The Voter Card

If there is one thing I dislike utterly, it is going through the process of getting official documents made in India. The mere thought of the red-tapism makes my blood run cold. If I can avoid it, I will. This is the reason I got my driver's license three years after I had started driving in and around the town. Yes yes, I know. I also very reluctantly got my Aadhaar card made only because I could not register my apartment without it.

In 2013, I had just returned to India after 14 years in Singapore, in the thick of the rising hindutva propaganda and the resulting polarization. It took me some time to catch up with the madness and gain some clarity about what was happening. You could say that was the reason I did not vote in 2014. But the real reason was I didn't have a voter ID. And I hadn't toughened up enough to try to get one. 

But 2019 was different. I was disgusted with what was happening in the country. I had to vote, which meant that I had to have a voter's ID. I had tried to get one, somewhat half-heartedly, in 2017 but that quest had ended after looking in vain for a school teacher who was supposed to have a form I had to fill. No teacher, no form, no voter ID!

Then one day earlier this year, I read a Facebook post by my writer-club friend Rinku about how getting her voter ID online was a breeze! Online! That's my world. That's a world I can traverse without standing in queues and going to schools to look for elusive teachers and forms! 

So I visited the website, scanned the required documents, including a fairly decent picture of mine, and uploaded them. I was quite pleased that my picture in an official document for once would be of my choice. You have to see my Aadhaar card and driver's license to know what I am talking about.

In about two weeks, I checked the website again to find that my voter ID had been approved and dispatched to the local SDM's office! Elections were just a month away and I will be able to vote! Yay! I was elated and somewhat shocked. "Technology is queen!", I thought to myself. 

The next day I went to the SDM office to collect my voter ID. After asking around random people, we located the room for voter ID collections and traversed the crowd to reach the counter. The man at the counter checked the website for confirmation, nodded at me, and then searched his messy desk and drawer. No voter ID! He checked with some other people and figured out that my card had been dispatched to a school a few kilometers away from my house. A school again! 

This time, I was given a name and phone number of the school teacher. So, I called her and she asked me to come to the school the next day. She had insisted that I must call her before reaching her school because she was going door to door to deliver the voter IDs and might not be at her desk. Unfortunately, my house was too far for this form of delivery. 

I did as asked the next day and fixed a time to meet her. She came in a little after I reached, soaking wet in the rain. She was a pleasant lady I must say, who asked me to sit while she looked up her stash of cards for one that belonged to me. But where was the stash? It was nowhere to be found. After searching for a while, she said she might have left it in the house of the last person she had gone to deliver the card. Might have?

So, off she went to the voter's house to bring the leftover cards. I waited anxiously for half hour before she returned with the packet and looked on greedily as she went through the voter cards one by one. She did this not once, but a couple of times. But my card was not there. She finally declared there must have been some mistake and the card would have to be in another school. 

By now I was at the end of my tether. Technology had not been the queen I had thought. Before leaving for another wild goose/teacher chase, I randomly picked up the set of voter cards on her table and looked through them. There it was- my voter ID with my name printed clearly! 

How had the lady missed it, not once but twice? She took my card from my hand incredulously and looked at my face and back at the card and said "This picture doesn't look like you! No wonder I missed it. This person looks so thin!"

Thank you mam for that observation! One would think you would look at the name instead of the picture. But these words were only in my mind. I was so happy to have that piece of plastic that I almost hugged her, and went back home feeling like a queen! 

The Best Feedback!

Last month, I finally set up a food stall in the local mela. I had been dreaming of doing this for a long time, but never had the energy or the time to carry the idea through. But this post is not about me or the reaction of my customers. It is about Aloka and her customers!

Aloka is a budding chef, trying out new recipes and experimenting with ingredients in her free time, which is a lot since she started home schooling last year. As expected, not all experiments have been successful, but we have still enjoyed her creations.

Sometime last year, I chanced upon some cute looking almond chocolates in the fridge. They were yummy. I was amazed to find out that Aloka had made them, all by herself, without even my knowledge! She had used her knowledge of making chocolate ganache and devised her own technique of adding almonds to them. For molds, she had used the IKEA silicone ice cube trays we had purchased many years ago when we used to live in Singapore.

