Going back to work - My 2nd Innings

 I awkwardly stood tall as I glanced at the full length mirror at Senor's in Panjim, Goa. The sleek  black 4 inches sling back was a pretty pair however, I felt not so at home in those heels anymore. I was a mother of a three years old toddler son and an 8 month old daughter. My body was still reeling under the double whammy onslaught of motherhood - the weight not all gone  and looked like here to stay ! Rahul gave a very reassuring nod as I mentally matched it with the Allen Solly formal wear that I picked up the day before . After a three years sabbatical of babies, diapers and oodles of love and happiness  - I was stepping into my high heels again. No, not going back to flying rather to train and guide service industry  aspirants. 

I prepared for the meeting with a purpose and a prayer.

I ran across the  wet  parking lot as it drizzled before it poured.  After three years of sneakers and flats, I could not only stand tall and walk but also run in my heels. This felt like an innate gift and a skill not  many would boast of. I suddenly felt confident - if I can dash in my heels then I can conquer the world ! I was overwhelmed as I  addressed  a dozen people as a part of my validation round of the interview process. I felt so comfortable and ‘at home’ as the room resonated with applause to my disbelief. Thus my journey began – my second innings-   a trainer for a finishing school.

To put it simply, now I had added responsibilities. Two adorable babies,a busy husband,  ever supportive  Mama , my full time help and now my new job  demanding my  time, energy and focus. I asked for it -didn't I?Life is comparatively  laid back in Goa. I got a driver to ferry me from home to work and back to my babies  to be held and cuddled and to  Siddharth's  repetitive 'Carry me mama". Oft times Mama would have lulled Viveka to her afternoon nap and Siddharth would be back from  play school. I was tired than I had ever imagined, perhaps it was the multitasking I had chosen to dabble with.  The salary pings compensated for many conflicting emotions .The confusion was not that simple I guessed! Sipping Darjeeling tea one afternoon ,mama  who was a teacher for 33 odd years herself  was confident that I could now manage with a baby sitter as she had to head home to my dad and the older family members! I hugged her and she walked towards the plane - I found her almost heartless! as she waved at me -  with a baby in my  arms and a toddler clinging to my dress!

  Now I am on a lookout for a babysitter. I dislike the term 'babysitter' - a tinge of guilt tugs at my maternal heart because I am  opting to do something else that is important to ME.  I light a candle at the alter and put my request  to the most Holy One and his Mother. Prayed to my dad's patron saint  to help me leave my kids with a  sweet stranger so that I could step out  and tell the on boarding professionals  to be efficient and effective. I wasn't convinced of this fantastic idea however I went ahead ! Yes,  St. Padre Pio interceded yet again  when miraculously I met  a middle aged Donata, a wonderful mother of 4 grown up children .She was looking for a job  until she gets to fly out of India on her Portuguese passport. I was more than happy  to have her as my interim babysitter.   Me -a  flexi job professional  and three employees, it seemed like I was working for them. I had to take a call. I planned a cost cutting strategy. Bargained out  Savio, the  driver  and now you could see me driving in my heels and sometimes doing a 'Michael Schumacher" when I  was pinched of time. Donata with her maternal air convinced me of her baby sitting skills while Ruchika took charge of the house. We all worked together. 

 

I am  multi - tasking, I boast whenever this question is  thrown at me ever so often. Deep down I am of this idea that I just work a lot more than my other half. I am of the opinion that women do not multitask - we just work more and work harder. Multitasking is a term coined for women who juggle children, family, a job and running a household  and make it look like a breeze. That is pretty much a lot of work, you agree? Just wondering why nobody asks Rahul ,"how do you manage your job and the kids?"

Rahul you all know by now  works for the Hospitality Industry that takes him places. I have not only mastered the art of 'pack and go' but I am a corporate trainer on the go! That makes me a freelancer haha! Don't get me wrong , I might be all over the place like a mosquito but I do take my craft seriously. Over the years I have  gone back to university, up skilled, have a couple of  relevant degrees and  certifications under my belt. Read  Robert H Schuller, Carl Jung, Sigmund Freud, attended  Daniel Goleman, Edward de Bono, Stephen Covey, Richard Bandler seminars and many more nearer home.

