Independence Day

 It’s so strange and ironical that we have back to back Independence Days , two countries forever entwined like twins by hate and a common border . Every day we breathe and live the same air but are sworn enemies on and off the cricket ground and hockey and then we have a fresh whiff of air via Olympics. The strapping Jat Arshad Nadeem and Neeraj have scripted history and their mothers have so beautifully sealed it . The purity and innocence where they both claim to be the mother of both and are happy for them and their sons. It speaks volume of the magnanimity and the large heartedness of these village ladies . 

It’s the same here where in my village they all remarked that he’s also just like us and is a mason ( mistry’s ) son and is a worker just like us . He’s worked in the fields and is pendu like us . This association across borders of human bonding is just so beautiful. Every single day , I text my best friend who is closer to me in distance than my own parents in Chandigarh but it’s impossible to meet her . Majority of the country populations wish to meet , visit , have trading partners and just mingle . We are two countries that can benefit each other but because of  two sets of politicians this side and that side we are made to believe that we are out to kill each other.

Countless governments have come and gone , all fighting over Kashmir and believing it’s ours and no one in the end remembers that once we are gone land remains and we vanish into oblivion. Yesterday and today’s katha from Darbar Sahib , stressed again and again that wealth has no master .

Our entire life we keep on hankering , running after wealth and try to get more and more of it and then we die do you think that the wealth we have accumulated cries for its lost master ? In the bigger scheme of things all that remains is our name and what goodwill we have left behind as karma . These two sporting giants will forever be loved and remembered for their mothers who brought them up so well and brought a cheer and a smile to our faces . Isn’t that true freedom across borders ?

Our founding fathers who were from one country , educated , having deep roots together and our finest having roots in Karachi and Gah , who together fought to free themselves from Colonial rule , then were pitted against each other to be brutally divided , killed , and scarred forever , envisaged two nations born with ideals which have been lost forever . What shames today ,is the rape and torture and murder of a young doctor who was just resting and has been gang raped and brutally killed , and then they talk of equality , where we are afraid to sleep . In shame , and in despair and pain I welcome the Independence Day and the only sliver of hope is that Vignesh will get her silver today and that would be retribution to all the killed , raped , sexually assaulted girls who still fight for the country and system .

As , the chowkidar of my village said , till we don’t hold boys responsible , this  will continue because all everyone says is Sanu  ki? 

Age old Problems

 No one prepares you for getting old and it’s the toughest for us women . Suddenly anything and everything that can go wrong hits us , every bone creaks , everything is falling and all joints make different noises as if there is a symphony in us . AI is so smart that its bombarding my feed with shortcuts ,steps to make my life healthier , how to seize it back  and to ensure longevity , and to also beat all my ailments for a 15 day free trial period and then to pay! 

Before I know it my heart isn’t healthy thanks to a healthy addiction to cheese , thyroid has crept in and knees ache and my back makes more noise if  I happen to get up too fast and don’t even talk about how tough it is to sit on the floor cross legged , I wish I was like the fakir from TinTin. Sometimes the bhogs test every gluteal muscle of mine and then getting up is another story .

Then it further confused me that should I go with the new age , yogic , holistic approach to saving my crumbling hormonal mess or go the newest gen x scientific inject yourself with a cocktail of vitamins , an IV drip or sit in an  oxygen bar , and then fast , cleanse myself to oblivion. 

So I went with the old as time , yogic holistic approach to life and restore my health , by drinking every masala , condiment in shots , with jeera water , to Dhanya water , to Chia to drinking umpteen amounts of green tea and not eating paranthas and just being conscious of my intake . All that happened was an increase in crazy smells and constipation and some crazy diarrhoea!my conclusion was that the only way that i could lose weight or keep myself in check was by walking to China , getting the tea leaves and drinking it or going to the Americas and getting the chia seeds . The yoga wasn’t for me , the lazy dog , or the lazy sit on the chair yoga for beginners, this punjabi soul was just too round and anti yoga! 

With all these ayurvedic concoctions , I went natural with my products too , the hair oils was so pungent it was as if I had applied mango pickle to my hair , and it didn’t go away , the hair didn’t get saved , the grays definitely remained and there was thinning and no thickening ! Trying to buy the ayurvedic , natural ,organic , pure products were just burning a hole in my pocket and didn’t help with saving my skin . The other modern laser injection , Botox , filler , exercise and do Pilates and eat my greens , intermittent fasting wasn’t me . My soul needed the cake and the momos and the golgappas and the occasional parantha and the cheese and the pizza .if this was cutting my life short by a  few years what was I going to do with the extra few without being happy along the way? 

