Suburban, you've just gained a fixture for life...

... whether you like it or not.

Many people take parting well. I don't.

This fantastic woman is going away and I am sad. I haven't known her even a year. And I think I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I have actually met with her. But her friendship to me is proof of the fact that you don't need to spend a lot of time or know a person too long before you fall in love with them. And she is tremendously easy to fall in love with. Her intelligence, warmth, strength, precision, creativity, generosity and her immensely lovely smile are just some of the things that I look up to. But I won't talk about her too much and embarrass her (Hi, Suburban!). This post, in part, is to say bye to one of the most wonderful women I have had the fortune to meet but also to talk about parting and what it means to me.

When I was in my teens, I left airports without feeling a tinge of sadness at who I was leaving back. The only time I remember crying (until a few years ago) is when my uncle had come to visit us when I was nine or 10, and he had the cutest baby ever. We just spent a few days together and I remember being very upset that such a gorgeous baby was leaving. I remember being puzzled by it as well because, you see, I was never overly fond of babies. Since then I don't remember crying ever when I left someone back.

But in the past two years, every time I have left someone I love very much back, I've found myself sniffling and going all teary; feeling truly and deeply sad for leaving to wherever I was going, even though that might be a more exciting place, with more for me to do. And it's not just a little cry of parting, it's a huge well of (misplaced?) sorrow that comes at me in waves and that which I have to bite back so as to not let it wash me in my tears and scare the crap out of the other person. Because, seriously, imagine going away somewhere wondering how I'll cope because I am bawling for no apparent reason. It looks fake as hell when you see it, because who cries so much at a parting, right? So I don't cry even though I mean every atom of the tears that I spout.

Parting many times means the promise of meeting again. But I don't want promises. I want to be around that person till they get sick of me, or the other way round. And in the lucky even that getting-sick-of doesn't happen, then I want to be around that person till I know I'll be okay without them. Selfish? Some.

I am a feminist

A school mate of mine, who I think I'd like to be friends with now, told me on phone recently that she has been a stay-at-home mum for about four years now, since her daughter was born. This girl, as I remember her from school, was bright, sociable, dedicated, focused, had an excellent work-ethic and hovered somewhere at the top of our class. I think she had ambitions to do something in the sciences, or perhaps it was engineering, I can't be sure now.

I recently spoke to her again and was very pleasantly surprised that she chose a more evolved stream and did her BA in English Literature. Moreover, after having worked in a bank here in Oman for a bit, she married, settled down and is now a very happy mother to a four-year old. The thing that struck me in the conversation was her saying, "You know,  I am not a very career-minded person at all."

For me, that was surprising, because I know very few women of my generation who are not career minded. We were all raised on the ethic that we needed to conquer the world, we needed to stand on our own feet so that we could be who we wanted, so that we could make our parents proud, so that we could go live the life our mothers dreamed of. We were also raised on stories of women facing every kind of degradation in history.

Very often, without our realising, our self-esteem, sense of self-worth and indeed, the very idea of our Self was deeply tied together with having a career. And in second-generation working women, like me, it wasn't enough if you were in one of the "easier" fields: beauty, teaching, clothes, if you hadn't the smarts to become a doctor or an engineer. Somewhere along, we got the message that we had to go do the "tougher" things. I put easier and tougher in quotes because the jobs listed next to them, aren't my definitions of those words. I don't see what is tough about sitting in an air-conditioned office and doing a 350-word story on summer trends for glasses. You're still a journalist but not doing a tough job. Similarly, I don't see what is easy about being on your feet all day making other women beautiful; bending over to thread women's eyebrows or waxing their armpits or massaging their pedicured feet. Beauty, you will agree, is not easy.

But coming back to my point, for most my generation of women it is very clear that the option of staying home was almost not there, unless you absolutely couldn't help it. But this girl, who grew up in a single-income household, is very happy with her status. And while there's only a hint of apology when she talks to someone like me who has a career (somewhat), she's quite comfortable with the fact that her daughter, her family come first.

For a few days, I have been thinking about feminism. For some years now, I have been hearing women say, quickly and defensively, when they tend to speak up for women and their rights, that they are not feminists. And I've wondered why.

I've seen men say it derisively of a woman, that she is a feminist. I, on the other hand, proudly say I am a feminist. I speak up for myself, I speak up for my sisters, I speak up. I love being a woman, I really like men and I love my career as well as my kids. I strive hard to make my parents proud (whether they see it or think otherwise), I love finding out new things about me and just because I play other roles like daughter, wife, sister, mum, friend, and everything else, I am NO less myself. In fact, all these roles just add to my personality. So what exactly am I missing when people run away from the F word?

