Normally abnormal..

As children we all heard the world talk. Well, maybe not directly but it always told us what to do. It defined our lives, restricted us and directed our thoughts. Taught us to believe, to un-question and to accept the things the way it interpreted everything, everybody. I'm talking about those voices that told us what to eat, whom to pray, whom to be-friend, where to play, what not-to-say and what to become. Aren't we all the product of this manufactured world? I mean, look at us. We all function the same way. Any of you who turned different, have been sent for repair. These repair shops undid the 'difference' and conditioned you to act like everyone else. And then, you were sent to the market as a "normal product".

And then it told you, Live!

Bits of a whole..

As clichéd as it might sound, every morning she woke up with the first ray of the sun. My first glimpse of her as a kid would be, seeing her water the plants. She enjoyed her work at home and guarded it like a soldier. I still remember seeing her do the same thing at the same time every day. Discipline, cleanliness and punctuality were the only words that lingered around in those walls where she lived in. Authoritative in stature but had aged beautifully and single handedly raised five children all on her own. Of course, her husband had left her with wealth which would give them a lavish lifestyle, if not anything.

She was a young widow, but strangely so I saw in her a woman-ness that I cannot describe. She had this sense of accomplishment, of having ruled like a queen. Spent lavishly, be it her love for silk woven kachipuram sarees or a full-fledged south-indian meal, cooked only by her. Her kitchen was a very special space; clean, symmetrical and in order. Her speciality? Only she gets to cook in her kitchen. As a kid, I remember sitting with my cousins cross legged on the ground while she served us for breakfast, lunch and dinner as we ate in silence. I saw how complete she felt each time she fed us. There was a sense of endearing that only an artist felt when his work was appreciated or simply understood for that matter.

Moving out of the kitchen, the bedrooms, and the main hall were well done with décor. It reflected of someone who has a good taste, with pastel shade bedsheets and sofa that matched the white laced curtains. The color of the paint of the house, the bathroom tiles and the well-maintained garden, beautifully done. There were times when we helped her do the chores, she would teach us how to make the bed, by tucking the bedsheet tightly underneath so it wouldn’t form any rumples. Usually, children don’t like order, they don’t like to be told what to do. But I don’t know why I was so amazed by her. Being authoritative, she had this pride that sometimes distanced her from the rest. I never saw her friends and we could never interact with her normally. She had this strict persona that almost never let anyone in. And that I wonder.

With such a strong exterior, she had a sense of responsibility towards her own ones and sometimes even outsiders. One of the stories that I recall, is how she saved my father’s business from bankruptcy. My father talks about it with gratitude and humility as to how he couldn’t have made it if not for that kind gesture. She also had her conflicts as she lived such a difficult life. In fact, she was all about them. She was straight forward, rude at times, reticent and at the same time demanding for attention. And we all gave in, as if that was the only way we could pay her emotional debts. The last time I saw her, she was in bed, unable to move, breathing with the help of an oxygen cylinder. She didn't survive cancer and left this world last year. I couldn't let go of her easily, I don't think I ever can.

        (In the pic: Left is my mom with her in the middle and me on the right)

This was that part of my childhood when I was making mind notes. As a young girl I met different kind of women and men and they all amazed me and I wanted to be bits of all of them. She was one of them. My mom’s eldest sister, Rita.

Let's talk

Silence has been around,

For way too long now.

There is so much to say,

But to whom?

Filtering and brewing,

Our thoughts like coffee.

All we end up saying?

Only that tastes good!

The residue left behind,

Has started to pile up.

Of feelings and desires,

Of truth and opinions.

But who wants the taste,

Of an unfiltered thought?

Why does it feel so normal?

To say, yet not to!

My guilt trips to India..

The first time I landed in US after my wedding, I had my mangalsutra (wedding chain that only women wear after marriage as a symbol of being a married woman which is a thick long chain of gold with smaller gold pendants) as I was told to be wearing it always and to never take it off. As days passed by, I stopped wearing it, as it was very uncomfortable and was too much gold for an everyday accessory. I am someone whom you would normally find not wearing earrings even, to me this thick long chain meant more of a task than my own will to wear it. 

I don't even want to talk about why men don't have any such accessory that symbolize their marriage to women. And why are married women judged when they aren't wearing one. This attitude and tradition is so old and rigid that it would hurt the sentiments of a lot of people. Actually, the society isn't wrong either, that's just how our minds have been conditioned. But I am more concerned about how I always feel guilty when I wear it only when I go to India, because I don't want to be judged and not because I want to wear it. 

For me, it doesn't mean anything. I don't believe that wearing a chain would strengthen my marriage or would protect it in any possible way.The feeling is not very pleasant when you find yourself cheating your own ones. Only if there was an easier and a simpler way to do it. But, do we have the courage to accept and change? 

