For the Love of Heels

When I was just a toddler, I had been so enchanted by a woman wearing a pair of stilettos that I had ended up following her (rather, her golden stilettos) all evening at a wedding my parents had taken me to. I had given my mother such a hard time tracking me that evening that she still remembers, laughing.


My shoe fetish, or rather the love for heels began fairly early. With me as a child, my mother often chose to walk longer routes to avoid passing by a shoe store, lest I enter and insist on buying another pair of shoes. While other kids my age were throwing tantrums inside toy stores, I was giving the puppy-eyed, please-buy-me-this-pair look to my mother in shoe shops. ‘See Ma, this fits me perfectly’ was my justification for buying it. It didn’t make me change my mind even when she said, ‘You have another pair in the same colour at home’.

When I was nine, my father gifted me a pair of glossy, cherry coloured heels from some country he had gone to. Clearly, they were big for me but that didn’t stop me from slipping my feet into them and posing in front of the mirror at home. How I waited for weeks and months till my feet grew big enough to be able to wear them comfortably. I had tried them on every few weeks to check. Ah! Sweet childhood memories of dreams getting fulfilled.


When I began working, it was the perfect time to wear smart heels every day and I did. The neat and clean office environment was perfect for wearing them without risking them getting spoilt or dirty. In my wedding trousseau, there was no place for flats. Lest anyone be reminded of the height difference between Amitabh Bachchan and Jaya Bhaduri when they saw us as a new couple, four pairs of heels in red, gold, silver and pink accompanied me to my new home. The office shoes (black) also joined me a few weeks later. Soon, I had a tall shoe rack exclusively for me.


Pregnancy was the game changer. Right from the beginning, I was cautioned about wearing heels. I wondered if my sudden shift from heels to flats would be the big give away even before I shared the ‘good news’ or my belly began to show. With the expanding size of my waistline and clothes, my feet expanded too. Even after months of having my baby, those shoes were too tight. I was no longer size 37. Slowly and gradually, all my heels were replaced with comfortable flats. With the need to run after and carry my child, followed by another pregnancy and baby, comfort was essential.


With the birth of a child, a mother is born. She makes a lot of changes to adapt to her new needs and that of her baby. Habits, lifestyle, food, daily routine, everything changes. New responsibilities, duties and caring for the newborn are prime. Footwear was not even the last thing on my mind. That I enjoyed wearing them once was long forgotten. History.


One year ago, something caught my eye as I passed by a fancy shoe store. I tried on a pair of shiny stilettos after a long time. I found it odd to wear them. The arching of my foot inside them. It was a strange feeling. It was like my body had forgotten how to walk in a pair of heels. I walked like a woman who had never worn heels in her entire life, somewhat like you would have seen in some old Bollywood movies. Nothing like the girl who dreamt of wearing heels.


Now that my children are no longer toddlers and are too big to be carried, I have gone ahead and indulged myself. I have gifted myself two pairs of stilettos for my birthday. One red and another in gold. While the red one got an outing recently for a dinner, I am looking for an apt occasion to wear the one in gold. And, guess what? This time around it didn’t feel weird. It felt good to wear them like
I was getting back to being somewhat like my old self. To top it all, I found out I am finally back to my old shoe size too.


Most women make changes when they become moms. Some big, some small. Did you make such a transition with pregnancy and childbirth? Do share your thoughts in the comments section.


Post originally shared on Momspresso https://www.momspresso.com/parenting/from-a-moms-heart/article/for-the-love-of-heels

The Invisible Burkha

“How come you are not taking any pictures today?”, he observed. I did not reply. Instead took out my phone to click a picture of the floral jali of the Sarkhej Roza.

“These type of floral motifs are not commonly used in Muslim art and architecture.” Does the mosque have a story like the Taj Mahal and the mosque in Mandu? I wondered. Was this too originally made by someone else that we are not aware of? Maybe. Maybe not.

I saw burkha clad women all around. The black of the burka covering everything except the face. Unifying them or should I say ‘uniforming’ them? Robbing them of their uniqueness. Hiding them. Maybe confining them? Restricting them? Or did they feel differently. Safe, covered inside the burkha? Guarding themselves from prying eyes. Some of them looked at me. Noticing that I clearly didn’t fit in. Even in a pair of jeans, short kurti and a dupatta to cover my head that I borrowed at the entrance (women must cover their head while entering) I felt exposed.  

