Those days & Ina Mina Dika Times…

Some people have a way of influencing or even inspiring your life, decisions and all those crap in a totally unexpected & weird way…
Last weekend I was at Pecos with friends, Eric Clapton’s Layla playing in the background. Quite a huge relief that it wasn’t Akon or Justin Bieber! Not that I hate Bieber with a passion like some of my friends, but c’mon they play it everywhere…

Layla is close to my heart for 2 reasons. One its my Mumm’s name and two its IG and my song. For all those mad times we had in my & later her hostel room, Layla was a constant thingy. Burnt bed sheet, night time chicken cooking, ‘accidental’ smoke holes on my curtain, combine studies, assignments, Dariya Ganj n Pahar Ganj, our shifting n reshiftings, discussions on anythin & everythin under the sun, and OF COURSE lotsa bitching & cribbing…

And oh, even in Bangalore times (Nandi Hills trek & Koshy’s chit chats), I could feel the presence of Layla.

IG and my friendship was far from perfect. I used to easily misunderstand her, plagued by what they call the ‘small town’ complex and reinforced by my other friends.

One of my biggest flaws is that I find it difficult to trust. Instead I’d entertained thoughts like ‘why would someone as intelligent, pretty & popular (universally loved) chum up with me’. May be I resented the tag of ‘IG’s friend’? I don’t know… This in spite of her being there for me whenever I needed her and when not needed too. Ghoshhh… Immature college years, I tell you!

I never realized how much she has influenced me then… She has taught me to see good in everyone, every bad situation, just everything man…
I never realized this until one of my Kerala friends told me, ‘For God’s sake N, Have you joined sainthood or something?’ This was when she was random bitching about someone and IG’s words sprang out of my mouth… ‘You can’t judge like that… Look at it from her perspective…’ something like that.

I learned to let go of things from her, to forgive and move on…
‘Hate is a big word, N. And don’t you forget that…’

My uninhibited approach in relationships & people came from her.
She always used to say, ‘N, will this matter to you this much, sayyy next week?’

My life in metros opened my eyes to countless grey shades of life. But now I come to think of it, most of ‘em came from IG…

Cribs to God...

When it happened again, I just wanted to die, wanted to end it. I mean, I am sick of myself. This is the second time I am losing my purse in Blore. Someone found it, called me and returned it.
Though I had to travel to the other end of the city, search and find this person, which meant being late to work... So much of effort, money, time! And killer heat on top of that. I hate my life. No, I don't mean that.

Well, who says big cities are nests of rogues & opportunists? Blore has some honest people and I have met 2 of them...

I have a feeling that I am not going to be a...

... 'so-great' mom

I have always craved for a child, a girl child to be precise. My friends seemed surprised. For them I will always be the immature bacchi who will either change the channel or turn away even at the sight of a lip lock scene on the telly.

Its not that I am a great kids person. I am not. I don't fawn over 3-9 months olds or pull their cheeks and exclaim 'how chweet'. I don't even hold them and have ended up offending quite a few new moms. You know how they are. Well, I do have a special gift with annoying kids. Like if the kid is 3 year old then I'd be the 2 year old one.

Yet I want a child. I want to adopt one. No, I have no intention to be the next Sush (I mean, who can). I do visit orphanages in my free time. Others call this social service. Its not. I am doing myself a favour by filling my lazy afternoons like this. Orphanages are no discotheques but just as fun. Actually more so.

Now its not as if you adopt one just like that. In India, the legal peaks of adoption have no end to them. But forget the legalities of it, there are other pressing matters. You need to feel some connection. And I have felt it with her. Her name is Ziha. I named her.

I found her near the Blore railway station. I used to work for the B-organization for child welfare during weekends. They have 4 orphanages in Blore, though badly funded. I am not sure, but I think she was 8 or 9 months old. Her face was grubby, she stank, she was bawling; but it was love at first sight.

I couldn't take my eyes off her bluish grey eyes. When cleaned up, fed and put to sleep, I thought she looked like an angel. I became a frequent visitor at the orphanage. Before, I used to go to have fun with the kids there. After Ziha happened I had eyes only for her. She had me completely wrapped around her finger.

