Friday, October 27, 2006
i knew you were coming
do you believe in esp? i believe in connection. what's that? something like what happened the other morning: i was flipping through the international herald trib, the way i do most mornings these past 5 odd years, looking for something interesting to read (other than the usual politics and money and cries of aaaaa we're about to be nuked), and there was this piece on a young new name in restaurants and luxury hotels. good looking, loaded, lebanese man, forget his name. now there i read about london's most celebrated chef and restaurant owner, gordon ramsay, and his ever fab savoy grill. nice article, hmm gordon ramsay, can we afford a meal at one of his restaurants if i'm ever in that part of the world again? so went a few thoughts before the mundane goings on of everyday managed to pull me away from all that. later the same day, i visited what jacob (the man i've been living with 21 years) calls my shrine: takashimaya department store, basement 1, household department. wedgwood, royal doulton, schott sweizel, noritake, villeroy & boch, reidel, royal worcester, minton, has a basement ever been so elevated! as i walked in, eyes genuflecting before pristine porcelain, crystal and china, my gaze was drawn (yes, passive case, i did not look, my eyes were made to look thither) to a promotion counter. there lay plates, dishes, pasta plates, beautiful place settings in fine white china; wide, open, clean, modern look; very warm and welcoming dishes waiting to be decked with great looking and tasting food. i could see the table before me and my friends and fam having a blast around it. i walked up to the salesgirl, ah royal doulton i thought. she smiled at my mesmerised look and said this was a new line from the famous rd, it's called the gordon ramsay collection. and there was the man himself, sitting on the front cover of his hard bound book, displayed among the fine chinaware.
till that morning i hadn't heard of this man, and now he was not only in my newspaper but in my shrine. this connection had to be acknowledged. the promotion offer of settings for 6 people including lovely gr inscribed red wine glasses, helped. jacob was dragged to see the find, my clear eyed and innocent intention to acquire it was related, and after two weeks of being strong in the face of such massive force, he relented and gifted gordon ramsay to me on a plate, a pasta dish, and more. he paid up.
connection. that was a light fun (ok ok frivolous) example. but as i've grown older and let go a bit i seem to find it everywhere. it's like a constant chat between me and life, in here and out there, it happens when i let it, it's magic when it happens. whenever my intentions are clear, and i've dealt with things that take you away from the course: fear, envy, jealousy, sheer laziness, apathy, something out there comes and propels me to my goal. things, as they promise in all bad tv serials, work out. when they don't, either my mind was befuddled or it was not supposed to be for me. this, at 46, i can say i have not only hypothesized, but have carefully observed and inferred thereof.
intention. connection. and the role we play in our own life. must go more into this, esp with my daughter.
in the meantime mr gordon ramsay has invaded my television. the f word, his food show is big, over the top, generously layered with humour, and makes me want to cook. of course, i came across it by acci...? no, no chanc...? never, connection.
tonight we're using the plates again. i know it will be a great meal. coming?
till that morning i hadn't heard of this man, and now he was not only in my newspaper but in my shrine. this connection had to be acknowledged. the promotion offer of settings for 6 people including lovely gr inscribed red wine glasses, helped. jacob was dragged to see the find, my clear eyed and innocent intention to acquire it was related, and after two weeks of being strong in the face of such massive force, he relented and gifted gordon ramsay to me on a plate, a pasta dish, and more. he paid up.
connection. that was a light fun (ok ok frivolous) example. but as i've grown older and let go a bit i seem to find it everywhere. it's like a constant chat between me and life, in here and out there, it happens when i let it, it's magic when it happens. whenever my intentions are clear, and i've dealt with things that take you away from the course: fear, envy, jealousy, sheer laziness, apathy, something out there comes and propels me to my goal. things, as they promise in all bad tv serials, work out. when they don't, either my mind was befuddled or it was not supposed to be for me. this, at 46, i can say i have not only hypothesized, but have carefully observed and inferred thereof.
intention. connection. and the role we play in our own life. must go more into this, esp with my daughter.
in the meantime mr gordon ramsay has invaded my television. the f word, his food show is big, over the top, generously layered with humour, and makes me want to cook. of course, i came across it by acci...? no, no chanc...? never, connection.
tonight we're using the plates again. i know it will be a great meal. coming?
