Updates from Baby M!

I am a big boy now – all of thirteen months! We celebrated my first birthday in great style last month. Except that the grown-ups seemed to have all the fun playing games, dancing and eating yummy food, while I was made to parade around in a sherwani and random people came and pinched my cheeks! Hmmph! Next year, I will plan my birthday party myself – everyone will be made to dress down, not up, I’ll run around all the time so nobody will be able catch me and no one above the age of five will be allowed to play any of the games!

In other news, I decided to put an end to Aai’s endless worrying and sprouted four teeth just after my first birthday, seemingly overnight! I thought that would make her happy but now she’s started worrying about the teeny weeny gap between my two front teeth. As if that matters! I am just happy I can bite anyone who does not give me what I want now. In addition to screaming at the top of my voice, shedding false tears and (literally) throwing my weight around of course!

Speaking of what I want, kites fascinate me these days. Have you noticed how many of them are still caught up in the trees around you? No? Then you must be one of those grown-ups. They hardly notice interesting things, I have noticed. Most of them look down or straight ahead while walking. When the really interesting stuff can be found up in the sky – planes! birds! clouds! moon! – or on treetops  – kites of course! When will these grown-ups ever learn?

So I always look up these days. And keep my finger ready for pointing all the time. For my poor Aai has great trouble remembering stuff you know. She needs me around to remind her of everything. She keeps asking me, where’s the doggie? And I point him out to her. A few seconds later, where’s the clock? Sometimes, she even forgets who she’s talking to, imagine! Where’s Baby M, she wants to know! Isn’t that the height of forgetfulness?

Grown-ups also have these weird ideas about keeping homes tidy, I have realized.They seem to think stacking stuff in cupboards and on tables while keeping the floor clean is tidy. Me, I prefer keeping the cupboards and table surfaces clean and empty, while stuff on the floor doesn’t really bother me. Aaji is yet to agree with my concept of cleanliness though!

When I am not helping Aai keep track of things or educating Aaji on tidying up the home, I help out the mavshis in the kitchen. I help them shell peas and use the big wooden stick to bring down the dry clothes. And sometimes, there’s not enough work for Aaji and the mavshis and I notice everyone getting bored, so I scatter all the vessels on the floor to keep them amused and occupied.

Aaji keeps saying, what will we all do when you go to your own house in July Baby M? Don’t you worry Aaji – I’ll visit you often and make sure I create enough work during my visits to keep you all occupied the rest of the time.

Speaking of worrying, Aai also wants me to walk soon. But she doesn’t understand. So what if I am not walking yet, I am putting my energies to much better use! I climb chairs, tables, beds, even the funny elliptical machine Aai uses to keep her weight off. (I use it more often than Aai, or so Aaji says!) Climbing is so much more fun than walking you know. I climb whatever and wherever I can. But sometimes I can’t figure out how to get down, so I let out a loud cry and someone is always around to help me out. Easy pheasy!

I have saved the best news for the last. Aai stopped working last month and is pretty much free to play with me all the time now. Yippee! We sing nursery rhymes together (Aai sings and I act out the songs), look at pictures in my books (teddy bear! clock! doggie! giraffe!) and tell each other stories (I contribute with my hmmphs!). And in the evening, we go to the park to play with my gang of friends. Aai plays with us too – she’s a good sport that way.

But Aaji often catches Aai reading or on the internet when she’s supposed to be playing with me! I don’t  mind that though – I like it when she’s engrossed in her books so I am free to pursue my mischievous ideas – my favorite is to throw all my toys and books at the back of the bed when no one’s watching!

That reminds me – Aai’s busy typing away at her laptop right now. I am off to hide a new batch of toys under the bed. Ta!

Mischief for Dummies (Newborn Edition)

Chapter 1 – Plan your entrance right

It’s all about timing! Due dates are complete nonsense – stick to them to your own peril. Arriving a couple of weeks late is acceptable, but the best way to make a dramatic entrance is to arrive early – the earlier the better of course.

Chapter 2 – Make dressing up time fun

Swaddle blankets are your sworn enemy – they need to be actively fought at all times.  Kicks and squirms come in handy in ensuring the blanket is tied as loosely as possible. And of course a loose blanket helps when you are ready to wriggle your way out of it completely a few minutes later. The same goes for booties and mittens. The trick is to avoid getting them on in the first place.  But sometimes the stupid things tend to stay on. In those cases, they need to returned to the poor moms/dads/grannies trying to dress you up as soon as possible. Expert mischief-makers are usually able to hand over the first mitten while the poor folks are struggling to get the second one on.

Chapter 3 – Breastfeeding time is playtime

Moms have all the time in the world – especially at night. Plus they love to hold a seven pound baby in their hands for hours on end – it helps to build their arm muscles you see. So try and stretch your half hour feeding session to as long as possible. It’s perfectly acceptable to take a break to look all around you every few minutes. After all, you need to keep an eye on everyone and everything. (It’s a wonder how these folks managed before you came along!) Making faces at mom is good too – the weirder the better. Going cockeyed from time to time has been found to work best at soothing exasperated moms in such situations.

