Maybe not exactly the way you want it sometimes, maybe not right away. But they do come true, if you believe in your dreams and hang on to them. I recently read the “Last Lecture” by Randy Pausch. A Professor at the Carnegie Mellon University, Pausch was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Knowing full well he had just a few months to live, he stood before a 400 strong audience to deliver a last lecture called “Really Achieving Your Childhood Dreams.” That got me thinking… and counting. Counting the many dreams that have come true for me. Let me share some of these here.
I dreamt of doing English Literature.
In the early 80s, living in the small town of Bellary that had one Women’s College which offered one ‘Arts’ combination (History, Economics, Logic & Political Science) the dream seemed almost unachievable. No girl had left home to study. We had a strict grandmother who did not think girls needed to be educated all that much. But fortunately we had fairly liberal parents and I had sisters who supported me. So off I went to Chennai (Madras in those days) to do BA English Literature in SIET Women’s College. I was probably one of the very, very few students there who was doing the course for the love of it. I thrived in the course, loved every subject and did every assignment with such passion that the teachers loved what I did.
I dreamt of doing Journalism.
I always wanted to write. Journalism was the next logical step. So I stepped into the soaring portals of the University of Madras to do my post graduation in Mass Communications & Journalism. Sari-clad (in those first few days when I thought all PG students must wear saris), a long braid, big glasses... I was quickly branded a “paavam”. Until of course my first assignment that I had to present in class. I had chosen the topic: “Magazines in USA”. Besides a detailed background, I had taken two magazines as case studies: Time & Reader’s Digest. We had to present our assignments in class, not just hand it over. I had gone to great trouble to research my subject. Of course it helped that I was really interested in the subject. That assignment presentation changed the way my classmates and my lecturers looked at me. Again, I was among the few who were doing this out of genuine interest.
I dreamt of being a ‘working woman’.
No girl from our family had ever worked before. So this dream seemed another crazy one. By then, my grandmother had passed on. I did this written test for PTI (The Press Trust of India) and was selected. I was expected to do a stint in Delhi. But Destiny had other plans for me. My cousin never gave me the letter I got from my PTI. I answered an ad for Trainee Copywriter in a small ad agency in Bangalore without knowing what I was getting into. I was selected and found my designation was a misnomer. I was a Trainee Copywriter and there was nobody to ‘train’ me. But that I found was the best way to learn. I took to advertising like the proverbial fish to water. And it has been a wonderful journey since then.
I dreamt of marrying Sunil – my first, and only love.
I met Sunil at my first job. We probably worked for just 6 months or so. But that was more than enough time for us to fall in love. Given our disparate religious, social, cultural and economic backgrounds, our love story seemed doomed from the start. It would never work out I thought. I kept breaking up with Sunil and going back to him again. Sunil never wavered – not for a moment. Through the most tumultuous and traumatic period in our relationship, I always kept telling myself “Someday. Somewhere. Somehow”. In fact I had these words neatly written and framed. The mantra worked. Despite seemingly insurmountable obstacles, we did triumph and got married in 1989.
I dreamt of having Anu.
I somehow always felt that I would never be able to love a son as much as I would love a daughter. I always wanted a daughter. In fact, during our courtship days, we had even decided on the name for our child of love: Anandita. A name I had come across somewhere and that I loved. When we met, Sunil and I would always talk about Anu. So when I was pregnant, I so, so wanted a girl. And Anu was born – the best gift that I could have ever got from a benevolent God and a kind Universe. I remember when Zarine came to visit me at the hospital, she said “So this dream of yours has come true too!” Anu is all that I wanted my daughter to be. And I am so very proud of her.
I dreamt of having my own agency.
This was probably Sunil’s dream first. He always wanted to have his own agency. Because of our complimentary skills, we were kind of preparing ourselves for Jumde Art Copy. There were many, many times when I was working in Adwit that we would have these meetings and training sessions and were asked to list out our goals. I would always say I aspired to have my own agency. Things fell in place and Sunil and I started Jumde Art Copy in 2000. I joined him full time two years later and by God’s grace there has been no looking back since.
I dreamt of owning a beautiful home.
Sunil and I started our married life in a tiny rented home with literally nothing. We did up our home slowly – bit by precious bit. When we bought our own 2 Bedroom Apartment in Sultanpalya, almost seven and a half years later, we were thrilled, but finances were tight, so we had to do up our place on a shoe-string budget. Major furnishing stuff was done one at a time. A wardrobe one year. The kitchen the next year. A book case a year later… And then another seven years later, we bought this lovely home in Sobha Zircon. It was all that I wanted my home to be. We were in a better position financially and decided not take any piece of furniture from the old home, except for the two chairs that we have had since the first year of our marriage. We did the entire home at one shot and we love the effect.