Friday, October 20, 2006
happy diwali, diwali mubarak, shubh diwali, deepavali shubhashaya.
id mubarak, eid mabrook.
laddoos, diyas, crackers, new clothes, semolina kheer, biriyani, gifts, alms, hugs, smiles, much overdressing, shameless overeating, open hearts, clear eyes, thinking minds, lights lights lights. to all of us everywhere, to hope.
id mubarak, eid mabrook.
laddoos, diyas, crackers, new clothes, semolina kheer, biriyani, gifts, alms, hugs, smiles, much overdressing, shameless overeating, open hearts, clear eyes, thinking minds, lights lights lights. to all of us everywhere, to hope.
Friday, October 13, 2006
discrimination
Muslims are discriminated against.
jews are discriminated against.
hindus are discriminated against.
so are the christians.
tribals are discriminated against.
poor people are discriminated against.
aids victims are discriminated against.
physically/mentally challenged people are discriminated against.
and then it occurred to me a few years ago.
i belong to the people most discriminated against, across all societies, all cultures, all religions, all races, all time, every inch of the planet inhabited by us. i belong to the group of people called women.
my nanny had told me when i was five or six that my two brothers were worth 10 lakh (hundred thousand) of rupees each while i was worth only one. i was angry and reported her in tears to my mother. nanny was admonished. everybody laughed about it. somewhere a bride was burnt for dowry. elsewhere a mother was killed by her son to preserve the family's honour. my grandfather died and my grandmother took off all her jewellery, switched to plain white "than" (six yards of cloth, no border, no pallu, no ornamentation) and stopped eating all the things she loved, being a good hindu woman. again a girl was told that when she grows up a handsome prince will come on horseback and save her. a "decent" woman shaved her head and wore a wig/donned a veil/did "ghunghat"/lengthened her skirt/fasted for her husband and family/gave up the bigger slice of fish/accepted that it was not her place to read the religious book/lost her place in her religion because she married a man outside it (that last one is me). of course, a whole sadness of women were sold, raped, turned into prostitutes, slaves, sexually mutilated, beaten, bludgeoned, battered, thrown alive into their husband's flaming pyre. god became father. god's mother-side was gagged, submerged, ignored, forgotten, or used by men to further their madness.
why? why, why?
sometimes i wonder is it because we carry the next generation in our wombs and that feels like a threat? or is it because we have multiple orgasms? this kind of universal exploitation, this one's got to be caused by some basic, gut level, primal fear. what could it be?
in our social mores, our organised religions, our government policies, our ways of living, thinking, everywhere, this discrimination is so omnipresent that many a time i practice it without even knowing. i hope life holds open my eyes, beats at my eardrums, scratches my gray cells and teaches me to be aware, see it clearly, and change things wherever i can.
a small but i believe significant step, i let go of the word "mankind" for "humankind" here onward.
i commit to teach my daughter to embrace and revel in her femaleness, enjoy and make good use of her male side (yes, i am sure we all have both sides, more of this and less of that), and never to take this discrimination.
i promise to put two girls through school, and if life allows as many more as i can. if i'm writing this today it's because my parents never discriminated, not knowingly at least, and insisted i get educated despite my many tantrums and urgings otherwise.
i keep thinking once this discrimination starts getting removed, many of the other discriminations will also begin to die. if the two sides of humankind begin to truly value and respect each other, what fabulous things might happen.
many people are trying to change the situation through their work. you might want to get some idea at http://www.wecanendvaw.org/
jews are discriminated against.
hindus are discriminated against.
so are the christians.
tribals are discriminated against.
poor people are discriminated against.
aids victims are discriminated against.
physically/mentally challenged people are discriminated against.
and then it occurred to me a few years ago.
