Badalthe Rishthey

The past year left us sulking in the lockdown. And as for we NRI's, it has been a double nightmare, not being able to travel to India, especially for us from the Middle East who take frequent trips to India. We sing in chorus now  ___ "Pal pal dil ke paas, tum rehte ho". I had bloated philosophically while my friends reminded me to write my satire or humour as I did some time back, before COVID-19.

The lockdown has although stopped me from traveling to India and wail but given me brighter opportunities to claw upon and crib. We have bid goodbye to the "bayi" and (cleaner) boy, and have conferred upon ourselves awards, running "Swach ghar abhiyaan". Men are only grumbling as they run dishwashers. But my grievances in the pandemic are severe. I have lost all my property rights now. My 7-year-old has seized my coveted study. The table is decorated with flying worksheets. "My" laptop is loaded with zoom links that say "Ms. Aofie English class", "Ms. Reynolds Music class". The lovely mornings that I romanced with my thoughts and scribbled random in my blog or my archives, are now "Woh bhooli daasthan". Now, I print and upload his homework.  Looking at the brighter side, I have learned basic Arabic from his classes and also enjoyed Ms. Reynold's music lessons. All I share with this room now is the -- "Kabhi khushi kabhi gham" relationship.  

I can not travel often to these two rooms from where the voices of different teachers resonate. Another room has turned into a branch of Birla Public Indian School, Class 12. My older one's. Well-dressed teachers in suits and sarees teach Psychology and Economics. I dare not enter the room. I fear a Zoom bomb dropped on me "Yes, you, answer this question". My school time and exam time dreams still haunt me. Sometimes, when the head of the family turns my only bedroom into his workplace, is when I feel doomed. The living room couch is ouch, in denial upon my entry.  The kitchen hates me after my new arguable relationship status with the men in red Tee who come on their bikes delivering food at any time of the day or night. 

But, the solo traveler inside me stubbornly doesn't give up. And, I take additional trips to the garbage chute rooms in our apartment to dispose of trash and claim good hygiene maintained in my house. Who knew, the trash chute room is now the new kitty (which I dread). Ladies from neighbouring flats join me in discussing woes. We care to leave the place when men walk in to do away with trash and throw astonished looks at us. With this fear, I then take a long journey to the Lulu Supermarket. Romancing with the vegetables, pulses, soaps, and shampoos on offers. Walking past the cold dairy section, I fantasize about my Georgia visit which just got cancelled during the first lockdown. 

New life. New routines. But in 2021, today, for the first time I am upfront here-- "looks like I am fine here in Doha. Not traveling to India sooner". Many more are connecting to it too. NO! Not because of the mutating virus but because of the mutating hatred in India. Let those waves calm down and perish. The same me, that cribbed every year, for not staying a little more in India in spite of generously contributing to the Air India Express 3-4 tickets a year, for the first time in 15 years, is not the same this year. 

So much hatred in people. The media is misbehaving like a spoilt brat. Why is the attitude towards the true COVID warriors so insensitive in India? We have memes portraying the doctors and police as heroes, "true warriors, we love you". But the same social media floods with videos with hate and abuse to police. A friend who is a doctor writes about people being negligent with their health, people taking beds in panic and not in an emergency, people scaring others unnecessarily. He pleads in public to support the doctors. Another friend says his old father who is a doctor is tired of educating people to get the PCR test done, but when things deteriorate these are the folks that blame the doctors, blame the government. And then forward cartoons with flying peacocks and disrespectful and insensitive images of authoritative Government officials.  If we chuckle at them, we are at fault. Yes, we are. One day the virus will leave. The one in the air. But our minds that are conditioned with poison have no vaccine made by health care! When Albert Einstein said "The difference between stupidity and genius is that the latter has limits"; he was hell right. 

I am another ordinary person. Not the "Aam Admi" though! If you know what I mean. I contribute to the economy. I exercise a vote. I care for the "real people in need". I do my bit. So I have the right to crib. Crib about why! 

The Virus has turned the lover boy Dev from the movie Dhadkan, "Mein tumhe bhool javu yeh ho nahi saktha, aur tum mujhe bhool javo, yeh mein hone nahi doonga".

That is because we have conceptualized the "Hum saath saath hain" far too seriously. We are ordered by our government and health care officials to follow "isolation" but we have only glorified - "Pass woh aane lage zara zara". Little by little, we have loosened our fears. And ventured out enough in public. We do not wear masks and blame 2020 and 2021 that give us bad times. 

Yes, no doubts, we will not remain masked forever. But for now, we must! There is no escape from the COVID unless we heap up sanitizers and glue our worthy selves indoors. 

When priorities have dwindled and flawed, we are responsible. Change is certain. And I am simply praying for the change. Sooner the better.

This Badalthey Rishtey is so surreal!

And what can I say?. We are like this only.💓

Stereotyping The Stereotypes

Most times, we confuse the traditions and the culture with feminism or stereotyping. I have debated on such topics and also on topics like "multitasking- a man's cup of tea or a women's expertise!".  And to realize, that few of my life experiences are neither of the above four topics. We simply end up stereotyping stereotypes. We define our life.

[Photo courtesy: indiaforums.com.] A cute meme to go with, courtesy google.

Dating back to the late 1980s, the old, fragile lady that she was with hunched back, black strong glasses, few remains of teeth. She had the best warmth, wisest words, love-filled talks, and compassion filled life. My great grandmother, who affectionately held my wrist, and with her failing vision, she would sense my wrist, hair, and cheeks and admire, "you are now doing metric.?"

For that generation studying in Grade 10 meant doing a metric. "Nah, still in 7th", I would tell.

She would then pour out her wishes. "OK, once you finish your metric is when you will marry and I wish I live to see that".  At times she would simply rephrase it as "I will witness your wedding and then go". Her go meant straight up to heaven. Her path to heaven had one last event, that was my wedding.

