Mother Extraordinaire!

Each mother is just as unique as her own child, but there is one thing that is common across mothers is the purest form of love in her heart, for her child. As a child I had read a story about a mother whose children were taken away and in order to get her children back she had to sacrifice her beautiful long hair, her pretty blue eyes, the rosy colour of her cheeks and she did so happily to get her children back. The story did have a happy ending when she gets re-united with her children. Even though I was just a little girl, that strange story played on my mind for some time and I felt sorry for the mother.

Now, that I am a mother of two myself, I notice all the wonderful mothers around me and some of the mothers remind me of the mother in the story. Some mothers are truly exceptional and extraordinary. These mothers touched my heart and will stay in my thoughts for a long time. A few months ago, I read about a mother who had chosen to donate her twenty-seven-year-old son’s organs who had died in a road accident. She had lost her husband when her son was small and had provided the best she could for him. She donated his organs including his heart to save the life of someone else’s child. While the newspapers had highlighted the high-octane run between the two Chennai hospitals, I was deeply touched by this mother’s pain and courage. Would this mother have given her all like the mother in the story to get her son back? Happily, I am sure. There are many other mothers too who have done the same, and I salute all of you!

Last October, there was a musical concert during Durga Puja at Sushant Lok (Gurgaon). What was unique about the group that was performing was that all the musicians and singers were visually impaired or blind. You may doubt the musical capabilities, but to everyone’s amazement, they performed beautifully, maybe even better than a lot of groups that have the gift of vision. In this group were two brothers, called Hrithik and Roshan, both extremely talented singers. Along with them was their mother, a mother extraordinaire! She was at all times attentive to the needs of her sons, offering water, wiping off beads of sweat from their forehead, guiding them in walking and even holding up their musical notes (in Braille) for them. What was also worth noticing was how happy and cheerful she was and the great friendship she shared with her sons. Would this mother have sacrificed her vision if only it could have been transferred to her sons? Gladly, I believe. I salute you, mother extraordinaire!

I know another extraordinary mother personally, my own paternal grandmother, who lost her husband in her twenties and was left with little money, no employment and a toddler to bring up all alone. A young widow was looked down upon in those days and shunted from the place she knew as home. She left her native village in Bengal and came over to Delhi in the 60’s. With some support from her sister and relatives she brought up her son, in a new city, in the midst of strangers. She learnt physiotherapy and worked as a therapist to earn a living. Each day for her was a struggle for her till her son (my father) was employed. Even till date, when she herself is eighty-five she wants to take care of her son as if he is still a teenager. Would this mother have sacrificed her youth and beauty to make her son happy? Guess what? She did! In her decades long struggle of bringing up her son alone, she never ever thought about herself, let alone her fading youth. She even lost an eye somewhere along the difficult journey. I salute you, mother extraordinaire!

Kudos to all you wonderful mothers! May all your wishes, desires, dreams and hopes for your children come true!

Life is Beautiful!

Writing has been immensely rewarding. It gives me the ability to flex my intellectual muscle and the rewards in the form of compliments I receive feel wonderful. It is pure joy for me when people tell me that they have enjoyed reading it, that it made them feel some emotions. A lot of friends told me that they never knew I could write so well. The honest truth is, that even I did not know that I could and that I would enjoy it so much, even if it is about small incidents from my life which can be easily forgotten with the passage of time. I did think about writing, many a times over the past few years, but actually got down to doing it very recently, only after I fell unconscious after a head injury. I gained consciousness to a new ‘me’.

Only after the incident I felt that I was missing something, that I had to do something other than what I was doing already, that I had to do something selfish, only for myself and if it brings a smile to others, then that is a huge bonus. There is a deep realization within me that there is more to life than the money we earn, the job we hold, the material possessions, the clothes, shoes or mobile phone that we have. Only if we choose to keep ourselves happy, can we make ourselves happy, or our days can be spent looking at life pass us by like we would look at the world from the window of a bus. I notice a lot of people complain and feel angry at a lot of things on a regular basis, life can be easily spent in dissatisfaction too. I am guilt of it too at times, but I try to avoid it as much as possible.

I write my blog to be able to share some thoughts and experiences with all those willing to read, sometimes, I write to my husband, to share some of my innermost thoughts and feelings with him, knowing that I cannot say all that I want to, verbally. I write to my children too, a diary in the form of tiny letters to them, about their growth milestones, about holidays we spent together, about the beautiful moments they have given me, even the things they have broken and how a touch, a kiss, a hug or a few words from them that make my life much richer than it ever could have been. They show me so much every day, that can only be experienced…words and photographs can only capture fragments of it. When I began writing the diary soon after my elder son was born, I could not really pin point as to why I write to him. But, lately, the reasons became clearer to me.

I write to them, so we remember the precious moments we have spent together. They would not remember these beautiful years of their life when they grow up and my memory might get hazy too with time. These letters would act as their external hard drives, so they can enjoy moments from their childhood again, read about themselves and have a good laugh, marvel about their own acts of mischief. Maybe, when they are teenagers or even older, they may disagree/argue with me, question what their mother did for them, they would still know that their mother loves them irrespective of everything else. Lastly, when I am no longer around them, they can still have a little bit of me telling them how much I love them. They will be able to relive the beautiful moments we have spent together as mom and kids.

I feel that we all lead extraordinarily beautiful lives, we just need to believe it and identify that beauty in our lives. Like I said earlier, only if we choose to keep ourselves happy, can we make ourselves happy. Dreams need to be chased, heartfelt desires need to be worked on and feelings need to be communicated.  I also believe that it is essential to celebrate, be it a birthday, an anniversary, all achievements, however small, in whichever way that gives us happiness, be it through a party, or a trip, a private dinner, anything….but it has to be something. Only when we enjoy ourselves can we remember it for long, we would not remember the uneventful, routine days we spent watching life pass us by. It is the special, happy, wonderful moments that make our lives worth living, and these moments need us to make them memorable.

“Memories have to be made in order to remember them. Make some really good ones every day!”

                                                                                                                               -          Doe Zantamata

 

Who's the Boss?

Over my eight years of working in corporates I have had the pleasure of working with a variety of people and a number of bosses. Luckily for me most of them were genuinely nice people who were concerned about the well-being and growth of their team but some of them were a little less than nice and there are reasons or instances due to which they left a special signature on the pages of my corporate life diary. I am sure you came across some of them too or are yet to come across some of them if you happen to embark on a corporate journey. Here are a few categories I could think of:

The Gyani Baba: In a way, they are the corporate mini version of Baba Ramdev. They love the sound of their own voices. They are full of stories from their hay days on the ‘front’, love to show off their 'battle scars' and share their ‘stories’. They are sometimes interesting to listen to but when their stories get repeated the subordinates are nodding just to win some brownie points. They have an air of pride around them and demand respect. They may be great to listen to at the forty thousand feet level or more when they try to give you ‘strategic’ advice and share some 'thought capital', but when you come back to your desk, you are as clueless as you were before you decided to speak to them. Or worse, you get more confused than you ever were.