 

So what do I do?  A Corporate trainer leads and facilitates the learning process to   educate  and up skill professionals.  this benefits the  employers and it is also beneficial for employees to  hone their  knowledge and skills . It is a win win situation most times ! Usually the learning  and development arm of the organization undertakes this task of Training Need Analysis  and  identified needs around which  the content is based . This  is where we come in as Trainers who lead the game of learning through classroom and now virtual platforms. My domain is  personal effectiveness through Life Skills  and Behavioral Training. often on I have lead  sales and  service training, leadership programs - You just read and research the content and you are at the top of the game( and hope and pray that your knowledge will keep you afloat!). I work with training houses, individual organizations and universities.  It is undoubtedly a fulfilling experience to be in a classroom among people who are eager to learn, many a times to unlearn and relearn, to remind and realign to follow ups and palpable learning outcomes. Have clocked over thousand hours of active training and innumerarable hours of research and content building. Through the training classroom doors  I have come across beautiful people - trainers, colleagues, friends, counselors , managers - exemplary personalities, I must say, who are passionate about this ever dynamic world of learning,growth and  value addition. I am a part of the impact workforce - if there is a term like this, I just coined it! :)

 

The notorious Covid 19 brought the world to a standstill - well almost . I bartered tech lousy to tech savvy almost overnight to be a part of a couple of online training projects. I am peering at the screen in my formals and my pink  crocs, and how I miss the classroom and my heels. I choose not to because I am alive and kicking and working and is it not reason enough to be happy and grateful? 

As I wade through this phase of life  my children are now all grown up -promising  teenagers brought up not just on love and everything worldly wise but also on high dosage of life skills lectures and  learning activities and rounding  up with the  the all essential  feedback.  My juggling is technical  - have applied the Pareto's 80/20 family / profession principle. They both sit pretty well and  juggling the hats have given me the time and space to put my family first, pursue my passion of reading and writing, travelling, dreaming and doing nothing ,watching people and learning from  them. Maybe I could flip it once the kids have flown out of the nest.

"I watch people and learn from them." - Robert H Schuller. 

( and so do I ! )

Claudia Joshi 

29, January 2021.

 

 

The Sky is the Limit

That “everything  is to be served on a tray!” strongly etched on my mind, I placed a butter chiplet on a tea tray.To my horror as I pushed the tray forward he retorted , “ I want butter butter!’ I said, “Sir, this is butter!” Not convinced and doubting my sanity he made that famous ‘my thumb is a spout’ gesture and irately said butter,butter! I got it ! Did you get it? Butter, bawter, waatter , water ? I scampered to the aft galley hiding my laughter and embarrassment! He glared at me as he lifted the disposable water cup off the tray! Sorries do not fall easily through my lips !It was just a minor mis -communication! I forgave myself as I sashayed back ! My selection was the result of a mammoth impression I created on the panel of three astute interviewers with my latent mix bag skills of grooming and communication presented with utmost modesty and groundedness. I knew I had nailed it even before I got that important call on the landline telephone. Intuitive I have been all through. I was a part of the domestic arm of Lufthansa donning the navy blue uniform and wings after the 3 weeks training at The Grand ,Calcutta.I was elated!

The right of passage came in with a certification from the DGCA and I was rostered for my maiden flight to Madras. A dusky  November evening in  New Delhi where I was stationed,I ran across the tarmac in my brand new  Lotus mary janes to board the plane – security pass glitch got me running late! Consciously, I  peeked into my vanity mirror ,my not so clean swept French  knot  in place, a  dab of Copper perfume on my wrist and I stowed my handbag. Goosebumpy and absolutely lady like I tried to look  busy. I could feel the pinky toes squish as the bird lifted off the ground. I had just taken off with my first job - literally. I peered down to a vanishing smoggy  New Delhi as I prayed to Padre Pio ( my dad’s Patron Saint, a practice that I carried forward in  my  decade of flying career) I was convinced I was safe.

A year and a half flew by as I flew day in and day out. Beautiful days those were indeed. Colleagues and people around were a challenge but I was oblivious of many things a city  life  would bring. With the exhilarating  financial independence combined with the responsibilities towards myself,  I could thankfully  create a fine balance of both. Flying across 30 destinations interspersed with mini layovers in tranquil Goa and Cochin, buzzing Bombay and Calcutta  was one big holiday for me. Ferried  politicos, bollywood dudes and divas and the incessant Indian travellers by the hundreds. I was christened ‘sister’ many a times  and some odd ones  labelled me ‘nurse’ which I to this day fail to fathom. It was seriously not a joke when some familiar faces boarded the flight. It was awkward then. We were the pampered cabin attendants of the 90’s with the very palpable glamour quotient. It is all so different now – looks like, it is just another job. Coming back home to a studio apartment I shared with Luna – I was not tired. No, pub hopping and dancing was not my forte. I enjoyed sitting around, chit chatting with Luna and Mita my non flying friends as they chomped on the complimentary chocolate bars and laughed.  Life was going good until one fine day Mr. B K Modi called off the great partnership with Lufthansa that clipped my wings and grounded me hook, line an sinker. The newsmaker .' Modiluft go fly a kite' gave an awkwardly funny  closure to my days in the domestic skies!

