Oh The Nostalgia

The sister and I are both visiting home this week, a fact that's making dad very thrilled. Both his girls are home and under his watchful eye once more. All day when we were to arrive, he kept calling both of us and confirming flight timings and pick up details. And today morning, when he peeked into our room and switched the fan off - his favourite waking-us-up technique - i could sense his grin even in my sleepy, eyes closed state.

So we're papa's girls. It's the natural order of things. And as it goes, we too can wrap our father around our little fingers (oh stop looking shocked). Except when he decides to play it tough and then it's just funny. Really. Like the times he tells us that we better clean our room up because he's going to come *inspect* it soon. Or when he tells us he wont let us have icecream after dinner just like that. And better yet, when he hands out *conveyance money* every morning. And when we tell him we don't need it, we're told to just keep it and return it to him at the end of the day. Yes yes. We don't do that. Like you would?

But it's not about the money or the inspections or the ice-cream (ok, a little bit about the ice cream). It's about nostalgia. That familiar tone of voice, exchanging amused looks with the sister, laughing at the mother's head shaking at dad's unabashed daughter pampering. Everything that tells you all's right with the world and you're home.

A Rose By Any Other Name...

I became an aunt on January 14^th 2011. And today, I still can’t give you a name for my month and a few days old niece. And not because her parents can decide upon one name. No siree. It’s because her greatgrandmother, grandparents, grand-aunts and uncles and aunts can’t decide upon one name.

And it’s beginning to get a little much, all this joint family love that is being shown. I mean, its awesome that the little one arrived amidst a wedding and all of the extended family. But taking into consideration every one of those extended opinions has only resulted in the baby remaining unnamed. Even a nickname hasn’t been decided upon. The only thing everyone is in agreement with is that the new greatgrandmother not be allowed to saddle the little girl with names like laddi, bitiya, barfi and other similar concoctions. Her latest offering was Laali or something similar. Yes. I know. She needs help.

But before that, *we* need help. And a name.

Edited: The day after writing this post, the baby finally had a name. Nandini.

Behind the Scenes at a Big Fat Marwari Wedding

The sister gets married in less than two weeks and while things have been a little crazy since her engagement last July, we are now close to the finishing line and everything is now a blur and slightly manic.

Wedding outfits are fighting with shoes and bangles for bag and wardrobe space, we're fighting physics when trying to fit 20 gift bags in a carton that will hold only 13, the bride is fighting all the yummy winter food and trying to stay in shape, the hugely pregnant sister-in-law is fighting with the universe and sulking about not being able to attend the wedding (she's also fighting with the baby and asking it to be born already), and the dog is simply fighting for attention.

Everywhere you turn there is a wedding related bag, box or list you see. The grandmother's house has been effectively taken over by the wedding party and i think she's a little in shock sover the sheer quantity of stuff that's emerging from every corner. Aunts are constantly in and out of the house with random bits of tradition they remember with regards to the marriage ceremony, all of which require more shopping (obviously). Jewellery is being reviewed and trips to and from the jeweller are on the to-do list for each day.

Tomorrow the NRI uncle and family arrive, complete with shopping list and bigger than the dog suitcases. Tomorrow is also when we start practice for the north-indian staple at any wedding - the (mahila) sangeet. And if the universe behaves like it usually does, we'll find ourselves knee deep in double sided tape, suitcases, cellophane paper and files of lists when the sister-in-law's baby will decide to finally be born.

And therein lies another blog post.

Weddings, Travelling, A New Camera, Gorgeous Weather and Then Some

It's been too long since i updated the blog. And with good reason too. I've been away, having way too much fun! Weehooo!!

The brother-in-law got married last month and this one was a 10 day affair, spanning 2 cities, 2 cultures, 2 families, little sleep, and unbelievable amounts of food (but that goes without saying no?)

And so right from when we started driving to Delhi, to now, when i'm all bundled up in bed in Shimla (while it rains outside), everything has gone by in a blur of wedding functions, changing clothes (3 times a day) travelling across the country, eating awesome food (i can write a whole new post on this), meeting a host of people, smiling for even more photographs, going click happy with a new (totally awesome) DSLR camera, making new friends from around the world, taking in some gorgeous weather and generally having a good time!

