Signs

Let me begin by assuring all weak-hearted souls that this piece is not about the movie.

I am not sure what qualifies one as a feminist, but I believe that truth, however bitter, should be spoken and even uncomfortable questions need to be asked. This is about one of such questions - Why do married people (mostly women) need to wear some kind of sign indicating marital status? I will speak only in the Indian context, as social dynamics and values are a little different in other countries.

There is no doubt that a woman looks beautiful in her wedding finery, jewels and makeup. The red dot on her forehead, the bangles, anklets, toe rings and nose pins. The rituals also invoke a relationship for seven births, and are made complete by tying a sacred thread (thaali/mangalsutra) around the bride's neck in some communities, or by applying sindoor (vermilion) to the parting in her hair. Rings are also exchanged between the bride and the groom. While he may choose to excuse himself from wearing the ring claiming discomfort or simply personal preference, that would be blasphemy on the lady's part. For one, she would get chastised by her mother/ mother-in-law and other females relatives for not taking the signs seriously - "It will bring harm to your spouse if you do not apply sindoor/ wear mangalsutra. For most of us it is taken for granted that we wear these symbols of marital status. Obviously these are very old customs and I share Wikipedia’s take on the topics.

Quoting from Wikipedia page on Vermilion and Mangalsutra :

"The wiping off of the sindoor is very significant for a widow. There are many rituals associated with this practice. The most common being the mother-in-law or older sister-in-law wiping off the sindoor when the woman becomes a widow. The widow will break her bangles and remove her bindi as well. Many Hindu women will remove their nose ring and toe rings as well. The parting of hair is symbolic of river of red blood full of life. When the sindoor is removed then the river becomes barren, dry and empty. This custom is prevalent in rural areas and is followed by all castes and social ranks."

"According to Hindu cultural ethos, the mangala sutra symbolizes the inseparable bond between a husband and a wife. During the wedding ceremonies in southern parts of India, the bridegroom ties the mangala sutra to the neck of the bride uttering, “May you live long by wearing this sacred mangal sutra, the reason of my life”. Married women are led to wear a mangala sutra throughout their life as it is believed that the practice enhances the well-being of her husband and family. It is also believed that the mangala sutra protects the marriage from any evil. Three knots symbolize three different aspects of a married woman - the first knot represents her obedience to her husband, the second to his parents and the third represents her respect for God."

Most of us must have seen the movie Dor, where the young and vibrant Ayesha Takia is asked to wear indigo garbs as mandated by custom when she loses her husband, and made to lead an austere life, which she tries to forget from time to time by flouting some rules and listening to music, which she used to enjoy when her spouse was alive. For a man who is a widower, there are no such rules.

I am not opposed to these signs, neither am I a stickler for them. I follow what I like and discard what I don't. I just think that no well-meaning spouse ever wishes that any harm should come to the other, whether they wear their wedding ring or not. I just feel that this should not be an imposition but left for the individual to decide. And it also should not be a scale to judge someone's character. Just because one does not wear these talismans does not mean they consider their marriage unimportant. One may not be fond of jewelry; vermilion may cause an allergy to others. 

Many malpractices like Sati have resulted in misery of Indian women for generations. Widows banished to Varanasi by their families recently played Holi for the first time in their lives as color was forbidden for them; they could not even eat to their hearts' content once they had lost their husband and caregiver. Even the West is not free from rampant incidents of witch-hunting in ancient days. These illogical rituals are now less prevalent, although we do get to hear of isolated incidents.

To conclude, women have been meted out with injustice and unfair treatment from times immemorial. With our progressive outlook and educated family backgrounds, we may want to look back at traditions we follow blindly and allow mature people the freedom to choose what is best for them.

