Romance goes Mobile

Whilst we were young, what terrified us the most about schools were the surprise spelling tests; terrified of being unprepared for it and messing up the spellings. Two decades hence and a world of a change later, spelling tests are still the most terrifying subject, this time for the teachers. With the ‘sms generation’ and the rapid increase in the ‘let’s-tell-the-world-every-damn-uninteresting-thing-I’m-doing-in-140-characters’ population, correct grammar and correct spellings have become an ancient concept.

I indulge a lot in sms, oh yes I do! I think it is the single most effective and inexpensive tool to be in touch with people (whom otherwise I wouldn’t want to be face-to-face with) According to some survey, about 4.5 crore smses are sent across daily, some across miles and others just a few meters.

Mother: “Y r u nt cming dwn fr diner swthrt...ur dad n I miss u”

Kid: “Crckt mtch goin on...wl cum soon”

If you had no trouble reading these words, then you, my friend, are addicted to smsing too. You are also a member of the organisation created to butcher English like never before. Membership is open to all. The requirements are pretty basic: forget spelling, forget punctuations, forget the lecture that your English teacher gave you when you said, “I am not understanding why grammar be important.”

Also, you can write anything in an sms and people will even make good meanings of your msg (message). But sometimes, it’s easily misunderstood too. Like when my friend wrote “u gv me lc”, her boyfriend proudly replied “I know, I always give people good luck!”, her confused aunt replied “I don’t remember when I gave you any lace” and I was simply apologetic “Oh my god! I am so sorry dear, I didn’t mean to give you lice!”

The character constraint even takes off your burden to type a lot many letters. What used to be “I love you so much” became “luv u so mch” to now a very simple “lv u”. Speaking of reducing the burden, the “Send To Many” option helps you from typing it over and over again to multiple recipients! Not just that, smses also give you all the privacy you need. You can effortlessly read messages from your girlfriend while doing something important, such as having dinner with your wife.

Having said enough, I love technology. It does wonders for me, with many of my close ones not staying in the same city as I do, I would be absolutely exhausted from visiting the mailbox every other day sending out handwritten letters. Instead, I have it all at my fingertip – phones, smses, emails and other such networking aids. So let me not push my sarcasm to that extent that Vodafone gets miffed with me and disconnects my number, so here’s to technology!!!

And it’s not all that bad. Smses actually have allowed couples to get more intimate, to break beyond the restraints their cultures and values have imposed upon them. Even a simple “thnkng abt u” brings a smile to a wife’s face, allowing her to feel closer to her husband and look forward to seeing him again, as soon as the Test series is over.

Survival of the Fittest, Redefined

I have often marveled at the thought of meeting a sane person hailing from a busy city like Mumbai and a crowded country like India. I didn’t realise it much till I actually opened my eyes and started taking notice of activities around me. Right from the morning when I wake up and not get water in the tap to the minute when I step out of my house to catch a bus to work to going to a trial room in a mall on a Sunday (or any other day of the week, it hardly makes any difference really) to watching a cricket match in the stadium to getting sweets from the shop on a non-festive day to even waiting for the elevator in my building to reach my home in the evening, I realised – I.Live.In.A.Very.Crowded.City!

So what is it like to live in a country of nearly 1.21 billion people, a country that’s one-third the size of Canada, yet has thirty times the population? What is it like to live in the second most populous country in the world, dangerously close to the first one being China and very far from the third one being United States of America? And to top it all, what is it like to live in the most populous city of India-Mumbai?!

It’s not that bad. Really. It’s not all that bad (as people think) even if you happen to be the last person on the bus. You can very well enjoy the view on the last step of the bus while hanging to the door and convince yourself that getting on the bus is much better than getting in the bus. Sure you cannot stretch your hands and your legs, sure you will be travelling with a few others on the outside of the bus, sure you will be grabbing on to whatever you can, be it the frame of the door or the next person’s shirt sleeve, but you will actually be one of those many who know what it means to “catch the bus”.

Buses and trains in Mumbai pronounce our population better than any other medium. Although rickshaws are fast catching up with people spilling out of them at any given time. Trains are often crammed with people, beyond their capacity. While some passengers get the seats, many others are pressed together in the aisle, close enough to know what each other had for lunch.