So, when we set up the food stall in the mela, I asked her to sell her chocolates too. She was strangely reluctant, but I was equally strangely pushy. So, while I prepared chicken schnitzels and buttered potatoes on the day of the fair, she made some 50 flower- and fish-shaped chocolate treats. She was shy about going around selling her wares, but agreed to try to sell them to any customer that came to our stall. The chocolates were priced at Rs 5 apiece, which would fetch her a small profit. She slung a bag with some change in it (all Rs 10 notes) and held her box of chocolates in her hands.

The fair was a madhouse and I had no time to look up to see how Aloka was doing. She first came to me some 20-minutes into the sale with a worried expression on her face. "This boy wants a chocolate", she whispered, "but he says he has only Rs 2." I turned around to see a young balloon-seller, perhaps 12, dressed in a vest and shorts, looking expectantly at me. I told Aloka to sell him one chocolate for the money he had.

A half hour later, Aloka was again by my side, asking for change for Rs 100. "The boy wants two chocolates, but I don't have enough change", she said. Once again, I turned around to see the same boy, the balloon-seller, this time holding a 100-rupee note. He was back, ready to pay the right price for the treat, which meant that he had sold quite a few balloons by then. I dug into my purse and handed Aloka Rs 90 to pay him. He left happily with his purchase.

By now, we were selling out fast. So was Aloka. She had two chocolates left by the time I was sold out. I smiled at her, and hoped to grab at least one of her chocolates, when lo and behold, the same balloon-seller was by our side again, this time with a younger friend. He held out his 10-rupee note to Aloka, and bought her last two chocolates. The two kids grinned and sucked on their fish-shaped treats while walking away.

That evening, various people had bought Aloka's chocolates. Some were people who knew me and perhaps felt compelled to buy from Aloka. Others were strangers, but were sort of captive audience because they were sitting down to eat food at our table. Hard to say no to a child selling chocolates in such circumstances too.

But here was a boy, who wasn't at the fair to spend his parent's money, but to earn his own. This boy chose to spend his hard-earned money to buy Aloka's chocolates. Not once, but three times!

What a compliment!

Could there be better feedback? I don't think so.

Chandrama- As beautiful as the moon and quite as loony- Part 2

Every time I write something, it is like gathering ideas and thoughts scattered all over, bunching them together and shaping them to somehow makes sense. But this process also brings a sort of finality to the ideas. Once they are captured, they stop being the very things that inspired me to write in the first place. 

Maybe that's the reason I can't write about my mother. I do write about incidents involving her, but I can't write generically about her. The thoughts I have about are too many and scattered too randomly over 51 years of my life - gathering them is nearly impossible. They are hard to capture also because they are evolving, changing, growing every day. Also, gathering them will mean there will be a finality to these thoughts, and I can't allow that. She is a constant source of inspiration and self-knowledge and I need it to be like that. 

Today is her 79th birthday. For the last 4 years, it has been my absolute pleasure of living with her in her favorite Dharamshala. The thoughts I have tried to capture here are bits and pieces about what I have learned from her. But no finality or boundaries here- there is lots more that I haven't even figured as yet.  

From her, I learned to be the best in anything and everything I do. And this was purely by example- we never discussed it. I just had a mother who was great at her work. She was the star. How can you be her daughter and accept mediocrity for yourself. You just don't.

From her, I learned the meaning of being truly happy. I have never seen my mother being moody or depressed, despite whatever was happening around her. I have always wondered how that is possible but because she is a living example, I know it's possible and can hope to achieve that life-state one day. 

From her, I learned to be brave. I have never seen her scared of any challenge that life throws in her way. She took up a WHO fellowship in her early thirties and lived in the US alone for a year. It was her first trip abroad, working with absolute strangers and getting used to a totally different lifestyle. If that didn't require bravery, I wonder what did. Once when she was the Principal of LHMC and there were student demonstrations clamoring  for her dismissal, I was shaking but she was unafraid. She was not even afraid at 60 of  moving with my dad (who needed a lot of care) to a small town and starting a new life. When he passed away, she was not afraid of living her life alone on her own terms. And even now, she lives her life as she wants, doing what she likes, despite having her bossy daughter live with her!

