Casa

Today, I counted a blessing. For having a home. And then I felt even more blessed. For having three.

My home in Toronto. The first house that me and my husband bought together. The home where the three of us, Rajesh, Rohan and me moved into, last year. The home that Gia was born into, to complete us.

23 Carlton Street. Downtown Toronto. 3 and half bedrooms. Two washrooms. Open kitchen. Hardwood floors. Steel appliances. Washer Dryer.

Bright cushion covers. FabIndia. Yamini. Oranges. Pinks. Lime greens. Blues. Cotton . Silk. Changed every Saturday. To set a mood for the week.

White curtains in the living room. To open up the space. Beige, with whiteouts, in the bedroom, to darken it, for afternoon siestas. Bright colored ones in Gia's room. To liven it up.

Table mats. Chatai. Colored jute.

FabIndia bedspreads. Green to calm. Orange to awaken. Blue, for serenity.

A little temple. Sai Baba. Guru Nanak. Prayer beads.

Buddhas. 4 Buddhas and counting.

Incense. Sometimes, Nagchampa. Sometimes, Lavender or Opium. Aroma oils. Always Satsuma.

Plants. Everywhere. Living room, bedroom, washroom. Fresh flowers, now and then. Tiger lilies.

Books. Lots of books. Tarun Tejpal. Manju Mathur. Arundhati Roy. Paulo Coehlo. Marquez. Robert Munch. Dr. Suess. Sandra Boynton. Fiction. Non fiction. Stories. Philosophy. Poetry.

Art on the walls. A large Indian painting. My first art buy at an art gallery. From Dhoomimal's in Connaught Place. Art from Dilli Hart. Series of three. Tribal. A few Ikea prints. Contemporary. Kamal's painting. A recent addition. Sunils. To come.

Photographs. Lots of photographs. In magnetic frames on the fridge. Kids. Family. Friends. Memories. Moods. Emotions.

Lots of kids stuff. That gets tidied up every night. Teddy bears. Super heroes. Puppets. Choo Choo trains. Swords. Transformers. Ben Tens. Rattles. Lego. Puzzles. Bouncers. High chair.

Atta, dal, spices, pastas. Pressure cookers, pots and pans. Coffee maker, Juicer, blender, mixie. Bounty, toilet rolls, cleaners, linen spray, laundry detergents.

And music. Always, music.

It all comes together to make this home.

Then there is my parents house. Sector 37. House # 142. Noida. The first house that my mom and dad bought together. Finally , home. Not like the army houses that needed to be moved out of every three years.

The house my parents renovated last year. Their big creative project. They put their heart and soul into it. They shaped every dream they had. A kitchen like this, a living room like that. Bay windows. Bigger bathrooms. Bigger bedrooms. A veranda. Acess to the terrace, so the grandchildren can play.

Dad's den with his TV to watch National Geographic and CNN. With all his books and a proud display of his army mementos. Mom's room with her TV to watch Sony and Star Plus. With her sewing machine and ironing board.

The house that houses mom's crystal. Antiques. Hand crafted Kashmiri furntire. Mom's china cabinet. Dad's bar. With liqour bought from the army canteen.

The house that houses their memories. Of their children having gone to college. Done their MBA. Got married. Gone abroad. Had children. A house full of memories. Of a life lived. Bustling in the morning. Quieter in the evenings.

The house where now their children come home to. And their grandchildren .

The house that I moved out of to find my own. The house that I now return to, every now and then.

And as soon as I get to that house, after a very long flight from Toronto to Delhi, I know I am home. My room on the second floor. My closet. My dressing table. My favorite place, the garden. An oasis in the city. Lots of plants. Lots of trees. The magnificient palm. The little bonsais. The small tree in which the birds nested last summer. The waterfalll my dad built. The fish he added to it.

I am home to conversations with Dad. To mom's cooking. To Dad's breakfasts. To endless cups of chai . To random trips on the rickshaw to Atta market. To the joy I see in their eyes as they interact with Rohan and Gia. I am home.

