This is now home

Born and brought up in Mumbai, I have been a Mumbaikar at heart, no matter where I went. Whenever I returned to Mumbai after a long time, I would breathe in the sea scented, yet inevitably polluted air of Mumbai, which would hit one like a blast furnace, and instantly feel at home. Mumbaikars usually cannot imagine going away from the city and settling elsewhere. I, too, never thought I would. Until my wedding was fixed.

My fiance, now my husband, was working in Bangalore, and had declared that he had no intentions of coming back to the crushing rush of Mumbai with its sauna like weather. So I moved to Bangalore as a newlywed, but my heart yearned for Mumbai. This was more than two decades ago. Bangalore was a pretty laid back place then, and I missed the energy of Mumbai. Slowly, though, it began to get under my skin and in my veins, and I began to put down roots here.

I learnt the language - I can speak well enough to communicate with my househelp, autowallahs and the greengrocer, though the kid and the husband still laugh at my Kannada. I made new friends, learnt to appreciate the nuances of Karnataka's cuisine - all of south cuisine, actually - and learnt a lot about the natural beauty, heritage sites and history of my adopted state.

Today, Bangalore, now officially in its new avatar as Bengaluru, is what I call home, though Mumbai will never be taken out of my heart.

Happy Karnataka Rajotsava Day!

An update, and a poem by the daughter

And slowly, the work at home is winding up. The carpenters, painters and plumbers are out, and the electricians are currently working on the fixtures. We're not doing any major changes, just replacing the tired old white tubelights with warm, yellow light. The builders have been much remiss in their wiring work, too, as we discovered on finding that many of the 'outlets' provided had no electric current, and that called for a major revamp. We've already had the cleaners in, who did an excellent job of cleaning up the major spills of glue / paint / polish, etc., that the workers had left behind. Now it is up to us to sort through all our stuff. The stuff collected over more than 20 years of marriage, and 12+ years as parents.

pic courtesy bookgivingday.com

And of course, the books - that is going to be a project in itself. It was International Book Giving Day on the 14th of February 2014. I have been putting books that we no longer need, to give away.

While all this has been happening in the background, there is much else on the writing front, though not of any great consequence. No, that book still has to wait.

Articles and book reviews on Women's Web.

Book reviews on Goodbooks. Two of my reviews feature on the current slider - do take a look.

Articles for The Alternative.

And someone really thought I would do as a panel member for a writing contest in which I shared space with published authors. A participated in the contest, making sure there she did not show me her entry until after the contest was judged, or even tell me anything about it, as she knew I was one of the judges, and shouldn't carry any bias. Here is her entry. Feeling very proud of her.

Here's her entry. Do go to the site for the judges' comments.

WHEN SANTA CAME HOME

He came in the dead of the night
When the blue of the sky was deep
He sailed so silently over our world
When every person was asleep

He floated through the starry sky
Past the gleaming moon
He must hurry, for he was running late
The sun would be rising soon

Ours was the last town he visited
And mine was the very last house
So he began climbing down the chimney,
Quickly, but as quietly as a mouse

After visiting so many children
And eating their cookies and cakes,
Santa was rather full, and hadn't realized
How much effort chimney climbing takes

He sucked in his belly as much as he could
And began to wriggle down
But he was stuck, well and truly jammed
Yes, that is what Santa found

But here is what Santa did not know –
Our house was enchanted
Our house was home to a number of elves
A number that cannot be counted

They found poor Santa in a soup
They told him he needn't worry
They set about their elfish work
And soon they ceased to scurry

They had dug the sides of the chimney
Till Santa Claus could go through
But where they went after that
Santa wished he knew

He climbed down; it was easy now
He soon reached the ground
He tip-toed towards my stocking
Without making a sound

He stuffed in the presents
Oh, and what presents they were
Then, he was finally done with his job
He exited through the front door

Those elves loved snow more than any else
But they could find none here
And our guests were just temporary,
For they stayed out of fear

Of the wicked, oh, so wicked
Froozotapplegadeese
Who would search for and feast on
Just such elves as these

Santa, of course, was grateful to them
He owed them a major debt
He knew that quick workers like these
Were difficult to get

So he sought out the elves and said to them,
"Come with me to the North Pole
You'll find plenty of snow there
For it is freezing, and that is mighty cold"

You will be safe and sound from the
Froozotapplegadeese
For, if he comes to look for you,
I can tell you for sure that he will freeze

I would like you to do me
Another tremendous favour
And in exchange for I will give you
Snow cream of any flavour

Could you help me with the presents –
Could you make them and then wrap them?
For I know that elfish craft
Is certainly a gem

The elves were delighted – this deal was great!
They all jumped into the sleigh
Santa was pleased, and he smiled and said,
"Up, up, and away!"

That is how Santa got his trusty elves
They make each and every toy
For Santa to give as gifts for Christmas
To every little girl and boy

I wonder what became of the
Froozotapplegadeese
Did he go looking for the elves?
Tell me, did he freeze?

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My reading, in the mean-time, is going along in spurts. Will post about a challenge I feel the need to participate in, soon.

Getting their own home, finally!

When we moved into our current home, my daughter was a wee baby, not yet sitting up. There was a lot of stuff that was unfinished. Not enough furnishing, for one. We lived out of two wardrobes and sundry suitcases. Slept on mattresses laid on the floor, rolled up during the day. Our television was kept on the floor. We had inherited the cane sofa set and dining table plus chairs - brought over from our earlier rented house. The only proper woodwork that we had done before moving in was the kitchen. That was essential, and the rest- we just thought we'd get it done by-and-by.

By-and-by didn't happen for 12 years. We just made do. There was too much happening. A baby growing up. Many ups and downs. A year outside the country. Frequent overseas trips for the husband, who wasn't around for a large enough chunk of time for all this work to be done. We were sure we didn't want to buy stuff ready-to-use from stores - it needed to be custom made. And in the meantime, our books collected by the sackful. They slowly took up most of our wardrobe space, spilled over onto every surface available, into every room, even the kitchen and the bathrooms. They took over the house much like the wilderness that took over the grounds of Manderlay in Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca. (This, I've taken from one of my FB status updates about the books)

My beloved books. They really needed to be housed more respectfully. We also needed to make a host of other furnishings. So, after so many years, we finally have the workers in the house. They are creating a library of bookshelves in a spare room we have, where I have always imagined myself settling down to read, surrounded by my books looking out at me, with the light streaming in through the three large windows. There will also be shelves in each of the rooms in the house, including a huge one on a 15 foot wall in the hall.

Looking forward to that.

