby, not a thought for the husband spared.

I went there feeling stressed, uncertain, old and a little guilty,

I went home feeling young, fresh, happy and very crazy.

Was it Ambi Pur’s effect or was it the Indi team’s?

I think it was a mixture of both, in exactly the right degree.

Let Ambi Pur launch a new scent, call it Indi Pur, if you please,

Let the whole world get a whiff like me, of how to spell ‘crazy’!

Family Values - An umbrella without a handle?

Have you closely observed those touching your feet bending to be blessed? I have seen many trying to dangle their hands somewhere around my femur, leaning 20 degrees at the waist with minds and free hands fixed on keeping the falling pants or pallus in place. Not my idea of showering blessings – on those younger with visibly younger underwear, often. A warm ‘hi’ makes me feel respected, or even just a genuine smile! Which is not to say that I am stowing feet-touching away into the box of memorabilia in the attic, as yet. God knows, as do all the elders, that it was one of the most beautiful gestures to bless and be blessed by. This here is just my attempt to examine how everything has a lifeline and a deadline - even ideas of family values and their associated gestures. And how we need to evolve our thinking even as Darwin’s theory and some such evolve the other bits!

To read further, please click here.

Historia - Safdarjung's Tomb, New Delhi

[My husband and I are what you call a “monumental-ly” crazy couple – rain, hail, sun or very hot sun, not much can deter us from visiting places of historical note when we have the time. Thus, soon as our son learnt to recognize us as his crazy parents, we wanted to introduce him to our shared historical hobby – to be one with history, capture it and immediately plan for the next weekend. “Historia” will be a series of informal articles on various forts, palaces and monuments we have visited over our years together. Our idea is to simply share our experience and knowledge of the place, pin-up some frames and sign-off with a few traveller tips. Bite-sized History, for quick and easy consumption!] 

Sometimes, it helps if the real merit of a historical site is not known to the crowds. Safdarjung’s Tomb is one such site. If you were to tie up the eaters in Khan market and the walkers in Lodhi Gardens to a little stone and throw them towards the Tomb, chances are they would land there before the pasta cooled down or the next 100 meters got walked. Safdarjung lies entombed that close to happy and happening humanity, yet that far from their minds. And that is good - for that beauty in solitude, in silence and in experiencing a monument as if put there exclusively for your senses.  

We wanted to capture the glory of this site in the Golden Hour (no, it’s not about jewellery. It’s the one hour after sunrise, or the one just before sunset - in this case the latter). You have to see it to believe me how glorious this last one hour of the day’s Sun is. The sunlight thickens to a deep orange hue, the leaves don’t seem green any more but made of gold and the shadows suddenly seem to acquire a depth and a slant which you have never seen before.

 Built in 1754 in the late Mughal Empire style, Safdarjung's Tomb was described as "the last flicker in the lamp of Mughal architecture". Here are a few pictures taken by us in the last flicker of the Sun. And look what it did to Safdarjung’s resting place, as it began sketching lines of darkness and light.   

There are 2 graves here. One of Safdarjung and one presumably his wife's

A doorway into the past

Hazy history

Face-to-face

And then the Sun set

What we have to say:

1. The best time to visit is in the evening, as has been amply stressed above. A secret - fading light without too many people around makes for excellent PDA, sans public that is.
2. The place is very well-maintained. Perhaps because it is not just small but also less popular with littering tourists. And since it is small, it can be done before the heat gets the better of you or nature calls. For the latter, as usual, no facility on the premises.

3. There is enough parking space. We only saw a HO-HO bus, with tourists missing.

4. The ticket guys are quite smart. They try to keep your counterfoil to reuse later. Just so with the parking guys all across Delhi. Make sure you have yours in your pocket. Makes good stickers for memorabilia scrapbooks, and prevents wrong-doing.

5. If in the mood, carry that book. We saw scope and space for a good reading session. 

6. The main fountain does not work. We wish it did, though! Would have kept our son's eyes busy elsewhere as we held hands here and took this magnificence in!  

(For a closer look, just click on any picture for the whole series to unravel)

To have? To not have, as yet!

Readiness is all. 

But when it comes to having a child and becoming a parent, readiness plays peek-a-boo. Try as we might, saying ‘yes’ to 9 months and 90 years of parenthood is something that makes our knees knock, our Adam’s apple swallow itself and the heart zoom out the thoracic cavity and into our mouth, all within seconds of hearing “planning a family” – an act of such bravery it seems that it can put Gladiators to shame. 

