The Curious Case of My Career(s)

Disclaimer: This blog reads like a cross between a Linkedin profile and an autobiographical account

Once in 6th grade on being asked what it is that I want to be when I grew up, I replied "Journalist". I always liked writing, and at that point in time was a manic reader. (It's another matter that I also had/have a penchant for drama and an obsession with Hindi movies and thought I should be an actress!)

As the years passed, writing was/is a passion/skill which kinda stuck with me, almost as if a conjoined twin. But in terms of careers, my mind wavered off and on. There was a time when I used to read only Grisham, and decided that law is my calling in life.

By a twist of fate (I end up having a lot of these!), psychology entered my life in 11th grade. Psychology and me, its like we were meant to be. My penchant for drama, my love for stories and human complexities, and my writing - all found a wonderful place in the world of psychology. I did my bachelors and my masters in psychology, and was convinced that my future career will revolve around psychology. In the middle of it, I did a brief stint with an HR consultancy, and also worked as a counsellor for a suicide helpline (the latter is ironic for so many reasons now).

On completing my masters, I literally stumbled into JNU, the hub of academia, research, communism and all things serious. Suddenly, my choice of career veered into research, education and academics. This was the time that I had cleared the 'prestigious' NET exam. It was also the time that I went for quite a number of interviews for teaching jobs in colleges and ended up clearing none. I was a freelance consultant with a publishing house also, and contrary to what I had always believed in, I didn't enjoy it as much as I would have thought.

In the midst of all this chaos, I got engaged. In the gap of 7/8 months between my engagement and my wedding, I interned with CSR, little knowing how it would have such an impact of my life, years later. That internship was just like an internship should be - breezy, stress free, enlightening, happy, and used my favourite skills of writing and research. 

After I got married and moved to Bombay, owing to the JNU stamp, and some recommendations from the sister, I managed to get a job in the educational wing of a renowned global NGO. It was a job very suited for my academic background, but lasted just two months, since I moved back to Delhi.

Once that happened, and amidst all the confusion surrounding my Ph.D plans, I landed up (to much of my shock and horror) as a school teacher, something which was nowhere in my life plans, like EVER. When I completed one year of being a school teacher (my longest job ever up until that point in life), and thought that this was going to be THE career, fate waved its magic wand. I got pregnant! I still remember, one of the first thoughts that came to my mind when I got to know of this life altering news, was "There goes my job" (Yes, like I said, I am very cool like that!). 

I worked through a significant part of my pregnancy, and finally decided to call it quits, simply because I was so blank. I was so blank about how I will feel about working after the baby, or whether I would even want to work, or how I would manage- that I just put in my papers.To be honest, I was fairly convinced in my head that I won't work once I become a mother, because I will have no time or energy left.

The first three months of being a mother are just a big blur in my memory. I remember endless sleepless nights, messed up eating schedules, this absolute state of nothingness, where all days, and parts of the day, were the same. I wondered sometimes if I would ever be 'normal' me again, if I would ever read, or watch TV or go out and shop, let alone hold a job.

Three months passed, and life sort of became normal. There was a more structured routine to my day, and I felt more mentally stable. And that was around the time, that life assumed a certain meaninglessness. I mean, yes I was raising an infant (a VERY high maintenance one at that ), but surely life had something else in store for me?  

It was around that time that CSR, quite magically, re-entered my life. And there I was, leaving behind a 5 month old baby, to go to work twice a week, for a few hours. Looking back at that person, I remember her being so nervous, so jittery, so unsure, more than I had ever been in my life. As a new mother, I suddenly felt that 'mothering' was all I knew - could I really fulfill job responsibilities? To be very honest, I didn't think I would last long in this job, but decided to test my own limits. I had nothing to lose.

Cut to 2017. I have completed two whole years of work at CSR, the longest job I have ever managed to stick to, or perhaps, the job which stuck to me the longest. On the lunch table with my team, soon after I completed two years, my boss asked me "What has been the highlight of these two years for you?" While I mumbled something, it got me thinking, at how bizarre life tends to be. Here I am, working as a social media consultant, literally living on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram, writing blogs off and on, doing a bit of research, and have recently started understanding the coding and technical aspects of websites. It's almost funny how what I do now, has no direct relevance to what I studied all these years, or is nowhere close to all the jobs I had held so far. I am not trained in media, or language, but here I am, as part of the Media and Communication Division. Ironically, it is a job I am quite passionate about, and my work is almost an extension of my own personality now- an ideal situation no?

I remember ages ago, I had gone for an interview and the interviewer told me my resume was "eclectic". Maybe it was a unique way of saying "You lack focus." But perhaps it is the best way to define my personality and my experience with jobs too. When I look back at my 'career graph' (for want of a better word), it is a classic case of "Jack of all trades/Master of None". I really admire people who have had a single goal their whole life, or even their whole adult life, and everything they have done is directed towards achieving that goal. On a personal level, I have struggled a lot with being that goal-directed person, but now at this adult age of 30, I truly have made peace with the fact that I am nowhere close, and for my own sanity, I shouldn't try to be. I am a very "go with the flow" kind of person, and it has always benefited me, given my life circumstances. What I find amazing in a sense, is that all the jobs I have had, have been perfect for the life space I was in at that time.

Who knows where the future takes me?

The Politics of Motherhood

Amidst all the different kinds of politics that exist in our society, there is one distinct category of politics which is never really probed into- mom politics. I really don't know if any kind of literature exists on this, but my two years of motherhood, and being acquainted with many different kinds of mothers, have given me a strange insight into this phenomenon.

What exactly is mom politics? It is essentially moms trying to engage in a game of one-upmanship, passing judgements on the kind of mother the other person is, and often trying to force their parenting styles on the other. I am a part of several moms groups on Facebook, which exist for the purpose of connecting different mothers, and providing a forum for discussion and seeking advice. To put mildly, in my humble opinion, it is nothing but a platform for mothers to pass heavy judgements, often engaging in severe arguments. Don't get me wrong, they can be really helpful too- I got the details of my son's current pediatrician from one of these groups. But apart from a few instances, these groups are no less than an online battlefield.

When does this politics really begin, in the lifespan of a mother? Based on my personal experiences, I am 100% sure that this has an evolutionary basis. It must be something which is passed on in our collective unconscious (Jungian psychology at its best). This conclusion is purely on the basis of my personal experiences, but I am sure everyone has a similar tale to tell.

I had a fairly uneventful pregnancy (save a manic case of morning sickness and nausea which lasted about 5 months) and since I was pretty physically active during those days, I always assumed I would have a normal delivery, to the extent that I never bothered to read or gather any information regarding C-Sections. Cut to the date my son was born- due to abnormal BP levels, my doctors advised me to go for an emergency C-sec. On hearing this, I started howling at the hospital, and told my mother how my BP wasn't my fault and I don't know why this has to happen to me. Looking back, I see that a strange sense of guilt had overpowered me at that time, and I felt the need to justify that I had to opt for an "unnatural" method of delivering my child. To end this story, I had a very uneventful surgery, and my baby and I emerged absolutely healthy from the episode. What is the politics here you might ask? It is in the brouhaha that followed, from all kinds of people, women predominantly who heard that I had a C-Sec. The essence of the reactions was essentially "Oh my god- what sacrilege!". It is absolutely amusing that these reactions are evoked even today, when I discuss the story of my son's birth. The C-Sec moms sympathize and the natural delivery moms just smirk. I can almost hear them gloat. I appreciate women who have delivered their children naturally, I really do. Labour pain is something which I can only imagine, and I also know that the healing process for the mother is much easier and faster- it is called natural for a reason. But just because you didn't have a health issue, and were able to deliver naturally, really doesn't make you any kind of an expert in what I should or shouldn't have done to ensure that I didn't go for a C-Sec. And in the end, it really doesn't matter. I am healthy, my child is healthy, and that is all that is important.