When the bus is packed to its maximum capacity, getting on and off is a major challenge, but so is getting in and out. You could try to empty the bus by screaming out that there is an explosive in the bus. However, with the frequency with which they are found almost everywhere in the city, yelling out “Oh my God! Amitabh Bachchan!” will empty the bus faster than anything else. Another method could be to drop to your hands and knees and crawl between people’s legs and reach the exit. Although, experience teaches that this method doesn’t work that well, considering the women of our country wear saris.

While Amitabh Bachchan can very well empty a bus, what he cannot empty are movie theatres. We love movies and we love cricket. So when half the population wants to watch every latest blockbuster, the chances of getting tickets on the first day are similar to the chances of running into Rakhi Sawant at a ghazal concert.

In India, you stand in the line everywhere. You stand in the queue to get a movie ticket, you stand in a queue to take a leak in the public toilet, you stand in the queue to vote for your candidate at the general elections, you stand in the queue report a stolen bike at the police station, you even stand in a queue to get out of a boring lecture by any renowned philosopher. Long queues are a norm. If you accept the fact, you save a lot of energy spent in cribbing about it everywhere.

When you visit a doctor, the receptionist may be poor in grammar but she’s not incorrect when she asks, “Are you patient?”

It is a fact that Indians encounter crowds almost everywhere. With this sudden revelation, I marvel at how everybody is dealing with the immense population and its exaggerated growth of 10 million every year. So much that if rabbits would be having general meetings, they would use the phrase “breeding like Indians”.

We’ve Only Just Begun....

Lately, I have been getting a feeling of uncontrollable anxiety. For no good reason, when I run into a boy and/or man, I start running in the other direction frantically with my hands raised in the air. I have also stopped functioning normally because I have noticed that I keep staring into my computer endlessly and even work slower than it does!

I gave going to the psychiatrist a thought, but learnt that the solution was at home. Because the problem was also there! My family worked on me and figured out that the symptoms I showed were of a troubled childhood.

The fear of marriage would be an exaggerated phrase. I am not afraid of it. I simply, I repeat, run in the opposite direction frantically with my hands raised up in the air. And not without reason. Let me explain from where I have developed the fear of the unknown (or the known, in this case)

Let’s give the reasons some names. For now, to make things simple, let’s hypothetically name them my mom, my dad, my bhabhi and my brother.

My mom and dad will soon celebrate their 30^th anniversary. Yes, it’s been three whole decades since they stood in front of family and friends, looked into each other’s eyes and thought, “Who is this person?” After spending 30 years together and raising two children, at least one thing is clear, they still don’t know each other.

But theirs was an arranged marriage. What amuses me is that my brother and bhabhi, who arranged for a love marriage 2 years back, too, look at each other with the “Do I know you?” look.

And they sure don’t know each other. If they did, my bhabhi wouldn’t get annoyed whenever she finds my brother in his ill-fitting shorts on the couch on Sunday afternoon. If my dad knew my mom well, he wouldn’t be waiting patiently for her outside the mall when she is shopping. He would have simply rented a tow truck and used the hooks and chains to pull her out.

Despite not knowing each other, my mom and dad have somehow managed to stay married and together for 30 years. It may not be a big thing for those married for a good 50 years but it is truly amazing for my brother and bhabhi that they are still together. What is even more amazing for them is that my mom and dad still occasionally talk to each other.

It may sound a bit of an exaggeration but it’s not because just a month back, my brother and bhabhi spoke to each other. He asked, “Our anniversary is coming up. How do you want to celebrate it?” And she said, “I would like to try out the new Chinese restaurant in our neighbourhood. Do you want me to bring something home for you?”

My parents have been explaining the tricks of the trade to my brother and bhabhi whenever time permits. They revealed that the key to their successful marriage was my brother and me. Thanks to us, they never got to speak a lot to each other. With my brother and me being 10 and 6, at any given point of time one of us was singing and the other was screaming.

