Our songs

(I am very tired this evening so please forgive my typos)

When you have spent a substantial portion of your adult life with someone, it is difficult to have to be on your own. It is almost like amputating your arm and then going about life without it. K was not just my arm but substantial portion of my emotional being. I have tried to be brave and deal with it but I have moments of complete despair. Songs trigger off tears and so do random memories. Sometimes I keep long hours at work. About a month ago, I left my workplace rather late and was thinking to myself that I should rush home as K would be waiting for me. I rush to my car to realize that I have an empty home to go to. It triggered off a whole set of emotions…sorrow, anger and despair. I cannot express the pain that went through my heart and goes through my being from time to time. It is like taking multiple sharp knives and slowly inserting them simultaneously all over my body. There is no injury or blood but just excruciating pain. I started crying to myself and asked randomly to no particular person; do you even care what is happening to me? That very moment, my radio played Beatles “And I love her”, which was one of our songs. Then it played a few other favorite bands of ours such as Bad Company, CCR, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, etc. My mood changed suddenly to reminiscing about the pleasant memories of our life together. Then suddenly it played Air Supply! From tears I burst out laughing.

When I was in my teens and early twenties, the time before K came into my life. I used to listen to Air Supply. Initially when K was wooing me, he would woo me with food and music. Of course I used to completely ignore him and blow him off. He would be persistent and offer to give my friends and me a ride up to Dadar train station from downtown area of Mumbai. Those of you, who live or have lived in Mumbai, will know how annoying it is to take public transportation during the peak hours. Therefore I would grudgingly go with them because I was too lazy to take the train by myself. I never sat next to K out of spite and would sit in the back seat. It didn’t matter to K as he used to look at this opportunity to strike a conversation with me. He later used to tease me about how I was an “ice maiden” that he had to thaw!

Anyway on our drive through the crazy Mumbai traffic, we used to always listen to the “Sundown show” on the FM radio. They always played great rock music. I remember gradually falling in love with K over the music. My friend, to poke fun at me, told K that I listened to Air Supply and burst out laughing. I had always put up a front of being such a serious professional that I dig mushy music was almost comical to K. I was annoyed as my friend blew my cover. One time they played Air Supply’s “Two less lonely people in the world.” The others started making fun of me, while K looked at me through the rear view mirror and smiled his mischievous smile. The smile was sort of making fun of my choice in music but rather lovingly and indulgently. I glared back at him determined to never take a ride with them and be made fun of. The next song on the radio was Beatles’ “And I love her.” My eyes met K’s through the rear view mirror and he gave me the sweetest smile. That smile melted my heart and that was the moment I fell in love with the love of my life! Today all I have are memories of the glorious time we spent together. I will always LOVE you my dearest K. You taught me what true love is all about!

Surviving K

It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. That may be true however it is painful when death takes away the one you loved the most. I lost K, the love of my life, more than a month ago. I am devastated would be an understatement. However I thought to myself that life throws difficult circumstances at you. There are two options available, one is to get completely devastated and whither your life away while the other is to pick up the broken pieces of your life and move on. The former is easy while the latter is rather difficult. I have decided to choose the latter one. I have moments of complete despair interspersed with moments of love and hope. Most of all, I am trying to not lose track of my dreams. Tragedy took away the most important person of my life but nothing can take away the love we shared or the happy memories in this 14 year old marriage.

K died of sudden cardiac arrest. It was so shocking that I had a sense of calmness around me. K and I used to pray to Shakti and especially to Mahalakshmi. I have had tremendous faith in her. That fateful night after I called 911, in despair I was screaming for help and in anger said to her, “Do you even care about me and what I am going through?” That very moment an elderly woman walked towards me and asked me if I needed CPR. I asked her how did she know and she said that her daughter heard my screams. Anyway she came into my home and tried to revive K. The 911 team and first aid squad arrived and took K to the hospital. By that time I had come to terms with the fact that the love of my life may not come back to me. I had lost all my faith and was very angry. I even decided to leave Hinduism and convert to Buddhism to try to comprehend pain and suffering.

The other day as I was reliving the moments of that fateful night, I realized that this elderly woman came to my door walking. I don’t live in Manhattan but in suburban Jersey. What are the odds of people walking? Also the old lady claimed to be living two houses down but it has been more than a month since the tragedy but I have never seen her again! I then remembered that it is said that whenever Mahalakshmi comes to help her devotees, she comes in the form of an old woman! It reinstated my faith and the fact that K’s life on this planet was limited. All of us come with a plan and all of us have to leave. There is nothing we could do to change it. However K died in his own home and with the one who loved him. He died suddenly so it was not painful! I find comfort in that fact because I would not have wanted him to suffer indignities of being incapacitated.

K’s funeral was very intimate and very private. Hindu ceremonies are very morbid. I didn’t want K’s to be that way. I wanted the ceremony to celebrate his life. I had a ceremony with a priest, who actually has a PhD in Physics. It was true to K’s spirit as although he was a Hindu he didn’t believe in the ritualistic aspect of Hinduism. He was more spiritual. I would like to share the eulogy that I wrote for his funeral ceremony. It captures the gist of who K was as a person. The eulogy is as follows:

K’s name in Sanskrit means someone who sees beauty in everything. It also means someone who has beautiful eyes. Your eyes are a window to your soul. K’s eyes reflected the beauty in his soul.

K as all of you know was an exceptionally kind and generous person. He had such a calm and peaceful disposition that one always felt comforted in his aura. At least I did ever since I met him that day in December 1993. We met when I had just finished architecture school and had started working at his father’s ex-partner’s office. They say opposites attract and it was certainly true in our case. He was extremely shy and quiet while I just cannot shut up!

We became the closest friends. Actually we bonded over our mutual love for crossword puzzles that we would solve over the lunch hour. Most men woo their women with flowers and chocolates, K, however, did with food. K always encouraged and supported everything I did. He was a great son to his parents and a great brother to his siblings and cousins.

K was a second son to my parents after my older sister’s husband. My parents always said that they didn’t lose two daughters but gained two sons. K brought joy and happiness in our lives. He came suddenly in my life and left as suddenly on February 24, 2011. He brought joy and bliss for the 17 years that I knew him. He taught me what selfless love was all about so in many ways he guided me.

As all of you know he was reserved, however as some of you know he had a WICKED sense of humor. Therefore although my loss is irreplaceable, we must celebrate his life! K loved life too much and as his best friend Ganesh would agree, K would have said right now in a thick south Indian accent, “What to do? What to do? Enjoy only, no.”

Getting Spooked!

While flipping through channels I happened to catch a program on Biography Channel on people’s real life encounter with ghosts. I am neither a believer nor a skeptic but have had at least two bizarre experiences that I think perhaps there is some truth to paranormal activities. My first experience was in the summer after we got married. My cousin’s client is a well known Indian jeweler. The jeweler had purchased a palace belonging to the Maharajah. This was the Maharajah’s weekend home and now was the jeweler’s. So the jeweler happened to mention to my cousin, that he could visit his weekend home anytime he wanted. My cousin decided to have a weekend family reunion at the jeweler’s place. So we were about six couples who went to the weekend home. Now we were NOT staying in the palace but the guest house near the palace.

The guest house was pretty large and could easily accommodate six families. Therefore my cousin decided that as K and I were newly weds, we would get the first floor portion of the guest house entirely to ourselves while the rest of them would be on the second floor. K and I were pleased with their generosity and thought that we would slip away, if we thought that my little nieces and nephews were annoying.

