That Green Gown

Photo Courtesy- Google

It must be something to do with feminism I guess. Because I don’t seem to inherit this from my genes. But dolling myself up does more than wonders to me. It’s one of my impassioned fantasies, if I may say so, to drape myself up in that Long Green Gown, and merge in that elegance once, at least once in my lifetime. And that, exactly that will be my moment. Moments like these, which charm the hell out of me, even when I am crashed down completely, I call them moments of divine mercy. They hypnotically connect my imaginary sense of (well) being to my actuality, as jiggling as the latter may be.

No wonder, the promising potential of one's dreams coming true can be so strong at times, that it can totally phoenix one up when he is on fire.

Sincerely speaking, it’s not just the green gown. It’s a lot many things that I simply wish to do/see and want to stay alive for. If only fantasies were fantastic enough to come true.

I would have so wanted to splash down with Kanav in anything that's splashable. Be it the immersing water, the enticing drops of rain, the sand that's forgotten, the unstoppable rides, the complete insanity, whatever, that can loosen up the screws a bit and let some fresh air come in.

                                                                                              
I already have my heart set out on some of the oh so moving songs which will have me dancing to their rhythms, to their lyrics. These might just be posted here as a testimony of my loyalty to myself.

I so yearn to stretch myself beyond my limits and perfect that yoga pose I have been dreading for years.

How I wish I am capable enough to have Kanav grow into a capable and a sensible man. Its worth anything to contribute to and see a life -

-Live limitless
-And  yet being sensible towards sensitivities around.

How madly I desire to get into 'my' machine, the long awaited, and the little too ambitious one - 'my' black convertible Porsche.

And if luck still continues to favor, I hope to end up donating my eyes and enabling some long lost vision (some day)

That one day, this day, as I sit in my room, with a pen, a paper, a cup of tea and a realization that it's indeed miles to go before I sleep...

My Precious

I punctually find myself in this dilemma of staring at my pearls and feeling oh so possessive about them. These little fellas, I tell you, are the most freaking amazing things I could have ever gotten access to. Had it not been for that non-ending day, I would not have ever known that my little friends existed and that they were oh so kind and gentle. 

As far as my memory rolls back, I can still see those blond stares around me. Sure, they are soft but they are uselessly empathetic.  Empathetic to the point of being frozen by my groans. They are just staring and staring, two of them even touching me thinking they are comforting me. Damn them! Damn all the painkillers I’ve taken! So many yet so unmoving.

My take – “When you are in pain, I mean extreme physical (or for that matter mental) pain, no freaking touch or whatever sane therapy can do a bit in relieving you. Period.”

It was in that moment that all those angels and faeries above sent this short, sharp eyed, male nurse to my bed with a Morphine injection in hand. And what followed next was absolute bliss.  

I literally remember to have not remembered even an ounce of my physical hell anymore in the hours that followed. Let alone the mental high it kicked me with. All at once, I was with my hubby, on the shores of the hospital, walking, hand in hand, extrapolating our future and happiness around our just gifted parenthood. That walk, that chilly Melbourne evening, has ever since then remained in my memory like some ride to heaven. 

(Un)Luckily though, along with my discharge from the hospital, it was time to say bye-bye to those incredible injectibles. But what I did get as an acceptable well wishing token from the hospital was a long enough prescription of Endone. Now this, as I’ve well discovered by now, is something which is ‘little’ less invading, but far handier and hence addictive, I guess. 

All those friendship quotes suddenly make so much sense now. They say it for a reason that "A friend in need is a friend indeed". And what better than these little stones which captivate all three dimensions of my being in just no time – my body, my mind and hence my spirit. A single doze hits me like a million of happy hormones, all in one go.

It’s been some long time since I realized that I am left with just 4 of my buddies now. So far, since then, my need to preserve them has won over my need to consume them. I am finding this pretty interesting. My clash with my addiction, for my addiction. After all, the awareness that you can go unaware at will is something. Isn’t it? And it’s worth the entire contest. June 2014 marks the finale of my chase. That’s when these tiny stones expire. Till then it's is all cheers no matter what! ;-)

Disclaimer - I am not promoting usage of drugs here. Consumption or addiction to these is dangerous to health. It’s just a narration of how one of my medical conditions led to my introduction to these and my getting trapped into the phenomenon of craving since then. It would definitely have been a damaging story had I had an unlimited access to these.

