dead chicken and holy cows

"You have such painful periods because you eat eggs on fridays, amavasais and purattasi saturdays... it is bad, bad karma." Welcome to my family's timeless hindu traditions. "Don't even keep it at home. Give the eggs to the maid, just get it out of your fridge," fine nuances of customs are being passed down.

I share 25 per cent of my DNA with her. I love my aunt. And I keep my mouth shut.

But when my mother - who is usually introduced with her four college degrees and innovations in kindergarten education, and who recently went over to the dark side - tries to enforce these friday values, I go dizzy with blood pressure. Must be the eggs.

Two things changed me forever.

At 9, the ravenous account of my friend's X'mas feast. Eggs (I love them), roast rabbit and chicken biriyani.

"Are we not supposed to be good and not eat meat on god's birthdays," I asked. "Shouldn't we celebrate his birthday as we always celebrate good times," Angel reasoned. I could not agree more.

At 11, reading Amar Chitra Katha. Cow-killing and beef-eating was banned and vegetarianism of all shades was invented to keep hindus from Buddha's allure.

I went on to read huge tomes of Ramayan and Mahabharat, where food was fondly described in great detail. So I ran to my dad, "did princes and priests make merry at auspicious occasions with sacrifices and feasts of animals?"

"Of course," the historian smiled. He rattled off about surviving traditions where meat is still offered to the gods, of socio-political decisions in ancient India, and finished off with a reading list.

But he cannot fight for the eggs in the fridge. He cannot remember if he had lunch himself.

Errands to the butcher's shop made me a saint for several years. Acute protein deficiency reunited me with eggs, and I no longer sit with the vegetarian section at Bajji's Eid feasts. I eat with her, fervently discussing recipes.

Now, where did I start? Ah... amavasais and fridays. Well, I may become a saint again, but you can be sure that I will observe auspicious days with eggs (did I mention I love them) and biriyanis.

glossary: amavasai: no moon day; purattasi: 6th month in the tamil calendar; biriyani: ah... you must have had them.

WTF statement of the day

"I am not looking at anyone."

"But your mindset perfectly matches with this boy's," she goes on.

I look up sniffing hope. Does my mother really understand me....

"Your horoscopes say so," she finishes.

Honest to good

Yesterday night, I resolved to be just myself. To speak what I really really think. To be completely honest about myself. To tell Dad and Sis, the folks I relate to most, what I really feel and think.

I can no longer shut the voices in my head. It has been coming slowly... thanks to Stick, thanks to Dotty-Wotty and New Momma, thanks to Ayn Rand. But it is also going to make things very difficult for me.

The Beast sums it up for me:
There is a problem with being involved in a close relationship. It's not the fear or loss, of rejection, of being someone you're not. It's the fear of being yourself.

I am determined to overcome it and oh, am I going to be unpopular...

Clearing space in the head

work:
If the office felt like tundra earlier (Clean and I have always considered relocating polar bears and artic foxes here for conservation) it now feels like Pluto. Jelly legs, chattering teeth and raging viral fevers just added to our merry work atmosphere.

books:
Adiga's magnum opus, which was lying unread at my desk for weeks is now in hot demand. Too many mixed reviews and reverse snobbery makes me stave it off. I am meditating on a book about cats.

home:
At home, I am no longer the favourite grand-daughter, honestly when was I? But grand pa has been seething at me ever since I started telling him off to run his own errands around the house - like to the water filter.

It has been two-and-a-half years since his femur-joint bone surgery and high time that he is up and about the house. His paunch could also do without a few metres. I don't care if he laments loudly to the maid about lack of respect in today's generation or acts a bit stiff, I am gonna teach the Air Force man a trick or two of his own.

head:
And the only good thing about my delirious fever this week is that it kept folks at home too busy with my temperatures and pills, so busy that they forgot the "you over-work" bhajan and "erratic schedules" polambal.

And at moments like these, when the sun sneaks out after the showers and bright light streams through the windows, I know I love my family the most.

We are like this only

No backless cholis?? How can women be stopped from following the time-less traditions of India? This ban is pro-western and anti-Bharatiya nari. It is not suited for Indian culture. Saffron brigade, where art thou?

In the meanwhile I hope Egg, trousseau shopping at the moment in Rajkot, will get some back-less cholis to wear in Chennai. My Madras is very traditional you see, you can wear back-less cholis and low-waist ghagras, and that is why we will never let the Vagina Monologues perform in town.