The Dictator: This type of boss is the hard task master and a nightmare to work with. They believe that a dedicated worker is the one that spends long hours in office, and likes to get his subordinates to do and re-do tasks till they are brain dead. They are aiming for perfection and in the process don’t mind their subordinates burning the midnight oil and themselves in the process. If their final deliverable is good or they are skilled at managing their stakeholders, then they are considered to be the best kind of managers by the leadership. They are hated by their juniors, but alas, you don’t get to choose your boss and if they give you a good rating, you forgive them too.

The Empty Vessel: This is the funniest type of boss I have come across. They have no in-depth knowledge and more often their juniors know better than them and that makes them insecure and act out in ways that can only make the situation worse for them. They like to pretend that they are knowledgeable but in reality they just try to use a few jargons to sound intelligent. These empty vessels make a LOT of noise.

The Devil: A lethal combination of the Dictator and an Empty Vessel is the worst you can have. They are indeed the Devil incarnate (remember "The Devil wears Prada"?). They do not like any viewpoint other than their own, imprison your freedom, stifle your creativity and make you update your CV on job sites. You learn over time that any discussion with them is a waste of time. Worst is when they lack basic etiquette and feel that their subordinates should be treated like slaves and not intelligible human beings who are capable of great work with the right kind of guidance and encouragement.

The Meethi Churi: They are the bosses that seem to be nice on the surface, they are the sweet talkers and often the ‘people’s person’ and very well networked, but the danger with such bosses is that you don’t get to know when they are going to screw up your rating or take away some credit that is due to you. They are not genuinely concerned about their team, but are looking to get under the leadership limelight. Underneath that  pleasant mask is a sharp toothed shark. Watch out, before they bite!

God forbid if your boss happens to be some weird combination of the above!

I know, you are remembering a few names and smiling! Have a good weekend! Or whatever your boss lets you have. ;-)

Cheers to Corporate Life!

You may also enjoy reading a similar post on The Corporate Life! Please do let me know if you have had the privilege of some other distinct species of bosses.

Frustrating Motherhood

Have you heard a mother tell you how frustrating, tiring, testing and maddening motherhood is? Most probably not and if you are a mother yourself, maybe you know exactly what I am talking about. Before I became a mother I always had the perception that motherhood was about a cute little baby, the awesome heart-warming lovey-dovey feeling of holding your child in your arms, watching them walk, babble and how wonderful they looked on the first day of school. Well, to be fair, it is indeed all of that but for some strange reason everyone forgets to tell you about the other not-so awesome things it involves. It’s like a very well-kept secret, a well-orchestrated conspiracy to not tell prospective parents how painful parenting is.

What I had completely missed out on and learnt through experience is that motherhood is also about unending sleepless nights, continuous worrying, bottle cleaning, smelly poop changing, dealing with tantrums, flu, fever and runny noses, teething problems and in the process you let go off a lot of your independence, feel your equation with your spouse changing, experience the worst kind of suffocation and get driven up the wall sometimes. For some it even involves making drastic career or life changes.

Essentially, the woman who became a mother ceases to exist, at least for some time. Not to forget, pregnancy and birthing itself hijacks her body and leaves behind scars for life. Except for few women who are extremely lucky, her body transforms into that of an older woman. Caring for one’s own self often takes a backseat and you watch yourself age at an accelerated pace.

I have also witnessed how Moms tend to feel the burden much more than the dads. Well, the new age dads are often more involved than their predecessor dads but still it is the mother who is feeling guilty and beating herself up for not being the ‘best mother’ or living up to the perception she has of an ‘ideal mother’. The ‘ideal mother’ is always just a few steps ahead of what she is, so the ‘real mother’ is never really exceeding expectations. In her own eyes, she is almost always an under performer.

In the days of our mommies, the standards and practices of parenting were different and extended families were active partners in child rearing, with grandmothers and aunts filling in. I am sure that generation had their own fair share of problems but I feel that in today’s day when families are mostly nuclear the challenge for mommies has increased. The practices that were employed by our parents have largely gone out of style. The behaviours for which we had earned a whack or a harsh scolding as children now demand calm and constructive counselling from us as parents. Even when the new age mommy tries to look for answers online to some simple parenting questions there are multiple opinions from a plethora of experts which sometimes makes it even worse for the already troubled parent. You learn how to be a parent every day, on the job, often through trial-and-error.

So, dear friend if you are not a parent already, please think long and hard about it before embarking on the scariest roller coaster ride of your life. It’s definitely comparable to getting a tattoo on your face. Life will never be the same again once you become a parent. Do not give in to parental and societal pressures for procreating at all costs. None of those advisers are going to stay up nights for you. If and when you feel that you are ready to enter the parenting battle-zone should you do so. And if you are already on the same boat as me, please hang in there and keep telling the world how truly wonderful it is to be parents and post some pictures that show how angelic they are!

Uncanny Love!

There are many shades and flavours of love around us and it takes some patience and practice to truly recognize some. While some couples are visibly in love, made evident by the way they look at each other, hold hands or speak to each other, there are others who on the surface seem to be indifferent to each other or even happen to speak out against their spouse but there is an underlying layer of deep love under that façade of non-attachment. This type of love is not usually seen in couples of recent generations but is sometimes practiced in couples of a much older generation, the ones that have been together for over three or four decades now.

It took me years to notice and truly recognize this uncanny love shared by a beautiful couple, now married for close to thirty five years. As individuals, they have strikingly different personalities. Ma is dynamic, social, talkative and extremely stylish, while Baba chooses simplicity over style every single time. He is a keen observer, connoisseur of good food but a man of few words. With visibly opposing personalities combined with Ma’s occasional bickering about Baba coupled with complete absence of any PDA may make you think that they aren’t really compatible and to a stranger they would clearly look like a case of “opposites attract”.

However, when you watch them over time, you know that they are deeply in love, an unusual, uncanny love that is never expressed in words and barely visible to those around, but only felt by them. Their love is evident in small things which could be easily missed. It is seen in the shared teaspoon of rice, lovingly taken by Ma from her husband’s plate. It is in the complete acceptance of his opinion on everything from a saree to a career decision. It is seen in the quick sprint Ma gets into every time her name is called, so softly, that it is audible only to her. Hidden behind Ma’s everlasting complaint of how Baba drags her to all social engagements or trips against her will is evidence of how the they can never be apart for long, now, more than ever.

