Happy New Year, Is It Here Already?

Every year on the 31st of December, the old year leaves us gasping for more and the new-year commences upon us with no significant alterations. It’s just a date on the calendar, a time on the clock. We shake our heads and our bodies with dizzying fervour and spasmodic jerks on dance floors, hoping for it to wake us up from our slumber, so that we can kick start the new-year like never before. But all that kicking on the floor wears us out invariably. We wake up the next day with a hangover. So January 1 is officially when we take rest, worn out from the effort to usher in an all new beginning. 

Alternatively we could just sleep in the sheets and wake up the next day, without bothering whether last morning was any different from the morning of January 1. Go about with life just like a grasshopper, from a blade of grass to another, least bothered about the time of the day or the day of the year. 

Either way, January 1 is just another day. But one that the world welcomes and celebrates. Shoe bite or not, we cha-cha-cha, salsa, slither and shake on our stilettos and boots. Grace or no grace, we rock with the music- pale or groovy does not matter. But that is just community activity. I wonder why, at the last second of the year, we raise our hands up and yell Happy New Year. I was happy the previous moment too! This time around, I actually dazed out and became passive for a few seconds. I could not do the shouting. I did recover from the trance and wished new-year to many. But the paleness of my wish was unmistakable. I realise I am on a vehicle that has only just begun to hum and rev up... I could not really register the pause! I have only recently launched on a new path professionally, one of working with people and of writing. 

But whatever it be, wishing new-year is an officially appropriate activity during the month of January. Last year sometime in June, missing the fanfare of January, I wished a few people a happy new month and they smiled and wished me back the same, condescendingly. But I am always in celebration mood. Why waste the time, when there is a happy new day every day? 

Here's what went well in the last year:

- I became more positive and assertive,

- I began writing regularly. A passion long ignored,

- I became more grounded as a person, more self-assured,

- My friendships strengthened,

- My family bonding strengthened.

And just when I was beginning to think it couldn't get better, we adopted our pet pup Penny, on the Christmas day. 

It is probably my nature. When I sit to summarise any period of time, I never find a reason to complain. Number one reason why, during my appraisals, when I was working in the traditional set up, I never had valid complaints to bother my Managers with. I am positive to the extent of being uncivilised! Civility is in finding many flaws and trying to correct them all life-long. If you don't see mistakes how will you correct them! But I see possibility in everything. 

Resolutions? Oh I went into the previous year without one, and I am glad I did. Because, how is it possible for us to know on 1st January, how the next 365 days must be spent? This absence of resolution helped me later in the year, in setting up expectations for myself, for things that did not even exist in my life in January last year! 

And am I even past the last year? Oh it is always hard for me to wish Happy New Year. I feel like passing it off for long enough so people forget all about it. I have no desire to summarise the lagging, heart breaks and failures that went along with the successes and happy moments. 

New Year is just an excuse to tell everyone I remembered you all year long. Or else it is just another day in our lives, just another brick on the wall, just another coin in the well and just another gyration of the globe. January 1 is here and it’s a bright sunny morning, yesterday was bright and sunny too.

40 Minutes of Hell, 8 Steps to Saving a Life. #A true Story

It was 5 minutes to 10 when I checked the clock. Wow! I exclaimed to myself, I have the whole morning still in front of me to work! I work from home and on my dining table. Don't laugh at me, because from there I can preside over my house help, make sure my Mother goes to the hospital for the 3 times a week dialysis and also take care of the couriers and sundry other visitors. I give instructions for what will be cooked and at times walk into the kitchen to make sure the recipe is accurately being followed. In short, I am a work at home, home maker cum working mom. And I am skilled in many other home tasks. I have scoured, plastered and painted a room, cleaned spark plugs in a car, repaired a wall that had lost all its plaster-of-paris coating, I am quite tom boyish and would take on any task absolutely. My husband is blessed in short, to have such an uncomplaining wife. Smile! Smile! But I never knew that saving life was to be added in my list of odd jobs.

Getting back to where I began. At 10:00 a.m. I had just made a call that had not been picked up. I was planning to leave a message so the person would call me back. My mother's care giver shouted from the balcony, "Aunty, Aunty!" Her voice getting louder and more anxious. We ran! My full time maid, the cleaning maid and I. I reached first, to find my mother having a seizure, her mouth open on one side, crooked, her face hardened, she had no consciousness, her body stiffening. I thought it was a heart attack. We immediately put her flat on the floor. Just last evening I was in an exhibition and a girl had fainted, my colleague, a Retired Navy commander had done exactly that to revive her, serendipity! My mother’s tongue rolled out and she bit it, blood trickled out of the tongue. I opened her mouth and pushed the tongue in. Her eyes were wide open and rolled up. Her lips blue. The maids began to cry. I took courage and remembered the Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation process (CPR). Heave, heave heave, at the chest and blow in through the mouth. I had forgotten the exact method, but I kept pressing the chest and blowing into her mouth. 

Call the Ambulance! I thought. I could not operate the smart phone, my hands were wet and shaky. I had 3 house helps at home, all 3 had no idea what to do. I sent one to get a neighbour, who would take charge of the phone. The sun shone down at us at the balcony, where my mother lay unconscious. I prayed, as I resuscitated her, that she may not die like this. Two of the maids rubbed her hands and legs frantically. I had no hope, there was no pulse that I could detect. There was just a limp body which we kept resuscitating and massaging hopelessly. I finally called the ambulance, the first number, I was put on hold. The next number, I had luck, the ambulance started from the hospital. I calculated 45 minutes in rush hour traffic. I realised I was not making any progress with my mother. I called a Doctor friend from another city and took his help to learn the right technique to resuscitate. I called my husband, but he would take time to come. A neighbour was still needed. One of them had shut her door in some sort of urban fear of death and dying!

Finally a neighbour called, we had plans to meet that day, she was just checking if I was available, I asked her to come, and she came almost instantly. It was she who took charge of the phone from that moment on, coordinating with the ambulance, my husband, the maids and my doctor friend's instructions. She also tried to find a doctor in the apartment. With her around, many thanks to her presence, I put my entire attention to my mother's resuscitation.

Nobody can give or take a life. God made it such that only he knows when a person will cross the threshold of life into death. We are just mediums. And on that day I was going to be his medium to save my mother. I saw a faint twitch of an eyelid and I knew she was alive. Then a finger just barely moved and I knew she was trying to get back, and then slowly, laboriously, she became more and more present and I knew it was working. Heave! heave! heave! blow in, I kept doing it till she got up. And then the doctor friend called again, he kept calling me to check the progress, bless the good soul, he advised for us to get some sugar syrup, she might be hypoglycaemic (extremely low blood sugar level, it is really dangerous for diabetics). We made half a cup of sugar syrup and started spooning it into my mother’s mouth. By this time the ambulance arrived. 40 minutes after the ordeal began. She drank half of the syrup by the time the paramedics were in my house. 