The place is beautiful and a must visit for tourists and lovers of history and architecture. It no doubt adds to the history of the city and justifies why Ahmedabad earned the Heritage City label. But, somehow, I couldn’t completely soak in the history and beauty of the architecture. The thought of taking pictures wasn’t on the surface of my mind. My mind was preoccupied with some other thoughts.

At a large courtyard surrounded by pillars all around, a young lad in jeans and a T-shirt, sporting the latest undercut hair coloured blonde at the front told me “You are not allowed here”. When I asked him “Why? Where is it written?”, he went and checked on the board at the entrance which read something on the lines of “women with uncovered head and uncovered legs not allowed”. He left without saying anything else.

Moments before that, as I was about to enter the dargah, I was told, “Ladies not allowed!” I had backed off and busied myself looking at the multi domed ceiling while the men of my house disappeared inside the dargah.

There was a woman selling flowers for those who wanted to make an offering. I asked her, “Aapka ek photo le sakti hu?” She was surprised. Waving her hand, she told me to take pictures of the structure. She wasn’t sure why I wanted to take a picture of her and not the monument we were inside. When I did not move and pointed the camera at her, she gently smiled for the photograph. Her flowers can enter the sacred room and the flowers she touched can touch the mazhar but she cannot enter. Clearly, I found that more beautiful. 

Man enters the world through the womb of a woman and then bans the entry of women to a place of worship. What an irony.

On the way back home, while swiping through the pictures of the Sarkhej Roza a few questions came into my mind. There are so many rules for women. Restrictions. Boundaries. Dictats. Unsaid expectations.

“You are not allowed here!”

“Don’t go out at this time of the night!”

“Come home before dark!”

“Don’t wear that short/tight dress!”

“When will you get married?”

“Your biological clock is ticking. Don’t you want to become a mother?”

The list goes on.

It’s not just the cloth burka that stifles, some burkhas are invisible but heavier still. They are not seen, they can only be felt. Its weight on a woman’s shoulders. Restricting her and stifling her nonetheless.

Planting Memories

I enjoy looking at the few potted plants in my balcony. I water them every morning, look for new buds, smile at the newly blossomed blood red hibiscus flowers, notice the new baby leaves. I observe how the twin creepers of Aparajita are gradually growing and strengthening their hold around the railing. Its bright blue flowers. I sometimes even grind fruit peels and mix it up with the soil.

One morning, while looking at the plants I realized I have subconsciously chosen only those plants which I am familiar with since childhood. A red hibiscus (jaba), a basil (tulsi), Aloe Vera, Curry leaves (kari patta, while is called mitha limbda in Gujarati, although I haven't quite figured out what is mitha (sweet) about it). All the plants I now have were there in our house while I was growing up among a few others which need a little more love and care to blossom. I have chosen ones that are easy to maintain and have medicinal or culinary uses too.

My Guru (Grandmother) had a terrace full of potted plants. Watering and caring for them each day on her own.  She never really liked having a mali (gardener) around even when she was much too old to take care of all the plants on her own. I used to occasionally watch her digging up the soil, tossing in used tea leaves and crushed egg shells into the soil. As she went about her gardening, she spoke about which plants needed more or less water, extra fertilization etc. She expressed surprise about how much water the plant was "drinking" in the summer days, like they were real humans. She even told me about the prohibition on planting too much poppy during the British rule since poppy seeds can be used to make a potent drug (afeem).

She liked to have plants that either had medicinal properties or bore flowers (Roses, Dahliya, Poppy). She took great pride when her roses grew big or had a unique color. We even have a picture of her with her roses in full bloom! If she ever got a cut or a burn from working in the kitchen, she preferred to use Aloe Vera pulp over any of the medicine tubes at home. The hibiscus leaf was a great alternative to shampoo and tulsi leaves were often crushed and used as medicine for me for the common cough and cold that I was very commonly affected with during my childhood years.