The Curious Case of Reels

 Every day brings forth new surprises and I think I have seen it all with my grey hairs but then something new happens that makes me believe in the balance of life and how advanced we have become . There is a certain hubris that I have that I know it all ( I know and can hear see the smirks on you all ) but I honestly think that we are advancing and the rest of the classes aren’t ! But this happened with us last week in our sleepy village that is on the cusp of rapid construction and development . We have an old aunty who colors her hair jet black and is of some nondescript age , for the better part of last year we thought she was a Hindu and come Eid and we realised that Gudiya with her trademark bindi was a Muslim . Life kept on moving along and seasons changed and this year as  bad luck would have it , all the help decided to leave at the same time , one was in love and had had to go back to Ayodhya to get married . His story is for another day , the cook and his wife had to go away for a marriage that they just couldn’t miss. The entire household was staff less , minus any work force and all the ladies were lamenting that how would we survive?!

And Guddi Aunty , had to go back to Gorakhpur in the midst of all her rozas and fasting because of an important court case . So , when we asked what was the emergency as only she was leaving and  Toofani ( her husband ) wasn’t going ? So in all her mighty loud voice that is louder than her timid body she told us of her daughter in law  who was dancing and putting Bhangra and making videos and uploading on Facebook and making money 

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The entire community was up against her and they frowned upon her not following the norms of polite society. She was so upset that the bahu was dancing and posting content and influencing other girls and her entire community was in an uproar . So her son had filed for a divorce and married another lady , had two boys and had flown to Oman to work and in the meanwhile because the judge was ruling on a Saturday she had to go and pay the final divorce amount of 1 lakh.

Isn’t this all interesting and more exciting than any serial airing on Zee network or any Pakistani play? So she went to Gorakhpur , paid the money to the ex bahu who had become so modern and was baring her legs in a short pant , drove a motorcycle and had cut her hair . On top of it she had the audacity to be nice to Guddi Aunty and had offered her chai and samosas!

It so seems to be an episode out of Mamla Legal Hai , the number one legal show on netflix! This is how the society exists and we are truly moving forward. It’s such a mix of simple yet complex human beings, we embrace technology as if its our second arm but hesitate to break the traditions and impose all restrictions on women because in India , honor lies only with women . If her own son was making money with reels would there have been a divorce? Till the verdict is out , progress was made by the judge where he gave a substantial amount to the child to be used when she is of legal age. 

Fifty and Fabulous

A day later , I turn fifty . It seems old and everyone around me thinks it is but I just don’t feel the fifty that every one associates with it . The cliche is that when one is 50, the knees are creaking , a gentle weight gain is there and everything creaks and groans and more so gravity is pulling things down! But , I feel fifty and fabulous and all things good . In some ways I feel as old as Dumbledore with the ways of the world . The fast pace of the world , the change in attitudes , the loss of  morality and values , the over dependence on the digital world and the barriers created by the virtual lives we have . The over projection of one self and the life we have the one we portray to the rest through our filters and covered with masks . Earlier , importance was given to family and  the tight knit community we all belonged to but things changed , deteriorated where we lost all touch with our values . You know the old fashioned ones , like respecting our elders , to hold our counsel, to not speak in front of them , to be scared of speaking one’s mind . I am at crossroads , still clinging on to my roots , to hold on to what there was and not let it slip by .

Books got replaced by gists that can be read on kindle , newspapers are obsolete, and no one reads print media ,we are taken over by Instagram and Snapchat . It’s fashionable to have a digital detox, that is the level of addiction we are facing .  And here , I thought detox was limited to just losing weight and cleansing ones system. In the hurry to be modern , we all grew up but we forgot that we needed to hold onto our values that made us unique .  At 50 , I feel proud of my boys becoming men and starting a new chapter in my life , where I can hopefully travel more , visit the places that I have on my bucket list , the ones that I have read about and imagined scenarios of the past ! Also , another funny thing happened with me , I have become more and more like my parents; subconsciously we pick up those habits we made fun about . I love opening windows even when it’s so so cold and the fog drifts in, and listening to kirtan and then the katha .

Circle of life for me , and then my favorite food has become khichdi , here I have become old . Coffee is getting replaced by just plain hot water ( though not so quick ) . The grey hair that I have are getting more stubborn and refuse to be coloured , they have a mind of their own and are asserting their independence ! The wrinkles and the change in face is all mine and Im happy that I survived all to reach to this . The only that is getting better is my eyesight , it does happen . Honest . They say I am a Biji , Im fine with that. For me  my Biji was all things loving , comforting , my security blanket , her pristine pastel suits with light embroidery , her dupatta , the faint smell of Boroline and her wise wise eyes .. her love for me that cant be put in words . A special bond so pure and priceless . Just because i wear suits and lived in a village , it was thought that I am old fashioned and pendu .views and outlook aren’t measured by your mini skirt or your tight fits or open frizzy hair  with faces with more fillers that the roads needed . 