From her, I have learned how to have fun. When I was six, she blew my little mind by playing a trick on all of us- she returned from her year-long trip abroad with short hair. This was early 1970's and decent Indian women were not supposed to cut their hair. Her short hair caused so much turmoil in the family- my brother refused to hug her, my grandfather, her father, called her a "Par-kati kabootri (wingless pigeon)" and the elders on my father's side found it scandalous. Then a couple of hours later, she took of her wig and exposed her still long lovely hair! She created a memory that hasn't faded in 40 years and triggered a certain mad streak in all of her kids.

From her, I learned to love travel. My earliest fondest memories are of our travels together to hill stations, where she made us walk crazy distances, sing songs and eat express no-nonsense meals that she would cook. Later, she filled our heads with exciting stories (coupled with slide shows) of all the cities and country she had visited in the one-year fellowship. I grew up believing that the purpose in life was to travel and live in exotic places, meet new people and then talk about these experiences forever! I still believe it. 

From her, I got my gaming genes. In early 2000s, my dad rang me in Singapore and complained about mom' computer game obsession. In his typical funny-serious way, he said "Puja, apni mummy ko samjha. Sara time games khelti rehti hai! (Puja, please drive some sense into your mom. She is always playing computer games)". How could I tell him that at that very moment, across thousands of miles, she and I were playing an online boggle game together!

Nowadays, she plays Sudoku, Rahjong (a solitaire version of mahjong) and 4 pics 1 word type of puzzles on her iPad that I bought for her 7 years ago.

Much like her, I play till I drop off to sleep. She is a true role model...as the picture shows!

From her, I have learned to embrace change and go with the times. My beautiful mother, who for over thirty years, wore the best sarees in the whole of Delhi, and nothing but sarees (even a Salwar Kameez was too casual for her), now wears pants and t-shirts that she buys from the trendy stores in Singapore and Delhi. My super popular mother, who was once the life of parties in Delhi, now spends her time walking the mountains, playing computer games and painting. My smart mother, who once surrounded by intellectuals and professionals and spoke in an impeccable polished accent, now finds joy in talking to simple village people, using their language and sharing their concerns.

From her, I learned to love music.  My mother sings beautifully and prolifically. As young children, we would sit on her bed, listening to her sing with gusto inside the bathroom as she got ready for work. Even today, there is no greater pleasure for me than to hear her sing her (and mine) favorite Hindi songs and ghazals. Unfortunately, I don't have her singing voice, but I enjoy listening to the songs I grew up and with and spend hours trying to play them on my keyboard.

From her, I learned to go out and appreciate the beauty of nature. My mother is an avid walker. In the last 15 years, she has climbed every mountain and visited every village in the neighborhood. I have heard all the stories and now it is my aim to recreate those experiences. We walk to every village that she has talked about, climb every mountain that she had climbed, enter every dhaar that she had visited.

Happy birthday Chandrama, my cool as the moon Mommy, and quite as loony. May you have a great great day today, with your butterflies and flowers and mountains and the khudd and the sunset. May you live fully in health for at least another 20 years so I can learn more from you and get a chance to enjoy your company even more. 

Pleasures of Living in a Small Town near a Famous Cricket Stadium

Pleasures of Living in a Small Town (near a Famous Cricket Stadium):

On the way to pick up Aloka from school, I saw scores of cars, police bus and jeeps, at least a hundred policemen and a couple of (token) policewomen, and quite a few housewives crowding around our local neighborhood mosque. 

Fearing the worst, I stopped to ask about it at a neighborhood shop.

Relief! Pride! That was just the Bangladesh cricket team come to our little village mosque to offer Friday prayers!

The Letter from Canada!

I received a birthday card from my mother's brother, Sushil mama, a couple of days after my birthday. It came all the way from Canada, and what a way!

Take a look at the address. The colony Himachal Vikas Pradhikaran doesn't exist, the village Sidhpur is some 3 km away from our village and the pin code is incorrect too. It doesn't even say Dharamshala or Kangra. Just HP! 

How did you conjure up this address Sushil mama! It is a beautiful lie! 

The fact that it reached our side of HP is surprising enough. Is there no other Sidhpur in the entire Himachal Pradesh? 

Once there, the only reason his card made its way to our house is because my mother is so well known in the village and nearby areas. The postal guys recognized her name and corrected the address. Can you imagine this happening in any other place?

This is one of the truest pleasures (and surprises) of living in a small town!!!

Wisdom on the road!

