Work is Worship.

"I hate beggars! They do no work, they're perfectly healthy and they're begging. They can easily work in peoples houses cleaning and doing the dishes. They can easily get a job at a phone booth." I could think of more job options for them, than I can for myself with a Masters degree!
If I saw someone at my car window with even a bangle on her wrist begging, I would justify my not giving her money because at one point she chose to buy jewellery over food. I know, bitchy me doesn't have that many friends :)

Even being a teenager was no excuse for my arrogance. I still stand by my statement of healthy people not begging, though--just in a nicer tone.

During my study break for engineering exams, I'd study at home all day and sleep in the afternoon; this was the peak time for saleswomen to ring my doorbell trying to sell me mangos, soaps, even thicker-than-my-pillow sanitary napkins. Annoying would be an understatement. I'd walk to the door like Sanjay Dutt in Mission Kashmir going to intimidate the terrorist in the cell.
Day 1: It started with a simple "Nahi chahiye." Close door.
Day 4: "Time nahi hai." Close door.
Day 7: "Busy hai, disturb mat karo." Slam!
And gradually, "Get lost." Slam!

My mother heard me on this particular day and didn't say anything for a while. Then she asked "Wasn't that a little too harsh?" And I got into this huge rambling about how inconsiderate they were and how they were educated and spoke in good English and chose to do this for a living when there was so much else. "But they're working right? You hate beggars because they don't do anything. Salespeople are not beggars." Dead on!

"Nahi nahi, nahi chahiye." Smile. Close door.

Gray hair vs. Gray matter

I went to get my hair cut today at Tony & Guy 30 minutes before my appointment. But, the wait was far from boring. An old lady, about 70-80ish, had walked in about 15 min before me, and since the transparent glass doors were half closed, she hit her nose on one of them just like in those windex or whatever window cleaner ads.

Welcome to America, the cops were called. The old lady's nose was red/swollen and she sat there trying to tell the cops what happened, while I sat beside her. They took her story and tried to ask her if she had anybody she wanted to call. She lived all alone in an apartment a few blocks down and she had taken a cab to get to the mall. She got a little cranky as she said she was going to move next week and it was so sad this had to happen this particular week. Understandable, I think she wanted some sympathy.

But, when the cops took the salons' story, they lied that the door was not half-closed. And the old lady got extremely angry! Luckily, for her, another customer backed her story, and so the salon gave in. By now, it was a huge deal. She scolded the pretty girls behind the counter and said 'I was calm until this moment but when you lied, I am so angry now I am going to sue this place.' Again, everbody got down to calming this lady. Asking if she had relatives, kids, anyone. She had a caretaker that came once every two weeks to help her with grocery shopping, other than that this lady was pretty independent. She was even a little indignated when they kept asking her these questions, "Why are you asking me personal questions. I can take care of myself. I am pretty healthy."

So, now the cop tried to get her an ambulance. But, our protagonist claimed she couldn't afford it. She wanted the salon to pay for it. And, I gotta say, me in that situation, I would have just nodded and done what the cops said. Unlike her--she was firm. Everytime they asked to call an ambulance or a doctor, "That will be $ 600-700, I couldn't pay that. They will make me wait in the emergency room for hours before they help me..."

I couldn't help but slightly admire how sharp she was even at this age. She was really taking good care of herself and not getting pushed around or cheated.

Then, she asked to borrow a pen from me and said, "I'm going to take down the names in case I forget later." And now this just blew me away, I was thinking 'She's any lawyers dream-client' until she writes down carefully on the piece of paper--Tony & Guy.

I don't know if anybody else gets the irony in this story, but it sure did make me smile :)

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

If you had met me some 8-10 years ago, I would have told you my dream of making it big. "I will sit in my air conditioned office and scream 'Ramu!! Chai laa!'. I'll have a secretary, and as soon as I enter the office everyone will get up like in a Hindi movie and wish me Good Morning."
I was always in fascination of those teachers we had who would enter the classroom and everyone would just shut up. In fact, when I played 'Teacher, Teacher' with my friends, we would all decide the temperament of the teachers: strict, medium and mild. And I would be the strict teacher. Hooray for power.

I interned for TTML (look it up!) for my undergrad and I called to thank the person that had arranged this for me. He was one of the members of the board of directors for Tata Industries, and that is as huge as huge gets. (He lives on one of the topmost floors of a high rise in Nariman Point, if that makes any difference in conveying how high up the professional and financial ladder he is.) I was respectful of his post, and I was courteously thanking him. This was toward the end of my final semester, and probably my voice sounded overwhelmed with the amount of work I had left to do to not flunk my courses.

