The Power of Democracy

Some say democracy leads to mediocrity,

But that's not always true,

For we have chosen greatness,

And the greats are only few.

Now greatness can swerve either way,

A great evil or a great good.

But it's rare for one event to be both,

Or maybe not as rare as it should.

I am a simple, stupid nobody,

Could never understand basic stuff.

Apparently, 'Right' and 'Wrong' aren't universally standard,

Who knew this categorization could be so tough!

As a child, I was taught to be kind,

Now I'm told kindness isn't for all.

Some deserve sympathy beyond measure,

And some deserve to be mocked when they fall.

I was told an eye for an eye would make the world blind,

We should forgive the past and look ahead.

But now I'm asked to remember, never forget,

'Keep fuelling the anger', they said.

But I'm not really angry,

At least not for the reasons they are preaching.

I don't care that someone is sleeping,

And claiming someone is dangerously multiplying is simply reaching.

But I am not happy either, 

Maybe ambivalent about a brand new temple.

I'm indifferent to the other achievements that I fail to recollect,

But I have been aggressively told they are ample.

I read that the opposite of love isn't hatred,

It is indifference, apathy, lack of interest.

And my anger at issues that I found burning is fading,

At the rare happy stuff, I find I'm losing that zest.

 

But my dying faith in democracy was recently revived,

I'm not a fan yet, but maybe democracy isn't that bad,

Maybe we do realize the difference between 'wrong' and 'right',

Maybe we have outgrown made-up issues a tad.

Maybe we can see beyond a single colour,

Maybe about issues like a temple, we care less.

All said and done, democracy is less damaging than a dictatorship,

And mediocrity can be more beneficial than certain greatness.

Maybe we still have it in us to choose correctly,

To prioritize things that matter more,

Democracy's need and power have become evident,

Maybe even more than before.

Starting Anew

 I didn’t change jobs for 8 years. I made it my second home. I knew everybody. And when I say knew, I really meant it. I was friendly with families of colleagues! I hung out with work friends almost everyday after work. Our discussions were 2% work and 98% personal. The office boys, driver, boss’s children, vendors, and clients who gave recurring business – they were like extended family. And my colleagues – they really were family. We exchanged Diwali gifts and planned surprises for each others birthdays! Comfort zone doesn’t get more comfortable. At 29 years old, I had made roots and was too comfortable (read: scared) to move. I don’t know what was the trigger, but when I did make a decision to uproot myself and start a new job, I was terrified. To anyone who asked how I was feeling, I maintained the stance that I am excited. Which wasn’t entirely false. Change is exciting. But this was a big change for me. Too big to handle.

 

It is like re-starting dating after being committed to one person for a long time. You forget how to flirt, you are unsure of yourself around new beaus, you are conscious of what you are wearing, how short you are, what you are ordering for lunch (and how much!), which jokes you laugh on and which jokes you make – most of all, you are unsure of how long it takes for the relationship to become serious. So the night before I started the new job, I was a mess! I had my wardrobe planned, laid out and ironed down to my underwear. But of course, it was changed thrice! My bag was packed and repacked to ensure I had all the documents, a right sized diary, a set of working pens (different colours – mind you!). I had to make a silly excuse when my husband caught me trying out smiles in the mirror. It was horrible. I reached office half an hour before I was meant to. I was extra polite. I think at some point I bowed to one of the office helps! The drive was long, the office was new, people were unknown and I had to prove myself all over again. It was a nightmare. Sure, (some) people were nice. They smiled, asked me to lunch, made polite enquiries about me – but I was the new girl and the group had more exciting stuff to talk about than the new girl. Things didn’t change overnight. Learning about the new company, remembering faces and names, learning everything about the company and understanding their expectations from me, making an impression (hopefully the right one!) – it takes time.

 

 I am not sure how long it took (partly because of the pandemic) but I did start feeling like I was a part of the team. Instead of the one with the questions, I became one with the answers. I think how the office helps treat you, if they remember your name, if they smile at you while passing – it’s testimony to how comfortable you have made yourself in an organisation. The fact that the office boys started remembering when and how I liked my coffee, was proof that I had embedded myself in the company’s social fabric.

 

And then, two years later, another opportunity came by. The earlier feelings of excitement mixed with dread resurfaced – but this time, excitement triumphed fear. I was more confident, more sure of myself. Maybe it was because I was older, or just more sure footed. The night before the first day at the new office, I did not lay out the clothes. I simply stopped at visualising them in my mind – complete with shoes and earrings. 😊

The Ordeal

 April 8th, Thursday: The mister came back home earlier than planned from West Bengal after covering the state elections' first phase. On the way home, he took a halt at Indraprastha Apollo to get tested for COVID19. He came back, refused my welcome hugs, did his laundry, had a long bath, and quarantined himself.

I sat near the door, he sat on the bed. He gave me a blow by blow account of the political rallies. In short, they were loud, hot, and overcrowded. News about Maharashtra's second (third? fourth?) COVID19 wave had started coming in but news channels had the mandate (from who?) to cover the West Bengal elections. But it worried him and his team. When half the mister's team got sick with high fever, nausea, or body ache, they curtailed their plans, packed their bags, and came back home. To make matters worse, their centrally located hotel had over 50 rooms booked by one of the political parties - more than 80% of them were sick too. 

April 9th, Friday: From 9 AM the next day, we took turns calling the hospital to find out the test results. At 11 AM, the mister got the news that a colleague who traveled with him to Kolkata had tested positive. We were still hopeful. At 12.30 PM, another colleague confirmed that he had been infected. I was still hopeful (notice the shift from we to I). After 6 hours and 30 calls to the hospital, the mister's report came negative. We did a little celebration dance, hugged, dressed, and went out to celebrate. At the almost empty restaurant (too late for lunch and too early for dinner), as always, we ordered more than we could eat, chatted, joked, gossiped, and made plans for the weekend. 

Back home, we invited over our friends to celebrate the mister's recent award for the best news producer. We made plans for lunch at their home the next day. Aunty makes amazing chole-bhature. 

