All the Siddharths

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The first New Year party you went to was a glitzy ball in which boys named Siddharth walked around talking of their experience with theatre and what they thought about Kafka. The Siddharths of the world smelled of a strange maleness that was bottle-made. They had newly sprouted chin hair and were called Sid. For short. Most played the drums.

Was it fun? It was an honor, certainly. It meant you were cool enough to party, never mind if your feet were frozen and inexplicably and embarrassingly, you couldn't stop yawning. Your contact lenses were trying to get out of your eyes and you were furiously trying to push them back while pretending to be amused by the wit that was lashing across the room like a whip. Nobody could ignore the wit, its sharp crack as it landed here and there, keeping everyone awake.

There were some white people too, pale in their printed kurtas, looking deep into your kajal-lined eyes and speaking of Ganesha. You couldn't understand what they were saying because the music was too loud and you were not international enough to catch their accent. So you nodded along and smiled a lot, wondering if you were racist because their lack of eyelashes was grating on your brain.

And then, there was the food and the booze. And you with a glass of orange juice, sitting down primly and insisting you were a teetotaler, but not because of moral reasons. You were amoral, you just didn't like the taste. The smell of it. The Siddharths were drinking beer and discussing football and it could have been a tavern somewhere in England where you'd never been but hoped to see someday. Some of your friends were social. They mixed and matched and flowed around the room, calling everyone and everything crazy. To be crazy was a privilege.

Some of your friends were frozen, just like you. So you stood in a tight little circle, a coven, and chose to be the anti-socials. Which was crazy too and hence, cool. You spoke of post-colonialism or existentialism. One or the other. It didn't matter. Everything was funny because the night was crazy.

And then, when it was time to go, though the Siddharths insisted the party had only just begun and there was more beer and they weren't yet smashed, you were relieved. The auto driver fixed you with a disapproving glance. But you put on an airy expression and wished him a very Happy New Year.

When you'd changed and shut your eyes to sleep, the glitzy ball went out slowly like the tip of a dying cigarette. And you slept like a child inside your blanket, glad for the silence and the gentle murmur of the fan.

Awwww

***

Facebook tells me that I'm celebrating an anniversary with M coming Monday. Yes, you ought to say "Awwwwwwwwwwwwww" at this point and offer congratulations and what not.

Let's have a moment of silence.

Now for the speech:

1 year is a long time for someone who's held 4 jobs in 2 years. I think my mum was especially worried when I got married (before this, she was especially worried that I wasn't married) because of my beautiful temper (my nickname at home was RDX amongst other things), and my maladjustment with normal society (my dad used to say I was a Maoist- ironic that it should come from a communist, what?). But I don't seem to have done too badly. Heck, I think I'm a kickass wife, it doesn't matter who agrees or disagrees.

So here's some wisdom I wish to share with everyone on this stupendous achievement:

1. Yes, it's wonderful that you are married and have found The One and all that. But it's not so wonderful that you have to spend all your time wrapped up in each other. Don't cut off your friends or stop spending alone-time with them. It is possible to have conversations with them that don't involve your spouse.

2. Marriage is a big event in your life, all right, but it isn't your life. Taking time off from stuff to adjust and adapt and all that is fine. But get back to your life at the end of it. Don't change your priorities overnight and so easily.

3. Don't act dependent. It may seem cute initially that you need him/her for every little thing but in the long run, it will become a pain in the ass. You were running things just fine for 20 odd years before you met your spouse, so why become a helpless kitten suddenly?

4. You aren't a Pomeranian. So don't perform for rewards. If you do something nice or sweet, do it because you want to and not because you want a pat on the head. You will end up feeling unappreciated and ignored and what not if you perform.

5. Don't forget that you and your spouse are individuals first. Don't be so self-involved as to believe that you are the whole world for the other person. Nobody is that interesting. Don't get jealous and possessive if s/he wants to spend time by himself/herself or with people other than you.

6. Live in the present and drop your baggage. It doesn't matter who did what in 1937. Don't obsess about the past and limit who your spouse can be friends with and who s/he can talk to. Controlling other people is exhausting.