To be continued…

The time and place for assertiveness

7:30 AM. I am about to finish my fourth and last loop around our apartment community. It’s a beautiful morning, with a lovely cool breeze and bright warm sunshine. Add to it our community’s green lawns, twittering birds and gorgeous terrace gardens in every other apartment and I’m in seventh heaven. I feel fresh and chirpy, ready to take on the world. Except the canine variety, as I am about to find out.

Despite my cheery state of mind, I’ve been walking for a half hour now, at a fairly brisk pace I must add, and am somewhat tired and distracted as a result. So I fail to spot the friendly neighborhood puppy, unleashed as usual, still at a safe distance from me. And I walk on, without a care in the world, entering the puppy’s ‘territory’ with my next few steps I suppose.

Said puppy bounds over playfully to greet me. She’s a friendly sort I’m sure, her little yelps and barks meaning ‘Good morning! What a pleasant day!’ in doggie-speak no doubt. Unfortunately for me, I don’t understand doggie-speak. So I stop dead in my tracks. And look around helplessly for the puppy’s owner. Said owner, flirting with the next-door neighbor, takes her own sweet time to amble over. Still, she’s nice enough to throw a lazy ‘She doesn’t bite!’ my way, halfway through her stroll.

Notice how every dog-owner earnestly believes this about their dog? ‘Maybe not, but I don’t want to be the first to find out you’re wrong!’, I want to yell back. A thousand different retorts rush through my mind. One of which goes – ‘Isn’t it a community rule to have your dog on leash at all times? I stay here too. Can’t I take my morning walk in peace?’ Now don’t get me wrong. I love doggies! I’ll even take your word for it if you insist they are adorable creatures. All I ask for is they stay outside a 10 foot radius around me. Is that too much to wish for, tell me?

But the best time to argue with a dog-owner is not when their dog is itching to throw herself on you and is being held back only by the owner’s smartly barked commands, I ruefully realize. And go home to lick my wounds. There are better ways to practice my assertiveness skills, I tell myself. I can always call up the community manager to make an anonymous complaint in the evening. From the safety of my home preferably.

Foot in the mouth disease…

…happens to all of us at times, but a cousin of mine, by an unfortunate coincidence both uncommonly innocent and fearless for her age, suffered especially from the dreadful malady. She’s been known to have asked the most insensitive of questions with the sweetest of smiles and the most angelic expression ever in the good old days of childhood. For her sake (and her husband’s sanity) I hope she’s recovered by now.

Her infamous exploits were many, but this one takes the cake. During a family function at a temple, we cousins spotted an elderly hunchbacked lady doing her ‘pradakshinas’. Now we had never seen a hunchbacked person before and naturally all of us were curious. The question in every mind was the same – how does ajji (grandma/old lady) manage to sleep on her back? Do her legs go up as soon as she lies down?

We were all curious of course, but young as we were, there was this vague suspicion that any questions in that direction might not be taken very kindly. So we kept mum. Except for this cousin, who was fearless, remember? Before anyone could stop her, she went right ahead and popped the question to the lady herself. You can imagine the talking-to we all received later that day!

In my cousin’s defence though, she was just six or seven at that time. I wonder what these folks’ excuse is?

My Cooking Dilemma

A health bug bites me every few weeks. A friend and I usually take a brisk walk during lunch hour, but I inisist on dragging the husband out for another evening walk while its effects persist. And our fridge gets stocked with fruits and broccoli and carrots and salads and the choles and parathas make way for fresh veggies, sprouts and whole-wheat rotis for a while.

I also try and cook healthy, with less oil, ghee and masala in this phase. The concoctions I thus come up with are – how do I put it nicely – hardly lip-smackingly delicious, shall we say? I can see it on the husband’s face with the first bite he takes!

He’ll take his time chewing on his food, avoid eye contact for as long as possible and hastily rearrange his features into a somewhat less unpleasant expression when he catches me looking. A few more pointed looks and he’ll be forced to throw a seemingly casual ‘The sabzi is good, slightly different, but still good’ my way!

But sometimes, when I get tired of the routine myself or when we are having guests over, I cheat. Which means I sort of dip the oil bottle in the direction of the cooking pan and close my eyes for a while. The results are totally predictable of course.

‘The food was delicious today! Did you try something different?’

Oh, it was a new recipe I read on a blog the other day’, I airily reply.

Now, this strategy has two benefits, you’ll find. I have safely avoided revealing the ugly truth for now AND earned some brownie points for my otherwise much-maligned blog-surfing in the process. I know, I am so clever!

But my original problem remains. Do I cook tasty food or do I go the healthy route? I know it’s possible to cook wholesome food that tastes delicious as well, but my culinary skills haven’t reached that level yet. What about you? Have you faced the health versus taste dilemma in your cooking too? How do you handle it? Any tips for me?