A similar story regarding breastfeeding. Since I had a C-Sec, I had a harrowing time with the process of breastfeeding initially, because apparently in such cases it takes upto 72 hours for the body to understand that the child has been born and milk production needs to begin. So those initial days were terrible- because mothers around me expected me to be a natural, and I wasn't. It took me about a week to really get into the groove and I am really proud of the fact that my son was breastfed till 10 months, and he weaned himself off. It was also possible because my doctors were awesome, my mother and my husband were absolute rockstars in terms of providing me with the support which is required. As easy and natural as the whole process seems, you need an excellent support system to really nail the thing. But that is besides the point. The point is, that some mothers are not able to breastfeed, or just don't want to. And there is absolutely no reason for the world to make them feel inferior. An acquaintance of mine called me within a month of childbirth (she had delivered her baby around the same time) and I remember she asking me what formula milk I use. I told her I breastfeed and she, very honestly, told me that she is not able to. I remember asking her twice, very forcefully I might add, "But why? It's tough at first but you need to persist". And she repeatedly said she couldn't. I am sure she hated me at that time, for not being empathetic. On my part, I feel I said that because I had heard a similar thing from another new mother, and was very influenced by her entire rant on how I MUST breastfeed. And I somehow probably felt that because I was following it, everyone else should, and could, as well. (One tight slap to me-from-2014.)

Having gone past this whole phase, I often feel like shaking people and telling them that no one cares. When we human beings go out in the world, our successes and failures are not dependent on how we were born. No employer ever asks whether a recruit was born via C-Sec or forceps or normal delivery, or whether their mother breastfed them or gave them formula milk. What does matter is how we raise our children. Whether they are good human beings and whether they have healthy lifestyles. Whether they are kind, and helpful. Whether they have a positive impact on the people and places around them.

I don't expect men to understand this. I often find it rather silly when men pass comments and judgements on a woman's mode of delivering her baby or her choices - really, just shut up! But the fact that women, mothers, judge other mothers is quite saddening.

It is rather disappointing that mothers (me included), instead of sticking out for each other, and helping each other out, always end up engaged in some kind of a competition. The underlying theme is always "My style is better than yours", "My child is better than yours". I have friends who are new to motherhood like me, and one thing which is common in all of us, is that we all have a tendency to prove that we are good mothers. This validation, leads us to constantly compare and evaluate other mothers, and coming to the conclusion that we are the best. The working mothers think they are awesome because they manage to balance work/home/family. The stay at home mothers think they are awesome because they have given up careers and professional lives to raise their children. I am somewhere in the middle, and I know that both are really tough. And instead of passing judgements on a mother's choices, we must understand that motherhood, or rather the 'kind' of motherhood, is a life choice. We choose our paths of motherhood, and the choices we make in this path are the best that we do given our circumstances. Whether we send our children to day care, or leave them at home with grandparents and/or maids, or stay at home and take care of them- it's a life choice. Like the subjects we studied, the people we marry, the friends we make. There is absolutely no need to shame a mother, because frankly, a mother has enough guilt of her own to deal with.

A close friend, whose child is the same age as mine, once called me and asked me what I give my child to eat the entire day. After I narrated the entire day's worth of meals, she heaved a sigh of relief and said "I do more or less the same! I thought since you're at home and I work, there must be some difference". Something about that conversation stayed with me. The seemingly inconsequent questions on whether your child is potty trained, or bottle fed, or when he/she is starting school, and how much he/she talks- all end up being a process of proving the success of our motherhood, and in this journey of proving our self worth, we often say hurtful things to other mothers.

What is so important to understand is that a mother struggles every day to prove to herself and the world that she is doing the best she can. And most mothers, are doing a really good job. Their methods, their parenting styles, their concerns might be varied, but they all want to raise healthy and good children.

The struggle to be a good mother is lifelong. I know I will face dozens of such situations when my child starts school, and in the future. I cannot reiterate enough that being a mother is physically and emotionally extremely exhausting and the least that mothers can do, is to be nice to fellow mothers.

When words aren't enough

I don't remember when it was that we actually became so close. I don't remember when I shifted from calling you by your name, to calling you Didi. Maybe it was when my laptop had to be given to the service center, and I started using your pretty gold coloured WAIO. You ended up reading my poems/writings, and discussing them with me. Or when you developed a ritual of putting me to sleep by putting on "Do Naina Aur Ek Kahani", when I would complain that I can't sleep with the tubelight on. Or when my bed broke, you put your bed aside, cleaned the room with a jhaadu, and exclaimed that we would both sleep on the floor.

We didn't meet for a few years after you graduated and left Room 103. But we always spoke, always knew about each others lives. We definitely got closer when you got married. Somehow, the fact that you married someone from my community, brought us infinitely closer. The fact that now you somehow understood the whole context of which I was a part of, cemented our friendship in a funny way. I was going through our chats the other day, and realized that the first conversation where you told me you were dating V, was also the first time I mentioned about AV to you, by saying that a friend of mine was trying to set me up with a friend of hers. So funny na?

My cousin got engaged the day you got married, and I couldn't make it for the wedding. I visited Bombay a few months after your wedding, and you came all the way from Matunga to Bandra to pick me up for breakfast, and then dropped me back to Bandra. You also gave me a supremely pretty suit, which I wore when AV's family came to my house for the first time. You told me that you were honoured that I chose your suit for such a momentous day.

You wrote me a beautiful letter when I got engaged. And I remember meeting you in Bombay soon after and you insisted on meeting AV. "Main tujhse nahin usse milne aayi hun". You couldn't come for my wedding, and it was an ongoing joke between you and me that it was just so you could take revenge for me not being there at your wedding. But I knew your reasons.

One of the reasons I have the best memories of my time in Bombay is because of you. How you used to turn up randomly and AV would open up his Pandoras box of complaints about me. How you used to support me, unconditionally, every time. Your "Tum log kitna zyaada khaana order karte ho!" Those two months of mine at work were so awesome. I remember when my seat was allotted diagonal to yours, and your boss exclaimed "Well I don't see Ankita being very productive for the next two months" How we chatted all day, every day. The day you came to my house to take a bath, because there was no water at your place, and I made breakfast for you. You are the only one, apart from my family, to be subjected to my cooking.

You were the only one who knew that I 'might' be pregnant, apart from AV and me. And you told me that you have a good feeling about this, and how I will be your Ankita Didi this one time. I remember telling you that this pregnancy thing is unnerving because I don't have any "Ankita Didi said this" to base my life on. I travelled to Bombay in the 4th month of my pregnancy for AV's office party, and I remember a friend mentioning "Tu sirf Ankita Didi se milne jaa rahi hai na?!" You spent practically a whole day with me, and then came to meet me for 10 minutes to Phoenix. We also had breakfast at Matunga just before our flight...remember?! Then you came to meet me in my parental home, when I was 7 months pregnant. That was the last time I saw you. I wish I had taken a picture, I don't know why I didnt.

You always used to say you felt a special connection with Surya. You had a beautiful handmade sweater set sent for him soon after he was born. The gifts you got for him from Canada, reached him exactly on his first bday. You were waiting to meet him, and would often ask me how he would differentiate between the two Anki Maasis. I kept telling you that we will figure out a way.

I was heartbroken when you told me about the cancer. And I was waiting to meet you. I almost met you in November, but plans got changed. December was planned. And awaited. I told you our plans a week before, and told you that even though things seemed so packed, I will meet you. You replied "I hope we meet". I don't know why you said it. You shouldn't have used 'hope'.