7. Fight with civility. No name-calling or in-laws bashing. If there are issues, deal with the issues upfront instead of finding out who can be cheaper. If you do lose your temper and end up saying things you didn't mean, apologize. It's also fine to demand an apology if you feel you deserve one.

8. Keep your personal space and make decisions for yourself. Discussing things and consulting each other is good, but don't allow anyone to tell you what to do when you don't agree with it yourself.

9. Be irresponsible and get to know each other well (even if you've dated for a million years, living together is a different ball game) before you pile on children, house loan, car loan etc. Nobody gets married thinking it's going to end in a divorce, but sadly, it can happen. And if it does, you shouldn't feel trapped by these factors. It's also unfair to bring children into a mess.

10. Learn from the marriages around you. What do you like and what don't you like? What can you avoid from the examples you've seen?

11. Keep the humour. Life is absurd and so are most of the things we do. Recognize that and don't take everything too seriously. Avoid interpreting and reading between the lines and analyzing the unsaid. It's a waste of time and energy and you wouldn't really care if something more interesting were happening.

12. Stay friends with each other. We often find it easy to forgive the mistakes our friends make or the hurtful things they say, but we are very touchy when it comes to family doing the same thing. We're also more encouraging and positive when a friend wants to get blue hair than we are when a family member wants to buy an iPod. Friendship is what will last when both of you are Diabetic, Arthritic, and ugly in the final years of your life. Work on it from the beginning.

Happy anniversary, M.

(AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW, I know.)

Me Aur Meri Maggi

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Yesterday, M and I were walking back home wondering what we'd make for dinner (the days when we wondered about who will save the world are long past). M said we could make chappatis and dal. I was agreeing to this when suddenly, out of nowhere, a bowl of Maggi floated into my head. It's cold in Pune right now and I've been living in socks all day and all night. I pictured the steam rising above my bowl of Maggi. The happy spice of the taste-maker coursing down my system like a lady with the lamp. The teeny bit of pepper I'd put at the end bursting on my tongue. Ah! Maggi!

So I suggested to M, "Listen, what about Maggi?" M is sometimes a very health-health person. Like he's anti-microwave and all. So I added that we could include peas and carrot in the Maggi to make it err...healthy. But then M said, "What for? It will spoil the taste." There's the man I married.

We walked back home, got the car and were so excited about driving to the shop to find Maggi. Almost like Harold and Kumar. Except, we found our Maggi easily enough. Then, M cooked two packets in two bowls (so we don't fight about who got more: we're very grown-up that way). As the smell of Maggi flooded the house, all the happy memories I associate with it came rushing to me like clouds in the wind: how I'd walk to the shop near my house with determination and buy a packet despite my mum screaming that I was going to have a silicon- lined stomach; the number of times N, A, and I have cooked Maggi together during sleep-overs; the Maggi I first ate in Brighton when I was cold and miserable; the Maggi cake we made and cut for a roommate's birthday because the cake we tried to make was a disaster.... Ah! Maggi!

By the time my reminiscence was over, the Maggi was ready. M ritualistically carried the two bowls to the sofa and with great reverence, we ate a dinner that was simply out of the world.

This post is short because you have to be able to read it in two minutes.

The Mouse Girl

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One of my favourite stories from the Panchatantra is that of the mouse girl. The one where a sage turns a mouse into a girl and then, when it's time for her marriage, she says no to the sun (because he's too fiery), no to the cloud (because he's too gloomy), no to the wind (because he's always rushing away), and no to the mountain (because he's too placid). In the end, the girl falls for the little mouse who is cheerful, clever, and capable of defeating even the mighty mountain by drilling holes into him. They walk away into a pink sunset, two little mice, who I hope and pray, will live happily ever after.

The moral of this story has always been: Like seeks Like or something equally lame as that. But I think the moral should be: Girls who don't compromise are rewarded in the end.