April 10th, Saturday: We brought a pitcher of sweet cold lassi with us. Everybody ate, talked, laughed in abundance.  

April 11th, Sunday: We went to my maternal home. We hadn't met my parents and my side of the family in a long time. I took a ready-made batter for dosa and mum made sambhar. We caught up with everyone in house number 59. My aunt and her daughter-in-law weren't keeping well. They assured us that it was just exertion, effects of then changing weather. After a few hours of being at my parents', the mister's energy levels plummeted. He got his mask on and sat at a distance from everyone. Everyone said he was being silly, the report had come back negative. There was nothing to worry about. My sister and brother-in-law joined us at number 59. We had tea with them and the mister insisted on wrapping up the party immediately after that. We left earlier than I had wanted to. On the way home, the mister said he was feverish. Once back home, his temperature came around 99.5. I called a doctor cousin. He said if you have a fever, sore throat, body ache, headache - whatever the report says - consider yourself COVID19 positive. And the ordeal started. 

April 12th, Monday to April 19th, Monday: It was a tough week. A couple of days into the week, he went for another test and this time tested positive. Despite fever which came and went in waves, crushing body ache and weakness, the mister put on a brave face. Calls from concerned friends and relatives poured in with bucketloads of information on how to handle COVID19. Some suggested Ramdev's Coronil kit, others highly recommended sniffing a mix of camphor, cloves, and carom seeds. Some insisted on checking SPO2 levels every 2 hours, some suggested drinking lots of fluid. Steam, giloy juice, tulsi tea, betadine gargles, reduced sugar intake, high protein diet, a mantra to chant, keeping some money under the pillow to ward off the evil eye - these were all suggestions from our loved ones, which we listened to politely, thanked them and did whatever was possible (and sensible) to us. Having no house helps made life a little difficult, but we managed somehow. Finally, after reaching a crescendo of 101, the fever subsided. But the weakness remained. We breathed a little easy.

April 21st, Wednesday: While speaking to my mother-in-law in Kanpur, we found out that she was feverish - had been for quite some time. The excuse sometimes was too much time out in the sun or exertion. But this time, the fever came on a public holiday - no sun, no exertion. And there was a wedding in the family in a few days, with the festivities beginning the next day. We immediately booked her a cab for the next day to bring her home to us. 

April 22nd, Thursday: I spent most of the morning cleaning and sanitizing my mother-in-law's room. Mummy came in the evening. She was tired from the journey and burning with 101 degrees fever. We consulted the doctor, put her in quarantine, started her on meds, and booked a COVID19 test for her (and myself) for the next day. The fever remained high, never going below 100 degrees. It came with horrible aches. Mummy is a strong woman and when she moans in pain, it means her pain is unbearable. Unable to touch or hug or hold, we watched from a distance, talked about random things to distract her, make her smile, forget her fever. 

April 23rd, Friday: Swab samples were collected for mummy's (and my) COVID19 test. Despite her childlike insistence on not being hungry, not enjoying the food, we continued a stream of food, liquids, fruits. The medicines were heavy and many. For someone who took allopathy as a last resort, popping pills was torture. The fever subsided to around 99 when the pills were working, otherwise remained at 100 - 101 degrees.

April 24th, Saturday: The test reports came back. Mummy's positive (unsurprising), mine negative (miraculously!).

April 25th Sunday to April 27th, Tuesday: It has been two days since mummy felt feverish. But her body is yet to recover from the high fever's effects. She is weak and struggling with body pains. The mister is recovering nicely. The weakness reduces every day. The household has consumed around 100 tablets of medicine, 10 liters of fruit juice, 20 litres of coconut water, 2 bottles of betadine gargle, 2 packs of Glucon D, 1 bottle of sherbet, and a pack of iced tea (the last one is just me though). 

The ordeal hasn't yet ended. We are still very cautious and taking all required steps for the sick to recover quickly and nicely. 

Despite the hectic past three weeks which involved work from home and work for home along with nursing my loved ones back to health, I am grateful. I am grateful that the mister's and mummy's oxygen levels were normal. I am grateful that everyone we unintentionally exposed to our sick selves remained healthy. I am grateful for all my friends and family who are healthy and safe. I am grateful for the love, support, and concern of all my family and friends. I am grateful for the technology that has allowed us to stay connected despite physical limitations.

Like an ostrich that buries its head in the sand, I have been trying to look the other way whenever the news is on. But every day it gets impossible to ignore the deaths, the rising cases, the pleas for oxygen (oxygen of all things!!), medicines, injections, ventilators, hospital beds. I feel helpless. But still, selfishly grateful that my loved ones are safe so far. And I hope and pray that they remain so. 

New Beginnings

It all started with a virus.

It seemed like the beginning of the end.

It cooped us all in our homes.

Without support or even a friend.

Millions lost their lives.

Even more, lost their livelihood.

Governments across the world struggled,

Doing the best they possibly could.

It tested the human race,

To an unfathomable extent.

But we are resilient beings.

And soon things were on a mend.

It started with the little things,

Like families spending more time together.

And soon bloomed into exploring new joys,

Like gardening, baking, or just enjoying the weather.

We witnessed digital revolution two-point O (2.0)

With virtual reunions and online classes.

The physical restrictions brought people even closer,

And infused feelings of compassion in the masses.

The doctors worked tirelessly,

And the scientists weaved their magic.

Within 6 short months, we had vaccines ready,

And the number of cases was no longer tragic.

We learned a new way to live,

With frequent hand washes and face mask.

Despite the challenges, life went on,

And it was more than we could ever ask.

It seemed like the beginning of the end

With the world under lockdown, everyone complaining.

But we converted the challenge in to an opportunity

And made ourselves a new beginning!

But let’s not get complacent.

If anything, we should learn to cherish our life even more.

Be grateful to everyone and to mother Earth.

Let’s spread love and not war.  