I still do not conclude this as a stereotyped formula. I was brought up in an educated family that never preached me, ideal orthodox feminine model, however, my great grand mother's wishes touched our brahminical family matrix and her beliefs.



But, the contrast happens when we decide where to draw a line. I mean, today, my male friends do the dishwashing every night and I do not envy their working wive at all. Working full time or not, I prefer he be away from the chores. That is my choice.

At times, I find it funny enough to realize this. One of the best domestic fun times for my kids is when they, with their father sit back and decide "MY" travel to India. Yes. When it was time for my travel alone to India on a personal call, my kids become too empathetic with love. Both are exclusively at my service how I should extend my return ticket and how they will find their comfort in my absence in Doha.

Be it a major missing, yet they wait to showcase their skills of self-survival. I wasn't skeptical about that but I was aghast how the scenes changed sides when their "father traveled'! Both seemed absolutely different. Now, he is the busy bee as for him, Work is worship. It is fine with us. But the envious part is when "he" travels. He walks in the home from the office one evening and announces "tomorrow is my travel on work". Wow.

That would be so unlikely with me. "I am traveling tomorrow", if I said this, I would be traveling max to the Lulu Hypermarket. Huh. Not out of the country.



How at times, I wish I could pack my bags too without making a lengthy to-do list and the endless calls to the cook and the maid, and lesser said better but the unending instructions to my kids. I can still do. But my life is my choice and I have made mine. My own "stereotype". Some call me a saint, some alien. It is not important though.

I mean I could be straight silly basically. Or simply "be like a girl", myself. Analyzing those school time race days of mine, I had finally managed to race the speedy Gonsalves of the school almost till the finishing line once. But collapsed just little before the line. All I had to do was get up, and run crawl or drag myself touch the finishing line to hold the victory trophy. And there he was, my classmate, yelling,  get up and run. In desperation, he almost wanted to hold out a  helping hand and I sensed that. "Stay away from me you, yeah", that was my attitude towards him, and by then all the runners had touched the finishing line.



Ahh. Let me blame my generation. winning was not my priority. I was more conscious, about "you boys, stay away from me." Like I am an untouchable. So foolish as well! Years later I tell my mirror, "you foolish girl, you missed the win you deserved".  And my ego says "never mind, my great grandmother would be so proud of me".



She often caught me to question "I again saw you running around with the brats around the temple". Yes. Staying in the temple surroundings we all "brats" ran around like scattered mice playing serious random games, calling out each other names, at times yanking at each others collars or hair even! But my argument with my great grandmother was " how did you spot me from the grilled windows, from a distance of at least 10 m distance". But what I failed to notice was her extraordinary skillsets of analyzing me with her failing eyesight. 



And somehow, I shared a special bonding with her. None of her instructions affected my thought process, on not to mingle with the brats and "stay indoors like a good girl". Yet I became her favorite, feeding her snacks that were forbidden for her health, in the absence of other family members.



However, over a while, stereotyping the stereotypes got some fruitful results. I fell for her charms and almost stopped being a brat. By the time, I was doing my "metric" I would sit by her side as a pet dog, as I studied my subjects for the board exam that she so much waited! And she sat hunching her back with her dark cotton saree, folded hands chanting random mantras. In between, she would talk to imaginary people all by herself self and I would simply stare at her and smile to myself.



I was no longer on the streets pushing my cycle pedals for hours with my friends, or in the basketball courts all afternoon. And the other way too was a surprise. She had turned more insomniac with age, and stopped asking about my wedding!



It took these thoughts of mine to the realization that "stereotyping" was a phenomenon to be so obsessed with. For some, it is a miracle or a taboo, for a few an entire career, sometimes a debate topic. For the rest, it may be the big bang gender stereotype challenges and status quo. An unexhaustive list as it may sound.



To me, stereotyping stereotypes became a realization.

Best Practices - Being A Good Husband

To all the lol-yal husbands out there, here is your free handbook of how to make your wife feel "at the top of the world"

Dear Husbands, I know you are all busy taking instructions from your wives. Now you can be free from all this trouble. This Rule Book will free you from all worries. All for free. 

Just follow the golden rule "let them (the wives) free and they will come back".

Do not worry, this is a very short reading. I have been advised by other wives, we have plenty of reading to do on Whattsapp, so I keep this rule book short and sweet.

Remember we are all hungry for "Appreciation". All. You and us, we wives. Bingo. You got it.

There's a trick to it. Simple "hey darling you are so beautiful" will turn you into so predictable. Be genuine is the trick. Mother is God. It will strike right. Just touch her shoulders and say, you are my next mother darling. You take so good care of me and kids. (For those who do not have kids, it will  still make your job easier).

Please make a note, to listen between the lines. Or make your notes to read between those activities. There is a pattern with all housewives especially. We are super thrilled and proud of our skill full capabilities of multitasking. Less said is better. We will smilingly complete all chores. We will become the Cinderella for a while. We will do the laundry. But there is a pattern. Somewhere, you get a signal when we might throw out that raged tantrum. "Taken for granted" tantrum. "Hell-O we can't be taken for granted okay?" Have you all heard this first time in life today? Liars. 

Polish your comprehensive skills to note those details that give out signals of taken for a granted tantrum. Moments before you feel the tremor, get into your house-husband mode. Your duty begins now. Get on to job right then. And side by side, keep your notes handy in the pocket.

• Do not even think of picking phone calls while you are ironing your laundry.


• When the washing machine and the dishwasher are side-by-side, remember where things land will decide where you will land that evening.


• Set your goals and convey it to her. She will decide how to award you. Hence, do not overdo stuff or offer to accomplish more than your capability.


• If your wife still watched K- serials on television, please maintain double hand distance from her while holding verbal communication.  Don't take this lightly. I have read in newspapers, about divorce cases filed after wife slapped husband hard inspired by Ekta Maata soaps.