Thanks to the feminist movements, Men, your mothers, wives, sisters and daughters can vote, can inherit property and are considered citizens of a country. Thanks to feminism, there are laws where rape, molestation, sexual harassment at work are all punishable. Thanks to feminism, girls have a right to education just as much as boys do.

And women, exactly what makes you say, "Hey, I am no feminist but I really think women should..."? Even if you aren't a feminist in the strict sense of the word, why do you have a problem with being labelled as one? Is it because you, like me, love pretty lingerie and are not willing to give it up? Is it because you think 'feminist' automatically means you need to call men words that a sailor would blush at? Maybe these questions are simplistic, but I am just trying to understand why you don't like being called a feminist.

Because you know, us feminists, don't burn bras anymore. We even get married (to men) and have children. Why, we go as far as telling people that we love being a woman and for us many times feminism means that I get to stay at home and there's no pressure on me to earn for the family, most of the time.

Honestly, that is what feminism means to me today. One of my favourite writers (as she is with many women I know) Alice Walker has a beautiful word for it Womanism. For me, being a woman, being a feminist means now that I have most my rights in place -- voting, education, property, the right to choose my last name, the right to be safe (?) apart from others -- I have the right to choose. I have the right to choose whether I want to go to work and make a career, or I want to stay at home and revel in domesticity. Feminism, for me, means the freedom to choose the latter and not feel like I've betrayed my education and my talent by choosing  to stay at home and considering a family more important.

Feminism to me means having the choice to go to work even though I have children and coming back feeling good that I spent a productive day work while looking forward to time with the kids. It means not feeling guilty that I spent time away from them. Feminism means to be able to my buy my own car or designer handbag. It also means to have the grace to say 'thank you' if a man offered to buy either, once in a while.

Feminism means feeling comfortable to say that I asked my husband out; that I like to cook (I don't; just an example) or crochet (which I like) or sew or bake without feeling like if I say it, people will think of me as domesticated, as a "typical" girl. It means feeling comfortable to say I love cars, gadgets and women without being thought of as a tomboy, or worse, a wannabe tomboy. Feminism means not thinking it's a great thing if you own best bud is a man -- it doesn't make you any different from a woman who's best friend is a girl. In my opinion you should have one of both.

What does feminism mean to you?

I never want to be a high-schooler again

High school was a terrible time for me. Perhaps, all of school was a painful time for me. Now when I hear people say school days were the best days of their lives, I wonder what I missed out on, because, truly I will not have another childhood. Or at least one that will take me to high school.

I have absolutely no bonds with school friends that I cherish to this day. They are all bonds that are at most pleasant. I wouldn't make efforts to go to their weddings, or cross the country to go visit them. I am just not that kind of a girl.

High school was traumatic for me because I didn't fit in. Or maybe I didn't let myself. I wondered about all these confident kids at school who were at best mediocre at everything they did but had tons of self-esteem which made them look like they were fantastic. I was always diffident about any skill I had and while I was not exactly a shrinking violet in school, it would have been easy to play on my deep and large insecurity had anyone wanted. 

I made strange friends, kind friends, friends who accepted me, friends who were only willing to believe the worst of me as and when it suited them. Like everyone else, I made all sorts of friends. This, then, is a tribute to those who will remain in my memory, some of them in my friends, forever.

Sangeeta Mohandas: She was quiet, shy and yet she was the one who sought out where I lived when I first came to Muscat, visited me and forged a relationship of a life time. She, as were a lot of kids in my class, was trained to think that anyone who didn't do well in maths and science (me!) wasn't worth knowing. She was  trained to think she would only be successful if she were a doctor or an engineer. 

And even though she was unlike any of my friends in India, who were all boys, we hit it off, even as she tried to get me to shed my rambunctious behaviour and turn me into a girl.

Today she is a successful mother of a 6-year-old who has shed her conditioning, with a degree in home science and with a personality that I enjoy. She also lost tremendous amounts of weight in the last two years and looks a completely bomb. Complete inspiration for me.

Hetal: I forget his last name. I know, it's terrible. But he taught me that boys can be gentle, and sweet. And that it was okay to be a girl. I don't remember specific conversations but I know this boy stuck in my memory because he was different.

