When 25 years just Melt Away

Not a post on Liposuction or debate between Ambani baby’s diet VS Bariatric. Then you may wonder how the 25 years melt? Well, thankfully we are living in an age where reunions are a rage. And 25^th year of passing out of a school is HUGE. A milestone that one wants to celebrate reliving some moments and making some memories.

After school i visited the campus a couple of years later and came back with a heavy heart. The corridors that we owned, the places we frequented, the classes that now housed a different unknown set of students made me realize the transient nature of life. And the cyclic nature of life. It was almost like I was watching the scenes in school like a distant witness.

However, a 25^th anniversary called for a going back to the same corridors that have witnessed our growing from children to young adults. After all these are the corridors that have witnessed our first crushes, giggling phases and so much more. To give the devils the due, had it not been for the immense drive of Kapil and Sandeep this reunion would have just remained a dream. These two stood like rocks and pillars driving the arrangements, recreating the nostalgia, planning on ground, taking commitments from a now non-committal generation and eventually executing it like a dream. I think both of them got reunited so many times just to get the plan going, they almost became a couple and I am sure are suffering major withdrawal symptoms now that the event has seen a super closure.

The teachers were invited, gifts were wrapped, small introduction speeches were made, some teachers who were not present were remembered fondly. What was funny was digging into collective consciousness and realizing that though we were all together the take aways were as different as they were the same. Mona, who had been entrusted with the task of inviting teachers couldn’t get over the fact that this was the longest relaxed conversation that she had made with the teachers ever. Ashish kept recalling anecdotes while intros were on and even enacted a small scene from a skit that was performed well more than 25 years ago. Infact Mrs. Sharma who had written the dialogues was amazed at the recall. Mr. Bharti, Suman Khanna mam, the ever gorgeous Mrs Geelani, the voracious Mrs Lumb, the reticent Krishna mam and others kept laughing and indulging and I am sure were equally proud in the knowing that their students have fared well.

However, some things never change like the awesome chutney with the bread rolls. Most of our celebratory occasions were marked with a treat of these and this was no different. Vivek Ahuja sent a cake all the way from Canada. Vikram Kalra a student of class ’83 sent inscribed personalized mugs for all of us as gifts, what was heart breaking was that his wife was in the ICU and he told Rachna Pant mam to hand over these mugs to each one of us individually, our hearts went out to his situation.

A fond farewell to the teachers, a round trip of the school and collection of house t-shirts later we all proceeded to Buzz where the sundowners awaited. Loud, dark and noisy that was the mood and it became only better with Mojitos, beer and more alcohol flowing. Ashish had a title for everyone who was present and that added to the spice. A question that evoked most oohs and aahs came from Namrata aka Rinku and that was who had a crush on whom? The responses evoked many ceetees and cheering, ah I am so dying to jot down the responses but well…What Happened at Buzz Stays at Buzz.

Lokesh took the responsibility of clicking pictures and man he did a wonderful job, prompt posting too. Kapil was seen nodding his head with eyes shut like as if a huge task at hand was now successfully wrapped up. Maninder was teased mercilessly on his comment of “jawan ho gya”, laughter roared over the din of the music. Shivani was most particular about her drink and sent the guy back with gyan on how to make it. Must comment that she was most gracious and sporting when teased by Lokesh. Alok Matta’s dancing transported me to the reckless era of our bachpan, of course I am not commenting who his crush was, psst: hint she was present. Rinku as always peppered up the talks and the gathering with her infectious giggles and smart comments. Ritu of course again like always was happy being part of the gang and quietly without creating a noise just soaked in everything. Sudhir’s efforts of always showing up and supporting were much appreciated, as was the huge efforts of having put it all together by Kapil and Sandeep. Neeraj told us about why in Sweden he couldn’t call sweet dish that cause it sounded so like Swedish. Hemant jain kept wondering till the end who me and Mona were? Sandeep kept the smirks up and yes without “skirting” the issue, we got to know how much the length of the skirts were noticed. Ah well, the secrets that spilled out from the boy gang are notorious enough to not be disclosed publicly. A few drinks down and all we wanted was some Bolly tadka music to shake our booties too, nagin dance included.