Out of all the clothes Surya has, I ended up choosing your birthday gift to him, the day you died. Looking back, it was a funny decision. Usually, I make him wear someone's gift when we meet that someone. I kept mentioning to everyone that you had sent it for him. I remember my mom saying that I should take a picture and send it to you, and I said you already have a picture of him in that outfit. But I wish I had listened to my mom. Maybe it would have been one of the last things you saw. Maybe we would have had a last conversation.

Those moments leading up to the news of your death are vivid. I was bang in the middle of a family reunion, laughing with my aunts and cousins one minute. And then saw that there were 3 missed calls from a Bombay number. I never return missed calls, but this one I did. The moment V said hello, I knew there was bad news. I hoped against hope that it wasn't the worst. It was. I remember asking him a series of questions. Looking back, I don't know how I managed to speak with such coherence. But the minute the call ended, I crashed. My heart was broken and my world had literally shattered. No one even tried to console me, because they knew how terrible this whole news was. They knew nothing they could say would make it okay. I had to put on a tough and happy exterior though. I had a baby to take care of. I had a family event to attend, people to socialize with. I couldn't look morose. But I cried my heart out in the cab on the way to the airport. I allowed myself that.

As per our plan, I went to your house on reaching Bombay. But you weren't there. Your picture was. The picture from your brother's wedding- I recognized it. Your family was there. We all recognized each other from the millions of stories you had shared. But there was nothing to say, not even tears to shed. I had nothing to say to V, who I had always met before in very pleasant circumstances. We hugged and held each other for 5 minutes, trying to share the grief, trying to understand the unspoken words. I looked around at the apartment, imagining the situation which was supposed to happen in those very hours. I imagined me visiting with AV and Surya. I imagined you holding S, and him taking to you and you exclaiming "Wunjoo I can't believe you are a mommy". I couldn't believe how 24 hours had changed everything.

I spoke to so many of our common friends about your death. Some, who knew your story. Others, who had no idea. To most, I was a messenger. They wanted information, the how, the why. With the others, I tried to piece together this whole ordeal. I made an unlikely bond with your BFF from college. We had barely spoken all these years, and here we were, talking for hours, trying to deal with this unimaginable shared grief of ours. We shared stories about you, and laughed at silly things. It helped a bit, because while we didn't know who the other person was/is, we knew who you were and what you meant to us. And that was enough to deal with this sadness.

I never realized how much a part of my life you were, or rather, still are. Small, inconsequential things remind me of you. I say your name unconsciously while narrating random stories. I don't know what to do with the truckloads of memories I have of you. It's like I need to do justice to those, put them somewhere for safekeeping, but there's no place big enough to keep them all.

Your death has changed my soul forever. Every time I feel like throwing a tantrum, your face flashes before my eyes, and I calm down. I feel like doing everything that comes my way, seizing every opportunity, perhaps because I feel like I have to live your share of life too. You would have definitely found it funny.

To say I miss you is the most meaningless statement ever. Maybe "I think of you so much" does more justice. I think of you everyday. In my happy moments, my sad ones, those moments before I sleep at night, my moments of doubt. I miss you most when I need Didi-level advice. And then I imagine what you would have said or reacted. The one thing I cannot wrap my head around is how I missed you by a day. How you never met Surya.

I still cannot believe you are not around. That I will never ever see you or hear your voice, or take a picture with you. I think its for the best. Because on the days when I believe your death, my life comes to a standstill, and the sadness is too much to handle.  

Most people who know me, told me to write, to deal with your death. I did write, but fragments. I wrote a piece about breast cancer for work, and a blog about the earrings which you made Alisha buy for me as a farewell gift. But nothing which captured the essence of my grief.

Maybe this does. I don't know. But I hope you read this Didi, wherever you are. There will never ever be another one like you in my life. And I hope you know just what you have been and will continue to be.

Love lots.

Navigating through the Delhi roads!

An old post dug out from the drafts!

People who have interacted me on a somewhat deeper level than "hey whats up?" would know that if there was such a term as "geographically challenged", i would be the human representation of it. Its something which I openly admit to, and am not in the least apologetic about- I am horrible with directions...and while my other sense are pretty intact (yes common sense included!), my road sense has been deep in slumber since birth.

So its really no wonder that I wasn't exactly most enthusiastic about learning how to drive and getting a license. Most of my friends/acquaintances celebrated their 18th birthdays by getting a permanent driver's license. On my 18th, i had just started to figure my way around Delhi. Since then, a small group of people had been pestering me to learn this so-called art of driving, and get my license. I had a million excuses ready- "I don't have a car, so its not like the license will be of much use" "I stay in a hostel, i don't need a license" "i LOVE delhi's public transport!" (i do really!) and of course, the trump card "Do you NOT know how horrible I am with directions? I mean i get lost inside my own colony!" Funnily, the majority of the people in my life never pestered me too much about this whole thing- i guess people know me too well :)

However, things changed. One summer evening in July, I decided that i had to know how to drive. Kids younger than me, wayyyy younger than me, were navigating through delhi roads...i mean its insulting right? Thus began the driving classes- official and un-official. The official ones, with the driving school were a bit of a joke. It was during the unofficial ones, with the father, that (to use a phrase which has to be in hindi!) aate daal ka bhaav pata chala! The first day of driving, I promptly announced to one and all that I would much rather do a million dissertations than drive- yes i am melodramatic like that!

Yesterday was my maiden drive on the scary roads of Delhi allbymyself. Yes- all.by.myself. There was no father, no brother, no one who would tell me to slow down, give the indicator, lower my speed, go right/left/wherever. I was on my own. I was the driver and the navigator
It was the scariest experience of my life. I wasnt this scared when i drove for the very first time. Or when the father took us on the ring road when we hadnt even got our learner's license. Or when he asked me to drive through naraina during peak hour and the mother was mortified, and prayed to all the gods known to mankind till we made it back home. I don't think i have ever experienced true fear like I did yesterday. For a second, I considered taking the metro instead- i mean who am i kidding? I was definitely NOT born to drive...why do i even try? Thank god I don't take myself seriously most of the time ;)
My maiden drive was horrible. I mean i drove my worst. Not unsafe driving, but just sheer horrible driving. But it was extremely rite-of-passagey, and i felt very very proud of myself; i urge all of you to be proud of me as well ;)

No i haven't changed drastically. I am still geographically challenged- it is no co-incidence that i only drive to places the directions to which have been permanently ingrained in my brain. I would still be a thousand times more comfortable at the idea of taking an auto or the metro. But I can drive! And it has given me a completely new perspective to Delhi roads- the world is a very different place behind that steering wheel. I hate pedestrians when I am driving (i think driver-me would have long killed pedestrian-me had they shared a road). I hate those auto-type/van type/three-wheeler things (i had never really noticed them before). I hate DTC buses and cycle rickshaws (such conflict inside my head!). I hate trucks (ya those I always wasnt too fond of). I swear a LOT inside my head (!) I hate people staring at me when I am driving- yes i am a girl. yes i drive horrible. yes the engine goes off. yes i have a problem parking, and taking the car out of the parking. what is YOUR problem? overtake my car, and GO.

I don't know how comfortable i will be with this whole driving thing in the future. There's a high possibility that I might give it up, just like that. But for now, let me bask in this glory :)
And thus endeth the saga of my journey from geographically challenged public transport loving girl, to geographically challenged public transport loving girl who learnt how to drive and navigate!

This blog post is inspired by the blogging marathon hosted on IndiBlogger for the launch of the #Fantastico Zica from Tata Motors. You can apply for a test drive of the hatchback Zica today.