I sometimes look at them and wonder if this is how couples become after many decades of companionship. People change over time and every person has their flaws, being a couple for so long just makes a person acutely aware of their spouse’s habits, beliefs, practices, routine, even phrases. Not everything is loved, some of it is hated and even complained about. However, the beauty of love is, that it does not need to manifest itself in words always, shown through hugs, kisses, flowers or gifts like we often imagine it to be.

Watching them makes me believe that love can be obscure, unexpressed yet deep, much deeper than we can imagine. It can be the simple yet everlasting promise to be companions forever, to stick together irrespective of all the annoying habits and irritating disagreements. It is not only about appreciating the positives but also about embracing the imperfections. 

Cheers to Love!


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The Daughter I Never Had

A Short Story

Sunita was preparing dinner for her family. Her eight month old son was sleeping in the cradle in her room while her toddler played in the drawing room with her sister-in-law. Sunita had worked as a teacher in a primary school before her children were born. Presently, she was a housewife, taking care of her home and family was her duty. Her family comprised of her husband, his parents, his sister, grandmother and her two sons. Her husband a post graduate, worked at a bank and earned sufficiently to support all of them.

Sunita was making chapattis in the kitchen and was wondering if she was late. Her delay had earned her harsh taunts from her mother-in-law in the past, but what she feared much more was the tight slap from her husband that had left his palm printed on her face. She suddenly heard a child whisper into her ear. Although she could not make out what was being said, it was distinctly the voice of a child, a girl, not more than five. There was no one beside her and she dismissed it. Maybe she was tired.

Two days later while picking up her son’s toys from the floor she heard the voice again, whispering close to her right ear. She did not think much about it till later in the evening when her mother-in-law spoke about how Ammaji was losing her mind with old age. While Sunita knew that Ammaji at times spoke about very old incidents or forgot dates but this was bizarre. She had claimed to see a pretty little girl in the house, dressed in a beautiful frock and she asserted that it was Sunita’s daughter.

Later, that night as Sunita was drifting off to sleep after completing all her chores and putting her sons to sleep, she was startled to hear someone call out to her... ‘Ma’. She sat up with a jerk and found both her sons and husband sleeping peacefully. She could no longer go back to sleep and began thinking about the voice she had heard repeatedly over the past few days and about Ammajis insistence of having seen her daughter in the house. She was reminded of the time when she had been pregnant with their first child five years ago, before her sons were born.

Tears rolled down her sleepless melancholic eyes as she recalled how the gender detection test ordered by her mother-in-law had led to a big upheaval in their otherwise peaceful life. Her premature daughter had been snatched away from her, denied to live, extracted forcefully from her womb in an obscure nursing home in old Gurgaon. Sunita had cried for days, not from the pain, but from the grief of having lost her baby. Her husband although not an active accomplice had remained speechless and powerless in front of his mother’s wishes. The two pregnancies that followed would have met the same fate, but luckily for her, they were both male.

She wondered how an educated woman like her mother-in-law, who had been a school teacher herself, could harbour such hatred for her own creed. How a person could decide to end the life of her own grandchild, just because she was a girl? She could have revolted against her mother-in-law which would have left her homeless and rejected even by her own parents, but how could she fight against a society that considered a son to be the prized possession and a daughter as a burden. With these thoughts running in her mind, Sunita stayed awake till her tired body took over and guided her to sleep. She dreamt of a little girl in the pink frock, her face as pretty as a porcelain doll, bright eyes, pink lips and the most beautiful smile she had ever seen.

As per the 2011 population census, Haryana has sex ratio of 879 females per 1000 males, which is much below the national average of 940.

Interesting Census Facts 2011

§  Mahe district of Puducherry has the highest sex ratio of 1176 females per 1000 males

§  Daman district has lowest sex ratio of 533 females per 1000 males

 

http://www.census2011.co.in/states.php

Om Namah Shivay!

A Short Story

Mornings were identical in the Rajagopalan household. The sound of Carnatic music from Thatha and Paati’s room informed the rest of the household that it was past five in the morning and cajoled them to wake up to start a fresh new day. Their daughter-in-law, Meenakshi, now in her early fifties rushed to the kitchen to prepare filter coffee for the family. Within thirty minutes the dining area was fragrant with the smell of freshly prepared sambhar and the whistle from the cooker indicated that the idlis would soon be on their way to the table. On some days they had dosas too.

Paati was the first one in the house to take a bath and she would walk out of her room in a brightly coloured kanjeevaram silk saree bedecked in several gold chains, bangles and diamond nose pins adorned both sides of her nose. The entire Rajagopalan family, including Thatha, Paati, their son Mahesh and their two grandchildren, Shiva and Anuradha would be seated at the dining table just as M.S. Subbulakshmi’s song came to an end, often working as a cue for everyone to start eating. Meenakshi managed the house with clockwork precision, meals and snacks were served on or even before time, every single day of the year. On certain days the clock’s battery would fail them, but not Meenakshi.

Soon the children could be heard complaining about the lack of variety at the breakfast table, often followed by a gentle reminder from Thatha that they should be grateful for the food they were having rather than complaining, while his son would prefer to keep out of the usual bickering and stoop over the newspaper and throw in a piece of fruit or idli into his mouth at regular intervals. His wife Meenakshi would settle into the same chair every morning to have her breakfast of a banana, two idlis and coconut chutney in peace, once her husband left for office, children went to college and her in-laws had retired to their room to rest. The excursion to the dining room itself was a major event for them, enough to tire them out after every meal.

Every fortnight, usually on a Sunday morning, Mahesh and Meenakshi along with their children would visit the Guruvayoor temple in Mayur Vihar (Delhi). While the children were never keen to go to the temple they did not dare to stage a protest in front of their strict father. They took it as something essential for every Tam Bram. They came home with Vibhuti smeared on their foreheads and Prasadam made of rice and jaggery for their grandparents. Festivals like Diwali, Pongal and Vishu were celebrated with puja at home. All rituals and customs were followed to the T with complete devotion. Meenakshi was seen decorating the entrance of the house with fresh flowers and rice flour based rangoli at six in the morning on these special occasions. They were a God fearing, religious family with a firm belief in destiny and God’s blessings. They celebrated their “star” birthdays* with greater enthusiasm than their birthdays as per the Gregorian calendar. These star birthdays involved homams, japams, deepam, dhuppam, danam and not to forget the essential payasam.

On Shiva’s star birthday that year, Swamiji came over to conduct a homam at their house but before he left, Shiva’s mother Meenakshi, after expressing her santosham for the puja, asked Swamiji to look into Shiva’s horoscope since he was in the last year of college and she was anxious about her son’s future prospects. Paati and Thatha moved closer to Swamiji with considerable effort to listen to Swamiji disclose the secrets of Shiva’s future. Swamiji had special powers bestowed upon him through years of devotion and worship to the almighty.

