Woman with child- thou art beautiful

Two of my female colleagues are pregnant. One at 8 months, looking like she could pop any day. Big big beautiful belly carrying a baby all day. The other, at 4 months, usually a very flat stomached woman, now you can see the baby bump. Ever so slight but still obvious, growing a little every day.

And everyday as I see these women, I realise how absolutely beautiful a pregnant woman's body is. There is something so organic, so raw about that body- the breasts that start to fill in, the skin that begins to glow or on days look weathered, the belly that expands slowly at first and then as if the child just seems to want to burst forth. The confidence of the that body, as the woman walks around all day, working like the rest, doing things as normal as ever at the same time accomodating the creation of a human life within.

What makes it even more beautfiful is that for those 9 months, the female body must reject every other stigma, every other rule, every other stereotype that sets all these rules around the female anatomy. Stick thin, dieting, eat like a mouse, avoid all carbs, thin arms, flat stomach, perfect boobs , photoshopped bodies and on and on and on. For those nine months, you eat for two and them some more, you get on that weighing scale, hoping to see the extra pounds, you eat what you crave withoutt worrying about the calories and  you let the belly grow. For once, your body is yours and that of your child growing within.

And the confidence that comes with that body. I can almost see it on the faces. I mean, you are creating a human life within you- would you need another reason to feel more empowered? Bootcamps don't even come close.

The art of unparenting involving 3 kids and a drowning bee

It's important that I write this down. Not because I think I will forget- oh no, this one incdient is etched in my minds- the details of it as clear as though it  happened yesterday. It's important that I write it down so I also remember clearly what I took away from it. And take away from I did. A lesson in parenting or perhaps "un parenting".

It was a hot Bangalore day. Hot and humid and just right for the pool. So I was walking the kids for a swim- my 4 year old, my 8 year old and another 8 year old - in their swim shorts and flip flops and towels lazily slung across. We got to the pool and as they were about to get in, they spotted a bee in the water, struggling to keep afloat. The were mesmerized by what they saw- the 4 year old was even nervous. There was a bee in the swimming pool.

My instant thought was that they were now scared to get in. My insticnct was to save the day for them. My advice was to ignore the bee and get in from the other end. And when I told them to do that they didn't react- they only stood around and watched the bee. So I said it again, as parents do, when we think the kids aren't listening. See, I had got them for a swim so I was on a mission to get them into the pool.

And then my son looked at me and said " But the bee is alive- we should save it." The other two nodded fervently and in unison. Of course, that was the only thing to do. WIthout even discussin it , all 3 of them knew it. Just like that.

And just like that in the next 5 minutes, we found a leaf, hauled the bee out, put it on the grass, the sun dried it up. And the bee flew away. 

And I remember looking at their faces and that expression of sheer joy and achievement and kindness and relief - a swim in the pool would never even come close!

How often do I read about Buddhism. Because I like the philsophy of it and I want to be a better person for learning it. And how often is it reiterated in Buddhism the importance of kindness to animals. To quote, "Therefore, those who are not kind to animals, would do well to develop the feeling of love and compassion for animals. Remember that the animals have feelings of pleasure and pain, of joy and sorrow, like all of us. It is not possible to escape the consequences of one's deeds. Remember, therefore, that some of your own relatives or friends may by the process of the inexorable law of Karma be reborn in this state of woe, and so even yourself, if you are not sufficiently virtuous."

For all my reading, for all my wisdom, that day I learnt the true meaning of it all- and that lesson got handed down to me by three kids whose collective age is half of mine.

Sometimes we must teach them. But more often than that, we must learn.

This is true and that is what I imagine

So,  teeth fall. It is a bilogical process. There is science that explains the why and how and when.
And then there is the tooth fairy. And she sneaks in at night through the window or the door or the chimney and sometime she jingles but not loud to wake anyone up and she slips a present under the pillow and takes the tooth away. Sometimes she is too busy fixing an elephant's cavity in India so she can't be at the tooth loss house in Japan so she sends an elf or a pixie.

Water is a chemical substance. It is a chemical substance with the chemical formula H2O, containing one oxygen and two hydrogen atoms connected by covalent bonds. It is that.
And then are water faries and water nymphs. And sea monsters that threaten the pirates that sail the ferocious seas. And mermaids that lead the sailors to safety and water nymphs that are things of beauty.

The moon is  the only natural satelite of the earth and the fifth largest satellite in the solar system.  system. The Moon is in synchronous rotation with Earth, always showing the same face with its near side marked by dark volcanic maria that fill between the bright ancient crustal highlands and the prominent impact craters. It is  the brightest object in the sky after the Sun, although its surface is actually very dark, with a reflectance similar to that of coal.
And then the cow jumped over the moon. The old lady that lives in the moon. And sometimes the mice eat the moon so you can only see half of it. But then the sun makes the moon grow whole again.