Anuj Kapadia: My first humongous crush. I think this guy was born sensible. Apart from that, here's why I had this crush. He has dimples, he sang (I think. My obsession with men who sing started very early, as you can see), he was good at everything he did and always polite, but with a healthy dose of irreverence, which, by the way, has snowballed into the cheesiest, most corny sense of humour today. 

Here's an example: Recently my status line on FB said, I continue maintaing that I am a flake. 

Anuj's comment: Does that make Ben Afleck your sister?

Today, he has a PhD in some really complicated (for me) aspect of radiology, which he patiently explained to me once and which I am utterly incapable of reproducing here. All I can say is I think what he does will not waste too much water or use up too much plastic. He is also seriously warm, intelligent, doesn't let any opportunity for a joke pass by and totally wholesome.
And so great was my embarrassment at the crush that I signed his autograph book (in class 7 or 8) as "your loving sister," as the asswipe reminds me every chance he gets.   

Harshita Nair: She was my best friend through school. She saw me through a lot. She was one of those confident ones. She could dance, she could sing, she could do maths, she looked and was super nice, she made prefect, she was hugely popular, I suspect she even won a supporting best actor award for an inter-house dramatics competition. And at times, I felt inadequate around her but loved her enough to not be envious. 

She could eat two really big BurgerKing burgers, every day, and remain svelte, she spoke way more than the average number of words per minute and she taught me that it was possible to be talented and not be snooty about it. I will be ever thankful for her friendship through school.

Today, I am not sure we are best friends, or even friends. She has a decent career going, she's done all the right things for her timeline: marriage, husband, bought a house, built a career, travelled abroad. But in my eyes, and I am being very judgemental so forgive me, she hasn't reached the promise she shone with. And I always wonder what happened to that real firecracker I knew in school when I look at this now mellow person. 

Seema Vijayan: We were never friends. I think I put her off the minute I entered class. My impression of this girl -- apart from being someone who was good at academics -- will always be of a really big girl with many grey strands in her thick long hair, someone who was a fantastic orator. The lines "I thrice presented him a kingly crown, which he did thrice refuse" from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar where Mark Antony speaks on JC's death will never belong to anyone but Seema and her strong emphatic voice.

But she sticks in my mind for another reason altogether. In hindsight, I realise this girl had absolutely no sensitivity to anyone other than her friends; in fact, I am inclined to think she was a bit of a bully. In school, I happened to mention to a girl that one of our classmates had serious body odour issues. Then, I didn't have courage to go up to her and tell her it is offensive to others around her, as I do now. So I mentioned it to someone else. This rat told the girl in question who quickly cried to her group, which included Seema. And the bully she was, she came down on me at the basketball court, gaggle of girls backing her up, sticking her finger in my face and saying she knew the "minute she set her eyes on me that I was not to be trusted". 

Dude, come on. 

I don't know what she does today but I do know she checked out my Orkut (when it was active) page a couple of times. When I saw her on my visitors list, I in the silly grown-up way I have, was very thrilled with this blast from the past and sought to add her. What do you know, she ignored it. Nice. 

HM: I am only going to have her initials on here because I know some people who read my blog know her and I don't want any uncomfortable situations for her. She and a few others, if they read, will know immediately who she is. 

What can I say about this girl? She was a true-blue Scorpio. She had a glamour, a mystique that very few tweens or even teens have. She wielded considerable influence over anyone who was vulnerable enough to let her. She had an elder sister, so was privy to much information that duds like us didn't. She was and still is very nice to look at, was loaded with personality and brought yum Gujju food to school. When we bonded, we bonded real tight but when she decided to move on she sort of broke my heart for a year. The loss and the humiliating way I was dealt it scarred me some. But a year later, or two, I realised shit happens. And when I grew some sense, I realised it was entirely her loss because, you know, I am a kickass friend. My lesson from there? A certain wariness of Scorpios, which by the way is unfair because they're a good bunch of people and I don't take the zodiac thing so seriously anymore.

Today, she lives in Dubai with a career I hope she enjoys; her FB status messages tell me her life is full and her marriage good. And her story won't be complete if I didn't say that after 15 years she took the initiative to call and chat, which I thought was sweet. 

If I have enough readers, please feel free to take this up as a tag and tell me about some people in school you'll never forget. 