Shillong - My Home Forever

 It pains me like the loss of a dear one, as if someone left without an answer, never to come back again.I have traveled to many places, seen many beautiful towns, but that longing doesn't seem to leave me.My family is leaving Shillong, my hometown, this month, and even though I haven't lived there for the past 13 years,it has been a part of my life and conversation would always come back to it, like an old lover about whom I cannot stop speaking.
  What is it about the place that mesmerizes me so, and holds me back like a toddler tugging on to its mother's dress.Is being born there the only reason? - No, its got to be more.Of course everyone shares a special bond with their birthplace, but Shillong exudes much more warmth, so much that even those who lived there for a couple of years have fallen prey to its charms.And believe me it is true love, for even though the youthfulness and beauty of the city have long faded,and in its place the concrete and more botoxed facade is visible now, in the end, it is always more about the attitude than the looks.
  I am still not used to crowds, pollution and the busy life of the metropolis, I miss walking to school, the market and everywhere else.I miss beautiful flowers and incessant rains, when I walked to school in slippers and carried dry shoes in my schoolbag.I miss eating berries in spring and living without a fan in my house.I miss the wooden buses, the Chapel in every school,the rock music playing from neighbors' house on weekends, the community cleaning drives and the quintessential chicken chow.I miss the pine cones lying on the hill slopes,eating oranges sitting in the winter sun,the unique fruits and vegetables found only in hills.I miss wooden floors in my home,the tiny springs jutting out from rocks and the green moss on the corners of stairs.   Hills have a character of their own, and the people are different.Although it would be lying to deny that we did not face any tough times due to communal tension, curfews and the like,in the end there is a reason behind everything, a long history of exploitation.No country or city is averse to that.But I'd rather forget that.What I cannot forget is travelling the winding roads from Guwahati waiting for that cool fresh air to hit me on reaching Barapani.Of the surprise of seeing multiple new shops jutting out, brands pervading my tiny city, bamboo crafts interspersed with hip-hop casuals at Glory's Plaza.Those tweed clad ladies, and lads in leather jackets,those warm smiles emanating from kwai(betel) stained lips.Steaming momos, and chilly winds.
 What I have written may not make much sense to those who have never been to Shillong, but for those who know - I have never known (read loved) a city better, and never will.

Spell Check

  We all take some long rides to and from work, and if you are not driving, there are various ways to while away time. Listening to FM radio and surfing the internet are what most people do. But I have lost interest in FM once I moved to Pune as I do not like the RJ’s, the ones in Delhi had a much better sense of humour. Anyone who has heard Anant and Saurabh (Mausam-Mausi fame) will agree. Being primitive in some respects, I do not have Whatsapp and prefer to use my phone mostly for short chats with folks and close friends, so out goes the second option. Albeit I am not asleep, the rational conclusion is that I simply daydream on my journeys.

  Not entirely true. I have embarked on an interesting pastime, reading banners and signs above shops, and messages behind trucks or other commercial vehicles, restaurant menus, anything where the much revered English language is morphed to some alien tongue. Some are witty, some downright foolish and some are outrageously new additions to the dictionary. The best sign I have read behind a truck remains “Pi  le Rani, Iraq ka Paani “, spotted during a journey from Haridwar to Rishikesh on a cold December morning back in 2006.

   What is most interesting is the kind of spelling mistakes you come across on billboards and signs, and this is true in most parts of the country which rely more on local dialect than the Queen’s language. But what humor they induce into a dull day!! There was a time when my husband and I worked in the same organization in Noida, and took the same bus to commute to and from office. This was our stress buster during those journeys. Although the little ones have skipped my aging mind, the one epic mistake which still launches us into hysteric laughter, was on the signboard of an alcohol shop. They were selling “Child Beer” instead of the chilled variety, which most people would prefer. I wonder if paranoid parents launched an attack on the shop owners to save their children from seeing this advertising menace.

    Shop signs are very businesslike in other countries, and I bet there must be very few places in the world besides India where such variety in color, content and humor can be spotted. Imagine the dread when you find out you’ve been setting aside crores to invest in a “Raw House”. Whether these blunders are intentional or just mere oversight, remains a mystery. I cannot imagine how anyone would put up with a wrong spelling on their establishment’s signboard. It is sacrosanct. No doubt it provides some very good publicity to people like me, who hardly forget a shop where I spot something hilarious, like my next door property agents claiming to “Bye, Sell, Rent”. Got the joke, right?

Every few days a new eatery springs up in the neighborhood, and their menus get dropped at our doorstep. Take a minute to browse through them, and before you know, you are rolling on the floor, laughing. “Human” Style sauce might send shivers down the spine of anyone expecting Hunan sauce with their noodles, and poor “Mutton T Ghosh” might annoy the palate of hungry diners who ordered Mutton Rogan Josh.

