My in between world.

Just got back from a 5 week vacation in India. And boy am I feeling a whirlwind of emotions. I don;t even know where to start. I pretty much am sure I can't articulate it all. I am not as seasoned a writer to clearly comprehend and then articulate the zillion thoughts that have been whizzing in and out of my brain. It's a roller coaster in there. Full throttle. And I can barely keep up.

Quite simply, I am torn. Between there and here. The thing is that everytime I go back to India for a vacation, it doesn't really feel like I am a tourist or a visitor. I blend in and India envelops me. I start living there as if that is where I live. Nothing seems strange, nothing seems disconcerting- it feels like I am home. I hop into rickshaws like I would into streetcars in Toronto. I cross the road with as much ease even though I am as hesitant to "jaywalk" here. I slip into churidars as easily as I do into my corporate attire. I chat with the dhobin as easily as I had never left. It all seems natural. It all feels like me. That feels like me. And this feels like me.

My relationships are there. My best friend- we talk more often and about more stuff than I do with anyone here. Mum and dad and the Noida house.  My sister- we still trade clothes. My friends from the advertising fraternity. We catch up. It's all there and I pick up with so much ease from where I left off.

Home at Noida. Mum and dad still refer to the upstairs bedroom as my room. Not the guest room. That feels right. I settle right on. Everything seems familiar . Every corner feels like home. I know this space, this space know me. The garden, the terrace, the rooms, the kitchen- this is home. The meals, the timing of the meals, dad's gardening, mom's conversations, the chai that keeps coming, the dust and the dusting, the terrace. It all embraces me and I embrace it all.

13 days in Bangalore with my best friend and her family. I walked into her house after 3 and half years. I put my bags down and we hugged. And I just settled in. As if it was just another Friday night when I had come over to spend the weekend with her - like I did every Friday when I lived there. I did not feel like a guest. It just felt like an extension of my life, my space. I didn't feel like I was visiting. I felt like a part of me always lives here. Okay, definitely cannot articulate this. I know though, my best friend gets it. And then the energy I feel for those 13 days. Can't even begin to explain. Won't even try. The conversations, the laughs, the conversations, the kids, the conversations, the music, the conversations, the drinks, the conversations. The pure energy of it all. It was there then, it was there now. No time zone, no geographical distance can even come close to taking that away.

We visit my sister one day. She cooks for us. We all drink wine. We talk. We laugh. I ask to raid her closet. She threatens me with dire consequence if I do. And tells me to not even go near her jewellery. This is us. We do this. This is familiar.

And then Toronto is familiar. This is home. This is where I am. This is where my life is. This is who I am every single day. This is the air I breathe. The streets I walk. The subway I ride. The streetcar that takes me to places thar are familiar.

When did it become so comlicated? Or is it?

You kow that thing about the glass half full. Maybe that's what I need to do. I need to look at this differently. Maybe it is 2 worlds I live in. And 2 lives I live. And maybe that isn't a hard thing to deal with. Maybe my glass is neither half empty nor half full- I think it is spilling over with abundance.

 Now you know what I mean by that roller coaster that's spinning in my head. Think I'm just going to enjoy the ride.

Hello blog.

Hello blog. It's been a while. A very long while. And I apologise. Because the truth is I am very fond of you. Of this space. This space is very therapuetic. And I often think of visitng but then life interferes. Stuff comes up. This, that and this. But then I think I must make the time, find the time, borrow the time, steal the time. On some nights, the dishwasher can wait till the morning. Tidying up after the kids isn;t half as much fun. There is no therapy in browsing. Mindless TV does nothing for the soul.

So, hello, blog.

Biwi ho to aisi

Here's the thing.

I know some inter racial couples. Indian men , my friends and mostly colleagues at work, married to white women-Canadian, American , Australian. And Indian women married to non Indian men.

And I for one, am all for inter racial, multi cultural marriages. Relationships must not be limited by ethnicity or cultural backgrounds. I get that.

But here's what I don't get. More often than note, whenever I talk to these couples, here's how it goes. Indian man- non Indian woman. The husband, for one will more often than not emphasize the fact that, his non Indian wife is actually so Indian. And to be honest I am not even quite sure what he means by actually so Indian- I mean, you are Indian, if you are Indian - if you're not Indian then you're Canadian, or American or Japanese.

Anyway, I smile along as he continues to state how his non Indian wife is so Indian- like, you know, she can cook Indian food, wear a salwar kurta or a sari, say namaste to the aunties, do oil massage for the kids, light diyas for Diwali and all those other things that , I am guessing in his mind, qualify one to be an Indian. She even went to India and ate street food and did not complain about anything, he adds. Oh yes, and she can dance in a sari at an Indian wedding.

And you know, I smile along and I even think that it is nice. She is making an effort to embrace his culture.

But here's the problem. Another conversation with the same set of people and now they are talking of a the other couple. Indian woman married to a non Indian man. And they are slamming her for having become so "American" and trying to embrace her husband's culture. Huh?

You know, like decorating the tree for Christmas, learning to cook a good Thanksgiving turkey, drinking wine (huh?????), not wearing a salwar kameez enough . Basically , they say, she is losing touch with her Indian culture.

Okay, so. Non Indian wife embracing Indian culture for sake of Indian husband is to be glorified. But Indian wife embracing North American culture for sake of non Indian husband is shameful.

Because:

(a) Indian culture is the best and the only one to be embraced?
(b) Non Indian woman marrying Indian man must try her best to be a good Indian wife by embracing his culture? But Indian woman marrying non Indian man must try her best to hang on to her culture because that will make her a good Indian wife.
(c) You marry a non Indian person but then want them to be "actually very Indian" and that they do by doing a few "Indian" things even though they are really not Indian.
(c) Hypocrisy? Plain and simple.