Those who were there missed those who weren’t there, but those who weren’t there Missed it all. However, the absentees were thoroughly remembered and talked about and we know that they were with us in spirits. And that’s what matters isn’t it?

Bachpan wali feeling. Keep the inner child glowing and keep spreading the happiness. Hoping to meet in larger strengths soon! Amen. 

I AM A BUTTERFLY MOM

A small lesson in ‘How to teach our kids to press Ctrl+S for nature?’ 

Yes, I am! And this is not one of the posts trying to push or decode parenting styles. There can be no better time than spring to revel in the bounty of nature. Flowers blooming, perfect weather for long nature walks, listening to the chirping of birds or just watching the fluffy clouds float by. This spring me and my son plunged into an activity that we will remember all our lives. We nurtured and raised a small caterpillar into a magnificent butterfly. That’s the reason I choose to call myself a Butterfly Mom.

While spending some time tending my plants, I noticed a small little worm clinging to my curry leaves plant and munching them away. I won’t lie I did have murderous thoughts and contemplated on squishing them to save my plants. But my little son got excited looking at them and I decided to check what they were. Asking a naturalist friend I got to know that they are baby caterpillars and that she wsa tending some of her own. That’s when I got inspired on raising my own. We gently picked them and placed them in a plastic box with holes on top. We were daily feeding them with curry leaves and by god those little buggers, they hog ravenously. A couple of days later I saw one of them turn into a light green chrysalis with no movement, of course it had reached pupa stage. And then the long wait started for it to become a butterfly and fly its coop. The wait seemed so long, but man was it totally worth it? Yes, yes and triple yes! Today morning when we went to feed its siblings, one of the most beautiful sights awaited us, a lovely black beautiful butterfly with orange speckles fluttering away in that container. My god, it’s an experience we will never ever forget. I was bounding with joy and then I slowly opened the box and let it go…

A lesson for me in letting go and still be so happy that I raised such a lovely creature that found its wings. I really do feel a Butterfly Mom. I hope to remember this lesson when my son grows up and is ready to fly the nest. I hope I rest in the knowing that I did well.

Clinging to my curry leaves 

Found home in plastic box 

Growing Caterpillar 

Gorgeousness: My Baby  

This is dried shell 

I’m blogging about how I’ll remind kids to press Ctrl+S for nature for the Shortcut Safaari weekend activity at BlogAdda.

When its time to say GoodBye

It is tough to see your loved ones go, it is tougher to see them going painfully and dying each moment and toughest when you have to deal with the exorbitant prices of medicines along with it all thinking it may work like a miracle when you know there is no hope. Not to say that I don’t believe in miracles if it keeps that last shred of hope afloat but there never has been anything that was born and will not die. I have encountered death, up close and personal of dear ones. My bro-in-law my best friend was cruelly snatched away in an accident and my cousin and father-in-law died slow painful deaths courtesy cancer. It was a feeling beyond any measure of pain seeing them suffer, seeing them search your eyes for a glimmer of hope, them getting in and out of ICU almost every second day. Don’t know who to blame, cause doctors were doing their job flogging them to life and care givers their duty by spending lakhs so that they could live and breathe just a few breaths.

My question is what was more important at that time? Making them comfortable and letting them go peacefully under non intrusive loving care OR keeping them almost lifeless with life supports. When both the parties; the medical fraternity as well as the care givers knew they were at the point of no return. It is difficult for the family to give up sometimes, at the hospital I heard stories of families coming over from the village having sold off their agricultural lands and living on streets just so that their loved ones can live last few days in the ICU bereft of being around families!!