 

Bun in my Oven

Ouch! This damn washbasin! Always hits me at the weirdo peeing hours. It’s about 3:30AM in Melbourne. And here I am fully awake. No folks, it's not any jet lag. It's a bun, a spiced up bun, in my oven, a really hot oven!

So while Mr. KUNE (KUnal + NEha) is in the process of making and baking, his mama sits awake at midnight tired of the peeing sessions; and his dad is busy fuming off his mama further by his non-stop snores and spinning-in-bed chores. Poor mama! I know!

With an absent-minded awareness, a dull face, patchy skin, drowsy eyes and a body which I find hard to recognize, I feel, this entire odyssey of pregnancy revolves pretty much around the letter 'P' - You get a 'Pea' in the 'Pod'  as a result of some 'Pleasurable' moments. Your 'Prenatal' phase starts and then you 'Puke' and 'Puke' until you have been ‘Pumped off’ of your last bits of energy left.  Your good night sleep goes for a toss while you 'Pee' and 'Pee' all throughout the night. Thanks to the 'Pressure' on the 'Pelvic' muscles which make it difficult for the body to even turn around while in bed in later months. This is followed by the most awaited phase of 'Pain' and 'Push', I mean the ‘Phobiatic’ phase. And voila, here appears the handsome 'Pie'! Of course with a ‘Pack’ of ‘Pride’ and ‘Postpartum’ chores.

Oh my boy, my dude! Well, well there are still a few days to having you in my laps. At times the thought of seeing you and cuddling you wipes off my mind of all phobias. At other times, my phobic stimulus just seems to take over. May be its my preggo hormones playing wreck with my emotions, or it’s my worn and torn body at this stage doubting its capabilities once recovered, or it’s my dependency on maids in this maid free land, whatever it is. Trust me kid, it’s easier to be an obedient daughter or a daughter-in-law, a loving wife, or a supporting sister than to be a functional mother. However with a single kick of yours, my life seems to get a kick. With that magical wave on my tummy, you make me smile and jump with joy. With that beautiful shape of yours emerging in my belly, you make me feel restless about seeing you, about introducing you to this world. With an ultra-sound shot seeing you scratching your head, you make me feel you, you make me feel like a mother, you make me feel like the most energetic creature around who can do anything, just about anything for this cute Kiddiwink.

My Little Rug Rat! I mean Your Royal Highness! You demanded your mere diagnosis to be done not at home, but at a grandiose Hotel. It’s the night when our Hyderabad house was sprayed with pesticides and we had to shift to a hotel at 2AM midnight because of the pesticides putting unacceptable strain on my smelling hormones, marking a sharp decline in my environmental tolerance. Anyways the following morning, sensing your arrival, I decided to test your presence and voila – you had already popped in!  We are and will always remain honoured with your gracious landing.

Thanks to my motherly instinct which tells me that you are going to be a hard nut to crack. Your Highness! You either seem to be arriving with royal endeavours or you seem to be on a pursuit to bring your spoiled, kinky, irresponsible, and sloppy freaks i.e. your parents-to-be on track.

Your immediate next course of action was to ensure that your mommy was used to and comfortable with all the tricks of the trade cooking, and hence to ensure exclusive authentic mom-made savory bites for yourself in future. So you sparked off some fiery hormones in me which made me fire my cook, who had been serving us for 4 years. All at once it was time for self-cooking. I still don’t know if it was the actual fault of the cook, or it was these preggo hormones caused by of course you, My serene Highness.

Your Majesty! You deserve and command full time attention and care. So you made my days, especially mornings nauseatic enough to not being able to work from office. The day I woke up thinking I might just turn up in office soon, that day was sure to bring me a good number of pukes. With each puke, I heard your voice - “Enough of work mama! Stay at home with me, I Love You. You better love me too”. I was terrified even to take the name of ‘office’ in the morning. For it took me a few hard mornings to recognize that few words don’t seem to go well with you.

