Posted on by nikita

Reborn — The X-factor

‘Why don’t you buy a pet?’ comes one recommendation. 

Pets are adorable, but I prefer to be at arm’s length from pets and pethood.

‘Why don’t you adopt a child?’ That’s another.

At that moment, all I could hear in my mind’s ears was the beautiful song from the movie ‘Maachis’ — Chhod aaye hum woh galiyan … Gone are the days of potty training, teething troubles, and midnight burping. At the menopausal stage, managing my moods is somewhat challenging for me — how do I summon the elon to babysit a child as the trolled President Mr. Trump unintentionally did at the Oval Office? 

While Father Musk, an X-DOGE, was addressing the reporters regarding the scope of the Department of Government Efficiency work, Grandpa Trump was unexpectedly seen babysitting Musk’s X. Mind you, it’s not an Ex, it’s just X. Confusing naming trends, much like the language itself. After all, names are born out of a language.

The world is not unknown of the fact that Elon Musk takes his little X to almost every meeting, disregarding criticism — is it a gesture of parenthood or for creating some public perceptions? Similarly, many women across Brazil and the UAE are spotted taking ‘Reborn Dolls’ to different places, making me wonder for a nanosecond — How about adopting a reborn doll?

For those who are unaware, these dolls are gaining attention globally due to their life-like realism and intricate craftsmanship. A hobby turned into a million-dollar business for many craftsmen, and an adorable collection for art lovers. These dolls have also proven therapeutic benefits for women who struggle with infertility or infant loss.

Sifting through different options and on conscious pondering, I realize that I can’t adapt myself to adopt either a pet, a child, or even a reborn doll. I ain’t that adept. 

And seemingly neither is the LOP in India. Considering the current political status of the INDI alliance, they need to be adept enough to Modi-fy their weak and outdated narratives  — not just with slogans, but with substance — or it might cost the party more senior leaders (one could be Mr. Shashi Tharoor) who appear to be modi-fying themselves. The party may want to learn a different RaGa and reinvent itself from its threadbare political structure. It needs to become more realistic in its approach to fill the void of a strong opposition in a democratic nation, akin to the hyper-realistic reborn dolls, which fill the void in the lives of many women across the globe. 

Because Modi — a political figure who consistently and effectively redesigns his vision for a new India, for better or for worse? — doesn’t just believe in surgical strikes when needed, he also has the acumen to strike the spiritual chord of global citizens, as seen in his introduction of the Indian practice of yoga on the Global stage. From local to global — a shared vision for a healthier and more conscious world. 

Inspired by such initiatives, I decided to incorporate a few more yogic postures into my simple exercise routine, and in no time, the universe conspired to help me achieve it. In a couple of days, a good friend of mine shared information about an online yoga session. My third eye, meditatively trained to remain alert, immediately captured the message of the universe. Without much ado, I registered myself for the session. And in a couple of days, in harmony, my body and mind — which are not mine as per the spiritual concept of Sadhguru —  revealed to me that my not-so-younger tissues and muscles need to be reborn. 

All said and done, aren’t we all trying to reborn ourselves in one way or another? Be it at a personal, professional, or spiritual level.

*****

Friend: If given a chance, what would you want to be reborn as?
Me: The grass in my garden is sufficiently green.


Posted on by nikita

Spic and span, here’s my hand

She pricked the vegetable uttapam with the fork in her left hand, moved the knife back and forth over it with her right hand, like a saw on wood, and cut a bite-sized piece of uttapam. Then, she elegantly dipped it in chutney and gently put it in her mouth.   

By this time, I had already mindfully chewed a couple of pieces, letting them glide down my fibromuscular esophagus into my hangry stomach, making at least one aspect of my life easy — eating with my hands. 

Generally, I avoid eating food that requires a fork and knife. And if it’s too tempting, I let others lead, and I follow suit. But when I see them struggling to cut a piece, I pounce on it with my hands and simply devour it. To hell with table etiquettes.

I don’t remember at what age I learned the art of eating with my own hands, just as I don’t remember the sudden appearance of forks and knives in my home — how they stealthily entered our kitchen territory!  