I dreamt of having my magazine.
When I was doing my journalism I always wanted to have my own magazine. I decided I would have a magazine for the youth. While I don’t actually “have” my magazine, my name appears in the masthead of ‘Rave’ as Creative Director. Jumde Art Copy has designed the entire magazine and the credit should go to the entire team, but it’s my name that’s on the masthead!
I dreamt of writing a book.
This dream is ‘work in progress’. For as long as I remember I wanted to be an “Author”. I remember writing that as my ambition is somebody’s autograph when I was in school. Maybe the third or fourth standard. I wrote a Mills & Boons type of novel to prove a point to my friend Nimmi when I was in the 11th or 12th. It was titled Sweet Sorrow and had a French setting. But that was an amateurish attempt. On and off, I have been writing poems and thinking of getting them published but wondering if they were good enough. All along, there was part of me that yearned to write a book. Goaded by friends and well wishers and my ever-supportive husband who believes that I am destined for great things, I have embarked on that adventure too. I started my book in December last year and have done 14 typed Pages in all… Anu tells me that at the speed I am going, I will finish the book by the time I am 90! But it’s shaping well. Anu was the first one with whom I shared it and her feedback? “I never knew you could write so well!” Encouraged by that I plough one. And when I shared it with my best friend Ranjana, she said “Wow! This is professional stuff”. So I am hoping I am on the right track.
There are many more dreams awaiting fulfillment. Like owning a Greek island! And with the way the property prices are going down, who knows that dream may be realized too!
Ranjana tells me all my dreams will come true, because I have a clean heart. I think it’s not just me. I think the dreams of most people come true, but they are so focused on worrying about the future or fretting about what they don’t have, that they miss seeing all that they have. One of the Internet forwards I received had these wise words that I tell myself every other day… I plan to frame them and put them near my desk.
“God answers all prayers in three ways.
1. Yes.
2. Not now
3. I have something better planned for you”.
I have always been amazed at how people give up on their dreams so quickly and so easily. If you really, really want something, hang on to it. There was this quote I had read when I was in school: “Hold fast to your dreams, for if dreams die, life is like a broken-winged bird that cannot fly”.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Saturday, March 22, 2008
BANGALORE WEATHER
The last few days we have been having some lovely weather. The famed “Bangalore Weather”. Cloudy, pleasant and some nice showers. And imagine all this in March – which is supposed to be summer. Raises doubts about Global Warming, huh? Anyways, it happened so suddenly. In the middle of a warm day, the storm clouds gathered. That evening Sunil called me to show the lightning in the sky. This time God had decided to put up a silent show. There was no sound of thunder. Just strangely coordinated streaks of lighting from left to right and back again. That night it rained and it’s been pleasant ever since.
A little while ago, I was standing outside office and enjoying this lovely weather – just one of those things that I love about Bangalore. There are hundreds of other things that I love about this city. But I won’t get into it now. Will just stick to the April Showers in March for now…
It’s perfect weather for cuddling up in a blanket with a favourite book. Maybe some hot pakodas and masala chai. Or even better – corn-on-the-cob straight from the boiling vessel on a hand-pushed bandi, with a dash of lime and masala. Aaah!
I believe Bangalore’s lovely weather spoils you for any other city. Despite being born and growing up in a ‘hot’ city like Bellary (where temperatures can touch the high 40s in summer) and then spending 5 years in hotter Chennai, I now find it difficult to ‘take the heat’. Summers I find are best spent in Bangalore.
A little while ago, I was standing outside office and enjoying this lovely weather – just one of those things that I love about Bangalore. There are hundreds of other things that I love about this city. But I won’t get into it now. Will just stick to the April Showers in March for now…
It’s perfect weather for cuddling up in a blanket with a favourite book. Maybe some hot pakodas and masala chai. Or even better – corn-on-the-cob straight from the boiling vessel on a hand-pushed bandi, with a dash of lime and masala. Aaah!
