Ipsita Banerjee's Blog, page 14

Do you know where your children are?

Sometimes I look back on my childhood and think we were a privileged lot. Of course, we did not know it then. We had no TV and the lone telephone rarely, if ever, worked. Computers were myths and radios were about the only exposure to a live world outside. I'll tell you what we did have: we had the outdoors. We had a cycle and a huge garden and a pond and all the freedom to explore every inch. We had earthworms, we had fireflies, we had ladybirds and butterflies. We skinned our knees and wiped away the blood without a thought of running to tell our mother for fear of tincture iodine that burnt like hell and when we fell we never cried out. I remember being chased around the fields by my aged grandfather who wanted to put tincture iodine on a cut, I remember sneaking into the neighboring houses from under the fence and always being welcomed with orange squash, I remember lazy somersaults in the pond, our bodies tanned and black in the summer sun and I remember turning a deaf ear when being called to go indoors because the sun was too hot. We explored the streams near the house, swung from the branches of the Litchi trees and ate raw tamarind and mangoes drying in the sun with our grubby fingers and imagined nobody knew about it. We had the terrace, we had kites, we had the skies and we were our own masters. We had endless hours of making tea out of mud and water and making a mess. We played with our imaginations, and we bent them to our will. Dinner times always had the whole family gather at the table (no exceptions) and we'd  all sit and share our day. There was warmth and there was conversation. Often, there was Laughter... in our lives there was always room for Laughter and I am glad, that even now, he has lingered in my life. Sometimes, after dinner, we’d play chess or scrabble or just read a book. Often, we would go for long walks in the night and my father would point out the stars and I’d gaze at him in admiration and now I desperately try to remember all that he said but I was too self involved to pay attention to back then.The TV was actually the first intruder in our home. Dinners were accompanied by the news and conversations verged on the (often) boring matters of State. We were, by and large not allowed to switch on the TV at any other time so I grew up unable to appreciate the finer aesthetics of TV serials and shows although I hankered for them after hearing all about it in school, but that is another story. Foreign holidays were unheard of. We never came home and told our mothers "so and so is going to Spain, again" or, "can we go to Paris, three of our friends are going!" For our holidays we had my maternal grandparents' house in Kanke, we had the garden house in Maniktala and we had Madhupur, famous for its ghosts where we let our imaginations roam wild.... For serious diversion we had the beaches at Puri. Don't get me wrong... we did go on other holidays, we travelled to Lucknow, Agra, Darjeeling, even Kovalam and Kanyakumari but those were later, those came when we were older. The places I describe here are when we were younger and when, come winter, all the cousins would gather round from near and far and just fill the houses with love and happiness and lots of memories.Now I look at my girls and wonder. Living in a joint family, they do have cousins at hand. They also  have TV which apparently tells them all they need to know, they have social media so they can communicate with their cousins and never have to climb on top of the tank just to share a secret that cannot be heard by others. They have computers that can download information in seconds so they never know the joy of hunting through an encyclopedia. They have cell phones to tell me just where they are and when they reached…hell, we ourselves never knew where our adventures would take us and when we were out, well, we were out. They have SnapChat and Instagrams and weird games, if I ask them to go out and play I may as well be punishing them! They have amusement parks; for us, the annual rickety Ferris wheel at the Park Circus mela at puja time was enough. And candy floss. And if you teamed it up with pop-corn our lives were full! Now pop-corn comes in microwavable packets in an assortment of flavours and any toddler that can reach the microwave will be able to make you some! My girls know all about international immigration and customs but they have never dabbled in the sand at the local stream where the clear water reflects every blade of grass. My girls promptly take off their shoes while undergoing Security check in foreign airports but have never walked barefoot in the soft dew-laden grass at dawn.
Their lives are fraught with dangers, real and imagined: physical punishment or criticism can traumatize them, or so I have been told. In our time we all recall a few well placed slaps that did us no harm, and criticism made us cringe but also made us want to be better. Yesterday I attended a Twitter Chat on cyber safety for kids. How much is too much? How far should we let them go? We have new worries to worry us: too much time on the net, social websites, strangers approaching them online, meeting up with strange people who they have met only online, peer pressure to participate in groups online, the trauma of not having enough 'likes' on a facebook post, the list goes on and on. It's not that the fears have changed all that much, it's just taken on a new name: The Internet. Over exposure to the media shares the blame. Every teenager wants to be as cool as the kids in those serials they watch. Every other child has a boyfriend! Our parents dealt with their fears their way; they warned us about the wolves out there and let us be. There was little else they could do, short of keeping us housebound. Those real fears of  letting the kids out alone, bus rides, accidents, not knowing where the children were going and pedophiles are rampant even today. In fact, I would say it is more of a threat now, "too much traffic, have you heard of the bus accidents? The auto drivers are too rash, so many rape cases!" We dare not allow them out on the streets on their own. So we do the next best thing we can, we give them the internet that opens up worlds for them. We allow them to chat online and leave them be. It's only facebook or twitter or whatever and you hope the friends are all people they know. But can you be sure? Do you know who your child is talking to? Do you know who their friends are? Most of all, yes, I know she is sitting at her desk in front of the computer, but do you know where your child is?  
No, I don’t blame anyone, and as they say, the old order changeth….the new has many wonders too. It’s just that once in a while I wonder where we are headed. A part of me feels sad that my daughters cannot hear the music of the stars and are instead lulled by the song of the air-conditioner. I guess I just feel nostalgic and wish those idyllic days were once more in my fist and I had my entire life to re live them and share them with my kids!
C’est la vie!

