Location:McLeodganj, Himachal Pradesh.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Sketches of a certain Miss J
A certain someone I know has been asking me to write short stories. And so based on popular demand (Oooh, That sentence made me feel so accomplished) - I hereby start a series of short character sketches of some of the most interesting people I have met in my life. Who knows- even you may be featured in one of these sometime :)
J Mausi-known to others as Miss J
J Mausi (Aunt)- known to others as Miss J- is a tiny, frail and slender woman, with huge, ever curious eyes peering from big horned rimmed glasses. She wears dresses with pretty floral patterns and comfortable flat sandals and all her clothes are tailor made with the design carefully chosen from the old leafy catalogs of a popular UK based magazine'Woman's Weekly' . The tailor who makes these dresses for Miss J has been doing that since about 35 years and sits in a corner shop in the main road of my small hometown. He is a rickety old man with thick glasses and knows that Miss J likes her dresses to be a modest below the knee length and comfortable during summers.
Apart from being my mom's colleague and friend, J Mausi was also my first kindergarten class teacher. She is the one who taught me my first alphabets and held my tiny hands and showed me the tricks of cursive writing. She also often smacked me on my head for the silly little mistakes I made. Miss J had a long wooden ruler in her classroom cupboard with which she would discipline the naughtiest miscreants in her class. She was also later treat the aforementioned miscreant with candy to make up for the disciplining. She once told me, that she would rather have loved to teach little unruly boys. 'Little boys are much more fun than peeved little girls who wailed at the sight of the wooden ruler'
Miss J never married in life and many rumors were whispered in the ears of girls during tiffin hours about her life. Some girls told me she used to be a nun and then she got bored of the nunnery and became a teacher. Some told me she suffered from blood cancer and went to Bombay every month to have all her blood drained out and then be replenished with fresh new blood. I always scoffed at these silly little stories. J Mausi, known to others as Miss J, was my mausi and I knew she went to Bombay to meet her brother and his nephews. I knew because before every trip to Goa (via Bombay) my mother and she would go out shopping to buy clothes and gifts for each of her nephews. With my hands in my waist, I would promptly tell off these rumor mongers. But I would go back home and ask my mother in hushed awe - "Is it true Mausi was a nun?" My mother would almost always silence me with a -"Never mind!'
J Mausi passed on to me her precious gift of love for books. She would borrow books of Enid Blyton such as 'Noddy' (Oh how I loved Noddy) and 'Malory Towers' as well as 'Hardy Boys' , 'Famous Five' and 'Nancy Drew' from the library in her name and bring them in a bundle on Sunday mornings after her church service , much to my utter squeals of delight. When I grew up to be a teenager, I would go to her room right next to the school dormitory and hunt for more books to read in her box full of books.She was the one who introduced me to the passionate world of old issues of Mills and Boon and Georgette Heyer and also, a tiny book of raunchy jokes.That tiny book found a second home below my mattress and would be taken out in the dark of the night to be read under the covers in torchlight, the same book which was later found and seized by my mother.
J Mausi's room was fascinating. It was tiny (everything about J Mausi was tiny, except her wooden ruler) with a single bed with a hanging mosquito net in the center, a cupboard , her box filled with books and a study table near the window. Next to the tiny book of 'Hail Mary' on her table, she had half a bottle of McDowell's whiskey. Scandalized, I would ask her if it was indeed whiskey- and she would laugh out aloud and tell me it was just water. I never really believed her. Now that I know - probably she was right, whiskey's are never transparent...are they?
How I loved J Mausi, known to others as Miss J!! As an adolescent extremely conscious of my changing body, I would find underwear shopping trips with my mom excruciating painful. One day she went along with us during one such trip and gasped in utmost horror when she saw what my ever practical mother would buy for me while I tried my best to find specks of dust in my shoe. 'Pristine white cotton with no elastic??!!' She exclaimed horrified- and loudly...and I was sure even the watchman at the store entrance could hear her- she proceeded to state in no uncertain terms exactly what she thought of my mom's choice- "Your mother is useless- I'll buy you the real deal ' and then oblivious to my discomfort, dragged me towards the more adventurous sections.
Years later, when I left for the US- J Mausi hugged me tight and told me that I was the child she never had. She also promptly told me to get a boyfriend. We both giggled. Then, immediately-:"Sush...what would your mother think!!