The 40 minutes of hell had ended, I got up from the balcony exhausted, my knees would give way but I kept standing, I had yet more to do. I was walking in a trance. A state of shock I could not easily snap out of. I just kept up with the task at hand. I realised I had just brought back my Mother to life. A person who was ailing for almost 3 years now. Someone who was praying to God to not live. Who am I to take that decision on behalf of God? I feared relapse, I feared the worse. I went in the ambulance holding my mother's hand all the while, giving her hope. She hung by a thin line, hope mixed with fear and exhaustion. At the hospital Emergency Unit, the doctors took her over, informed me their course of action, a routine procedure, and handed me the slip to get my mother admitted to the ICU. I just held the slip and sat outside the emergency ward, waiting for my husband to come. I knew everything could wait for now. I could depend on him now. My husband arrived surprisingly quickly and took charge of her admission process. As we sat down to have tea after the admission I realised I had an unsteady gait, I could not hold myself together anymore. We rested long enough so I could be back on my feet.

19 years ago at the midnight of 6th December, 1997, my dad had succumbed to a heart attack. I have no idea if I could have revived him, I was asleep when he passed away. I have carried a guilt since that time. As my mother lay limp, I begged God to not do it again. 

Here are a few tips you need to know when a person is having a seizure:

- Do not get nervous, you are the only life saver at that moment. Doctors and paramedics come in later.

- Make the person lie down flat on the floor and lift the mouth upward, lift up the legs by putting pillows under the legs. Do not use a pillow below the head under any circumstances. You have to open up the trachea (the wind pipe, connecting to the lung), if the head is raised the trachea gets blocked.

- Don't let the tongue roll out. Put a spoon in the mouth so the tongue stays in the mouth. I kept opening and pushing the tongue back in place.

- With your palms, one on top of the other, push the sternum (Chest), at the middle, hard. I feared I might damage the rib, the doctors say that even if you did, the person would still be saved, but I would suggest to be mindful of the pressure. 

- Press the chest three times and then open the mouth and blow in air covering the patient’s mouth fully in yours. Blow in hard.

- Under no circumstances make the person sit or attempt to take her to hospital in your car. Those minutes can be used successfully by administering CPR.

- Remember it is important that oxygen is being supplied to the patient, else the patient may end up getting paralysed. Therefore the blowing in of air mouth to mouth is done. 

- Once the patient is conscious enough, administer sugar syrup to the patient, 3 spoons of sugar and a pinch of salt in half a cup of water. 

CPR is an exhausting process, sweat dripped from my forehead, my arms buckled. As for the patient, CPR leaves her in immense pain. There are excruciating muscle pains on the chest area, which last as long as three months. Recovery is a painful process. CPR cannot be administered very frequently to a person. 

Life is beautiful. Inexplicable and complex. Painful yet addictive. I am addicted to life and so is everyone else. And that is one addiction we could live with!

Do you really know what you are breathing in? But you do care don't you?

My husband, in his college days stayed in a hostel that was in a historical building in Delhi. Weathered and time tested though it was, it also was damp and quite unequipped for the modern day pollutants. I am talking about the early nineties, the pre "Inconvenient Truth" days. When Al Gore had not yet proved to the world how we are killing ourselves by polluting the planet. The days when Euro I, II and III standards of pollution control were still novel ideas in India, finally adopted only in the year 2000; the days when avoiding air pollution was not even seen as anything even worth talking about on our country; the days when asthma and bronchitis were not incidental to urban lives. Those were the days when lung diseases were just beginning to show signs of visiting our young population. Constant sneezing was the way it came to me. And to my husband unfortunately, it came as a full blown bronchitis at a very young age. He took a toll on his health and had to be rescued from the hostel by his dad in one occasion, in very poor health. He recovered and returned to his hostel, rejuvenated after a month's rest. But risk of frequent bronchial attack became his constant companion and bronchial attacks a frequent visitor.

The air that we breathe in today's post "Inconvenient Truth" planet is quite significantly polluted and now we know it. The urban sky is red in the night, on the horizon. Stars look faint and far apart. We drive air-conditioned cars with the windows rolled up to avoid the fumes from vehicles that crowd the streets, cantankerously chasing and honking at each other with unknown urgency and unimaginable quest. Probably the only fresh air we can breathe are what we take in, in our short vacations into bucolic surroundings of far flung resorts, set within verdant forests, with sparkling streams and ponds. The rest of our days are spent in reminiscing those pristine experiences.

Someone might offer that their homes are the haven for clean air too! Are you sure about that? It has been proven that indoor air is just as much at risk of being polluted as the outdoors and at times even more. Some of the contributors of it are:

- Pesticides, and we all use some of it in our homes, to fight against cockroaches, ants and mosquitoes
- Tobacco Smoke, if someone smokes in the house
- Pollen and molds, sometimes they just accumulate themselves in the hard to reach areas
- Hazardous building material, such are asbestos, formaldehyde and lead
- Gases such as carbon monoxide and excess carbon dioxide

Homes are vulnerable to all of this. Besides, regardless of the quality of ventilation in the house, our bed rooms in winter nights can still become stuffy and suffocating, unsafe to breathe in. I remember waking up in the middle of many of those winter nights, when I  pulled open the french door of my bedroom because, I could not sleep in the stuffy air circulating inside the closed insulated room, my sleep disturbed and sometimes even completely interrupted.

I am familiar with indoor pollution because all of us in my family have some breathing related issue and I frequently vacuum the mattress and head board cushion in the bedrooms and sofa cushions in the living room, to get rid of dust mites. But my tryst with stuffy air has so far been unresolved with stuffy indoor air taking the better of both me and my lovely precious dreams. So I was quite relieved to hear that Eureka Forbes has come up with this interesting gadget called Dr. Aeroguard, which purifies the indoor air. I found this piece of news reassuring and a chance for me to get undisturbed sleep. It is worth a try!

And as I end this piece I find myself sniffing like the terrier dog for pollutants inside my house. Wait a minute, you can't smell them they are colourless, odourless and tasteless, just like the ordinary air we breathe.

Whatsapp, Facebook, Dopamine and Addiction

Off late there has been a disturbing change in my household. I find it almost impossible to keep my home clean to the standards I have myself set for my house. I thought I was probably a little stressed about the many things that are going on in my life, but when has life been without its occurrences? I wondered what has gone wrong with my housekeeping skills! Unnecessary things lie around in house, without being removed for days. Dumped items to be cleaned later, with no sign of 'later' at sight. I was really concerned about this change in me and I wondered how I was going to get myself back in order. 

And then I discovered the reason. Eureka! Unimaginable but true, the answer lay in what we consider our lifeline and a revolutionary means of instant communication! Yes, I am referring to Whatsapp and its older brother Facebook. Both siblings have a way of binding you to their allure and charm for hours, filling in the time you would otherwise use for productivity, creativity and mundane activity. Oh well later!

My daughter began calling me 'Whatsapp Mamma' and my husband at times would get mercurial with my Whatsapp-centric-attention to him. But I was just not getting it! I was not getting it because, I have built a network of strong friendships and relationships owing specifically to Whatsappp. Facebook has not bothered me much, I don’t share a lot on FB. But Whatsapp just swept me off my feet. I would Whatsapp with multiple groups all the time. Some even professional groups. Some of these friends, whom I had not met in two decades, are my support system now. Some of my professional contacts have helped me immensely, merely because we are in touch, all thanks to Whatsapp. 