At that time I did not know what she was imparting and that I was learning. While she was sowing seeds, nurturing saplings, watering plants maybe even she did not realize that she was also sowing seeds of knowledge, planting stories and memories in a child's mind. It has been over two years that she passed away but I guess she lives on in many such small ways, in the way we celebrate our festivals, the food we eat and even the plants we choose to grow and how we use them.

Sometimes, I look at my children's angelic sleeping faces at the end of a day when they have truly tested my patience ( and sometimes even convert me into a screaming mom-ster), I wonder if I am planting some seeds of knowledge and good memories in their heads. Am I nurturing these saplings the right way? Hopefully!

I guess I would find the answers many years from now...till then, we have two small elephant shaped kiddy watering cans to water my plants with.

Kuch Din to Gujariye Gujarat mein!

It is going to be close to two months since we moved to Ahmedabad but it surely feels like a lot more. It was not easy with kids crying every morning before school, missing old friends, getting small things done around the house, getting used to the new routine, home and neighbourhood. We are still getting there I would say, to still feel like we are 'home'.

In the first month of our stay, we experienced rainfall every single day. It rained in the day, it rained through the night, all afternoon and at times continued endlessly for days at varying speeds. On one occasion, we even had to rush to the kid’s school, wade into knee deep water to get them back home. The week after, the schools remained closed for an entire week!

It made me wonder how much it could rain in one place, when it would finally stop and if the entire country’s monsoon clouds had gathered over Gujarat and to an extent it indeed had and Gujarat was in a state of flood. Parts of northern Gujarat and rural areas were badly affected.

Thankfully, even after torrential rains 80-90% of the roads are still where they were and even on rainy days the area we stay in was not water logged and there were no reports of people being stuck in traffic for hours on end. This was a small miracle compared to what would have happened if Gurgaon/Delhi was to get even a fraction of this rainfall. What was even more amazing is that the first day after the rains stopped, there were people at work repairing main roads that were broken!

 After the first few weeks, I have managed to pick-up a few words in Gujarati, recognise the roads and places nearby (big thanks to Google Maps) and even manged to visit a stepwell (Adalaj Ni Vav) and Baroda, which is just two hours away via the super smooth expressway. During this time I have also come across some nuances of staying in Ahmedabad/Gujarat which might be unique to those coming from outside the state.

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• It is difficult to get a white fridge! Yes, I went to several dealers but it seems there is little or no demand for white fridges. People seem to prefer grey or dark metallic shades. Even a lot of buildings here are grey rather than any other colour. Interestingly, when it comes to cars, white is the most favoured colour. Also, the luxury car of choice here is the grand old Mercedes, rather than the more popular Audi or BMW in comparison to north India.

•  Driving is slightly different too. Even with traffic signals on, traffic police need to be present in person to make the citizens move in a disciplined fashion. Drivers honk so much that I have come to believe that they are probably given licenses based on their ability to honk rather than drive. I really do hope this changes before my ears drums are permanently damaged. Parking is usually a challenge, with a general aversion to park in basements, even when it is available free of charge. Once you drive on the streets of Ahmedabad, chances are you won’t complain about driving in Delhi/ Gurgaon, which is famous for 'roadrage'. Even on the expressway, people tend to take the emergency lane on the extreme left to overtake rather than from the right. Surely, our Dilliwalas wont have stepped off the accelerator if they had access to such a smooth express way, but here people stick to the speed limit of 100 kms/hr. 

• Ice-cream everywhere! The frequency and the ease with which you will spot ice-cream parlours (Havmor) is much greater than ATMs and medical stores. There are numerous stores that exclusively sell ice-cream.

• There are certain unique practices too which are new to me, such as, taking footwear off outside homes, stores and even clinics. Most homes have shoe racks placed outside the entrance and sinks fitted right in the dining room for washing hands.
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• Lastly, there are certain grocery items that I was used to and never could have imagined I would not get at the neighbourhood super market for instance– Nestle Dahi, Ananda paneer, breads from Britannia/English Oven or any of the major brands. But, there are alternatives that quickly take that place and this is the land of Amul, so I have been introduced to a wider range of Amul products than I ever knew existed. Amul even makes cookies...did u know?