It doesn't take much for a tragedy to occur

This Sunday, my parents, brother, sister-in-law and their two children had a close call. The house they stay in is more than 3 decades old, the home I grew up in, got married from, and where I go every summer vacation. Sunday, they had pest control done. There were termites, too, along with other pests, and the pest control people had sprinkled close to 4 litres of kerosene all over the house, along with everything else that they do. The house was kept sealed for the requisite period after treatment, so everyone had gone out for the day. 

Around evening, my brother came home alone, opened all windows - they could be kept open as there is mosquito netting on them - put on the exhaust fans, and went out again, to return with the rest of the family after an hour. The house was cleaned, dinner was cooked, and everyone went to bed around 10 p.m. after a long and exhausting day. My parents were in their room. Sis-in-law was in her room along with her younger daughter. My brother sat in the hall with his son for some time helping him with some school work, then they both decided to sleep on the sofa-cum-bed their, as they didn't want to disturb those sleeping inside.

Sometime in the middle of the night, my father, who cannot sleep deeply, woke up with a sense of unease. He got up to go to the bathroom, and what he saw there got him in a panic. The exhaust fan had remained on, and had burnt out. It, along with the mosquito netting on the window, was in flames. The flames were already spreading along the lines where kerosene had been sprinkled. He cannot move quickly, so he started banging on the bedroom door of my brother. My sis-in-law woke up, saw what was happening, and rushed to switch off the mains and the piped gas inlet. Once this was done, she and my father proceeded to throw large mugfuls of water on the flames. I know that this should not be done for electrical fires, but thankfully the mains were off, and who keeps sand or fire extinguishers in homes? 

By then the other adults were awake, and thankfully the fire was extinguished. The bathroom had a gas geyser just 2 feet away from the flames. Imagine what could have happened if my father hadn't slept fitfully.

Still shaken. We take so much for granted, don't we? And I wonder if sprinkling kerosene around the house is standard procedure?

A new gadget...and a fabulous giveaway

...a new laptop, finally!

Before I begin on this, let me announce a humongous giveaway over at playingbythebook, hosted by my good friend Zoe. You just need to visit, and leave a comment to be entered into a draw for a set of 50 Ladybird books. Do visit. I promise you won't regret it!

OK, now to my laptop story.

My last one, that had lasted me 7 years, finally died on me. It had been giving me a lot of trouble over the past one year, frequently hanging, suddenly shutting down mid-sentence, heating up just after 15-20 mins of use, despite propping it up on 'legs' comprising two hefty books on two sides to ensure that it got aired underneath, refusing to switch on at times, taking forever to boot, the battery going for a toss - requiring it to be connected forever to the charger to even start. It had even crashed once a few months back - from which attack it had been revived, the system restore done, but all saved data wiped off...it had become a litany of complaints and inconveniences.

Until it finally gave up, and refused to be revived. This was in the last week of May. Since then, the husband had been travelling, so we did not have an opportunity to go shop for a new one. I didn't want to do a major purchase like this all on my own. Cost aside, I am a self-confessed technologically challenged bookworm, so I wouldn't have known what I needed to look for.

So this week-end, we decided that the deed HAD to be done, and here we are! We are proud owners of a brand new gadget! So now I really need stop being a dinosaur and proceed to polish my knowledge of how it works, how Windows 8 works, if I have to learn to navigate my way around.

And no, sometimes technology does the opposite of making you dumb, R's Mom! Thanks for checking on me when I had 'disappeared' from the blogosphere! :)

And RIP, my old, trusty laptop. I had a good innings with you.

12 years...

...is called a 'Tapa' in Sanskrit literature. My little one, not so little anymore, turned twelve on the 18th this month, and I cannot let the month go by just like that.

So. We're currently big time into cooking. A little different from assisting mamma in the kitchen. Though, of course, it has to be a food item that she likes that she takes charge of. That, and the current interest in the ongoing Masterchef US, meant that the theme for a party was already decided.

Taking the DIY idea forward, I let her take charge of everything except deciding on and planning the actual contest, so that she could participate as a contestant in all fairness. She decided on the return gifts and the prizes, who to call, and the format of the contest. There were 9 girls, including her, so we decided on having 3 teams of 3 each, decided by drawing lots. The winning team from among these would then go on to round two, so that we would have three dishes again. The winner among these would be the masterchef, and there would be one runner-up.

Prizes? The winner would be presented with an apron on which we had hand-painted the masterchef logo in red. As also a copy of The Usborne Little Book of Chocolate. Lots of history and customs about chocolate, fun facts, and easily do-able recipes, and plenty of yum looking pictures.

pic courtesy usborne.co.uk

Runner-up would get a copy of The Deadly Royal Recipe, written by Ranjit Lal, published by Duckbill books.

pic courtesy saffrontree.org

The rest of the participants were to get a copy of Subhadra Sen Gupta's book, The Secret Diary of the World's Worst Cook. Wonderful book- historical fiction on the background of the Mughal period.

pic courtesy penguinbooksindia.com

Now, I am not sure about the comfort levels of the invitees' parents while working with knives, fire, etc. So I decided to keep it fairly simple, with an adult assisting.

Round 1: The best and yummiest class of food that could be prepared with a bit of planning were the chaats. I made the imli chutney and the green chutney at home. Got the veggies chopped up in the morning - onions, tomatoes, boiled potatoes, fresh coriander. Bought a few packets of murmura(puffed rice), sev, farsan, paani-puri puris, khara puris, etc., and was all set. I also kept a few bottles of unrelated stuff like ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise, chilli garlic sauce, etc. Of course, if they incorporated any of that in their recipe without messing it up, they could!

The judge was a neighbour, a friend who is a wonderful cook herself, and who is also wonderful with kids. Having a grandchild a little younger than A, she knows how they tick.

So there were the kids, having donned their aprons.  We told them the rules- about adult supervision, teamwork, and about cleaning up after getting their dish ready. And then the fun really began.

The winning chaat entry - tikki chaat. A's team made this, and went to the second round. The three children in the winning team went on to round two.

Second in the chaat round. Paani puri and sev puri.

Third in the chaat round. Bhel puri.

Round 2: The winning team went on to Round 2. Now they worked individually. The three of them had to put together three desserts from the ingredients given. There were sliced cakes, fruit of different kinds, ice-cream, waffle sticks and chips, sprinkles, jams, honey, dessert toppings, cooking chocolate, and then some.

The winning entry in the second, dessert round. I didn't get to taste this, but was told it was slices of cake topped with fruit, covered by strawberry ice-cream, and garnished with gems and chocolate sprinkles. Pic taken after all entries were judged, hence the messy, melted ice-cream.

A's entry for the dessert round. Two servings of banana split. Second place. Oh, and for those interested to know, since she already has a copy of The Deadly Royal Recipe by Duckbill books, we drew lots to give away the copy bought for the runner-up to one of the guest children!