Once upon a time, I was working on a project on Cardiovascular Diseases (CVD) and I was accompanying a team of doctors who were studying the rise of CVD in rural areas in Tamil Nadu. CVD, which can be categorized as a lifestyle disease, used to be an urban phenomenon. Not any more. One of the doctors told me that this was because machines had made women lazy. Earlier, women used the grinding stone to make dosa batter. They pounded grain manually. Now, they use the mixie and give the grain to the mill because they have jobs and no time to do these tasks.

According to him, this had made women obese and was therefore, a change for the worse. Moreover, since cooking time was reduced, the culture of fast food was on the rise. I asked the doctor if it occurred to him that the women who had turned 'lazy' were now using their time to obtain economic power that may actually be good for their hearts in other ways? The doctor himself sported a forgiving paunch. Would he sacrifice his clinic hours and stay devoted to a grinding stone in that time? He wouldn't have to hit the gym at all. If the cooking time of women was reduced, what about the cooking time of men? Perhaps that could go up and we could combat male paunches that way?

I conceded that lifestyles had changed in rural areas, but the responsibility for that ought to be studied at a much layered level than through a simplistic 'women are to be blamed' lens. Women did not enter remunerative employment because society believed in equal opportunity magnanimously. The trend began and has thrived because of economic needs. It wouldn't therefore be a sustainable solution to go around preaching that women ought to get back to the grinding stone and cook more often to maintain the health of both the sexes. It simply wasn't practical. The doctor, who was grey and therefore wise, told me vaguely that feminism had created all these problems. Women were just not willing to compromise these days.

I keep hearing and reading marital advice that's all hinged on this one almighty word- compromise. Making compromises is apparently the way to live in a marriage. But what does compromise mean? Suffering a beating in silence? Obeying rules that dictate your dress code? Putting up with impotency? Doing all the housework by yourself? Taking verbal abuse? Giving up your career? Or simply living in resentment? If you are a woman, yes. For men, a compromise in marriage, as advised by the elders, is almost never more than marrying a dark girl in exchange for a fat dowry. I know that there are men who are in abusive marriages too and there are women who exploit the DVA, but I'm speaking here of what the accepted social codes are for the idea of compromise. A compromise that leaves one half of the relationship feeling like crap is like pressing the mute button during a violent film. It doesn't stop anything from happening. You simply stop hearing the bloodshed.

Given the way things are, I don't find it surprising at all that many young women I know are very hesitant about the idea of getting married in the first place. Some insist that they will not get married to a boy who stays with his parents because they don't want in-law trouble; some insist that they will only marry a boy who lives abroad because he's likely to be more broad-minded then; some insist that they meet and know the boy for at least a year before getting married. Parents find these conditions to be bewildering. Why not compromise?

Why say no to a boy because he can burn you up? Why say no to a boy because he has too many mood swings? Why say no to a boy who is always in a rush and has no time for you? Why say no to a boy who isn't jolly? Tell your parents, dear brides-to-be, that the Panchatantra says it's okay to say no. Choose a partner who makes you merry. Who gets you and your quirks. Who thinks it's fun to skip with you up a hill. It does not matter how many trial runs you need to find one.

And if you don't, that's okay too. Because the moral of the story is: Girls who don't compromise are rewarded in the end.

The Year That Was

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2010 was pretty fast, what? It just seemed to vroom past like a biker boy. So here are the highlights of year 2010 for me:

1. I got married- an event I did not think would happen anytime soon at the beginning of 2009.

2. I went to Sri Lanka! I ate at the Hilton! I wore skirts! And distributed wedding laddoos to unsuspecting auto drivers there. We also lost our camera and went to a police station at Kandy where the Sri Lankans were so nice to us, we came back without registering a complaint.

3. I came to Pune and have made my peace with a non-beach city.

4. I changed jobs. This isn't too eventful because I seem to be making this an annual affair. I think even if I start my own company, I'll write resignation letters to myself.

5. I can now cook reasonably well. I'm being humble. I rock. Eat my pasta.

6. I published Power Cut and School is Cool. Finished work on Mayil's Diary with N. Wrote a few more picture books and have sent them. Hopefully, they should come out in 2011.