That was just the beginning. Very soon, I had to put down my papers because this ‘P’ factor brought with it another surprise, the most awaited ‘PR’ for Australia. As there’s an expiry date to activating PR visa, we realized there was no other time to visit there than then. So my Happy Little Vegemite wanted to be born an Aussie. May be that’s why this visa thing coincided with my conception. Your Highness made us leave our home, our families, our jobs and our country. So soon after, KUNES, expecting, jobless, homeless, clueless, just got up, packed up and arrived in Australia. What followed next was pure gamble.

Once a woman is in the club, she should not plan a shift. Though we shifted not once or twice but thrice before we could call some place home. Every time I wondered whether we were being railed or derailed, I felt the ever mine boy inside my tummy, boiling his own courage and pouring some to me as well. In the middle of an ocean of countless sensitive circumstances, a single sign of clean progress would make me weave new hopes about our years to come. And well! Seems the gamble played off well. Things started to fall in place. Yet.. Ninth month and here I sit, staring at our yet to open luggage which has just arrived from India a week back.  Well, a mother’s work is never done.

And my dear brave Littlie! All this while, your cooperation, butterflies you caused in my stomach, your ever growing martial arts (kicks, flutters, what not), your cute little face I see in my dreams and the excitement you bring with your anticipated arrival have kept the fire burning, and the aspirations elevated. Lucky are we to have you and the surprises galore you bring, which are already spicing up and energizing our lives. After having traversed through many a shades of the sky, and with a beautiful rainbow just around the corner, you are simply awaited and anticipated with lots and lots of love, wishes and prayers, and ouch! A little bit of labor-phobia!

From a flat belly to a belly full of paws and claws, from fifty three kaygees to sixty nine kaygees, from Me-as-Boss and Maid-as-Maid to MyBaby-as-Boss and Me-as-Maid, from mental tiredness to physical tiredness, from girly whirly shopping of all types to Toys & Nappies & Wipes,  from time-to-kill to a full-time-drill, from immaturity to a little bit of maturity, from a woman to a mother, the way I see it, it's been a journey from glamor to glory.

C’mon! Say me No!

“Sure!”, “Yes!”, “Why not!”, “Anytime!”

An affirmative attitude might very well lead you to your short term goal, of being the go-to guy or girl for any of the solutions to your friend’s or stakeholder’s concerns; and win you that temporary assurance of being a goody buddy.

But hey! Did you do a reality check before uttering that easiest word around – “Sure!”? 

- Or you just went ahead with the flow of the moment in order to win over the heart of the seeker?

- Or are you just too casual about your credibility?

- Or is this your sweetly sarcastic and intentionally easiest way of turning off the seeker in place?

If it’s the first one, well, ideally you should perform as per what you commit. But do keep in mind “Under-committing and over-performing is better than over-committing and under-performing”.  Doing the latter, that too in repetition, can in turn land you far from where you had set your eyes in the first place while uttering the easiest and most friendly word “Sure!”  That said, there are times, when your generosity is put to test. When even after trying hard, you cannot fulfill certain commitments because of unforeseen circumstances or hurdles. It’s understandable if it happens once in a while.

If it’s the second one, you don’t belong here.

If it’s the third one, then, hat’s off! I am quite a fan of yours, but only and only if you back yourself up with sufficient guts to stop being fake with the seeker once you’ve made your intentions clear by your false affirming. If for some fragile part of your personality, you’re unable to do so, this can put you up in an ugly mess of embarrassments. Personally, the easiest way to piss me off is to keep me waiting for the results and never actually coming up even closer to or discussing them, and neither denying the impossibility of achieving those. Constant yet soft irritation eats me more than direct denial.

Professional or personal, this applies to all dimensions around you. Call it whatever you like - expectation management, the art of saying No, negotiation skills, risk-assessment, or just being integral to yourself.

Personally, I oh so much don’t want to come across any such fakers, and mistake them as my friends.

Professionally, I have always liked working with colleagues who could say me No earlier, rather than keeping me in waiting mode, and bombarding me with a bullet of not-so-sweet surprises aka shocks later on. To the best of my knowledge, I too have followed and worked with this belief system. The results were kind of mixed. Some bosses I worked with were a bit too turned off by my version of the understanding of the task at hand and the associated potential issues. These I must say were the ones who always found themselves in one trap or the other later on, mostly dealing with projects which had eventually turned from green status to yellow to red. Thanks to their strength of not being able to deal with the reality check in first place. Some on the other hand, have appreciated this element of mine, trademarking it as “good and timely risk-assessment”, and have saved their asses a red-alert situation.