I wanted her. I wanted to adopt. But adoption procedures that too for an unmarried Muslim girl like me- do I need to say more? I remember telling Sister, "Juz give her to me. Who is going to know? I found her after all."

Constant nagging and pressure to stop seeing Ziha from my friends (social work trainees) who knew about this didn't help the matters. They kept attacking me with questions like- Even if you manage to adopt how are you going to manage? You don't earn enough to support her. What about when you go off to work. Kids need constant attention. What about your parents? What will happen when you marry? Oh my God! I wished to goodness that they were working somewhere else.

But it really stung when they said it was not love but an unhealthy obsession. I lost it.

Childless parents visit orphanages frequently. Every time when I hear about someone coming to visit from Sister, my heart’d beat wildly. I couldn’t help hoping that Ziha would go unnoticed from evil eyes. Shes mine. I despised myself for this. It wasn’t fair. She can’t wait in the orphanage till I make up my mind, till I tell my mummy and papa… And there was a huge chance that my request for adoption would be denied…

But again Ziha is a beautiful child and the youngest there. Of course she’d be taken. Sister convinced me for that. She doesn’t live at the orphanage now. I don’t know where she is now. I can find out if I want to. But I won’t. Its nearly one year since all these…

I have discovered an important thing about myself. I am not capable of true love. If I had truly loved her, I’d have fought tooth and nail for her. I wouldn’t have let her go. I wouldn’t have let myself be convinced by Sister that shes better off with ‘a mother and a father’. I would have told my parents the truth and done what I should have, no matter what. But I have let her go.

It was and is still like looking into a mirror that shows you your ugly dark side. Isn't it amazing, the length we go to convince ourselves (and of course others) that we are good people? Yet we forget that there is no escape from the evil in our heart, selfishness that bounds tight & cowardice that rule our hearts. Its easy not to fight, and its easier to give up half way... Why 'easy' always win over 'right? Of course we are experts at making excuses that insult conscience. And we let ourselves be convinced and then move on with a heavy heart.

I won’t say I love you Ziha. I have no right to. I hope, if there is a next time I will do what I want and what is right.

Its just a condom silly

Reading IHM’s blog about a lady’s flustering experience of buying a condom took me back to our fresher’s party at the main hall of Delhi School of Social Work.

Except for the precious one or two hardly anyone cried at seniors’ interrogation aka ragging at anytime. I mean, they were quite nice to me. But still I was feeling a tad nervous, least because I was a thousand miles from home. ‘C’mon now, you are not a 10 year old off to boarding school for the first time. You are an MA student.’ This thought didn’t help much.

Professors made speeches. Seniors danced, sang. We interacted and received gifts, nothing much. Then we reached the killer game. Seniors divided us into groups of 5 and gave 2-3 condoms to each group. I somehow stopped a horrified EWW escape me. Believe it or not, that was the first time I saw one. With shaking fingers I took it and dropped it immediately. We were supposed to think of OTHER creative ways to utilize a condom and present it to the audience. HOW?

Condom is kind of hard to touch, but light too. I tried to find out the stretching point to tear it. Wasn’t possible. Okay, now what? My mind was numbly blank or blankly numb. SB tugged the condom impatiently out of my hands. ‘Oh C’mon, Nidaa.. Don’t play with it as if you are seeing a condom for the first time’. She meant it a joke. I laughed, making her believe it so, all the while my heart was beating painfully.

She started handling it skillfully and came up with the idea. Lovers from different ships can use this to float messages to one another. We made a kind of play, something to do with a pirate and her mistress, separated and lonely in different ships. Another team blew it up real long, that it was almost my height, drew eyes nose and tongue and did something. After our presentation, I started to feel a bit dizzy. I sat down quickly. ‘What happened suddenly? You are shivering. Oh my God, you have fever. But you were alright 2 minutes ago…’ I knew SB was concerned, but I wished she’d shut up. My head was spinning.

Then just as suddenly I was OK. I can safely blame it on my first experience of touching a condom. 

Shamefully, I confessed to SB and IG that Im hopelessly inexperienced and don’t know anything. Heck, my main in high school was computer science and not biology. They laghed and were like its just a condom silly…

One of my seniors came to me as I was sitting far from everyone. When he asked what happened I felt a bit awkward.Then I burst out, ‘why why dya have to embarrass us like this, RJ Bhayya.. you guys are always thinking of ways to torment us girls…’ I was rambling. 