Small things create big joys in life. Apply this as Best Practices in your daily life. At 5AM in the morning, if you try shouting "darling toilet tissue is over, care to get a new roll?", you are for sure in deep trouble. Take up small tasks to do. Do not create such blunders by overloading Cinderella with such small tasks. She will not run all errands singing happy song, then wait for the magic fairy at the night in the backyard. She can turn insane and give you a piece of her mind right served hot with your morning tea. And in case you happen to be tea maker of the morning, kudos. Good job. You have acquired a star for yourself. Remember one cup of that refreshing tea or coffee when brewed and served by the husband,  her eyes would swoon sipping it. And ignore her early morning jibes for toilet tissue paper. She can be insane at times but remember you would have called her your next mother, so technically ignore wife jibes. They are short-lived till you get the next set of diamonds from Kalyan Jewellers or movie tickets for the two of you.



Last but not least, the CCC rule. Criticism, Controls, and Comparison. They are precise and inter-related too.

Criticism should be showered only when demanded genuinely. Do not get obsessed with your superior qualities and start evaluating her skills in the house. Or, try doing that when you are fully confident you can cook your dinner for the day or standing on your own feet in your own house. On the flip side, also do not shower unnecessary compliments on us. We have mammoth patience levels for the benefits of doubts. For us too much is too bad, we believe in earning what we deserve.



Well, criticism does not put her off at least but comparison surely does. Committing that blunder and it may land you in trouble. She may possess all the hands-on information about your colleague's salary. Beware, comparisons are traps. To yourselves.

Who do you think is the control of the house? Never brush aside opportunities available to share the authority management in the house. It rests on both your shoulders. However, the golden rule applied, hand over controls to her as when required. She very well believes in balancing life. Never underestimate her EQ/IQ or touch that feminist soft spot. You may lose all your future opportunities to lecture her in case she needs help or fails, and you might yourself end up in a soup. Listening from her, about your ego-filled authoritative male self.  Why burn your fingers. Be wise. Let her drive. Let her go to work, watch movies with friends. Let her be what she wants. She takes a turn to hold the upper hand, and you wait prudently for yours.



All in all, marital bliss is not about marriages that are made in haven. Hell no. They are run on the earth.

 And golden rules are to be applicable to run it successfully. I am not at all quoting the traditional rule of "always listen to your wife". NO. Do not talk hyperbolic fiction and show her stars in the sky. leave that to Salman Khan or Akshay Kumar. Your husbands cant handle it.

Husband -wife is like the Tom-Jerry and almost hilariously is based on "I scratch your back, you scratch mine".

In fact, be rational, read this rule book and stay enlightened. All cats are out of the bag here. You have most secrets of wives, so you know how to handle yourself.

After all, wives are supreme power and they guide you well throughout.

When CBSE School Children Celebrate Independence Day

PC - Google School

Independence Day precisely for a CBSE [Central Board Of Secondary Education] school going child is the day they are liberated from their main exams. That only holy day basically. That one day when exam ends is when they breathe in full lungs, full out without choking hindrances like homework, projects, tests or so on. Their academic sessions begin with hands tied in hand cuffs called books and pens with eyes rolling like truck tyre over the books. This definition was introduced to me by my high school going child and her friends. These children actually go through this elaborate technique called CBSE board exams. 

How I wish they grew up as easily as in just one song, like in the Bollywood movies. 

Last month I was part of a small debate. "Exam fear- Is it the children who bear the pressure or the parents"? Damn. I was the first speaker to confess the children were the victims. The parents are the  moral inspectors and support systems. Supporting, guiding, mentoring, with all our capabilities, from their induction to school, towards their career plans, and beyond too. But the children who actually actively involve in the learning process feel the shake. We had lengthy discussion on why and how the parents were the passive victims. An argument of a child disinterested in studies too was not a reason. Even that child would still have to undergo his tests ultimately. Hence, I was resting my case. The children are constantly under this "Exam fear". 

Exam is one entity.  Consider the overall effects!

One of the stand up comedian once took upon hilariously on  the Kendriya Vidyalayas to be the torture technique house.  These CBSE students will get into trouble even because of their parents. Ask me how? You can't forget to notice the torn or worn out sock and  replace it with a new pair, for your child. The child would then have to go through the long lecture of discipline in the school and pass it on to you too. Trust me, when it comes to discipline our CBSE children  will beat the so called matured adult leaders of our country that make the most noise in the parliaments. Even the Kindergarten children of our CBSE school march in a line in corridors of school with fingers on their zipped lips.

We Indian's are the most empowered in this world. We believe in hard work. Hard working produces fruitful outcomes. Hard work means donkey work. That in turn applies to countless writing and reading exercises, trick and treat your memory with numerous formulas that don't work in real life but only in laboratories. We are spell bound. Spell of "studies". Many children get beaten like drums, sometimes with sticks or brooms. Because we parents believe in bringing out the beast out of us  to produce the best out of our children. All this for the greed of creating the wonder kids. Like we polish our shoes shining, we create wonder children called toppers. They top the hoardings in the school which contains a picture of them with medals around their neck. 

Last year, I was overwhelmed when Tulsi Mata of the mini screen had been appointed the Education Minister. Somewhere in this world there is justice. And that she gives it a dramatic slap and changes everything. Just like in her Television soaps. One year and so many changes. And everything is so good in the end. What a lovely fairy tale. But in few months that followed, neither did Tulsi maata stick to her profile nor did life change for CBSE. Yet many things did. In last year and till now these schools witnessed major changeover in assessments and in curriculum. Trial and error basis. 

Recently heard the board welcomes opinions from public stake holders in process of rationalising the curriculum.

http://mhrd.gov.in/suggestions/ - Serious readers are welcome to click on the link and do needful.  Now, this may be a welcome change. May be. Wonders seldom happen. On serious note, yes, I do see welcome changes over my perceptions.  