I did the same. Even when I was told by a very sensible doc about end of life care. I also chose to put him on ventilator all the time saying “all we want is that he goes away peacefully”. I plead guilty. I do not know if all those meds running in his veins that had made him groggy and oblivious to the world, helped. I would never know. All I saw and felt was when I took my son, papa’s fav person this side of the world to the ICU to meet him a day before he passed on, his pools of eyes gleamed with joy and he held my sons hand in a grip. That was a flash of life. Sometimes I wonder if he was home, would he have been happier? His passing away has left a vacuum in our lives like it does when a parent passes away no matter how old they are or you are. But I was happy for him. I know he is in a better place. He was a fighter, a man whose laughter used to resonate and fill the entire house. Life of a party, he never stopped even when he got his knees replaced, never stopped playing with my son games like TT and cricket, the best dadu in the world. I was upset he was reduced to being a mere shadow of himself in the last weeks. I was happy in the knowing that he would have found peace.

I introspected a lot. I thought of myself and if I may say so very selfishly it has brought me to a decision. I would want to go in peace, I will like to die being aware, being happy, please do not tie me to life supports, do not spend hours counting down. After I am gone celebrate my life, donate my eyes and organs let someone live a better quality of life. I came across a video by Indian Association of Palliative Care and I pledge my support. I pledge for palliative care. 

http://palliativecare.in/

#LastWords 

What the Red Traffic Light Could Not Do

Ah well, it’s a funny place this Dilli of mine. A city full of contradictions brimming with the old and the new at each corner and in each one of us!

Last week while on the road, a guy honked incessantly and jumped the red light to race ahead of everyone and everything, throwing caution to the wind, the attitude reeked of “tu nahi jaanta main kaun hun”. I rolled my eyes and made that typical hand gesture somehow all drivers in Delhi make, doesn’t matter who is at fault. 20 seconds later the light turned green and I moved on only to spot that same car a couple of meters ahead of me and then he suddenly braked in the middle of the road and pulled on side leaving me wondering what the heck happened. It is then that I spotted a cat had crossed over the path…I could not control and laughed aloud all alone to myself and gaily drove off. It was like divine intervention with me feeling vindicated and smug.

What the traffic rules couldn’t do a small cat achieved. Cant help laughing. Do you know what it means when a cat crosses the path? Well, it means it is going somewhere. Haahahha

Tring Tring…Hellooo its Me!

Ya all it takes sometimes is a single call to a old dear friend to travel past in time and reconnect. We all are so well connected that we do not feel the need to “connect”. Yes, we whats app, post pics on Insta, hashtag our experiences, share memories and do much more on fb, but somehow the real kind of connection is absent in all of those interactions. The old fashioned phone call is all you need to bring a huge smile on your face, take a trip down memory lane and infact create new memories and re-connect at a whole new level. This is exactly what happened when I recently called an old friend from another life I was so called “in touch” with on fb. It was such an instant perk me up, and guess what though we were speaking to each other after a gap of 19 years it was amazing how much we remembered about each other, our quirks and families. She called me by my maiden name, remembered menus from the birthday parties and we chatted about old times we spent together, new lives and everything that had past in between. And trust me all it really took was courage to make “that” call and conversations flew. Ofcourse we promised to keep calling and stay in touch, doesn’t matter if we fall back on whats app-ing again; we did renew our friendship and really do know what stage the other is in now. Maybe one day we will make the 2^nd call and then the 3^rd and then meet up for a coffee and rediscover each other.

I think I will now call my cousin and ask him how is he doing !

Journey of a Wannabe Potter

So well, I have been a closet potter for close to three years. Not many know my love affair with clay and it is only now that I have been feeling a bit more confident of shaping it. Like I have confessed many a times I love to dabble in various things and though my father has always been confused as to my most recent shenanigans and wonders why I cant focus, my hubs and mum are ever encouraging me.
To let you in a secret, before I started my journey with clay I hadn’t had any experience nor a friend doing pottery, my reference point was the movie Ghost and that very erotic and romantic scene by Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze the teenage me’s heartthrob (sorry SRK you weren’t around then). So with stars in my eyes I walked into Delhi Blue Pottery studio at Safdurjung and got enrolled.