The architecture of the buildings in that estate was typical of Indian mansions and palaces from the 17^th and 18^th century. That place had history and you were reminded of it. I had told Kunal that every stone on that wall must have a story to tell. So we spent the day walking and exploring the area but returned to the guest house a little after 4 PM. I felt a heavy sensation in the home and so did K. We couldn’t explain this heaviness and attributed it to an old house. Both of us were skeptics so any paranormal activity was beyond our comprehension. We opened the windows to let in fresh air yet the heaviness in the air seemed to be there. The first floor of the guest house was huge with living area and sleeping quarters. It would have been a great romantic weekend if not for the heavy air that seemed to follow us around. We couldn’t stand being there so fled upstairs to be with the rest of the family. We spent the evening upstairs with the rest of the family. All of us laughing and joking and one of my cousin’s even made a comment about not freaking out if we saw a ghost. K and I just looked at each other. Anyway after dinner all of us sat chatting and exchanging stories and anecdotes. K and I had planned to slip out early but we just couldn’t leave our company. Both of us were uncomfortable to go downstairs and be there by ourselves. We however didn’t want to tell my cousins as we would then be a butt of their jokes. So anyway the evening progressed and everyone went to bed around 2 AM.

K and I went downstairs with a heavy heart. Both of us kept the lights on and tried to sleep. Both of us couldn’t fall asleep but soon drifted off to sleep. I was woken up by the loud howling of a dog. A few yards from the guest house were the servant’s quarters. The jeweler’s staff lived there. We noticed two Dobermans leashed to a tree. These dogs were acting rather weird and were howling in an eerie fashion. That completely freaked me out but still I didn’t want to wake K up. Invariably the howling woke K up as well. We were so nervous and just hugged each other. There was nothing romantic about that hug!

The worse experience was the bathroom. The bathroom was huge but when one walked into it, immediately one felt very claustrophobic. In fact I was so nervous to go to the bathroom by myself that I dragged K with me every time I wanted to use the bathroom. Anyway K woke up and wanted to use the bathroom. I actually was scared to be alone in the bedroom that I walked with him into the attached bath. It sounds silly and childish but to date there is no explanation as what and why the dogs were barking so eerily. Most importantly there is no explanation about the heaviness in the room and the feeling that we were continuously being watched. To break the nervousness I even made a joke to K that perhaps we were being watched from the other side's adult industry. It was the most bizarre night of our lives!

Anyway K and I couldn’t fall asleep and stayed up the whole night hugging each other. Neither did we hear anyone nor did we see any apparition. What we experienced was heaviness and complete discomfort. The next morning both of us looked awful. We got teased a lot by my cousins regarding our “staying up the whole night” but little did they know the true reason! I am not sure if they had any such experience but the fact is that we didn't stay on another night as originally planned...all of us just wanted to leave the place.

Perception and Reality

When I started my architecture school I had a lot of trepidation. I was 17 almost 18 years old at that time and had heard my school, although one of the best in India had a reputation for being very bohemian. I led a very sheltered and protected life almost verging on being smothered by my very overbearing mother. I always had my own personality and was very independent but you always are led to believe that your mother knows the best. So on my first day in school, I was pretty nervous and intimidated. I believe that there is safety in numbers so I hung out with a bunch of girls to avoid getting hazed by the second year students. Hazing or “Ragging” as they called in India was a part of the process of being welcomed into professional schools across the country.

My school had a substantial student population from other parts of India so we had two distinct groups, one who was from Mumbai and the rest was from all over the country. I being very talkative and friendly and also being especially talkative when I am nervous went around introducing myself. At that time, across the room I saw a very tall dark guy looking lost and a little out of place. He didn’t look Indian and looked very African. I could sense that he was a little sad, lonely and looked a little lost. I thought I might introduce myself to him. So I walked up to him and said, “Hi I am Sai.” He said, “Hi my name is MM.” So I asked him which part of the world he belonged to and he replied that he was from one of the countries in East Africa. At that moment, two other women walked over and introduced themselves. We asked him a lot of questions and welcomed him to India and to feel free to ask us if he needed anything from us. I had never met a person from Africa before and I was fascinated by his culture. I remember asking him questions about his language, what his name meant etc. I am a xenophile so I was thrilled to meet someone who was from a different culture and nationality.

India is a very racist country and makes no apologies about it. An average Indian is complacent in his or her biases. One could attribute that to centuries of casteism and exclusionary behavior of Hindus. However I think the underlying reason is ignorance and fear based upon perception. I remember one of my classmates telling me after she saw me talking to MM that I should avoid talking to “that African guy as who knows what mischief he might be up to.” Then she said that I might get a reputation as being easy. I remember being livid and completely infuriated about people making assumptions based upon their ignorant perceptions. To date I have not been able to comprehend the fact that how do people develop these “reputations”?

After my fourth year and before beginning my final year architecture, I had gone to New Delhi with a bunch of classmates to conduct research for my final year thesis in the summer vacation. I was at the School of Architecture and Planning’s library in New Delhi when by chance I bumped into MM. He had come to New Delhi straight from his country's capital and didn’t know his classmates were there too. He was very happy to see me as he felt like he “saw family in this strange place.” At that time he told me that he might have to take a break of six months from school as his mother was diagnosed with cancer and he didn’t want to be far from home. I remember feeling terrible for him. He was going to be in Mumbai for a week and then fly back home. I came home to Mumbai and wanted to invite him to my place for dinner as I thought he must be missing his home. I asked my mother if I could invite him home. She asked me if I were inviting him with a group of other people. I said that there was no one around as it was summer vacation and that I wanted to just invite him alone. My mother, being the overprotective and overbearing parent that she was, said that she had no problem if he were coming in a group but didn’t want me to invite a guy just by himself! I told her that I thought she was being ridiculous. Then she said, “When you get married, invite him to your husband’s home.” That was the end of the argument. To date I cannot rationalize my mother’s reasoning! If I wanted to do something that she didn’t approve she would end the argument with “do that at your husband’s home.” I must say that I have married a great guy and have been able to do whatever I please at my "husband’s home”!

MM did come back to school and completed his final year with us. Upon completion of our graduation, MM was leaving India to go to London for a bit. I bumped into him on my way home from school. We were excited about graduating and were talking animatedly outside my school’s campus about our career goals and what we were planning to do. I was oblivious to the fact that people were staring at him and at me as well until some random person commented to me in Marathi, “Have all the Indian men died that a woman of your stature is talking to this African.” He actually used a derogatory word to describe my friend, which made my blood boil. This random comment was from a puny five foot tall man who looked barely literate. I was livid and almost wanted to smack this person across his face. MM was blissfully unaware, as he didn’t understand Marathi, and continued telling me about his future plans. I didn’t want him to know about this hateful comment so I did not show any emotion and continued talking to him. We planned to stay in touch but of course that never happened as life takes over. This was prior to the internet days when you really had to make an effort to stay in touch with people.

Years later, I read this article about racism in India as seen by an African-American PhD student staying in New Delhi for a bit. This article reminded me of this above incident. I remembered my classmate who was so young when he came to India. Recently thanks to Facebook and my alumni network, I renewed contacts with MM again. After living in the United States for the past ten years, I am more sensitive about a foreigner’s experience in my country. Therefore I asked MM to give me an honest opinion about India and if he enjoyed living in India. He said that he enjoyed his experience very much as all of his classmates were very supportive. He said that he always remembered me and three of my classmates as the ones who welcomed him on his first day. However outside this comfortable cocoon there were not many Indian people who were nice to him and it was based upon their negative perceptions about his continent and their people. As it is with all perceptions, it was far removed from reality. I suppose he decided to take that in his stride and enjoy his experience nevertheless. He has fond memories and considers India as his second home. He wants to return to India and travel to explore the country and to places that he couldn’t visit when he was living there. I suppose MM is a great person and also we were very protective of him so didn’t let him know the mean and hateful things some ignoramuses said about him.