This great, great man later got in touch with my mother and asked her if I was okay, and if everything was okay at TTML and why I sounded so tense. I still remember I got chills when my mother told me that. ME?!! He asked about me?! He was actually listening to what I was saying? This busy, busy man, took the time to show concern for an intern who wasn't even on the payroll.

Whenever I see this man, I will shut up. Whenever I see him, I will get him chai and I will stand up. I will say Good Morning. The only difference is that I will want to, I would love to and he won't even have to ask. I don't think he has ever had the need to ask.

Let us out!!

Some time back, I was in a car with someone who is now a very very good friend of mine. I met him at the company I was interning for and he was from one of their vendor firms. He had to answer a phonecall and he happened to say 'Oh, I was just with a friend blahblah'. So I looked at him and shook my head, 'We're not friends.' He was wise enough to laugh and tell the person on the other end, 'Okay, I'm sorry. I'm with...' I wasn't a collegue. I wasn't friend. What was I? '...this person'.

I owe this man for teaching me something so important :
There are these tags that go with the items we try to box like 'Friend' or 'Family' or 'Spouse' and so on. The most common mistake is trying to push people into boxes they don't necessarily fit in. So, we thrust them into a carton they don't want to be in, and force them to conform to that shape.

I have so many relationships I choose not to label. I have learnt to 'let things be'. A person I've just only met, cannot be a 'friend' can he? But, I feel such a strong connection to him. But, we don't want to date. So, he's not even a 'boyfriend'. A girl who I really admire, meet at parties but don't socially interact with so much. I just respect her personality. We smile at each other. Who is she to me? She's not a friend, she's not even so much as an acquaintance.

So, then? Let-it-be. It's okay. I'm not answerable to anybody regarding my relationship with them.

This is not to say that clarity is bad. I also like filling my boxes and being certain. But, if I'm not sure where someone goes, it's okay. They can get their very own unlabelled box :)
And as a result I have these people walking outside their boxes, outside of limitation and I absolutely love them for it. Part of what makes my life easy, and in a strange way complicated at the same time.

If there is one thing you can do for your loved ones, is to unlock their cases and let them get a breath of fresh air. No need to limit your relationship to just 'friendship' or just 'collegue'. The reason is, that every box has rules. And if you're in 'A' you have no right to ask me what size bra I wear. If you're in 'B' you cannot hug me. But, you're out now. Let's play ball. Let's have a drink together. It's looking at them like an individual. At their qualities, and at their unique traits and celebrating them.

Please, I'm not pushing for people to give up their boundaries altogether, boundaries are important, let's keep STDs to a minimum ;)
I'm only urging you to look at every person differently and treat them according to their unique rapport with you whatever that is. Dynamic rules.

Honesty is not the best policy.

My sister-in-law's sister is getting married soon. So she has to go to Sugarland, to her parents home, very often lately to help with the wedding arrangements. But, they're not as close as one would imagine inspite of living in the same city, inspite of the age difference just a couple years. Not really sibling rivalrly, just a basic 'unclickedness'. Anyway, this reduces their contact to just a couple phonecalls a month, and meeting at common parties. So, of course, meeting a little too often lately is not the best way my s-i-l wants to spend her weekends.

There's disagreements, there's arguements, there's mainly the 'putting-down'ness. I want to point out how different this is from me and my sister--there's fights, there's screaming, there's the slamming of doors.

So, an entire week of my s-i-l is ruined because of a random comment. And she wonders if she should be honest and 'talk it out'. I wonder too, if it would help.

See, formal relationships are not based on honesty. That is why they're formal. That is why it's 'nice to meet you'. And that is why they're not so often.

I have cousins and cousins-in-law that annoy the (bad word) out of me. All my energy goes in breathing in and out deeply so I don't lose my temper or get into a heated debate. Because, it is 'nice to meet' them. Because, we greet each other with a loose hug, cheek-to-cheek, kiss in the air. 'Wow. You look so nice today'.

On the other hand, I have cousins and cousins-in-law that annoy the (bad word) out of me. And we yell, and scream, and cry and slam doors. Because, I don't need a reason to drop in ever. Because, we greet with a nice tight hug, and comment on how fat the other one has gotten. I can tell them the yellow dress is ugly.

Formal relationships are not based on honesty. And honest relationships are not based on formality. There's an inherent closeness that comes, an added level of comfort, from being able to be truthful with one another.

I have a quiet, always well-dressed, graceful family and I am grateful for it. And I have a loud, dysfunctional family that I couldn't go one day without.

Tell me something good...