Durga Pujas... when Kolkata goes bonkers..

The Durga Pujas are over. The Goddess's short sojourn with her family to her home is over. She has returned to her husband's home in Mount Kailash. As always, her visit, right from the day she arrived, to the day of her departure amid much pomp and fervour is over. On street corners pandals are being dismantled, skeletons peep here and there, some will take longer to remove than others. I have friends on my TL asking if it's worth it. All the traffic, all the crowds, the pandals that block the road,  the noise, the food stalls, the garbage... is it worth it? Before I answer that question, let me tell you something. I always, but always make it a point to be away from the city when Durga Puja fever hits Calcutta. You see, I hate crowds. And noise. I particularly detest that shuffle-shuffle of feet interspersed by a cruel hoot of the hooters as they merrily visit the pandals every night full of inexplicable enthusiasm late into the night. I do not understand the cranky sleepy kids being dragged along, or the winding lines in the puja areas. Or the way a child's eye light up as he counts his 18th lion! Or the joy of eating phuchkas laced with the occasional light insect or the lines in front of the ice-cream vans. One relative once asked me, pointing to the crowds in front of the indigenous "Chinese" chowmein outlets that spring up everywhere, "Durga-puja or Chow-Puja, I can't figure it out!" I smile at the thought. I was watching the goddess being taken away from the puja up our street last night. As I watched, safely ensconced in my third floor balcony, I saw a little drummer boy, fast asleep, his body wrapped around his instrument. I wondered then, what is he thinking? Is he dreaming of the money he will rush home to his mother with? Where is his village, how many sisters and brothers wait for his meager income? And how long will it last? That man sitting on his haunches next to the big dhaak with his face in his arms.....does he dream of his family? Or will he spend his earning on cheap country liquor and fade into obscurity, just for this night? My thoughts are interrupted, someone calls out and the resting drummers sprightly rise and begin playing those drums. Dad-da-da-da--dad-da-da...... the base seems to kick start your heart; the smell of incense permeates the air...., a few crackers go off and amid much festivity and noise, the Goddess returns home. Until next year. I sigh. For five days and five nights, sometimes longer this has been going on every day, I'm glad I was away. I retreat.  Getting back to the question. Yes, it's worth it. For those few days on the roadsides, in the pandals, gorging on bhel and biriyani, everyone's an equal. Everyone looks nice in their new outfits, there is a spirit of camaraderie and celebration. True, traffic gets clogged. But on the bright side Kolkata Police does an exceptional job to ensure that the huge chunks of cars keep moving. It's hell getting anyplace to anyplace. The malls, the market places and shops are crowded, trying to negotiate your way into a shop  can be disastrous. Half the narrow lanes are blocked with pandals, if you do not know, you can get frustrated trying to back out of the area. Yes, there is cacophony on the road... the river does get polluted for a bit. A lot of people do not like to venture out during this time... or, like me, run away to escape the madness.
But do stop once and think of the larger picture. There are worse things happening in the world and all around us. If, for a few days there is some joy and that is shared...if, in those few days, a dhaki will finally be able to afford the school books his children need, or an artisan is finally able to afford that blanket for his sick mother in a village far away that you have never heard of...... can't we put up with the cacophony and minor inconveniences for a few day? After all, Durga puja is only for a few days every year. Our extravagances on the other hand...... ...are perennial . 