P.S. If Baba’s reading this, of course I am exaggerating!

P.P.S. If the husband’s reading this, OF COURSE this story is NOT about us!

Married Gyaan – 1

Three years into our marriage, the husband and I have found a certain rhythm in our life together. Call us dull, predictable, domesticated or neanderthal, but we no longer fight over who cooks dinner tonight or who vacuums the house tomorrow. And if you are going to force me to be honest at gunpoint, maybe I’ll admit we don’t fight as much over these things anymore!

So the ‘Why should I do this?’ and ‘I am always doing all the work around here’ arguments have been exhausted (we hope!) and the two of us have fallen into a comfortable and mutually acceptable routine in many ways.

But this post and especially the discussion in the comment space made me wonder – how did we come to be in our present assigned roles? Was there a conscious thought process or did we simply fall in with gender stereotypes while choosing our tasks? And is either one of us being shortchanged?

Now instead of getting into a long and confused argument with myself, let me explain the division of labor in the JnM household and invite your comments instead.

So what does he do?

(I am tempted to say nothing but you are holding me at gunpoint, remember?)

Ironing our clothes and vacuuming the carpeted areas of the house over the weekend, kneading atta every 2-3 days, paying the house rent and other household/credit card bills on time, maintaining both our cars, keeping track of the currency exchange rate and periodically sending money to India, taking responsibility for all our investments (after we have talked them through of course) – all this is exclusively the husband’s domain and something I rarely give a second thought to.

And then there are other things like doing the dishes, cleaning up in the kitchen after a meal and heating the chapatis while I roll them out that I may do if the husband’s busy, but usually fall under his purview too.

And what do we do?

Assembling a simple weekday breakfast (tea/coffee, cereals and milk or toast sandwich), serving meals at home, taking out the garbage, doing the laundry, sorting through our mail – Either one of us who’s free or feels the urge could take this up. (In case of the weekday breakfast though, we take turns and carefully keep track of and argue over each other’s turns!)

And now the grand finale – what do I do?

Planning our meals and cooking on a daily basis, making shopping lists, watering and caring for our plants, cleaning the bathroom and the kitchen on a weekly basis and keeping our home neat and tidy and picking up after the husband EVERYDAY – all this is exclusively my domain.

So that’s it! Tell me, what do you think? And if you don’t mind, how does it work in your marriage?

Note1: Not that I am troubled or anything – ours may not be the best arrangement but it certainly works for us and we both seem to be comfortable with it – but the argumentative Libran that I am, I love discussions conducted solely for the sake of discussion and hence this post. So please don’t hold back your arguments because our way work for us – never mind what works for us, I am trying to get an open discussion going here!

Note2: I know my list is the smallest, but try cooking everyday and then come back and we’ll talk about it, okay?

Note3: An interesting aside – a lot of my tasks I have taken upon myself only because I don’t trust I will get the high standards I expect if they were done by anyone other than myself. Which is exactly what was discussed in the comment space of the feminist post and what got me thinking about this in the first place.

It’s true, I never ask the husband to tidy up the house because I know I’ll have to run after him undoing everything he’s done before putting it right!

Just look at the way he tidies up the sofa for example…

… while I want the pillows to be arranged in perfectly planned disarray instead.

And don’t you dare say you prefer his way now, mine is the careless casual chic look, don’t you see? The husband never understands that! Or wait a minute, does he understand perfectly and pretend not to understand? He is not that smart, now, is he?

The Best Laid Plans…!

I was very excited about last weekend for some reason. Most weekends just come and go, it seems to me, but this one would be different, I decided. I wanted to Make The Most of our time this weekend and for that I needed A Plan, I realized!

So I took a few minutes off after lunch on Thursday afternoon for a Brainstorming Session with myself. This process calls for a free flow of thoughts, I had heard, so I proceeded to jot down whatever harebrained idea came into my mind. The next step was Evaluation And Analysis, where I had to basically sift through my ideas. Now this was easier said than done. I had no clue my mind was capable of such wild thoughts when given a free rein – we obviously could not go snow-mobiling on an August weekend, unless we made a weekend trip to Alaska of course.

Sadly, half my list was pared down at this stage. Never mind, that just made the next step, Setting My Priorities, so much easier, I consoled myself. So was vacuuming the house more important than finally catching the new movie the whole world and its granny had seen except for the husband and me? Surely not! (This decision was quite easy to make when I remembered the movie was three weeks old – the vacuuming had only been pending for two weeks now, you see.)

Finally, I had to plan for Stakeholder Involvement – it looked like it was time to involve the husband in my grand plan for our weekend. This was the most crucial part of my project, I knew, so some Risk Management was called for here. Perhaps I had been a tad hasty in my planning, ignoring the husband’s interests a bit too conspicuously? A short hike on Sunday evening should be a sufficiently attractive incentive to Engage My Stakeholder, I decided, and added the hike to my list.