i belong to the people most discriminated against, across all societies, all cultures, all religions, all races, all time, every inch of the planet inhabited by us. i belong to the group of people called women.
my nanny had told me when i was five or six that my two brothers were worth 10 lakh (hundred thousand) of rupees each while i was worth only one. i was angry and reported her in tears to my mother. nanny was admonished. everybody laughed about it. somewhere a bride was burnt for dowry. elsewhere a mother was killed by her son to preserve the family's honour. my grandfather died and my grandmother took off all her jewellery, switched to plain white "than" (six yards of cloth, no border, no pallu, no ornamentation) and stopped eating all the things she loved, being a good hindu woman. again a girl was told that when she grows up a handsome prince will come on horseback and save her. a "decent" woman shaved her head and wore a wig/donned a veil/did "ghunghat"/lengthened her skirt/fasted for her husband and family/gave up the bigger slice of fish/accepted that it was not her place to read the religious book/lost her place in her religion because she married a man outside it (that last one is me). of course, a whole sadness of women were sold, raped, turned into prostitutes, slaves, sexually mutilated, beaten, bludgeoned, battered, thrown alive into their husband's flaming pyre. god became father. god's mother-side was gagged, submerged, ignored, forgotten, or used by men to further their madness.
why? why, why?
sometimes i wonder is it because we carry the next generation in our wombs and that feels like a threat? or is it because we have multiple orgasms? this kind of universal exploitation, this one's got to be caused by some basic, gut level, primal fear. what could it be?
in our social mores, our organised religions, our government policies, our ways of living, thinking, everywhere, this discrimination is so omnipresent that many a time i practice it without even knowing. i hope life holds open my eyes, beats at my eardrums, scratches my gray cells and teaches me to be aware, see it clearly, and change things wherever i can.
a small but i believe significant step, i let go of the word "mankind" for "humankind" here onward.
i commit to teach my daughter to embrace and revel in her femaleness, enjoy and make good use of her male side (yes, i am sure we all have both sides, more of this and less of that), and never to take this discrimination.
i promise to put two girls through school, and if life allows as many more as i can. if i'm writing this today it's because my parents never discriminated, not knowingly at least, and insisted i get educated despite my many tantrums and urgings otherwise.
i keep thinking once this discrimination starts getting removed, many of the other discriminations will also begin to die. if the two sides of humankind begin to truly value and respect each other, what fabulous things might happen.
many people are trying to change the situation through their work. you might want to get some idea at http://www.wecanendvaw.org/
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
break the dam
i'm trying to catch this post before all the words and pictures slip away from my mind. early morning, as i'm getting ready, "chander haanshir baandh bhengechhe" (the dam of the moon's laughter is broken, no i'm not an adequate translator of tagore's beautiful bengali), the first line of the song breaks into my thoughts. i can see tubu mashi singing, a little smile on her lips. she's looking out of the window of our black ambassador at the passing digboi reserve forest in the the dense dark night (was there a moon out). my father is driving. ma and someone else is sitting in the car. they're all off to a late night drive from duliajan to somewhere, the forest with its elephants, tigers, snakes and orchids along the way. the forest, mysterious, magnetic, beckoning, always there. it was late 1960's.
was i in the car? or is this my mother's memory and without my knowing has become mine?
tubu mashi. tiny little tubu mashi. tip tilted pert nose, curly hair, heart shaped face, perfect ready to smile lips, black mole uhhuh beauty spot, brown eyes crinkling with laughter. laughter whose dam is broken.
tubu mashi's shuntki maach, chom chom. tubu mashi's artistically decorated house. tubu mashi's love for her neighbour's little girl (me). tubu mashi's utter loneliness.
till the arrival of tinku, her first and only child, at the age of 40 something.
at a very young age, this lady had given me a sort of love that i think cells and plasma remember. ma says, she would keep me with her when ma and baba were out for dinner or something, and every time i cried, she burst into tears too. the 3-year old in me can never forget that.