Back to the kitchen, ladies...Recipe by special request

Mangshor Jhol (A basic mutton curry)
Growing up, Sunday afternoon meals were, without exception, mangshor jhol time. All hell broke loose if that particular item was not on the table. There could be ilish(hilsa) or koi(climbing perch) or Kankra(crab) of dimer bora(fish egg balls) or any other delicacy but that mangshor jhol could not be missing! All week, we looked forward to it. And in my head I can still see that dining table laid out for a Sunday lunch and imagine the taste of that curry. My Mother was a very good cook. So those of you lauding my culinary skills know where I got it from. That, and my love of food. For I do earnestly believe that unless you love food and are willing to try out different things, you will never be able to make food work for you! Enough chatter already. An old friend on twitter @monikamanchanda wants that "mangshor jhol" recipe. So here goes. Disclaimer 1: There are as many ways to make mutton curry as there are Bengali households. In fact my father-in-law made one of the best mutton curries ever. As always, with everything Bengali there are no dearth of opinions. We all have something to say about everything. So you may soon find enough people to say "add a bit of ground poppy-seeds", another will say "what, no mustard paste?", yet another will ask for something else, the list continues. The following recipe is basically a combination of my mother's recipe with inputs and twists as added by my father-in-law. Disclaimer 2: I am lousy with measurements and do it by eye. So all measurements except that of the mutton is approximate.
Without  further  ado:
MANGSHOR JHOL:
INGREDIENTS: Mutton, cleaned and washed, medium to biggish sized pieces 1kgSunflower/any white oil: I tspMustard oil 1tbspOnions 2, medium sizedGinger 1inch, thickGreen chillies: 2 ( more if you want it spicy)Garlic; 6/8 pods peeled Haldi 1 tbspPepper powder 2tspJeera powder  2tspChilly powder 1tspSugar about 1 tbspUnsweetened curd 1/3 cup tomato sauce 2tbspPotatoes 3 big size, peeled and cut into halvesSalt  to taste
METHOD:1.       Make a smooth paste of the onions, garlic, ginger and green chillies.2.     Take the mutton pieces in a bowl. Add mustard oil and the paste and rub it in. Add salt, sugar, chilly powder, pepper, jira, curd, haldi and tomato sauce and mix well.3.     Keep aside for at least an hour. If leaving it marinated for longer consider keeping it covered in the fridge. 4.     Take a big pressure cooker. Add the white oil. You can add a bay leaf if desired but I usually do not bother so you will not find it on the ingredient list.5.      Add the mutton along with all the marinade when the oil is hot. Stir. 6.      As you stir and keep stirring, the mutton will emit a lot of water and juices. Keep stirring. In Bengali this is called 'kosha'. Stir the mutton till all the gravy disappears. This can take some time, be patient.You can also do this part in a non-stick kadai if you want.7.     Once all the gravy disappears, add about two cups of water, mix it in nicely and cover and pressure cook for about 20 minutes on low heat. I wait for the pressure to blow the first time and then lower the flame and my timing of 20 minutes starts then. By now the kitchen should be smelling of something delicious cooking!8.      After 20 minutes, turn off the flame and open the cover. For this you can hold the closed lid under a running water tap or whatever.  Add the big aloo/potato pieces. Stir it in. (A lot of people fry the aloo before putting it in the gravy but in my head that's just unnecessary additional oil so I do not fry them). If the gravy looks too dry, add about 1/2 cup water. The gravy must neither be too watery nor too thick. 9.     Close the pressure cooker lid and cook again for 5 minutes on low heat. As soon as 5 minutes are up, turn off the flame and let the cooker sit where it is. 10.   After about half an hour, open the pressure cooker. The meat and aloo should have settled down and you should be having a lovely red gravy. Check seasoning and pour into serving bowls, be certain to take all the gravy. Your mangshor jhol is ready!11.   More often than not, this is had with steaming rice and a  side salad of cucumbers and onions. It also goes well with rotis or even a chunk of bread! 12.   I'd love to know if this recipe worked for you. Waiting for your feedback
13.   Oh yeah, enjoy! 

