I failed

 I lost a child today and I was not even his mother. Bharathi, age 17 died due to complications arising from juvenile diabetes leading to renal failure. I know, I know kids who die young are angels who are loved more in heaven, it was their time, it was what was destined, it was in his stars and it was his past deeds and karma that led him to die young.

I have heard all the placations, the medical explanation and how and why and what .How does one explain ones heart? Bharati’s father named him so, as to represent the Hindu sect, all his other children have been named after the other remaining major religions of India. One has a Muslim name, Akbar, the other one is David and the sisters have Sikh names. The father himself is our villages self styled Goodman, Baba Bittu who does real social work that has a direct impact on the society. He collects money so as to marry off poor girls whose parents cannot afford weddings for their daughters. He celebrates all the major religions, having jagraatas, Sufi festivals, gurpurab and Mass as when the festivities are in the calendar.

So, if someone who earns so much karma, wouldn’t he be able to safeguard his children at least? Bharati was my student since the last three years. He wanted to be an automobile engineer, the word ‘how” did not figure in his dictionary. He just wanted to walk, speak, and talk English with a zeal that amazed me. He started coming to my school three years ago in the 8^th standard and was forever in a hurry to learn more, to absorb more and to pick up the nuances of English grammar because he said this is what sets us apart from the city children. Over the years this sensitive child who was forever the first one to organize the classes to celebrate Dushhera, Diwali and also helped us to stop bursting crackers in the village. THe first year we decided to not burst crackers, telling them that they were burning away money and causing pollution. He was the first one to help me, in enforcing this.

News like this is devastating and when it is in close quarters it makes one question ones faith in the higher self.

One of my friends said to me that I should have learnt form all my spiritual lessons and the books that I read, they should have taught me how to be calm and bear the loss. My books and lessons tell me that I should have the same reaction when their happiness and sadness. Calm is the word. I fail miserably in controlling my emotions. To console the parents is out of question as I am myself are broken.

The child still hovers in front of my eyes , with the spark in his eyes as he wanted to capture the world and it was his oyster …

Rumi , says

When he gives

He shows you His kindness

When he deprives,

He shows you His Power.

And in all that ,

He is making Himself known to you and

Coming to you with His greatness.

Ibn ‘Ata Allah al-Iskandari .

Patchwork of life

Patchwork of life

After the crazy deluge, squall that has left us all gasping with too much rain, its as if Nature had taken over a Shakespearean turn, I got a call from my Nani today morning and she said that she was un well and could not come over to meet me, but she wanted to give me her patch work bedcover.

I had wanted this bedcover ever since I had laid my eyes on it, thirty years ago. My grandmother had migrated to the US, on posting to Washington D.C. and had built her life there. Bringing up children, running a home, far away from the comforts of Punjab, Sahnewal and far away from Punjabiyat and her comfort zone. It was a huge step to settle down there for her. She had immersed herself in all things diplomatic, with other wives who were brought together just by a common thread of being Indian! Some of these ladies were from South (they have a natural advantage over us, more intelligent than us) and some from east and the language that bound them was Hindi, not Punjabi or Oriya or Tamil but broken Hindi that got them by and forged bonds to last a life time.

They enrolled in this patchwork making course as it was the American thing to do, all these women would labor to make linen, cushions and bedcovers and became a support system to each other while their husbands toured to different parts of the world, setting it right step by step; whereas these women tried to run their homes in an alien, all white country with snow and more snow!

I had always wanted this bedcover, made with love, stitched with love and dreams and sorrow and the vibrant colors all proclaiming life and the spirit. She would always, say patience, I will give it to you wait, when you’re older. Youth is always impatience; we have not learnt the luxury of patience and waiting for the right time. Everything we want is yesterday and that is what I was. Life happened, I grew older but still it hankered in my mind somewhere that when would she give this to me. She had promised it to me, an heirloom.  She grew frailer and weaker and I got busier in the humdrum of life, kids, school, life and just etching out my path.