There is the human body and the human mind. And it can all be explained in atoms and molecules and DNA. And how we think and what life is and the end. And then there is the soul and destiny and karma and afterlife and events in your life that are somewhat inexplicable.

The universe explained and the universe unexplored.

The ground we can tread and the galaxies that we can't.

In everything there is what it is and there is what can be imagined.

My own little stories

My apartment faces a street- a fairly busy street. I like watching the street from the window. I like watching people and the movement and I like the fact that I can't hear them. SO I don;t know what they're saying, what their names are, where they are headed. Because then I can make that all up. And that becomes my own story for these characters that I am looking at.

I like doing this at night. Becasue then the street is not overly busy. So my characters are few and I can focus on them. Being a trendy neighborhood, come weekends especially, there are always the trendy people. All dolled and fancied up for a night about town. The older man, the younger woman. The newly dating couple. The married couple. The hispters in a large group. The older couple headed to a quiet sit down dinner. The group of girlfriends. They stand at the traffic light just beneath my window while the signal takes its own time to let them pass. There in those few minutes, a lot may happen for a story to unravel. The couple may sometimes kiss. Makes me then wonder- married, newly engaged, dating, serious, just a fling? Does he love her more than she loves him or vice versa. Will she meet a friend of his tonight at the restaurant and fall for him. Are they cheating on each other.

The older couple- she steps off the road as almost the same time as the signal changes and he holds her back. She turns at him and she is annoyed. She says something to him and he flings his hands on the air. She walks away without waiting for him. He follows, muttering. Power struggle? She thinks he is too controlling. She is a grown up and can take care of herself, least of all cross the street. But he doesn't think that of her. He is muttering as he walks. Why is she this way- every time he reaches out, she withdraws. Recoils, actually. Physically and emotionally. All he did was grasp her arm and pull her way from what was potentially unsafe. There are drivers that try and get through the last minute. So, she can't trust him. but it was only that one time. That one time and he got caught. And she will not forgive or forget or trust him again. She will only walk away every time for everything.

The girlfriends. Laughing, hugging each other spontaneously a shout at the guy across the street, check out the bags in the show window and while doing this, almost miss the walking signal but then hold hands and dash across the street in high heels and glitzy bags laughing their head off in gay reckless abandon. Dolled up, showing off skin, strutting in heels that do not look so comfortable.Check each other out, size her up and down, peek over the kissing couple. Get home perhaps, the make up comes off, the shoes flung away and massage the hurting feet. Thank god for girlfriends and girls night out. Now a pajama party. More shots, PJ's, comments about how being fashionable is so painful - what could compare to flannel PJ's and house slippers?  One breaks down, she is drunk so the talking is so much easier. She can't stay home any more- the parents fight all the time, the abusive dad. the girls gather around. Band of sisters, woman to woman . Holding her hand, letting her talk, sharing their experiences. Gone is the glitz, the glamour, the make up. This is real.

So stuff like that. To me, people are what stories are made up of. People are stories. And when they walk around like that I try and tell them to myself.

Oh , and the subway! Now, that's another story....wait, stories.

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.

Life via Lens- A tree with character and a a few dried flowers

I love randomly discovering stuff as I am walking around the city. Stuff that is not obviously noticeable but will catch my eye. Today I saw two. The first is the tree growing on the UFT campus. Brown, leafless, devoid of any buds or leaves, branches that seem like an intricate network of veins. I like this tree. It has a certain character to it. And I am now waiting to see this tree once spring arrives. When the branches start sprouting buds, showing the first signs of life. And then in summer, when the leaf is no longer devoid but blossoming with life.



And then there were the bunch of dried flowers growing on the pathway that I take to work in the morning. Colorless, wet, shriveled up. Resolute through the long winter. Still there. Still standing. Still beautiful. These too, I will visit again when spring arrives. That will be another picture.

Life via lens- Another few happy days :-)

Keunsang, Gia, Rohan and scooters

Hanging out on a tree

The Boys

Bed spread fun!

Before cupcakes get baked, cupcake mixture gets eaten.

Life via Lens- A day in the life of a 7 and 3 year old

Mar 22: G and baby doll and R and Fluffy at bedtime.
Mar 21: Books before bed.

Mar 20: Scootering on Bloor street.

Mar 19: The world eats pancakes. I eat pancake mix.

Mar 18: Apparently, he's posing.

Life via Lens- A typical week day morning

Morning Chai. Subway. Breakfast on the Go. Stairs. Work at fifth floor.

A day in the life

I needed to start something new- a project to keep me creatively satisfied, something fun , something meaningful.