I wish I had sons!

When I was expecting, many people asked me what I wished for, a girl or a boy? Frankly I don't know how that matters, but it seems to be everyone's favourite topic as soon as they learn someone is pregnant! Anyway, thing is I always wanted at least one girl. I wouldn't mind one of each but I was certain I did NOT want only boys! Why? Because daughters are sweet, daughters are gentle, daughters are kind... 'sugar and spice and all things nice' kind of stuff! I wanted a child I could share my life with. Or so I thought. Now after almost 15 + years of sharing, I find I have changed my mind! I wish I had sons...You see, it all started with them trying out my heels as toddlers. That was kinda cute for a while. The problem began when their feet grew big enough to fit into my shoes. I have small feet and that started quite early. I would find various footwear disappearing from the shoe cupboard. Invariably when I was getting ready to go out the heels would be missing and we would have to launch a man-hunt to find it.. because you can bet they have no clue where they left it. I remember this holiday in Kashmir when one daughter took my sneakers for the whole trip because she had forgotten hers and I was left tottering in heels on the mountainsides! Then they started to fit into my clothes. At first it was the odd t'shirt. Then they were picking at my jeans. I find one pair has taken up permanent residence in the older daughter's closet. I sneak it out once in a while only to have it disappearing when it goes for a wash. They even eye my sarees... Thankfully I am not fashionable enough otherwise I would find all my clothes in their cupboards! Of course there are shampoos, deos, body-washes and other toiletries.... I seriously think they stand under the shower and let it all flow..down the drain. You cannot imagine the amount of shampoo, conditioner and body-wash I have to purchase.  One uses so much body lotion, she is oozing the stuff. The other one runs around with her arms and legs looking dirt tracks for a stock car race! And I often find myself standing in the shower and discovering that the three shampoo bottles in the bathroom are all empty! Then there is the endless saga of the hair accessories. Every morning it's the same story. There is a mad rush to get ready for school. Both girls insist on keeping long hair. So every morning that hair has to be combed and plaited for school. To keep the stray flyaway hair at bay, hair-clips are used. One would expect that the hair-clips and such things would be kept at a designated place and accordingly used. Hell, no! Every morning without fail they will rummage through my dressing table drawer looking for hair-clips because they have misplaced the ones they used the day before! As a result I can never find the damn hair-clips or grip or whatevers when I am getting ready myself and have to run about looking for them! So if you see me with unkempt hair, you now know why...
Just imagine, a son wouldn't wear my heels, nor would he want my  sarees.. nor would he leave the new jar of Olay open so that the cream hardens and no one can use it again!
After my two daughters were born, sometimes (presumably well-intentioned) people asked if I had wanted sons or regretted not having any. I sweetly informed them that I was thrilled with my two girls and it didn't matter to me. Sometimes I wish I could turn back time and say I changed my mind.

The balancing act...

Marriages, unfortunately, do not come with manuals. And in every marriage there is some amount of disagreement. Every married couple fights every now and then and it is my firm belief that a good many of these fights are regarding finances. After all, we all know about the shocking price rises. Every month our frowns grow deeper as we try to balance the budget. Speaking for myself, I over-shoot the household budget without fail, every month (usually by the tenth of the month, fifteenth, if I am lucky) and then have to rely on the ATM and debit cards to do the needful! The spouse, obviously, has no clue about the prices of groceries. If, by some miracle, he does accompany me to the super-market, he is oblivious to the price of lentils and busy inspecting the stationery. Otherwise he has smartly ensconced himself in the electronics department and is inspecting the latest gadgets until I call from the check-out counter.  So, he has no idea about the prices of the household stuff. Sometimes, at night if he hears me grumble about that onions are eighty Rupees a kg,  he grunts and sinks back into his game of Candy Crush turning a deaf ear to my woes! And of course, like every normal married couple we argue about money. And where it goes. Sigh. I wish I could say I have been buying diamonds and sarees and bags and shoes. I wish. No, the precious things in my life are Nutella and Oreos, which, incidentally neither my husband nor I touch.

