On a Concert Night

So, yesterday was an important day, because of three things-

- It was my parent's 29th anniversary. To be honest, I hate the fact that their anniversary comes a month before my birthday. So every year, I'm reminded of my age one month earlier and moan about the fact that I'm one year closer to 30. Once I hit 30, I'll then start panicking about 40 and so on..            

- It was India's Independence Day. And am sorry to say that I forgot to think about my favourite freedom fighters and instead as I was scrubbing my kitchen and moping the floors; thinking about how much 'freedom' I could have if a full time maid gave me some 'independence' from house-work!!                

- Shreya Ghoshal ( yes that fab voice behind Zoobie Doobie and Devdas) was in town and I had one ticket for the concert. And no, I love being by myself, and don't miss not having company.

So, house work complete and a bath later, I was all set to go for the grand concert. Of course hubby cribbed about me not being around and all that jazz, but I firmly said goodbye. After all, its only when he's not around that I get to strut around in my heels. ( yeah yeah, this 5 feet 10 inches me has HEELS!) so what, even models own hundreds!!

When I landed at the venue, the first instinct I had was to run away from there. People were decked up in such fine stylish wear and yours truly had gone in her trademark kurta and jeans. I mean, people had seriously put thought into what they were going to be seen in and all I did was pick up whatever was already ironed. So, all my enthu about hearing Shreya vanished. I firmly decided that I was going to pick up some expensive designer wear next trip to Cochin and I'll be damned if I don't have any people looking enviously at me. The next thing I noticed was that I was in a sea of Indians. I mean INDIANS!!!! Of course you see Indians all the time when you're in Singapore, but how often do you get to see just Indians minus any other nationality??? When you're abroad like me, believe me, even the sight of one Indian does strange things to you. And here were plenty of them speaking in a number of languages, all come to have a good time.

And that's when I realised- 90% of them were Bengalis. It made me smile to hear Bengali being spoken again.  It's been years since I heard that sweet language anywhere close to me. I so wanted to butt in and tell the number of groups I saw yapping together- ' Hey Nomoshkar! Ami Sanjana. ' ( is that even how to introduce myself?? I have completely forgotten) and that made me miss my Bengali friends from MBA so much, my then room mate Mamta who is happily settled somewhere in Canada and  all the love and craziness and deep conversations you can only have with Bengalis. Of course am also very partial to the fact that they have such fantastic writers, produce such good music, are coastal people like us Mallus and can't do without coconut and fish; again like us Mallus.  So while I was thinking of them and wondering what they may be doing this very minute; I spotted a  Sardar complete with turban and all. And of course that set me on a memory trip back in time, where I first met Punjabis while doing my MBA. My best friend is a Punjabi and am thinking of the way they dance ( I swear it, nobody can dance like a Punjabi can, they just have it running in their feet) and the way they LIVE up life. And then I hear somebody speak Hindi and that makes me grin, because now its Mumbai with all its life, squalor and everything else that comes to mind. And of course, am missing the city so much I want to get magically transported there..

That's when it hit me-  not even one South Indian was present. I didn't spot even ONE. And then something else hit me harder- I was the only one who came all by myself. Everybody else came with their families and friends. So, my determination to have a great time is slowly waning away. And then to add more salt to my already sore wounds, I spot another 20 women wearing the same aqua green color as me. Seriously, if I was shorter I might have been crawling on the floor, but thanks to the fact that I tower over half of society in my full 5 feet 10 inches glory, PLUS 2 inch heels; darling do you really think I can escape getting noticed like it or not? And the woman at the restaurant counter took so freakin' long to serve me, that by the time I sat down to gulp through my snack; half the crowd began taking their seats inside the auditorium. And yes, if you must know; everybody was staring. AGAIN.

This time I was beyond caring. Let them stare I thought. Only I know the full potential of my tummy to strike up music at its own whim and will. And everybody has paid to hear Shreya, NOT me. I refuse to give my gastric juices ANY opportunity whatsoever to embarrass me. Silently, am trying to emotionally blackmail my tummy into behaving- as it is, my attire has let me down and so has my poor knowledge of Bengali. my heels and the lack of a familiar face. So, after licking my fingers (yes the chicken burrito was delish), I stumbled in the dark to find my seat.