Swamiji took out a handful of shells from the small red pouch he was carrying with him, placed it on the table, tilted his head backwards and closed his eyes in devotion, he began chanting in Sanskrit with the shells trapped in his palm. Once his chanting ended he placed a few shells on the table, in a pattern that only made sense to him. The family watched him with rapt attention. After a full minute of silence, Swamiji finally spoke. He was always polished in his words and with years of practice he knew how to share bad news softly, but Meenakshi did see a few lines appear on Swamiji’s forehead before he spoke. Swamiji predicted a fatal accident for Shiva and if he overcame that he would have a smooth sailing and was sure to get admission into a good college abroad for higher studies. He saw a very bright future for Shiva but the accident was something that could shatter their dreams.

Paati let out an “Aiyoo” immediately and began to call upon the Gods. Thatha fell silent and began looking at the floor, it appeared as if his complexion had turned darker with worry. Meenakshi, who was the anchor of the family at such times prodded Swamiji to tell them a way to avert this misfortune. She was confident that with the blessings of the Lord, they would be able to overcome this problem and her beloved Shiva would be safely on his way to earning a Master’s degree in the US. Mahesh and the children looked at their mother and then Swamiji as he began to chant again. He then suggested a Mahayagya to please Lord Shiva. They had to conduct a Mahamrityunjay Homam to prevent any tragedy. Meenakshi agreed immediately, she had full faith in Swamiji and the blessings of the almighty.

After Swamiji left, Shiva approached his parents and asked them not to fall into the trap laid out by Swamiji. He knew that Swamiji was playing on their fears to earn big bucks for himself. He dismissed the need for any such unnecessary Mahayagya which would involve ten pandits who would chant mantras over a period of five days. Anuradha too asked her mother to think like an educated human being and not fall for everything that Swamiji said. Paati who was still in the room let out another “Aiyoo” followed by touching of both her ears and biting her tongue as if these arguments would offend the Gods watching over the Rajagopalan family.

Soon Mahesh interrupted the discussion and said that they would conduct the puja without any delay and asked his wife to fix up an auspicious date with Swamiji as soon as possible. Meenakshi agreed and immediately went to the next room to get the holy almanac to look at the dates. Shiva and Anuradha looked at each other and left the room in a huff. By the next evening Meenakshi had fixed the date and all the arrangements began. The very next Wednesday the yajna began and ended with a huge homam on the following Monday. All the men of the house were present in the room wearing white dhotis and angavastrams, while the women adorned themselves in nine yard Kanjeevaram silks, kumkum on their foreheads. The continuous crescendo of chanting by ten pandits, the fragrance of white flowers and the heat of the fire from the homam had changed the environment at home. The entire family sat there with their hands folded in deep devotion.

After the puja was over Meenakshi served lunch to all the Brahmins on the freshly procured banana leaves. The pandits left happily with the daan and dakshina Mahesh gave them. Shiva and Anuradha stayed home for the day and later in the evening Shiva complained to his sister on the unnecessary expenditure his father incurred to satisfy the pot-bellied Brahmins. Anuradha agreed and in the same breath spoke about the futility of any disagreement with their grandparents on parents. Shiva did realize that it was done out of love and for his well-being. They all had big hopes from him, he was the son they would rely on when they grew older just the way Thatha and Paati depended on their father.

In another part of Delhi that day where the new flyover was being constructed, one section of the concrete came loose and landed on the road. A biker got crushed under its weight and breathed his last before making it to the hospital. It was the same road Shiva took every day on the way back from college. He read it in the papers next morning and decided to take another route on the way back home to avoid the traffic. Before Meenakshi settled down for breakfast that morning she read about the tragic accident in the newspaper. She looked up from the newspaper and closed her eyes for a moment, the crease on her forehead becoming prominent. Her lips quivered as she sent out a silent prayer expressing her gratitude to the Gods ending with a barely audible "Om Namah Shivay".

*Star Birthday is the day on which the Nakshatra of the person appears in his/her birth month. The date of the star birthday is usually different from the actual date of birth and changes from one year to the next.

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Meri Sautan

No, I am not saying that my husband has another woman in his life or that he is promiscuous but I do believe that I have a Sautan. My sautan is his badminton buddy who he plays with every morning, the Gujju group of volleyball enthusiasts who take him away from me every Sunday morning, his office parties on Friday nights, his presentation decks that make him work through the night, his work requirements that make him travel for days and even Salman Khan who prefers to shoot for advertisements on weekends, leaving me alone, that too on a Saturday!

Everything that takes him away from me other than his long yet well accepted office hours pinches my heart and I feel envious, just like I would of my husband’s mistress. I am forever hungry for his time, attention and love. I want to grab every minute of him that I can get my hands on! I know, I know…we need space in our relationship, he has work commitments that he needs to fulfil, we need “me” time to stay sane, follow our passions and invest in our health. My brain understands and accepts it but my heart doesn’t.

Most times I let my mind rule over, even having encouraged him to go watch an IPL match at the stadium the day our first baby was born. But today morning watching him get ready to leave for the airport to interview students from IIM-L evoked a different emotion in me. My heart lovingly complained to him about how he had de-prioritized me over the students he was going to meet and his badminton buddy. I threatened to write an open letter to his buddy about the pains of watching my husband nodding off to sleep along with the kids, so he could be up for the game at six in the morning rather than play a different game with me. He burst out laughing listening to all my allegations.

While we all have this sautan taking away a little more of our spouse than we are willing to share, this sautan is a necessary evil and a part of our life. It makes our time together all the more precious. Things that are available in plenty are hardly sought after, those that are scarce are much more valued.

I admire the Ardhanarishwar painting in my mother’s drawing room. It depicts Shiva and Parvati together in one form, inseparable halves of the same body. The ideology behind it makes it more beautiful than the painting itself.

The Nasty Little Kidney Bean!

Two days ago my three year old came home from the Montessori with a kidney bean lodged in his ear canal. He had found it on the floor of his class and for some strange reason decided to put it into his ear. Thankfully his teacher called me to inform me about the incident and that they could not see it in his ear. When he reached home he was his usual active self and happy to be home. However, when I looked closely into his ears I could see a portion of a kidney bean protruding from his tiny ear canal. Instead of trying anything at home I called up my husband and asked him to come and take us to the hospital and get it removed safely. While it was a cause of worry I did not think it was too serious a matter and believed that a doctor would be able to pull it out easily with some specialized instrument.