For a very special boy

Dear M,

Because you are six months old you have no idea who your parents are. As you grow up, you'll turn one of the two ways.
1) You'll spend the rest of your life wishing and praying fervently to god (yes, you will believe, because your mother will make sure) to give you a set of parents that are normal. My advice is don't wish too much for it. To your regret and utter disappointment it just might come true.
2)Or you'll strut around so bloody proud of your parents, of yourself and of the values that you've been given, that you'll probably live with them for the rest of their lives. In which case, I'll personally chase you out when you are 21.

Let me tell you a little about your father.
He is living proof of the fact that you can undo what parents do to you and become someone you want to be. So, if it ever happens that you think your parents screwed you up, please think again or I'll slap some sense into you.
Your father has a generous heart, a kind soul and on the days you think he is cruel, you will be bang on. He believes, sometimes, you need to be cruel to be kind. Trust him, whatever he's doing he's doing because he sees the outcome; because he has mastered his ego and inherent pettiness that human beings possess and has applied reason.
If you ever find yourself in a position where you feel you can't talk to someone, force yourself to go to him. He will listen to you, without judgement. At least apparent judgement. He will listen to you, try and understand you and then tell you that you're a complete idiot if that's what you've been. But if you haven't been an ass, he'll fight with you for you till his last breath.
Believe every word he utters in seriousness. He never ever says anything he doesn't mean. And laugh at yourself when he cracks jokes at you. Nothing is above a good joke, for him, thank God.
I am pretty sure your dad doesn't see people as men or women, first. He sees them as friends if they are that. Both get his respect if they deserve it. And his coolness when they don't. Similarly, age, position in life, money, are not reasons for him to respect others. And having any less of those are no reasons for him to excuse anything they've done.
Your father is mostly crazy. But he is also one of the strongest men I know. Lean on him. And when he's old and cranky and I am not around to tell him what a nutter he is, lend him your shoulder.

And what do I say about your mother?
I think she was born a mother. I have never seen a woman who lights up like she does. And I don't mean she smokes. A phone call from someone who mattered, a drink, a film, a photograph, a candle, a pair of earrings -- anything can make this gorgeous woman blaze like a brilliant summer sun.
When you grow up and tell her to stop being a child, you won't be wrong. Because that's something she doesn't know she is, thank god. There is so much of the child in her and as you grow older and meet more people you'll know how important it is to retain that. And you'll love your mum for it.
If you ever suspect, and I challenge you that you won't, that she's digging her heels in and not going to budge, you're probably right. You'll never see her being stubborn; she has a very quiet way of doing that. But when she does, you can threaten to main yourself and gouge your eyes out with an icecream scoop and the only thing that will happen is you, er, being maim and blind.
Remember to get her gifts, especially the ones you make. She's such a sentimentalist. But try and push her around and you'll have to come to my place to spend the night because she will ask you to sleep on the verandah.
She's the kindest, softest friend I have and if you turn out to be a good egg, believe me it will so much her doing.

*****

This letter is to the lovely boy who just added to an already love family that I spoke about in this post.

Will the real you please stand up?

(Is there a terrible self-help book that's titled that?) Oh, never mind. What I am going on about now is people playing games. Saying things, retracting, telling me they don't want me to quit, telling someone else they want me to, saying we'll meet for dinner and not SMS-ing back if we are.
For god's sake, I am a girl alright. When you say you'll buy me a sandwich, I expect you to call me by 8 and ask me if you can pick me up (only because I work in HellHole and fresh autodrivers turn around and touch me). Failing which, I will SMS you because I have no pride and put uncanny connections before ego. So right now, the number that I SMS-ed has just seen delete key.
It's little games that annoy me really. Not talking when you come online. So block me if I pissed you off, arright? Don't give me monosyllables like some middle-aged chick who is trying to tell you you've pissed her off. Or yell at me. For fuck's sake, get it out and over with. Cuz in two freaking days, I won't care. And I don't like not caring, really.
Or like this other chick, who, out of the blue, decided I was bad news for her. Why? I have no bleddy clue, I say! I blame it on marriage. Hers. She says she may "regret" it in sometime, but now she'd rather I didn't stay in touch. Okay. But tell a girl why, no?
As I've just figured, and you probably too, I hate mysteries when they are not in books. I hate games as well. But only those that people around me play.
And that is exactly what I love about friends I made in college. They'll be the same wonderous creatures they were then at their core. They'll move to Chicago and have babies and become Lola Kutty, but at the core, they'll still call me Sandy and be happy that I am deliriously excited about life - even now. Of course, when I say it's been seven years since we finished college, they want to throw something seriously injurious at me but that's alright. At least, that way I can see what's coming at me.
To easier mazes of the mind.