There is so much i want to write about, like how the groom drove across the country (literally - from Delhi to Bangalore) for his wedding, how the elephant who was supposed to give the groom a ride, freaked out and scampered away, how the bride's dog took part in every conversation that happened in his territory, how a cousin got her clothes torn while protecting her brother's shoes, how the bride and groom were actually on time for the reception (and how they spent the next day counting all the moolah they raked in) and so much more!

But for now, all i'm going to do is sort through the thousands of photographs and go upload crazy on Facebook!

Of Grandmothers

The Fellow’s grandmother passed away last week.

I didn’t know her for too long, but I will always remember her as a woman of amazing strength, independence and foresight. At 80, she walked without any support, managed apple orchards all by herself and lived alone in a massive house, in the lap of the mountains, without any complaints, or indeed desire to live anywhere else (in fact, she terrorised the countryside and made sure not a leaf was out of place in her little kingdom). And this she’d been doing for nearly 30 years.

2 weeks before granny died, she had a cardiac arrest, the result of a renal complication. Since things were looking critical, we rushed home to be with her, and I think the presence of her favourite grandsons helped her much more than medication. In fact, it’s a tribute to how much she meant to her family that all her grandchildren, living all over the country, arrived to be with her when she was unwell. Just the sight of her grandchildren brought a sparkle to her eyes and a grin to her face. She couldn’t be happier than when the apple of her eyes were teasing her, tickling her and generally making all kinds of noise in the hospital room. In fact, in less than a week she was well enough to go home, where the noise just continued and she was kept in high spirits. Ten days later, she died.

It’s been a week since granny died and it all seems surreal still. At times when the brain is trying to rationalise what happened, it feels like she survived a massive cardiac arrest just to make sure she gave us all a chance to meet her one last time.

She died as she lived – on her own terms.

Traditions and Memories

Diwali means different things to different people. For a large majority, it is a religious festival, marking the Hindu New Year. For others it’s about new clothes. For yet more people it’s all about the firecrackers and candles.

For me, it’s about family and food. And this Diwali I missed both like crazy. It was my first time away from my folks and the extended family during this noisy and food filled festival. Every year, for as long as I can remember, Diwali meant going to the grandparents home, watching the aunts and mum make yummy treats in the kitchen, decorating the entire house with diyas and candles, stuffing ourselves silly with dry fruits and kaju katlis, and of course, catching up on all the family gossip. Then there is the traditional Diwali dinner, the menu for which has not changed ever – and I’m glad it hasn’t. Diwali is about traditions and no better tradition than food right?

But this year I was at the in-laws for Diwali. And as much as I enjoyed myself, and was surrounded by love, noise and candles, I couldn’t help getting wistful about what my parents and grandmother, and uncle, aunts and cousins must be up to, in another part of the country. And I missed the food. The Marwari in me woke up and started craving typical tastes and familiar flavours. So much so that I actually called dad and asked him what they were feasting on. Sigh.

I think it’s time to grow up and make some new traditions. Or at least acquire some new flavours and Diwali memories.

The Black Sheep

(Day 100 of 112)

Warning: Long Post

That’s me. Thank you very much. About an hour back, the uncle, aunt and grandmother would willingly have traded me for a more obedient, docile and annoyingly white sheep, whom they could have herded as they wanted. Unfortunately for them, they’re stuck with me – the kind who refuses to go where they want and insists on straying outside the boundaries.

So what I have I done that makes me black?

I asked…ask questions. Have been doing it since I was not more than 4 feet tall actually. But what else can I do huh? Nobody gives me satisfactory answers to my questions and I absolutely refuse to accept “don’t ask questions and do what we say” as suitable.

That my questions are most often to do with the ritualistic practices and blind acceptance of what the holy man says, is what troubles the family most. Even as a child I couldn’t do something unless I understood the logic and reason behind it. And so I questioned everything I was asked to do, right from the prayer (and if anybody understood the pandit mumbling away at full speed) to why I had to take the prasad in the right hand and even why, when someone passed away, did the women not go to the cremation grounds (this was generally met with a lot of shushes and frowns). And these are the milder questions I asked. I’m not even getting into the whole position of women in religion issue!