At the multi-speciality we were referred to the ENT specialist. He had a fancy chair and a lot of shiny instruments but not the skill to pull out the partially visible kidney bean from my son’s ear. Our son resisted and cried while we held him tight so the doctor could fish it out but on the contrary the doctor failed miserably and he made the situation worse by pushing it further into his ear. We ended up with an agitated child in greater pain. He cried inconsolably for twenty minutes while I held him in my arms in the waiting area of the hospital. Irrigating his ear with water to coax out the bean only ensured that the bean now had lots of moisture to grow, soften and cause more pain by pushing against his ear drum.

The doctor smartly went on to suggest a minor operation the next morning to retrieve the bean for which we were asked to admit the child for a day. Since the whole procedure was expected to cost up to thirty thousand rupees we were asked to reach out to our insurance provider and make the necessary bookings at the hospital immediately for the next day. Blood work was also required and I had no heart to prick a needle into my already crying child’s arm. For some strange reason all this did not feel right and seemed to be a business move to me. I wanted a second opinion for sure before jumping into this.

After giving it some thought and discussion we called our trusted paediatrician for advice who referred us to another ENT specialist. We left the hospital without making any booking or doing any blood work since we simply could not trust this doctor’s intentions. In the evening we visited the other doctor in his not so impressive clinic in old Gurgaon. The absence of any specialized instruments and a small cabin in a local market complex did not do much to build my confidence in him.

Since our son had already been traumatized enough in the afternoon he used all his force to prevent the doctor from touching or putting anything in his ear. My husband tried in vain to hold his limbs still. Our son cried at the top of his lungs and begged for mercy. The doctor was able to pull out only small specks of the now softened kidney bean. He prescribed an oral sedative to relax him a bit but that too did not seem to do the trick the moment his ear was touched. There was no choice left for the doctor but to suggest that anaesthesia be used to keep him still.

Soon he was admitted at a small nursing home nearby. Our son slept under the influence of the sedative and we waited for the doctor to arrive along with the anaesthetist. I observed him sleep and wished for a way to transfer his agony to me. I was willing to go through his pain a hundred times over only if he could be spared from this trauma.

The operating room was nearby and soon after our son was carried into it we heard him scream, shout and cry for his father to save him. His blood curdling cries were unbearable. May no mother have to hear her child cry, while she stood there helpless. My husband knowing what a softy I am, expected me to cry and put his hand on my shoulder but I did not. Slowly my son’s cries and calls for help turned garbled and he fell silent indicating that the anaesthesia had taken effect.  Only when I could hear nothing but the constant beeping of the monitoring machines and not my son did a tear escape from my eye. For the first time in my life I fully understood what it really meant to have a heart outside of your body.

He was returned to the room after the longest twenty minutes of my life. The doctor showed us the nasty little culprit that had to be extracted part by part. My son now lay on the bed unconscious with a large oxygen mask on his tiny face, a clip on his finger to monitor his vitals and a canola taped to the top of his wrist in case any emergency medication needed to be administered. I called his name after twenty minutes of his return to the room but there was no response. He woke up only after about an hour and I used the time to write a mail to his school principal strongly advising against the use of kidney beans for pouring activities.

An innocent looking kidney bean had not only cost us eight thousand rupees, but caused immense trauma to our child and a lot of heartache for us as parents. Thankfully, the bean was out of his ear and his ear drum was not damaged, only swollen. He was sent home after two hours with some medications prescribed. On the way home he sat in my lap and asked for his latest green toy car. I was happy to give it to him and gave in to all his demands. I was grateful and glad to see him back to his normal self the next day.

I write this post to request all parents, teachers and caregivers to be extra careful and keep away any small beans, beads, toys with small parts or sharp objects (even sharp pencils) away from small children. Seemingly innocent, harmless items could become dangerous or even life threatening in the hands of small children. We can only try and prevent our children from getting hurt. For me, my belief that the parenting is a roller coaster ride on which I learn every day from my little Gurus grows stronger.

You may also enjoy reading The Naughty Boys! and The Parenting Roller Coaster.

The Naughty Boys!

Every morning, once my husband and elder son leave, I play with my ten month old, enjoy the baby smell that I get every time I cuddle him, tickle him to hear his cute giggle and see him smile, revealing his four tiny teeth from between his tiny pink lips. I just love the way it feels to hold him, press my cheek against his, kiss him on the chin, rub my nose behind his ear and converse in babbles. I can feel my heart overflowing with love, warmth and happiness every time he laughs reducing his twinkling eyes to slits.

These moments make me wish that they never grow up so I can hug and kiss my boys whenever and as many times I want to. To endlessly watch them play, smile, giggle, laugh and hear them say words and sentences for the first time. However, there are plenty other moments when they drive me up the wall and I wish they would grow up by the next morning and leave me alone so I can enjoy my morning coffee and newspaper in peace, travel the world with limited luggage and once again have the luxury of time for myself.

My little one is at that stage when babies test gravity and he loves to drop things to watch them fall and make a sound. He tests to see which one makes the most sound and prefers those objects. He would drop one of his toys and expect me to pick it up so that he can do it again. I pick it up for him every single time just so I can watch him shut his eyes tight in anticipation of the crash just as he opens his grasp to let the toy fall. If I happen to catch it before it falls thus preventing the sound he opens his eyes and looks around as if questioning why there was no noise.

Yesterday, he was playing on our bed with his feeding bottle. Since he cannot open it I was comfortable with him holding it, hoping that would entice him to drink some milk a few minutes later. I was wrong. He managed to drop the bottle over the headboard, behind the bed. Since there is a tiny gap between the wall and the bed, I thought that I would fish it out of there. As I peeped behind I was surprised to not see the bottle there. I learnt yesterday that our bed touches the floor from all sides except that one which my baby chose. The bottle rolled under the bed and I had no way of retrieving it since the bed is too heavy for me to shift.

Later in the evening, while I was getting ready to leave for a toddler's birthday party my three year old managed to pull out our family photograph from one of the photo frames that adorns a cabinet in the dining area. Previously he had never shown any interest in them, but for no obvious reason he pulled it out tore it and flushed it down the toilet! I was a little annoyed with him since that was one of the few photographs we had of the four of us together with my elder one sitting still. It is unbelievably hard to get a picture of me with the three men I love since my elder one is too fast for the camera and gets captured as a hazy little ghost most of the times.

I questioned him why he tore and threw the picture. He in his sweet and innocent voice calmly replied, “Naya photo ayega” (new photo will come). That did not make any sense to me and I put the empty frame in a drawer. Soon after we were at the birthday party and the kids had a ball of a time playing and running around. It was an evening well spent watching our kids enjoying themselves. We had our picture clicked at the party and got it as a return gift. When we came home I did indeed have a new picture to replace the old one. I was reminded of what my son told me earlier in the evening and wondered if he has intuitive powers. At that moment my feeling angry at him felt so meaningless.

