A little bit of Dad

“One egg is not hatched yet,” said the duck, “it will not break. But just look at all the others, are they not the prettiest little ducklings you ever saw? They are the image of their father, who is so unkind, he never comes to see.”

-          Hans Christian Andersen, The Ugly Duckling

Unlike in the animal kingdom, most dads love to watch their young ones grow. They do, sometimes, have one thing in common with their animal counterparts: they rarely fret over their young like the mothers do. And in the process, they impart to you their quiet strength.

I don’t remember my father running behind me with a bowl of food as a child, but he always knew when I was in a fussy mood and would implore my mother, “Just feed her and she’ll be done with it in no time.”

My mom probably knew this solution too, but what her tired brain couldn’t process, my father’s could almost always. While mom had a tough time understanding another pair of jeans, dad simply indulged. This calm understanding, or indulgence, just when you need it is something we all appreciate in our growing years and even beyond that.

I can’t speak for the men folk, but I can say something for the relationship a woman shares with her father – it may leave you wanting more out of it at times, but you can’t imagine it any other way either. Fathers bring in to your life strength and understanding.

We may not realise it, but we always carry a little bit of his personality in us too. We worry about turning into our anxious mothers but ignore that part of us that is so typically dad. So rest assured, ladies, if there is a part of you that constantly worries and frets over everything, there’s a huge piece of dad in there to keep you strong and resilient. 

The votes are in

I didn’t register to vote this year for lack of a valid address proof. I deeply regret missing out on being part of the community and exercising my right to vote, but I breathed a huge sigh of relief when I realised almost everyone else around me made it a point to get registered and vote.

While the ballot boxes fill up with promises for a new regime, the anticipation to know who leads India into her next phase is just as exciting. While one leader promises reforms across the country that he has successfully implemented in one state, another promises to bring young Indians to the forefront.

I would love to see both these ideologies strung together as well. We’ve flourished in so many portals over the past decade: a booming BPO centre, a more modern and evolving infrastructure, and above all, bringing more and more people out of poverty with our growth. Yes, the challenges of a developing economy are still very much apparent in our social structure, but the effort to overcome these hurdles is just as apparent.

Bringing together technology and development seems to be the challenge here and for a country that relies less on its exports and more on agriculture, manufacturing and industrial sectors, BPO and health tourism, we’ve ensured stable development. This crucial crossroads we are at is what makes these elections all the more significant.

I’ve never seen everyone around me look so determined about what they want for our country. It’s not merely change that we crave, its stability, advancements and population welfare. Accessibility – in terms of availability of healthcare, government grants, education and other prominent mainstays – has been elusive, but will this be our turning point? A higher ground? It’s not just the media and the political campaigns that encouraged everyone to be a part of these elections, it is the hope to see a government that executes more than it promises. A cliché maybe, and yet it’s just what we want.

Here’s to those capable hands and minds that have guided us in the past and to those who will continue to take us to greater heights! 

Promising days ahead

Growing up in Madras, summer heralded its arrival with flowers looking a tad worried about their survival in the heat and with even the birds reluctant to take to the skies.  Of course, the biggest hint was always those summer showers – blatantly promising a blissful and cooler summer, but we always managed to scale new, horrifying heights temperature-wise.

Amid the water shortages, power cuts and the inevitable flying tempers, there’s still something charming about summer. Could it be the endless tubs of ice cream in the freezer? The lip smacking mangoes and watermelon you find everywhere? Alright, moving away from the edible: the games that keep you completely hooked on TV?

For me, the IPL’s a blessing. I can get away with murder with my husband between 4 pm till bedtime when the games air. I can explain the need for “summer clothes” and shop before he realises too late that I already did that last month. I can douse him with a few glasses of watermelon juice and say, “Oh, if you are full, do you want something light for dinner?” Faced with the bitter choice of a conversation with me over a dinner menu and the last two crucial overs in the game, he often nods enthusiastically even for veggie salad.

Whether it’s watching Raina send the ball flying across the field in every which direction possible or watching Rafa and Djokovic fight over every single point in the French Open, you too end up picking up a bat of some kind and heading out the door. Salads and exercise: did the scales just stop groaning under my weight?

And if all that’s not enough, I can let my daughter soak merrily in her bath for an hour while I manage to do what many of us consider a luxury these days: read. It’s also the only time of the year we ever really think about getting away for the weekend. Ahem, room service and soaking in a pool all afternoon kind of makes me a better mom too.

So there you have it: good books, resorts, food, shopping and sports – summer can’t be all that bad! 

Bringing it all together

As a stay at home mom, it was fairly easy to look after my lil one, run the household, do some freelance work and have enough time for myself. Now it’s time for me to get back to work because my daughter doesn’t need me as much. As liberating as the thought was up until a few weeks ago, I realised after one interview that with freedom comes not just responsibility, but fatigue as well. It’s been so comfortable to stay safely cocooned within the walls of my neat and tidy home that the idea of commuting to work seems such exhaustion!

