Survival skills

(Another one from my old collection)

Survival skills
"You need a number of skills to survive as a wife and mother”, remarked Mrs. Krishnan, a business colleague’s wife. She was a little over forty, and an interesting shopping companion on my trip to Chennai. However, I found her statement a bit strange. I had then been married for six months, thus, glowing with the ignorance of a bashful, newlywed wife, I nearly said aloud; “I am a smart Delhi girl and can handle any situation”. .

As if, she could read my mind, she smiled and then realizing I had picked up a Kanjivaram for my sister-in-law, said, “While you also shop for the husband’s sister, no problems. Let the more expensive one be for her.” Indeed, that was the first survival skill I acquired and the rest of them came over the years - some easily, some quietly and some after great perseverance.

However, one critical skill, I fell upon by chance. One mid-night, I realized I could simply conjure up a dish that could feed any number of hungry Bridge players. The head count that night had gone up from five to ten.

To the cooked mutton curry I had added a dozen-boiled eggs and some garlic tomato sauce. The dish, I served as, “mutton-in-egg gravy”.

However, the same delicacy was another night produced as “Mutton Goulash in red pepper sauce”. Along with the eggs, I had added some boiled potatoes and lots of freshly grounded black pepper. The dish was a great success with the spouse and his fifteen cronies, who licked the last little bit of sauce off their plates. And I was crowned the “Empress of Mutton Goulash”.

Of course, to keep the title, I had to churn out many more such dishes, for many such evening get-togethers and for many unaccountable years. Thus, cooking for people in multiples of five became my forte and one of my greatest survival skills.

Another skill that crept in quietly was indifference to noise. The baby’s blabber, cartoon network and banging of the utensils in the kitchen were all a part of my evening schedule, while I merrily typed my story (news article) on my dad’s portable “Olympia”, surrounded by the din.

However, the most important survival skill I learnt was when my daughter, Sonali, turned sixteen. Cleaning up her room, meant, following loads of instructions from her. Finally, I gave up and decided to let her have the “space” she so much craved for.

It was a victory of sorts but for a short time. With half her clothes, books, cushions and shoes on the floor, an unmade bed, music cassettes and CDs strewn all over her room, she had just enough “space” left for her toes. Not a dull one, she was quick to remedy the situation. She put her younger sibling, Shubhi on the job. The trade-off was fifty rupees for clearing the mess.

Now, with Sonali thousands of miles away, in college, the just-turned thirteen has moved into her shoes. Unfortunately, her survival skills seem to be sharper than mine. Perhaps, to match her skills, I need to go back to Chennai, for a refresher course from Mrs Krishnan.

Mobile syndrome

(While going through some old collection of documents on my computer, I found an interesting piece I had written on my niece, Pallavi. Interestingly, she is now a bright and outgoing journalist, however, a lot about her temperament remains the same.)


All that I could see in the cot was a dash of jet-black hair, and two twinkling eyes. I instantly nicknamed her Tuk-Tuk. She was my one-day-old nice and her nani’s first grandchild. And before we realised, our toddler, Tuk-Tuk, had grown up into a charming and endearing Pallavi.

However, all was well in the family till the time a well-meaning and generous dad decided to present his only child with a mobile on her nineteenth birthday. “When you are getting late in college, you can call home and inform. It will help keep mom’s blood pressure in check,” he told her quietly. Ofcourse, ‘daughter dear’ had other plans.

In no time friends had been informed and a get-together organised. “I am celebrating my birthday. Now you don’t need to worry, you can contact me so easily,” a slightly confused mom was told. Soon the young lady was out in a new Shopper’s Stop outfit with a swanky mobile in hand. And the rest is history.

After some months, watching my sister’s plight, I decided to intervene. “Don’t waste so much time on the mobile. You also need to study,” I said, trying hard to sound casual.

“I am not gossiping mausi. There are sometimes serious issues to be sorted out. Now see, my friend is in the library, and I need this particular book,” I was told politely.