They are so tiny but they make me learn and discover new things everyday inside and around me. They make me see beauty in places I never imagined, to feel the kind of love, joys and anxiety I did not know existed. They teach me valuable lessons of patience and perseverance the most, which my parents and teachers would have tried to instil in me but may not have succeeded as much. My children are my best Gurus, they teach me every day.


(Printed in the January 2015 issue of the White Print Magazine)

An Ice-Creamy Story!

This incident is from the time we had been married for a year or so. We were both working full time, leaving home in the morning and coming back only in the evening. Since we were just the two of us we lived in a simple house in a unique locality which had been built on land that originally belonged to a village. While the builder had managed to acquire most of it, some of the villagers had refused to give up their land and chose to continue living there with the result that the otherwise well planned locality with three storey houses all over had a village right at the heart of it.

Our house happened to face this walled village and large piece of fallow land which had not been used by the builder due to its uneven shape and probably with the hope of buying the remaining land from the villagers sometime in the future. Since this was next to a village we would sometimes find buffaloes, donkeys, pigs and dogs roaming around on this empty piece of land. I did not mind it since I preferred to see them instead of a concrete structure. In the monsoons it would turn green with wild grass and shrubs. It wasn’t a bad sight to wake up to except if you decided to go into the balcony, you may have to bear with the smell of dung occasionally.

Once it so happened that we had a huge brick of ice-cream sitting in our freezer for months. It had become so hard that it could compete with a brick used for construction purposes in its frozen form. It was way too old to be consumed and thus had to be discarded but I had to put some thought before simply chucking it into the dustbin. Had I thrown it into the dustbin in the evening there was a good chance that it would melt overnight and leak onto the kitchen floor by morning. The garbage collector usually came much after we had left for work and I could not leave it in the outdoor dustbin either again to avoid any mess outside.

 

After another few weeks of procrastination I finally decided to discard it and thought it would be best to leave it at one corner of the empty piece of land across the road from our house, where it could disintegrate into the soil. My mister felt he could do better and told me to stand back while he would toss it with all his strength far away and out of sight. He took the package into his hand and flung it like an expert shot put thrower. But, what happened next was not what we expected. He got the angle wrong and that brick of ice-cream landed with a huge thud in the backyard of a house in the village!

He and I looked at each other for two seconds. My face had the what-the-hell-did you-just-do expression on it. What if someone was to come out of the house to check what made such a loud landing into their house? I did not know what to expect from a native Haryanvi villager, what if they came out with a “Dando” (Haryanvi for stick). The next second I grabbed his hand and ran into our house. Once I bolted the door I burst out laughing at what he had done. I was thankful that it did not land on anybody’s head and laughed till my stomach hurt.

In retrospect I feel that it is sometimes these small insignificant incidents, random stupidities and emotional impulsive decisions that made us laugh or happy is what we remember for a much longer time compared to all those times we did the ideal things and walked the beaten path. So go ahead do something crazy. Make memories that will make you laugh for a long time. Have fun today, because it will be gone tomorrow.

Enjoy Life! Happy Weekend!

Mister of Spices!

It was the beginning of summer this year and I was learning to manage two kids, a toddler and a baby...learning on the job! It was a tough time for me since I was staying up nights and barely got to rest during the day too with a toddler running around the house. I was coping but small things could make me lose my cool and snap.

With the onset of summer I felt like having some Punjabi kadhi one day. It’s one of my favourite dishes, but it needs to be made well and with the right ingredients to bring out the intoxicating aroma and the flavours especially of Dhania and dried red chillies. With the right consistency and sourness of curd, it can be the best meal ever accompanied with rice. I realized I needed those key ingredients to get the right kadhi, the way I was imagining it to be and just thinking about it made my mouth water.

We were on our way back home from somewhere and I asked my husband to stop at the grocery store to get the ingredients. I just had to have the curry that day. Since our baby was sleeping in my lap I asked him to get sabut dhania and sukhi lal mirch. It had been a few minutes that I was waiting in the car when a private security guard came and asked me to park the car somewhere else. I told him that we would only be a few minutes and I could not move the car right away since the baby was in my lap. He did not seem to like the answer and continued to stare for a few seconds. It really irked me and I ended up arguing with him for staring at me like that.

Another few minutes passed and I was getting a little impatient wondering what was taking my mister so long to purchase two simple things. I finally wrapped our baby into a bundle and walked into the store to find my husband looking clueless as he looked up and down the shelves in the store. In his basket I saw a bunch of fresh coriander leaves and glossy red fresh fat chillies. These items were not what I expected to find in his basket and asked, "Why are you buying these?". He looked at me and confidently said, “Why, as you said, I got Dhania and Lal mirch.”

I was on the verge of having a meltdown at the store itself, cursing myself for not getting it myself and for believing that my husband could pick up these ingredients on his own in a jiffy and come back. I was really mad at him that evening. But, now whenever I think of it I laugh at how even simple things could be misunderstood and how unfamiliar Mr. Dutta is to kitchen ingredients.

I at times wonder how people think of comedy scenes in movies and I guess some do stem from real life instances like these. There was this another time he tried to show off his masculinity in the simple task of disposing off some ice-cream. I will tell you all about it, in another post.

Incase you are wondering...yes, we did have kadhi that day.

Want to read about the ice-cream incident? Here's the link: An Ice-Creamy Story!

The Parenting Roller Coaster

My elder son is three and a half and over the years I have noticed how there are these phases he goes through, especially since he was one and a half. He was the cutest baby I had ever seen with big expressive eyes, long eyelashes that would hold his tears, small pink lips concealing tiny white teeth, a button nose and curly black hair that fell around his face. In my eyes he is the cutest since he is mine as would be for any mother.

Once he was two I began to realize why it was called TERRIBLE Two and indeed it was. He had these phases of fascination for a certain type of things. Firstly, it was water bottles. Whenever and wherever he found then, he would unscrew the cap and pour its contents on the floor, on the bed or table. Then came the love for make-up, largely nail paints and lipsticks, which were often found smeared on the floor. The day he had his mundan I noticed him admire himself in the mirror and touching his head. The curls were all gone. He generously applied talcum powder on his head and kept rubbing his rough scalp.

I still remember one evening, when he was around two and did not speak a word, I found him struggling to open my eye shadow container. It was a circular container with four shades. Its lid had to be unscrewed to be opened. He being a child had not figured it out and was pulling at the lid with all his strength. After watching him struggle so hard, I told him, “Gol kore khulte hobe” in Bengali (It needs to be opened in a circular motion). While I told him I did not accompany it with a hand movement and I wasn’t sure if he understood since I had no idea of his level of understanding of language. He in response held the container in one hand and moved the container in a circle around his face, eyes moving in a circle with the container, lips pressed together in concentration. I burst out laughing watching him and realized that he indeed understood more than I thought. I happily opened the container for him to demonstrate how it opened (then took it away and hid it to prevent destruction).  