I have to say that the author of the article is right when he concludes, “In most nations, the path of ending gender, race and class discrimination is unpaved. In India, this path is still rural and rocky as if this nation has not decided the road even worthy. It is a footpath that we are left to tread individually.”

Of Immigrants and Religion

Yesterday K and I woke up early in the morning and stepped out to do our errands, which also included a doctor’s appointment. We recently changed our family doctor as I wanted a female doctor. Additionally, I wanted a doctor who was not only from India but trained in Mumbai. I was fortunate to find one, ahh the wonders of living in New Jersey! So being Ms. Chatty Kathy, I broke the ice by asking her which part of the City she belonged to. I was pleasantly surprised to know that not only did she grow up in the same neighborhood as K but that she was fluent in Marathi. Those of you who are bilingual will know how great it is to be able to go back and forth in several languages. K on the other hand is reserved and doesn’t like to indulge in small talk or chat with people, which also includes his doctor. So after she examined me, she examined K and spoke to him as if he were her long lost brother. Did I mention that they both belong to the same caste? K shot me a glare as I walked out of the examination room with a broad grin because he would be forced to now have a conversation with her which was not related to his check up. After we were done, we stopped by to eat breakfast at a South Indian place. By far I was enjoying my morning as I spoke my own language at the doctor's and was going for an Indian breakfast! Who says that I am homesick for Mumbai anymore????

K and I go there pretty often when we crave South Indian snacks and I know that the owner is a devout Hindu as the entire day they play CDs with Sanskrit chants set to Carnatic music. In fact NY Times has given rave reviews to this establishment but has commented that it is pretty orthodox that they don’t like people getting their own alcohol to the establishment. So I asked the guy if they were open for business. When he answered in the affirmative, I like a complete smart ass, said, “Today is your lucky day as you are starting your new day with me as your first customer. You know I am like Goddess Laxmi, I bring prosperity with my footsteps.” (To those who are not familiar with Indian culture, they say that women are to be venerated as they bring prosperity. Of course women’s rights in India are a totally different story!) I was only joking but those who are from India will know that there is superstition in India among Hindu merchants about “bohonie” (as they call in the pidgin Mumbai Hindi) or the first earnings for the day. Anyway the kitchen had barely opened but he did not want to turn us away as we were the first customers. While we were waiting to be served, he brought out the hottest soup that ever was. It felt great to soothe our throats in the cold weather.I started asking him questions about when he started this restaurant etc etc. He was first slightly embarrassed and said to me "I am not highly educated as you people are so you will probably judge me." I said, “No but I am curious so tell me.”

He was born in a small village near Udipi in Karnataka. People from Udipi, as a source of livelihood, started Udipi restaurants in Mumbai. This is the equivalent to fast food in the United States. Anyway so this person started earning a living for himself by cleaning tables at a Udipi restaurant in Mumbai as a young lad. He rose to wait on tables and then to manage restaurants. He saved enough money to come to the United States and when he came here 21 years ago, he decided to marry an American woman so he could live here legally by obtaining a green card. He then started his own restaurant and sponsored his extended family who have settled here and now own restaurants all over the country. He said that the one thing he misses the most in his life is the fact that he couldn’t obtain an education. He thought K and I would judge him but actually I don’t. He took whatever opportunity life gave him to make a better life for himself and his family. In many ways his devotion to religion makes sense, because perhaps he must have sought solace in the philosophy. I think the man came a long way from being an attendant at a roadside restaurant to owning one in the United States. Being Chatty Kathy I continued telling him stories about K and my road trip to remote villages in Karnataka and the amazing vegetarian food we had there years ago. So at the end of the breakfast, K asked for the check.

He said that he was not going to take money from us as he felt that I was indeed Laxmi. I was thoroughly embarrassed by this and K was infuriated with me. K told the guy that he had provided a service and we should pay for it while glaring at me the entire time. Of course we walked out by quietly leaving a 60% tip. Still I felt like I cheated him as I was being completely facetious when I said that I was like Laxmi. I was teasing him about his devotion. To be honest, I practice Hinduism as well. I know Sanskrit, chant prayers every morning and also follow certain Hindu customs which are such a part of my so called “good Hindu upbringing.” That being said, my beliefs are very private that no one except my family and closest friends know it. I tend to make fun, albeit subtly, of those who wear their beliefs on their sleeve. For example a couple of years ago, I was working with a very religious coworker, a holy roller if you will. He always spoke about his christian beliefs (almost proselytizing) and when we become friends I used to tease him. Once he asked me, “you should ask yourself what Jesus or whoever is your Hindu Jesus would like you to do?” We were working late and it was almost 10 PM. I was tired and wanted to go home. So I had replied cockily, “I am sure Jesus wants me to go home, have a drink and sleep instead of talking about religion and faith.” So making fun of holy rollers comes very easily to me. However I have to be honest, this person’s naiveté and strong beliefs made me feel awful about my own cynicism.

Loss and Relationships

As always I had called to speak to my parent’s on Friday night. It was Saturday morning in India. From the tone of my mother’s voice I realized that something was wrong.. She however was assuring me that everything was fine. I goaded her until she finally told me that she had terrible news for me. I asked if she, my father and my sisters were all right. She assured me that they were fine but that my cousin who was in his mid thirties had passed on. It was my father’s older brother’s child. In fact my father’s older brother himself passed on when this child was a toddler.

My father’s family is very close knit and it includes the extended family as well. I have vague memories of my uncle as I was very young when he passed on. I do remember though that he was extremely mild mannered and the most gentle soul I ever knew. Unfortunately he was not as smart as my father. My father and his two cousins were overachievers and therefore were very successful. My uncle on the other hand barely finished high school and didn’t graduate from college. Unfortunately he made a lot of wrong decisions, which I remember used to pain my father. It was especially so as my father didn’t have his parents then. My father always tried to help him but somehow no matter how much you try to help others, it is unsuccessful unless the recipient takes it upon themselves to improve their life. When my uncle passed on, I remember how my father had cried to mourn the loss of his loved one. He must have thought that he was alone but he wasn’t. I, being very nosy, had snooped and was shocked to see this display of raw emotion from a person who always internalizes his emotions. That incident is etched in my memory.

All through my life, I always felt affection for my uncle’s family. I always thought that this particular branch of my father’s family was cursed. After my uncle’s passing his widow didn’t keep in touch with us. My uncle was previously married but had lost his two wives and this was his third marriage. The children from his first two marriages kept in touch with us. They were much older than my sisters and I but we had established a strong bond with them. The children from this marriage however weren’t close to us at all. That being said, I feel really sorry for the mother who lost not only her husband but her child. It is tragic but none of her children survived. All of them went into adulthood and died one after the other. She has outlived all of them. I cannot but imagine what must be going through her mind!

The last time I saw this cousin was 20 years ago when my older sister got married. He was very artistic. He had very shyly showed me his painting and I was surprised to know that he was left handed like me! So there was a feeling of affection because we are of the same blood but no memory beyond this one. Yet I feel sad for the loss of life. I feel sad for the hardships that he endured in his short life. As per my Hindu beliefs I do realize that it is everyone’s karma. They say that when you are born, it is predetermined as to what your life is going to be. However I believe in the law of probability that nothing is set in stone. Life gives you options and you make those choices. The choices you make and the end results is what your destiny eventually turns out to be. I think fate cruelly took away this life even before he got to live it.