However, they also pointed out that with children around, they couldn’t have affectionate conversations. So they developed a special code (which they say happens very naturally during a marriage). Whenever mom wants to say “I love you”, she would say, “Are you watching your stupid CNBC again?” And whenever dad wants to say “I love you”, he would say, “So how many pairs of shoes do you need anyway?”

I must say, that my mom and my dad love each other tremendously, considering the number of times they have said it each day.

My mom and dad have evolved and matured slowly and gradually. Not like my brother and bhabhi. Two years into marriage and they are already able to communicate without saying a word to each other. For example, if my brother is on the couch watching a cricket match and a pumpkin lands on his head, he knows that my bhabhi needs help in the kitchen.

Marriage is all about special codes and romantic nothings. In spite of the bloodshed at home, my heart warms when I see my dad and brother feel incomplete, anxious, frenzied and clueless at a social function without their other halves by their side.

I guess, the brutality hidden underneath too has a special charm to it.

No wonder the Carpenters have said,
“We’ll find a place where there is room to grow...
...coz, we’ve only just begun...”

(T)rick(Y) Business

Travelling on the roads of a city like Mumbai or Ahmedabad can be an eye-opener. It makes one realise the importance of his life. Statistics have even been revised to push smoking down to the number two spot in the list of ‘What Might Kill you Today’.

While I was in one of the death rides in an auto (rickshaw, as we call it) with my little brother, we swerved through in between two cars, overtook them and took a u-turn from the second lane during a red signal. Before sitting in the rickshaw, I remember (and now regret) asking the driver to ‘move it’ since we didn’t want to miss our appointment at the dentist. He sure kept his promise. While I dug inside my bag looking for change and also trying to keep my electrically-charged hair out of my face, I could see my younger brother gaping proudly at the driver. He seemed to be contemplating how awesome it would be to become a rickshaw driver. Ambitious, the little one!

He later told me how he would become a rickshaw driver and rule the roads, cruise around the city, all the whilst blowing his horn constantly and charging regular non-smart citizens twice the normal fare. I let him continue because I didn’t have the heart to break the little one’s heart. I couldn’t come to telling him that he would have a tough time becoming an auto driver unless he works hard and stays focussed. If not for these factors, he will never be able to make it through the auto-driving school.

For instance, I really don’t think everybody has the ability to start the vehicle, make it go forward a few miles and then, say with a straight face “Meter not working”.

Rickshaw drivers also have a unique ability to make use of their limbs. The hands are not just to steer the vehicle and simultaneously honk the horn but also to rub them gleefully on spotting a tourist. One may wonder why the rickshaw driver is stretching his legs in the midst of the journey. When he does it more-than-often, you will realise that he is actually giving the “I am going to turn right now jackasses” or “Steer out of my way because I am going to take a left even though I am in the right-most lane” signal to the vehicles behind him.

To claim eligibility for the auto-driving course, he would also need to know how to take a u-turn on a one-way street or how to turn a 3-km ride to the shopping mall in a distant eastern suburb into an all-India tour. He will have to (again) keep a straight face and convince the passenger that he does in fact know the route and that he is not going in circles.

Once, the basics are done with, it is important to move on to the advanced stage lest you want the other rickshaw drivers to overtake you in this competitive world and be able to cheat more passengers than you do. That you have passed the basics means the course has accepted you. Smile and now learn how to maximise your earnings. Over a period of time, you will learn how to turn the meter on and off while the passenger thinks you are simply brushing the dust off it. While one part of the course teaches you how to make the meter run faster, the other teaches you how to say ‘meter not working” in 18 languages.

The course also teaches aspiring rickshaw drivers to improve fuel economy by turning off the engines when stuck in traffic or using hands as paddles during the monsoons.

A special ‘Personality Detection’ intensive programme has also been incorporated. It helps the driver to size up each potential customer and to determine how much money they will be ready to part with. This helps them start with a very high figure and reduce it by a third or even half, depending on the customer - how big his nose blows up and how much steam comes out of his ears.