However, today she called and she wants to give it to me.  And, I had tears in my eyes .I dint want it now, it seemed final . I feel we always get what is destined for us at the right time, right place. For us, to cherish and value things when we can know the true worth. Earlier, I might not have taken so much care, in the foolishness of youth, it would have got ruined, but now it’s invaluable. The love and care with which she made it and passing it to me, to take it forward to another generation. Isn’t life like that, we nurture, hope and pray for the best, forever wanting things to happen before and wanting them in a hurry but Fate always has other plans. As in the scriptures, we never get anything before the pre-ordained time however much we might desire.

However, it is the journey that makes us, the object is immaterial. Cherish the people and the moments with them. Life has moved to a level where we have started putting value on objects and the monetary value they signify and forget the people behind them, for their love and blessings and care is like none others. In our lives, this patchwork quilt is made with myriad people, hues, colors and seasons but we all should live it to the best !

#Note to Self

#Note to self

Woman’s Day, is being celebrated on the 8^th and the papers today scream out to me in different advertisements.  They even started a hash tag for us #note to self! In fact, that I find it is so interesting that I need a day to remind me  to remember how important and cherished I am. The papers and the over the top bright bling advertisements all scream of the percentages off on women’s product luring me like the mermaids singing the siren’s song. The local snob value nail spas are all advertising nail beautification, beauty spas, hair salon; clothing’s to reclaim the lost woman in me.

Todays Sunday paper is full of things that make me a better, smarter, more sophisticated, polished version. The must have colors, make up trends, boho-chic, baroque, Victorian, classic, bohemian, indo-chic, earthy the labels that have sort of defined you. There are palettes to describe you and skin tone, your hairstyles to frame you to make you a better you! We are given labels to put ourselves into o neat little tidy boxes so society can define, put us in a position and label us like a botanical specimen. Pun intended, big time. This helps them to deal with us, the mysterious we!

From the lowliest of all the under paid, unrecognized, taken for granted home maker, the glue that binds the family, to the banker, to the writer, to the thinker, to the doctor, the kaam wali bai, to the maid to the sweepers, to the woman who just wants to break the glass ceiling, to the woman who just wants to be a pretty woman! We are given these little labels to define my tribe and me. Instead of the clichéd answers that I read and get why can’t we get recognition, loved every single day just for what we are ? Why are we just segregated for one single day? How come men don’t get recognition for one day as International men’s day and have advertisements selling them shirts to make them a more virile handsome dude? How come grooming companies don’t woo them?

Our attitude needs to change. We don’t need to trend on Tuesday on twitter. We don’t need recognition by celebrating woman hood on one single day; it’s a joy every single day. A cousin writes, why discrimination for women, we need to be generous and magnanimous to give thoughtful importance to man by giving them one day, 29^th February.

The day when segregated makes us a minority which we are not .We all need to believe in ourselves and not get duped by this artificial hype created and to divide this man /woman spiel. Just giving us a day, does not give them the right to batter us for the rest of the year or our lives. Geeta, my intelligent illiterate mother of three girls all studying in Gov. School sec 11 says, Kya Madam ji, kaunsa din! It’s the same routine, and even if she earns enough she is never woman enough because she never gave birth to a boy! So, she never is equal to the others in her village in UP.

If my measure is not by the heart that beats in me, the smile that I smile but by the clothes that I wear, the hair I sport, and my perfect nails and that I can make the perfect round roti, well I think I should give this day amiss.

Change the mindset , please . Do not label us by how many  kids we bear , whether they are boys or girls, what we do , whether we can run efficient smooth well oiled properly dusted , laundered homes cooking the perfectly balanced calorific value meals . I don’t think anyone gave me a manual when I was growing up nor did I have a mysterious class like the Harry Potter and his Dumbledore’s Army . Just an ordinary muggle woman , you see.

My resolution for this year is to be true to myself. This celebration is what constitutes a woman’day!

Exams and all

 I just looked myself in the mirror, the hair has just decided to skip the intermittent stage of gently going into the salt pepper stage and then easing into the white to show that I have acquired some wisdom in my earth years; they are a shocking startling white that refuse any attempt to take on any color thanks to Patanjali mehendi. They just plain refuse. You see they also have mind of their own. I Am currently in the over stressed, hyper, tensed mommy brigade, I don’t have time for the budget or politics or reservation row.