i remembered her when i had me first and only child at 41. i used to say, "hum ma ka mafik nahin, hum tubu mashika mafik banega", not like my mother, i'll be like tubu mashi. in one respect, it seems, i was to be like her.
i have met her intermittently since we moved from assam and as all our world's changed.
just before i got married in 1985. her wedding gift was an envelope containing 1000 rupees, to get the cooking gas connection she said. i was amazed: so much, tubu mashi? dhet! had we been in india it would have been one zero less, she'd replied. they had moved to kuwait. the day saddam invaded, i cried and cried worrying what was going to happen to her and the rest of the people from duliajan who were there.
in bombay, 1994. she and her husband and tinku spent a couple of days with us. they'd moved to pune in the meantime and settled down in their new home. she seemed unchanged. still tiny, still with that smile, still cooking unforgettable shuntki maach.
in kolkata, more than 9 years ago. tubumashi paralysed.
tears sting the back of my eyes even as i type this.
she can't move, she can't speak, she can't smile. never asked anyone, but does she cry?
"chander haanshir baandh..." the song sings on. maybe, just maybe, even inside her?
was i in the car? or is this my mother's memory and without my knowing has become mine?
tubu mashi. tiny little tubu mashi. tip tilted pert nose, curly hair, heart shaped face, perfect ready to smile lips, black mole uhhuh beauty spot, brown eyes crinkling with laughter. laughter whose dam is broken.
tubu mashi's shuntki maach, chom chom. tubu mashi's artistically decorated house. tubu mashi's love for her neighbour's little girl (me). tubu mashi's utter loneliness.
till the arrival of tinku, her first and only child, at the age of 40 something.
at a very young age, this lady had given me a sort of love that i think cells and plasma remember. ma says, she would keep me with her when ma and baba were out for dinner or something, and every time i cried, she burst into tears too. the 3-year old in me can never forget that.
i remembered her when i had me first and only child at 41. i used to say, "hum ma ka mafik nahin, hum tubu mashika mafik banega", not like my mother, i'll be like tubu mashi. in one respect, it seems, i was to be like her.
i have met her intermittently since we moved from assam and as all our world's changed.
just before i got married in 1985. her wedding gift was an envelope containing 1000 rupees, to get the cooking gas connection she said. i was amazed: so much, tubu mashi? dhet! had we been in india it would have been one zero less, she'd replied. they had moved to kuwait. the day saddam invaded, i cried and cried worrying what was going to happen to her and the rest of the people from duliajan who were there.
in bombay, 1994. she and her husband and tinku spent a couple of days with us. they'd moved to pune in the meantime and settled down in their new home. she seemed unchanged. still tiny, still with that smile, still cooking unforgettable shuntki maach.
in kolkata, more than 9 years ago. tubumashi paralysed.
tears sting the back of my eyes even as i type this.
she can't move, she can't speak, she can't smile. never asked anyone, but does she cry?
"chander haanshir baandh..." the song sings on. maybe, just maybe, even inside her?
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
lost and found
loss had come at an early age to all four of them. the 71 year old man, the 19 year old girl, and the two 40 something year old women; and it had left its mark in their eyes and their smiles. i know each one of them would like you to see only their smiles. they sat there out in the beautiful dark evening, lamps flickering here and there, rustle of tall bamboo in gentle evening breeze, water lying quiet in pools, snatches of laughter from the tables nearby. attentive waiters shimmered around pouring red wine, serving delicately flavoured fabulous food. glasses clinked, a toast, i tenderly cut a small piece of medium-rare steak and put it into my mouth. this is good, i thought.
they talked till late into the night: they laughed, they joked, they argued vehemently. without saying, they said who they were, who they loved, how they loved, and how fervently they hoped. especially when they laughed and even more when they argued.
the 71 year old head of an ngo will bring the voice of the people of his land to you.
the 40 something year old banker will take prosperity to her land and people.
the 19 year old political science student will be a civil servant and change the lives of her people in a way only a 19 year old can dream of.
the 46 year old copywriter will keep on believing there is a better tomorrow for this land, this people.