Thankfully between my enrolling and joining they had switched to electric wheels else my romance would have ended before it began. Since I was recovering from that dreadful Chikungunya (no it doesn’t happen cause I feel “harr bhook ka ilaaj chicken..”). I am very filmy ji.
Anyways, my first session was about wedging the clay and well it didn’t look anywhere close to what I had imagined. Post this came centering a 500 gm lump of clay and if I say it was a struggle I would be down playing it. The studio full of veteran potters at the time centering 5 kgs of clay made me feel pottery challenged. On the flip side the elation that came with a perfect centering was no less than having done fateh on Mars. Just when I used to think now the toughest deal of the process is over; and would be beaming at the tea break came another challenge. From centering to pulling a cylinder 7 inches for 700 grams was back breaking and took me more than 6 months. Well I definitely was a slow learner where pottery was concerned and the frustration levels would mount with each disappointment, the teachers at the class kept my morale going with their wit and encouragement. I kept at it and slowly learnt how to throw a decent piece. My first piece was still a tedha medha vase but what the heck tedha hai pur mera hai.
Sometimes even I am surprised at myself, no hobby has lasted me this long and the passion and thrill grows with each well crafted piece. The thrill of putting your hand in a sack of clay, wedging, pulling, trimming and decorating each piece has a story to tell and is born out of love. Heart rates increase with each firing bisque and glaze and prayers are fervently offered to kiln gods that the piece comes out unscathed and unbroken. The joy at the end of it all is unmatched and proudly displayed at home with lengthy instructions to the maid to not touch it. Hahah an interesting anecdote, when I proudly showed off my first piece to the maid at home, she was astounded acha bhabhi aap mitti ka kaam karte ho, chalo iss baar mere liye karwa chauth ke liye karwa aap banana…I faint.
So now when I participate in a fair and someone buys my piece, there is elation of selling and a lot of satisfaction knowing someone actually shelled out money –ultimate compliment but also a bit of weird inexplicable sadness too at times. However, the best part of selling them is that it gives you an opportunity to create more and still yet more. I leave you with this:


(both the pics are taken from the internet and used here) 

Musings of a Disoriented Punju in Chitto Park

Ok so lets begin at the beginning, which is that I love my meat, chicken, fish and prawns; all tandoori or grilled or in artery choking butter gravy. However, the challenge lies in buying the fish that needs as much discretion as the art of cooking it to perfection. Ab chicken toh chicken hota hai ji, bus tangri ya poora….yeh fish toh ranges from surmai to betkhi to pomfret to singhara and so many more.

Till now I have been relying on the good old Green Chik Chop to deliver fish and to be frank getting freezing stares (all puns intended) at my choice of frozen fish by the Calcutta born and bred mother-in-law. Also not to mention the comments about taste, texture and pricing. So when a Bengali friend volunteered to go “machi” shopping with me I was elated and we headed to Chitto Park. Another friend joined in and to be very frank we felt like virgins in the market that knew its fish and prawns well. Guided suitably we chose to pick up Surmai and Betkhi fillets for a cook off. For obvious reasons we chose fish with “no kaantaa bhaiyaji” oops dada ! We gaped at the rows of fish, fish heads and traversed our way around it. By the way we went to Market No.2 cause our Bengali insider told us that Market No. 1 has snob value and hence the prices are higher.

From the shop next door we also picked up the ready made mustard powder to be able to dish out a perfectly turned in mustard fish. Yum yum. Well if any one of you know a no fail recipe for the same please pass on before the mustard powder expires.

On our way back home a doubt niggled at us, did we buy right? Did we really check the gills? Did we get a good deal? So we called up Green Chik Chop and asked them the price for Surmai which we were told was Rs900 a kilo. Ha ! Ha! And we had managed it at around 560 a kilo. Good deal isn’t it? This sounds almost like a “coming of age” story, but trust me IT IS. Next time, believe it or faint, it will be prawns.
PS:For the equally disoriented Chitto Park is Chitranjan Park in Delhi !