So finally, the list I emailed to the husband looked something like this.

Chores List

• Friday evening – Drop the rent cheque
• Friday evening – Groceries (Milk, cereal, potatoes blah blah blah)
• Saturday afternoon – Return the library books
• Saturday afternoon – Indian groceries (Idli/Dosa batter, mirchi blah blah blah)

Fun List

• Friday evening – Romantic walk at a local Lake Park
• Friday night – Watch Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na
• Saturday evening – Swim
• Sunday afternoon – Stuff oneself to the point of bursting at the buffet lunch in the local Indian restaurant
• Sunday afternoon – Mountain hike to burn up all the calories accumulated during the buffet lunch and hopefully some more

Monday morning, I came into the office, wondering, as usual, Where Did The Weekend Go? Somehow, and please don’t ask me how, we’d ended up doing all our chores except one, and ignoring all items in the fun list except for the buffet lunch and the mountain hike and the latter was a risk management afterthought in the first place, remember?

Sure, we did do a lot of other fun things instead – I lazed around in bed on Saturday and discovered the televised adaptation of my favorite book series on youtube, then I tried my hand at gardening on Sunday, planting some new plants and pampering and admiring the old ones, and we saw my first Hollywood action movie on Saturday night. (Only one person enjoyed this last activity, I’m sure you can guess who!)

But that’s entirely besides the point. My Grand Plan for our weekend had proved completely useless! Next weekend, I plan to stick to my good old chores list. Some things in life just cannot be planned, I’ve realized!

Are they talking about the same weekend?

For months now, I have been urging my parents to take a short holiday somewhere. They finally planned to spend three days in Lonavla last weekend, attending an Art of Living program. I spoke with them last night, eager to find out if they enjoyed themselves.

“Hi Aai, how was your weekend?”

“Oh, it was fabulous! We had a great time, the campus was lovely, the food was good and I loved the concept behind Art of Living… We had such interesting group discussions, you know… There was one session in particular where we formed groups of three and narrated our life stories to the group… that was such a therapeutic experience, I tell you!”

And lots more in the same vein. I was just starting to feel smug and happy when a few minutes later -

“Hi Baba, how are you? Did you enjoy the weekend?”

A dramatic sigh was followed by a reluctant “It was oookay but I wouldn’t pay good money to go there again!” Notice the long-drawn okay folks.

“But… but Aai said it was fabulous”, I stammered.

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad. They taught us some good asanas and pranayams but wasted so much time in meaningless philosophical discussions!”

They couldn’t be talking about the same weekend now, could they? I was reminded of the numerous times the husband and I have had diametrically opposite views on the same things. Not you too, Aai-Baba, I thought, and burst out laughing. This guy sure knew what he was talking about!

Apple picking adventure

The husband and I went apple-picking at a nearby fruit orchard today. It was a wonderful experience for us, the day was gorgeous, the orchard was beautiful and the apples were aplenty, inexpensive, juicy and very very delicious!

Both of us behaved like little children set loose in a toyland, I caught a lot of the firang-types grinning condescendingly at our childlike glee. But it was the first time either of us saw apples hanging from a tree, which is our rather sorry excuse for the childish behavior. Red apples, green apples, golden apples, it was pretty overwhelming, really. You should have been there to understand it.

That’s me, going crazy thinking, ‘Now which one should I pick?’

I never knew there were so many exotic-sounding varieties of apples (Rome, Fuji, Crispin, Macintosh, Jonagold and what not). My neighborhood grocery store stocks just one variety called – yes, you guessed it right, apples! We picked at least one of each type, and ate half a dozen. We also bought some lovely apple cider and I’m still finding it hard to believe how pure unsweetened juice could taste so sweet!

At the end of it, the huge bucket so kindly provided by the orchard folks and lovingly carried around by the husband was filled to the brim and yet cost us just seven dollars. We came home and were lugging the huge bag from the car to the front door when the thought came to my mind, what do I with all these great apples!

In marathi we have a saying, ‘Loncha ghalu ka?’ similar to the hindi one, ‘Achaar dalu kya?’ An exasperated me thus asked the husband and he very seriously replied, ‘Sure, why not!’ So it’s either going to be apple achaar or apples for breakfast, lunch and dinner for the next couple of weeks in our household. Anybody care to join us?

Tagged!

Shruthi got me really thinking this morning. Which is the song that both the husband and I think of as ‘our song’, she asked? The one that triggers the oh-so-wonderful feeling in both of us and makes us want to passionately reach out to each other? Err, to be frank, I am not sure if there is one!

As I’ve said before, the husband and I are two very different people. I am the chirpy, childlike one and often tease him that he’s become very dull and prosaic these days. He wasn’t this way before, but the kind of music he enjoyed then (sad weepy ghazals) didn’t excite me at all. (They do now!) And he usually scoffs at the kind of soft romantic songs I love. (Although I think he secretly likes them too.) So, as you can see, we are too muddled up a couple to agree on one song as ‘our song’.

