word weary

My maternal grandfather was a man of strong will and many quirks. It’s a lethal combination, as is apparent. In the last decade of his life, this lead to many exasperating experiences for his immediate family. One of these quirks was a penchant for going into ‘mauna vratams’, i.e. taking a vow to not utter a single word for a whole day. Given his restless nature and levels of disenchantment with religion- something he probably didn’t acknowledge himself- a day of silence did not mean a day devoted to meditation or quiet reading or even tele-viewing. In fact he chose those very days to visit sundry relatives and friends, carry out random tasks at the bank or worse schedule important meetings. These led to hilarious and rather embarrassing situations (for those who accompanied him as translator/interpreter/whatever) where he would communicate through writing and sign language and occasionally give into an outburst induced by the non comprehending faces of those unfortunate souls he was meeting up with.

What was about this vow that he sought to take but could implement only in letter not in spirit? Why am I thinking about it now? The past few months have been the wordiest in my life, I have been incessantly talking. To different kinds of people. In different tones. Persuading, requesting, questioning. Angrily, despondently, formally, informally. Planning, discussing, updating. Typing, chatting, writing. Wondering what had to be said and what not to be said. Analysing how things were said- by me, by others. Putting down the phone, and then starting all over again.

And when it all got over, without a victory to celebrate, the one thing I wanted most was silence. That’s when my grandfather’s clumsy experiments came to mind. He was never a garrulous type, but he wasn’t the silent one either. And yet he wished days of no conversations. I need to block out too, but I keep getting back to it. I seek silence, but keep having to say it. Usually when I am done with something, I feel empty for any communication. But this time, the words keep flowing, I don’t even know whether I am making any sense. I even feel detached from my words- it’s a weird feeling where I don’t remember the last words I had just uttered or one part of my brain can see me saying things and wondering what the hell am I up to. I am perpetually distracted by myself, lol.

Yes, I do need to take a vow, a word fast. But will my genes allow me to implement it?

the child for me

He was playing inside the car. His grandma and ayah were having a tough time keeping him within. And as soon as he saw his mother coming towards the car, where she had left them to do a quick errand (everything has to be done quickly in her life these days, he rules it, you see) his face transformed. Oh, he continued to look every inch of the brat that he is, but a special smile erupted on his face and reflected the softness that came to his mother’s expression. She- his mother, my friend- doesn’t have that kind look otherwise these days- its usually too troubled, too cynical, too burdened, too defeated. Anyway, that little exchange I caught between the two brought up the question again- do I want a child of my own?- a question that is getting posed way too frequently not just by others who point to the biological clock ticking away but one I find asking myself way too often for my happiness.

Do I want a child then? I really don’t know. It’s an awful world to bring up one. And I would share the hypocrisy of the progressives- critical of and yet choosing the mainstream. Kids judging themselves according to what they have, what brands and how much. Parents pushing them to become super kids. Schools streamrolling children into marks producing machines. I fear ever having to tell my child- be practical. But more than that, doubts over my own ability to bring up a kid. What if I get bored. What if I don’t love my kid. What if I resent the disruption in my life. And as I keep saying, no more film festivals for a long long time. The irreversibility of parenthood is nothing less than horror. And then I don’t know if I want to go through the pregnancy. I would like to adopt, but would I discriminate. Perhaps I fear a child also because I suspect a tendency on my part to want to completely own another person. People I know say that is no cause for worry because this and all other decisions will be worked out with a partner.

That’s more scary if you ask me. I wonder if there really something by way of an equal parenthood. I don’t see much of it anyway. All I see is irony – the mother who is simultaneously both overworked and guilty and the father who ends up being loved more precisely because he has less time to give. And then I see competitive parenthood all around, most partners don’t share the child or the experience with each other, they try to prove to each other and everyone else how they are the better parent, and especially how they are the child’s preferred parent.

So, please no partner for child rearing. For romance, yes. In my imagination, its always been me and my child. This ultimate example of romantic partnership is for me the last bastion of singlehood, and I hold on it fervently.