Business As Usual

I woke up this morning to a blanket of fog. It engulfed everything – buildings, lawns, cars, people, cattle and stray dogs. From my 14^th floor balcony, all I could see was fog. The mister switched on the TV. Out of habit, he tuned in to a news channel. But unlike every other day, he didn’t switch to a music channel after checking the highlights. I had my breakfast while watching the news. It was like looking at a car wreck – hard to look at but harder to look away from. I couldn’t watch any more. I wolfed down my breakfast and took the elevator down to the basement parking. I switched on the ignition, let it run for half a minute. I noticed the petrol tank was close to E. I had had the petrol tank filled to the brim last week. It had cost me 2800 rupees. I drove to the nearest Magenta Line Metro station. It was business as usual on the roads. Filling the petrol tank so soon bothered me. I did math in my head for driving all the way to work versus taking the metro. After all, taking the metro was temporary – till things got back to … normal. I had the headlights on high beam. Because of the fog. The blinkers were on too. The parking lot had more space than usual. I double-checked if the headlight was off. I pet the puppy in the parking lot. It followed me for some time. Its mother kept an eye on us from a distance. The lines to enter the station, which extended till metro station entry usually, were non-existent today. The platform was less crowded than usual. I got a seat in the metro – it didn’t happen often. The recorded announcement on the train informed that the metro won’t halt at three stations. They apologized for the inconvenience. Not many bothered to look up from their phones to pay attention to the announcement. The woman standing in front of me told her friend that she would be participating in the protest today. Her brother was detained yesterday. I wanted to enquire if her brother had made it back safe, where was he taken for detainment – but I didn’t. The train slowed down at Jasola Vihar, Jamia Milia Islamia, and Sukhdev Vihar – but didn’t stop. The platforms at these stations were deserted. I made up a story in my head that at each station the metro driver wanted to stop the train as a sign of his protest, but fearing his job – he didn’t. I relinquished my seat to a lady with a baby. Standing up, I peeked down at the roads. A building in Jamia had a spray-painted message – Ideas are bulletproof. The buildings and campus in the Jamia University were empty. There was a scattering of people right outside the gates. I couldn’t see any posters or placards. The train trundled on. I got off at my station. I stood on the skywalk, looking at either side. On one side there was Jamia, and the other had GK and Nehru Place. I wondered what it took to participate in protests, be one with the crowd, chant slogans, make yourself heard. I thought - nothing will change. I remembered the blanket of fog. It made me feel small, insignificant, helpless. It engulfed everything without giving anyone an option. I began walking towards the office. There was a Christmas party planned today.

The Good, The Bad, The Ugly – Election 2019

I am at a loss of words. But I still want to document my thoughts about what is probably India’s largest, dirtiest and most passionate electoral battle till date. Despite different analysis by some leading psephologists, journalists, analysts and many common people like you and me, Modi won (again). A landslide victory. Stunning millions of people like me. Most Modi bhakts and many analysts are not surprised. They believe it was evident. Evident because Modi’s ideology resonates with that of Indians (or Hindus?). Evident because the fakir can have no hidden objective, commercial interest. Because Modi’s family is the nation and not his estranged wife and old mother who only resurfaces during significant political moments.

But it was not evident for me. Even after all the exit polls indicated the same thing, I still had hope. Hope that the ‘liberal’ and ‘secular’ won’t be misconstrued as dirty, unethical words. Hope that India’s core values of democracy, unity in diversity, secularism will resurface. It is obvious that I undermined the obvious undercurrent of vikas, need to bring Hindutva under the spotlight and make economy, communalism, secularism take side roles. My vision was coloured too. I admit saying on multiple occasions - ‘anyone but Modi’. In my list, corrupt, megalomanianc, cynical leaders fared better than the pied piper who now has the power to take India anywhere it wants. And history has proven often that absolute power corrupts.

But despite my natural inclinations, I am urging myself to be optimistic. And I do believe, that whatever stance anyone held during the built up to the election, it is time to restore peace and get life back to normal. This election was the dirtiest one ever. It brought out the worst in people. Whichever side they were on (there were only 2 – pro Modi and anti Modi), most people I knew were bitter, loud, abusive, tenacious, condescending, know-it-alls, angry, smug, mean, uncouth, rude, depressed and/or sad. Seniors at work misused their seniority to impose their political inclinations on their subordinates, friends became enemies, hundreds of people exited Whatsapp groups after heated arguments (that just might have been a blessing in disguise though), like property wasn’t a big enough issue – families fought over politics as well, trolls ran amuck on social media dissing people into depression. Things got very ugly. I was mean to many people. Many people were mean to me. But it didn’t balance out the scale. It just made matters worse.

Like it, love it, bear it or hate it, Modi has swept the elections. Pro-Modi people are celebrating with mild comments like ‘told you so’ or stronger sentiments like ‘Modi haters, which country will you now go to?, Modi will ensure that the haters are weeded out, anti Modi people are disillusioned, confused, weak and unintelligent and worse. Those who disagree or vehemently disagree with Modi’s ideology will respond by not responding or starting their own mean comments like ‘The overall IQ of India is less than that a herd of sheep’, India is headed to a dark place, this is the end of India as we know it – secular and communal. But what use will it be? These sentiments – especially sentiments of those who ensured Modi came back with a landslide victory shocking all his political competitors – will be misused by the ruling government to lead them towards their alleged agenda of a single minded, non-democratic India. Sentiments of those against Modi will be exploited to create problems for the current government. But what good will it be to us?

Whether we are celebrating or dissing this victory, it is time to bring things back to ‘normal’. Stop calling each other names. Stop thinking ones with different ideology are less competent. Stop boasting. Stop roasting. It is okay to appreciate the government, just as it is okay for the people to question the government. We are the common people who can do extraordinary things simply by having the other’s back – in spite of their political inclination, caste, colour, creed, religion, region, sexual orientation or even taste of music. Let us look beyond the surface to what are the things we need to fix to truly grow better as a society. Whether we do it by hating Modi or worshipping him - does not matter (now). What matters is that we play a role in society’s betterment and have the same ideologies when it comes to what the society needs – peace, brotherhood, love among other things like economic security, safety, development for all.

We have taken our time to celebrate or grieve this election’s result. Let us spend the next 5 years in ensuring that we are better people. I’m going to start by practicing what I am preaching.