You tell me.

Just saying

Show me a power failure in India and I will point out to you the sheer dependency of people in the Western worlds, on their microwaves and their phones and their computers so that when there is a single power outage in Canada or the US, the city comes to a disruptive stop.

Talk to me in that high handed tone of an expat living within a gated community about the poverty that can be seen on the roads as you drive past in your air conditioned chauffeur driven car and I will point out the drug addicts and homeless people that line the streets of any major metro of the US and Canada.

Tell me about the corruption that seems to stick in your heads around dinner conversations with your other expat friends and how frustrated you are because it drags India down and I will remind you of the very recent financial crisis of North America.

Patronize me with your talks of the good volunteering service you provide every few days with a bunch of other friends and then talk of how you are contributing to the good of India over some expensive red wine at your kitty parties because maybe you think you owe the country that and I will talk to you about the likes of Sunitha Krishnan who after being gang raped at the age of 14 runs a woman organization that has rescued over 300 women. She's been beaten 14 times and she does not talk about that over expensive wine.

Just saying..there is good and there is bad. Across the globe.

Just saying...when you live within a bubble do not judge what lies outside of it.

Just saying...when you get on the plane to go home, you should know what to expect. You've lived it. A fake foreign accent does not change that.

So please don't complain about the pollution and the chaos and the inflation and the roads and all that jazz. And please do not think that having a life abroad now affords you the privileges of passing judgement on everything that you find wrong in India. And please do not claim that it distresses you so much because in my opinion if it really did and you really cared, you'd stay and do something about it.

Just saying.

Let there be wrinkles.

Age. Gracefully. Beautifully. And proudly.

Age. Because you will.

I do not judge nip and tuck. If that is for you, that is for you. Make no apologies for it. I make no judgements.

It is not for me. I believe in ageing. I believe there is a time to be 20 and then there is a time to be 40. The mind must evolve and grow. The body must follow suit.

Also, to me defying age is like picking a battle with it. A lost battle, really. Ageing happens. It's a question of when you decide to let it show.

And it does win in the end. All you can do is delay the win.

I, for one, like picking my battles. Wisely. I pick the ones I can win. Not the ones that "look" like I win. Pun intended.

A year back, I noticed the "under the eye" lines. They arrived. At 36. At first, I was bothered. Then when I read somewhere they are also called laugh lines, I was glad.

Glad that I had laughed. With my mom- we share this rather hysterical laughther over something funny my dad may have done. My dad is hardly ever amused by it but he is a good sport. We laugh till the the tears roll down. And then we laugh again.

With my kids. We laugh. My daughter, easily. My son, not so easy to please but when he finds something that will amuse him, he will laugh. Like, really laugh. Throw his head back and laugh.

My sis and I. We laugh. We have laughed as children and we laugh as adults. I have know that laugh for over 37 years now.

My best friend and I. Over the phone, over skype, over text messages, over chat, when we come together, when we are so far way, when we are upset, when we are sad, when we are happy. Almost every time we are talking to one another. I am going to know this laugh for the rest of my life.

My friend Susan- I think we bonded over laughing. And that fact that alsmost everyone around us then hardly ever laughed. We laughed at them.

My spouse and I. We laugh. On some of our toughest days, we laugh the laught. And that tides us over.

The night I laughed because my friend Gayatri's dog was on the loose and my girlfirends and I were chasing him in our pyjamas.

When my son yelled to the whole world he had butterfiles in his penis on the roller coaster.

When my 3 year old says "cimmunks" instead of "chipmunks".

When my best friend and I swear in Punjabi.

When I break into my best Hrithik moves.

Wrinkes, shminkles! These are my laugh lines. And everytime I see them , they remind me of all the times I have laughed. And I laugh.

And so, if more wrinkles under the eyes means more laughter.

Oh please, let there be more wrinkles.

On a serious note

To a friend with an incestous uncle, to victims of sexual abuse, to anyone who may have had a chance encounter of molestation....... to girls and women:


No, you may NOT
Feel me, caress me, slide your hand under my shirt.
Stare at me, as if I was merely an object of desire

Leer, ogle, push, touch
Encroach upon my space
Violate, humiliate, shame
Me although it is you who ought to be shamed

I remember now and I am angry
I am mad at having let you
I am sad for having been told it was my fault
When it was really all yours

Dress modest, they said
Do not smile, laugh, talk loud
Be invisible to the eye
Of the one that leers

But I did not want to be invisible
Why must I not be visible
This is my space as much as it is yours
I need to be seen and heard

And you did see and hear me
And then you did what you should not have done

Feel me, caress me, slide your hand under my shirt

Back then I felt a fear
And a loathing
And hate
And fear

But today all I feel is the anger
I am mad
For having let you do what you did
For having let them tell me that maybe it was after all my fault
But today I feel no fear
For I know now
It was not my wrong
It was yours

I am mad that I did not know it then
But now I do
And you can longer hurt me
Because if you do,
I will hurt you back.

Musings

Wife.Mother. Daughter. In law. Lawyer. Accountant. Sister. Friend. Confidante. Spouse. Are parts of who I am. And not who I am.

I am who I am. And who I choose to be. And strive to be. And become.

Free of all I was born into being. Made to be. Asked to be. Supposed to be. Those are just parts of me.

To be me. Is to be this. Free thinking. Free of stereotypes. Confident. To speak my mind. To stand my ground. Loving. So that I can be loved. As giving as deserving to receive.

To choose. My rights. My wrongs. A few vices is not a bad thing.

Womanhood. And all that is a part of it. And to know it all. And love it all. And embrace it all.

To do. Discover. Dream. Explore. Meet. Nurture. Live. Some if this. Some of that. Always seeking.