All I can say is that I don’t promise the next 50 but whatever years  I have , I would just say value your loved ones , your parents , in laws , siblings , children , because nothing is worth being upset about . Life is too short , and before you know it some words are left unsaid . Even someone life me who talks too much sometimes is at a loss of words . Im happier being quieter now , my quota is exhausted . Enjoy the flowers , smell the roses , take a walk , embrace nature and read along the way . Dry those tears and smile away , things will look better in the morning , because you have better eyesight than me ! 

The Forgotten Suit

 I live in a tier 2 city of the country , Bharat formerly known as India and my only claim to fashion and couture is when we have exhibitions and pop-ups by various designers who decide to visit us and takeaway our hard earned money . It’s a catch 22 situation , you can’t miss ‘em and you can’t leave em so you join em because one keeps on thinking something new and scintillating would be there and you need to buy and wear that outfit which would be a head turner . 

Now , as life would have it , one goes for these sales and various lifestyle , luxury bridal exhibitions dressed up decently and you go there to browse and have fun and sample the wares. However , increasingly that is not the case , the turn out , foot fall is there to buy ethnic clothes ( key word ) dressed in tighter white jeans than  Jeetendra and more white jeans are seen than in the state of California , with diamonds and baubles to flaunt to out-weigh and out rank one another . Women are seen not in smart clothes , but shirts that are a mix of Lycra, polyester and something so shiny that it seems an experiment went wrong. Why are we aping some weird culture on Instagram which is not how the west dresses.

Wearing a Chloe bag and heels and a dress in a rickety way and falling in the grass is not trendy , wearing loose rap style grunge jeans with a tank top and ugly skin showing isn’t style , wearing those weird foam chappals and dirty feet isn’t a style statement and even the weird dress which had no backand everything was held up by gravity and the stickies.

My mind went into shock ! I just cannot go there …..this is me turning 50 soon and trying to comprehend fashion and making sense of the make up . I have seen more winged liner and foundation and made up faces than a Sephora mart . The style gets worse with golden hair color , and just losing the plot . Imagine hugging a friend and getting war paint on you and then streaking oneself. At a stall , by just complimenting about the print they kept on showing dresses so asking for a salwar suit , one is told why do you need a suit ? Why do you want to wear a suit ?

We are losing our identity , our style because heaven forbid someone might see us in a suit and call you backward , and not stylish and use colloquial terms like “pendu’ and ‘Jatka’ . I live in Punjab , am a Punjabi and we shy away from wearing a Punjabi suits , we don’t wish to even admit our own ethos , how we will we pass on our identity to the next generation? What is with those co-ord sets ? Who invented them? These frumpy , out of shape , hide those tyres, and I am not bossy shaming anyone here , this is for ladies out there ,please dress elegantly , the lure of the cotton sarees , the sexiness of the chiffon saree , the grace of the sensual silk , nothing can clone to that ; and every French designer worth his salt , cheese and wine has incorporated the Indian form and style in his collection , the Indian ethnic wear is a sourc error haute couture . Introspection needs to be there , that why are we losing our confidence ? Why do we feel that the outer garb would mean acceptance ? Women , you are beautiful as you are , not by adorning these weird non breathable fabric , or wearing diamonds to blind me ,  I would prefer to hear about your views on Hamas or the bombing on Gaza Strip or why we need to worry about rising temperatures ? I would be more impressed by your TBR than your to buy list ! 

Learn that your wealth is by the values you have , and if we lose our ethnic identity what will we give to our children , we are the custodians for the next generation ! Right now they all see us with white faces , brown blond hair dressed in plastic with more plastic on their faces . I’m 

Memories of a Lifetime

 We have a wedding in the family and its in the designated NRI month of the year so all can come and buy and complain of the dirt , dust and drugs and also give their two bits on the state of Punjab as they know more than us . Heaven forbid , I get a word in as the arm chair NRI’s who have made it in the golden shores are the new custodians of religions , and politics . The amount of tweeting I see from them amazes me as they are so worried about home but why did you leave and not fight the system here?

This is for another time and none of us would win the debate. So as a family wedding is on the cards , we are doing what evert one does, start building an extra room. Every self respecting Punjabi , starts construction even if its to make a nalka ! Happens in every household in rural Punjab , and another room is added to accommodate the new entry into the family , or it could be just another store to house all the stuff that is never needed but cant be thrown away for sentimental reasons . At a cusp of my life, I’m approaching my halfway century mark ; I’m feeling sentimental and more like Frodo Baggins (trust me I do not look like him ) . I feel close to so many things but I know they are of no value to anyone , books that I won as a prize in school , a pressed flower in a book , letters written by my boys from their boarding , hoarding some trolls form my childhood , a crocheted bag , cushions that have been embroidered by my grand mother , sheets out of her trousseau as a young girl in Lahore , a dress that my mother had kept for years of a chubby me as a one year old . 