A book with a lasting impact

A teacher recommends three books in her class. The students take turns borrowing the books and share notes.

“So how was bitter chocolate?”

“Umm, depressing yet amazing…very well written…you should definitely read it.”

So I get the book and start reading it. The book begins with an author’s note which churns my stomach. Ok, its ok, just a book, I tell myself. Except that no one told me that it’s not JUST a book. Bitter chocolate is an experience, albeit a traumatic one at that, which makes your mind go totally haywire, and has a lasting impact on the reader. But first, let me tell you about the book in much the same fashion as Pinki Virani, the author, writes it: dripping with facts.

Bitter chocolate is a book about child sexual abuse in India. It is divided into three notebooks. The first deals with what CSA is, the statistics and the effects of it. The second notebook gives two detailed case histories. Finally, the third notebook talks about the healing process, recovery of CSA victims and their families. The book is interspersed with several real life case histories.

The book ends with a list of books recommended by the author on CSA and related subjects, such as marital abuse. It also contains a small compilation of contact details of NGO’s working in the area of CSA, in the major Indian cities.

Now that the facts are over, let me come to the real thing- Bitter Chocolate was a harrowing experience for me, which shook my very soul. I was never ignorant to CSA/sexual abuse before reading the book: the countless OPRAH shows which I have watched on the subject will vouch for that. 

But this was different. Very different. Perhaps it was the Indian context, perhaps the cold bloodedness of the hard facts or perhaps it was the sarcasm underlying every word in every page of the book; I don’t know. 

But I know that I will never be the same again. I am seeing every human being in a new light, in a new perspective. Every male seems like a potential perpetrator of CSA. Looking at every woman and child makes me question: have they been sexually abused today? Or yesterday? Will they ever be sexually abused at any point in their lives? Oh leave aside strangers. I have started to doubt my family members, my friends, their families, neighbours and about countless people who I have ever known in my life: all of them seem like they hold some secret related to CSA….do they?

None of these emotions are in any way exaggerated or written for effect. Not even the fact that after I finished the first notebook, I stayed up all night crying inconsolably, questioning just about everything in this universe. 

Would I recommend this book to anyone? OF COURSE and not just to anyone, but to everyone who cares to listen. To everyone who has ever loved and trusted. Essentially to everyone who knows how to read. It would be to create awareness, to make CSA a dining table conversation. But more than that, perhaps I would recommend it to people in hope, that someday, someone, somewhere would read it and find peace, even for a few minutes. Or better yet, prevent CSA from taking place.

Would I read it again? Or rather, do I have it in me to go through the whole ordeal again? Honestly, I don’t know and I can’t say. 

So coming back to the question: how IS Bitter Chocolate? Simply put, an experience, one which leaves a lasting impact.

This blog post is inspired by the blogging marathon hosted on IndiBlogger for the launch of the #Fantastico Zica from Tata Motors. You can apply for a test drive of the hatchback Zica today.

Date Night

“Let’s go, quickly, while he is sleeping”, the husband said. And so we rushed out of the house, eager to make a most of this golden opportunity.

As parents to a five month old boy, our previously untamed lives had undergone a total metamorphosis. We used to be big on weekend outings, catching every random movie which would come out, meeting friends, long walks and going to our favourite eateries.  However, today we had to meticulously plan every tiny outing, whether a cup of coffee or a short drive. Date nights were effectively a thing of the past.

Not that we were complaining- both of us loved being parents, and we had managed quite a few outings with our baby in tow. But this new love of our life came with certain obstacles to some quality husband-wife time, which needed a lot of effort and planning to overcome.

So after ages, the stars had aligned in such a manner that the boy slept off at a time, which was conducive for a dinner date. And we seized the opportunity, as soon as it landed on our lap.

“Pizza?” the husband asked. I gave a big smile and nodded. I hadn’t eaten pizza in ages, but the reason for my smile was not that. Pizza dates with the husband were always special, because our first official date involved pizza, garlic bread and masala lemonade.

Three and a half years, and countless dates later, our order at the restaurant remained much the same. We chit chatted about the baby, but also about childhood memories, old friends and potential vacations. We laughed and giggled, made fun of each other, reminisced about our very first date, and how much life had changed. 

We had a leisurely dinner, unable to fathom our good luck that not a single call came from home. It was too good to be true. Well, almost. Just as plans for dessert were being made, the phone rang- we were summoned home, as the boy had gotten up. 

“Well it couldn’t have been perfect”, the husband said. I smiled back and said “This was as close as it could be”. And after quickly paying the bill, we rushed home. From being just husband and wife for an hour, we were back to being parents. 

In my five months of being a mother, I realize that parenthood can be hugely challenging to a marriage. It takes lots of effort to be husband and wife, to take out time and energy for each other, when your child requires you to be parents 24*7. But this short and sweet date with my favourite pizza partner, gives me hope that perhaps the husband and I will do just fine. 

https://housing.com/.

Of being a guest writer

Over the past two weeks, I have written two blog posts for two veryyy different blogs. I shall be immensely immodest and say that I was invited to do the two posts - fancy much!

CSR is an organisation I interned with three years ago, for four months, way back when I was engaged. It was a dream job, where I got paid to write and waste my time on social media- utopia! Well, except for the money ;) Anyhoo, so the boss from CSR pinged on Facebook the other day and asked me to write a post for their new initiative "Write with us"on gender based parenting. Thus "Raising a boy" was written. As soon as it went live, an acquaintance pinged me on Twitter and asked me to write for "The Earrings Project", which she had started a few months back with a friend. I had found it super interesting since and had been meaning to write for it for quite some time. And so "The Wedding Gift" happened.

The point of this post is not to advertise my writing (although, comments would be greatly appreciated!). I had a super fun time thinking and writing both these diametrically opposite pieces and it made me realize how therapeutic writing is for me. I mean yes I like the appreciation which accompanies it sometimes, but at the end of the day I love writing, by itself. I love putting my thoughts to words, I love seeing a blog post take shape. Since I turned mom, writing provides a much needed mental break from mom-hood, even if I am writing about my baby.

Here's to more guest posts, blog updates and maintaining sanity!

a 1000 weeks, a 1000 memories

So the media has effectively been going insanely crazy over DDLJ completing 1000 weeks at Maratha Mandir. The cast is being interviewed, quotable quotes from the movie being repeated like everywhere.

I remember seeing the movie for the very first time, not in a theater, but on tv. You see, those were the good old days when we were at the mercy of the neighbourhood cablewalla, who sometimes did the evil sin of showing new movies on his own secret channel. The quality of the print used to be so so so bad ('camera print' it was called those days), but there was some magic, some joy in that whole experience, which streaming a new movie online doesn't quite capture.

Anyway, so we caught glimpses of the movie (I think from the train sequence to tujhe dekha toh yeh jaana sanam- with manyyy scenes missing and heads cut). Deciding that the movie might just be worth checking out, we eventually saw the movie in the theater. And the rest as they say is history.

DDLJ was the onset of a very very long ongoing love affair between me and Bollywood. I was all of eight when the movie came out, but it left an indelible impression on me. For me, SRK is the Raj of DDLJ, always. Maybe the Rahul or Kabir Khan. Never the Suri or Om or G.one. But always the Raj. When I say I am an SRK fan (used to be would be more apt in the current scenario) I refer to DDLJ, always. I fell deeply in love with the pairing of SRK and Kajol, to the point that I thought SRK should divorce his wife and marry Kajol and got so upset when Kajol married Ajay Devgan (ya we were super awesome like that)! I even bugged my parents to take me to this Awesome Foursome show where SRK and Kajol were performing, some four hours away from Ottawa in Toronto, when I was 11, and I remember being in total awe that I was in the same physical space as them. I remember travelling to Switzerland some six years after the movie was out, and being obsessed with buying a cowbell and staring at mustard fields.