With the coffers running dry and and my now calloused pinky toes itching  for a  heeled run through the airport terminal, I dared to put  my wings back as  I rummaged through  a Times of India Ascent issue hoping and praying for  an opportunity  this time  beyond the Indian airspace. As luck would have had it,  I was impressing another international panel .  Before it could  sink  in, I was talking about my dream  travel with my parents. Jordan is a mystical part of the Biblical history  and  was I more than blessed to be a part of this land’s national carrier. 

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Thus Royal Jordanian Airlines happened to me and it brought with it everything that a young girl would dream of. The gypsy soul within me found a bigger pair of wings to fly on – working beyond borders and time zones with girls like me from all corners of the world – It sure taught me to be proactive and collaborative, to understand and to be understood, to face and overcome challenges, to ensure unfailing safety and  wholehearted service to our guests in the sky.The touch of Jordanian  hospitality  showcased through the colourful abaya clad Yahalas serving Arabic coffee was straight out of the Tales of Arabia.It fascinated me as I laughingly tried to grasp the Bedouin language. Equipped with  world class training in safety procedures and service standards where old Mr.Walid introduced us to  petit fours and   hors d’oeuvres,  steaks – well done , medium or rare , cheese and wine, aperitifs and digestifs.I drooled while the vegans retched ! Ms. Mai Haroun was uncompromising with her lessons on First aid and Safety. Simulating real life emergencies from emergency landings to  evacuations and  ditching, we drilled till we got it right. Read the safety manual like the Bible followed by briefings and reruns until I was confident and  ready to take flight. I perfected the 'hostie' gait and traveled across the world, shopped till I dropped , made wonderful friends in dear  Audrey, Lily, Chris, Tshering, Rachel and Ingrid  and many more. What lovely  memories I have of these even lovelier ladies who stood by me, welcomed me into their senior gang of girls. The days off were home lunches and dinners, outings, gin afternoons or dance evenings in and around posh Swefieh.  Audrey’s made to perfection  Indo- Malay curry   with  crunchy sautéed cabbage and Tshering’s scallion and beef dumplings are recipes that have found a way  to my heart and hearth. I recreate  them off and on for my family as I reminiscence my old flying days.  

Based in Amman, flying to India was always a delight.To come home to my cozy apartment in New Delhi and to meet Rahul was always the highlight and the priority  of the flight bids. It was a high flying life with a series of life learnings which I soaked in like blotting paper. Whether it was the smoothest long haul flight to Toronto and a visit to the Niagara Falls or it was a short trip to Cairo and to the Great pyramids at Giza, expensive Europe or affordable Far East everyday was an adventure for a small town girl . On the flip side a  technical snag and a mayday call to  Goose Bay  in eastern Newfoundland followed by an emergency landing or  another  hydraulic failure and a planned emergency landing into Amman when I knelt in the tiny R3 lavatory and invoked all the Gods to bring me to safety have reinforced my belief system and  power in prayers in times of absolute helplessness. These experiences have shaken and shaped me.

Yes I made that dream travel with my parents to the Holyland. A pilgrimage to Madaba and Mt Nebo and the baptismal site of Jesus  in Jordan followed by the road travel to the West Bank to the holy city of Jerusalem . Bethlehem, Nazareth and Galilee.  Then on to Egypt as the part of the holy trail. Realising my mother’s dream to  touch the waters where Jesus walked has been one of my biggest  achievements. 

In the meanwhile I got hitched to the love of my life. Jordan became Rahul’s  second home as he shuttled between India and Jordan and yes we did continue to travel this time round on the spouse quota! for a few years more. Chris my feng shui master suggested ‘If you want to be together you need to keep  the ‘Happiness’ sign  for good luck and new opportunities. It proved potent and effective  when Rahul got a job offer from Goa.  Unable to ignore the  call of the sun, sand and the sea   after all these years of meeting and parting, I dropped  in my resignation thus trading my wings for a relaxed “susegad’ Goan experience. Thousand fold richer with valuable experiences and wonderful friends and memories I traveled back bidding farewell to  Jordan  that was my home for  8 long years.

I finally happily and willingly  clipped my wings.

Claudia Joshi

 P.S July 2019

After a long  17 years Rahul and I  decided to  revisit Jordan this time with children in tow. It was a weeks itinerary and I had precisely two reason to be excited about this trip to Jordan. First was to meet Lily, a dear friend and  RJ colleague ,to catch up on all those years and second was to show my children in and around the town and country. Jordan has changed – more concrete and more people but the old Middle Eastern charm is still intact. It was a trip full of OMGs for me.‘ I cannot  thank Lily enough for the lovely time we had. The mansaf lunch at Hotel Jerusalem in downtown Abdali to the pint at the Irish Pub for the old times sake and for everything between and beyond. Till we meet again Lily ( either in India or Singapore ) sometimes soon.