And then there is the third. In Bangalore. Alpine Court. Koramangala. My best friend's home. Roohi, Sunil and Amay's home. Where I always go. No matter how tired I am of having made the long flight from Toronto to Delhi. No matter how fearful I am to undertake a trip, yet again, with the kids in tow. I go. And I'm glad I do.

Because as soon as I enter the house, I feel the energy. The creative energy. The surge. And I feel the the love. The warmth. And the joy that I am here. I feel the welcome. Real, genuine welcome. And I feel the comfort. Of being there.

I see the colors. Oh, the colors. Oranges, lime greens, blues, magaentas. All thrown in together. Without a thought to coordination. Effortlessly. By the undisputed queen of color.

The lights. the colorful twinkling lights. That magically lit up my 6 month old daughter's eyes everytime she looked at them.

Sunil's fish.

Art. Kamal's. Sunil's. Amay's.

The Fab India furniture. Tasteful as hell. The books. The Buddhas. The photographs.
The dining table, that draws people to it. That people sit around and eat. Have endless cups of chai. And endless glasses of beer. The table that makes people talk. That conversations happen around.

The kitchen. The functional kitchen. The kitchen that never runs short of food. Ever. The kitchen with the little temple. The kitchen where Roohi and me have rolled out a chatai and had the most amazing conversations. Bared our souls. Poured our hearts out. Spoken secrets. Discussed life, film, books, people, family. Laughed. Really laughed. And in doing so, created the most amazing memories. Of friendship. Of sisterhood. Of being best friends.

And the music. Always, music.

The little balcony. With the plants in their pots that the monkeys sometimes break sometimes. The balcony where I sat everyday with Gia and soaked in the Bangalore sun.

And sitting there, I know. Yet again. That I am home.

A good start

Wake up early. 6ish. Before the rest of them. I lay in bed a few minutes. Just . Eyes open, mind calm, sleep slowly receding. I linger in the warmth of the rajai just a little bit more, then peel it off. Hoist myself off the bed.

Walk to kitchen. Squeeze half a lime into a glass of warm water. Sip, sip, slowly. The sourness tingles the taste buds. Tea or coffe, I think? Always, a decision I make in the morning. It's a mood thing.

Turn the cofee maker on. Set the coffee to brew. French Vanilla. Sometimes, Colombian dark roast. Tetley Orange Pekoe, if tea.

Roll out yoga mat. Position feet. Raise arms over head. Nice and long. Streeeetch. Slowly bend . Touch my toes. Up again. Hands to namaskar. Prostrate. Get into downward dog. Then, mountain pose. Back up again. One cycle of Surya Namaskar. 30 seconds break. Then, repeat. No counts. Keep going till the mind and body know to stop.

Sit myself on the yoga mat. Half lotus. Back straight, stretched. Inhale. Exhale. Slow. Inhale . Exhale. Slow. Keep the focus on the breathing.

End with the child pose. My favorite. Has always been.

Then I saunter back to the kitchen. Which is now smelling of freshly brewed French Vanilla. Mmmm. Pur myself a cup. A little bit of cream. Lots of sugar. My only sugar fix for the day. Hence, sweet as hell.

Light an agarbatti. Some days, lavendar. Others, nagchampa. Or occasionaly burn the oil lamp. Always, satsuma.

Sit on the couch. Mentally make a note of the day. Things to do, meals to make, people to call, stuff like that. Sip, sip. On some days, pick up a book. Start to read.

Then, Gia starts waking up. Soon, Rohan and Rajesh. Diaper change. Rohan's breakfast. Put on some music. Good morning world.

I am a morning ritual person. I love my morning rituals. It's my thing. It's that time of the day, which is just mine. Sometimes as short as 15 minutes. Some lucky days, longer. Whichever one, I'm just happy sto start my day that way. My way. With the cleansing of the lime water , the energizing of the yoga, the taste of the beverage, the aroma of the incense, the calming of the Pranayama.

Because I never know what the day will bring. Excitement, bad news, good news, fatigue, peace, tension.

But I do know that I had a good start.

Three mad women. One crazy dog. A rickety old car.