I loved many movies after that, but this one has always held a special place in my heart. Perhaps because I was so young. Perhaps because it was the first of its kind in many ways. Perhaps because of all the imagery and memories associated with it.

Looking back, DDLJ represents a simpler time, in cinema and life. It represents a pre-Internet, pre-Facebook era, where things were at face value and you didn't have the option of googling everything. It was a time when movie stars were people you guessed about and were in awe of, not people on your Twitter and Instagram accounts. It was a time when people wore outrageous clothes in movies, were fat and probably didn't go to the gym all the time.

Too much mush this post. But far away from this maddening business of 100 crore movies, unending film promotions and super perfect looking movie stars, DDLJ is perhaps one of the few films which always manages to warm my heart. And that's enough.

After all, bade bade deshon mein aisi chhoti chhoti baatein hoti rehti hain.

A month of sunshine

It's been a whole month since October 1st, that seemingly normal Wednesday morning, when I went to my doctor for a follow-up. And was told that I would be having a baby by the end of the day.

A bit of a history. I had spent the past weekend at the hospital due to a BP scare. So I was at the height of my frustration levels. In fact, on October 1st, I woke up and looked like a balloon- my high blood pressure had made my entire body swell up, to the extent that my eyes looked Chinese, and I couldn't even make a fist with my hands

Right. Coming back to October 1st. For a day which is perhaps one of the most important, defining days of my life, it's a surprise that it's perhaps the most emotion-less and blank days of my life as well. I remember feeling NOTHING through the entire rigmarole of going to my doctor, being told that a C-Sec was my best bet at the time, getting admitted, waiting for the husband to get in from office, filling forms, finally being wheeled into the OT, being subjected to an epidural (that was the scariest part of my delivery process), staring into the bright OT lights above me and suddenly hearing a baby's cry ("really? The kid is born?!")...yours truly was blank through it all.

But the point of this blog post is not my mental state on that day- although I would like to capture that some day soon. My little baby boy, aka Surya, has turned a month old. And I want to essentially capture his first month of living.

So a bit about my "Sun"
- Nothing gives him greater joy than being massaged and bathed. He would be crying before and after a bath, but is in a state of utter tranquility during a bath.
- Doesn't know how to fall asleep- so so so sad for a child whose parents could sleep for eternity if given a choice.
- Moves his hands and feet wayyyy too much. I suspect an incredibly naughty child in the making.
- Looks like an angel when he's sleeping
- Likes being held a little too much.
- Has big and super inquisitive eyes.
- Gives a toothy smile in his sleep, which has immense melting-your-heart powers.
- Looks the cutest when he cries (Sadistic mommy, check)

Motherhood is a strange phenomenon. I didn't feel motherly during my entire pregnancy...I was so incredibly preoccupied with myself. But now that S is here, things have changed. It's a joy having him next to me, to see his little being grow and develop, to notice his tiny little actions and quirks. The entire month has been exhausting and sleep-deprived, but the tiny human is just so pretty awesome, that it seems like a decent payoff ;) I know, biggest cliche in the world right?

(I is back on the blog...I missed writing. And despite the super tiring and exhausting routine that I have now, I hope to be regular from now on. Soooooo much to write about!)

Once Upon A Time in Mumbai

Five months ago, I came to Bombay as a new bride. It wasn't the first time I was coming to the city, but the arrival had many significant undertones. It was the real beginning of mine and AV's marriage, the first time we would be setting up a house together, the first time we would really start to live as a couple. The month following the wedding was a whirlwind of travelling, honeymooning, paperwork, packing, blah blah blah. But November 14th 2012 was the true start of the marriage.

I always knew that our time in Bombay would be short. But five months later, in hindsight, I have bipolar perspectives about my time here. On one level, it seems like an eternity that I have been here, that I have been dealing with the city. And on another, it seems like yesterday that I entered Malkani Mahal (yes thats the name of my building) and was so overwhelmed with the bombardment of information, that I started crying.

I was never a Bombay-hater; on the contrary, on one particular visit (which I also blogged about), I was quite taken by the city. However, at the end of the blog post about the eventful Bombay trip (eventful for reasons which ultimately resulted in me being married) I wrote that Bombay has had no emotional connect for me. Today, after five months of being a pseudo Mumbaikar, I can safely say that Bombay will always hold a prime place in my heart and soul. It was the city where AV and I met for the very first time in life and it's only fair that it has also been the city where we set up our first home, learnt to live with (and tolerate) each other. It was where we devised our own systems of living, own little rituals and routines. It was where we did so many things right from scratch- finding a maid, finding a presswala, a newspaper guy, a grocery store, a parlour (yes it's important!). It was where I learnt that I am responsible for paying the bills, and if I falter, there will be no cable, no internet. It was where I learnt to cook (like BIG pat on the back for moi), and while I have no Masterchef type qualities, and still can't make an above average Sambar (shame on me right?!), I am no longer scared of the idea of cooking, and can manage a halfway decent meal (and I am a certified expert in simla mirch-paneer ki sabzi- just saying). It was where I realized that I am NOT housewife material, and have the potential to turn crazy if forced to sit at home and do nothing but manage house. It was where I worked, and realized that managing house and work is a herculean task (big hug to my mommies who manage it with a huge smile), but it's not really undoable. Your house might be a little messy at times, and you might order in a lot more (especially if you belong to the ungharelu category of yours truly), but if your head is sane, the world is yours to conquer :)

Life lessons apart, Bombay is a storehouse of memories. My first weekend coincided with Bal Thackeray's death, and it was the quietest and 'dead'-est that I have seen Bombay (pun not intended). It was the weekend we celebrated one month of being married. And it was the weekend where I cooked proper meals for the first time, and emerged victorious ;) Bombay, to me, is about long walks to Haji Ali and eating the world's most awesome fruit cream there. High level intellectual discussions with the boss which eventually ended with the phrase "dimaag ka dahi ban gaya". Going to Phoenix practically every weekend for a movie, or dinner, or both, and struggling to find a cab back. The randomest day trip to Igatpuri with the office people, and chit chatting with the sister non stop through the day. Going to Bandra to meet the gang, and getting back at unearthly hours, too tired to even sleep. Random outings to Marine Drive. Showing my mommy around the city. The time we rushed through a dinner at Pizza By The Bay, just so we could have the homemade Parsi ice cream at Marine Drive. The time I went to CST to cheer AV for the marathon (listed in life's favouritest moments). The local ride from CST to Dadar, on marathon day. Brunch at Leopold and walking in Colaba. My surprise bday party at home, where AV managed to pull of a coup, in more ways than one. Going to Siddhi Vinayak, and still feeling awed by it, each time. Discovering Juhu Beach and Matunga with the in laws. The time the gang went for the premiere of Race2 and the madness which followed. Meeting the sister every day at work, and coming up with something new to dissect and analyze every day. Weekend brunches from Udipi. Learning Gujarati and Bambaiyya cultural nuances at work. Play watching. The super long walk to Matunga for lunch on a hot Sunday afternoon...and so much more.

People I met, places I saw, food I ate, things I did- all of it happened in Bombay. But as the Gestalt theory states "the whole is greater than the sum of its parts"...Bombay, has been more than the life lessons, and the memories- it has been life itself. Ciao Bombay- until we meet again :)

The time when I was a month late in saying "Happy New Year"

So I haven't blogged in a million years. But then I read this, by traveller, and decided that it's never really too late to blog. I wanted to blog about the wedding, and actually have a half completed post in the dashboard, but everytime I tried to complete it, Blogger did something funny to it. And now I just don't feel like completing it. The wedding was a.m.a.z.i.n.g, and a set of awesome and happy memories which I recall (and would continue to do so) every time I feel a tad low. Or every time I just feel like it. And some day, I want to write every single thing about it, just so I have it for posterity.