The burden system has to overturn. One thing required on priority. Give me that one thing dear god- Bollywood style.

Board will hopefully re-consider not the evaluation system alone but the teaching pattern to: accommodate project oriented learning-centered activities; de-emphasis on excessive memorization ; relaxation on writing and flexibility on comprehending and presentation of knowledge. Most of all, the education pattern supported by the curriculum would be able to aid a child build and boost it's confidence. Caning has stopped now. That was a breather. But much more awaited. Looking away from books alone. And by far the most important, CBSE schools are not meant to produce only Engineers or Doctors by hierarchy. This is for all the faculty, parents and children.


Just today, happened to read a viral piece of news that some school in Tamil Nadu has progressed and proposed homework to parents based on sociology. Link Here - . Including relation building with their own children! I am aghast over the biases. What a injustice to the teachers. They deserve some homework too on the  same lines. Relation building with the children included! 


We are constantly in love with "phoren" studies while we still have the best of the best within us. There's everything, yet something amiss. Probably we have the oasis of knowledge but no breathing space.  

All said and done. I embrace the holy truth of a fact that diamond shines brilliantly after that vigorous brushing and polishing. Remember it is these students that make and have been making the "bright India" and few "India bright" outside the country. These polished gems and pearls have decorated farthest of the world's corner. Starting with the brain drain, to the Make In India now, to the CEO of top most IT firms, it is these Indians. These CBSE brats that are twinkling all over. 

They end up paying this price for making it to top. Ain't it true?

Happy Seventh

To all my dismay, my blog too has taken up roles of a spoilt husband. It can follow me anywhere to everywhere. The moment I am done with cooking 4 dishes, set table, do the chores and put lights off that the husband's taste buds  crave for that very thing that's not on my table. And these days the blog has taken up similar traits. The moment the laptop is closed, lights off and I step out of study, my sensory treat my cerebrum with creative juices in full.  Then I have to treat the blog secretly like how I would treat my Ex.



There's a reason for this madness.



Have you heard of this myth where people believe, couples staying together for 7 years bind themselves in a "Common Law Marriage"?. This is not true yet supposedly believed in few states of the U.S. It's the evidence how and why we often bump into this  messages on social media which says, once a person is connected to you for 7 years then you are together forever. Well, I am apparently trying to connect and apply it to my blog. Because I am committed to my blog! 

Yes. Me and my blog complete 7 years of togetherness. If something called blog anniversary was a term more aptly applicable here.  Last few years I called it my Blog  birthday from time of it's conception. However, as we grow more number of years together, in full commitment, I found self-fascination for our mutual love and preferred to celebrate our 7th anniversary this month.



Now, how I end up taking kitchen-referring cases proves that we women are capable of  bringing out our culinary expertise and kitchen tales in any circumstances.

Because we women are possessively  obsessed with the kitchen.



Send us on a "ladies day out" and we  strike great conversations relating to  kitchen and food first, like offering prayers to our family deity.  Every time I train myself for marathon,  I wake up at 4AM on weekends and run up to 15 kilometers. Although, the main part of the brain is clogged with  strong signals warning me how I might reach my house with kitchen burnt down or flooded with spilled juice and sandwich remains. Now you see whey Ekta Kapoor fancied we women in silk sarees, seated on expensive couches grunting and smiling at family members, yet administering a full control over the kitchen.



There exists these traits why I announce ourselves  the Kitchen Queen. 

Damn the Kitchen King Masala. I protest, it should be renamed as "Kitchen Queen". Although the men can now treat the roosters with the right masala and devour it themselves, and even win master chef awards, we women,  have left no chance to actually give away the original supreme authority  of the kitchen. It is ours.  It belongs to we women of the homes.



Well, being my 7th blog anniversary, when I thought of kitchen tales to feed this post too, I was brainstormed by my self fancy for our kitchen awe.



In fact, what I must precisely be doing now is performing a thanksgiving day in my way. I must be thanking all my readers in my own way.



Yes, I began my journey of blogging 7 years ago in 2010 October-November  by writing little memoirs (Though most old posts are pulled off my blog, for a reason I shall announce early in 2018). I remember Satish and Seethakka's first  comments enjoying my first humour memoir. And there was Chowla Sir, who always showered praises saying I had a winners face and fueled  my attempts to stimulate my mind, creative skills to my fullest.

Soon I was introduced to blogger community called Indiblogger where more readers patiently survived all my writings. Not just that I went on to win a few blogging contests that further triggered  my desires to learn and do better with each piece I wrote.



My acknowledgments will be longish list though (excluding my lovely family), after the first few names mentioned above. Chandrika, Swetee, Manu, Rajesh Kamat, Sahana Madhyastha, Chaitra, Anupama Rao, Archna, Avinash, and ALL-Indiblogger peeps. There are more that I cant thank enough for their constant spirits of liking my writing and also congratulate them in return on surviving my every master piece, be it a poetry, travel memoir or humour posts.  Also, I thank the ones who have extended wishes for my continued journey too.



However there is one person, to whom I would dedicate my writing journey to. My Ajju. Grand -dad. He was indeed a GRANDeur of living, discipline, culture, values, so much full of life with his subtle humour.

He now resides across the rainbow bridge, right near the brightest cloud after the last ray of sun. There are no precise words to exclaim how he was  the first person to take my poetry seriously. Even when I laughed at myself while in my high school,  upon his comments "Baribeku magu (you must write child) " I did not attempt any writing even with he inspired me while being right on this earth.



However, returning promptly to my kitchen before I sign off. For that's our production shop. We produce cuisines, thoughts, blog posts, art work, gardening ideas, complete office projects and more.



If you need me anytime, you know where to find me.



All picture source- Our own google.

From Toon Times To Teen Times

An amazing cake, courtesy Just Bake Mangalore

And again, aren't we are all parasites of nostalgia? 