I am fascinated by stickers and messages painted on cars and trucks in my little town. As soon as I spot one, I ask my driver Sanju to follow the vehicle and go slow enough for me to take a picture. Slowing down is against Sanju's grain, but he grits his teeth and does it.

Not successful in getting a clear shot each time, here is my collection of words of wisdom found on Himachal roads! Click each picture for a bigger view.

Spotted in Tapovan. This guy surely wasted time getting this painted!

Spotted in Spiti. From a heartbroken Romeo- No girl friend tension. Avoid girls.

Spotted in Dharamshala city. Envy in installments! 

Spotted in Fatehpur. At least 3 ways to read it- Ruck fules, fuck the darn rules, or fuck always rules!

Spotted in Dharamshala city. Poetry on the road- My truck is my bride! 

Spotted in Khanyara. Height of narcissism! Don't think I can fall in love with this one even if I see it a hundred times. Reminds me of a certain PM!

Spotted on the way to McLeodganj. Quite a wise man- knows that tension will last until his last breath! But wait, he also believes in love ( 143=I love you)!

I quite agree! Spotted in Mohli. 

Spotted on the way to Palampur. Clear instructions Terrible spellings! (No compromise, no report, decision on the spot)

Spotted in Spiti. This poor speller tough guy (Word's Toughest Trucker) just realized he is in love and is shit scared (Oh shit I am in love)! 

 Finally, to all of you on Facebook, the 11th commandment! Spotted in Rakkar. 

Figuring out the village!

Having lived in a village for over two years now and having made several good friends from around here, I am just beginning to understand what makes village folks different from city folks. But it was not until last week that I was able to put a finger on a major difference, and it all started with a visit to a newly married woman's house, whose wedding I couldn't attend due to ill health.

I went to visit Asha three days after her wedding. I also took along Shraddha, my son's school mate who is visiting from Singapore. Now Shraddha has no clue who Asha was, but she tagged along because we were to go buy some stuff for her kitchen once we were done socializing. At Asha's house, we were given tea and sweets and then Asha started showing us all her new clothes gifted by relatives. Finally, she pulled out her special wedding dress, a traditional gaddi attire that is like a loose skirted gown worn with a huge belt made of rope wrapped around the waist several times. It is a beautiful and expensive piece of clothing that gaddi brides wear on their weddings and on weddings of their close relatives. Asha first offered that I should try it because it looked loose enough for me to get into, but I couldn't get my shoulders in it, she offered it to Shraddha, a total stranger she had just met.

Shraddha wore the dress (minus the complicated belt) and another friend promptly put on lipstick and bindi on her. I took several pictures of her in the dress while she posed sometimes like a shy bride and sometimes like a wanton one. It must have been the highlight of Shraddha's stay in our village, wearing another woman's traditional wedding dress!

I thought about this generosity of Asha's on the way home, and then it struck me. Village folks are generous because they have very little self importance. They don't consider themselves as special or important. Imagine a city woman offering a total stranger her wedding dress. In the city, the wedding dress is a special dress of a special person. No sir, sharing it ain't gonna happen!

Village folks are also without walls that come from a sense of self importance. I have on so many occasions walked into the village homes of strangers on my walks and been offered the best treats they can put together from their meager resources- soft drinks, biscuits, and tea, and been told simple tales of their simple lives without hesitation. This won't happen in a city because we have too many walls around our homes, and around our hearts!

There is another effect of lack of walls- friendships flourish in no time. Among my closest friends today are village folks I met barely a year or so ago. Compare that to a few people I have known for decades, potential good friends because of so many common interests and attributes, who haven't yet felt safe enough with me to let go of the walls!

Black Sheep Gray!

Yesterday, while driving to Palampur, a classic Kishor Kumar song played on the radio and all of us joined in, belting it out as loudly as possible. The song was Phoolon ke rang se, dil ki kalam se from the movie Prem Pujari. One of the lines in the song goes like this: Lena hoga janam hamay kai kai baar, meaning that we will have to be reborn again and again just to fully savor the love between us.

After the song was over and our throats nicely sore, mommy said something that took my breath away. She said "Puja, I wish to be born as your mother in my next life too!'"

As is my habit when overwhelmed, I joked about it. I said that it would be better that she be my daughter so that I could order her around, and she retorted that as a daughter, she would make my life hell.