Claudia Joshi

21, June 2020

 

 

Happy Feet

 

 Happy Feet                                        

Growing up in the hills of Darjeeling is one thing, blessed with parents for whom walking was the one point solution to all celebrations, challenges and problems  is entirely another . Let me talk about the latter. My very earliest childhood memories comprise of walking home after a dinner at my uncle’s place. I must have been four. It was pitch dark and my father had a torch with him ( to this day he carries a torch  – it could be for a brief afternoon walk but there he has it in his jacket pocket!). Uncle fixed  a make- do kerosene torch  locally known as a ‘rako’ to supplement the dying cells. Inhaling the heady sooty fumes ,we trudged up the Kharey Khola slope. Panting and stopping a while to catch a breath we a big family of 7 walked home. The jackals howling in the forest above Goethals Memorial School. I was afraid to look up to the dark skies. Reassured by my fathers’s experience that if you shout and make some noise the bears and jackals would keep to their track, he whistled and mama kept pace in her block heel sandals. “Are you tired? Should I carry you?” asked dad. Mama  quipped, “ We will all walk slowly’  After a brief flat stretch of  Hill Cart Road and an occasional truck trundling in the night , we hit the final climb to St. Mary’s Hill and I am  overjoyed because I feel safe with the familiar  houses with the lone yellow  bulb to light up the balcony and small gardens. Dogs howl and bark at us – keep walking says mama and we do exactly that. Walking through the short cuts and the supposedly haunted bridge where frog croak  all night and  finally ah!  the  sighting of the church steeple. We all bow and make the sign of the cross.I thank Jesus for keeping me safe during the walk home! Home is just a hop, skip and jump from the church. We are home.  Next  morning I see the ‘rako’ orphaned outside. sitting  all cold and black behind the main door. I wonder why we  cannot  have more battery torches when we walk in the dark? For that matter why walk in the dark?

 

I was brought up on a heavy dose of walking through all seasons -  endless walks up through the jungle or down to the banks of Balasun river, walking to school, to town, walking to my beloved aunty’s house, visiting cousins, walking to church, to the grotto and to the graveyard, to collect wild avocados and chestnuts. I walked all the time till the sole of my shoes flattened and  withered and my girly sandals bruised and broke.

 

Of course people walk, more so, in the hills people walk. But we walked a lot. A bit too much for  comfort. A bit too much for people to remark ‘hidnu ramro ta’ all the time.  Our old Willys Jeep and a trusted rental white ambassador with Balu driver driving us here and there is not worth writing about . Walking takes the cake any day!  Sunday  mass  was followed by an unsaid decision to trek to  Deer Park. In the 80’s this little park just above Dow Hill school about 5 kms from home was our favourite haunt so much so that the caretaker Mr. Subba  and his family are now  family friends. After the fun uphill walk which is a breeze for us people with solid calf muscles and strong lungs the pit stop here is interesting with steaming tea and  snacks as we relax and refuel.  It is not  over yet when we  decide to inch towards Chimney and Chaiteypani and walk back . By evening we would  have clocked a good 15 kms and yes we loved it. We gathered fresh vegetables straight from  the villages as we walked passed the familiar faces and terrain.  Occasionally it was  the  walk towards Balasun Valley . This route I disliked as a child because the way back was the whooping  uphill trudge.That was quite a task nevertheless, my pleas fell on deaf ears.

 

It was a Dusshera break during my mid school years. The October days are  pristine ,colourful and festive. But  how would I have known  the longest  and the darkest   October night  if mama and her brothers hadn’t  planned a night trek  to Tiger hill. We were talking a 25 kms walk via the  Military road  that cuts through the jungle. Mom and dad  along with my maternal  uncles, my sister and a few  cousins – we walked all through the night. It was cold and dark and I was tired and scared. On and off they burst crackers to fend the wild animals away. Somewhere in the night  I gobbled two boiled eggs and downed some water. It was twilight at Tiger Hill  bustling with blanket wrapped domestic tourists and faithful old land rovers ferrying them to witness the grandeur of the fiery Mt. Everest and Kanchenjunga at sunrise. All I remember was a queasy feeling  and  mama  saying  ‘ Look , look  the sun looks beautiful’ Looks like I passed out because I woke up to mama putting a sip of hot tea to my lips. Yes I had fainted after the all night walk. I was chided for being a weakling. Post the heist it was  breakfast of steaming dumplings and butter tea served by Tibetan amalas at Jorebunglow followed by a drive home. I did not vow never to walk again!

 

The walks continue - now that I have kids of my own and my parents are proud grandparents passing down the family walking culture. My siblings, nieces and nephews walk the same stretch ever so often with them. Today it is nostalgia and the walks are an extension of our family experiences and memories. I miss home and the Grotto- Calvary- Dow Hill- Deer Park trail .I yearn to  walk those familiar routes. The longing to be  back home and making  those trips like when I was a little girl is insatiable.