Third place - Sponge cake slices stacked with layers of peanut butter, covered by chocolate icing, garnished with gems. coloured sprinkles and waffle sticks.

And the birthday cake. Red pumpkin cinnamon bundt cake baked by me, covered with vanilla icing by the kid!

Happy Birthday, my little one!

How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count The Ways...

I first encountered you many, many years ago.
So long ago, that I do not even remember that first meeting now.
What I do remember, is that not a day would go by that I could be separated from you.
I would have you with me at all times; yes, even in my dreams.
When forced to be separated from you in the mundane drudgery of everyday living, I would sometimes pause at whatever I was doing, and remember the feel of you, the smell of you, the way I lost myself in your worlds, the way you transported me above everything I knew.
Everyone, but everyone knew of our love.
You were the one I was recognised by.
You became my reason for living.
I waited for those brief periods in which I could have you with me.
I learnt so much more from you than by any other means.
You gave me my joy, my laughter, my tears, my anger, my thoughts, my dreams, my very way of life.
Often, you would disappoint me, not measuring up to your promise, but I never give up hope, seeking you in newer forms.
Some people count their life in years, some by their friends.
I count my life by your presence in it.
My love for you has brought me my riches in the form of my friends...
If I could not have you around, life as I know it will no longer be the same.
I reach out to you first thing in morning, keep you close through the day, and often fall asleep with your reassuring presence near me.
My home is a temple to you; everywhere I look, you are there, in forms more numerous than I can count.
You are the one I shall have near me forever, through sickness and health, till death do us part.
You, and my love for you, will be my legacy to my daughter.
To hold close and carry forward.
Forever.

Image courtesy the net.

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Today is also International Book Giving Day. Give away those books that you can, to those who might want to read them. Spread the love.

Give to friends, family, schools, libraries. Or just set books out into the wild. Leave a book at a park, shop, clubhouse, doctor's or dentist's or any other waiting room, in the hope that it finds a good home.

Give them to NGOs that work for those in need...not just of shelter, food and love, but also of an education, a reason to smile and dream.

Share a book. Read aloud. Tell stories.

I'm doing it. Are you?

Of gendered tales

An article of mine, titled The Barbification of India has recently been published on Womensweb. What is it about?

For the past couple of years, my daughter has been struggling a lot with this business of what’s cool and what’s not, as far as my daughter’s peers are concerned: it had been proclaimed cool to be in the know about the latest movies, television programmes, Bollywood actors, pop singers, pop teen idols and Gangnam style - not necessarily in that order - along with sporting those Hannah Montana tees and neon tights. One child actually had a beach scene complete with figures lolling around in bikinis in as cake decoration in a beach themed party for her birthday. One can imagine the messages being given to these children. Yes, they are children at 11-12 years, never mind the self-possession and worldly airs. By these standards, my book-loving child, who has more sober tastes in music, clothes and everything else, who does not consider dancing to 'Sheila ki Jawani' as particularly desirable and who does reasonably well at academics is labelled uncool, a nerd!

These are the same peers whose idols were Barbie and the Disney Princesses not so long ago. Barbie might have been originally a teen icon for feminists at a time (the late 50s) when most women were not expected to step out of the home for a career, but over time it has evolved into a feminist’s worst nightmares. For one, the demographics have changed from teens to pre-teens; sometimes even younger. With her impossibly top-heavy figure (if extrapolated to adult female size, the measurements of 36-18-38 are near impossible in real life), long slim legs and vacuous sexuality, Barbie sends a skewed body image message to girls who buy into the unhealthy eating patterns that this propagates. A friend’s 7 year old refuses to eat fruits because her peers say they will make her fat.

To top it all, most Barbies come with accessories, clothes and domestic items in pepto-bismol shades of pink and purple that has spawned an entire parallel range of girls’ merchandise in similar colours complete with glitter and bling. Since the past few years, Barbie is available in India in an Indian avatar, complete with traditional Indian costumes, families, and the 'great Indian Culture'.

Most of these problems are shared by the Disney Princesses. A brain-child of Disney’s marketing executive Andy Mooney at the beginning of this century, it was a masterstroke of franchise that spawned a multimillion-dollar industry in dolls, clothes, accessories and other merchandise, a model that manufacturers for children have repeated over and over again with many other popular fictional characters. Considering the cool quotient of the movies, television shows and such, this was a shrewd business move.

Pink for girls and blue for boys! This polarisation by gender ensures double the sales for companies with vested interests. Younger children playing with toys originally targeted towards an older group has also created a demand for clothes unsuitable for that age. As utbtkids, a fellow blogger puts it, “if you are looking for non-pink, non-Disney characters, slightly loose, appropriate clothing, something that will withstand the running and climbing, and something that is not a mini version of adult clothing you might as well grow your own cotton and weave your own clothes.” Boys, too, suffer due to these brand and franchise excesses. A neighbour refuses to let her one year old son associate with anything even remotely considered feminine, in his clothes or choice of toys. Everything has to be only in shades of ‘manly’ colours, and aggressively in the realm of the ‘boyish’!

Most people see nothing wrong with girls playing ‘house’ with dolls, dressing up, having idols that promote domestication along with a sexualised self-image, and boys, at the other end of the spectrum, being encouraged to be sporty, playing ‘out there’, indulging in large motor activities geared towards being powerful. It is perceived as perfectly natural. They couldn’t be more wrong.

Children’s play always reinforces cultural messages, as they learn patterns of behaviour through it. Peggy Orenstein, social psychologist and author of Cinderella Ate My Daughter, puts it wonderfully well: “At issue, then, is not nature or nurture but how nurture becomes nature: the environment in which children play and grow can encourage a range of aptitudes or foreclose them. So blithely indulging — let alone exploiting — stereotypically gendered play patterns may have a more negative long-term impact on kids’ potential than parents imagine.” 

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Also check out my review of the first part of Amruta Patil's retelling of the Mahabharat: Adi Parva, a feminist view, also on Womensweb. A wonderful book.

Balancing Act - Working Mom or SAHM?

It all began with the many conversations with Choxbox over these things. Then Starry wrote this piece which discussed if it it really was a choice - being a WM or SAHM.

So when I came across this book, I immediately picked it up.

pic credit flipkart

Balancing Act
Written by Meera Godbole Krishnamurthy
Zubaan-Penguin publication

Tara Mistri is a high-achieving student, professionally trained, all set on an upward career graph, when along comes marriage, children, and everything that comes with it. Husband earns well enough for the family, making it essentially unnecessary for her to go out and earn a living. Unless you count her dissatisfaction with it all. A feeling of not being with it all that sets in.