I called for a cab the morning of my interview and tried saying “just keep coming down the same road” in broken Kannada, broken Hindi, fluent Tamil and English. But nothing helped: he didn’t make it down the five kilometre stretch even after an hour and a half.

Next, I hailed an autorickshaw and the driver asked me quizzically if I would pay above the standard metre charges to take me a third of the distance. Well, nothing new, so I said yes and hopped onboard. We reached the agreed spot and he said, “You can’t get down here......these auto drivers will charge you more!” The irony was entirely lost on me because I just wanted to get to point B on time.

I must credit him though for being kind enough to see me off safely in another autorickshaw. I heaved a sigh of relief and called the HR personnel to let him know I would be delayed by almost an hour. I sat back and realised we weren’t waiting for the signal to go green, rather I was witnessing what my husband sometimes skips breakfast to avoid: peak hour traffic.

Making a mental note not to snort at him for refusing to wait five minutes, I glanced out, taking in the scene. Just when I began wishing I’d skipped breakfast too, the auto edged forward and the Bangalore-savvy driver managed to weave in and out of smaller lanes and eventually got me to my destination and even offered to wait and bring me back home. 

I gladly stepped out and rushed towards the building, but had to grind to a halt for the umpteenth time. Would my modest heels get wedged into the metal speed bumps at the entrance?

“Go ahead, Madam,” encouraged the auto driver in some exasperation. What he probably wanted to say was, “Aren’t you late enough as it is?” True, I thought and bounded across in one leap.

After filling out the paperwork, I sat back and waited for both the interviewer and fatigue. Oddly enough only one turned up and I was lucky it was the interviewer. I soon realised it wasn’t like getting back on the horse or bicycle – not just because I can’t do either – it just felt familiar: the high backed chairs, the conversation and the feeling that this was something I don’t need superhuman strength to do. 

Going home

I live about seven hours away from my hometown, but I sometimes fret over it like it's a million miles away. And there’s a special joy in packing to go home: I pack my newest clothes just to stop my mum’s mad dash to the store to pick up new clothes for me; I bake for my brother-in-law who is a one-man cheering squad when it comes to my cooking skills; and pretty much carry everything I can squeeze into three or four fair sized airbags and trolley suitcases for a week long stay.

At first the reception back home was just as enthusiastic. My mum and sister would let out a thrilled squeak and embrace me with kisses. My father though has always been the same: he would smile stiffly and help me in with my bags. Once inside, the heavenly smell of food I haven’t toiled over fogs part of my senses.

If I've mentioned already how much children change our lives, I must now lay emphasis on how much your world changes with them. The welcoming crew has changed its tactic a bit. Of course, there’s that reassuring squeak, but I realise after a while that I’m not in anybody’s arms. The two of them are busy fussing over my daughter. Oh they acknowledge me alright – an excited nod as they run inside with her. May I mention my daughter now has that same satisfied look on her face that was once mine?

So I turn to pay the cab driver, but there’s still one thing about the picture that hasn't changed a bit: my dad’s still waiting by my side to help pay for the cab and walk me in with my bulging bags. And once inside, did I mention the smell of heavenly food?

Is that an angel?

I have five friends who had babies last year. And they are unanimous in their verdict: our kids play us from the moment they are born. It’s often very difficult to admit that our beautiful angels could be unintentionally but cleverly manipulating our responses well before they can speak. But it’s true, isn’t it?  

They live in our arms during their waking hours and have all the time in the world to observe what makes us tick. On the other hand, we are usually too busy tending to their every need to notice that observant gaze following us and deciphering us.

So what happens when we drop whatever it is at hand and just settle back on that couch and stare back into those surprised and delighted eyes? Do we see that we truly are their best friend? The one person on earth who’ll understand their every cry and every sigh?

As they grow older, it gets better in so many ways as they discover new ways to communicate with us – drool-filled giggles to show they love being tickled, curious eyes widening in amazement at the sight of something new, frowning in concentration trying to understand the advantages of potty training, or even that vehement shake of the head when you try to convince them that greens are good.

All of us would agree that parenthood has taught us heaps. But where does this enlightenment come from? From parents? From friends and siblings? From colleagues? From the pediatrician? From sympathetic strangers watching you trying to get a grip on your rambunctious three year old?

It took me almost five years to get the basics right: to just pause and listen to that small voice amid all that mayhem in my head. But when I see that gleam of happiness when she knows she has my attention, not because she’s been naughty but just because she asked for it, it makes me wish I’d listened sooner.

What keeps you safe?

Every time news of a woman gone missing comes up, my mother and sister never miss the opportunity to point out the importance of locking up carefully at night, never using a cab service alone, and of course, getting home well ahead of the setting sun. I agree with all of the above. But is that enough to keep us safe?