I went apartment hunting last month and came across this shabby but cheap complex. This place was perfect for me costwise. So economic, it even included free electricity--just what I needed for the summer. 714 sq feet pretty spacious for that price too. I wanted to move in there so much that I even decided to ignore the fact that it didn't include washer/dryer in the apartment which was first on my must-have list. Anyway, so I go there to take a look at it last Saturday afternoon.



(Again, if you're eating, stop. Or get a bucket.)



Roaches. Cock-roaches. I feel obligated to say the whole word because of the size. Well, to be fair, there were all sizes. Oh, let me also add all types-dead and alive. She kicked one roach and was satisfied it was dead. And then she proudly said "We saturated this place with pesticide. They're all dead." We walk into another room. Another roach on its back, so big that from the entrance I could see its legs move--and I have astigmatism. If I was a vet, I could probably have told the gender too from that far. She kicked it again, it flipped gratefully. "Oops, I lied. They're alive." I hope she was sheepish.



I STILL wanted to move in there. I kept repeating to myself, 'This won't happen in my apartment. I will keep it clean. I will spray insecticide every hour.' We go to the laundry room and I asked how often they cleaned the machines. "We don't," she said, "unless there's a need. Like if someone leaves a crayola in there." I take a deep breath and ask again because I wanted another answer.

"So, you....don't clean the washers at all?"

"No."

"Oh." And now I imagine my old days on campus. Blue detergent spilled all over, white powder on the sides. Hair. And not just head-hair if you know what I mean.

I asked her three times if they cleaned the laundry room. All three times, no, with an explanation. 'Dammit. Now I can't move in here.'

On a later phone conversation with a friend, I admitted to her, "I wish they would have lied to me." It's true. I wanted to move in there so bad, I wanted the advertisement even though it would be fake, and I would lose my head later on.

The same goes for creams, lotions, gels. If the bullshit at the back of the label is not long and complicated enough, I most often don't buy it. I want them to tell me 'there will be results' vaguely but clearly. Then, who defines what 'results' means and how much quantitative good comes from the product--I do.

So, I know Pantene is not going to make my hair strong as a climbers rope, but I want them to tell me that anyway. I know fairness creams don't work in 14 days, but I want to be lied to. And, please please tell me those stretch marks will disappear, and that I can gulp down massive amounts of Saffola oil sans risking cholesterol. Please be confident with your money-back guarantee (it works because we're so lazy to mail back the product.) Tell me I'll be skinny in a month's time.

I need hope, because science doesn't allow miracles.

'Shame'

A few years ago, travelling by the western railway in Mumbai was routine. Singing and dancing beggar children, bold and demanding eunuchs, blindmen and their beggar wives, fisherwomen, mothers-in-law, daughters, wailing children, men with itchy crotches were a part of everyday travel.

(Warning: If you are eating you might want to not read the rest of this post.)

One day, during rush hour, me and a friend climbed onto the train and stood by the door waiting for seats to empty. On the next station, a naked women entered the compartment. Thin and frail, she was so tiny. Her breasts were nonexistent, I could count her ribs from afar. It even took me a moment to realize it was a woman and not a teenaged boy. We are so used to seeing poverty in the trains of Mumbai, not many people cast a second glance. Many people did look away however, for fear of losing their appetite for lunch that day.

She sat alone on the floor near the open doorway of the train. As the train stopped from station to station, men from the platform across would look at the skinny, naked woman and look away. This woman had an infection in her genitals. She was trying to see what it was. Very unabashedly, she looked down at her vagina and touched and rubbed and stretched her skin to see what it was that she had. The men looked at her, the men looked away.

She was naked and yet, she was not a sexual object. Nobody judged this woman. Nobody probably even thought of her as they went about their day. She definitely had no home, no possessions. NO possessions. Not a single piece of cloth on her. Not a single friend or family member in the world. How could that be on the most populated country in the world that you are completely alone? How must that be?

Anyway, I digress from the point I am trying to make. So, this naked skinny woman with no possessions and nobody to go 'home' to is sitting in the train trying to understand the rash in her privates. I don't know anybody else that can do that in public sans feeling embarrassed. Nude people can be nude in bunches to save being singled out. Nude people are usually running. Some of us can't even wear certain clothes showing too much skin because we are 'conscious'. Conscious of what?

Where does this consciousness come from? Where does the 'most embarrassing incident' feeling come from? I think possessions and people play a big part in our public egos. For just one moment put yourself in this woman's shoes (or the lack of them!). If you had nobody to answer to, nobody to impress, nobody to call your own--then, would you worry so much? It is so much like living alone on an island with other 'species'. Self-respect, ego, pride, shame everything loses its meaning in isolation.

When I'm left alone, I bite my toenails.