I also see influence of neighbouring states, Rajasthan and Maharashtra here, in terms of clothing, buildings, and celebration of festivals, but surely Gujarat does have its own distinct flavour.

I am enjoying the benefits of staying in Ahmedabad. Everything is within a span of 2 to 10 kilometres. There are new places to explore on weekends, I am enjoying cleaner air (let me not talk about the hard water here), driving on emptier roads (since I stay in a newly developed part of the city), listening to Gujarati radio (with Bollywood songs), waking up to the calls of peacocks and chirping of birds. I can even hear the train go by on silent nights. Sighting peacocks, mongooses, langoors and even nilgais around the area is not uncommon.

 I am in the mood to enjoy whatever Gujarat has to offer, culturally, historically, gastronomically, and emotionally. And I would encourage my friends to come visit us. Just like Amitabh Bachchan says, “Kuch din to gujariye Gujarat mein!”

Ladies: The shopping is good too, especially for ethnic wear with plenty of exhibitions to go to.

Here's another post on Ahmedabad that I had written sometime ago.

Goodbye Gurgaon!

It’s 5:29 AM and I am awake. Actually, I have been for the last hour or so since he left for the airport. The same feeling of ‘now you are in-charge’ envelops me. It’s the ‘mode’ I put on whenever hubby is away. I tell myself, you can easily sleep for one more hour, but no, my brain refuses to oblige. (Before I got married, I was determined not to be like my mother, a little too alert and anxious when my father travelled, especially though a teen’s perspective. But, as time passes I see myself gradually becoming more like her.)

It’s too early to get out of bed, the kids are asleep, the house and the world outside is silent. With my eyes closed and body still (like I am still pretending to sleep) my mind begins to wander. I think new thoughts and bring back old memories. Some memories are easy to find, like they are on the top shelf of my bedside drawer, but others are lying in the bottom shelf, hard to retrieve, dusty and takes time and effort to pull out.

I think about the last ten years of our marriage and even the time before that. All the years I have spent in Gurgaon, right from the time I was a school girl and Gurgaon was like a budding city with a few residential buildings and even fewer corporate offices. Where finding snakes and mongooses was a common phenomenon. Schools and hospitals were numbered and the bus journey to my school in Vasant Kunj took 20 minutes. The construction of the highway had not begun and to travel to Delhi using public transport (Haryana Roadways) was an adventure in itself. Sounds unbelievable, no?

I witnessed how it grew from being the real “gaon” to the “global village” that it is turning out to be with world class schools, offices, restaurants, shopping centres, hospitals (not to mention traffic and pollution levels). Similarly, it watched me grow from a school girl in uniform, to college student, to office goer, to married woman, to becoming a mother-of two. I have called Gurgaon home for more than 18 years. Right from passing out of school, college, university, job, marriage and motherhood, this has been my base.

I would not have been thinking about it as I had never in all these years, for I had taken it for granted. Even the thought of living in another city never crossed my mind…till a few weeks ago. Soon, it will be reality. It will be time to pack our bags and move. This is more unbelievable to me than the transformation of Gurgaon. Nowadays, I look at everything through the lens of ‘What am I going to miss?’ and I see a lot around me that I am going to miss very dearly, including a lot of friends and family.

It’s 6:30 AM, hubby has boarded the flight and the kids have begun to stir….

P.S: Hubby is moving to a role in Ahmedabad and we are moving with him. The city is not alien to me having visited the city several times (and blogged about it) since my in-laws stay there. My mother says, “After 10 years of marriage, you are moving to your sasural.” Indeed, I am.

The Scent of Love

He came home smelling of perfume...I chose not to question him

The kids had fallen asleep. It was peaceful, dark and cosy in the bedroom. I like this time of the day when there are no more chores, the laptop has been put to rest and I can be ‘me’, relieved of my duties as ‘mother of two’. He was expected to come home late after a daylong conference and dinner at a hotel.

I was blissfully reading The Forty Rules of Love, a book so luxurious and elegant that your life melts as you enter into the lives of the characters, mainly, Shams of Tabriz (a dervish), Rumi the Sufi poet, writer Aziz and a wife and mother in the current day and age, Ella. Right from the beginning I could most clearly picture Ella, her life as a wife and mother of two. 