When I used to leave for office every morning and took him along with me in the car to drop him at my mother’s house for the day he preferred to sit next to me or on my lap, knowing that his mother would disappear soon. In the car he carefully watched me apply lip balm and if I asked him if he wanted some he would pucker up his lips in response. He felt extremely happy as soon as I applied some for him. Once I dropped him, I had to tiptoe my way out of the house. Waving or saying good bye would make him cry. The days he happened to see me leave he would cry loudly with tears streaming down his cheeks. It took all my strength to hold back mine.

Anyway, coming back to his phases, next came his love for lotions, balms, creams and oils, which he loved to smear on his hands and then liberally apply to the bed sheets or table tops. Once I even found him massaging his favourite toy car with cream. He calmly told me that he was cleaning the car when he noticed my presence in the room. His unwavering focus was commendable, an artist was busy at work. Once he turned three and began to speak sentences the carnage reduced and he entered into the “drama queen” phase much like the Bollywood heroines from the seventies and eighties.

Often when we caught hold of him to take a bath in winter, he would say “Chod do mujhe” (leave me), which would sometimes be “Chod do, mujhe kuch nahi pata” as if he was being tortured to give out some secret. When he was happily enjoying a bath in his tub and it would be emptied so he came out he would cry and say “Yeh tumne kya kar diya?” (What have you done?). Lately, if he is told not to do something, he doesn’t cry, but straight away goes to bed reminding me of the way Asha Parekh would run to her bedroom and cry on the bed with her face buried in her hands and derriere moving in tandem to her sobs.

There are many of these small things that make me fall in love with them more with each passing day and that is what makes the journey of parenting beautiful. My children are indeed the greatest love of my life. It’s not always fun, it’s not only about love, it takes a lot of patience, perseverance and hard work to bring up a child. They test your limits of energy- physically, mentally and emotionally even at the moment when you would wish for a moment of solace. While they look like angels themselves, they have the capability to tease out the devil in you sometimes.

Personally, I have found it to be a lot more pleasant when I take it easy and force the perfectionist and cleanliness freak in me to take a backseat. At times it’s best to let go even if your make-up is destroyed, bed sheet ruined, room scattered with toys and things are not running as per plan to be able to fully embrace the moment.

I often think of parenting as a roller coaster ride. The best and the scariest in the world, but thoroughly enjoyable and absolutely worth everything! So hold on tight and enjoy the ride Mommy and Daddy!

Enjoyed this? You may enjoy reading related posts: Oh my God! and I will save you!

A Quaint Love Story

During my teens, we lived next door to a couple deeply in Love. A love so unique that I enjoyed watching them when they were outdoors in the veranda or garden. An extraordinary flavour of love that I have not witnessed anywhere else and is very hard to come by in today’s day and age. Only when you watched them closely over time would you be able to gauge the depth of their love. It is nothing like the love we have grown up watching in movies, reading in books or the kind we usually imagine in our mind.

I am talking about the love shared by a couple who had lived together for more than sixty years as man and wife. They were parents of four, grandparents to several grandchildren and had recently become great grandparents too. I am talking about the time when Thatha (grandfather) was in his eighties and Paati (Grandmother) in her late seventees.

In spite of her age Paati was far better dressed than any other woman in the vicinity. She looked beautiful in her bright, colourful Kanjeevaram sarees. She would wear shades of bright yellow and scarlet reds that women half her age would shy away from. Her grey hair was usually tied up neatly in a bun, with sindoor and a red bindi in place. She loved jewellery and choose to adorn herself with several gold chains, mangal sutra and bangles even on a regular day at home. She even wore diamond nose pins on both sides of her nose. To me she looked gorgeous, a picture of beauty and grace. Paati could only speak in Tamil so I never really had a conversation with her but her cheerful smile was enough to warm anyone’s heart.

Thatha on the other hand was tall, lanky and forever dressed in a simple white shirt and a cotton dhoti, even during the winter months. He was simplicity personified. Instead of wearing sandals or shoes, he chose to wear a pair of rubber chappals and tied a string (nada) to the two rubber thongs to keep it from coming out of his foot. I found his “jugaadu” sandals amusing. He could speak fluently in English and possessed the memory of an elephant. He always had pearls of wisdom to share whenever you met him.

I would often see them sitting outside on the porch every morning. Thatha would read the English daily while Paati would enjoy the Tamil magazines. They would sit there for hours, have their coffee together and intermittently speak to each other. When Paati would get up to walk inside, Thatha would hold her hand delicately and help her, even though he himself could do with some help. When Paati would go to a doctor Thatha could not stay inside the house. He would sit in the porch with his head turned towards the road, restless, constantly on a watch out, patiently waiting for his beloved to return. As soon as she returned he would ask what the doctor said.

They, in their decades of companionship may never have said “I Love You” to each other but if you saw carefully you would see it in the their eyes when they looked at each other, the gentle holding of hands, the concern on their face for each other and the fact that they were never a few feet away.  They had been companions for so long that it’s hard to picture one without thinking about the other. The strength of their bond was such that even death could not keep them apart for too long. After Paati passed away, Thatha followed her within the year to join her in their heavenly abode.

This kind of quaint love is hard to come by, so I shall keep their memory etched in my mind, treasure it in my heart, cherish it forever and hope to come by another exceptional love story akin to theirs.

One for the Road!

Fifteen years ago Gurgaon was not the millennium city it is today. There were no shopping malls, no mega office complexes, few schools and hospitals, hardly any hotels, limited eating options and no flyovers. It was the city people from Delhi made spacious houses in to retire peacefully or even for investment purposes since property prices were enticing. The roads were so empty that people who were learning to drive could practice with ease and it was no surprise if you spotted a snake or a mongoose outside your house.

Within a decade Gurgaon transformed to become a hustling bustling independent city with its famous malls, massive office complexes, luxury condominiums, several multi-speciality hospitals, dozens of schools, plethora of restaurants, metro connectivity, busy intersections and flyovers filled with fast cars. It is no longer a haven for the old and those keen to stay away from congested Delhi. It is now home to people from all over the country and the world, all thanks to all the multinational companies that choose to open shop in Gurgaon. Just like any busy city, Gurgaon has its own set of problems, but it’s the unique set of cars and the people behind the wheel that attracts my attention. If you look carefully, here is what you would find.

1)      The Cabbies: They are hired by the many ITES companies and BPOs to ferry people to and from office one batch after other. Drivers are usually red eyed, sleep deprived and working multiple shifts a day. The drivers and the engines of their cheap so-called SUVs are overworked. They stand too close at red lights and won’t think twice about brushing past. It is best to keep yourself and your car out of harm’s way.