So! The moral of the story is - 

Speak up when you have to! And say what’s on your mind. If your mind is too unpleasant to be heard, try some polishing techniques but ensure that you convey the correct message. Whether or not it gets understood in its correct sense is not in your hands.

This might lead to a temporary discomfort in the air, but will surely earn you credibility and respect in the longer run, if the intentions were good and logical.

True Grit

“Oh! It’s a girl! Yet again!”

A small town, a financially challenged house, the elder daughter recently turned 9, the middle one is celebrating 7 years of her ‘existence’, and wola! Here’s born yet another girl! Quite as expected, barring the smiles of the father and the grandmother, this third-newbie-girl is welcomed with frowns. The still-in-pain mother is looked at with helplessly sympathetic, and sadistically pleasurable eyes, especially when her counter candidates had been ejecting out boys in series.

Thanks to the ‘sexually and racially paradoxed’ yet ‘cultured’ society, it’s female stigmatization, it’s effortless efforts towards eradicating some of the social evils converting loud dowries into so-called sophisticated gifts - someone just got an unexpected twist in her motherhood.

Underneath some unsaid silences, and her clogged breath, she lies.. Bewildered

So what next! Advice and opinions galore: “Beautify the daughters, engage in socializing and the associated show-offs, sing in to the tunes of the vanity of socialites, needless to educate the daughters, instead save money and hook them up with the so-called perfect grooms of the town..” For some reason, in India, human species surrounding a person, especially close relatives, consider this their birth right to dictate how a person, having committed blunders like arriving at multiple-female-offsprings, should now succumb to their life-saver wisdom. And if you are a woman, and choose not to do so, you will be simply labeled unsocial and will be out-casted. But I do not blame the social creatures in this case, as they had absolutely no idea of what and whom they were dealing with. For the lady/mother in question had a plan, a sense, a grit of her own, ready to be put to test.

Battling with the storms of the heart, here begins the waterfall..

Post delivery, the mother resumes working as a full time housewife, as a full time mother, and as a full time school teacher, all in parallel. Father continues struggling his ways out at a number of places –Singapore, US, Middle-east. And the concatenated effort is just about sufficient to keep their daughters studying in a decent school, while worrying about what lies next, while thinking if at all there is any way to hit a reverse gear in life and start afresh. Unfortunately or fortunately there is not.

In the middle of all this chaos, the family gets some ‘special’ visits by their ‘so called’ –near and dear one(s), the ‘economically and socially well settled’, and hence ‘wiser’ people, proud about their earned or inherited riches, in the name of brotherhood, shower their lessons of wisdom upon the mother on how to keep herself and her daughters grounded, and not to get over-ambitious. ‘Unrich’ daughters, per them are the shaky, slippery grounds and should never be invested/relied upon.

But strange is this mother, who even after being warned so much, after being suffocated deep into the noise of the city, still manages to remain untouched by it. Needless to mention, the other ‘domestic problems’ which are a part of every marital life, are a part of her life too. 

Stupefied yet stubborn, she continues and challenges messiness head-on..

Days pass by, crises continues. At this stage, an already working mother, mother to 3 kids, the youngest one just delivered, in addition to her full time working job, opens up a boutique at home. Several months pass by, never ending crises still continue. And while catering to all of the above roles, now she decides to add some advanced academic degrees to her belt. This belt already comprises of a Diploma in Arts (one of her art works even got auctioned in an exhibition in Germany), a Bachelors Degree in Science, a Masters in English. She takes up Economics this time, as this promises good money. Money! aah! The need of the hour.  

Somehow she knows what her way is, and the way to her way..

Even in the chilliest of winters, she wakes up at 4AM, unapologetically, and mercilessly. She lights a lamp outside in the balcony so as not to waken up her family. In the silent fog of the uncertainty, she sits, unwary of whether she is going to make it or not, she studies unknown and unheard of concepts. Her grit accompanying her, her love for her daughters fueling her, and her shadow comforting her. Few uninterrupted minutes follow, and she gears up for the rest of the day. She hand-washes clothes, dries them. Cooks and packs food for all. Leaves for her job. Comes back to see some customers waiting at her boutique. Attends to them, attends to the just returned kids. Takes tuition in next few hours, followed by tuition to her own kids. And chores just don’t seem to end.