Great artists are born of humble beginnings, like M F Hussain, who painted film posters before he became this art maestro we all know him as. Whether or not our signboard painters will have the same fortune is hard to tell. Indulge in this quirky game while you can, for soon you may be driving, and traffic may be the only thing you can watch out for.

Do we really need soaps?

       During my visits to my parents and in-laws in the past 2 years, I happened to notice that when tea was served in the evening, instead of the banter and conversation that we usually had earlier, now there was complete silence, broken only by the sound of sipping tea, or munching a biscuit. Crinkled eyes stared intently at the TV screen, emotions ran high and you could sense the tension in the atmosphere. Thanks to the great Indian dramas played out on the small screen, the daily soaps.

      As with all social media revolution, the home TV viewing scene also had its Big Bang in the past three decades, almost equivalent to the time we have been on the planet. So we, as a generation, have been fortunate(or otherwise) to be a part of this metamorphosis.What we knew as TV consisted of a single channel,and news was the dominant air-time owner.Most households did not have a TV set of their own, so often it meant a visit to the neighbors, where fathers would discuss politics, and mothers would talk about which news reader looked the most glamorous. Weekends would bring a few mythological serials, and children were supposed to learn about epics from those. We would watch with gaping mouths as Vikram chased Betaal,or the gods fought it out with their much specialized  arrows clashing in mid air, and the music reached its crescendo.Ramayan and Mahabharat became the cult TV serials, and such was their impact that people made obeisance to Nitish Bharadwaj when he appeared on the screen as Krishna.Humlog, Buniyaad,Yeh Jo hai Zindagi were the other serials depicting the common man's life, laughs and relationships.

      Come 90's and word spread that a new national channel was soon going to be provided. Soon, DD Metro hit the small screens and blew us away with new shows and a dash of glamour. Cable TV had bombarded  the Indian household, and everyone in the family had more shows to choose from. Children could watch cartoons and not the news, ladies had a new serial dished out every second day, teenagers had their music channels and for the news lovers, well, more news! Sindbad,  Potli Baba Ki, Chandrakanta, Shaktimaan, Duck Tales, TailSpin- we as children were spoilt for choice. National Geographic and other channels satisfied the curious and answered several questions not even thought of earlier. Even a single room house had a TV set, and real and reel lives became more and more intertwined, till people began to dress, talk and behave like the people on screen. Advertising caught up big time, we hummed the jingles and wanted the things we saw;popular serials gave their names to clothes and jewellery, like Shanti's bindis, even boosting consumerism. Shocking revelations came to the fore, when we encountered illicit relationships for the first time.Violence was a part of some shows, we accepted them knowing real life is subject to such desecrations, it is not a perfect world.

      Regional channels were to follow, and they created their own version of the 'daily soap', now that it had come to be known by that name. A basic article of day-to-day use, which we couldn't do without. In an era of globalization. they came as a boon to the masses who were not well versed with Hindi, and grew exponentially of offer viewers a plethora of choices.Music shows, cartoons, all now had their regional versions, enabling people to appreciate the rich heritage and culture of the particular region.

      Amongst all this positivity, there had to be some devils lurking in the background. Although soaps brought us face to face with the harsh realities of social life, like jealousy, hopelessness and superstition, they took to the beaten track quite too often. Volume was immense, but there was not enough material to substantiate it. A serial would start off with a good storyline, which would be exhausted after a hundred episodes or so, but just to keep the TRP's high, some mediocre and repetitive twist would be introduced. Dead characters resurfaced, one wedding in the serial and it turned into a raucous 'Saas-bahu' saga, which off-course, had no end. And day by day the soaps went far from reality. People in them were never caught without gaudy make-up and false eyelashes, even at unearthly hours, no daughter in law was spotted going to office. Music channels offered more than music, and youngsters adept at uttering profanities found lucrative careers. Obviously, the creators of the shows would argue that these shows have a huge fan-base, and they make only what people demand to see.

     Coming back to the parents, TV is their only solace as children leave home to study or work. They watch serials all evening and spend the rest of the time discussing them. Some may be spiritually inclined and keep to the religious stuff, but even those do not spare promoting superstition and bashing all things global and 'western'. The content of most soaps are conflicts within families, that is what bothers me the most. While every relationship has its ups and downs, I don't think so much of plotting and planning goes on within a  normal household. It is true that reel and real life influence each other, and here our judgement and discretion  is being put to the test. So it is time to return the favour - when we were rebuked for watching too much TV as kids, I think an attempt can be made to encourage the folks to take a walk in the park.