So I had a justification to immerse more and more into the Whatsapp world. I began developing attention deficit. My mind would always be divided. And therefore I began avoiding tasks. All sorts of tasks by the way: legal work, bank work, doctor’s visit, cooking something new, reading the book I bought last week, month or even year, cleaning the house, all of it! I was just putting them off, till they became a chronic problem! Owing to the objection from my daughter and husband, I curtailed too much use of Whatsapp in their presence. But all my 'me time' was still being absorbed with Whatsapp.

I never had time to catch up with pending work. I ignored things lying around in the house because, there was a world inside my phone that drew me into it, where physical world did not matter. If I had been breaking bit by bit into bytes, as I focussed on the phone all day long, by today, I would be just a few gigabytes, tucked away somewhere in the cyberspace, all my other possibilities dissolved in this self-effacing and self-glorifying activity all at once.

Self-effacing because, I preferred to be immersed in just a devise, rather than face real people. Self-glorifying because I was spending time getting appreciations and likes and smilies on my messages, posts and achievements, with increasing multitude of narcissism. Experts say that, this activity, of constantly seeking appreciation by way of likes and appreciations, secretes a hormone called Dopamine in our body. And can you tell me what other things cause the secretion of dopamine? Any guesses? Well let me tell you and brace yourself. Dopamine is secreted by excess use of drugs, alcohol and cigarette. “Oh my God,” I said to myself yesterday, “I have become a drunkard! A drug addict! A smoker! What have I done,” I said, as I watched this amazing you-tube video by Simon Sinek on 'Millennials in the Workspace' a must watch, take my word for it! 

So I began noticing my activities from last evening on. Here are some instances, does it sound familiar to you:

-         I look up at the house, say, "why is it dirty," go back to reading messages on Whatsapp. Can’t focus on Whatsapp either, I open the Facebook, check the updates, go back to Whatsapp.

-         I switch on a you-tube video but have too little inclination to listen intently, so I flip and read Whatsapp messages in-between.

-         I wake up in the morning and after brushing and before I fix tiffin for my daughter, I peek into the Whatsapp. After I get her ready, I drop her and while coming home, I catch up on Whatsapp.

-         I sit down for 30 minutes, just to catch up on Whatsapp in the morning.

-         I look for something in the house, I become impatient, but no worries, Whatsapp brings me back to inaction in no time.

Like the sloth, I lounge on one corner of the house, me and Whatsapp! The dopamine has got me and messed with me long enough, I vow today! I now need a plan to check Whatsapp without disruption. “I am no drug addict material, dopamine will not run my life” I remind myself as I clean my home today!

Some ideas to improve the phone usage habbit:

Simon Sinek suggests- 

- do not carry your phone when spending time with friends and family

- In a meeting never carry the phone. Chat with colleagues when waiting for a meeting to begin to build networks and associations, rather than being distracted by the phone. “It is very rude,” he says, “to have your phone on the table, face up or face down, when in a meeting!”

Some suggestions from me-

- When checking a message on phone, stick to the task at hand, do not open personal messages during work hours. 

- Overcome the need for checking smilies and likes on your posts. Spend that time in making another smiley-worthy-creation. 

Have your wine, but not too much lest you become a drunkard. Connect on Whatsapp but do watch out.

Whatsapp is irreplaceable, unavoidable and undeletable! It is, trust me. My school friend in Canada, is hosting a radio show in New York city and her friends, all of us, in India, are messaging song requests on Whatsapp, which she plays real-time and even announces the name of the requester. Long live Whatsapp! 

Hate is easy, what about love?

I learnt how to hate before I ever learnt to love,

Once I learnt to hate, I did not need any love,

Hate is easy, it makes you so special, so perfect,

It is love that makes you doubt and wish for a change

It is love that makes you see all your faults, and hide your face,

It is love that makes you wish for more,

More subtlety, more calmness, more empathy, more depth.

More kindness, more keenness, more stealth.

More quiet, more composure and more life to live

Love makes you yearn and yearn and yearn.

And deep down somewhere there is this ego of ours,

That seeps into our dreams, our thoughts and more,

That makes us want to be larger than life itself,

That fears, that is scared and that yearns for control,

That is restless, that desires unreasonable and that beguiles our soul,

That just wants and wants never gives never loses,

That feels like best is the only post that exists for the self,

That prods us to be unforgiving, uncaring, un-kind

That gives us a tool, a tool for dearth.

Hate is easy, you become perfect in a flash,

Hate is really easy, you don't even have to see too far,

You have seen it all and you need not care,

Hate drives you with such adroit hand,

You need not worry when you hate,

All you need is to condemn,

All you need is to complain,

All you need is to curse,

And then you are perfect,

At-least in your own eyes.

Why would you care what faults others see in you?

You can easily hate all the critics away.

You can easily hate all your friends and foes away,

You can easily hate all the love away,

You can easily hate all the life away,

And when it is all gone, all sucked away,

You can easily hate, hate, and hate

Lifeless, soulless, listless.

What about love, Love is difficult you know.

But love is Life, love is truth and love is our only hope.

My Toddler's Tantrum Story I will Tell My Grand-kids

Scene: Centre of a mall, much like the well-of-the-parliament-house, where all the big events are organised, it is visible from circular balcony of all floors in the mall. In short, a prestigious spot to perform. This is where Shah Rukh Khan stood some years back when he came to inaugurate the mall. But this day, unbeknownst to me, my daughter and I will enact a scene here, that will be etched in my memory for ever! For good and bad reasons all at once. Embarrassment, succumbing, firm disciplining, refusal to budge and eventual atonement, all attributes of a doting parent to be displayed by me in a matter of minutes.

Having finished my shopping, loaded with shopping bags, we make the last stop, the ice-cream shop. My three year old buy's an ice-cream cone and is still thinking what to do with it. She is just 3 and the ice-cream cone holds visual wonders for her beyond any imagination, it is not just food, it is a play thing. I get restless and lick just the pointy tip off her ice-cream before it melts and drops on the floor- and that is it! What follows would put any parent's patience to a test of highest order.