state of life

For those who wondered at the bizarreness of the last post, a tiny defence- it was written in a state of near delirium. As I was struggling to stay put in office, my pounding head was creating in-the-body sensations I was trying to escape by typing away. And though the fever went off in a week, it has taken me a while recovering the confidence to write and for my life to provide me with something to write about. Much was written in-the-head and disintegrated right there. A post about me conquering the swimming pool collapsed (and along with it the dreams of conquering rivers and seas), my stint in the pool abruptly ended just as I showed sings of more than just floating. But hope floats and maybe next season, I may survive longer. And while the rest of the world went on about the feeling of being there and having done it all and having nothing to look forward to, here I was with all the to-do lists and no where near crossing any thing off yet. But now, I have seen Chak De (and relieved to have actually seen it finally for I was getting left out of social conversation a little too often and was under threat of losing my reputation as a film buff), read the final harry potter (on my computer, the first and hopefully the last time I ever read a novel like that), splurged money on the clothes I don’t really need. Even my car revs up so delightfully these days, having got a face rather engine lift to tide over its mid-life crisis. Through all this I have acquired intimate insight of what it feels like to be a third world country caught in a debt trap. Confusions have re-risen about career moves and whether what I am doing is what I want and whether I want this for the rest of my life and do I even know what I want. With spondilysis making an entry in my life and my landlady landing up soon to harangue me on the lack of cleanliness in my house (I don’t clean door hinges, mirrors, buckets, taps, floor mat and the soap dish everyday u see) I should be all set for as many battles as I could wish for- against imperialism, capitalism, the culture of elitism, competitiveness, consumerism, unhealthy lifestyles et al. The thing is, I am too tired to fight. I may get just bored half-way. I do wish I was a warrior sometimes.

can i not take my pick

There are questions which one faces all the time. Regular run of the mill kind. But I never manage to have a clear answer for them. Everytime I fumble with the answer, I resolve to have one ready for next time, but the point is there is no one answer ever- either as the final well formulated one or even a concise one which can ward away further questions.

Like I never know how to answer which city I like better- delhi or chandigarh. ever since I moved to the latter, this has become my most feared question. (Only next to – where do I belong to 'originally', but I will come to that some other time.) It doesn’t help that most people who put this question belong to either one of the cities. The snooty delhite’s contempt for a small city mixed with sniggers about the panjabis or the proud chandigarhian’s inferiority complex (which is forever competing against delhi) who jumps to list its virtues and run down delhi. Every word, every expression of theirs holding out a challenge, inviting me and daring me not to counter.

I got so psyched I even made a table comparing the two. Here it is…

Delhi	Chandigarh
History, Monuments, big and small, famous and little-known everywhere	50 year old city, has erased all history and now seeking status as a ‘modern heritage city’.
Half an hour minimum, don’t even ask about the maximum	7 minutes to work, maximum half an hour drive to anywhere in the city
Autos, buses, metro- multiple options of transport within city limits. No such luck if you have to cross the border.	All this only with personal transport, appalling state of public transport- buses and autos included
The ridge, fast disappearing	At the foothill, the awesome view of Himalayas
Grand old parks, but depleting green belts	Parks and more parks, so much green but what about variation?
Lots of movie halls. Also film festivals, screenings in various fora	Only one multiplex, most slightly non-mainstream films don’t make it to the city, festivals few and far between.
Friends- old	Friends- new
Malls, malls everywhere…ugly glass buildings dotting the skyline	Only one still, but threatening to come up with more
A dead river	A lovely lake the administration is trying to kill but hasn’t succeeded as yet
Pollution	Delhi is the goal on pollution, trying to reach it soon. But can still see the stars. Full moon nights are bewitching.
Great libraries	Nothing outside the university for the academic but decent collection within
Academic activities keep happening, talks, seminars etc	Nothing outside the university, fewer of everything within

But this doesn’t say it all. For how can I describe what it means to know that I have entered delhi when I can smell the Azadpur landfill, to get down from the bus in ISBT, arguing with the autowallah who quotes double the meter fare and telling him, hey u cant mess with me cos I am from here, or crossing the stinking yamuna and the horrendous akhshardam on the way home, cursing everyone responsible for it. Can I describe the feeling of knowing that this is the place where I can hopelessly lose my way but will never feel lost. Can I explain why those run down monuments of the 12^th century mean so much?

At the same time, can I put into one answer what it means to have a home of my own. Explain what I feel when I am on my way back to chandigarh after a weekend and am on a rickshaw and give the chap directions, the feeling that I am giving directions to ‘my home’. Or why the sight of the mountains, especially on a clear day washed by rain, which looms ahead when I drive to work makes my day and lifts my spirits on a bad day.

I ‘come back home’ every time I enter delhi and every time I enter chandigarh. I own both. I criticise them both. I live in both places. Can I say all this when I am asked ‘which one is better’ or ‘which one I prefer’?

each not to her own

‘Have you got engaged?’ A student asks me as the class adjusts to seeing me in a saree. The expressions on their faces showed that whether they agreed with this possibility or not, they were all looking for an explanation. They did not look convinced when I said I liked wearing it, but nodded as I proceeded to explain I usually don’t find the time required. That they could comprehend, but still the fact that I had not come up with a reasonable explanation showed in the incredulity in their faces.