To avoid further embarrassment however, I will, in the same vein as Shruthi (who incidentally tagged me for this one), narrate a sweet and funny song story instead. In those blissful college days when the two of us would go on illicit long drives (chori chori, chupke chupke), I’d sing aloud in my excitement and beg the boyfriend, who is better known as the husband these days, to sing along with me.

But somehow, he never did. Instead, in the manner of politicians and their ‘garibi hatao’ promises, he would grandly announce, ‘I will sing for you someday.’ Hmm, someday? I waited patiently but the grand day never came. When we decided to get married, I secretly hoped to be treated to a grand ‘Kabhi Kabhi’ ishtyle serenade on our suhaag raat night. High hopes, indeed!

I gave up hope after the first year of marriage. Then, we were separated for about three months when the husband traveled to the US for his new job assignment and I had to stay back in India till I found a suitable opportunity myself. In those three months of bachelorhood, the husband’s roomie happened to be a trained singer who gives numerous stage shows in the US.

Voila! The last vestiges of romance welled forth from somewhere deep within the husband’s heart and he asked his friend to teach him a romantic song so that he could silence his nagging wife once and for all. Imagine my surprise and delight when I landed up in the US to be greeted with the mellifluous notes of ‘Kehna Hai’ from Padosan flowing from the husband’s throat!

The final episode in our sweet and funny song story involves my parents who visited us here, in the US, this summer. One day, bored of waiting for the two us to come home, they thought of playing some music on our laptop. The very first song happened to be ‘Kehna Hai’.

It sounded slightly different to them. The ‘sur’ was fine and the familiar baritone was there but there was something different about the voice. Kishore Kumar seemed to be having one of his sore throat days, they thought. They played the song again and again, trying to solve the mystery. Imagine their surprise when their son-in-law sheepishly informed them on coming home, ‘That was me actually. I was rehearsing!’

Whenever we hear this song these days, I first look at the husband with a most tender expression on my face (After all, he did take the trouble to learn the song for my sake, how sweet is that!), then I feel proud for a while (He was good enough to be mistaken for Kishore Kumar, even if it was a sore-throated KK!) and finally we both burst out into peals of laughter. So long story short, I guess you could say ‘Kehna Hai’ is ‘our song’ after all!

Blogger Frankenstein

Oh my God! What is this monster I have given birth to? When I started blogging, all I wanted to do was test myself. Did I have any thoughts that I wouldn’t be ashamed to put before the world? Would I be able to write well enough to present a coherent picture of them? Would anybody be interested in reading what I had written?

Thus I set out on my blogging journey. Hesitantly tried my hand at a couple of posts. Made it a point to regularly visit my favorite blogs and summoned up the courage to comment on some of them when I felt strongly enough about their content. Was pleased as punch when folks replied to my comments on their blogs. And hoped against hope that one of them would be piqued enough to click on the url against my name someday.

At first only the husband read my blog posts. After a hundred reminders, threats and wheedlings of course! My parents studiously ignored all references to my blog. I tentatively prodded some of my friends about it, but none of them were interested.

Perhaps Usha or Shruthi, I am not sure which one of them, was the first to comment on this space. Yippee! I was on cloud nine that day. Then desipundit featured one of my posts and I suddenly got a couple of hundred hits in one day! I floated a foot above ground for the next few days. These days, I routinely get a hundred hits without the aid of desipundit and at least a couple of folks are kind enough to comment every day.

So, am I happy now? More like terrified actually. Last night I was planning a blog post in my dreams. Sort of like the pre-exam nights when I’d be solving maths and physics equations in my sleep. And I had thought I had left behind those exam tensions forever!

Oh, what is this monster I have given birth to!

Total Dhamaal!

The husband and I watched ‘Dhamaal’, a leave-your-brains-aside kind of movie last night. Bollywood reviewers often give this caveat before recommending the David Dhawan type of movies, but unfortunately, although I try hard to implement their well-meaning advice, it rarely works for me.

The last movie of this kind I really liked must have been ‘Andaz Apna Apna’. On second thoughts, AAA isn’t a no-brainer movie really. There are plenty of really intelligent spoofs in it, don’t you think?

Last week, I tried watching ‘Partner’, the latest offering from the king of no-brainer movies, David Dhawan, but had to give up mid-way in despair. Sure, I did not look for a story, nor did I try to discern any kind of logic in the proceedings, yet the tomfoolery of a look-I-am-so-cool Salman Khan and a bumbling and visibly aging Govinda did absolutely nothing for me. There is such a thing as trying too hard, after all.

Which is why I was pleasantly surprised by this new movie, ‘Dhamaal’. To be frank, the only reason I chose it out of a dozen other options was the presence of Arshad Warsi, my new favorite after the Munnabhai series. (On a side note, don’t you think Circuit was the real ‘bhai’ of Munnabhai?) But surprisingly, two other actors, Javed Jaffrey and Ritesh Deshmukh completely overshadow Arshad bhai in this mad movie.