"Take it out of your mouth, now!" Yells my daughter threateningly. "I want it back, give it back to me," She pushes me, tries to get it out of my mouth and realising that it is all in vein, she falls flat on the floor in the well-of-the-mall, turning round and round and round like a ferris wheel. I stand there helpless for a few seconds, with the shopping bags in one hand and a now steadily melting ice-cream cone in the other, wondering what to do. Presently I realise the melting ice-cream needed attention, I lick it again. I then go back to buy a new cone of ice-cream, but there is a long queue there. No problem, there is another joint offering ice-cream cones at 7 times the price of the original one, but that is fine, Anything to stop this stressful and embarrassing tirade. "Here give me a cone," I ask urgently, to the man at the counter. "That will quieten the mini ferris wheel," I think to myself

"No I want the same cone, not this one." My daughter rejects the second cone as well, cantankerous and uncontrollable by this time. Now I have shopping bags hanging at one elbow and an ice-cream cone in each hand. One I have licked enough to claim it for myself totally, the other threatening to start dripping anytime. And an insatiable, unstoppable Ferris wheel on the floor. And then I get it. "If she does not want it, she will not get it." I throw both ice-creams in the dustbin right before her eyes. Now with both my hands free, I pick her up firmly and take her to the car. She continues crying inconsolably, up to the car and then all the way back home, the sub ten minute drive. By the time we enter the gate of our apartment, she realises that its over, her chance of getting an ice-cream is gone. She begins to cry now for another reason, the agony of not being able to eat any ice-cream at all, in-spite of the opportunities. I realise that this is too much of an agony for a three year old. And then I tell her, she still has one chance left of getting an ice-cream from the apartment grocery store, if she promises that she will never throw herself on the floor and cry! She says yes, and I hope she means it, as I jump off the car to get her the coveted ice-cream.

Its been five years since that incident, my daughter has never resorted to the throw-herself-on-the-floor-and-cry trick again. Did I get it right or did she just out-grow the phase?

Well I think a little bit of both happened. On that day, she learned the technique of negotiating. She learned that she can strike a deal if she is reasonable. She learned that her happiness is important to us, because she got her ice-cream finally, but she needs to behave, in order to get it. So, yes she outgrew that phase that very day, because she was given a message that day without a scar.

Superstition and The Indian Culture

My article ‘I Am a Mum I am Superstitious’ had an unsettling effect on some of my readers. While most who appreciated the article just clicked on ‘like’, ‘love’, “laugh” silently, frankly ‘this is what the article deserved’, besides may be a few chuckles! But some were disturbed to the extent that they went on to write long personal criticism about me, some were too personal and ‘ooops it hurt’! I have not met any of them. In fact this article is an outcome of an ‘article suggestion’ by, let’s just say ‘a friend’. And I thought "Why Not!" Most readers noticed the self-ridicule to some of my own idiosyncrasies, as I also justify some others at a certain level. Some came down lashing at me, particularly over ‘Kala Teeka’. Frankly did you not notice how I poked that one?

There was one brave soul who admitted, after criticising, that she is disturbed enough by superstitions in her own life. The gumption of someone justifying the whole thing bothered her deeply. It was a matter of sanity vs insanity for her, I presume. And I appreciate every jibe that I received. But it was a chuckle, some ridicule and some hearty laugh, that I had expected from all readers. Many missed the humour in the article altogether. 

It is because, without realising, I had raised a topic that is not limited to idiosyncrasy in India. It is a means to control! In India superstition gives some, the right to suffocate others. A culture where personal boundaries are not respected much, one person's immaturity becomes another person's bane. If mother-in-law believes that bahu (daughter-in-law) is apshakun (bad omen) because when she kicked the bally rice on the day she entered the marital home, it fell to the left and not right, it can completely ruin the bahu's life for good. If she decides that bahu's daughter is not good for the family, because it was raining on the day she was born, then the bahu and the daughter are both non-entities in the family. If she decides that.... oh let me not launch on the unfairness of superstition in our country. The fact remains that if one justifies superstitions, she needs to understand that people in India are bound in shackles of it and that not everyone has the appetite to laugh at such impertinent quirks. 

I am humbled by the remarks of those who felt that the article reflected anything but a hearty inquiry into a natural human tendency. I am humbled by the remarks of those who did not notice self-doubt over some of my meaningless superstitions. I feel our country needs to draw better personal boundaries, so people are free to be inconsistent within those limits and not force others to do things they do.

Not a superstition free culture but an affliction free culture. A culture where we can laugh at people’s stupidity without risking our own safety!  

Corruption Incorporated- Ten 500, 1000 Craft Ideas That Will Make Your Home Rich

Rs 500 and Rs 1000, the way we knew them are Gone With the Wind! Modi, like a magician with one stroke of his magic wand made-them-all-go-away!!! And with that he killed two birds with one stroke. The ever mounting corruption has had a massive jolt last night and so has terrorism. On one hand all the black money stashed away in the gaddas (mattresses) of numerous homes have become just that, gadda filling! On the other hand the terrorist funding through counterfeit notes printed in neighbouring countries are now just good to play the game of "Monopoly" on the border. 

Most people with clean notes will not have this luxury that the lucre of the corrupt will give them. Well for those who can ‘afford it’, Corruption Incorporated suggests some art ideas to decorate their homes with. Till yesterday it was not possible, but today it is, bank notes make amazing craft.

1. Frame them: One 500 and one 1000 rupee note must be framed and hanged at the home entrance. Exclusive display in minimalist fashion.

2. Make a collage: Take a topic of your choice, tear pictures from newspaper take a bunch of 500 and 1000 rupee notes and tear them along the length, one note will give you approximately 4 strips. Stick your pictures on a black or white KG Cardboard sheet. Use the note strips to do the detailing. Alternatively use the bank note strips to cover the KG cardboard paper. Tip: alternate between a 500 strip and a 1000 strip for better effect. On top of this you may want to stick a few coins and a Rupee 100 note nestled in the centre of your artwork. Makes for an amazing centre piece in your drawing room, Frame it in Gold for better effect.

3. Flower making with 1000 and 500: Take a 1000 note and roll in into a stem along the length. Take a 500 note and fold it over diagonally. Do the same to five 500 notes, take a string and tie these folded notes to the Rs 1000 stem and your flower is ready. You can make a bunch and display it in a flower pot or just give it to an ailing relative in the hospital.

4. Fill a ornamental gadda: Take a huge bunch of 500, 1000 notes, make sure they are not in wads. If they are, loosen them up and fluff them by gathering them in your hands and dropping them in heaps, your last chance to hug them close to your heart and smell them deep! Repeat the activity at least five times. Take a fine white muslin cloth or a white net material or any white diaphanous material. Stitch the cloth into a cushion of your choice: round, square or rectangle. Fill it up with the fluffed up notes, stitch the gadda closed. Toss it over a side table as an item of display. 

5. Make a toran: You can get creative with this idea. Make torans or even curtains with your creativity, you will come up with ideas. Why just have the useless notes, add some large beads to make it more authentic. 

6. Origami: Why not, let your kid enjoy origami parties and make boats, rockets and ducks with the notes. They are 500 and 1000 times better than regular Origami papers.

7. Book Cover: Stick together the 500 and 1000 notes and make them into attractive book covers for your kids. 

8. Book Marks: Put one in every book, would you ever replace such a book mark? It’s perfect for your rich taste in literature!

9. Dunce Caps: Enjoy your parties with the 1000, 500 dunce caps. Wear them on your head they are so becoming of you.

10. Environment friendly paper plates! Now that is one use you will not regret. Use your money to save the planet. Serve pastas and french fries this birthday party on paper plates made of the notes!

Become creative, don't just sit there and sulk. Clean up your homes all over again. In Diwali you cleaned all dirt and now it’s time for the black money to go. India!!! India!!!!! 