7. I started going for long walks every day.

8. I can now understand Hindi if a South Indian speaks it. I also know one line in Marathi- Kay zala?

9. I celebrated festivals. My family, being atheist and all, does not believe in celebrating anything other than maybe the October revolution that falls in November. But since M's family celebrates everything, I ended my Scrooge-iness. It's ironic that I celebrated Onam first because of a Telugu boy. Such, is life.

10. I've worked from my sofa for the most part of the year, far from the traffic, the dust, the heat, and the indelicate AC.

Happy New Year, everybody! May 2011 be prosperous and blah blah.

School is Cool

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So yesterday, I was on my way to Bombay to be all literary. Three of us from Pune- DD, SC, and I (without a fancy website)- drove down and got stuck in the Expressway because the car decided to suffer a breakdown. We were stranded just before Lonavala and after making some calls (I do like sounding like a VIP), we got a cab and managed to reach the school fashionably but not annoyingly late.

I was to handle a session for 30 Class II children, but since we'd informed the school about the car breakdown, they decided to club Class II with the Class III session hosted by SG in order to prevent the breakout of a riot by very small persons. So in all, there were suddenly 60 children that I had to work my charm on. I decided that instead of doing a reading from The Snow King's Daughter
(which I was thrilled to find out is one of the Recommended Reads in the JustBooks newsletter) as I'd planned, I'd do School is Cool instead. The first book requires silence which I was quite certain I wasn't going to get. It's the story of a little Tibetan refugee girl and I'd have to lecture a bit on independence, exile, and geography. Not what sixty excitable under-7s were going to listen to. School is Cool, on the other hand, was a book they could immediately relate to, I thought. What with them having to wake up and come to school on a Saturday...bleargh.

Right at the beginning of the session, I taught the class a 'puffer fish' face. Basically, when a puffer fish comes under attack, it swells up to scare the enemy away. So a puffer fish face is one where you blow up your cheeks and keep your mouth tightly closed. I told them that I'd randomly yell 'puffer fish!' and they'd have to keep their face that way and whoever didn't was 'out!' This is, if you haven't understood by now, a noise-level control technique. Children in a big group tend to be extremely excitable and they can bulldoze you in seconds if you let the noise overwhelm you.

So after establishing this, I started with School is Cool. I asked them why they liked coming to school on some days and why they didn't like coming to school on other days. The responses (scroll below to read) were quite something! Most said, "Miiiiiiissss, we have to wake up SOOOO early, Miiiiiiiissss" for why they didn't want to go to school. It was the perfect opening I was looking for. My book, too, is about a little girl who is bugged about being woken up early to go to school. So to get through her day, she plays make-believe games till the time she gets ready. The class roared with laughter and I caught a few nodding their heads vigorously and with empathy as I read out the story. The page where the little girl is on the potty and imagining that her feet are two elephants on two tiles was especially a hit. The children thought the word 'potty' in an actual book was hilarious. There was one girl who said, "Chi-chi-chi!" and I said, "Hey, we all do potty in the morning, there's nothing wrong with that!" For this, a tiny boy solemnly declared, "I never do potty, Miss."

I had to yell out 'puffer fish' quite a few times for this page before they quietened down and listened to the rest of the story. Every time I held out the book to show them the illustrations, they'd rush forward with great energy and laugh their heads off. It is sad that adults don't value the response that picture books evoke from children; it is even sadder that they find no response within themselves. After School is Cool, we played a small 'listening' activity. I asked five children to come forward and introduce themselves. They had to say their name, one line about themselves, and perform an action. One tiny girl said she wanted to grow up and become a beautician! After they'd all spoken, I asked the rest of the class questions based on whatever the children had said and whoever answered correctly got a Chocopie. Yes, really. At this point, the noise level was ear-shattering and this small, plump girl advised me, "Miss, say puffer fish!"