I was perturbed, recollecting how and when it was that, SHE outgrew my lap to be a owner of laptop,

from cartoon watching to reading books on politics and history, from world of barbies and Disney Land to a teenager with a guitar, from mamma papa girl to a new little own world with her own vision for her future.

My daughter turned 13 this year and please stop guessing my age.

Thirteen, is awesome? Troublesome? 

Whatever, it is, dear moms reading this,

You have a statutory warning,

Never ever prowl and sneak into your teenage daughter's room and flick those branded creams. And if you have, please don't try applying them immediately in sheer hurry without a proper glance into the mirror or the tube in your hands. You might end up smearing some meswak toothpaste instead of vicco-turmeric cream on your cheeks.

With age comes wisdom I heard. Never let it go whenever it comes. Hold it tight to cash it up. For you would face crisis of emotional bankruptcy at times.  You need it the most with the teen aged pair of eyes that keeps track your footsteps, analyzes your overall decibels,  masters the apprehensions how you will react or not before even you know about it. THEY know it better than you. Now this is the age, they understand parenting better than us. Mind it. Remember when we were in  high school and we were damn sure amma was actually wrong when she warned us not to wander alone with friends on the streets. 

Bingo. It's your turn. Now your teenage child knows how you could be a better mom or a better dad.

Mine had a sound advice for her dad in the Birthday card she presented him last week. My husband laughed his heart and then came running to me like a kindergarten child requesting me to actually explain all the words that were dancing in the card given to him. I advised him to take off from work and work on the advice given by his daughter. Why should I apprehend ideologies of a teenager and fall prey in the dad- daughter drama when I had more tasks in my basket.



Verbal combats with teenager and nuclear wars have one things in common. Destruction. Being wiser is to remain a smiling silent puppet till they return promptly to you once all cranky tantrums are thrown off. I recommend a new Nobel Prize being introduced for the moms of teenagers. It is for the best service in "Teenager handling, coping mechanism". And this reminded me of some funny meme a friend once posted on FaceBook. It said " It is sometimes better to keep a dog as company at home when you have a teenager".



Often, on several occasions we bump into discussions on how kids are faring at their academics and how many medals and trophies they have brought home. It is seldom that a discussion revolves around life skills. While a few of us are intellectually stubborn about raising children or culturally bound, we can still make room for some pampering, some luxury and those extra hours of fun. While most are busy arranging a book shelf to the kid, a few are happy with a new WhatsApp story telling App. Our world is changing. We grew up under granny's watchful eyes of how many television hours we got. Currently the trend is pretty much the same. Just the pair of eyes are changed. We are still under watchful eyes of teen aged children scrutinizing how many television hours we take while they can hog on that many number of hours on their gadgets too. Equality is the motto.



Please excuse me. I am such a dolt. But, I would love celebrating my child's birthdays with a handful of Orphanage kids where she would be monkeying around with them. I would not hesitate to take the teenager to a psychiatric ward visiting a relative where in she faces life's realities and not confine her to the pink and purple painted walls of her room decorated with stuff from Ikea. Life's education begins here and ends in books. It can not start and end with books alone.



Huh. Raising a teenager requires life skills indeed. But truly they are the real pets. Best companion for a parent. You bestow your gifts of values on them an you shall be surprised receiving some most unexpected return gifts from them. There is a child in them you  want to pamper. There is a adult in them that accompanies your thought process. You can dance with them, play with them or even quarrel with them.



And among all the hustle bustle, stomping, banging doors, the headphones plugged in the ears, our constant counselling and verbal lectures, agreeing to disagreeing, we grow together into our better selves. 

Key To Happiness

PS - Beloved friend- Google.

BE HAPPY

It  was yet another normal day. A compulsorily ordinary coffee-less morning for me. I came across this topic called Key To Happiness. 

The morning was already lazier and the topic that is nothing but a illusionary truth called irony that casts spells in our minds. Saying you are happy and if you want to be more..do this and do that. To top it up we have social media full of philosophy and gyaan that makes you supposedly happy. Some even have pictures of pretty dogs preforming jigs with catchy captions reading, like this if you want the puppy to be happy. Happiness these days is  available at the amazon festival too.  eh? Or the Flip Kart big festival. Find your dreams here, find your happiness here, is what they lure you with.

In order to possess more gyaan for myself I started meditating. What an profound discovery I started making. Take deep breath, think of you, your family, your actions. And I could see all were happy. Only I was looking for it somewhere in  closed room with eyes closed. My husband an workaholic is happy by himself. My kids were too happy with schools, play, painting, joining puzzles and book reading. And here I was, researching what is happiness? How does it look like. Is it resembling the big box from the Amazon bonanza festival. Does it have a key then?

Seriously seeing, we are so addictive as well as bored of our life and being our full self that at times in despair we fail to notice that the new green patch in our garden or the first bloom of marigold in the spring itself is such happier moment. 

We are always in dire need of things. Anything that pleases us. The new book in the market , or the new white Lingerie the lady wanted or the extra TV in the house, the man wants . And once we possess it we forget the euphoria too soon and aim at the next set of stuff we are supposed to want. The few breaths that we huffed in between went unnoticed by our scowl. And for God's sake, happiness is not confusion. The illusion of a fake rainbow in your backyard after the sunset is actually what you have to paint it yourself.  The need of material things are like the same. Luxury is a requirement not a happiness criteria. There is a key to the new refrigerator that made you happy. But if you are actually happy and content then please secure the keys in your pocket till the next model of refrigerator is introduced in the market.

Happiness lies in the most under utilized tense- the Present Tense. Rather it's searched in the past tense or chased in the future tense. Pity we are like the asphalt roller, that rolls back and forth and repeat on the same spread. We fail to insist upon ourselves, that happiness is not a milestone.  It is endless. How dreadfully or how enjoyably you take your journey there makes you happy.