I Am a Mum and I Am Superstitious

A thought of my baby makes words like hope, faith and ‘bundle of joy’ take tangible meaning, they come to life with splashes of colours and morsels of flavours. Like the colours of Holi that brighten us up and set us up for a whole year of happy surprises; like the unbounded feeling of joy, of a little child, on receiving the gift from Santa; like the tinkling sound of the temple bells; like the delicious viand that fills up the senses, not just the stomach; like the blend of aroma in a cosy spa that sets up a pleasant mood. All these feelings, all at once, they visit the mind every time I think of my child. Seeing her little feet walk, even now makes my heart skip a beat and sends my mind floating in a pool of elation, she is eight now, still innocent, still demure. How could just the known suffice to nurture such a phenomenal being, who resides in a cosy cave in my heart and touches every string of it, one by one with her nonchalance and simplicity every day? No way! The known is not enough, I want to be the jealous, superstitious Mum, the Mum who wants the universe to know that her little one is the angel of her heart and no one must mistake her for anything else, even the casual passing spirit in the air if there is, even remotely, such a thing possible.

There are times when we encounter the unknown, tell me if I got it wrong? That little creak under the kitchen sink late in the night when everyone’s sleeping, the eerie feeling of a presence that cannot be described, the wraiths in the darkness, the strange sounds from the terrace, that moment when you unknowingly turned to find you were just a whisker away from harm, had you not turned that moment. I am sure they can all be explained and a cynic will do just that! And why not, do it by all means, perspicuity is a virtue!

But if there is life, if there is life on earth at all, there is an unknown that is driving it for sure. Look at the magnificence, look at the diversity, look at the ubiquity- under the sea, over the hills, inside the volcano’s mouth and in the barren desert, life exists everywhere. An unknown which can be worshipped, no matter how hard we try to prove the phenomenon, we still feel like bowing our heads to it and worshipping it with the ‘sincerely yours and ‘yours truly’ fervour! Because life is not about knowledge, it is about faith. Everybody wants ‘kismet’ but no one wants to believe in the divine, not on the records for sure. Divinity is a private belief, and so is superstition, like unmistakable colonies of worms under rotting leaves on the surface of a rain forest, it is everywhere and never completely accepted as that.

I am a mixture of conventional and non-conventional. I still leave a little flour on the tava after all rotis are made. In olden days, the last roti was given to the dog! But since people became urban and dogs began eating Pedigree, there is very little hope of finding a qualifying dog, to have this humble repast. So the last roti is now diminished in size and is even, very often, replaced by a small drizzle of flour over the tava, just for the drizzler’s satisfaction!

I panic over which the direction of the headboard of beds in my house, East-West-North-South, we are all affected by the magnetic field of the earth I rationalise.

I am still a partial believer of not washing hair on Thursdays, but very often I don’t even bother and I wash everything up on a Thursday, hair, clothes, floors and the terrace, still there are days when I refuse to start the washing machine on Thursday and instruct my house help to do it only the next day. I have no idea which way I lean. I lean every which way.

And in complete contrast I am not a regular temple goer, in fact such an occasion presents itself few and far between, I do not even pray to God everyday with incense sticks and diyas, I just pray to God all the time mostly staying away from rituals.

I celebrate festivals by choice, I am not driven by traditions, I choose which traditions to drive. See like an obedient split personality, I leave no hope for an observer to judge me by my actions!

There is marked incongruence in my behaviour when it comes to believing and / or rationalising. And as I discuss this with my friends, it’s becoming exceedingly clear that each of us have such quirks to share. I reserve a few of these quirks just for my little one I lovingly call Chiku and Chipmunk and Chhotu pie and Putush and many more.

I whispered positive thoughts in my infant’s ears every single day, after she was born. Just saying nice things to her. Yes, she did not understand, but that did not deter me. Every morning without fail I whispered in her ears a little something that was truly phenomenal and positive. This is passed on to me by my Mother-in-law. But the moment she said it, I knew this was simply the most valuable suggestion she has ever shared with me and she ever will. She keeps bettering herself, but this piece still remains my top favourite.

I put the kala teeka just like every other mother. The black dot for her safety. After the much painstaking readying and making her dress like a princess, one big visible black dot on left of her forehead. It did not leave her till very long, maybe till she turned four. And that dot, quoting the most well-informed superstitious, made her immune to any negative energy around her! I am sure no one knows if it works, but I never did away with it, not for any logic, not for any science, philosophy or ontology.

This one I do every-day. I open my eyes in the morning and the first thing I must see, is my little one. I just have to do it. She is my lucky charm and at that moment over her sleeping figure, I say little prayers to God I know will be held in trust by the universe and disseminated in small bits over her lifetime. For she will be there much after my breath lasts, but my prayers would have overtaken her wherever she turns.

Being a mother makes me logical and superstitious, loving and firm, happy and worried, calm and cautious all at once. Like spandex I am pulled from opposing direction just so I can maintain my shape and not flop under my own weight. And I enjoy being a mother just that way!

Bringing Down The House

I may have always been a mother. A girl is born with a certain number of ovaries or follicles, in her yet to mature body. Technically she is a mother of all these possibilities, even as she is born, herself just a possibility! But aren't babies brought home by storks? Aren't babies lost stars in the galaxy, who finally found homes? Aren't babies a gift of God? They are, yes they are. Why? Because aren't they miracles? Each one of them!

We are born with possibilities aren't we? Endless possibilities. Being able to become a mother is also one such possibility. But choosing to be one is not possibility! It is a conscious choice. And even though it sounds obvious that I should become a mother since I am a woman, I know, deep within somewhere, I chose to be one and therefore I am one. It really does not matter if you have a baby of your own, really. I was a mother by instinct, the way I bonded with kids, the way I watched over them and noticed qualities others had missed, the way I taught them, played with them, told stories to them, consoled and supported them and sometimes even fought for them, I was a mother always. The fact that I got my own little bundle of joy, who transformed me into a jealous, doting, obsessed, suspicious, guilt-ful mother, is actually incidental. Or is it?

I knew exactly everything about children: that is, before I had my own little darling. And it turns out that- that was exactly nothing! A naught, zilch if you may. I was indeed motherly, but being a mother was a whole new ball game, for the Braveheart material! I encountered some deeper secrets of parenting, no one told me about up until then. An onlooker is always blessed with superior knowledge, it is the parents who take the real brunt. Why is it that when the baby goes out, out for a ride I mean, not out of the womb silly, so does the big bag, looking much like a vacation bag, even if it’s just for a few hours? Why do parents pack of a week, for a 15 day vacation and still stress over what could go missing? How tactfulness does not always work with kids, at least not when parents are applying it, on their own offspring! Why children will throw tantrum in public and they all do, actually I don’t know why, I used to when I was not a parent, not anymore! Why do children cry their eyes out and can't be consoled, when the entire planet, with all its diversities, disputes, unrest and contradictions, agree on this one single thing, they all want them to be peacefully gambolling every minute of the day, again I learned I need not know why, eventually they just stop crying so it is okay. How a person, so scaled down in size, can bring down a 2000 sqft-super-built-up-area of a home and a multiple acres of a neighbourhood under her little toe? I in short learned what all parents learn, that this is it! This is that particular it! The ‘it’ I always wished for. The ‘it’ I never knew I had unknowingly bargained for, in all its enormity, in all its paraphernalia, in all its real world charm. This is it! And I bit... off a piece of my lip, to befit that it!