But jokes apart, I was totally touched by that statement. After all, I am the child who, as a teen, gave her serious trouble and scrubbed off a bit of the shine from her otherwise charmed life. It is true that whenever I read the phrase black sheep of the family, I see myself reflected in it as the tortured and rebellious teen in a family of regular good people. And even now, mom and I have our daily minor skirmishes on totally innocuous issues.

That my mom wants to be my mom again if possible is an honor that I never expected and have difficulty adjusting to. It seems to paint the black sheep gray!

And I kinda like it.

The Morning was Bright and Shiny!

By Chandrama Anand

The morning was bright and shiny, after a few gloomy days of clouds and rain. Puja drove up to the point where we always park our car before we trek up to Saloti Mata Temple.  The peaks were glinting like silver against the embankment of white clouds and blue sky. On the left, the serpentine  dirt road  meandered through the green  step like wheat fields. The mountain rivulet could be seen gurgling and gushing  rapidly, dancing to reach its unknown destination, but from this distance the music was on mute. 

While my eyes feasted on all this breath taking canvas, my heart was filled with overwhelming emotion. Was I grateful for this life? Did I deserve such bounty? Was I worthy of this gift of Nature ? I wanted to thank someone or every one for handing me this trophy. 

It was my darling husband who had taken the decision to settle here in the lap of Himachal, where I had just come for a mission for a short time.  Now he has gone and I miss him with fond memories. But I miss him with love and gratitude and no regrets.

My life has attained another beautiful height because of my youngest daughter Puja . She has left the comfort and advantage of a posh country like Singapore to give me her love and care in this small out of the way village Mouli, in Dharamshala. Her siblings too are breathing easy knowing that their mother is no longer alone. 

Puja, I and my grand daughter Aloka go for these crazy outings at the drop of a hat. Today we took some crazy photos posing and not posing,  but enjoying the bounty of nature so pure. The sheep and goats were our companions. Then the eagles came rejoicing with their huge span of wings, floating freely in the thermals. Butterflies too came in hoards. Bees and flies too came out in a swarm. 

That is how I spent my today- remembering my yesterdays and looked forward to tomorrows.

5th April 2015

Dharamshala

I love the work I do!

I love the work I do. It brings me in contact with smart good people who I would otherwise never have a chance to interact with. It gives me a peek into the lives of people who want to learn what I have to teach, even without meeting them ever. It shows me that I am as good as the people I work with, regardless of the color of our skins. It makes me a world citizen even as I sit alone in front of my computer in my small village.

I love the work I do. It makes me stretch my limits to beyond what I would think possible. It awakens me to the power of the human mind, which can go deeper and deeper into something that seemed insurmountable at one point. It scares me and challenges me and then delights me. It shows me that there is scope of growth and improvement at any age. It makes me a more capable person even as I sit alone in front of my computer in my small village.

I love the work I do. It allows me to manage my life the way I want to. I wake up when I want to (err 4 am?), serve my family when I want to, play when I want to, and create when I want to. It allows me to act and grow without the shackles of power and politics. It makes me a wholesome person even as I sit alone in front of my computer in my small village.

And yes, it gives me money to be a little flippant, pamper my friends and family, employ who I need and travel to my heart's content. It makes me a more indulgent person even as I sit alone in front of my computer in my small village.

This is why I love the work I do. 

In My Wanderings

I read this poem today and it resonated with me totally. Here is why.

Doors and Windows- by Eduardo Galeano

From our fears our courages are born,
and in our doubts our certainties live.
The dreams announce another possible reality,
and the deliriums another reason.
In the wanderings the findings are waiting for us,
because it's necessary to get lost
to find yourself again.

Exactly 2 years ago, I made a huge transformation in my life. I quit my job, sold my apartment, said goodbye to a familiar lifestyle, and moved back to India after having spent over 13 years in Singapore. I didn't move to an Indian city to take up a job. Instead, I moved to a small Himalayan village to live with my mother, far removed from the cities and corporate life that I was used to.

What spurred me to take this plunge were my dreams for a life I had always imagined and a strong sense of rootlessness in Singapore, though many people thought it was just a mid-life crisis making me delirious. And all I felt for months before the move was not excitement, but doubts about who I really was and a terrifying fear of the unknown.

From my fear arose my courage. From my dreams arose another reality. From my doubts arose my convictions. From years of wanderings and rootlessness sprouted my roots. And yes, it was necessary for me to be lost so that I could find myself again.  