how we all all hoped for india last evening in singapore.
ah but isn't it foolish to think one evening can change anything? yes it is and i'm a fool.
please visit www.charkha.org and hear about india from people to whom india is happening.
they talked till late into the night: they laughed, they joked, they argued vehemently. without saying, they said who they were, who they loved, how they loved, and how fervently they hoped. especially when they laughed and even more when they argued.
the 71 year old head of an ngo will bring the voice of the people of his land to you.
the 40 something year old banker will take prosperity to her land and people.
the 19 year old political science student will be a civil servant and change the lives of her people in a way only a 19 year old can dream of.
the 46 year old copywriter will keep on believing there is a better tomorrow for this land, this people.
how we all all hoped for india last evening in singapore.
ah but isn't it foolish to think one evening can change anything? yes it is and i'm a fool.
please visit www.charkha.org and hear about india from people to whom india is happening.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
get away next weekend
just had a weekend very away from the ordinary. ashtami/navami (the most significant days of durga puja), yom kippur (the beautiful custom of atoning for one's mistakes), and a meet up of friends who now live in different parts of the world (girls right in the middle of forties at that). while my husband and daughter yom kippurred, i ran madly from puja to friends and back, dressing up, dressing down, laughing, joking, praying, shopping, eating, drinking, being deep, being nasty. just the kind of weekend to make you think.
and i've been doing just that. especially about something that's bothered me for a while. us indians who live outside india.
watching and being indian for the last 9 odd years has been thought provoking. we're so materially ahead (yes, i generalise, for this is true of the majority), living in big houses that keep getting bigger (i've heard no other bunch of people discussing sq.footage of their homes with such zeal), sending our kids to expensive international schools and a host of other supposedly enriching classes (horse riding, golf, scuba diving, music, drama, speech, how about haiku), being members of the best clubs, representing the wealthiest ethnic group, investing in paintings (what happened to liking them), you get the picture no doubt.
and i'm really happy for us lot. we have things our parents' generation did not, most of us have made more, much much much more money than our fathers did (mothers of course rarely worked, unless as rather sadly paid school teachers). as a part-time copywriter in a small agency that can only underpay, i earn more than my dad did as a successful petroleum geologist or my grandfather did as the auditor general of india (yes yes that was years ago and all that, but it's still crazy). We're also an amazingly well educated lot (harvard/wharton/insead/iit/iim/sophia polytechnic huh? aiyaa some day we'll be famous too).
we've worked hard, taken many risks, and what the heck we deserve our elevated status and bank b. till now all is well.
then you find yourself at a dinner with us. o boy. why are we talking about money (openly or in this clumsily veiled manner, always in a funny accent) all the time or discussing people (often people we don't know very well, but let that not stop the pointless bitching)? "do you know so and so is going back to india and her husband is going to do the same job he was doing earlier for the bank (death by subtext)?"; "which part of india are you from? not india, bangladesh? o that's the same as india only! yes and my xyz function head who reports to me is from your country, got this big beard and all (much hand gesture around superior chin area)?"; "you know i have finally bought this famous painter and once he dies can you imagine how much this painting's gonna be worth?" attention attention, this is reality blog, all these instances are for real. also, please don't try at home, extreme practice under professional trainers required before you dare attempt.
on to the mom-in-law talk. yes, even now, even so many thousand miles away from her, even when she's not beating or burning us or making us make pickles under the hot sun. yes, even, nay especially now, our husband's mothers deserve no mercy, certainly no respect. love? o. mi. god.
now shall we over coffee rip this so boring!, sterile city apart? so what this is where we've made our fortunes, where we live in our beautiful homes, school our kids, keep them safe and away from drugs, wear our diamonds (you know, she had on such a big one on her finger the other day, so garish, what is she trying to prove?) without fear of being robbed, and have our philippina maids take care of us (i don't want to move to london and be the maid, ok)? so what, this 18 by 28 square mile country deserves our critical unappreciation. let's talk about these mundane silly locals and enjoy our superiority. after all, without us how would they survive!