Tara has a personal Yakshi (yuk-she, as she sometimes calls her) who keeps hounding her, chipping away at her defensiveness of the situation. Now don't we all have our own personal Yakshis? That little voice that niggles away at our conscience, making us hear home truths, whether we recognise them or not? Anyway, I digress.

Now Tara has had a few years away from the 'real world', as everyone around her puts it. Ennui has set in. Although she loves her children to bits, and wouldn't want to exchange her time with them for anything, there has been something of the soul-destroying in the cloistered existence she has been leading. This is more so because people- extended family, friends and acquaintances alike think she is being the 'good housewife'- making it seem like a situation out of her control. So why is she still at home? It feels as if it is to fulfil some role-model destiny that she has no say in. She feels as if everyone pities her, views her with a thinly disguised contempt for just 'letting go' and 'going with the flow'. It comes to a point where she feels patronised even by her extremely supportive husband and her dearest friend, a careerist woman who has no intentions of 'settling down to domesticity'.

What does Tara do about it? Does she manage to silence the annoying Yakshi? How does she deal with the feeling of inadequacy that colours everything she does and every relationship in her life? What about the demon of 'societal expectations'? Does she end up on a path chalked out for her by others' expectations, her own boulder on the shoulder, or does she carve out her own way? Is the choice finally made for her, or does she choose it herself? What, finally, is this path she walks on, and how does that affect things?

Balancing Act is a book worth reading, by anyone who has had to question the why of what she is doing with her life? Career woman? Stay-at-home-mom? I was not completely convinced as to her reasons for choosing what Tara finally did, but at least it was her choice, weighed against the road not taken.

Further, the book is not just about the pros and cons of working outside the home or not. It is also a search for identity. Of who we are, what we want from life in the broader sense, in the micro sense. Our place under the sun. Balancing the intricacies of relationships- spouse, mother, friend, daughter- and demanding that the counterparts in turn take a hard look at how they relate to you. A feminist viewpoint.

We, as women, have far more choices in our lives than our mothers had. How we exercise those choices so that we can have a fulfilling life, is what this book is all about. It is an engrossing read. There were some places that made me think, introspect; keep the book down for a while.

A book that must be read, so relevant to the current tug-of-war between working moms and stay-at-home-moms. Thanks, Starry and The Mad Momma for the links.

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As an aside, or rather as a logical continuation of the thought process here, it is all about what you choose. We are often not given access to choices, or we are presented with choices that are not real choices at all. Even more dangerously, sometimes we have an illusion of having a choice, or of actually choosing what we want, when society decides what you may or may not have an opinion on. A fool's paradise of sorts. It usually is a happy state of matters for the person, as they do not realise that they are being duped.

As the saying goes- 'Suraj nikale, tab savera'- all about new beginnings and second chances. It is when one makes informed choices, without being told they cannot choose this or the other option, that there is real peace to be found. Which sometimes seems like a long, long way away. Far on the horizon. But real, not a mirage!

Of cold hands and warm hearts

When I was a child, my parents' home had a large, old-style wooden swing that I loved to swing on. My enduring memories of that swing are of a close friend and I pretending it was a plane, in which we travelled to the fabled land of Kashmir. Once we were there, the swing would transform itself into a bus in which we travelled everywhere, or a boat on which we took a turn on the Dal lake, while someone played fabulous music on (I think it was) a harp! Our knowledge of Kashmir was from the things we heard of from a relative who had, indeed been there, and who had got a wonderfully embroidered woolen coat as a souvenir. In my childhood imagination, Kashmir was a land like the one Sindbad the sailor or Hatim Tai inhabited. A wondrous fantasy place, where  fabulous riches and adventures abounded.

So when we planned a trip there this Christmas vacation, I was in a dichotomy of mind. One part was ecstatic, for I was going to soon find out if all I had imagined was true. Jammu & Kashmir has been in the news for all the wrong sort of and heart-wrenching reasons in for the past many years, but if anything, that had heightened my fascination with it. It was one of those 'must-visit destinations before you die' for me for the longest time. There was also the matter of the rich historical references, right from the Harappan times, the Mahabharata, to the Mughal era, which drew me to it.

Another part of me was worried. Worried because I have a low tolerance for cold and an acrophobia bordering on vertigo. A relative stays on the 26th floor and I am fine at her place as long as I do not have to step out onto the balcony or go too near the wide windows. I instinctively claw at whatever I can cling on to. How was I to handle a cold place in winter, with all that snow, and which had landscapes of (literally) Himalayan proportions?

The place was so breathtakingly beautiful, that all my worries flew out of the window, acrophobia be d****d!

I was left with images of a warm, caring and hospitable people. A people hurt by being caught in the cross-fire between two countries (OK, three, if one counts China). A people who just want to be able to live an ordinary life. A people forced to live under extraordinarily hostile conditions. Wherever one looked, there were the signs of a desperate poverty. No big stores, fine bungalows, fancy malls anywhere in Srinagar. We did not come across any beggars except for an old, bent woman outside the Hazaratbal shrine - a surprise observation in India. Instead, there were people desperate to be able do any little work that they could, to make some money. Hawking exquisite handicrafts off a sheet of plastic on freezing hilltops, walking many kilometers through treacherous paths guiding a horse with rider in snow, sleet and slush with the barest of warm protection, pulling toboggans up-slope with overweight tourists...the political situation obviously makes it a difficult and dangerous place for investors to take an interest in, and that reflects on the state's economy. I was somehow ashamed of being a priviledged consumer there.

Jammu was a bit different. For one, economically the conditions seemed better. There was a significant Sikh population. Although the only person we spoke to at length was the driver of our rented car, somehow they came across as more accepting of being a part of India. Though somehow not as warm as the people of Srinagar.

After coming back home, I read of the news of trouble in the very areas we had travelled to around Srinagar.  It made me realise that I had indeed been priviledged to have been there, interacted with those people, and felt the warmth of their hospitality, no matter what the ground reality. It also brought home to me the fact of the bubble I had been in, as a tourist in a place that had most of its economy based on the tourism industry - and how vulnerable they really are. It made me sad to think of the suffering an unfortunate history and geography bestows on otherwise good people.

Let me leave you with the pictures. Although the Kashmir valley is at its verdant best in summer, the bareness of winter too, has its own beauty.


The craggy tops of the mighty Himalayas. The almost vertical stratifications are proof of their origins- originally under-sea, and pushed up into the skies by the movements of the earth's crust. Think of the powerful crashing of the subcontinent into mainland Asia.

Ski slopes at Gulmarg, accessed by gondolas, the cable cars.