Forks still find their way out of the kitchen drawers on some days in many households — these days, many people even eat fruits with a fork (at home)! But knives remain reticent most of the time. Unless you are someone who eats pancakes, known as pudla or puda in desi language, with a fork and knife even at home. 

Doesn’t this cutlery look like armaments?

In a restaurant, when I see a systematically arranged fork and knife on either side of a plate, they conjure up an image of a military arsenal. Once the delicious food is lovingly placed on the table by the swiftly moving waiters, you pick up your fork and knife as if preparing for some kind of ambush — an attack on the unarmed food in front of your greedy eyes. For instance, using a knife and fork to eat hara bhara kabab, masala dosa, stuffed samosas, and a few other food items. 

Who needs a fork and a knife when you have five tines on each hand? And how can you chuck the joy of slurping a mango seed in an Indian summer till a couple of stubborn fibres get stuck between your teeth? (A tribute to summer)

I distinctly remember one aunt from my childhood who would run behind her small daughter, a fussy eater, trying to feed her with her loving hands. The daughter would scamper from one house to another in the neighbourhood. As soon as the aunt caught hold of her, she would forcefully stuff a big triangular piece of roti, concealing some sabji in the center, into her small mouth.

Imagine her chasing her child, fork and knife in one hand like weapons, threatening her child to eat — like a miniature, AI version of Rani Laxmi Bai. 

Of course, good table manners are needed,  whether you’re dining at home or in a formal setup. And frankly speaking, many Indian food items don’t even require cutlery except a simple, solitary spoon. But fascination with foreign culture has gradually overshadowed even our eating habits along with the choice of food. Often, people suppress the natural urge to eat with their hands, either because of the setting or social expectations. And as the adage goes, ‘When in Rome, do as the Romans do. ’ 

Instead, I would say, Rome or home, let your senses lead the way. 

*****

Mother: Today we have daal bhaat for lunch.
Daughter: Where’re my chopsticks?

Posted on by nikita

The Art of Balancing — Is it for real?

“NJ, you are an inspiration for the other team members regarding work-life balance”.

These were the words of one of my colleagues during my farewell. While I was at my job, many co-workers admired and respected my inclination for work-life balance.

But the recent statements by Infosys co-founder Mr. Narayana Murthy and the chairman of L&T Mr. Subhramanyan have not only shocked me but also compelled me to rethink my work habits and even question my capabilities. 70 hours a week? 90 hours a week? Was it possible for my brain to work sanely beyond an 8-hour job?

And to add to this melancholy, I don’t even have a spouse to stare at me. At least, it would have taken away a bit more of my remaining 16-hour day, in addition to cooking and cleaning.

Of course, Mr. Murthy’s and Mr. Subhramanyan’s approach to work is their corporate way of enjoying life, which is different from mine. To each their own — just like families, friends, and relatives at a marriage, each with their own expectations.

One of the most common scenarios in Indian weddings is the helplessness of the bride and groom in maintaining a balance between their in-laws’ excitement during photography. It’s like a tug-of-war — which family will click photographs first with the newlywed? It’s amusing to watch both parties in constant tussle trying to prove who has the upper hand. Who is superior? Because it doesn’t stop with a single family photo; they gather a crowd of relatives and friends on their sides, each waiting for their turn to be clicked with the couple —  proof of their attendance at the wedding.

Hardly anyone cares about the comfort of the couple in question. No one notices their efforts in balancing the weight on their heads — the groom with a heavy headgear in the form of safa (turban) and the bride with the stiffly and densely pinned pallu to her hair-do.

The newlyweds aren’t the unusual Kumbh Mela babas who seem to have mastered the art of balancing: like the one with a 45 kg tower of rudraksha beads on his head, and another with a pigeon perched on his head. (I thought only Sooraj Barjatya was fond of pigeons who could get his lyricist to compose a hit song on a pigeon in the 1990s.) Such an ability to balance can be achieved only after years of practice and penance, which the newlyweds lack.

This brings me to an understanding that balance isn’t everyone’s forte — whether it’s physical, social, or mental. Whether on the head or in the head. Take YouTuber, Ranveer Allahbadia, for instance, who is all over the media for his inappropriate comments. His apology seems to convey that there was some chemical locha in his mind during a reality show appearance.