All this continues for days, months, until the exam-day arrives. And she comes out good. She is an ‘Economics Lecturer’ now! Her brilliance and determination wins over rest all oppressions.

She is her honor, she is her veil.. She is her lamp, she is her wick..

Meanwhile, the daughters are too busy growing up. Yet again, against the opinion of others, they are sent to the best school in a new city altogether. The Mother further aggravates her tuitions and boutique strategies. By now, she is used to seamlessly waking up at 4 in the morning, and to her never ending struggle motivation for ‘larger than life’ experiences in the rest 20 hours of her being awake. As kids have to now catch a public transport to land into their school situated in another city, she first drives the eldest one to the bus-stand, some 6 Km from the house, comes back, drives the middle one to the same place, for she drives a luna and cannot manage a tripling. She comes back, drops herself in her school, yet another 7 Km away in the opposite direction. Years pass by like this.

Her body, her mirror needs some time from her, but she has none to spare..  

The eldest daughter decides to pursue MBA from a reputed college. The mother, without a hitch, stands by her decision, and extends herself into the risk of taking education loan worth lakhs. Decision well made, this daughter is successfully running her own consultancy firm today. The youngest one, being good in vocal and extra-curricular activities, plans to pursue Bachelors in Mass Communication from one of the most expensive universities. The mother, after facing a lot of criticism, stands by her, and yet again manages the fees. This daughter after having graduated effortlessly is now pursuing an MBA.

The middle one decides to go for extra coaching classes to help her with her admissions into good engineering colleges. Mother borrows money from cousins, cousins do help, but with a lot of noise around that ‘girl-child and her education’ crap. None-the-less the daughter gets to sit in the extra classes. The first wave of comfort comes when she gets into a decent engineering college, and also gets scholarship thoroughout. And finally gets the real break of her life, when she gets through her first campus placement and eventually lands into one of the world’s finest organizations. Phew! That journey still continues while I pen this down. Thank you Mom! :)

Who says happiness cannot be earned?! Happiness for me is satisfaction and it was clearly earned, rather snatched from the odds! Whatever I am, whatever I possess –

My body – for I came from her, and her hands nourished it further and turned me into a young lady even before I knew I had entered into adulthood;

 My education, my professional well being – for she taught me, facilitated my education, took the right decisions even before I could sense that blindly following her was doing so much good to me;

 My values – for she never preached but she practiced and demonstrated, and left the rest to me;

My belief system – for she gave me the freedom at the right time to develop one;  
My personal bliss – for she always trusted my decisions, and supported me into marrying the LOVE of my life;

My each compliment I have ever received - I owe it to her, to those wrinkles, to those gray hair.

And that’s why I call her a Bond! My James Bond Mother! It still does not quite sink within me from where she derived her perseverance, her belief in life, no matter how many times, and in which all ugly stunts life hit her.  

But since she excelled, and so we are where we are, and hence is the bliss.

Latest I heard, she is planning to pursue yet another Masters degree, even at this retiring age.

Proud to be born of you mom. In times to come, if I prove myself to be even half as good a mother or a person that you are, I will be a HIT in life, a BIG-time success.

Moral of the story -WYBIWYG (What You Believe Is What You Get) 

P.S – I am equally thankful to my father, but being born a girl, and now turned into a woman (though not yet a mother), I relate more to her...

Thanks to my grandparents (maternal and paternal) for their constant support.

Bad-ass Guys!

bad·ass/ˈbadˌas/

adjective Also, bad·assed .

1. (of a person) difficult to deal with; mean-tempered; touchy.

2. distinctively tough or powerful; so exceptional as to be intimidating.

This, I write, in deep admiration of the two most badass and absolute, though fictitious, characters I have come across till date. Not just have these fascinated me to an extreme and clung on to my mind like a haunt, for an eternity it seems, but have also inspired me in some rather unusual ways.

Dear Joker,

You are a force, a naked and a vulgar truth on the face of Gotham city. You are unpredictably constant. You don’t plan, you just do!