However, only the other day, I had overheard her telling a friend, “Why don’t we leave Jane Austin’s heroine alone, Darcy fellow is most irritating. You know he reminds me of Amitabh Bacchan in Deewar. Aren’t you near the PVR complex? How about getting tickets for that Aamir movie.”

As a last resort, nani was put on the job. “Drill some sense into her head,” my sister said. Now, no one can disobey nani and within minutes a beaming nani informed us, “She has promised she will not talk on the mobile till her exams are done”. Yes, she had managed the impossible. The mobile had stopped ringing.

My sister was relieved. Interestingly, Pallavi didn’t appear to be missing her mobile. But things looked too good to be true. Meanwhile, I did a bit of snooping around and found that the mobile had been turned on the vibration mode and an SMS message only required the nineteen-year-old’s well trained fingers. However, she had kept a part of her promise and I decided not to interfere and upset the tranquility of the household.

Recently, after she recovered from an appendices operation, her surgeon confided, “I have seldom seen a patient like Pallavi. We had barely wheeled her into the recovery room and there she was all wide awake.”

Pallavi swallowed the compliments graciously. But we knew intuitively that the answer lay elsewhere. Afterwards she owned up that it was the shrill ring of the doctor’s mobile, in the recovery room that had woken her up so completely. For once, we could not reprimand her.

Surprisingly, the family is still optimistic. “It is only a passing phase”, says nani trying to pacify a perturbed mother. I call it the ‘mobile syndrome’. Meanwhile, her friends, amused by her new obsession, have nick-named her ‘Pallavi Mobile’.

NRI squabbles

“Hey! Mom, what’s up?” said Sonali over the phone, from California. “Nothing much. Just went out for a walk. Now plan to check the mail,” I said casually.

“Good to hear that. I’m so happy you are going for morning walks. You know the latest research at UCSD says morning walks release happy hormones that help the brain function better. You will be able to write better and….”

“Um.” I replied. “Are you listening to me. That is your problem, you never will give full attention to anything. What are you doing any way?” she asked angrily. “Just trying to spread the bedcover with the other hand”, I admitted guiltily.

“You are a clean freak. With Shubhi around you will any way have to straighten it out ten times during the day. Why can’t you to do one thing at a time?” she snapped.

It was nine in the morning for me but time for Sonali to get into bed. So before she grew crankier, I said quietly, “If dinner is over, drink something hot and sleep. I am sure you have a morning class.”

“No, you don’t bother. Mom I am not a school kid. I have to work on my term paper,” she retorted.

“Oh! Sorry about that. You know I am bit confused about the time difference,” I said, trying to bide time.

“But you always forget so there is no point telling you. Put Shubhi on the line”, she commanded.

“Sure. I will knock at her bedroom door”, I replied, happy to hear her change the subject. Moreover, I have encouraged this sibling bonding. A lot is achieved during these special sessions between them and it makes my job all that easier.

However, as luck would have it, Shubhi did not respond. “She is not opening the door. Sonali, call up an hour later”, I said.

“What are you saying. You let her sleep till ten in the morning. Usko, ap kuch nahin kahte. You would have given me hell. Mujhko toh eight O’clock utha kar painting class bhej dete the. Shubhi is thoroughly spoilt. Mom do something right away,” she said angrily.

“No. That is not true. She goes to school very early and then her tennis classes are extremely tiring. So on Sundays, I leave her alone,” I said, trying all logic.
Unfortunately, that did not pacify her. She snapped back, “Mom, all the kids do that. I find it difficult to take physical strain because I never played outdoor games. I want Shubhi to do everything.”

“And by the way, did you get to see the list of Classics I had given her?” she inquired. “Instead of buying Goosbums, she better spend money on quality stuff”.

By now I had lost my patience. It was time to exercise my parental rights. “Sonali, how were mid-quarter grades. Sorry, I always forget to ask the relevant stuff”, I said in a voice dripping with emotion.