Today the blackness in me came to the surface because of the issue of death. Someone we know passed away (after a long illness and at least 80 years on the planet). Today was the 12^th day and the grandmother and aunt went to pay their respects etc. When they came back, they were carrying steel boxes (the kitchen-use kind) –one for each of them, and one for me (apparently getting married entitles me to all these kinds of things)! Additionally, I was also given an envelope with cash in it – in place of the usual saree that all the other women were given. Needless to say, I was thoroughly confused and more than a little embarrassed. I mean, someone had died. And there we were getting gifts and cash/sarees? Why? This was question one.

Next, the grown ups spent quite a bit of time (today and in the last week that I’ve been here) discussing how the deceased woman’s older son did not shave his hair off and how the younger one was doing it everyday, thus making it more of a fashion statement. I asked the question in my head (obviously) – What’s the big deal? Why the fuss about such a small thing? How does it matter? What’s the logic behind it anyway? The answers I got? (a) it’s what society expects (b) it’s been happening in our community forever (c) that’s what marwaris do (d) you talk too much (e) what’s the logic behind using a rolling pin to make rotis? (f) something about people not making fun of them by seeing a shorn head and knowing they are in mourning (this I refused outright because hair grows back and no one is as insensitive as to make fun as soon as someone dies).

Sigh. So yes. Dinner today was accompanied by a cynical and understandably bemused (and slightly frustrated) me. I mean, none of these people question what they do for even a moment. They just continue with what people have been doing for generations, irrespective of whether it makes sense in the 21^st century or not. All in the name of religion. From a doctrine and a philosophy, the religion is being turned into a ritualistic circus which no one understands. And worse, no one wants to understand. They just find it easier to follow the practices blindly without sparing a single thought to the why of it.

Anywhoo. I can go on and on about it, especially since I’ve just encountered several mumblings and grumblings from the grandmother about how studying psychology has ruined me, and how this was probably why girls weren’t educated too much.

I think my grandfather just had another heart attack in heaven.

PS: This rant seems appropriate for a momentous event like writing 100 posts in a row na?

So Much Food. So Much Noise

(Day 98 of 112)

All day today my ears have been assaulted with noise. And my stomach with food.

The aunts have been busy cooking all day today. So I woke up to the smell of frying potato and whatever anyone might thing, on an empty stomach early in the morning, it’s quite a difficult smell to handle. Then there was the fact that I was expected to taste and critique. Groan. In the afternoon the grandmother’s house was full of relatives who kept coming and going and of course, eating. And I would have been content watching them come and go, and of course, eat, except that I was the one who had to serve the food. Let’s just say that the path from the kitchen to the dining table is now marked with my sweat and deep grooves from the constant to and fro (and it has nothing to do with my weight so no smart ass comments PK). So what with tasting the food, serving the food and then eating it, I’m so saturated that I would be quite content existing on a liquid diet for the next couple of days.

And then there was the noise. Never have I heard so many people talk at such high decibel levels and at the same time and obviously not on the same topic. So there was the random uncle prosing on and on about the melanin on his face and how he would have to start using creams at his advanced age, an aunt who was hell bent on discussing her aching knees and rapid hair fall, a bratty kid who thought it would help his digestion if he banged the spoon and yelled no no no no before and after every bite, aunts who wanted to share notes across the house about how they made XYZ dish, mobile phones ringing on top volumes with truly terrible ring tones, taxis honking outside, wandering sadhus yelling in the doorway for alms (cash only, no food) and the grandmother yelling back, etc.

Add to this circus the aforementioned grandmother’s determination to get her daily dose of television drama, and the noise levels were such that even the squirrels in the garden scampered away with fright.

Of Soul Mates

(Day 70 of 112)

I think the mother-in-law is a soul-mate. If I was to be all filmy and dramatic I would say I love her because she is the reason the Fellow is here blah blah blah. But I’m not the drama queen kind (most of the times at least). What I am is practical and the reasons I think Ma is a kindred spirit (ala Anne of Green Gables) are just that.