I Love Living in this Village!

As I drive around this village, I see how harsh living conditions are. It is visible everywhere- in the fodder grass drying on the trees (I know how much hard work is involved in cutting the grass for cows and then drying it for the winters), in the fields that are worked upon all year round (back breaking work with little return), in the ragged school kids, in the condition of clothes drying on clothes lines, in the mud houses barely holding together, and in the roads that are never more than stones and mud. Life here is hard and harsh.

But as I drive around, I feel my heart uplifting. I love living in this village. 

I love the grass drying on the trees. It, to me, is a sign of family values, for no one person can collect so much grass all by herself. Families toil together for months to collect this much grass. It also is a sign of love and care for their precious cows, gentle creatures, who give back as much as they take in.

I love the fields that change color based on what is being sown or harvested. It, to me, is a sign of give and take from the Earth, something I was so far removed from for years. I envy those who touch the Earth so closely and are touched by it. How very blessed they are. And how disconnected are the likes of us!

I love the ragged children. They have none of the goodies that city kids have- no vitamins, no tabs, no TV, no books, no play grounds, no cloying parents to oversee them. Nothing. Yet they have such light in their eyes. And they make me feel so special just because I stop to talk to them or teach them occasionally in school. They make me believe I could make a difference in their lives, and how rare and beautiful is that!

I love the worn out clothes that people wear. On days when I am wrapped in layers to beat the cold, I see young kids and old folks walking around in threadbare sweaters and chappals on their feet. That, to me, is a sign of such wholesome health, because you can survive here in that attire only if you are active all day and hardy as a bull.

I love the mud houses with their rooms in a row, slate roofs and huge aangans. These are the only type of dwelling that merge seamlessly with the mountains and rivers and trees around us. I have always believed that everything nature makes is beautiful and everything man-made is ugly. But mud houses prove me wrong. 

I love the unmade broken roads. It is because of them that we slow down and I can look around at these pretty sights in my village. It is them that remind me that we are nothing. Our tar sprayers and road rollers can do whatever they want, but come monsoon, roads will be washed off. We are insignificant against the elements that rule our world here. 

That is why I love living here in this village. It makes me at once insignificant and impactful. It makes me feel connected to the source of life.  It makes me see as I have never seen before.

And I can't stop looking.  

The Tale of a Passport-Sized Photo

Today, I went to get my passport size photographs taken for opening a new bank account. To save time, I chose a shop right opposite the bank. It is important to say this because really, there was nothing at the outside of the shop to encourage a customer. It was a tiny hole in the wall place, with a dusty hand-written board that said PHOTOSTATE (yes, with an e). The only indication that it was also a photo-studio were a couple of framed pictures showing through the glass door.

I walked into the shop, no bigger than 6 feet by 8 feet. The man inside was busy stapling a bunch of sheets that he had obviously photostatted. After a brief nod to my request for photos, he ignored me totally. There was a bench with a very dirty velvet cover that I did not want to sit on, so I stood around, waiting for him to get done with stapling. It had to be a rushed job, because he was totally consumed with it and refused to multi-task to any extent. After sometime, he asked me to sit down on the bench, which I did with trepidation.

While waiting for him, I looked at various things inside the shop. The first thing that struck me were very bad pictures of people framed up. There was one of a stunned looking man, another slightly blurred one of a serious looking old woman, another over-exposed/faded one of a couple of kids, and one of a young man. That picture of the young man was the most amazing of all. It was totally blurred. I could make out the shape of the face and that the young man had a mustache, but the picture was majorly out of focus. An obvious mistake- even a child would tell you that- but lo and behold, it was framed in an ornate frame!

The second thing that struck me was a collection of really old looking cameras in a showcase. I mean each looked at least 10 years old and very dusty. Why would anyone display these cameras? I was reminded of Kanto, our gardener, who recently bought a second-hand canon camera and was so proud of it (until it broke down a month later). Maybe, this shop sells second-hand cameras, I thought to myself, but makes no bones about them being very second hand.