When all of these levels are passed successfully, last comes the part where the driver learns to decorate his rickshaw with flowers, stickers, cheesy sayings, lipstick marks on the rear mirror and pictures of movie stars and gods as well as movie stars who act like gods. This activity saves him a lot of time and energy. It saves him that trip to the temple where he prays for more business, “My wife wants a new sari and my son wants a new cricket bat. Please bring me a rich tourist today, dear Sachin.”

Diwali Less Known

“They are coming, they are coming”, the shrieks of joy resounded in the air from outside the palace. The drums rolled and the conches called out relentlessly, belting out sounds that lifted the hearts of the kingdom’s subjects. Weeks of excited anticipation had passed and the time for unbridled celebration had finally arrived. Excited screams and shouts were heard on the streets as courtiers distributed new clothing and sweetmeats to the poor, hawkers roamed the lanes selling oil-lamps and incense with knowing grins and extra-loud voices and giggling girls crowded in street-corners only to be shooed back to their housework by their mothers. The air in the marketplace was infused with scents of fresh cardamom, clarified butter and caramelised jaggery.

While the people of Ayodhya geared themselves for feasting and festivity, upstairs in the small room of the women’s wing, Urmila forced herself to lie down on the hard bed, unable to control herself. There she lay – the petite damsel looking pale in her turmeric yellow sari draped around her thin and bony body with absolutely no jewellery adorning her except for the gold-star ring on the third finger of her right hand. Her eyes – slightly reddish reflected her childlike innocence as she blinked rapidly so as to not let any more tears flow down. Light wrinkles had made lines on her otherwise clean face but only those close to her would be able to spot them. Those away from her wouldn’t be able to see the reality of her life.

“14 years”, she said to herself. She didn’t know what emotions to display. Was she excited? Or nervous? Déjà vu. She had the same feeling 14 years 4 months ago.

The same giggling maidens, the same celebration and the same festivity had engulfed Mithila, the kingdom of King Janaka. In her chamber, beautifully adorned with antiques and mirrors, her mother looked at her. Her pretty little girl was big now. Big enough to be married off to her prince. In her mother’s eyes, she was the prettiest thing on earth.

She rubbed off the corner of her right eye and put a black little dot behind Urmila’s right ear, “May the Lord save you from the evil eye.” With tears of joy trickling down her eyes, she said, “Go my daughter, go and have a wonderful life with the prince of Ayodhya. Be the same doting daughter in your new house the way you were to us. Be with your husband, by his side, come what may.”

The blowing of the trumpets overpowered the other noises announcing the arrival of the royal family. Lakshmana had arrived to take away his bride. Walking on petals of red roses through her grand palace entrance decorated like never before, she could see the tall and lean prince standing at the end of the entrance. Dressed in wheatish-brown ensemble, he waited with a radiant smile on his face. An embodiment of beauty with her head held high but eyes lowered, she walked slowly and gracefully towards Lakshmana.

She looked at her ring, the little sparkling jewel that bonded her lord and her together. She recalled his words when he gifted the star to her. “The star is a symbol of eternity. You won’t have to look out of the balcony to look at the twinkling stars. You have one right here in your hands,” he said holding Urmila’s right hand in his. She let out a shiver. Never had a man touched her before. Yet, this felt good. “You are my beloved wife Urmi, and I promise to live for an eternity with you.”

As she lay lifelessly on her bed, tears rolled down the side of her eyes as stared at the ceiling incessantly. Her eyes burned. Her heart ached. There were too many things going on in her mind. Her 14 years of loneliness were tumbling down on her all of a sudden. Her defence system had been great all this while. She had learnt to cope with grief, loneliness and sadness. She had been exceptionally strong all this time. What happened now? Why did she feel so weak?

Vulnerable. Vulnerable was what she felt.

She blinked her eyes, letting the tears wet the bed underneath her. She exercised her brains to think about the last time when she hadn’t cried. The last time when her eyes weren’t moist. She failed to remember.