Pune diaries - A road less potholed

   Life is not one smooth journey, there's no denying that, but need the roads echo that sentiment too? After spending 2 months here, I can claim that Pune is a wonderful city - with pleasant weather, lot of greenery, cosmopolitan crowds, good cuisine, and a rapid rate of urbanization, thanks to the arrival of the corporate giants.But the travel woes here are another story.
    All the gainfully employed people travelling to the IT hub of the city, Hinjewadi, have also gained a backache for free. Whatever mode of transport you choose, public tempos and buses, or two-wheelers and cars, the lunar landscape of the roads leading there seem to spare no one. Having arrived here during the monsoons, it was pitiful to see the conditions of the roads. It seemed as though the employees were returning from some paddy planting in the fields rather than an air-conditioned office, thanks to the dirt and slush on their clothes and shoes.Few of my friends were even discussing the number of times they had been splashed on by muddy water due to a passing car. I gathered that dry-cleaners must surely be having a jolly good business season.
     A petition to the mayor was doing the rounds, and as a responsible citizen witness to the plight of my husband and friends facing the potholed menace day in and day out, I signed it. It had come down to the corporates having offices in this area thinking about pooling in their own resources to construct the road. But that would only be a one-time activity. The civic authorities had to step in for the maintenance. And it is ironical, that the region which is generating the most revenue for the authorities remains neglected.At this time it was also brought to my notice that some areas on the outskirts of Pune city, Hinjewadi being one of them, were not under the jurisdiction of the city municipality but were taken care of by local gram panchayats, indirectly the cause of sparse funding and failed infrastructure.
     With the monsoons abating, we hoped things would look up and repair work would start.Wishful thinking!
Hinjewadi roads remain dried up craters, while those in some other adjoining areas have just been filled over with grit and stones, a new nuisance for pedestrians. Well, just a matter of time and these will be dispersed exposing the pockmarked surfaces again. It is high time that our petition reached the mayor!

Of Roommates and Conundrum

     They can be fat, slim, tall, short, dirty, sneaky, cheesy, serious, sober, geeky….I am falling short of adjectives here. People who have ever shared a room with a stranger know that you can never know-it-all, when it comes to roommates. I have a Seinfeld fixture, so cannot help quoting from it: 

“Jerry: They didn't have roommates in the middle ages.
George: How do you know?
Jerry: Well, for one thing, they didn't have apartments” 

Apartment or hostel, those of you who think that they are lucky they never had any roommates, let me tell you, you have missed out on one of life’s greatest adventures. It can be a joyride and a nightmare, all at once. It can churn out the best of friends and the worst of foes.

    Miss A and Miss X are allocated the same room in a hostel. Miss A believes they would keep their room spic and span, be entertaining guests, and be good friends. Miss X, on the other hand, has different plans. She wants to top her class, so she intends to keep the room messy and totally free of visitors. She devices a unique method to achieve this. She keeps her clothes and books on the table while she sleeps, and dumps them on the bed when she studies at her table. She throws chocolate and biscuit wrappers on the floor. Miss A is a cleanliness freak, so she’s miffed. She tries explaining to Miss X how her approach is wrong and how she ought to lead a good lifestyle. Needless to say, good advice is rather frowned upon, and Miss X lends a deaf ear to it. Miss A cleans up the room during the vacations, and shoots another e-mail ‘advisory’ to Miss X, warning her to mend her ways. She does pay heed this time, and marches away to another room, much to the delight of Miss S1, who is one of Miss A’s closest friends, also fed up of her messy roommate and looking to move in with Miss A.

     Miss A and Miss S1 move in together, and they live happily ever after. The happy stories aren’t that interesting, so I shall skip them for the moment.

       Habits are such strange things, they make or break a relationship, especially that with a roommate. Two people may be best of friends, but not necessarily good roommates. One may be an early riser while the other may like to stay up late, one may be very hygienic while the other may revel in messy surroundings. One may be loud and boisterous, the other introvert and shy. What comes out from all these combinations is rather spectacular. Generally, roommates have a lot of influence over each other, and may completely change each other’s personalities, for better or worse, as the case may be. A cheesy roommate may giggle and hug you for every thing you say, and you may start to do the same, even without realizing how ridiculous you both look to others.