 And by then, something else that would unravel me in full public view took place. They were showing Incredible India ads. First I thought 'what the hell are they showing these ads for? We're all Indians, and we all have family back there and we're all likely to visit India sometime soon. We don't need an ad to tell us how great our country is.'

And then, as I watched clip after clip of yummy food, a kathakali dancer, an ayurvedic massage, holi and a number of other heart wrenching shots; I completely broke down. Like I said, when you're abroad, anything Indian touches you in a way like no other. You're likely to take a ladoo for granted in India, but if you're offered one when you're living out of the country; you'll most likely kiss it and thank God for it and then sample it. And then also start talking about how you miss laddoos in India, even though that may not even be your favourite sweet. That's just how it is when you're living abroad. Sound weird, but it's a fact. We NRI's even talk about the dirty roads, the slums and all things Indian that we crib about at home with so much LOVE, that it will take your breath away and most likely knock you out. So as my eyes filled with tears at the thought of home and everything homely; I forgot to be self-conscious about where I was. Big Deal. You can add tears to my long list of tonight's other embarrassments. And I realised that you can take an Indian out of India, but never the India out of an Indian.

This post was supposed to be about Shreya and her talent. Well, she is so talented and the whole world knows that. I enjoyed the show, cooed, hooted and clapped harder than anybody else ( inherited Indianness traits!). But it felt wonderful and so patriotic for me that I could get  emotional about my country when I'm living in a supposedly ' more advanced'  place. So, this concert turned out to an eye opener in so many ways because it felt like my soul had been touched.. Incredible India ads, Bollywood music, Indian languages and Indians themselves.. what could have been a better way to celebrate Independence Day? Jai Hind!!

Eat, Pray, Love- Why it Inspires me

I stay away from self help books, and books that have are written to make you feel good. I hate books that are preachy, that promise to help me see life differently, which swear they have the secret formula to success and especially books on God. Personally speaking, I believe that the formula for success differs from one person to the other and also that we all need to know and find God in our own way. No book can do that for you. Atleast not in my mind. I'm sure I was the only student in my MBA course who wasn't in the least bit interested in reading Stephen Covey or applying tried and tested success theories in my life.

So, its no surprise then that I stayed away from ' Eat. Pray, Love' and even switched channels when the author was being interviewed on Oprah. I just did not need or want another book which claimed to be an eye- opener ( am yet to discover how one reads with both eyes shut), or which would touch my life in more ways than one. The more the friends who suggested the book, the more I decided stubbornly that this one particular book was never going to disgrace my esteemed bookshelf. However, on one of my trips to Cochin, I walked into my favourite book shop and happened to see a sequel by the same author. In my mind I was chiding all the other readers who had brought millions to the writer; so successful had she become that she had even published a sequel, which resembled the first book in its cover. Anyways, I know how expensive' the flavor or must read of the month' can be and I was so sure that the book would be over 500 bucks. Imagine my surprise when the price tag on the book proudly stated Rs 350 only. I hesitated for just a second and bought the book, all the while thinking that it was probably going to end up as a gift to a friend.

I recently opened the book, not knowing what to expect. I found it interesting that the writer had jotted down details of her trip to India, but as expected from foreigners who have been enticed by India's spiritual side for ages; I must say it put me off. I much prefer a Shantaram, which does complete justice to the complex nature of the country which can put a smile on your face and irritate you all at the same time. I hate admitting I'm wrong when it comes to books, but Eat, Pray, Love was going to revive something in me. What I love about the book is the way the writer with no hint of shame at all, says that she went to Italy just to study Italian and to enjoy their food. And she has zero regret about the 11 pounds she gained either. The book make me realise something. Half  of our lifetime goes in living life according to others expectations and demands. When you get married, you make certain sacrifices ( I mean would you really get out of bed and take a morning flight to anywhere, without telling your spouse?) and when the kids come, its easy to lose yourself in the daily nitty gritties of life. I loved the way the writer goes to Italy, just because she wants to learn the language properly, converse with the real people in it until she can roll the words and say just about anything she wants. I love the freedom associated with the whole situation- I mean she could have studied Italian sitting in the States, or done an online course but she took the adventure even further. I fell in  love with the idea of doing something just for the heck of it, just because you wanted to and NOT because you were asked to, made to or because it was the logical thing to do.