Jai Hind!

Musings

Why is the speed of light faster than the speed of sound

Why are all the celestial bodies (almost) round

Why does earth sustain life

When for survival everyone has to strive

Why are the oceans so deep

Why do mammals need to sleep

Why are humans the only ones to drink another animal's milk

Why do they wear a worm's vomit and feel proud to call it silk

Why do humans wear clothes at all

When a crow is never seen wearing a shawl

Why do they say you are what you eat

Why reduce more than half the world to a piece of meat

Why do they need to label bloody everything

Gender, relationships, economic status among a million other things

Why do they let money and power go to their head

When all one needs is food to eat and to sleep in, a bed

Why is the race about earning a better living

Why does it not include being kind and forgiving

Why does everyone die of natural causes, acts of 'god' or diseases like cancer

Why are there so many questions left without an answer

Poster Boy of Pop Patriotism

So the Mister, once an admirer of Akshay Kumar, has now blacklisted him. He thinks Indian Film Industry's this slightly sub-super star has moved over to the dark side and become a 'chaaploos', a** licker of the Modi govt. I don't really take his word on it. After all he is a cynic and paranoid - a very dangerous combination for an Indian journalist. Although he is sort of a Mr. Know-It-All. And his points in support of his argument are hard to ignore:

1. Kumar's movies, instead of focusing on good and/or entertaining content, now focus on pleasing the govt. He is trying too hard to create a nationalist patriot image. Toilet - Ek Prem Katha is one shitty (pun intended) example. The movie promotes stalking more than it promotes building of shauchalayas in Indian homes. It was a badly executed movie and made tax free in UP.

2. Before that AK won the national award for Rustom - a sub standard film and a below par performance and that too, when Dangal came out the same year. Lobbying much?

3. And what's with releasing movies on Republic day or Independence day? Is it just to tap in the long weekend profits or a conscious effort to create a nationalist image?

4. Even his Kajaria tiles ad - shown mercilessly a thousand times in each theater before and during movie screenings - have a needless angle of nationalism inserted in them.

5. To top it, videos of Akshay Kumar waving an ABVP flag in a rally surfaced. Bleh!

Personally, I think it is good to talk about important issues like menstrual hygiene, building toilets and using them and even 'Make in India'. But becoming a poster boy for pop patriotism to stay in good books of the governing party doesn't do justice to Akshay Kumar's image. He has played an army man or navy officer or special RAW agent as many times as Amrish Puri played the baddie in movies. And all those videos of dancing with soldiers at borders are becoming a bit too run off the mill now.

It pains me to say that I enjoy his mindless comedies like Houseful or Entertainment. But this overdose of gyaan is beginning to seem like an endless social science lesson.

I didn't see Padman because I already have read a lot about Arunachalam Muruganantham and didn't want to see a glorified, romanticised version of it. But I give Twinkle Khanna the credit for this movie. After all, she made the original Padman a household name with the short story on him in her second book.

What really pleases me is that Twinkle Khanna isn't a blind follower of her husband's latest inclination towards the saffron party. She continues to have a mind and voice of her own. Khanna trumped her husband's overtly patriotic and irritatingly pro-ruling party antics with the last line of her column in this Sunday's Times of India on the April Fools' Day - "Around the world, April Fools’ Day comes once a year, but we Indians celebrate it every day, we just call it achhe din."

Love Thy Neighbour

I was brought up in a close knit society. One couldn't walk 2 minutes in the colony without stopping to meet or greet somebody. Everyone was from the same religion, everyone spoke the same language.

And then I got married. 

Having spent all my life cocooned in my comfort zone, my marriage to someone from another religion, another region and a totally different culture led to many new and interesting scenarios. For the first time in my life I was living on my own in a different city surrounded by different people. For the first few years, I lived in a rented flat with my husband. Basking in the bliss of being newly married, those 4 years, we did not know the names or faces of our neighbours, nor did we bother to find out. At times smiles were passed in the elevator, confused recognitions in the marketplace or curious glances towards other balconies on spotting some sort of movement. It did not take me long to forget the pleasures of living in a joint family, in a tight knit locality where everybody knows everything about everyone. We were too involved in ourselves, our work and our friends to give much thought to our neighbours and we thought it was for the best. It was a rented property, people came and went and we had to move someday too, right? So why go through all the trouble?

And then we shifted to to our house. Everyone said we are shifting in the middle of a jungle. So far from the main city, so far from civilization. But we were keen to give up rented accommodations to enjoy our house. The first couple of months were quiet. We were busy settling in, juggling work with home. And then the absence of malls, markets, cinemas settled in. How much time can one spend alone reading books, watching TV, surfing the internet? After all man is a social animal.

Our new neighbours came to our rescue. Having lost touch of neighbourly niceties, it took us a while to understand and adapt to invitations to tea and lunches. We were pleasantly shocked by our neighbours' interest in our interests and we learned to reciprocate as well. We now have sweet aunties who remind us of our mothers, cool aunties who give hep advice on everything (try cumin tea for weight loss, bake fox nuts in the microwave, must try the FabIndia in Logix mall for their home and kurti collection) and new friends quite like us as our neighbours. These strangers entered our lives and let us enter theirs through exchange of dishes and advice on which car to buy. I'm deepky touched and left at a loss of words when someone sends over a delicious dish of suji halwa celebrating the Mister's win at an award function or when someone remembers that kadhi pakora and chhola bhatura are our favourites and sends yummy stuff over or invites us for meals. We are still learning to share our lives with them. Unlike the neighbourhood of my childhood, we call first instead of visiting unannounced, there is  still a little formality left. But I am getting used to seeing an assortment of plates and bowls from other households in my kitchen. And it has just been one year and already this jungle far from civilization seems like home. We have an entire lifetime to get to know each other better. 

Cheers to the new neighbourhood! 

Tughlaqi Farman

Note: This blog may or maynot have anything to do with the honourable PM's demonetization decision.