I believe Bangalore’s lovely weather spoils you for any other city. Despite being born and growing up in a ‘hot’ city like Bellary (where temperatures can touch the high 40s in summer) and then spending 5 years in hotter Chennai, I now find it difficult to ‘take the heat’. Summers I find are best spent in Bangalore.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
GOING HOME
Every trip back home is nostalgic…. A thousand memories come crowding back, popping out from a corner, peeping from behind a half-opened door, looking down from a framed black-and-white photograph… Mubarak Munzil – the rambling bungalow I grew up in – was home, a long time ago, to our seven-member family – my domineering grand-mother, my aloof and strict (as I perceived him then) father, my timid mother, my three siblings and I. There were, of course, a houseful of servants. A cook who called me “gori” and who we called “nani’. A man servant who literally grew up in this house, got married and had several children, who grew up with us. A series of drivers (one who for some strange reason put it into my head that I was an adopted child. Vulnerable and hypersensitive as I was, this thought gnawed at me and troubled me for years). And an assortment of animals: buffaloes, dogs, cats, hens…
There was, I believe, something magical about my home. It was noisy – happily so. There were always people walking in and out of the large rooms. The six-seater dining table was not enough for all of us, so my sister would sit on a baby high chair, years after we had all outgrown it. Summer holidays saw our cousins coming over, spelling more fun. Summers also meant sleeping on the terrace. And there was a whole ritual to it. We would lug up buckets of water to the terrace and splash it, to cool the terrace. Once it dried up, the beds were neatly rolled out. My dad who loved to read, and passed on his passion to all of us, had even set up a reading lamp, so we could cuddle up with our favourite books and read till sleep claimed us. Many were the nights we’d lie on our backs, gazing at the stars and counting the planes that flew across the night sky. Sometimes the sky would open up and big, fat drops of rain would drench us. We would quickly throw down the pillows and sheets into the courtyard and run giggling to complete our interrupted sleep indoors. I remember once when my little nephew was sleeping on the terrace with us. “What will happen if it rains?” he asked innocently. My sister, always ready for some mischief, said “You’ll shrink”. I can never forget the expression on his terror-stricken face!
There was no TV in Bellary when we were growing up, but we were never, ever bored. We spent hours playing hop scotch, seven stones, four houses, dark room and dozens of games we invented ourselves. Friends and their cousins were always in our home or we were in theirs. We laughed. We talked. We dreamed. We planned. We went on picnics. Had moonlight dinner parties on the terrace. Went around playing pranks and scaring neighbours. We climbed the gulmohur trees that grew close to the compound wall. Then, as we grew older, we sat with our cups of steaming coffee in the verandah and gazed at the purple hills in the horizon, through the leaves of the neem tree. Today, the gulmohur trees have been uprooted. The neem trees are still there but the purple hills are no longer visible. Hidden from view, first by the other houses, and now by a raised compound wall.
Today when I walk through the silent rooms of my home, memories are all I have. The girls married and moved away. My brother made his life thousands of miles away in the USA. And after my dad’s death in July 2006, my mother lives all alone in a house that was once filled with voices, music and laughter. Trips home these days are always disturbing. Cobwebbed corners, dusty shelves where once books nudged each other, empty spaces filled with an aching loneliness… my house seems sad. Almost like an old, past-her-prime diva who knows that her ‘golden period’ is gone forever.
Like me, my house seems to know that memories are all it has.
There was, I believe, something magical about my home. It was noisy – happily so. There were always people walking in and out of the large rooms. The six-seater dining table was not enough for all of us, so my sister would sit on a baby high chair, years after we had all outgrown it. Summer holidays saw our cousins coming over, spelling more fun. Summers also meant sleeping on the terrace. And there was a whole ritual to it. We would lug up buckets of water to the terrace and splash it, to cool the terrace. Once it dried up, the beds were neatly rolled out. My dad who loved to read, and passed on his passion to all of us, had even set up a reading lamp, so we could cuddle up with our favourite books and read till sleep claimed us. Many were the nights we’d lie on our backs, gazing at the stars and counting the planes that flew across the night sky. Sometimes the sky would open up and big, fat drops of rain would drench us. We would quickly throw down the pillows and sheets into the courtyard and run giggling to complete our interrupted sleep indoors. I remember once when my little nephew was sleeping on the terrace with us. “What will happen if it rains?” he asked innocently. My sister, always ready for some mischief, said “You’ll shrink”. I can never forget the expression on his terror-stricken face!
There was no TV in Bellary when we were growing up, but we were never, ever bored. We spent hours playing hop scotch, seven stones, four houses, dark room and dozens of games we invented ourselves. Friends and their cousins were always in our home or we were in theirs. We laughed. We talked. We dreamed. We planned. We went on picnics. Had moonlight dinner parties on the terrace. Went around playing pranks and scaring neighbours. We climbed the gulmohur trees that grew close to the compound wall. Then, as we grew older, we sat with our cups of steaming coffee in the verandah and gazed at the purple hills in the horizon, through the leaves of the neem tree. Today, the gulmohur trees have been uprooted. The neem trees are still there but the purple hills are no longer visible. Hidden from view, first by the other houses, and now by a raised compound wall.
Today when I walk through the silent rooms of my home, memories are all I have. The girls married and moved away. My brother made his life thousands of miles away in the USA. And after my dad’s death in July 2006, my mother lives all alone in a house that was once filled with voices, music and laughter. Trips home these days are always disturbing. Cobwebbed corners, dusty shelves where once books nudged each other, empty spaces filled with an aching loneliness… my house seems sad. Almost like an old, past-her-prime diva who knows that her ‘golden period’ is gone forever.