I would like to end this post by quoting two verses or couplets (called shlokas in Sanskrit ; the liturgical language of Hinduism and Buddhism) from the Bhagavad Gita related to death:

"The soul is never born nor dies at any time. Soul has not come into being, does not come into being, and will not come into being. Soul is unborn, eternal, ever-existing and primeval. Soul is not slain when the body is slain."

"As a human being puts on new garments, giving up old ones, the soul similarly accepts new material bodies, giving up the old and useless ones."

Nailing Thai

Before you accuse me of nailing some Thai guy…let me specify that I mean the elusive Thai cuisine. As I had blogged here and here, I absolutely love Thai food. To me, savoring Thai red curry is pure ecstasy. I had made several attempts to try this at home. Although the results were satisfactory, I was not pleased at all. I wanted to nail the exact flavor as you get in a good Thai restaurant. Every time I went for dinner, I would savor every morsel and try to discern individual flavors and make mental notes. Flavors rendered to a dish due to ingredients such as lemon grass are easy to discern. It is extremely difficult to discern other subtle flavors and ingredients that are not common to Indian or western cuisine. One should also have proper recipes along with some explanation regarding the procedure.

Last week my coworker who is a gourmand told me about her unsuccessful attempt at Thai food. She thought that as an Indian and more eastern than she, an American with very a Waspy background, would be able to give her pointers. I told her that although my preparations are edible, I haven’t been able to nail the exact flavor. She came to work with fresh Thai basil from her garden along with lemongrass and handed them to me. She said that they could be of use to me. I took the ingredients with me and decided that I would once again attempt Pad Thai and Thai red curry over the course of the weekend.

I informed K about my plans, who was pleased as a punch and refrigerated a bottle of Reisling for us. The recipe for Pad Thai calls for rice noodles. I cooked it the way I would cook egg noodles or pasta, BAD IDEA! Rice noodles disintegrate fast and less is more in this case. So the dish was a big flop. I aborted my plans to attempt the red curry and drowned my sorrows in the Riesling. K said that I was being too hard on myself and that I should accept that Thai is not my cup of Thai iced tea!



The one thing I will not accept is defeat. I mentioned that to K. K’s response was that if we have access to great Thai restaurants why on earth would I torture myself to try all these dishes from scratch? K will never be able to understand the artistic pleasure I derive from my culinary endeavors. Yesterday I was in a great mood and decided to try one more time Thai Red curry and Pad Thai for dinner. On my way from work I stopped by at the Chinese store to get all the authentic ingredients. I do realize that there is a difference between Thai and Chinese cuisine, but this store is a one-stop shop for all things Asian! I was trying to locate red chili peppers. I approached one of the store workers and asked him in English, “Please can you tell me where I can get chili peppers?” The guy kept on staring at me and then said, “No English.” I saw a Chinese shopper in the aisle and requested him, “Please can you ask him on my behalf?” The Chinese man looked at me and responded in Hindi, “Do you think he understands Hindi?” I looked at the man completely embarrassed, as I guessed that he was either from Nepal or the eastern states of India that border China! I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me! I blushed and apologized and ran to the cashier with the store worker running after me. He asked rapidly in Mandarin (I am guessing, could have been Cantonese) and the cashier said matter of factly to me “Go Aisle 3.” It sounded more like a football warcry, similar to "Go Blue!"...who knows perhaps she was preparing in anticipation of the football season. The Nepalese or Eastern Indian guy was grinning from ear to ear. I just hope I never see the guy again.

I came home and made myself a coconut mojito and started cooking. You know ingredients are important but what is far more important is the procedure. I have to thank my mother for this, because my previous attempts at making Thai curry I heated oil in the wok. My mom advised that I should cook in coconut milk without oil. This was an invaluable word of advice as that was the procedure which gave it the flavor I was looking for. Also typical to Indian food, I would grind lemongrass in my red paste. That made the paste very stringy. My mother advised that I should tie a bunch of lemongrass stalks with a string and insert it in the wok and let it sit during the course of cooking the thai red curry dish. Once the dish was cooked, to remove and discard the lemongrass before serving!

The preparation and cooking time was about two hours but the results were outstanding. I FINALLY NAILED IT!!!! I will share both the recipes tomorrow. Right now I have only the photographs that I took from my Blackberry to share.

Happy Independence Day

It has been ten years today since I left my home to start my life in the United States. I chose to leave on my country’s Independence Day as it was very poignant to me. I was looking for my personal freedom to lead my life the way I want to; therefore leaving India on August 15^th made a lot of sense to me. The weeks prior to my departure day were rather hectic. I was wrapping up all my professional commitments before making this move. I had also fallen sick so was faced with challenges from all directions. I was very pre-occupied and didn’t have time to think. Therefore I did not realize that I am moving so far from home that I will not be able to see my family and most importantly my spouse for a pretty long time. At that time my frustration with situations in my life was so overwhelming that this really didn’t seem to matter to me.

Due to my illness, I was convalescing at my parents home so I was not able to see K for a very long time. In the interim K was helping me organize stuff and would always tease me, “You will meet new people and forget about me. Perhaps even leave me?” I would laugh at him and joke, “Yes that is my plan…to go there to get away from you!” My mind was so occupied with unfinished tasks that I did not take a moment to realize that I was not only being insensitive in my smart aleck comments but the truth of the matter was that I would miss K too.

Ten years ago airport security in India was not as crazy as today but definitely far more stringent than pre-September 11 America. That particular day however it was worse than the security that we have today. The day being our Independence Day, there was a terrorist bomb scare at Mumbai’s International Airport. My flight was supposed to depart at 1:45AM but knowing the crowd we decided to be there at least three and a half hours before departure. As soon as we reached there, we were told that only the person traveling could go in the lobby. Anyone accompanying would have to leave. So that was it for K and me! That moment it hit me hard that I was actually not going to see K for at least a year. He had promised to visit at the end of the academic year. He couldn’t make it during Christmas and I was not sure if I would be able to as well. That very moment I had tears in my eyes as I realized I had grown to be so attached and dependent on K in our three odd years of married life. K laughed and said, “Are those tears of joy as you are happy to get away from me.” Must say, it was not a great time to make such jokes as upon hearing that comment the tears kept streaming down relentlessly.

I asked K if we should request the cops to let him stay for an hour till I left for my security check etc. K looked at me as if I had completely lost my mind. I was a woman on a mission and completely irrational. Therefore I walked up to the cops and asked them in Marathi, “I heard you are not allowing anyone except those with valid tickets to go in. Is that correct?” The person said, “Yes.” I showed the person my paper work and said, “This is my husband and I won’t see him for a year. Would you mind, if he sat with me for at least an hour till I leave.” The cop looked at his supervisor for an answer. Then I read the supervisor’s name and said that I was a fellow Maharashtrian and probably of the same caste as him…then I again requested if he could let him sit with me. My caste and ethnicity card totally worked in this instance. The supervisor reluctantly agreed and said, “I might lose my job for this but I can understand how difficult it is for you. Yes, I will allow him but you will have to be within our sight.” So K and I sat in the lobby under the watchful eyes of the cops and within their earshot. K thought it was ridiculous as being a very shy person; this made him extremely self conscious. We sat there for an hour holding hands and not speaking to each other. Our marriage was fairly new…only three years and few months old so we realized that it was a trying time for both of us. However we didn’t let such negative thoughts bother us. Today it has been ten years since I came here and sixty three years since India made her Tryst with Destiny as blogged here. My road in our new adopted country has had its bumps but K and I have been together dealing with it.