Memories. Rock solid things. Escpecially the good, happy, crazy ones. Those are for keeps. Those are the ones the ones that find a special nook in the chambers of your head and then just lodge themselves there. For good.
Of course, the details get fuzzier as you get older, but the essence stays.
And everytime you decide to visit that little nook in your head, you remember. And you smile.
I want to pen those memories down. I want to dig them up. And smile as I do.
I want to save them before the nooks get all taken. And the details get fuzzier.
So here goes.
It is only fair I start with a very happy one. It features three mad women, one crazy dog and a seriously old car.
Like I said, the details get fuzzeir, so I am not sure why we made the trip. Was it to drop me off? ? Or pack my stuff for the night and head back to G's house? We had a purpose, I know. But it doesn't matter. Becuase I am just glad we made the trip.
We. G, me and Roo. And one crazy (God bless his soul) dog named Paoli. G's adopted stray, Poali. Sweet Poali. Moody Poali. Crazy Poali. Poali, who also has a special nook in my head.
From G's C2 in CP to my 142 in Noida.
Late night.
In G's serioulsy old, yet dependable Fiat. Oh, the memories I have of that car. All good.
Gray, I think it was. Vintage, definitely.
So we head off. I think it was Roo and G in the front. And me and Poali at the back. Well, me at the back and Poali pretty much all over me at the back.
And here's the thing. All through the drive, we laughed. Man, we laughed. At silly , inane stuff. Office gossip, life, ex boyfriends, current crushes, colleagues, silly jokes, this, that and this. We talked and we laughed.
Roo also sang. A lovely hindi song. Very seriously. And G and me laughed. We thought she was being funny. But she wasn't. And she was upset. And we felt bad. And made it up to her. And then she laughed.
We even invented a word. Mountaaaaains. We still say it. After all these years. And we laugh.
At one point, Paoli stuck his bum right in my face. He also stuck it in Roo's face. We had a dog stick his bum our faces. And we laughed. It was outright gross. But we laughed.
And if you ever had that happen to you and you were in the company of some really good friends, who have a kickass sense of humor, you'd laugh too. Trust me.
Then we got to Noida. And as the door to the car opened, Poali jumped out and ran. Away. Into the Sector 37 streets of Nodia. In the middle of the night. Like any crazy , wild , happy dog would.
And then the three of us, in our nightshirts and Pj's chased him on the streets of Sector37 in Noida. In the middle of the night. Like any three seriously crazy, mad, happy women would.
We fnally got Poali. Leashed him up.
We were still laughing.
Man, what a trip . What a night. And what a rock solid memory.
Oh, and we never ever laugh when Roo sings now. Never.

Life is short. Have an affair.

Smart tagline. Controversial service.

ashleymadison.com. A dating service for single people (fine!) and more so for people in a relationship (hmmm) and even more so, for married people (now, you're talking!), looking to have an affair.

And ashleymadison.com is attracting a lot of clients. Let me rephrase that. And ashleymadison.com is attracting a lot of clients who are married, looking to have affairs. Men , women, husbands, wives. they're all there. they're all having affairs.

So I watched this show ..a talk show in which they interviewed the founder of the above mentioned service. And even though the talk show host and the audience were trying to get all self righteous on him, I really thought the man had a point. And his point was this. He wasn't promoting adultery or telling people that they should have an affair. According to him, the people who come to the website, seeking affairs, have already actually decided to step outside their marriage. His web service was merely facilitating it.

And honestly, I think, his argument is fair ! The man, even, has a point. Adultery exists. Spouses cheat. Really, married people have affairs. That is just how it is.

Why? The reasons are plenty and very varied, I can imagine. Sometimes, it is just the boredom of the many many years of being with one person. It could be the drudgery of everyday life. Nothing at all to to do with the spouse. Just someone seeking some excitement. A thrill. Something naughty. Something to make you feel 20 again. When you're really hitting 40. Sometimes, it has got everything to do with the spouse. Disinterested spouse. Boring sex life. lack of chemistry. Etc , etc, etc.

And hey, sometimes, it' just too much vodka. And a cute guy at the bar on the girls night out. Or an ex flame. A secret crush. Unrequited love from the past. Pure physical chemistry with a colleague.

Like I said, the reasons are plenty. And varied. As I can imagine are the consequences.