Did the chemicals in his Beer hit him so hard that he lost the ability to distinguish between ‘pure humour’ and ‘putrid humour’?

Apparently, at this point, even his Biceps can’t help him fight the backlash he’s facing. And that too for copying the content from an Australian reality show, Alan Vs Sam.

We don’t know why he said what he said.

Whatever the reason, the art of balancing isn’t as easy as giving advice — whether in work, personal life, or maintaining a public image.

*****

An afterthought: What about environmental balance?

*****

Husband: You should have been vigilant about the stuff our child watches.
Wife: I have a WFH (Work FOR home) job. Just like you.

Posted on by nikita

From peri to post, the bells are ringing

Jingle bells, jingle bells, 
Jingle all the way,
Santa Claus is coming along,
riding down his way…

Why am I singing the Christmas song before Christmas? It’s still time for December. Christmas is still away. Of course, I know. I am just trying to keep up with the ‘pre’ trend. 

Nowadays, many things happen ‘pre’ to the event or festival. Like a pre-Diwali lunch or dinner. Pre-Diwali parties. It’s understandable though. You can’t be at different places simultaneously on the same day. You aren’t the omnipresent and omniscient God; you’re simply god-like. And to become a god or be considered God, you should be able to do godly things for real. 

Like the way, women can do certain things akin to god. For example, enduring pain in all its forms – mental, physical, and emotional before and after giving birth to a new life. They create a new life on earth. Isn’t it godly? 

Or even enduring pain every month from the age of 12 or 13 (it could be early/late for some) till the age of 40 (again, the age could vary).  And the painful cycle (many theists might consider it a Karmic cycle) doesn’t seem to end. Appears eternal. Because she still has to go through the stages of menopause — perimenopause and postmenopause. (Premenopause isn’t the correct medical term though people use it quite often.)

In keeping up with the pre-trend, I stumbled upon an amusing idea of connecting these prefixes to different stages of marriage.

For example, peri-wedding — the joy around marriage. It could be the courtship period once the wedding bells are rung, alluding to the likelihood of marriage between two people. There’s joy, excitement, fun, and jingling bells all around. The would-be bride and groom become Santa Claus for each other — giving gifts and surprises to each other, dashing through the metaphorical snow to meet each other. 

Then comes the pre-wedding aspect — the pre-wedding photo shoot. Quite in vogue currently. It’s like helping couples get comfortable with the photographer before they can get comfortable with each other — I mean, getting them to become more confident in front of the camera before the wedding day. 

The photographer gives lessons on the real-life application of math —  what should be the width of their smiles, the space between their lips, the distance they need to keep between them, the angle at which they hold their hands, and so on, so that the couple is thoroughly prepared for the day of marriage. 

And then there’s marriage. There’s music — the dhinchaak music during the procession— filling the air in a literal sense. There’s a Santa-like figure in white attire, the white beard replaced with a black beard (or no-beard), with a garland of flowers or currency notes around his neck, riding in a sparkling horse-drawn carriage. Sleighs can’t run on bumpy Indian roads, I suppose.

For the first few years of marriage, there are flowers, stars, moon, poetry, and everything that sounds and feels romantic under the sun. You are still Santa Claus to each other, but the size and the type of gifts begin to change. The pleasant surprises gradually lose their charisma, along with the hormonal changes. And sometimes you feel shocked not to receive those once-upon-a-time-lovey-dovey surprises. Your reactions are so much similar to hot flashes during menopause. 

But since you are in a karmic cycle, life continues. Until one day, you begin demonstrating post-marriage symptoms. This is the phase when you get used to each other, taking each other for granted, and the jingling bells transition to resting bells used in Buddhist meditative practices. You start considering the sound of everyday music therapeutic in nature. Sometimes, the absence of it brings discomfort and disquietude. The sonorous sound and the wave-like vibrations created by striking a gong (read kitchen plates, here) make you feel like an eternal celebration of the ritual of marriage. 

Whatever the stages be, you live happily ever after.