Of Limca, lost and found

The past weekend was excellent weather-wise. Today, however, it was hot. Hot summers remind me of India in April and May, prior to the onset of monsoon and invariably my childhood. Funnily today I was craving for Limca, a lime and lemon flavored soda that is so Indian. After India opened her markets in 1992, Coca Cola bought the company that produced this popular Indian soda. I have a childhood story attached to Limca.

My paternal side of the family is extremely close knit. We would go on vacations together and invariably do a lot of activities together. My father is very close to his cousins so our trips included our extended family as well. We would go on vacations and short weekend trips. My parents are polar opposites; my mother was and still is extremely protective while my father always let his kids be independent. I was a daddy’s girl and always used to follow my father like a shadow.

When I was around eight, my family went on a weekend trip to Lonavla, a popular destination in the mountains. While returning home, my father’s car broke down and we decided to leave it there and take a train back home. My entire extended family, including uncles, aunts and cousins decided to take a train from Lonavla back to Bombay (it was not called Mumbai then). I remember that we had to get off at Karjat, a major rail terminus and take a connecting local train to our respective destinations. Our group consisted of 20-25 people and we were thoroughly enjoying ourselves singing songs, laughing and joking.

Karjat is famous for its vada pav, which is a fast food dish native to my state. My parents were strict and did not like us to eat street food especially food that had zero nutrition. My uncle, however, decided that there were no rules on a Sunday, which is a fun day, and treated all of us to that. After we were done eating, all but my father and I, walked away. The reason was that yours truly wanted another Limca. While my father was paying for it, I smartly suggested that I would walk by myself to where the group was waiting. My father asked me if I knew where they were and I rather confidently said yes. It was on the same platform but in the opposite direction of the cafeteria and I thought I was smart enough to go there by myself.

Unbeknown to me, the station announced the platform from where the train would depart and the group left to go to the correct platform. So I walk out of the cafeteria and along the length of the platform, to find that my group had already left in the interim. I ran back to the cafeteria to find my father gone as well. Before you think my father is irresponsible, he thought that I had reached the group while my mother thought that I was with him. They were in for a rude shock when they didn’t find their second born in the group. Within minutes the platform was deserted and there was not a soul in sight!

Despite my bravado, I was still an eight year old child. I did what any eight-year old would do, which was burst into tears. Suddenly a crowd gathered around me asking me questions as to who I was, where I lived and if I were lost. In that crowd was a group of tribal people, the Bhils, who insisted on taking me to my parent’s home. I had not seen Bhils in my life before and to see strange people speaking a strange form of Hindi was scary. I barely understood Hindi then so started crying even louder. I have to say that a child’s instincts are rather good and I had paid attention when my mother used to teach us to not speak to strangers or take anything from them or go with them. Therefore I stayed glued to the ground bawling on top of my lungs. In all probability the whole town of Karjat might have heard me.

Suddenly in the commotion, which I had caused, I hear a gentle voice ask me in Marathi, “Do you know where you live child?” I look up to see a beautiful Maharashtrian woman with peaches and cream complexion and deep green eyes. She had no make up on and was dressed in a pretty cotton saree, mangalsutra and bindi (I must say the Wikipedia entry has another fellow Maharashtrian of course with a lot of make-up). She was with a boy, probably her son, who was around my age. I was shaking and between my sobs, I tell her that I know my parents address and my home phone number. She asked me if I knew how to get home from the train station, and I nodded my head in agreement. Then she gently asked me if I wanted to first come with her to the station's office as she was confident that my parents must be worried sick and must be looking for me. I calmed down and agreed to go with her, when I heard another gentle voice calling my name. It was none other than my mother! I leapt across the crowd into her arms. She hugged and kissed me and we ran towards our waiting group. In her excitement she forgot to thank the lady. When she realized that, she turned around but the kind lady had already left. My mother for a long time after that used to feel bad that she had not thanked her. You know this incident is etched in my memory, however I don't remember if I even drank the second limca or what happened to it after I got lost.

The course of events of my being lost and found probably occurred in less than five minutes; however it seemed like an eternity in my and my parent’s mind. When I got back to the group everyone was relived that I was safe and sound. When the tense moments subsided, everyone was back to enjoying themselves and did what any self respecting older cousins would do, which is make me a butt of their jokes. To date the nickname “Limca” has stuck on! It is a term of endearment now, but every landmark moment in my life has been, “Oh our Limca is getting married” or “Oh our Limca is going to pursue her graduate studies. Please don’t get lost in the US.” The cousin who helped me set up my apartment as blogged in the previous post, was part of that group then. True to the spirit of the Limca tradition, he made fun of me when I decided to drive to Chicago from Ann Arbor to spend my first Christmas with him! I am not certain about this but knowing my mother, I can safely say that my father must have been in the doghouse for a pretty longtime after this incident.

Bitter-Sweet memories

Sometimes life puts challenges in front of you and you have to deal with those. If you succumb to the pressure and cannot deal with it then you are weak. The more you face them, the stronger you get. There is a proverb in Sanskrit that brass and gold both glisten, so what is the difference between the two? When put to test under intense heat, brass burns but gold becomes even brighter.

This month marks my ten years in this country. I came to the United States in August 2000 to pursue my graduate studies at the University of Michigan. In my mind this year was a breakthrough, as for the first time in my life I realized my self-worth. When I came here, I was an architect who had practiced for a few years and I was a wife. Most importantly I was extremely attached to my family so it was difficult for me to leave them along with my husband in India. Yes, it was my ambition to pursue further education but I was also facing some difficulties in India. It has been ten years and I have moved on so I will not use this blog for anything negative.

Sustaining a happy and healthy marriage is always work in progress. Sometimes you have your great days and many other times you don’t. K and I have been together for many years. Today I would say our relationship has reached a level of understanding, mutual respect and comfort. This period of separation, I would say, was the most trying period of our life. I have saved all the emails that we have exchanged and I read them from time to time. They remind me of the hardships and the uncertainties we faced then. Most importantly they remind me of how our mutual respect and trust helped us sustain this relationship! There are times when I get very annoyed with K, and reading those emails makes me realize how valuable his presence is in my life.

I came here sometime in August 2000 and started rooming with two other women. K had warned me about sharing an apartment with strangers as I had not done that before and it is especially difficult if one is married and has had her own home. I didn’t want to live alone in a foreign country and preferred Indian roommates because of the shared ethnicity. NOT A GREAT IDEA! Within two days I realized that I was so naïve and lived such a sheltered life in India. I used to miss K a lot and felt very insecure that he might just leave me. I wanted to go back to India and hold on to my life there. I had such conflicting emotions, on one hand I wanted to realize my dreams, but on the other I wanted to hold on to my personal life as well. This was before Skype and Reliance India service so it was expensive communicating with him in India. We still managed to speak three to four times a week.

My cousin and his wife, who live in Chicago, took it upon themselves to help me set up the apartment. I showed them around the beautiful campus. My cousin’s wife, a Ph.D in Physics and a stay at home mom at that time, realized how sad and lonely I looked. She advised that I should enjoy being a student again as very few Indian women, especially married ones, got such an opportunity. She said that not everyone had supportive spouses like I did. Actually that statement made it worse for me as it fed on my insecurity that my supportive spouse could potentially leave me…out of sight and out of mind!