You see I belong to the club of the worried, agonizing over stretched mommy whose child is appearing for the board exams. These exams (twice over for me) have put me into a state of nerves. Every known and unknown God and Goddess has been prayed upon so that my son does well. It is every parent’s wish that his or her son or daughter does well and brings laurels to the family name and secures admission to the college of their liking. These, examinations a measure of what the child has learnt and what he knows and that seals his fate.

I just know my parents twenty years ago worried but weren’t hyper like we all are today. I feel social media, this networking, and the accessibility to each other coupled with the intense pressure and competition to secure a seat has made all my friends and me a bundle of nerves. I know of someone who traveled a long distance to pay respects at a shrine so that her children would do well. There are amulets to safeguard the child from the evil eye, there are proper times that charted to ensure maximum studying potential along with highest receptivity.

The Indian mother is the only one known in the entire universe (even the Martians agree to this) that will soak the almonds in water overnight and peal the skin and give to her child especially during this time. I am guilty too. Every little nuskha known to Dadi maa, handed down is shared, and used so as to score well.  In fact, anything and everything is done in short.

In fact, even Geeta my maid asked for an advance this month so as she could buy a supplement for her daughter so she may do better in her exams.

Mothers will be mothers; every one of us will do her best for her child even if sometimes it’s beyond her income level! In Naya Goan (near PGI), the chemists were selling this tonic and it was all the rage and all of them were buying it so that the child would do better. It was a matter of pride and one-man ship to say that she had bought it for it. I didn’t refuse, how could I? Mothers will be mothers. The Indian saying, that a mother will cut her stomach to feed her child is so true .We, all do the best, buying whatever they want, getting them comfort food, keeping them as the center of our universe. In fact, as the days approach I shrink in proportion, knotting myself and of course driving my friends insane with my worries. My friends are the ones who I irritate all the time, non -stop bugging them with my worries, and unfounded tensions!

As, for my hair, I’ve just decided to give up and call them my silver highlights! Or maybe I could go Geeta’s way and just give into the paanch rupiya packet of kesh kala !!!

Till then I am sporting a Danerys Tagareyen look; for the un-initiated she is mother of the dragons in Game of thrones.

Its A Valentino !

Its Valentine Day tomorrow and the Sector 11 market is awash with red balloons, red hearts, red teddy bears, red plasticky icky roses wrapped in plastic with you guessed it right, hearts embossed on it. They’re red teddy bears on key chains, with the I love you written on them. The weather is also been specially ordered for all lovers or the doomed ones. It’s raining, cloudy, overcast and it kind of synonymous with Indian love; we see rain and romance and love sort of sprouts over. Its just because we’ve been mentally conditioned with a steady dose of Bollywood movies where when it starts to get darker, cloudier, love becomes stronger. I know it’s a cliché but how does cupid ‘s arrow work, doesn’t it get struck with lightening and misfire?

I know, I know I’m sounding like a cynic and a jaded one too, put it down to the years I’ve spent on earth and the fact that its my teenager boys and nephews who are all rejoicing on this day. In fact, for me a die hard Punjabi its velan time, a great joke that it’s the belan time and it sort of got Anglicized to Valentine because of the accent!

When did we start paying more attention to the outer gestures of love, and the fact there are days dedicated to this craziness? I don’t know the order, but apparently there is rose day, teddy bear day, chocolate, day, propose day and then valentine and maybe a hug day some where and all. I must have missed out one odd day! This madness is supported by a whole industry of flowers, think all shades of red and pink, cards with soppy, mushy teddy bears all sort of eclipsed in a fog (what does this mean) and chocolates (this is the best thing possible).

It is a perfect way to delude oneself that love is in the air even if it is raining today! Today in the market, a couple were arguing because she had got less flowers from him and her friend had more and he didn’t love her. How was she going to post on face book and show her face to her friend who had more flowers? She wanted more!

I swear, the fight was more interesting than all the serials that are playing on television and he kept on saying don’t worry, wait and see what I gift you tomorrow. ‘

This day, indirectly hits the parents who knowingly and unknowingly have to support their child who because peer pressure and what will others say shell out crazy amounts to declare their love. Any ways, with rising prices just eking out a living is difficult , and on top of this the burden of declaring love in numerous ways in the form of teddy bears . The best icon of the teddy bear who is just concerned with Hunny ( Winnie the Pooh ) would be rolling in his grave over the representations made in his name .

