We have gotten away with it till now...

Recently an Indian worker was accidentally hit and killed by bus. Almost instantly a riot broke out with nearly 400 strong mob, smashing and torching police vans, ambulances and cars. It took quite a while for the police force to quell the mob and make some arrests. Now on first glance it would have seem like a daily occurrence here in the country - after all these kinds of flash mobs indulging in violence at the drop of a hat are common. The only difference was that this incident happened in Singapore and was reported as one of the largest riots in 40 years. It took place in the Little India part of the city.

It got me thinking - I have been to the Little India part of Singapore just once and truly the place does transport you back to India. The pristine clean roads of Singapore do seem to look a tad bit shabby here. There are street hawkers, Indian restaurants and the of course the massive Mustafa Mall. Do you think perhaps the mob forgot for an instance that they were not in their own country where such forms of senseless violent protest carry strict punishment?

In India, its pretty common to see an entire horde of auto rickshaw drivers descend on a hapless chap who may have nicked the vehicle by mistake. Or for a BMTC bus driver to be pounded silly for applying the brakes a little too early and causing an accident. Almost always in the case of an accident where there is a grievous injury caused by an accident, the driver flees the spot for fear of being thrashed by the mob. I have never understood the sense in that. How does thrashing the driver, whether he is at fault or not going to help the situation? Isn't this just a form of mob justice?

Or perhaps it is considered justified in our country where the legal system takes its own sweet time to do its job, that we take to meting out justice ourselves. Or do we think just because our justice system is laid-back so too the rest of the world when it comes to situations like this?

Despite the damage caused, Singaporeans have come forward with financial support for the Indian worker whose death triggered the incident. There is no denying that Indian workers may not be very well off in the region, but surely that is not a frustration that is to be taken out in this manner?

I just wonder... why do we think we can get away with it anywhere in the world, is it because we have gotten away with it most of the times till now?

They say laughter is the best medicine

... and I would not argue with them. More than all the comedy we see on TV and other entertainment forms, I enjoy laughing out loud at some situations we just happen to find ourselves in. Sample some that have happened to us recently.

We were in the middle of horrendous traffic in Koramangala with the radio playing the song "Sex Bomb". Now Anoushka who was quietly sitting at the back, suddenly pops her little head between the two seats and says, "Oh, I knoooooww now - the name of this song is "Six Bum"!!!

This one time we were driving down to my hometown Mangalore. Husband decided to try a new route to Tumkur Road, which is our primary exit out of the city onto NH 47. He is generally pretty good with directions and so we drove on. But after a while we realized that we didn't seem to be getting anywhere. Finally after circling an area a few times, we stopped to ask for directions. Two very helpful old men told us to go forward 100 mts and at the signal turn left. We could actually see the signal from where were were stopped then considering we had touched the same point 3 times already... as we went forward, a massive tree gave way to one of those direction boards above the signal screamed at us "Tumkur Road"... all we had needed to do was move forward 100 mts forward. Now this was funny the first time... but when it happened on a different route again, it was downright hilarious.

I am not really one for status messages on FB, but the other day, I shared one because I thought everyone I know could use a good laugh - I walked into the bathroom with my recipe book with the intention of baking a cake and realized that I was in the wrong place. Meanwhile husband bangs angrily on his keyboard because it was not working, only to realize he has the desktop's keyboard on his lap when he actually needed the typing done on the laptop which he was staring at!!! Holidays can't come by soon enough.

My husband will kill me if he reads this - there was this one time, long before Anoushka was born and Sundays were meant to just sleep in. We were both cuddled up, with me blissfully dreaming of all things nice when this God awful smell woke me up. I was so groggy and everything seemed so dark for a few seconds, that I panicked. I then realized I had slipped under the blanket. I came up literally choking and kicked husband awake to ask him if some pipe broke somewhere. And he replied, "Oops, I was hoping you weren't under there. I just let off a ripper."!!!!!