I don't remember sleep deprivation anymore, I don't remember diapering and cleaning up anymore, they are things of the past now. I wonder why parents even complain about it at all. And don't jibe at me yet, hold your ammunition for later. Those are the safest time in our journey as parents. A temporarily tormented sleep pattern is nothing, trust me nothing, in fact a-nothingth-of-a-nothing, as compared to what's in store. No big deal really. The big deal is: what we change, bit by bit, year on year, just for our children, we change ourselves!

How we talk, no F and Y and I and B and D words and please there is a cuss word with every alphabet, so no cuss words.

What we talk, don't complain - don't condemn and do not at any point please, criticize- applies to everything! Try that and you will know it is no child's play, but you will right? For your child!

What we eat, no complaining, I don't like lauki (Bottle Gourd) and karela (Bitter Gourd) and bhindi (Ocra) and arbi (Taro Root), please, the child is listening.

When we sleep, no late nights okay! Otherwise you will have a bag underneath each eye from waking up early to send the kid to school every day of the week.

Our manners, no fighting, no shouting etc etc. I am beginning to fail already in this life long test, the list goes on.

Our interactions, respect people you meet, no back biting and no grave digging.

How we express our feelings, no crying, no getting scared and all that stuff.

By now you pretty much know, it is an impossible task. Better just face it, perfect parents are myths written about in Parenting Books and magazines. They are the boo-boo for parents! Because everything, exactly everything in our behaviour and specially the negatives get reflected in our children's behaviour. We are their puppets! Pinocchios all! Long nosed trust me, because we do make ourselves look perfect before our kids as much as we can, or don't we? Ahem!

People tell me sometimes, and trust me it is really quite flattering, oh I love your parenting blogs, your daughter is really lucky to have you for a mom. Thanks for that! I couldn't thank enough. But I always correct them, and not out of any modesty, come on, only one who wears the shoe knows where it bites! It is the truth- I tell them, "I am lucky to have her for my daughter." Because I would never have been the mother I am, unless she drove me to it. In all these years of being a mother, my perceptions have changed. I have changed out of real fear that she might learn something I do not wish for her to learn! But then chuck it! I am a person too. And some day she will appreciate me for being just that, and no more. And that day, life would have come full circle! 

Why My Love For My Husband Does Not Entreat Me To Fast For Him

Last few days I have seen my husband in stress. This is only the second time in 15 years of our marriage when he has been so. I have chosen to be a good listener. There is little more I can do. And then as I watch him overwhelm with stress and lose his sleep, I invariably find myself saying small prayers for him. I know what worries him and I know it will pass. I know he will get past all hurdles, he is my hero. But I also say the prayers for God to be by his side to help him get past his worries unscathed. To help him get past them stronger than before. As I do that, I realise, that he is always in my prayers. I pray for his happiness and mine, his success and mine, and more than anything I pray for our togetherness. Because our happiness is inseparable. And that is the fact. 

I have never felt the need to fast a whole day for him and institutionalise my love for him, but I did it once - just once! Love needs no proof. I know those who do Karwa Chauth or Teej, do not really go about proving anything. You just follow an age old tradition for your own satisfaction. I on the other hand question it. And therefore I don't do it. 

Just so you know, Teej the lesser known cousin of Karwa Chauth is observed for the same reason as its super star, rolling in wealth and Bollywood charm cousin. It is observed on the eve of Ganesh Chaturthi. It involves a 24 hour fasting without any water or food. The fast is broken only the following day, after touching the feet of the husband. I have never touched my husband's feet, the inequality days are long gone! My mother used to observe Teej for my father and theirs was one of the thorniest relationships I have known. I would not be surprised if she resented it all day long as she made hundreds of Perakia (Gujia) and Thekua (Deep fried Cookies made out of Aata and jaggery). The aroma of the frying delicacies is what enticed me to this festival. The day after Teej, my mother shared the prasad of Thekua and Perakia with the entire neighbourhood and vice versa. So we had the Thekuas and Perakias from everyone in the vicinity. With such strong cultural influence, not many women could have kept away from the custom. After all, who will stop a woman from making and sharing her favourite delicacies and letting everyone know that, her's is the best in the entire block. So in some ways it was a competition of Thekua and Perakia making, which included showing their grit in fasting without water for 24 hours. And all of them won, from what I remember.  

I have observed Teej only once in 15 years of my marriage, I got taken by the charm of being a newly-wed and a chance of sharing my thekuas and perakias, like my mother did before. My excitement waned when I realised that, no one in my neighbourhood knew about Teej and my treats were the best merely because they were the only ones shared! And then after having fasted the whole day, I realised it did not strengthen my love for my husband, if anything, I looked like a desperate lover, badly in need of appreciation. Which I was definitely not! I felt a resentment for the tradition. And the next day when I went to work, I realised that, as an added jolt to my now waned belief, I could not concentrate at work. Not having eaten or even had water the day before, brought down my efficiency significantly. My husband was overseas at that time, so he was spared the soap opera class drama altogether.  

Recently I discovered that some men, some of them my very good friends, fast on Karwa Chauth. For their wives, alongside them, to show that they care. Now that is really sweet of them. From how I look at it, it is a passive conquest against the age old tradition that people find hard to question, without getting a host of resistance from people close to them: Their parents, their relatives and their own spouses! And so they rebel by fasting themselves. A more active rebellion is when you discontinue a tradition, because it is antiquated. 

A question comes to mind, why did our tradition introduce fasting only for women? Why did only women entreat the almighty to protect her family - husband, children, brother, father!? Why have men not been tied down by the same rituals? Answer lies in the roles men and women have historically played in the society. Women took to safer chores such as child rearing, farming and managing the household. (Yes farming was invented by women during stone ages, it passed on to men only later). She took these roles because, her longevity ensured her children's well-being. One parent had to be around for the children and invariably it was the mother. Men took the more risky pursuits, such as hunting, fighting wars, undertaking voyages etc. Their lives were constantly at risk, they literally flung themselves into the eyes of the storms. Their wives, their mothers, their sisters and the family at large were constantly praying for them to return home safely. 

In today's world, the element of danger is equally distributed to men and women. The urgency for constant prayer for long life of just one of the spouses is diminished. Today we as a culture, men women alike, ask, why should only women fast for men? Why don't men fast for women? The fact is, fasting will do nothing more than it did in those 'Chronicles of Narnia' like or 'The lord of the Rings' like yesteryear. It only gave a satisfaction to the person fasting that, while her beloved was in the high seas fighting for his life and in some ways, fighting for their prosperity, she was risking her life in little ways that she could afford, by not eating a few square meals. While their men stood out at the battle field, drumming their chest and claiming that, a true man gets cut to pieces, before giving way to the enemies, what solace did the woman have, by not standing beside him and giving her life too for the same cause? Oh no she had to live for the family while the men folk died for it. And so she gave up food. Sometimes as a community measure, appeasing gods with their prayers and fasting. And poooof… with a wisp first and a bang later, these traditions of fasting came to life. 

