Size does matter…not!

Birthdays were THE most exciting time of the year for me as a child. I looked forward to that one day when I’d get brightly wrapped gifts, no matter what size they were or how colourful the wrapping. Which brings me to present day, when just sometime back I picked up a birthday present for my little niece, being the doting (young) aunt that I am! At the toy store, as I looked for something for my niece, I went through a new experience. Being attended to by a patient sales person, I was distracted by this incessant rant, coming from a tiny tot, who kept insisting on looking at all the new toys, with little interest in what his father had to say about behaving himself. While my left brain was occupied with dealing with this tantrum, the right side of my brain was even more surprised to see another family coaxing their little kid to choose between the bigger toy gun and the louder mythological, musical, weapon. The only selling point of the toy for the kid, being – which will be more powerful. Having chosen my gift and waiting for it to be wrapped (in Barbie pink paper, as annoyingly recommended by the sales person, much to my annoyance), I looked around the toy store. All I could see were big, noisy toys in about 80% of the space, with books placed on one wall. It’s not entirely wrong to play with large-sized toys or the ‘musical’ ones, what I failed to comprehend was, whatever happened to those smaller, yet equally enjoyable, cars, dolls, Lego sets?

On an instinct, I asked the salesman if they had HotWheels and how much they went for “these days”. Now as a kid, with a sibling, I remember having some cars and truly enjoying my time with them! Perhaps on seeing the glint in my eye, the sales person showed me several models off the lowest shelf, when I saw the ’70 (s) Toyota Celica, an ordinary looking yellow sleek beauty. It did not matter to me that it was probably the smallest item on sale at the store, or that none of the kids in that store would even glance at it but, as I walked out of that toy store, while silently thanking my stars for my childhood, I said a bigger thank you to that little girl for whom size really did not matter!

A Dancer's Daughter

My earliest memory of my love for dancing, possibly, is borrowed from my sibling. She claims that, when I was about two, I posed in front of a dancer at a 5-star hotel where my grandfather was put up while he was working. I'd like to think that it is this spark that encouraged my parents to enroll me for some dance lessons. What I thought started out as something to do after school soon turned into all I could think of the moment I woke up and the time I'd fall off to sleep. Vowing to never let this passion go, I carried on with my life, education and some semblance of a career. Given all of these preoccupations, dancing took a backseat (much like this blog :p). 

After an embarrassingly long hiatus, I recently got back to dancing. While this isn't something that I would gush about, something that happened yesterday just could not stop me from reviving my other passion - writing. I realized that to be able to freely live out your dreams, you need that driving force. Now, we all have friends, family, lovers who support us, but for me, the one person who has believed in me, even as an amateur, has to be my mother.

All her life, for as long as I can remember, she has always stood by me, waited through the dance classes, technical rehearsals and attended every performance (yes, even the ones at house parties), never occurring to me that she'd have her own passion too. It was a few months ago, when, at my present dance academy, I noticed the number of women out there who had always wanted to dance, but could not or did not because of other obligations. It was this that prompted me to return the favour, however small an attempt, and got her enrolled in my class. 

Fiercely proud, I watched as my mother struggled with the putting her left foot ahead of her right, coordinating the hand movements and getting the expressions just about right and I saw in her, something that I had never seen all these years. They say that when you do something that truly comes from within your heart, it shows. And this is exactly what I saw in her. To the world, she may not be the best dancer around, but to me, that is all that matters.

So here I was, bogged down with work, listening to music while suddenly, one of our tracks began playing. On a whim, I asked my mother for a dance and there it was again - that glow, that unadulterated joy. 

I can now say, with unabashed pride, that I am a dancer's daughter!

Aaji bai

They say grandparents are the most loving when it comes to their grandchildren. Having spent most of my childhood with my grandparents, this holds true for me. After we moved out of our home, I looked forward to spending every available holiday at my aaji-ajoba's.And because I had the most attachment to aaji I felt that I would do this forever and ever. Some part of me secretly always felt that she would, rather should, be immortal and I would care for her and live with her forever.

Over time, with my childhood phased out that attachment as well. We lost ajoba but somehow with immense strength, aaji carried on. When earlier she'd tease me about me growing up to be "someone big", today she teases me, mostly over the phone I notice now, about boys and marriage.

As I became more and more caught up in a whole web of new people, friends, work, basically being an adult, the position at which I held my dear aaji descended. Gone are the days I'd wait to spend all holidays with her, gone even are those days I'd regularly call her, just to be willingly chided about career, and well, marriage. Foolishly, I assumed she'd be fine, she'd be the same as I'd remember her from a few years back.

Today, something pulled out all of those memories within me. In a bus full of women well-dressed headed out to change the world with their serious-looking office attire, I came across an aaji. For her, it did not matter that nobody offered a place to sit, it did not matter she would fall thanks to some rather lovely driving displayed by our drivers, nor did it matter to her that she had many things to manage even as she had hardly boarded the bus.

For her, all that could possibly ever matter was her two little grandchildren who she saw to, were secure, comfortable and at ease. And I couldn't help but try and picture the look of contentment that would have crossed my aaji's face when I called her this morning just to say, i miss you!

How to Train Your Dragon

One of the few things I pride myself over is a healthy childhood and strong family support. It wasn't until a few days back that I realised no matter how much one chooses to protect you, it does not, in anyway, prepare you for the singlemost part of life we all fear - rejection.