The last time I did something for the heck of it and I didn't care if it was on the other side of the world, was when I wanted to attend a library book fair ( and that was BEFORE reading the book). In short, library books for bring sold for 2 dollars each and although I couldn't stay for long ( what with a toddler trying to break his pram seat belt); it still felt great. I wasn't done giving myself an extra dose of happiness, and so off I went to Ikea and proceeded to treat myself to not one but TWO chocolate mousses. Simply because chocolate mousse is my favouritest dessert in the world, and I couldn't have cared less if I had put on 3 kg just enjoying my treat. Of course, being a woman with an additional helping of feel guilty hormones ensured that by the end of the day I was wondering what demon had possessed me to eat two mousses at the same time. But when I looked into the mirror, I giggled. Because it had been ages since I had done something crazy, unwanted and absolutely logic defying especially when you note that I'm the same ass who slogs away in the gym every single day. But the moment felt great. Simply out of this world. And made me feel like a young kid again. So, I thought of a few things I really want to do in life someday. Am sure that somebody will remind me that there's no logic to it and there are better options but i want to do it all the same-

- Backpack across Europe. Avoid all the fancy hotels, stay in lodges and walk till my feet bleed. But I want to experience Europe and capture it all in a book of delicious memories.

- Spend time visiting and studying the works of Leonardo da Vinci, Michaelangelo, Raphael and other great Italian masters. I have been reading books on them since I was a kid and I deserve to see their works in person and not just admire the replicas. In fact, so strong is my desire to see their works that I never lose a chance to watch a documentary on their work or life and I have even wept in my sleep at the thought of touching Roman soil.

- Walking into the Sistine Chapel and the St Peter's Basilica, and just being moved to tears by the sheer mastery and art around me. I just want to sit in silence and stare at the ceiling and frescoes, so that anytime I wish I can transport myself back to that place like a trip back in time.

- Standing in a corner of the street at Times Square and watching all the activity around me. The last time I visited Time Square, I swear it, it was a living paradise for a writer like me. There was a group of kids having a rap song contest on one side, Eminem was recording in the MTV studio, a crowd of fans were holding up banners for him, a squad of police were evacuating a building and I saw real guns for the first time ever. And in spite of all that, people walked around and cars went by like it was just another ordinary day. For me, it was anything but.

- A White Christmas in New York. With Santas around me, and plenty of Xmas songs playing, as well as cakes being baked, snow in the air and loads of Christmas cheer.

- I want to do a course in art with a specialization in Da Vinci and Michaelangelo. And a course in Shakespeare as well. I have no clue how it will help me, but its been on my mind forever.

- I want to attend a proper arts and painting course as well as a course in poetry and short stories. I have always felt a certain degree of lacking since I'm utterly useless at painting- personally I feel learning to paint could help me express better.

- Attend the Edinburgh Festival and also be part of a class thats taken by one of my favourite authors. Can you believe it? I was in Scotland at the time the Festival was held, and I missed the biggest gathering of writers, poets and books held anywhere in the world. And all because I wasn't confident enough of travelling alone or having fun by myself. I haven;t stopped kicking myself ever since. :-(

- Learn Spanish, Italian and revise my French. If there was one wish I could be granted, I would ask for the gift of languages. To be able to speak with anybody in any part of the world. And I also want to learn how to prepare these cuisines too.

- To stay in the most expensive hotel in the world. I just want to see what the big fuss is all about.

- Cook with Nigella Lawson. I love this dame. She's plump, makes cooking look so easy and enjoys eating. Finally an expert in food, who likes what she cooks. For that matter, a class with Jamie Oliver would do just as fine too.

- Go on an archaeological expedition somewhere in the world. Dig up dinosaur bones. Or discover something new about the Aztecs.

I have loads of other thoughts in my head and I realise that if I went ahead and did all that; my day would be very different from what it is now.. If you had the chance to do anything you wanted for yourself, what would it be?

Numbers and Convenient Amnesia

I've had a phobia of numbers for as long as I can remember. When my mom would give me sums to do at home,  I would literally go into a trance when I saw the figures on a white page. While I may have looked like some lost fool, what you didn't know was that the numbers were royally messing around with my eensy weensy brain! So, unlike other brave people who realise they have a phobia and do something about it; I recognized the overpowering effect of numbers and chose to leave it at that. And of course I kept getting disgraceful marks in all my maths exams too.