Like me, my house seems to know that memories are all it has.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
THEORIES THAT FASCINATE ME… 1
I am a great one for concepts, ideas and theories. They tickle my mind, stretch my imagination, get me excited… Most times they are theories I read about in some book. At other times I come across them when I am doing some research for a client on the ‘Net. Then of course, like-minded friends tell me about something wow and I google the subject to learn more.
There’s the ‘Parallel Lifetimes’ theory that I read in Dean Koontz’ “From the corner of my eye” – truly mind blowing stuff which got me to check out quantum physics. Then there’s the ‘Butterfly Effect’ that made me rush to the Video Library and pick up a movie of the same name. Richard Bach’s ‘One’ about how all of us are actually ‘one’ is fascinating too.
One of the earliest theories that caught my imagination was something I read in “The Magnificent Obsession”. This was before Satellite TV, before the Internet, before Google. Yes, we did live (and quite happily, I may add) in those ancient days! Well, the book in question was a prescribed text when I was doing my graduation in English Literature in Chennai. Written by Lloyd C Douglas and first published in 1929, the book was not available anywhere. Some of my more studious classmates and I searched high and low and finally found a small library that had just one copy. The Library was being run by a book-loving family in Besant Nagar and we borrowed the book to read it in turns. I have forgotten the storyline, the characters, the ending. But what I do remember is one thought “If you knock on the door long enough, it will open”. Simple but it got me thinking. It meant if you want something badly enough you are sure to get it. A related concept would be that if you want something badly enough, the whole universe conspires to give it to you. I have put this theory to the test many times and it has rarely failed me. My marriage to Sunil – against all odds – is probably a good example. There were times when Sunil and I being together seemed well nigh impossible. Yet I had these three words written and framed, a talisman I kept close at all times: “Someday. Somewhere. Somehow”.
I had almost forgotten my ‘Magnificent Obsession Theory’, when Ranjana recently mentioned it in a mail to Anu. Thinking about it I once again reminded of how we were blessed by so many things that we so badly wanted. This does not mean that God has no role in it. God does. He probably wants to know how badly you want something. And if you don’t get something, despite wanting it badly enough… maybe what you want is not really good for you. Think it over!
There’s the ‘Parallel Lifetimes’ theory that I read in Dean Koontz’ “From the corner of my eye” – truly mind blowing stuff which got me to check out quantum physics. Then there’s the ‘Butterfly Effect’ that made me rush to the Video Library and pick up a movie of the same name. Richard Bach’s ‘One’ about how all of us are actually ‘one’ is fascinating too.
One of the earliest theories that caught my imagination was something I read in “The Magnificent Obsession”. This was before Satellite TV, before the Internet, before Google. Yes, we did live (and quite happily, I may add) in those ancient days! Well, the book in question was a prescribed text when I was doing my graduation in English Literature in Chennai. Written by Lloyd C Douglas and first published in 1929, the book was not available anywhere. Some of my more studious classmates and I searched high and low and finally found a small library that had just one copy. The Library was being run by a book-loving family in Besant Nagar and we borrowed the book to read it in turns. I have forgotten the storyline, the characters, the ending. But what I do remember is one thought “If you knock on the door long enough, it will open”. Simple but it got me thinking. It meant if you want something badly enough you are sure to get it. A related concept would be that if you want something badly enough, the whole universe conspires to give it to you. I have put this theory to the test many times and it has rarely failed me. My marriage to Sunil – against all odds – is probably a good example. There were times when Sunil and I being together seemed well nigh impossible. Yet I had these three words written and framed, a talisman I kept close at all times: “Someday. Somewhere. Somehow”.
I had almost forgotten my ‘Magnificent Obsession Theory’, when Ranjana recently mentioned it in a mail to Anu. Thinking about it I once again reminded of how we were blessed by so many things that we so badly wanted. This does not mean that God has no role in it. God does. He probably wants to know how badly you want something. And if you don’t get something, despite wanting it badly enough… maybe what you want is not really good for you. Think it over!
Saturday, June 16, 2007
ALMOST AN ADULT
Today, Anu turned 17. To me it seems like yesterday when Sunil took me in his Bajaj Super scooter to Dr Parvati Javli’s Queen Hospital. My water bag had broken and I needed to go in for a Cesarean, though I didn’t know it as I rode pillion on the scooter. At 8:40 p.m. as the signature tune of the Doordarshan news (Satellite TV was still not so pervasive then), blared, Anu made her debut in the world. And as every parent knows, our lives were changed forever.