The story is nothing special, four crooks (Arshad Warsi, Javed Jaffrey, Ritesh Deshmukh and Ashish Chaudhary), staunch friends and lovable idiots, compete with a cop (Sanjay Dutt) for a pot of gold. The comedy is completely situational and Javed Jaffrey, in the role of a hilariously stupid simpleton, has some of the best lines in this laugh-riot.

Sample this, the pranksters are trying to collect money from a dead man’s son in exchange of a painting depicting a ghoda (horse) eating ghaas (grass) that the dead man apparently bought just before his death. Unfortunately, the painting in question turns out to be a blank canvas.

‘Arre, painting mein ghaas kahan hain?’, the frustrated son wants to know. (Where is the grass in the painting?)

‘Woh toh ghode ne kha liya na!’ (The horse ate the grass of course!)

‘Par fir ghoda kahan hain?’ (Then where is the horse?)

‘Ab ghaas khane ke baad ghoda kyon rukega? Who toh chala gaya!’ (Why should the horse be here after the grass is eaten? He’s wandered off somewhere!)

The real gem is the last line from Jaaved Jaffrey. ‘Aap chinta mat kijiye. Jab ghaas firse ugegi toh ghoda khud ba khud waapas aa jayega!’ (Don’t worry. Once the grass grows back, the horse will come back too!)

Some of the jokes are bawdy and repetitive, but there are enough of such gems scattered throughout the narrative to keep you laughing most of the the time. We could not watch the entire movie last night, so I can’t comment on the rest, but the first half definitely has a must-watch-once rating. And the usual caveat applies of course, leave your brains aside please!

Update: We watched the rest of the movie last night, and predictably, the second half did not live up to my expectations. The stauch friendships fell apart, the jokes become bawdier and even more repetitive and the humor seemed more and more forced. This has become routine for me now. I love a movie, then expect the world from the next one and always get disappointed. The next time, I steel myself not to expect anything and end up loving the movie again, so the next time I have high expectations again. And the cycle continues!

Crossed Connections

6 PM
The Verma family’s palatial farmhouse on the outskirts of New Delhi

Sarla Verma hurried over a last minute inspection of the dinner preparations for tonight’s party. She had spent an agonizing week debating over the dinner menu this time. Her friend Leela had had seven courses in her party last Friday. A meal isn’t complete with less than seven courses, she had gloated.

The barb was aimed directly at her of course. Sarla was too adept at this game to miss the significance of that remark. And just because she hadn’t offered Leela the appetizers when she had come in late to the Verma’s last party! Leela had come when most of the guests were finishing dinner, Sarla flushed as she recalled the incident. She’d show everybody tonight though, she promised herself. With a stern admonition to the cook to make sure dinner was ready in time, she swept out of the kitchen to get ready for the evening.

 

7 PM,
The Nair family’s plush flat in the heart of South Delhi

Leela Nair struggled with the pleats of her expensive Kanjeevaram saree. It was getting late but she wanted to look her best for Sarla’s dinner party tonight. After all, Mrs. Singh would be there too. What nerve that woman had, coming to Leela’s home and insinuating that her prized Chiffon saree might be fake! Leela recalled the incident indignantly.

But how her snooty face had fallen with Leela’s biting remark about the seven course meal! And it did not escape the notice of the other women either, Leela recalled gleefully. No one in their posh Delhi circle would let Mrs. Singh get away with serving only one dessert at a dinner party, she felt sure of that. And especially with all the airs Mrs. Singh gave herself otherwise.

But Leela was still puzzled that Sarla had not joined in the general laughter that followed her remark. Come to think of it, Sarla had behaved rather strangely, giving her cold looks and ignoring her for the rest of the evening. One would think she had been insulted and not Mrs. Singh!

And then there was that malicious remark from Mrs. Lodhi, something inane about the quality of the food being more important than the quantity. Quality, indeed! As if her food wasn’t good enough for the likes of Mrs. Lodhi! True, the paneer was slightly burnt, but nobody had seemed to notice. Or had they? Leela wondered.

She had expected Sarla to come to her rescue, but Sarla had been strangely indifferent. At least she didn’t join in the unkind sniggers, Leela consoled herself. But she was slightly miffed at her friend’s uncharacteristic behavior nevertheless.

 

8 PM
The Verma family’s palatial farmhouse on the outskirts of New Delhi

Sarla heard the first guests coming in. She took a last look at her immaculately arranged drawing hall before adopting her practiced stance in a strategic corner, ready to show off her new Dhakai saree to the best advantage. The maid hurried to open the door. After all, she, Sarla Verma, could hardly be expected to open the door herself. No, that would never do, of course not, she thought to herself.