But this post isn't all about the wedding. This post is about 2012, as a whole. Although, to really put it bluntly, 2012 was ALL about the wedding. At least till October. And then it was about getting over the wedding, and getting into the marriage.

2012 began with the preparation of the engagement. The planning, the shopping, the hush hush invitations. The deciding of the wedding date. The arrival of people from far and near. And finally, the event itself. Which was just coolness. I mean where else amongst the community of Tam Brahms would you have a groom-to-be dance with his besties to Desi Boys and the bride-to-be rushing to hug the boys after the performance (sacrilege I am sure!). Mine was the funnest engagement I have ever attended (and I have attended quite a few, to be fair). It was Tam Brahm and Punjabi, loud and noisy and joy and happiness and warmth and love. And it was exactly a year ago..happy engagement anniversary to moi :D

Then came February. I joined CSR, went to Bombay, came back sick, and remained sick through my 25th- the worst 25th birthday in the history of 25th birthdays. March was defined by Holi, the first time I played (or rather, was forced to play), by the fiance and his besties. I am just not a Holi person, and I suspect that the Holi of 2012 is going to be the beginning of a life term effort on the part of the husband to make sure I become one (fat chance that).

In April, the father moved to Hambantota. I had my M.Phil viva (super duper awesome that was). Till the end of May, we were going at snail's pace with the wedding planning, very much in the "abhi toh bahut time hai!" phase. June was when things picked up speed- I quit CSR (sob sob) and went to Chennai for wedding shopping (super duper crazy).

July and August were all about shopping, visits to tailors, and basically a million lists. The father visited in August (after hoisting the Indian flag in Lanka land- proudest moment e.v.e.r), and card distribution/posting/inviting began in September. And then came October. How it flew! One of my favourite memories of the pre-wedding days is going for an impromptu movie outing with the parents (English Vinglish was utter rubbish, but it's the sentiment which counts right?)

And then began the wedding, a week long celebration of the greatest event ever.The cocktail was super fun- I wore a lehenga after practically a decade, and a bun for the first time ever, and looked and felt like a completely different person. The day after the cocktail, was when the greatest disaster turned greatest miracle of all time happened, amidst the family musical session. To cut a long story short, the childhood friend from Canada was stranded at Mumbai airport with her boyfriend, and the parents and uncle pulled every string known to mankind to make sure she gets to Delhi, and the wedding. While she was on her way to Delhi, the bride to be (moi) declared to all and sundry that she wants to go to the airport, and since she was the bride, she had to be obliged (coz you know, you don't piss a bride to be off). But then, since she was the bride, a four member delegation (comprising the father, the uncle, and two cousins) accompanied her in two cars (yes I come from a madcap paranoid family) to the airport. And reunion with the childhood friend happened- 13 years later. Listed in life's favourite moments? Check.

And then the wedding happened. I don't know what all to write about- the leaving home, the grand welcome given for the bride, the chit chatting with the BFFs, the irritating beautician (who did a great job btw), the husband's incessant talking in the middle of all the rituals, the sister's beautiful surprise dance, the family's phenomenal group performance, the chariot, the besties removing makeup and hovering around me, the early morning gossip with the twin, the BBMing with the husband, the family oohing and aahing (as always) over how pretty I looked, the girls chit chatting away to glory, the jaimala (where I was actually lifted!), the kanyadaan (where the mother and sister started the never ending copious tears), the moment when the mangalsutra was tied (goosebump inducing till date), the pheras, the grihapravesh, entering my room after everything was over and the girls pulling and pushing to remove all the paraphernalia, the chit chatting with the husband and his besties hours before the reception, the FINAL visit to the parlour, the non stop standing and smiling at the reception, the irritating photographers, the teary vidaai....

The list is endless. But the wedding ended. And the marriage began. The honeymoon(s) happened- in Goa and Kashmir (and ended with Vaishno Devi- super yay!). In November, the marriage was registered and I changed my name. Diwali happened, and I moved to Bombay. I set up a house, learnt how to cook. The mother came to visit for a week, the husband had his first birthday after the wedding. I am still getting used to being (and feeling) married...but really, it doesn't truly feel any different...I don't feel different! I still feel silly and stupid and filmy and...me. Except I live in a different city, with a boy, and I cook (more astounding and unbelievable than the living with the boy part). 

Coming back to 2012- it was a whirlwind year, ending as quickly as it began. A year where I got to meet all of my most favourite, most important people- people who made me, me. 2012 would always be the most unforgettable, the most crazy, the most life changing year. A year which I would always hold extremely close to my heart and soul. A year which gave me a new name, multiple new relationships, many responsibilities, and a lot of happy happy intangible things.

It's ok 2013, you have a lot to live upto. You can never be 2012, but let's hope and pray that you are as happy and full of good memories as 2012 was.

Final Countdown

A week from today, my hands and feet will be full of mehendi. A week from today, will be my last day at home, as just me. Because the next time I come home, I'll be someone's wife, someone's daughter-law, someone's sister-in-law.

I am getting married in NINE days. The wedding officially begins in EIGHT days.

Y.I.K.E.S

I havent blogged much this entire year. Partly because for practically half of the year, I was blogging for CSR (the most amazing job experience like ever). So there really was nothing to write about. Or rather, no energy left. I could have blogged about wedding shopping or any of the wedding preps, but seriously, who really wants to know all that? I didn't blog about the engagement- the most 'out of body experience' of my life- because it was so difficult to really verbalize and convey what that entire event was. I haven't even blogged about the way the fiance (soon to be 'husband') and I met- now that is a story worth a book and a movie. Maybe a sitcom too. I think I'll save that post for our first anniversary. Or tenth. Whatever.

But I had to write one final post. Not that I am dying or anything. It's just one of those stupid sentimental things. One final post as a single girl. One final post as a girl devoid of responsibilities and duties and roles. One final post as a kid.

On another euphoric and manic note, I am extremely excited about the wedding. Extremely looking forward to having most of my favourite people in the world under one roof, to celebrate the biggest event of my life. I can't wait for it, and I can't wait to write about it. People say they don't remember their wedding day, that it's all a big blur. Not me. I remember each and every moment of my engagement, and was unabashedly a pretty 'over enthusiastic' bride-to-be. I plan to do much the same at the wedding- the remembering part, not the over enthusiastic part. The mother has told me to be demure at the wedding- let's see how that works out.

So there. That was my lastest post as me. The next time, I'll write about the wedding. As Mrs. Runjoo. Whattey fun :D

Being a pseudo-feminist

For those who don't know, I have been working as an intern in the Media and Communication division at an organization called Centre for Social Research, for the past (almost) 3 months. Needless to say, its been an incredible journey so far, and I know for a fact, that the next 3 months at CSR will add to this (oh by the way, the reason for not updating this blog for ages, is that I write for the CSR blog now. Just saying.)

But this post isn't about CSR (although I am definitely going to do that some time...maybe when I leave in August?). No this post is rather about how working among gender activists, and being surrounded by issues facing/plaguing women, has slighttttly altered the way I look at things.