This reaction coincides with the other response I invariably get every time people gather I live alone and their next question is what I do for food. “I cook’ I answer, a little proudly of course, but also as a matter of course. Instead I am asked - Really? Don’t u find it boring? Isn’t it tedious? Why don’t u have a tiffin system? Aren’t hostels better just for this reason?

Would these people have the same reaction if I was married and had a ‘family’. If I wear a saree, even if occasionally, I guess would not provoke any big reaction but more so, cooking would be something I would be assumed to be doing. The image of the mother comes to mind- the woman so admired because she is so selfless. Mother’s food is always for others.

So is there a problem in doing something for myself. Dressing up just because I feel like it. Not for anyone. Not on any occasion. And cooking for myself. Because I like to eat good home cooked food too. And can make it even though I have not, in popular terms, made a home as yet.

living the 'easy option'

Everybody who is incapable of learning has taken to teaching.”
Oscar Wilde

I never thought i would be a teacher. Teaching was considered 'the easy option' and a job 'most suitable for women' as it 'was hardly a job' and 'just good pocket money'. Even as i outgrew that socialisation and began to question it, it remained a scary option. After being so critical of all my teachers it was not very comforting to put myself in that place.I just drifted into teaching, dont know how long i will continue, but its humbling, challenging and frustrating all at the same time.

Finding a home

“You cannot have both- freedom and a good apartment” informed the property dealer. It has been 9 months now but I still remember the look he gave me, because this was the look which was mirrored in the various faces I encountered as part of my search for a rented accommodation in the city I had just moved into. All those faces conveyed various versions of the same conclusions they were making in their minds about my ‘character’.

What I was looking for was a place which would be my home. The hallowed notion of home conveys I think a sense of independence and privacy- it’s the place to be yourself. But this was precisely what all these owners of property found objectionable in my context- how can a single woman be allowed to be herself? Most owners of properties consider that they are doing their tenants a favour by leasing out their apartments, the monetary benefit is not seen as an equal deal- surprising even in our market society. So they can lay down any number of terms.

My problem started with the fact that their terms didn’t not include a person like me. Many turned me out because they wanted “families”. They added that they were a decent set of people and couldn’t take risks. That apart, I got to hear lectures on Indian culture, it seems Indian culture is dependent on my returning home by 6pm everyday. Otherwise it under grave threat. Moreover Indian culture is threatened by having male friends over at my house. One couple debated in front of me whether a male colleague could come home for tea or not and what would be the appropriate time after which he should be turned out. Half an hour said the wife, the husband wasn’t sure why the colleague should come to his house at all. Other than colleagues one is not expected to have a social life anyway.

One man gave me a long lecture on how he doesn’t like noise, loud music, too much clatter etc. I was actually surprised when he agreed to finalise the deal me that evening. But within a few hours, he said they wanted families with children, how he was going to apply the noise/ clatter restriction I am at a loss to explain.

For those who found the idea of a single woman as an acceptable tenant of course had their own assumptions. I was to be like their daughter- they told me. I was touched but the sub-text was clearer- I was to be answerable to them just like to parents. The assumption was that a single working woman had very little things to do in life- work and then come back straight home!

On narrating such experiences to people, I also got friendly advice on how I should go and ask for an out of turn allotment of the campus accommodation. The outside world is harsh, I was told. This seemed to me to be another version of the same argument that my potential landlords cum torchbearers of morality were giving me. It sounded much like – the world is unsafe, don’t go out in the world. Instead of trying to make the world safe by going out and making it confront your presence

What I was looking for was a house where I would not be told when to enter and when to leave, who can visit me and who cant. Some very basic stuff I thought. Instead I encountered a whole set of people who not only demanded a virginity test as it were, but thought that it was a most ‘normal’ demand to make. My reactions shook them; they had only my dubious character to fall back as an explanation.

The threat of a single woman I realized was indeed immense. This was the figure
society was most anxious to keep away from its collective understanding of itself. The only way it could deal with the multitudes of single women who don’t seem to be disappearing is to suggest hostels or hostel-like situations.


Eventually and interestingly, the person ready to rent out a place turned out to be a very old, illiterate, religious woman (our prime example of patriarchy). While being obsessed with cleanliness, she has mostly tended to keep her reservations on my life to herself. This when, ‘young’ and ‘educated’ people refused the second they found I was not a ‘family’!