When I got married to my friend from school, little did I know that the physics chemistry mathematics engineering permutation and combination that he excelled in will one day make him pronounce an exact date for father-hood. ‘5 years from our wedding day’ and the bomb dropped - a bomb at least for a Literature type like me who viewed most things subjectively and certainly not in set numbers – even, odd, prime or whichever else. I did not understand the deadline, and after 2 years of our marriage I happily realized neither did he, when he again pronounced-without-prompt – ‘I’m ready!’ So much for Mr. Calculus and miss-calculations!

As we enter our 3rd year of parenthood and look around, attributing to ourselves greater wisdom than we have actually acquired over the last few years, we wonder what makes people ready to have a baby, or rather, what keeps most of them saying abhi nahi! Once upon a time, the first child was conceived in Shimla, Udaipur or Goa – on the honeymoon itself, that is. The second after 3 years of the first, as Doordarshan advised. And if the rest were to follow they just did anyway, in no particular order of merit. Today, the only people talking about childbirth as a logical next step soon enough after the wedding vows are the ones who contributed their 2 cents to the population nearly 3 decades ago. It is their progeny which is the abhi nahi variety in a typical educated urban working professional setting.

Why readiness is not ready to come.

Life is no longer about Mehta & Sons or Kumar & Bros. Life is no longer about a handed down pattern of work and profession, with a swivel chair and a business waiting to be passed down to the daughter or the son, or a letter of recommendation for accommodation into daddy dear’s ex-office. Mostly, life is contained somewhere within cut-off scores, entrances, jobs, designations, apartments, cars, better jobs, better designations, bigger apartments and fancier cars. In short, life is about Ambition, and why not. Not just the feel-good variety, but ambition for reaching points in time where we feel financially stable and materially sound enough to afford anything from Rs. 5 an egg to Rs. 5000 a month play-school fee and eventually Rs. 5 lakh a year higher studies tuition fee for the ones we will call our progeny. 

However, in the process of the pursuit of what makes us happy and will hopefully keep ours happy, time is the victim for it refuses to stop ticking. More time at work means lesser time at play, and hence wondering how we will find time out from our work schedules, impending promotions, travel plans and shifting jobs to plant the seed of the first step even, if you know what I mean, let alone bring up a whole new being. Life keeps us very busy. And then we decide to keep our life busy in return.

Even if busy means worshipping football and beer, Saturday nights and rock concerts, cosy coffee shops and cosier corner seats in movie halls. When love knows no bounds, it may prefer to rock the lover to sleep every night, rather than a hiccupping baby. And then every office party has at least one well-wisher who may be a father-of-two himself but who considers it his life’s dharma to warn you – ‘Life changes after a baby. Be prepared!’ With a picture of a mysterious future looming out their voice and a baby crying in their arms, they put a little germ of doubt in your head, making you cling to your partner in complete fear of having to forgo the couple-y activities you so enjoy, together.  

Talking of doubts, often times the doubt about becoming a parent is about traits of our own personality. Interestingly, no other age or stage in life brings in a battalion of self-doubts as planning a baby does. Not love-at-first-sight, not the 21st birthday celebrations and not even the permanence of marriage. Am I patient enough? Am I too independence loving to be tied down by maternity gowns and feeding bras? Will I ever be able to think straight without my weekly dose of movies? Are oxytocin, ovulation and ovaries relatives or are they pills? And mostly, will I make a good parent? 

But why readiness should come, soon.

That bum with a baby at the party who told you life changes after you have a baby was right. But whoever told you it’s only about pee-poo, burp cloths and sleepless nights was wrong. It may not be a one-way ticket to a luxury spa but neither is it a contract which pronounces you to stay-sane-sober-celibate for the rest of your life. It is simply a step forward into growing up in life. And sometimes, you have to leap to see for yourself what the other side of the fence has to offer. No joke, becoming a parent, but in all seriousness, no one can tell you about it either – neither ones like me who say ‘Go for it!’ nor others who sing paeans of the latest contraceptives. Parenthood is for you to see and experience, and to finally understand. 

Money is important, ambition even more – one as insurance for the future, the other as assurance of self-worth and self-love. But neither needs to stop in its flow once a baby enters your life. If anything, you will find greater avenues to spend the former and beautifully reinvent the latter to include your baby and his/her future within its folds. 