 

Telecommunications have come a long way and I am thankful for a little gadget in my hand –.I call my parents and the sweetest voicemail says that the number is out of coverage area. I right away know they must be a pair of  happy feet – walking to better health and happiness in the far off  hills in the cover of green. It’s almost Summertime and the children are looking forward to their trip – to their annual retreat to nature and the great walks with the grandies

Claudia Joshi

Keep Walking

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Lockdown Highs

My Lockdown Highs.

20 April 2020

One thing for sure we welcomed the year of  the  Metal Rat on 25 January and Lilian Too the Feng Shui master said  it is going to be an exciting year with a bit of good and bad. Even I could predict that ! But I’ll give it to her - while the whole world is holed up in their homes fighting the invisible enemy , that for sure has made us rats…we like it or not !

It is 8 in the morning  and  I sit here on my grey and turquoise couch and  CNN’s Don Lemon appears irate and sad as he describes the grim situation of the US in want of real leadership. Some 50 odd News channels are discussing Covid19 - the virulent virus that has brought  the entire mankind to its knees -the rich and the poor alike.Amidst the conspiracy theories, the number games, struggling nations, quarantined runaways, PPE clad front-liners, masked men and women I switch off the telly to what my Montesorrie teachers described as ‘pin drop silence’. It is eerily quiet. 

It is eerily quiet outside.  Haven’t  heard  my little  neighbour Sia giggling and laughing. It's been quite a while. Her mother is afraid and so am I, and I am guessing so is the whole world.  I spot a nest in the  garden. No soul in sight, this emptiness  steers me towards my smartphone for some connection and sanity. I  put up a status on facebook - ‘Lent and Easter right in my garden in these distraught times’ with a photo of  two pristine white eggs on a matted bed of straw and twigs. It is like  God has given me a wake up call . I try to give it a spiritual  interpretation - 

‘All things God Wills.’ We have forgotten to respect and revere what  is ours. Forgotten to sieve and filter the bad and in the confusion stumbled on with want of wisdom and buckled under worldly pressures. In the din and bustle of this unending demands we have forgotten how to live, merely surviving the benchmark created by the rats in the rat race. Forgotten to love , nurture and appreciate - this world and the people in it. It is like nature trying to reclaim what is hers and when she does that ,we are  to hide in our burrows giving this world time to heal. So I choose to stay in and do my bit . Some funny guy rightfully said  “You have got once in a lifetime opportunity to stay home and save the world. Don’t screw this up”

Lockdown - Day 26 officially but it is Day 37 for us. Sitting in,way before our Prime Minister knocked some sense in us. With Rahul away from home, I mulled over this novel  situation and realised that I had a choice  - to cry and cringe or to laugh and binge! ( Poor Joke or PJ that was !!) Discussed  it over with my teenage boy and girl that we would make it the best days of our life. The virtual school is a blessing for them - routine learning  and discipline is priceless with dedicated teachers over virtual learning portals. I am not far behind. I liken myself to  David with that slingshot out to conquer Goliath. Awkward and exploring I trudge on. Privileged to help children and grown ups alike to weather the storm.

Tis Easter ! The nest in the flowerpot lay empty and the hatchling have flown off the nest. We gave an EWTN propelled prayerful closure to Lent with a virtual Easter lunch with family ,with some eggs and  fresh fish delivered to our gate (not to our doorstep!) by our good frends. Living off my humongous freezer, the dwindling stock of fresh fruits and dairy -   the dormant innovative chef and baker in me played ‘peek - a -boo’ and it has been  like magic !  My green patch supplies our micro greens and herbs and some organic tomatoes, spinach and what not. Virtual lunches is our new found love. I sit on my grey and turquoise couch and chit chat  with my  family and friends far and near. I have that weird urge to hear their voice. We are all just living it. Witnessing a pandemic and praying and trusting all will be well and that we will survive to tell the story. 

My hygiene quotient is spiralling out of control . With no maid in tow I am the queen of my castle. I wash clean and sanitise  ever so often as instructed and my hands feel dry and rough and raw ! I think of my mother -in -law who must be over the moon that the entire world is washing their hands and not stopping at that ! The virus has normalised her OCD and I hear  she is gleaming day in and day out ! My very own parents are safe and secure up in the mountains away from the viral onslaught. I humbly  bow at my Alter for such blessings.

While I stay in , introspecting and recalibrating my life I realise that I have to slow down and listen to what the world is trying to tell me. I have to slow down and remain that way.  I have to simplify my life further and remain that way. This brings about a sense of peace within me.