J Mausi-known to others as Miss J
J Mausi (Aunt)- known to others as Miss J- is a tiny, frail and slender woman, with huge, ever curious eyes peering from big horned rimmed glasses. She wears dresses with pretty floral patterns and comfortable flat sandals and all her clothes are tailor made with the design carefully chosen from the old leafy catalogs of a popular UK based magazine'Woman's Weekly' . The tailor who makes these dresses for Miss J has been doing that since about 35 years and sits in a corner shop in the main road of my small hometown. He is a rickety old man with thick glasses and knows that Miss J likes her dresses to be a modest below the knee length and comfortable during summers.
Apart from being my mom's colleague and friend, J Mausi was also my first kindergarten class teacher. She is the one who taught me my first alphabets and held my tiny hands and showed me the tricks of cursive writing. She also often smacked me on my head for the silly little mistakes I made. Miss J had a long wooden ruler in her classroom cupboard with which she would discipline the naughtiest miscreants in her class. She was also later treat the aforementioned miscreant with candy to make up for the disciplining. She once told me, that she would rather have loved to teach little unruly boys. 'Little boys are much more fun than peeved little girls who wailed at the sight of the wooden ruler'
Miss J never married in life and many rumors were whispered in the ears of girls during tiffin hours about her life. Some girls told me she used to be a nun and then she got bored of the nunnery and became a teacher. Some told me she suffered from blood cancer and went to Bombay every month to have all her blood drained out and then be replenished with fresh new blood. I always scoffed at these silly little stories. J Mausi, known to others as Miss J, was my mausi and I knew she went to Bombay to meet her brother and his nephews. I knew because before every trip to Goa (via Bombay) my mother and she would go out shopping to buy clothes and gifts for each of her nephews. With my hands in my waist, I would promptly tell off these rumor mongers. But I would go back home and ask my mother in hushed awe - "Is it true Mausi was a nun?" My mother would almost always silence me with a -"Never mind!'
J Mausi passed on to me her precious gift of love for books. She would borrow books of Enid Blyton such as 'Noddy' (Oh how I loved Noddy) and 'Malory Towers' as well as 'Hardy Boys' , 'Famous Five' and 'Nancy Drew' from the library in her name and bring them in a bundle on Sunday mornings after her church service , much to my utter squeals of delight. When I grew up to be a teenager, I would go to her room right next to the school dormitory and hunt for more books to read in her box full of books.She was the one who introduced me to the passionate world of old issues of Mills and Boon and Georgette Heyer and also, a tiny book of raunchy jokes.That tiny book found a second home below my mattress and would be taken out in the dark of the night to be read under the covers in torchlight, the same book which was later found and seized by my mother.
J Mausi's room was fascinating. It was tiny (everything about J Mausi was tiny, except her wooden ruler) with a single bed with a hanging mosquito net in the center, a cupboard , her box filled with books and a study table near the window. Next to the tiny book of 'Hail Mary' on her table, she had half a bottle of McDowell's whiskey. Scandalized, I would ask her if it was indeed whiskey- and she would laugh out aloud and tell me it was just water. I never really believed her. Now that I know - probably she was right, whiskey's are never transparent...are they?
How I loved J Mausi, known to others as Miss J!! As an adolescent extremely conscious of my changing body, I would find underwear shopping trips with my mom excruciating painful. One day she went along with us during one such trip and gasped in utmost horror when she saw what my ever practical mother would buy for me while I tried my best to find specks of dust in my shoe. 'Pristine white cotton with no elastic??!!' She exclaimed horrified- and loudly...and I was sure even the watchman at the store entrance could hear her- she proceeded to state in no uncertain terms exactly what she thought of my mom's choice- "Your mother is useless- I'll buy you the real deal ' and then oblivious to my discomfort, dragged me towards the more adventurous sections.
Years later, when I left for the US- J Mausi hugged me tight and told me that I was the child she never had. She also promptly told me to get a boyfriend. We both giggled. Then, immediately-:"Sush...what would your mother think!!
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Utah
It's been a while since I posted. Life has kept me busy.This morning, errr.. afternoon rather (C'mon, its a Sunday afterall) I woke up thinking about Utah. Whenever I tell people I studied at the Utah State University in a small mid-western town called Logan in a predominantly conservative LDS community, I almost always get a raised eyebrow as a response. It makes me a little defensive of the place I lived for two years of my life and formed important relationships which stayed with me even after I moved back to India.