When you say, “I'm a man of simple tastes. I enjoy dynamite, and gunpowder, and... Gasoline!” this automagically dishes out your authentic and homicidal self. 

I find you insanely attractive the moment you hold a knife in someone’s bloody open mouth and fictionalize the chronicle of how you got your scars. And then, you ask him - “Why so serious!?”

You, and only you – out of all civilized men can go for whatever you want, whenever you want, wherever you want, how-so-ever you want, just out of your pure obsession for the emotions, naked ones - which most people expose only when in their last stages of trouble.

Yes, you are correct in believing that civilization is just a mask, good to be flaunted as long as all is well, or as long as there is at least a perceived conception of it to be well. The moment you sprinkle it up with some uncertainty, some panic, some anarchy, it’s then that the real curse of being human comes in forefront. Security is just an illusion, which keeps the corruptible incorruptible, unless uncovered. When in danger, survival takes lead over virtue. And that’s why we are humans, the guilty imperfects - busy cheating ourselves into the acts of perfection by living self-inflicted so-called mannerisms, pride and social obligations.

Thankfully though, you did not succeed in proving your point when you could not infect the minds of the people on ‘one’ ship to gift themselves some more years of survival on this planet, at the cost of lives on the ‘other’ ship. Had you succeeded, it would have implanted some temporary moments of discomfort from reel to real life of the people watching the act. But deep within, I know your point’s true to a good extent. If it were not, we would have never encountered damages owing to such incidences as stampedes. Not everyone recognizes it, or at least does not acknowledge it - especially those who are the makers of the laws of perfection - and that’s what makes you come into the field and prove it, the uncivilized way. And then they call you a homicidal maniac. 

By the way when you say “Why so serious!?” I can oh so sense the sincere seriousness running deep down your frozen grin into your nerves. You have urge neither for women nor for money. You are indeed ahead of the curve.

P.S – Christopher Nolan - Thanks for creating this character. And making ‘Heath Ledger” do the flawless, awesome job. Though there’s ‘something’ more than his intense acting, which makes me crazy about this character. May be I see some invincible truth behind his beliefs. His acts of course are the acts of the evil, but sincerely, I am afraid that after having watched this legend; I would now have a diluted experience watching any damn negative character ever.  “Dark Knight Rises” will be watched only for Batman, no villain can ever match up to where Joker stands. Long live Heath Ledger.

-----------------------------------------The Beautiful Beasts!------------------------------

Dear Howard Rowark,

You are an Ayn Rand’s creation. She has done a marvelous job in conceiving and then describing you. And I don’t want to fool myself by even trying an attempt to highlight why and what is it that makes me mad about you. However given my current knowledge and understanding of facts, I would want to append my-bit to it a bit.

Since the time I have read about you in “The Fountainhead”, it has become my Gita. Coz you work, only for the love of it, and for no other strings attached. It’s your pencil which craves to be in your hands to arrive at a blend, of simplicity, authenticity, perfection and courage. Every work of yours carries an imprint of you, of your unadulterated soul inked in the form of pillars and structures. It’s not clients who choose you, it’s the edifices, their beauty, their connect with nature - already erected in your mind that makes you choose who deserve you; and then gift your courtesy to them.

Toohey: "Mr. Roark, we're alone here. Why don't you tell me what you think of me? In any words you wish. No one will hear us."
Roark: "But I don't think of you."

That's the beauty of you! And of your indifference to the opinion of others, even of the socially perceived most powerfuls and most influentials.. These parasites are rendered completely powerless and meaningless, when in your presence.

You have struggled your way just to be you. Just to be a first-hander. You seek no acceptance for your beliefs or morals. No social or professional torment could wound you. Your purity guards you. Your integrity binds you. You are oh so complete! so uninhibited! so unmouldable! so uncompromising! so merciless! so concrete! so egotist! So you! Your very presence radiates your awesomeness. You are simple, you are direct, and you are functional! 

… and here I am, awed! Completely awed by the beautiful you when you say-

“I came here to say that I do not recognize anyone’s right to one minute of my life. Nor to any part of my energy. Nor to any achievement of mine. No matter who makes the claim, how large their number or how great their need.

I wished to come here and say that I am a man who does not exist for others”

-----------------------------------------Long live my Badass guys!!--------------------------------