Where do these go? A lifetime of love, memories , moments inscribed and caught and frozen in time , my grandfathers cardigan that I wear every winter because i feel his embrace . The pure love that was once theirs ,  dwindling now . I have books and books and magazines, and embroidery books , an entire life’s collections of the W because my mother loves knitting and it had those knitting patterns in the end. The books for me remind me of Dot , and Hagar the Viking. I doubt anyone even knows what I am talking about . I am at crossroads and don’t know who to give these or whether they are worth any thing or would be sold by the kilo ? 

They talk about recycling clothes , but no one wants my antiquated clothes, fine embroideries done when everything was slow fashion and quiet luxury . They coined the name now , to separate the nouveau riche and the old money . The world is more impressed with the flashy , the logo that for you equates you to money . Everyone wants to renovate and move with the times, I agree , we all want change but what does one do with the intangible box of memories? The silver that you had lovingly bought in the hills because you think you couldn’t survive without the loops , or the shawl that covered you when you were nursing your first born , or the collections of comics without which you couldn’t survive? Is everything all reduced to the shiny and bright ? Where do the vinyl records go ? The list goes on and on and with time and age catching up , I feel lost as one feels the fragility of life and how we are here for a short time but get so attached to materialistic objects that it hurts .

I know you’re going to say this , that  I need to not be attached and detachment is the way ahead but what is it all reduced to ? Right now , I just know we are building a store room to house all the memories of a life time and I’m consciously reusing all my old stuff to live the moments again tweaking them a bit ! Till then , building the store and heralding the wedding the home makes my heart go warm and fonder . The pressing matter in hand is not the stuff that  I need to sort out , its the thickening waist and the creaky bones!

Happy mothers Day

 Dear Mom ,

Everyone tells me that time is running out and we never get to say the things which are meant to be said, thinking that they are all understood but that isn’t the case. A day was finally dedicated to mothers , a woman who has the guts , the grits and the determination more than anyone in the world .I could have just used Chat Gpt and written the best corniest lines but can a program write what it means to be a mother ? The tears , the sweat , the pain, the sacrifice so that her child / children get the best ; and this holds true for the richest to the poor . Mothers are made of a different genetic stricture , they love , embrace, cuddle , scold , get angry , get mad , correct you when you are wrong with one glance of their eyes. Every mother has a special tell, which she uses to discipline and when they are older they make fun of their mother that she used to look at like this … but you know someday soon that shoe is going to fit you also .

Mom , mother , Mataji , Amma , Ammi , Biji , Bebeji , mater , mama all words to lovingly call her ,because talking to her makes everything right , just one phone call, a hug that is pure and without any reason . That embrace , just what is needed to make things right . A mother will give anything to be with her child , to make things right , to see that he or she gets it all and will smother them with all the love and also be the biggest disciplinarian to balance everything . I used to wonder why mine was strict while I was growing up but you know subconsciously all those little habits get ingrained in you to make you a better person when you’re the adult . Moms , will sleep on your schedule if you’re in a different country and different time zone and will yearn for you but keep quiet ! 

 I want to thank you for shaping me , putting values , giving me an identity and to stand tall and to know about right and wrong , a love of books and the best of all good skin! The genes come out strong ! 

I don’t know how you hide the pain , and the suffering and taking everything in your stride and to still smile and keep everything together . Mothers are glue and keep everyone bound , and connected . Be kind to her if she doesn’t know the technology changes , she wasn’t born in a world where this rapid advancement and desensitisation of human emotions was . I love their era of slow fashion , under stated elegance, the chiffon sarees and the pearls and the French chignon hair do or the simple bindi and just being content . The motherly  wisdom imparted with grace and the patience reservoir deeper than oceans with the subtle tact to steer one in the right direction . Mothers are warm hugs , kisses to soothe, to push away all the darkness and sadness and just hearing her say all will be ok and one is magical.

They truly are magical creatures , treasure them , call them and love them to bits . Some bonds aren’t because of blood but some women come  in your lives to nurture you and guide and love and to have a patient ear at all times, they are also mothers . My brood calls me  mataji , mom and  Mummy and Ammi and mother .

The way they say it , makes me know what it is and what’s bothering them? Was I taught this ? Did I have a manual ( a secret society induction ) ? No , you just know. And as my Wednesday begrudgingly hugs , life is complete and better when I get a call from the other .Happy Mothers Day to all you beautiful strong mothers who have raised us , may we be them and raise a stronger next generation ! To our mothers in heaven , we miss you and if given a chance again , I love you is all I wish to say .