And if there's ever  a key to it, then it is you. Do what pleases you. But for gods sake don't ridicule your neighbor if he is laughing to himself. He may be seeing things you don't. 

If at all there is a key to happiness, we are experts in misplacing the sets. Because we are too busy fixing the nuts bolts and the screws of life.

Naughty At 40 Or No-Tea At 40?

Woman at 40 can't be more mad than this -Getty Images 

One fine morning, I admired myself in the mirror - “mirror mirror on the wall”..... Mirror stops me. Sshh. "you are touching 40 and not eligible to complete the question". But, err I was aghast.  But I am just touching 40. Yeah, my buts finally redirected my attention to the "Butt". Most problems begin with butt and continue on the but. Especially for we women.



We women have mastered the  fabulous art of how to get fat. At 40, anybody can get fat.  "But" I was beginning to plot a master plan, something unique apart from discarding my roly-poly figure like an effigy.  Why not attempt being naughty at 40. I must date a boy friend. I would surely find some "cool dude" in my very own Manipal. It was demanding task though. For that I should start looking like Dimple Kapadia or Karishma Kapoor at least. I couldn't possibly think  of Deepika Padukone. I am a vintage model though.  What a treacherous pain it was. I ended my search long before it even began.

These Fairy tales dupe you. Neither do all dreams come true nor does a Cinderella miracle happen.  I can’t see a boy friend! Any way, I do not have the right to even see at all! I can barely find my misplaced spectacles without wearing one.  And my  teeth! - Every year, I see the dentist more than my family.  Who could possibly understand my state of shock when the  young dentist  addressed me as “auntie”. She just nuked my marvelous plans throwing them into smoke.



Last month, I tried para gliding on sea-shore. My husband is such a down to earth person, he dint join me. As the guide gave me lessons on safety before he sent me flying high up in the air, he instructed ”auntie don’t bend back, bend towards the front, for balance”. Auntie?  This was heights. The ghostly vocabulary our folks use for such glamorous sweet women haunted me everywhere.



I decided to abandon my naughty at 40 mantra. It is not my cup of coffee. Please do not mind my hijacking the English language and the idioms to the South India. I am a filter kaapi (Coffee in native kannada language) lover forever. Honestly, it was time to say no-tea/coffee after my blood and cholesterol reports came in. Also reading the big report full of graphs and different types of lines produced at the cardiologist at Manipal KM Hospital was beyond my understanding. I took a few seconds to hold it right way. I needed to come back to reality and pinch myself.



In fact it is not a ideal time to get naughty but the time ticks on with more of NO for you. Especially for a woman, a mother, wife, a housekeeper that multitask juggling a number of tasks, who hardly has any time for a long shower, or even a morning coffee sitting on a couch. That's a luxury because you are all around the kitchen packing dozens of multicoloured Tupper-ware boxes full of food for the husband and kids. It consists of a whole meal in south Indian style. Starting from Idlis and sambar to lunch that includes pickle to desserts and not to forget a big box of fruits.



Have any of you felt this, when we were in school and our parents turned forty, they looked so old. Huh. Surely we were silly then? Because when the reality draws up on you have started noticing the creases on your face in the mirror. And soon they would turn into groves too. No, shouts your mind. Not every commercial of any colourful tubes of creams have ever satisfied an aging woman. Mind you. I have tried several. Each time someone exclaims you "Hey don't look old" only I know, what a rut it created in my dream way.  And my mirror tells me the truth. You stretch yourself close to the mirror, yank your cheeks and you know the bitter truth. Yeah.



If you have a teenager at home. That's another mirror for you. She will steal and rob your tops from your wardrobe, even the lipsticks and gels and end of the day be a lovely critic with sweet suggestion pills like "amma you should try that blue gown, that ones suit YOU more". There was so much mystery in that YOU here. I am the same. So why shouldn't I wear those attires that I wore five years ago?



Remember, being forty has a horrifying beauty in its own as you feel you have added experience with wisdom but with additional package of wrinkles and permanent crinkle.

There are horrid times when I have age spirit cast spell on me. Wherein I almost forget names of people or places. It lasts for few seconds. My sister who is a doctor convinced me it's because of age. "Age". This went echoing in my heart so badly. What does it mean, that I am already aged? Or am I aging?  or wait I'm growing too old?



Now that I am aged, I will definitely stop scowling and furrowing my brows. Wait, folks, then there is so much life left. Who is bothered about the mirrors after all. When life offers your lemons grab some tequila. 40 or 60. Go get your backpack, go hiking, running marathon or paragliding. What's in a age? Just some wrinkles. We can get over it and plan a Madhuri Dixit number after this Dandiya of the Navaratri. "Ek Do Teen...aja sanam aja bahar"..



Your external beauty was only a illusion that lifted your spirits up. Feeling beautiful was the duty of your knowledge hungry brains and your love hungry heart.

Falling in love with your inner self, falling in love with life is all that makes our journey from this earth to the portion below it, a really worthy one. Let's rock even at for-tea.

Bored Of Boredom

She could have been me but this GIF source - Google Images

We are all addicted to something. Most of us addicted to our life and a few to the lie that life is too short. Also, today one is easily addicted to boredom. We are habituated to repeatedly do the mundane jobs and end up with intolerable boredom.

The fact is that life is too long then we could measure it with the number of hours we can count or the bank balance we managed to haul through our donkey routines. Now, I am just going off track to prove that for most of us boredom is the fastest addiction.



We can even get bored of boredom instantly.

When it's just two days for the weekend to begin, our tendency to start getting bored with our routine increases. Smack the alarm, rush down a hot shower, dress well, sprinkle the holy gas perfumes, sit in our posh cars go to work. And when the weekend is at our doorstep, the boredom again peeps in too. The long drives, parks, malls, and movies all have turned old. We don't want to see people. We are seriously bored with god knows what. There is an endless list of activities to do including the vacation for next year! Yet we have time to crib, huh it's really getting boring ya.