Not many years ago, in the Mughal era, in the same land as ours ruled Muhammad Bin Tughlaq. He thought himself to be the smartest of all rulers. One day, after a visit to a rich neighboring kingdom he became obsessed with the idea of increasing his wealth. The very next day he announced that all the gold coins in the kingdom used as currency will no longer be legal tender. All the coins will have to be submitted to the state treasury and in return copper, brass and leather coins will be circulated among the people. It was a brilliant decision. All Muhammad Bin Tughlaq's ministers rejoiced and praised his bold decision because as the gold in the state treasury will increase, so will their personal wealth. And also, because had they gone against the decision they would have been beheaded. The masses were confused. Those who blindly followed Tughlaq, sang his praises. The simple folks of the kingdom thought that gold or brass - it would have no effect on them what so ever.

But they were wrong. The queues outside the treasury grew long. Many clever fellows used cheap yellow metal to make fake coins and exchanged them for the new brass or copper currency. The simple folks forgo their daily wage jobs to stand in queues to exchange the money. But the problem that Muhammad Bin Tughlaq had not foreseen was that brass and copper were cheap metals - easily available. The clever masses started minting their own coins. The currency in circulation grew thrice in size leaving the king and his ministers flummoxed! The neighbouring kingdoms stopped trading with Muhammad bin Tughlaq's kingdom fearing his fake currency will penetrate their economic system as well. This paralysed the entire economy of the kingdom and business dropped tragically.

To try and control the situation, the king made new rules everyday - about 60 in number. But that just led to further chaos. The good people suffered. Due to his hasty decision, Tughlaq ended up punishing honest people and ruining his kingdom's economy.

To this day, remembering the king's hasty, unreasonable decisions, there is saying for when people end up taking hasty decisions without thinking them through - "Tughlaqi Faisla" or Tughlaq like decisions.

True story.

P.S.: For reasons best known to him, Tughlaq also decided to shift the capital of his kingdom from Delhi to Daulatabad (current Maharashtra). He thought it was more central and would save the capital from frequent attacks from Mongols. But he was not content with only shifting the official court to the new capital - he made the entire population of Delhi shift to Daulatabad too. This was an expensive decision. Once he reached Daulatabad, the Mongols attacked northern India. Thousands of lives and valuable property was lost and there were no forces to defend the former capital. Moreover, trade with neighbouring kingdoms declined. Tughlaq realised his mistake and moved the capital back to Delhi. Hundreds of thousands lost their life in the journey to Daulatabad and back. 

P.P.S: Maybe we should prepare for our capital to be shifted from Delhi to Ahmedabad too. 

How far does the fruit fall from the tree?

People say the fruit doesn't fall too far from the tree. Well, I strongly disagree. Not only can the fruit roll away very very far, it is highly possible that an apple tree might sprout up an orange! No, I am not talking botany or wonders of modern science here. I am talking about how different children can turn out to be from their parents despite all the influence, attention and patience lavished on them.

Especially in this generation, I think parents only manage to make an impression on their offspring till the time they are not exposed to the outside world. Once they are out and about - maybe since their play school years, the impact of new, shiny things like friends, celebrities, characters from books, people they find cool, television and mobile phones can supremely overpower any work a parent might have done to ensure their child grows up to be a good kid. Poor parents are left with about 3 years to teach their kids all about morals, rights, wrongs and to teach them in a way which the kid remembers for all her life. Now, who really remembers anything from when they were under 3 years?

So is it right to blame moms and dads for the wrong doings of their kids? We can say the same about the good stuff too but then, parents totally deserve all the accolades for their child's achievements because notwithstanding the eventual impact of their efforts, parents never cease to work hard to give their children the best they can and make them good humans.

So whatever age we are, keeping in mind some simple things will always keep us good and grounded:

1. Make your parents proud, always: In a society like ours, every action of ours is linked back to our parents and the sanskar they have given us. Every good deed we do, every award we win, every success of ours will make our parents a thousand times more happy and proud than we feel at that moment. Similarly, every wrongdoing of ours can reflect poorly on them. Of course, they will stand by us and support us even when we have outdone ourselves when it comes to going against morals - because that is what parents do. But let us not take that for granted. It breaks their hearts when we ignore all the good they have done for us, taught us and instead act otherwise. Do we really want to be the cause of heartache for our parents?

2. Communicate: Our parents are our first best friends. And then teenage hits. Suddenly, fathers no longer seem like the supermen we imagined them to be and our mothers take backseats in our lives. Our parents become people who live with us, feed us and give us money. Well, we can blame puberty for that. But breaking the thread of communication with the only people you can be sure will always mean your good, creates rift that can be hard to fill when we become adults. No matter how trivial, they will always be interested in knowing every little detail of your life. So share your thoughts, troubles, feelings, experiences with them - whatever age you are - and you may find you have your best friends back.

3. Listen: Friendship is not a one way road. Hence, communication should not be one sided too. Your parents might have their share of troubles too - be it something at work, health related or even little things about how the maid is always late and how they believe they are always short on milk. So listen to them. Shut down the TV, put aside your mobile, make a nice cup of tea for them or take them out for coffee and make them talk. You will feel more comfortable sharing your thoughts with them when you see them baring their hearts to you.

Facebook messages posted on Mother's Day and Father's Day is a sweet gesture, but showing your love and respect for them in the littlest manner will mean the world to them. Be your own fruit, but always remember and honour the tree that you came from.

Whose Job Is It Anyway?

A lot has been said and written about gender equality and how, even the most intellectual women in the Indian society, often end up being a glorified maid. But still, not enough times. Millions of times I have asked this question to my peers that why is house work considered to be a woman's job. I am not looking for an answer when I ask this. I look for someone who would come up and say - you are right - men and women should share all responsibilities. There should be no labels like man's job or woman's job. 

I have great respect for all homemakers. The responsibility is neatly divided - the wife runs the house and the husband earns the money for the same. But I have no regret in saying that I look down upon the big earners who think managing the kitchen, the laundry, the kids, the parents and the house is not really a job and feel superior.