He wasn’t angry. He patted my shoulder and said as social workers we have to face lots. Like going to sex workers community and advocate use of condoms, like giving HIV workshops to truck drivers and suchlike.

‘If you yourself are scared of holding a condom, how are you going to help people and empower them?’ This game is to help you in the long run.

And it did.

I smiled at him and looked at my classmates. They were playing with condom balloons, throwing and catching. I got up.

‘Nidaa..’

‘Yes, Bhai?’

‘Its just a condom silly…

I laughed and joined my classmates in their foolery. At the time I couldn't help feeling that innocence is stupendously overrated.  

Months later, when at a workshop, a NACO representative was demonstrating how to use a condom. When he said you shouldn't put it on like socks, I was the one who laughed the loudest.

Okay Universe, I said I have had enough excitement for say, a month or so, after that mugging incident. And its NOT one month yet. I mean, c'mon give me a break! Or is it too much to ask you? Why don't you give virtual heart attacks to some others for a change?

Its like this... My phone fell down from the third floor window as I was guppa-fying with my friends. Down down down and it crashed just near where my friend parked her 'knight'. Numbly, I registered Rachel and Pallavi race down. But someone else reached there first. He picked up all the bits and pieces and deposited them in Rachel's hands as she came down. 

Then just as I was about to hyperventilate, she came running upstairs saying, "your phone is awesome. its still intact. Nidaa.. Nidaa.. See? Your phone is intact. You know what, I'm gifting this to my bro"!!

Take that all of you who have said/thought my phone as 'Blackberry Ape'. Its KARBONN K46! Get it?

Something always stops you somehow…

…from forgiving snitches.

Sometimes when I relive rare and typical moments of school memory lanes, it often ends up bittersweet. Today I got an FB friend request from an old forgotten classmate. I hated her. Not only was a goody-two shoes teacher’s pet, one day she shouted out in class that I’d forgotten my notebook and was actually writing notes in rough note book, causing me to be beaten on my knuckles with a wooden ruler. I remember ambushing her to a bathroom, delivering a punch on the nose and running off, scared stiff. For some reason and to my great relief, she never complained. But we remained enemies throughout school. 

Trust me, the beatings/canings were really not that big a deal. I used to get them on a daily basis from both school and ‘madrasa’ (Islamic studies class). Often these beatings were, thanks to darling snitches that seemed to be buzzing around everywhere. 

Every day I used to make an oath – Today there won’t be any trouble with teachers or students. But it always happened. Either there would be punishments for speaking Malayalam or forgotten homework or tiffs with classmates or something else.

I think my sense of independence and eccentric love for freedom were literally molded by these snitches only. Because my bitterness and anger with the situation predictably led me to have thoughts like, ‘why do teachers listen to what kids say in matters like these', 'why can't people mind their own ass for a change' etc. 

I remember in my class 8, a girl was caught n a date by teachers. Her best friend snitched probably thinking she was doing a great social service. The drama followed was horrendous. More rules in an already too-strict convent school, parents meetings, endless discussions, tears… In short, the girl’s reputation was ruined. Everybody shunned her. Treated her like a criminal. Yea, like nobody remotely even heard of the concept of dating! She shifted to another school.

Kids can be pretty cruel. I agree with whoever said this. 

Then a reversal of roles happened. I became a teacher’s pet. 3 teachers, in fact. One was the most formidable, another was the coolest and the third was an ice cold exterior with a golden heart if you dig deeper. Of course being noticed for something other than trouble was quite nice for a change. That was when I finally accepted that teachers too are human. I got my chance to snitch as I had teachers practically hanging on my words. But it somehow wouldn’t come. Even about my enemies. That was one of the proudest moments. YES, I was loyal to my classmates even though I'm not friends with half of them. 

After 10^th I was glad to go to a new school, where rules were relaxed. But there was no escaping from snitches of course. Someone reported me climbing over the wall behind canteen and bunking school on a regular basis. TROUBLE. And I still don’t know who was as jobless as that. But after that snitches never directly affected me. Though I hardly know most of my classmates even now, I was vaguely aware that tattlers were causing many dramas in people’s lives. Teachers actually appointed spies to find out the petty things going on in class, usually dating and such. And if enough proof was collected, parents were summoned. YEA… this happened. 