You see, in this house we have two teenage girls. Earlier in a post I had described them as vacuum cleaners and the titles still hold. They are truly magical. They may be found anywhere in the house but are most likely sprawled on the sofa in front of the TV or in front of a computer or similar gadget. (Shh.. don't tell anyone. In our house the wi-fi is NEVER off!) They leave the whole house, particularly the areas designated to them, a complete mess. Books everywhere, paper on the floor, dust where there shouldn't be any, sticky glue in the most unexpected places, used glasses and plates balanced precariously on their desks and crumbs on the sofa. In fact, if you follow the trail of dirt and food leftovers in the house, most certainly you will find them....But they also clean. They clean out the food from the larder and the fridge. Nothing survives their powerful suctioning skills. No matter how far behind the veggies you hide the chocolates or the sweets or the cheese, they have a special homing button that allows them to clear it in a trice! So do not look for left-overs of that yummy Chinese we had two nights ago, or the pizza, or the cheesecake, or the ham, not even that home made keema curry.... one fell swoop and it's gone!I know people who put their daughter on a diet, "after all she has to maintain her figure," one lady told me disapprovingly looking at the big box of cookies I had in my hand, "in our house we do not have coke or chocolates or chips..you would do well to do that." Yet other friends of mine complain their daughters do not eat. Despite much coaxing, they want to become slim. Like Deepika Padukone. I bet! My daughters, on the other hand, have no aspirations to be slim. One is a stick figure anyway and the other could do with some weight-loss I suppose (though I'd rather she exercises to do it) but when it comes to food there is no question of a diet. They love their food. And how. 
When they ask, "can I have a biscuit", it means the entire large packet of Hide and Seek will be finished. When they ask if they can have a 'little chips' it means the party stock will be over. When they have cheese toasts you can bet the bread loaf will be over and the maid will come knocking on your door  for money to buy more bread!They even wake up in the middle of the night to have the biriyani in the fridge! Take this: The other day Amisha  (their exams were on then) had three cheese toasts and milk at 6 PM. By 7:30 she was apparently hungry so she had a bowl of Wai-Wai. At 8:30 she asked me, "I'm very hungry, can I have dinner? " I (not unreasonably, I think) told her that she should wait for another half an hour or so and eat with her sister. She stood up tall, took a deep breath and declared, "fine, I can starve then!" and flounced out of  the room like a scorned queen! I sat there gaping at floor unable to believe my ears, and slowly counted the months till she would, hopefully, leave for college. At least 48.
I think a balanced budget is a long way away, no? Until then I'll just continue to have these spats with my husband about money! 

Living with 8 children!

