You can't afford her!!!...

Some years ago, we went to a wedding ceremony and were introduced to pleasant middle-aged guy. A little small-talk later, he asked me what I did...Having quit work with a brand new baby then, I sheepishly replied..."Housewife"

He smiled and turned to my husband and said - "You know, if she billed you for all the work she does, you would not be able to afford her."

That guy, I learned later, ran a reputed multidisciplinary super-specialty hospital in India. No surprises there...only someone who thinks right can do right, right? smile emoticon

Living in Minnesota – Mummy’s the wor(l)d!

Subway’s a favorite with the four-year-old which is where we headed for dinner the other evening. It’s exciting for the tiny tot to see the array of vegetables that are put in the bread and even more exciting are the high stools where they can be consumed with relish. 

A sandwich and salad later, we perched ourselves with our picnic atop those round things which do give me a bit of a vertigo so to speak.

What’s that Mummy? – the little one points to the box of salad. It looks different from the six inch bread that he has his hands and mouth full with, and therefore the curiosity.

It’s salad. You can try it but I don’t think you will like it as much. I say.

A minute later when Papa joins us in our high perch he asks if the sandwich eater would like to try some of the salad.

No, thanks. Mummy says I won’t like it.

You know, there are some perks of motherhood that surpass their worth in gold. And that moment was one - when Mummy knows everything.

I am guessing in about ten years or less that statement would change to – Mummy you don’t know anything. I already have trouble telling one Nicki Minaj from another for crying out loud! (No offense to the pop icon, or is it hip-hop?)

But right now, Mummy’s the world. And I am deliriously happy to be it. J

Happy New Year !!!

The month of December has begun to scare the daylights out of me. It stretches between the year gone by and the new one to come like a black hole ready to devour and spit out all that remains of humanity in one dark breath.

But December gets help, if not from nature by way of tsunamis or earthquakes, then from us when we bring out to the fore that which should reside forever in darkness. I shudder to think of what more we are capable of.

We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors, we borrow it from our children - thus goes a Native American saying. I think we have already borrowed too much of it in every which way and all that we have left to pass on is a legacy of bloodbath.

And yet I cannot give up on hope. It bursts forth like a little sapling from within the depths of a stained soil. I want to nurture it. I need to nurture it.

Now that the calendar has turned its leaves, discarded a year gone by and heralded in the brand new sunshine of January, I can breathe a small sigh of relief and say a little prayer.

Of Hope.

Of Change.

For Children.

For Us.

For Safety.

For Prosperity.

For Peace.

For A Happy New Year...

Living in Minnesota - A Watery Question!

Accents speak louder than words. As the husband and I found out one fine evening in a MacDonald drive-in. It had been a long day out and we had depleted most of our energies and all of our water as we pulled into the drive-in for replenishments.

As the lady handed us our bag of burgers, I asked her for some water.

A what?

Water, please.

I am sorry, what was that again?

WATER

I make sure the T is heard.

Could you spell that for me?

W A T E R

The husband adds his very Indian accent to the confusion. I decide to resort to signs.

You need a drink?

Now, I am afraid to say yes lest she misses what I might be saying.

Waaatttteeeerrrr

I try it in slow motion with brilliant emphasis on the T again.

She looks at us like she would probably look at aliens. Which we were, technically speaking. And as aliens we have a secret language which we use to communicate in silence. We decide to let the matter of water go. The Coke will have to do.

I reach for the empty bottle of water to try to squeeze out a few drops as the husband thanks her politely for nothing. I believe she spotted the odd habit of the aliens and realized what they wanted.

Oh you mean wa..er!

The ‘t’ was almost not there and whatever was in its place sounded like a d…Very pure American H20.

We nod, a bit skeptical, because now we don’t know for sure what she thought we needed. Turns out, she understood alright and soon I was sucking ice cold water wa…er…whatever…through my trunk.

I thought I had left the complications of accents in the drive-in until yesterday when I asked my four-year-old son if he wanted to have some water.

He squinted at me for a long second before he nodded. Yeah.Wa…er!

When Death Stares You In The Face....

Frankly speaking, I never understood this phrase much. Isn’t it always staring at us? I mean, come to think of it, has anyone survived life?

If you ask me, death is always staring you in the face, you just don’t know it. Maybe the phrase refers to the proximity of it. Sometimes it’s close and you know it and sometimes, it’s still close, but you don’t know it.

Alongside Death, there is another entity that is staring us in the face. It’s called Life. But we usually tend to ignore it, mainly due to its agreeable nature. And forget with great enthusiasm that Life just as its nemesis happens only once.

Here’s a question that I find answers much about Life – “When was the last time you did anything for the first time?”

This was never meant to be a long post. I had once asked an old friend about his philosophy of life and I leave you with his words:

"Be Free,

 Get Rich,

 Do  Good,

 Make a Quick Exit,

 And Never Come Back"

*** 

Living in Minnesota - The Almost Lost Shoe!

I had not given much thought to how much attuned I had become to my relaxed suburban life here in the picturesque city of White Bear Lake until today. It has been less than a year, and I seem to have flushed every bit of the traffic of my home country and the din associated with it out of my system – the results of which have borne hilarious outcomes, in the least.

Its tax time of the year, and therefore, a visit to the nearby capital city of St Paul was called for. Even the little one was not spared for the paperwork lest the taxman thinks otherwise and, therefore, was made to tag along with us in the subzero weather. Which he did quite happily, as oblivious as us to the state of our minds.