“Brother Rama is leaving for vanvas, Urmi. Sita ma is also accompanying him.”
“What? Our brother Rama? Why him? What could he have possibly done that he is exiled?”
“Urmi Urmi..calm down..settle down..Father has ordered brother to do so. Everything is baseless. It is not fair. But brother is adamant. He is leaving with bhabhi ma tomorrow morning.”
“I feel so sad for didi. I will go and sit with her. She must be uncontrollable right now.”
“Urmi, I need to tell you somethi...”
“And I think you should go and sit with bro...”
“Urmi, I am going with them!”
“.....with brother. He may need to talk to y...”, she stopped half-way. All her animated talk came to a dead still. Her hands stopped mid-air and her eyes were big as ever. Shock could be read on her face. “You are going with them?”
“Yes, my beloved. Although father is not right in sending him away, there is no point in fighting it. Brother has been like a father to me. I have grown up in his shadow. This is the time when I can repay him. Bhabhi is like my mother. I think this is the least I can do for my parents,” he said with moist eyes.
“But dev, it is 14 years! You cannot do that! It is his vanvas. Please don’t go..” she held him tightly by his elbows, her sari falling off her head.
“Urmi, please calm down. There are no two ways about this”, he said with his head lowered down, “I have come to tell you, not ask.”
“Dev, I am coming with you. How can I stay here without you? My life is yours now”, she said decidedly, wiping her tears and turning back to take off her jewellery.
“You can’t come with us. Please understand. It is a vanvas. Life is not easy there.”
She flared her nostrils. She couldn’t believe what he just said. She turned back, “I stay here for the luxuries of the palace? No, I stay here because I love you dev. I wish to come with you because I cannot think of a day without you, forget 14 years! Why can bhabhi go with brother and I can’t come with you?”
“You are acting unreasonable, Urmila”
“How else should I react? It is his vanvas, not yours. I am not asking you to stay back, am I? All I am asking is, you take me along.”
“But Urmi, life is going to be diff..”
“So it is fine with me. It is my choice. It’s my choice to live with you wherever I want. I want to go with you. Even if it is a forest, as long as I am with you, I have no qualms.”
“My duty is to take care of brother and bhabhi. If you come, it will become difficult for me to fulfill my duties and I want you to stay here”, he said banging his fist on the wooden table. “Mother will be alone, Urmi. Please take care of our home and mother. They need you.”

She still remembered the anger in his eyes. Every single sentence of the conversation ringed in her ears as if it was just yesterday. She still remembered how she pleaded and begged for him to take her too. She cried till her eyes were swollen red. That night, she lay in his arms on their bed still crying. Lakshmana, too, couldn’t control his tears.

He held her chin up and said, “Urmila, you are my wife. I have loved you truly. And I promise to be yours till my last breath. The fact that you are not coming right now with me is not because I don’t love you. I love you immensely. But the forest is not a good place. I cannot let you live there. You are made to live in joy.” He rested his head in her bosom and whispered, “Forgive me please. My dharma compels me to put my parents before my personal joy.”
All Urmila could do was whimper and swallow back her tears. Her heart ached. She wanted to scream and tear her hair off. Yet, all she could do is bend down to take her husband in her arms for one last time. She let out a silent prayer that time would stop right there and the dreaded morning would never come.
Lakshmana, too, prayed the same.

What was she feeling? She didn’t know.
She came out of her reverie as the chattering on the streets grew intensely. Urmila didn’t want to be a part of the celebration. All she wanted was someone to be part of her grief.
Her grief, which never seemed to end.

When Rama, Lakshmana and Sita left, she felt sorrow come tumbling down in her heart. The truth was that the dark clouds of despair made their permanent abode over the royal region of Ayodhya. Families were displaced. King Dashratha couldn’t bear the pain of seeing his beloved children walk away from him without even questioning his judgement. His heart gave way. Mother Kaushalya and mother Sumitra stayed confined to their chambers, away from the world, crying. They refused to eat or indulge in any of the worldly activities. Bharata and Shatrughan were thrown into adulthood in minutes. Owing to the troubled times and sudden fall of responsibilities, distance between Shatrughan and Shrutkirti increased and so did the aloofness between Bharata and Mandavi. The guilt in the minds of Bharata and Shatrughan didn’t allow them to live in joy and happiness. Bharata refused to take the throne because it wasn’t rightfully his. His conscience didn’t allow him to betray his immense love for brother Rama.