A long time ago, when I was still living with my parents, we had a male relative who would come over on occasion, drink a little more than he could handle and then head off to sleep. Unfortunately, his sleeping was never the silent one. He would moan loudly and flail his hands and legs in his sleep. We had two dogs back then - a daschund and a Alsatian-country mix. One night, both doggies were asleep at my feet and uncle was at his moaning best - there was one particular long drawn out moan, and as if one cue both doggies lifted their sleepy heads, howled in response and promptly went back to sleep. I can still think of the look of shock on all our faces and laugh. 

And this last one - I was in full throes of labor - as abusive as it can get, when the nurses came into check me for the umpteenth time. I refused to part my legs and told them to go to hell. They turned to husband who was with me most of the time and told him to help. He lovingly bends down, tells me to listen to the nurses for the sake of the baby whose heartbeat we could hear on the monitor. I believe I pulled him down by the collar and told him to shut up. And my husband tells me that he had a flashback to the Exorcist movie at that point. Labor done, baby out, everyone happy - the matron who was in the labor room tells him to get tea and come - so he was like tea? for Ruth? shouldn't she have juice or something. And she goes - "Oh, the tea is for us, Ruth can't have anything for a while!!!!"

So laughter is the best medicine... and when they are from incidents in your life, you will always have a tendency to think back on them and laugh some more.

He grit his teeth and bore the pain…

"... just a few more steps and he would be home and then it would be over." Its amazing how when you are in pain, referring to yourself in third person seems to somehow separate you from all the suffering.

There was not a single soul out there who could see the agony I was going through. I knew she wouldn't see or feel my pain at all. She had her music plugged in and was happily trudging along, oblivious to my mute suffering. I had been pierced right through, and the pain was excruciating and yet I was being walked home, one step at a time... with not a care in the world.

Relief was at last in sight... I could see the front door, but wait... why were we stopping. Oh darn, her phone had to ring yet again. "Yes, Yes, uh huh, Yeah, WHAAT! How dare he! I could wring his neck....".... she screamed into the phone. This just meant that the boyfriend messed up again. That spelled doom for me... she stamped up to the front door, kicked it in hard and flung me across the foyer. I bounced off the wall and fell flat. While I lay there groaning in shock, I realized something. The nail that had pierced through me when we were out seemed to have fallen off when I was flung... what a relief. Now if only my aching sides would quit creaking.

Oh goodness no! The family dog is eyeballing me again. How many more times do we have to go through this and how many more times will my screams for help be ignored. He pounced on me, dragged me through the hall kicking and screaming and headed straight for the garden, where he tried to bury me for the umpteenth time. Thankfully, she came to my rescue and yanked me free, but not before I got thoroughly scratched on my side.

I just couldn't catch a break today... off she took me again and this time we were running so fast she didn't pause for a second when I went face first into a pile of dung. No sir, we were to carry on like nothing happened at all. Of course, we were meeting the boyfriend. Screams, yells and several a placation later, all seemed to be good in puppy love land.

We finally got home. No running this time, a simple slow walk in the evening breeze... how nice it felt to slow down. We got home and I was placed in my designated place - Mom didn't like it if she saw me anywhere else. And just when I thought I was done for the day... Mom trooped in, saw the mess I was, picked me up and tossed me into the bin saying, "I need to buy her a new pair of sports shoes tomorrow. These are an absolute mess."

Its a tough life being a pair of shoes on a teenager's legs.  

Sensible Censoring?

I love my serials - not the Saas-Bahu ones... well the ones I watch in English are the westernized Saas Bahu versions... so there you have it. Its the same sob stories except the pace is incredibly fast and they are much more entertaining. All in my opinion. While it did not occur to me much earlier, ever since sub-titles have started for serials on most English entertainment channels, I have two major grouses -

If you must sub-title something, at least find folk who understand the American or any other accent and get it right. I really can't remember some of the stuff that they have got wrong since I am typing this at 10:30 PM with one eye already asleep. But its ridiculous.