The line-of-control at the highest point in Gulmarg, beyond which there is no-man's-land. The opposite hill has a Pak outpost just beyond the crest.

The gondolas that take you up there. This is sinister, treacherous, inhospitable territory, with snow so deep a man could sink inside.

Wild berries? No. These are rose hips on the wild rose bushes that run riot along mountain roads. One can only imagine the colours when in full bloom.

Chashme Shahi. Built by Shah Jahan for his beloved first son, Dara Shikoh. Where we could imagine bejewelled harem ladies strolling around at the peak of its Mughal patronage. See the snow-capped mountains in the background. It reminded me of our own Lalbaug, with old old trees of chinar and the willow standing around in majestic leafless winter glory, the thickly foliaged Magnolia grandifloras and evergreens interspersed as the perfect foil.

Pari Mahal. A multi-level terraced garden with a fabulous view of meadows and hills. Built by Dara Shikoh, eldest son of the Mughal emperor Shahjahan, a staunch believer of Sufism for his Sufi tutor, Mulla Shah Badakhshi. He, unfortunately, did not ascend the throne after his father, having being disposed off by his ambitious, fanatical younger brother. History might have been a bit different if this gentler, more tolerant and beauty loving prince had become emperor instead of Aurangzeb.

The iconic Dal lake with its shikaras. The water was close to freezing when we were there. Yesterday I read that the surface now has a thin top layer of ice. Everything was lovely- the unhurried pace of the boat gliding over the almost still, greenish hued water, the feeling of calm, the majestic mountains surrounding the lake. The only problem were the peddlers who kept sidling along trying to make us look at their wares. I completely understand and empathise with the desperation of these hardworking people to do anything productive to earn a living, but we would have liked to be left in peace while on the lake.

On the road in picturesque Sonamarg. This was an absolutely stunning place. All around us were snow-capped mountains, and the road followed a clear, gurgling and ice-cold Sindhu river. What the world knows as the mighty Indus, famed for the setting of the Indus Valley Civilisation more than 4000 years ago. This place is closer to the source, and the river is a frothy, playful child as compared to the vast, sedately flowing one that it undoubtedly is later on its journey to the Arabian sea.

The shopkeeper at the shop where we bought some souvenirs, in his phiran and with his kangri - the wicker basket that holds an urn of burning coals, kept close to protect from the cold. A true symbol of Kashmir, we bought one for ourselves as well. Without the coals, of course!

Pahalgam. The place which doubles up for Switzerland in many of our hindi movies for those who don't realize it isn't. The sights on the trek to this place were lovelier than the place itself, IMO.

This was the surprise item. After making visits to all the usual haunts of tourists, we had one extra day left. Our driver, who was a knowledgeable person, suggested this place called Yusmarg, near the revered Chrar-e-Sharif shrine. It a pretty sunny day when we started out. There were many apple orchards along the way. As we neared the place, it started becoming overcast, and it started to snow! It was so wonderful. Suddenly the bare ground began to be covered by fine white flakes. A was ecstatic, and we kept trying to catch the snowflakes on our tongues. It was an exhilarating experience.

On the last leg of our trip, in Jammu, we first went to a town Akhnoor, which is famous for this fort on the banks of the Chenab, built at a site where excavations have revealed the northernmost known remains of the Harappan civilisation. This place is known locally for the Sohni-Mahiwal legend too.

And a picturesque view from the ramparts of the fort overlooking the Chenab. Though in ruins, some parts are still standing up to the ravages of time. We searched for the ruins of the Harappan civilisation, but there was so much of undergrowth that I'm sure it was under all that. Our country needs to wake up in terms of protecting and showcasing our monuments too. There was no guard on duty here, no entry fee, nothing. Just the above notice proclaiming this is national property. Are they waiting for this pretty well preserved piece of history to fall into further ruins before taking some action?

See the wild undergrowth here. The excavated remains of the Harappan civilisation are probably hidden under all that.

Jammu is near one of the border posts where people can go and visit. A milestone just this side of the border says: Sialkot 11 kms, Lahore 141 kms. A member of our army takes you out through a gate bearing the Indian flag into no-man's-land. At the other end of a half-kilometer, one can see the opposite gate bearing the chand-tara of Pakistan. Halfway, is a barbed wire protected barrier, which is the extent of the distance one can go. See that pipal tree- Ficus religiosa? It stands proudly, half in India, half in Pakistan.

We finished our trip with a pilgrimage to Vaishno Devi. A 12 km trek uphill. I feel proud of the fact that my daughter walked up all the way. No pictures, as we chose not to take anything with us. We aren't allowed anything except our faith and the clothes on us into the shrine. So no pictures, but it is a beautiful place the goddess resides in. It drizzled incessantly, turning to snowing during the last few kilometers. It was certainly an experience of a lifetime.  

Focus on the ability- not disability: something I need to tell myself, too, every day

On 3rd December 2012, I attended the India Inclusion Summit. Here's an account written by me on Women's Web. Re-posting it here.

“Removing barriers to create an inclusive and accessible society for all”: United Nations.

It has been a few months now since I began volunteering at the Spastics Society of Karnataka school. My children there bring me a lot of joy, and I feel privileged to be a part of their lives. So I jumped at the chance to attend the 1st India Inclusion Summit on the 3rd of December, 2012.

Held at Vivanta by Taj on World Disability Day, it was a day-long event launched by SAP Labs India. There were an impressive lot of speakers, all of who were closely allied with and committed to the vision of an inclusive society in which the differently-abled would have their rightful place as productive members of society. Unfortunately, Arun Shourie, whose book Does He Know A Mother's Heart speaks of coping with his son’s disability couldn't make it to the summit- his son was ill and in hospital.

The other speakers more than made up for Mr Shourie’s absence. These were people who have seen disability from up close - in their family; or work closely with the differently-abled. The most inspirational speaker was Siddharth Jayakumar, who has battled cerebral palsy and come out on top. He began schooling only at the age of 9 as he was considered mentally retarded. Once he began school, though, there was no stopping him.

There were some interesting points that were highlighted by the speakers.

Around 70 million people in India are disabled or differently abled- these include the whole range from mild to moderate to severe to profound disability. Demographics are changing due to better health care and better awareness. Less than 1 lakh of these are employed.

Families and society often overestimate or underestimate abilities. There is a need for a more realistic appraisal. It is also necessary for self-help groups and respite for care-givers, who are those most affected emotionally. Most of the caregivers, close to 95%, are the affected person’s mother. This makes inclusion of care for the care-givers even more important. In our society, the mother is mostly blamed for the child’s condition, and it is considered her duty to give care, and respite for her is not considered a necessity.