     Gender bender – I have actually found more girls complaining about roommates than boys. Maybe it means boys are more tolerant, or indifferent. I do not wish to be a judge of that. Females, on the other hand, scrutinize every action of another of their kind. If a girl gets 20 calls in a day, she is either a cry baby talking to her mommy about every meal, every class - in short, every sob and sniffle, or a bimbo trying to attract attention.

      As the saying goes – “You can choose your friends, but not your family”..in most cases not your roommate either. You were destined to be together. Recall Miss A, who I told you about earlier. She passes out of college, works at a particular location, gets an awesome roommate (Miss S2) there. Happy story, so let’s move on.   

    She moves to a new city and is on the lookout for a place to stay. This time she decides to try an apartment instead of living as a paying guest. This would entail more freedom, she presumes. She rents an apartment along with four other girls. They are very friendly and make her feel at home almost immediately. She unpacks and settles down to sleep. Suddenly, there are noises, someone is crying; the pitch increases and so does the swearing. Moments later Miss A sees a light in the kitchen. One of the girls is burning something .She is terrified at the thought of a fire breaking out, or the gas cylinder exploding on her very first night in that house. She says a silent prayer and goes to sleep.

   It is a weekend, and people are relaxing. Conversation flows, and Miss A’s new roommate Miss Y, is too impressed with her. She starts discussing how many prospects she has met, each one’s salary, qualifications, and even goes through each one’s Facebook page. First Miss A is all smiles, but after the third groom, things start looking alarming. So she excuses herself to take a nap. Later in the day, she sees her roommate applying some strange looking ointments and oils.  A asks if she is taking some kind of beauty treatment, usually a favorite pastime on weekends. What comes next shakes Miss A to the core. Her roommate suffers from a serious skin disease from the past year, and she is depressed and even contemplates suicide at times. She has had several roommates, and considers it some kind of coincidence that most of them leave the apartment and move somewhere else. The disease, mind you, is ‘mostly’ non-communicable. For the next two months A is subjected to some of the worst experiences in her life. She tries to offer sympathy, but the girl seems to be adamant not to take it. What’s worse is that all the other inhabitants of the flat come up and tell Miss A they would have never taken the room if they were in her place, how ironical was that? A was going bonkers, looking for a new place to move into.

    It was a Sunday, and World Cup cricket championships were going on. Someone was fighting on the phone with their boyfriend, okay, routine stuff. Wait, what was that loud ‘bang’ and ‘thud’? Words which remind me of Tinkle “Kalia the crow” comic strip. Miss A rushes out to find one of her flat mates had slammed a door, and broken a rather large piece of wall. There was also a plate of food on the floor, with its contents up on the ceiling!

    Dear Miss A began to have serious doubts, were these people crazy, or was she herself too ‘normal’. Birds of a feather flock together, that was the case here, or how could anyone put up with such chaos. She decided she’d had enough. Sanity needed to be restored. A new residence was sought and finalized at war footing.

   Miss A now has a new roommate. It has been a month, and she is keeping her fingers crossed. They have a laugh now and then, and share some movies and music, but you never know when the tides may turn. Going purely by past statistics, that is.

   I now wish to list some annoying ‘roomie’ attributes, shared by Miss A, purely on her own discretion: 

-         Mentioning the word ‘Roomie’ more than once in a sentence.

-         Assuming that you both are the best roommates and showing off to others.

-         Being extra polite, saying ‘Thank you’ and ‘Sorry’ numerous times.

-         Asking permission every time to use your spoon, when you don’t need it at that moment.

-         Leaving their clothes on the pegs in the washroom, and leaving no space for you to hang yours.

-         Saying ‘sweet nothings’ to their boyfriends in a loud voice, when you are trying to sleep.

-         Telling their family members over phone how good a roommate she has got. They, in turn, calling you to check on their ward’s whereabouts.

-         Asking advice on six short-listed prospects and which one to marry.