20 May 2020

Lockdown Day 56

  Still sitting in  and in the days gone by, I have made an 650 kms inter state travel to be with Rahul. It was a door to door travel with no human contact whatsoever. Driving North through the NH 3 I witnessed hundreds of thousand of migrant labourers getting home on foot, on auto rickshaws and trucks - India the land of the diverse and the poor. Could see the hunger, pain amidst the  determination to get home.Such basic human instinct  and yearning to be home in times of  unforeseen fear and crisis .Peering out of my spacious air-conditioned SUV I have multiple questions racing through my  mind. My grown up kids sleeping to the soothing whirring of the engine and I am thankful and grateful but it is  all so unfair - all teary eyed behind my shades. Life could not get worse than this - the vulnerable  and the poor ,the victim of the virus and the harsh government policies that has paralysed the very essence of life.

 Physically cut off from the human race - time and again reminded  of how we have become our own enemy. I hear Viveka hum a Billie Eilish tune to her Ukulele and life is still good. So good that we four can still sing and dance and choose to laugh and be happy.If you  can laugh  and be happy then there is Hope. Pin your hope on that  far off rainbow. Proud to see Rahul involved in his CSR and Crisis Management - taking care of the front liners. Over my light clicking of the keyboard Rahul talks to his mother - a lively conversation from what’s for dinner to family and national politics! Hoping and planning  to meet family and friends when things get better. Sight pinned strongly on the far - off rainbow beyond the fog and rain.

As the  virus blends into our world , we  continue to sanitise and wash and wipe , coming to terms with the the reality and  learning to adapt and adjust to the new normal. My sight strongly pinned on that  rainbow - I choose to believe that a cure is not far behind and we will come out of this kinder and stronger, connected and considerate. 

Claudia Joshi

Corona Warrior :)

Sweet Blessings

Sweet Blessings!

Yesterday I got home quite exhausted. Could hear the journalists  enjoying  their short  lived  popularity  and time in front of the camera – fighting for their space and attention  in a people’s channel on TV.  She was all ears. She looked pristine in her freshly dry cleaned  grey cotton saree. She had a soft woollen grey shawl draped around her feeble yet strong shoulders.  She was happy that I was home. She offered to make me a cup of tea saying ‘ aaj meri haath ki chai peele, me achchi chai banati hu’. Grateful and thankful for the offer, I brew  hot steaming Darjeeling tea and as the reporters shout and cry over the state election results  we rejuvenate over the  flavonoid laden elixir.

Mrs Hema Joshi, my octogenarian mother–in–law from Dehradun  is a well read woman in love with Bengali literature , an intellectual  and  an artist  with  an amazing way with ink and graphite. She has great culinary skills and is an epitome of feminine presence. She was a  teacher – a career woman until  she was  married off to my father- in – law in not so far away Himachal Pradesh where she settled into her domestic role of  wife, mother and  daughter- in law! She took charge of the household like no other.

Met her  in  1997 and I have to accept the fact that we challenged the science of First Impressions. Let me explain – I was not in that age and space to impress. I have  blatantly and bluntly been myself to my advantage and disadvantage.  She wasn’t either. When you look at people through the smoke screen of religion, race, community and caste people do appear distorted and disfigured. Guess that is what was working here more than anything else. Her underlying OCD of hygiene and cleanliness was magnified  as I saw her unwillingness to touch doorknobs and  light switches. Her obsession with daily ablutions and creating laundry lines in wardrobes beat me to my own game of understanding human behaviour.

Gone are the days of happy  joint families as career dreams have scattered many people into the urban madness with aging parents staring at walls and OLed TV screens in customised home theatres. No! we are not that unfortunate.  Neither have we been  swallowed by the urban rat nor do we have customised home theatre. We still believe in chit chatting  and engaging in human interactions as we mix   vegetable curry and yellow dal with white rice over dinner. It is that time of the year when she visits us -  and we have aunty sitting at the head of the table – fussing over the food in front of her. It is okay because she has been fussing over food ever since I know her. An old friend of mine ( literally so, because Betsy is 88 !) once said “ If you want to live a long life  , you have to eat like a bird”. Aunty is doing the right thing but I do get to coax and cajole her to binge eat.

It is definitely not just Vitamin D she soaks in – as she sits in the miniscule green lawn outside. She reads, looks at the passer-bys – the tiny tots going to play school, is happy to see the yellow butterfly dancing over the little patch of kitchen greens! Nidhi comes over greeting us with her big smile and occasionally  Sia joins us – she is a cherub- like baby tripping and falling , smiling and cooing -  learning  the ways of the world!