Focus on the ability, not the disability. The problem is in how we as a society think about disability. A lack of awareness about the normalcy of a differently-abled person leads to discrimination and marginalisation. At the same time, lack of information about their own disability leads to the differently-abled not being aware of what they can do.

Awareness on disability can be spread by people in a position of maximum influence. These could be the health care professionals, media and religious heads. Of these, the potential of the media is immense- more people have become aware of disabilities after they have been portrayed in movies like Taare Zameen Par, however glamourized the version may be. I personally know of at least a handful of families who have gone from awareness of the special needs to acceptance of their child’s behavioural problems after this movie has been made. It is the right way to remedial action. Other mediums like music, sports, books, spirituality, etc. are just as effective platforms that can be used to this end, as also as therapy tools.

Do check out this impassioned blog-post about the summit by Sangitha at  Life and Times in Bangalore.

Of multicultural experiences and winnings

A few months ago, Pageturners had sent out a call for stories, essays, poetry, flash fiction, etc. for a cross-cultural anthology. I had submitted an essay for it. The editor, Robin Lord, had a lot of praise for the article, but there were a lot of entries, of which many were obviously better than mine. The anthology, The Traversal of Lines, is available at the store in Bangalore.

Here is my essay for your reading pleasure.

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Kipling  has famously stated - Oh, East is East and West is West, and never the twain shall meet… this is so true. Until one imbibes the foreign culture and makes it one’s own .

I came to Bangalore around twenty years ago, before which I had lived all my life in Mumbai. Now,  a person who is born and brought up in a place like Mumbai usually does not imagine that they would make a move to another city. Ask someone from New York or London, and they would be equally dismissive of the possibility of any move.

Life happened, though, and before I knew it, I was married and moving to a completely new place , with a completely different culture. At least, it was at the time. Coming from Maximum City, awake 24/7, Bangalore seemed like a sleepy little place ; where shops opened after 11 am, only to close for an afternoon siesta of 2-3 hours,  whole markets closing up after sundown. Even prime business areas  like M.G.Road, Brigade Road and Commercial Street were closed on Sundays- unimaginable now, I know! When and how the laid-back Bangaloreans did their shopping- even grocery shopping- was a mystery to me . People went home early, and the streets were usually deserted by 8 pm .

A place where shopkeepers took umbrage if I browsed through their ware without buying- if I didn't find anything good .

A place where the language was alien to me and people looked askance if I used Hindi or English.

A place with an almost non-existent public transport system: twenty years ago, the buses were erratic at best, almost impossible to get on, with all name plates in the local language. Autos were similarly mysterious to me – not knowing the language; I had no clue as to why a request to go somewhere would be met with a ‘No’. This never happens in Mumbai even now . The metro rail, of course, is a fairly recent addition.

A place that seemed to belong to a different era- however, it grew on me. Slowly, as I became acclimatized to the unhurried pace of life here, and Bangalore became Bengaluru, the happening city; we have managed to meet half-way . Now, of course, I cannot imagine travelling by the local trains of Mumbai- something I did every day as a matter of course- unless I absolutely have to on one of my visits to meet family.

Between then and now, I have been able to travel  to places I had only read about in my beloved books. We were in the US for a year and a half. A few years later, we also stayed in the UK for a shorter period - 8 months, enough to scratch the surface of a culture. Fortunately, having read books from these places made them feel like a long-lost childhood friend.

On reaching the US, as soon as I had stepped outside the tarmac at the airport and got into a taxi, a wave of panic swept over  me…because WE WERE TRAVELLING ON THE WRONG SIDE! It was a gut reaction that I could not help - despite knowing beforehand that the convention is different in the US; one of the many issues of cultural translation that I had to tackle during my time there.  A loaf of bread for $1.40? Hang on, wasn't that a whopping Rs 55 for a meagre loaf? A pint of milk for $ 2 - Rs 90?  I went on in this vein until I calmed down and told myself to stop converting everything into rupees. This was a piece of advice I gave myself again when in the UK, where the translations were worse.

Then there was the strange case of every person I crossed on the streets giving me a smile. I was at my xenophobic best until I realised that people said ‘Howdy!’ to friends and strangers alike. I met my match one day, though. A lady I got to speaking with at the local library was surprised by the fact that I spoke very good English. She was even more surprised when I disabused her of the belief that India was all jungles, half-naked fakirs, elephants and snakes. She was positively amazed when I came out with my knowledge of the US, its history and its literature!

We were in a comparatively arid area of the country, and the extremes of temperature were something I had not experienced before. Public transport, again, was non-existent. Everyone preferred to travel by their own car, and we had just the one which my husband drove to office in. I did venture out, though, on many days to a nearby supermarket on foot. It was quite close - not more than half a kilometre, or in US terms, under just half a mile , but I still remember the looks I got from cars passing by. Pedestrians were found only in the downtown area – that was off bounds to vehicular traffic.

It was some time before my Indian mind could get around the pounds, quarts, yards and miles, accustomed as I was to thinking in decimals; I never did get very comfortable with it. I did get to an understanding of the people and places, though. We travelled quite a lot during our stay there, driving all over  the country, reaching Maine in the far  north-east and San Diego in the south-west, and much of what lies  in-between. We took quite a few walks in places like Yosemite, Natchez Trace Pathway, Grand Canyon and many  other places. Bill Bryson's books resonated with us as never before.

We visited the UK a few years after our return from the US. It was the country of Enid Blyton- my first childhood love in books. Also of Agatha Christie, Wodehouse, James Herriot, Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, Beatrix Potter, Michael Morpurgo, J.K.Rowling…I could go on. It was all that I had imagined, and much more.

Many things were different now- the main one being that this time I had a daughter. This changed my experience of a new country in many ways. For one, I was happy that I was in a place with an excellent public transport system: it was a boon to be able to take my child out at will, to not be dependent on the one vehicle we could afford. I was also amazed at the patience of all the bus drivers (and passengers) who would wait peacefully for me to take my child out of her stroller, fold it, board the bus with it and the child, stow it in a corner, pay for my ticket, find a seat and sit down, before we could get moving again. There was one other thing that struck me- in India, friends and family would not think much of picking up my daughter. There, strangers would make place for me and my daughter in buses and trains, they would smile at her, even speak to her, but not once did anyone attempt to touch her.

It also helped that people in the UK were more aware of all things Indian: familiar food was more readily available than in the US Midwest. It matters more when you have a child who will not eat anything unfamiliar. We prefer vegetarian food, and on the US visit, a visit to a pizza takeaway put me off it for a while- we had ordered a plain cheese pizza, and the person who cut and boxed ours had just cut and boxed a pepperoni pizza in front of us, using the same cutter. The poor fellow could not understand why we trashed that pizza: it was perfectly vegetarian in his eyes!