For the last couple of days, I was busy prepping for an interview at a rather good firm. I was fairly confident I would get through and so, didn't really have the post-interview jitters one usually gets while waiting for THE place to revert. Sure enough, few days after the interview, as expected, friends heard from them, favourably. What followed was nothing short of an eye-opener.

Unlike my friends, I did not make the cut. I expected I would move on and continue doing as well as I was before. However, not only did I go into one of the worst mood swings ever, I felt this was the end of my world, as I saw it. At that point of time, I felt nobody could be worse off than I am. 

Rejection was like a domino effect in my life after which nothing ever made up to the fact that "I did not make it". Everything else dimmed in comparison. After days of a 'woe is me' monologue, I made up my mind. Either I could drag on with my life knowing that I was the one who failed, giving the firm victory over my capablities.


Or, I could pick up the pieces, hold my head high, wounded but not defeated,


and move on.
 

Learn.Choose.Live

The world over, for a while now, there has been an unusual fervour about the youth. For years now, the world awaits, with bated breath, for the youth to step up and take charge. Coming from a country where the youth played an important role in its freedom movement, my generation too is no stranger to the so-called 'Y' factor and like any other youth in my country (I'd like to assume everyone thinks like me, more or less). So here I was, equipped with some decent education and work experience, ready to change the world...

But, yesterday something changed, rather threw this entire notion out of the window. I visited a friends' NGO called LEARN (short for Labour Education and Research Network). Without going into an promotional writing for this organisation, I'd rather mull over the fact that the workers left me awestruck.

Led and operated by the women in the area it is based in (Dharavi, Mumbai), the women that form the network are from less than modest backgrounds. They had absolutely no qualms in talking to an unknown, "high-fi", to quote one of them, girl.

As we shared a simple meal, I could not help but notice that like the food, each of these women had vibrant, diverse personalities. Had it been yet another run-of-the-mill profit-making non-profit, it would have not surprised me in the least.

The ladies sat me there and spoke to me about their work, which is why and where they differ from the rest of us. While few of them had brought a sleazy man to task for harassing his domestic help, others had brought doctors to women, at more than subsidised rates, for regular health check-ups. Yet another woman had, needless to say, bravely faced a policeman who would demand bribes from the women hawkers at the locality (her story, complete with the threat to the cop that "if she as much as saw him around the area, she would..."!)

After listening to each of their intriguing stories, I could not help but wonder how little I had done - for anyone. I also could not stop myself from thinking that, for these formidable women, the buck really does stop here, the shots really do get called by them. It is a freedom and empowerment few women can think of, let alone possess.

To these women for whom freedom, security, prosperity is a right-turned-to-reality, I enviously salute!

PS: thanks, in a big way, goes out to Abhishek, Akilesh, Amar for allowing me to be a part of this wonderful movement and organisation!

(http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Learn-Labour-Education-and-Research-Network/140057182779106)

You, me and narayan...

Lats weekend, my mother expressed a desire to host a prayer meeting. I consented only as the reason she wanted to have one was very dear to my heart too.But being someone who always prided herself on being practical (read detached from all things spiritual), I had some serious concerns about falling off to sleep during the meditation that most prayer meets are synonymous with. I had pictured a scene where everyone would stop their meditation midway to at me as I would "meditate". Mom called over a volunteer from the 'Art of Living' discipline (I do not know how better to address them). to help us through the prayer meeting.

As the volunteer entered our home, I was surprised to see guitar slung around his shoulder - I had assumed he had guitar lessons before or after this. Curiosity generated, all notions of sleep lost, I sat among other family members, waiting. And lo and behold! the volunteer started strumming the guitar and started singing some wonderful tunes., Since they were accompanied with sanskrit words, I was fairly confused but the context was pretty lucid.

Then came the highlight of the evening, we soon began singing a simple yet deeply meaningful song titled 'narayan' wherein we invoked the blessings of each person who has passed, is passing and will soon pass (this was my interpretation of it). The song had just one basic line (every line would speak of different aspects of life; parents, the earth, the sun, the moon,
you...me...), and every line began with those words and ended with narayan.

This was when it hit me, contrary to what I held as the whole truth (owing to not-so-pleasant events in the past), that God or spirituality has no meaning and is for those who had a lot of time to invest (well, waste actually). As we sang, truly absorbing the words and the music and the quiet of our surroundings, I realised that this gave me immense peace and instead of putting me to sleep, got me even closer to those we had lost and continue to lose.

One does not need spirituality in times of crisis, loss, grief, it has and will always be within those who believe, do not believe and all others in between. One just needs to look within.

PS: to those who have passed, who pass and will pass, we love you and always will...

Happiness for Sale!

Just the other day, I was listening to the radio and I happened to come across this ad, which said "now for just Rs. 10 more, you can buy your future happiness!". Before getting into a long diatribe on what happiness is or should be, I'd like to say that I found this ad truly amusing. How anybody could tell me what would make me happy was just plain amusing, in the most unadulterated manner!

And then I just sat back, for lack of anything to do on the way to work, and really really thought about what things that made me happy. To the disappointment of the ad agency and to an extent me, I could recollect this day when I was in the bus and there was a little girl with her grandmother who was having the time of her life by just looking out of the window, looking at her aaji as she called her, and smiling. It probably did not matter to them, at that time, that they were in a crowded bus, which was bursting at the seams, and was stuck in traffic. It also probably did not matter to them that they we what we would describe as 'poorly dressed'.

And it also probably did not matter to them that there was this girl watching them, envious with the slightest hint of a tear in her eye, that they could share this moment of happiness. Pure. Unadulterated and most important,

Free.