Happy New Year

*****

Friend (a prediscussion): Where did you get this idea for your blog?
Me: Why? Does it ring a bell with you?

Posted on by nikita

Calls, Covers, Celebration and Commotion

Rakshabandhan is around the corner and we can already smell excitement in the otherwise drowsy atmosphere. The shoppers appear more attentive in following the city’s green, red, yellow, and orange traffic lights rather than the colour-coded alerts that didn’t actualize as cautioned by the Indian Meteorological Department (IMD). Instead of raining cats and dogs as predicted by the IMD, only to be proven predictably wrong, it’s raining sales and discounts everywhere.

However, not everybody would be thrilled about the approaching festival. Some see the rakhi celebration as just another family gathering, and I don’t completely disagree. At the same time, that’s what festivals like Rakshabandhan, Diwali, Utarayan, and many more Indian festivals have evolved into — a family feast.

And today when joint families are becoming less common, such festivals could be considered a need of the hour even if one sees a family member only on special occasions, once or twice a year.

In fact, such a celebratory moment could be used as a springboard to start a conversation with this one-time-in-the-year-meeting brother or sister. To catch up with some of the latest titbits of each other’s lives.

I agree that more often than not there’s more commotion than communication during such gatherings, but that’s what life is all about—without chaos, can we understand calm?

And your peace is tested in every imaginable way — from selecting rakhis and gifts to finalizing the menu for the celebration. The prepping up for the celebration is more interesting than merely the day of celebration.

It begins with making calls by the ladies in the family to mama ki beti or bua ki beti or chacha ki beti or mausi ki beti, or a couple of these betiya, or all of them when there’s a Suraj Barjatia movie-type family. And then there are 3rd generation betiya also for whom calls are made. There’s a complete checklist of names the mother or the wife needs to keep a tab on so that none of them is missed.

Thinking out loud — why is it that the woman of the house (in most cases) has to make calls? Is there any such clause in the Constitution of Patriarchy that feminists should be directed to?

Or possibly, such a work of responsibility is awarded to women since they are the ones who score higher than men in areas of interpersonal relationships and social responsibility? Someone who understands how to bind families together. There are exceptions, of course.

Once you (the sister) have received the calls and checked the box next to each brother’s name, the scavenger hunt begins. You dash from one shop to another, looking for the right and affordable gifts for your brothers. (You generally have a budget to follow unless the Ambani(s) is the limit). Because there will be some who love chocolates, some who love mithai, some who prefer sugar-free cookies, and some who are under an oath to not have any mithai, chocolates, or cookies for a certain period.

Buying thoughtful gifts for your brothers can be daunting, but it’s fun too. Of course, brothers also make a humongous effort to prepare envelopes, also called covers (which again are generally bought by the woman of the house) for their sisters, considering the creeping inflation. Hopefully! 🙂

The covers remind me of the generation-old practice of maintaining a book to record the money given and received during festivals and marriages. Have you come across a 100-page hardcover notebook in your mother’s almirah, where they made a note of who gave what and when?

Preparing covers for numerous sisters is not as simple as Mr. Gandhi’s remark about ‘budget ka halwa’ might sound. Like the ‘halwa ceremony’, marking the final stage of the Budget, brothers decide on a budget a few days before Rakshabandhan — a traditional practice of deciding whom to give how much. Your bond with your brothers could be one of the criteria for the amount you would receive in a closed envelope. A deciding factor.

Might not be true for every individual. Because not everyone believes in following their parents’ age-old footsteps. Just as smartphones become smarter with each new update, brothers are becoming smarter by the day. They understand that, with time, the value of money has changed and so should the weight of the covers. (Some hint, just in case…:)

And finally, there’s D-Day. Happy celebration and happy commotion. Colourful rakhis, kumkum, fancy covers and gifts, and family lunch or dinner.

*****

A quick reality check:
Are we celebrating the bond between a brother and a sister for the sake of it? One more example of conditioning since we’ve been tying rakhi from a very young age? Is it perfunctory? Or are genuine emotions of love and care at play on both sides?

*****

Brother: What do you want for this Rakshabandhan?
Sister: Acknowledgement.

Source of the image – https://cdn.siasat.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/08/images-11.jpeg