It is such a delight to see Rahul doting over his mother. He loves her to bits and it is so obvious. He makes sure that she is absolutely comfortable in our little home pad. Our weekend outings with her, the occasional breakfast at ‘Banana leaf’ where the mundu clad waiters serve piping hot South Indian fare followed by the cool tender coconut dessert.  Family time with the children, books, TV  time, long  telephonics with her siblings,  story –telling ,trips here and there for fresh air and some dose of social interactions keeps her busy.

My once very cordial relationship with her has evolved into this very unsaid and unspoken comfortable space for both of us. She might not tell me but I know. Years have rolled by and the differences have faded into something so insignificant. This is more of a relationship based on respect and trust rather than a relationship that has merged out of my marriage to Rahul.

I was missing home this Christmas ( the longing to be home with my old but young at heart parents was painful) – I reassured  my grown up self that it is  okay to be away sometimes. On 25^th of December we all headed to the Red  Church for the Christmas service. As I looked across to the familiar frail frame seated amid the celebrants – I bowed my head down in thankfulness and gratefulness to the mother who gave me her  most wonderful son. Hugged her long and close probably for the first time in my life – my Christmas is meaningful!

I am blessed to have her in my life. I am blessed to see the love of his mother in Rahul’s eyes. I am blessed abundantly to have  frail hands  bless me as I touch her feet. As her shaky  fingers smear the ‘pithiya’ ( red vermilion) on my forehead – I  allow the blessings to permeate me and give me the long and strong life that she has lived,the quiet authority and dignity  -  and an appetite of a bird!!!!

P.S As for all the people who think I am weird because I call her ‘aunty’. Just a reminder – that it does not really matter. I guess we both  have achieved what really matters !

04, January 2019

A Moment in Time!

My mind and a blank page is a great combination – not for most of the time !  I stare into the white - I write - or try to - and delete it all. This cycle goes on for quite sometime  till I want to wander away to things more beautiful and attractive -  to the fridge and the  coffee maker!

A Writer’s Block it is called and I did not know about it till quite recently.  Now I know- I suffer from it and I am happy to know that this condition has a name ! ( how we have learnt to complicate things!). I bravely fight the condition and  I am determined to pour my heart out – and of course the weather is here to my aid ! In the thick of Monsoons in Deccan India – it is green and the heavy clouds burst its doors open to flood the entire region and engulf and torment the low lying areas in and around Mumbai. I have moved from my study nook downstairs to the favourite part of my home –  my bedroom balcony that overlooks the Mumbai highway and the familiar heavy vehicles that ply on it.  APL and Hamburg Sud containers overhauled by 16 wheeled trucks have always fascinated me. I spot a lone cyclist on these sprawling roads and I wonder where he is headed to.

The journey of life – where we come from and where we are going – We all are on our way! The drizzle is getting heavier and the pitter - patter drowns the highway noise! It is just white noise and me and my blank page that is not so blank anymore. And as for my heart and mind  I let the rain and the clouds engulf me – my eyes are soothed as I look away from the screen, I feel the cool almost cold air caress me . Staring at the screen beyond the etchy typing I see myself- my reflection . I look and peruse at my almost indigo image. It is like my twin (who I never had) staring back at me. I almost am on a verge of making a conversation with her. I smile and she smiles back. I quite like the idea of talking to her.................... 

Girls Don’t Fight!

Girls Don’t Fight!

Reebok’s new ad campaign #FitToFight is driving home the message of women’s fitness with a twist in the tale. Eve teasing – the menace in our society is portrayed through a girl encountering three men who are out to get her. She draws strength to fight the bullies, with the backdrop narrative of a motivator and the ad ends with a powerful message to all women - Fight More, Be more Human, urging all women to be fearless and fight for their rights. With brand ambassador Kangana  Ranaut at her fittest best,  this ad campaign is inspiring and pushing  women to become better versions of themselves, not just physically but also mentally  and socially. This ad has truly blown me away. I love Kangana Ranaut  for her versatility,  for breaking sterotypes and above all for  her  true understanding of cinema as art! As for Reebok – Nike has lost out on me to you!

 As women we all have stories to tell – our very own stories of fighting the society and the gender demons. I have had heart to heart talks with women  and how  they have opened  their hearts out . The horror stories that we live just because we are born as girls in India. I have had tears rolling down my cheeks as I heard stories of groping , elbowing , lewd remarks and gestures, physical abuses and it goes on.