To these antiquated traditions, we are just surrogate mothers. We ask, what was the need? There is no need anymore. Really! 

World's First Distance Education Experiment By Eklavya in Mahabharata

So you think distance education is a modern day concept? Remember Eklavya? He was declined university education by none other than Dronacharya. Reason? Oh he could not admit any student who had higher potential for archery than Arjun. Eklavya was an archery prodigy. And by mere virtue of declining education to Eklavya, Drona had proven himself unworthy of a disciple as gifted as Eklavya.

Eklavya however besides all his talent was beguiled by world’s fixation over Drona as the world's best teacher for archery. And nothing but the best would do for him. He did not lose hope however. He was a tribal, born out of the local soil, made of the same materials that built the gurukul's environment, where the Pandavas and the Kauravas were being incubated, for the end of world war forthcoming in the future. He believed in perseverance, persistence, hard work and most of all smart work. He was not one to be disheartened by rejection.

Then and there he devised his own personal YouTube lecture source. A tree top from where the teachings of Drona could be observed from a distance and then practiced assiduously. He may have missed some important lectures, happens to Open University students! But he learnt the skill!

What were his strengths? These are some:

- Observation skill

- Willingness to persevere

- Out of the box thinking

- Problem Solving

- Ability to improvise

- Never say die attitude

- Learning from mistakes, as he did after having lost his precious thumb of right hand!

Now why on earth did this wise non-disciple of Drona have to go cut his thumb of right arm? Gurudakshina for Drona? Drona in the course of Mahabharata proved himself unfit of such reverence in numerous occasions! That was the paradox people! No one gets away without a guru in the real world, sooner or later distance education turns turtle at you and that is when the first real life experience gapes at you and you have nothing but bookish knowledge to stand for you. 

He could have just run for his life at that moment. Declared that having denied him education, Drona had primarily let him down, he had not served his duty of a guru by not keeping him and caring for him in the gurukul. He could have said that, while his blessing was much appreciated, absence of it would not lead to any particular tragedy in his life. Why on earth did Eklavya have to brag! He hid and learnt the skills, he must have known better than to show up and own up his crime! Miserable even in success!

Whatever be Eklavya's reason to abide by the gurudakshina ask, Eklavya was made of much sterner stuff. He did not give up, he became a left handed archer. Because Eklavya was an archer and archery was the only art that absorbed him. What else would he have done? Become a tribal apothecary? What medicines would he administer? Become a tribal lord? What skills of leadership had he learnt? Distance education has its pitfalls! Eklavya had only observed and learnt some of the best archery tricks and it is commendable that he stuck to it under daunting circumstances!

The lesson learnt from Eklavya is, go for distance education if you wish to, but it is probably better if you found a less efficient teacher instead, at least you will not end up cutting your thumb in the end! Even the best teacher in the world is not worth it!

5 Things To Do In a PTM

"Mamma when is the next PTM?" My 8 year old asks me at least once every month. She looks forward to these 'Parent Teacher Meetings'. And we in turn leave no stones un-turned. Call us weird! For this special occasion, I dress up in my best saree, though not a very regular saree wearer otherwise, I drop all my work and appointments. My husband takes an off from work, sheds his techie shorts and gets into his trousers. We spend as much time at the school, as our daughter wishes, no one is in a hurry!

In today's corporatised schools, the parent teacher interaction is extremely elusive. In my daughter's school it happens only twice a year. Besides that, the only means of communication with her teachers are diary notes. I cannot just walk up to the teacher and share a casual chat, like I used to in her preschool days. This means that these two PTMs and about two other occasions, Sports day and school fete, when we visit school and meet the teachers,should be treated as sacred. This is our only chance to meet face to face with those significant adults in our child's life, who influence herwith greater ease than ourselves. We need to respect these silent architects in our child's life for the difference they make. 

In doing so let us also not forget to leave a tacit message that our child means a world to us and that we do not believe in compromising in anything- the education, the environment and the respect given to our child. Let them know, how well connected we are with our child's shortcomings and how much we expect tolerance in that matter!

Here are a few tips to make the PTM a productive day for you, your child and her teachers:

 1. Do your homework: Keep all the red flags ready, if the child is not enjoying a subject or does not like a teacher, that is a red flag. Even if the child's friend does not like a teacher and the child spoke about it, it is a red flag. Children do not easily dislike a likable person. So basically whatever this individual shares as a feedback about your child, has to be analysed cautiously. As a matter of fact all feedback, good or bad, have to be analysed with caution. Over indulgent teachers are as much a risk as cynical ones. An overindulgent teacher can risk making the child too pompous and to lose interest in learning and a cynical one can make the child lose interest in whatever subject they teach. 

2. Let the teachers speak: If there are constructive feed backs or problems shared, do not get disheartened, not everyone can have a good opinion about your child. Make note of it, let the comments sink in. Do not show any reaction in front of the teacher or the child unless it is to defend the child, as mildly as possible. You have a lifetime to teach your child, the teacher may be in a hurry to improve her. Your child will even come to you with marital problems later in life, so there is a lifetime, remember that!

3. Be your child's guest: Let the child take you on a tour of the school. The school means a lot to her and you can't be in a hurry when you have gone to her school. Forget your appointments. They can wait. This is the seat of your child's character building, clinch this chance to see it how she sees it.

4. Make friends with teachers who are short tempered: It is important to make friends with all of the kid's teachers, but never forget to praise the tough ones. It helps your child to deal with the ugly scenes that are common with the short tempered types.

5. Remember teachers are humans: And humans can be right and wrong and everything in between. Do not take anything to heart unless you have fully analysed the discussion that took place. You are responsible for your child's life, the teacher is only responsible for probably just one year, and even less if she is eyeing at some more lucrative job in another school. Know your child in advance, PTM should not be a surprise revelation for you. It should be an opportunity for the teacher to know your child better. 

There is no point in getting hyped up if you get all positive inputs from the teachers. You knew your child already, didn't you? There is no point in getting all depressed and worked up, if you got a difficult feedback. Weren't you already aware there was a problem? 

The more positive you are during the PTM the more influence you will have on your child's teacher and on your child. In the end your child will grow up on positive values and not on mere teacher feedback and marks cards. Just accept it all and go with it. In the end you will solve all of it, if you go with a problem solving attitude. Good-luck for the next PTM!

 Dear Readers, I am not an expert in this matter, this article is based on my own experience of being a mom. 