Within weeks of my marriage, I was a mother. Even I did not expect it.I entered my husband's home with a head full of dreams, a heart full of hope and a minor trepidation of being saddled with a host of relatives that I hitherto did not have. Like many a newlywed, I too was more than just a little bit frightened. Oh I knew my husband and his parents well enough by then but here I was from a nuclear family, walking into a joint one. Yes, I was going to live with my husband in the ancestral house, far from the indulgent eyes of my immediate in-laws, with a assortment of relatives. I was not only frightened, I did not know what to expect.As some of you may already know, I am not particularly fond of kids. So when I saw my niece and nephew, Ziggy and Rubic, for the first time, then all of two and three, contemplating me with those big cute-as-a-button eyes, I chose to ignore them. No, it certainly wasn't love at first sight. But their dimpled smiles and unquestioning affection won me over.. and why not? So long before my daughters were born, I was already a "mother". They say a mother is born when a child is born. I think I became a mother when, for the first time, I took those tiny hands in mine, dumped them in the dicky of the Maruti Van and took off with them.  We even had this ritual when I would say, "when Chachi says jump.." And the kids would look at me and jump! I must admit, that first time I took them out, (it was for a swim to the club) even I did not know what I was doing! And I appreciate their own parents, who trusted their children (who did not know swimming) with a relative stranger. I have often wondered. Would I have been able to trust myself, had I been in their shoes?"Is she a safe driver? Can she look after the kids? What if she neglects the children in the pool? Suppose something happens?" I guess thoughts like that would plague me. I don't know if my brother and sister in-law ever thought that way, but they sure as hell never showed it. So I happily bonded with Rubic and Ziggy.... got drawn into their magical world. They kept me young, they made me play their games. Hopscotch, Chor-Police, Football, dancing in the rain, Cluedo, Dark room.... there's nothing we did not do. My own daughters came later, Isha and Amisha. Ziggy still teases Isha that she is my first daughter! Then came another niece, Zoya. Followed by Veer, tiny Veer, whose tiny fingers clutched at our heart-strings for a fraction and let go, leaving this dent in our hearts. Then came yet another nephew, Sarthak. And now, the greenest of my bunch, the twins Meenakshi and Satvik, all of seven months old. My brood, for now, is complete. Why am I saying all this? It happens all the time, you say, in joint families? Ah yes, I suppose it does. In a house with five brothers, eight kids are not such a big deal, right? But for me the novelty has never worn off. Rubic and Ziggy are now grown, they both live away from home. They come only on vacations, that too for Rubic, since he lives in Canada, it's just once a year.  Isha is at the threshold of her ICSE and Amisha will hopefully follow a year later. Soon, it will be time for them to leave home. I hope they do, for it will be their turn to spread their wings and find their own skies. To find themselves. I know little Zoya who loves my brownies will also grow up. And Sarthak, who still holds my hand and clings to me in the pool will also swim away from me. And I also know I will take the twins swimming to that very club, that very pool where I learnt to swim myself! And the circle will be complete....  And you know what, time has a nasty habit of changing things, changing equations. People pass away, the house becomes emptier, corners go dead and then a little light flickers, tiny feet are heard again. The voices change, the old songs go unsung, footsteps fade away never to be heard again; all that remains are the memories, the tiny little bits of us that we leave in another person's life. Last week I had one of those rare windows when the twins had their 'annaprasan' and each of my eight children were home...together. My heart was full. I guess what I'm saying is, I don't know what will happen, how empty the house will be. I can't imagine who will return and who won't or where they will be, say twenty years on. But I know I will always have them, here, in my heart, meeting, coming together again and again. And I will scold them and hug them and cry with them and share my life with them.
For they have taught me to love.

Adventures of a reluctant mom.