The weather creeps up to be boring too. Be it winter summer or the rains. After some time everything is dull. It's in our minds. We just know when to hit boredom.



Boredom is the new opposite of happiness.

Happy X Sad = wrong

Happy X Bored = right

As for me, it's been four decades on earth and I sure get bored with eating the staple food two times a day, 7 days a week. Neither have I changed my choices in the past 15 years of married life nor have I changed my husband. And hence, by now I do get bored waiting for my husband to return from work. I am not the type that will dress well, and sit across the window with elbows at perpendicular on the couch and as his car screeches to halt at the parking rush to the door with a grin. Because he is on his mobile and am on mine and both are bored with them too. 

But, you see we are addicted to boredom. 

I have a daughter. Shes turns thirteen next week. But years ago she mastered the term "boring amma". No, it does not mean her mom(amma) is boring.  For my daughter, the term amma is a suffix or a prefix with most nouns adjectives or even verbs. Hungry amma, playtime amma, TV amma, shower amma, and in no time shes bored of everything. So it's boring amma. She's my prided plume. Always on her toes. But at least once in a day, there's time for her to feel bored. Offer her any idea and she's the Nostradamus that knows it's going to be boring too.



Each generation of human species is a step ahead in the learning and so is my son 3 years old and this afternoon he declared to me "mama I am bored". I was in a state of shock with mixed feelings. He hardly knows what it is and he's hit by it. I quickly indulged in some funny chats with him and questioned "what are your favourite things?". Pat came the reply "egg, chicken and mamma". That was the second googly for the day for me. Apparently understanding the addictive syndrome of the generation, I quietly offered him to watch his favourite cartoon on television and tried to sip some coffee with my thinking cap on.



I know that I am happy today. Not because I must be Ms perfect. Not that I don't have regrets when I look back. Not that there are no things I did not pick up to do and I repent them too. But over a period of time, I have learned to put up with repents or hate. I have mused myself with the fact that I am doing the right thing today and will continue to do so tomorrow. When I took my break from my work, two years ago, I started slowly getting addicted to the cozy walls of the house and the hurricane routines. You will find me like a spider woman all around the house. Yet this gave me time to muse, whatever am doing is right or wrong? And then, I am filled with so many contradictions that I get bored thinking of all of them.



Again, I have no idea what boredom is. We are the busiest species on the earth and most intelligent. That's the very reason, we have so much to do that we end up piling up intolerable boredom on our shoulders.



I have decided to attain nirvana. By being extremely selfish. Unless I am happy, I can't be the same superwoman or the spider woman to paint the entire sky happy to keep my home happy. So take a chance to curb boredom, freak out with friends, watch a movie or vanish off to some seaside with a good friend. The list is just too big too and I might by soon by hit by boredom even choosing one of them.



Here we go. Don't stop feeling bored. It's a roller coaster phase. It's just a highly nuanced emotion especially highly credited in society today. Hitting boredom is just a speed bump for a change, isn't it?

 Is it?

Doha's Winter Sonata

When we talk of winter all we want is how cold is the weather or how chilly is the wind. This is true for the rest of the world, but for the gulf residents! Indeed. It is a different saga here in Gulf region in the period called winter. Yes, we experience the bone-chilling cold, and added to it witness episodes of some extremely erratic dust storms,  and some unpredictable  down pour. 



 Doha's winter sonata comes in a package of take one get two free.

PC- Jidhu Jose

Entire Qatar went gaga over the temperature dropping each day this winter. All the residents walked proudly with chest widened to 56". Guess why? It was quite an experience after a decade to see a temperature recorded less than 10 degree Celsius in this sand land. We residents in Qatar love wrapping ourselves in full clothes and cover our head with scarfs even in summer, to save our skin from scorching heat. But every winter we simply wait to say "too cold man, too cold ".

The cold desert went hot in excitement.



I was reminded of my Bangalore days. Even on a coldest morning at 5AM, with teeth chattering, I had the audacity to walk tall with only a cotton salwar suit and wrap my head with the "dupatta". Wrap myself in wool? No way! I was a proud manipalite( I hail from Manipal) and we do not buy or wear wool or leather jackets in our life unless it is a visit to Kashmir or to London.

Indeed, it is true that the winter has it's own charm. Now, we Qatar residents, most times, give ourselves a Switzerland feel, by just uttering "wow it's getting colder today". The meteorological department had it's own announcement and we had our own agenda for the "too cold man" season.

If you figure our the number of cars and headlights behind the fog, don't tell me. I have no clue too.

Fog formed cold morning view from the doorstep of my villa

Social media flooded with super duper photography of fog shot from different heights and angles. My girl gave a superb comment " The sun is lost in Qatar. If anybody finds it please DO NOT return". And the viral humour and memes! Especially where people said "Dear Rajanikanth please close the door of your refrigerator, it's too cold here, even here...".  But Doha had to request Rajanikanth not to close the doors though. Hell yeah. We literally shivered to tingling spine, yet wanted the change from the parched summer. And some even told "dear temperature bohoth gir chuke ho aur kitna giroge?"



At once all the malls and boutiques flooded with winter clothing in all colours, sizes, shapes, from different parts of the world. Nah, we do not buy "made in china". We went to expensive boutiques to find winter attire, matching beanie and those boots that our legs never heard of.




Barbecue! That was once the party galore and roosters wildest fear, now turned into our fire place for the surprise guest called winter. On every barbecue fire we would conduct the oath taking ceremony before we start decorated stand with multicoloured marinated roosters or veggies.


Now, the Doha winters are not just all about fog, chill and beanie.  Yes. For us the bonus "double dhamaka" is one free with another. The most awaited cloudbursts. We would almost be satisfied with some good drizzle too. Most parts of gulf sees good rain and few states see the solid form too. Oh!  Snowing in the gelf too.  



As for Doha we had enough windy rains to clog few roads, to blow a few roofs off and for us to term it "torrential downpour in the gulf". 