 

2)     The Nouveau Rich: Often an indigenous Gurgaonwala who become rich by selling his agricultural land to a big builder. They are the ones with deep pockets and political connections. They are rich enough to buy the top line Audis and BMWs and powerful enough to stay out of jail even if they killed someone. They carry guns too and would not hesitate to shoot you. They are Gurgaon’s version of the fast and the furious. Watch out for them especially at night.

 

3)     The Office Crowd: The top brass usually has a chauffeur driven luxury sedan so they don’t have to waste their energy in changing gears and pushing pedals. They sit at the back, read the newspaper or discuss business strategy on the way to office. The other corporate commuters in middle management do not have this luxury but do not take the cab either. They drive their small or mid-sized cars to office and have to worry about petty things like parking.

 

4)     The Mommy Drivers: They mostly drive their children to school and various other classes, go to the gym, spa and the mall. The size of their car can vary depending on their husband’s occupation. They are smart enough to avoid the traffic hours.

 

5)     The Two and Three Wheelers: The delivery guys on bikes, the triple riders and scooters transporting families dangerously zigzag through the traffic maze and frequently bump into cars for the lack of keeping a safe distance and not using brakes appropriately. The three wheelers go at a slow pace impacting everyone behind them, they often compete with each other, take sharp turns and seem to be unaware of the trouble they cause to others.

Additionally, there are cyclists and pedestrians who are often found in the middle of the road even when the signal is green. This unique mix along with everyone’s “me first” attitude is a deadly one that can damage cars, injure people or even prove fatal, shattering many lives in the process.

Drive Carefully, Stay Safe!

The Corporate Life!

It feels great to be a part of a multinational, definitely most of the time. It gives you the opportunity to work with the best and the brightest not only nationally but internationally, sets your pulse racing when you are on an exciting high visibility assignment, immense joy when you have delivered with quality and on time, there is a thrill to have successfully pleased a difficult client. There’s no greater happiness when your work is appreciated and rewarded. Great way to work yourself into an intellectual orgasm!

Additionally, there is pleasant networking at five star hotels, business class travel to various countries and an annual off-site with the team. Not to forget, the money is good too. Good enough to pay for the lovely designer clothes, the shiny shoes, Parisian perfumes, fancy bags, foreign vacations and whatever luxury money can buy. Who said money can’t buy happiness?

However, the job we have is often not just a job, it is not just a source of earning money. It is definitely much bigger than that. It forms a part of our identity, it is a part of our life, a large part of your day, every day and an important part of who you are. You would notice this clearly while introducing yourself to people outside your work circle. Some people would even feel a loss of identity or status if they did not hold the position they do.

On this career marathon you meet lots of people, some become good friends with whom you share your joys, sorrows and office gossips. Some are acquaintances, some familiar faces. And then of course there are your bosses. You may have noticed how they have an impact on your life and even the life of your family members, positive as well as negative. I believe we learn from all of them, in the form of skills and behaviours. From some we learn what to do and from others what not.

While you are in it, mind, body, heart and soul, it feels wonderful, but the moment you are disengaged, the corporate dream starts to crumble. If you ever have a chance to distance yourself from the corporate life you may start to look at it more critically and it begins to lose its sheen. The jargon, the words in fashion that once became a part of your lingo, the fake polite “How are you?” the performance appraisal system that forces the majority to be mediocre, the race for a promotion, strive to meet an important deadline even if it meant missing a birthday or family gathering.

Yesterday, I read in a post “Life is too short for a full-time job. Too short, and too precious.” and it definitely struck a chord. It made me realize how I had missed out on some beautiful things in life because I was busy working. Do give yourself the opportunity to explore your full potential if you think that you have some unexplored capabilities, maybe a long lost interest, a hidden desire or a secret wish you have locked up in some corner of your heart. I am not suggesting that you leave your job, but do give yourself a chance to fulfil those dreams. You know best how to work it out.

Grass in the corporate garden is definitely green but the other side is definitely greener. It’s got some flowers too and you have the luxury of time to smell them.

 

If you are interested in the post I mentioned, here is the link: http://qz.com/241043/i-quit-working-full-time-years-ago-heres-why-i-recommend-it-highly/

Why I Don’t Watch Horror

My husband enjoys watching movies and he has a special love for horror flicks and movies with lots of ugly creatures. You ask him and he has seen it all. Be it Blade, Conjuring, Evil Dead, Exorcist, Mama, Ragini MMS, Sleepy Hollow and many more…I do watch a few but I refuse to watch the creepier ones. He would often ask me why but I never give him much of an answer, because there is no short answer to it and I never want to confess that they really scare the hell out of me, I think about them for days and torment myself unnecessarily. So the best way to save myself from the agony is to avoid watching them.
 

Once I happened to watch one of these movies and I went through hell for the next few days. Since I watched the movie in the afternoon I thought it won’t bother me at night since I would have forgotten about it by then. I was wrong! The moment my kids and husband slept, my mind recalled the scenes from the movie. I was scared of even entering the bathroom that night. To make things worse, my toddler casually commented, while looking out of the window that evening, “Pedh me red juju hai!”

 

Below are some of the scenarios built up by my imaginative mind that night.

1)      What if someone or rather something was outside our bedroom window, they could easily see us from in between the curtains, especially with the night lamp on. I looked out and even imagined a red eyed monster staring in.

 

2)      I closed my eyes, then my mind showed me the cupboard doors opening slowly and a black creature crawling out of it onto the bedroom floor, complete with claws, sharp teeth, drool and all.

 

3)      What if I had left the bathroom window open? Something could just fly in like a harmless cloud of smoke and turn into a white faced demon or something wicked could just crawl and pounce the moment I opened the bathroom door. What if it hid behind the shower curtain and waited for me to shut the door before attacking.

 

4)      What if a vampire came into our home, they have so much strength and they could easily break open the bedroom door. Our door locks would not stand a chance. I looked at the door handle almost expecting it to turn. Thankfully, it did not.

 

5)      To make my fears worse I heard the cabinet in the other room creak open. My eyes opened wide and my ears were on the alert. I had stopped breathing. In the silence of the night, every sound can be heard clearly. Thankfully, noting followed.

 

I even remembered the time when I was 9 years old and had watched a part of Predator 2. I cried that night while my grandmother kept stroking my hair to console me.

 

Again, that night I was unable to sleep and I just could not take it anymore. I held my sleeping husband tight and rested my head on his arm. He opened his eyes partially with a big question mark on his face. I just kept my arms wrapped tightly around him till I drifted off to sleep, calmed by his distinct scent and the warmth of his body next to me. I promised to never watch any of these movies again, night or day!