Fortunately, we reached the country in time to see the last few days of snow and sleet, and could enjoy most of the spring, summer and fall, coming back to India just before the onset of winter. So, we travelled a lot, and went on quite the literary pilgrimage around the country. We also discovered the culture of walks and, much to our delight, a book on walks graded by difficulty levels. Whenever we could, wherever we could, with a 3 year old in tow, we indulged in  exploring the country-side to our heart’s content. We did things that were unimaginable in India then - like visiting working farms, cheese farms, pick-your-own-fruit farms, animal petting farms - small pleasures that are still beyond the reach of the common person here. The frequent drizzles were like lawn-sprinklers, probably the secret of Britain’s verdant landscapes. Back here in Bangalore, the frequently overcast skies and rains in the evening remind me of our time there.

Then there have been the months we spent in Japan, but that is a story for another time.

Travel has changed me, in some aspects permanently and for the better. The places I have visited, the cultures I have seen and the people I have interacted with have done much to enrich my life. They have made my world-view what it is today, and I am thankful for all of it.

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While on cross-cultural talk, PaperTigers, who are celebrating their 10th anniversary this year, had a fabulous giveaway, in which I was a winner of a surprise book, the fabulous PaperTigers multicultural poster and some lovely bookmarks. I received a copy of Where the Mountain Meets the Moon by Grace Lin and The Good Garden: How One Family Went From Hunger To Having Enough. The second book was promptly devoured by the child. Thank you Corinne, for the books. Thank you, too, for heeding my request for a book that my 11 year old could enjoy. Looking forward to reading both of them.

Also, while on giveaways, check out this lovely Dazzle of Books that are up for grabs over at Playing By The Book. They all sound lovely! Click through to check some amazing collective nouns. I love the play of words there, especially the 'snore of beds'! Just right, isn't it?

Of rising above a parent's life-choices

How many parents think about how their life choices affect their children? I am not speaking of parenting choices here. I am speaking of choices that we make for our self, or those that are made for us by significant others in our life. How much will my not working, despite a professional degree affect my daughter's life? Would that bare fact mold her thinking, or will the reasons behind that make a difference? Will she be able to see things from my POV?

Speaking for myself as a daughter, I began to really understand my mother only after I became a parent, and a lot more as I am growing older. I can now look beyond the strict parent whose strictures I so resented to the woman behind the facade. She is an intelligent, strong, principled woman, unfortunately married into a family that could never understand her - yes, my father's side was, and still is strongly patriarchal, and has managed to stifle my mother. I have very recently begun to appreciate the fact that her choices were often not real choices, and a lot of what I remember was a function of the times she lived in. Of late, I have been having conversations with my father about how he could have done differently by her. He, too, I realise now, was a victim of the system, and actually thinks that things were fine. He listens to me, fortunately, me being the favourite daughter.

Children like to make up stories. Watch a bunch of kids play-acting and one is amazed at the imagination and creativity they come up with together. What if there is the possibility that the story might be real? What if the story turns your view of the world upside down?

Here's a book that made me introspect: what do my actions convey to my daughter? Do my unfortunate choices taint her life? Do the good ones uplift her? How much is it possible for a child to lift themselves above the effects of their parents' choices?

pic courtesy flipkart

Hitler's Daughter
Written by Jackie French
Published by HarperCollins Children's Books
Ages 8-12

Mark, Anna, Tracey and Ben play a story game as they wait for their school bus every day. They have stories of fairies, of ball games and of horses. Until one day Anna decides to tell a story. It is an amazing story set on the fringes of a great war. It is the story of a child growing up tucked away from all the action, a privileged child who is kept safe despite not being the blue-eyed, blond, tall Aryan ideal, a child hungry for family and love, holding on to memories of the few-and-far between visits of her father. A father who obviously is somebody important. Important enough that people around her who have always taken care of her are in mortal fear of displeasing him. We are told early enough that the child, Heidi, is Hitler's daughter.

Anna's story focuses on the genocide from the outside in, raising many questions in Mark's mind. What if one's parent or child has done something really evil- how does one deal with such a parent/ child? Does one love them regardless? Do the sins of our parents taint us irrevocably, or is there redemption? Do the actions of someone dear reflect on us as individuals? How does society look upon those who stand in evil's shadow? Is a bad thing really a bad thing, or are we just victims of our convictions? Do we have a right to raise our hand against someone else's questionable behaviour if we, too, might be in the wrong in our own time?

These are very profound existential questions, and Jackie French, (whom ST has interviewed here), in her inimitable chatty style, raises them through Mark's thoughts, without thrusting them at us. There are also references to Australia's own genocide-  the colonial actions against their Aborigine population.

It has been so realistically told that we are left wondering if Hitler indeed, did have a daughter that no-one knows about. Also, it is an unusual look at the Holocaust; a great book to introduce them to it, along with Number the Stars and When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit. There are no grisly portrayals of the deaths, as the point of view is of a privileged, though unfortunate girl.

This page-turner of a book was devoured by A in an afternoon. She has been, since, recommending it to many of her friends.

Cross-posted at Saffrontree.

A right to her own self

She is born a woman.

When will her birth be celebrated without any reservations?

Will she ever be able to decide for herself?

Will she ever be free to walk out on the streets without strategizing:
Should I go?
Need I go?
Am I dressed right?
Will I be considered respectable enough?
Is the time OK to go out?
Is it safe for me to be out?
Which way will be safe?
How fast do I need to go to reach a safe place?

When will she be taken seriously?

Will the world ever realize that a no means a NO?

Will she ever be able to universally claim her right to an education?

Will she ever be able to express her thoughts and feelings without worrying about being ridiculed for it or about who might get angry over it?

Will she ever be able to live to her full potential without having to dumb down to conform to others' expectations of her?

Will she ever be able to be true to herself without being apologetic or being made to feel guilty about wanting to be herself?

Will she ever be able to see herself as a human being first, without the epithets of mother, daughter, sister, wife, daughter-in-law, sister-in-law, granddaughter, nurturer, care-taker, house-keeper, cook, whore, entertainer? Will the world ever be able to?

Will she be able to perceive her self through filters other than those of fair, dark, fat, thin, short, tall, beautiful, ugly, black, white, yellow, brown? Will the world ever be able to?

Will she ever be considered a human being, with human wants, wishes, feelings, failings, without the halo or stain?

Will she ever be considered more than a means to an end- getting a male heir? More than a womb whose job it is to cater to the propogation of the (ironically) human race?

Will she ever be able to reclaim her right to her body, her thoughts, her feelings, her wishes, her life?

Will she ever be able to live a happy and fulfilling life on her own terms without everyone and their cousin attempting to control her choices?