The only year that I managed to get over my mental fear of maths was when my favorite school teacher Arundhati De, taught us Maths. The way she approached the subject, I realized that I could beat the stupid numbers at their own game. And of course I loved the smiley faces she drew on my book every time I scored 9 on 10 for a test. But even though I had won the battle, eventually numbers won the war!

These days, my phobia of numbers has crept into everyday life as well. Just last night I realized that I'm turning 28 in September, and I'm just two years away from a dreaded 30!!!!! I don't know why I feel that natural dislike at the thought of turning 30- its almost as if I can hear a million clocks ticking and an expiration sticker being printed for me somewhere. My wonderfully sensitive hubby assured me that turning 30 was nothing- ages 40, 50, 60 and 70 are all waiting in line to get me....

To cap it all, I regret to say that I also forget all the important dates that I ought to remember. In fact I have proudly stated that my kid was born on May 25, when actually he was born on May 23( I have even been corrected by a nurse in the hospital once and yes that makes me a lousy mother). I royally forgot my dad's birthday last year( so did he for that matter!) , and got a earful from my sister for remembering her birthday at 11pm in the night. Getting blasted by a 12 year old on an international call and having nothing to say, is not a memory I want to hang on to.  The only three dates I'm proud to say I never forget are Aug 15 ( Independence Day and my parent's anniversary),  Sep 12 ( my birthday) and Dec 25( Xmas).

This year I decided to make use of technology so that I would not embarrass myself again. I kept reminders in my phone and even reminders in my mail. But old habits die hard. However, I pat myself on the back for sending my sister a teddy bear and pink roses for her 13th birthday, more as a make up gesture for my blooper last year.

While I know I have my bearings with most other things, its awful that numbers and I haven't become friends as yet. Who knows, life is full of surprises and someday I may be able to calculate 5 digit sums in my head or work on maths to pass the time. For now anyways, its numbers that wear the horns!

Gluttony is NOT a sin- sometimes it can lead you straight to the doors of Heaven

Before I write another word, let me tell you this. If you are a foodie like me who loves his/her appetizers, soups, main course, desserts and anything that can be eaten; then this blog post is dedicated to you. I've been on a one dame mission here trying to convince people that gluttony is anything but a sin. For starters, how can it be wrong to love? Or indulge? And in this case we're talking something that won't bite you back, hurt you, make rude comments or laugh at you- F O O D. Exactly what were people thinking of when some priest who probably had a case of diarrhea on the one particular day, declared that gluttony was to be one of seven deadly sins that humans should stay away from? I can think of at least four other ' sins' that should have made the final cut. How about  hypocrisy, manipulation, pervert-ism and bitching for starters? Seems to me that they all do much more harm than a plate of enticing food.  How come they were deemed ok by society and all things edible had to pick up the slack instead???

Now back to food. I don't know about you, but I simply cannot stand cookery shows or chefs who sample one spoon of a dish and then proceed to explain it in a minimum of 500 words. Cookery shows make me feel hungry and make my senses misbehave. As my eyes take in the dish, I start hearing imaginary things, can almost taste the dish in my mouth, am even touching the plate and inhaling its wonderful imaginary aroma. See I told you I'm a glutton, I mean foodie.

I have a natural resistance to the very thought of trying out recipes that's somebody else's original idea. I don't know why. Part of me says that my stubborn streak and inability to listen to other people's views have simply spilled onto cooking as well. I'm a good cook. I know that for sure because unlike other thin chefs who could do with some fattening ( other than Jamie Oliver. Now there's a dude who seriously loves food. It shows!!!), I'm plump, I LIKE my cooking and so did my husband till yesterday. My sister raves about my dishes especially my lasagne which is unlike anything she has eaten ( simply because as pointed above its not made like a regular lasagne) and other impromptu specialties of mine like an omelette pancake. There have been times when my experiments have gone wrong and what I had in mind did not translate onto the dish. However other than the one time when I dumped a whole lot of burnt pasta which both hubby and baby refused to be force fed, I stand up for each and every cooking experiment of mine gone wrong or turned out right.