Another horrendous thing about sub-titling is the replacement of words. How in the world is "I want to have "gender" with her any sort of replacement for the word sex. What exactly are we so afraid of? That the minute someone hears the word sex, their pants are going to drop? With the number of rape cases happening, the phenomena is already present. Plus we have chowmein, mobile phones, mannequins, short skirts, and being female to blame for all that. Who has time to catch up on serials and be influenced?

Coming back from the rant -
Breast is chest - which means you are chestfeeding your child - a hilarious thing to read in subtitles. Even in medical serials where the context is breast cancer, the word is deleted.
Ass is buttocks - "You are such a buttocks"
Fuck is stupid fellow/dumb/idiotic - You are such an idiotic (to some extent makes sense)
Bitch is stupid/silly/and even lady at times - so instead of "you are a bitch", you end up saying "you are a lady" - I don't know whether to be offended or whether to worry about my sides splitting in laughter.

And then you have the most ridiculous editing sense

How many times have you seen the sub-titles carry a so called offensive word in asterisks, only to have the audio track running perfectly. And I really wonder at the perverted minds of the people sub-titling and editing. Sample this

1. A Brit serial had a dialogue which had the phrase "willy-nilly" in it - willy was put in asterix
2. Another serial I watched had the phrase "Every Tom, Dick and Harry" - with Dick edited out
3. Yet another had the sentence "I was left out there sucking on a candy" - and sucking was cut out
4. And I am fed of the number of times I have seen the word gay bleeped out even when it is a reference to being "bright and happy"
5. "Oh its just a tiny prick" - in reference to an injection with prick edited out

I mean COME ON!!! You need to be special kind of perverted to find meaning where there isn't any. So while you can air a serial like Dexter on graphic serial killing and Hannibal on cannibalism with no qualms as such, you don't like to say sex, breast and gay, even if the context requires it? How many levels of stupid is that?

What really really really got to me was in the serial - Homeland which ran its first 2 (I think) seasons on Star World. Every time the words - Muslim, Namaz (including a scene of a man praying), Jihad or anything related to the religion was brought up it was censored. Now I am a Catholic married to a Hindu Brahmin and that still got to me. On the one hand you are trying to uphold "morality" with your senseless censoring and on the other you are fostering religious bias?

There is no real point in debating what is wrong with words related to sexuality, religion, or even those with double meaning. Its not the words, its a bunch of people who believe its their duty to protect the masses. I get being cautious especially on family programming, but there is something called being realistic. I really would like to know what is being achieved by such policing - all I can see is suppression of something perfectly natural. Whether I see it or not on television, I do talk about sex, I have referred to a penis as a dick (many people too), I have gay friends - but what I am is careful - I would never abuse in front of my child. And if I am asked an awkward question related to any word, I will try my best to explain it. But walking around with a "holier than thou" attitude is simply beyond my understanding.

I will never let go....

This was my attempt at story writing for the annual Deccan Herald short story competition. It didn't get anywhere but am glad I made an attempt. Sharing the story here.

“You have to let go, you can’t hold on to me forever, you just have to let go.”

I was dangling from a precipice staring down only into an abyss of darkness. Yet he held on tight, his eyes steely with the resolve that he wouldn’t let go. But there was no other way. “Please, let go, its better this way,” I pleaded, trying to slip away, while fighting with all that was emotionally churning within me. In those moments when I was hanging precariously, willing for the decision to be made, flashes of the last five years swept past me.

… I still remember what it was like to feel the first flushes of puppy love. It was all so strange to me – here I was still in school, in my plaits and uniform. And there he was – a slim, dusky, brooding fellow – always around when I got in and out of school, always there when I walked to my 6AM tuition, always there when I played catch in my lane. Watching… never really saying anything… always watching.

And then one morning at school, someone whispered, “Look your name is all over the school wall” – I looked around to see that every pillar on the school had my name carved on it with an I Love You. I was bowled over. The scandal it caused in the convent school, the courage it must have taken to do such a thing at night, the whole thrill to it had me mesmerized.

One day soon after, a message came through a common friend – a little note that proposed a life time together. If such was the romance, then I was all for it. A shy, but firm yes it was from me. When we first met the next day on the way to my tuition class, there were no words said initially – a simple holding of hands. “I will never let go of your hand,” he said, and I smiled.