To begin with, like me, she doesn’t have the concept of a power nap. Both of us agree that the best way of taking a nap is for a couple of hours (at least). Secondly given a choice she would also sleep in till late morning and doesn’t expect me to go all Indian bahu on her and get up at the crack of dawn. Yay for her. And me.

Next is the fact that the both of us talk. A lot. When we’re together we’re never out of topics to discuss. This suits her and me very well since the Fellow and the FIL are more the quiet type (and no, it was since before they got married so it’s nothing to do with us).

Also since both of us are in the field of education, we have a common enemy in ignoramuses and morons who are ruining learning for children. And believe me, there are quite a few of them out there. So this shared passion we have keeps us going for quite some time (much to the amusement and relief of the FIL who doesn’t have to listen to Ma’s school stories anymore).

Finally, and this probably is the most important reason why my soul recognised a mate, is that Ma, bless her, has a bedside drawer full of chocolate and candy. This hidden stash is for those times when you absolutely have to have something sweet. And since these times occur with alarming frequency (for both her and me), the knowledge that the drawer exists is a relief and an indisputable pleasure.

So there you have it – 4 reasons why the MIL and I always have a blast. After all how often do you find someone who appreciates the value of sleep, talk, education and chocolates as much as you do?

Of Family Dinners and Trauma

(Day 52 of 112)

Annoying brats, an annoyed and fed-up pre-teen, unconcerned mothers, whispered gossip about family members, lots of food, the TV showing ‘Rakhi Ka Swayamvar’ (at full volume), one uncle permanently on the phone, teenage boys forced to be there, a grand-uncle lounging on the sofa making noises at the toddler, yet another grand-uncle being his usual know-it-all stupid self, and me, trying not to burst into tears out of sheer and ultimate boredom.

I don’t know how I get dragged into situations like these. And I promise myself every time, never again. Even the food wasn’t good enough to overwrite all the above. I didn’t even have my sister to make eye contact with and exchange frustrated and sometimes (very rarely) amused glances.

What makes it worse is that yesterday night too there was dinner at my aunt’s house (where I happen to be staying for a few days). The guest list was the same and by the time dinner was served, I had a splitting headache due to the sheer noise level. I don’t understand what it is with women getting together and then yelling and laughing (cackling more like) at the top of their already loud voices. And then the children want to compete with them and cry at their loudest. Then there is always that one smart alec who decides to watch TV and then turns the volume up to full. And I’m not even going to start on people talking across rooms/floors.

So right now I don’t know what’s worse – the fact that I had to suffer through two dinners with the same (and some very annoying) people and more or less same noise/stupidity levels, or the fact that the food was terrible.

The trauma never ends I tell you.

Every Year

(Day 17/18 of 112)

It’s my dad’s birthday today. And like every year, this year too we wondered what to get him. He isn’t the partying kind or we would have thrown him a huge surprise party. Nor is he the accessories type of person for whom you can pick up some trinket. Dad is also not part of that category of men who periodically change their wallets, and so he’s happiest with his 8 yr old wallet falling apart at the seams. A tie maybe? Nah. He already has more than he cares to own (or wear). A genuine leather briefcase? My dad prefers carrying his papers in his hand/plastic bag (much to the frustration of all us) because he doesn’t want to ruin all the leather bags he owns (its raining beta, the leather will spoil). A watch? He doesn’t wear one. An expensive, limited edition pen? Considering how careless he is with his pens, he seems fit for those 10 rupee ball points. A new phone? He just bought one. A laptop? There are already 3 at home (not counting the desktop).

So you can imagine how nuts we went trying to figure out something as simple (or complicated) as a birthday present. Finally after going through the above process of elimination, we reached a conclusion – it was either a large bowl full of papaya (something he can live on and eat every single day- and does) or it was birthday safety net we used every single year when we ran out of ideas.

Needless to say we decided on the safety net – Shirts. A white formal shirt and an office shirt. Maybe a party shirt, which for dad would be the white shirt in another colour. No confusion here. We knew the size, we knew the brand.

And like always, this year too when we gave dad his gift, he broke out into a delighted smile. A smile of pure pleasure and happiness. A smile that told us that this was the present he wanted.

These are what family traditions are made of. These things you do every year.