And before you even learn to spell their name right, you will find that time has itself shown you paths around which it can be better organized. This is not to say time will conspire to increase your day to 25 hours. This is just to assure you that you, as an individual, will learn to manage the 24 given to you, automatically, and in a fashion better suited to everyone’s needs – including your own.

And no, that certainly does not mean you will not spend those hours drinking, partying, socializing, dancing, shopping, gossiping, reading, eating, etc. You will do all of that still, but with an added array of items and activities, like baby food, baby shopping, baby gyan sessions, baby parties and baby book reading, on your platter. Who said you’ll miss out on fun? I promise you, that you will only end up adding to your kitty so many more joyous reasons to celebrate! 

Oh! About that patience! Well, no better way to learn it than to test it, perhaps.  And the self-doubts, forget them all, and go make a baby. I cross my heart and tell you this that they are born so blinded with love for you that everything from your cracked voice to your funny nose is soul food for them. Because those belong to whom they call their parents.  (Of course, the flying pink hearts last only till they grow up enough to realize you are no Lata Mangeshkar or Richard Gere. After that, you can burn this post away!) 

Just one more thing - Happy Baby Making. And may the best swimmer win! 

(First published on Parentous.com)

The Dirty Picture

What did you expect? Vidya Balan in polka dots? 

This is far more real, and despite my camera cringing to this hateful view, I shot this a few years back while travelling in West Bengal, not really knowing why. Today, I make it my centre piece of what is to follow because it is time we realize - that which disgusts need to be discussed too, and rather urgently.

We keep our homes spotless clean. We hawk-eye the maid as she sweeps, use a magnifying glass to check if the bathroom tiles are dirt-free and keep our thick-lidded dustbins far removed from all that we call healthy. Or divine. Our family deities are cleaned and fed as a routine, resting on slabs which shine like mirrors in dedicated spaces never short of a penta-sensual treat, full of scents and colours. Colin shines the TV, Mr. Muscle the kitchen, Lizol the floor and Harpic along with its poorer cousins the bathroom. We work our muscles and our minds out to assure ourselves and ours a spic-and-span living. Within the four walls of what we call our home.

 But, ‘Cleanliness is next to godliness’ only at home. Everywhere else … we practice a different religion!

Missed the garbage truck in the morning? Look left-and-right once, then leave the knotted polythene bag under a tree, forget about it and feign complete ignorance about the used diapers and beer cans strewn around by the dog. Finally, blame it on the said dog in the next RWA meeting, and dash a letter off to MCD to do something about these stray canines, such dirty menace each one of them is. Go home, wake-up to another day of shining the crystal and dusting the divine.

Enter the mall bathroom. Use half a roll of toilet paper on the WC to spread under your spa clean behind to keep it further clean, and then quickly crumple it and throw it in the corner. Dustbin? Why bother opening it! Flush? I pressed the button and zoomed out so it must have gone. Wash hands, let the water drops fly, and the fallen soap drops dot the slab, and hurry - need to powder and paint before the movie starts. Don’t forget to drop a coin into the cleaning woman’s hanky and certainly don’t forget to share notes with your friends about how ill-maintained this mall’s bathroom is. Yuk!

God is great and so we have come to the temple on a holy Tuesday. Step over the beggars, banana peels and what’s left of the day’s holy happenings and find your way into the sanctuary of the divine. Bathe him and her, alike. Then, touch your eyes and ears, head on the ground, hands joined in surrender and contribute your 2 cents in the donation box. Grab the prasad in the leafy plate, eat it with relish after a little prayer and throw the empty plates right outside the temple gate, where a hundred other plates wait - with sniffing dogs, wary cats, dying flowers, happy flies and disease - waiting in prayer too perhaps for deliverance from this holy mess!

Here is another picture from the same holiday. We do not like to read the writing on the walls. Even if it says ‘please’ or 'thank you' and especially if it asks a favour of us in the form of basic civic sense, which we have no time or will to grant. Within our mansions the walls do not carry messages, but photographs, show pieces and precious paintings. Without, it’s not our problem and neither our job. Is it only that we don’t like to follow or obey, and that we don’t like to be told to behave a certain way? Or is it actually a contradiction – between the inside and the outside, of not just our homes but of our very being.

Something that we know is called Hypocrisy. 

Really Dirty Picture. Don't you agree?