I myself was a witness to my class teacher publicly humiliating a parent because his daughter was seeing someone. I mean, what were we supposed to do? Ignore the guys' charm and pretend to be asexual? Sorry, I don't think that girls are made like that. Then WHAT exactly? I'm still clueless.

One thing, college was a completely snitch-free zone. May be because teachers care two hoots about the supposed dating or bunking or boozing. May be because students have each others’ back whether they like each other or not. May be everybody had a life. May be ‘they’ finally accepted that we are adults (though I somehow doubt it). 

Now in work life, snitching is not that uncommon, though people do it stealthily and subtly. Yet we all deal with it admirably, being calm, composed and smiley. Well, we are professionals after all.

A blasting weekend can lead to lazy thoughts

It was bad enough 2 years ago. Everywhere I go aunties and grannies (neighbours/relatives) pestering me/my mother about my marriage. First they were like she must be having a boyfriend, might be waiting for him to get settled in a job. Later some of them started expressing concerns that I might be homosexual. But pesterings to be continued! 

Currently my friends are trying to push me into marriage because I am ‘getting old’. Can you believe that? Is my mother bribing them? Hmm…

Now I have been in a few relationships and all; they were quite nice guys too, yet the rel were short-lived. I did blame myself because I ended up hurting people. I want to let out a secret here. I always pretended to be hurt because I was scared that my friends would think me an insensitive slut. I am insensitive, but I’m no slut (though I don’t think there’s anything wrong with sluts). So I used to mope for a while and then its back to life. But the truth is that I was absolutely unfazed by my break-ups. 

After pondering for a while on a useless afternoon I came to this conclusion that it all comes to gender disparity.
We are 3 girls. But I've always had a shrewd suspicion that if one of us was a boy, he would have gotten special treatment from my parents. This hit me particularly hard when my mother suggested that my nephew learns karate. He is not sporty type and enjoys cartoons, books and maths. Yup, a 4-eyed geek. I couldn't help but remember begging my mumm to let me join a karate class. 

Sometimes people says that if I had a brother I wouldn’t have been this stubborn, unruly, rebellious and whatever. I shudder at the thought of having a brother and thank god daily for not giving me one, though I do feel bad for my parents. After my marriage they will be alone. I have seen my friends (who are brothers) ‘controlling’ their sisters by checking their phones, emails, not allowing them to wear jeans and such. 

One of my Xes wanted me to shun my ‘intellectual’ look (like loose kurta/pants and yea looks are deceiving) and adopt a gaudy avatar. Another wanted me to stop talking to other guys, take it to the next level (I think he meant sex) and so on. I still think they were nice. But either I am weird or they are!

For those who say, ‘you have to adjust some…’, I absolutely refuse to compromise my freedom, independence, views and all those crap for any guy. Independence and freedom are the most addictive drugs in the world. Now that I have tasted it, I don’t want to give up. 

Coming back to the present, I overheard a few guys at a party saying that how ‘good’ girls are hard to find. Not aunties or potential mother-in-laws but young IT types. Girls are so spoilt, demanding and unadjustable (is that a word?)… you get the gist.

This set me thinking… Where does this leave girls like me? I am difficult and independent as I have every right to be. I cant pretend that I am not worried. Will I get someone who thinks similar (similar, not same) to me. A companion? Soul-mate? Will I find love?

And if not, will I have to make the best of what I get by adjusting, compromising and changing my ideas to suit ‘his’? I would rather stay single all life like I do now than delude myself. Because I feel that living your way is more important than having a husband. 

May be my arguments are one-sided and selfish. But what to do. This is what I feel.

Midnight Concoctions

 

I was watching the RG Verma’s thriller flick, ‘Kaun’. It was past 10 past one. I felt like I was being watched but it was probably to do with that film. Suddenly I felt my throat itching. Scratching my neck didn’t help either. 

Someone has said that ginger is a good cure for that. But who eats ginger? So I mashed the ginger and put it in boiled water. Then with a sudden stroke of inspiration I added pepper, lemon juice, sugar, salt and cumin seeds.

Hmm… It was alright I guess. Anyway I felt perfectly fine after having a cup. That’s what matters, isn’t it?