Strange woman, Mrs. Singh thought as she walked into the beautiful room and saw Mrs. Verma simpering away in a corner. Why didn’t she come forward and greet her guests like a good hostess? Was she trying to show off her saree? It was exquisite to be sure. Was she angling for some praise? Poor Mrs. Singh was unsure. After the fiasco at Mrs. Nair’s party last week she was afraid to offer even praise. God only knew how these women might interpret it!

She had been trying to praise Mrs. Nair’s saree last week, declaring it a refreshing change after all the imitation Chiffon sarees in vogue these days, but her hostess had unexpectedly taken affront to this innocent remark and repaid her friendly gesture with a stinging rejoinder on her own failings as a hostess.

Naturally shy and timid, Mrs. Singh found it hard to indulge in the kind of power politics she knew these women played. Better stay off the subject of sarees, she decided as she walked into the room and gently greeted Mrs. Verma.

 

9 PM
The Verma family’s palatial farmhouse on the outskirts of Delhi

Arun Nair’s booming voice roared across the drawing room as he pronounced his customary categorical judgments on the state of the national economy. Leela turned away, completely bored. Didn’t her husband ever tire of the same discussions, the same arguments, repeated over and over again at party after party? She tried to focus on the more interesting conversation in the women’s circle instead.

Sarla was holding forth on the abysmal quality of household help these days while Mrs. Singh nodded her head in agreement. Look at her, behaving like a thorough doormat to Sarla, Leela thought in disgust. She was feeling unusually high-strung today.

Mrs. Singh was in fact trying hard to conceal her boredom behind her polite nods. Don’t these women ever tire of discussing the same old topics again and again?, she mused.

Despite her calm demeanor, Sarla was fuming inside. Mrs. Singh was being really aloof, but worst of all, nobody had commented on her expensive new Dhakai saree yet. ‘Oh, what a beautiful saree Leela, is that genuine Kanjeevaram silk?’, she asked in a vain attempt to draw attention to her own saree. She had completely forgotten her friend’s anger at Mrs. Singh’s remark last week.

Leela Nair couldn’t believe her ears. The newcomer’s taunts were bad enough, but here was her old friend Sarla snubbing her in a similar manner. It was too much, really, too much to bear! She had half a mind to walk out of the party but controlled her temper with some effort.

Mrs. Singh observed the exchange of words between the two ladies in horrified silence, thanking her stars that she had chosen to keep mum on the subject.

 

10 PM
The Verma family’s palatial farmhouse on the outskirts of Delhi

Sarla was completely unaware of the cause for Leela’s slighted feelings. Why was she giving her those strange looks? Was she feeling guilty for her remarks last week? Sarla tried to understand her friend’s puzzling behavior. Yes, that must be it, she concluded. Besides, Leela really deserved to feel guilty after treating her so shabbily last week! But she wished her friend would cheer up before the entire party was ruined. It was no fun making biting remarks without someone to back her up!

The mystery behind Leela’s behavior cleared up, Sarla’s furious mind now worked overtime looking for a way to insult the hateful Mrs. Singh. Wasn’t Mrs. Lodhi saying something about Leela being upset over the dessert served at Mrs. Singh’s welcome party? Leela was sure to join in once Sarla baited Mrs. Singh about it. She might even snap out of her gloomy mood that way! Sarla was excited now that she had finally hit upon a good idea.

‘Oh, do have another gulab jamun Mrs. Singh’, she enjoined in a particularly catty voice. ‘And won’t you have another of the rasmalais? I so hope you’ll like our humble spread. There may not be too many items, but I do try so hard to make sure whatever I serve is good. Not everybody does that, you know. Are you sure you won’t like another of these delicious gulab jamuns?’

Sarla watched with open-mouthed horror as her dear friend Leela stormed out of her house. She wasn’t sure why, but something about the look on Leela’s face told her their fifteen year old friendship had irrevocably ended that night.

Spouse Hunting 101

I just read a rocking post on Shruthi’s blog. Some of you might find it ridiculous that a girl could reject a would-be suitor on the basis of his sartorial elegance (or lack thereof), but I am not surprised. Even the sensible Lata Mehra was initially reluctant to marry Haresh because of the incongruity of his paan-stained teeth with his ‘fawn colored silk shirts’ and ‘co-resplendent shoes’.

(Ok, ok. I do realize that these are fictional characters I am talking about, go blame Vikram Seth for making them so believable. And if you don’t know what I am talking about, you should doob maro in chullu bhar pani and all that. On second thoughts, please read this wonderful book before  you do that.) But believe me, I have known people to give up otherwise perfectly good proposals for stranger reasons in real life.

One of my dear friends from college has been on a ‘boy hunt’ for two years now. She started off with very clear-cut expectations, her perfect guy would be a Koknastha Bramhin and an engineer from IIT. (We aren’t too choosy now, are we?) One would think that with such simple requirements, all her parents had to do was bribe one of the registrars at IIT Powai, get a list of their Koknastha Bramhin alumni and then start the wedding preparations while their daughter sorted through the list and picked one of them.