I have a confession to make: I am not one of those people who see babies and go ga-ga...no angelic motherly feelings are roused in my breast when confronted with a snotty baby... bells do not ring, music does not play and my dreams are certainly not sprinkled with baby powder.Let's face it: I've never been big on kids. Specially babies. More so when I have nothing to do with them. I know people who see a strange baby on a train and immediately start cuddling it or whatever and strike up conversations with the mother. I do not have the patience for it and am more likely to stick my tongue out at the baby than cuddle it and go "cho chweet!"  I especially dislike noisy restless toddlers who will not sit still, be it at the airport, on a train, in the super-market or (horrors!) on a long haul flight. I want to whack the child (and the parents too, sometimes!) and hopefully have them duct-taped for the rest of the journey. As a child, I was always the hero of several extra-ordinary adventures: flying motorbikes and jet skis and racing fighter planes occupied my mind. I never had time for dolls or soft toys.... I remember this one time someone gave me some dolls. My mother sighed, my father shook his head. Within a day dismembered bodies of the dolls with all their hair chopped off were found under the bed.... I never dreamed of a home or children..I dreamed of constant adventure and travel; sleeping under the stars and living off the land...The Three Musketeers, Indiana Jones and Mr. Spock all rolled into one!But life has an uncanny knack of interfering with such dreams. Here I was, in my late twenties...married and all. I thought I was ready for it. (Don't tell Hubby, but as things stand I still think I'm not ready for quiet domesticity!) And post marriage into this semi-joint family, for the first time in my life I shared my life with two children, my niece and my nephew… who were then all of two and three. They were adorable. They were the right age for spoiling and I discovered the joys of tiny feet pattering about the house without any of the rigors of potty training and weaning, which, luckily I knew nothing about then.A few years down the line, my daughters came along. And they are barely 13 months apart. So you can imagine, for about two and half years I was either pregnant or lactating! Thenceforth all my adventures centered on my girls.... First came The Great Breast-feeding Escapade, then The Potty-training Capers along with the Mystique of The Feeding Time (The Story of the Mush that Jumped off the Plate) and the Exploits of the Sleepless Nights! There were times when my patience wore thin, there were times I felt like throwing them out the window. Don't look at me in horror, I once mentioned this to my mother and she told me, "Everyone feels that way sometimes, it's just that you don't go around saying it!"As my girls grew I grew with them. Yes, I guess I grew into motherhood. And I must admit it has not been an altogether unpleasant experience!But thanks to the aforesaid handicap, I thought I was at a disadvantage. I had to do ‘the right thing’ for my kids.  For a while I listened to everyone. When they said coke was better used as a detergent, I flushed away bottles of the stuff, when they said “Chavanprash” is good for them I stuffed it in their mouths till they spit it right back at me. When my Mom said Maggie was bad for them (No nutrition, only carbohydrates) I sighed and put it away. Till I realized there is no such thing as “the right thing”. How can there be, when each child is different? My girls, despite being siblings are as alike as chalk and cheese. They have their distinct likes and dislikes; each has their own way of handing things; each their own unique way of coping! So I gave up on ‘the right thing’ business and since then my girls have been brought up on a healthy dose of coke, Maggie and neglect.I remember this relative once told me, “Oh, I only have the necks of the chicken.” I looked at her aghast. How can anyone like those icky things? Then she explained, “You see, I always give the good pieces and the legs to my husband and my sons. I only have the necks!” She sighed as if her heart was breaking.Yuck. I decided then and there that I would never do that. My kids would not only have chicken necks from the curry but also learn to share the legs and the nice pieces. When seeing food on the table they would certainly not just pick out whatever they like and leave the rest. (Yes, I know kids, even adults, who do just that!) They would learn to share it with everyone else, and, if necessary, also refrain from taking it if they thought someone else wanted it too.Now the years have passed, the girls are now almost 15 and almost 16. The adventures continue tirelessly, my mother assures me that the fun never stops and I am inclined to believe her! Our current adventure is Let’s Get Decent Scores in The Board Exams!And the one thing I’ve learned from all this is that whenever someone praises my kids or says something nice about them, I feel like I’m ten feet tall!And yes, they do eat their chicken necks too!

The Kiss

My Dad and I had this little ritual, if you can call it that. In the morning, (provided I wasn't getting ready for school or otherwise frantically finishing homework), as he left for work I would walk him to the front door and see him off. I would give him a quick hug and a peck on the cheek as I said, "bye", and "have a great day!"

My father would be looking fresh and handsome, he'd be smelling of after-shave, (usually Old Spice), his hair would be wet, neatly combed back, his shirt would be ironed and crisp.

He'd stop and turn. He'd take hold my nose and my ear with two fingers of both hands, much like you would hold a jug by its handles, turn my cheek towards him and give me a kiss on my cheek.

Years and years have passed.
I would sell my soul to feel those cool lips on my cheek again. 

To my father on father's day...

Dearest Baba,
My hands are empty. I have not bought you anything, not even a cake or a childish painting....

My daughters, (your grand-children) plan and whisper... they are so excited Father's Day is coming! I listen to them and nod encouragingly, feeling some of their excitement rubbing off on me.

Just some. Not enough.

For I have never celebrated father's day. Hell, when I was growing up, we had never heard of father's Day!

So why am I here? Why am I writing this?

Knowing fully well that I do not have you here with me, that you probably will never read this?