Take for example what happened today. I was having lunch with my aunt, and while switching channels, we stopped at Sony TV and started watching Kya Hua Tera Vadaa. Till date I hadn't seen a single episode, but knew vaguely that it was about extra marital relationships. Anyway, as is habit, I asked my aunt the story (I LOVE listening to stories), got a brief synopsis, and started watching the episode. So the story is essentially about a much married couple with three kids, and how the husband starts an affair with his ex girlfriend turned boss. Now the wife finds out, and along with the mother in law, concocts a plan, wherein she leaves the house. The 'catch' is that she leaves alone, leaving the husband to fend for himself and the kids, along with the other woman, who has moved in to the house, to make merry since the wife is gone. So apparently this is a plan, so as to show how effortlessly the wife managed the house and the kids, and how the husband doesn't know a single thing about the house, and how the 'other woman' is a spoilt rich woman, who can't lift a finger around the house. It is supposed to show the husband (and us apparently) how nice the wife was, and how stupid he was to leave such a 'sarvgunn sampann' wife for a 'witchy' other woman.

The story is uncannily similar to David Dhawan's Biwi No.1, although Ekta Kapoor would like to believe that hers is a sensitive tale of adult relationships, far removed from the slapstick which David Dhawan's brand of cinema is. For the record, when I saw it, I absolutely louved Biwi No.1. In my defence, I was barely 12, and definitely not a pseudo feminist.

My problem with Kya Hua Tera Vadaa (or for that matter even Biwi No.1), is that it treats the complex issue of extra marital relationships with naivete and insensitivity. Why should the resolution of the problem which has arisen between a married couple, involve teaching a lesson, let alone such a stupid one? And what is with making a villain, sorry vamp, of the other woman? I mean yes being involved with a married man was probably not the best thing to do, but where was the married man's brain? Why do movies/tv serials and even common people portray the man as a stupid being, who has no mind or will of his own, whose need for sex outside marriage rises above all rationality? I mean sure men can be stupid some times, but give them some credit! And why is a woman's worth as a wife, defined by her ability to successfully run a house and taking care of the kids? Since when is marriage only about these things? Why do we, as a society, portray extra marital relationships only in light of one woman stealing another woman's man? Whereas if a married woman is involved with a man (a concept utterly alien to all it seems) we never say that one man stole another's woman...even then the blame is placed on the woman, and she is called immoral and whatnot. Gender bias anyone?

Yes I know expecting sensitivity and subtlety in Indian television is my fault. And I also know that most people, save a few hard core feminists, and some pseudo feminists like yours truly, wouldn't even bat an eyelid at such serials/movies. Perhaps they would even cheer for the wife, and curse the other woman, but always, always, forgive the man. But for once, it would be nice to see something which is inspiring, instead of perpetuating illogical ideas and stereotypes.

The year that was

Yes, it's 31st December again. Time to reminisce, recollect, revise the past 364 days. Before I started writing this post, I went over this one from last year, and I was struck by how different 'I' seem. It seems as if eons have passed, and the 'me' of today, is a mere shadow of the 'me' of 2010.

2011- OMG. What.A.Year. If 2010 could be classified in one word as a kickass year, 2011 can only be classified as a life changing year. It was a year of heartbreak, disappointments, failures, unexpected sorrows. It was a year of travelling alone- the mindblowing Bombay trip, and the gorgeous trip to Vaishno Devi. It was the year where the BlackBerry entered my life, cemented old friendships, rekindled others, and changed life, along with playing a key role in the most important relationship of the year (and now, of life). It was, hands down, a year of friends- their presence and involvement in every single small and big event of the year is undisputed. It was a year of coincidences, of worlds being small, of chance encounters, and of destiny reiterating its strong presence over and over again. It was the year where life changed forever, and I can safely say, nothing will ever be the same again- in a good way of course :)

It was a year where highs and lows walked hand in hand, perhaps to remind me at every step, that this is what life is all about. As the year ends, I am at a personal high- it's a good time to be me. But some of the people I love are going through personal lows, and somewhere, their pain keeps me from being uninhibitedly happy.

2012 was always going to be an important year. It's the year I will turn silver, the year I complete a decade of being in Delhi. Now, along with these things, it will be the year where the biggest life event is going to take place- something which was nowhere in the life plans at the beginning of the year. Just goes to show that life actually does happen, while you're busy planning it.

Good bye 2011- you have been difficult, disastrous, disappointing at times, and immensely joyous and surprising at others. You will always be remembered, with tears for the rough patches, and a huge smile for the happy events.

Welcome 2012- let's see what you've got in hold for us.

Happy New Year people!

Do naina, aur ek kahani

My first eye test happened when I was barely 10 years old, the reason behind which is subject to some debate. As far as I was concerned, I went to the eye doctor because I had a small cyst in my right eye. Many years later, the mother told me that my dance teacher had told my father to get my eyes checked, because apparently I was exhibiting signs of less-than-normal vision during classes. I remember howling after coming home post the eye-exam, and instantly picking up a book and shouting"Hey I can read just fine!"

My first pair of glasses was a quintessentially nerdy pair- big brown plastic frames, which covered my whole face in a sense. I loved that pair, and somehow believed that they were the coolest thing existing on the planet (once a nerd-at-heart, always a nerd-at-heart). I remember walking into school on the first day of 6th grade wearing them, nervous about what my friends would say. And I distinctly remember one girl saying "Really? You never had glasses before? I always thought you wore them!" I just had one of those faces I was told. I hated removing my glasses even for a few minutes, which I was subjected to often, being a dancer and having to perform on stage ever so often (and a mother who was baffled that her daughter was bespectacled).

I got contact lenses when I was 15. The first time I wore lenses, I kept thinking that they would fall off! Initially wearing them would be a herculean task (umm...not that they got any better, but I just got more used to the process). And for the first two years, I was very irregular with them. Contact lenses scored over glasses on some counts- you had a holistic vision, they didn't fog up when you got out of an air-conditioned car, and you could actually see the rain. Not to mention, the whole aesthetics of it. But you couldn't sleep with your contacts (without getting a headache that is), and god save you if you got something in your eye. Actually, my worst contact lens experience involved me cutting green chillies, washing my hands over and over again, and still having burning eyes when wearing the lenses hourssss later.
Bottom line: I was never much of a contact lens person. I never wore them unless absolutely necessary, and most certainly never while loitering around home. I was never the kind of girl who would balk at the idea of people seeing her with glasses.

So life continued, between the glasses and the lenses. Many people suggested laser eye surgery, and while the idea was very appealing, I never really put much thought into it. Primarily because I was always studying, I always had exams, and basically never had much time at my disposal to go through a surgery, and follow the myriad of precautions which I was told the surgery entails.
That was until a few months ago. After much pondering (and procrastinating) I finally got an appointment with an eye institute two weeks ago, just to see what the fuss was all about. After three hours of testing, and dilated pupils, the doctor told me that my eyes were perfect for the surgery- when would I like to have it? An appointment was scheduled for the week after, and the countdown began. I kept harping about my 'surgery', freaking out only hours before the event when I saw how nervous the parents were.

I wont go into the details of the actual surgery- which are actually imprinted in my brain for life- coz its difficult to put into words the intense fear, and nervousness I experienced for those 25 minutes (the most nerve-wracking time frame of my life). I was numb when I was taken out of the operation room, partly because of the fact that strange things had been done to my eyes- but more so because despite those strange things, my vision was perfect, albeit a tad hazy. It was like I was suddenly wearing a pair of dirty contact lenses. When the parents came to see me with solemn faces, and a pair of dark glasses, I was trembling when narrating what had happened inside that dreaded operation theatre, all the while saying "You know, I can see you both clearly". It was all very surreal- especially for someone whose longest time in a hospital has been the root canal the day after the 24th bday, and the cavity filling at age 10.