I come from a big joint family. The woman in my family are all strong willed ladies who lead their families or participate equally in all decision making - working or homemakers. Both my parents are teachers. My parents do the laundry together. If my mother cooks, then my father takes over the job of slicing and dicing fruits and vegetables. If my mother does the dusting,  my father scrubs the bathroom. If my mother irons clothes, my father arranges the wardrobe. My mother never bothers about the finances, the investments the policies. My father is the finance minister. But not a penny is spent without her opinion and approval.My mother likes to read books, she does her yoga everyday and goes out with her friends. My father likes to play cards on his computer, surf the internet and run his religious group. My mother is the calm one. My father is strong willed. My mother follows my father but when she puts her foot down, my father has no option but to obey.

They are both independent individuals, but still so co-dependent. 

My mother often asked me to at least step in the kitchen once in a while and learn to cook enough to not starve when alone. But I am sure she would have done the same if I had a brother. It was my father who taught me how to ride a bicycle and he was also the one who taught me to make round chapattis and make bread rolls.Gender roles in my family were never clear cut. Maybe that is why I always found it mildly offensive when people said girls should know how to cook before her wedding, girls should know the housework.

I will soon be married for 4 years now. I do the cooking and keep tabs on the groceries. My husband does the laundry and buys the groceries. On weekends and rainy evenings, my husband fries pakoras while I make the tea. At times I come home from the office to find my husband cleaning the fan or scrubbing the bathroom. My friends tell me you are so lucky! Some say - how much work you make your husband do! Of course I enjoy the compliments and playfully snub the comments on making my husband work. But I wonder why such sharing of load is not considered normal but extraordinary? Why should I feel special if I'm enjoying a book when my husband does the laundry? Is he expected to feel special too when I sweat before the stove and he catches up on his evening news? Of course not.

So, here I go again. Who put labels on jobs - work of men and work of women? My friends often tell me that I have a different point of view which is not realistic for the Indian society. Some say I am a feminist. I say I am an equalist. It is just sad that asking for equality is seen by some as privileges to women.

If I ever have children - I will want them to grow up in a label less atmosphere - like I did. I won't want my boy to think that kitchen work is for women and I won't want my girl to think that tightening the screw on a rickety chair is a man's task. And trust me, it is not too much to ask for. We just need to ask ourselves - who put the labels? 

Whose wedding is it?

Have you noticed, the wedding season is now never ending? Be it summers, rains or winters, weddings are happening every day. Which translates into - 

• all you can eat buffets, 
• dusting off and wearing all the expensive clothes and shoes that you bought but never quite found the right occasion to wear,
• looking at and passing judgement on others who deep dived  into the depths of their wardrobes or pockets for expensive clothes and shoes, and
• getting dolled up (unisex statement. Playing dress up is now common to both men and women) by waxing, scrubbing, polishing and painting various parts of the body

But the weddings are not about us. They are about the bride. Although in most cases, she is the one who least enjoys her own wedding. What with wearing 40 kilos of wedding finery, 10 kilos of gajra, jewellery and heavily embroidered dupattas hanging from the back of her head (that neck ache takes time to go away!) and the pressure of a thousand faces staring at her from all angles noticing her every movement, and the video cameras thrust in her face ensuring she can't get a decent morsel of food in her mouth, and forget about having a sip of water without straw because she can't risk ruining her lipstick. But yeah, weddings are still about the bride. It is her long time dream coming true. It is her day to feel like a princess, even though she can't feel her face with all the layers of make - up on her.

Yes, the weddings are about the bride. And the bride wants everything to be perfect, every hair in place, no lipstick on teeth and the smile she spent hours mastering in front of the mirror. Even if she does not look or feel herself, it is fine, because everything has to be perfect. But is it really fine?

With close friends getting married, I have been subjected to the torture of giving my opinion on a thousand pictures of brides. I have seen ugly ducklings transform into shy fairies on their weddings. My jaw has dropped tens of time and my mind has refused to believe that a woman who looks like any regular girl can become goddess like - with only traces of similarity left with her original self.But do they forget that they will have to wash off that make-up in a few hours. I am sure her to-be husband and his family would have seen the girl in her original form. Would they not wonder - who this woman is, we saw someone else? When after a few years, the bride's kids will watch the pictures and videos from their mother's wedding - would they believe that their mother is the same woman their father married - because she would look nothing like her!

How fair is it to become so superficial on your D-Day that the most honest compliment you get is - "Wow! You look nothing like yourself. Totally changed!". Is it satisfying to know that you looked extraordinarily beautiful on your wedding - but nothing like yourself? Or is it the pressure of the society that makes them want to give in to their expectations of looking utterly and unbelievable gorgeous and lose her own identity. How does it feel to look into the mirror and find a stranger looking back at you - knowing - that your groom would be marrying this stranger and not the woman he met and liked/ fell in love with.

Here are some examples of transformation:

I have nothing against make-up and wanting to look pretty. All I am suggesting is that there should be a limit to a make-over. Especially on the day which will be immortalised in albums, videos, posters and fridge magnets for years to come! 

Oh, and I am not showing off, but just to prove my point and highlight that I am not hypocrite, here goes:

So ladies, you are beautiful the way you are and that is what your new family believes too! Just to fulfill your dream of looking ravishing on your special day, don't let someone else take the center stage at your own wedding. 

Taxi Tales

The fact that I have not written in a long time highlights the non-existence of any adventures in my life. But over the years I have come to realize that boring is good. Boring is smooth. But then, boring leaves me with a pen hanging in mid air wondering about what to write. Especially, when writing about your friends can cause too much trouble - and I talk from experience! So, what I needed was an anonymous subject - unrelated to me. And then, a cab ride later, I found my next subject. 

So because of work, I end up taking quite a few cabs to meetings. Some recent untoward incidents that have happened in cabs make me keep my guard up at all the time. So I have come up with this strategy to chat up with the cab driver, when alone. Engage him in conversation, ask him about his hometown, his journey, his family etc. etc. so that the cabbie feels a kinship with me and doesn't attempt anything which he shouldn't. Although this strategy has worked for me so far, I wouldn't advise it to others. You see, there are a lot of attached disadvantages. The cabbies can turn out to be too chatty and leave you with a headache. Or might answer only in monosyllables, leaving you with that chilly feeling that he has something else on his mind and you end up making fake phone calls to people just to ensure that the driver knows that a LOT of people know where you are, who you are with, when you are expected home, make of car etc.! Yeah, true story!