Will her life be ever considered more important than any ideology?

31 year old Savita Halappanavar died a painful and unnecessary death in Ireland after being denied proper medical care. Her story is known to all by now. Her baby had already miscarried, and she was dealing with the heartbreak in a practical way- asking for a termination of the pregnancy as her life was in danger. She died a long and protracted, extremely painful death. An entirely preventable death. An immeasurable loss for her family- her parents and her husband. What kind of upholding of religion did this achieve? She did not even share that belief.

Both Praveen and Savita Halappanavar lost their baby. Only Savita lost her life.

She was born a woman.

Is this the kind of world into which I've brought my daughter?

I couldn't put my wish and hope for a better world for our daughters in words any different from these by a favourite poet, Rabindranath Tagore-

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high 
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments 
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way 
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee 
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake

Poetry, as relevant today as it was a hundred years ago.

RIP, Savita Halappanavar.

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This was a post hankering to be written. Savita's story was just the catalyst.

Trips, books, friends, anniversaries and much else

I haven't posted for a long time now: my previous two posts had been scheduled. I had been busy with a lot of things that needed my attention. Just a quick re-cap.

A went on an 8-day school trip in early October. This is the first time that we had stayed away from each other for so long. In a way it was harder on me than it was on her. Children look forward- their life is just beginning, and everything that happens is just a new and interesting thing that is welcomed with open arms. As the Lebonese poet-philosopher Khalil Gibran has said, "...their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams." It is so much tougher on us mothers- so difficult to let go. I coped by making a trip to Mumbai, to my parents' place.

There, I met the wonderful R's Mom. This was a long awaited meeting. I've been reading her work for many months now, bumping into her at many friends' blogs, but had connected with her as one book-loving-mommy-blogger to another quite recently. She was all that I had imagined and much more. We met at a mall near my parents' place, she being so sweet as to make the longer journey from her home. What began as a couple of hours' meeting in the morning stretched far beyond the afternoon as we yakked away, until our rumbling stomachs got us to go get some lunch. There was of course a bit of book-shopping thrown in.

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CROCUS 2012 has just ended, and has thrown up a wonderful mix of Math and Eco-Science books that are now added to my wish-list. It has been six wonderful years of Saffron Tree, of which I have been a contributor for the last two-and-a-half years. During CROCUS, we had sent out a call for book donations for a cause- for an NGO KRANTI that works for a marginalised section of society, children of sex-workers.

Speaking of anniversaries, PaperTigers has a wonderful10th anniversary giveaway: a drool-worthy set of books. Do visit them and check out how you can win these books for yourself / your library. The giveaway is open for entry until midnight PST of Saturday, 10th November.

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A few of my articles were published on Women's Web. An article on Handling Parenting Peer Pressure that speaks of the pressure parents feel when faced with anther's parenting style that somehow feels better or cooler. An article about 5 family rituals for diwali that could be fun times with the kids. And this review of a book that deals with a women's issue that is not unknown to urban women. Quoting:

"We are often led to believe in the myth of innocence and simplicity in rural life. Our movies and popular literature often perpetuate this myth; but P. Sivakami debunks it in The Taming Of Women.

A gritty, hard-hitting and relentlessly abrasive novel, the book is a very realistic portrayal of life in a village on the way to developing into a town. The violence is just below the surface, boiling over at times, and overwhelming the reader.

The book offers a striking insight into the minds of the women – who are often pitted against each other in their battle for supremacy, yet co-operate at the unlikeliest of places to stand up against the man who leaves no stone unturned to subdue them."

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One last thing before I conclude- November is celebrated internationally as Picture Book Month. You may want to check out the wonderful posts over at Zoe's blog Playing by the Book all through this month.

Do check out these lovely picture book giveaways there, too.

Even though our reading here has moved beyond picture books, there are a few classics that we keep revisiting. As also some newer ones that are still relevant. Do check out the stuff in your own book-shelves that is worth re-reading!

As I contemplate writing my 200th post...

...I think of all the things that have changed for me since I began blogging. It hasn't all been plain sailing: there have been many hiccups, but I've recovered, dusted off, and continued from where I had left off.

I have indulged in my first love- reading and writing- something that had almost been eclipsed by the passing of time and the nitty-gritties of everyday life.

I have re-visited many childhood favourites, some that I had almost forgotten about, and others that I just had to dust the surface of.

I have found another way of connecting with my fast-growing and book-discerning daughter. I had always read to her and with her through all these years...my blogging about the books we enjoy together has made me something of a hero in her eyes. Something that I'll always be thankful for and cherish.

Not just her, my nephews- my siblings' sons, to whom I was 'just the pesky aunt that visits every year', have of late been looking at me through new, respectful, eyes. It is almost as if I had suddenly become worth taking seriously. They're tweens, too: grown-ups begin to become persona non-grata beginning now. How refreshing for things to look the other way! Of course, I have to thank my ruminations about Harry Potter for that.

I have found new and wonderful friends past my 40s. Choxbox, Sangi, Starry, Veena, Zoe, the Saffrontree gang specially the mad momma, utbtkids, Artnavy, Vibha, Ranjani, Sheela and Arundhati. There are many others - bloggers and non-bloggers, both- Swapna, Subhashree, Suranga, Abha, Shankari (where are you?), Monika, IHM, R's Mom, TGND, Shruti, Simran, Rashmi, Aparna, Padmini,...some of whom I've met and others whom I've only ever interacted with online. Any names that I may have missed- consider yourself tagged. All of you have enriched my life in your own special way. Some of you have been pillars of strength when I needed it- you know who you are.

I've participated in some fun activities and competitions online, notable of which are the Tulika blogathons. Won some, lost some. A prestigious award on IHM's blog- this is something I cherish.

I've been a participant and raised my voice in some awesome drives- Child Sexual Abuse Awareness Month and Violence Against Women Awareness Month. One may call it armchair activism, but even that has its uses: and if that is all I can contribute, that is what I will.

You will find my work (other than this blog) at Saffrontree (my online family), Book Reviews, Zealot Readers, Women's Web and Mom's Diaries. Maybe in a small way at each place, but it's me.

I read the writing of all the aforementioned friends, and some more, as also the awesome stuff shared by every one of them. All of which has slowly pulled me out of the deep well I was in. I've learnt a lot from all of them, and hope to continue learning. My reading also has gone places, much more than it would have if I had  been just a reader.

I've challenged myself now and again, and have loved the experience. My writing, too, has evolved over the past two-and-a-half years, and I see the road opening in front of me.

Wish me luck as I end this 200th post. Looking forward to many more such posts where I can interact with like-minded friends. For you guys make it all worthwhile.