I had nodded off to sleep while reading about Ella finding out about her cheating husband and her not feeling the need to confront him, even after several hints about his promiscuity. Even without my realising I had drifted off somewhere between sleep and waking, where reality and dreams morph into a weird state of trance. 

I woke up to my reality with a start only when my phone rang and he was at the door. I opened the door with a smile and offered him a glass of water. 

There was a distinct and powerful smell of perfume, too flowery and sweet smelling for a man. It was definitely not what he usually wears. 

Not able to ignore it much longer, I asked “Perfume? This is not yours, right?”

He remained silent, hesitated, and finally said with a smile, “Secret, Secret.”

“This is not yours for sure. Where did this come from?”

“There was a display counter at the hotel and I just tried some on.” There was something about the way he said it. 

“Your story was good, but I can always tell when you lie.” I told him before going into the bathroom. After nine years of knowing him, I knew this was not the truth. It did bother me and I kept thinking about it as I brushed my teeth for the night. But, I was surely not going to ask him about it or argue. Definitely not at this time of the night.

When I stepped into the bedroom and my eyes adjusted to the dim lights, I saw a neatly wrapped pink package waiting on my pillow. 

“Happy Anniversary…in advance!” he said.

“It’s more than a month away…why now?”

“I wanted to keep it hidden and give it to you on our anniversary.”

“Then you should have kept it hidden and given it to me later.”

“No! I know you. You would keep thinking about the perfume on me.” He watched me closely as I unwrapped the package to reveal the exquisite bottle of perfume inside.

“The perfume store is right next to the hotel where we had the conference, so I took the opportunity to buy it today.” He smiled. I was smiling too. Not everything is spoken and words cannot convey everything either. 

I guess the beauty of a relationship is sometimes in knowing the other person better than they may know themselves. 

Feelings are somewhat like perfume, you don’t see them, and you can’t touch them, but only feel their presence and enjoy it while it lasts. 

First published on Bonobology.com. https://www.bonobology.com/marriage/the-married-couple/593-the-scent-of-love-and-the-beauty-of-a-relationship

Would Life Be Different Without Kids?

While driving home last night with my two kids in the backseat constantly chattering and asking questions I snapped.

“Just keep quiet please and go to sleep.” I regretted it as soon as the words escaped from my mouth. Poor kid, he was just innocently telling me that he saw a car or something. Silence descended in the car, but a conversation began inside my head.

Why did you do that?

I am tired, my ears are hurting after listening to the constant chatter, tantrums and fights of two young kids all day long.

Why can’t you be a little more patient?

Work, home, kids, limited support, travelling husband… sometimes it gets too much I guess. It’s not like I don’t try, every morning I wake up hoping to be the best mom I can be, but towards the end of the day I just run out of strength.

Hmm. Tough times, eh?

Yes, indeed. Life is like that, there are times you have so much to do. These are the years of my life I have to dedicate more to my kids than to myself. Sometimes I feel my kids have accelerated my ageing process. 

Would life have been different without kids?

I am sure, yes. Maybe I would have been doing a different job, getting a bigger salary, spent more on clothes and shoes, lived in a smaller house, travelled the world a little more. Life would have been different, but not necessarily better. Life would not have been so colourful and rich. I would never have driven an orange car and worn purple rimmed spectacles had I not had them in my life. They have altered the person that I am. Definitely more patient, forgiving and capable.

Capable? How so?

I would have never known how much I am capable of without them being around. For nothing else would I have multi-tasked and learnt so much. I would not have tried to squeeze the best out of each minute of every day had it . I would probably not have tried my hand at so many other things (including exercising, baking, writing and building a bond with other fellow moms) had it not been for them. They pull me out of my comfort zone, bring out something different in me, make me question what I really want in life and help me choose what I really should go after. They are my strength and weakness all at the same time.

Without them, I would never have learnt what it is to love someone much more than myself.

“Every true love and friendship is a story of unexpected transformation. If we are the same person before and after we loved, that means we haven’t loved enough.”  - Elif Shafak