… The first year was idyllic – cards, flowers, hurried phone calls, all this at a time when mobiles and the internet were not around. Being caught by my parents a few times brought the rebellious teen out in me and I continued with the relationship, sure that love would prevail all. And it did… for a very long time. I made the transition to college, a co-ed one at that and that’s when the first few cracks began to weave its way in.

“Why were you standing with that guy?”, “Why do you want to participate in that dance show”, “Why are you going out for lunch with the gang”, “Why are you lifting your head when you walk around the campus, decent girls watch their toes when they walk around”

To my mind, one brought up in a liberal background, these were passed off as questions from a jealous boyfriend. After all, I was in a co-ed college and so I patiently answered each one of them to allay fears of anything coming between us. To my mind, this was just a test of our love and after one particularly heated argument, I grabbed his hands, held on to them tightly and said, “I will never let you go, can’t you see that, I can never imagine being without you, I will never ever let go.”

… but there I was on that precipice, all these years later, that abyss unknown calling out to me. Telling me that it would be alright to envelope myself in darkness and despair. The weariness of holding on for so long was getting to me, my hands were growing tired, my mind numb with weakness, I felt I was no longer physically or mentally capable of holding on. Yet, when I looked up into his eyes, the steely look of resolve seemed to replace itself with a crazed one, one that seemed to say, if you let go, I will follow you to the ends of the world… I will not let you go….

… The fights were interminable; the questions more obsessive, the arguments endless… a repetitive cycle that permeated every aspect of our relationship. The romance seem to have died ages ago and in its place was a maniacal human being, who claimed that it was love that drove him into such rages. For me, life seemed to pass me by… friends that came and went; loving relationships that blossomed among others, at a much more sensible age, parents' words that now made sense. But here I was caught in a warp – the fear of letting go of the one person I offered my life to, just did not make sense to me. A few feeble attempts at breaking it off ended up in short spells of reprieve; times when those distance memories of carefree romance would come alive. And then, just as in a flash, it would all go back to the way it was.

…Things took a step for the worse, something I did not think possible, when the fights got physical. Through that too, the child-like desire to hold onto the remnants of that first love stood strong. One day, broken and shattered, I stood at the precipice, looking down into the abyss. All that seemed to welcome me was darkness… an emotional black-hole that seemed to have nothing for me but emptiness. But it seemed to beckon. Anything to get me away from the wretchedness that was now my life.

… I took that step of the precipice… I decided to let go of his hand… something I promised myself never to do. But there we were, me dangling from the cliff, willing for the emptiness to envelope me, while he held on with a determination that seemed unreal. He brought all he could to hold me on… the emotional blackmail, the guilt trip, the rage, the threats of maligning my name. But I was already dead on the inside, there was nothing that he could say that would bring me back. As we continued to fight on that precipice, his grip on me began to wane, he was losing me and he knew it… more importantly I knew it and then it happened… he let go of my hand…

… As I fell hurtling towards the abyss, there was no sign of hope. Yes, the blackness took hold of me in its tight grip. But suddenly I saw streaks of hope - at every step on the way down, friends, family and all that I held dear seemed to buoy me up. The darkness began to turn into light. The way down was a long way, and when I hit rock bottom, all I could do was assume a fetal position and wait for the earth to swallow me whole. It did not do that but instead, willed me to look up…  I looked up to see a bright blue sky, beckoning me to come touch it. I stretched out my hand and felt at its tips all that life was now willing to share with me and I decided to grab hold of its hand and never let go… 

Every Time I get Angry...

I had to pause and think for this one...

Every time I get angry... even today, after a good 35 years of living and getting angry... I have this long moment of irrationality... where I literally can see sounds and hear colors. Where I want to rip the person in front of me in half, just like I would with a piece of paper before throwing it away... Where I want to run a knife down the length of a helpless situation I am in and hope it gives way to something prettier... all of this for a fleeting moment though.