I like to believe that God knew that I was already overworked and stressed, so he gave me a trouble-free daughter! There I was managing a home and a job, learning to cook (sometimes with disastrous results), trying to be a good wife (and not succeeding always)… and Anu somehow seemed to understand it all. She rarely cried, was an obedient child and never demanded what she felt we could not give her. Ranjana always reminds me about the time we went to Big Kids Kemp. Money was in short supply and before we entered the store, I explained to Anu that stuff here was very expensive and we couldn’t afford it. Any child would have gone crazy in the store. But Anu would pick up things, look at the price tag and quietly place it back. I guess that’s one of the reasons I like to overindulge her now.
I remember her first day in Kinderfun – the playschool she attended for two years (1992-1994). Dressed in a lovely red dotted dress, she walked in happily. I had prepared her well and every day when I asked her what she did in the playschool, she would reply “Mazaa Kiye!”
I remember carting her around everywhere, office, client meetings, freelance jobs…all I needed to do was carry lots of paper and a pen and she would be busy scribbling away without disturbing me. In fact Anu was with me on my first day at O&M Direct! She knew almost all my colleagues and I think assimilated a lot of the advertising culture. She still likes the “advertising crowd”. She had even drawn up a list of reasons why children whose parents are in advertising are better off. One reason was they grow up to be “very independent”.
My friends bemoan the fact that she never had a “childhood”. She was such a responsible child right from the beginning. She had her own house key ages ago, would let herself in, feed herself, study and of course watch TV! With both Sunil and me working crazy hours Anu learnt to be independent very early on. Many, many times when both of us were working late and came home, we would see her sitting in front of the TV with a torch, a candle and a matchbox – well prepared in case electricity failed!
Her independent streak was evident in the first standard itself. It was the very first day at school and Sunil and I were late in picking her up. Anu had started walking home and had managed to cover quite a long distance… from St Francis Xavier in Coles Park to Nandidurg Road!
I see a lot of myself in her, though she is very much her own person. She’s a bit of a rebel (without a cause, I like to say). Like me, she loves to take up for the underdog. But I believe she needs to choose her battles more wisely. She sometimes fights for people who don’t need to be defended. She is compassionate. She is truthful. She is extremely honest. She has never cheated in her exams. She never hides stuff (or at least I hope so!!!) She has strong values and very strong opinions.
I am proud of the person she has become though there are a couple of things I would like to change about her, starting with her laziness. (Yes, yes, I know where she gets that from!!) I’d like her to be a little more adaptable to situations in life because not all days are the same. I’d like her to value people more and things less. I’d like her to be more focused. I’d like her to have more drive and ambition. I know she can achieve whatever she wants to… only if she applies her mind to it. I have seen it happen once - when she was transferred to another section in the 7th or 8th, she was miserable. All her friends were in one section and there she was in the middle of a gang she had fought with. She pleaded with me to go speak to the Principal. I did but to no avail. However, Anu refused to give up. She went and spoke to her teachers and got herself shifted back to her old section!
There are many, many friends who have helped bring Anu up. I owe a great deal to all of them. The friends who took turns to be with me at the hospital when she was born. Amjad Chachu and Zarina Bhabi who took care of her when she was in the Play School. Shiva who was always just a call away – who would pick her up from school when I got late. As would David. Sujatha who was – and continues to be – her surrogate mother. Ranjana and Kamala who are her godmothers and have always wished her well. The teachers, especially Miss Bernie, Miss Monica and Miss Shifa who recognized her potential and helped her grow, her friends who love and care for her…. So many, many people that Anu and we are blessed to have in our life.
Happy Birthday Anu!
I like to believe that God knew that I was already overworked and stressed, so he gave me a trouble-free daughter! There I was managing a home and a job, learning to cook (sometimes with disastrous results), trying to be a good wife (and not succeeding always)… and Anu somehow seemed to understand it all. She rarely cried, was an obedient child and never demanded what she felt we could not give her. Ranjana always reminds me about the time we went to Big Kids Kemp. Money was in short supply and before we entered the store, I explained to Anu that stuff here was very expensive and we couldn’t afford it. Any child would have gone crazy in the store. But Anu would pick up things, look at the price tag and quietly place it back. I guess that’s one of the reasons I like to overindulge her now.
I remember her first day in Kinderfun – the playschool she attended for two years (1992-1994). Dressed in a lovely red dotted dress, she walked in happily. I had prepared her well and every day when I asked her what she did in the playschool, she would reply “Mazaa Kiye!”