But if only life were so simple! In these two years, my friend must have ‘seen’ twenty guys or more, but none of them made the mark. (I am not sure if all of them were from IIT, she might have relaxed her exacting standards after a look at the abysmal quality of husbands that IITs churn out these days.) I was chatting with her when I was last in India and she gave me a long list of her grievances.

She had rather liked one guy, but his mother actually had the temerity to ask if they’d like to have some water when they visited his house. Imagine, what kind of a woman would act kanjoos about such a thing as water! (Said friend, if you happen to read this, please please don’t get mad at me. All in good fun only and all that. And if you are still mad, come hit me once or twice but don’t stay mad please.)

Now lest she really run behind me with a danda in her hand, let me admit I found at least one of her grievances quite valid. One of the reasons behind her Koknastha Bramhin condition was the assumption that such a guy would naturally be vegetarian like herself. But it seems that the young male Koknastha Bramhin fraternity has taken to meat-eating with a vengeance these days. What is the world coming to!

Then there is my mother’s cousin sister who is just a decade younger to my mother and has been ‘on the hunt’ for the past fifteen years now. When my parents announced my wedding to the family, her mother actually urged us to find a similar ‘good boy’ for her daughter! I feel rather sorry for this mausi of mine. I find her a sweet and simple person who would probably have married long back, were it not for her perfectionist mother.

This lady has been known to reject proposals because the boy had too many siblings, his mother was not fair enough and had a crooked nose or some such equally ridiculous notion. And nothing short of a doctor, engineer or management professional would do for her chartered accountant daughter. Yes, even a post-graduate research scientist would lower her so-called prestige in society. The sad part is that I am not really joking here.

Should these be the criteria on which one chooses one’s life partner? I completely understand wanting to marry somebody who is well-educated, from a similar background and well-groomed. I can also identify with the wish to marry a person who is doing well in his or her chosen career. After all, this is real life, not a Bollywood movie where the couple can live happily ever after on love alone.

But how far should we carry our expectations? When is the line between the reasonable and the fantastic crossed? Is the shape of your mother-in-law’s nose really going to make a huge difference in the happiness of your married life? And is a groom from IIT a guarantee of lifelong bliss? Most married couples would agree that these things hardly matter in the long run. Instead, its the more mundane qualities like compatibility, friendship, shared values, affection and tolerance that go a long way in making a happy marriage.

But this is my newfound married experience speaking. A couple of years back, I was full of these romantic notions and unreasonable expectations myself. Perhaps a ‘Spouse Hunting for Dummies’ course is the need of the day. (Its a great business idea too! Do remember to send me the royalties if you decide to take it up.)

In the meanwhile, I have a huge grievance against my husband. By proposing to me and cunningly extracting an acceptance in my college days, he has forever deprived me of the chance to go through this entertaining ’hunt’ and think up creative ways of rejecting my suitors. How can I ever forgive him for his crimes!

Our Strange and Funny Husbands

I have a very good friend in office. This comes as a pleasant surprise to me since I work in an American company in rural New York with only about a couple of hundred folks working at our location, so the chances of coming across an Indian girl about my age who happens to be like-minded and fun, and who happens to find me equally like-minded and fun (phew!) are quite slim, to put it very mildly. (Not that I have anything against elderly American ladies or Chinese gentlemen, but I find it easier to make friends with people I can relate to.)

But I digress. I was saying I have a very good friend in office and we have regular chat (some would call it gossip) sessions once or twice in a workday. We talk about our work, fun things we did the last weekend and plans for the next one, we discuss her kids and the various kinds of mischief they are upto these days and sometimes we discuss some spicy office politics. Its fun to be irreverant and girlish for a few minutes each day. Brings me back to my college days.

Today we were discussing our respective husbands and their strange communication patterns. How they can talk for hours on end in certain situations and are content to stay completely mum in others.

My friend’s husband’s friend (could you work that one out?) comes home some weekends. Her husband and the friend like to watch ball games together. Apart from a short ‘Hi’ when he comes in to a mumbled ‘Bye’ when he is ready to leave, they watch their game in peace except for occasional grunts of ‘Pass me the popcorn’. My poor friend initially would feel awkward for the stranger in her house having to put up with the silent treatment. But when years passed and the friend continued to show up like clockwork every few weekends, she realized her foolishness and gave up on them. 

The husband and I watched a nice movie last night. Serious stuff. The kind I would have enjoyed dissecting together with my girl friends. Why did so-and-so behave that way, what were his motivations and were they justified? Didn’t this actor act marvelously and weren’t the costumes just lousy? We would have argued for for hours on end and ended up enjoying the argument more than the movie itself. But the husband was content to shut down the laptop, mumble ‘Nice movie’ and go off to sleep. 

Husbands are a strange breed of creatures that way, aren’t they?