Over the years anger has taken on so many hues for me. As a teenager, I was angry at the world in general - and would scream, shout, rave and rant, only to calm down half a day later and realize how trivial the whole situation was...

As a young woman, whose first job was in the very very male dominated world of Kannada TV, I found new reasons to be angry, but never really an outlet as that would have jeopardized my job. But I found a way to get around it and perhaps that was my first lesson in manipulation in social dynamics. I did a pretty good job of it and at the end of the first year with all the men, I was one of the boys!

Through it all, my boyfriend and now husband turned out to be the balancing factor. He stood fast despite the very short fuse that I worked on. He seemed to understand and always took my irrational bursts of anger in his stride. Life taught me gradually that getting angry was normal, healthy even, but staying angry was by choice.

So even today, every time I get angry, I allow myself to be angry, for a while but I pull myself out of the situation. I give myself a time out if you please, and try to calm down and think rationally because, I have found, there is always a solution or a way out. I have done many a thing in a fit of anger and have regrets. Whether it is as a parent, a wife, a working woman, a daughter or a friend... getting angry helps, screaming out loud into a pillow helps, cleaning cobwebs helps, bashing the daylights out of chapati dough helps. It all helps channel the anger till you are ready to think... and the minute you see a way out, you will find the anger dissipating...

She had always wanted a daughter...

I am reviving this blog thanks to Marathon Bloggers. Its the oldest of the three I have and I began this in 2009. Time and responsibilities saw it fade away into cyber oblivion. I am so glad that it is seeing the light of day again. So beginning with the theme for this Tuesday.

She had always wanted a daughter but now... wonders where the past 7 years have gone by...Of course I am talking about me here. I had Anoushka after 3 years of marriage. I was working a full time job with a newspaper as a Senior reporter/sub-editor and to me, even today, those hectic hours seem just like yesterday. When I was expecting, I was the Queen Bee at office... everyone was at my beck and call, everyone wanted to make me comfortable... Everyone suffered through Nandhini meals for lunch everyday simply because nothing else could fill me up - I would eat my share and then theirs. My poor husband would be rudely kicked out of bed at 3 in the morning, because that's when little one would be playing her solo football match in my tummy and be asked to make toast and jam... that was my weird craving.

I went home in my 8th month. How I grumbled about not being able to work till the 9th, but then my doctor here refused to give me a clearance to fly certificate if I didn't leave by the 8th. And so I got home and then the speculation began... "its a boy, see how big her tummy is", "its a girl, you can't make out she is expecting when you look at her from behind", "its a boy, the tummy is already low down", "its a girl, her face is glowing"... goodness gracious, the "aunties and grannies" of the world are seriously starved for entertainment.

And then there was my darling husband... we both wanted a girl - me more so because I wanted to dress her up in all things pretty... and he... well... he just wanted it to be a girl. And when we went for my final scan, he came out happy, little short of twiddling that non-existent handlebar moustache and announced that it was a girl.... what convinced him? Apparently in the course of the scan, he saw little one's legs move apart and there were no tell-tale signs of a boy.

Cut to the delivery room... what a soap opera that was... I delivered the normal way and the words of a friend still ring through my ears - childbirth is the most humiliating thing you will go through... yes the joy is there, if you can get through the grogginess and the pain and the stitches... mum came in for moral support and promptly fainted... husband took her place and was my pillar. And finally the baby came... and what did I do? I promptly lost consciousness... this was after all 17 hours of labor later.

When I came to, everyone was in a tizzy and running all over the place. I kept asking about the baby, till my doc peeped up from between my legs and said... it was a girl!!!

Now that I have had a girl for 7 years, I have long since given up the hope of dressing her in all things nice. She is a fashionista in her own right. I now know she holds the new title for nonstop talking, one which I proudly held all these years. Despite all the paranoia I have about her safety, I still know she will hold her own when faced with adversity. She is a beautiful dancer, a horrendous eater, a thoughtful child and a cranky tyrant on rare occasion. But now that I have a daughter, I can never think of life any other way.