then of course there's the religion talk. unless of course, you are above that and only laugh at people who are practicing their faith. so infra dig to be observant in this day and age, faint curling of lips, little shake of head, back to a sip of the martini (i only love the martini in this sentence). actually, anyone who's had an early morning chat with me knows i have my little angst around organised religion, what time and humans have made of great spiritual realisations, and what all religions have done to women, but that's moi. if you want to do your own thing, here's to you and may you do it well and may it open your heart and make you really rich.
and don't forget culture. don your pearls, chiffons, chanels, and satya pauls (or armanis, versaces, zegnas) and rush off for that sarod recital (after all your personal banker has invited you), plus must check out who all got invited and who're the poor devils that actually had to buy their tickets, tch tch. children must be "exposed" to our culture too, and i as a good mother must never forget that i've been told and reminded several times. a look at our state of culture here makes me shiver at the thought of any exposure.
we have so much, so how come we've become so little.
for 9 years i have looked for an exception. yes, it's there. a handful of them in fact, and now that i do a quick scan, hate to say it but most of them are my unmarried girl friends, or those that have been through difficult relationships/difficulties, or those whose children are not doing soooooo well (o us brilliant indians), or guys who didn't become ceo at 30. weren't girls who didn't marry supposed to be these sort of super frustrated, miserable lot? hmmm. time to say goodbye to another stereotype?
and when i think of the values our parents taught us, it's just so sad what i see around me. kind of un-indian almost.
does this mean i'm perfect? you mean i'm not?
what puzzles me. i would have thought, having more would allow us to be more. grow, give, gain stuff that doesn't crash when the stock market does. don't get me wrong. this is not an endorsement of the hindi movie, ooops apologies, bollywood philosophy of rich = bad, poor = good. quite the contrary. in fact i love the idea of having money and being able to do things with it; of acknowledging desire is a necessary part of life; i own my desires, they keep me going. it's just that how come instead of building on all that growing up in india gives us, we've become such shallow cardboard characters.
who knows maybe someday we will be all we can be, for now we are very moneyed (here and in many parts of good old india too), and our minds have gone on a long exclusive super luxury vacation.
shubho bijoya. hope you had a meaningful yom kippur. and those who are in the middle of ramzan, may it be as wonderful as it is supposed to be (my friends in amman, jordan had told me that this was the prophet's way of teaching people kindness and generosity by experiencing the hardships of the have nots, even then the rich were not behaving richly it would seem). here in singapore the lanterns are on and much moon cake is being consumed, it's the mid-autumn festival.
the next time i settle down to a great gossip, i hope i'll remember this entry. enjoy your weekend getaway.
and i've been doing just that. especially about something that's bothered me for a while. us indians who live outside india.
watching and being indian for the last 9 odd years has been thought provoking. we're so materially ahead (yes, i generalise, for this is true of the majority), living in big houses that keep getting bigger (i've heard no other bunch of people discussing sq.footage of their homes with such zeal), sending our kids to expensive international schools and a host of other supposedly enriching classes (horse riding, golf, scuba diving, music, drama, speech, how about haiku), being members of the best clubs, representing the wealthiest ethnic group, investing in paintings (what happened to liking them), you get the picture no doubt.
and i'm really happy for us lot. we have things our parents' generation did not, most of us have made more, much much much more money than our fathers did (mothers of course rarely worked, unless as rather sadly paid school teachers). as a part-time copywriter in a small agency that can only underpay, i earn more than my dad did as a successful petroleum geologist or my grandfather did as the auditor general of india (yes yes that was years ago and all that, but it's still crazy). We're also an amazingly well educated lot (harvard/wharton/insead/iit/iim/sophia polytechnic huh? aiyaa some day we'll be famous too).
we've worked hard, taken many risks, and what the heck we deserve our elevated status and bank b. till now all is well.