I remember carting her around everywhere, office, client meetings, freelance jobs…all I needed to do was carry lots of paper and a pen and she would be busy scribbling away without disturbing me. In fact Anu was with me on my first day at O&M Direct! She knew almost all my colleagues and I think assimilated a lot of the advertising culture. She still likes the “advertising crowd”. She had even drawn up a list of reasons why children whose parents are in advertising are better off. One reason was they grow up to be “very independent”.
My friends bemoan the fact that she never had a “childhood”. She was such a responsible child right from the beginning. She had her own house key ages ago, would let herself in, feed herself, study and of course watch TV! With both Sunil and me working crazy hours Anu learnt to be independent very early on. Many, many times when both of us were working late and came home, we would see her sitting in front of the TV with a torch, a candle and a matchbox – well prepared in case electricity failed!
Her independent streak was evident in the first standard itself. It was the very first day at school and Sunil and I were late in picking her up. Anu had started walking home and had managed to cover quite a long distance… from St Francis Xavier in Coles Park to Nandidurg Road!
I see a lot of myself in her, though she is very much her own person. She’s a bit of a rebel (without a cause, I like to say). Like me, she loves to take up for the underdog. But I believe she needs to choose her battles more wisely. She sometimes fights for people who don’t need to be defended. She is compassionate. She is truthful. She is extremely honest. She has never cheated in her exams. She never hides stuff (or at least I hope so!!!) She has strong values and very strong opinions.
I am proud of the person she has become though there are a couple of things I would like to change about her, starting with her laziness. (Yes, yes, I know where she gets that from!!) I’d like her to be a little more adaptable to situations in life because not all days are the same. I’d like her to value people more and things less. I’d like her to be more focused. I’d like her to have more drive and ambition. I know she can achieve whatever she wants to… only if she applies her mind to it. I have seen it happen once - when she was transferred to another section in the 7th or 8th, she was miserable. All her friends were in one section and there she was in the middle of a gang she had fought with. She pleaded with me to go speak to the Principal. I did but to no avail. However, Anu refused to give up. She went and spoke to her teachers and got herself shifted back to her old section!
There are many, many friends who have helped bring Anu up. I owe a great deal to all of them. The friends who took turns to be with me at the hospital when she was born. Amjad Chachu and Zarina Bhabi who took care of her when she was in the Play School. Shiva who was always just a call away – who would pick her up from school when I got late. As would David. Sujatha who was – and continues to be – her surrogate mother. Ranjana and Kamala who are her godmothers and have always wished her well. The teachers, especially Miss Bernie, Miss Monica and Miss Shifa who recognized her potential and helped her grow, her friends who love and care for her…. So many, many people that Anu and we are blessed to have in our life.
Happy Birthday Anu!
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
MY BEST FRIEND
Last night I had a marathon conversation with my ‘bestest’ friend – almost 2 hours I think. It was as if she reached across thousands of miles and gave me a warm hug. I went to bed with a smile on my lips and a prayer of gratitude in my heart – for having her in my life. I woke up feeling rejuvenated – it was even better than a pampering session at the beauty parlour!
I have known Ranjana almost all my life. We were classmates – studied together till the tenth in a lovely old school in sleepy Bellary. But we really got close only in the 9th. Before that we had some silly fight and were not on talking terms for a long time. But in the idiotic fashion of school girls we would make blank calls to each other! In the 9th when we were both Vice Captains of our respective Houses, we decided to bury the hatchet and became good friends. It’s a friendship that I treasure to this day. There was never a dull moment in school with Ranjana around. She was a great mimic and had names for almost all the teachers. I remember when we had to a page of writing for each Hindi class. The first few lines would be faithfully copied from the Hindi Text Book, then after that the lines morphed into the lyrics of popular Hindi songs!!! And Miss Shamu (Shyamala) never noticed! There are so many fun and mischevious memories of Ranjana in school.
Despite going to different Colleges and choosing different streams we kept in touch. I remember the eagerness with which I waited for Ranjana’s letters while I was studying in Madras. I even penned a poem on it… Holidays meant spending long, lazy days in each other’s houses. I remember the mutton curry her mom used to make and Ranjana loved the kichdi-kheema made at home. Sometimes there would be months when we wouldn’t have spoken to each other, but could just pick up the threads of conversation as if we were in touch all the time… I guess that’s because we are always so close mentally and emotionally.
We shared the same dreams, the same ideas, the same beliefs and the same values. And many, many times the situations in our life seemed to overlap. My situation mirroring what was going on in her life or vice versa.
Like me she wanted to do Journalism but Life had other plans for her. She went on to do her MBA from Dharwar University. We embarked on our careers more or less at the same time. And I have watched with great pride as she has grown from success to success. She is the example I hold up for my daughter and many other youngsters. She is a true role model – having achieved so much, and all on her own steam.