My cousin’s family and I had a picnic at Gallup Park, which is Ann Arbor’s most popular recreation area. My cousin’s mother, i.e. my father’s brother’s widow, was visiting from India so was with us as well. My uncle had passed on a few months prior to that. After lunch my cousin and his wife took the kids bike riding while I sat with my aunt quietly enjoying the bucolic landscape. She asked me how I was faring and I said I was well but missed India and K. Suddenly she burst into tears and I held her close. She is a lady of few words but I realized that she must be missing my late uncle. The last time she was here, he was with her and now she was alone. That is the time I realized that although K and I were separated by two continents and a 10.5 hour difference we were still able to communicate with each other. For the first time I realized how difficult it must have been for her to be alone after 40 odd years of togetherness. My trepidations and worries seemed so trivial then. I realized that I was indeed given an opportunity to do what I wanted to do and that I should make the most out of it instead of imagining the worst! It is weird that I am writing about this now. It is just that I happened to read one of my old emails and all these memories came flooding back.

My Jersey Biases

(I am very tired, so all you grammar nazis please forgive my typos and grammatical errors, if any.)

Last week was very hectic and intense for me professionally. The weekend before the last was hardly a weekend as I worked for 12 hours that Sunday. I had a deadline this past Friday and I was so paranoid about not meeting it that I worked on a Sunday. The religion of books say that even God rested on Sunday, but being a Hindu I can say that mine does not! Of course they say that it took six days to create the world but I believe in evolution, so why even discuss this. Thank God I don’t belong to the Bible belt because both my color and beliefs could have made me an easy target. I am not sure, just painting everything with a broad brush of generalization. Besides Bobby Jindal, a fellow desi is the Governor of Louisiana, so I am just being silly here. Those who think I am offensive, please stop reading now because its going to get even worse in the following sections.

When I moved to the great state of New Jersey from Michigan, my idea of the state was the industrial landscape of northern Jersey. I was really disappointed to move to Jersey after living in a great town like Ann Arbor. However now that I am here, I have come to appreciate it a lot. Besides I live in a very nice part of New Jersey so the varied landscape came as a pleasant surprise to me. However I had no idea that South Jersey was a different country altogether.

I am always nervous of my olive skin whenever I go to South Jersey, the home of the Pinelands and the Jersey devil. There is a reason for that. When I first moved to Jersey, I had asked my friend who along with his significant other participates in Triathlons about biking in the Pinelands. He looked at me incredulously and said, “You can go but if you hear banjo playing the background….keep pedaling and fast.” For those of you who don’t know or haven't followed the popular culture reference, he was alluding to the movie Deliverance.

Few years ago, I had to go on a site visit to a town in the Pinelands. I was very nervous about it. I was talking to K while I was in my car and expressed my trepidation. He said that I was completely paranoid. As long as I was there at daytime, he couldn’t see an issue with it. I kept the engine running the entire time so I could get the hell out of there if things got bad. I am concerned about the environment and hate those who keep engines idling, but then I want to be alive to enjoy the green earth so I made an exception here. I drove within the site boundaries and sat in the car taking notes. While I was minding my own business, a woman with a mullet and a flannel shirt came up to my window and tapped it. I was startled and jumped up. I roll ed down the window and greeted in my fake Jersey accent, “How you doin’?” She asked me what “youzz doin’ in these parts.” I said that I was there on behalf of *My company* . She said that “youzz people from college with your fancy degrees come in and tell us what to do.” I was nervous and K who was listening to the conversation was somewhat nervous as well. I responded rather calmly, “I ain’t got no fancy degree. I hear youzz…them rich people don’t know nothin’.” She replied, “damn right they don’t.” She smiled a toothless grin and yelled at her six kids, “Don’t y’all harass that nice lady.” NARROW ESCAPE! I thought that she might call me a “damn Benny” with my fake North Jersey accent. Thankfully I was left alone and continued what I sought to do. A few minutes later, as I was pulling out, a shirtless guy with man boobs and a paunch started running towards my car. I had no interest in engaging in a conversation with him so hit on the gas and got the hell out of there. For some reason he reminded me, paranoia personified, of the movie Deliverance. In case you are curious... NO…I don’t play no banjo and I ain't gonna squeal like no pig!

When I went back to work the next morning, I repeated this conversation to my colleagues who were in splits. I was informed that once upon a time KKK was rather active there. Sure enough I ain’t going to no such town anywhere in the United States unless I have my favorite Shiv Sainiks or Bajrang Dal with me! (For you non-desis, these are far-right wing Indian factions. Before you stop visiting my blog...please I am only kidding!) The moral of the story is that there are crazy people everywhere in the world.

Manoj: Telemarketer Elite - Short Film

This is hilarious! How many of us here in the United States get calls from a "Matt" who sounds more like a "Manoj"....I got this from my friend Lotus. I couldn't stop laughing. Next time someone from my country calls you...this clip will provide you some comic relief. Instead of getting annoyed you might just smile!

Like we say, "Vee are like this onnly...absolutely and pproximately!"

Summer Salads

This pic was taken by K.

We absolutely love seafood. Until I came to the United States, I had not had squid (calamari) and until I moved to Jersey I had not had Italian seafood salad. There is an Italian restaurant, delicatessen and market near my workplace where they sell the most delectable Italiano fare. The other plus point is the eye candy at the store. Nothing is easy on the eye than a tall, good looking Italian guy and I don't mean the New Jersey kind but the ones from the old country. If anyone is offended, I can only flex my non-existent muscles and respond like any self respecting person from Jersey would... "ehh you got a problem with that?"

Anyway I digress, so this particular place serves the most amazing soups and sea food salad. I love to eat but there are certain foods that I consider "comfort food." Most of them are Indian ones like samosa, vada pav, jalebi etc. Apart from the Indian fare, I would consider pasta fagioli soup and Italian sea food salad as my two other comfort foods. So my favorite Italian restaurant makes the most delectable seafood salad.

Contrary to what my Indian palate would dictate, I love cold soups and salads in the summer. Therefore I ignore the layer of oil and bravely order the seafood salad. Whole foods serves this salad as well but it is not as good as the one that I like. Anyway I tried to discern the flavors and came up with the following recipe, which closely mimics the one from my deli. I am pleased with the outcome and therefore will like to share it on this blog. Of course now that I have nailed the flavor, the deli hold no attraction for me except for the eye candy (just kidding!). Besides I can achieve this in a comparatively low fat fashion.

SEAFOOD SALAD

Ingredients

3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
4 cloves garlic, chopped
1 pound cleaned calamari rings and tentacles
1 pound cooked shrimp (I cooked and cleaned it at home instead of getting the frozen one to retain the flavor)
1 teaspoon salt, divided
1/4 teaspoon pepper, divided
1/4 cup chopped oregano
1 rib finely chopped celery
1/2 cup thinly sliced red bell pepper
1/2 cup thinly sliced green bell pepper
1/2 cup thinly sliced red onions
1/4 cup lemon juice
1/4 cup red wine vinegar

Method

Heat 1 1/2 tablespoons of the oil with the garlic and in a large skillet over medium heat until the garlic begins to lightly brown. Increase the heat to high and add calamari rings (you can add the tentacles but that grosses me out) to the hot skillet and cook until tender and opaque, about three (3) minutes. Set a timer to 3 minutes because anything beyond that and the calamari will turn chewy! Transfer to a bowl and season the calamari with half of the salt and pepper.

While the calamari is still warm, mix in the remaining olive oil and salt and pepper along with the cooked and cooled shrimp, celery, oregano, peppers, onions and lemon juice, red wine vinegar and olive oil. Toss together well.