Wedding weds Grandeur

Let the grandeur be the bride,

The groom and them all.

Let all the noise go low,

To hear their wedding vows aloud.

Let the love speak louder,

Not money, not gold.

Let the father of the bride-

Smile in happiness, unsold.

Let the blessings shower,

On the bride, the groom and all.

Rejoice their day, be fair-

Not judging their suitable pair.

Break the customs,

Don’t give, don’t take.

Exchange the love,

For heaven’s sake!

The bright-flashy lights,

The music and the sound.

What use of it all?-

With no one to charm!

The number of people,

That we gather around.

Not one, we know;

As our own, as our 'all'.

As if the two,

The bride and the groom-

Need the whole world’s wow,

To marry and vow!

Enough of hiding under the garb,

Of tradition, culture and them all.

Let us vow to not betray-

Our liberated minds, we won’t astray!

The toe ring vows

She smiled with her eyes,

With a doubtful heart.

Wanting to go,

Yet wanting to stay back.  

But her walk with grace,

With smile and all;

Said something else,

About her wants.

Ahead she went,

Leaving all behind.

Increasing her pace,

Along with her suitcase.

She carried in it,

Bits of her home.

Some food, some clothes;

For another home.

Days passed by,

And so did months.

She packs again,

again she leaves.

With a smile in her eyes,

And a doubtful heart.

Wanting to go,

Yet wanting to stay back.

Happy and gay, not in India..

So, United States legalized same-sex marriage and it leaves me thinking about my country. There are too many posts circulating in the social media about how India should be responding to this. I want to support it but I also know that it is too much to ask from a country like India. Aren't we a very complex society? Complexity stinks and reeks right from our homes to our political agendas. In the garb of culture and tradition we have created a hypocritical society that will term everything and anything that is different as uncultured or a sin.

As a teenager, the first glimpse of my country and its culture was not a very comprehensive one. I had too many questions in my mind about a lot of things that we did blindly. I don’t think I accepted most of it. And of all that I battled and rejected I’m glad I had parents who let me be, who did not impose their beliefs on me or my siblings. When youngsters today move out to a new town or even a different country, they gain exposure in every aspect of life. Their individual being is shaped by various factors, not just education and a job but even social life.

Forget telling an Indian parent that you are gay, how many parents accept and confront that their kids drink or smoke occasionally? Or how many vegetarians-at-home eat a chicken curry comfortably outside and cannot mention about it at home? How many of you wear a jacket while you leave home because you are wearing a sleeveless top? How many of you don’t want to be part of religious customs because you have discovered that you are not religious but spiritual? How many of you are tired of a god-man telling you what to do all your life? How many of you couldn't convince your parents for an inter-caste marriage? These are some of the many questions that we have to deal with first before we start discussing our “sexual orientation" with our parents.

Our conversations have to definitely move from ‘how many marks did you score?’, ‘when are you getting promoted?’, ‘when are you getting married?’, ‘when are you having kids?’ to real questions that make us feel comfortable enough to not lie and to bravely put forth even the ugliest truth. But that India I cannot seem to imagine even in the nearest future. For now, cheers United States!

Shiela Nilaya

I would like to address her as Shiela Rao, her name before her marriage. I feel every woman should retain her name, not to mean in a feminist way but simply because she is born with it. She lives her name in her school, college, through her career and of course with family and friends. And I think a name says a lot about someone. I’m not quite a believer of the famous Shakespearean quote, “what’s in a name?.”

 So, when I think of my grandma I try and connect the dots from all that I have heard about her. She still remains a mystery to me. It seems she was a social welfare officer before and after the Independence of India. She worked during the British rule and was a graduate. My father mentions a lot about her, every now and then. He would use one word to describe her, that she was ‘kind’. Sometimes, eating something familiar he had in his childhood would remind him of her. And in no time he’d recall “This, I know this taste, it’s just how my mother used to cook”.

Our house is filled with her craft work. From knitting to simple thread work on the table spreads and small knits that were used as covers for the telephones back then. I never had the chance to see her or be with her but I saw her through my father’s eyes. I wonder why my grandpa never spoke much about her, I wish he would talk more about the kind of person she was. But, he does tell us his love story with his head held high. My grandma in those days had the audacity to fall in love, to stand by it and marry the man she loved, my grandpa. And the rest is history.

She definitely was a big influence in my grandpa’s career, insisting my grandpa to complete his graduation and instilling faith in “Lokadarshan”, Kannada daily newspaper which was formerly called “Darshan”. There are days when we sisters sit and talk about her. Wondering of a different life that we would have in her presence. But she blessed us with a good life anyway. And the name? It still remains, our house is named after her, “Shiela Nilaya”.