    It would be unfair to some great people if the happy stories remained untold. Miss A urges me to write about Miss S1, her roommate in college. They shared a room for three years, and there never was a day of misunderstanding. They were perfectly tuned. Although their habits differed, they lived in perfect harmony. S1 was this mature person always offering support to A in tough times. They had a lot of fun, and were very proud of their beautiful room.

      Miss S2, A’s roommate when she had joined her job, was a cool customer. A vivid personality with many talents, she stuck by A through thick and thin. They have also bonded for life, although they shared a room for just over eight months.

     The chances of getting a good roommate are rather skewed, but they do come by. Have you found yours already?

Finding Forrester - an anecdote

   Movies, I believe, are a manifestion of imagination with a figment of reality. So often, it happens that we watch a movie and experience some kind of Deja vu."Finding Forrester"...is a movie about an Afro-American teen writing prodigy played by Rob Brown, who finds a mentor in a reclusive author,played by a grey-haired Sean Connery.Watching it reminded me so much of someone I was very close to.Since she is no longer alive,I was kind of apologetic that I had not thought of her for so long.

     We had moved house, and were still getting to know our neighbours, when the lady in question announced herself. She was an old frail woman dressed in a worn out saree, a white one with a red border.She looked ill,and walked with a limp.We actually thought she had come to ask for charity. She introduced herself as a distant relation of our landlord, and then unraveled some facts about herself which almost left us gaping in wonder.She lived alone, had retired from a senior position in a government department, never married, had studied medicine for a year before abandoning it due to health reasons.She had had multiple fractures, the reason behind her limp. She had been hit by a car and lay in hospital for months with none of her relations knowing or caring. She said with absolute frankness that she was guarding a lot of heirlooms, and people were forever trying to dupe her.We thought, like all old people, she had gotten a little delirious and irritating.She said that my brother and I reminded her of her grand nieces and nephews.

     The visits became frequent, and once she landed up with an oatmeal porridge for me.I was around 10 years old then.I desisted it, but as a polite gesture, I had to taste it - and to my great surprise, it  was yummy!She had prepared it with date jaggery, an awesome experiment.So my tummy sent some good signals to my heart.My 2 year old brother had correctly guessed that she was too old to be an aunt, so he suggested we call her 'Thakuma'(paternal grandma in Bengali).She was delighted.

    She would spend hours chatting with my mother, offering her some words of wisdom, telling her some medical facts, and sharing hundreds of stories. She seemed like an enclyclopaedia. This was the time when my parents were quite busy to help me with my studies,and once, my mother suggested that I ask Thakuma to clear my doubts.I was sceptical - she was so old, I thought, what would she know of the latest curriculum?Forget know, the lady was competant enough to give my teachers a run for their money.She corrected my grammar exercise and numericals with utmost precision and gave me some great tips.Another lesson in humility.

   She gave long sermons on the use of grammar and language,one discussion led to another,and I ended up writing loads of stuff.I would leave my notebooks at home when I went to school, and came home to find comments and suggestions scribbled in red ink on them.Informally though, she had become my mentor.For my now impressionable teenage mind, I could see beyond her shabby exterior.I started visiting her home, which was more like a storehouse for furniture with her tiny little kitchen, where she would cook up some tidbits for me.We discussed all kinds of topics,more like friends than anything else.I would actually look forward to her visits now.

    I was doing well in school, and she would always say that she looked forward to seeing me take the Civil Services exam.Around this time, she had another rough patch with her health, a fracture and she was confined to bed for a few months. We would go visit her from time to time.Our association was now almost into its seventh year, and there was some talk of shifting into a new locality.In course of time we moved, and saw less and less of Thakuma now.It was difficult for her to take the numerous steps leading to our new home, so she would call us.But she did not miss my 10th Board results, and landed at our doorstep with the newspaper announcing my results and a box of sweets.

    Two more years, and I got busy with my exams,tutions, and saw her once in a blue moon.I met her before leaving for my engineering course.She was not entirely convinced that I was sure of what I was doing, but encouraged me nonetheless.From time to time I would get news of her from my mother, she was totally bedridden now, and some of her relations had finally taken pity on her.And then she left us forever.

   It is strange how people you least imagine can leave their mark in your life.For her selfless affection and all the knowledge she shared, I dedicate this to her.And thank you CC, for telling me to watch the movie.