Love is not declaring to the world ,just the silent gestures are what matter . Of course my kind of Valentine is with just a difference , Its Valentino .

Punjab and the Dodo

Nothing matches the famous Punjabi hospitality and its true on both sides of the border. The infamous line that split one cultural nation into two has affected the Punjabis most, we lost out on our brethren, life, memories and our roots. However, the spirit remains same across the border and even here. Come, winter as temperature drops, wedding invitations start coming and the cards start piling up with delicacies to match. Every year the wedding card companies try to out do each other with the invites, the sweets accompanying them and the wording, color. The bigger, the better is the box, sometimes you are transported to the ethnic colors of the soil to the pastels of the Raj and the roses, the mithai can be the good old barfi, ladoo (how I still love the old fashioned moti boondi laddoo) to the dry fruits, to the crystallized fruits, chocolates, to the green tea and honey. A new one this year and well thought of keeping in with the ever-present weight problems of the Punjabi tribe.

However, in recent years the weddings have become bigger blingier, and a parade on ostentatious because if one didn’t spend what will people say? The duniya and the lok, not be confused with the kejriwal spiel here is what drives 90 percent of the money spent at these weddings. I n fact, I was just calculating if we started to spend so much in giving back to the society or our state, I swear Sukhbir ji we would be topping the charts not in the Economic Index of the country but even of neighboring countries. How about if we do that for a SAARC convention? Think big is my motto, always.

In fact, at the last one, I was eavesdropping on two society matrons who had so much base and foundation on (not talking about building a house) that they had an outward projection from their face and their eyelashes were curled just like Cruella and her perfect red lips. They were discussing numbers in code and the names sounded like as if they were the newest IS recruits, Ruby Woo, Mac danger, 30, Devil, and then I was told by my sister they were numbers of red lipsticks with a slight purple tint so as to match the Indian skin. We apparently have a yellow pigment that needs to be offset with this purple!

Have you ever had your colors done? Growing up, I knew the primary ones and secondary ones and red was red, blue was blue and green was green. Now there is a whole palette where teal, aqua blue, mint green, marsala, and fuchsia, and tea rose pink or the old rose pink, and the saffron, mango peach are broken into sub sections. White itself was white, now this safedi ki jhnakaar is the politician white, ivory , cream , off white, the white which has a touch of blue, whiter than white, muted white, fierce white , that one can be confused.

And, heavens forbid if you are like me, an Akali sympathizer you area cornered for favoring and wearing the akali blue over the congress blue worn with a contrast shawl in colors that shock and blind.

If colors defined that and us would solve the problems, how about the childhood game of innie minnnie mo.

I get drubbed so many times, and get drawn into the most insane conversations by the high society, drawing room, highly secure activists who do not venture out of their posh houses, over secure by the yearly theka (lease money) from far off lands which carve out their status as being a Malwa Sardar or a Majhail and sometimes from Doab. These lines divide and rule us invisibly!

Weddings are fun, in a way as I get to see who science works especially physics. The temperature drops and you would think we women would be well clad, no, no my dear the shawl is displayed on the left hand, carefully opened, crumpled and held by the bejeweled fingers with a hint of the art novae cuff and gravity holds everything up.  I am also really impressed with the fact that gravity really works.

I mean, I did classes and all and try to remember everything but gravity really work for em! Cleavages, back cleavage (I’m sure there is a word for that) and display is there, and I’m no Victorian prude but when is blatant display be the by word? Elegance, less is more and sophistication does not call for all this.

I could write a chapter, verse and sonnet on one of the blouses where for the heavens I could not figure out whether it was a sheer, nude or lined or just precariously worn.

Well, the suit wearing, grey hair in a bun, salwar suit with no fancy schmancy speaks out volumes to others who think I’m the dodo.

Extinct, you see.

Yes , we all can afford this , but it’s a section of the society that gets caught up in this power display and then the debt trap starts . We were all a society that helped each , yes we have larger than life personalities, and jazba but this naked display of wealth is so tasteless and a waste of money that can be used somewhere ! I know you're going to say why do you bother ... well to make things work collectively the onus has to start somewhere.