Started with my husbands idea of taking a picture a day of the kids. And so I started. And the one thing I told myself was that these would not be the typical pose for mommy pics at a special occasion or place- these would the random, spontaneous pictures of their life- moments and moods... Breakfasts, baths, friends, school, walks, sleep, tantrums even.

And it's been fun. And easy to do with the camera on the phone. At any moment of day when I remember to do it, I just click away.

And so yesterday as I downloaded the pictures from the phone to the computer, I smiled at what I saw. Rohan posing with his new scooter, Gia eating pancake mix, Rohan and his every morning big breakfast, a pose at the museum, a moment at the bookstore, fun in the bathtub. Smiles, frowns, poses, looks. Faces of a 7 and a 21/2 year old. Days of their lives. And days of mine.

Salon talk

Dolly. 50 something, short stature, clear skin, short dark hair, yellow sweater, blue jeans, sneakers. Chewing gum. Small eyes, mouth like a squirrel's.

As she waxed away the hair from my legs, she talked. She waxed and she talked. Wax on spatula, wax on leg, strip on leg, pulls hair out and talks.

About her many years of marriage to her first cousin. Who was 9 years older than her. About how happy she was with him and how fabulously she got along with her mother in law since her mother in law was also her aunt. It was all one family -hers and her husband's.

She spoke of her sons who chose to live in India. The older married to a "nice girl - an only child- she's like a princess, na, pampered" "So she also doesn't want to leave India and her family. She has help at home. She was a computer engineer, then she became a teacher and now she does not work- she does tutoring at home."

"She's a very nice girl and see we get along. We live far away from each other- that is always best- we talk on the phone. When I go there to visit, we get along, we travel, we go out for dinner. She is very nice"

The younger son, she said is 29 and refuses to get married. He keeps having girlfriends, only for 6 months. "What is that? Like this, he will be like my cousin who is 40 and single and keeps changing the girlfriend.I tell my son- like this you carry on, one day you will have to find a gay man. He gets annoyed with me so much when I say that, but I say that." Wax, strip, pull. One leg done.


Why did you move from Houston, I ask? Isn't it warmer weather there?

"See now, she starts "what to do sometimes in life? My husband got a good job here with the City. And life in the US now...really, nothing..it's getting worse. No benefits, everything really expensive. sometimes, then in life, you have to make this decisions. I miss Houston. I miss the warm sun. It's just too cold here. But I tell myself, D, only 3-4 months. But I miss Houston. Oh, all my friends, you know they miss me so much. They say D, why don't you come visit us? "

She misses Houston. Home of 10 years.

"Tomorrow I have my day off" this, out the blue.

"What do you do, on your day off?" Now I am fishing. Oh, I am!

"First, I will go to the YMCA, exercise, I like that" I like that too, D. See, now it is important to stay fit, Otherwise old people always thinking this is it, now we are old. "Then I will ask my friends in Houston to give me missed call and I will call them back. Oh, they miss me so much. So many friends I have. One of then has this plan, you can talk unlimited US to Canada. so they all come to her house and use that. And they tell me everything. About everyone.I just keep talking an talking and talking" I would have never guessed :-)

"That way I am talkative. My husband, he's very quiet. Too peaceful. Also, my older son. My God, I don't like talking to them. So quiet. Too much. Only my husband will talk to me. When I say ok you talk, then will start talking. He likes it. But he doesn't talk to anyone else, only likes talking to me." 27 years of marriage.

"Do you miss your sons" Hook, line...."yes, but what to do? Actually, it is okay , it is good this way. You know, once kids grow up, its better they are on their own, You live your life, I live mine. I like it that way. And it's best that way.

Can you turn this way? I'll wax the side now. Turn, wax, strip, pull.

It's very cold here in Canada. I miss my Houston. But what to do. In life, you have to make these decisions.

Why don't trips there, I ask? Long trips in winter?

"Haan, she says, that's nice. But my poor husband , he'll be alone. Poor thing."

"he's very nice, treats me like a queen. I told him, now my big birthday is coming. Everyday I tell him, my big birthday is coming." Dolly, he says, I'll have a nice party."

I tell him, my birthday is coming.

When, I ask, is your birthday?

September.

We're in February.

Okay, she says, all done. Now I will put some oil.

Celebrate

Birthdays. Anniversaries. Seasons. Life. Friendship. With balloons. And cake. For no reason. With friends. The New Year. With style. Yourself.

Love

A friend. To live. Happiness. Music. Dance. Your kids. Nature. The earth. Chocolate. To drink. Good food. Travel. Shoes. Yourself. Your dreams. To read. To write. Films. Color.

Live

Your life. A dream. Happily ever after. In the moment. Large. Within your means. A lie. Long. Creatively. Each day like it's your last. For yourself. A fully life. Out your passions. Your fantasy. Like there is no tomorrow. For a cause.