Yes, I feel safe when I’m home or out with my husband, but what happens when I do have to travel alone or use a public transport system in a new city? What keeps me safe there?

I love every city I have visited in India. Everywhere I’ve been, I’ve encountered helpful strangers and have rarely come across rude and outright obnoxious people. But when you read about a crime against a woman, you always wonder where all those helpful strangers were in her story. Did her plight make people look the other way? Was there something utterly malicious and ‘run like hell’ about the villains in her story? Or was it a simple lack of chivalry?

Perhaps chivalry is not the right word. I mean, we as women have a duty to our own kind as well! So maybe the word I’m looking for is graciousness. Do we take the time to make sure our colleague is not left alone in a cab when she gets home late at night, especially if she lives alone? If a woman is travelling alone, do we have a word with her to make sure she is opting for the safest source of transport from the train station or airport? Or if, barring all that, something doesn’t seem right, do we make note of a vehicle number and report it?

I haven’t done any of the above. But it is a stab through the heart to hear of every instance when a woman has been traumatised. And when I think about it, I realise that picking up the newspaper and reading about death sentences for the miscreants is not as fulfilling as it should be. The need to be part of a culture that would be gallant and gracious towards women is much more compelling than that. 

Resolutions, resolutions, resolutions

We've welcomed another new year with just as much enthusiasm and hope as the years before. One of the mandatory fields to be addressed while wishing someone includes: so what are your resolutions for the year? One of my friends, a guy might I add, had a very interesting reply – to carry lunch from home.

I don’t know how the rest of the world functions, but in almost all the homes I know, that’s more of a resolution for the lady of the house than for hubby dearest who tirelessly ‘carries’ lunch from home! God forbid if the weight of that task is too much, my husband constantly manages to lose a good many of my Tupperware to boot!

So if you thought you were the only one being hounded with a lunch service at 6 am, don’t be afraid, you are not alone. Yes, we love our husbands and want them to eat healthy, home cooked meals. And while some of us can hop onboard the cooking express and manage a commendable breakfast and lunch in no time, it does feel like a Houdini act for the rest of us.

Let’s not forget that this is Indian cooking we are talking about. I remember feeling extremely guilty thinking that – I mean, after all I am a born and bred south Indian, so what else am I going to cook? Until the discussion came up with friends, and one brave soul volunteered softly, “But Indian food is so diffi-”. Let’s just say at this point, my friend had a lot of company.

My husband has an excellent sense of humour about the whole affair. In fact, he hardly has to say anything at all sometimes before I burst out laughing. To give you a visual: I’m busy pulling leftovers out of the refrigerator for his lunch when we hear the shrill whistle of a neighbour’s cooker in the wee hours. He pauses and with a resigned sigh looks longingly at the only thing on our four burner - a lonely pan of milk, which, to be fair to him, he boiled!

Alright, so establishing that balance between work, home, children and food can be a daunting task in any year. Wait a minute, perhaps I should call it a juggling act rather than balance! But unless those juggling pins are in the air, we just don’t know what we are capable of, do we?

Who’s your macho man?

Who’s your macho man?

Now if you are thinking big and strapping, I want you to stop right there. You know as well as I do there’s not enough of that to go around! So while my guy is dark and handsome in his own way, he’s certainly not one any Bangalorean would look at twice – he’s the stray mutt who seems to have taken his place as a quiet sentinel at our apartment gates.

With the city ‘expanding its boundaries,’ we live in a quiet stretch of road that was once notorious for ‘silent crimes.’ With this piece of background, you probably understand why our voluntary hero is much appreciated. But for those of you who could never understand the fuss over dogs and for those to whom Bangalore strays have always been bullying barbarians, what can I say? You don’t know him like I do? 

And I’m kind of right. If our first meeting was anything to go by, he should have never bothered with me either. But he gave me a second chance, and I owe him as much too. Seven am is not my favourite time of the day. However, since my daughter’s school and transport facility haven’t really paid attention to that, her bus pulls into a spot opposite to our gates around then and my daughter and I trudge shivering and sleepy across the road.

Again, given the early hour, I didn't appreciate the exuberant tail wagging and colliding into my heels the morning we first met. So after a couple of angry ‘shoos’, I got across the road with my daughter safely tucked into my arms. After I waved her off, I turned to find him a few yards away from me. He had decided that my angry rebuff wasn't reason enough for him to not escort me across the road! And he kept his distance too: he had a very ‘I’m going about my responsibilities immaterial of your attitude’ look as he walked me back to our apartment gates, still a safe distance away. For the first time I noticed that he had a pronounced limp as well, but that made him look more jaunty than anything else!

I waited to see if he felt the same way about us over the next few days. And he really has been a gentleman, getting up stretching himself out and escorting us across the road every time my daughter and I step outside our gates.

So, yes, we've come to love our macho man and I’m glad he didn't give up on me because he makes me feel better on a cold morning than a hot cup of anything!