For one, when people think Utah - they think barren desert ,with miles and miles of flat land of cactus and shrubs with rattlesnakes and an occasional farmhouse breaking the monotony and a lone cowboy on his horse with a tilted mud crusted hat squinting his eyes at you and nodding his 'howdy' (Insert appropriate western cowboy music here).
I tell them- Think rolling hills and mountains, rivers, hidden creeks, open wide spaces , blue skies and white fluffy clouds. Like this.
They tell me Utah is lame because people in Utah don't go to wild parties over the weekend and get drunk and puke on the floor (and on themselves) and pass out - what's the fun without that?
I tell them- True, there are very very few bars where you can go drink yourself silly and puke on the floor (Or yourself ) - most people who like that kind of shit, do it in house parties. I've been to those a few times and I realized I don't enjoy puking. So instead, I would spend weekends like this .
Camping out with friends
Floating on the Tony Grove lake on a sunny Sunday
Camping at Yellowstone National Park, awed by the wonders of nature.
Learning how to appreciate good art with wonderful artists
Learning to play the Djembe by the fire on a clear summer night, having my first s'mores and watching shooting stars in the sky
Hiking up to the North window in Arches National park at night and lying on the rocks until midnight listening to silence and feeling tiny underneath the sky so full of shiny blinking stars.
They tell me , I missed out on the fun - These people from New York, Chicago, LA and California.
I tell them- I don't think so.
For one, when people think Utah - they think barren desert ,with miles and miles of flat land of cactus and shrubs with rattlesnakes and an occasional farmhouse breaking the monotony and a lone cowboy on his horse with a tilted mud crusted hat squinting his eyes at you and nodding his 'howdy' (Insert appropriate western cowboy music here).
I tell them- Think rolling hills and mountains, rivers, hidden creeks, open wide spaces , blue skies and white fluffy clouds. Like this.
They tell me Utah is lame because people in Utah don't go to wild parties over the weekend and get drunk and puke on the floor (and on themselves) and pass out - what's the fun without that?
I tell them- True, there are very very few bars where you can go drink yourself silly and puke on the floor (Or yourself ) - most people who like that kind of shit, do it in house parties. I've been to those a few times and I realized I don't enjoy puking. So instead, I would spend weekends like this .
Camping out with friends
Floating on the Tony Grove lake on a sunny Sunday
Camping at Yellowstone National Park, awed by the wonders of nature.
Learning how to appreciate good art with wonderful artists
Learning to play the Djembe by the fire on a clear summer night, having my first s'mores and watching shooting stars in the sky
Hiking up to the North window in Arches National park at night and lying on the rocks until midnight listening to silence and feeling tiny underneath the sky so full of shiny blinking stars.
They tell me , I missed out on the fun - These people from New York, Chicago, LA and California.
I tell them- I don't think so.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Pulikali at Suraj Kund Mela
Artists performing the Pulikali ( meaning : play of tigers) dance at Suraj Kund Mela 2011 in Faridabad, Haryana. The Pulikali is a dance form which originated in Kerala over 200 years ago and is said to reflect the wild and macho spirit of the beast. The dancers use steps and body language peculiar to the tiger being stalked by a hunter to the beats of the drums.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Itchy
So I’ve been itching to travel quite a lot lately. Last month, I did the long- weekend trip to Jaipur, Rajasthan with a female colleague of mine and you would think that I wouldn’t be so restless after only 3 weeks after the trip – but here I find myself dreaming of backpacking my way to unknown destinations again.
This time, I am thinking of venturing out solo. Of course, I will have to tell my family about it before I leave and they will initially not be very welcoming to the idea – it was hard enough convincing them to let me have an independent apartment in a scary city like Delhi. I don’t worry about the convincing part too much because as long as I am able to effectively explain to them my reasons of wanting to travel solo and am able to convince them that I am confident and prepared enough to be able to take this venture on my own- they will be fine (albeit with nervous and trepidation). BUT they will be fine.
So I researched online for previous experiences of women who have backpacked in India before and read about their experiences and advice. I found tons of women travellers(yay !) who travel solo all over the world and especially through India which to-be-honest does NOT give much credibility and sense of security to a single woman unaccompanied by a male in most situations (more on this issue in another post). One such website where I found well archived and extensive information is the Journeywoman . However, most of the travelogues in the website are for the international woman traveler and focuses on the issues of the culture nuances of India, the clothes to wear, the appropriate ways to interact with the locals etc.