Ranjana is my daughter’s godmother. My alter-ego. And my soul mate. She is one of the very few who is privy to my darkest secrets, my innermost feelings, my every dream. I am grateful that God brought her into my life. And I pray that our friendship will grow richer with each passing year. Amen!
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
REMEMBERING ABBA
During the last few days, my wonderful daughter Anu has told me, more than once, that her friends think I am “super-cool”. Because I tease her about her crushes. Come back with some smart one-liners. Am internet savvy and actually have a blog!
Thinking about it, I realized my dad was pretty cool too, though we never thought so at that time.
I remember when I was going through this Rajesh Khanna craze. I was in the tenth and the movie “Mehboob Ki Mehendi” was playing in our theatre – Radhika. It was a Saturday and Abba (that’s what we called our dad), told me to bunk school and come see the movie since it was the last day!
I remember the time when I was trying to learn driving. I think I was in PUC I year and we were coming back from College and I got the driver to teach me. Abba was behind us and witnessed my attempts at driving. When we reached home, he told me: “If you have to do something, do it properly”. He got us our Learners License and ensured that all his three daughters learnt to drive. “He is giving his daughters too much freedom” grumbled our more conservative relatives.
I remember when our Logic lecturer, who hated “convent girls” humiliated us in every class. “No need to attend any of his classes” was Abba’s decree. “And you can tell your principal I said so”. For the next two years, as the hated (and hateful) Logic Lecturer would walk into the class from the front door, we would walk out of the back door. And he couldn’t do a thing about it, because we had informed the principal that our father did not want us to attend Logic classes! He must have been angrier to see our marks in Logic – easily above 90%!
I remember the times – so many times – when we wanted to bunk a class and go for a movie. All we had to do was call him and he would send the car to college to pick us up!
I remember the time he and a friend came all the way on their scooters to pick us up from home and take us back to the theatre to see the movie “Ab Aayegaa Mazaa”.(Or was it Kissa Kursi Ka?) To many Muslims it may seem blasphemous. But I remember during Ramzan, when we actually broke our fast in the theatre!
When we were kids, we had these vendors who would go around selling snacks in hand-pulled carts. One day, there I was buying some stuff when I saw a couple of poor urchins looking longingly at the snacks. I called them over and gave them some stuff. Soon, I was surrounded by so many urchins that I didn’t know what to do. Abba was watching from a distance and came to my rescue, paying for the entire crowd!
There was never any pressure on us to study. But both Abba and Mummy loved to read and surrounded us with such wonderful books and magazines, that all of us became voracious readers. We had the most wonderful collection of Classics brought out by Readers Digest and he let me have some of them.
I remember the speeches Abba would write – they were always short and witty. Mummy wrote longer, more serious speeches. My sister Nasira got dad’s speeches and I got the speeches written by my mum.
I remember his pride in my writing skills. He would tell his friends about my amateurish attempts at writing poetry and actually “commissioned” me to write a poem on his friend Mr Ghani. Years later, I detected that same note of pride in his voice when he told a friend of his: “She has her own flat in Bangalore”.
Of course, it was not always fun and games. There were spankings and yellings too (my brother and I got the worst of it – being the younger ones). I got a royal thrashing once for calling the maid a pig. The lesson was clear: show respect to everyone. It’s a lesson I think I have passed on to my daughter too (without the thrashing!)
My mother never bothered about money. I think she is the least materialistic person I know of. Abba was a little better but I think money per se did not mean a great deal to him. He was careful about spending money but got royally cheated by a whole lot of people. When it came to giving people their due, Abba was very, very clear. By ensuring that his sister’s kids got their share of the ancestral property, by giving them their due without fuss, he set a shining example for his children: “relationships are more important than money”. When I see friends and acquaintances fighting over property, I appreciate what a valuable lesson he taught us.
We did go though our bad patches. He had his faults and there were times I hated him. There were times when I felt he didn’t understand. Or didn’t care enough. But I know I was wrong. As a parent myself now, I know it must not have been easy bringing up three pretty liberal and ‘thinking’ daughters in a conservative place like Bellary.
I was always very protective about my mom and somehow felt I was closer to her than to my dad. But during the last years of his life, it was Abba who made the effort to reach out to me, to build bridges between me and my siblings. It was Abba who would bring me my old diaries and books. Who would make it a point to come and show me his new car and give me a ride in it. Who would call up and remind me that I had forgotten his and mum’s anniversary and was everything okay?
When he was hurt by what someone had said, he would share it with me and felt comfortable enough to cry in front of me. At such times, I never knew how to handle it. You think your parents are tough and you are the ones who will be doing all the crying in front of them…
In another 50 days, it will be a year since Abba passed away. He is in my thought constantly. I dream of him ever so often and I miss him so very much. I sometimes wish I had been nicer, kinder, more loving, more forgiving, more non-judgmental… I know now that consciously or unconsciously he shaped me into the person I am today. And if my daughter finds me cool today, it’s probably because I had a cool dad!