“Mom can’t hear. The line is getting bad. I think it is the new card I am using. Let Shubhi sleep. Will talk next week. Bye.” The phone had gone dead.

Fads to burn fat

There is so much unhappiness all around after the terror attacks that I want to share with you a funny piece that I wrote during my creative phase some years back.

Fads to burn fat
"To be trim means feeling great. Imagine you can get into all those lovely clothes you have put away,” remarked, my daughter, Sonali, the ‘trim-one’ in the family. The teen-ager’s latest fad was a twenty-four inch waistline for herself and a “well-sculpted mom”.

However, going for morning walks was something I could never do. All the methods tried by my mother had failed miserably. Finally, dad had summed up, “It is still night for her, don’t waste your time.”

Unfortunately, years had flown past so quickly. With school finishing, basketball sessions were over and in College, only nerds went for Physical Education classes. Of course, the PE teacher at the end of the year had a novel way of dealing with us. The ratio was two ‘chakars’, nearly 3 kms, around the college compound, for a single attendance.

Honestly, how and when I acquired the extra six inches, I do not know. So when the ‘trim-one’, pushed me into an exercise regime, I decided to let life take its own course.

The going was simple. Ten minutes on the stationary bike, where I read my latest Anita Desai, another twenty on the treadmill, watching MTV, and later some weights of all sizes and shapes. But my luck soon ran out. At the end of the first week, perched on the weight machine, I could see the needle swing swiftly to the right. “Cluck-cluck” went Suleman, the instructor. I had gained an extra three pounds.

“What have you been eating”? I was questioned severely. “The usual meals and a bit of snacking,”I, replied tactfully. “Aren’t you following our diet plan,” he demanded. “Morning black tea and two biscuits, breakfast a slice of brown bread and some fruits, for the main meals eat a bowl of salad and vegetables, no cereals and no snacking. And pay for the diet plan tomorrow,” he went like a tape recorder.

And in one stroke my food plate had been emptied out. I had just picked up kulfi from Nathu’s and my kid cousin had brought home a chocolate truffle cake. “What a waste of a happy life and such good stuff”, I felt, simmering with anger. While the family gorged on the delicacies, I sat in a corner with a dish of red, green and white tasteless strips called food.

A week without doughnuts, Chopsticks and Dominos seemed like eternity. One night I felt so deprived I sneaked quietly to the fridge, and devoured a large piece of chocolate cake. The result was so satisfying that I was forced to make small changes.

Now, during the day it is strictly Suleman’s diet plan and after mid-night my own. Of course, I carefully avoid the weight machine and pretend not to notice Suleman’s confused looks when he watches me on the twister. But, I am not the guilty party. After all, Suleman never did specify a diet plan after mid-night. My only worry is upsetting my ‘trim-one’. May be, for her sake I will try again. Not now, but a month before she returns home for vacation. Till then, the future “well-sculpted mom” can continue with her nocturnal binge.

My father and freedom of the press

November 30, 2008

I begin my blog with a write-up on my dad. I wrote this in February 2001, eight months after his death. I began my career as a journalist with him and I owe him a great deal not just as a daughter but also as a professional. Whatever I am able to manage today as the head, corporate communication of a software company is due to the work discipline, honesty and integrity that he inculcated in me.

"We lost him eight months back. He went quietly, accepting death as if he had finished his task as a father and ofcourse written his weekly column, earlier during the day. Fearless in death as he was with spoken and written words.
My earliest memories of him are as a three-year-old running for his slippers, and his copy of Daily Express, London, with dog kitty shrieking wildly behind me, when he entered home. From that age I knew what made him happy.
He would sit in the living room with a pile of newspapers and magazines, a tall wooden lamp behind his armchair and with his transistor, switching from BBC news channels to all India radio news bulletins. I remember calls from the telegraph office, often in the middle of cold winter nights, and his portable typewriter rattling away in quick response.