then you find yourself at a dinner with us. o boy. why are we talking about money (openly or in this clumsily veiled manner, always in a funny accent) all the time or discussing people (often people we don't know very well, but let that not stop the pointless bitching)? "do you know so and so is going back to india and her husband is going to do the same job he was doing earlier for the bank (death by subtext)?"; "which part of india are you from? not india, bangladesh? o that's the same as india only! yes and my xyz function head who reports to me is from your country, got this big beard and all (much hand gesture around superior chin area)?"; "you know i have finally bought this famous painter and once he dies can you imagine how much this painting's gonna be worth?" attention attention, this is reality blog, all these instances are for real. also, please don't try at home, extreme practice under professional trainers required before you dare attempt.
on to the mom-in-law talk. yes, even now, even so many thousand miles away from her, even when she's not beating or burning us or making us make pickles under the hot sun. yes, even, nay especially now, our husband's mothers deserve no mercy, certainly no respect. love? o. mi. god.
now shall we over coffee rip this so boring!, sterile city apart? so what this is where we've made our fortunes, where we live in our beautiful homes, school our kids, keep them safe and away from drugs, wear our diamonds (you know, she had on such a big one on her finger the other day, so garish, what is she trying to prove?) without fear of being robbed, and have our philippina maids take care of us (i don't want to move to london and be the maid, ok)? so what, this 18 by 28 square mile country deserves our critical unappreciation. let's talk about these mundane silly locals and enjoy our superiority. after all, without us how would they survive!
then of course there's the religion talk. unless of course, you are above that and only laugh at people who are practicing their faith. so infra dig to be observant in this day and age, faint curling of lips, little shake of head, back to a sip of the martini (i only love the martini in this sentence). actually, anyone who's had an early morning chat with me knows i have my little angst around organised religion, what time and humans have made of great spiritual realisations, and what all religions have done to women, but that's moi. if you want to do your own thing, here's to you and may you do it well and may it open your heart and make you really rich.
and don't forget culture. don your pearls, chiffons, chanels, and satya pauls (or armanis, versaces, zegnas) and rush off for that sarod recital (after all your personal banker has invited you), plus must check out who all got invited and who're the poor devils that actually had to buy their tickets, tch tch. children must be "exposed" to our culture too, and i as a good mother must never forget that i've been told and reminded several times. a look at our state of culture here makes me shiver at the thought of any exposure.
we have so much, so how come we've become so little.
for 9 years i have looked for an exception. yes, it's there. a handful of them in fact, and now that i do a quick scan, hate to say it but most of them are my unmarried girl friends, or those that have been through difficult relationships/difficulties, or those whose children are not doing soooooo well (o us brilliant indians), or guys who didn't become ceo at 30. weren't girls who didn't marry supposed to be these sort of super frustrated, miserable lot? hmmm. time to say goodbye to another stereotype?
and when i think of the values our parents taught us, it's just so sad what i see around me. kind of un-indian almost.
does this mean i'm perfect? you mean i'm not?
what puzzles me. i would have thought, having more would allow us to be more. grow, give, gain stuff that doesn't crash when the stock market does. don't get me wrong. this is not an endorsement of the hindi movie, ooops apologies, bollywood philosophy of rich = bad, poor = good. quite the contrary. in fact i love the idea of having money and being able to do things with it; of acknowledging desire is a necessary part of life; i own my desires, they keep me going. it's just that how come instead of building on all that growing up in india gives us, we've become such shallow cardboard characters.
who knows maybe someday we will be all we can be, for now we are very moneyed (here and in many parts of good old india too), and our minds have gone on a long exclusive super luxury vacation.
shubho bijoya. hope you had a meaningful yom kippur. and those who are in the middle of ramzan, may it be as wonderful as it is supposed to be (my friends in amman, jordan had told me that this was the prophet's way of teaching people kindness and generosity by experiencing the hardships of the have nots, even then the rich were not behaving richly it would seem). here in singapore the lanterns are on and much moon cake is being consumed, it's the mid-autumn festival.
the next time i settle down to a great gossip, i hope i'll remember this entry. enjoy your weekend getaway.