The day after the surgery, was the first time in 14 years that I reached for my glasses first thing in the morning, and realized that I no longer needed them. It was the first time that I woke up with clear vision. Surreal? Check.
No its not all hunky dory. The first week, I had to wear a pair of dark glasses 24/7- yes, even while sleeping, which was just the biggest pain e.v.e.r. Not to mention the endless eye drops I was (and still am) subjected to. And the fact that I can't wash my eyes/face, or that my vision is still stabilizing (I'm always nervous about less than perfect sight- aren't we all?!)

But it's still not sunk in that I don't have to wear glasses or lenses anymore. For the latter, I would just say "good riddance". I guess I will miss the former in a strange way. Glasses always worked to make me look more intelligent than I am (!) But more than that, it's like letting go of a part of my identity.

Thus, here goes, a pictorial ode to the tools of vision I was so dependent on for the past 14 years.

Through exams, dissertations, projects. Through performances and parties. In sadness and in joy, in sickness and in health. Good bye old friends. In a way befitting your place in my life, I will forever be grateful to you.

And finally, a few words from the song from which I lifted the title of this post. Perhaps these define the thin line between my old vision and my new vision best.

थोड़ी सी है जानी हुयी थोड़ी सी नयी।  
जहा रुके आंसू वही पूरी हो गयी।  
है तो नयी
फिर भी हैं पुरानी।  
दो नैना और एक कहानी 
थोडा सा बादल
थोडा सा पानी
और एक कहानी। 

Bombay times!

I first visited Bombay at the age of 16, for a cousin's wedding, way back in 2003. Up until then, I was somewhat fascinated by the city, owing to my love affair with Bollywood (Yes I was weird back then- still am actually- but I grew up abroad, gimme some leeway!). I had also heard that Bombay was a lot like New York City, and I l.o.v.e NYC, like l.o.v.e. So in a sense, I was always prepared to love the city. And it didn't disappoint me. We did very touristy things back then, did the usual darshan of Siddhi Vinayak and Mahalakshmi, went to the beaches, had vada pao, did the open bus ride around Gateway in the night (lovely btw), saw the Queen's necklace, went by the local train even.

Last week, I visited Bombay for the third time (my second trip was a brief transit visit) I had been planning this trip for a long time, as a break from the insanity which my life had come to represent for the past so many months. For a long time, it was just a hypothetical situation, existing only in my head. But as all the madness in my life (weddings, thesis, exams) started to diminish, I knew I deserved and needed a break. And Bombay was perfect. Plus I got to see two of my closest friends in the world, who I usually don't get to see very often. So after much deliberation, much planning, many doubts ("what if this happens while I'm gone?") and a not-very-happy set of parents later, my tickets to Mumbai were booked.

I didn't go to Bombay with any expectations, all I wanted was a break from Delhi, from the usual monotony of life. But whatever little expectations I might have had, they were surpassed- and HOW. In every which way. Like the Bandra-Worli sea link. I fell so deeply in love with the sea link that I insisted on going on it regardless of whether it was required or not, which led to some pretty pricey cab rides- but so totally worth it. The fact that it was raining like all-the-time while I was there, resulted in the sea being a tad rough, and thus an absolute beauty to see from the sea link.

Oh-so-gorgeous :)

I stayed at Carter Road, which I was told, and later saw, was one of the posh-est areas in all of Bombay. My dear friend P, has a beautiful cosy flat there, and it was a privilege to stay there with her for four whole days (she's written a lovely blog post about her house, which can be read here) The post doesn't do justice to the loveliness of the house, home rather, but she has done a better job than I ever could. The bestest thing about P's house was that the Carter Road promenade, a sort of a walking track along the sea-side (seriously, how awesome is that?) is a stone's throw away. My first morning, we went for a walk, and came back all drenched- fantasy experience for me, since the only thing I had been getting drenched in in recent times was sweat. During my stay, I was a regular at the place, and spent hours just walking, looking at the sea.

Imagine seeing that every morning *sigh*

And then there was my most favourite part of Bombay, Marine Drive. Oh, how I could kill for an hour at Marine Drive, every time that I want some 'me-time'. The first time I went to Marine Drive was during a very heavy downpour, and P made me get out of the cab with a measly umbrella and made me stand there looking at the sea, so I could 'enjoy' it. I was drenched by the end of it, but how totally I had fallen for the place. So much so, that I went back to Marine Drive on my remaining two days, just to sit there, looking at the vast expanse of the sea. The experience of just staring at the sea, of the waves crashing and hitting you with droplets of water was something which I can probably never ever put in words. It was magic- truly magic.

Favouritest e.v.e.r

Bombay had one other thing which I absolutely loved, especially because I had never ever experienced it in my life- safety. I have spent 9 years in Delhi, and a majority of these years have been spent travelling about the city on my own, at all kinds of hours, in all modes of transportation. And I have never ever felt as safe in my own city in all these years, as I did during my 4 day stay in Bombay. I went around the city on my own in autos, and taxis, without a care, without a worry. It was so strange, and so awesome. I wish I lived in a city like that, I wish Delhi was half as safe as Bombay felt.

Then there were the people. P and I have been friends for 9 years. She has known me since I was 15, and has seen me through many successes, and many disappointments, and life in general. Yet, this was the first time that we were spending so much time together, since school. And it was wonderful to be able to spend that kind of time, and space with one of your closest friends. She was a fabulous host, planning my days perfectly, taking me to all her favourite places, and making sure that I cover everything there was to cover. She motivated me to get out of the house and explore the city on my own, all the while calling or BBMing every few minutes to check on me. She balanced my trip with her super-hectic office hours, and never once let the smile leave her face, except for when she made horrid faces while I was thanking her. So one last time P, thank you- you made the trip a HUGE success, and you are right, I do have a home in Bombay :)
Then there was A, who I refer to as "the sister". She's someone with whom my closeness can't really be defined, and with whom my relationship is one of the most solid things in life. She got married recently, and I wasn't there :( but luckily, I got to meet and spend some wonderful time with her- talking, listening to her words of wisdom, catching up on life, gossiping, bitching about the people we know and don't know. She came early in the morning on the day I was leaving to say good bye- and she's NOT a morning person. I even got to meet her absolutely wonderful better half, one of the few people in this whole wide world who I liked instantly (the fact that he's Tam-Brahm had nothing to do with this btw), and it was so heartwarming to see a couple who are so real, so honest and so wonderful.

The trip was one which was away from my comfort zone in many ways. It was my first ever trip alone, without family, without an itinerary, where I was in charge, I decided what I wanted to do, what I wanted to eat, where I wanted to go, or not go, or go again and again. I met people who are so unlike me, or anyone who I usually hang out with, who come from very different worlds. Maybe that's why the trip was so fabulous, and so different.

While having breakfast on my second morning with the sister and her husband, when I casually mentioned that I quite like Bombay, the sister immediately snapped back and said "Don't stay at Carter and tell me that you like this city. Go by the local train, live the Bombay life, and then tell me you like the city". It's true what she said. In my four days, I was just a tourist. And from the little I saw of life in Bombay, it's a goddamn struggle, in every which way. But despite all this, despite the fact that perhaps living in Bombay is very different, I had the time of my life.

Bombay is not the city of my birth, or the city I stay in. It is not a place where my memories are, or where my life's biggest events have happened. I don't have family there, nor any childhood experiences. I didn't study or work there. In a sense, I have no emotional connect with the city. Yet, there's something about the city which has always intrigued me. And having spent four days in the city, and a considerable amount of time exploring it on my own, my intrigue hasnt diminished. Its a city which I loved and disliked in parts, a city which fascinated me in the things I liked, and the ones I didn't.

It's difficult to verbalize what Bombay represents to me, as of this moment. But for now, lets just say that the Bombay trip of July/August 2011 was out-of-this-world awesome. In every which way :)