As with everything else that's good in life ( think love, marriage, parenthood, a job), you can always expect some strings to be attached. For every chocolate ice cream lavished with fresh cream, there are the calories that keep ticking. Worse- somebody is always waiting to remind you about those unwanted enemies like the thought hadn't dashed across your mind already. In my case, its always my husband and father. However, selective hearing is a skill I recommend everybody learn. You never know when it comes in handy!
It reminds me of what I once told my friend when we were passing by a bakery. Bakers are people who appreciate food  and know just how to entice poorly will powered foodies like me. They place the best pies, the creamiest pastries and the yummiest treats in a glass display all waiting to be bought, mostly right beside the door. How many times as a child, as a broke student, as an employee with a low bank balance and even as a mother I have shamelessly stood outside bakeries and just thought. I may seem like a slob with no money and with even less self control to the world, but what you can't hear is the battle that goes on inside-

Good Angel- C'mon Sanju. Stop Staring. Get away. Remember your New Year's Resolution to lose weight.

Bad Angel- So what's new? She's been keeping the same resolution for the past 7 years. Sanju, just look at those pastries. Too good to pass up.

Good Angel- Will you for once show some restraint and walk away?

( and here comes the killer statement that decides it all)

Bad Angel- You know Sanju. Those pastries are just WAITING to be eaten and enjoyed.

Before you know it, my legs are walking in a different direction and in no time I have a pack of pastries with a huge smile on my lips. Good Angel shakes her head and gives up whereas Bad Angel has won this round.

But that's my story. I can't tell you how secretly proud I was to find that my 2 year old has inherited my foodie genes. He knows good food when he sees it and stuffs his mouth before it disappears down somebody else's tummy. With all the fuss about healthy eating, getting slim and what not; I was worried that the love for food ended with me. No worries any more!

Gluttony doesn't deserve to be called a sin. If you're in the right place with the right meal in front of you and great company for added fun; believe me heaven couldn't be any closer. :-)

As a Writer

Ever so often, I meet people who ask me what I do for a living. You should see the way their eyebrows go up whenever I say I'm a freelance writer. I can almost hear the thoughts that are being processed by their respective brains. ' Oh, so you don't have a real job. You're just a writer.' Now I know why such great writers like Jane Austen and almost everybody we are told to write like these days, were often scorned publicly when they said they were writers. I once thought that saying I was a poet would get me an ounce of respect. And what a mistake that was. ' A poet? So you sit and dream all day?' I was once asked. I honestly wanted to punch the great personality who asked me that. However I would like to set the record straight once and for all. I'm honestly fed up of justifying my stand as a freelance writer, why I chose to become one and everything else that follows. So here goes.

- A freelance writer is not someone who failed to get a 9-5 job. Instead it is someone who chose to make writing a profession- the hard way.

- Yes, I could have worked at a day job but prefer working in my pyjamas and cooking at the same time.

- What I earn isn't called pocket money. It's called a salary.

- Yes, there's plenty of competition. In fact, my competitors aren't confined to one country. I compete with writers on a global scale.

- Yes, writing is really a profession. And just because I'm my own boss doesn't mean that it isn't a full time job , so to speak.

- And no. Being a freelance writer doesn't mean I'm on a permanent holiday. It simply means that just like you I too have deadlines and cranky clients, perks and lots of over time as well.

The biggest drawback I would point out of a freelance writer's life is that you can never say where your next assignment is going to come from. Or WHEN. There were times when I would become really depressed at the lack of work. And then from somewhere would come around 5 different projects all at once, sweeping me in a flurry of work. There are other times when my brain refuses to dream or conjure up the kind of creativity a client expects from me. And there are others when my head wants to write but doesn't know what to. However, I've learnt to ride the wave, if I can say that. I realized that not having many projects at once wasn't such a bad thing after all. I usually don't have much time for writing poetry these days, which always plagues me with guilt because it was through poetry that I experienced the first joys of writing. I have a dozen ideas swarming in my head, and the best time to put them down is when I don't have other people's projects to work on. I also want to explore writing a few more stories for kids. Having one of my own means that I dream of becoming a better story teller for him as he grows older. And best of all, not having much work also means that I get to write this blog of mine. Which was started because somebody told me I was funny; another pal pepped me up by telling me I always had funny things to write about; so on and so forth. Honestly, I just wanted my little space on the web to spill out my thoughts and make sense of them as well as keep this outlet alive and kicking. Till next time..cheers