Lets see, maybe it's because I know what I DO have:

I have the dawn on a sea beach where we walked looking for sea shells.
I have early morning walks with the sun barely out where you would point out flowers and trees and tell me their names and I would never remember...
I have the biscuit crumbs in my pockets for the kittens and pups by the roadside that you allowed me to pet and feed and play with.
I have the sunrise in the mountains through the mist rising from among the pines.
I have the mornings spent doing Mathematics set by you each day because you believed that if I could do basic Maths, I could do anything. You were right, I think.
I have the daytime jaunts with friends wearing your shirts when you were at work because a wardrobe full of my own stuff was never as trendy or comfy as yours.
I have lazy summer holidays with great food and family for company at the garden house where our bodies would be tanned and black from too much sun and swimming and cycling.
I have afternoons of turning lazy somersaults in the pond while you inspected the grounds and trimmed the ivy.
I have another afternoon when you taught me to cook eggs and we made a mess of the entire kitchen which we then cleared up, giggling like conspirators before mother woke up from her nap!
I have your gentle discipline to guide me, when a frown from you was enough. It still is.
I have yet another afternoon when I had lied to you and I watched you as you struggled to keep the hurt out of your face and I swore then and there never ever to do anything that I would have to lie to you about and I have kept my word.
I have long evenings spent watching the rays of the sun as they set over the horizon even as the kites we were flying could no longer be seen.
I have evenings infused with the clear scent of fresh gardenias plucked from our garden.
I have summer nights walking in the clear night and having the Pole Star and Orion's belt watch over us..
I have swimming in the rain, in the moonlight, in a pool, in a lake, in a pond, in the sea......
I have lonely days and nights sitting alone in a strange hospital in a strange city watching you battle a cancer that was eating you whole.
I have lessons of strength for never once did I see your face cringe in pain as night after night I changed the dressings with my clumsy hands.
I have your eyes, tear filled with pain, but fighting still....
I have your voice, that still soothes me when I think I hear you call my name. 
More than everything, I have your love.

And I have the memories....oodles and oodles of them...
They have served me well for the past 23 years. And I know will continue to give me solace for as long as I live...
And you know what?
I will not wish you on father's day because you cannot take a father's love and limit it to a day. It's forever.

The knave.

He has needed you from the moment he first saw you. At first the attention was light and flirtatious and you thought it gave you joy. Then he became more demanding, wanting to walk by your side and watch you while you were sleeping...till he became an indelible part of your life. He came along for movies and parties, even accompanied your family on vacations. Till you realised you are only one of his many conquests. He is hurting you and you had been fool enough not to see through it. He is eating into you, bit by bloody bit.
So you told him to leave.
But he wouldn't.
He'd sneak back into your life with false promises and placebos and you could not get rid of him. You knew you have to do something about it.

***

It is evening, you are quietly sitting at the water's edge, deep in contemplation. It is time.
You rise, the water slides off your body as you shake your head and pull on a pair of shorts and a shirt over your wet swimsuit. It is completely still and the wind has dropped, nothing stirs. From behind you, where the house lies you can hear the sounds of your children as they animatedly discuss their day, bits of music come to your ears. You turn towards the house but pause and turn away following the narrow path among the overgrown grass. There is no birdsong, only an ominous silence as the stony old path twists and turns away from the house biting into your bare feet ... till you reach the ruin of the old out-house that no one ever visited. You climb the few steps, noticing how the weeds have choked the entire step and think nothing of it. Stones, bricks and broken walls greet you and you enter the cavernous dark. You know there are snakes that inhabit the ruins and you are afraid, but you know you cannot turn away. Not now.
You make your way in the semi-darkness till you reach the short stair case. A narrow shaft of light falls from between the leaves of the Banyan tree that has made it's home on the outer wall. You climb the stairs slowly, your heart is beating wildly even as the stench of decay assaults you. You know what you will find.

***

There he is in front of you. Tall, misshapen and just as grotesque and ugly as you remember. To think that at one time you had found him attractive. He looks at you pleadingly, his eyes glimmer hope. The chains clank as he pulls forward but you know they will not give. He rattles his chains; he is, all at once, demanding and pleading and you  almost forget and give in. But something stops you. Maybe it is the recollection that he now threatens your world, your very existence?  He's always needed you, he is saying, he will never leave you.
But you finally have him locked up. You know that if he becomes strong he will once again run your life, he will once again ruin the life you have been clawing to reclaim. For, if he is strong, he will break the chains that bind him.
You look at him with loathing. Even pity.

***

Will you feed this knave?
Or will you let him starve?