As I sat there admiring the pictures and cameras, and trying hard not to think of my clothes getting dirty on that bench, the stapling was done and the man took out his camera from its packaging. Quite an elaborate process that- first he took out a bulky black bag, then a cardboard box from inside it, then unwrapped some bubble wrap and finally took out a point-and-click camera. That's certainly a first-hand camera, I thought to myself. My photo was taken in a single shot and the man briefly smiled looking at the picture, implying the picture was good (or did it mean it was suitably blurred?).

By now, I was in a hurry to get done. At my age, I don't care to see how I look in passport pictures- as long as it looks like me and meets its bureaucratic requirements, I am OK. So I didn't even bother to check it before it was printed. After a few minutes on the computer, he finally printed the set of 8 pictures and patiently cut each picture with a pair of scissors.

This photo of the photo doesn't do justice,
but you get the drift.

When I finally took a look at my picture, I was taken aback. This was not me! This was someone 10 years younger with flawless skin and no wrinkles! And two shades fairer! I am telling you no foundation I had ever used (and I have tried many) has had that kind of effect on my heavily pigmented middle-aged skin.

When I looked up enquiringly at the man, he smiled broadly and said "Thoda photoshop kar diya hai"!

That's the pleasure of living in a small town. And that's exactly the pain.

P.S.: Well, dear Mr. photographer, when you were at it, couldn't you have made those eyebrows a tad darker too?

Cheers!

Without doubt, this last year has been the happiest year of my rather long eventful life.

I live in a place that brings a smile to my face the moment I wake up and look outside, a dream come true. I live with my mother and daughter, a blessing I did not even have the guts to ask for. I spend my time the way I want to, a true privilege. I have new and old friends who love me like I have never been loved before, a gift I could not imagine would be mine at this age. I have met a person who inspires me, such a rare treasure. I continue to work but have no boss, a real deal if there's any. And I have a son who is thousands of miles away, yet my closest ally, best friend and pupil!

And all these gifts have changed me totally. For the first time in life, I do things for myself without guilt or shame. I feel beautiful. I feel entitled. I feel young. I laugh a lot. I break rules and fight for the freedom to do so. I talk and talk and talk. I cook. I dance. I love. I live.

To all those hard struggle-laden barren years, I say thank you. Thank you for giving me so little earlier that I can take in all this with gratitude now. Thank you for the rough bone-rattling journey that brought me to this place of restfulness. Thank you for the empty cup that is now brimming with all the good stuff.

Cheers! 49 times! 

Transient Happiness

I know happiness is transient. That's why it must be cherished even more. I don't want to hold on to it because I know it can't be held. I just want to feel it and remember it.

It is a cold February night. Atreya is lying on the mattress next to my bed. Aloka is fast asleep next to him. They must be uncomfortable in that tiny space squeezed against the wall, but they sure are warm. Atreya and I talk about all kinds of things. I am relaxed. He is relaxed. We are family. And we are under one roof.

Atreya, mom and I are sitting in mom's room, watching The Green Mile, a movie we have seen a few times before. We are sharing what we feel about the characters and the story. Mom has her letter linker open in front of her and she plays the game every now and then. Atreya asks to eat something good and I get up to make pasta. Mallika is cutting vegetables I need. Aloka walks in sleepy. I make her lie down on mommy's bed and she is fast asleep in a few minutes. Atreya later carries her upstairs in his arms, huffing and puffing- she is not so tiny anymore!

It is early morning in August, the morning after our party to celebrate old and new friendships. We are all drinking tea. Mom and Meenu are on the swing. They sing songs alternately. Sonu, Manju and Shikha are listening with attention. Aloka is trying to squeeze in between the two, and when she is shusshed, tries to get Manju's attention. Anakin is restless- he wants to be part of the group and he wants biscuits. The khudd is flowing below noisily, incessantly, and the mountains gaze upon us benignly.

The sun is about to set. We see a rainbow on our mountain. Mom rushes in get her camera. I run upstairs to my iPhone and click pictures from my terrace. I come down and show my pictures to Sonu and Manju. Mom shows hers. There is some banter about whose pictures are better. Sonu and Manju mimic my "Awesome", "Wow", "Fricking view". We are all laughing. The beautiful evening and the people around me fill my heart.

It is a beautiful sunny September morning. The rain and storm of last evening have washed everything clean. The mountains are gleaming. We are out on a walk to Aganjhar Mahadev. We see Sonu on her scooter coming back from somewhere and when she sees us, she parks her scooter and joins us for the walk. Mom is walking ahead of me. Aloka and Sonu are running, with Aloka trying to catch Sonu. I can't run but I am grateful that my little girl has a running partner. In my mind, I run faster than everyone and no one can catch me- my hair flying, my lungs breathing freely and my legs untiring!

