10 things about Ra:

1. For every one sequence we edit, her phone will ring 10 times.
2. And she has to help, solve an issue, or counsel for the next 15 minutes.
   
3. If it is not a friend or relative, it is a daughter.
4. She has 50 daughters and a few sons.
5. She makes sure they finish school and go to work.
6. She then puts up their profiles on bharat matrimony.
7. There is one wedding coming up now.
8. She loves cooking.
9. She loves bells.
10. And she stays up to put together the sequence that was interrupted so many times, and surprises me every morning.

when life feels like geometry

A walk, a bus or two, a train, a walk, a share auto, a walk down a deserted stretch (an auto if I am lucky)…. All to meet Ra, who lets me fumble around her, and who doesn’t shout when I log the wrong tape.

I come back, I do the laundry, eyes drooping, I set the alarm for 4.30. It goes off for half an hour, before I can even hear it. Very little, or no money. Nano money. :-) A crazy client. A no-budget documentary.

Day-dreams of a project on water. Endless proposal writing. A shadow of my life with Stick and Egg.

But I call my grandmother every day. I don’t waste a minute. I pick up groceries. I help a cousin. I dance. I don’t obsess. I play with Chintoo like never before.

I may leave it all, yet again. I could decide that medicine is the only way to make a difference. Eventually, I may do corporate communications, to take care of mum and dad. I may become a loser-daughter.

I don’t know anything. I don’t have any answers. “Where will it lead me?” “What am I doing?”

But I feel, like a better daughter, sister, granddaughter, niece and aunt. And life feels like a geometric diagram. Simple. Clean. Good.

That is all I know, at the moment.

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.

An equal music

It is said, "even in the most perfect love, you are not equals. And to meet in a kiss, one has to look down and the other up."

But friends meet as equals~

In defence of Duryodhana

a translation of one of the many poems that celebrate this shade of the Kaurava prince. for a beautiful tamil original (in english script), go here. the others bear with me:

~~
the disease of suspicion-
is never in my being.
for I am a king who can respect
the friendship that flowers
between a man and a woman.

my friend must have arrived,
looking for me,
my wife must be attending,
with a smiling face.

what could the two be talking,
all this while.
what could they be doing,
all this time.

no such worries,
trouble my heart,
with a pace as steady
as my mind,
I walk back home
to find them both.

entering my palace,
a scene I see,
strange as one,
ever can be.

in my friend's grasp,
is my wife.
a broken chain
is spilling its pearls.

how well the wise spoke:
"all that you see,
is but a lie.
and all that you hear,
is mere falsehood."

but how do I tell them,
of what I have gleaned?

by speaking too much,
I would be a boast.
and by speaking none,
confusion would reign.

All I need are two words,
to put them at ease.

the pearls don't still,
for the king's crown,
the pearls call upon,
laughing on the floor.

to pick them up is quite easy,
it doesn't call for much sense.
to string them is a little harder,
calling for untiring attention.

without merely collecting,
I can string them as well.

tell me, my beautiful wife,
tell me, my dearest friend,
"should I pick them up,
or string them as well?"

~~
"edukkavo, kokkavo?"

a special wish from Mad:

I wish you lots of birthday bliss,
I wish you many things at once.

And here are some examples:
an amaltas tree in full bloom,
sprigs of dainty bougainvilleas,
a swing under a sturdy neem,
chubby sparrows on a windowsill.

Peacocks with a hundred eyes,
juicy mangoes and pomegranates.

These things I wish for you,
And several more unnamed,
Dreams be dreams no more!

edukkavo? korkkavo?

Bhanumathi is deep in a game of chess with Karna, when Duryodhana walks into her chambers.

As he approaches, Bhanumathi begins to stand up, a little abashed to be found thus by her husband.

An unaware Karna, on the other hand, commands of her: "Where are you going, finish the game first." And he tugs at her hip chain, mekhala, for good measure.

Bhanumathi edges away from Karna's grasp, and the chain breaks to tumble pearls all around the chamber.

As both she and Karna look down sheepishly, unable to meet Duryodhana's eyes, the Kaurava scion only asks:

"edukkavo, Korkkavo [should I just collect the beads, or string them as well]."

Tell me, does it not make him better than Rama?

The knowledge of the gods

"Tell me Ammama, why were you named Fragrance?" I ask. We are discussing stars and names, and I am curious because others born under her star are named with letters G and H.

She reluctantly spells: "My father hoped I would die young, and named me after his sister who died within a month." Looking at my face, she quickly rises in defence: "he was heartbroken. I, after all, killed my mother at birth."

"Names have a strange influence of their own," she says and leaves the rest unspoken - that her grandmother raised her for many years, that her father snatched her away from her loving care for the sake of his pride, that he paid her scant attention, that he got her married to a drunkard - that the name strangles her every now and then, and that she has had to fight it all her life.

Names are a burden, I know it too well. There are expectations and dreams that I have longed to shrug away.

And then there is my aunt, robbed of her destiny, when named to match her brother. But, true to her given name, she handles every crisis that life throws her way with Grace.

Lil' one, what do I wish for you... a name that sits as light as butterfly kisses, or one that will shape your years. Neither may work, but this I hope does. A wish that everytime you hear it, it be spoken only with love.

Someday at lunctime...

My mother grew up in a large, sprawling house with six siblings. Which means that I have 12 cousins whom my mother can call out to cite good behaviour.

The extended family congregates for my grandfather's annual shraadham. And after the prayers and smoke, it is time for a meal of light banter and teasing updates. It is also a time I feel very proud of all of them.

But when the men quickly disappear after food to find an AC, and the women settle down to serve themselves... I become disillusioned.

Is this my family of professors, scientists, geek techies and financial wizards? Can not even one think of serving food for the women who made them.

Maybe it is the mistake of all these women. As the firsts who had to prove that they could have paying jobs, they raced through everything.... chores, careers and children's homework.

Maybe, they just didn't have time to stop and ask, cajole and coax, or demand any help.

But then my youngest cousin brother, of his own, races between mother and aunt and demanding cousin sister to serve hot vadais.

And I know that someday at lunctime, we will make one large semi-circle - all of us cooking and eating and teasing together. Someday at lunctime...

struck a chord

Jane Austen on Anne:
“She had been forced into prudence in her youth, she learned romance as she grew older — the natural sequel of an unnatural beginning”.