Indo-China War
During the Indo-China war, while I lay with serious burn injuries in a nursing home, he was busy meeting deadlines, spending a major part of the day and night in the press room and telegraph office. My mother appalled by his behaviour would reprimand him, “What kind of a man are you. Your little daughter is fighting for life and you are away working.” His only answer was, “I have a job to do. I can not let down my editor in this time of crisis. My daughter is in safe hands.” That was his level of professionalism.
He was extremely critical of the way the war was fought. “We were ill-prepared. We had rusted guns and weapons and we sent our army on a suicide mission to fight in the cold, in unfamiliar areas. Nehruji’s Gandhian ideology was too simplistic. Any one can say bhai-bhai and attack quietly.”
In the same breadth he often said, “The Nehruvian era was different. The world saw India differently. We were an important country. We had total freedom of press. We could be critical and write the way we wanted to. Madame Gandhi depends too much on her coterie and cannot tolerate criticism. She lacks Nehruji’s wisdom.”
To his media friends who pointed out that he was too critical in his columns, his answer was, “My job is not to do propaganda for the ruling party but to analyse government policies. No one can tell me what I should write.”

Emergency in India
Fearless as ever in his thoughts and writing, he was shocked when emergency was clamped and severe restrictions were put on the freedom of press. For the first time in his 30-year-old career he felt restricted and helpless by the system. It was a living nightmare for him.
However he always said, “This the biggest mistake Madame Gandhi has made. India is the world’s largest democracy, no one can get away by curbing the press. The people of this country will never forgive her.”
His prophecy came true. Mrs. Gandhi lost badly in the elections after the emergency was lifted, the Congress split, and the party never really got back together.

Indo-Kashmir relations
Kashmir was an important issue for him. He went to Kashmir twice as a guest of the Chief Minister, Sheikh Abdullah. He felt Pakistan had a single point agenda, that was to grab Kashmir, and elections were won because of their hate-India campaign. “They only talk about jihad. They are least bothered about their increasing poverty, and their economy is in shambles.”
The Kargil war did not surprise him, “We are in a precarious situation because we have a poor neighbor, governed by trigger-happy generals and Muslim fanatics, who even claim to have nuclear weapons. We have to think beyond ‘Bus Yatras’ and take a re-look at our foreign and defense policies. To defend ourselves, we have to upgrade our defense equipment and buy more sophisticated arms. We can not let down our defense forces.”

Indian politics
Disappointed by the changing Indian political system in the last couple of years, his favourite punch line was, “How does Mr Vajpayee expect a 13-legged party to come to a consensus, when right hand does not know what the left hand is upto. They are all busy with petty politics and bickering within the party. Our opposition is weak, led by a stone-faced Italian goddess, who knows little about the Indian psyche and the social fabric of this country. They lack the political will to deliver.

Indian Economy
“Even a country like China has managed to keep their population in check and attracted such large FDIs. MNCs are scared to come to India, there is so much political and economic instability layered with bureaucratic red-tapism. The license Raj is over but the bureaucrats are not ready to give up their powers.”
In the last fifty-five years, as a media person, he had seen and written with same fervor about the pre-independence era, the free India with all its problems - the liberalization phase, the nuclear strategies, the IT revolution, the changing political system, and India moving into the 21st century.

Terror and war
Had he been there to witness the recent terrorist attacks and war in Afghanisthan, he would have said in his typical way,“ These Pakistanis needed to be taught a lesson. Musharaff thinks he is a clever man but you cannot fool the Americans.”
He could have churned out hundreds and hundreds of words, an unfatigued mind, but he had to meet another dead-line, however not with his newspaper this time."


Today,I wonder what my dad's reaction would have been! Once again the country faces a huge challenge. Could we have averted the tragedy in Mumbai? When will our politicians stop bickering over petty issues. Or have they become so callous that it makes no difference to them. It is a strange feeling of helplessness as we watch terror, poor administration, rising corruption and lack of political will to deliver.