So this strategy means I am left with quite some interesting stories. Here go a couple of them:

1. Hindi bhashi Nepali: Subebahadur is Nepali, which I could never have guessed despite the crinkly small eyes, considering his impeccable Hindi - which he said he learned in 5 months when he came to India at the age of 14. When I pointed out that he did not look anything like the picture on Ola, he told me he was driving his friend's car. You see, he had met his targets. His friend was unwell and he was helping his friend meet targets by driving his cab. Subebahadur ran away from his home and family in Nepal at the age of 12 with a tourist family who told him stories about how luck changed for better in Delhi. And, the family kept it's promise. They taught him Hindi, sent him to school, paid for his driving lessons when he showed interest, helped him buy his first car and got him married to a nice Indian girl. That was 15 years back. Although the family has now shifted to the US, Subebahadur is forever in their debt and always ready at their service whenever they visit. While Subebahadur misses his home in Nepal, but his family will now never accept him because he married against their wishes in another community. He is glad that his two brothers are taking good care of his parents. Throughout the 1.5 hour journey, Subebahadur shared anecdotes from his life, told him how the Ola system worked, how he loved driving, how he met his targets well in time to earn extra incentives. He was happy and satisfied. Something in his smile, cheerful demeanour and his story, made me feel superficial and insignificant. But I am glad I took his cab.

 2. The Tag Heuer: After a long, fruitless meeting at a Ministry, I booked a shared Ola. The car that came to pick me up was a Chevrolet Enjoy. It is quite like Chevrolet's version of Maruti Eeco - you know the sort where rapes happen. Controlling a shudder that chilled my spine, I got into the cab and hoped that I will get a fellow passenger in the shared cab. The driver was young - which often adds up to my worry. So, I turned on my strategy full swing on him. Unfortunately, Ranbir Singh turned out to be a quiet guy. He answered my prying questions in monosyllables and clearly begrudged me when he had to answer in two words instead of one. After resorting to two fake phone calls (yes, I can be very paranoid), I noticed a glittering watch on his hand as he shifted gears. The big dialled golden watch sat proud on Ranbir Singh's wrist glinting in the afternoon sun. I casually complimented the driver on the watch and voila! Those were the magic words. Ranbir Singh instantly warmed up to and told me the story behind his Tag Heuer. Ranbir Singh used to be a chauffeur for hotels. He liked his job, even though the hours were tough. He drove a BMW, and a Mercedes at times. His clients were usually foreigners because he spoke a little English. This one time, a Russian businessman travelled in Ranbir Singh's car. The loyal driver, swatted away the street urchins who gathered around the big, red Russian. Ranbir Singh helped the Russian buy presents for his family back home. Ranbir Singh sang him Hindi songs in his not in tune voice and also learned a Russian song from him. After 15 days, when it was time for the Russian to leave, Ranbir Singh brought him home cooked paranthas for the flight - because as Ranbir Singh recalled - the Russian did not like plane food. The teary eyes Russian hugged Ranbir Singh, slipped his expensive and beautiful Tag Heuer off his wrist and gave it to Ranbir Singh. Ranbir Singh wears the watch every day. While his family made him quit his job because of odd hours and little pay, he misses the hotel run. The Tag Heuer is a reminder of his glamour days.

I have so many more cab stories - some half forgotten, some names without faces and some faces without names. But almost every cab ride that I have taken alone is a small adventure - a window in someone else's life. Try my strategy someday, maybe you will get to hear some great stories too.

Intolerance and Sarcasm

India is behaving like a rebel teenage girl who can't and won't take criticism from anybody. What is more proof of our rising intolerance that even comments from globally loved icons like SRK, Salman Khan can get us red in the face, and sadly, not from shame. And really, do the literary laureates returning their honours affect us at all? Who cares if they are protesting against rising intolerance in India - 90% or more of us had hardly even heard about them in the first place.

Moreover, aren't we tolerating so many things already? Rising prices of onions and toor dal, the dangerous levels of pollution, the overflowing population, half of newspapers covered with advertisements, the neighbourhood aunty dumping her garbage from her balcony onto the street, not just dogs - even strange men peeing at every wall, pillar, open gutter or car tyre. Isn't our patience tested enough? God knows we have done SO much against these! Haven't we? Or have we?

Plus, we aren't as intolerant as we are made out to be. Don't we allow all the rapes happening every day - every minute? We are very tolerant of that! As long as it doesn't happen in the family. I guess, we will tolerate it even then. Who'll go through all the pain of dealing with India's judiciary system. The chosen few victims get a candle march, a peaceful gathering at India Gate (which eventually turns violent complete with lathi charge and water cannons and tear gas and the works), petitions and open letters make it to the headlines, pump our emotions and then the wave passes with time as the headlines become overshadowed by the ludicrous temptation of the latest Snapdeal mega sale!

No, we aren't THAT intolerant. Don't we tolerate the acidic fumes rising from our revered Yamuna ji? Or the floating bloated carcasses of cattle, garlands, diya, matkas, flowers and plastic and more plastic having a leisurely swim in Ganga Maiyya? In fact, not just tolerate - we even help in ensuring that these motherly rivers stay the same way - if not get worse.

Wonder what all the hullaboo is about rising intolerance... 

Actually, all those who roll up their sleeves, widen their eyes and start spewing choice insults at every comment which can be remotely connected to religion, Pakistan, and now - the latest fad - beef!, are basically just bored people who are ever on the look out for something to play with. And they happen to have that special power which attracts the fourth pillar of our democracy - the know all, tell little - media.

And there is nothing  bad about being short tempered, right? Even if they might just enjoy a beef jerky or a scrumptious beef burger in the quiet privacy of their homes, with their mouth still full of their respected mother - the holy cow - they will point their greasy fingers at people, outside whose little jhuggis they throw the bones of their meal.