My girls waits to wander in the rains with colourful umbrella gifted by her beloved grandparents 

While my little fella found tranquil peace, standing in attention and watching the rain drops trickling down his foot, or the little ants washed away in flood

Who does not like rains? The earthy scent after a sky shower, smell of freshly bathed leaves in rains. Trust me, in summers, I satisfy ourselves by sprinkling tap water through hose, in the porch of our villa, and enjoy the feel of a imaginary rain.





Now, we are aware of erratic storms in winter, in different parts of the hill but one will dread the dust storms of the Arab land. And who would prefer a dust storm while we crave for the winds of the winter? Imagine a few hours and you feel a siliceous layer all over you and your lips taste of some forms of carbonate or rock salt. The worst is when you have to tidy up an entire house and car decked up with a coating of fine red sand. 

Dust clad  front exteriors of my residence.

However, after more than a decade's stay in Qatar, I have found solace in what is gifted to us on platter by mother nature. We have found a home away from sweet home after seeking the bread and butter. Be it the heat or cold, sand or dust, we have curbed our crave for winters too.  

With PC

Whenever the whether hits to it's extreme, we just pat our chest, breathe full and say "all is well, all is well" , take the best of what nature has offered us and say aloud "NEXT ".

Marathon Mania

Believe me, Marathon Mania was very much a commoner's vogue world from the times of Chanakya. Just that world wakes up to it in vivid ways. Right from the Battle of Marathon, and the secrets of the "Raramuri runners(barefoot runners of South America)" being unearthed, after centuries today we witness run for a cause, run for fun and many such events. Haven't you heard of the Boston marathon? Surely about the fancy dress marathons of London? Well, the best one is the Pinkathon of India. The scene is jaw-dropping. Thousands of women on roads, running miles and miles with smiles.

Running like a few 10 kilometers is not a joke. Phew, it's an abuse to the body is the opinion of few. And there are more than a few who appreciate a marathoner.  If injuries are what you are thinking about, be reminded of Philippides. He was that Greek messenger who ran from the battlefield of Marathon to Athens announcing the military victory of Persians in the war, collapsed and breathed his last, right in the assembly.



Philippides had zinged off over 300 kilometers, at a stretch in two days! Can't you do a few 10 kilometers with all modern amenities? The question I asked myself a few years ago. I was beginning to discover the lost athlete in my soul. Lost decades ago after college times.

Ever since the long runs have been named after the place Marathon, today it is an entire way of life. We have distinguished clubs to "train" for a marathon. We have a potpourri of running accessories like a pedometer, headband, sweatband, runners pouch, sports watches in variety. Apparels, footwear, electronics, name it, and find it. Legacy of Philippides has grown far and wide, tall, and strong.





As for me, training too is self-styled. I am not a fashionista but running "nanage ishta"(nanage ishta=i love, in Kannada).

Life is not a race, but a race could be someone's life. I mean for a few passionate about running. And I too was one. Right from school days.  Was accustomed to being on the victory stand. Only the college days and academics mania ruined the athlete in me. But whoever told age matters. It did not. After having two children, in my 30's, two things caught my attention. The Doha-Bank race and my growing tummy.

In, I plunged.  A marathon mania stirring up. My entire family dashed up to the sports centers picking up branded attire for me. And I scrolled up for running and training apps in my phone. Being honest here, I have been a self-trained, hard to crack running nut. No matter what,  every Friday morning, I would be seen doing my 5k to 10k with the i-pod intact in my ears. I would listen to all kinds, from "beat pe booty " to Bhimsen Joshi bhajans.

Very soon, I registered myself in the most popular marathons of Doha. Posted pictures on FaceBook, patted my own back, and motivated myself. I also reached one of the races in Bangalore too. (Let me call it Bangalore, the Bengaluru kind of disconnects me to the city I love).

 

I have my own silly way of entertaining myself while I run. I see that uncle in a brown jacket, hands tied at the back, feel he needs a jadu ki jhappi. It's lovely how he adores his slow-motion walks with occasional nods. When my calf muscles yell at me for the abuse, I slow down to walk a bit and amuse myself wondering if the uncle's occasional nods do have a purpose or are wind-driven. It seems he's happier outdoors. 

But there's one man whose whistle can be heard like in a 100m distance. He's the one who greeted with warmth. He's a walker too. But a "walker" whistling all along. Each time we cross by and he finds me walking instead of running, he doesn't forget to ask me "how many kilometers lady" tired today? This man inspired me like "go do it".



Do you believe in good luck ideas? Well, there's this uncle who probably believed walking is lucky for his business deals.  Always see him on his mobile, brisk walk, loud business talks. Whoever said men can't multi-task!



So much about uncles, the lovely aunties were seen lesser in the evening and more in the morning. One of them always decides to praise my run and with my widest grin, I stop to make her talk more. Definitely, aunties are more honest walkers and better at multi-tasks. They can cover a whole lot of subjects in a span of 3 kilometers to 5. From the lunch menu, the new sale offers in the splash, to the "dekha renu ki beti ko, haay ram, chikni chameli jaise kapde aur dance , ooof". This isn't eves dropping folks. When there's so much entertainment that swirls and wriggles into your ears when you run, how could you deny it?



Well, after all these encounters, I gifted my apple i-pod to my daughter and declared I had enough entertainment to inspire me for my training. Yes, I can do it without the music. I had a lot much one could not ask for more.

After accomplishing every marathon event, and see the medal hung around my neck, I smile proudly thinking of my future self-training sessions. Aah, I might have had to join a Nike Training Club if I do not have these uncles and aunties of my community in my life, who cheer me up daily and keep me going.





Run, run. Life is not short. Nor a sprint. It's a marathon itself. 

Life is so Run-derful.

P.S - For those who do not know, that my humour and sarcasm have only one aim that is to keep you smiling.