Pragya Has No One On Her Side But Herself

Pragya needed that cup of tea. It always helped her to pause for a few minutes and reflect. And reflecting is all she had done in past 11 months. So much so that even when her husband thrashed her, even as he slapped her hard on her face, pushed her so she fell flat on the floor, yanked her with her hair and hurled her, threw objects at her, belted her, and treated her to any number of display of his insanity, she kept reflecting. Reflecting over why me, oh god what do I do now. Exactly 11 months and ten days since her marriage, she was still unable to decide what-to-do-now!!

Women are not just chained by the society, they chain themselves with the chains that tie an elephant. Can an elephant be chained without his consent? This was in Pragya's mind for a few days now. You are a consenting victim... you are a consenting sufferer... Basically that takes away the power from her husband, since it is with her consent, SHE chooses to be treated like a ‘nobody’! Even nobody's have a choice.

And then Pragya flipped through the pages of her diary... She had kept a log of her consents to mistreatment... It gave her a sadistic satisfaction and somehow made her feel a power that was ripped off from her in every other way. Pragya married Rohan by her own choice. She was a gregarious college girl, vivacious, playful and fun loving. He stalked her, won her confidence, dated her and then even proposed to her. The families disagreed, theirs was a true Bollywood style runaway marriage. One fine day, Pragya and Rohan eloped only to resurface after a week, having tied the knots, their status as married couple beyond repair.

Day 5: the first time when Rohan slapped Pragya, she got a cup of warm tea, not hot enough for Rohan's taste. Shaken and disconcerted, Pragya wondered what she could do. Hit him back? Well she would try next time. She decided it was a good idea. Hit back. It was my idea to run away, I got Rohan into it. I forced him. this is my punishment for hurting my family.

Memories of that fateful day came rushing back. Both their families were against their marriage. She wondered what families are for, if they could not accept their greatest happiness.

"Let's separate," Rohan suggested. "I don't want you to lose your family because of me."

Pragya fell head over heels in love with him all over again, at that moment. "No let's fight back. If we get married they cannot separate us. Let us elope." Pragya insisted. What a fool she was, she thought! Is this happiness?

I will hit him back. Pragya confided in a friend on day eight. The friend advised that if women retaliate, men hit harder, so there was no point of hitting back. Find out why he is hitting. Pragya thought let me talk to him about it. So she did.

That very evening on day 8 Pragya confronted Rohan, "Why did you hit me? Why?"

"I am sorry for that darling, it will never happen again." Rohan apologised profusely.

Emboldened by his apologies, Pragya retorted, "What if I hit back?"

The look on Rohan's face changed from amorous to menacing in split second, "you better not dare, I can do a lot more!' Rohan warned balefully.

A chill ran down Pragya's spine. She felt the invisible chains clasping her. She felt the same emotion that a prisoner of war feels after having been apprehended by the enemy. Hopeless, hapless, worthless and miserable. The warning was loud and clear.

Pragya dreamed a vivid dream that night. Her husband was thrashing her mercilessly, in the background her parents sat, their mirthful laughter echoing, as they said, I told you so. She woke up with a start. As beads of sweat appeared on her forehead, she realised she was alone, so so alone! She should have known before she eloped with Rohan. And in her mind came the same hollow rebuke of her parents, serves you right!

Day 10 the food tasted burnt, rohan slapped her twice, can't you learn to cook? Pragya was caught completely unawares. Before she realised, the food had been flung to the wall and there they made permanent stains on the rented wall of their space they called home.

"Hit back this time!" Rohan was bawling, "you bloody b*** you will hit back, show me!" Pragya stood stunned, so her deepest fears were materialising, devilishly, slowly and certainly.

Day 19, Pragya took a little longer to open the door, Rohan pushed her and she went flying and hit her head on the table near the door. A minor concussion on the head. The dignity now completely crushed.

Day 30 Pragya was singing and cooking. Nothing unusual, but Rohan was in a bad mood, he slapped her. Oooh only once, just to keep her quiet.

Day 43, Rohan came home and she was busy reading a novel. Rohan got annoyed and ...

Pragya lost count of how many times she had been hit. Her diary looked like it was bleeding with her tears. She had eloped, in order for herself to be unhappy with this man she thought was the man of her dreams, besides one simple correction, she made it now, man of her nightmares!

And then all of a sudden she put two and two together... That was the answer, she could elope once, why not again. To her own peaceful corner, away from Rohan and away from her parents too. So they would not humiliate her with their jibes. She had just herself now. She was just that. Herself.

Pragya needed an anchor, you don't just go out in the world and get yourself a decent living, when you have just yourself. You are a woman. If you have a roof over your head, isn't that safety? Oh yes home is safe she thought, safe till Rohan comes home. But I have the walls, strong solid walls and a roof over my head. Where else will I find it? No, eloping is not an answer, Pragya dismissed the idea the nth time. But Rohan will be here any moment. I don't know if it will be one of the silent evenings, or will it be another entry into my diary?

The bell rang... She checked from the eye hole, it was Rohan. There is a back door Pragya, run!!! It was only day 15 since this thought came to her. Every evening when Rohan rang the formidable bell, she opened the door and shut herself with one single snap. That was her daily routine for last 11 months and 5 days.

And then it dawned on Pragya the next day- where do homeless women go?? do they really have a parallel world? 11 months and 11 days later, Pragya was working on a new concept. Find out where they go!

Asha was her neighbour. Why did she never check with her? Asha was a working woman. Always busy but always had a smile for Pragya. Pragya had difficulty smiling back at Asha. But today she wanted answers. She waited for Rohan to leave. But Asha was already leaving when Rohan left. She waited for her to come back, but Rohan was already home by the time she came. She went out thinking she will go and meet her anyway, but then she changed her mind. 11 months and 11 days were now over.

11 months and 12 days: Asha had left before Rohan. Presently Pragya saw her hurrying back home to pick something, should she go with tearful eyes and beg for her to listen to her plight? Maybe. By the time she could decide, Asha was leaving again. She was scurrying away just as fast as she had come.

11 months and 13 days: Today she would talk to Asha, but no today is Saturday. Two days of the week she detested most, were here. The weekend. She did not have the patience to get to the other end of it. And then Rohan said, he was going to meet a friend at the other corner of the city. Could it be possible Pragya wondered, could he be going? He did. And for a very long time too. That was Pragya's chance, but Asha's husband was home too. No she will wait. No, she cannot, anymore. Pragya knocked at Asha's door. “I need to talk to you. I need your help.” Asha listened to her. She was now in a dilemma, what can she do? She cannot take in a homeless woman! She did not have any answers. But there is a women's home somewhere that she knows of, she said. And they might even have some vocational training for Pragya.

Pragya saw herself as a homeless hapless person, better than a hapless person with a home. I need something concrete she thought. I have myself now!

Asha brought and gave an address and a phone number on Monday, she had waited for Rohan to leave and then handed it to Pragya. Pragya made the call immediately. In fact she had her bag packed and ready before anyone knew. She had the experience of eloping, she knew what to pick and what she would never need again.

11 months and 14 days that Pragya lived with Rohan now behind her. Pragya had many new thoughts already in her mind. Thoughts of happiness and independence that she had never imagined she would dream of. Small dreams, Pragya had herself she would make it too!