My story of ‘Girls Don’t Fight’ began not when I was a child. Don’t remember being eve teased, hooted at or followed home by lecherous men. I am one of those lucky girls to have been born and brought up in a gender neutral community – and I am ever grateful for that. Well, my first job brought me to New Delhi in the mid 90’s. It was a balmy Spring afternoon – a day before Holi ! Mabel and I were walking down one of  Defence Colony alleys all dressed up , with a bouquet for her pregnant friend we were visiting. Mabel was hit by a water filled balloon on her back and then came some more. We turned around to see three giggling losers by a roadside store. One had his back towards us. It was him. Before I realised Mabel walked towards the guys, I ran behind her - I knew what was to follow was not a pleasant thing at all. We asked – he denied. Mabel pounced at this guy. I followed suit- I had to stand by my sister who was wronged! My long nails made vertical strips across his dark shiny face. He fought back- we tore his shirt. Spewing adrenalin and fighting the newfound fear – we both kicked and hit and smashed. By now there was a crowd – took me quite a while to know that people loved to watch these ‘tamashas’. An old lady appeared and shouted ‘maro isko’ pointing towards me. I looked around at the chaos. Oblivious of the consequences we stood there - when a sedan stopped by and a gentleman stepped out and intervened. All those years of praying to the Guardian Angel was bearing fruit. We wanted to report him to the police. With a distorted sense of time and life we headed towards the Defence Colony Police station in his swanky sedan. I wrote my first FIR. His name was Rakesh Singh - a guy who was out to show me that I was sub - human. How wrong he was! It was almost sundown, shaken and tired we headed towards Hotel Imperial – the most sane thing I could think of doing - met Rahul and told him that I practised my kick boxing skills on a bully. I wonder what must have crossed his mind that day. Today we laugh it off! It was an out of my life experience and I vowed never to beat a guy – never, ever.

Another unlucky encounter –  amidst the cheering and encouraged by a group of friends a guy came up to me with a rose –  I waited for the right moment, made a few calls  and Rahul and I called the police who huddled the group into the van and we pillioned on the officers bike. As the boys (one of them an IITian) echoed their apologies – the officer pulled out his revolver and said, “I will break your leg and then say sorry! Will that be okay for you?” It was a scene straight out of a Bollywood movie. It was exhilarating  and empowering to walk out of a police station past midnight and we zoom off home in the borrowed patrol Enfield. Early next morning, to my landlady’s horror he came to collect his machine.

Amanora Mall the uptown mall in Pune had a coffee shop assistant blowing me a flying kiss! Little did he realise he was playing with fire. Got him arrested and then suddenly he is a defeated soul and I become his sister!  Betrayed by his very own flying kiss, he also has a wife at home and two little girls to take care of. He is literally diving to my feet and it means nothing to me. The next day we get a mail that he has been made reduntant!

Many a times even I play dumb- get into situations that I could have avoided! On hindsight do I not have the right to buy mangoes ?  like this one time when I stepped out of the car when I saw succulent mangoes at a roadside cart. I pick a few when this vendor touches my forearm. It definitely was not a mistake and he called the wrath of Gods  on him. Called the police and within minutes the Tiger Pilot was at the scene of crime! J He picked him up by his collar , his cart and mangoes all scattered, begging and pleading but all too late.

Stretching over a little bridge, to get a better view of the turtles suddenly I am elbowed by a passer-by. That vow never to bash my tormentor went out of the window. Rahul and I beat him as my kids and parents looked on – My mom definitely had a ‘proud as a peacock’ look that day!

Booked a cashier for misbehaviour , booked a mehendi designer for use of foul language and now I am scratching my head if I have skipped any.  Have helped women in distress a few times and I have never been so proud of my existence.

We tend to justify men’s behaviour. Girls are urged to ignore and walk away from eve-teasers. You cannot fight guys, can you?  They will shame you, they will hit back , they will rape you. Be safe than sorry! The society especially the women- mothers, aunts, girlfriends will always advise you otherwise. Keeping quiet is not cowardice, walking away is not cowardice.

I say IT IS! Keeping quiet is cowardice! Walking away is cowardice! You keep quiet - you encourage them, you walk away - you allow it to happen to someone somewhere yet again.

What happened to me and how I chose to retort was not just reflex action. It was a response from my heart, from my soul, from that place within me that tells me that I am worthy of an honourable life.Cannot deny the fact that I was a rebel deep down.I chose not to keep silent, I chose not to walk away. I know those guys will think a million times before they choose to beguile a woman There is no shame or stigma talking about gender bias and the atrocities that come with it. We all have been through it and let us not live in denial.

I am a mother bringing up a daughter – I want a safe place for her Yes, but more so I want her to be a fighter – I want her to believe in herself and not give in to the misogynistic mindset.We have shattered the glass ceiling and have done more than what was expected out of us. Yet, we are dictated as to how we should conduct ourselves and continue to be the sub serviant gender.

Look inside and discover the power within you – let no one and nothing define you. Honour the power within and let one no take that away from you.

For all the women brave hearts out there! For all of you who chose to speak up, for all of you who chose to confront your tormentors!! I salute you because you stood your ground.

Girls Don’t Fight, Fight More, Be More, Be More Human.

Claudia Joshi

2, November 2017