Thinking about it, I realized my dad was pretty cool too, though we never thought so at that time.
I remember when I was going through this Rajesh Khanna craze. I was in the tenth and the movie “Mehboob Ki Mehendi” was playing in our theatre – Radhika. It was a Saturday and Abba (that’s what we called our dad), told me to bunk school and come see the movie since it was the last day!
I remember the time when I was trying to learn driving. I think I was in PUC I year and we were coming back from College and I got the driver to teach me. Abba was behind us and witnessed my attempts at driving. When we reached home, he told me: “If you have to do something, do it properly”. He got us our Learners License and ensured that all his three daughters learnt to drive. “He is giving his daughters too much freedom” grumbled our more conservative relatives.
I remember when our Logic lecturer, who hated “convent girls” humiliated us in every class. “No need to attend any of his classes” was Abba’s decree. “And you can tell your principal I said so”. For the next two years, as the hated (and hateful) Logic Lecturer would walk into the class from the front door, we would walk out of the back door. And he couldn’t do a thing about it, because we had informed the principal that our father did not want us to attend Logic classes! He must have been angrier to see our marks in Logic – easily above 90%!
I remember the times – so many times – when we wanted to bunk a class and go for a movie. All we had to do was call him and he would send the car to college to pick us up!
I remember the time he and a friend came all the way on their scooters to pick us up from home and take us back to the theatre to see the movie “Ab Aayegaa Mazaa”.(Or was it Kissa Kursi Ka?) To many Muslims it may seem blasphemous. But I remember during Ramzan, when we actually broke our fast in the theatre!
When we were kids, we had these vendors who would go around selling snacks in hand-pulled carts. One day, there I was buying some stuff when I saw a couple of poor urchins looking longingly at the snacks. I called them over and gave them some stuff. Soon, I was surrounded by so many urchins that I didn’t know what to do. Abba was watching from a distance and came to my rescue, paying for the entire crowd!
There was never any pressure on us to study. But both Abba and Mummy loved to read and surrounded us with such wonderful books and magazines, that all of us became voracious readers. We had the most wonderful collection of Classics brought out by Readers Digest and he let me have some of them.
I remember the speeches Abba would write – they were always short and witty. Mummy wrote longer, more serious speeches. My sister Nasira got dad’s speeches and I got the speeches written by my mum.
I remember his pride in my writing skills. He would tell his friends about my amateurish attempts at writing poetry and actually “commissioned” me to write a poem on his friend Mr Ghani. Years later, I detected that same note of pride in his voice when he told a friend of his: “She has her own flat in Bangalore”.
Of course, it was not always fun and games. There were spankings and yellings too (my brother and I got the worst of it – being the younger ones). I got a royal thrashing once for calling the maid a pig. The lesson was clear: show respect to everyone. It’s a lesson I think I have passed on to my daughter too (without the thrashing!)
My mother never bothered about money. I think she is the least materialistic person I know of. Abba was a little better but I think money per se did not mean a great deal to him. He was careful about spending money but got royally cheated by a whole lot of people. When it came to giving people their due, Abba was very, very clear. By ensuring that his sister’s kids got their share of the ancestral property, by giving them their due without fuss, he set a shining example for his children: “relationships are more important than money”. When I see friends and acquaintances fighting over property, I appreciate what a valuable lesson he taught us.
We did go though our bad patches. He had his faults and there were times I hated him. There were times when I felt he didn’t understand. Or didn’t care enough. But I know I was wrong. As a parent myself now, I know it must not have been easy bringing up three pretty liberal and ‘thinking’ daughters in a conservative place like Bellary.
I was always very protective about my mom and somehow felt I was closer to her than to my dad. But during the last years of his life, it was Abba who made the effort to reach out to me, to build bridges between me and my siblings. It was Abba who would bring me my old diaries and books. Who would make it a point to come and show me his new car and give me a ride in it. Who would call up and remind me that I had forgotten his and mum’s anniversary and was everything okay?
When he was hurt by what someone had said, he would share it with me and felt comfortable enough to cry in front of me. At such times, I never knew how to handle it. You think your parents are tough and you are the ones who will be doing all the crying in front of them…
In another 50 days, it will be a year since Abba passed away. He is in my thought constantly. I dream of him ever so often and I miss him so very much. I sometimes wish I had been nicer, kinder, more loving, more forgiving, more non-judgmental… I know now that consciously or unconsciously he shaped me into the person I am today. And if my daughter finds me cool today, it’s probably because I had a cool dad!
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