The Change in Me

When I was 18 and married to a man I believed I loved, I learned an important lesson in life- that nothing is perfect. And another- that you get used to imperfections. And another- that you can choose to be happy even when things don't pan out as you would like them to.

I saw my ideal of happiness die bit by bit everyday. And I saw myself adjusting my idea, and ideal, of happiness every day. I stayed in love, even when everything I considered loving to be had evaporated. I stayed happy, even when everything that would have made me remotely happy was taken away from me.

And through all this, I was not passive. I accepted everything that was happening with rigor. I accepted lack of love with honor. I accepted shame with courage. I accepted illness with dreaminess. I accepted heartbreak with a smile. I accepted failure with a mad drive to win. And I plowed on doggedly. Plowing on was my weapon. The fact that I was trapped- by my youth, by my lack of resources, by my lack of choices, by my illness, by my pride- was the very thing that set me free.

Now, at this stage in life, I don't accept imperfections. Not in myself, not in those I love. I demand high standards from myself, and from those I love. Today, I do not allow my ideal of happiness to be diluted. I do not stare in shock at horrors committed against my ideals, only to blink away their memory. I stay shocked and I act and I remember. I do not compromise on my principles. I do not allow any nonsense cloaked as "love" or "pride" to win any battle against my dignity.

Today, I am free of the trappings of youth. I  have more resources than I ever wished for. And I am at a stage where I don't have to defend my choices to anyone. Yes, I still have pride, but not the kind that holds me down. Guilt and shame are no longer close friends, just acquaintances. See, the very things that set me on a mad journey towards freedom and dreams 30 years ago have vanished. And not just the circumstances, but the person herself seems changed.

Today, when I am 48, mother of two children, having lived for the last 14 years on my own terms, having succeeded beyond expectations and failed horribly in a hundred different ways, I have learned another important lesson- that nothing is perfect, but that doesn't mean one should stop wanting it to be. 

It's a Girl!

Yesterday, I was at once shocked and delighted to hear my driver say with a long sad face "uskay beta hua hai ji". (Alas, she has given birth to a son). 

Then I realized he was talking about their cow! At least in some species, daughters are awaited eagerly...

"Pro"noun!

Mom, while teaching aloka sarvnam (pronouns in hindi), was making up sentences and asking Aloka to identify the sarvnam. I overheard this from the kitchen where I was making evening tea. 

Mom- Veh jaa rahay hain. 
Aloka - Veh

Mom- Tum yahan ao.
Aloka- Kahan aaon nani?
(Lots of laughter once Aloka understood it was just a sentence)

Mom- Mein bas kar rahi hun? 
Aloka- Why? What have I done?
(Some more laughter at Aloka's inability to separate content from intent)

Mom- Convert this to sarvnam. Aloka pagal hai.
Aloka- Mom, mom, nani is calling me pagal. I will not learn from her.

And thus ended the hindi lesson!

This is a House of Women

This is a house of women

Not one, not two, but of three generations.

In this house, we don't live in fear

Of anyone's anger or lack of cheer.

Here, no one uses their voice to subjugate

And hands have long forgotten that they can be raised.

Here, we don't go to bed angry or dismayed

Kindness trumps revenge any day.

Here, everyone learns, the young, the old, the in-between 

Becoming better humans, more loved and more loving.

Many games are played here, except those of power 

No one's a messiah, everyone's a savior.

Here, friends are welcomed with open arms

Doors are open, food is good and warm.

Come, step into this house of happy women

Not one, not two, but of three generations! 

Being Useful

In the last four months, being busy with family affairs- niece's wedding, my surgery, family holidays, cooking for a large family and their friends, Atreya's college move, trip to Europe, ill health upon return- my work had taken a backseat. I had reduced my consulting assignments to a minimum and stopped my teaching in schools and Anganwadis.

And as expected, the feeling that I was not doing enough crept in. And as is the nature of our relationship, I wrote to Atreya about it. His response was so beautiful and comforting. I love him for it. This from a man who has always known his mom as a busy working woman. Am I lucky to be his mom or what?