The choice , however, is only this. Log in. Or log out.

Red wine

It's either the bottle of red wine I just downed or a brilliant realistation! But what I realised is that it's ok! Everything's Ok! Life's ok.
You just live it the best you can. In between the daily stresses of finances and clutter and jobs and kids, you just live it the best you can. And you just tell yourself, this is another day I lived and tomorrow will be better.
Because the more you over complicate it, the more complicated it will be.
You don't judge, you don't over moralize and you definitley don't over stress. Because honeslty if you give it your best shot, it will work out.
I mean, look around you. The Mumbai terror that just happened. The CNN documentary about the nuclear threat to the US in 2013. Terrorism. Poverty. And all that. We are not exaclty citizens of an ideal world. Of a world that promises you much happiness and much peace.
And given that, the peace and the happiness that you can create is for yourself, around yourself.
I am more and mroe ainclined to belive that it is a state of mind, more than anything else.
You tell yourself you are going to have a good day and then you make sure of that.
Beacause this is your life. And as a non believer in a second life, this is your only life. Your one chance at making it happen.
So you make it happen. To the best you can.
And then , for the rest of it......ther's always red wine!
nad ecxues the typos......what cna I say.... it must be the red wine!

My dose of desi

I got me a dose of pure desi today! Much needed it was too, by god ki kasam!

Early Sunday afternoon. I started watching Dostana and although I don't think the film will win any critics awards, it cracked me up in bits and pieces.

Kiron Kher as the Punjabi mom and her Phoolo phallo, kher chodo! That one defintiley deserved a LOL!

John Abraham, flexing every possible muscle in every possible way, in speedos that barely covered an extremely taut butt, no laughing matter , that.

Abishek Bacchan , I like. Priyanka Chopra lookin hot. Sizzzzling Shilpa Shetty. Boman Irani with his over the top gay persona.

Then throw in not one, not two, but three love angles. Also bring in a motherless kid, an Aunty, a glitzy apartment, a few firangis and an expressionless Bobby Deol...and I had my Sunday after noon serving of pure time pass.

And then of course, what's a Hindi movie without the music. Maula, maula was lovely. My desi girl, wanted me to get up and do some jhatka, matkas!

That's what I am talking about. Jhatka matkas bollywood style was what I needed in my life.

So I decided to overdose. By following up the movie with last years IIFA's awards! And boy, was it a good idea, by God ki kasam.

As I sorted laundry, I watched Govinda dance, true Govinda ishtlye. That man, seriously, is one of a kind. And I love him for that.

And I watched Akshay Kumar doing his Singh is King thing. In true Akshay style. By entering the stage on a skate board, suspended in the air.

Boman Irani and Deshmukh at their slapstick best. Kareena, Priyanka , Katrina and Diya shake their booties.

The dhinchuk music. The glitter and glam.

The wannabe Hollywood "Who are you wearing" question on the, now environmentally friendly "green" carpet. And to that question, Govinda's non - wannabe response "Suit pehena aa, jaise aap dekh rahe hai."

The Bacchan line family line up- Amitabh, Jaya, Abhishek and Ash with their Dior, Armani, Manish Malhotra and Dolce Gabana couture!

Bollywood, Bollywood and then some more!

My indie film, world cinema watching self took a much needed Bollywood break today. And it did me good. I was entertained. Pure filmi ishtyle.

What can I say? You can take a Desi girl out of India.......

On a break

Have you ever just taken a break? From all of it. From life. And not necessarily a physical break...like going away somewhere. More , in your head. Being physically present, yet not. Living the life, not feeling it, though. In a room full of noise, from your husband and the kids, yet absolutely hearing nothing. Pretending to listen on the phone. Being quiet for hours, because no one's interesting enough to talk to . Day dreaming. Watching mindless TV. Boycotting the mall. Packin up all your stuff in boxes and not missing it. Not caring that the toilet paper is almost over. Or the rice. No longer being the hyperactive busy body. No longer wanting to do stuff. Or deal with issues. Or change.
Just for now. Because I know I'll be back. Recharged. Re invented.
But for now, this feels okay. Solitary.
Peaceful. In a very strange way. What a trip!