Those who have kept up with their geography will know that St Paul is the capital of the State of Minnesota and one half of the Twin Cities. Needless to add, the traffic is a lot busier on the narrower streets of St Paul, in stark comparison to the much wider and quieter roads of White Bear Lake. Right from difficult parking places to busy intersections, St Paul threw in enough challenges to its less enlightened evening visitors – namely us.

When we did manage to find a spot right next to where the snow had been plowed to a mountain and climbed out of the comfort of our blessed four wheels to our quickly-getting-miserable two legs, we transformed into our pea-brained alter personas. I would like to blame our jaywalking judgments to the high chilly winds that literally froze large parts of our grey matter, but I know that is not the whole truth.

One intersection, and we would have been saved. Yet it took a mammoth minute to wait for the lights to turn in our favor. For a moment we were tempted to make a run for it amidst the traffic and yet, we knew we could not. At last the lights changed, and we made a beeline for the other side, the cold winds prompting us to make it faster, the little one doing the best he could with all the know-how of his three young years.

Finally we were there – inside the warmth of sanity. And just when I had thought it had all been fun, the little one exclaimed, “Where’s my shoe, Mummy?”

We both reeled at the impact of the question and the sight of one tiny socked foot. The husband recovered his wits faster than I did. “He was holding your hand!” Of course, darling, I agreed.

Therefore, I went back retracing my steps looking for the all important almost lost shoe unsure of where it had gone missing. Before long I spotted it, right in the middle of the road, waiting to fly in the air anytime as several wheels threatened to run over it. I stood there counting the seconds which had never seemed longer hoping against hope to retrieve the piece of leather before it died another premature death.

A shoe in the middle of a busy intersection in St Paul – I am sure it isn’t a common sight, and for the first time I thanked the weather for being harsh enough to not let too many people see it. Too my chagrin, however, there were a couple, and I knew exactly what their thoughts were at that time.

I managed to retrieve the shoe at the first chance and in the same state that it was almost lost, but not without feeling every bit like the jaywalkers that I once found immensely amusing.   

Long Live The Almost Lost Shoe!

The Ugly Monster!

I was all of four years when I heard for the first time about a woman who had been killed by her in-laws for a monster called ‘dowry’. I did not understand most of it then, except that a young woman had been set afire by greedy people.

It’s been a great number of years since then, and nothing has changed, it seems. Akin to a newspaper, my FB news feed brought in bad news in the form of an appeal for justice from a brother for his sister allegedly murdered by her in-laws for dowry less than a month ago. I do not know this brother, or his sister. It’s a FB share and I am certain sooner or later it will end up in your news feed too. For those who are curious, the victim was a young bride from a middle class family, studying for her Masters degree and was married last year.

Dowry deaths in India have become an alarming statistics. I did some research, and if the figures are to be believed, there is one woman who is sacrificed at the altar of this inhuman ritual every hour in India. To tell you the truth, I don’t believe the numbers. I think an hour is too long.

If the laws of the country are anything to go by, the system of dowry has been illegal since 1961. Yet, fifty years later, we are nowhere close to eradicating or even doling out any kind of justice to the victims who, not surprisingly, hail from all ranks of society. The monster is very much alive and kicking.

Why has it been this difficult to go down with a social system that, in effect, pulls it down? Who are the real perpetrators here? Those who kill or those who aide?

If you ask me, and I am going to tell you even if you don’t, both are equally guilty. One for being the active participants and the other passive ones, who at the end of it, get to call it a foul play. Of course, the daughter is now dead, and suddenly it’s time for justice. What about the times when she could have been saved and given a new lease of life? Oh no, that would have been way too difficult, wouldn’t it?

The brother appeals that his complaint has been falling on deaf ears at all administrative levels. They fall on my deaf ears too! It is you I would very much like to hang!

And my dear sisters and daughters, wherever you are, why do you put up with such cruelty at the hands of others. Do you not have your own two feet? Freedom and, life, is just a step away! There is no one you need to protect here except yourself.

A demand for dowry, at any point of time, cannot be conceded with, under any circumstances. It can only be met with strength - of character. If not of a family, then of an individual. Unfortunately, strength has remained and continues to remain an elusive quality where daughters are concerned. Therefore, weaknesses stem up, somewhat conveniently, and spell doom for the ones who least deserve it.

What has kept the monster alive? Greed? Definitely. No faster way to the swanky pair of wheels than one handed down for free, isn’t it? Of course, it’s well deserved, for all the hard work done to be at a place where it can be milked out of someone else.

But wait, it’s more for the comfort of the daughter, right?

Except, the daughter was comfortable without the expensive items at her home, wasn’t she? Yet, she is proud of the high-end microwave oven her father put in among the many other ‘gifts’. It helps her gain a little more ground at the new territory, gives her that little bit of edge in her new home. Really, does it?   

Who, therefore, has fed the monster so well?

Guilty is the verdict, for those who encourage the system – including the daughters themselves. They sign a death sentence for themselves and thousands of others the moment they find and believe in the argument that justifies the dowry system. That microwave oven does not do anything to her worth except reduce it. With it, she relegates herself to a commodity and a very disposable one at that too.

Daughters are the future -of a family, of society and of the nation. Why then, do they choose to die without a fight? Why do we let them? For if they had chosen otherwise, they would have known that it would all have been worth the fight.