It is indeed shameful how India is partially intolerant. How we choose to turn a blind eye to heinous crimes but don't hesitate to raise our voices against every petty issue. Are we so dimwitted that we keep hanging out our tongues and wagging our tails when we listen someone talk about 'Acche Din' and get to know details of the food prepared for dignitaries when they fulfill their childhood wish of desh duniya darshan? Can we really, a nation of 120 crores, keep silent at the hiatus created by a handful of hooligans who believe they can splatter grease/ ink, throw their show at or open the gutter of their mouth at anyone who has an opinion to share? Maybe it is time we remove the tag of democracy from India's shrinking list of adjectives.

An ashamed, highly tolerant, Indian.

The BIG Beautiful World

So I was watching Mission Impossible: Rogue Nation a few days back. (Note: Go watch it! Cruise is mind blowing!) That night I tired to recount all the places Ethan Hunt visited in the movie - Washington, Vienna, Morocco, Afghanistan, London, Paris, Indonesia and I still couldn't recall all of them. I started thinking about all the beautiful, absurd, amazing, weird things in the world that I will never get to see. 196 countries in the world. How many would I get to explore. Not just as a tourist. Really see, experience, live and feel? This question pinched me for a long long time keeping me awake for a good few hours. 

This was immediately followed by all the negative things that my mind could conjure up about India. The politics, the poverty, the dirt. I know Gandhi wouldn't have been happy, what with his 'Be the change you want to see' ideology. But my getting angry alone at people littering on the streets and taking extra care to drop my wrappers in the bin won't get the country clean any time soon. At least not till the time I am around. The poverty won't vanish in another couple of decades or millenniums. Forget all the roads, even the NH - 24 won't get broadened or pothole free for another 5 years it seems (despite the project been approved ages ago). The corruption will just grow, whatever PM Modi might say or do. Things are not looking up for India. 

So the idea of escaping to another country, a better developed country, took seed in my mind and started spawning desperate attempts: frantic job searches in Europe, courses in Australia, work visa requirements for the US. Every red mail van, every stray lash from my eyes, every pair of mynah, every journey under a train on a bridge led me to repeat a carefully scripted wish of migration to a developed European country where I and my partner can be happy, wealthy and together!

I became irritable, spent my days dreaming about my life in a foreign country. I even stalked my friends living abroad on Facebook living vicariously through their Facebook posts. I took unnecessary stress.

It took unpleasant ways (nope, not writing about them!) to wake me up to reality. Uprooting your life might look like a pretty proposition, but it is not an easy one. Could I leave both sets of my parents behind? Could I leave the home that we have spent our savings to build (and I haven't even lived there yet)? Could I adjust in a foreign culture? And even if the answer is yes, things don't just happen overnight. And I should know myself better. After all, I am someone who craved and craved for the right anarkali suit, found it after much efforts, bought it, wore it twice and now it hangs neatly ironed in my wardrobe - half forgotten. What if this itch to migrate is like want of a an anarkali? What if it wears off after some time?

So, I have woken up to reality. Although that doesn't mean I will stop trying. Once in a while, I will try and wait for everything to fall right in place - the right opportunity, the right situation, the right time. Till then, I am letting go of my dream. Wander and come back to me if you are meant to :)

*sigh*

Plus, home is where the heart is. Aur aakhir dil hai hindustani. Tedha hai, par mera hai. *self consolation*

Aunty Mat Kaho Na

Remember the first time you were called aunty or uncle, instead of didi or bhaiya? It really twists up your gut, doesn't it? You smile politely, and maybe even correct the defaulter, who invariably is a kid, but inside you are writhing in fury and self doubt. But the transition from didi to aunty is an unavoidable one and rather painful too. The sad truth is that even I have resignedly accepted my fate. So when some kid in the elevator addresses me as didi (instead of aunty), I revel in the pleasure of knowing I still look young enough! And I am often transported back to the times when I was still just Pinki or Sukriti.

Till college first year, I had no one to even address me as didi. I was the baby of the family, the youngest kid. So while I had tonnes of didis and bhaiyas, I was never ever called that. Even when juniors in college took to calling their seniors as didi, I strongly asked them to call me by my name. And now, hearing didi (instead of aunty. Ugh!) feels so... rejuvenating! So how does this transition from didi to aunty happen? I try to find out:

1. The wrong side of 20s: Because I am still perched at the verge, 25+ seems like an aunty-able age (This opinion may change post 28th September this year). But I think post 25th birthday, all didis become auntys. It is like a cassette, whose side has to be changed from A to B. So after 25, your side B begins. I think the case is a little better for men. They get a grace period of 5 years and get to be bhaiyas till they are around 30 year old.

2. Occupational Hazard: I got to know the hard way that-

working woman = mature, smart, worldly wise = AUNTY

Argh! So, don't take it personally when fresh out of college, with a spring in your step, you come back from your first day at your new job and suddenly you are now known as XYZ aunty instead of the much preferred didi.

3. You get married: So one thing that does happen overnight post marriage is that with the tag of mami, bhabhi, chachi etc. comes the 'aunty' tag too! Neighbours of in-laws introduce you to their kids as 'Beta, chalo aunty ko hello bolo'. And then it just sticks.

4. Insecure women: No, it is just not your fault alone that you suddenly become aunty. It won't be wrong to blame the insecure women in your neighbourhood, jealous of your youth, who teach their offspring to call you aunty, instead of didi, so that she isn't the only aunty around. It is a vicious cycle!

5. Face it!: So, ya, maybe I should be brave and face the fact that *sigh* I am getting older (and smarter too, hopefully) and I don't look like a kid anymore. My maturity shows on my face and hence, I should think of aunty as a term of respect bequeathed upon someone who seems considerably more wise and intelligent than the other person. Even though, it is mostly a kid in our case.

I won't lie, it is indeed one of the many reasons, howsoever tiny, that I wish to settle down in a developed country where women are still addressed by name or Ms. Jain or Mrs. Pandey. Till that happens, I am being a tolerant aunty.