The worst affected was mother Kaikeyi. She cried and never stopped. She begged for forgiveness from king Dashratha but neither could she save his life nor could she bring back Rama nor could she bring back the sanctity of the kingdom. All she wanted was her son to rule Ayodhya. She hadn’t foreseen the other consequences. She hadn’t foreseen widowhood. She cursed herself. She was driving herself to insanity.

Days after days passed but somehow the years never seemed to end. The maidens gossiped amongst themselves wondering about Urmila’s character. “Sita devi happily left all the worldly pleasures and accompanied her lord. How selfless. But what was Urmila devi thinking by choosing to stay back in the riches of the palace?” they would giggle in their chambers. Urmila could feel those words stab her in her heart each day.

This was not the fate she had decided. “Why did I let brother Rama decide my fate?” she regretted each night in her tiny room after serving her family, selflessly, all day long. She knew it wasn’t brother Rama’s fault and that he too was suffering the loss of being away from home. She knew brother Rama had nothing to do with her present state of misery. But her anger had compromised with her rational being.

Urmila couldn’t understand who suffered the biggest loss in this drama. Was it Sita didi who had to leave all the worldly pleasures and depart to the forests after just four months of her wedding, yet with her lord by her side? Or was it she, herself who could live in the comforts of the palace with her sisters and family being one in her anguish, but without her lord for 14 unending years?

She blinked her eyes rapidly for they burnt now. As if the 14 years weren’t enough, recalling them in bits and pieces was slowly killing her. The door knocked. She silently thanked the Gods for saving her in time. The door opened and entered a frail yet sturdy man. Unkempt and long hair, moist and red eyes, white dhoti, thin hands and legs. Urmila quickly adjusted her sari, wiped her tears and looked at the man in his eyes. “Who are you? Whom do you want to meet?” she demanded.
The man kept walking towards her. Confused, she moved back. When she couldn’t move anymore, she stretched out her hand to push the man behind. She yelled, “Who are you? Who let you in? Guards, guards!!” she screamed.
The man took her in his arms and pressed her against his body. It didn’t take long for Urmila to realise, “Dev, it is you? Oh good Lord!” She bent down to touch his feet. He held her up mid-way, kissed her on her forehead and said, “I have missed you Urmi. Every single day, all I could think about is how you must be doing.”
“You look so pale. Dev, I couldn’t recognise you.”
“As if you have been taking good care of yourself. Look at you, my beloved. Even if the wind blows, you will fall”, he said, holding her close to himself.

Outside, the firecrackers burst. Every house was lighted with candles and lamps. Sweet and scented smell absorbed the air. Decorated with flowers and garlands, Ayodhya was celebrating Diwali, rejoicing the return of Rama from his vanvas. Yet, all that mattered to Urmila was the return of her lord. The heavens and the earth met in the joy of their unison.

They held each other for an eternity.
Urmila’s vanvas thus ended.

Parenting – Not for the faint-hearted

My frequent meetings with newly-become parents over the last couple of months enhanced my knowledge. Until I met them, I didn’t know how challenging parenthood could be. I thought going to the dentist or driving on the Andheri Station road or simply being a teenager was more challenging. I thought it would be easy. I would just make the rules “Don’t forget to tighten your bed sheet and clean your room before leaving home” and my children would follow them “Of course mom, I will do it right away. Would you want me to clean your room too?”

However, after seeing my own parents and a score more, I choose to differ. My mother loves being a mother but she does get tired of saying the same things 5 times...every hour. All parents love their children. So do my cousins who just had an adorable baby boy. They look at him with immense joy...when he’s asleep. So much peace and calm in the house. The perfect time to have a bath, sleep, eat, read the newspapers, find the lost diapers, call up a few friends and relatives, watch mindless TV...till he opens his eyes.