Then, to wind up, I read out from Aana and Chena. When I said Aana, the elephant, thought he was ugly and showed them the illustration, one boy said, "But Miss, elephants are cute!" He then pointed out that the elephant in the picture was beautiful. I told him that I agreed with him but sadly, Aana did not. Once I was done reading, the boy wanted to read out the story to the class himself. Which he did very well, I thought. Then one more boy wanted to read out the story to the class and I had to disappoint him. But I did say that I'd come back some other day and they could all read out how many ever times they wanted to!

I asked the class to write down one reason why they liked coming to school and one reason why they didn't. Here are some of them:

I like become to school because there is reces.
I don go to school because I want to watch the movie.

I like to come school because I get bored at my house and I fun in school.
I dont like to come school because I like to sleep more time and our school is very early.

I like coming to school because I can study a lot and become wise.
I don't like to come to school because I can go to the zoo.

I like to come to school because I like to study.
I don't like to come to school because my waterbottle falls down in the school.

I like to come to school because we do lot of masti.
I don't like to come to school because of Grammer Exam.

I see that school is cool because friends rox.
And obviously I don't like school to study a lot.

I like to come school because we get friends.
I don't like school because I have to write and write.

Come to school- To play games
Don't come to school- Sleep full time

I like to come to school because we learn new things.
I do not like to come to school because my class makes noise.

I love to come to school to talk.
I hate comming to school to study.

The school is cool because there are friends to play.
The school is boring because always teacher shouted at us.

I like to come to school because I can meet my friends.
I don't like to come to school because my partener troubles me.

There are several more, but then, this post would take forever to finish! After the session, I got to meet several other writers and illustrators (including AK who illustrates for Tinkle). I was kicked, especially, about meeting DB whose book, The Seed (which was selected by The White Ravens as an Outstanding International Book for children), is one of my favourites. She read School is Cool and was delighted. Woot. I got chatting with a translator sitting next to me and she asked me what books I'd written. When I showed her, she exclaimed that she was, in fact, the Hindi translator for School is Cool [School Mast Hai]. That was quite a moment.

Some of the older students trooped in and took our autographs though DB warned them that none of us is really that famous. The editorial board of the school's student journal interviewed us and I felt strangely old and wise. After this, we had
a yummy lunch that included a massive, warm, drippy gulab jamun and we drove back to Pune in a car arranged by the school.

I should get my Raybans and holiday in Switzerland. I'm famous.

Gorilla

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This week, a gorilla chased me in a hotel. Midway though, it was kind enough to morph into an enormous, especially snappy dog. I woke up feeling like somebody had been thumping my head continuously for 8 hours. I think it was the sound of my pounding footsteps. Since Google is always there to solve your problems, I searched for what this dream meant. Would I get a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow? Apparently not. It just means that I have unresolved anger issues. Who knew.

A gorilla is new though. This was also a gorilla who spoke English and turned his head in a very sophisticated way. I remember one part where I was running down the stairs and the gorilla was cruising down it, calm as the Pope. So anyway, I'm excited about having unresolved anger issues. It sounds like something a writer should have, you know. I can imagine someone writing my biography: Behind the mask of Gounder Brownie, there lurked unresolved anger issues triggered by traumatic childhood experiences. Now I feel like a somebody.

I had a terrible headache the morning after the gorilla dream and it refused to go away the entire day. I took a tablet, I lay down in surrender, I watched Modern Family, I read Asterix...but it did not help. The next day, though, I had a dream in which I was swimming in a pool on the top of a hill. And a brown cow was looking at me. Somehow, the cow made me feel pleasant and cloudy. I was floating and there were yellow flowers raining down the skies. It was a small dream but I woke up feeling like a newborn.

I also had backache this week because I slept on a different bed that my choosy back did not like. So I was walking like a statue come alive. In all, it hasn't been what one would call a top of the pops week.

I'm going to Bombay tomorrow to do a book reading (from my own book, minddditt) and workshop for 30 Class II kids. I'm going to be reading from The Snow King's Daughter (I think) and I don't know what else I'm going to do. I hope to god they don't get bored. Maybe I'll announce a surprise P.T period and run like a gorilla.

Save the children.

On some days...

....I feel like I have saved the world.

Here's a video of a child playing with the Kandy fish on his iPad :)