Although the salad can be served immediately, I would recommend refrigerating it for at least an hour as the flavors develop as it sits. Therefore if not serving right away, cover and refrigerate until serving time.

Tip to cook shrimp

I recommend deveining the shrimp, while the shell is on. For that I made a small cut on the shell with a sharp knife and deveined it. I prefer retaining the shell along with the head, to maximize the flavor.

In large pot add water, salt to taste and juice of one lemon. Bring your water(4-6 cups of water per pound of shrimp) to a full boil. Once your water has come to a full rolling boil, add your shrimp (with the shell on) and stir to separate them. Cover with lid. The shrimp should cook in 6 to 8 minutes (for large variety). Turn off your stove burner and let sit. When cooked remove from the stove and drain in a colander, then dump your shrimp into ice water to stop the cooking. Stir the shrimp around in the ice water to make sure they all get cooled. Then remove the shells, while retaining a portion at the tail for aesthetics and flavor.

AMONG OTHER THINGS

After almost 17 years since its publication, I got a copy of Vikram Seth's "A suitable boy" and will start reading it soon. I had put a hold on it at my library. This evening I went to get it. The woman at the checkout counter reminded me of the librarian in that famous Seinfeld episode of the lost book and George getting a wedgie. Anyway she looked at the book and said, "Did you know this is a great book and a best seller?" I looked at her incredulously and replied, "Really I had no idea, I just love to read books that exceed 1,400 pages." I know...I can be quite a biyatch sometimes!

Is ethnicity an essential ingredient in successful relationships?

Yesterday I had dinner with one of my very dear friends; let’s call her “A.” A is of Indian descent but was born and raised here in the United States. Her parents moved to the United States in the 60s, so left behind an image or their idea of India. India, however, has progressed by leaps and bounds since the 1960s; therefore their idea of the subcontinent seems so obsolete today. She is very fluent in Marathi but her speech is more reflective of her parents’ generation than hers! Her parents are her connection to India and all things Indian. She speaks chaste Marathi and it is comical when she uses words that are so reflective of my parent’s generation in her very American accent!

She has an MBA in Finance from one of the top business schools in the US. She lives on the West Coast and was here for two business meetings, one in Philly and the other in NYC. In between those meetings she found time to have dinner with yours truly. There is nothing like hanging out with your girlfriends and having great conversations. She is still single, which is quite a huge deal in the Indian community. Now no matter how liberal ones parents are and no matter how independent one is, they still want their children to get married within the set parameters. Risking broad generalization I would like to add that with Indian parents it is usually a “nice Indian boy or a girl” in their twenties. This then transforms to pleas of “please get married” when the children cross into their mid thirties.

Yesterday she mentioned to me about how her parents tried to set her up with some friend’s son and she was regaling me with stories of their very disastrous first date! She was complaining about not meeting the right kind of a guy. She was on the various Indian dating websites and she was thoroughly disappointed with the kind of men she was meeting. Her biggest peeve was most of the American born Indian men that she met were so bloody confused about their identity that it annoyed her to no end. According to her they try too hard to not associate with anything related to their parents culture. Additionally, quite a few of them were looking for action while she is looking for commitment. The Indian born and raised men, especially in her field of finance, are incredibly smart but socially retarded! I couldn’t but laugh at her broad generalization and told her so.

She then told me about how her mother took her to one of the social gatherings during this business trip in the hope that she could “arrange” a match for my friend. She relayed her mother's exact words while introducing her to the group. The words reflected the so called subservience that was traditionally expected from a girl child’s parents in a patriarchal society. It took me to the time when I had just finished architecture and my mother wanted to get me married. This was the time before I met and fell in love with K. My mother had a very different tone when she would try to set me up. When I used to protest, my mother said that she has to play this game and that I will never understand. I used to always get annoyed because I felt that I was as smart and educated as the guys she was trying to set me up with. If a guy as smart as I is considered a “catch” then why am I not the same? Today I am far more independent than I was then and I still don’t understand the logic. It is inconceivable for me to be subjected to something like my friend.

My friend is a very successful professional. In fact her earnings alone must have qualified her for the special tax breaks during the Bush era. Now if she were a man, then she would be considered a “catch." Perhaps many women would have wanted to be the trophy wife! Why is that rule not applicable to successful men? She is extremely bright, very attractive and very nice person but most men get intimidated by her success.

She has dated American guys in the past but she always felt that they never quite understood the Indian culture. Therefore she wants to marry someone who is from India or whose parents are from India. She is well traveled and very cosmopolitan in her outlook that this really surprised me. What is her idea of Indian culture? I never viewed her as an Indian but as my American friend because that is who she is. Apart from the United States, she has lived in London and Zurich; therefore she has never lived in India. Her idea of India is based upon her childhood summers in the country. The last time she was in India was three years ago. What is Indian about her except her name and skin tone? In fact a few of my friends from India have American spouses and very successful relationships. Therefore I do not agree that ethnicity is a necessary ingredient to make the perfect relationship dish!

Tinariwen, Assouf

One of my very dear friends introduced me to this track. The first time I heard it, it completely captivated me. I was transformed to a world far removed from my reality or what my understanding of the world is. Luckily the video has english subtitles so I could understand the lyrics. I am not sure but I am guessing that this is a Sufi song, where love could be the love of divinity. The strings are heavenly, I have downloaded this from iTunes.

Maharanis: Not a Book Review

A few weeks ago I happened to learn that Rajmata Gayatri Devi, the dowager Maharani of the erstwhile princely state of Jaipur, passed on at a ripe old age of 90. She was acclaimed for her beauty and her charity work. I, of course, came to know of her existence by serendipity. I was 12 years old then and was down with measles. I had had to miss a fortnight of school and was confined to my bed, which was quite an annoyance for my hyper energetic personality. One afternoon, my mother, handed me a copy of "A Princess Remembers," which are the memoirs of Maharani Gayatri Devi. I remember being struck by her beauty and completely enraptured by her life. Therefore in my mind, I associate the personality with the book that had fascinated the imagination of a young girl on the threshold of puberty. Years later, a month before leaving to come to the United States, I fell ill. I was married then but still wanted to convalesce at my parent's home. Therefore for three weeks I was staying with my parents. One afternoon, I stumbled across this forgotten book and picked it up to read it. As an adult I read the book and could discern that it was a sugar coated, one sided account of her life as she saw it. Clearly it wasn't a very objective account as she had tried to present the darker side in the best possible light. Of course one would attribute it to her grace and dignity rather than viewing life through rose-tinted glasses.

I have been wanting to read "Maharanis" by Lucy Moore since a very long time. Finally I got around to reading it. To me this was a third person account of their lives therefore would be objective. This book traces the life of Maharani Gayatri Devi, her mother and her two grandmothers. It is a fascinating story of four extraordinary women who lived their lives during the waning years of the British Empire and the Indian Princely States. It is a wellknown fact that Gayatri Devi's grandfather the Maharajah of Baroda was a great man who worked for betterment of his subjects and reforming his state. He was a fierce critic of the British and has always been hailed as a nationalist. He was one of the few, if not the only, ruler of a princely state to openly support the Indian National Congress. Unlike his contemporaries he was not given to leading a licentious life full of excesses. His daughter, Gayatri Devi's mother, became a widow at thirty. However, contrary to Indian societal norms, she did not resign to living an austere life of a widow but instead ruled on behalf of her minor son. She was in fact a merry widow nicknamed by her friends as Maharani of couche partout a parodized version of her title Maharani of Cooch Behar. It also speaks about her two grandmothers, Chimnabai of Baroda and Sunity Devi of Cooch Behar who are potrayed as strong women. They strived for women's education and emancipation. They were married to men different in character, the former was married to Sayaji a nationalist and faithful man (a rarity in that class), while Nripendra an overt Anglophile with a roving eye. The Baroda and Cooch Behar prince and princesses were educated abroad, the sons apparently did not possess strength of character and were given to alcoholism while the daughters were strong and wilful. Gayatri Devi became the third wife of the Maharajah of Jaipur, a handsome polo player whose first two wives were political alliances. She marries him for love and grows from a young girl in awe of her husband's larger than life personna to becoming a politican and celebrity in her own right.