But what about an Indian woman backpacker, I then asked Google. And here is what Google told me- There are a few Indian women who take the road less travelled (pun intended) and do the unimaginable- Travel alone. I found a nice article on the stories of a few Indian women who have done it here. The report encouraged me – and I scrolled through the comments section and guess what? It was also nice to see some men cheer the ladies on and there were also a few chauvinist dickheads also contributed their stupidity to the general ignorance of ‘superior’ men folk . I also found out about Woman on Wanderlust (WOW) founded by Sumitra Senapaty which organizes travel trips exclusively for women. They have some really nice national and international trips coming up in 2011 and the trips to Bhutan and Ladakh instantly made my eyes shine with excitement. Yet, these trips are comparatively a tad bit pricey as most women who travel with WOW look for comparative comfort when traveling. What I am looking for mainly a backpacking experience in a
shoe-string budget . Wish me luck!!
"I read somewhere... how important it is in life not necessarily to be strong... but to feel strong." -Christopher McCandless
This time, I am thinking of venturing out solo. Of course, I will have to tell my family about it before I leave and they will initially not be very welcoming to the idea – it was hard enough convincing them to let me have an independent apartment in a scary city like Delhi. I don’t worry about the convincing part too much because as long as I am able to effectively explain to them my reasons of wanting to travel solo and am able to convince them that I am confident and prepared enough to be able to take this venture on my own- they will be fine (albeit with nervous and trepidation). BUT they will be fine.
So I researched online for previous experiences of women who have backpacked in India before and read about their experiences and advice. I found tons of women travellers(yay !) who travel solo all over the world and especially through India which to-be-honest does NOT give much credibility and sense of security to a single woman unaccompanied by a male in most situations (more on this issue in another post). One such website where I found well archived and extensive information is the Journeywoman . However, most of the travelogues in the website are for the international woman traveler and focuses on the issues of the culture nuances of India, the clothes to wear, the appropriate ways to interact with the locals etc.
But what about an Indian woman backpacker, I then asked Google. And here is what Google told me- There are a few Indian women who take the road less travelled (pun intended) and do the unimaginable- Travel alone. I found a nice article on the stories of a few Indian women who have done it here. The report encouraged me – and I scrolled through the comments section and guess what? It was also nice to see some men cheer the ladies on and there were also a few chauvinist dickheads also contributed their stupidity to the general ignorance of ‘superior’ men folk . I also found out about Woman on Wanderlust (WOW) founded by Sumitra Senapaty which organizes travel trips exclusively for women. They have some really nice national and international trips coming up in 2011 and the trips to Bhutan and Ladakh instantly made my eyes shine with excitement. Yet, these trips are comparatively a tad bit pricey as most women who travel with WOW look for comparative comfort when traveling. What I am looking for mainly a backpacking experience in a
shoe-string budget . Wish me luck!!
"I read somewhere... how important it is in life not necessarily to be strong... but to feel strong." -Christopher McCandless
Monday, February 7, 2011
Travails of working for development
One of the things that bugs me about the attitude of development workers from other 'developed' countries is their constant bitching about India for numerous reasons starting from the dust, the incessant noise, the overwhelming pollution, the annoying beggars , the malnourished street dogs, unclean water , Delhi belly, people peeing on the roadside, corruption, eave-teasing, cows on the streets, traffic ....(and so goes the list). Now, if it were say, a business man on a trip to India who has had no experience of poverty and the problems it entails, and no compassion towards it and lands in India unaware and unprepared - then maybe I would understand his discomfort and hell, I would even offer him sympathy at his lack of adaptability to a condition called poverty that afflicts 1.1 billion people in the world , forcing them to live in less than 1$ per day.
But I cannot understand and refuse to humor people who 'work' in the development sector with the intention of alleviating that poverty and speak ill of the country that they decide to work in. I agree that living in India is not easy- it's hard for me as well even though I have been born and brought up in this country and know its ways.
Yet, there is a difference between acknowledging these problems at face value and just being outright condescending about it. You are not being true to your profession otherwise.
But I cannot understand and refuse to humor people who 'work' in the development sector with the intention of alleviating that poverty and speak ill of the country that they decide to work in. I agree that living in India is not easy- it's hard for me as well even though I have been born and brought up in this country and know its ways.
Yet, there is a difference between acknowledging these problems at face value and just being outright condescending about it. You are not being true to your profession otherwise.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
Love
I love the laughter lines in the man. Don't you think his smile could be infectious?
Location: Ogden, Utah
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