It’s not easy being a parent. You have to be alert, attentive and patient. You can never get too comfortable or smug because these little ones - they keep changing, yeah! They constantly keep finding new ways to drive you up the wall. I noted down a few stages that every baby (and parent) goes through. Gathered from years of experience and unasked-for research:-

The Infant Stage: The baby’s very first few months, also known as the “Will I ever get to sleep again?” stage. These are the days and nights when you only get to see your bed, never get to be in it. After changing the inestimable diapers, cereal bottles and bottled food, you will probably find yourself crying looking at the bank statements. Perfectly normal. But from the ones into this business here’s the good word: “These are the really cheap days!”

The One: The stage where the kids learn to walk but they still like to be carried around, probably because it’s easier to wipe their nose on your t-shirt. They also learn their first words. Kudos if they are “ma” and “pa” and the not their favourite word ‘no’. All is still well till they get a sibling because then their favourite word becomes “mine!”

The Two: Here, I am not referring to the age but the two dreadful words ‘I want’. Apparently, they want everything. Whatever another child has, they will want it, even if it is chicken pox. If they don’t get, they throw tantrums – and many times, they throw other things also. A good outing for them at this stage would be to a zoo, perhaps, where they can pick a tip or two on good behaviour from the monkeys.

The Three: If you think the worst is over, lol. Now is the time they learn drawing. The little artists display their art on the wall, the fridge, the sofa, the floor and any other furniture, for that matter. By now, they stop throwing tantrums. In fact, they now get you to throw them. By now, your priorities change. You no longer want to become a millionaire or an author or an entrepreneur. You just want to remain sane.

The Four: They are over the “Its mine” and “I want” stage. Ladies and gentlemen, beware of the frightful “I am bored” stage. You hear that a good 50 times during the day. Hopscotch with a stone is Stone Age to them. After watching TV and playing with their toy bikes all day, they will look up at you with the same bored face. If you think TV is bad and you put on a DVD on your computer and make them watch that, then you are getting good at parenting. However, don’t get too comfortable. For all you know, you turn to tip-toe out of the room; you hear them scream “I’ve already watched it!”


A famous man (a father, of course) had said and I quote, “When I see teen-agers having babies, I wonder if they know what they're getting into. Have they really thought it through or are they just hoping that their children, by some miracle, will be mini versions of Mother Teresa? I wish my children would be more like Mother Teresa. I'd like to send them off to Calcutta.”

What Love is.....not!

My 12 year old friend ‘fell in love’. She thought he was her everything and in her dreams, even got married to him. Love obviously wasn’t what they felt. Her heart broke. Crying continuously for days and then dipping her face into foundation to cover the dark circles became routine for her. When she wasn’t doing either of the two, she would call me and ask me what love was (ya right! Like I am a walking thesaurus!)

My thinking buds were awakened. After thinking a lot and a little more, I realised that I, too didn’t know what love was. But I had a faint idea of what love was not!

Love is not ‘never having to say sorry’. It’s quite the opposite. It means learning to say you are sorry when you are wrong (if you are a man, then even when you are right!) It’s not romantic candlelight dinners because candles leave many messy blobs on expensive tablecloth. It also isn’t automatically eternal as wise men have claimed. In fact, to make it last, one will have to put in a great deal of work, not in bed, but in utterly unromantic places such as kitchens and bathrooms.

Love is not what makes the world go round. That’s gravity. If you are getting dizzy spells, do not mistake yourself to be in love. Just consult a neurologist.

It’s also not what we see in the movies. In reel life, there are songs and dances after which the hard work, complications and messy bits start surfacing before they are magically solved. In real life, however, these complications do not disappear. They tend to generally get tougher and messier.

Love is not canoodling on the sea-face rocks. That’s hormones. And the moral police. Cheap thrills can be exciting, yes, but they can also be expensive. Because if the constable doesn’t get you, the rising tide might.

What I know is that love is wonderful. It may not be the hottest thing around, but it is warm. It is not something as exotic as passion but something as ordinary as caring and as boring as respect. It also involves a good usage of the heart and the head (yes, both! It can be demanding, you know!)

Love is not about diamonds but it is about what the diamonds signify. They start as a lump of coal, but require loads of time and energy and lots of cuts and bruises to bring out the sparkle. Love actually is like that only.

On contemplation, understanding rocket science or solving the Kashmir problem would have been easier.