It is full of anecdotes as well as historic accounts of the current events occuring simultaneously in India's struggle for freedom. It highlights the fact that how British used the princely states for their machinations to spread and continue their imperial power over the subcontinent, and completely disregarded the princely states during the process of transferring power to India.

It is an interesting account of these four extraordinary women who broke the tradition of purdah (being veiled and not seen in public) and used their position to better the lives of the less privileged. Their lives were extraordinary with immense luxury juxtaposed with harsh reality and tragedies that really made them human. They experienced extreme joy along with such tragic events. One would think that such a position of priviledge made the male members ill-equipped to deal with the sea of change that was occuring within the Indian subcontinent. Those who follow Indian history must be well aware of the horrors of Emergency and the dark period of Indira Gandhi's rule in which democratic values were held to ransom. This book reveals that aspect as experienced by Gayatri Devi who was then into active politics and in opposition to Mrs. Gandhi. These two women, born into priviledged backgrounds, two years apart and studied together in Shantiniketan, had a strong dislike for each other. However they were bound by the tragic events that occured in their lives. When Mrs. Gandhi lost her son to an airplane accident, Gayatri Devi with all her grace and dignity called her to offer her condolences, which were not accepted by Mrs. Gandhi. It speaks volumes about their individual personalities; grace of one and the petty-minded behavior of the other.

This book traverses across three centuries; the nineteenth, twentieth and the beginning of the twenty-first,and chronologically traces the lives of these four extraordinary women and their families. This book is an interesting read, however it is not a testament to feminism. These women were in privileged positions and were therefore an exception than the norm. The majority of women in the country did not afford the luxury of freedom of choice.

Random Rant

This summer I have been planning to catch up on my reading. I get a feeling that I am regressing and that my brain is atrophying because the only reading I do is related to my work. The only writing that I have done is very technical and related to my work. When I emailed from work to my spouse the other day, I began by writing "Pursuant to our conversation, attached please find....," and almost ended it with the cursory, "Your truly." This caused me to wake up from my reverie and realize that I am turning into a robot. I feel like my vocabulary is almost non-existent these days. I don't believe that I am turning into Paris Hilton by describing everything as "That's Hot." Fortunately, I have not yet started using "like" to fill in the void left by my atrophying brain and inadequate vocabulary limiting my articulation. However I feel that I should spend my evening rather constructively by reading than vegetating on the couch.

I decided to proactively address this and therefore made a trip to the library and borrowed a few books. In addition, I requested via interlibrary loaning services some non-fiction books that were on my to-read list but weren't been tackled due to procrastination. As soon as I got home with a stack of books, I started reading them. I spent a quiet evening in the park, lazing by the lake and reading for a two to three hours. Life was perfect until Monday morning two weeks ago. I have been swamped with deadlines and I am back to work related reading, which has now extended on to the weekends as well. My only wish is that soon I shall be able to deal with my overwhelming deadlines and get back to catch up on my reading. Until then my blog entries will continue to be very technical and uninspiring….that is what I am doomed for…a life of mundane existence.

I am back.....

After a few months of hiatus and completely escaping from the blogosphere...I am back. I missed coming home and writing minutiae of my mundane existence. Anyway I missed interacting with my other blogger friends and the wonderful conversations that we used to have. Of course out of all my blogger buddies two of them actually became my “friends” on facebook. So overall it has been a great experience and I want to continue that.

Happy New Year

It has been a very long time since I wrote on this space. It is getting very difficult to sit down and write. However, I don't want to bid adieu yet as I find it very difficult to let go. I have grown to love this blog and all the wonderful bloggers that I met on this platform. From my end, it has been my work and commute that is making it practically impossible to sit down and write. Therefore here is wishing you all a very happy 2009! Hopefully I shall be able to start blogging and interacting through this medium.

Movie Jodhaa Akbar

So I finally saw Jodhaa Akbar last evening. Everyone that I have been speaking to have been raving about this movie and how it is a "must see." I am not a fan of Aishwarya Rai and really don't care much about Hrithik Roshan except for the fact that he is serious eye-candy. I had seen his debut movie "Kaho na Pyaar Hain" in India quite by chance on cable in early 2000. At that time I was living in India and had a total disdain for "masala" movies. K's parents have a couple who works for them and also lives with them. This couple had (probably still do) a tradition on Friday evenings, which was to collect their friends and watch the latest Bollywood movies on Cable in K's parent's home. K and I along with his parents would escape on Friday evenings to their weekend home by the Arabian Sea therefore the couple would have their weekend off to do whatever they pleased. One particular Friday evening, K and I stayed back in Mumbai and returned home after midnight to see the group completely hypnotized and glued to the screen. I was curious to see what they were watching with such rapt attention, to notice a very handsome guy dancing the typical Bollywood dance moves on screen. It held my attention and I asked them, "Who is he?" So I must confess that I watched "Kaho Na Pyaar Hain" mainly for the eye-candy factor that is Hrithik Roshan. Anyway that was more than eight years ago and that movie was a huge hit in India then.

So coming to 2008 and “Jodha Akbar,” K and I wanted to see the movie "Married Life." I was on the internet checking the timings for the movie in local theatres when I noticed that the multiplex on Route 1 in North Brunswick was playing "Jodha Akbar." I asked K if he wanted to see it and he replied that he didn't have the patience to suffer for three hours. I lied to him that Hindi films are always reduced to two hours to cater to the North American audience, to which he grudgingly agreed. Actually the movie is 3 hours 30 minutes long....so after two hours I saw K getting terribly bored and restless and giving me hateful looks. Despite its length, I thought it was a very entertaining movie.

I did not go to the theatre anticipating any substance and historic veracity....I went there for the entertainment value and I can say that the film guarantees that. The cinematography is excellent. The sets and costumes are opulent and the colors appeal to the senses. The music is not spectacular except for the Sufi song “Khwaja Mere Khwaja,” which is very spiritual. This particular track although with a classical base, has a very contemporary feel and beautifully captures the mood. I must say that Aishwarya was very good in this movie. Her acting was subdued and she has displayed maturity. As always she looked ethereal. The costumes and jewelry were opulent. It captures the grandeur of the Moghuls as well as the Rajputs. Hrithik looks phenomenal.

There is nothing intellectual about this movie and was definitely made for its commercial appeal yet the film has many positives. Given the communal tension in modern day Indian subcontinent and the negativity associated with the period of Moghul rule in India, this movie portrays and presents Akbar's rule in a rather positive light. It drives home the fact that it is secularism and religious pluralism that defines Indian society and is the cultural fabric defining modern day India. So those of you who can understand Hindi/Urdu and/or have interest in the Indian subcontinent, I would definitely recommend this film.

I am sharing the link of the song "Khwaja Mere Khwaja"....enjoy. I must say that A. R. Rahman has outdone himself in this score.